All hail Ursula!

Wow, this post is almost like "the third in a series", as this interview with Ursula Le Guin touches on both of my last two topics. Her comments on CS Lewis is part of my problem with him, I think, but not all of it, so I'm still in a stew (and as I've blogged before, I can't let these things go until I understand why they bug be. It's a thing.). And of course she talks about gender in sci-fi because that's what she does. A weird coincidence, I've read all her fantasy and nonfiction books, but I've not yet read her sci-fi. Just last week I spent my entire birthday Barnes and Noble gift certificate on Le Guin sci-fi novels, so that's a situation that's about to change. The closing quote in the interview is quite lovely, so I'm going to paste it here:

Le Guin, whose fantasies are partly about the artist as magician, learning to temper power with responsibility and talent with humility, says she wrestles with the temptation to moralise. "Sometimes one's very angry and preaches, but I know that to clinch a point is to close it," she says. "To leave the reader free to decide what your work means, that's the real art; it makes the work inexhaustible."

Which is part of what I meant about having a conversation with a book. The writer shouldn't tell you what everything means; some of it should be left to the reader to supply. The cool thing about that is your book becomes a different experience to different readers. And if your James Joyce, people can tell you what your novel means to them and then you can start saying that was always what you meant, even if it wasn't (yes, he actually did this. Don't you just love Joyce?)

And there is one more bit of Good Ursula news. I'm very excited about this one. Earthsea and Studio Ghibli are two of my favorite things.

But I haven't dug into those Le Guin books yet because I've been plowing through the stack of unread books that has been piling up in my office. I have three different "Best of" short story collections covering science fiction, fantasy, and fantasy/horror. The sci-fi one is mostly reminding me why I largely don't like sci-fi. Is it just me or is sci-fi short fiction overwhelmingly cynical, dark, and depressing? I don't need everything to end with "and they lived happily ever after", but some variation from opening with "the world sucks" and ending with "and the world still sucks" or "the world sucks harder" would be appreciated.

In general, my optimistic Pollyanna nature is better suited to fantasy. In that vein, I'm halfway through "The Year's Best Fantasy 5". Strange coincidence again, I suppose, but the Neil Gaiman story in here is a take-off from the Chronicles of Narnia called "The Problem with Susan", which I really liked but I'm sure the purists will absolutely hate. It's thoroughly pagan, and as a reader who always despised Susan's final fate, I found this Gaiman story particularly sweet. Now I have closure.

But the best I've read so far by a long shot has been "The End of the World as We Know It" by Dale Bailey, which manages to summarize not only what I hate about end of the world stories like The Stand or zombie movies, but also what I hate about women-only utopias like Herland or Tiptree's "Houston, Houston, Do You Read?" I mean, I know I'm in the minority of my gender in not preferring the company of other women, but honestly those ideas of how great the world would be if there were no men just really blow. Honestly.

And I never got why King readers always site The Stand as the best thing he's done. I'm not saying it sucks. I'm not even saying that I didn't like it (I've read the original twice, and the uncut version once). I'm just saying Bag of Bones and The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon were both much better. I'm just saying; and these things are subjective, so no, I'm not looking for an argument.

And speaking of my eccentric tastes, my new a-ha CD finally arrived. They've fallen so far out of favor I've had to acquire their last three releases as very expensive imports, and I've only managed to track down their solo work on eBay. This new one, called Analogue came with a live DVD which sadly I can't play since it's European code and my DVD players are all North America only. Bummer. But the music is good, or rather just exactly my thing. Most discs I buy I'll like one or two tracks right away but it takes me awhile to warm up to the other cuts. That's never been the case with a-ha; I always like all the tracks. It's just so perfectly me, I can't explain it. All I can say is, judging their work because you're familiar with "Take on Me" from 1984 is like someone who's never heard the Beatle's later work saying it must suck because they don't like "Love Me Do". I'm comparing evolutionary paths here not musical styles, by the way. Later a-ha bares as little resemblence to "Take on Me" as later Beatles does to "Love Me Do". And a-ha is exactly my sort of thing, that's all I'm saying. REM used to be another band where I loved all the tracks at first listen, but the last few releases from them have been really hard to get through. They're such downers. They really need to get their drummer back; I think he contributed more to the team than was apparent at the time. I don't care what you have to offer him, get Bill Berry back!

Women in Sci-Fi

I found an interesting article on Strange Horizons about one woman's reaction to Star Wars. My first response was, "Down, girl. It's just a movie." I admit I chuckled at the line The Jedi mumble Taoist-derived platitudes to prove that they're on the side of Light but they are really a fusion of a rapture cult and a multinational corporation.

Further down she talks about the role of women in the Star Wars saga, which is to say it's ludicrously minimal. I've ranted on this before, if you remember. And if you have the DVD for Episode III, take a look at the deleted scenes. All the woman scenes were cut (reducing Padme to a woman who brushes her hair and cries). I'm not that big of a Star Wars geek; I've never gotten into the roleplaying games or the novels, so my info is based purely on what's in the movies. So based on Return of the Jedi, I always thought that Padme had given birth, hid Luke on Tattoine as he was the only child Anakin knew about, and took Leia to Alderan where she then formed the Rebel Alliance. I liked the idea of this woman doing everything she could to overthrow her own husband (almost a Shakespearean tragedy). I figured she died when Leia was about five.

But apparently I was wrong. She did of a broken heart. God, that was stupid. Not to mention really hard to explain to children, and believe me they ask. The whole birth scene drove me nuts. Poor Padme lying flat on her back, surrounded by machines. Obiwan is standing there, but he's not even holding her hand, let alone offering her any sort of support. Then again with that metal thing over her pelvis it's hard to see what's going on. Maybe she was getting a C-section.

But I digress. The part of this article where the woman really had me was when she pointed out that there was only one woman per trilogy. You never see Padme or Leia interact with other women. Interesting. This is true of pretty much all the sci-fi/fantasy films I grew up on. There was always only one woman. That might explain why the only groups I feel comfortable in myself are groups where I am the only woman. And a group of all women? Forget about it!

Not that I blame George Lucas for my lack of social skills. And that is really an old school paradigm. Look at The Matrix. Granted Trinity largely exists to be the love interest, but some of the women of Zion had scenes together with no men in sight (granted, they were talking about the men...). And two of them even fought side-by-side defending the ship harbor (or whatever they called it).

And for those who object to the entire existance of this article, I'm going to end with a Joss Whedon quote:

"I think it’s always important for academics to study popular culture, even if the thing they are studying is idiotic. If it’s successful or made a dent in culture, then it is worthy of study to find out why. ‘Buffy,’ on the other hand is, I hope, not idiotic. We think very carefully about what we’re trying to say emotionally, politically, and even philosophically while we’re writing it. The process of breaking a story involves the writers and myself, so a lot of different influences, prejudices, and ideas get rolled up into it. So it really is, apart from being a big pop culture phenom, something that is deeply layered textually episode by episode. I do believe that there is plenty to study and there are plenty of things going on in it, as there are in me that I am completely unaware of. People used to laugh that academics would study Disney movies. There’s nothing more important for academics to study, because they shape the minds of our children possibly more than any single thing. So, like that, I think ‘Buffy’ should be analyzed, broken down, and possibly banned."

Can I forgive C. S. Lewis?

When did I know I wanted to be a fantasy writer? The first time I laid hands on The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. I must have been only five at the time - too young to read it anway - when I found an old copy in my grandmother's laundry room amid an assortment of library books and textbooks that uncles had taken from school and never returned. I remember turning the pages, making up stories to fit the illustrations. (There was an anatomy book in the mix that was quite cool too, but that's a story for a different day).

When I was old enough to read, TLTWTW had the distinction of being the book I re-read the most. It probably still is. Most of my early work had the same plot - kids find magic doorway into alternate universe.

