Gillian Polack's Blog, page 122
March 19, 2013
ETA:
I finally catch up on what my friends are saying on their blogs and LJ won't let me leave any comments. I am failing to comment on pattens and clogs and the marvellous endeavours of babies and the noise of cats and on illness and health and climbing mountains. It's very frustrating.
ETA: I got to make one comment on one post! That's better than none on any... For the rest of you, yes, I still care. The silencing is not of my doing.
ETA: I got to make one comment on one post! That's better than none on any... For the rest of you, yes, I still care. The silencing is not of my doing.
Women's History Month - shewhomust
I asked today's guest how she should be known and she suggested that it be through how she's generally known. This is one of the biggest differences between convention-based fandom and online fandom, I suspect, that one can know someone else and develop a good friendship with no knowledge of the name needed. 
shewhomust lives in the UK, in a medium-sized city. This means we've covered three continents and three lifestyles and three types of fandom in three posts. The stage is now set...
My thought on shewhomust's post, is that it very much represents my own experience for a long time - from the end of my undergraduate days until the publication of my first novel, in fact. This is why I invited her to write, for we've exchanged many stories of similar experiences. This means that the experiences don't belong to one country, or region and the personal style of it has nothing to do with how isolated one is geographically. It's a very intimate fandom, and it explores the heart of why other styles of fandom exist.
When Gillian invited me to be part of a project she and Kari Sperring were hatching on the historiography of women in fandom, I was both flattered and bemused. I'm not a fan, I told her, I'm a reader. I talk about what I read, and I write about it, occasionally in public, but I'm not active in fandom and I've never been to a convention (this coming EasterCon will be my first). Gillian is not so easily deterred: write about this silent fandom, she said. I feel like an imposter, but then, don't we all, from time to time?
Very well, then. I have been reading SF for 50 years, since my mother discovered a source of second-hand magazines and paperbacks at a market somewhere. When I graduated from the children's library to the adult section, I scoured the fiction shelves for the distinctive yellow Gollancz jackets: these were either SF or detective fiction, and either was fine by me. (I'll come back to that.)
I wasn't aware of any sense that these weren't girls' books. It was, after all, my mother who first brought them into the house. Besides, all books were my books. I was impervious to the secondary role allowed to women in most of what I read; mostly I identified with the central character, and accepted that others were minor players. Ours was a left-wing household, and I was accustomed to not seeing things in the same way as other people, to discounting much of orthodox opinion as simply wrong and not worth worrying about. I can only assume I did the same in my reading, raising a sort of mental filter to take out the noise. If I was conscious of this at all, it was as a sort of relaxation when I lowered my guard - ah, John Brunner, he isn't going to hit me with some terrible opinion when I'm not expecting it...
My reading wasn't the key to a social group, and I didn't expect it to be. I suppose I knew that it was possible to enter into dialogue: the magazines had letters columns, and sometimes I recognised a name that recurred, though this was less a feature of of SF than of comics, where I shared a preference for 'Green Lantern' with Marv Wolfman, Irene Vartanoff, Paul Gambaccini... So I was aware that there were readers who participated quite actively in something, even if I didn't have the word 'fandom' to describe what that something was. But it didn't occur to me that I could do this too, and that I might want to. Books were one of the things I talked about with my friends; I didn't seek out friends who were willing to talk about books. That's probably still the position, though it's noticeable how many of my friends are happy to do book talk. Comics were always more of a minority taste, but fortunately one I shared with my brother (with whom I have, throughout my life, had some of my best conversations).
Time passes: imagine a screen dissolve, or a montage of book covers, or some similar device to indicate more of the same. I was still reading, and mostly genre of one kind or another, but as much crime and children's literature as F&SF - and as that choice of label suggests, I was far from keeping up with new trends in speculative fiction. I became aware of fandom, but as something that my friend Valerie (
valydiarosada
) did: indeed, it's possible that my place in the history of fandom is that I gave Valerie Housden a copy of 'Halo Jones' and so caused her to write 'Cat's Blood'.
What changed everything, in this case as in so many others, the internet; but what brought me into this particular corner of it was comics fandom. In fact, you could quite reasonably blame Alan Moore. There were very few comics I was still buying with any enthusiasm when I picked up my first issue of Marvel UK's 'The Daredevils' and was blown away by Moore's contributions: not just his seriously good comics writing but also his fanzine reviews which introduced me for the first time to fan writing about comics. I still didn't hurl myself into fan activity, but I did write the occasional letter of comment, and that's how I came to correspond with, and then to meet
helenraven
) whom I eventually followed to LJ - not for the comics fannishness, but for her diary of the round-the-world trip on which she was about to embark.
That was in 2005, and I'm still here. Still reading people whose paths I've crossed and whose posts I find entertaining for one reason or another. Still writing whatever takes my fancy, about books and comics and holidays and music and random links and silly jokes. Still delighted when someone else finds what I've written interesting enough to leave a reply; still telling myself firmly that I don't write to be read, I write to amuse myself - which is substantially true, but which is also the trick that enables me to write at all (which explains why I have found this post so difficult to write). I suppose that makes me, if not part of fandom, part of the context of fandom, the background hubbub from which the more coherent voice emerges.
shewhomust lives in the UK, in a medium-sized city. This means we've covered three continents and three lifestyles and three types of fandom in three posts. The stage is now set...My thought on shewhomust's post, is that it very much represents my own experience for a long time - from the end of my undergraduate days until the publication of my first novel, in fact. This is why I invited her to write, for we've exchanged many stories of similar experiences. This means that the experiences don't belong to one country, or region and the personal style of it has nothing to do with how isolated one is geographically. It's a very intimate fandom, and it explores the heart of why other styles of fandom exist.
