incipit vita nova

The Type of Christmas Tree You Have . . .

This is the cardboard Christmas tree, which is an environmentally sustainable product that is available online.

The regular shopping outlets online continue to urge customers to buy buy buy!

According to AOL shopping, "A faux tree is frequently favored by the frugal, because after a year or two of use- the artificial tree would have paid for itself. If you're one of the millions of Americans who decorate fake branches year after year, you might be someone who values convenience too-- once an artificial tree is completely set up there's no extra maintenance required to keep it pretty."  

I have an artificial tree because every year between Christmas and my birthday (March), I would get incredibly sick.  I had bronchitis for the entire time, and I broke my rib twice while coughing.  This began at Family Service, where we got dozens of trees donated, and where I carried trees back and forth to people's cars, or, in one famous case, went to retrieve a stolen tree from a house a few blocks away (prompting Gilbert to draw the famous enraged Amy in red heels cartoon, carrying the tree back, which really happened).  It was a big deal to me to go pick out our own tree, and I remember well the strife between Michael and myself.  He wanted as small and sparse a tree as possible -- I wanted the giant ceiling-touching behemoth.  One year, behemoth won out, but the base was too thick to fit in the Christmas tree stand.  Mike then used his hatchet to hack away, turning the base into a reverse cone-shape.  Of course it wouldn't stay up in the stand then, so we then turned to the giant plastic bucket filled with rocks method, and Mike anchored the monstrosity to the wall.

After he hurled it across the living room.

But that was then - this is now.  One good thing about knowing Alan is that he's got this allergy alert thing.  It goes to an extreme, but there was one thing he was right about.  I am deathly allergic to most Christmas trees.  I wasn't sick with a flu or cold from Christmas to March every year.  I had Christmas Tree disease.  As soon as I, with great reluctance and many tears, went to the artificial tree and wreaths, I was no longer sick.  I haven't been sick at Christmas for ten years.  I can't say that I miss the real tree any longer, because age and remove from the allergen means that I can get sick just walking through Lowe's or Home Depot and the bins of cut wreaths.  

The even stranger thing about this is that I have not ever gotten sick hiking through pine forests.  It is only cut trees, wreaths and boughs that bother me.     

This is, of course, the authorized replica of the Charlie Brown Christmas tree, which Mike and I actually had when we lived on Cajon Street (not really, but that was what started the Christmas tree annual tug-o-war over "small" vs. "big").  The same place where I found this item also offers a Festivus pole.

Advertising is growing more desperate by the minute this year as the economy weakens, so these unusual items and gag gifts may not fare so well.  My shopping list is pretty simple, but I also plan to get as many gifts as possible online (although must go shopping this afternoon - whee!). 

At dinner Friday night, there was a nice lady at the end of the table who was discussing how ignorant friends actually thought that a Hanukkah Bush was real.  I even send Happy Christmukkah cards, but those are NOT intended to be "real" but rather to make Jewish friends smile.  No, Virginia, there is no Hanukkah Bush.  The problem is probably best-portrayed in the opening scenes of "Hebrew Hammer."

* * * * * * * *

As of the other night, most of us in the older generation concluded "We all ran with scissors."  Yes, and Meredith was kicked out of the YMCA for, and I quote, "Licking the sole of her shoe."  Obvious deviant four-year old behavior.  A very serious-sounding group, W.A.T.C.H. is a nonprofit organization that strictly times the release of its annual "dangerous toys" list.  That's right, they are so concerned about child safety that they actually specify a launch date for their list.  So woe to the kids whose parents buy those toys before the list "launch date."  So, as the child who not only ran with scissors, but who also whittled, hunted with a .22 and a pellet gun, and who spent hours hiking alone in remote locations between ages 10 and 15 or so --

These plastic "spiral copters" are identified as "like slingshots" by the W.A.T.C.H. organization, which also selects a fluffy pink poodle doll with long, pink angora hair as "dangerous" because the child could pull the hair out and ingest it.  Now, I routinely made my OWN slingshots from sticks and rubber bands, and I used rocks, not plastic copters as projectiles.  This one, in true "Christmas Story" style, "can put your eye outttt!!!!!"