But I distinctly remember the day when I was in the fifth grade when I friend of mine from a religious family told me what TLTWTW was really all about. I had no idea; we seldom went to church. Now in the fifth grade I had no idea what an allegory was, but as my friend explained how Aslan was really Jesus, etc., etc. I felt deeply betrayed. It was like this writer whom I had trusted so completely had been tricking me all along. It was like I accepted an invitation to dinner, looking forward to good food and conversation, and arrived to find my host had really invited me over to pitch his Amway products. Well, shortly after that I discovered the Hobbit, and then LOTR, and then Dragonlance. And I never went back to Narnia.

Now my own son is approaching the age where he could read these books. And I still have them all, mass market paperbacks with all the illustrations from the hardcovers. And the upcoming movie has definitely peaked his interest. I've tried reading them again, to catch some of that old magic again, but I just can't get into it like I did. I can easily see where he is demonizing Muslims and aetheists.

I've been doing compare and contrast in my head. How is Lewis intolerable to me when other books are not? The fact that Tolkein was a staunch Catholic permeates all of LOTR, yet there is no overt religion in it. More interestingly (for me anyway) is how LeGuin's taoist beliefs permeate the Earthsea books, and yet nothing is overt there either. I think it's just the allegorical style that I can't stand. I like to think of reading a book as having a sort of dialogue with the writer, we both bring something to the transaction. But an allegory is more like a school lecture.

Well anyway, there are my half-formed ideas. I have to go make dinner. But there's an interesting article about C. S. Lewis here that's definitely worth a read.

Fortune's Fool

OK, Blogger is doing weird things with the formatting on this one but I think I got it working now. Just pretend all the paragraphs have indents, OK? Here it is, Fortune's Fool, my little superhero tale. Please see my previous post for the caveats.

FORTUNE’S FOOL
I came in low, skimming over the waves close enough to feel the spray on my face. I followed the sharp upsweep of the breakers beating against the spindle-like station, hovered for a moment over the deck, then gently floated down until my toes touched the concrete. I had done this times without count, but this was the first time I had done it in sneakers.

The massive, bat-like wings only I could see folded back into my body as I opened the sliding glass door and stepped into my former home, secret headquarters of the Strange Trio.

I know. Lame name for a bunch of superheroes. That’s not why I left, but it might as well have been.

The words “Why am I doing this?” had been repeating themselves in my head all day. They had harmony and counterpoint now. They were practically a Gregorian choir: Cur hic facio.

The sitting room was empty, but I could hear someone banging around in the kitchen. From the doorway I watched my old roommate Faye spreading mashed potatoes over a shepherd’s pie. I had half-turned to leave – Faye was not the first person here I wanted to talk to –when Faye lifted the casserole to carry it to the oven, saw me standing there, and dropped it with a crash.

“Mol?” Her hands were at her mouth, her eyes quivering, and all the old loathing came back just like that. “Mol? Is it really you?”

“If I were a doppelganger, would I say no?”

“But I… we all thought you were dead!”

“Yeah. That had been the whole idea.”

Faye pulled herself together enough to realize she had shepherd’s pie all over her shoes. Apparently her “latent telepathic gifts” had never manifested or I wouldn’t have been able to surprise her like that.

“Allow me,” I said, unable to resist the temptation to show off. It wasn’t an effort, it was more a relaxation of effort, letting go of some of the hold I had over my demon, but letting him out just enough to do my bidding before binding him back within my consciousness.

When I was done Faye once more held a casserole dish in her hands.

“You can’t eat that,” I warned. “My control isn’t that good. I’m sure it’s full of glass. Easier to clean up, though.”

“My god, Mol,” she said. “You’ve changed.” She gaped at me for an uncomfortably long minute before chucking the casserole in the trash. “Your visit, the timing of it, I don’t want to say ‘fortuitous’…”

“Boss Man called me. In my head. That old trick.”

“What?”

“Well, apparently he knew I wasn’t dead.”

“No, Mol, you don’t understand. The Boss is in a coma. He has been for days. Not even I could reach him!”

“It figures it was something like that,” I said. I had woken this morning with a splitting headache and a desperate need to be here, clearing an implanted impulse. It had Boss Man’s fingerprints all over it, so to speak. But there was really only one skill I had that the others couldn’t at least simulate. I knew why the Boss Man had called me. He needed to die.

“I didn’t think he was still in there,” Faye was saying. “I…” Her eyes were quivering again and I held back a sigh of impatience, but I needn’t have bothered. Being an empath, she felt it anyway. I had to get out of that kitchen.

“Maybe I should just see him and go,” I said.

“You are such an ingrate!”

“Excuse me?”

“That man did everything for you! He took you out of that asylum, made you whole again. He was like a father to you, to all of us.”

“I have no father,” I said.

“Heartless bitch.” Faye never swore. The words sounded weird just coming out of her mouth. Like it was a foreign language she had learned phonetically.

“You’re the empath, you should know,” I said and finally made my escape to the elevator. I pushed the button for sublevel 8, where the infirmary was.

How could the Boss Man ask me to do this after what he nearly did to me all those years ago? What he would have done if I hadn’t faked my death in a fight on an atoll and run away?

And how could I do it? Because I was, wasn’t I? Faye was right. He was as much of a father as I would ever know.

A strange young man was standing in the hallway outside of the infirmary watching me approach.

“Hi!” he said, putting out a hand in a gesture I’m sure he intended to be friendly but I found aggressive in the extreme. I don’t touch people. It’s generally assumed this is because of my superpower, but really I just don’t like it. Realizing I wasn’t going to take his hand, he wiped his hands on his jeans and thrust it back in his pocket. “You must be Darkfire.”

“God, no.” Worse than the Strange Trio. “It’s just Mol.”

“I’m Gary then,” he said, thrusting that hand out again. I stepped back and his cheeks flushed. “Oh, sorry. Faye told me once… I just forgot.”

“Did Faye tell you I was here?”

“Yes, but I also saw you come in on radar. Or at least I figured it was you. You’re not wearing your… but I guess you wouldn’t be, would you?”

“My uniform is at the bottom of the ocean. I always assumed I had a microchip implanted somewhere too, but I wasn’t about to start digging around for it.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea! Brian lost his helmet in this fight once and he disappeared on all my scopes. But with an embedded chip…”

“Gary?” I interrupted.

“Yeah?”

“Who are you?”

“Oh! I supposed you wouldn’t know. I’m your replacement in the Trio. Boss Man found me after you left.”

“What do you do?”

“I invent stuff. I have a Super Suit. It’s armor-plated with guns and rockets and it flies!” I thought he was going to wet himself just talking about it. I managed a smile that I hoped didn’t look too forced.

“Where’s Brian?” I asked.

“He’s in there with the Boss Man,” Gary said.

“Go get Faye. She’s going to want to be here when I do this,” I said.

“Do what?”

“Just go get Faye.”

Boss Man was in the room that was the ICU of our little infirmary. I had spent a few days here once myself, recovering from injuries from one of our save-the-world fights. Brian had nodded off in a chair pulled up to the bedside. He looked bad, drawn and pale, almost as bad as the Boss Man himself.

Or so I thought until I got a good look at the Boss Man. The robust, meaty Italian I had known was just skin and bones now, and the skin hung in loose folds. All of his thick, steel-gray hair had gone.

I stood over him, my fingertips trailing over the sheets, not quite touching his spindly arm. “I don’t think I can do this,” I said, barely more than a whisper but enough to wake Brian.

“Mol? Is it you?” he asked, still half-asleep by the sound of his voice.

“That seems to be the question of the day. Yes, it is I.”

“The Boss Man called you.”

“Yes.”

Brian nodded and turned his face away. I looked down at the Boss Man, giving Brian the moment he needed.

“What happened? A fight?”

