So, yesterday was a long run, 20 miles. No matter how fast you are, 20 miles is going to put you on the road for a long stretch of time, with not much to do but think.
Yesterday, as I came up to an intersection about a mile into the run, the light turned green and the walk signal came on, so I kept my pace and started to cross the street. The driver of a minivan decided to gun it and turn right in front of me, despite having had a red light for a couple of seconds already, and despite the fact that several of us were visibly beginning to cross the street. (I should also note that the driver slowed down, but never stopped.) I prefer to communicate that this is unacceptable, so I rapped on the side panel of the vehicle with my knuckles to say "Hey, right here, could have hit me! We saw you run that red light!"
About half a mile later, I came to another intersection with a light. Again, the light turned green just as I was approaching. I kept pace and started to enter the street, noting that the car that had been waiting at the light was turning left and would intersect my crosswalk. I then noticed that the walk light was NOT lit, so I backpedalled, holding out my hands to the driver in apology. Once they had turned and no one else was in sight, I crossed.
I tell these two stories in light of the conversations/debates/arguments that have been happening lately within the SF/F writing community, about the SFWA bulletin and the lapses in judgement regarding the depiction and discussion of gender equity. Every civilization requires a mutual recognition for certain shared rules, laws, and behavioral guidelines, in order to establish proper social interaction. I trust I need not quote the Code of Hammurabi or Aristotle's Politics in support of this point.
That said, those rules of interaction change with the society. Some are more flexible than others, some are situational variant, and some are generalized guidelines, perpetually in flux.
It strikes me that a great deal of the controversy over the recent blunders in the SFWA Bulletin (issues #200, #201, and #202) has to do with how we read and react to the rules of the road. For instance, when the driver of the minivan ran the red light, I was well within my rights to communicate that I recognized and disapproved of her choice, and that it had endangered me and others in my society. Likewise, when I began crossing the road without the correct signal, I could have just continued across the street, ignoring the signal and forcing the vehicle to stop from hitting me. I'm in a crosswalk, right? Per Minnesota state law, the onus is on the driver of the vehicle, which has more power to do harm.*
Except, that's not a responsible approach. Because as soon as you start to say that something is barely breaking the rules, or that those rules shouldn't apply in this situation, you start to say that your interpretation of the situation and the rules is more important and more valid than the rest of the society you are participating in. So I agree, wholeheartedly, with Ben Rosenbaum's post about situational and society awareness. If Barry Malzberg and Mike Resnick want to sit around in private space to discuss the relative physical merits of a woman they once knew, fine. But there needs to be a recognition that, when speaking from a place of established power (as long-established, male authors writing for the official publication of THE professional organization for SF/F writers and artists should more or less concrete, for purposes of this discussion), to be aware of audience, cultural shifts, and most importantly, forward looking responsibility to the genre.
I'm willing to believe that what they did in issue #200 was akin to me running out into the street without the right signal. It was ill-conceived, inappropriate, and likely unintentional--though that last may be more egregious than it sounds. But still, I've never met someone who doesn't make mistakes; they, too, are part of how we interact with each other.
It was that, instead of backpedalling and apologizing, as when I realized my mistake in running, in issue #202 they figuratively stood in the crosswalk, flipped off the oncoming car, and yelled "You're trying to run me down! I have every right to run here!"**
This does not for good society make.
I believe there have been misinterpretations and misjudgments on many fronts in this debate. Threats of death, dismemberment, rape, bodily harm, and physical or psychological torture*** are never an acceptable form of discourse. Calls for people to step down, or be fired, do have their place--and I understand Jean Rabe has done just that today. As I say in the comments section of my blog, if you cannot be courteous, be civil. Yes, there are times when the blood must rise, when a point must be made, or defended, strenuously. But for communication to happen, both sides of any disagreement must see, admit, and accept the humanity of the other side, even if they cannot accept in any way the other's point of view on a particular topic.
We must move forward together. And I mean every single word of that sentence.
___
*To be clear, lest this be misinterpreted, this metaphor is NOT intended to suggest that the women and men who responded to Malzberg and Resnick's dialogue of “lady editors” and “lady writers,” how they looked in bathing suits, how they were “beauty pageant beautiful” or a “knock out” were in any way doing the wrong thing. In their metaphorical experience, the car may have continued moving until it bumped into them, or revved its engines as if suggesting they were in the wrong. It's not a perfect metaphor.
