DancingSinging

Nanowrimo! Yay!

Sat, 24 Oct 2009 06:34:09 GMT

See me in my cute "Camp Nanowrimo" shirt? I'm getting all geared up for it again this year. I decided to do 50,000 words of challenging exercises this year, rather than just randomly scrabbling down words or loftily trying to stick to an outline. At a friend's recommendation, I ordered _3 A.M. Epiphany_ so that I'll always have an exercise at hand.

But I'm still looking for others. If you've got an awesome writing exercise, please share!

Cory Doctorow's publishing experiment

Sat, 24 Oct 2009 06:00:47 GMT

I just read this article by Cory Doctorow about this experiment he's running; comparing the proceeds from a story collection published traditionally and one he's publishing in all sorts of zany, DIY ways. It seems like a cool way to explore the competing trends in publishing, and much better than the speculative, "yeah, but, it seems like this to me" arguments.

But I'm a little bothered by one thing--it seems like he's ruined his experiment by posting about it ahead of time. Sure, to represent DIY publishing fairly, he needs to create as much buzz about the book as he can. But creating the buzz around the idea of the book as an experiment, rather than around something that could be applied to any self-published book, seems like cheating to me.

Which makes me question his sincerity about the experiment. I mean, he's obviously thoughtful enough to have considered this angle. So why did he publish the article? If anyone's got info that could clarify this, I'd love to hear it!

Some random thoughts

Thu, 15 Oct 2009 06:09:37 GMT

I've been waiting around for a big fluffy ball of enough time to write a proper post to fall into my lap and it hasn't happened. So here are a few thoughts that have been floating on the surface of my brain, like those pretty gasoline swirls on a rain puddle.

- I just discovered (via pandora, of course) The Grouch. I am particularly enamored with the song Artsy. I put it on my playlist and playlist.com. Here's a link, but I bet there's some logging in or whatever you'd need to do to see it. http://www.playlist.com/playlist/18003228683 Also on there is "American Way" by Nas, which struck me as profound, but then again, maybe I'm a sap. I also really was blown away by the song "Uncle Sam" but couldn't find it with playlist and don't remember the artist. [Edited: I just got off my behind and actually checked the link and it looks like you don't need to log in. So if you're curious abou the songs, you should be able to find them through the link above.]

- Amanda's school (which is a nonprofit and is really struggling right now) is having a notecard fundraiser. If you're going to buy holiday cards this year, or maybe want to find a gift that is nothing like what you'd get in the mall, please check it out. http://www.hearttohand.org/Calendar-Fundraiser.html We're working on making it paypalable, but right now, it's checks and physical mail only.

- Thanks to the geek feminism blog, I came across this awesome Finally a Feminism 101 blog. It's like this compendium of intelligent answers to feminist-challenging questions. Nothing (so far) that I didn't learn in college, but put together in an organized way. The tone is super not hostile, super newbie/nonfeminist friendly. (Yes, I did just imply that a lot of feminist dialogue on the internet is hostile. That wasn't my main point, though. I think people have a right to be hostile, and that it can be wonderful to finally be able to just say the fucking hostile things that you can't say because you're too fucking nice. It's complicated, and clearly I'm too tired to write about it coherently. Maybe more later, when that fluffy ball of time arrives.) Anyway, it's great because I've spent a lot of time floundering around sounding like an idiot when someone says something like "now that women have equal rights, feminism is not useful." It's like, I know what I think about it and why I think feminism is relevant, but I don't have a good, snappy, well-packaged response. But this is like a collection of well-thought-out, heartfelt snappy answers.

- I'm stuck on my writing and not managing to put time into it. Personal crises and poor time managment kind of crashing together. My thoughtful and insightful friend wild_irisessuggested that instead of trying to please every part of my personality all at once, I could write different stories that different parts of me like for different reasons and make my peace with the reality that some part of me will probably hate any story I write.

- Speaking of which, I just read this neat story by Ellen Klages in the mini-anthology "What Remains" about, well, I don't want to give spoilers. About this relationship. It struck me simultaneously as sweet-profound-lovely and sappy-unrealistic-MarySue. I think, on balance, that I really like the story.

- I recently rediscovered the Maureen McHugh story "The Cost to be Wise" in the collection _Mothers and Other Monsters_. An extremely excellent book, btw, and available for legal free download (google it and small beer press to find it; I'm to tired/lazy to do it right now). Anyway, I read "The Cost to be Wise" in college and loved it. It stayed with me (mentally dubbed "that story with the red plastic bag") and I was sure I'd never be able to find it again. Then, bam! there it was in a book I bought. How cool.

- I just got my hair cut (again! now that it's short I have to go in there all the freakin' time!). I found myself asking for a more "girly" look and explaining, almost in tears, that I was just too tired to keep bucking the gender expectation thing much longer. It was kind of eye opening; I thought I was so tough and strong. Fortunately for the tough and strong part of me, it looks about the same amount girly as before anyway.

Okay, my big, fluffly, stolen-from-sleep-I-really-should-be-getting ball of time is about out. I'm off to bed!

Who gets to talk

Thu, 03 Sep 2009 01:02:35 GMT

My dad was visiting this weekend, and we spent a good amount of time fighting. The gist of it was me being newly aware of not having to run around pleasing everyone every second to try to make sure no one will ever leave me, and him being like, wtf? why are you being so grouchy with me? What's wrong with you?