“No,” he said, getting up from the chair and moving to the far side of the room. “Some sort of degenerative neurological thing. Even the Boss Man didn’t really know. He ran lots of tests, even consulted with real doctors, but they all came up blank. His theory was that his own mental powers were turning in on themselves.”

“How long has he been like this?”

“More than a month. I tried…” His voice hitched. “Don’t tell Faye, but I tried to overdose him with morphine last week. It didn’t work, obviously. I couldn’t bear to just pull his…” He broke off again.

“Well, that’s why I’m here, isn’t it? To use the power he always hated.”

“What are you talking about?”

Before I could answer Gary returned with Faye. Her eyes were red but she was stoically calm.

“The gang’s all here,” I said with a sigh. “No point in delaying the inevitable.”

I took one of the Boss Man’s cold bony hands in mine then leaned over him to kiss his still lips.

I braced myself against the sensation that would surely follow. But it was as useless as bracing yourself against a coming tidal wave. Nothing you could do was going to keep yourself from being swept hundreds of feet inland if you were lucky, out to sea if you were unlucky.

The Boss Man’s soul washed over me, nothing like water. I wasn’t big enough to contain it, if you see what I mean. I heard myself cry out as I fell back. I tried for the chair Brian had left at the bedside but missed, landing hard on the cold floor.

Then he was gone. But he had left something behind. That had never happened before. But being that he had been the most advanced telepath on the planet, I should not have been surprised. He had focused all his consciousness on a single thought so that when his soul had passed through me to the next place, the thought had been left behind.

And now I was crying. God. But I could still blame him, couldn’t I? He should have told me.

Faye was in full waterworks mode now, providing the perfect cover for me to slip away. I took the elevator up to the Boss Man’s private quarters and headed to his study where he kept his computer with his personal files. I had only been here once before, but nothing had changed in five years. Not even the password on the computer.

I read his notes on my file for a second time, but the context was different now. It didn’t say what I thought it had said. He hadn’t been trying to take my demon from me, to leave me bereft as a “normal girl”. The “cure” he had spoken of was not going to strip me of my powers, it was going to give me better control over my powers.

“He wasn’t as sure of it as it sounds there,” Brian said from behind me. I hadn’t even heard him come in the room. “If he had been, he would have sent us to find you. I mean, it seems he knew all along that you weren’t dead.”

“He talked to you about me?”

“Once or twice. He said you have an extra gland in your brain that gives you your powers, but it’s pressing on other parts of your brain, affecting their behavior. You perceive mental images as real ones. He compared it to someone with night terrors. Their dreams are getting funneled through the memory part of the brain as if they had actually happened in a way that doesn’t happen in a normal brain, whatever that is.”

“What does that mean?”

“Your ‘demon’ is just your way of perceiving your powers. You’re not actually possessed by an alien entity. It’s all just you.”

“And he was going to take that perception away.”

“He was going to try to. Then you would perceive your powers as just powers, like mine or Faye’s. Without the guilt or sense of impending doom.”

“Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say. I had lived with this being inside of me for as far back as I could remember. It had controlled me, with violent results, until I was twelve. Until Boss Man had found me and taken me away. He had helped me take the control away from my demon. Now it turns out he had never believed it was a demon.

“I can follow his research. If you like, I could try…”

“No,” I said, switching the computer off. “What difference would it make? I would perceive it as a chemical thing from some mystery gland? That may be reality for you science types, but I kind of prefer the demon myself.”

Brian went with me back up to top level. I could tell he had something he wanted to say, but I very much didn’t want him to say it. We had made it all the way to the sliding glass door before he finally spoke.

“You could stay,” he said, all in a rush.

“I don’t think so.”

“We could use you on the team, especially now that Boss Man is gone.”

“What about Gary?”

“We could be the Strange Quartet.”

“Ugh. No!” I reached for the handle of the door when rain began to fall with a suddenness that only happens in the tropics.

“Now it looks like you have to stay,” Brian said. Something on my face must have given away my suspicions, because he added, “Don’t look at me. I don’t control the weather.”

“And gadget boy downstairs? Did he make a weather control machine?”

“Of course not. Maybe in a couple years, though. That boy is sharp.”

“Say good-bye to Faye for me. I don’t think I could bear to.”

“Sure. Now that you’re no longer dead, maybe you could stop by from time to time?”

“Maybe,” I agreed then stepped out into the downpour, letting my demon wings stretch wide and lift me into the air. I tried to picture it as just a gland in my brain, but to my eyes those wings were still real in all their leathery glory.

On my way back to the mainland, sometime after the rain had stopped, I passed the tiny atoll where I had had my “fatal” battle with the super villain Odric the Odd. I didn’t land, didn’t spare it more than a passing glance.

But back on that atoll was the memory of a girl no more than sixteen, anger coursing through her like liquid heat. Control over her demon was nearly nonexistent. The second-rate villain had been dispatched in record time, his unconscious body lying near the water’s edge. The girl was alone, Brian and Faye miles away chasing down Odric’s villain cohorts. This was the only opportunity to escape. But there was the little matter of tracers. The girl took off her helmet and belt then the rest of her clothes just to be sure. She sunk them all to the bottom of the sea with the strongest push her demon-power could muster. Then, naked as Ishtar going to hell to save her lover/son, she had flown, appropriately enough, off into the sunset.

Catching up

Bad month for blogging, or any writing for that matter. Our upstairs computer (the super-fast one) was Trojaned. Since this is the computer the whole family uses, we have virus problems quite a lot, so everything is always backed up, no tragedy. Quin brought it in to work so his IT guy could wipe it for us, but somehow the Trojan was still there so I wiped it myself last week. Yep, nothing more fun than reinstalling all the software on your PC, twice. My downstairs computer (only used by me and strangely never gets viruses) is very slow. It's basically a wordprocesser with iTunes. I can surf the net on it, but that's a test of patience. Hence my absence.

I haven't been writing much either, around weddings and birthdays and holidays. I did get a ton of reading done, though. Here's what I've plowed through:

A Feast for Crows by George R. R. Martin. Excellent addition to the series. Here is a guy that doesn't know the meaning of cruise control. The books don't have definable individual arcs like the Harry Potter books; they are really all parts of one big story. But unlike Robert Jordan, the momentum is always forward (Jordan writes like I drive, in a series of circles as I continue to miss all my exits). Cersei gets some POV chapters, which is cool since we haven't seen the world through her eyes yet, and there was one big surprise I didn't see coming. The downside is that this book only focuses on half the characters. The next book will focus on the other half. So the cliffhangers at the end of this one will be left dangling until the book after the next one. Ugh!

We're All in This Together by Owen King. It's his first book (you may be familiar with his father's work, most folks are). It's not a novel; it's a novella plus some short stories. The review I read liked the novella but not the stories. I also liked the novella, but the short story "Wonders" was my favorite piece. But then I'm kind of a sucker for a story with circus freaks in it. I think Owen's best work is still before him, but his writing has a big-hearted quality I'm really drawn to. I've had enough dark/cynical takes on the world.

Across Arctic America by Knud Rasmussen, Arctic Sky by John MacDonald, and The Frozen Echo by Kirsten Seaver. OK, these are all for research. But if you need lots of info on the Inuit or Norse Greenlanders, they're great! An interesting thing I learned from Arctic Sky: Apparently in the Arctic regions it's nearly as hard to see stars as it is in cities. They don't have light pollution, it's just that their sky is always full of blowing snow.

I'm also halfway through the latest WOTF collection. It's tougher reading them this time around; this is the first collection featuring the quarters I had entered stories for. So every story I read is a story that beat out mine. It's hard to read the stories as stories and not be comparing/contrasting to my own entries in a "how is this better?" kind of way. But there was one with people living in hedges that I really liked ("Needle Child" by M.T. Reiten).

