It was an Alex day yesterday too

My most important interaction with him was getting him back onto the sofa when he partially fell off it in his sleep (feet down, like a sensible chap). Packed 7 boxes for Sue, which sounds trivial, but they were knickknacks, so kinda not.

Paul was apparently a true champ yesterday. I got to help with the last move so I dodge this one, works for me, this is viz Katie’s move. Frequent moves are horrible.

I did shit and wrote words yesterday but mostly what I did was wander around in the sun, bedazzled. Thirty years from now that’s the glint I want, the sun that finally penetrated my flesh and got into my bones after this stupid winter, which only just felt like it stopped. That is the remembrance. That and thinking I’d lost my sunglasses when they were on my head, and oh my.

5600 words of fanfic

about 100 words on HOTM. It’s okay, I’m thinking about Lara and her mom in the background.

IT WAS AN ALEX DAY YESTERDAY. Katie’s moved in, temporarily, with her papa. Paul barbecued halal chicken and it was so clucking good it would BLOW YOUR MIND. Watching Keith play with Alex filled my heart up. Walked back home with Paul, laughing and talking as one does when one has had a family evening. Hour and a half on the phone with a friend as well… it’s always lovely when you don’t run out of things to talk about, but sleep impinged…

I was terrified (bowels loosening scared) by a noise around the house this morning and it was just a flicker banging on the roof right above my window.

Took out the trash, with Jeff being gone and all, it won’t take itself out. There’s a joke in there somewhere, maybe.

One of my favourite actors just put up a website for the first time and the bio section is so cute, so incredibly cute. He fell in love with his wife when he was sixteen, and he’s in his forties now, so when he says “I wish I’d fallen in love with her earlier” it just makes you think about things like … well I think about my fOlks, who’ve said similar things. Happily married people make me happy, cause there’s just so damned little of it.

more vaguerie

Something nice happened to me that I can’t talk about. I am very lucky in my friends.

The family buffet is going to live here for a while; it means rearranging the LR somewhat.

I’ve written 2500 words today, but don’t worry, there’s some HOTM in there.

I went for two walks yesterday

One to get schnacks around three in the morning, and the other with Paul in Robert Burnaby Park just before sunset. We sat on the back deck and drank beer after, and I played him what I’ve worked up of the Zevon tune “My Shit’s Fucked Up” which I personally think I do a fucking amazing job on.

2500 words yesterday but it was a fan fic. It is of the genre slow burn and this one is not going to have much sex in it, it’s more a character study. Fortunately I’m just editing up the 2K on HOTM I’m sending mOm.

Margot is clingy as hell these past few days. Jeff’s door is always open, but she’s not snoozing on his chair like she usually does when he leaves.


I just tooted, and Margot purred louder to try to drown it out. SUCH IS MY LIFE.

productive day

1201 word so far on a new chapter and I suspect there’s more to come. brO got stuck in a ferry lineup according to a terse communiqué.

Called Dave, ran the dishwasher, read some more of the library books. John Scalzi is a most entertaining writer. Played Otto – Here They Come and In The Lineup for the Ferry, since both seemed apropos. Or aproposterous. Possibly both.


I napped! I am such a rebel. I hope to write some more as soon as I hit publish.

plaintive plea to uncaring universe

I really wish my friends didn’t suffer so from depression and anxiety. I am not exactly free of the guilty pleasures of wallowing and denial but when I see my friends REALLY suffering I have a tendency to bounce around and try to be super entertaining, which must be no end of annoying when you just want peace and quiet.

Anyway, I got a smile out of my friend with this. caution swearing


For some reason my squirrel brain is very unhappy with me pantsing my most recent book, so I’m going to take a day to sculpt some straws into a load-bearing object. We shall see.

Mike invited me out for a lamb dinner and I of course said YES PLEASE ME HONGRY.

Every once in a while I flash on Alex laughing while I sang him a song. MEMORIES can be very beautiful things, rather than the scabbed set of assholes usually besetting me.

my ghastly ghastly friends

View post on

A horrifying picture, right? Right pOP????

So this is what my friends said IN RESPONSE TO THE ABOVE NOTED PIC (Shirley is a writer among many other things I know through fandom and Kevin and Rob are (as memorialized here for YEARS) former coworkers.)

Shirley Meier Oh HELL no!

Kevin MacDonald Wrenching photo

Rob Prior It doesn’t turn my crank.

Kevin MacDonald Rob Prior shocking!

Rob Prior Don’t be short with me…

Kevin MacDonald Rob Prior Just ratcheting up my humour

Rob Prior Socket to me!

Kevin MacDonald Rob Prior I am currently working on that

Rob Prior I am powerless to stop you.