Because we have a great deal of rapport, and because he understands me pretty deeply on an intuitive level, and because we're both pretty committed to having a good relationship, a lot of good has come out of all the fighting. I'd like to relate one really neat experience.

We were in the car, and I was saying how I thought he misunderstood me or wasn't listening or something. And he said something along the lines of 'well, I've done a lot of listening to you this weekend and you haven't listened at all to what's going on with me.' And then I was all, 'RAAHHR! I'm so angry! Why do I have to kiss your feet and ask super nice for your full attention if I want to say something important and have you not get all distracted every two seconds, but you seem to feel like I owe it to you to listen to you, and that it's my job to solicit what's going on with you, and that I should feel bad if I don't?' (Except not quite so clear or intelligible; but that was the gist.)

And then he got it! He stopped for a bit, thought about it, and acknowledged the validity of my point. Then he said that he thought the tendency I had identified in him stemmed from a childhood where no one listened to him or considered him at all, and said that he was glad I had pointed it out so he could work on it.

Every time I have a situation like that, where I notice some disparity or lack of balance in a relationship, and then respond by speaking up instead of rationalizing how it's really fine in order to avoid conflict, I feel so empowered and so much more in touch with my authentic love and appreciation for that person.

It's clear to me that the emotional freedom to speak up like that is coming from having confronted and healed a lot of stuff with my mother. But the framework and clearsightedness for being able to identify the disparity comes straight from the real-world feminism of WisCon and the friendships I've built in the WisCon and Potlatch communities.

Yet I wonder if it muddies things to frame them in terms of sex and gender. One could obviously argue that I've been socialized to be nice and to put up with power disparities because I'm female, and my father's been socialized to be pushy and to assume things should be his because he's male. But that really feels to me that it oversimplifies things and takes attention off the main issue. To me, it feels more important that I, specifically, am learning to speak up and to demand balance in my relationships, and that he, specifically, is learning to be more in touch with the feelings of the people around him and to be more considerate. It looks to me that us both being human and both engaging in the personal growth before us is much more important than gender.

I remember someone jumping down my throat in a college class once when I spoke of finding the universal in human experience, saying that I was clearly speaking from white privilege and that the very use of the word "universal" is oppressive. But I really don't think she was right. I think that it is true that each human shares a fundamental humanness, and that great good can come from recognizing how, in all of our diversity and all the different ways that we live, there is a common thread of striving.

This is sort of an aside, but I'm also thinking about how the word "feminism" now, by definition, includes consideration of all sorts of diversity and oppression, like queerness, race, a broader look at 'gender' as distinct from sex, nationalism, tribalism, culture and microcultures, and probably many others that I'm not thinking of right now. I wonder if this endless-seeming enumeration is a reflection of the same thing I'm grappling with, that no matter who you look at, they are an individual with their own experience of trauma and oppression, and that this work of feminism (especially intersectionality) is really for everyone. There's no one who is entirely or purely an oppressor, the work of removing oppression from one's life is not the same as declaring oneself a victim, and the oppressive structures and habits we see hurt us all.

Clearly, these thoughts are not all digested or worked out yet, but they feel important to me. I hope that you, my dear FB friends, are up for conversing with me about it.

(IBARW) Race and Zombies

Fri, 31 Jul 2009 04:09:49 GMT

I thought I was going to have to look think really hard and keep myself super alert for a topic to post about for Int'l Blog About Racism Week. But, no, even if you're a comfy white-privilege swimmer like me, it seems that all you have to do is half pay attention for maybe two days. The real issue is coming up with the courage to say something, knowing you'll get it wrong and look like a racist idiot and risk revealing to all your hip internet friends what a dweeb you are in real life.

I decided that there was no other way for me to begin to engage in the ongoing internet race discussion than to just go ahead and look stupid. I know folks like jenwrites can sound intelligent and not say dumb things, like in her brilliant post over here. But I'm not even going to try to be deep this year. I'm going to count engaging at all as good enough for 2009.

So, I'm just going to do short little ramblings on the things I notice. Two for today:

1. Some dude came to my house fundraising for a program to buy uniforms for kids in local low-income housing. The man was African American. My slightly upscale suburban house is in an almost all-white neighborhood. As I was handing over five bucks, my mind was all in a twist. Internal nattering something like this: "Seriously? Five bucks? That's it? When the racial income disparity is something like 50%? And what is this sketchy program anyway? And who is this guy? Why do I trust his earnest face? Is it all unconstructive and reactionary white guilt? Maybe this whole program is manipulatively designed to prey on white guilt! And am I really going to let all this shit stop me from giving this sincere-looking guy five bucks for a probably-good cause?"

The experience just left me feeling icky. Why is my only contribution to bridging the huge economic and social racial disparity just giving money when someone else gets up the gumption to do something about it? And why is the thing being done just dealing with a superficial leaf of the evil, deeply rooted tree of racial economic injustice? And why does it always have to be about "the children"? Can't grown-ups deserve justice and equality? And isn't the very fact that I can hand over five dollars without really thinking it through troubling in and of itself?

2. I was watching this funny video on youtube by dragoncontv called "RE your brains." Mostly the standard zombie story but told from the zombie's perspective. Very funny, until the end, when the only person of color in the entire video makes his only appearance as a human victim lying on the ground as a horde of white zombies converge to eat him. (And no, I'm pretty sure the whole thing isn't a sophisticated metaphor about race.)