I have written one short story for the latest Backspace contest. It was flash in one sense: I wrote it all in a night then typed it up and posted it the next morning. Since my average short story goes through ten or more drafts, you can see how this is a bit of a change for me! I hadn't intended to enter this time around because of my busy November, but then this idea hit me out of the blue and had to be commited to paper. It's not my favorite thing I've ever written, but the responses have been good so it can't suck that bad. I think I'll post it here when the contest is done so my non-Backspacer blog readers can have a taste of my writing (with the caveat that there is a reason I'm posting it on the net and not submitting it for publication).

Singleton or smug married?

I'm back from DC. It was a whirlwind three days. Honestly, I'm not sure why I needed an entire hotel room. I could have stayed in one of those Japanese coffin/room places; I only needed a place to sleep and keep my stuff.

At any rate, everything went smoothly. I wasn't the only one there who had left a husband behind, but a lot of the others were still single (hence the title of this post). They were all comparing notes, what parts of Europe they've been to and how many times and where they are going next, and I'm sulking in my corner (I've been to Canada once for ten minutes, and that was just a short trip to say I'd been there). But somehow the conversation got around to rock gardens, and I said "That's just the short of thing I want in my backyard." And then I was the subject of envy: "Ooooh! You have a backyard!"

I also got to practice pitching my WIP (work in progress). Jenny introduced me to people whom I didn't already know as "my friend the writer", which usually leads to the questions "What do you write?" or more specifically "what are you working on now?". Since I don't tell most people I interact with in person that I'm a writer, this was my first time trying to answer these questions out loud, not typing (where I have more time to think). It's a skill I need to work on, but I don't think I did too bad. I focused more on thematic elements than actual plot details. My speech goes something like this: I hated the movie Stargate. I can't stand the theories that aliens must have built the pyramids (or Stonehenge, or Easter Island), that ancient people were superstitious and fools. I use the sci-fi elements of time travel in order to compare and contrast ancient and future people, and show that magic and science are really just two different ways of perceiving the universe, and I treat them as equally valid.

There were three women listening to my spiel the first time around. One was completely lost (eyes glazed over, honestly, and the phrase "I don't read fantasy" came up), one was mildly interested, but the historian was very excited, very into my theme. So that was pretty cool. It's actually the first time I've gone into detail about what I write with people who aren't also writers. I feel like I'm growing or something...

So I came home yesterday after three days away, and my family met me at the airport. Both boys were wearing sweaters I had knit for them (although I suspect Quin had a hand in clothing selection). The entire time of waiting for my bag and then walking to the car, someone was holding my hand (this is usually a gesture that only happens when Mom insists). Oliver told me "I was sad twice. One time I cried and one time I didn't." Quin said they were having dinner Sunday night when he noticed they had both moved their chairs and placemats to sit closer to him. And today, which I decided to make another vacation day because I'm too worn out to attempt school, Aidan practiced all of his skip counting (think Schoolhouse Rock: 3, 6, 9, 12, 15, 18, 21, 24, 27, 30) then vacuumed the whole upstairs with the handheld vac and was going to dust with a wet papertowel until I stopped him. Not to mention all the cuddling while I dozed on the couch last night.

I think they missed me!

I'm going out of town

I know, I know; I post so infrequently you'd never notice I wasn't here if I didn't tell you. But there it is. I'm going to a wedding this weekend in Washington D.C. I leave tomorrow morning at an ungodly hour and don't come home until Monday afternoon. I'm traveling alone. No kids. No husband. Just me.

AAAGGGH!

I'm pretty much a shut-in these days. Example: my husband heard other homeschooling dads talking about the importance of "Mom's Night Out" at a convention, but I opted for a "Mom's Night In" (that's my writing night when they leave and I have a quiet house all to myself). My groceries are delivered. Most of my other purchases are delivered. I could happily never leave the house. I'm not saying it's healthy, I'm just saying I'd be happy.

So tomorrow I will be navigating myself through airports, changing planes in Milwaukee, meeting lots of new people (AAAGGH!), staying in a hotel. And did I mention the public speaking? It's a short reading, and a small wedding, but still.... AAAGGH!

I'm sure once I'm on my way it will all be fine. I have my notebook already packed for all the writing I'll be doing while I'm alone (hahahahahahaha... excuse me). I have the new George R.R. Martin book Feast of Crows which I haven't started yet because I've been saving it for the trip. I'm sure I'll be just fine, thank you.






AAAGGH!

Spanking Kobe Bryant

OK, it wasn't actually a blow-out or anything but still, anytime we can wipe that smug, self-satisfied look off of Kobe's face is a good, good day. You see, the Lakers are one star plus back-up. But the Timberwolves are a team. I mean, look at who scored more than 10 in the game:

For the Lakers:
Bryant: 28
Odom: 15
Brown: 10
(these two mostly scoring when Bryant was sitting down)

For the Wolves:
Garnett: 17
Hassell: 14
Szczberiak: 13
Griffin: 13
Hudson: 10

While the rest of the Lakers were in the 0-2 range, there were a lot of Wolves nearly at 10 (but how much of a graph do you want? All of it? Here you go.) The graph's not everything, though. Anthony Carter had a spectacular 3-pointer and a really awesome block. File that under "it's how you play the game."

KG rocks because it's not about KG, it's about the Wolves. He doesn't want to be the biggest name in the NBA, he wants his team to win.

What do I need?

So I was hanging around Backspace and someone mentioned this little game: Google "{your name} needs". Here's my top ten.

1. Kate needs a shave. (This one goes on to mention a "snug around the flesh mounds" negligee. Oh yeah, that paints a picture...)
2. Kate needs to trust Angel. (Yea! I'm in the Buffyverse!)

These all came from the same blog:
3. Kate needs a priest.
4. Kate needs to be hooked up.
5. Kate needs to leave everyone alone.
6. Kate needs to grow up.
7. Kate needs to know why demons are taking over.

And if I found that alarming, the next two come from a different blog:
8. Kate needs to be exposed for every evil thing she's ever done.
9. Kate needs to be brough to her knees.

And we wrap up with:
10. Kate needs a hand... more correctly, she needs a tooth... a few teeth.

So I'm fighting the good fight, me versus the demons, only apparently I'm a little bit evil myself. That's scarily accurate!

Of course I had to check out those blogs to see why they hated me, and it turns out they don't know Kate, they are Kate. So why the expressions of self-loathing in the third person? Weird. I couldn't find the actual phrases because both blogs were long (but the first one) has some interesting photographs on it.

Spike Spiegel is my pilot boyfriend!

I don't play a lot of video games. They tend to interfere with the writing. But one I do play is Star Wars: Battlefront. That's because it's a game my husband and I can play together on the same team. Quin is ultra-competitive, so games with head-to-head action are a bad idea. If I manage to win one game in seven, he's all pissed off. But in Battlefront we can work together to win battles (and if I beat his kill count one in seven times... well, you get the idea). He usually plays a Wookie, storming into battle with gernades a-launching. I like to be a sniper, climb something high and shoot till I'm empty. I usually get a pilot to stand behind me and give me ammo packs. Sometimes I get two competing for my attention. I call them my pilot boyfriends. "Do you need anything? Can I get you another drink?" It must be the tight leather pants the sniper chick wears.

So anyway Quin bought Battlefront II. Since most nights I work, he's been playing alone (then coming down the stairs to interrupt my very important work to tell me all the cool things he's doing upstairs). But he says the controls are different and I really have to try it out alone before we play together so I don't interrupt the game to futz with my controls. So I gave up a day's writing time to play video games (for the sake of marital bliss, OK?). As it turns out, once I flipped the Y-axis on all the options I was fine control-wise.

Graphics are cool...flying in space (ugh, too hard)... blah blah blah... Wait a minute! I just head-shot a Stormtrooper and that man that said "Nice shot!" was Spike Spiegel! Then I get clipped and he says "I'll have you fixed up in no time." How cool! Spike Spiegel is my pilot boyfriend! I love this game.

