On May 23, the Boy Scouts of America voted to end their policy excluding gay youth from the organization, a decision which officially takes effect on January 1, 2014. They did not vote on their policy excluding gay adults from accepting leadership positions, nor did they change their policies on atheist and transgender individuals.
The Boy Scouts were an important part of my life growing up. I eventually quit the organization in part due to their bigotry and discrimination. When my son was six and wanted to join Cub Scouts, my wife and I were torn. We eventually let him join, and at the end of the year, we had a long talk about scouts and what it was about, the positives and the negatives, and our own conflicts. The three of us decided together not to sign back up.
I’ve already watched one of my Facebook friends quit the organization in protest, complaining about how a “vocal minority” had “bullied” a private organization into this decision. She also explained that she’s sick and tired of people accusing her of bigotry, and that she doesn’t care about sexual orientation; her concern is for the boys. She wrote a long post about the Scout Law, talking about how openly gay youth violated the ideals of that law.
This person is so concerned about the safety of the boys. Which makes me wonder, would she support allowing lesbians to serve as den leaders? Because right now, that’s forbidden by the BSA’s discriminatory policies. My mother, a straight woman, was a den leader for many years. If the “logic” of excluding gay men is because they could be potential predators (as a result of being attracted to men), how is that any different from straight women, who are also attracted to men?
Unless you’re buying into the bullshit belief that gay=pedophile/rapist, in which case you are not only a bigot, but an idiot.
She went on to talk about her fear that the boys might go off alone, and who knows what might happen? What if an older gay scout pressures a younger one into something he doesn’t want? Once again it’s not consensual sexual activity she’s afraid of; it’s the “gays as predators” boogeyman.
The Girl Scouts of America have been open and welcoming of all girls, regardless of sexual orientation. Oddly enough, I’m having a really hard time finding stories about the rampant same-sex assaults that presumably permeate the organization as a result of their decision. Weird…
According to the Scout Law, a scout is:
- Trustworthy – I would love to trust this organization with my child. That means trusting them to welcome and accept him as he grows up, trusting them to help him become a better person. A policy of discrimination and bigotry is a violation of that trust.
- Loyal – Many boys have no concept of sexual identity when they first join Tiger Scouts. As they grow older and continue in scouting, some of those boys will discover that they are not, in fact, heterosexual. Should the BSA show loyalty to their own members, or should they kick them to the curb?
- Helpful – Yet when gay and lesbian adults offer their help, scouting rejects them. In my personal experience, scouting was tremendously helpful to me in many ways. Why would the organization want to refuse that help to certain boys?
- Friendly – What’s so friendly about rejection and discrimination, about teaching kids that it’s okay to exclude “those people”?
- Courteous – How is it courteous to tell someone they’re not welcome here, simply because of who he or she loves?
- Kind – See “Friendly.”
- Obedient – I’ll admit, this is one I’ve struggled with over the years. There are times for obedience, and there are times for disobedience. To me, it’s important to obey one’s conscience, as hundreds of Eagle Scouts have done when they returned their medals in protest of the organization’s discriminatory policies. One could argue that the youth and leaders trying to ban homosexuals from scouting are following their consciences, and that’s probably true. It’s also sad and depressing as hell.
- Cheerful – I mean, come on. Gay means cheerful and happy and merry, for crying out loud
- Thrifty – Um … okay, I got nothing for this one. Except maybe that an organization looking for a stable and solid budget, one which relies in part on donations and popcorn sales, shouldn’t enact a broad policy of exclusion?
- Brave – People keep talking about how the vocal minority bullied the BSA into this decision. I think this is a ridiculous abuse of the word “bully,” but setting that aside, it takes tremendous courage to be in the minority and to speak up for what’s right.
- Clean – If you buy into stereotypes about homosexuals, doesn’t that include the one about gays being exceptionally clean and hygienic and well-dressed? After living through those week-long summer camps, the BSA could use an influx of gay men and boys! (Note: I don’t actually believe this, but for those who discriminate based on stereotypes, shouldn’t this be a point in favor of admitting gay youths and leaders?)
- Reverent – This ties into the BSA’s discrimination against atheists, but in terms of homosexuality, do you want to hear something shocking? Not all religions condemn homosexuality! For some devotedly religious individuals, duty to God means loving and welcoming all people.
This continues to be frustrating and painful to me. Boy Scouts did so much for me as a kid, and I believe they do a lot of good. And this week’s decision was a good first step. But it’s only one step. The organization still has work to do if it means to live up to its own stated ideals.
Mirrored from Jim C. Hines.
So, just in passing, some of the indies I’ve enjoyed lately:
L.M. Ironside has put out her sequel to The Sekhmet Bed; the sequel, The Crook and Flail is the story of Hapshetsut’s journey to the kingship. This was accessible, enjoyable historical fiction set in Egypt; I’m not an Egyptologist, of course, so I don’t know how accurate it is, but then again, how accurate is anything that far back going to be when half the time we’re not even clear on the lives of people we’re contemporaneous with? But I digress. In this novel, we return to meet Hatshepsut as she’s just about to reach her majority; she was raised by a mother who believed she has a boy’s spirits but a girl’s body, and Hatshepsut sometimes believes this and sometimes isn’t sure, and sometimes is attracted to women like a man, and to men like a woman—sometimes dresses like a man and sometimes like a woman. I couldn’t help but think this story would speak to a lot of my readers. If you enjoy historical fiction, Egypt, or gender issues, I encourage you to check this book out, and its prequel, The Sekhmet Bed. At $2.99 each they’re quite affordable!
I heard about Captive Prince from Webfiction Guide’s forum, because apparently this story was a Livejournal serial that just (a few days ago) got picked up by Penguin. It’s advertised as romance/erotica, which isn’t something I usually read, but I was curious about a story that could make the transition. And… I would never have thought of it as romance or erotica. The plot—younger prince sold as slave by older brother during a coup—sounds like a set-up for the typical “blah, blah, learns to become a good sex slave” sort of thing. But it never becomes that story. Instead, it’s about politics, and two extremely different and fascinating personalities interacting: this prince-turned-prisoner and the man he’s given to, also a prince, but of an enemy country, and one so tangled up in deceit and treachery that it has produced an heir to the throne who trusts no one and can think ten or twenty steps in front of his enemies. There was a touch of the Sherlock vibe to it, I thought, though eventually (a book and a half later!) we do get to the romance.
