Dawn Metcalf's Blog, page 44

Agoggle

It's sort of like that first time wearing a sharp coat, new hairdo, or a great pair of shoes: it's all about attitude!

I have come to the conclusion that goggles make everything better, or at least make you look like an insane gemologist. Honestly, it's like Ray Bans gone back in time and getting a slight overhaul by a creative genius armed with lenses, a soldering iron, and a quirky sense of humor. I know how the "goggles plus top hat" is the lame formula for smacking the label "steampunk" on just about anything, but a real eye-stopper is worth the investment for the shock value alone. Quick peek if you don't believe me:


Did I say "attitude"? Why, yes I did! (via Rippin Kitten)

How about insane amounts of cuteness?



Insane fauna and veggie cuteness supplied via Ursula Vernon (also uber-talented author of the Dragonbreath books)

[image error] [image error]
Okay, I admit the whole outfit screams attitude, but I loved this photo, the inspiration for Gail Carriger's SOULLESS cover art (photo deets here)

This has been a test of your steampunky-coolness station. We now return you to your regularly-scheduled normalcy.

FIN

Goggle-Agog

It's sort of like that first time wearing a sharp coat, new hairdo, or a great pair of shoes: it's all about attitude!

I have come to the conclusion that goggles make everything better, or at least make you look like an insane gemologist. Honestly, it's like Ray Bans gone back in time and getting a slight overhaul by a creative genius armed with lenses, a soldering iron, and a quirky sense of humor. I know how the "goggles plus top hat" is the lame formula for smacking the label "steampunk" on just about anything, but a real eye-stopper is worth the investment for the shock value alone. Quick peek if you don't believe me:


Did I say "attitude"? Why, yes I did! (via Rippin Kitten)

How about insane amounts of cuteness?



Insane fauna and veggie cuteness supplied via Ursula Vernon (also uber-talented author of the Dragonbreath books)

[image error] [image error]
Okay, I admit the whole outfit screams attitude, but I loved this photo, the inspiration for Gail Carriger's SOULLESS cover art (photo deets here)

This has been a test of your steampunky-coolness station. We now return you to your regularly-scheduled normalcy.

FIN

Dominated & Worshipped

Today, I'm hosting a chat over at The Enchanted Inkpot all about princes, as in "He's Such A Prince!". (These are the original storybook princes and the qualities that we admire and aspire to rather than those we poke fun of or ridicule as in more modern, P.C. fairy tale retellings...although I'll admit there's a great clip of "Agony" from Into the Woods" over there!)

But what kept running through my mind as I typed was an old rant I had about the "Prince Charming" power dynamic and a related post about "strong" heroines (in this case, princesses) and the linked pic I used of the Disney prince sweeping Snow White off of her feet and carrying her away to her presumably happy-ever-after. Now in no way can I stretch the idea that Snow White should be considered a "strong heroine" as she does nothing more than...well, be very very sweet and pretty and innocent, which certainly has its own appeal. However, it was the tone of the picture that stuck in my mind.


So cute and so romantic, right? But who is carrying who off to where after having just done what? Yeah, I know.

On one hand, I'm writing at the Inkpot about "a prince of a guy" who has all the great qualities we like to see in our leaders, our lovers, and sons. He is brave, handsome, courteous, wise, fair and takes on the mantle of leadership and responsibility, setting a good example that follows his virtuous heart. Check, check, check, check and check. Good deal! *BUT* what is also implied here is a notion of dominance and power: he is a "prince", after all, and nobility requires--by definition--a certain level of rank and inheritance, of wealth and bearing, and most importantly, of power. What levels the playing field in the romantic storyline is that he is besotted with the (most often) physical beauty of his true love, the princess. And while I've already shared my thoughts about this myth running rampant in the fantasy lives of girls and grown women everywhere who believe that if a guy truly "gets them" they should be able to prove their love and devotion by somehow anticipating and fulfilling every one of her wants and secret desires through some mythical love-soul-brain connection that defies not only science, but basic logic and politeness, setting everyone up for disappointment, (Occam's Razor abhors a logic vacuum). THAT said: the key to this fantasy seems to be both dominance (power over a woman) and worship (being powerless to a woman).