Disclaimer: Technically, the voice actor's name is Steven Blum (sometimes Steven Jay Blum) and he does millions of games, but this is the first one I've had with him on it. He'll always be Spike Spiegel to me (and he'll always be saying "Hey! That pooch-bagger's mine!"). Spike Spiegel for those who don't know is from Cowboy Bebop, one of my most-watched DVDs, and is of course the name of my newest cat. Mr. Blum also does the voice of Mugen on Samurai Champloo which is another really cool show. My personal jury is still out and whether it's cooler than Bebop. The animation is better, and it takes place in Japan in the age of the samurai, which is cool, but the female character Fuu seems to exist just to get captured and forced to work in brothels (although she always gets away before actually... performing a service).

For everything there is a season...

And this is basketball season! Finally I'm watching something on television that isn't Go, Diego, Go. Yesterday was the first game of the season. I was all set. I have Wally Sczcberiak wallpaper on the upstairs computer, Troy Hudson on the downstairs computer, and was wearing my Sczcberiak jersey. Oliver wanted to get in on the festivities too, but sadly his jersey is a Sprewell. I'll have to get him a new one.

Yes, the Timberwolves won the game, but I was very unimpressed. Their play was uneven and no one did anything really spectacular (except the new guy Richie Frahm, who sunk some three-pointers).

You know, I didn't used to watch basketball. Quin likes basketball. Technically we have a no TV in the evening rule, but that's never applied to basketball games or the Olympics. But it was only about two years ago that I was able to actually watch the games when they were on. That's the funny thing about babies - they are attention black holes. Particularly if they happen to be yours. I've been in the same room with a game on the TV a couple of nights a week for eight years and absorbed nothing.

But I did warn Quin, I do nothing by half-measures. I either don't care for something, or I'm obsessed with it. I'm not one of those "I watch such-and-such a show if it happens to be on" types. If I watch a show, I record every episode and analyze them to bits. Come to think of it, that's why I don't watch much TV. It's time consuming, being obsessed.

So anyway once I started watching basketball I got obsessed. I'm more into it than Quin is now. He can catch the score at the end of the game and be fine; I have to watch every minute and see every play. I mean jeez! It's not whether they win or lose, it's how they play the game. Right?

Well, here's hoping this year is better than last. I really don't want to see Kevin Garnett cry again.

The back of Aidan's Harry Potter costume (from movie 4, Goblet of Fire) 

Oliver as Ron Weasley 

Aidan as Harry Potter 

Aidan and Oliver among cousins 

Greek philosophy, Tarantino style

You have to read it to believe it: http://nielsenhayden.com/makinglight/archives/006952.html#006952.

The Ghost of Halloweens Past

I thought I would quick post some pictures of the boys in Halloweens past. Quin spends so much time on these costumes they deserve a big showcase. Sadly, there was nothing "quick" about this exercise. 100 error messages later, I did get every picture up there. Good grief!

They are going to be Harry Potter and Ron Weasley this year. The wands are done and the robes are on the way. I'll post a pic of this year's costumes when they're ready.

The only one of the costumes that follow that I did any work on was Oliver's woodland fairy. I did that one. Except the wings; Quin did the wings.

Aidan as Teletubby Po 

Aidan as Obi-Wan Kenobi 

Aidan as Buzz Lightyear 

Oliver as a woodland fairy 

Aidan as Li Mu Bai (Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon) 

Aidan and Oliver as Hobbits 

Aidan as Mulan 

Oliver as Teletubby Po 

Aidan as Darth Vader 

Oliver as Darth Maul 

Would you read this book?

(Greenland, 1409)

In a world where all Norse are now Christians, one tribe strikes out on their own, looking for a place to make a settlement where they can follow the old ways. But the warming trend in the climate that made farming possible for the Norse in Greenland is over and the Little Ice Age has begun. The only way to survive in Greenland is to live as the Inuit live, but to live as the Inuit live is to no longer be Norse.

This is the world Thordís Thorrgilsdottír is born into. When her father, who was both chieftain and priest, is murdered, Thordís takes up the mantle of leadership for this wayward clan. But where should she lead them? Back to the Norse Settlements, where being a member of the community is only possible if one converts to the new religion? Or should she accept the Inuit’s offer to help her people adopt their lifestyle, knowing that the Norse ways would be forgotten in a few generations?

Thordís searches for a third option. Her quest takes her to the spirit world, where a man she’s never met seems to know her very well, and to the future, where a pair of siblings must choose whether to help her return to rescue her own people or keep her with them, where she could be the key to saving their own family.

And in the end Thordís will have to decide whether her own destiny lies with that of her people or somewhere else entirely.




(You'll forgive me, but I just had to start with "In a world where...")

On Scientology

Dennis Miller once lamented the fact that as much as Freedom of Speech is worth defending, does it really have to be 2 Live Crew's "Me So Horny" that we make a stand for?

Scientology, like 2 Live Crew, gets no respect. Why? It can't just be because it seems to be based on silly principles. That's true of almost any religion if you dig deep enough. Not to pick on the Mormons, but that would be a good place to start digging. But the Mormons are actually a good example. Most Mormons you meet are happy, well-adjusted people. They don't dowse for treasure, talk to ancient Egyptian gods, or practice black magic (not that there's anything wrong with that - pagan, remember?). I've never met a Scientologist, but I imagine if I did the space alien thing wouldn't come to mind either. Not to my mind, anyway; I can't speak for yours.

So what's my point? I'm tired of Scientology "jokes". It's socially OK to mock them in a way that it's not OK to mock, say Jews. Yes, yes, Freedom of Speech and all that, you can certainly say what you want, but unless you're George Carlin or Steve Martin you're not being funny. Bowfinger was hilarious, but note Martin is very indirect. The word "Scientology" never comes up, yet we all know that's what he's talking about.

What is being said isn't even particularly original, quite frankly; I hear the same comments over and over again. They're just being disrespectful and rude, and socially acceptable rudeness is the worst kind. What Freedom of Speech means is that you have a choice what to say and what not to say, and you distinguish yourself by not just saying everything that comes to mind.

All right, end of lecture. Speaking of Scientologists, may I recommend Beck's new song, "Girl"? Only Beck could write a song that sounds this happy yet contains the line "You know I'm gonna make her die." Maybe he means dye, like his clothes?

It's been a while since I posted a kitty picture. This is Aidan with the whole herd (Spike in arms, Valentine the dark one with white feet, and Molly with her back to you 'cause she's aloof).  

Faulty analogy?

Have you ever seen the movie The Fifth Element? Well, you should. But aside from that, in this movie Chris Tucker wears a dress. Now the director had a sense that if he just asked Chris Tucker to wear a dress, the actor would say no. So he had the costume designer draw up some really outrageous, out-there designs. When Chris Tucker flipped out, the director pulled out the original designs, much tamer by comparison. That's how you get Chris Tucker in a dress.

This story has come to mind everytime I read a story about Harriet Miers. My Pollyanna nature likes to think the best of all people, but I'm starting to feel like someone is pulling a prank here. He can't honestly think she is the best he can find for that job. But maybe I'm wrong about her. But maybe I'm right, 'cause you know I'm the freak that doesn't think Tom Cruise and Angelina Jolie are as nuts as they act (hello, people, they're actors!).

Anyway, it's some final polishing to Full Circle today and then back to the novel. Which I'm calling Hammer and Snowflake, but if you must you can think of it as "Vikings in Space".

Writing Update

The WIP is up to 3800 words. OK, that's just an acorn, but someday it will be a might oak. I think.

I've been writing to Paul McCartney's new one, Chaos & Creation. While I don't think it's better than George Harrison's last one, it would be hard to top that one in my book. It's definitely the best think Paul has done since Flowers in the Dirt and maybe before. I especially like "English Tea". Very twee. Very me.