Kevin MacDonald Rob Prior Its not a deal breaker

Rob Prior It might be grounds for complaint.

Kevin MacDonald Try to remain neutral in the issue

Rob Prior I’m sensing a little resistance.

Allegra Sloman Well my ohmies I hate to break the circuit here but these electrifying puns are really fusing my attention.

Rob Prior Uh-oh… It’s a re-volt.

Kevin MacDonald It hertz to hear you say that

og og og make it staaaahp!!!!

600 words today

I can feel that there will be more later. I am happy about my level of productivity, it is increasing, with little gaps, but no problems. I am pantsing it. I have no idea what is going to happen next, or even what the major conflicts are going to be. I am perfectly fine with this. I have invented lovely, competent, kind characters, with lots and lots of character flaws, and they will get into plenty of trouble without any help from me, merely navigating an ordinary day.

Someone on facebook said that with autonomous cars soon there will be country songs including that your truck left you along with your girlfriend and dog. To which someone added My truck left me and ran me over, and then I said:

My truck left me, run me down, cleaned out my bank account, trashed me virally and indelibly on social media, and then texted me about maybe having a threesome with Thomas the Tank engine on pay per view.

total word count for the day 949. Quite pleased.


Went to a simply lovely bbq party at Nita and Mike’s last night, with Paul, Keith and Katie (Alex was at motheroutlaw’s) and all the food and drink was stunningly awesome.

And there was a babby of six weeks, a gorgeous snuffly little steam engine.

Jim and Jan were there, and I simply can’t see enough of them.

Finished & posted destiel schmoopfic. Currently regarding HOTM I’m wrassling with a scene between the Oldest and Nereus.

125 words

Very hard for me to be productive when I spent so much time with the fam yesterday – and I crashed early again. Staying awake after 6 pm requires stern measures.  

Also, when I’m not making Alex laugh his face off while waiting in the car, I’m filled with anger and sadness about something I can’t talk about in public. I am very glad I have friends who respond to my phone calls. Some of you know already what’s going on, and the situation continues, it’s non-trivial — but also non-fatal — and I imagine I’ll suck it up eventually.

I wrote a little ditty for Alex:

Jumping on the bed/Jumping on the bed/Here comes Alex jumping on the bed

Don’t fall down and bump    your    head! (Everything slows down)

Here comes Alex jumping on the bed!


So he was stuck in the car seat and I sang

Jumping on the seat/Jumping on the seat/Here comes Alex jumping on the seat

He wants something      goood     to      eat! (Everything slows down, we bang out the rhythm on the doors and then go slurp slurp  slurp shoving our hands in our mouths and making faces)

Here comes Alex jumping on the seat!



Longing doesn’t butter parsnips, so I’d better get back to writing. I’m in the mood for angsty fanfic rather than progressive settlement of the solar system, doe; brain damage as a plot bunny (how jolly.)


TLDR Fuck my life at least I have a grandson.

hit delete

Nothing like typing 540 words and backspacing over them. I could turn the post private, but as I discussed with mOm the other day the ability to forget things is actually a feature, even though it frequently doesn’t feel like it.

Writing proceeds. Went for a nice long walk into New West in the rain yesterday. Quite warm and not windy, but not the most pleasant of days for June in Vancouver, although complaining about that won’t help either.

IP yip yip

Look at me, all brave. Stealing the IP of Kenan Malik. Or is this the property of the New York Times? Gosh, it’s so hard to tell who owns what these days. Anyway, below is a defence of cultural appropriation typed by Kenan Malik. By the time I’m done, my blood pressure will be up twenty points and I’ll look like an idiot in public, but I suspect I’ll look less idiotic than Kenan Malik. For this witless motherfucker has done the classic, classic, classic bait and switch on the topic. He says we’re all richer for cultural mixing. He’s wrong. Having your cultural markers stolen for profit makes somebody richer, and wanting to prevent that is not gatekeeping, it’s survival. He says that all cultural practices are up for grabs because anything else may prevent the privileged from having compassion for the underprivileged, which is a narrow case of special pleading aka bullshit. And he skates by colonialism as if it isn’t the SINGLE BIGGEST ISSUE facing all content creators these days; it’s the issue that palimpsest-wise underlies his argument, and he avoids it the way a cab driver just doesn’t see you when he’s booking off shift.

LONDON – It is just as well that I’m a writer, not an editor. Were I editing a newspaper or magazine, I might soon be out of a job. For this is an essay in defense of cultural appropriation.

yeah, well fuck you. You start out from a position of privilege and you want more.

In Canada last month, three editors lost their jobs after making such a defense.

yeah, well fuck you. They were unprofessional, racist and FUCKING STUPID <<<<<<—– the way elites never get how fragile their blessed state is ——-> and gloriosky, they lost their jobs.

