Gillian Polack's Blog, page 108
July 16, 2013
gillpolack @ 2013-07-16T20:57:00
The AGM of the Body Corporate has decided to fix those cracks in the building, starting at my end. It'll take a little to get moving, for it's going to tender, but it will happen.
When we left the meeting, tiny groups of owners congregated. It was the first time I've met most of them, even though I've lived here a fair while. I knew lots of people initially, but they moved on and I just didn't get round to meeting everyone else. Anyway, I know a few more now. All very nice people. We asked what each other did and the 'writing' got nods. None of us were using surnames, so someone asked what mine was and was surprised when she recognised it. The ACT is a small place and my name gets around. Even though I (quite obviously) don't. We'd been neighbours for twelve years...
When we left the meeting, tiny groups of owners congregated. It was the first time I've met most of them, even though I've lived here a fair while. I knew lots of people initially, but they moved on and I just didn't get round to meeting everyone else. Anyway, I know a few more now. All very nice people. We asked what each other did and the 'writing' got nods. None of us were using surnames, so someone asked what mine was and was surprised when she recognised it. The ACT is a small place and my name gets around. Even though I (quite obviously) don't. We'd been neighbours for twelve years...
July 15, 2013
On innocence, rhetoric, responsibility and unintentionally supporting hatred
I caught up with a lot of online chat over the weekend. I painfully noticed the number of people who thought they were the only one who had read a book (and that we had to join them) or that they were the only one thinking something about a popular subject (and that we should share this sentiment). When I pointed out to one person on Twitter that I had read the book he was talking about he was surprised and said that none of his friends had, which is why he framed his, "Read this!" in the way he had. The "You need to do this clever thing, because you can't possibly know about it except through me" was entirely innocent. Like copying one of those Facebook memes. "Paste this and you'll show that you, too, think beautifully on all subjects that need beautiful thoughts." The pasting isn't the problem. Nor is recommending a good book. The wording is the problem. It excludes, by claiming "I know more" and commanding us to think that way.
I can't help thinking that this verbal play ("Pay attention to my opinion on this subject, for you will hear something new") is familiar. I've seen it in any number of medieval tales. Jongleurs adored it. Obviously we do, too.
My problem with translating something from a formal retelling of stories into a personal experience ("This is me and my life and my views are special and my experience is different.") is that other people are demoted. Worse, they can demote themselves, for if they see enough "I am special, and you aren't" when they read recommendations for views or for thoughts on the popular news, then their life experiences will appear less important. Not pasting that Facebook meme into your timeline doesn't mean you're a bad, bad person. It just means you didn't paste that meme. The meme's wording may suggest, that you're a bad, bad person. When we see it often enough, we take on that meaning, whether we want to or not (ask me where Jewish guilt comes from, sometime).
The special status that we claim when we say "You can't have read this book - do it!" "You can't have had this thought - think it!" assumes all kinds of things about the lives of others. It's not the reading of the book or the thinking of the thought that's the issue. I would have followed the book recommendations without it, and admired the wit or the political insight in other comments: it's the assumption that the rest of us are somehow less capable. It's a rhetorical flourish that shouldn't be used terribly often at all, and right now it's littering my online landscape.
In medieval literature, it was used mostly to assert the taleteller's right to tell their tale and to ensure the specialness of that particular version. This is a good use. It's a writer saying, "I need income - and this is a reason to give it to me. Also, sit down and shut up, because this story is worth listening to."* It only applies to that story, and the story is the thing, so the attitude that drew us in is not part of it and we (mostly) leave the attitude behind and worry more about whether our hero will get through the next set of trials. In other words, the privileged view of the raconteur is a device to make us start to play the role of audience, but it's not what convinces us to stay for the whole story.
When the device is used in social media, it's half the story, especially on Twitter (where tales are short). It reminds me, unfortunately, of those "You wouldn't know because you're lacking my special privilege" comments that one receives so often when one is perceived as belonging to a minority. It is, in fact, another manifestation of the wave of misogyny, racial intolerance, antisemitism and other nasties that we're currently experiencing. Except it's not coming from the misogynist, racist or otherwise emotionally disadvantaged. It's a small manifestation of how those attitudes push other people into new ways of thought that (quite unintentionally) reinforce the negatives by asserting personal superiority.
