Allison Hurd's Blog, page 6

A Year In Reviews

Another year over. I had three goals this year. I was going to read more purposefully, finish my third book, and eat honey cake as often as possible.

I’m at two of three, but I’m hoping there’s a curve. Especially since I’ve really eaten so much honey cake.

Sort of ironically, I didn’t put health goals on my agenda, and that’s been the biggest change for me! I guess it’s true, it comes to you when you stop looking for it. I will add dessert to next year’s resolutions, then. This seems to work well for me.

In the time honored tradition of the retrospective, here’s what I liked best this year:

Books

I had a goal of reading 24 books by people who were not of the majority. I read 32 books by authors that were some combination of LGBTQIA, people with disabilities, people with religions represented extensively in the book that were not Christianity, and people of color. I read 76 books, so it wasn’t quite half of my reading, but it opened my eyes and made me more conscious of what I consume. This is a trend I hope to continue.

My favorite books were:

Slaughterhouse-five by Kurt Vonnegut

Jade City by Fonda Lee

Tehanu by Ursula K Le Guin

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

Ninefox Gambit & the Machineries of Empire trilogy by Yoon Ha Lee

The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas

The Dispossessed by Ursula K Le Guin

Among Others by Jo Walton

Touch by Claire North

The links are to my reviews on Goodreads, on which page you’ll also find links on where to find or buy these books if you’re interested. Aside from Jade City and the Machineries of Empire, which were good, heartfelt, surprising fun, the rest all feature stories of the human condition and the empathy that makes it bearable. They were not only wonderful stories but written perfectly for the story they were telling.

Music

I listen to music essentially all of the time. Here are the songs I’ve put on repeat.

Warflower by Mayan Factor

So Just Hang On Beautiful One by Au4

Bodak Yellow by Cardi B

Dangervisit by Archive

King by the Romanovs

Evolution by Bethlehem Roberson “The Vocussionist”

Cinema

I am not so good at keeping up with this, but here goes.

Black Panther

Jumanji 2

Great British Bake Off

Queer Eye 2

Nanette by Hannah Gadsby

Dessert

Honey cake, which I made 3 times this year and ate something like 8 times.

What was your year like? What made an impression on you?

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May Your Days Be Merry and Bright

Whether for you this time is about the Solstice, Yule, Christmas, or a much-appreciated day off from the busy times at work, I hope this week brings you peace. As we prepare to shed 2018 and greet 2019, I hope you do whatever it is that re-energizes you, that patches up your heart and prepares you to welcome new challenges, to embrace growth.

From my family to yours, happy holidays!

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Merry Procrastinator Week!

All right, procrastinators, this is your time to shine. Yes, work’s only gotten busier, people are scheduling impromptu gift exchanges early because the kids are sick or everyone’s decided to go to some other celebration for the last week of the year. You can just manage to say you couldn’t make it to Hanukkah but still have gifts for everyone, while going to malls only seems more like an act of desperation and Amazon starts laughing when you ask if you can have something shipped by Christmas.

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There’s still time for these jolly mofos!

This is it. Merry Procrastinator week! You can do it!

I really like giving folks gifts from small businesses. I love supporting creators and entrepreneurs–not only are they critical to us as sources of innovation and the backbone of the economy, chances are my little cousin won’t say “I already have this” when she unwraps a custom-made item.

And if she does, I may just help Krampus find her next year.

Heyyy buddy! I was just talking about you!

Anyways, I try not to promote myself overly throughout the year, as you’re already on my blog and I think you recall why this blog exists, but if you’re looking for a gift for the fantasy-book reader in your life, how about some books? My books look glorious in 3D for those who want a sense of superiority over the Christmas Eve shoppers and get their work done this week. And if you like to live dangerously, well, they’re also pretty swell in e-book format.

Plus, if you give them to someone now, they’ll only have a month or two to wait, if that, before the third book comes out! So not only are you giving them something to enjoy and supporting an artist, you’re also giving the best gift of all: ancitip….

 

…ation. Science shows again and again that anticipation is what brings us the most joy, and that’s what gift giving is really all about.