Whatever the case, it was supremely well-written. The characters in particular were brilliant, I thought. There’s a volume 1 and 2 up, and I’d snag them before Penguin jacks the price up from $3.99 each. If you like political intrigue, (eventual) male/male romance, or just like character studies, go pick this one up. (And if you’re on livejournal, the author’s there at freece.)
And that’s what I’ve been reading on my downtime. As always, if you’ve got a recommendation, I’m all ears!
Mirrored from MCAH Online.
The sale was good, once we found our way there: Andrew found some paisley suspenders he liked, and had a talk with the owner of Kingpin, and I bought a vintage tunic pattern for $7 and a crinoline for $40. Then we waited a long time for the bus to get back to the downtown core, and I suggested we go into the Irish Embassy pub, basically because it was right next to the bus stop and I didn't want to make Andrew walk back four blocks to the Jersey giant, our regular downtown pub.
I don't want to completely damn the Irish Embassy. It's probably a very good place to go if you just want to drink (they have several kinds of cider) and watch the game and not order food. It might even be a good place to order food if you don't arrive on the cusp between brunch and dinner. I do believe that a burger and fries should not cost seventeen dollars; and that supposing it does, it should not arrive cold and forty minutes late because the waitress went on break and forgot all about you. I would also argue that if the brunch menu says "Soup of the Day -- Fish Soup," and the dinner menu the waiters subsequently bring also lists a Soup of the *Day*, for the same price, it's not unreasonable to expect the same soup, and to be disappointed when it arrives (forty minutes later) and turns out to be cream of mushroom instead.
Also, the coffee wasn't great. Tipped 15%, because I've been told that that's considered a lousy tip nowadays, and will not go again.
Note: In case anyone's wondering, the prescription pills I take come with cautions about use when breastfeeding or pregnant.
***Seen at Dollar Tree: marijuana detection kit. I think those used to cost more than a dollar.
***At Southeast Library, seeing Mother Earth News inspired this idea: Father Sky News, a magazine for people who want to homestead in space.
***Sign glimpsed from bus: "No statutory vape." Context: store selling electronic cigarettes, Uptown Vapor Shoppe. The warning was part of the standard "We don't sell to minors" notice.
***ACA meeting. (Adult Children [of alcoholic and otherwise dysfunctional families] Anonymous.)
Topic for the meeting was characteristics of adult children. Including "Adult children guess at what normal is."
For me, there's a problem with this. "Normal" has at least two meanings: average and healthy. These are not the same thing.
- Current Location:Minneapolis, Baja Manitoba
On the back edge of days of rain I visit the Japanese garden at
the Hammond museum some miles to the north. A path of stones meanders
to the right and then the left past a stone vessel and then passes
beyond sight to where I do not remember or yet know...
On another matter I am thinking that perhaps rather than write another
book of the usual sort, even to the extent that my previous ones were,
I might make a patchwork (Stromata in Greek title of a mixed work by
Clement of Alexandria) and publish it print on demand through amazon to
be there if anyone were interested to read it
and to allow for a ramble here and there in a self indulgent way maybe
or maybe like this path of stones, footprints in a garden...
- Current Location:Home
- Current Mood: creative
- Fri, 12:34: RT @ChrisGNguyen: #FF fine folks @MaHelgad @katelaity @alotus_poetry @occasionallyzen @jcsimonds @aliettedb @TheComicalHat @peterdamien @va…
- Fri, 12:34: RT @MaHelgad: #ff @ChrisGNguyen @katelaity @alotus_poetry @occasionallyzen @jcsimonds @aliettedb @TheComicalHat @peterdamien @valeriestorey…
- Fri, 12:34: RT @katelaity: @ChrisGNguyen cheers #ff @MaHelgad @alotus_poetry @occasionallyzen @jcsimonds @aliettedb @TheComicalHat @peterdamien @valeri…
- Fri, 14:52: Friday afternoon: the many blends of bird songs echoing from the chimney. #smallstone
- Fri, 14:57: RT @valeriestorey: TY! Happy #FF @ChrisGNguyen @MaHelgad @katelaity @alotus_poetry @occasionallyzen @jcsimonds @aliettedb @TheComicalHat @p…
- Fri, 14:59: I'm so glad to have gone to a good boxing class this morning with my bff. I was still drenched even after I got home! #health #fitness
- Fri, 15:01: RT @tinybuddha: "What you get by achieving your goals is not as important as what you become by achieving your goals." ~Goethe
- Fri, 15:01: "What you get by achieving your goals is not as important as what you become by achieving your goals." -Goethe
- Fri, 15:35: RT @CoyoteSings: spring storm • a hundred unfolded cranes • fly from the dumpster | #haiku @alotus_poetry
- Fri, 16:14: RT @CoyoteSings: @alotus_poetry Have you seen this piece by Banksy? http://t.co/g560P50DE5
As fate would have it, the month of May has been an extraordinarily busy one for me, and that means that I'll probably be posting to the blogathon less than I would like, but I do have at least one big post in the works. In the mean time you can click over to Frankensteinia and check out all the other great posts on the blogathon, and in order to tide you over I've composed a quick roundup of links to other places that I can remember talking about Peter Cushing movies in the not-too-distant past, specifically as culled from my regular vintage horror column at Innsmouth Free Press, the Vault of Secrets:
Island of Terror (1966)
Night Creatures (1962)
The Gorgon (1964)
The Hound of the Baskervilles (1959)
Conspicuously absent from that list are any of the Hammer Frankenstein movies, which star Peter Cushing in my favorite of all his roles, that of Baron Frankenstein himself. That's okay, though, because in honor of the Peter Cushing Centennial Blogathon and Frankensteinia, I plan to revisit (in whatever brevity is required) all six of the Peter Cushing-starring Hammer Frankenstein films, in order, and render unto you a verdict as to, not only which one is my favorite, but which one has my favorite portrayal of the Baron, my favorite version of the creature, my favorite lab, and my favorite assistant, among anything else I may think of. So expect that sometime in the next few days, before the culmination of the blogathon.
And don't forget that the Feast of the Long Shadows is coming up tomorrow night, which is the perfect time to celebrate Peter Cushing's Centennial!
Commuting from home has its price. It eats up 1 1/2 - 2 hours from my day, and it means a fairly firm departure time and no alcohol. (Twisty mountain roads at night are not a good setting for excessive fatigue.) I've never been much of a party-goer, being (a) a morning person; (b) happily married; (c ) not at all interested in getting drunk. There are parties and then there are parties, however. I've made some wonderful connections, mostly at publisher's parties and early enough so actual conversation was possible. By commuting, I pretty much rule those out. And most concerts, some of which I'd really like to attend.