As a mother who lost a baby due to a home accident, of course, child safety is of paramount importance.  But it seems to me that this toy warning list is like a Freakonomics situation.  In Freakonomics, Steven Levitt points up that statistically, children are far more likely to fall victim to swimming pool accidents than they are to gunshot wounds from finding and playing with a gun in their own, or others' homes.  And statistically, it is the same with these toys, most likely.  Were children MORE likely when I was growing up to "Put their eyes out"?  Possibly, but not to the extent that these "warning" organizations indicate.  We can't "world-proof" our kids, and in fact, some harm is being done today by overcautious parents whose children don't even play outside, and who have no coordination due to playing no outside stick and ball games (that copter might do some damage, but I recall being hit several times with large rocks, a baseball bat, and a baseball).  A kid could pull fake fur out of any toy and swallow it.  I also swallowed dry cleaner's plastic and nearly died at age 2 -- yes, the type that says "warning, this is not a toy and may suffocate small children."  Yes, exactly - my grandfather's clothing was hanging over a chair, which I do remember, and the rest, I don't remember, but obviously I played with and swallowed the plastic, and in my grandmother's description, "was blue and cold" when she found me - and it nearly did kill me.  And my daughter nearly drowned in 1 feet of swimming pool water approximately 3 feet from me while I was physically watching her.  I watched her begin to sink under the water and she had immediately swallowed and inhaled water when I ran in, scooped her up, and carried her fireman style to the family's bathroom where we were visiting, and all the water came up while they called 9-1-1 and I did baby CPR.  We are talking of a matter of 3-4 seconds under the water and it was the most uncanny thing I'd ever seen.  

I think my point being - worry about the real dangers - not about the toy list.   

Christmas Shopping: Trust Me!

My Christmas shopping list includes a crock pot, microwave and a TV.  So, I have to go out and face the crowds Sunday. 

However, Perpetual Kid offers a great selection of other gifts such as the "already been chewed" gingerbread cookie cutters depicted to the left.

For those extras -- I'm shopping there.  Do visit; you won't be disappointed.

"The Women Men Don't See"

Cyan's comments made me recall "The Women Men Don't See," the profoundly classic story by James Tiptree, Jr.  I originally recalled it as compared to Joanna Russ' "Souls."  Told in the voice of Don Fenton, a spook on a Yucatan fishing trip that's gone very wrong, "The Women Men Don't See" is my favorite of Tiptree's stories.  Right now.  I think.  I've read it several times over the years.  This callow, shallow individual somehow read past this comment of Ruth Parsons to Don, after they'd been trapped for two or three days, separated from her daughter and the Mayan pilot:

Women have no rights, Don, except what men allow us. Men are more aggressive and powerful, and they run the world. When the next real crisis upsets them, our so-called rights will vanish like—like that smoke. We'll be back where we always were: property. And whatever has gone wrong will be blamed on our freedom, like the fall of Rome was. You'll see.

I have another older Asimov-edited anthology in which he waxes poetic about what a great writer James Tiptree was and makes it crystal-clear that his correspondent, whom he has never met in-person, is a "he" and a pretty grand one at that, with such knowledge of spycraft and manly Bondlike legerdemain. 

That comment is only the whole point of the story, digested down to a brief paragraph, and Fenton, who I had previously read as a sort of a semi-horny, suspicious fishing trip spy, I now read as a guy who's been shown that there is ever so much more out there.  The trip did rock his world, and the world really will never be the same for him again.  He is also the only one who knows, and he can't possibly tell anyone.  Therefore, a bit of revenge from Ruth Parsons to the self-satisfied Fenton:  as she describes women living alone in ones and twos throughout the world, Fenton is now the same.  He can never be a part of the brotherhood of men again - not really.

The reason that, for all of its passion and skill, "Souls" seems a less-satisfying story is that its aliens are a far different sort of salvation than the aliens in "The Women Men Don't See."

In telling the story from Fenton's point of view, Tiptree makes the entire story possible.  Not only in practical terms, for Fenton is the one left behind to tell the story, but also in context. One of the profound truths of the story is its position that men (or people in general) assume that the world is a certain way, and they base their entire lives and natures on those assumptions. The story is pointing up that it is in fact, a very different world from the one that most perceive, and the shattering events of the story lift the veil on Fenton's vision.