My very smart friend, wildpaletz said it best: "Why must a lover also be a teacher? Anyway, that's nice and all, but her experience should have shown her that that sort of dynamic ends up with a strange power difference that she gets tired of--because she really wants to be worshiped. But also dominated. Dominated AND worshiped." Sounds like a certain icy-sparkly vampire character (who notably popped up somewhen between my old posts and this one!) or a certain version of "Sleeping Beauty" by uber-author, Anne Rice, to me.

So this is the dark underside of the prince, even the best ones: they require a power imbalance by the nature of their existence, a schism that modern myths are trying to level with wit or giving up titles, with a sense of equality or matching strengths and weaknesses, by subtracting class or adding political-correctness, but while I applaud all of these efforts and many of the great stories that this philosophy has produced, something in my gut says that this *isn't* what gals really want (despite their pro-equality status) and I think the success of icy-sparkly vampires proves me right.

What say you, smart people?

Light Sensitive This Morning

I woke to the windows filled with rosy light
A pinkish hue,
The blush of morning.

And I realized how good that feels
Because winter's gray turns bright to ash
And all my crayons black.

Look for the Extraordinary in the Ordinary

Stories are about the everyday with something extraordinary going on. No matter how fantastic your world, the races, the history, or the characters, if it's just another Tuesday on Mars, there's not much to tell. The heart of every chapter or paragraph or sentence of that story is that something else is happening that makes this not-just-another-Tuesday-on-Mars and therefore it's vitally important or meaningful that this chapter or paragraph or sentence is here because it moves us forward into the extraordinary situation, its conflict, and eventual resolution.

The best, most everyday stories are like that, too.



My kids love Schoolhouse Rock. This could be a combination of catchy songs, cartoons, and the transitive property of parental nostalgia, yet my son is a *huge* fan and asks to watch one almost daily. So when I saw that the local children's theater was performing Schoolhouse Rock Live, I immediately wanted tickets for the whole family. Only the nighttime show was available, but with some creative dinner timing, we were all together in the tiny theater, laughing and clapping (although precious few of the attendees were singing along. Wimps!) And then there came the inevitable fishing to have kids join the actors up on stage during the "Circulation" number; my daughter was too shy and snuggled against her Daddy's shoulder, but I scooped up my son and passed him over my lap to the waiting hands of one of the performers, knowing that my boy loves to dance more than anything in the world and I sat back to watch.

He was in heaven.

He danced in the circles and boogied all by himself, waving his arms and shaking his hips with the biggest smile on his face. My daughter looked a little envious, but stayed seated. He danced with adults, he danced with other kids, he danced for the first row of the audience, he was propelled by the music. As the performers wrapped up for the final refrain, the kids were ushered back to their seats...

...but not my boy.

He ran past me and back onstage, dancing delightedly with the acting crew. They smiled and gamely tried again. He circled me for another pass and ran right back onstage with a twirl and big swinging hands. By now, I was laughing so hard tears were coming down my face so I couldn't see what exactly was going on, but I got that my son was in his glory and wasn't going anywhere soon. Fortunately, the troupe got that, too, and so included him right on up until the song was over -- two actors holding one of his hands aloft as they did their big finale note, my son at the center of their impromptu last pose, and my husband and I laughing hysterically as each adult gave him a high five and I, taking my cue, held out my hand for a high-five, scooped him up, and plopped him back onto his seat where he sat in rapt attention for the rest of the play, waiting to be called up again.

That one moment made the day extraordinary. Unforgettable. It will be a Family Story for the rest of our lives. Those are the stories that every story should tell.

Go make your next story, chapter, paragraph, or sentence *extraordinary* because the best things in life are that way, too!

Who's Allowed

Now that my book cover's out in the world, I've been getting some interesting questions. Am I latina? Half-latina? Did I live in Mexico or in the southwest? Did I study Mexican folklore? The answer to all of these is "no" (I'm Russian Jewish by way of a north suburb of Chicago) and there's a little pause afterwards that sounds a lot like, "Then why...?" In that space there is a lot said and unsaid and honestly, the first thing it makes me think of is grad school.