**Also, it should be clear that, based on the power dynamics of the situation and the long history of ill treatment of women in speculative fiction and SF in particular, these men were in the driver's seat of the vehicle, not acting as the pedestrian, in this metaphor.
***This is not intended to be a complete list of modes of unacceptable discourse.
Wednesday, June 5, 2013
Thursday, May 30, 2013
Someone is Wrong on the Internet: Me
Somedays, writing is hard, and some days it is easy. Today
it’s hard, though not for the reason I more commonly experience, when my brain
wants to be doing something else.
Today writing is hard because I was wrong, on the internet.
And I have to call myself out on it.
The details are unimportant, aside from the fact that a
friend raised a point that I misunderstood, which made me raise an eyebrow, and
then before I paid attention to what was going on, I had launched into full on
Educate Them mode. Because, you know, I Know All About It, and clearly they did
not.
Wow, hubris.
My friend was kind, clear, and tried to be patient with me.
I patently Did Not Get It. I pursued the argument, not the understanding. And
in the process, I treated a friend like they were somehow less than me.
THAT is where I was most wrong. Who cares about the content
of the discussion? In a month, I likely won’t even remember what we were
talking about. But I will sure as hell remember that they asked me to stop,
re-read the whole conversation, and consider one simple fact: I was making the
assumption that they knew nothing about the topic.
You know what they say about assuming. That was a hard
mirror to look into.
I’m writing this, because the internet is seductive. It
allows distance, abstraction, to a degree that can be dangerous. Just this
weekend, I had a conversation about seeing friends in person, and how important
it is to get those conversational cues from tone of voice, facial expression,
body language. Those are missing on the internet. And that means that we—that
I—must be more vigilant about listening to the people we interact with. Because
to not listen fully, to assume that someone else does not know enough, is to
treat them as less than we are. That’s dehumanizing.
That’s appalling. I can’t believe I treated someone else like that, never mind someone I
actually care about. But I know I’ve done it before, even if I can’t point at
specific examples. And I don’t want to do it anymore. It’s not a proper way to
treat other people.
Look, I’m not suggesting that everyone is an angel, that
everyone is equally knowledgeable on every subject—far from it. What I am
saying--insisting on, really--is that I don’t
know what another person does and does not know, so my default should be to
treat them with respect. And I’m saying it out loud, to y’all, both because I
want to be accountable for it, and because I doubt I’m the only person who has
made this particular mistake.
Thanks for listening.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Hearing Voices
This will make sense to some of you, coming from me, a primarily-straight white male. If it doesn't make sense, ask yourself why you think that. I'd be curious to hear your thoughts.
One of the most important panels I attended at WisCon was on "Unheard Voices in Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror." The panelists Kimberley Long-Ewing, Catherine Lundoff, Victor J. Raymond, and Juilia Rios spoke on a number of organizations in SF/F/H that support under-represented writers. What really stuck with me were what these three groups that I want to talk about, and why I support what they do.
The Carl Brandon Society
From their website: "The mission of the Carl Brandon Society is to increase racial and ethnic diversity in the production of and audience for speculative fiction." "We envision a world in which speculative fiction, about complex and diverse cultures from writers of all backgrounds, is used to understand the present and model possible futures; and where people of color are full citizens in the community of imagination and progress."
Broad Universe
From their website, the vision of Broad Universe is "Equal recognition, pay, and opportunity for women writing and publishing in science fiction, fantasy, horror, and other speculative genres." "Broad Universe goals to support women writing, editing, and publishing in science fiction, fantasy, horror, and other speculative fiction: 1. Promote members' work. 2. Educate members, the speculative fiction community, and the public about women's contributions. 3. Create a professional community and fan base. 4. Be a resource for women writers at every level."
Outer Alliance
From the archives of their website (to be reconstructed after some complicated server difficulties), their mission statement is: "As a member of the Outer Alliance, I advocate for queer speculative fiction and those who create, publish and support it, whatever their sexual orientation and gender identity. I make sure this is reflected in my actions and my work." You can also check out a current reading list they put together:
The comment I made in this panel was a simple one: If I wanted to know only what I already am, I would sit alone in a room full of mirrors, talking to myself. But I want to know more than that. I want to know what I am and what I am not. I want to know what else the world holds, and what other worlds might hold, too. I want to know what myths other people grew up with, how those stories grew and changed in their minds, what their experiences and points of view shape their stories, their worlds real and imagined. To imagine that I already know everything I need would be not only folly, but hubris of the first order.