It is the very veil that Fenton wears that ensured that Asimov and Tiptree's other male correspondents of the time had no inkling that he was a she.  It's easy for me to say today, with 20-20 hindsight, that a person would have to be far less perceptive than Fenton, who at least "gets" that something is going on far beyond their seemingly accidental plane crash and struggle to survive in the Yucatan, in order to think that anybody who could write "The Women Men Don't See" was male.  Not that Fenton is not an unrealistic male narrator or character -- he's pretty realistic, and the only fault in voice I see is really a strength, because rhetorically, he needs to be the way he is, and he needs to tell the story the way he does and actually "not see" a certain sort of woman - i.e. the Misses Parsons elder and younger.

Every time I start to think that science fiction is a sort of loser literature that has nothing to do with the core truths of humanity, something draws me back.  "The Women Men Don't See" is one of the seminal stories of 20th Century literature.  But as Ruth Parsons pointed out with bitter truth, much like the women living in ones and twos between the monoliths that are the men of the world, so too, does Tiptree now, with all of her accolades and all of her fame and her brilliant recent biography.  Because Tiptree "came out."  Imagine where she would be today, had she not.  Just imagine.

* * * * * * * *

Quote of the day, via Ashley McConnell:

"Without me the literary industry would not exist: the publishers, the agents, the sub-agents, the sub-sub agents, the accountants, the libel lawyers, the departments of literature, the professors, the theses, the books of criticism, the reviewers, the book pages – all this vast and proliferating edifice is because of this small, patronised, put-down and underpaid person.

        – Doris Lessing (1919 - )
          British novelist, 2007 Nobel Prize for Literature

* * * * * * * *

And I want to link to a reprint of an article by Jean Gomoll that refers to women, fandom and SF, and to commentary by Joanna Russ on the many ways of silencing female authors in the field - this would refer to US SF, of the traditional fannish nature.  I believe I just wrote a quote from the UK, Nobel Prize recipent Doris Lessing.  This is not what one would call a genuine worldwide trend.

Joanna Russ' "Souls"

Dave Bischoff asked me "What do you blog about?" the other day.  I told him that at first, it was definitely "whatever."  Being the timid soul that I am, I asked people who have been doing this very well for a while for some input and feedback - notably Toby Buckell and John Scalzi.  I just saw now that Toby is back in the hospital with a pulmonary embolism - thoughts and prayers to him.  He has a picture of the hospital window!  May they heal him quickly - he is too good a person to be suffering through this, and he is young, with so much ahead of him. 

After all this time, now, "whatever" is really focused on a) my writing; b) things related to writing; c) art; d) being female; and e) abuses in our culture - either crimes or artifacts of culture that hurt others, whether intentionally or not.

Which brings me to the subject of the greatly-respected author Joanna Russ.  I've been reading a Hugo Award Winner volume from the early 1980's.  This book is literally the Hugo winners from 1983 to 1985 or so.

Here it is, and the first story in it is "Souls" by Joanna Russ, which she later turned into a novel, which appears to have been published as part of a "Tor Double" (I guess this was similar to the famous "Ace Doubles" of memory) along with work by James Tiptree, Jr.

I've been reading through this book of classics in a desultory fashion.   I was literally opening the book at random and reading whatever I found.  Nearly everything I'd read over the past few weeks was a classic -- from Herb Varley "Press Enter" to the original "Blood Music" by Greg Bear.  I remembered each of these stories, I remembered the characters, and unique moments from each.  Each was sort of a horrifying dystopian vision, from the terrorizing computer ubermind of "Press Enter" to the nanobeasts of "Blood Music," turning the poor hero and his wife into a part of their house - or the house a part of them.

