I’m Trying Patreon

All good intentions of writing about learning and how we learn went up in smoke last year when I got really sick and then got a normal amount of pregnant. Life got nuts. I learned many, many things that I have every intention of sharing with you, but time and energy have not coincided in, well, about a year.

Personal Interlude

Ronan was born about two months ago, and he’s a delight. My time today is brought to you by the vast amount of sleep he’s needing to bounce back from his first round of vaccines. I’m probably not going to do a lot of picture sharing because he’s his own person and I don’t love the culture of exploiting the cuteness of offspring online, so I’m mostly just not going to drag him into my online world until John and I decide on some guidelines for what respectful inclusion of a minor with no voice in the process looks like.

Back to the Point

My writing beyond the blog has stalled out lately for the same reasons the blog has stalled out. I’ve got all of this content just gathering dust in the back corners of my various backup systems, however, and I thought I’d air it out a bit. To that end, I’m going to be putting some stuff up on Patreon. Poetry, short stories, first drafts. For the time being, everything will be open to the public, so go check it out. When I get my schedule back to something that allows me to set aside a consistent block of work for writing, I’ll invite folks to be come patrons in order to vote on which projects I focus on and give patrons early access to. Make sure you’re on my email list or following this blog (sidebar menu, button at bottom) if you want to be sure to catch those invites.

It could be awhile before those notifications go out because, on top of having an infant, I’m going back to grad school in the fall. Woot! But keep an eye on my Patreon all the same. The content I’ll be sharing there is all existing drafts for the moment, and it doesn’t require a lot of brain power, time, or energy to do that work.

New Look, New Blog Segment

Howdy folks!

I’ve just moved my website between hosts—hence the new look. I was about five years overdue to update my theme. Not totally in love with this one, so the look may change as we go for a bit. There are a few kinks I probably have not yet noticed that I haven’t worked out. I’m changing up some of my back-end functionality so that I’m not holding onto anyone’s email addresses on my server. The GDPR is effect (yay, privacy regulations!) and, not really wanting to write my own privacy policy, I’m just going to use services that have responsible policies in place. The by-product is that commenting and forms will be hinky for a bit while I sort myself out.

On a fun note, I’ve decided to introduce a new blog segment that explores epistemology. That’s right folks: we’re gonna get into known knowns, unknown knowns, known unknowns, and unknown uknowns. Mostly the last bit.

Without placing judgment in either direction on the context in which Donald Rumsfeld was using this here, he’s not totally wrong about the big buckets of human knowing and unknowing. I’m especially interested in the idea of unknown unknowns. It’s a hobby of mine. Namely, when we’re learning new things or doing science how do we find out what we don’t yet know we don’t know?

I’m not a scientist, of course, so my exploration of this topic is going to consist of me trying to do a bunch of shit I have neither extensive experience with nor remarkable talent for and sharing the outcomes with you. I’m stocking my medicine cabinet with bandages and antibiotic cream…a sure sign that entertainment will be had.

I haven’t settled on a name for this segment yet. Unknown Unknowns? Haps and Mishaps? If you’ve got a better idea, let me know via Facebook or Twitter.

A Gif is Worth 61 Words

I’ve been thinking a lot about facial expressions this year, while I crank through my spree of annual productivity, and what I’ve decided is that gifs are popular for a really good reason: they capture subtle expressions that do not translate well to print.

“He did that thing where you’re already kind of smiling, and you smile a bit wider with half of your face for just a fraction of a second, but which isn’t a smirk, because smirking implies a sardonic intent, and the tiny movements of the skin around his eyes indicated that he was, in fact, delighted with what she had said.”

Or, you know, this:

They’ve translated Moby Dick into emojis…I guess it’s only a matter of time before people start translating literature into gifs.

Alien Cuisine

November tends to go like this for me:

Nov. 1: Let’s do this crazy thing!
Nov. 3: Why did I decide to do this to myself?
Nov. 10: In the zone, WOOOOO!
Nov. 10 (later): Oh god. I just spotted something that’s going to be a royal pain in the ass for fix.
Nov. 11: It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay…this is why editing takes two years.
Nov. 12-28: Sleep is optional, right?
Nov. 29: DONE, SUCKERS!
Dec. 1: Oh god. Two years isn’t going to be enough to edit this time. What have I done to myself?

And right on schedule, my punchlist of things to fix is getting crazy. Quick reminder for you other sci-fi forces: gravity is acceleration. That has consequences for how you imagine the technology of a spaceship that has to accelerate to FTL speeds. #needmesomeintertialdampeners #doh

The more complicated thing that I haven’t decided on whether or not to change, however, is food. My “space hobbit” world is intended to evoke a vague sense of Middle Earth while being completely independent. My characters are undeniably humanoid, but they aren’t human. If Earth existed in the wider universe, it would be a planet they could travel to and inhabit with minimal discomfort, but they would not be able to interbreed with humans. Given that my main character is a hobbit, she spends a fair amount of time eating. I don’t linger on the food descriptions, because that would bore me witless, but I do drop names of dishes or foods in passing.