Random musing

I'm on overdrive for the first draft of my third novel, so readers here can expect short, infrequent posts. But I had to get on to mention this: I've seen dozens of pictures of Iraqis voting today - print, TV, and internet. I have yet to see a man voting. They are letting the men vote too, right? How about women who aren't as old as the hills? It's great they are all getting involved with the process, it's a pivotal moment for Iraq and I don't want to cheapen that, but jeez, big media, skew the coverage much?

Just a quick post...

to say that Tobias Buckell (previously mentioned here and here) has a website up for his to-be-released novel Crystal Rain. Now granted I'm a sucker for flying machines, but this looks seriously cool. Check it out.

What's wrong with public school?

Some homeschoolers are virulently anti-public school. Honestly, they'll start foaming at the mouth if you bring it up. I'm not one of those. I think if my boys had to go to public school they would do OK.

Then I read articles like the one in the StarTribune today. It was about parents volunteering to help out in the classroom. Apparently teachers are getting more volunteers than they need. And this is a problem? It gets worse: the word "hyper-involved" gets tossed about. My favorite, one teacher accused the parent volunteers of spying. They were really only there to evaluate her teaching.

And this is wrong how? Good grief! The very idea that anyone should surrender their child at the door and leave everything up to the teacher in her infinite wisdom just rubs me the wrong way. They don't want you to teach your own children how to read because it messes with their system.

The system needs to be reformed, I guess everyone believes that on some level. Being a bit of a capitalist, I think competition is a good thing. People need to have more choices about their children's education, and have the information to evaluate the options so they can make educated choices. Yes, Ms. Teacher, that means going into your classroom and evaluating what you are doing. Yes, it's going to be all about their child. I don't think anyone should have to choose what would be best for children overall at the expense of their own child's education (which is really their own child's future).

It seems lately I've been seeing more and more news stories like this one. The teachers want the parents out of their hair. Well, parents? Are we going to stand for that?

My family (the non-South Park version) 

Naturalism vs. Surrealism

The DVD for Vampire's Kiss came in the mail this week. What a terrific movie. Nick Cage at his finest. It had a commentary track, which was an unexpected surprise. It wasn't a special edition or anything, just some film company milking their back catalogue. It was the director and Nick Cage both talking about the movie, recorded cerca 1998 but I know the DVD wasn't available then so I would guess it was recorded for the laser disc (remember those?).

It's going in my top ten best commentary tracks ever. There is no discussion of what anybody ate, or things that happened off camera, or how hot is she, it's all about the craft. I love when people talk about the craft. I'm not even that particular about which craft. Here it was film making and acting (the director was not the writer, so there is no discussion of writing here).

Nick Cage spends a lot of time talking about his acting choices for the role. I think I said before that this is my favorite role of his. Better than Leaving Las Vegas. Honestly. On the commentary track, he talks about the difference between naturalism and surrealism and that while the vast majority of people are always striving for naturalism, what they don't get is that this is a style, just like anything else.

Wow. That clicked with me. As some one who does not strive for naturalism, it's great to hear him say that. I've never called what I like "surrealism", I call it "hyper-realism". Whether I made that up or read it or heard it, I don't know (man, I wish my brain came with footnotes). Anyway, the goal of naturalism is to recreate life as exactly has possible. As Cage said, there are many different styles of painting, only one of them is photo-realism.

I'm talking just from my own thoughts here, but I think the goal of my writing is not to recreate life as exactly as possible. Big surprise, I know, since I write fantasy, but there it is. I want to create certain experiences inside of the reader's mind and hopefully invoke certain emotions.

I don't think I'm explaining this well, I have to keep stoppping to help someone with his math. Let's try this: Shakespeare (ah, she plays the trump card!). Not natural. The very farthest from natural. Come on, solliquies? Who talks to themselves out loud, let alone in iambic pentameter? But this would fall under my category of hyper-realism. Ask someone to quote some Shakespeare to you. I guarantee what they peak will come from one of those solliquies.

And as most of you know, I have this lttle altar to James Joyce in my office. But that to me is setting the bar just a little too high. I would love to hear a commentary track of Joyce tearing apart the idea of naturalism. That would be something worth listening to, I guarantee it.

The problem with choosing not to work in the style of naturalism is that the vast majority of people prefer it. It's hard enough breaking into the world of publishing without deliberating doing something people aren't going to like. So it's a compromise. Oddly enough, I'm not one of those who thinks "I'll write one break-out novel and then I'll be free to write whatever I want!" because honestly the world doesn't work that way. When your second book tanks, your career is dead. Also, the whole idea is artistically dishonest, not to mention condescending.

Duty calls. Perhaps I can revisit this topic later. I never got to mention what Nick Cage did in that movie he did for Francis Ford Coppola, the one where Kathleen Turner goes back in time to high school. That's a brilliant example of one actor doing something surreal in a movie where everyone else strives for naturalism.

I think he did it just to stick it to his uncle.

Nothing Gratuitous

God damn you, Joss Whedon!

So, I saw Serenity today. I punched out of work and went while the boys were napping (and Quin will go tomorrow and we'll talk about it tomorrow night. It's almost a Bill Gates kind of date).

It doesn't really say anything to say that I liked it. That doesn't begin to cover it. It's not just a "make you laugh/make you cry" kind of thing. It's a "make you feel everything little thing" kind of thing.

This is exactly what I want to write. Or perhaps more correctly how I want to write. There is nothing gratuitous. The jokes aren't just for laughs, they tell you more about the characters. The same goes for the violence. How often can you say that about an action film? That the violence tells you something deep about the character?

Of course what slipped from my mind when I went to the movies today is that this is a Joss Whedon story, and that means all bets are off. You know how you see a James Bond movie and there is never any doubt in your mind that Bond is going to make it through everything unscathed? This is the opposite of that. There was a point in the movie when I actually thought they were all going to die. No kidding. Joss can do that to you.

And Joss knows the power of the soundtrack, especially when to shut it off and let the actors act. Like editing, it's easier to notice when this is done badly than when it is done well. If you've seen The Mummy 2 then you've seen the scene when Rachel Weisz's character dies (she gets better). Brendan Frazer is probably doing an amazing job in that scene, but it's hard to judge because the MUSIC SWELLS and you can't hardly hear him over the REALLY SAD MUSIC TELLING YOU THIS IS A MOMENT OF INTENSE GRIEF. Hate the all caps? Think it lacks subtlety? That's how I feel about movie soundtracks.

On the down side, with no sound everyone in the theater can hear you snuffling away. And I seemed to have picked the showing just for fanboys.

I went to the show sort of expecting to be disappointed. How could a two-hour movie give me a sense of closure? This was clearly a TV series like Buffy, where Joss started out with a multiyear arc in his head. I didn't get closure, that is true. But I sure as hell wasn't disappointed.

Seagull and Raven

The WOTF short story is done. Well, mostly done. I'm going to let it simmer in its own juices over the weekend and give it a final polish on Tuesday before I send it out. It will be the shortest thing I've ever subbed to WOTF at barely 15 pages. It's also the first thing I've written that fell into the "correct" Fleish-Kinkaid ranges. I don't know if this will bode well or not, but those are interestingly developments. I don't think there is a semicolon in the entire piece!

Someone who was critting this for me mentioned that it reminded her of Fast Runner. A quick search later, this turned out to be a movie that came out a year or two ago about the Inuit (in their own language to boot). So of course I had to track it down, to make sure my story wasn't a dim retelling of something I hadn't even seen. Luckily, the Inuit thing is the only real connection. It's a very interesting movie, shot with digital cameras it looks like, and it's just gorgeous. Particularly if you, like me, love snow. It's filled with culture tidbits, but it's also a really great story about two brothers. I highly recommend it, but I'm sure it's hard to track down for rental. I bought my copy from Amazon.com (of course).