I kept thumbing past this story by Timothy Zahn, which wasn't catching my interest (probably because this older book wasn't opening very easily at that point) and I read the book's clunker - the best Hugo story of 1982, proof that sometimes, the 300-400 Hugo voters should not be voting:  "Melancholy Elephants" by Spider Robinson.  This one did inspire me to hurl the small volume across the room, because - well, I can't summarize any better than did the "Best SF" website:

An unlikely plot-line for an SF story: copyright legislation going through Congress. A young woman attempts to get a key Congressman on her side, arguing that to extent the copyright legislation would be a death to creativy, for there is only a finite number of musical notes, and of words. The development of computer systems has enabled new works of art to be checked against preceding works, resulting in less creativity.

So, Joanna Russ' "Souls" is the first story in the book.  I hadn't read it because - well, it was first, and when you are thumbing desultorily through some book, that's just a part of it that you're not going to get to right away.  The ones in the middle are going to get more attention.

This story immediately hooked me the other day.  Such strong narration, and such a vivid and fascinating background.  Briefly put, the Abbess Radegunde is in charge of one of these made-for-Viking-plunder abbeys or monasteries.  Described in loving detail, the Abbess is a compelling character, and quite brilliant.  She uses psychology and observation to deal with the inevitable Viking plundering and pillaging, and she miraculously "heals" one of the young Vikings who is a real Viking asshole.  I loved this story.  It was so suspenseful that I could not stop reading.  The amount of psychological and cultural detail about the Vikings, the Abbey people, and the early Medieval setting was stunning.

Right up to the very end.  Radegunde is actually brilliant and psychic and world-traveled and wise, and religion-spanning and philosophical because she is an alien, and at the end, she turns into Keanu Reeves in "The Day the Earth Stood Still."  If you've seen the trailers, you know how he has this preturnatural calm, and a little kid asks him, "Have you come to help us?" and in this wooden Keanu way, he says, "no."  Radegunde isn't a human woman.  Nor is she even touched by angels aliens.  She IS an alien.

Kafoom!  Threw across the room.  Again.  Waaaahhhhhhh.  To say there was no foreshadowing of this is to say that, it seemed as though it may have been that Radegunde had "special insight" due to some otherworldly intervention, but not that she was some alien in an abbess suit.

This is a fair criticism to lay at this story.  He's really wise because he's an alien.  What if JFK was an alien and the enemy aliens took over Oswald's body and assassinated him?  What if Lance Armstrong is an alien (he could be)?  WTF???  "We" (i.e. my generation) have noticed that women of Russ' generation - give or take 5 years on either side (she was born in 1937, so McCain generation) are not terribly receptive to criticism.  I have noticed over the years, the mouth-foaming aggression against Joanna and other female writers of her generation on the part of some males in the SF/F field.  They can still get worked up today that these female writers came to the fore and stole part of their thunder - had book-signings, had readers, did well, had something to say. 

But - Radegunde is an alien?  And there's a whole BOOK of it?  Ai, chihuahua.  There is definitely more to this sci fi stuff than that.  But who am I to talk?  I'm the inventor of M. Touchey ("Touche") and Crumb - the intergalactic eBay traders.  How random is that?

SF Signal and Happy Thanksgiving!

First off, a Happy Thanksgiving to one and all.  May we all be able to share this special day with our loved ones - family and friends.  To those serving meals at the missions or shelters, a most blessed day to all of you for showing this love to others who aren't fortunate enough to have a home of their own to cook their own turkeys in - and to those who cannot afford a rich Thanksgiving meal, whether it be turkey or Tofurky (yes, I was tempted by the whole turkey-shaped Tofurky - that's some product!).

Second, Scott Shaffer, who is really covering a lot of science fiction and fantasy-related topics, and who's a talented interviewer, did an interview with me for SF Signal about Book View Cafe.  Of course it's the Thanksgiving interview.  Last year, they did a Christmas deal with me too, so this is just a holiday gift from John De Nardo and the other great guys on the team.  In this, I "come out" as an artist and discuss the BVC concept.  As far as BVC "working," I think it is really moving ahead at a rapid pace.  I plan to "load up" my bookshelf as the weeks go by.  I've got a pretty deep backbench of stories and it should last for quite some time before I'll have to scrounge for material.

Front Page . . . Again . . .