This doesn't mean we can't assert superiority. I, in fact, am a highly superior person. I'm especially good at whingeing, for instance, and have a rare talent for accumulating paper.
What it means is that we need to be careful not to demean others in our assertions, even over minor things like "Taste this chocolate cake." Especially over minor things like "Taste this chocolate cake." My superiority in recommending this particular chocolate cake** should come from its historical origins and my research or my cooking skills or my sourcing of good ingredients or its amazing recipe: it should never come from assuming that my friends can't work out what good chocolate cake is for themselves. My chocolate cake is awesome - and so is the one I had for morning tea last Monday. It's a big world and there is much space for chocolate cake.
The chocolate cake example was brought to you by my need for lunch. Everything else was brought to you by my far greater need for us to take ownership of our privilege and learn how we assert it and realise that small things can reinforce big nasties. I could take this idea and show you (using real life examples of things that happened to me, very recently) that this kind of asserting of privilege can lead to someone saying "You're not qualified to say this" to someone who, in fact, has those qualifications, or can lead to someone being put down because of their gender or their religion.
The point, however, is not to focus on my personal needs in this (and I have them) or to get people arguing over whether something did or said something (which would be derailing in this instance). The point is that many of us are using this kind of language casually.
This language is only a rhetorical device. In and of itself, it's nothing but a series of flourishes that add interest to what we say. Used often and by many people, however, these flourishes add to the burdens of those who either lack privilege or are seen to be lacking privilege. It exacerbates perceived difference.
I've been looking elsewhere for my rhetorical devices ever since I realised this. I only wished that three different people whose posts on Facebook and Twitter I read this morning, would do the same. I'd rather have wit and feeling from a friend than the sense that there are lesser human beings and that I or other friends may be among them.
I'm very grateful for every single friend who doesn't fall into this trap. They make all our lives less uncomfortable.
*In one tale, the teller stops part way and says "I'm not finishing until you give me money" - I toast him mentally every time I read a three volume modern work.
**I have a couple of chocolate cakes I can recommend right now. Rather than just tell you about them, I am willing to make one of them for afternoon tea for anyone who wants and can get here. I back my claims.
I can't help thinking that this verbal play ("Pay attention to my opinion on this subject, for you will hear something new") is familiar. I've seen it in any number of medieval tales. Jongleurs adored it. Obviously we do, too.
My problem with translating something from a formal retelling of stories into a personal experience ("This is me and my life and my views are special and my experience is different.") is that other people are demoted. Worse, they can demote themselves, for if they see enough "I am special, and you aren't" when they read recommendations for views or for thoughts on the popular news, then their life experiences will appear less important. Not pasting that Facebook meme into your timeline doesn't mean you're a bad, bad person. It just means you didn't paste that meme. The meme's wording may suggest, that you're a bad, bad person. When we see it often enough, we take on that meaning, whether we want to or not (ask me where Jewish guilt comes from, sometime).
The special status that we claim when we say "You can't have read this book - do it!" "You can't have had this thought - think it!" assumes all kinds of things about the lives of others. It's not the reading of the book or the thinking of the thought that's the issue. I would have followed the book recommendations without it, and admired the wit or the political insight in other comments: it's the assumption that the rest of us are somehow less capable. It's a rhetorical flourish that shouldn't be used terribly often at all, and right now it's littering my online landscape.
In medieval literature, it was used mostly to assert the taleteller's right to tell their tale and to ensure the specialness of that particular version. This is a good use. It's a writer saying, "I need income - and this is a reason to give it to me. Also, sit down and shut up, because this story is worth listening to."* It only applies to that story, and the story is the thing, so the attitude that drew us in is not part of it and we (mostly) leave the attitude behind and worry more about whether our hero will get through the next set of trials. In other words, the privileged view of the raconteur is a device to make us start to play the role of audience, but it's not what convinces us to stay for the whole story.