So once this is off on it's way to sunny LA, I'll be turning my attention back to the last story, "Of Tapestries and Daemons" and seeing what I can do with that. I think it needs to lose about 2000 words just to start, but we'll see.

Anger

Have you ever been angry? I mean really angry? So angry your hands shook? So angry your heart beats - not faster but harder. So hard it hurts. Have you been so angry your chest is filled with a liquid heat, decidedly icky and unnatural. Time doesn't flow: it's a series of snapshots. I imagine that last one would come in very handy in a fight. Not so much in sending an angry e-mail.

I've only been that angry twice. The first time was when my little weenie of an ex-boyfriend thought he'd give stalking a try and took the keys out of my car while I was making the night drop at the bank at 2 a.m. after work. I didn't kill him, but I did get my keys back. I don't know what he was thinking. I was bigger than he was.

The other time was last night. It's not a pleasant feeling, ballistic rage. I don't enjoy it at all. If I were in an Icelandic saga I imagine I would have come to my senses surrounded by the bloody bits of my former neighbors and hightailed it to Greenland. Being in the 21st century as I am, I sent an e-mail.

It's all work-related and not worth going into for oh-so-many reasons. Have you ever read Atlas Shrugged? (Kim has. Hi Kim!) Somewhere in the middle of this enormous book someone describes a company that changed management and was run like a communist collective where all decisions were made in committee and everyone found reasons why they couldn't be the ones doing any of the work. I've been thinking of that lately. A lot. I'm an American: I want to work hard and I want to be compensated based on how hard I worked.

The problem with the adrenal surge of a ballistic rage (aside from the very frightening feeling of not being in control of your own responses) is that empty feeling when the hormones drop out. Both times it's happened to me the anger gave way to weeping. That's not exactly a ball either. It tends to freak out the children too. I was still crying when the UPS man dropped off my package: Anansi Boys. Both boys were doing their best comforting, "Look mom! Your Neil Gaiman book came. Doesn't that make you happy?" I wasn't a complete mess, by the way, I was getting dinner made and all that. My kids are just intuitive. That and I don't hide my feelings well. Too much Scots-Irish in me for that.

I haven't had the chance to read Anansi Boys yet, what with updating the resume and researching companies who hire for what I want to do and all, but I've been carrying it with me from room to room, like a security blanket.

I have read the inscription. He dedicated the book to me! Wasn't that sweet? Well, technically he dedicated the book to you too, but I think it was mostly to me.

Random Musings

So The Corpse Bride is out on Friday. The boys are very excited; they've been watching trailer at Apple QuickTime for months. I asked Oliver last night whether he thought it might be too scary for him. He said, "Well, the Corpse Bride has an eyeball that just pops right out of her head!"
"Is that too scary for you?"
"It makes my guts hurt."
"Is that scary?"
"No! It's funny!"
He really likes The Nightmare Before Christmas so I'm sure he'll be okay. He's hugely interested in vampires, but that's the only movie we have with vampires in it that he can see. I'm not even really sure how he found out what a vampire is; I only showed him The Nightmare Before Christmas because he was already talking about them. He has a Lego minifigure vampire; maybe it came from that. I know when his brother was building the Empire State Building out of Legos, he was calling it the "Vampire State Building", mostly because it irritated his brother to no end.


On a completely unrelated note, I've been mucking about with some of the features on this blog. I figured out how to put a picture on the top, and once I get an actual photo of me I like I'll put it up there. I kind of like the South Park me, but the colors clash with the rest of the page. Also, I figured out how to add links on the side, but since my blog template didn't have that feature I had to put it in the HTML myself. Intimidating. Yet exhilirating. I love that feeling of "Wow! I almost know what I'm doing!" I can't get the script to match, but I'm not done noodling around yet.

The Neil Gaiman post

To celebrate the release of Anansi Boys this week, here are a few Neil Gaiman memories.

First of all, I came to the party late. I have an obsessive personality. I never like things just a little bit; they pretty much consume me, at least for a while. So I have a tendency to avoid things I think I might like too much, fighting the pull of the tide as it were. Like Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I purposely didn' watch the show becaused I knew I would obsess on it (and Aidan was a newborn when the show came out, and I didn't have much time for TV anyway). I gave in at season 4, simultaneously watching new eps once a week and reruns on one of the cable networks to catch up.

But I was talking about Neil Gaiman here. My husband listens to MPR at work, and he was always telling me about this comic book guy that they were interviewing whom I'd really like if I would just listen. Well, I can't listen to public radio and homeschool at the same time, so I was always missing these things. But he kept insisting I would really, really like this guy, he was just my sort of thing, and I should pick up some of his books.

Now I knew what Sandman was, of course, but being a loyal Marvel fan I'd never read it. Someone had shown me the Ramadan issue once but it was at a party when I couldn't just sit down and read it. But I knew this was something that would suck me in once I started it.

Then on one of the homeschool e-loops I subscribe to one of the mothers made some disparaging remarks about comic books and two of us posted pro-comic arguments pretty much simultaneously. The other mom was a huge Gaiman fan; she said I simply had to read him.

Then I was dusting bookshelves one day and the name "Gaiman" caught my eye. I had a Neil Gaiman book already and didn't even know it (he wrote a biography on Douglas Adams, which was what I had). I actually believe that Douglas Adams bio was the second Gaiman book I read; he also wrote a book about Duran Duran which I believe I read (I had a friend with more than 20 books on Duran Duran and at one point or another I read all of them).

So. I have this rule about threes. Something that comes at me from three different places is trying to get my attention. So I pooled together all of the book store gift cards I had gotten for my birthday and Christmas and bought all of the Sandman collections, plus all of his novels (American Gods had just come out in paperback). Yep, that was over $200 spent all at once. Good thing I liked it, eh?

My other memory was the first time I read The Wolves in the Walls to Aidan and Oliver. Aidan was 6, Oliver was 3. I read stories to them while they eat their lunch, usually longer books like Harry Potter, but I made an exception for this one since it had just come in the mail and I was anxious to read it. I was so engrossed in the story I was halfway through the book before I realized that no one was eating. Oliver had a fork hovering in front of his mouth. Both of them were wide-eyed, way freaked out. I couldn't stop reading now; they would never know how things came out all right in the end. I finished it, but for days after Aidan told everyone about this really scary book that his mother had read to him that she must never, ever read again.

You know, they still haven't come around on that one. But this will be the book from their childhood that they will remember for the rest of their lives.

Writing Update

I finished the story for WOTF, formerly referrred to as the "weird" story, now officially called Seagull and Raven. It was my first official submission to the only crit group I joined recently. Up until this point, I've only had one person reading my stuff (thanks, Jenny!). She still reads, but I wanted to try getting more opinions. Also I'll be reading other people's stuff and critting them, which I understand is very helpful with your own writing. I posted the story Friday night and by Sunday morning I already had three really good, well thought out crits, so this is pretty cool. This is the first time I've gotten opinions from complete strangers who aren't familiar with me or my style, so that was interesting as well, seeing what comes across strongly.

I was going to let it sit for a few days before revising anyway, but now I'll have to as I realized that this is the week that Anansi Boys comes out. I undersand it's shorter than American Gods, but I know I won't be doing anything else until I've finished that book.

I hit the dartboard again!

Finally got my letter back from WOTF for "Of Tapestries and Daemons". I was a quarter-finalist... again. Partly, this is good news since that means I was in the top 10-15% of entries. On the other hand, it's frustrating. I keep hitting the dartboard, but I have no way of knowing if I'm getting any closer to the bullseye or not.

The story I'm finishing up is so weird I don't know what to think of its chances. It's a departure from my usual style, but it remains to be seen whether this is a good thing or not. It's been demoralizing work because I'm so bad at judging whether what I write is good or not. I was pretty down yesterday (ummm, did you notice?). Then at dinner Aidan and Oliver told me their new knock-knock joke that they came up with themselves:

Knock-knock.