There was a class, one of those life-changing classes, where I finally found a word for the thing I'd been searching for all my life: the idea that different people perceive the same things differently due to their associations and experiences, and that's called hermeneutics. Everyone there were educators in training and "differences" had become synonymous with "diversity" which, for good or bad, had become synonymous with "race" (which further was synonymous with "black and white" and that was discussed at length in class, too). This was a class full of fireworks! Imagine: a group of people dedicating their careers to the topic of teaching others and trying desperately to wrestle with a lot of Big Thoughts that brought up a lot of personal anxiety, frustration, biases and, let's face it: prejudices, in a safety zone where we all knew that we were trying to understand one another and be understood in the best of possible terms. There were bouts of shouting and sometimes tears, but no one left that class without having their envelope pushed.

I loved it!

But one thing that stuck with me was when one classmate appealed to each of us that when we were with our friends, to stand up for her and her friends (who were African-American) as if they were there with us and not to let prejudicial jokes or stereotyping slide.* I raised my hand as a penny dropped in my head. "Do you think that my friends are all like me?" She looked surprised. Weren't all my friends white, Jewish people? And that's when it hit me: people presume that however you categorize yourself is who you associate with and that those divisions were based on race or religion. I laughed. How ridiculous! Maybe it was just me, but I don't think I ever had a group of friends where the majority were white, liberal, Jewish girls from the Midwest. So I started paying attention to just who shared my world.

This weekend was my daughter's birthday, a Mad Scientist party with nearly (gulp) 40 kids in attendance and two professors in their glory. One was my father-in-law, a jolly man of 70 whose research won the Nobel Prize in Physics and was happily spilling liquid nitrogen beads on the floor, shooting lasers through dry ice smoke, and shattering frozen flowers to the delighted squeals of a mass of seven-year-olds. He is a white, Jewish man from Long Island. The other gentleman helping me explain heat transfer and make homemade ice cream for tiny root beer floats is my best friend from college, an East Indian 30-something from Tennessee who is a professor of bio-genetics with a passion for computer programming and pecan pie. He was there with his beautiful wife, baby daughter, and his mother-in-law. They are Hindi and live an agonizing 40 minutes away from us. The room was filled with children, the majority of whom were girls and there was a prevalent pinkness to the skin and brownness of the hair, but the surnames ran the gamut and only one of the girls had her own menorah in the window at home. I phoned a friend recovering from surgery. She is a smart-as-a-whip CPA with dry humor to match. She is Republican to my Democrat, Christian to my Jew, and loves Rush Limbaugh while I...don't and knows more about politics than I know about YA lit. She loves to knit. I love to bake. We have fascinating (and sometimes frustrating) conversations that are rarely dull.

The truth is that these are only a few ways to divide folks up into nice, neat categories, which doesn't even begin to touch upon who they really are, right? The truth is that my friends are all creative, passionate, often darkly-funny people who are smart, caring, and interesting and yes, that is who I want to write about and write for. Why did I write a story about a latina teen with paranormal powers? The real reason is because that was the story that was gifted to me by Maggie or a higher power with a twisted sense of humor, but the other reason is that she is a smart, creative, interesting and caring person who is searching for her passion in life. When she finds it, she's a supernova. She's unstoppable. She's a superhero.

She's the sort of person I'd like to know.

* I took this to heart and let me say that it's really not easy to call someone on being inappropriate without coming off like a PC jerk. However, I long ago decided that I'd rather be PC-jerky than give the impression that it's okay to say something derogatory around me.

My Little Steampunk

I know I have been horribly remiss in sharing my steampunk addiction lately, so I thought I'd share a little bit more of my obsession in a "What if I had gobs of money and could impose my will upon my hapless children?" episode. The results are impressive!


Actually, Offbeat Mama has an entire "steampunk baby" category! What fun!