When the device is used in social media, it's half the story, especially on Twitter (where tales are short). It reminds me, unfortunately, of those "You wouldn't know because you're lacking my special privilege" comments that one receives so often when one is perceived as belonging to a minority. It is, in fact, another manifestation of the wave of misogyny, racial intolerance, antisemitism and other nasties that we're currently experiencing. Except it's not coming from the misogynist, racist or otherwise emotionally disadvantaged. It's a small manifestation of how those attitudes push other people into new ways of thought that (quite unintentionally) reinforce the negatives by asserting personal superiority.
This doesn't mean we can't assert superiority. I, in fact, am a highly superior person. I'm especially good at whingeing, for instance, and have a rare talent for accumulating paper.
What it means is that we need to be careful not to demean others in our assertions, even over minor things like "Taste this chocolate cake." Especially over minor things like "Taste this chocolate cake." My superiority in recommending this particular chocolate cake** should come from its historical origins and my research or my cooking skills or my sourcing of good ingredients or its amazing recipe: it should never come from assuming that my friends can't work out what good chocolate cake is for themselves. My chocolate cake is awesome - and so is the one I had for morning tea last Monday. It's a big world and there is much space for chocolate cake.
The chocolate cake example was brought to you by my need for lunch. Everything else was brought to you by my far greater need for us to take ownership of our privilege and learn how we assert it and realise that small things can reinforce big nasties. I could take this idea and show you (using real life examples of things that happened to me, very recently) that this kind of asserting of privilege can lead to someone saying "You're not qualified to say this" to someone who, in fact, has those qualifications, or can lead to someone being put down because of their gender or their religion.
The point, however, is not to focus on my personal needs in this (and I have them) or to get people arguing over whether something did or said something (which would be derailing in this instance). The point is that many of us are using this kind of language casually.
This language is only a rhetorical device. In and of itself, it's nothing but a series of flourishes that add interest to what we say. Used often and by many people, however, these flourishes add to the burdens of those who either lack privilege or are seen to be lacking privilege. It exacerbates perceived difference.
I've been looking elsewhere for my rhetorical devices ever since I realised this. I only wished that three different people whose posts on Facebook and Twitter I read this morning, would do the same. I'd rather have wit and feeling from a friend than the sense that there are lesser human beings and that I or other friends may be among them.
I'm very grateful for every single friend who doesn't fall into this trap. They make all our lives less uncomfortable.
*In one tale, the teller stops part way and says "I'm not finishing until you give me money" - I toast him mentally every time I read a three volume modern work.
**I have a couple of chocolate cakes I can recommend right now. Rather than just tell you about them, I am willing to make one of them for afternoon tea for anyone who wants and can get here. I back my claims.
July 14, 2013
gillpolack @ 2013-07-15T15:13:00
I've spent the whole day diminishing paper to no effect. I have until Wednesday morning to win this particular paper war (for there is a Body Corporate meeting tomorrow night and someone's coming to check my line for faults on Wednesday morning and I lose all of Wednesday afternoon to my eyes) and my workspace is just as impossible as before. I've got rid of nearly two kilograms of paper and my workspace is crowded. Since nothing's ever finished here until the paper's gone, I have a bit of a task ahead.
I have theories about the paper situation:
1. The remaining postcards are an evil influence. They feel unwanted, because three piles have gone to happy homes and yet they remain, stacked high and tumbling and screaming for someone to desire them.
2. I should be giving up on work entirely and watching The West Wing.
3. My current batch of review books hate me and are inciting paper to multiply.
4. I only see each pile of paper when I finish the previous one and there is an infinity of piles in a descending series. After enough time I will discover that my unit is not a unit at all, but that the paper piles are the steps to a peculiar hell. I'll know this is true when Virgil steps out of the pages and offers to guide me. So far I'm safe, for I've only seen Macrobius.
5. I wrote a short story and the paper I'm supposed to be working on is after revenge... This means that my whole life is a vile war between my fiction and my academic self.
6. I do a lot of work.
This last one is not credible, of course, but I put it down to balance things. When I wrote public service stuff, we were told that if we wanted to sell the difficult to the Minister it was much easier if we also gave him the impossible as contrast. Since it's impossible that I do a lot of work, my other theories look charming and inviting.