The missions of the Carl Brandon Society, Broad Universe, and Outer Alliance are essential. You're going to hear me talk on this theme over and over again, but until we are all equal, none of us are equal. I will not be Orwell's pig. We must actively engage, encourage, support, and welcome people from across the whole range of cultures, ethnicities, gender identities, backgrounds, ages, and on. And given our privileged cultural predilections for selecting groups and people who are like ourselves, that means we have to reach out purposefully to others, to everyone, and actively create a space where those voices that historically--and currently--are underrepresented and too often go unheard are brought to light, recognized, celebrated, shared; they should be equally geeked upon.
Join, support, learn, embrace these organizations, and help support the work that they do to improve our community. Let's make sure the futures we are building are better than the present we inhabit, whenever and however possible.
One of the most important panels I attended at WisCon was on "Unheard Voices in Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror." The panelists Kimberley Long-Ewing, Catherine Lundoff, Victor J. Raymond, and Juilia Rios spoke on a number of organizations in SF/F/H that support under-represented writers. What really stuck with me were what these three groups that I want to talk about, and why I support what they do.
The Carl Brandon Society
From their website: "The mission of the Carl Brandon Society is to increase racial and ethnic diversity in the production of and audience for speculative fiction." "We envision a world in which speculative fiction, about complex and diverse cultures from writers of all backgrounds, is used to understand the present and model possible futures; and where people of color are full citizens in the community of imagination and progress."
Broad Universe
From their website, the vision of Broad Universe is "Equal recognition, pay, and opportunity for women writing and publishing in science fiction, fantasy, horror, and other speculative genres." "Broad Universe goals to support women writing, editing, and publishing in science fiction, fantasy, horror, and other speculative fiction: 1. Promote members' work. 2. Educate members, the speculative fiction community, and the public about women's contributions. 3. Create a professional community and fan base. 4. Be a resource for women writers at every level."
Outer Alliance
From the archives of their website (to be reconstructed after some complicated server difficulties), their mission statement is: "As a member of the Outer Alliance, I advocate for queer speculative fiction and those who create, publish and support it, whatever their sexual orientation and gender identity. I make sure this is reflected in my actions and my work." You can also check out a current reading list they put together:
The comment I made in this panel was a simple one: If I wanted to know only what I already am, I would sit alone in a room full of mirrors, talking to myself. But I want to know more than that. I want to know what I am and what I am not. I want to know what else the world holds, and what other worlds might hold, too. I want to know what myths other people grew up with, how those stories grew and changed in their minds, what their experiences and points of view shape their stories, their worlds real and imagined. To imagine that I already know everything I need would be not only folly, but hubris of the first order.
The missions of the Carl Brandon Society, Broad Universe, and Outer Alliance are essential. You're going to hear me talk on this theme over and over again, but until we are all equal, none of us are equal. I will not be Orwell's pig. We must actively engage, encourage, support, and welcome people from across the whole range of cultures, ethnicities, gender identities, backgrounds, ages, and on. And given our privileged cultural predilections for selecting groups and people who are like ourselves, that means we have to reach out purposefully to others, to everyone, and actively create a space where those voices that historically--and currently--are underrepresented and too often go unheard are brought to light, recognized, celebrated, shared; they should be equally geeked upon.
Join, support, learn, embrace these organizations, and help support the work that they do to improve our community. Let's make sure the futures we are building are better than the present we inhabit, whenever and however possible.
Monday, May 27, 2013
Community
This is a post to say thank you, but first, let me clear something up.
I have never watched the show "Community." Yes, I know it's about us, about geeks and science fiction. I've heard it's rife with in jokes and references that will make us all squee. So, to be clear, this post isn't about that show.
Or, perhaps it is, though certainly not through any knowledge on my part.
Onward.
