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May 22nd, 2013

Not Quite

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No luck on the London house-trade queries so far, though I did get an offer from Brazil. :-) Which, tempting as it looks (sun! beaches!), isn’t quite going to work for attending the con in Brighton.

It does lead to all kinds of interesting fantasies about future house trading and travel, of course. For a frugal homebody like me, house trading is much more appealing than hotel-staying. Sure, it’s not MY home, but it’s A home, with all the comforts and space that implies. Plus, you know, free. Just gotta get there.

Elsewise–very busy day–productive, though. I’ve edited all the stories for the anthology, and sent all but one out (waiting on a proper email address). Did some other interesting secret-for-now things. Replanted a wayward fern in the aquarium. Went for a swim. Avoided the garden, because apparently it is winter again, cold and nasty and rainy. Oh well, spring was nice while it lasted.

Now: book and bed.

Originally published at Shannon Page. You can comment here or there.

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My day is appallingly exciting. I just got a phonecall from someone who wants money. A rather nice charity, but, still.. They were very polite. When I said "This is a workplace and if it's not related to my work would you mind ringing someone else?" he did so. Still, my train of thought was interrupted and I am annoyed.

I have already got a paper to 4/5 of where it needs to be. The last 1/5 is going to be hard work, and it's this train of thought that was interrupted.

It wouldn't have been nearly as bad if my reading of the last Wheel of Time book had been interrupted. I'm halfway through and have drafted some notes for my review. Just over 400 pages more and I'm done. Then I can write up the other stack of review books I have read for ticon4 and Liz can get a sturdy email where I justify the beautiful books she has sent me. Then I can wonder at the size of the Wheel of Time series. And at the need for 900 pages to finish it off. Some of this wonder might appear in the review, but I have other things to say, too, so we'll see.

What else have I done so far on this appallingly exciting day? I have prepared for tonight's class, which is on castles. Medieval castles. I need more pictures of Welsh castles, really, but have run out of time for scanning (and they're in hard copy, alas). My hard copy is in big books, I think, and I already have more big books packed for this class than I really should be carrying. I've three hours to contemplate this, during which time I shall try for that last 1000 words and do the first draft of a synopsis and send some urgent emails and stuff.

Appallingly exciting, I tell you.
On her blog, Tansy Rayner Roberts is talking about the gender roles of men and women in fantasy, in particular George RR Martin's The Song of Ice and Fire, with occasional references to the TV show. It has a lot of spoilers, as it would.

It is an interesting read, but the part that struck me was when Tansy wrote that "main characters who are women are threatened with rape on a near-constant basis, while men almost never are – there are a few instances, but such a tiny number in comparison to the massive weight of female rape & rape threats that they are statistically insignificant. Physical humiliation and degradation are heaped on male characters, don’t get me wrong, but like most literature ever, A Song of Ice and Fire exists in a reality bubble where no one is willing to acknowledge how common male-male rape is in situations involving war, slavery and well, history."

Sadly, I think Tansy missed a more telling, and more awful point: that the rape of women in fantasy literature is more acceptable and readable than the rape of men, performed either by women or by men (as equal problem in the rape narrative of women always being the victim is that men are always the perpetrator--all doors of victimisation swing both ways, sadly).

It is a terrible thing to accept, or even to agree with, and perhaps people will disagree with me, but that has always how I've interpreted the situation. It's ugly, there's no doubt about it. It's not right, either. I actually don't like that it exists, and I find, personally, that it is one of the things I actively strive against in my own work. I am not against rape events in literature--I am not against any narrative event, unlike the real world, where I am against all forms of rape--but you cannot have such a narrative event in your work and not be aware of the larger ramifications of it in your field, your world, etc. For fantasy literature, I find myself aware of the fact that the rape of women by men is an acceptable event in the work, not because it is pleasurable to read--though we can make the argument that it is readable, which in itself opens up a whole new set of ugly conclusions--but because the genre has made it an acceptable form of degradation against female characters.

Ugly, like I said.