The controversy began when Hal Niedzviecki,

A man with a history of racism and stiffing writers, oh yes. …. gosh, is this a trend? A trans woman of colour told me he stiffed her for solicited writing. It wasn’t much money, but honey, when a first nations content creator thinks she’s selling me something I FUCKING PAY FOR IT. SO … right off the top, a racist asshole with holes in his pockets is represented as being ‘besieged’ ‘beleaguered’ and ‘besmirched’ for having a problematic opinion in public. Will Robinson is getting the danger page from his puckering butthole at this point, at least in the universe I inhabit.

editor of Write, the magazine of the Canadian Writers’ Union, penned an editorial defending the right of white authors to create characters from minority or indigenous backgrounds. Within days, a social media backlash forced him to resign. The Writers’ Union issued an apology for an article that its Equity Task Force claimed “re-entrenches the deeply racist assumptions” held about art.

OKAY LET’S JUST STOP RIGHT HERE. What Mr. Malik, administering his homeopathically weak smackdown of this ‘defence of racist writers for getting shit wrong’ aka ‘horrible censorship event’ fails to mention is ANYTHING LIKE CONTEXT. THE WRITE ISSUE WAS SPECIFICALLY AN ISSUE ABOUT INDIGENOUS WRITING. Okay, let’s go again. THE WRITE ISSUE WAS SPECIFICALLY AN ISSUE ABOUT INDIGENOUS WRITING. He could have put his feelings in his blog. He could have penned it for another publication. That would have been gruesome, but in the era of Doubledown Douchenozzledom, Racist Edition, he used a position of privilege to kick the living snot out of the people who were being represented in the mag. Gosh, folks, you should have seen my twitter feed when this all went down. Indigenous activists and writers were foaming, and justifiably so. Niedzviecki knew up front he was going to get shit, and for the first little while he laughed at the shit he got. Then he went OH SHIT, which is what you do when that college kid “just for a lark” smirk gets wiped off your face by real life.

Another editor, Jonathan Kay, of The Walrus magazine,

A man who, ha ha, is well known as being a Joseph Boyden supporter (another riproaring case of mighty whitey, writing himself into native history with his very well reviewed (by whites) book “Orenda”). He only writes about native issues to talk about how racist natives are, let’s just skip all the decolonializing reasons Mohawk peoples might want to get white people off their land on Canada’s dime. Here’s the link. Now that’s not inflammatory at all. He could be talking about any kind of racism that happens in Canada. He could talk about how the city of Thunder Bay has more racially motivated hate crimes per capita than any other place in Canada; the hate crimes are overwhelmingly committed by white people on FN people. But the most racist place in Canada is a reserve. No hon, the most racist places in Canada are not reserves. They’re prisons. But I’ll stick the ‘and in conclusion, fuck you’ pin in that for the time being. WHY IN THE EVERLOVING FUCK would we want to take this asshole seriously about race issues, SPECIFICALLY about First Nations. The multiple appropriations of land, language, people, culture have no emotional content for him; FN are just getting upset because they’re special snowflakes. No hon, you’re the special snowflake, thinking Canada is 150 years old and that makes the First Nations 150 years old too. This kind of racism I call “Measuring the universe with a tapeline the same size and shape as you.” It’s another example of “I’m not racist but we should talk about how all injuns are alcoholic jailbirds,” but tidier… prettier… publishable by the Capitalist Choir of Discordant Twaddle responsible for the National Post.

was also compelled to step down after tweeting his support for Mr. Niedzviecki. Meanwhile, the broadcaster CBC moved Steve Ladurantaye, managing editor of its flagship news program The National, to a different post, similarly for an “unacceptable tweet” about the controversy.

I don’t suppose you’d care to guess what format this unacceptable tweetstorm took. A whole bunch of well-known, well-connected, mostly white writers and journalists, gathered ’round their beleaguered fellow lickspittle to mock the people who took offence and to pledge money for a “Cultural appropriation” writer’s prize. Steve was up for giving $500 but one thing I know about these folks is that they’re faster to pledge cash than cough it up, so I can well believe the fucker was kidding and I’ll give him my brightest and shiniest hall pass for that.

It’s not just editors who have to tread carefully. Last year, the novelist Lionel Shriver generated a worldwide storm after defending cultural appropriation in an address to the Brisbane Writers Festival.