When Gillian invited me to be part of a project she and Kari Sperring were hatching on the historiography of women in fandom, I was both flattered and bemused. I'm not a fan, I told her, I'm a reader. I talk about what I read, and I write about it, occasionally in public, but I'm not active in fandom and I've never been to a convention (this coming EasterCon will be my first). Gillian is not so easily deterred: write about this silent fandom, she said. I feel like an imposter, but then, don't we all, from time to time?
Very well, then. I have been reading SF for 50 years, since my mother discovered a source of second-hand magazines and paperbacks at a market somewhere. When I graduated from the children's library to the adult section, I scoured the fiction shelves for the distinctive yellow Gollancz jackets: these were either SF or detective fiction, and either was fine by me. (I'll come back to that.)
I wasn't aware of any sense that these weren't girls' books. It was, after all, my mother who first brought them into the house. Besides, all books were my books. I was impervious to the secondary role allowed to women in most of what I read; mostly I identified with the central character, and accepted that others were minor players. Ours was a left-wing household, and I was accustomed to not seeing things in the same way as other people, to discounting much of orthodox opinion as simply wrong and not worth worrying about. I can only assume I did the same in my reading, raising a sort of mental filter to take out the noise. If I was conscious of this at all, it was as a sort of relaxation when I lowered my guard - ah, John Brunner, he isn't going to hit me with some terrible opinion when I'm not expecting it...
My reading wasn't the key to a social group, and I didn't expect it to be. I suppose I knew that it was possible to enter into dialogue: the magazines had letters columns, and sometimes I recognised a name that recurred, though this was less a feature of of SF than of comics, where I shared a preference for 'Green Lantern' with Marv Wolfman, Irene Vartanoff, Paul Gambaccini... So I was aware that there were readers who participated quite actively in something, even if I didn't have the word 'fandom' to describe what that something was. But it didn't occur to me that I could do this too, and that I might want to. Books were one of the things I talked about with my friends; I didn't seek out friends who were willing to talk about books. That's probably still the position, though it's noticeable how many of my friends are happy to do book talk. Comics were always more of a minority taste, but fortunately one I shared with my brother (with whom I have, throughout my life, had some of my best conversations).
Time passes: imagine a screen dissolve, or a montage of book covers, or some similar device to indicate more of the same. I was still reading, and mostly genre of one kind or another, but as much crime and children's literature as F&SF - and as that choice of label suggests, I was far from keeping up with new trends in speculative fiction. I became aware of fandom, but as something that my friend Valerie (
valydiarosada
) did: indeed, it's possible that my place in the history of fandom is that I gave Valerie Housden a copy of 'Halo Jones' and so caused her to write 'Cat's Blood'.What changed everything, in this case as in so many others, the internet; but what brought me into this particular corner of it was comics fandom. In fact, you could quite reasonably blame Alan Moore. There were very few comics I was still buying with any enthusiasm when I picked up my first issue of Marvel UK's 'The Daredevils' and was blown away by Moore's contributions: not just his seriously good comics writing but also his fanzine reviews which introduced me for the first time to fan writing about comics. I still didn't hurl myself into fan activity, but I did write the occasional letter of comment, and that's how I came to correspond with, and then to meet
helenraven
) whom I eventually followed to LJ - not for the comics fannishness, but for her diary of the round-the-world trip on which she was about to embark.That was in 2005, and I'm still here. Still reading people whose paths I've crossed and whose posts I find entertaining for one reason or another. Still writing whatever takes my fancy, about books and comics and holidays and music and random links and silly jokes. Still delighted when someone else finds what I've written interesting enough to leave a reply; still telling myself firmly that I don't write to be read, I write to amuse myself - which is substantially true, but which is also the trick that enables me to write at all (which explains why I have found this post so difficult to write). I suppose that makes me, if not part of fandom, part of the context of fandom, the background hubbub from which the more coherent voice emerges.
March 18, 2013
gillpolack @ 2013-03-19T16:19:00
I'm home from Brisbane, and mostly well, but I'm very tired. I tried to blog from the sunny north (well, it was sunny, and it was well north of where I live) but it was exceptionally exhausting. I tried to post yesterday, while I was waiting for my 9 am meeting, but my computer decided that it was a fine time to reboot and ate half the entry, and then the rest of my meeting arrived. The only bad thing to happen was a return of gastro, but that happened at a time when it only inconvenienced me (and poor Kathleen got lurid descriptions) and all the rest was just wonderful. Kathleen and Aimee were particularly wonderful, but that's because they are, always.
There were some amazing moments: getting to see Kathleen and Aimee at work (art! I did not commit any - if you have seen my efforts, you will understand why), teaching ( the Queensland masterclass - where all the males in the class repeated my word with approval when I mentioned the name of my favourite footie team and we rapidly realised that we all went to the same high school...over 1600 kilometres away), watching fantasy writers sort out how to actually light a fire using pre-modern implements, meeting the next generation (all my nephews and one niece in one branch have had children since I last saw them), spending quiet time with two good friends, chatting and working and chatting and drinking tea and making scones and eating marmalade and chatting, discovering that the reason the jewellery design for the insurance hadn't worked was because I see things mathematically and need designs that express mathematical concepts (now we have one definite design and one really solid concept, which is a wild improvement - and the jeweller is going to measure the rest in golden means and Fibonacci sequences and spend significant time compensating for irregularities in the stones).