Who's there?

Jenny.

Jenny who?

Pkew (exploding noise).

So I'm just staring at Aidan because of course this makes no sense when he volunteers this crucial bit of information: "It also works if you say Dennis."

Well, maybe you had to be there. It was the most surreal thing he could have said, and he was completely serious. I haven't laughed that hard in quite some time.

Writing is like...

Do you remember that seen from the movie Fight Club when the recruits are standing on the porch, and every so often Brad Pitt will go out there and kick their bag down the steps and tell them to go home, they'll never make the cut, they're too fat, thin, blond, whatever. I think that's what writing is like. And no one tells you how long you have to stay on the porch before they let you in.



Wasn't Meatloaf good in that movie? Is it Meatloaf or Meat Loaf? I think I've officially digressed...

Cave painting

We restarted history.

We have been using Story of the World for nearly three years, but Aidan was getting more and more bored with it. It's supposed to be written for third graders, but it's so dull! So we stopped doing history about a month ago so I could figure out what to do next.

My final decision: start all over. So here we are: prehistory. The Ice Age. Cave painting.

Of course this was 10+ minutes of set up, and nearly half an hour of clean-up, for something that took fifteen minutes to do. Typical.

The cave painting 

Bloggity Blog Blog Music Blog

I love the itunes on my computer. I've always wanted a jukebox for my CDs, but now I don't even need one. I've never been a big reader of liner notes, so downloading music is cool for me too. My two latest acquisitions are the newest discs from the Backstreet Boys and Nine Inch Nails. I feel fairly confident I'm the only one buying that combination.

The Backstreet Boys was more of the usual, middle of the road but well sung. They always talk about how they are all so different, one likes hard rock, one wants to do more Latin, another wants to get into Christian music. They should do what the Beatles did on the White Album; divide up the tracks and have at it. That would be a disc worth listening to. The lowest common denominator of their combined passions does not have much zest.

But it did come with a free QuickTime video. And a booklet which I've honestly haven't looked at yet (see above, liner notes).

The Nine Inch Nails, With Teeth, I'm really enjoying. In my opinion, it's the best NIN front-to-back listen since Pretty Hate Machine. I know, I know, Downward Spiral is supposed to be the masterpiece, but I found most of the songs went on too long. I realize as I say this that I am being the Emperor in the movie Amadeus ("There are too many notes. Just cut a few and it will be perfect!"). I wonder how many other suburban work-at-home moms listen to NIN. Probably not as many as listen to the Backstreet Boys.

I just got a new book on my all-time favorite band, a-ha. It starts out like this: "When a pop song makes you wonder if it's written by an idiot or a genius, it is almost certainly a hit. Take on Me is a song like that." This is probably the most positive thing the whole book has to say, but it was a very interesting read. Apparently they were hoping to have a career track like the Beatles - one big hit and the record company would give them total autonomy. So they wrote that one big hit... and never got out from under it. Their new disc comes out sometime this fall, but I don't know yet if Amazon.com will carry it as an import or if I'll have to pay steep eBay prices. They say it will be "dance music for the soul" which already has me intrigued.

I'm warning you...

Don't click on this link.

Addendum to previous post

As it turns out, the service station guys replaced the wrong tire. I drove all the way home on that madly hissing iffy tire and didn't even realize it. In a way I had sort of noticed, because the completely wrecked tire was gone from the back of the car, and the new Dunlop tire was on the front. I mean, I looked at it before I got in the car to drove home and noticed this and was feeling stupid because I thought I really should understand why they had to swap all the tires around, like this was something normal people know and are not confused by. When we got home I looked again, but had that same confused, I wish I wasn't so dumb about cars feeling.

It never occurred to me that the tire guys had apparently not been listening to me when I explained what I needed done and just did the most obvious thing. Perhaps I should be been clearer. Passenger, rear seems pretty clear. At any rate, by the time Quin got home it was completely flat. He doesn't trust anything, not the job the tire guys did or my word that I didn't hear anything clanging across the bottom of the car, so on Monday he's going to have it towed to the Subaru dealership to get it thoroughly looked over. It needed its first routine maintenance visit anyway.

So we're back to one car for the next few days. I went a year without leaving the house during the day, but just today - and it's not like I had anywhere to go - I felt really trapped. Still, it's not like my house just got washed away or anything. Trying to keep it in perspective.

I have the world's best kids (although I may be biased)

Today was Lego Club day for the boys. This is a once-a-month thing they do with other homeschoolers. It's mostly boys (some sisters tag along), and they are all rabid Lego builders. For the summer months, the club meets in Stark, which is a little bit beyond Cambridge. Actually, it's Fishlake Township, but Stark is the closest... Not a city or town... The closest place where the 50 mph goes down to 30 mph for about a quarter of a mile. It takes over an hour to get there. In all honesty, Lego Club was the reason we bought the Subaru Forester. The Chevy wasn't going to hold up for that long haul.

Well, today was the last Lego Club in Stark; we'll be back in the Hennepin County Libraries in the fall. All of the other trips had been uneventful. From weather reports I was expecting to be driving in the rain today, but the storms had blown past by 9 a.m. when we left the house, so the trip out there was fine.

On the way home, I was driving behind a minivan when something fell out of (or off of, not really sure) the truck in front of the mini van. It was a pipe, maybe the truck's exhaust pipe because that's what it looked like. The minivan tried to swerve, but we were against one of those road construction concrete walls so there was no where to go. He had to go over the pipe. I tried to take it between the wheels but I nicked the passenger tires. Both of them.

So there we are on the side of the road somewhere in the vicinity of Forest Lake (almost made it back to civilization) (that's a joke, those towns are practically suburbs nowadays). AAA says it will be an hour before anyone will be out to get us. When we had left the house, it had just finished raining and was maybe 60, but now it's full sun and getting over 80 sitting in the car. Aidan was a little freaked out a first because you can feel the car move when trucks go by (and because he really doesn't think Mom can deal with these situations on her own, there was a lot of "when are you going to call Dad? You need to call Dad!"). Aidan being Aidan, though, once I got him involved in a conversation about wind resistance and car design he forgot to be scared. Also, since we were on our way home from Lego Club that had brand new Legos with them (Dinosaurs this month), so that helped.

We sat there for more than 45 minutes before a man stopped to ask if we needed any help. I have stranger fear in a big way, and this guy clearly wasn't from AAA. He had two bumperstickers on his truck. One was really faded and ended with GUNS, the other said "I (heart) Minnesota". I decided to attach him to the second one and think of him as the "I (heart) Minnesota" guy. He had a jack in the truck and changed the front tire, which was completely flat. He was one of those guys who does this and that (he talked the whole time he was changing the tire) and had seen us on the side of the road when he was heading North to do a job. When he saw us again going South after finishing his job he knew we'd been there awhile, which was why he stopped.

So now I had the spare in place of the completely flat tire, but the back tire was barely holding on, so we limped up to the next exit, only that was just a gas station. If we wanted to patch the tire, we would have to go back to Forest Lake where the service station was.

Aidan wasn't happy to see us heading North again. He wanted to be home, and we were going the wrong way. Not to mention it was pretty nervewracking driving on an iffy tire. I had inflated it as much as possible at the gas station, but it was hissing like mad. I was scarcely surprised when the service station said it wasn't patchable; it would have to be replaced.

So we spent another 20 minutes waiting at the station, only this time we were waiting in the cool indoors with cold water and M&Ms. And Aidan finally got to talk to Dad on the cellphone.

All told, it took three hours to get home, and we missed half of naptime, but they were both very good about it. I would have expected sitting confined in a nonmoving car for nearly an hour would drive them bonkers. It drove me bonkers. But, you know, they're just really cool.