Settler words&music in S'ólh Téméxw, (leanpub.com/upsun) living where privilege meets precarity in MST country. she/her/they———– Novels: Midnite Moving Co., Upsun; Sweep Off Those Waves coming soon, Hair Sinister after that. —Restore All Indigenous Lands!
My current list of writing projects, which represents pious hope rather than firm commitment, is now in my portfolio.
Paul took me for a walk yesterday. It was quite pleasant, and we all watched tv afterwards.
I forgot to mention (what a CRAPPY grandmother) that I saw Alex on Sunday. It is simply astonishing how much gas that kid makes. He farts pretty much continuously. He gave me another sly little social smile. He likes being held, that’s for sure.
Autumn is still terrorizing Margot.
Jeff was kind enough to send me this. I think I hit five out of six. However, I shouldn’t call it anything before it’s published.
For me I want a novel I write to do the following:
Take you someplace you haven’t been before – in this case into an implausible but internally consistent mode of being alien.
Make you think. If an SF novel doesn’t make you think at least a moment about ‘what it is to be human’ or ‘the utter strangeness of how it is we are starstuff that does laundry’ then it’s missing an essential nucleobase from its DNA.
Make you worry. If you don’t worry about what is going to happen to the characters next or what traps lie in store, you’re not connected to them.
Make you laugh. Either to release pressure or to make a point which cannot be deftly made in exposition.
Leave enough to your imagination that the book can be your co-creation.
Play fair with the story. My biggest resentments with Dunnett have to do with how the breadcrumb she left regarding our hero’s paternity is nanometrically tiny in the second series and non-existent in the first. (Yes, she recreates the paternity issue as the warp drive of the plot in the second series, but I don’t give a shit about how plot is repetitive. If it wasn’t repetitive, it wouldn’t be plot, and it ain’t the premise it’s the people.)
Represent a notion of justice, equity, fairness and truth by the speech and actions of the protagonist and her associates. Novels are a very sophisticated way to broach these issues because even though you can be invested in the actors you can’t get killed. Further, you can represent extremes of morality or fine gradations, thus providing emotionally meaningful denouements or hair splitting distinctions, which is intellectually fun.
Be grounded in the physical reality of human life without being enslaved by it.
That’s all I can think of right now.
The folks making these laws have logic tight compartments so big they make the caissons under the Brooklyn Bridge look like music boxes.
This was in response to the town of Marseilles telling the homeless to carry ID tags with yellow triangles on them. The law was scrapped in response to local outrage, which, strangely, still helps in some places.
I had a simply wonderful time at the fOlks’.
I made biscotti. I wrote about 300 new words and deleted about 500 old ones. mOm and I completely worked our way through the edits for the first 112 manuscript pages. (She read, I typed…. goes very fast that way). I plan at least one more pass to ensure that I’ve incorporated all of Diane’s suggestions. We laughed A LOT and it was like a fantasy come true. I’m in my favourite room in the whole world WORKING like a RENTED MULE on something that will hopefully make people laugh, think, and maybe if I’m really really really lucky, influence the course of a scientific investigation (the highest praise for SF, screw the awards. mOm knows I am not in it for fame, or awards. I’m doing it for her. I’m writing SF for my mother, and so if she likes it (and she does) I’m okay. (Diane occasionally provided editorial evidence that she was enjoying it.)
I got 600 words into my January homily.
I taught mOm how to cook neeps without them disintegrating. (Starfit fry cutter and then steam for two-three minutes). I cooked some beef tenderloin for pOp so that it was neither burned on the outside nor underdone in the middle.
We went to Dan’s, and saw the swans, and the million dollar properties up the hill in Saanich. I saw Diane and got a sense of when I’ll be able to get the next batch to her. We laughed at the antics of the birds – pogoing Mountain Jays and pugnacious hummingbirds.
I had a dream where I found $50 folded in half and blown up against some weeds on a sidewalk in a town I’ve never been to.
We got a network cable run into the guest bedroom (Alex has already indicated her approval of this message.) The cable is long enough to run out to the gazebo. Happy days of writing with the birds, bees and a pan-pipe playing piggy are now in prospect.
We went through mOm’s Narnia-scale wardrobe of fabrics and I got a 25 cm tall stash of various kinds of fabric for baby and steampunk projects.
Katie’s quilt was ready, so I brought it back across the Salish Sea.
It was good and productive and I’ve written 500 words since I got back and tightened up some of Part II. I am much less afraid of the editing process. I am not a perfect writer. Perhaps I shall learn to be a consistent one.
I have the names for all three books now. Midnite Moving Company will be set in the same universe but about Jesse and Michel. We see much more of Jesse and Michel in Part II. Since mOm is eager to read even a messed up first draft of that, I should get on it.
I’m on the Federal NDP mailing list. (So Sue Me.) I think I’m going to unsubscribe. I already answered the survey, and yet I got told I hadn’t answered yet. This was my response:
I took the survey already.
As they say in Aberdeenshire. We got two inches (5cm) yesterday and then 5 lovely local lads banged on my door and offered to shovel, so right now I am EXCEEDINGLY WELL PLEASED with the youth of Burnaby. The fact that it was a black kid, a couple of Asian kids and a couple of white kids was the wonderment on top of the pleasedness.