And all the rest of things must wait. I am so very, very tired... I keep falling asleep by mistake. The QWC is awesome and all the writers and family I spent time with are wonderful and it was worth every ounce of this fatigue.
There were some amazing moments: getting to see Kathleen and Aimee at work (art! I did not commit any - if you have seen my efforts, you will understand why), teaching ( the Queensland masterclass - where all the males in the class repeated my word with approval when I mentioned the name of my favourite footie team and we rapidly realised that we all went to the same high school...over 1600 kilometres away), watching fantasy writers sort out how to actually light a fire using pre-modern implements, meeting the next generation (all my nephews and one niece in one branch have had children since I last saw them), spending quiet time with two good friends, chatting and working and chatting and drinking tea and making scones and eating marmalade and chatting, discovering that the reason the jewellery design for the insurance hadn't worked was because I see things mathematically and need designs that express mathematical concepts (now we have one definite design and one really solid concept, which is a wild improvement - and the jeweller is going to measure the rest in golden means and Fibonacci sequences and spend significant time compensating for irregularities in the stones).
And all the rest of things must wait. I am so very, very tired... I keep falling asleep by mistake. The QWC is awesome and all the writers and family I spent time with are wonderful and it was worth every ounce of this fatigue.
March 14, 2013
gillpolack @ 2013-03-15T16:31:00
I've been chatting with friends recently (I know, it's a very bad habit) and we realised something, in a groupthink way. We're all dealing with a lot of physical pain in our lives., And we deal, mostly. There are bad days when we don't deal, mostly, but we've all developed good systems for getting through it and managing to ensure we still have a life. But...
The reason for the 'but' is because the wider world seems to think that it's enough that we're managing. If I can sit down at the computer and deal with one email, then I can deal with any email. One at a time does the trick, I'm told. And so it does. Up to a point.
What we found in our groupthink was that for no apparent reason some tasks are emotionally more difficult when one is in pain. It takes me more courage to send email a than email b when I just want to curl up in a corner and weep. It takes a lot more courage to go to the doctor than the dentist and to an admin person than to teach a class. Background pain attaches whispers of 'how difficult this is' to simple things. It ought not, but it does. And the whispers grow the longer one is in pain.
When I get a cessation (or even a significant diminution) of the pain, the first thing I do is to tackle one or two of the more difficult tasks. That's one of the ways I live a decent life despite everything. Then there is less looming and my body shrugs off bits of tension that it was harbouring along with that bout of high level pain and the pain diminishes further and I wonder why I didn't do this simple task earlier.
Tasks that are simple when life is close to normal are not simple when one's life is bizarre and skewed, however. Some tasks carry their own emotional burden. Even if that burden is so small that it's unnoticeable on a normal day, on a bad day, it's quite daunting.
This post was brought to you by three women who are getting through a bad fortnight with aplomb. And yes, I have an email that I shall answer, for the whispers are getting quite loud.
The reason for the 'but' is because the wider world seems to think that it's enough that we're managing. If I can sit down at the computer and deal with one email, then I can deal with any email. One at a time does the trick, I'm told. And so it does. Up to a point.
What we found in our groupthink was that for no apparent reason some tasks are emotionally more difficult when one is in pain. It takes me more courage to send email a than email b when I just want to curl up in a corner and weep. It takes a lot more courage to go to the doctor than the dentist and to an admin person than to teach a class. Background pain attaches whispers of 'how difficult this is' to simple things. It ought not, but it does. And the whispers grow the longer one is in pain.
When I get a cessation (or even a significant diminution) of the pain, the first thing I do is to tackle one or two of the more difficult tasks. That's one of the ways I live a decent life despite everything. Then there is less looming and my body shrugs off bits of tension that it was harbouring along with that bout of high level pain and the pain diminishes further and I wonder why I didn't do this simple task earlier.
Tasks that are simple when life is close to normal are not simple when one's life is bizarre and skewed, however. Some tasks carry their own emotional burden. Even if that burden is so small that it's unnoticeable on a normal day, on a bad day, it's quite daunting.
This post was brought to you by three women who are getting through a bad fortnight with aplomb. And yes, I have an email that I shall answer, for the whispers are getting quite loud.
March 13, 2013
Women's History Month - fandom and Sharyn Lilley
I decided to cross the world for the second piece. Then we'll cross the world again for the third. We'll have three very different women with three very different views of fandom. And then we can really start talking!
Sharyn Lilley is from rural Australia. I want to footnote and explain and talk about her early life as a fan, but I rather suspect I should let her explain herself first, and save chat for the discussion. For those who don't know her, she was the owner of Eneit Press (which had to close thanks to the RedGroup/Borders debacle) and is currently both a writer and a fan
Rural Victoria 70s and 80s
The theme for this year’s Women’s History Month is women in fandom. However when I was younger, fandom was not a thing that reached rural areas easily: We had to wait at least six months for any ‘new’ release to get to the sticks, and up until 1999 we only had two television stations - ABC and a local independent station. Not that that mattered to me too much as I was growing up, my parents didn’t get a TV until I was 9, so I only got to watch tv at my Grandma’s, usually for about an hour on a Sunday. This meant it was harder to find other girls who wanted to discuss the speed of the Millennium Falcon. At best I could find a few girls who wanted to plait their hair into ear buns and play Princess Leia. I always wanted to be Chewbacca, but even back then I was the shortest, so I’d grab a brown towel and be an Ewok.