I have theories about the paper situation:
1. The remaining postcards are an evil influence. They feel unwanted, because three piles have gone to happy homes and yet they remain, stacked high and tumbling and screaming for someone to desire them.
2. I should be giving up on work entirely and watching The West Wing.
3. My current batch of review books hate me and are inciting paper to multiply.
4. I only see each pile of paper when I finish the previous one and there is an infinity of piles in a descending series. After enough time I will discover that my unit is not a unit at all, but that the paper piles are the steps to a peculiar hell. I'll know this is true when Virgil steps out of the pages and offers to guide me. So far I'm safe, for I've only seen Macrobius.
5. I wrote a short story and the paper I'm supposed to be working on is after revenge... This means that my whole life is a vile war between my fiction and my academic self.
6. I do a lot of work.
This last one is not credible, of course, but I put it down to balance things. When I wrote public service stuff, we were told that if we wanted to sell the difficult to the Minister it was much easier if we also gave him the impossible as contrast. Since it's impossible that I do a lot of work, my other theories look charming and inviting.
Guest post - Sophie Masson
Sophie is doing fascinating things (as always) so i asked her if she would mind dropping in and discussing them. She's a fabulous example of how an established author deals with the current ever-changing publishing landscape.
I've always been the kind of writer who has lots of projects on the go, but even for me it's been a pretty amazing year so far. The first book in my pseudonymous Romance Diaries series for young people came out(written under the pen-name of Jenna Austen, because inspired by Jane Austen's novels), as did Scarlet in the Snow, the second book in my YA fairytale series(the first being Moonlight and Ashes) but also my new adult novel, Black Wings, came out as a Kindle e-book with British digital-only publisher, Achuka Books. I say new and yet this is a novel that has had such a difficult road to acceptance, over several years: it is a big, epic story of the French Revolution, and though several publishers said they liked it very much, they all said it was 'too uncommercial'--they were afraid at least to take a risk. But Michael Thorn, publisher at Achuka Books, saw the potential in it—loved it—and published it. It's just so wonderful to see it out there, getting readers and great reviews—not only has it finally got to readers all over the world and not just here, but just the fact of its being out there increases its chances of its finding print publication in the long run. This is where digital really comes into its own, and Achuka Books, which publishes books by both well-known and less well-known authors, is exactly the kind of boutique enterprise which we're seeing a lot more of, and which are greatly enriching the modern publishing landscape. So many more people are having a go, not taking no for an answer—not just self-publishing, but taking on titles by other people, and often these enterprises are initiated by creators themselves (in Achuka Books' case, publisher Michael Thorn is a writer and reviewer as well). And I've got another book in preparation, The Adaptable Author: Coping with Change in a Digital Age, which came out of a lot of research and interviews I conducted for a one-day course I ran for the ASA, on staying published. The book will be published under the ASA's own imprint, Keesing Press, and I think will arouse a lot of interest (More on that another day!)
Recently too, I've got into the publishing business myself too, both in a small way, digitally: first online, with my food blog A la mode frangourou, on which I've published not only my own memoirs and recipes but a whole range of other authors'. This winter, for instance, I started a 'Soup series', (which is still going) in which every week, a different writer contributes guest post on their favourite winter soups, leading to some delicious recipes as well as delightful writing. The blog's now been going for more than two years and it's found quite a few readers—and got me a restaurant-review gig one year for one of the Sydney Morning Herald's food guides. Then last year, I started a micro e-publishing enterprise called Sixteen Press, which I've created specifically to publish collections of my own previously-published short pieces, both fiction and non-fiction. These pieces have all been published individually, but never together. There are two Sixteen Press titles now: The Great Deep and Other Tales of the Uncanny, which is a collection of fantastical short stories; and By the Book: Tips of the Trade for Writers. Both these titles are for sale in Amazon, but my primary platform for them is Authors Unlimited, the ASA' s wonderful new service for its full members, a combination of showcase, ebook creator and shopfront.
But the most recent thing I've embarked on, which is in many ways the most exciting of all these publishing ventures, is a print venture, Christmas Press Picture Books, a small publishing company I created in partnership with two artist friends, David Allan and Fiona McDonald. Frustrated that we could not get publishers to take on the beautiful classic picture-book idea we'd pitched (we got lots of praise for the quality of it, but were told—once again!--it was not commercial enough), we decided to put our money where our mouths were and publish it ourselves. We've got a crowdfunding campaign going for our launch title, Two Trickster Tales from Russia, at the moment—do have a look and maybe consider contributing.