I've just come home from WisCon, after a difficult, exceedingly stressful month at work, after far too long without seeing and hearing and spending time in the same hard space with people in Science Fiction and Fantasy. I particularly like WisCon because it's about ideas and philosophies, and it wants to engage them in a way that has real world implications. And it's full of wonderful writers and fans and editors and agents, and it's a very professional con with a lot of accessibility. People go out to dinner in small groups, friendships are born and renewed, time ceases to matter quite so distinctly inside the bubble of the con.
It was heavenly. I wasn't able to get to WisCon until late in the day on Saturday, so I was only there for about a day and a half. I poured myself in, seeing friends I haven't seen since last year, meeting new folks, and listening to panelists engage in a variety of topics revolving around feminism and specfic. I lingered on the party floor until 3:00am, I went to bed far too late and got up too early, I drank more coffee and ate more Ian's Pizza. I debated the relative merits of tractors with a delightful woman with a Slobovian accent, counterpointing her time and again with a closetful of accents from Bostonian to Liverpudlian to Lowland Scots to Irish to Russian. I danced with a six-month old baby, and then halfway cross-dressed danced again at the Genderfloomp. I asked questions and listened to the answers. Perhaps most importantly, I had a series of conversations laying the groundwork for a serious anthology project I'm developing, and got great feedback and really excellent ideas and material. It was exhausting, and rejuvenating all at once. I loved every minute of it.
Because you are my people.
On the drive home, I listened to a whole bunch of Escape Pod stories. In one of them, Episode 391, the episode's host (and Escape Pod's sometime Interim Editor) Alasdair Stuart talks about community. "Community," he says, in answer to why people put themselves through hurt and heartache and a loss of pride to do something they love. "The same reason I'm here, the same reason you're here. Community. A feeling of belonging. When you do something you love, when you participate in something you love, when you do something that makes you feel at home, then the hard stuff is... well, it's still really hard, which sucks, but it's also minimized. When you do something you love, you always know where North is. You always know how to get home."
It was at that point that I started crying. That is the essence of what I get out of WisCon. I get to be with my people. I get to be with you, in a space where I am not acting, where I can be as weird and strange and smart and odd as I want, and no one pushes me out.
To each and every one of you who made this year's WisCon so excellent, with your words and your your wits and your wisdom, with your fun and your feisty floomp, thank you. From my heart, thank you. I miss you already, and I will see you online.
I have never watched the show "Community." Yes, I know it's about us, about geeks and science fiction. I've heard it's rife with in jokes and references that will make us all squee. So, to be clear, this post isn't about that show.
Or, perhaps it is, though certainly not through any knowledge on my part.
Onward.
I've just come home from WisCon, after a difficult, exceedingly stressful month at work, after far too long without seeing and hearing and spending time in the same hard space with people in Science Fiction and Fantasy. I particularly like WisCon because it's about ideas and philosophies, and it wants to engage them in a way that has real world implications. And it's full of wonderful writers and fans and editors and agents, and it's a very professional con with a lot of accessibility. People go out to dinner in small groups, friendships are born and renewed, time ceases to matter quite so distinctly inside the bubble of the con.
It was heavenly. I wasn't able to get to WisCon until late in the day on Saturday, so I was only there for about a day and a half. I poured myself in, seeing friends I haven't seen since last year, meeting new folks, and listening to panelists engage in a variety of topics revolving around feminism and specfic. I lingered on the party floor until 3:00am, I went to bed far too late and got up too early, I drank more coffee and ate more Ian's Pizza. I debated the relative merits of tractors with a delightful woman with a Slobovian accent, counterpointing her time and again with a closetful of accents from Bostonian to Liverpudlian to Lowland Scots to Irish to Russian. I danced with a six-month old baby, and then halfway cross-dressed danced again at the Genderfloomp. I asked questions and listened to the answers. Perhaps most importantly, I had a series of conversations laying the groundwork for a serious anthology project I'm developing, and got great feedback and really excellent ideas and material. It was exhausting, and rejuvenating all at once. I loved every minute of it.
Because you are my people.
On the drive home, I listened to a whole bunch of Escape Pod stories. In one of them, Episode 391, the episode's host (and Escape Pod's sometime Interim Editor) Alasdair Stuart talks about community. "Community," he says, in answer to why people put themselves through hurt and heartache and a loss of pride to do something they love. "The same reason I'm here, the same reason you're here. Community. A feeling of belonging. When you do something you love, when you participate in something you love, when you do something that makes you feel at home, then the hard stuff is... well, it's still really hard, which sucks, but it's also minimized. When you do something you love, you always know where North is. You always know how to get home."