I remember walking down the laneway behind the High street shops in Wodonga to the old second book store my brother worked in. Occasionally I’d find someone else looking for the same sort of books and comics as I was, and talking for ages – until my Mum pretty much had to drag me away. Oddly, my memories of walking down the lane are always in the sunshine, and my memories of talking to others are always in the semi gloom of a rainy day. As I got older and we moved out of town to the farm, I started raiding my friends’ parents’ libraries. Partly because I’d read everything in my parents’ bookshelves, but mostly because they had the classic science fiction and fantasy novels. This was a wonderful thing, because our school library wasn’t geared towards cosmic horror, though I remain forever grateful they stocked the full works of S.E. Hinton ... but I digress.
Most of my love for speculative fiction came from books. Though television played a small role: The Mabinogion and Catherine Christian’s The Pendragon along with the tv show Arthur of the Britons sealed a love for Arthurian tales. I admit to never being quiet so taken by the Marion Zimmer Bradley re-imagining with Avalon, but those books, too, were read cover to cover at light speed.
The farm edged the border of the Chiltern State Forest, and I once spent an entire summer looking for the Australian version of Rivendell. I didn’t find it, of course, but I was wandering around through countryside quite close to that of the Silver Brumby. Those novels, and their charming author, made a huge impression on me – that authors write best where they love best. If I think of home, for me it is up in the bush paddock, being carefully watched by the nesting wedge-tailed eagles, reading a book. The first contemporary setting for a speculative fiction, the one that probably sealed my fate towards all things spec fic, was Terry Greenhough’s Time and Timothy Grenville. It was a gift from one of my mates’ mum. The first book I ever read and re-read til it disintegrated. The very 70s setting meant this story could have happened to people the same age as my big sister and her friends – from then on I was hooked.
I remember coming home from rehearsals and gigs in the early 80s and watching Star Trek re-runs with my Grandma on her old black and white tv. Not quite the rock and roll lifestyle many imagine, but it suited me. At this stage I wouldn’t have called myself a Trekkie, and I have yet to come to grips with the notion of my Grandma as a Trekkie – but she loved the show. She didn’t like War of the Worlds, she thought it rubbish, but she liked TOS because ‘It assumes man has a future, and that future is quite good.’ She was quite disappointed in Picard, in later years – not because he wasn’t a worthy Captain of the Enterprise, but because she thought that surely by then Earth would have realised people from all races could be good captains – she wanted a Vulcan as the Captain of the Enterprise.
And so it went, rural life ticked over with the seasons. Small groups had formed over the years but the work entailed, low memberships, and perceptions of who “belonged” in those kinds of groups meant that few lasted.. Because of the prevailing attitude that only boys and nerdy boys at that – the ones that hogged usage of the high school’s three computers, liked science fiction, I began to get the reaction of “You don’t really like reading that rubbish, do you?” I had failed science; I played guitar wearing high heels and miniskirts; I rode motorbikes. Plainly I could not be a nerd - or a boy. This both saddened and amused me when even my militant feminist aunts who had marched for equal rights, hammered home the ‘girls don’t read science fiction’ message.
So I made friends without ever mentioning my love for science fiction and fantasy novels. I played the music inspired by Tolkien’s work in pub rock bands, and never got to discussing with others the stories that went with the music. I felt pretty much alone, and an outsider in my reading matter of choice.
I conformed, I had children, married, stopped riding motorbikes and did all the volunteer things that keep small communities running, even did several years as President of the P&C for my kids school. But I kept on reading. And I stayed up late to watch TNG when it came out.
Several decades later I started writing children’s stories; I discovered the internet, I discovered people like me...
Sharyn Lilley is from rural Australia. I want to footnote and explain and talk about her early life as a fan, but I rather suspect I should let her explain herself first, and save chat for the discussion. For those who don't know her, she was the owner of Eneit Press (which had to close thanks to the RedGroup/Borders debacle) and is currently both a writer and a fan
Rural Victoria 70s and 80s
The theme for this year’s Women’s History Month is women in fandom. However when I was younger, fandom was not a thing that reached rural areas easily: We had to wait at least six months for any ‘new’ release to get to the sticks, and up until 1999 we only had two television stations - ABC and a local independent station. Not that that mattered to me too much as I was growing up, my parents didn’t get a TV until I was 9, so I only got to watch tv at my Grandma’s, usually for about an hour on a Sunday. This meant it was harder to find other girls who wanted to discuss the speed of the Millennium Falcon. At best I could find a few girls who wanted to plait their hair into ear buns and play Princess Leia. I always wanted to be Chewbacca, but even back then I was the shortest, so I’d grab a brown towel and be an Ewok.