Because I am mentally-challenged, I interpreted my position on the front page of Book View Cafe as a once-in-a-lifetime event last week.  Although I knew I was going to be the blog person for Tuesdays, it somehow escaped me that I was the Tuesday rotation for BVC.  So, it's The Fire Gryphon, Chapter One (I'm sure everyone has read it by NOW), a semi-accurate illustration of the Rockstar Known as Humphree, and the introductory material about the whole book/series, featuring Byron, Mara, Jin and the whole rest of the brilliant cast of thousands.

Aweeesommmmeee.  And "Perfect Stranger" is still #1 amongst the short fiction offerings at BVC.  Considering that I can't even find it myself, I am amazed at this.

Upcoming Events - Book, LosCon, SF Signal

I don't usually write about my nonfiction projects, but I just finished the page proofs for Landforms: The Creation of Canyons for Rosen Publications.  Jo Sherman worked for them a while back, and I began writing a project for her, although she left the company.  Since that time, I have worked with two other editors, both of whom have been a joy to work with.  These aren't exactly the barn-burning best paying projects in the universe, but I have learned such an unbelievable amount writing these books.  Not only have they helped me to be a better teacher, they've taught me a lot about all aspects of writing.  I've gotten various "habits" while writing them that are all, entirely, to the good, whether I am writing fiction or nonfiction.

I had the oddest experience working on this book tonight.  First, it had been long enough that I'd forgotten the immediate writing of the book, and it read to me as if a stranger wrote it.  And, it felt like my favorite of these books so far!  Maybe it was the scientific nature, or how I put the book together and the topics I covered, but I felt like dancing a little leprechaun jig at how cool it all was!  It looks great, too.  The design of these is super-cool.

In addition, I actually really will be at LosCon Thanksgiving Weekend - Craig Miller is running this convention, which has the most great-looking lineup and program (and website!) of any Loscon I can remember for a long time (now, I don't have twenty years of experience) and John Scalzi as guest of honor.  The convention runs Friday through Sunday after Thanksgiving (Thursday, remember? <G>) at the Los Angeles Airport Marriott, which is only minutes from my beach apartment. 

Craig so seriously actually put me on suitable panels, i.e. ones for which I was qualified.  And I am going to go to entertain YOU. 

Friday, 12:30 HARD FANTASY
Is there such a thing as "hard" fantasy, like "hard" science fiction? Is it just a matter of
research or better world building? What does it take to make a fantasy "hardcore"? Who's writing
hard fantasy, what is it, and how does it work?

Friday, 1:45 FRANKENFOOD TO FRANKENPEOPLE
Genetic modification from food to people; how far is too far?

Saturday, 11:15 IRON POET POETRY CHALLENGE
It's Iron Chef for sonneteers and other poets. Come to this Bouts-Rimés event and write a poem
with the day's mystery ingredients, share your work, maybe even win prizes.

OK, I'll give myself some line-ending words -

    Slug, razor, tree, rules, rille, shower, leader

With eyes greenstone gray like a garden slug

  Sympathetic to nothing, her smile a white razor

Days were, she thought she could grow in the city like a tree

  Sink roots, spread arm branches, learn the rules

But between her feet the ground formed a rille

  The children ran to her, laughing - a garden hose shower

It would not be her, not this time, to be the leader 

(8:42 to 8:48 PM - 6 minutes)

Saturday, 4:15 INTERMEDIATE WRITING
So you've sold a couple things. Now what? How do you keep up your motivation, overcome writer's
block, and reach your next goal? And what should that goal be? How do you maintain your momentum?

Sunday, 11:15 DIFFERENT TYPES OF WRITING?
The Novel, Novella, Short Story, etc. Is one just longer than the other or are they really
different? And what about screenplays? (<---- DIFFERENT)

Sunday, 12:30 WOMEN IN SCIENCE IN SCIENCE FICTION
Women scientists have featured prominently in many science fiction stories. Panelists talk
about the image of women in science fiction stories, from the classics to today. How accurate
are the depictions? And are these women scientists really scientists or just secretaries in lab coats?