Off to Gadget House tomorrow for a week of writing and making mOm alternately furrow her brow, laugh uproariously and say meep. What pOp will have to say is anyone’s guess but I’m sure he will enjoy me describing to him what prank Paul intends to play on him the next time he has an overnight in Victoria. (It is a wonderful prank, one of the best, actually, but some preparation is likely required). I may or may not post so worry not, I’ll be back.
Autumn is lovely, lively, noisy and her farts will bang your olfactory bulb like a big brass gong. Margot only hissed at her WHEN I WAS WATCHING, so I think she’s a little busted up still but will figure out she’s not the only cat anymore soon. We may have left it a little too long after Eddie died, but I can’t complain with the results. Autumn is everything we wanted in a cat and has already demonstrated that she is lap ready.
Totally loving the Danish Swedish coproduction The Bridge / Bron / Broen. The plotting is nutso but I love the characters.
Sue’s going to pick me up for church in about 20 minutes so I should fix ma hair and change into church duds. I am bringing biscotti to the church lunch and I plan to charge for them for the coffee fund.
It’s been a week since I saw Alex, sadface, but he’s apparently doing well.
I’m on the john talking to my mother on the phone and THAT’S when Autumn comes up and starts loving on me so hard that it’s embarrassing. Darn you critter! I was ALREADY multitasking and you just made my life harder. I almost wish somebody had been filming my attempt to manipulate toilet paper while fending off a most importunate feline. No I don’t but it would have been funny.
I then hucked Margot off her (Margot is spherical with fluffy rage and making strangling noises with occasional hisses for contrast and after my third attempt to make her back off took refuge in Jeff’s room) and played with her for about half an hour until I was exhausted (and I was pretty tired from standing and baking). There is biscotti.
I got pictures. She is SO PRETTY. And soft. Softer by far than any cat since Kira, and I think even softer than her.
THERE WERE SO MANY COOKIES. I only took a few; I left a tray of biscotti.
I was expecting to be asleep two hours ago and now I’m so tired I am glad i am in bed as I think I could just clunk.
Hi, friends, and some relatives. This is what I did today. (Thursday November 29th)
Up Burnaby Mountain to The Protest
Just go! I thought as I tried to find information about where to go, how much walking, what to expect. Just show support by arriving … somewhere. But Burnaby Mountain covers a large area, and if I went up it the way I knew, up to SFU, the only satisfaction I might have would be that I tried. Not much support for the protest against Kinder Morgan.
After much trial and error I found a map. Park near Curtis and Ayrshire, and just head UP, and UP, on a paved walkway, across Burnaby Mountain Parkway, and UP a little further to an information tent where you are told where the action is.
I saw Karl Perrin [of the Unitarian Church of Vancouver] at the tent. I had heard he was arrested the day before. Was he out already?
The drilling had moved, and the gathering was now down a very steep deeply muddy path, slippery, winding, intersected by thick roots and unexpected holes. People said it took 10 to 15 minutes to get to the gathering. It took me at least 30 minutes of hanging on to branches, tree trunks, people. The demographic was young. A guy tore a dead tree limb from the ground and handed it to me for a walking stick. Everyone wanted to help.
I could hear drumming: the First Nation presence. Speakers. Singing of an adaptation of We Shall Overcome.
Sliding, slipping, holding on, I reached a place where I could see the yellow ribbon. To go past that meant arrest. Gentle arrest it seemed. The police were friendly.
Someone was speaking. She was telling of her arrest the day before. The police carried her to a van. Solidarity Notes had been singing, and some of them were arrested at the same time. There was singing in the van. Singing again in the room they were taken to, and yet again in individual cells. Kraft dinner was provided. She signed a statement. I gather that at that point they were released, with trial was set for January 12th. That was it. I could have done that! But what would the arrest mean? Would one then be a “person of interest”? Well, if I could interpret it as interest in not having oil pipelines, in avoiding oil, that would be all right with me.
I headed back up the trail. Home to wash my mud soaked shoes and pants. Home to warm up.
Marilyn
PLEASE NOTE COPYRIGHT FOR THE ABOVE POST BELONGS TO MARILYN MEDEN
Sexism takedown. Funny military story.
Poop is Coming – to infinity and beyond. Ad astra per fecula!
Mindblowing investigation into how our nervous system could help with infectious disease diagnosis.
Me nervously looking at my novel to see if I have offended.
Cosby sold access to keep his rapes out of the press. Classic.
She has found two favourite hiding places and only comes out to eat and poop. She is NOT happy about being rehomed. Margot is actually starting to be concerned for her. Very odd.
Very much enjoying the Danish Swedish German coproduction The Bridge. The slobby but effective Dane and the ice cold and effective Swede make an interesting pair.
SUPER very much enjoyed an evening of frivolous drinking with SCARY CLOWN! Yes he has made a reappearance in my life and he gave me the most excellent compliment, “I had forgotten how much fun you are.” Happy sigh!
Posted by me on social media this morning, re getting rid of friends because of their reaction to Ferguson.