I remember walking down the laneway behind the High street shops in Wodonga to the old second book store my brother worked in. Occasionally I’d find someone else looking for the same sort of books and comics as I was, and talking for ages – until my Mum pretty much had to drag me away. Oddly, my memories of walking down the lane are always in the sunshine, and my memories of talking to others are always in the semi gloom of a rainy day. As I got older and we moved out of town to the farm, I started raiding my friends’ parents’ libraries. Partly because I’d read everything in my parents’ bookshelves, but mostly because they had the classic science fiction and fantasy novels. This was a wonderful thing, because our school library wasn’t geared towards cosmic horror, though I remain forever grateful they stocked the full works of S.E. Hinton ... but I digress.
Most of my love for speculative fiction came from books. Though television played a small role: The Mabinogion and Catherine Christian’s The Pendragon along with the tv show Arthur of the Britons sealed a love for Arthurian tales. I admit to never being quiet so taken by the Marion Zimmer Bradley re-imagining with Avalon, but those books, too, were read cover to cover at light speed.
The farm edged the border of the Chiltern State Forest, and I once spent an entire summer looking for the Australian version of Rivendell. I didn’t find it, of course, but I was wandering around through countryside quite close to that of the Silver Brumby. Those novels, and their charming author, made a huge impression on me – that authors write best where they love best. If I think of home, for me it is up in the bush paddock, being carefully watched by the nesting wedge-tailed eagles, reading a book. The first contemporary setting for a speculative fiction, the one that probably sealed my fate towards all things spec fic, was Terry Greenhough’s Time and Timothy Grenville. It was a gift from one of my mates’ mum. The first book I ever read and re-read til it disintegrated. The very 70s setting meant this story could have happened to people the same age as my big sister and her friends – from then on I was hooked.
I remember coming home from rehearsals and gigs in the early 80s and watching Star Trek re-runs with my Grandma on her old black and white tv. Not quite the rock and roll lifestyle many imagine, but it suited me. At this stage I wouldn’t have called myself a Trekkie, and I have yet to come to grips with the notion of my Grandma as a Trekkie – but she loved the show. She didn’t like War of the Worlds, she thought it rubbish, but she liked TOS because ‘It assumes man has a future, and that future is quite good.’ She was quite disappointed in Picard, in later years – not because he wasn’t a worthy Captain of the Enterprise, but because she thought that surely by then Earth would have realised people from all races could be good captains – she wanted a Vulcan as the Captain of the Enterprise.
And so it went, rural life ticked over with the seasons. Small groups had formed over the years but the work entailed, low memberships, and perceptions of who “belonged” in those kinds of groups meant that few lasted.. Because of the prevailing attitude that only boys and nerdy boys at that – the ones that hogged usage of the high school’s three computers, liked science fiction, I began to get the reaction of “You don’t really like reading that rubbish, do you?” I had failed science; I played guitar wearing high heels and miniskirts; I rode motorbikes. Plainly I could not be a nerd - or a boy. This both saddened and amused me when even my militant feminist aunts who had marched for equal rights, hammered home the ‘girls don’t read science fiction’ message.
So I made friends without ever mentioning my love for science fiction and fantasy novels. I played the music inspired by Tolkien’s work in pub rock bands, and never got to discussing with others the stories that went with the music. I felt pretty much alone, and an outsider in my reading matter of choice.
I conformed, I had children, married, stopped riding motorbikes and did all the volunteer things that keep small communities running, even did several years as President of the P&C for my kids school. But I kept on reading. And I stayed up late to watch TNG when it came out.
Several decades later I started writing children’s stories; I discovered the internet, I discovered people like me...
gillpolack @ 2013-03-14T11:13:00
I will have another WHM post for you later today, and then the next will be either next Monday or next Tuesday. Today, though, I shall gently work and keep resting.
I'm over the virus (finally) and am the only person I know whose metabolism is so strange that she doesn't actually lose weight after a gastro virus of several days' duration. I didn't eat much and I didn't actually put on weight this time (once I did) but I'm no lighter. This is despite the fact that most of yesterday I was foodless and on my feet. Which is why I'm resting a bunch today.
Yesterday, I achieved a great many of the minor things that had to be done, including shopping for family and for Passover. I now have all but one bit of the plasticware I shall use. I have lined up help to buy kosher food for Pesach. I can either have a seder or do everything myself/wash dishes - if I try to do everything I end up a bit ...where I am now. Overtired. Sorry for myself. And once a month is my quota for being both overtired and sorry for myself. Quota achieved: need to do other things with my time.
I've tallied my food stores and worked out what to do with them. I have pine kernels and quinoa and goji berries for Pesach already, for no good reason. The only one I need for first night is the pine kernels. I have just seven sheets of flat bread to finish, and the rest is dry biscuits. I have lots of havarti to eat, so I predict that my lunches from tomorrow until Pesach will be dry biscuits with cheese and tomato and the pickles that need finishing. Today will be flat bread stuffed with chicken and etc.
I have just enough flour for one single batch of butter biscuits. I don't know what flavour they'll be (there is coconut to use up) or who will be the sad victims. Actually, I think my students on Wednesday need them most...
All in all, though (apart from the freezer, with which I cannot entirely deal) I'm further advanced than I've been for years with Pesach preps. I keep thinking it's soon, but it's still 11 days away. I might even be able to clean the patio myself this year (since we're taking advantage of it being so early and having the meal outside). I hope I can: that would make me feel very accomplished.
Also, I'm halfway through my Big List of Things That Must be Done during March, and not quite halfway through the month. Not a bad day to be beyond tired - if I can get 3-4 things done, I'll keep up.