Speaking of connections, here's a mini report of yesterday, along with The Highlight Of The Day. I had 2 panels -- Women in SF (with Ann Wilkes, Sandra Saidak and Sarah Stegall) and YA Fiction: More Than Blanking-out the Sex (with newly-published YA author Ingrid Paulson, Sarah Stegall, editor Daniel Hope, and Irene Radford). Both had lovely moments and genuine give-and-take conversation. And good moderators. The first panel asked questions like: what is a strong woman character? What is strength? Is it easier for women to be masculine than for men to be feminine? Can we envision sfnal societies without gender bias? One of the first things we did on the YA panel was to dispel the notion that you can't have sex/sexual-thoughts/sexual-feelings in a YA novel. What's the difference between a YA novel and an adult novel with a teen character or protagonist? Will you lose sales if you depict your teen characters using four-letter words? How has literature for tweens/teens/college age kids changed? What's the effect of social media on how YA readers hear about books and how have the ways they're reading changed?
Now for the highlight. After my second panel, I sat down at one of the tables in the mezzanine, where fan tables are set up -- the area itself has tables and chairs and is a general hang-out place. One of the people from the audience, a bright and earnest young woman, was there, and we struck up a conversation. The topic quickly switched from the panel itself to writing and then became one of those magical interactions, a chance to pay forward for all the support and advice I've received over the years. She'd taken time off from her day job to concentrate on writing; I told her how I managed to write either when I had an infant at home or when I held a full-time job as a single working mom. What writing issues she was struggling with; some different ways of looking at them; what makes a good critique group and what she needs from her beta-readers (and how to connect with good critiquers). Books and blogs that have helped me. Connecting with a fellowship of writers.
It was the High Point for me because I love teaching and the conversation was exactly the right one at the right time. Yes, it's ego-boosting to meet hordes of fans (although I have yet to experience hordes) but it's in many ways far more satisfying to have these one-on-one talks where both people are fully present, there's a give-and-take, and I walk away with the certainty that it has been meaningful to both of us. I need to remember that I too was once a beginner trying to figure out this writing business. I've made my share of mistakes, but I've figured out what works for me and I've heard a lot of stories about what works for other people, too. We don't have to re-invent the wheel if we're willing to be generous with our knowledge.
Here's a possibility. See if it works for you.
I've heard it said that writing cannot be taught, but it can be learned. That learning does not have to occur in isolation. After all, when I encourage and educate a new writer, I contribute to there being more wonderful books for me to read!
Before the class I walked around looking for mushrooms--it had been extremely dry, and I wanted to make sure we were going to find some! I passed this guy on the path and we went our separate ways.
( Also some mushroomsCollapse )
- Current Music:Public Enemy - The Evil Empire of Everything
A garden parable
My hydrangeas are coming into bloom--neither blue nor pink, but a paler shade of each, and the leaves are getting crispy at the edges. That's what comes of being planted in hard-packed soil, of seeking shade but being subjected, instead, to harsh sunlight.
There's a lesson in this for me. Barbara Kingsolver says it well: "“Close the door. Write with no one looking over your shoulder. Don't try to figure out what other people want to hear from you; figure out what you have to say. It's the one and only thing you have to offer.”
memorial day weekend
kitty turns 16
all weekend long
is a celebration
of the sweetheart
Firefly Photinus sp.
This soft-winged bioluminescing beetle was brazenly basking on the rail of our front stoop. I rarely see nocturnal fireflies (the diurnal non-bioluminescing variety are musch more conspicuous) whether flying at night or at rest in day. One might think this creature was taking an unnecessary risk of predation, by bird or jumping spider. But this genus of firefly produces a distasteful chemical to protect itself from these enemies. Predatory fireflies, unable to generate this defense, are known to lure male Photinus fireflies with their own light to feed on them and make use of the protective chemical.
- Current Music:Fiona Apple - Anything We Want
I'm really wishing this class went on through the summer, and I don't want to be done with these. After all my grumbling.....
Monday I start Regorafenib. I am frankly rather afraid of this drug. It can have dreadful side effects. And at best, we have a 50/50 chance of seeing useful results. To that end, I have pushed for a baseline CT scan which I will be undergoing on Tuesday. This is out of sequence, as the normal minimum spacing between CT scans is 2 months, while my previous scan was three weeks ago. However, I felt it was important to have an accurate measurement of tumor size and distribution at the start of the Regorafenib series, to compare two months down the road. The hoped-for positive result is a halt in tumor growth. Also, this 3-week scan will give us a decent notion of how fast the tumors are growing.
Current side effects
I've been having a lot of problems with my feet this week. This has led to me being minimally mobile. Not good for exercise. On the other hand, simply existing at my current altitude is practically aerobic exercise. That in turn confuses the issue, as I sleep poorly up here anyway, so I cannot tell if I'm having sleep problems. Likewise, my skin continues troublesome, though it is slowly recovering. We discontinued the Vectibix five weeks ago, which removed the primary driver of my skin issues. And fatigue, lots of fatigue, but difficult again to disentangle that from altitude sickness.
Planning for the JayWake continues. July 27th, 2013, in Portland. The link above has time and venue details, and hotel information. A rather substantial group of people have been making some rather substantial contributions to make this happen. I will be making public thanks in due time, and in accordance with the wishes of various donors. This is an open event, so if you can be in the Pacific Northwest that weekend, please do so.
Both in the matter of the JayWake and otherwise, generosity continues to flow. To the point of overwhelming me sometime. Thank you all for being part of this journey I'm on. I feel slower and more tired every day, it seems, but I am sustained by your love.
The Unbearable Lightness of Satori
Speaking of overwhelming, yesterday on my social media footprint, I said, "Almost any book can make me cry now. The closer I grow to death, the more emotionally fragile I become." It's true. Even light, funny books bring tears to my eyes when I reach the point of closure. It's a very strange mental space to be in. I don't reject the reaction. It's genuine, it's coming from inside me. Rather, this is a different way for me to consume narrative. Another part of the journey.
Every step is a revelation.