Sunday, 1:45 CLASSICS REMEMBERED: ROGUE MOON
By Algis Budrys.  Probably his most famous book, Budrys wanted to call it The Death Machine.  It
has love and learning, death and determination; as Nabakov elsewhere said, “the precision of
poetry and the passion of science”.  Unlike our other two “classics”, this one isn’t written by
one of the Great Names of Science Fiction yet it still qualifies as a classic of the genre.  Come talk about why.

Scott Schaffer of SF Signal interviewed me regarding Book View Cafe.  It was exciting to - as I wrote - "come out of the closet" as both artist and writer, and as a serious fantasy novelist. 

From a Tiny Sea Tartal . . .

In the highest days of Elder Magick, each village or hamlet -- even perhaps, a fork in the road -- enjoyed the protection of a Conjurer or Mage.  Perhaps the smaller villages might share a Conjurer with their neighbors, though disputes often arose.  Although such spells are possible, it was never wise for a Conjurer to split himself in halves or quarters and divide his attention between villages.  That particular practice was what led to the unfortunate case of the moaning stones of Foutaise.  Few remember these days, but Jean-Luc the Sagacious, Conjurer of Western Arbres, frequently copied himself, in order to meet the demands of three lady friends, five villages, and the port of Foutaise. After a nasty encounter with the local Sphinx, Jean-Luc ended up divided into six confused, and utterly disembodied parts.  The hapless Conjurer's only alternative was to embody his half-dozen divided selves in a group of barnacle-encrusted rocks at low tide -- which to this day, moan and groan at the coldness of the water whenever the tide comes in.  Of course, at high tide, no one can hear a thing the rocks are saying, and should you wish to question Jean-Luc, it is best to go early in the morning on days where the tide is at its absolute ebb.

A far better choice for the well-prepared Mage is an Avatar.  An Avatar is merely a shadow-copy of the Mage's observational powers, and it will serve to warn the populace of impending Magickal danger, as well as allow the Mage, properly-prepared, to see just what trouble may be brewing while he or she is away.

And as all good Conjurers know (few enough though they are these days!), the very best sort of Avatar is small, portable, of pleasant demeanor and responsible nature.  For this purpose, I have always found that the small sea Tartal is quite the most reliable vessel. 

One must get them when they are quite small.  Indeed, that is how I learned of the plight of poor Jean-Luc, the no-longer-Sagacious.  Sitting at low tide among the oyster beds of Foutaise, I was observing a clutch of sea Tartal eggs about to hatch, with the intent of selecting four or five of the most vigorous infant Tartals as they emerged from their shells and made their way to the water.  The moaning rocks quite clearly called out my name, and I recognized Jean-Luc's tone of voice.  As he owed me a fair amount of money as a result of his utter inability to hurl a quoit with any accuracy, I did not answer.  Instead, I scooped up the little Tartals, threw them in my sack and left rather quickly, as some boys were approaching with stones in their hands.

I'm proud to say that at least one of these little fellows survives today, although he has taken a hardened shape, like unto a silver pin or ornament.  In my present position, it provides me with no little pleasure to see his adventures from time to time.  He is currently in the possession of a lovely young woman with long wheaten hair.  I rather think she may learn a few tricks from my Avatar, though of the group, I imbued him with the least of my powers.  But for Lalume, even the lesser powers -- are powers indeed.

__________________________________

I am told that the guardians of my current, humble, seaweed festooned abode are working on pictures illustrating their "site."  I am not entirely sure what a "site" is, but here is one of the pictures:

Send Your Dollar Now!

When I was young, back when the buggies filled the streets and dust flew into our faces along with every horse byproduct imaginable, and those of us who were fortunate enough to have small, square, flickering black and white televisions dreamt in black-and-white (oh, wait - that's a total load of bull***, but fooled ya, huh?) - I remember somebody describing a newspaper ad that just said "Send Your Dollar Now!" and gave an address.  Supposedly somebody tried this, and got $40,000.  This "scam" - if that's what it could be called - is totally still around.  I found a San Francisco Craigslist that had it (it was flagged and removed - got it out of cache) and this fine quality blog.

World sage John Scalzi has said that good writers will always make money.  Well, first, they can always put up "Send Your Dollar Now!" ads on Craigslist (I don't think Captain Ahab's blog there is going to make too much money) which could stay up even for a few days before they're noticed and removed.  Second, they can try writing and selling their work.