One not-so-minor completed task is Aurealis. Thanks to our lovely Chair, the little team of judges I am a part of has finished our Aurealis duties. It wasn't so easy this year, but the reason for this was rather pleasing. And that's all I'm telling you. The rest will come out in due course. ('Due course' is not so far away, either.)
I just went to cross Aurealis off my March list of tasks, and discovered I forgot to put it on. I suspect there are a lot more things I'm doing that aren't up there, this month. Like Pesach.
The bottom line is that my bad days aren't as bad as they were. I can get most things done, even in my impossibly-busy life. The other bottom line is that I'm doing a couple of big and time-consuming things I can't talk about yet. And applying for jobs. Although there are so few jobs around that I only spend a few hours a week in the applying.
No more news, for there is none. Alas.
I'm over the virus (finally) and am the only person I know whose metabolism is so strange that she doesn't actually lose weight after a gastro virus of several days' duration. I didn't eat much and I didn't actually put on weight this time (once I did) but I'm no lighter. This is despite the fact that most of yesterday I was foodless and on my feet. Which is why I'm resting a bunch today.
Yesterday, I achieved a great many of the minor things that had to be done, including shopping for family and for Passover. I now have all but one bit of the plasticware I shall use. I have lined up help to buy kosher food for Pesach. I can either have a seder or do everything myself/wash dishes - if I try to do everything I end up a bit ...where I am now. Overtired. Sorry for myself. And once a month is my quota for being both overtired and sorry for myself. Quota achieved: need to do other things with my time.
I've tallied my food stores and worked out what to do with them. I have pine kernels and quinoa and goji berries for Pesach already, for no good reason. The only one I need for first night is the pine kernels. I have just seven sheets of flat bread to finish, and the rest is dry biscuits. I have lots of havarti to eat, so I predict that my lunches from tomorrow until Pesach will be dry biscuits with cheese and tomato and the pickles that need finishing. Today will be flat bread stuffed with chicken and etc.
I have just enough flour for one single batch of butter biscuits. I don't know what flavour they'll be (there is coconut to use up) or who will be the sad victims. Actually, I think my students on Wednesday need them most...
All in all, though (apart from the freezer, with which I cannot entirely deal) I'm further advanced than I've been for years with Pesach preps. I keep thinking it's soon, but it's still 11 days away. I might even be able to clean the patio myself this year (since we're taking advantage of it being so early and having the meal outside). I hope I can: that would make me feel very accomplished.
Also, I'm halfway through my Big List of Things That Must be Done during March, and not quite halfway through the month. Not a bad day to be beyond tired - if I can get 3-4 things done, I'll keep up.
One not-so-minor completed task is Aurealis. Thanks to our lovely Chair, the little team of judges I am a part of has finished our Aurealis duties. It wasn't so easy this year, but the reason for this was rather pleasing. And that's all I'm telling you. The rest will come out in due course. ('Due course' is not so far away, either.)
I just went to cross Aurealis off my March list of tasks, and discovered I forgot to put it on. I suspect there are a lot more things I'm doing that aren't up there, this month. Like Pesach.
The bottom line is that my bad days aren't as bad as they were. I can get most things done, even in my impossibly-busy life. The other bottom line is that I'm doing a couple of big and time-consuming things I can't talk about yet. And applying for jobs. Although there are so few jobs around that I only spend a few hours a week in the applying.
No more news, for there is none. Alas.
March 12, 2013
gillpolack @ 2013-03-12T19:08:00
Life keeps intervening, I"m afraid, and I don't get to post or even do work. Through sheer persistence I'm doing the things that must be done, but a lot of my day is spent in bed saying "Why did I need this virus?" then "Why did I need this secondary infection?" then "Why did I need this gastro?" Quite obviously I needed them, for otherwise why would I have encountered them so very intimately in such rapid succession?
My stove won't be fixed until next week, for it needs a new clock. The repairperson has come and checked, though, which is something. He was very dour. Canberra is not a city replete in dourness, so he surprised me.
Tomorrow I'm off to the dentist, for amidst all of this, a tooth crumbled. Tonight I've prioritised. If I can get through three things (only one of them substantial) I'll be just fine.
I've done other items, bit by bit and it will all mount up so that the week works out, overall. I've had a lot of experience at this, after all. If I can do a doctorate when recovering from major illness (and teaching!) then I can do almost anything. It's just a matter of being very organised and doing work that needs intelliegence in between the problem zones.
Maybe the purpose of all of this is to remind me that, not so long ago, this was my everyday. Being ill isn't the end of the world. Not being able to handle the illness is far more serious. In other words, none of this is big biccies - but I'm very tired of bedrest.
My stove won't be fixed until next week, for it needs a new clock. The repairperson has come and checked, though, which is something. He was very dour. Canberra is not a city replete in dourness, so he surprised me.
Tomorrow I'm off to the dentist, for amidst all of this, a tooth crumbled. Tonight I've prioritised. If I can get through three things (only one of them substantial) I'll be just fine.
I've done other items, bit by bit and it will all mount up so that the week works out, overall. I've had a lot of experience at this, after all. If I can do a doctorate when recovering from major illness (and teaching!) then I can do almost anything. It's just a matter of being very organised and doing work that needs intelliegence in between the problem zones.