And so I turn to my hubby, who is watching it with me, and say something along the lines of 'what a horrible Fail.' And he says something along the lines of no, racism doesn't exist anymore. I'm living 20 years out of date, and I'm generating the racism by thinking about race every time I see a black person in a video. And I'm like, it's white privilege that you can think racism is no longer real or relevant. I think that there are a lot of folks of color out there who wouldn't like this representation of race. And he's like, do you really think that?

So I'm going to just bracket this shit and go watch BSG with him and rebuild some rapport. <sigh> I guess we've always had this disagreement, it's just that now I suddenly care enough and have gotten over my childhood trauma enough to speak up. I can't figure out if it's fair for me to get all mad and disappointed in him since I'm the one changing things.

Reconciling Baby Dyke and Mary Sue

Wed, 29 Jul 2009 22:09:50 GMT

Last weekend, I went to a fabulous reading in San Francisco that was sexually explicit, queer, and kinky. Something happened there that I didn't expect. I felt like I could breathe there in a way I hadn't known enough to miss. Everyone pretty much ignored me, but in the most wonderful way. It was like I could be as queer or kinky or aberrant as I could, and no one would even blink. No patronizing, self-congratulatory 'supportiveness' or anything. But there was a general warmth and welcoming feeling. Like folk would accept me if I were straight as a rod or crazy pervy queer. Not because of or in spite of, though.

During the performances, I started crying and couldn't stop. Fortunately, not in a sobbing, attention-drawing kind of way. More like glamorous movie star with tears running down my cheek. But not glamorous. Anyway, the point is, I couldn't stop, nor could I figure out what was going on. That night and the next morning, I chanted about it and at least identified the beginning of the problem. I came to this place where I was like, "Damnit! The sweet gal who wants to have a white picket fence and an organic garden and raise kids is real. She's not a construct to cover up the 'real' queer person underneath. But the queer girl is real, too." I kind of got stuck there; I mean, how to choose?

Fortunately, I was staying with a friend who is just an amazing woman. She's insightful and wise and loving, and she sees me in a way that not everyone does. So I asked her about it and she made a wonderful suggestion. She essentially said, "Of course both parts are real. The thing is to get them talking to each other."

On my lengthy drive home, I did that. I know this sounds wacky, but there was a real dialogue going on there. With words between the two. But not in a maybe-I'm-going-crazy way. Anyway, as soon as I started giving a voice to those two internal women, I started crying again. This unusual, keening cry that just didn't stop. For the whole conversation. What came out was that the queer girl inside? She's not just queer. She's a dyke. Really. And kinda' butch. And that picket fence woman? Terrified that if the other one gets out, her husband will stop loving her. The poor little dyke is only about seventeen and pretty weak from being locked in a trunk for fifteen years under a crocheted doily. So she's really no match for thirty-two year old Mary Sue in her sweater set. And Mary Sue's verbal abuses and attempted murders have been really hurtful to her. Because she needs Mary Sue to mother her. And she also had been hating Mary Sue because hubby loves Mary Sue and despises Baby Dyke. (Both of them are really into hubby, but for radically different reasons.)

Once Mary Sue understood, she let go of being all insecure and realized that she loves Baby Dyke, and will protect her no matter what. And that her husband doesn't have to love Baby Dyke, but he does have to acknowledge her presence and not be mean to her. And as soon as she apologized for being mean and trying to kill Baby Dyke, I stopped crying.

Nothin' but the Jock in me

Mon, 13 Jul 2009 23:04:34 GMT

(Apologies ahead of time for crappy syntax and boring diction--I've been wanting to post more and just not finding the time I want to do it. I've got ten minutes right now and I figure short, rough post is better than nothing.)

I can't believe how happy it makes me to play soccer and train for distance cycling! It's more than the post-exercise euphoria and the time away from day-to-day responsibilities (though I love that, too!). I think it's kind of the opposite of how I used to feel working out on an elliptical machine. When I'm out doing exercise I love, I'm not thinking about whether I'm fat and how long I have to suffer before I would look cute in a bikini or any of that grossness. Instead, I'm thinking about how much I want to be faster so that I can beat that f'ing forward to the ball next time, or about how it would be so cool to do the Davis Double in a few years. I in my body am a subject doing stuff and not an object on display. (But more soon in another post about having a hot bod--I wish I had time to go into it now!)

In addition to the feminist empowerment angle, being all jock-like makes me feel more like me. The same way that I do when I say something that's hard to say but really matters to me (more future posts!) or when I get my sexual orientation stuff expressed right or when I write a story that has real potential and that I know no one else could have written.

I'm dying to start running again and to begin working toward doing a marathon, and to join a dojo with my hubby and get back into karate. But the reality of my other commitments are pressing in on me, so I don't know how I'll swing that. We'll see.

Now on Twitter

Sun, 28 Jun 2009 03:56:57 GMT

Remember how I fell into LARPing, like, two decades late? Well, I'm finally on Twitter. My name there is dancingsinging, too.

I think one reason why I resisted it so long is because on some less-that-fully-conscious level, I was convinced that if I'm not witty or deep or interesting, people won't love me. So sharing the day-to-day, this is what I'm actually doing stuff is kind of me stepping out in courage. You all can find out that I spend time futzing around learning a new piece of software and doing other banal stuff like that.

All part of the process of me learning to be fearlessly authentic. Guess what? I'm authentically ordinary a lot of the time.

Shedding the illusion of heterosexual privilige

Wed, 17 Jun 2009 23:00:06 GMT

So much has been going on for me personally, much of it too private to put up on a blog. But I do want to share this one experience.

