"Age of consent on Krypton? Why, eleven, why do you ask?"
That previous entry brought this great cartoon to mind!
Conrad Gesner, 1563, what more could anyone ask?
Dukat doesn’t let up even a little bit in his pursuit of Kira, though how much of it is sexual and how much of it is his desire, as Kira puts it, for her to forgive him (which she can never do) is an open question. He also mentions that his wife has taken up with a gul named Marratt, whom Dukat plans to demote and assign to Breen when he gets back into a position of power.
Meanwhile, Shakaar got Kira to agree to the assignment by taking her to her favorite restaurant, getting her drunk, and giving her a massage. Nice to see ethical behavior is the watchword of the Shakaar Administration...
True Detective ended its eight-week first season on Sunday night and it seems that a fair number of people aren’t all that happy with how it turned out. There are two major camps on that side, as far as I can suss out. One group doesn’t like it that the top guns got away: the politicians and the well connected. Well, that’s life in a nutshell, pretty much, so it should come as no surprise that the series reflected that. The other group wasn’t keen on Rust’s epiphany. Some aren’t even pleased that he survived at all.
Okay, so maybe the ending was a little Pollyanna-esque. The scales fall from the curmudgeon’s eyes and the universe isn’t as terrible a place as he thought for the past 50 years. I can buy into that, or not. Rust’s been having waking visions all his life, so why should an unconscious one have that much effect on him? Shrug. Because it apparently did, I guess. None of that vitiates my appreciation for the show. It dared us to look in a very dark place and, more importantly, it made us look at people who are looking at a very dark place. We don’t see the video: we see how it makes Rust and Marty and even the shifty cop react. And we get to see Carcosa, the manifestation of a seriously mangled mind. We don’t understand everything that happened to that guy to make him the way he was. At times he seems juvenile, but his James Mason voice was creepy and very much a man’s voice. He’s been left alone for far too long, though. How long would it take to create a twisted, mangled maze like the one he built? Wild stuff. Hoarders would have had a field day with that house, which would never be a contender for Good Housekeeping. There simply aren’t enough air fresheners in the world to make that place tolerable.
If I was disappointed with anything in the finale, it was the fact that apparently Marty can no longer shoot worth a damn. He took several shots at the killer, who was no shrinking violet, and only managed to wing him. That hammer claw to the chest was icky, especially since it didn’t seem to make a sound when it went in. I will say this: Rust’s threat of a random sniper ready to take care of the cop if he went against them was a lot more effective than Walt’s threat against Gretchen and Elliott on Breaking Bad. All in all, it was a worthwhile experience, and I look forward to watching it all again very soon.
There’s only one episode of Banshee left for the second season, and once again we’re gearing up for a big confrontation with Rabbit. The question asked by the second season seems to be: Who is Hood? Or, rather, who is the guy who adopted Hood’s persona? It was challenged in early episodes when the real Hood’s son showed up, and in more recent episodes people have been asking him to his face, “Who are you?” That was answered, in part, in episode 9. The secret’s out: He’s Dayva’s father. There’s an ID he can hang his hat on. I loved the scene between Proctor and his mother.
The interesting thing that’s happening on The Americans this season is that, for the first time since we met this happy little spy family, they are in peril, and they have no idea where the danger is coming from. Who can they trust? They’re becoming paranoid, but with good reason.
That river challenge on The Amazing Race is one of the most brutal I’ve seen in a long time. They had to make their own raft and then navigate through some impressive rapids. It’s a wonder no one was seriously hurt. As is often the case, a taxi was the main culprit in a team being eliminated, but in this case it was because they forgot to tell their driver to wait for them at their remote location.
I was getting ready to pull the plug on The Walking Dead if this episode didn’t impress me. I know that we’re supposed to be getting to know some of these more minor characters better, but they’re like the folks from the tail section on Lost as far as I’m concerned. They entered the story too late for me to want to get to know them. This week was marginally better than last, and there are only three episodes left in the season, so I guess I’ll stick it out to see if they all end up at this magical Terminus, which has a rather fatalistic sound to it rather than an optimistic one.
I’d almost forgotten that The Mentalist existed, only to have it pop back up again this week. Took me a while to remember what all was going on, especially the bit back in Sacramento with the bugged phones. Poor LaRoche. Hope he pulls through. An oddball character, but an interesting one. Maybe they’re trying to tie up any loose ends back in California. Rigsby and Van Pelt are supposed to be off the show, too.
Bates Motel is one seriously creepy show, and it’s all thanks to Vera Farmiga. The ways she can mess up her son are legion. And then she pulls off this Patty Lupone showstopper of a performance at the auditions. Whoa.
I have a spreadsheet where I keep track of how much paid writing I do in a given day. Blogging doesn't count; email doesn't count. Tumblr and twitter and facebook? Don't count.
Only words that pay the bills count.