Meanwhile, Apple is still holding to the position that they didn't do anything illegal, despite Judge Cote (the judge on the case) saying her initial reaction was that the government would be able to prove them guilty. (Albanese also covered this news in PW.) It does not look like it's going to be an easy battle for Apple, especially now that they'll be standing alone on the defendant's stand.
In other news, Apple is doing something I think is remarkably cool: they have started a publishing program for fan fiction in which both the fan fiction writers and the creators of the work on which the fan fiction is based will receive royalties for purchases. Fan authors can only work in certain licensed properties, which should remove legal issues, since it means that the original creators have to agree to let fans play in their worlds. Now, why would people buy fan fiction instead of just getting it for free on the web? I'm not sure. I don't read much fan fiction anyway. But I like the idea of creating shared worlds that can profit everyone playing there, which, given my background in role playing games and role playing fiction, shouldn't be a surprise. You can read more in the PW article.
And last, given the rumors about Microsoft buying B&N out of the nook section of the company, as well as the rise in popularity of tablets as reading devices, I've been having some concerns that e-ink is going to vanish, which will make me very, very sad. But lo, Sony and E Ink Holdings have just come out with a new device with a flexible screen that looks pretty darn cool! I don't see myself buying one any time soon -- I like my nook Simple Touch -- but I'm really glad that E Ink Holdings is still in the game, and I hope that's a trend that continues. (Full article, once again, via PW.)
Dew on moss, Washington state. Photo © 2008, 2013, Joseph E. Lake, Jr.
This work by Joseph E. Lake, Jr. is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.
Remembering The Long Lost Germans Of Texas — More than a century ago, German settlers found a pocket of Texas to call home between Austin and San Antonio. And once the local lingo merged with their own language, it proved to be an interesting dialect.
The Princess — How old is 2? (Via
Defining My Dyslexia
2013 National Geographic Traveler Photo Contest — Wow. (Via
Lunar Corona over Cochem Castle — A gorgeous photo.
Measuring light in the universe since the Big Bang
Cosmic latte — Cosmic Latte is a name assigned to the average color of the universe, given by a team of astronomers from Johns Hopkins University. (Via Daily Idioms, Annotated.)
No Bail for Pa. Parents in Faith-Healing Death — Faith healing isn't religion, it's child abuse. Pure and simple. Adults are free to go to hell in their own way, but they are not free to take children along for the ride. In our Christianist-dominated cultural climate, I am nonetheless surprised to see prosecution.
When Politicians promise ‘Lower Taxes’ they are promising Collapsed Bridges — Infrastructure decay is the inevitable result of conservative tax policy. Unless you believe in the fairy tale of supply side economics, but that has neither theoretical support from objective economists who aren't already committed conservatives, nor any track record of success whatsoever in the real world. Me, I like civil society and public infrastructure, and it takes taxes to keep those things going. Hell, even Republicans drive over bridges.
Three reasons Congress is broken — Only three? There are 233 House Republicans and 45 Senate Republicans. That's 278 more reasons Congress is broken.
QotD?: What is your least favorite joke?
Writing time yesterday: 1.0 hours (WRPA, otherwise on workshop time)
Hours slept: 7.25 hours (interrupted)
Body movement: n/a
Number of FEMA troops on my block scamming disaster aid slush funds: 0
Currently reading: Monstrous Regiment by Terry Pratchett
As USians crooned in unison about the Boston bombings and the Oklahoma tornado, I have wished that we seemed to care as much about the harm we inflict on others, including those at Guantanamo.
I call upon you to work to fulfill this among other campaign promises. Close Guantanamo. It is a blot on our national character. It demonstrates the mockery we've made of our supposed values. It endangers us at home and abroad.
I've never been to one. I have to work today. And besides, all the people I'd invite are scattered over the seven seas.
If we had a teleporter. And you got the call, "COME AS YOU ARE!" and you showed up, what would you be wearing?
I'm in this dress I love that was on my floor last night when I was casting about for something to wear for a nightgown. It was too hot for my bathrobe, which is like the pelt of a Black Metal Muppet (slain in the Zing Zou Zou revolution), and the only other thing on my floor within easy reach is my crinoline, which I wanted to wear IN CELEBRATION the day I finished my novel but which would not have been practical for rehearsal that night, and I just didn't get around to putting it away, possibly because I like the way a big heap of crinoline looks on the floor.
And my hair is swept up in this cool crown-braid thing my mother did last night for fun, but since I slept on it, it's lopsided and the bobby pins are coming out. No make-up. No shoes. Very little else.
If you came to my COME AS YOU ARE, we'd be able to feed you leftover moussaka for breakfast. There is also one piece of pizza left from the garden party. Some bananas. Some potato salad. We could make smoothies. There is half a bottle of white wine. Aaaaaand a jar of artichoke hearts.
WE COULD MAKE THIS WORK!
If we had a teleporter.
* Possibly because a theatre near here is doing A Chorus Line, and I was singing some of those songs to my friend Erica in the car the other night, and one that I didn't sing her has the line, "Life with my dad wasn't ever a picnic, more like a come as you are."
And suddenly I wanted to go to a come as you are party.
Are they out of fashion?
WELL, SO AM I
When I was in college, I took a memoir writing class, and one of the in-class writing exercises we were to do was to write about “our mother’s cooking.” Or, if not our mother, who did the substantive cooking (which turned out to be a non-mother for a couple of people in the class).
There was a sameness to the stories: long, white kitchens, large meals of poultry, rather a blandness of cuisine that my family never shared.
Me? I wrote about the trimaran we built when I was a kid and the smell of the butane stove, the fun when people would go diving and bring back abalone. Then I got into an extended description of cutting abalone into pieces and having it still crawl across the cutting board, even while I was whaling on it with a meat tenderizer.
Abalone’s tough, you know. Really have to pound the everloving crap out of it for it to be tender enough.
Oh, and the island we were at (San Clemente) was being shelled by the military in training exercises at the time. From five miles out. Whoosh, boom!
Naturally, we had to read our little pieces aloud. As I read mine, I pounded the conference room table at the appropriate points.
At the end, everyone was a bit stunned, and the teacher said, “Okay then.”
It was not until that moment that I realized there was anything the least bit unusual about my upbringing. Truly.
The achievements of the Kennedy family are still celebrated in three Wexford sites - the Kennedy Homestead at Dunganstown, the Emigrant Ship 'Dunbrody' at New Ross, and the JFK Arboretum.
JFK lays a wreath at the statue of another Wexfordman, John Barry, founder of the American Navy.