A little background--since I was about sixteen, it's been clear to me that I find women sexually attractive, as well as men. Around that same time, I decided I was going to marry my then-boyfriend, now-husband. It seemed very simple then--I like apples and I like oranges, but I don't need to eat them both to feel fruitfully fulfilled. And since monogamy seemed like the only possible option that could successfully sustain real intimacy and I already loved my guy so deeply, marrying him seemed obvious.

Sixteen years later, my perspective on intimacy is deepening and broadening, and while I'm still totally committed to my marriage, I don't see it as the only thing that might have worked any more. As a result (or perhaps as an inciting cause?) of this, my attraction to specific women has been feeling more important to me lately. I've also been resolving my feelings of not deserving a place in the queer community.

I was chanting about this (I'm a Nichiren Buddhist, so that's what I do when I'm working something out) and I started remembering some ugly harassment that a good friend of mine and her girlfriend went through in college. And then I thought of Matthew Shepard. And I thought of how what was inflicted on them was about the same thing that's in me, and that I should be in the line of fire as much as anyone. Then, I thought, but I'm just me, I'm the same as I always was, and there's nothing dangerous or threatening about me and my sexuality. No one should be hateful or violent or cruel to me.

And suddenly, it was crystal-clear, for the first time--all queer folk, we're all just us inside. I'm ashamed to say that I spent a long time kind of telling myself that those folks who choose to express their sexual orientation flamoyantly were partly responsible for the ill treatment they elicited, or if not responsible, then not in a position to complain. But of course, we're none of us doing anything other than the best we can do to be ourselves in a hostile and casually cruel culture.

I started crying, and I cry still every time I think or write about this. None of us should have to live with this. I know I have it easy--because of my looks and lifestyle, people assume that I'm straight and hand me straight privilige on a platter whether I want it or not. I can't imagine having it much easier than I do, as a femme-looking, married, white woman with an adorable little three-year-old. And still, it tmakes me feel sick and unsafe whenever someone makes a gay joke or denigrates butch gals.

I think what's happening for me personally is that I've stopped being so scared and worried about my own security, so I've opened my eyes a little to what's really happening to other people in the community. And I'm so sad and hurt for them, and so disappointed in my culture and larger community, which is not living up to what it could be. It's time for me to start doing something about it, and this post is my first little step.

Yum. Flesh!

Fri, 20 Mar 2009 20:28:18 GMT

I've decided to only eat meat that I feel good about eating. So, the grass-fed, drug-free, humanely slaughtered cow in my freezer? Yum-bo! Delicious Taco Bell tacos? I'm just saying no!

A couple interesting things have come to light out of this eating habit shift:

- I can't believe how many times I forget! I chobbled down this delicious turkey sandwich at Starbucks, and it took me three days to notice that I had slipped. It's like over the years of omnivoring, I got into the habit of not noticing that what I'm eating used to be an animal.

- It's hard to find convenient, nutritious vegetarian food around town. I grew up in a much more hippie-friendly town, so when I was a vegetarian as a kid, I didn't realize how easy I had it.

The impetus for this change was a series of conversations at Potlatch with a cool guy named Ian. He seemed like a really great person, but after a while, I noticed myself deciding I didn't like him. That was strange enough that it caused me to probe a little deeper, and I realized that I was just projecting my internal conflicts onto him. I wrestled around with it and realized that I really don't think it's cool for me to have been participating in mass production of meat.

After I got over myself a bit, I went to talk to Ian some more. We had a great conversation about things like 'why should I be ethical when no one else is?' and 'since there's probably never going to be a big enough consumer shift to change things, why bother?' He had a lot of good insights. The one that's been most helpful to me has been the concept of 'not in my name.' I don't have to be Accomplishing Something Important to decide not to participate in something that goes against my ethical principles.

Pretty soon, I'm going to get around to addressing Ethical Dairy. But one big change at a time!

P.S. I am so not saying that people who eat Big Macs are bad, or even advocating ethical meat consumption. Just sharing where I'm at.

LARP for joy!

Fri, 13 Mar 2009 00:44:50 GMT

I have to admit, the thing that moved me most about Potlatch this year had nothing to do with writing, or the exalted book of honor. It was this awesome "new" thing I discovered--LARPing! Yes, yes, I realize that LARPing's been around forever, and yes, my hubby used to do it when we were teens and I thought it was a little too nerdy even for me. But! This was parlor LARPing, with no boffer weapons or anything. OK, the boffer weapons were probably cool, and I just missed the boat back then. Not that he ever invited me or anything.

But I digress! My main point here is that LARPing is super fun. Way more fun than just sitting around talking. Which says a lot, coming from me.

At Potlatch, there was this extremely competent guy, jhkimrpg, running the LARP. This seemed to be a crucial aspect of the whole thing being so fun.

Oh, for the one or two people out there that didn't discover LARPing before me, LARP stands for Live Action Role Playing. Basically, the way parlor LARPing works is one person ahead of time does a ton of work (or looks around on the Internet or buys a game) and sets up characters and goals and a rough plot structure. Then everyone shows up, moves some furniture around to represent sick bays and spaceship controls or whatnot, and is assigned a character. Then all the characters are let loose to interact with each other, trying to achieve their private goals and protect their secrets, while only knowing the public info of the other characters.

The fun, for me, was in the acting (I got to be a starship captain!). It reminded me a lot of being a small child and running around with my friends playing pretend. Except that everyone's got a fully mature intellect and developed social skills.