Maybe the purpose of all of this is to remind me that, not so long ago, this was my everyday. Being ill isn't the end of the world. Not being able to handle the illness is far more serious. In other words, none of this is big biccies - but I'm very tired of bedrest.
March 9, 2013
Women's History Month - Sherwood Smith
This year for Women's History Month, my blog will have guests who write about their particular fandom experience. Kari Sperring and I were talking about the telling of the stories of women who were fen, and we decided it would be a good idea to ask for stories. So we did.
Unlike other years, I'm happy to have stories and posts I haven't asked for. Just send them to me c/ my LJ address, with as much bio as you're willing to share.
To start the month off (a bit late, for life intervened - there's quite a bit happening that I haven't blogged about) we have the person who first alerted me to how very different US fandom was to Australian: Sherwood Smith. For every story she tells, she has another thousand lurking, all equally fascinating. You can find out more about the author side of her here. For the fan side of her life, just read on.
Last week I read that longtime fan Judy Gerjuoy had died. I knew of her as the organizer of the long-running con dedicated to Marion Zimmer Bradley. Judy was barely 21 when she organized the first Darkover Con in 1979.
That got me to thinking about the largely unnoticed, but profoundly influential effect women have had on fandom, on the sf and f genre, and on my particular culture—English-speaking, mostly USAn.
So many of us began as fans.
I recollect at the Equicon 1972, which turned out to be at least as big as a Worldcon, if not bigger, a thirty-something male fan said with a pleased face, “I don’t know what it is, but suddenly fandom is full of girls!” (He married one not long after—they are still happily married.)
Cons has gone from a few hundred attendees to thousands. I remember seas of women my age at those cons, we Boomers born in the big boom roughly 1948-1955.
I watched that happen. In my own experience, fandom grew exponentially after the mid-60s, when women discovered Star Trek and Lord of the Rings. We were young then, and our fanac not only consisted of dressing in costumes, and doing some early cosplaying at masquerades and picnics, but in writing, both fanfic and original.
It’s not that men didn’t write stories or zines. They did. But at least in my experience, it was the women who caused the flourishing of fanfic, and thence, the arrival of women in the publishing world. Are they all interconnected? I think so.
In those early days, the zines were all published on purple mimeo. Within a few years the Xerox had been invented, but many of the serious zineds and writers went directly to offset printing.
Freed of what was perceived as publishing constraints, these women were not writing to please male readers, they were writing to please themselves. Even with male main characters, the stories were written with a distinctively female gaze.
And there were male characters. This surprised me, when reading those zines during the 70s, how many of them had males as the central characters. This is probably why I did not get into much fanfiction writing. I really wanted more female action figures, but fanfic writers wanted, as one woman said to me about her series of really graphic character torture stories, in which her male hero suffered beautifully, then was rescued by another beautiful male so that they could fall in love over the healing bed: “When I take my toys out, I always put them back to bed again, as pretty as they were before, ready for next time I want to play.”
In the early days, before a subset of fandom discovered Alexander the Great through Mary Renault, and Francis Crawford of Lymond through Dorothy Dunnett’s historical novels, it was all Frodo, Aragorn, Captain Kirk, and especially Spock. I think it was in 1974 when “August Moon” came out, in which Spock went into Pon Farr with Kirk that an itch got scratched. Others have delved into why that works. All I’m here to say is that fanfiction really took off, and I watched it happen. And eventually some of these female writers filed the serial numbers off their stories and went on to highly successful careers.
Tangential to the stories were letter zines like “Marzipan and Kisses”, dedicated to Dorothy Dunnett, in which case people analyze the novels in great detail. I remember to super popular threads: Kharredin’s father, and did Lymond or didn’t he sleep with Dragut Rais.
People were coming out of the closet right and left, and it showed in the zines. IDIC was one of the most important concepts showing up, over and over, in fanfiction. By being able to talk about these issues with other women, in an atmosphere of tolerance and support, the fans could go out into the world and try to live the ideal.
Unlike other years, I'm happy to have stories and posts I haven't asked for. Just send them to me c/ my LJ address, with as much bio as you're willing to share.
To start the month off (a bit late, for life intervened - there's quite a bit happening that I haven't blogged about) we have the person who first alerted me to how very different US fandom was to Australian: Sherwood Smith. For every story she tells, she has another thousand lurking, all equally fascinating. You can find out more about the author side of her here. For the fan side of her life, just read on.
Last week I read that longtime fan Judy Gerjuoy had died. I knew of her as the organizer of the long-running con dedicated to Marion Zimmer Bradley. Judy was barely 21 when she organized the first Darkover Con in 1979.
That got me to thinking about the largely unnoticed, but profoundly influential effect women have had on fandom, on the sf and f genre, and on my particular culture—English-speaking, mostly USAn.
So many of us began as fans.
I recollect at the Equicon 1972, which turned out to be at least as big as a Worldcon, if not bigger, a thirty-something male fan said with a pleased face, “I don’t know what it is, but suddenly fandom is full of girls!” (He married one not long after—they are still happily married.)
Cons has gone from a few hundred attendees to thousands. I remember seas of women my age at those cons, we Boomers born in the big boom roughly 1948-1955.
I watched that happen. In my own experience, fandom grew exponentially after the mid-60s, when women discovered Star Trek and Lord of the Rings. We were young then, and our fanac not only consisted of dressing in costumes, and doing some early cosplaying at masquerades and picnics, but in writing, both fanfic and original.