In the end, it's about the words.
Speaking of which - I've printed Dora, ready to take on holiday with me to Cornwall. It's lovely: pristine paper, nice font - Maiandra GD. A goodly pile of wordage, at present standing at 92,339. This is bound to change during the read-through process although not I hope, by too much. It feels as good as I can get it...
I've said this before - yes. There does come a time however when a writer has to say, other than fine-tuning - done.
It's a nice enough day to risk ironing a frock & taking a chance. We are promised 13°... If you say so...
4.30am. Yesterday's storm blown over and the sky clear. A large yellow full moon low in the trees. Just enough light now in the mornings to pick a way through the forest without a torch. But not enough, quite, to spot an immobile curled-up hedgehog, not until Pip lunged and scooped it up in his mouth...
Luckily it was fully grown - far too big and pricklesome to be a tasty morsel - and he spat it out straight away.
Now I'm going to snuggle into bed with Danae and get to sleep. There's board gaming tomorrow!
Last fall, I blogged about the worthy Granola Project, which gives employment to refugees in Rhode Island. It is housed at the social service agency Amos House in Providence. I bought some of the granola at the farmers market a just last week.
Now Sarah Shemkus has written for the Boston Globe about a similar initiative for refugees in Massachusetts, but with the goal of helping refugee women to spin off companies on their own.
“Moo Kho Paw fled the violence and oppression of Myanmar for a refugee camp in Thailand nearly a decade ago,” writes Shemkus. “Five years later, she, her husband, and their baby daughter resettled again, this time landing in Springfield.
“As she adapted to her new home, Paw started looking for a job … That’s when she learned about Prosperity Candle, the Easthampton company where she has now worked for three years.
“ ‘I love the job,’ Paw said. ‘It helps me to pay the rent, to buy the baby diapers.’
“That’s precisely what Ted Barber, 46, hoped for when he and partner Amber Chand founded Prosperity Candle in 2010. … Sales are only part of its mission — the company says its real goal is to help women in and from developing countries by teaching them new skills and creating jobs. …
“In Easthampton, the company employs refugees such as Paw to make and package candles and fulfill orders. Currently, up to four refugees are working there at any given time, though Barber expects to hire more as the business expands. …”
The idea for an enterprise like Prosperity Candle first occurred to Barber when he was working in Africa, helping entrepreneurs build small businesses. …
” ‘I realized I wanted to do something different.’ …
“Rather than giving away money or supplies, [his] company would provide women with the resources, skills, and support they need to start a sustainable businesses. …
“Prosperity Candle formed as a low-profit limited liability company, a structure that requires the business to put its social mission ahead of profits.”
Photo: Matthew Cavanaugh for The Boston Globe
Moo Kho Paw (left) and Naw Test made candles at Prosperity Candle in Easthampton.
Prosperity Candle formed as a low-profit limited liability company, a structure that requires the business to put its social mission ahead of profits.
Basically, the story starts with a guy named Charles Talent Manx the Third who, back in the 1930s, bought a Rolls-Royce Phantom limo which somehow allowed him to travel to and create a place called "Christmasland", a creepy little theme-park pocket dimension (or "inscape") he then began to ferry selected children to, sucking out all their youth and personality and leaving them with nothing but a kind of evil innocence, the sort that makes you think playing games with names like "scissors-for-the-drifter" and "bite-the-smallest" is just the best thing ever. The first inhabitants of Christmasland were his own daughters, Lorrie and Millie, but over the years he's stolen away over seventy more, with the help of various Renfields; when we first meet Manx, in 1995, he's over 113 years old and looks roughly forty, a bald, hickish, sharp-toothed beanpole in a limo driver's uniform who says things like "Good gravy!" or "That is a repugnant image," and always sounds super-cheerful, even when he's threatening to let his kids eat you alive.
(The vanity plates on his ride, BTW, are a joke--a reference to the fact that he took his first wife to Nosferatu on their first date. "That's how long ago it was, ha ha!" She later called him a vampire, accusing him of sucking their kids dry, but he "turned his frown upside-down" by rebranding himself with the NOS4A2 label. And killing her, one assumes, though he never quite cops to that. He also claims he's been married at least one other time since then.)
1995 is also the year Charlie runs into Vic McQueen, who has a totem item of her own--a covered bridge called "the Shorter Way" which no longer exists in real life, but which materializes in front of her whenever she's travelling at high speed (say on her favourite bike) and needs to find something. She then passes through the bridge and teleports to wherever this lost or needed thing can be found. One time, it's her mother's bracelet, which she thinks finding will stave off her parents' divorce; another time, it's a girl with a similar talent, because what she needs is someone to explain this whole "inscape" thing to her and convince her she isn't crazy. And one time, when she's in a really desperate mood and wants to do something heroic...it's the "Sleigh House", one of Charlie's real-world hideouts.
One way or the other, colliding with each other ruins both Charlie Manx and Vic McQueen's lives. Charlie ends up in a supermax prison, quickly aging back to actual 113-ness once he's been parted from his limo and banned from further entry into Christmasland, and lapsing into a progeriatric coma. Vic, OTOH, ends up living with sweet, fat Lou Carmody, the geeky dude who picked her up after she fled Charlie's house of horrors--they have a kid together, Wayne, and things might go okay, except for the fact that the Christmasland kids keep phoning her up to ask when Daddy's coming home. This makes her drink too much, take too many drugs, get tattooed all over, start maniacally pumping out a very successful series of children's books to stave off the calls, etc. Eventually, she puts all their phones in the stove, burns down their house and ends up in a mental hospital, then rehab. She removes herself from Wayne and Lou's lives because she doesn't want to destroy them, starts taking her meds, and tries to forget.
Then...Charlie's long-resold car suddenly wakes up, and drives over to his last Renfield's house. Charlie wakes up, seems to die, then walks out of the morgue and into the Rolls. And all three of them start coming for Vic, bent on taking Wayne to Christmasland. But Vic, putative craziness aside, is one slippery, badass lady, and she isn't about to let that happen without a fight...
This precis doesn't actually give everything away, believe it or not, because a lot of the pleasure of the book comes from the various characters' interactions, and the twists keep on coming. One way or the other, it reminded me strongly of Locke & Key, which is my favourite thing by Hill so far, and I found myself both thrilled and consistently amused, in an utterly black way. (For example, as Charlie gets younger again, he starts sort of shipping himself with Vic, comparing her favourably to his prickly first wife, a woman "like a bad case of poison ivy! I scratched 'til I bled, and then I came back and scratched some more!" "Do you think she is inclined to look favourably on older men?" he asks Wayne, who's sort of boggled by the idea. "She says I'm her boyfriend now," he replies. Charlie: "Oh, all mothers say the same!")