So now, I'm trying to round up about six local friends who would be willing to set aside their grown-up propriety and jump into the fun!

Opposites

Mon, 19 Jan 2009 01:43:52 GMT

I've been getting ready for Potlatch this year, reading and thinking about gender and exclusion and the tendency to go binary in our thinking. In light of this, my daughter in the back seat with her lift-the-flap book saying, "the opposite of long is...short!" caught my attention. Is it really part of the way our brains are wired to think in terms of binaries, or is it training?

Am I raising a sexist, exclusionist little monster with the these only innocent-seeming Little People books? You gotta watch out for those Little People books!

Nano begins!

Mon, 03 Nov 2008 05:13:46 GMT

I'm in the middle of one of my timed 5 minute breaks. So, when the timer goes off, I'm just posting this. Sorry in advance for the abrupt ending, but it's the only way I can be disciplined about my procrastination!

I'm doing nanowrimo again this year. It's extra exhilarating, because my pre-work totally flopped, so I'm pretty much winging it. I like my main characters though, so I'm having a good time so far.

I had this great idea about the common sugar-overindulgence that most nanoers lean on to get us through the grueling ordeal. See, I have this pre-diabetic condition, plus when I eat too much sugar I gain all this belly fat and get grouchy and everything. So, I've been thinking how I should probably cut back, but then I haven't because, well. Because.

But! I decided today that I'd only eat sugar while I'm writing. So, I have extra incentive to sit down and write, while I'm breaking the habit of mindlessly consuming sweets.

Ack! There's the timer. Back to my novel...

Writing excitement!

Fri, 10 Oct 2008 22:01:21 GMT

A reviewer on OWW just gave me a really helpful insight about my story; it's actually shed light on why all my stories have been lacking in tension. The basic gist is that if you start the story where the plot and character arcs first intersect, it gets you right on track immediately with what you're really trying to talk about.

I'm off to go edit my WIP. Actually, to rewrite it from the ground up. I'm excited, though. This piece has felt like it has promise, but I've been banging my head against it. Now I've got some traction!

Unbearable Hotness

Sat, 27 Sep 2008 04:33:55 GMT

Just got my hair redone today. Yeah, boy! Dark, dark almost-black brown, with a nice swath of hot magenta. And some super funky, sexy bangs. It makes even the wondrous blue hair style seem boring in comparison.

I'll see if I can master that fancy "friends only" thing and post some bigger pics.

Update: The most obvious way to post a picture (seeing if LJ would host it for free) and the second most obvious way (trying to use photobucket without reading any annoying instructions) didn't work. E-mail me if you want to see photos. There are four of them ranging from 20-30K.

Me, Me, Me

Mon, 08 Sep 2008 20:42:15 GMT

I just spent the weekend on a mini-vacation in South Lake Tahoe with one of my best friends. It was awesome. My daughter and hubby had a special "Daddy weekend" and I sat around drinking wine by the lake, talking with my friend, swimming in the pool, drinking champagne, dancing, drinking a bit more, and sleeping in. I even managed to avoid a hangover.

This is a part of the "me time" parenting philosophy I've been trying out. The idea is, if you create space in your life to do things like be with your friends and do your creative work, you end up being a much better model and a much more patient, loving parent with more of yourself to give.

By and large, it's working. Since I started working again and taking an hour or two to write while my daughter's at school, the resentment I had been feeling about being a mom has evaporated. I pick my daughter up at school excited to see her and eager to spend two or three hours playing with her and doing things together.

The problem, though, is that I seem to be insatiable about "me time." Every day, when it's time to turn off the computer and go pick up my daughter, I'm really tempted to leave her there for a bit longer. I played a season of league soccer, and now I want to also lift weights, ride my bike, and take Pilates reformer classes several days a week. I still want to go back and take refresher Math classes then apply to graduate school. I could easily fill up twenty hours a day just doing things for myself. And it feels like even then, I would want more.

So where is the line between responsibly taking care of yourself and just being selfish?

Getting myself all stressed and freaked out

Wed, 04 Jun 2008 04:41:33 GMT

So I started my tech writing gig, the one that was so wonderful and was going to fit seamlessly into my life and act as a gentle counterbalance to my parenting responsibilities. Yeah.

The first day I officially started, I missed a deadline. This is because the tiny little assignment I agreed to do before I could get childcare arranged and start officially grew into a monstrous, many-tentacled beast.

One good thing about it, though, is that I've noticed in my interactions with my coworkers how very dependent I can be on the praise and approval of others. So, if nothing else, doing my job while holding the line at the maximum number of hours I agreed to will be good practice for me.

Notice the lovely, bloated prose in this post? That's because I'm just too burnt out on words to edit and make this sucker readable. Sorry 'bout that.

I'm hoping that once things are smoothly underway, I can employ myself as a writer and write for the love of it.

Nope. Not even gonna organize these paragraphs. Hopefully, my next post will be coherent and bubbling with joy.

And then they were totally blue!

Mon, 26 May 2008 23:22:41 GMT

My ears, that is. I bleached, then dyed, the bottom half of my hair blue. Well, at home I got as far as bleaching and turning my hair a pale green color that made it look chlorine-stained. I got my ears, and they turned out the nice turquoise shade I was trying for. Then I went to the lady who cuts-ahem, used to cut-my hair. She told me it was hopeless and I should wait for it to grow out. She also told me to take lots of pictures so I would remember my horrible mistake. She didn't seem to get that I liked it way better than plain brown, even if it didn't turn out exactly as I wanted.