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So hurry up! Get those books and get ’em wrapped! And then yell at the cat for knocking the tree over! But remember all your presents are books, so nothing could be broken and sigh relief into your eggnog. It’s the most wonderful time of the year, especially now that the cat’s scared and hiding under the bed.

And that, my friends, is true peace on Earth.

 

The Prof is in the Putting (On of Tweed)

While I am not a sociologist, psychologist or anthropologist, I think I’ve just about nailed down a working theory on how one can determine who will go into academia.

I am a well read person with a privileged profession, so naturally I fancy myself somewhat erudite. I think to myself as I pass students heading to campus, or chime in on a conversation about some piece recently published in the Washington Post or The Wall Street Journal that maybe I would be a good teacher, someone who could offer a unique perspective that would resound with a few eager bright students and badger the others into something like an education.

But then I remember that I am not a patient soul and that I blush whenever I have more than three sets of eyes on me. At that point I think perhaps it’s just the chill in the air that makes me nostalgic for my days as a student, and envious of professors who can sport tweed with impunity.

The trifecta: Bow tie, sweater vest and tweed jacket!

Here is my work in progress test to determine if you have the moxie to become a professor:

Do you know working theories of various professions other than the one you studied in school?
Does your hobby involve research and analysis of that research?
Do you feel like you’ve forgotten something if you do not have a book in hand?
Do you enjoy works by Herman Melville and come to their defense if you hear them attacked?
Is Harvard Business Publishing one of your go-to websites for information?

If you’ve answered yes to four or more of the above questions, congratulations, you will likely go on to bullet things on Power Points, achieve a certain level of penmanship not often seen these days, and shepherd a boredom of students through their studies.

I will remain here, mocking Melville, shaking my head at youths and lounging all weekend in pajamas during exam season.

To those currently in or preparing for exams on either side of the classroom, take courage! The term is almost done, and it’s doubtful the world will run out of pastries or alcohol before then. I’ll try to save you some.

I’m Sorry, My Sundays Are All Full

I haven’t had a nap. I have had a drink. Yes, I am a full adult, as evidenced by this nice cabernet sauvignon I’m enjoying while watching some British panel shows, but naps are crucial to my equilibrium, and I did not have one.

NOOOOOOOO.

Here is a list of things Sundays should definitely all include:

-Napping

-Small creatures in your lap (children included)

-A source of light that warms you (either a lie in the sun or a fire)

-A soothing beverage

-Another nap

-Something cooking

-Books

-Maybe another nap

-Something checked off the ol’ list

-Go, on, have another beverage

-How many naps before you’re just sleeping poorly?

-Ignoring the growing existential dread

-Just read a book, this is all too much work

-Did you get your nap?

No, list, I did not. Stop rubbing it in. Now, pass the wine and find for me a cat, I’ve got some books to read!

This man has it all figured out. Image from artofmanliness.com

Vengeance Pairs Well with Gravy

A pink turkey tried to rip my finger off when I was a child. I was trying to be a good Samaritan, helping it get some food that was on the wrong side of the fence and it just

CHOMP!

tried to cripple me.

I learned that day that poultry cannot be trusted. I found the true “other” and it was fowl.

Look at them all. Plotting. Image courtesy of ABC News

I think that’s when I really started enjoying Thanksgiving though. I ate turkey with a vengeance. I won’t say it was a dish best served cold, but it was almost as delicious on bread the next day as it was piping hot.

It’s been my favorite holiday for years. My now-spouse and I started officially dating and then got married the day after Thanksgiving. It’s my favorite meal, and not just because I believe in limb for a limb turkey justice. It’s the one meal where I can put bread on more bread and rather than judge me everyone thinks “this girl has it all figured out!”

Truly, it is a day of wonders.

There’s a glaring problem of course with Thanksgiving–the treatment of the native peoples in this country is appalling. In fact, even as I write this, the very Native Americans who saved the pilgrims in our creation story are fighting against their land being taken again.

There’s a lot of work to do there, and a lot of empathy we need to heal.

I don’t have a but for that. It weighs on me, like the various pagan rites usurped by other religions, like the massacres we cover up with drinking festivals and fireworks.