John is absolutely right:  good writers always will make money.  I never said anything, but I think I had his job with AOL, before he had his job with AOL, and relenquished that when I started teaching "for real" (full time). 

I've taught plenty of college English (LOOVVEEE YOU STUDENTS) and a goodly number of online creative writing classes - with pretty good results.  I continue to get in trouble for those guidelines.  His name is Chris and he is already writing many different types of stories and blogs, so give his blog a look!

I've done a lot of writing that has been made possible by my academic background; for example, numerous book introductions, book cover copy for classic editions, author mini-biographies.  I've also done a lot of writing for textbooks and classrooms.  I received assignments that were startlingly odd.  For example, I was asked to write a poem "in the style of John Berryman."  I realized that the motive for this odd request was, sadly, that to pay me $500 or $600 was more affordable than paying for an ACTUAL John Berryman poem.  In other words, the literary or textbook world version of a knockoff Gucci or Dooney & Bourke handbag. 

I personally purchased a Dooney & Bourke wallet with proceeds from one or another assignment, not too much different from the "poem in the style of John Berryman."

I make a lot more than one might think from writing.  My skills really are worth something in the real world, and I don't mean just writing poems just like John Berryman.  It's hard to describe; in fact, I'm struggling to put words to the relationship between understanding rhetoric at heart and applying that to a great story or book, or series of books.  There is a relationship.  Many times, people who start out writing nonfiction or journalism have a tough time crossing over to fiction writing.  I know a number of screenwriters who also wanted badly to write novels or stories, and who had difficulty because they first learned the specialized skill of screenwriting (which when done properly, is akin to a long, formed poem) and then were overwhelmed, I think, by the much broader range of "stuff to worry about" in prose fiction. 

So, there's such a thing as making money, and such a thing as chops.  I do believe that, after more than a decade of publishing and living in the LA area, and doing programming for locally-held Worldcons and even being Miss Hollywood - I have been invited to be ON THE PROGRAM of LosCon, the local Los Angeles convention.  And I guess I get to do the Iron Poet Challenge, which is described as being like Iron Chef for Poets.  Will I be able to take on Iron Poet Cat Cora?  Iron Poet Mario Batali?  I don't know!  Iron Poet Bobby Flay?  Yes, I will throw down with Bobby Flay any day - at the very least, with respect, to Tony Bourdain. 

Front Page Babay

Amazingly enough, I am the front page of Book View Cafe today.  Anybody coming here could read the story for free for a great period of time.  I actually know that people did access it quite a bit during International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Wretch Day last year and I saw that it definitely made an impression on a few people.  I got the idea for "Perfect Stranger" before my baby Anthony was born (quite some time ago), when the genetic counselor was explaining that Anthony could have Down Syndrome, and urging tests for other potential genetic problems, particularly since my father was an Ashkenazi Jew.  Years ago, I remember having genetic tests for heart problems with the rest of my family and coming up as the snail-level cholesterol shikse that I am -- whereas everyone else had mad cholesterol and all of the traits they were looking for that ran as heart issues in the family.  Yes, in many respects, I am of the very long-lived (and obviously, after having been the sweetest, nicest girl everyone knew for my whole life am now turning into the most horrific b****!!!! Well there ya go!!!) white arthritis cancer side, not the shorter-lived, hale and hearty - to borrow a term laughed over by the horrifically tainted Pelugia and myself - "tainted blood" side.  Yes, it's my tainted Jew blood, or rather, the fact that I am my father's daughter, that people ought to have some trepidation about.

Well, you see - I do wonder if using genetic enhancements to "improve" people, beyond the obvious medical treatments that would benefit us all - are such a hot idea.  I wonder if we did this, if we would not feel like Gary Gill in the story.  If we would not wake up one morning and wonder if the child in our home was not the son born to us, but instead, a complete stranger.

And it's not like it wasn't HERE either, but look, the BVC blog has Lalume's insane musings and even the stuff he did while hijacking my Wacom Tablet.

And the banner is miiiinnnne.