There's something so wonderful about working as a collective of creators—and we are looking forward to what promises to be a fantastic new enterprise!
I've always been the kind of writer who has lots of projects on the go, but even for me it's been a pretty amazing year so far. The first book in my pseudonymous Romance Diaries series for young people came out(written under the pen-name of Jenna Austen, because inspired by Jane Austen's novels), as did Scarlet in the Snow, the second book in my YA fairytale series(the first being Moonlight and Ashes) but also my new adult novel, Black Wings, came out as a Kindle e-book with British digital-only publisher, Achuka Books. I say new and yet this is a novel that has had such a difficult road to acceptance, over several years: it is a big, epic story of the French Revolution, and though several publishers said they liked it very much, they all said it was 'too uncommercial'--they were afraid at least to take a risk. But Michael Thorn, publisher at Achuka Books, saw the potential in it—loved it—and published it. It's just so wonderful to see it out there, getting readers and great reviews—not only has it finally got to readers all over the world and not just here, but just the fact of its being out there increases its chances of its finding print publication in the long run. This is where digital really comes into its own, and Achuka Books, which publishes books by both well-known and less well-known authors, is exactly the kind of boutique enterprise which we're seeing a lot more of, and which are greatly enriching the modern publishing landscape. So many more people are having a go, not taking no for an answer—not just self-publishing, but taking on titles by other people, and often these enterprises are initiated by creators themselves (in Achuka Books' case, publisher Michael Thorn is a writer and reviewer as well). And I've got another book in preparation, The Adaptable Author: Coping with Change in a Digital Age, which came out of a lot of research and interviews I conducted for a one-day course I ran for the ASA, on staying published. The book will be published under the ASA's own imprint, Keesing Press, and I think will arouse a lot of interest (More on that another day!)
Recently too, I've got into the publishing business myself too, both in a small way, digitally: first online, with my food blog A la mode frangourou, on which I've published not only my own memoirs and recipes but a whole range of other authors'. This winter, for instance, I started a 'Soup series', (which is still going) in which every week, a different writer contributes guest post on their favourite winter soups, leading to some delicious recipes as well as delightful writing. The blog's now been going for more than two years and it's found quite a few readers—and got me a restaurant-review gig one year for one of the Sydney Morning Herald's food guides. Then last year, I started a micro e-publishing enterprise called Sixteen Press, which I've created specifically to publish collections of my own previously-published short pieces, both fiction and non-fiction. These pieces have all been published individually, but never together. There are two Sixteen Press titles now: The Great Deep and Other Tales of the Uncanny, which is a collection of fantastical short stories; and By the Book: Tips of the Trade for Writers. Both these titles are for sale in Amazon, but my primary platform for them is Authors Unlimited, the ASA' s wonderful new service for its full members, a combination of showcase, ebook creator and shopfront.
But the most recent thing I've embarked on, which is in many ways the most exciting of all these publishing ventures, is a print venture, Christmas Press Picture Books, a small publishing company I created in partnership with two artist friends, David Allan and Fiona McDonald. Frustrated that we could not get publishers to take on the beautiful classic picture-book idea we'd pitched (we got lots of praise for the quality of it, but were told—once again!--it was not commercial enough), we decided to put our money where our mouths were and publish it ourselves. We've got a crowdfunding campaign going for our launch title, Two Trickster Tales from Russia, at the moment—do have a look and maybe consider contributing.
There's something so wonderful about working as a collective of creators—and we are looking forward to what promises to be a fantastic new enterprise!
July 13, 2013
The Lucky Map by Gillian (age 11)
Jennifer or Jenny as she was called, was tall and pretty, with blue eyes and light brown hair. Oliver was nearly the opposite in looks, he was tall with brown hair and eyes, and a very ugly face.
Jenny and Oliver both loved each other dearly, though Jenny hardly spoke at all. On this particular day they were looking at a scrap of paper which jenny had found.