Anyhow, yeah: if you like a fast, mean ride on a cool machine, NOS4A2 is tops. It made me contact-high, in ways I really hope can translate to giving me a second wind on all my own projects.
This entry was originally posted at http://handful-ofdust.dreamwidth.org/493
i like pokémon and i like people who like their pokémon so
if anyone wants, send me a message describing a pokémon(s) you had/have in a given game— species, nickname, nature, held items, what have you— and i will draw them!
probably just bw sketches or limited color, but if anyone felt like commissioning a team of 6 in full color that would also be super cool
It occurs to me very belatedly that I never got through all of this year's Yuletide stories -- my browser kept crashing when I tried to keep lots of tabs open, and eventually I forgot about it. But here is another installment of stories that I liked, in the following fandoms:
The Hollow Crown (Shakespeare history plays), King Thrushbeard (fairy tale), Liáo zhâi zhì yì | Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio - Pú Sônglíng, Macbeth - Shakespeare, Mansfield Park - Jane Austen, Measure For Measure - Shakespeare, Milky Way (Anthropomorfic), Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
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Welcome to the Daggerspell Reread and Review Series, with Aidan Moher (your humble editor/blogger) and Kate Elliott (author of lots and lots of cool novels)! We thought it would be fun to bring two different perspectives (someone who’s read the series, someone who hasn’t), and explore Daggerspell together, comparing notes and reflecting on a series and world that are held dearly by many readers. We’re also hoping that, if you’re not familiar with Kerr, you might discover a new favourite author.
If you are so inclined, read along with us. I’m very excited about this.
Again, the introductory post about what we are doing and the schedule find here.
Mirrored from I Make Up Worlds.
Building energy savings into school design means more money for education.
At Yes! Magazine, Erin L. McCoy describes what planners did for the rural Richardsville Elementary School near Bowling Green, Kentucky.
“When Richardsville opened its doors in fall 2010, it was the first net zero school in the nation, meaning that the school produces more energy on-site than it uses in a year.
“Solar tubes piping sunlight directly into classrooms eliminate much of the school’s demand for electric light, while a combination of geothermal and solar power cut down on the rest of the energy bill. Concrete floors treated with a soy-based stain don’t need buffing. The kitchen, which in most schools contributes to 20 percent of the energy bill, houses a combi-oven that cooks healthier meals and eliminates frying. This means an exhaust fan doesn’t pipe the school’s temperature-controlled air to the outdoors all day long.
“Meanwhile, ‘green screens’ in the front hall track the school’s energy usage so kids can see the impact of turning off a light in real time.
“These and other innovations make Richardsville better than net zero. It actually earns about $2,000 a month selling excess energy to the Tennessee Valley Authority. …
“Three factors are essential to making a green school work: First, you need the participation of the community and the local power company; second, you can’t forget that a school is a dynamic learning environment; and third, you need to speak the language of money.
“Since the economic recession began in 2008, school districts have suffered. Local tax bases were shaken as property values plummeted, and states have cut back on funding to districts, which were pushed to cut funds wherever they were able. Addressing energy use made a lot of financial sense.”
Photograph: Michael Heinz/The Journal & Courier/AP/File
Students gather on the first day of school at Wyandotte Elementary School near Lafayette, Ind., in 2011. Wyandotte is one of many US schools that have made cutting energy use a priority.
This year seems intent to get away from in record time, but so it goes--better to be too busy then not busy enough, what? What. Anyway, over the next month I have a couple of events lined up, so here be the line-up:
Denver Comic Con is next weekend! This is only the event's second year but it's already massive, and should be a helluva lot of fun. In addition to all things comic-related, DCC has a writing track, and I'm currently scheduled to speak on three panels:
4-5 PM: The Future of Storytelling, with Stephen Graham Jones, Molly Tanzer, Guy Anthony Demarco, and James Rourke
8-9 PM: Epic Fantasy, with Daniel Abraham, Molly, Betsy Dornbusch, and W.L. James
10-11 AM: How Are Baby Stories Made? If ever a panel description made one shudder...I'm moderating this sucker, I think, and have Warren Hammond, James Rourke, and Paul Lell on board.
Other than these panels, I'll just be doing the usual con thing--wandering around people-watching, mostly, and seeing if there's a bar where I can do the same. I'm always glad to meet new people, so if you see me about say hello. So long as you don't punch me in the root cellar, we'll get along famously!
Also! On Thursday, June 20th, at 07:00 PM, I'll be taking part in an epic reading event at Fermentation Lounge, my old haunt in Tallahassee. If nothing explodes between now and then, I'll be there with the aforementioned Ms Tanzer, Selena Chambers, and Ann and Jeff VanderMeer. Be there, or yanno, not be there...
[Cross-posted to my website]
I took this pic last Sunday, but this is pretty much how the sky has looked all week. Bands of rain moving through, and even a tornado warning or two in parts of Massachusetts. This weekend, the unofficial kick-off to summer, is supposed to be dreary, cool, and damp.
They let us out at 2:00 today, so I took advantage of the extra afternoon to hit Trader Joe's and get my food shopping done for the week. I love that place almost as much as Wegmans. And their cheese prices are much better! Got some old favorites, and tried a couple new things. I love when my freezer is full of yummy TJ's stuff!
Someone posted on Facebook today that the Museum of Fine Arts (MFA) in Boston is free this weekend, so I promptly made plans with leenah to meet there tomorrow morning. I haven't been there in ages. I'm looking forward to paying my respects to Sekhmet, among others. Hopefully it won't be too crowded.
My brother and his wife will be up visiting this weekend; it will be good to see them. It's been too long. One of these days, I have to make a trip to DC to see them and our cousin, who also lives there. I haven't been to DC since, oh, '86? I think that's the last time I was there, except for driving through on the way to Florida, and that doesn't really count as it was dark, and we didn't stop. And that was a long time ago, too: my sis was pregnant with Willow at the time, and she turns 21 this year. So yeah, it's about time I paid a visit.
And ye gods, 21?!?!? My little Willow can't possibly be almost old enough to buy alcohol. :::boggle:::
Any fun plans for the weekend? Make it a good one!