Then, my neighbor recommended a different hair stylist, who not only got exactly what I was going for, but also managed to dye it a nice, vibrant, rich blue for me, no problem.

I'm tempted to write about how free and self-expressed I feel now, but I guess that's obvious. :)

Memorial Day

Mon, 26 May 2008 18:03:29 GMT

I wrote this pen-and-paper style yesterday in the airport coming back from WisCon:

The woman sitting next to me is reading a pullout section of the paper. On its cover is a color photo of a boy--maybe five years old--kneeling by a gravestone in Arlington, laying yellow flowers at its foot. The title of the piece is "The Land of the Brave." The photo made me cry--literally, here in the airport, tears came to my eyes. The caption made, makes, me mad. Is this bravery?

I suppose the boy is brave, in the way humans are generally brave, when we're put in an impossible situation. I imagine this boy's life--it's impossible to go on after that, yet he goes on. Driving from Madison to Chicago, I spent a while imagining Amanda's life if I were to die on the way home, to leave her and never come back. It's simply impossible, yet these things happen, all the time, and for the most part, we go on.

But to me the photo is not about bravery, but about the cruelty we inflict on our children, in the name of preserving a good, just, and brave world for them. Why do we do this? How can we stop it?

I asked the woman for the photo when she was done reading the section. Looking closer, I see that the man died in 2005. The boy in the picture was indeed Amanda's age when his father died. Or perhaps it was his uncle, or a family friend. I pray that he was, that they all are.

I would like to talk to the photographer who took this picture. Did they intent for their work to be framed this way? Did they see what I see in this image, or to them was it really the poignant, sweet, story it has been presented as in the article?

My first rejection!

Mon, 05 May 2008 21:33:40 GMT

Well, now I really am an official amateur writer. I have a rejection slip in my special rejection-slip binder.

I was really hoping for a "we love it but it's not for us" scrawled at the bottom, but I'm not too bummed. If I'm at this for ten years and still getting standard rejection letters, I might be. But for now, it feels like an exciting milestone.

I'm thinking that the rejection binder might not be exactly my style. I have these awesome friends who have, over time, wallpapered their bathroom with those little slips inside fortune cookies. I wonder if I could do the same thing in my office...

-Eva

Shenanigans by Party Officials (Surprise!)

Thu, 01 May 2008 04:23:20 GMT

So, it's actually too painful to write about in detail, but here's the short version. My hubby and I busted our behinds since last October to get elected county, then state delegates for the Nevada Republican convention. This was part of the aforeposted efforts to get Ron Paul elected, or at least to inject some sanity into the Republican party.

Amazingly, at the state convention, more than half (almost, but alas, not two thirds) of the delegates were Ron Paul supporters. Go grassroots power! Go democratic involvement! We even got a platform passed that called for repealing the Patriot Act. I kid you not.

We were well on our way to sending Nevada's 31 delegates off to the national convention, enough to get some of the issues I really care about (protection of civil liberties, privacy, reigning in the government, sane fiscal policy, ending American Imperialism) on the table and discussed.

Then BOB BEERS, a NV senator and the chairman of the convention, after stalling and dragging all day, abruptly announced that the convention was going to recess to be reconvened "probably early next week." That is, when most normal citizens have jobs and responsibilities. He did so without a motion, second, or vote. Completely against the bylaws. Loudly voiced objections were ignored; the mikes were cut.

There was never any mention at any time during the day of a deadline; in fact another official had been talking about wanting to finish up so he wouldn't have to be there until midnight. There was also no indication of how we should expect to get the information about when the sucker's going to reconvene.

There's no proof that this was a coup, but consider the following:

- Bob Beers said at the time he called the recess that the hotel was only reserved until 6:00. The people who remained contacted the hotel (the Peppermill, by the way, in case you ever want to stay at a slimy hotel) and were immediately and freely given a three hour extension. One hour after that, the hotel kicked everyone out.

- The Republican Party had the same room reserved for the following morning. Based on this information, Ron Paul supporters gathered there. No one ever showed. Rumor has it, the McCain folks were all holed up in rooms upstairs, waiting.

- I forget my dramatic third point, but it sure had me steamed up a minute ago. If I remember, I'll come back and edit.

So, for now, I'm just waiting around, hoping someone will call or e-mail me about this thing, and hoping I'll be able to get to wherever it is, and arrange childcare for my munchkin. I sort of doubt that the Paul supporters will be able to get the same turnout we did before, without the advance notice I believe the McCain people will get.

Sometime soon, I hope to post about this elderly woman I talked to at the convention. She was really angry about the Ron Paul 'rabble rousers' (she really called us that, even though no one did anything out of the ordinary besides disagree with her and her candidate) at her convention. She didn't seem aware that I was one of the 'rabble rousers' when she was speaking to me. Hmm. Perhaps I'm one of the rabble that has been roused.

In any case, she seemed to think that there was something wrong with coming to the convention with an opinion different from hers and from the 'party line', and having the gall to have enough like-minded people there to actually vote stuff in. Like it was somehow bad to be in the majority. And people were calling us poor losers.

OK, I'm literally giving myself indigestion here. I think I'm going to go write some fiction. At least there, I control the villains.

My first submission!