"I'd say that it was a map," said Oliver, "a treasure map!" Jenny just pointed to the torn part of the map to which the arrows were pointing, then she pointed at the arrows themselves.
Soon after, Oliver realized the horrifying truth. The place where the treasure would be, was on the part of the map that was missing!
"Where is the place that you found the map? Show it to me, quickly!" Oliver swung round on her and shouted, "If we hurry, we may still get to it before it gets blown away."
Jenny nodded, then she hurried off, with Oliver following close behind her. She didn't stop until she had reached their favorite spot, then she stopped and pointed in.
They looked about them and saw a pile of boxes. Jenny walked over to them then started picking them up and shaking them out. Oliver comprehended her meaning and started to help her.
Very soon the pile of boxes was finished and they had to look somewhere else.
They searched all over the space between the houses, but with no success. Then Oliver gave up that area and started to look outside it.
Then Jenny saw a slip of paper jammed in one of the windows above the alley. So she climbed onto the pile of boxes and gingerly grabbed the paper.
She looked at it, it looked as if it could be the right one. Oliver then came running to see. "Good girl," he panted, "You've found it. Now where is the other piece."
Jenny climbed down from the pile of boxes, took the other piece of map from her pocket and put the two together. To their surprise there was a poem at the end of the arrows. It said
Here is the telescope, you shall mind
Until you go behind, behind,
Then the treasure, you shall find.
Jenny found the way to the place that the poem was on the map. It turned out to be a city square, quite nearby. The square had an old telescope in the middle.
The two of them walked over to the telescope and looked over it thoroughly. On it was this verse.
This is the telescope you had to find
Now you go behind, behind
Look through to the treasure you shall find.
"I know the meaning of that!" shouted Oliver, in delight. He went over to the telescope and looked through the eyehole, but he could not see anything because he had bad eyesight.
"You look," he said to Jenny, "I can't see a thing." Jenny nodded and looked. With the corner of her eye, she caught a faint gleam of gold.
She rushed over to it and picked it up. It was a shining gold coin. She showed it to Oliver and they started to walk slowly home.
When they were nearly home, a gentleman, who had seen the coin in Jenny's hand, stopped them and asked "May I please have a look at that coin, young lady?" Jenny gave it to him to look at, after which he said gravely "This coin is very valuable, may I please purchase it from you for three hundred pounds. I would also like to hire your services as a maid, for ten pounds a week for as long as you wish."
After a brief consultation with Oliver, Jenny said "Sir, we exept your kind offer and we thank you for it. I am sure that our parents will agree to my being your maid, but I must ask them first." The gentleman smiled appreciatively and nodded, "I'd say that, that would be the best thing to do. Meet me here this time tomorrow with your answer," he said.
They did accordingly and Jenny went and was a maid for ten years. By that time the family was quite rich, so that this story ends as so many other stories end "and everybody lived happily ever after.
Needless to say Jenny and Oliver kept the map and visited the city square often. To this day, the map is hanging on a wall in the living room at their house.
/1972
PS from Gillian-of-2013 I mourn the lack of spaceships (and now I come to think of it, I wrote one about spaceships, though obviously not in my Grade 6 test book.) I had a very fine grasp of the two line paragraph when I was eleven. I also had a strong need of colons, semi-colons and various kinds of dashes.
PPS I think I was reading too much 19th century children's literature at that point. I suspect, in fact, that Jenny's real name was Phoebe.
PPPS We were in decimal currency in Australia by 1972, which is why I have the above suspicions.
PPPPS It worries me that I was a child who could spell 'appreciatively' but got 'accept' wrong. My teacher corrected 'exept' to 'except' which worries me even more.
PPPPPS My official report for Written English was "Very capable" and - you will be pleased to know - I was deemed suitable for promotion to high school.
gillpolack @ 2013-07-13T19:18:00
My netbook decided that it was going to lose the use of a key the other day. This key was, of course, one of the ones I used for my login. And so no-one has heard from me. Since there was a (very small) panic when I didn't appear on Twitter (because I decided my time in Melbourne was too busy to even try to tweet), I feel I ought to apologise for my netbook.