Aurealis Awards

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sparks-forsyth-freeman
Last Saturday night the 18th annual Aurealis Awards were held at North Sydney's Independent Theatre. Margo Lanagan scooped the pool. Check out my Flick set.

pictured: me with Kate Forsyth and Pamela Freeman

Via Greyhound express bus out of Hartford. And today, Amtrak service is restored. Haven't heard any reports of how that's going: hope everyone headed to Balticon gets there safely, whether fighting the Memorial Day Weekend traffic on the highways or the vagaries of public transport. And while we're at it, a travel-safely wish for those flying to WisCon.  For a change, I'm not going anywhere this weekend.

And here's your regularly-scheduled Flock Theatre As You Like It reminder: their website finally has the correct information.

http://flocktheatre.org/?page_id=53

Originally published at Mary Victoria. Please leave any comments there.

The US health care system isn’t all that, as we know. It charges you for dying.

There must be a Kafka story resembling this somewhere. Or at least, Kafka would have written the tale, had he been alive in our times, in the land of the free, home of the terminally ill. To confront one’s own mortality is one thing. To let a loved one go, quite another.

But to be charged $20000 for it, after a mere two days, is close to unconscionable.

Please read this appeal. Even if you can’t spare a dime, pass the word along. Alma is a storyteller of the first order. This time, unfortunately, the story is true.

THE STORY OF THE WHITE RABBIT

http://worldsf.wordpress.com/2013/05/22/short-story-highlight-the-ink-readers-of-doi-saket-by-thomas-olde-heuvelt/

http://worldsf.wordpress.com/?p=4206

Dutch author Thomas Olde Heuvelt has a new story up at Tor.com: The Ink Readers of Doi Saket:

It was during a night in the twelfth lunar month of this year when two strong hands pushed young Tangmoo down into the bed of the Mae Ping River, and by doing so, ironically, fulfilled his only wish. Tangmoo flailed his arms wildly, churning up the swirling water. The whites of his eyes reflected flashes from the fireworks as his smothered cries rose in bubbles to the surface, where they burst in silence: help, help, help, help!

These filtered cries of alarm were mistaken by a pair of dragonflies fused in flight, their only wish to remain larvaless and so prolong their love dance endlessly, for the dripping of morning dew. So unsettled was the pair that their breaths caught, and for a second, just when the male ejaculated, they separated. Force of habit subsequently incited them to repeat this in all their future climaxes, making their fondest wish actually come true.

But this was a chance circumstance. The point here is that young Tangmoo screamed, and his lungs filled with water, and please, he did not want to die this way. – continue reading!


This will end well

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From virtually everyone on Twitter: Amazon announces plan to make money from fan fiction.

The best part: The guidelines.
I've just posted the last book discussion for the DAW Book releases for April at the DAW Books blog (dawbooks). This one's for Patrick Rothfuss' The Wise Man's Fear, the second in his Kingkiller Chronicle series. Stop on by and check it out, if you haven't heard of it already. Leave a comment if you've already read it!



Regorafenib

I've spoken to the specialty pharmacy, and my Regorafenib should be arriving in Portland today. To my mild surprise, they are treating this as a pharmaceutical co-pay in line with the insurance company formulary. This is often not the case with specialty pharmacy prescriptions, I'm told. I'll start the medication next Monday when I'm back in Portland. Apparently, the side effects are a real treat.

The Nebula Awards Weekend

I'm still parsing the Nebula Awards Weekend from an emotional perspective. I'm not hung up on losing the Best Novella Nebula — that's just the way the game is played. Rather, as I said the other day, I'm struggling with my sense of being on a farewell tour. It really was a terrific weekend in a number of ways, but the reality of my foreshortened mortality is starting to grind me down.

Tension

That same reality of foreshortened mortality is grinding down the people around me as well. This is creating drama among my immediate circle of family and friends. I am very ill-equipped to handle that sort of drama. I dislike it in general, and right now my reserves are stretched so thin that dealing with such things is a profound distraction. There will only be more of this down the road as well all respond to my deepening illness.

Reserves

Those aforementioned reserves really are an issue. I have no depth these days. Anything small can upset me. I don't have the bandwidth to do everything I want. I frustrate easily, and have trouble tracking and staying with both emotional issues and projects. Right now I cannot tell if this is stress from the new diagnosis, which at some point I'll integrate, or if this is my new reality. I resent every step of loss.

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