I’m heading down to New York in a few weeks to meet up with my editors, and I’d love to see some of the NYC area bloggers and other bookish folks while I’m there. It’s too short notice to arrange an official event, but I thought maybe we could all get together at a casual eating/drinking spot and just hang out? I will still bring swag, and will be happy to sign books of mine if you bring them along.
I’m free in the evening of Thursday June 13th. NYC book folks, let me know if you want to join me (and if you have any suggestions for good locations)!
Originally published at another world, not quite ours - Megan Crewe's blog. You can comment here or there.
Preamble: In October of 2010, I wrote an essay for the blog of Apex Magazine in response to a then-regular columnist’s whinings about “quality compromised by diversity and PC zombies” in life as well as speculative literature. Later on the Apex site was hacked, and Jason Sizemore decided not to go through the laborious work of restoring its archive. In view of the recent discussions about women in SF (again… still…) and as a coda to The Other Half of the Sky, I’m reprinting the essay here, slightly modified.
In honor of:
the Mercury 13 astronauts, who never got past the gravity well;
Rosalind Franklin, who never got her Nobel;
Shamsia and Atifa Husseini, who still go to school after the Taliban threw acid on their faces.
Cultural standards of politeness vary widely. In the societies I’m familiar with, it’s considered polite (indeed, humane) to avert one’s eyes from someone who has pissed himself in public, especially if he persists in collaring everyone within reach to point out the interesting shape of the stain on his trousers. At the same time, if he also splattered on my great-grandmother’s hand-embroidered jacket to demonstrate how he – alone among humans – can direct his stream, I’m likely to ensure that he never comes near me and mine again in any guise.
Yet I must still put time and effort into removing the stain from that jacket, which I spent long hours restoring and further embroidering myself. It’s not the only stain the garment carries. Nor are all of them effluents from those who used it and its wearers as vessels into which to pour their insecurity, their frantic need to show themselves echt members of the master caste du jour.
The jacket also carries blood and sweat from those who made it and wore it to feasts and battles long before I was born. Unless it’s charred to ashes in a time of savagery, probably with me in it, many will wear it after me or carry its pieces. Whenever they add their own embroidery to cover the stains, the gashes, the burns, they won’t remember the names of the despoilers. And when my great-grandniece takes that jacket with her on the starship heading to Gliese 581, her crewmates will admire the creativity and skill that went into its making.
So gather round, friends who can hoist a goblet of Romulan ale or Elvish mead without losing control of your sphincter muscles, and let’s talk a bit more about this jacket and its wearers.
If you insist that only sackcloth is proper attire or that embroidery should be reserved only for those with, say, large thumbs, we don’t have a common basis for a discussion. But I’ll let you in on a couple of secrets. I’ve glimpsed my nephews wearing that jacket, sometimes furtively, often openly. They even add embroidery patches themselves. And strangely enough, after a few cyclings I cannot guess the location of past embroiderers’ body bulges from the style of the patches or the quality of the stitches. I like some much more than others. Even so, I don’t mind the mixing and matching, as long as I can tell (and I can very easily tell) that they had passion and flair for the craft.
In one of the jacket’s deep pockets lies my great-grandmother’s equally carefully repaired handmade dagger, with its enamel-inlaid handle and its blade of much-folded steel. When I see someone practicing with it, on closer inspection it often turns out to be a girl or a woman whose hair is as grey as the dagger’s steel. They weave patterns with that dagger, on stone threshing floors or under skeins of faraway moons. Because daggers are used in dance – and in planting and harvesting as well, not just in slaughter. And they are beautiful no matter what color of light glints off them.
But before we dance under strange skies, we must first get there. Starships require a lot of work to build, launch and keep going. None of that is heroic, especially the journey. Almost all of it is the grinding toil of preservation: scrubbing fungus off surfaces; keeping engines and hydroponic tanks functional; plugging meteor holes; healing radiation sickness and ensuring the atmosphere stays breathable; raising the children who will make it to planetfall; preserving knowledge, experience, memory while the ship rides the wind between the stars; and making the starship lovely – because it’s our home and people may need bread, but they also need roses.
As astrogators scan starmaps and engineers unfurl light sails while rocking children on their knees, the stories that keep us going will start to blend and form new patterns, like the embroidery patches on my great-grandmother’s jacket. Was it Lilith, Lakshmi Bai or Anzha lyu Mitethe who defied the ruler of a powerful empire? Amaterasu, Raven or Barohna Khira who brought back sunlight to the people after the long winter sleep? Was it to Pireus or Pell that Signy Mallory brought her ship loaded with desperate refugees? Who crossed the great glacier harnessed to a sled, Sidney Poitier and Tony Curtis, or Genly Ai and Therem harth rem ir Estraven?
Our curiosity and inventiveness are endless and our enlarged frontal cortex allows dizzying permutations. We shape the dark by dreaming it, in science as much as in art; at the same time, we constantly peer outside our portholes to see how close the constructs in our heads come to reflecting the real world. Sometimes, our approximations are good enough to carry us along; sometimes, it becomes obvious we need to “dream other dreams, and better.” In storytelling we imagine, remember, invent and reinvent, and each story is an echo-filled song faceted by the kaleidoscope of our context. To confine ourselves to single notes is to condemn ourselves to prison, to sensory and mental deprivation. Endless looping of a single tune is not pleasure but a recognized method of torture. It’s certainly not a viable way to keep up the morale of people sharing a fragile starship.
In the long vigils between launch and planetfall, people have to spell each other, stand back to back in times of peril. They have to watch out for the dangerous fatigue, the apathy that signals the onset of despair, the unfocused anger that can result in the smashing of the delicate machinery that maintains the ship’s structure and ecosphere. People who piss wantonly inside that starship could short a fuel line or poison cultivars of essential plants. The worst damage they can inflict, however, is to stop people from telling stories. If that happens, the starship won’t make it far past the launchpad. And if by some miracle it does make planetfall, those who emerge from it will have lost the capacity that enabled them to embroider jackets – and build starships.
We cannot weave stories worth remembering if we willingly give ourselves tunnel vision, if we devalue awareness and empathy, if we’re content with what is. Without the desire to explore that enables us to put ourselves in other frames, other contexts, the urge to decipher the universe’s intricate patterns atrophies. Once that gets combined with the wish to stop others from dreaming, imagining, exploring, we become hobnail-booted destroyers that piss on everything, not just on my great-grandmother’s laboriously, lovingly embroidered jacket.