I do think that gratitude deserves a holiday. I do think that getting together to appreciate the people we love and the blessings in our life is worth pausing our schedules for.

I am thankful for a world striving for better, and the people who populate my particular world. I’m thankful for you. I hope you all have a moment to find a blessing, if not today then some day that speaks to you personally or culturally. In a world all about getting things and putting a price on them, getting together is priceless.

I will hold you close in a grateful heart. Image: Muppet Christmas Carol

Here to Make the Ruckus

There’s a certain tone of voice my mom uses when she is afraid that one of the rest of us in the family have punched someone. It’s a curious sound–a sort of cross between resignation and dread, a desire not to know but a duty to learn.

Me: [explains about some provocation]

Mom: *pause* Did you hit him, Allie?

Given that I’ve pretty much never laid hands on anyone, this is a peculiar response. Okay, there was that one time, but let me defend myself. With words, Mom, with words! He started it. I feel pretty justified in that one. But the rest of the time, I keep my sparring to the verbal sort, and my killing to the “with kindness” variety.

I mean, of course I want to smack some people, but I realize this is a society we’re trying to have and that hitting doesn’t generally achieve the desired goals of a society.

So what is this fear? Do I come across naturally violent? Do I have an evil twin who starts skirmishes and pulls chairs out from under innocent bottoms? Does my mother have a past of which I am not aware that has her wondering when my hereditary attack mode will kick in? Or maybe she’s just wondering if one day she’ll turn around and find all three of us are now martial artists ready to start static at circuses, film katas in the backyard all day, and learn complicated snap-dance choreography. No, hang on, I think that last part might be more of a her thing again! I’m not sure if dance fighting is more dance or more fighting. Perhaps I should investigate this as a potential family activity.

I guess her concern was more understandable yesterday, when I attended a counter-protest aimed at disrupting a “meeting” of Proud Boys and other neo-nazis congregating under the guise of rallying “for the people.” But I still didn’t hit anyone, and I really feel this should lay to rest any concerns about my self-control.

By now you’ve likely heard all the rhetoric around how to deal with white supremacists, white nationalists, nazis, neo-nazis and the rest of those advocating for my death and the death of people I care about. I have seen only two ways to make hatred at their level go away: to melt it into compassion, or to ostracize it completely. The first is difficult. It takes a lot of time, patience, and effort to find common ground, to disrupt worldviews and demonstrate that there is no other, or that the other is a benefit to the individual. This technique is powerful, but cannot be used en masse. There are therapists aimed at doing just this work, and their success rates are not considered terribly high.

The other way is to make them ashamed to show their snoot in public. It doesn’t stop them from being genocidal maniacs, but it does a good job convincing them they won’t get traction if they try. So, outnumbering them 10 to 1 accompanied by a nightmare of Gritties and an articulated Grumpy Cat, we made it clear that “the people” actually didn’t care for their rhetoric.

And we got loud about it. So, no, Mom, I didn’t hit anyone, I promise. I just stood next to the brass band playing raunchy pop songs for some anarchists, used every noisemaker I’ve ever had, and definitely did not employ my indoor voice. That’s better, right?

(Thanks to my parents, friends, and city for really making it clear who we support!)

The Right Idea, Wrong Conclusion

Do you sometimes step back and look at your life and think “Oh, my God, probably someone thinks I’m a serial killer?”

I’m having that moment. If my Google search history wasn’t sufficient to give people the wrong impression, then they should peek into my garage, which, if I had to pick two words to describe right now, I’d go with “kill room.” Plastic everywhere. Flickering fluorescent lights. Strange stains and tools all over the place. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it seems that every year the second it gets cold, I have the urge to finish all the projects. The garage doubles as my workshop, and I am on a rampage…to finish some cabinetry.

When I went with a cherry colored stain, I did not think of the optics.

Y’all it’s going to be glorious. I am going to have so much storage. And too much display room! I’m not much of a “stuff” haver, (see: always needing a project) so I’m not sure what I’ll do on the shelf portion of these cabinets, but I’m so excited to find out!