I don't keep the spreadsheet to guilt trip myself into working, or meeting a daily goal. I keep it because I'm a hyper-self-critical, hyper-self-competitive, workaholic perfectionist, and writing it down gives me something to take to my domineering, overbearing boss (that would be me) to prove to her that really, I have been working hard, and we are getting stuff down, and look, there is measurable forward motion here shut up and have a coffee, lady.
So I happen to know that, with the exception of the hypergraphia year of 2003, when I wrote over 600,000 words in twelve months, over the course of the past thirteen years as a professional writer (some of it full-time, some of it with a day job in tow), I have in different years averaged between 650-1250 words of paying copy a day.
That's somewhere between two and a half and five pages. So far, this year, I'm averaging four pages a day. I'd like to keep that range going.
Now, that's an average. That doesn't mean I write four pages every day. (I know writers who set themselves a goal like that, or--more commonly, two pages a day--and I Know some who write ten pages every day! Or more! and some for whom daily averages are meaningless because they sit down and write every novel and short story in a binge, drunk on their word hoards and reeling. I often finish novels this way, but the bulk of them is written in daily chunks.)
And yet, I have a reputation as a very fast writer.
I'm not. I'm just a writer who shows up (nearly) every day and gets something on paper. Some days I write nothing. Some weeks I write nothing. I take days off. I go on trips and teach workshops. Some days I'm editing or researching, for that matter, and those days have no wordcount attached.
My point is this: Since 2002, when I finished writing the first novel I ever managed to get past the Dreaded 30K Wall, I've written 25 novels (5 of them collaborative) and over a hundred short stories or novellas.
At an average rate of roughly four pages a day.
Up to a certain point, the more you write the faster you learn--productivity breeds practice, after all.
But four pages a day is pretty doable for many people. And one page a day is probably doable for almost anybody.
So if you've been thinking about writing your great book, the story only you can tell... why not write just one page today?
And another page tomorrow?
If you're an artist, draw a thing today, and another thing tomorrow.
(This blog post, by the way, is exactly five hundred words.
...or about two pages.)
This week’s Buffy essay is about “Empty Places,” a.k.a. The One Where They Kick Her Out of the House. Were the Slayettes and Scoobies wrong to do this? There’s a lively discussion unfolding here, in the comments thread.
This week I am actually writing the essay on “Chosen,” which will conclude the Buffy Rewatch. I may jump into another rewatch at some point, but I plan to take a few weeks off, maybe write a wrap-up post about rewatching Buffy, and then do some “That Was Awesome” columns for Tor. Don’t worry–whatever I’m up to, I’ll keep you posted.
I'm part of a small group that will be launching a new academic network. We now have a title (I'll reveal all when we launch), and I want to start a web page so we can raise our flag over the territory.
The page needs to be able:
to have multiple pages branching off it.
to contain payment subscriptions when needed.
to have space for people to list their profiles
to be able to host a cumulative database of non-fiction publications (as this is an area that is not under researched so much as has no core)
have a blog of some kind with twitter/facebook links etc.
Any thoughts on what I should be thinking of as a start up, or should I not be thinking start up at all, and instead looking for a web master?
Here are some screengrabs (one of them featuring . . . but you've guessed):
Starfleet Corps of Engineers and Vanguard
You love to fix things— anything, any time. You will come over to your friend's place in the middle of the night if his or her toaster is toasting too much on one side and not on the other. You live for weird mysteries, too — like, if there's a glitch that nobody can explain, or a weird green slime in the fridge that nobody can identify, you will put everything else on hold to figure it out.
Write What you Don't Know 12pm
When should you self-publish? 3:00 PM
Autographing: 7:00 PM
Consistency, Shmistency 11:00 AM
A light schedule, mainly because I'm going to be day-tripping the convention (first, because I live half an hour away, and second because that way I don't have to get someone else to come in and give CatofSize his 2x daily shots) but also because I am up to my ears in work and really shouldn't even be taking any time off. But, you know, convention. Socializing. I'm told it's good for me. :-)
So now you know where to find me this weekend.
(and yes, I will have some copies of MILES TO GO/PROMISES TO KEEP for purchase, if you have a hankering for the print edition and never got around to ordering one from the publisher...)
Spring has arrived in its full glory in Ireland, which means you have to get out and enjoy it in case it only lasts a few days…
Cue appropriate music: this is the video for Imelda May’s latest song ‘It’s Good To Be Alive’.
I’ve been a fan of May’s work since I bought her More Mayhem album a few years back.
I’m off to boogie in the sunshine…
Although he's on track to losing weight, his numbers still aren't where the vet wants 'em. So we're back up to 3 units of insulin (he'd been down to 2.5), and we'll see what happens. He'll be going in for a sugar curve in a few weeks (an all-day test tracking what his blood sugar's doing), and hopefully that will tell us some more.
None of the numbers are in a danger zone - it's just fiddling to figure out the just-right temperature, so to speak.