I managed to log in and retrieve my work, but I'm not sure what to do with the machine itself. It needs help. I'd rather lob it at a wall, but it needs help.
In other news, I brought chocolate back for use in 9 days time and thereabouts. I don't need it: my friends do. I suspect I'm going to be a bit bouncy because of the timelord thing and so they need gourmet sustenance. I didn't need it for my family, for they really didn't care about the PhD. Except my mother, who daringly asked if she could read it. The first one brought my father solace* so I'm waiting to see what this one does.
I checked with an old friend, and my Grade 6 story isn't the first one I ever wrote, for she remembers writing stories in class earlier than that. It's the only one I currently have in my hot little hands, however, and several people want to read it, so I shall type it up tonight, warts and all. I find I remember writing it, and I remember thinking "I can't call a character after my sister - but I can't think of any names!" My character was not my sister, therefore, even in my Grade 6 brain. This is a shame, for all sorts of interesting interpretation would have been possible if it was.
As a sweetener, tomorrow I have something much more interesting by a much better writer than I am for you.
Also, I need to sort out photos, for we passed over two mountain ranges today and the late afternoon sunshine was perfect and I took some happy snaps. I have no idea why the plane took the route it did, but it was entirely spectacular and I had a window seat and if anyone wants to see a picture or two, I shall sort out a paid account and do something about that, as well as sorting the photos out for me. These are photos for me to write from and teach from (for they entirely demonstrate the geological difference between the Snowy Mountains and the Brindabellas), but that's no reason not to share them.
I suspect there's other news, but it will have to wait or fade or something, for I have a vast desire for a giant cup of tea.
*He was dying of cancer and found that my thesis gave him better quality painless sleep than morphine. Ever since he told me this, I am unable to take deep intellectual endeavour quite as seriously as I ought. It improves my teaching, but leaves me with little dignity.
I managed to log in and retrieve my work, but I'm not sure what to do with the machine itself. It needs help. I'd rather lob it at a wall, but it needs help.
In other news, I brought chocolate back for use in 9 days time and thereabouts. I don't need it: my friends do. I suspect I'm going to be a bit bouncy because of the timelord thing and so they need gourmet sustenance. I didn't need it for my family, for they really didn't care about the PhD. Except my mother, who daringly asked if she could read it. The first one brought my father solace* so I'm waiting to see what this one does.
I checked with an old friend, and my Grade 6 story isn't the first one I ever wrote, for she remembers writing stories in class earlier than that. It's the only one I currently have in my hot little hands, however, and several people want to read it, so I shall type it up tonight, warts and all. I find I remember writing it, and I remember thinking "I can't call a character after my sister - but I can't think of any names!" My character was not my sister, therefore, even in my Grade 6 brain. This is a shame, for all sorts of interesting interpretation would have been possible if it was.
As a sweetener, tomorrow I have something much more interesting by a much better writer than I am for you.
Also, I need to sort out photos, for we passed over two mountain ranges today and the late afternoon sunshine was perfect and I took some happy snaps. I have no idea why the plane took the route it did, but it was entirely spectacular and I had a window seat and if anyone wants to see a picture or two, I shall sort out a paid account and do something about that, as well as sorting the photos out for me. These are photos for me to write from and teach from (for they entirely demonstrate the geological difference between the Snowy Mountains and the Brindabellas), but that's no reason not to share them.
I suspect there's other news, but it will have to wait or fade or something, for I have a vast desire for a giant cup of tea.
*He was dying of cancer and found that my thesis gave him better quality painless sleep than morphine. Ever since he told me this, I am unable to take deep intellectual endeavour quite as seriously as I ought. It improves my teaching, but leaves me with little dignity.
July 10, 2013
gillpolack @ 2013-07-10T21:54:00
One of the reasons I'm always happy when the Jewish Museum* asks me to give a talk is that I get lots of feedback about my lecturing style. My mother's one of the guides, you see (and I am a regular but infrequent part of the lecture series for guides) and in the few days after my talk, every single time, she gets feedback which she passes onto me. One year a joke of mine was a bit inappropriate and I heard about it. I hear about things in the most polite manner possible ("She possibly should have considered before...") but I hear about it.