It was at that point that I started crying. That is the essence of what I get out of WisCon. I get to be with my people. I get to be with you, in a space where I am not acting, where I can be as weird and strange and smart and odd as I want, and no one pushes me out.
To each and every one of you who made this year's WisCon so excellent, with your words and your your wits and your wisdom, with your fun and your feisty floomp, thank you. From my heart, thank you. I miss you already, and I will see you online.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Trust Your Instincts, Murphy
Tonight was a meeting of the Wyrdsmiths, and after we were done critiquing, celebrating the passage of the Minnesota House bill legalizing marriage equality, and before we'd gotten to naming Sled Dog Squee or going into the finer points of pelvic comb overs, we discussed our upcoming CONvergence schedules.
Now, if you'll remember, Last week I posted my panels for CONvergence, and made this note about the panels:
"Every time I go check their programming portal, I find out I'm on another panel. It was one, then a few days later, two, then three. Now? I'm actually afraid to go back and check again, because as this point I'm on four panels, which is fine...."
It was in this vein, and referencing this piece I'd written above, that I suggested perhaps we could look up everyone else's schedule, but leave mine alone. After all, while I'm not particularly superstitious, I do recognize the difference between seeing a bull in a paddock and climbing into the Minotaur's Labyrinth.
But the Wyrdsmiths insisted that they wanted to see what panels I was on, and I capitulated.
BAD. MOVE.
Because now I have looked up my CONvergence schedule on five separate occasions, and so far, the data describing the correlation of the total number of panels on my schedule to the number of separate times that schedule has been looked up in advance remains inextricably linked. One to one.
I am now on five panels.*
I think I may contact programming to decline one of the panels, now that I'm well and safely above three. One of the panels I'm on, I don't know or care that much about. That's really neither here nor anywhere, though. The point is this: if you suspect something may be the case, despite the stirring efforts of your logical brain to suggest that it's mere superstition on your part, don't be so fast to discount it.
Quantum mechanics suggests that the mere act of observation changes the system being observed.
I must never look at the CONvergence programming portal again.
___
*Accordingly, my schedule listing on the previous post has been updated with my new panel.
Now, if you'll remember, Last week I posted my panels for CONvergence, and made this note about the panels:
"Every time I go check their programming portal, I find out I'm on another panel. It was one, then a few days later, two, then three. Now? I'm actually afraid to go back and check again, because as this point I'm on four panels, which is fine...."
It was in this vein, and referencing this piece I'd written above, that I suggested perhaps we could look up everyone else's schedule, but leave mine alone. After all, while I'm not particularly superstitious, I do recognize the difference between seeing a bull in a paddock and climbing into the Minotaur's Labyrinth.
But the Wyrdsmiths insisted that they wanted to see what panels I was on, and I capitulated.
BAD. MOVE.
Because now I have looked up my CONvergence schedule on five separate occasions, and so far, the data describing the correlation of the total number of panels on my schedule to the number of separate times that schedule has been looked up in advance remains inextricably linked. One to one.
I am now on five panels.*
I think I may contact programming to decline one of the panels, now that I'm well and safely above three. One of the panels I'm on, I don't know or care that much about. That's really neither here nor anywhere, though. The point is this: if you suspect something may be the case, despite the stirring efforts of your logical brain to suggest that it's mere superstition on your part, don't be so fast to discount it.
Quantum mechanics suggests that the mere act of observation changes the system being observed.
I must never look at the CONvergence programming portal again.
___
*Accordingly, my schedule listing on the previous post has been updated with my new panel.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
Conventions and Me: Friends, Networking, and Panels
The great time of Midwestern conventions is upon us. I'm attending two upcoming cons (at least, for now): WisCon, in Madison, Wisconsin, and CONvergence here in Minnesota.
I love cons. I love them for the unabashed geekery, the ability to feel safe and to let loose and be with my people. To be weird and have that BE the cool.
I also love to go to cons because I get to see friends. So much of the time, we only see each other online, and I'm a people person. I miss seeing friends, hearing their voices, staying up until all hours talking just to talk. Every time I go, I meet new people, make new friends, and get the chance to reconnect with friends I haven't seen all year. It's furiously invigorating. It's exhausting. I'd do it every weekend if I could.