I’m not a psychic, but I have a very strong feeling that some books will be involved. Probably more than two books. And maybe a lute? Lutes go in dining rooms, right? What’s that? You want to know if I play the lute? Of course not, don’t be silly.

I’m less excited to explain this set up to the cops. Everyone’s fine, I’m entirely peaceful, and the only thing getting “offed” is this to do list. I swear.

So, what are you working on? Please don’t say disposing some bodies, I am not that kind of lawyer.

 

 

Nah, No, WriMo (And Go Vote!)

It’s November! So let me start with two questions:

Who is doing NaNoWriMo?

and
Who definitely is not doing NaNoWriMo?

I feel like this is all over my everything. Twitter, Facebook, GoodReads, and don’t even get me started on tumblr! I love that everyone is motivated and pushing themselves!

Everyone wants to be the horse. Some days you’re the camel. Some days, you’re the donkey. 

Writing sprints don’t work for me. I am much more of a plodder. Like there are some horses built for speed or pretty necks or whatever and then some that just pull things? I’m a pull things-er horse. That was a bad metaphor. Let’s try again. Romantically, I’d say I’m the turtle, not the hare, though realistically I like naps way too much to say I’m not at all hare-y.

I think I lost it again.

Whatever writing animal I’m not, I like the sense of community at this time of year, but I have never been able to fully say “okay, 50,000 words in a month, go!” Especially not in a month full of the last good weather, the start of holiday season, and all the work attendant on preparing for the beginning of bad weather and…holiday season.

So, for those definitely not participating, or who feel that they should be able to hit those goals if they’re a “real” writer, this is for you: it’s not for everybody.

The goal is words on a page. The real goal is a story with a beginning, middle and end. Perhaps some characters. While I think it’s true that you can’t just rely on inspiration to get you through, everything else is on your terms.

I’m on the last chapter of book three! Last chapters are the hardest for me, because everything has to tie up, wind down and leave everyone at rest. So, of course, means I’m at loose ends, completely wired and keyed up beyond belief. Which is, I feel, really the attitude to have when going into all those bad weather and holiday plans.

On that note, happy writing, and GO VOTE! Seriously, if you haven’t sent in a provisional or gone to early voting, now is the time to do that. Absolutely Tuesday is the last day to do that. No excuses. We owe it to each other to at least make the effort. Like with writing, it’s not about inspiration, it’s about progress. Get it done!

 

 

Hope Is Punk

I consider myself an optimist. Glass half empty means someone got a half glass of water! Half glass full, look at all the water in your future! No water, well at least it’s a nice glass. No glass, no dishes. I could go on.

 

The only nourishment hope needs is itself.

I find lately though that things have been reversed. There’s hope in my head and logic in my heart. I believe that there are tough times ahead, but if I lose hope, I’ll lose something else, too. And I can’t afford that now. I can’t afford to wallow because tough times are coming and someone needs to be prepared to say this is doable. We need optimists to pull things back together, even when we know that the glass of water is smashed, the hand that held it is bleeding profusely, and the water is likely poisoned. Someone still needs to say “hey, but you’re here still. We can get other glasses, different water.”And I have gone on, for a lifetime. There’s hope in my heart and reason in my head. With those two things, even the difficult times felt temporary. Something good was on the horizon.

But right now it feels like I’m watching someone I care for go in slow motion for the glass they cannot catch before the shattering. It is taking a lot of will to find hope. So here it is. I challenge each of you to think of three things we can hope for. And if you are one of the people looking around asking what we can do to increase the hope in this world, I encourage you to do a kind act. Rake leaves for an elderly neighbor. Pay for the coffee of the person behind you. Send a letter to a friend you haven’t spoken to recently. Tell your loved one how much they mean to you. It doesn’t have to be grand. It just has to be a gift of kindness.

Here’s a list of the good, far as I can count it:

-The outpouring of empathy from people who feel the hurt and have the instinct to support those impacted.

-The opportunity shortly to participate in a peaceful transition of power that strengthens our democratic republic

-The prospect of children excitedly dressing as beloved characters coming to ask as candy. We got full size candy bars this year, I’m really hoping for best house in the circuit!

What do you have that grounds or motivates you? What kind deeds have you done or have been done for you recently?