And here’s the thing: I started out using normal Earth foods without thinking about it. She eats donuts and coffee and potatoes and curry and sandwiches and berries and oatmeal and so on. But as I got thinking about it, people seem to love the alienness of food in sci-fi sometimes. If my character is eating food labeled with a familiar name, does it ruin the feel of the story for you?

I talked through this with John, and he thinks I’ve got to go with alien foods and spend time describing them. I think that’s even more problematic because it doesn’t make sense for my narrator and it kills the ability of the reader to connect with her through the shared experience of familiar foods. We hashed out a couple of possible ways to handle this:

1. Pull a Neal Stephenson and just hang a lantern on it.

In Anathema, Stephenson wrote a note saying that he was using human names to approximate the alien foods. A potato isn’t a potato: it’s the biological and/or cultural equivalent of a potato for those aliens.

Pros

  • I don’t have to change all the food stuff I’ve written so far.
  • Readers can connect to the character through food, grasping the emotional sense of the moment more effectively.

Cons

  • The explanatory note is a little poncy, especially for this particular book.
  • Some potential fans might still be grumpy at me for not giving them alien foods.

2. Go full-alien on this book.

I could make every single food completely alien, describing things that matter and just making it clear that it’s food where it doesn’t.

Pros

  • The sci-fi purists would be happy.
  • Fans would have goofy things to turn into recipes and cosplay fun.

Cons

  • That is an editing nightmare and I don’t want to do it.
  • This would demand a huge amount of time describing food from a narrator who actively makes fun of her people’s obsession with describing food.
  • I would have to keep track of every forking food I dream up for world-building purposes.

3. And then there’s the hybrid solution.

What I think I’m leaning towards is using generic human words for types of preparation (soup, sandwich, porridge, curry, bread, etc.) but come up with alien foods for the constituent parts in some places. So a porridge isn’t oatmeal, it’s a red-grain porridge. I can be specific when it’s useful to the scene and vague when the food is serving a more functional part in the scene.

Pros

  • Sci-fi purists would be pacified. (John’s belief, as a purist.)
  • Fans would have goofy foods to play with.
  • I can balance the alienness with a need to connect foods to reader experiences.
  • It doesn’t threaten my approach to the narrator’s perspective on food.

Cons

  • Still an editing nightmare, maybe more so than option #2.
  • Still a world-building hassle, but less so than option #2.

I think where I’ve landed is that I just have to suck it up and go with option #3, but what do you think? Is it ever okay and not annoying for an author to use human food terminology in a story written from an alien perspective?

 

 

And we’re off!

November again. Insane writing month again. This, of course, means more procrastination blogs for everyone! The goal this month is to write the second half of The Hero Journey of Lola Avelia Stubbins XII. Wish me luck, and have a little sneak peek at a bit of what I wrote last year, with apologies for the weird formatting.

Excerpt from The Hero Journey of Lola Avelia Stubbins XII

Stub spilled gracelessly into the corridor, bowled over by the weight of her pack. “Pint and pissers,” she swore. Spaceships may have been engineered mostly by dwoles, but they were staffed primarily by the much taller gorgs and silfs and nomons, and the scale made it obvious.
“Whoa, steady on.” A hand reached down to help her up.
Stub jerked her arm away and felt immediately abashed. She looked up…she always looked up… at her rescuer. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”
“That’s an understatement if I ever heard one,” the grable said. Black hair shimmering with the iridescence of an oil slick fell over a gleaming emerald complexion to frame a lascivious stare.”You’re not fine: you’re a fox.”
Stub could feel her skin pinking. Her eyes traveled back down the ropy arms exposed by his loose workout jumper. She swallowed. “Umm…thanks?”
He laughed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be flirting with you while you’re in uniform. That’s gonna get me busted back down to ensign one of these days. But didn’t the sarge let you know you can use the lifts? You barely clear a meter. There’s a minimum height rule in the accessibility guidelines.”
Stub pulled herself upright and met his gaze. She did not inform him that the sergeant had, in fact, glossed over that useful piece of information. Still… “My height isn’t a handicap. I don’t need special treatment.”
He held up a hand, palm out. “I respect that.”
Stub forced a smile. “Sorry. I’ve taken half a dozen cracks about my size between docking and here. Truth be told, I am going to need to increase the upper body work in my calisthenics routine to get out of those tubes any way but face-first.”
“That’s the spirit.” He grinned. “The tall folks think it’s funny to haze the new wee ones and they’re generally too smart to get caught by a senior officer. But most of ‘em aren’t that bad once you get to know ‘em. Hang in there.”
The grable punched her shoulder and scooched past her to swing gracefully up into the tube she had just fallen out of. “See you around, Fox.”
Stub’s mouth worked too slowly and she ended up speaking to the closed hatch. “See you around.”
She spun slowly on one heel, breathing in deeply as she considered the arrows on the numbered signs and found her direction. “Oh no you don’t, Lola Avelia Stubbins. This is a short-term assignment and you’re on thin ice here as it is. Don’t even think about it.”
She couldn’t help but think about it…him. Even if the grable’s interest was only the stereotypical grable willingness to screw anything with a pulse…well. Even by grable standards, that one was a looker. And it had been a very, very long time.
That thought deflated her bubble of sensuous daydream in a lark’s minute. The reason, she reminded herself, that it had been so long since she’d had a good tumble wasn’t likely to change. Shirlings were not broadly popular as a race for reasons that went beyond height, and as soon as any of her shipmates picked up on her real name, she could count on becoming the same thing she’d been everywhere she’d gone since college: the scapegoat for the sins of her forebearers.
And those of her, she couldn’t deny it, embarrassingly fanatic relatives who refused to acknowledge that their hero-worshiping version of history was somewhere between dead wrong and aggressively backwards.
Entering her blessedly private quarters, she wasted no time dumping her gear out of the duffle and into the footlocker. Organizing it into the null-g webbing would have to wait until after her meeting, but she needed a fresh uniform and her shower kit post-haste. An unwelcome leatherbound book fell out of the bottom of her bag, landing on her unmentionables with no sense of decency. Not that her underwear were indecent: it was that damn book.
“Thinking of fanatic relatives,” she sighed. She had told her mother she didn’t want it, but she had said Stub was being unreasonable. As if a junior lieutenant’s footlocker on a working spaceship was a reasonable place to store a historical artifact and family heirloom. Stub had taken it out of her bag three times before she got out the door, but apparently Mam had got the final word in. “Serve her right if I incinerate the blasted thing,” she growled.
Stub shoved the book to the very bottom of her locker and grabbed what she needed to clean up. Disposing of her namesake’s journal would have to wait.