Usually, I'm on panels--usually on writing, though occasionally on assorted fandoms. This year at WisCon I'm not on any, because I didn't think I'd be able to go until about a month ago, when I finagled the second half of the weekend away from work. But still! WisCon!
I shall be unfolding the beginning pieces of a secret project at WisCon, so it's fairly important that I attend, connect, build those initial elements. Lips sealed.
CONvergence, however, is a different matter entirely. Every time I go check their programming portal, I find out I'm on another panel. It was one, then a few days later, two, then three. Now? I'm actually afraid to go back and check again, because as this point I'm onfour panels, which is fine. (I went back and checked again. I warned myself, but I was coerced at Wyrdsmiths to double check my schedule, and now I am on FIVE PANELS.) They're good panels, with fun co-panelists. Here's what I've got:
I am excited about these panels. I'm on two panels with Guests of Honor (Melinda Snodgrass, Lou Anders), and two with a bevy of friends. You might as well re-subtitle the Creating a Monster panel "How the Wyrdsmiths Write Villains" considering that Eleanor, Naomi, and I are all members of the that writers' group. And I can't think of a more fun way to wrap up my panels for the con than a Sunday afternoon romp through use of magic in books with another Wyrdsmith, Kelly, and the ever-awesome Haddayr.
So, yeah, cons. Pardon me while I spend the rest of May waiting for them to arrive!
I love cons. I love them for the unabashed geekery, the ability to feel safe and to let loose and be with my people. To be weird and have that BE the cool.
I also love to go to cons because I get to see friends. So much of the time, we only see each other online, and I'm a people person. I miss seeing friends, hearing their voices, staying up until all hours talking just to talk. Every time I go, I meet new people, make new friends, and get the chance to reconnect with friends I haven't seen all year. It's furiously invigorating. It's exhausting. I'd do it every weekend if I could.
Usually, I'm on panels--usually on writing, though occasionally on assorted fandoms. This year at WisCon I'm not on any, because I didn't think I'd be able to go until about a month ago, when I finagled the second half of the weekend away from work. But still! WisCon!
I shall be unfolding the beginning pieces of a secret project at WisCon, so it's fairly important that I attend, connect, build those initial elements. Lips sealed.
CONvergence, however, is a different matter entirely. Every time I go check their programming portal, I find out I'm on another panel. It was one, then a few days later, two, then three. Now? I'm actually afraid to go back and check again, because as this point I'm on
Friday, July 5
9:30am
Keeping Promises to the Audience
Science can save the world or destroy it! What does our vision of how science will shape the future say about ourselves and what does it say about science? Panelists: Elizabeth Bear, Sean M. Murphy, Emma Bull, J. Boone Dryden, Monica Valentinelli
Friday July 5, 2013 9:30am - 10:30am
Atrium 6
Atrium 6
3:30pm
Science Fiction as a Hopeful Future vs. a Cautionary Tale
Lots of works start off promising something, but never deliver. Why is it important that books/movies/whatever keep the promises that they make? Panelists: Melinda Snodgrass, Sean M. Murphy, Caroline Stevermer, Abra Staffin-Wiebe
Friday July 5, 2013 3:30pm - 4:30pm
Bloomington
Bloomington
7:00pm
Creating a Monster: How to Write Villains
What are some good ways to add depth to your villan characters? What stereotypes should or shouldn't you use? Panelists: Sean M. Murphy, Joel Arnold, Naomi Kritzer, Eleanor Arnason, Will Shetterly
Friday July 5, 2013 7:00pm - 8:00pm
Atrium 4
Atrium 4
Sunday, July 7
9:30am
Kids Intro to Classic SF&F
Yes! The field did exist before Harry Potter. What are good books from long ago (well, over 40 years) that still hold up for kids (under 12) to read now? Panelists: Michael Merriam, Vetnita Anderson, Michael Levy, Sean M. Murphy
Sunday July 7, 2013 9:30am - 10:30am
Atrium 3
Atrium 3
2:00pm
Use of Magic in Books
There are may ways to structure a magic system. What are some of the best and how what does it take to make a system of magic convincing and interesting? Panelists: Caroline Stevermer, Sean M. Murphy, Kelly McCullough, Lou Anders, Haddayr Copley-Woods
Sunday July 7, 2013 2:00pm - 3:00pm
Sofitel Bordeaux
Sunday July 7, 2013 2:00pm - 3:00pm
Sofitel Bordeaux
I am excited about these panels. I'm on two panels with Guests of Honor (Melinda Snodgrass, Lou Anders), and two with a bevy of friends. You might as well re-subtitle the Creating a Monster panel "How the Wyrdsmiths Write Villains" considering that Eleanor, Naomi, and I are all members of the that writers' group. And I can't think of a more fun way to wrap up my panels for the con than a Sunday afternoon romp through use of magic in books with another Wyrdsmith, Kelly, and the ever-awesome Haddayr.