Meanwhile, the various and sundry numbers for his kidneys are not where they should be, either. It doesn't indicate anything wrong-right-now, but suggests potential trouble down the line. So we're in a spot where medication won't be helpful, but there's not much else we can do except what we're already doing.
The moment I adopted CatofSize, I knew he'd have medical issues as he got older. He was neutered late, and even lean he was a big damn cat, and the intake vet warned me about all this. But up until now he's been so damned healthy, I figured it would kick in when he was 12 or 13, not 10...
Over the weekend, I had another clueless dude try to give me crap for “working so hard to manufacture outrage,” and for always “choosing to be offended.” It’s a tired and unoriginal refrain, but I’m going to try to do something a little different this time. I’m going to agree with clueless dude, at least to an extent. Because he’s right. For me, a great deal of the things I write about, and the fact that I’m upset by some of what I see in the SF/F community, these are choices.
A few of the things I’ve chosen to be offended about lately…
- Big name authors publicly mocking and belittling people for asking for representation in SF/F.
- The rewriting of history to present last year’s SFWA Bulletin mess as being about a single cover as opposed to an ongoing problem, one that culminated with two big name authors using the Bulletin as a platform to accuse those who disagree with them of being “liberal fascists” and anonymous cowards.
- A major convention belittling concerns about sexual harassment and refusing to implement a policy … and then minimizing and belittling the experience of multiple individuals who reported being sexually harassed at that convention.
- The backlash against a Hugo host being transformed into a factually incorrect narrative that rakes an individual woman over the coals in major media outlets for the crime of expressing her fear and anger.
Generally, when folks recycle the accusation that people are looking for things to be offended by, the word “offended” is used as a minimizing tactic. It suggests overly fragile and sensitive individuals with bruised feelings. A more accurate choice would be “pissed off,” “hurt,” or “sick of this crap.” Kameron Hurley uses the term “rage” when explaining that the anger doesn’t come from a minor, isolated incident.
The thing is, most of these incidents don’t hurt me directly. Representation in SF/F? As a straight, white, American male, I’m incredibly overrepresented in my genre. Conventions that don’t take steps to reduce sexual harassment? I’ve been harassed a total of once in more than a decade of congoing, and it’s not something I’m particularly worried about happening to me again. The threats, hatred, and vitriol aimed at women online and in the real world? Hey, it’s not coming toward me, so who cares?
When you’re not the one being hurt, you might not even notice the problem. You might decide it’s all blown out of proportion. Or maybe you admit that yeah, there might be a problem here, but you blow it off because the solution would inconvenience you in some way, or make you uncomfortable.
When you see someone saying they’re hurt or afraid, you can choose to mock that person. You can choose to ignore their concerns. You can choose to blow them off by saying they’re manufacturing outrage and looking for reasons to be offended, as if pain and anger and fear are just another hobby, like collecting spores, molds, and fungus. You can choose to ignore the evidence, to disbelieve the repeated stories of ongoing harassment and the countless people speaking out about specific incidents that make them feel unwelcome and unwanted in your community. You can choose to interpret anger as “bullying,” and calls for inclusion as “political correctness run wild.”
You could also choose to listen. You can choose to believe that when someone says, “Hey, this is hurting me,” they’re telling the truth. You can look around at how racially homogenous most conventions are and believe the people telling you why they feel unwelcome, instead of dismissing it as a coincidence or making up falsehoods about how “those people” just don’t read or don’t care about SF/F. You can recognize that just because a problem might not directly affect you, that doesn’t mean it’s unimportant.
You’re right. I choose to be
offended angry. I see people talking about how finding someone like them in a SF/F story literally saved their life. And then I see people responding with mockery and derision to calls for broader representation. I see people who have traditionally been ignored and silenced raising their voices to speak about their experiences, only to have those experiences dismissed as “butthurt” by those who haven’t had to live through them.
When I choose to be angry, and to speak out about things, it’s because I see people hurting.
No, that’s not quite right. It’s because I see the that the things we’re doing are hurting people. That pain isn’t imaginary. It’s not a cover to try to take over the genre and control everyone else, as one commenter suggested. It’s real. And I’ve got to believe that if more people could get over their discomfort and defensiveness and just listen, they might see it too. They might even be able to help solve some of the problems.
Basically, when people talk about something that’s hurting them, you can choose to care. Or you can choose not to.
Mirrored from Jim C. Hines.
3. *EIFELHEIM, Michael Flynn
2. KNOWN DEVIL, Justin Gustainis
1. *INK, Amanda Sun
I'm not sure if I should put client manuscripts on the list. On the one hand - they are books, and I did read them! And it explains why my published-book-reading was slow the past month. On the other hand... not published, titles likely to be changed, etc. And CLIENT MSS #1 and CLIENT MSS #2 seems kind of silly?
Once we get back if I am given permission, I will show you pics of secret project #1.
I am grateful for fabric that does what I want not what it wants.