Mr. Malik fails to provide the context, again. Shriver played the clueless and hectoring old white guy (surprise, she’s an American woman) in front of a group of people who mostly thought she was right on. Strangely, indigenous people and people of colour in the audience were horrified, oh puhleez. Them coloured folks and their identity politics, getting all mad about sombreros and such. They didn’t find her arguments about how white people should have unfettered access to all cultural traditions (so they can get the last word in, steer the narrative, drown out indigenous voices and get the fat stacks) convincing, mostly because saying that you mean well when you’re handing out the cultural equivalent of smallpox blankets just doesn’t go down as smoothly as it did two hundred years ago, who knew. Of course fiction is ‘fake’ Shriver but that doesn’t meant it isn’t real, and representation matters if the people being represented are being lied to and about

even more than when you get it right.

Earlier this year, controversy erupted when New York’s Whitney Museum picked for its Biennial Exhibition Dana Schutz’s painting of the mutilated corpse of Emmett Till, a 14-year-old African-American murdered by two white men in Mississippi in 1955. Many objected to a white painter like Ms. Schutz depicting such a traumatic moment in black history. The British artist Hannah Black organized a petition to have the work destroyed.

I would have been happy with the painting not being publicly displayed, but I’ve read Hannah’s letter and I understand where she’s coming from.

Other works of art have been destroyed. The sculptor Sam Durant’s piece “Scaffold,” honoring 38 Native Americans executed in 1862 in Minneapolis, was recently being assembled in the Minneapolis Sculpture Garden. But after protests from indigenous activists that Mr. Durant was appropriating their history, the artist dismantled his own work, and made its wood available to be burned in a Dakota Sioux ceremony.

Which is a fine response. Works of art are destroyed by their creators all the time. I’ve torched my own shit, and why not, it was shit and it was mine.

What is cultural appropriation, and why is it so controversial? Susan Scafidi, a law professor at Fordham University, defines it as “taking intellectual property, traditional knowledge, cultural expressions, or artifacts from someone else’s culture without permission.” This can include the “unauthorized use of another culture’s dance, dress, music, language, folklore, cuisine, traditional medicine, religious symbols, etc.”

It’s not just the permission. It’s the context. It’s the taking as if the act of taking ‘makes you native’ or ‘makes you black’ or ‘honours the traditions’ when it patently, replicably and reliably does not.

Appropriation suggests theft, and a process analogous to the seizure of land or artifacts. In the case of culture, however, what is called appropriation is not theft but messy interaction. Writers and artists necessarily engage with the experiences of others. Nobody owns a culture, but everyone inhabits one, and in inhabiting a culture, one finds the tools for reaching out to other cultures.

But the messy interaction is one-sided. Members of the dominant culture, with law, language, media and custom on their side, interact with the traditions of indigenous and creolized and ancient cultures from a mixture of fear, hatred, stark envy and jealousy, and call it art. Sure art’s theft; but it should also be thought made visible, and the thinking that’s made visible is DOMINANT CULTURE CAN STEAL ANYTHING IT LIKES AND IF YOU COMPLAIN you’re WHINY LITTLE BASTARDS WHO DON’T UNDERSTAND THE BROAD SWEEP OF 2500 YEARS OF COLONIAL HISTORY. Urk.

Critics of cultural appropriation insist that they are opposed not to cultural engagement, but to racism. They want to protect marginalized cultures and ensure that such cultures speak for themselves, not simply be seen through the eyes of more privileged groups.

The tone here is like Saruman chiding Gandalf in The Two Towers. To be chastised is one thing. To be told that your feelings are going to go in a big stew of rhetoric and come out normalized and standardized… part of the dominant culture, acceptable…. yeesh.

Certainly, cultural engagement does not take place on a level playing field. Racism and inequality shape the ways in which people imagine others. Yet it is difficult to see how creating gated cultures helps promote social justice.

Everything is mine to steal and my theft promotes social justice. Fucking breathtaking, isn’t it? Nobody creates a gated culture to start out with, but it may end up that way if anything you leave lying around gets stolen by white assholes – who tell you they’re doing you a favour by popularizing your cultural ideals, and then laugh in your face when you want to get paid. He wrote more, but since I don’t want to quote any more from this masterwork of spineless sucking up to thieves and monsters, I’ll just take my blood pressure off someplace else now. Okay, last questions. Why do members of the dominant culture have so little going on in their own minds that they must appropriate someone else’s marginalized culture in the first place? What failure of imagination is this, and why does Malik get so exercised in its defence?

800 words yesterday total

I’m finally spinning up to speed again (I’m also parallel writing a fanfic which is a technical exercise on re-using story elements, stacked differently, a sort of Cloud Atlas-style porny ice cream sandwich, which I’m enjoying. And it, too, is problematic, but hey, disabled people have sex lives and representation matters.)

Sixers who ‘live original’ have conversations once — and then stop. Sixers who’ve been hanging around human beings tell the same stories over and over again. and…. I just wrote another 500 words. Inbound, mOm. Nereus gets some help….