So, yeah, cons. Pardon me while I spend the rest of May waiting for them to arrive!
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Found: My Voice
A few weeks ago... <consults calendar> ...hmm, let's call it April 7th, I had an extraordinary day. That was the day that I found my voice.
Oh, all right. It wasn't like turning on a light switch, precisely, though the recognition of it felt a lot like that from my perspective. But even that metaphor holds, if you consider all of the work that has gone into building the house or the room that you're in, and laying in the wiring and the circuit breakers, choosing a light fixture, buying bulbs and so on, and then one day, you walk into the room and flick the switch, and wait wait now there is light.
I did a thing, one of those little free flow writing exercises, to borrow the phrase: like you do. I sat and spilled words, in whatever manner they wanted to come, without all the intentionality and crafting, without others looking over my shoulder and commenting. They were raw words, as much a first draft as any other style would be, but they sang. For me and to me, they were the most shining way I could think of to put ideas into the world.
I realized that the styles I most love in other writers, consumed over decades and combined with my own writing process and my own desires and need to tell stories, those styles had been digested and broken down and sung inside me until the words I wanted to write came out in patterns that--while imperfect, and needing as much craft and revision as any other approach would take--made me pump my fist in delight.
I also realized that while the style I write in may not work for some people, for other people it may be the thing that keeps them coming back to my books. I realized that I need to write that way I write, and not be trying to please all of the people all of the time. I must be myself, and do what i can with that. Learn, grow, hone, develop--yes. Obscure, hide, pretend? No.
I can look at that text I wrote and see where I learned from Guy Gavriel Kay, and Wilson Rawls, Ray Bradbury, J.R.R. Tolkein, and Song of Solomon. When I read that snippet of text, the words flow, they have rhythm and texture and pulse. They sound like my voice.
What a damned sigh of relief it is to find that. Now, I can use it more effectively, or at least try.
Oh, all right. It wasn't like turning on a light switch, precisely, though the recognition of it felt a lot like that from my perspective. But even that metaphor holds, if you consider all of the work that has gone into building the house or the room that you're in, and laying in the wiring and the circuit breakers, choosing a light fixture, buying bulbs and so on, and then one day, you walk into the room and flick the switch, and wait wait now there is light.
I did a thing, one of those little free flow writing exercises, to borrow the phrase: like you do. I sat and spilled words, in whatever manner they wanted to come, without all the intentionality and crafting, without others looking over my shoulder and commenting. They were raw words, as much a first draft as any other style would be, but they sang. For me and to me, they were the most shining way I could think of to put ideas into the world.
I realized that the styles I most love in other writers, consumed over decades and combined with my own writing process and my own desires and need to tell stories, those styles had been digested and broken down and sung inside me until the words I wanted to write came out in patterns that--while imperfect, and needing as much craft and revision as any other approach would take--made me pump my fist in delight.
I also realized that while the style I write in may not work for some people, for other people it may be the thing that keeps them coming back to my books. I realized that I need to write that way I write, and not be trying to please all of the people all of the time. I must be myself, and do what i can with that. Learn, grow, hone, develop--yes. Obscure, hide, pretend? No.
I can look at that text I wrote and see where I learned from Guy Gavriel Kay, and Wilson Rawls, Ray Bradbury, J.R.R. Tolkein, and Song of Solomon. When I read that snippet of text, the words flow, they have rhythm and texture and pulse. They sound like my voice.
What a damned sigh of relief it is to find that. Now, I can use it more effectively, or at least try.
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