Fri, 25 Apr 2008 19:00:07 GMT

So, I just put the best story I've written so far in an envelope for Gordon Van Gelder at F&SF. I'm so excited! I know the day will come when stuffing a story in an envelope will have lost its glamor, but for now, I'm enjoying myself. I feel like a real writer now.

Tonight I'm going to break out the bottle of champagne my hubby and I haven't found time to enjoy yet. I'll have to get another bottle to have on hand to celebrate my first rejection letter. I won't need a bottle if it gets accepted; we'll be going out to dinner for that.

Perhaps planning dinner out sounds unduly optimistic. I realize that it doesn't often happen that a writer gets their first submission published in the market of their choice. But I told myself that I could indulge my fantasy about it until I send it off.

So, I've got another hour or so of certainty that this story will be eagerly accepted and that said acceptance will immediately launch a successful career characterized by editors sending me letters begging for my stories.

I think I'll have fillet mignon when we go out.

Taking on the Republicans in their Den

Mon, 17 Mar 2008 22:22:35 GMT

Or wherever elephants live. As best I can tell from wikipedia, they don't really have dens or anything. So, it's a mixed metaphor. Sorry.

My main point, though, is to tell you about this amazing, terrifying thing I did. So, I was at the Washoe County Republican convention on Saturday. I don't really identify myself as a Republican, but I changed my Independent status to Republican in order to vote for Ron Paul in the Nevada caucus. While I have some considerable reservations about Ron Paul, in particular his stance against federally guaranteed equal rights for gay and lesbian people, I feel like he's our only hope of getting rid of the Patriot Act and the Farm Subsidy Act, and of getting us out of Iraq quickly. I feel pretty passionate about these things (I'm hoping to do entries on them soon), so I went to the caucus and ended up a county delegate.

The convention left me with a lot to think and write about, but I'm just starting with the best part. Toward the beginning, we were voting on several resolutions about officially expressing gratitude to people and groups. They are purely symbolic, and I initially felt that they weren't worth worrying about.

But, the chairman made this big point about reading Resolution #1 aloud. It's final form reads as follows:

WHEREAS, The United States military is engaged in protecting our country from the forces of global terrorism;

WHEREAS, These soldiers are stationed in remote and hostile areas of the world; and

WHERAS, Our men and women of the U.S. military are fighting for our wellbeing; and to keep the war from being fought on our soil;

RESOLVED, That the Washoe County Republican Central Committee wishes to expresss our heartfelt gratitude and support to all American troops, and their families, serving bravely in foreign lands and at home.

(Incidentally, after the motion to add the part about their families, someone did make a motion to fix the “and their families” part so that it didn't come across that we meant that the families were serving bravely in foreign lands. But the group couldn't really be bothered with such trivialities.)

This resolution was wildly and nearly universally applauded when it was read. It, of course, horrified me. I'm a pacifist, in the sense that I'm doing everything I can to create a world where militaries are not necessary. Still, I believe that we need a military right now, and I very much appreciate the women and men who are in our military and imperilling themselves for the benefit of others. Still, this resolution horrified me. The part about how our military is protecting us from the forces of global terrorism struck me as ridiculous. How could us throwing our weight around in an oil-rich middle eastern country do anything but bolster the forces of global terrorism? And the part about keeping the war from being fought on our soil struck me as ridiculously funny. I mean, yes, I believe wholeheartedly that if our foreign intelligence agency wasn't working it's tail off, there would be terrorist attacks here all the time. But the idea that the people toting guns in Iraq (I'll leave off Afghanistan for now; that's more complicated) are somehow keeping people from attacking us here seems unlikely to the extreme. The thing that seemed funniest to me, though, was the way it was phrased. 'Keep the war from being fought on our soil' just sounds so overblown and dramatic, a manipulative ploy to the patriotic sympathies of people ruled by their emotions rather than their intelligence.

Jokes aside, though, since I do really appreciate the sacrifices that the people in our military are making so that we can have a military while we need one, I feel really angry about how those people's sacrifices are being squandered. The bravery, loyalty, selflessness, and lives of our soldiers is an incredibly precious resource. The idea that we're just spending it thoughtlessly in Iraq for oil or ego or politics fills me with sadness and indignation.

I decided that I couldn't just sit through the passing of this resolution. I wanted to chicken out, telling myself it would pass regardless. But I though about how I would feel if I left without saying anything, about how many times my mentor has talked about how crucial it is to take a stand and be heard. Trembling, with a shaking voice, I said, “While I admire these people's bravery and heart, I don't believe that what we're doing over there is making us safer from global terrorism or protecting us from a war on our soil.” (Or something really close to that, I don't remember it verbatim.)

Most people boo'd, and a guy sitting near where I was standing even flipped me off. But that was OK, because I had known what I was getting into. I actually felt kind of good getting that reception.

The thing that surprised me was that five or six people came up to me afterwards and thanked me for saying something. A young woman said that she had wanted to say something but had been too scared. Even though I was still trembling ten minutes later, I'm so glad I said something. It felt even more important than dying my hair blue.

Update: I made it into the paper! OK, not by name, but what I did. Check it out (the part about me is at the bottom):
http://news.rgj.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20080316/NEWS/803160357/1321

4th of July Deep Discussion Bash

Sat, 15 Mar 2008 05:28:46 GMT

My hubby and I are throwing a different sort of 4th of July party this year. Every 4th of July, I end up feeling all depressed, because I see all these people getting all jingoistic and swaggering around about what an awesome example of democracy the US is without doing anything to further democracy or to fight against creeping authoritarianism and the scary things happening in our country. So, I thought this year, I could assemble a group of intelligent, thoughtful people who would like to come to my place and discuss issues like patriotism, democracy, social justice, and peace. My little part for reinvigorating genuine political and social discourse as an integral part of our culture and political system. Also, we'll eat BBQ and drink beer and other traditional 4th of July beverages.