Let's start small. Like wee ones. I loved these adorable purple steampunk baby booties -- with black leggings and a suitable dress, I bet I could have made my mother laugh! But for a more serious and precious ensemble, nothing can compare to this exquisite Victorian baby dress (although I can't imagine any child of mine ever being allowed to eat anything while wearing it!) Doesn't she look adorable but hungry? Moving on...


Isn't it gorgeous? It's handmade and one-of-kind from denice3069's shop on Etsy!

Want a real find? I'd recommend the site, Everything But the Princess. It's pricey as opposed to priceless, but the eye candy is gorgeous! (Unfortunately, I can't gak all the proper images to share so you'll just have to click through or trust me on this!) Start simple with a pink corduroy jacket and leggings or cut straight to the chase with a total outfit you can imagine in The Time That Never Was. Want some military style? How about Stella McCartney's band jacket with big, black boots? Or a great "dirigible crew" outfit in heather gray from Luna Luna Copenhagen?


Rockin' out, military-style! Just needs a hat.

And if that's not girly enough for you, you can find another jacket in purple and a great Tru Luv Buckingham duster with brass buttons. Aye, aye, cap'n! (I know this seems geared [pardon the pun] towards girls, but I must admit that's it's *hard* to find neat steampunky outfits for young boys. My best bet has been to use military pieces, suit jackets or vests, and add a hat & goggles, splashed up with a velvet coat from Cornelloki or something to add some richness and detail.)


I think I may suspend my hatred of legwarmers for Huggalug leg ruffles on girls...maybe.

But let's not forget the "punky"! Some Huggalug legwarmers on a modern "cockney" gal or a fuscia jacket by Tutti Bella with patchwork tights can add a splash of color and attitude to those boring ol' post-Industrial sooty grays! I also like to mix different cultures together and steampunk's perfect for experimenting. (The designer, Lofff, is great for this, too!) Whether it's a touch of the Far East, a bit of the Ottoman Empire, or British-influenced India (actually, I think it may be the carriage that does the outfit proud), I like putting pieces together along with a tiny top hat, goggles and a parasol for that Across-The Known-World look for my little 'punky princess.


Itty bitty asian dress from

Of course, this is just my "What If?" brain running amok. Good thing, too, because otherwise my daughter might rebel by becoming preppie or something! ((shudder))

Happy Channukah!

Whether you spell it Hannukah, Channukah, Hanukah, Chanukah, or just like setting things on fire to celebrate a war victory of the few against the many several centuries ago, may you have a Happy Holiday and Chag Sameach!


Eight lights of Channukah to Remember from Kochivibe. (Tip: hold back your hair when you pray!)

(For some *real* interesting channukiyot, check out ModernTribe.com!)

Go eat something deep-fried! It's tradition! ;-)

#writeadvice

I remember an old #yalitchat conversation where the group meandered down one of the many side conversations and began talking about getting "unstuck" and cindypon and I both agreed that the best thing to do was take a shower or wash your hair or do dishes -- something mundane and habitual that you can do on autopilot with part of your brain and limbs in attendance and the rest of your thoughts merrily daydreaming somewhere else. Laugh as you will, it works.

These are the bits of writerly advice that sound so trivial and are oh so true that I wish I'd known of them earlier as it could have saved a lot of *headdesking* and subsequential freak-outs at my computer or on the phone. If we could save one another even a tiny moment of angst over the keyboard or hacking through the biz, I think it's worth doing! So I turn it over to you, the Great LJ Hive Mind and the Twitterverse at large to share a piece of writerly advice, either having to do with craft, queries, critiques, or the professional business of writing, and include it in the comments or on Twitter with the hashtag #writeadvice. You never know what golden nugget is exactly the thing you needed to read today!

This is an awesome community. Pay It Forward!

Mine: "Stuck on plot/character/pacing/what's next? Take a shower. #writeadvice"

Happy Thanksgiving!

For those who celebrate, Happy Thanksgiving!


Scrumptious image gakked from jannorris.com -- would that MY table looked like this!

May everyone enjoy the bounty and beauty of friends, family, good food & good living!