Be Like Luna

I’ve been watching the #MeToo tweets and Facebook posts with a heavy heart, not only because it’s tough to read what people have been through, but it’s tough knowing a lot of horrible stories that haven’t been shared and having to acknowledge that what we’re seeing still only scratches the surface of the problem. It’s also tough knowing that some survivors can’t handle being on social media right now because the callback to their own trauma is not bearable. What we’re seeing? It’s not even close to the worst of the problem.

I’ve been wondering what to say, what to suggest. Make bell hooks and Simone de Beauvoir required high school reading? Consent isn’t complicated. It is, however, complicated to build a world in which enough men actually internalize the idea having sex without a partner’s engaged, continuing consent makes them rapists and that pushing your unwanted sexual attention on a person is assault. It’s more complicated than it should be, but there you have it, and words are cheap when it comes to offering comfort and hope to every woman who has ever almost wept with relief behind the wheel of her car to have made it through a dark parking lot unharmed.

All I have got for you is this: an analysis (tongue slightly in cheek) of a video of a dog who sets an example for how to handle yourself if you’ve got more power than someone you have the chance to play with.

Let’s play “Armchair Textual Analyst.”

Luna the Corgi and Simon the Bearded Dragon are playing tug.

Luna: Yay! This is so much fun! Tugging is good!

Simon loses his grip.

Luna: Bows playfully, tail wagging, drops the toy. You still want to play, Simon?

Simon quickly goes after the toy. Luna waits a beat, picks up the other end, and “wins” again. Chews on toy a moment, lets Simon approach and pick it up again.

Luna: We tug because it’s fun. Tugging is not fun if you never win.

Luna drags Simon across the rug a bit, then lets go, circling and chasing and letting Simon “win” a couple of times, but gives Simon a good chance to show his strength, dragging him across the floor.

Luna gets possession of the toy again and runs away, but not very fast, giving Simon time to catch up and latch on again.

Rinse and repeat.

What does Luna know?

Here’s what Luna seems to understand about power and privilege and diversity:

  • You don’t have to look like me or talk like me or move like me to be fun to play with. (Yay for diversity!)
  • What’s most fun for me is what keeps you wanting to play with me. (Yay for enlightened self-interest!)
  • It’s only a fun game if we’re both continuing to have fun. (Yay for seeking engaged consent!)
  • I’ve got some advantages over you in this game, so sometimes I have to check myself to make sure the game stays fun for you so I can continue to enjoy the pleasure of playing with you. (Yay for sharing privilege!)
If Luna gets it, there’s hope it can be taught. Be like Luna.

Guest Appearance on Origin Podcast

Last week I had the great pleasure of chatting with Bryan Aiello, the author of Compounded Interest, for his podcast, “Origin: Stories on Creativity.” He let me go on at length about the relationship between science and magic in the Sidhe Diaries, the mental trauma of being an unwilling superhero, my philosophy of independent publishing, “failing forward” as a writer, and a lot of books written by great writers. Video below; links to his work, mine, and the books we discussed below that.

Links to Bryan’s Work

Links to My Work

Other Books We Discussed