I have friends across the political and social spectrum. I try to love them for the life they are and not hate them for what they believe. I am not going to use political events to tell me when to cull my friendslist. I am not going to edit my reality tunnel to make it more comfortable. I am going to accept that people are irrational and irascible and afraid, and I’m going to work on my OWN racism and shine a light on where that work takes me. I can’t hate a racist into being more loving, or ignore her into being more rational. I recognize that my response is from a place of privilege because I’m white, but I believe that it’s a moral response that balances the sad truth that as a white person I know racists, and that as a white person I need to eradicate my racist thoughts, words, attitudes and beliefs. If Ferguson was your wakeup call, exactly how long have you been paying attention?
Once upon a time I had a chance to have a kid with nappy hair. It was a long time ago and beside, that ex-husband is dead. (RIP Phillip, you were one powerfully strange dude).
BUT.
I WOULD NEVER HAVE DONE THIS TO MY KID.
Styled, wild, fro’ed, dreaded, combed, razored. It is not a sexualized thing, and I don’t normally publicly comment, but I love it, and when I see a really awesome do, I don’t say a damn thing. I just feel happy.
The Good Little Dood lived up to his moniker, doing the two things he’s best at, being adorable and farting pretty much continuously.
I held him while the homilist sang Angels Among Us and he smiled at me. He thought very hard about what was appropriate before he unfurled his brow and gave me that “your mirror neurons will go nuts” look. I suspect he came into the world with a rather solemn but undemanding temperament. Time will tell.
Autumn Cat has landed! Poor Margot.
Alex will be at church with Katie, or so it was arranged and I piously hope will come to pass. I do coffee today so it’s even money whether or not I get to be upstairs for the homily portion. Sue is taking me in early and I’ll do an inventory and see if there’s enough of whatnot for coffee etc., then cross the street and pick it up. Happy daze. Should be a good homily though. Marilyn asked me to do another homily for January 4 – one of the worst attended days of the year – so I’m going to do what I can to boost the numbers. If you’re reading this, why not come to church that day!!??
THE GREAT YULETIDE COOKIEPALOOZA happens next Friday. It will turn into a filk. A messy messy housefilk, with crumbs and greasy thumbprints on the music. Yes, indeed. Thanks to Tom and Peggy for hosting. We will also have the AMERICAN CONTINGENT, being the uber crafty Jeri-Lynn and the suavely geeky Jeff. Who are just so awesome. Cindy and possibly others will attend also.
It’s raining. After yesterday’s glorious sun (which I got to walk around in, thanks to Paul not understanding that the Brighton Costco parking lot at 11 am is the worst fucking place in the known universe and how long precisely has he been living in Burnaby grumble grumble, but no harm done). I drove through the parking lot and then drove back to Planet Bachelor and walked home from there, accompanied by Keith who just felt like continuing the conversation, which was pleasant, and made the walk back go in an eyeblink. I needed the exercise. I really wanted to pick some stuff up at Costco because there’s some bread there I can’t find anywhere else plus cheap butter and you know, baking, but perhaps I can borrer the car. Apart from the walk and the abortive Costco trip I basically stayed in bed crying all day, but I’m feeling much better now. Tammy is coming in December! Conflikt 8 (I can scarcely credit it…) is coming! And I still haven’t registered or figured out how I am getting there. If I’m staying extra long I may need to like, bus it. Bleaaugh.
I love my mOm and pOp. mOm provided the correct stream of unfiltered bubbliness (occasionally going off mike to inform pOp of my responses) to assist with my bad case of the Marthambles – why, she’s better than a dose of Dr. Tufts finest elixir.
Still no cat. I suspect what has happened is that the daughter has flung herself on the ground and pleaded her mom not to let Autumn go and the mom has been too embarrassed to tell Jeff she’s changed her mind, but perhaps Jeff is right and it’s just taking longer than expected. Sometimes I think this culture is so indulgent to its children because these are the last good days and everybody’s trying to make them seem extra special.
I removed an incredible amount of hair surplus to requirements from Margot yesterday. She was not amused.
Day five of Vitamin D, Vitamin C, B6, probiotics and MSM. I am definitely feeling less achey, except for my hands, which is making me not want to play my Otto.
Jeff’s playing computer games on line with somebody, I assume Andrew – I can hear him talking to somebody on the headset. “I think we just combined to kill one of our own tanks!” is the latest.
With sadness, I have cancelled the piano lessons. He wasn’t listening to my course corrections and I’m not paying a man $35 bucks an hour to ignore me when I can have it for free any time I want on the internet.
My most recent painting is an unmitigated disaster. I am going to paint over it. I got the colours right but the design has much suckage – I think I’ll paint over it as a zombie heart.
Now to make a chocolate cake for church and figure out what I am going to wear. And I have to remember to take a tape measure, for I mean to measure some crania, I do, I do, for future hatmaking endeavours. Hats and spats. Cravats with cats. Fingerless gloves and pleather utility belts. I have to figure out how to make a living, and since there seems to be an inexhaustible interest in the steampunk aesthetic, I shall pursue that hobby for a while.