The mindset that sighs nostalgically for “simpler times” (when were those, incidentally, ever since we acquired a corpus collosum?), that glibly erases women who come up with radical scientific concepts or write rousing space operas is qualitatively the same mindset that goes along with stonings and burnings. And whereas it takes many people’s lifetimes to build a starship, it takes just one person with a match and a can of gasoline to destroy it.
It’s customary to wish feisty daughters on people who still believe that half of humanity is not fully human. I, however, wish upon them sons who will be so different from their sires that they’ll be eager to dream and shape the dark with me.
in a ward on fire, we must
Olga Broumas, “Artemis” (from Beginning with O)
Related blog posts:
Is It Something in the Water? Or: Me Tarzan, You Ape
SF Goes McDonald’s: Less Taste, More Gristle
The Andreadis Unibrow Theory of Art
Standing at Thermopylae
To the Hard Members of the Truthy SF Club
The Persistent Neoteny of Science Fiction
Admiral Ackbar would be disappointed in me.
The thing is.. I care about feminism. I care about women's rights. Enough so that it feels like a personal blow when I hear women say things that are so counter to feminism's stated goals.
Feminism needs to exist to fight for the rights of all women, no matter their ethnicity, socioeconomic status, faith or medical history. Anyone who disagrees with this statement should kindly stop calling themselves a feminist, because they are not. And furthermore, implying that all a woman is is her sex organs is so clearly patriarchal thinking that I can't even fathom why Julie Bindel considers "herself" a feminist.
(And, yeah, I've decided that from now on, all writers who put quotation marks around the pronouns of trans individuals should get quotation marks around theirs. Because seriously, if you can't see how fucking awful that is, then you are not looking.)
But I really shouldn't engage with second wave individuals. I really shouldn't, because I hate being talked down to, and they always talk down to me. And I hate having that idea that my vagina is what makes me a woman reinforced, and they always do that, too.
A woman's body is just her body. That is not all that makes me a woman, and it's pretty strange to think that it would be. Survivors of rape often struggle with the feeling that they have lost their value, or that they deserved their attack. Women who face cancer often describe feeling many of the same things. Wondering if she will still be a woman if she can't bear children, or if she will still be beautiful to her partner if she no longer has her breasts. And that's crap. And women like Julie Bindel reinforce those ideas by claiming, often violently, that trans women can not be women simply because of their medical history, or because of the specifics of their genitalia. If all being a woman is to you is carried around in your underwear, then again... stop calling yourself a feminist.
I do not wish ill will on my rude woman. I do not wish ill will on anyone, that is part of the point. I am not replying directly to her, because that won't do any good. Her mind is not likely to change, she has made that clear. However, I think that in a public place... someday... maybe... a person with second wave leanings might read this and might think for a second about how they treat the trans community.
My rude woman told me that she didn't think that we would ever meet half way, and I agree with her. I agree with any transphobic individual when they tell me that. Believing that trans women are deserving of the rights that feminism fights for is an all or nothing kind of thing. You can't "half" respect people. And people like Bindel simply do not respect trans women as women, or as people. I am drawing these conclusions from Bindel's own words. (And I am using Bindel as my main example here, because my rude woman was rather fond of her work. While there are many examples to pull from, I find Bindel to be amongst the most vile.)
She told me that "There is, in [her] view, very little 'progressive' about [my] brand of feminism." And yet again, this is a point on which we agree. Honestly, I don't think there is much that is 'progressive' about believing that all people are deserving of personhood. I think it's pretty darn fundamental. However, that is what it is being called, because to far too many people, this idea is still completely alien. And the women who should know better, these women who fought and yelled and bled to be treated like people, can't see that they're doing the same thing to trans women that men have been doing to all women for centuries.
My rude woman says "when I see TG people calling for respected feminist journalists...to be killed - then I become fearful." without taking into account how many times those exact same "respected feminist journalists" have encouraged violence toward the trans community. That attitude takes solitary, almost unheard voices lashing out in what seems to me as a very justified terror and pretends like those are the voice of all trans women. Whereas on the other side of the line, there are "respected feminist journalists" with a platform in the god-only-knows how many saying things about how ALL trans women should die. There is Janice Raymond's widely read "The Transsexual Empire". Those women terrify *me*, but I don't pretend that they are the voice of all feminists. Some people do, because those are the women with the platform and the audience, the women who are visible... but I very clearly know that not all feminists believe that way.
And here's the joke. People really do think that filth like Bindel and Raymond talk for the lot of us. People like them have the audience, they have the loud voice, and they -- ironically -- use that voice to silence and even threaten the trans community. These people do it, however, with no sense of irony. No idea that they are holding their fellow women down, just like the oppressors they claim to work against.
My rude woman told me that I was being deliberate in my misunderstanding, or I was so "entrenched in my view" that I couldn't appreciate her genius. I will freely admit this. I am entrenched. I am entrenched in the belief that all women deserve women's rights, and that trans women are women; that's not going anywhere.
I did not in my letter to her call her arrogant, or foolish or any other such names. She did not give me the same regard. I am young, but I am not incapable, and I am *damn* tired of being talked down to by these people. And I am damn tired of having to fear for the lives and well-being of my fellow women by the hands of those who would dare to call themselves feminists.
Cross-posted from blog.jamiebreedlove.com
I was returning from my walk when I saw,
On a house further down the street...
A Robin's nest with little ones
Popping out to meet
Their mother, returning back home,
Bringing worms for food.
Those open beaks and chirping noise
Showed the hunger of her brood.
Whichever creature it may be
Anywhere in the world...
The babies may be in nest or cot,
But in their mothers' hearts they lie curled!
The robin removes the fecal sac from the nest:
- Current Mood:impatient
- Current Music:none
A letter I have to send far too often….
Dear people who add folks to email lists without confirmation.
Someone thinks it’s hilarious to use my email address to sign me up for things I am far from interested in. This was not requested by me. You should, as a best practice, require confirmation for ANY subscribe request for this kind of reason. Please ensure my address is removed from all your databases promptly.
If any reservations have been made in my name, cancel those as well.
I remembered something about book six (The Broken Fortress) and re-read it, and...
...how the hell did Hale do that? I don't think I've ever come across this particular use of foreshadowing before, or at least not the way she did it.
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Crossposted to http://rachelmanija.dreamwidth.org/1109
Alium go boom