A couple of my local friends have insisted that we pick up the party as it gets on toward evening and caravan down to Lake Tahoe where (I've heard) they have awesome fireworks set to music. Or perhaps we won't all caravan down there, but the party will be early enough in the afternoon to allow for that.

Another exciting element of this party is (optional) costumes! I think I'll be dressing up as a wiretap. I'll certainly be dressing up as something, hoping others will feel emboldened to dress up as well. My husband will almost certainly not be dressing up, so the more reserved guests will feel emboldened to come without a costume, too.

In a fit of schoolmarmish enthusiasm, I've also been thinking about providing some suggested reading to sort of provide a common theme for our thinking and discussion at the party. I was considering maybe one of the Federalist papers (what was the one that provided such an eloquent argument against party politics?), the text of the Patriot act, and maybe a book about global poverty or the global water crisis. But these are just ideas off of the top of my head. Any other ideas?

I decided to just jump in and start e-mailing my friends as part of my continued quest toward self-expression. I've been wanting to do something like this for several years, but have always waited until I could do it 'right,' with an organized guest list and the reading material all carefully selected. It feels powerful just to declare the damn thing as happening and to let it come into shape gradually.

If you somehow found this blog and aren't one of the people whom I e-mailed about this party and you're like, 'Wow! I'm so the kind of person who would be into a party like this! I should go, and be DancingSinging's new awesome friend! And I happen to live in or near Reno!' then post your e-mail address in the comments and I'll e-mail you. You can give me your real-life name and I'll do exhaustive research to make sure you're not a creepy stalker or serial killer, and then you can come and we'll be bffs. It'll be sweet.

Finally! A Blog!

Tue, 11 Mar 2008 23:14:19 GMT

So, I just got back from the Potlatch literary science fiction convention. When I was there, I felt wonderful--interesting, vibrant, young. With no one but myself to clothe, feed, and keep track of, I felt like I was flying everywhere I went. Coming back to the ballast of my toddler's needs, our family's financial restrictions, and the relatively bland intellectual environment I've created for myself felt deflating, aging.

I've thought a lot about it, and I've decided that there's nothing wrong with my responsibilities as a mother, or with the homemaker career I've adopted since my child was born. Rather, I rediscovered a part of myself at that convention whom I've been neglecting, and life without her is drab and heavy by comparison. So, I've decided to seize every opportunity to draw out and nourish this bubbling, laughing, passionate intellectual I've recently become reacquainted with. I think that she can co-exist comfortably with the cheese-sauce-stained Mommy; I don't have to choose between my love for and enjoyment of my family and giving expression to this long-lost person inside of me.

With this new decision to be more expressive and more adventurous in revealing my true self, I've done several fun and cool things since last weekend. One of which is starting this blog. I've been thinking about writing one for a few years, but have always stopped myself, never confident that I could be interesting or dedicated enough for it. But I decided, screw that! I might be boring, melodramatic, or narcissistic here, but it seems that if I'm going to be working on all this identity stuff, I ought to give myself permission to act like a teenager. It seems like it will be necessary to be awkward at first, and I decided that's OK.

So, here are the other things I did so far in my effort to be more interesting to myself and to have more fun. Yesterday, we had lunch with my husband at this burger joint/batting cages combination place. When we had eaten there before, I had looked longingly at the slow-pitch softball cage, but, having no memory of ever swinging a bat at a ball before, I was sure I would miss every one and feel stupid. Also, it would be a waste of money. But this time, with my experience at Potlatch fresh in my mind, I announced to my husband that I was going to do it. So, after my husband explained about buying a token and asking for a beginner's bat, I did it. And I didn't miss every one. I actually hit six of the twenty balls. Not bad.

Earlier in the week, my husband spotted a Streetfighter II arcade game at the restaurant where we were eating lunch. I noticed myself wishing that I was the kind of person who would be willing to "waste" the 50 cents playing it, even though I wasn't good enough to keep the game going very long. Thinking again of my Potlatch self-expression goal (and with some gentle encouragement from my hubby), I overcame my fear of embarrassment at how crappy I would play, got some change, and jumped in. It was fantastic. I even learned how to throw the cool blue fireball and to fling my virtual opponent down over my shoulder to thunk! on the ground. Whenever my screen avatar flexed his muscles in victory, I joined him.

Something cool think I've noticed about this self-expression thing, other than the joy I feel and the melting away of my resentments about the various drains on my free time, is that the people around me seem to feel freer to express themselves, too. I seriously doubt that my husband would have played Streetfighter II if I hadn't wanted to jump in. And the college kid who was serving us and who made change for the machine went from being a standard, polite waiter-guy to a friendly and enthusiastic real-guy after we started playing. Perhaps I'll end up with more genuine and close friends out of this.

I think all this is going to be a great influence on my writing, too. I'm already thinking about how I can transform this memory I have of doing cannonballs off of the diving board with the adolescent boys at a stifling lawn-party at my in-laws' into a short story. I'll post more if it develops into something.

In other news, I'm going to be looking into using Kool-Aid as a temporary blue hair dye. I heard that it works--we'll see.