This year, the results are in. Mum has received lots of comments from lots of people. And... best comments ever. I began by announcing I was going to be controversial and they had to make up their own minds, and everyone did. After I finished, people came up to me and said "You've just overturned everything I learned as an undergraduate." And the behind-the-scenes, after-the-events comments are all positive.
I suspect I might be just a little chuffed. Thank you, Museum, for asking me to speak!
*It isn't really a Jewish Museum - it's a museum of Judaica, but nicknames are nicknames
This year, the results are in. Mum has received lots of comments from lots of people. And... best comments ever. I began by announcing I was going to be controversial and they had to make up their own minds, and everyone did. After I finished, people came up to me and said "You've just overturned everything I learned as an undergraduate." And the behind-the-scenes, after-the-events comments are all positive.
I suspect I might be just a little chuffed. Thank you, Museum, for asking me to speak!
*It isn't really a Jewish Museum - it's a museum of Judaica, but nicknames are nicknames
July 9, 2013
gillpolack @ 2013-07-10T09:48:00
Yesterday I went to the State Library of Victoria and admired the street corner where my great-grandmother broke both legs ("She's very old and she'll die," said the Argus, in the late 19th century. And so she did... ten years later. She was a redoubtable old lady.) and I met with people and I did some work and I visited a couple of exhibitions. None of this stopped me asking my mother just now "Did I do anything yesterday?" It took us a moment to remember.
It was a lovely Canberra day in Melbourne yesterday, which tricked me. Sunny and becoming cool. I kept thinking I was home, even as I was trapped in a station by trains that had changed routes.
And now I must return to work. Right now, my subject is economics as applied to the Middle Ages. After lunch it's fiction. I need to get so much stuff done before teaching begins again. I'm making progress...
It was a lovely Canberra day in Melbourne yesterday, which tricked me. Sunny and becoming cool. I kept thinking I was home, even as I was trapped in a station by trains that had changed routes.
And now I must return to work. Right now, my subject is economics as applied to the Middle Ages. After lunch it's fiction. I need to get so much stuff done before teaching begins again. I'm making progress...
July 8, 2013
gillpolack @ 2013-07-08T19:36:00
My lecture went well. The guides were more than attentive - they all watched and their faces were alive and questioning and apparently there was a lovely intake of breath when I said that Roth's approach to Jewish history needed questioning. When I tried to turn to the subject I was supposed to be talking about (daily life in England for Medieval Jews), they turned me back to the big questions. Several were having trouble understanding how it was possible to fit problems for Jews in the Middle Ages with a non-lachyrmose view of Jewish history, but they all gave the concept their best attempt. I think the moment of light came when someone asked "So you're saying that Jews might have come to England with the Romans?" and I replied "No, I'm saying that Jews may have been some of the Romans who came and that we need to examine the evidence to find out."
I'm now back in the land of story, for I did some work on my fiction this afternoon.
Tomorrow afternoon I have a meeting and tomorrow evening I have a choice between going to a movie and doing much editing.
When did my life become so very exciting?
I'm now back in the land of story, for I did some work on my fiction this afternoon.
Tomorrow afternoon I have a meeting and tomorrow evening I have a choice between going to a movie and doing much editing.
When did my life become so very exciting?
July 7, 2013
gillpolack @ 2013-07-07T17:19:00
Moorooduc wasn't two hours away, but a mere hour or a bit less. This gave me much more time for playing on trains, down at the pier at Mornington and so on. Mum introduced me to all the volunteers at Moorooduc, and a nicer bunch of people I have never met. At one stage I was looking at the way raindrops creating opposing waves and at another I sat in the sunshine with my oldest friend. Lucy (not the friend, but her daughter) and I caught handsful of raindrops and I told her about the frogs, so she splashed off in search. We played ships in the park, talked to people and talked a lot.
Now I want to sleep. Too much sunshine on the way to Mornington and too much rain on the way back. A totally wonderful day, however. And I'm all prepared for tomorrow's lecture. I'll let you know how it goes.
Now I want to sleep. Too much sunshine on the way to Mornington and too much rain on the way back. A totally wonderful day, however. And I'm all prepared for tomorrow's lecture. I'll let you know how it goes.