It’s not that men didn’t write stories or zines. They did. But at least in my experience, it was the women who caused the flourishing of fanfic, and thence, the arrival of women in the publishing world. Are they all interconnected? I think so.
In those early days, the zines were all published on purple mimeo. Within a few years the Xerox had been invented, but many of the serious zineds and writers went directly to offset printing.
Freed of what was perceived as publishing constraints, these women were not writing to please male readers, they were writing to please themselves. Even with male main characters, the stories were written with a distinctively female gaze.
And there were male characters. This surprised me, when reading those zines during the 70s, how many of them had males as the central characters. This is probably why I did not get into much fanfiction writing. I really wanted more female action figures, but fanfic writers wanted, as one woman said to me about her series of really graphic character torture stories, in which her male hero suffered beautifully, then was rescued by another beautiful male so that they could fall in love over the healing bed: “When I take my toys out, I always put them back to bed again, as pretty as they were before, ready for next time I want to play.”
In the early days, before a subset of fandom discovered Alexander the Great through Mary Renault, and Francis Crawford of Lymond through Dorothy Dunnett’s historical novels, it was all Frodo, Aragorn, Captain Kirk, and especially Spock. I think it was in 1974 when “August Moon” came out, in which Spock went into Pon Farr with Kirk that an itch got scratched. Others have delved into why that works. All I’m here to say is that fanfiction really took off, and I watched it happen. And eventually some of these female writers filed the serial numbers off their stories and went on to highly successful careers.
Tangential to the stories were letter zines like “Marzipan and Kisses”, dedicated to Dorothy Dunnett, in which case people analyze the novels in great detail. I remember to super popular threads: Kharredin’s father, and did Lymond or didn’t he sleep with Dragut Rais.
People were coming out of the closet right and left, and it showed in the zines. IDIC was one of the most important concepts showing up, over and over, in fanfiction. By being able to talk about these issues with other women, in an atmosphere of tolerance and support, the fans could go out into the world and try to live the ideal.
March 8, 2013
Enlighten
Just five pictures to represent.... a lot. Each building had changing displays - we spent over two hours admiring and photographing.
Firstly, the National Portrait Gallery.
Then, the National Library of Australia.
And now, Questacon (which is a hands-on science museum).
Old Parliament House was hard to photograph (too big, too many lights) so you get just a segment:
Last but not least, the National Gallery, with our local deathstar hovering.
Firstly, the National Portrait Gallery.
Then, the National Library of Australia.
And now, Questacon (which is a hands-on science museum).
Old Parliament House was hard to photograph (too big, too many lights) so you get just a segment:
Last but not least, the National Gallery, with our local deathstar hovering.
Space stations and Skyspace
Last night was long and leisurely and I didn't get to do any of the things I had planned. Instead, my friends and I wandered from major monument to major monument, photographing some gorgeous public artwork. I'll post some examples soon (and get back to the posting I'm behind on - the project for Women's History Month - soon after that) but first, a bit of happy coincidence.
Just after dusk, my friends and I explored a James Turrell Skyspace, at the National Gallery of Australia. All of us love it and none of us had seen it after dark. We took photos. I took a few of what I thought was a star. A few minutes later, it wasn't where it had been. So, not a star. I had a Galileo moment.
I checked just now with Lara, an astronomer friend, and it was the International Space Station.
So here is the ISS, seen from the heart of an installation called, appropriately, Skyspace.
The ISS is just a little dot. I've got a couple more photos for those who wish to track the movement. I also have about 100 photos of public buildings, lit up for the festival. And we have WHM. All this and work, too - my life is rich and fulfilling. And yes, I need a coffee.
ETA: I just realised that this picture, taken by a spec fic writer, is just a bit meta. Especially as it was pure coincidence I was in that space at that time. Twenty minute later I was, in fact, listening to klezmer at a fake Parisian cafe just outside the National Gallery.
ETA again: I ought to explain that the photo is the normal shape of a photo - the ceiling was a white dome and the hole in the top was round. I thought it was obvious until I checked my blogpost to see if the picture worked. The sky was quite dark, but my camera made it a bit lighter, which is why the ISS was visible despite the vast amounts of white nearby.
Just after dusk, my friends and I explored a James Turrell Skyspace, at the National Gallery of Australia. All of us love it and none of us had seen it after dark. We took photos. I took a few of what I thought was a star. A few minutes later, it wasn't where it had been. So, not a star. I had a Galileo moment.
I checked just now with Lara, an astronomer friend, and it was the International Space Station.
So here is the ISS, seen from the heart of an installation called, appropriately, Skyspace.
The ISS is just a little dot. I've got a couple more photos for those who wish to track the movement. I also have about 100 photos of public buildings, lit up for the festival. And we have WHM. All this and work, too - my life is rich and fulfilling. And yes, I need a coffee.
ETA: I just realised that this picture, taken by a spec fic writer, is just a bit meta. Especially as it was pure coincidence I was in that space at that time. Twenty minute later I was, in fact, listening to klezmer at a fake Parisian cafe just outside the National Gallery.
ETA again: I ought to explain that the photo is the normal shape of a photo - the ceiling was a white dome and the hole in the top was round. I thought it was obvious until I checked my blogpost to see if the picture worked. The sky was quite dark, but my camera made it a bit lighter, which is why the ISS was visible despite the vast amounts of white nearby.
