Gillian Polack's Blog, page 252
May 2, 2011
gillpolack @ 2011-05-02T14:36:00
More family stuff today. I shall take things quietly and just work my way through what must be done. Mum's going to this funeral on behalf of us all, too. I think the whole family owes Mum a dinner out, or something.
For the record, however, I still haven't been born. That dratted birth certificate has not yet arrived. All, going well, I'll now have my passport by the end of May.
Actually, except for one very real tragedy and the birth certificate thing and the virus persisting, today's rather good. Two friends sent me parcels, you see, so I have more presents. I just need to get my mind around the family stuff, and move on. (When I read that back, I realised that I possibly need to take a bit of time out and think through what has happened. It doesn't affect me closely, but it does affect people I know and am related to, and it's pretty b* awful.)
For the record, however, I still haven't been born. That dratted birth certificate has not yet arrived. All, going well, I'll now have my passport by the end of May.
Actually, except for one very real tragedy and the birth certificate thing and the virus persisting, today's rather good. Two friends sent me parcels, you see, so I have more presents. I just need to get my mind around the family stuff, and move on. (When I read that back, I realised that I possibly need to take a bit of time out and think through what has happened. It doesn't affect me closely, but it does affect people I know and am related to, and it's pretty b* awful.)
May 1, 2011
gillpolack @ 2011-05-01T17:04:00
As I just told a friend, I am very proud of myself. I have finally developed the aches and pains to go along with my virus.
Despite this, I've managed two meetings today, shopping, the library, and about an hour's work. If I can finish my three books (for today is a three book day, not a two book day) as well as complete the manuscript evaluation I need to have done by tomorrow, then I shall say "Hah!" to my aches and pains. For the record, I wrote the right amount of novel yesterday, read my two books, sorted out what books I need to read at the ANU on Tuesday (and, in fact, found all Chifley Library's holdings that relate to both my novel and my dissertation, while I was at it - this isn't as bad as it sounds, as I did a lot of the groundwork last year) and did everything else I had to except email. It's not that I wasn't sick as a whatever* - it's that if I don't get everything out of the way I'll worry about it during my birthday party. This week is about getting things done!
One of today's meetings was Conflux. Karen circulated the draft program. It's looking great. One committee member complained because, as she said "I can't be in three places at once and I need to go to all of these panels." When Karen puts that draft program online, I'll let you know.
Also, the hotel is finalising the price of the banquet. I'll let you know what that is, too, just as soon as I know myself. We have both vegetarian and gluten free options. There is no pork, there is no seafood, there is no fish on the menu. The gluten free option is not entirely historically correct, I'm afraid, but it's only not-authentic in one single side dish.
I'm feeling steamrollered. This is not a nice virus. Don't bother getting it. I'm making a hot drink and working for as long as I can, and then it's back to bed, to quietly wonder why my legs wobble so.
*And here is where I ought to 'fess up. The amazing advantage of being chronically ill is that one feels sick almost all the time. If I stopped everything just because I didn't feel well, I'd have no life. The same virus that has taken out swards of my family and sent them to bed for days, has not even slowed me down, therefore. Well, not much. I do hurt, however, and I do complain. In fact, I complain a lot. If I had been coughing or spluttering, I would have dipped out on the meetings so as not to infect others, but that was last week's virality.
Despite this, I've managed two meetings today, shopping, the library, and about an hour's work. If I can finish my three books (for today is a three book day, not a two book day) as well as complete the manuscript evaluation I need to have done by tomorrow, then I shall say "Hah!" to my aches and pains. For the record, I wrote the right amount of novel yesterday, read my two books, sorted out what books I need to read at the ANU on Tuesday (and, in fact, found all Chifley Library's holdings that relate to both my novel and my dissertation, while I was at it - this isn't as bad as it sounds, as I did a lot of the groundwork last year) and did everything else I had to except email. It's not that I wasn't sick as a whatever* - it's that if I don't get everything out of the way I'll worry about it during my birthday party. This week is about getting things done!
One of today's meetings was Conflux. Karen circulated the draft program. It's looking great. One committee member complained because, as she said "I can't be in three places at once and I need to go to all of these panels." When Karen puts that draft program online, I'll let you know.
Also, the hotel is finalising the price of the banquet. I'll let you know what that is, too, just as soon as I know myself. We have both vegetarian and gluten free options. There is no pork, there is no seafood, there is no fish on the menu. The gluten free option is not entirely historically correct, I'm afraid, but it's only not-authentic in one single side dish.
I'm feeling steamrollered. This is not a nice virus. Don't bother getting it. I'm making a hot drink and working for as long as I can, and then it's back to bed, to quietly wonder why my legs wobble so.
*And here is where I ought to 'fess up. The amazing advantage of being chronically ill is that one feels sick almost all the time. If I stopped everything just because I didn't feel well, I'd have no life. The same virus that has taken out swards of my family and sent them to bed for days, has not even slowed me down, therefore. Well, not much. I do hurt, however, and I do complain. In fact, I complain a lot. If I had been coughing or spluttering, I would have dipped out on the meetings so as not to infect others, but that was last week's virality.
April 30, 2011
gillpolack @ 2011-04-30T23:54:00
One thing I really love about the combination of reviewing and writing articles and working on this dissertation thingie is that it forces me to look closely at the technical side of the writing of authors from a number of imprints. For a few of the imprints, I'm reading a large chunk of their recent releases. If someone were to give me a manuscript I'd be able to tell them if their pacing was typical of the writing put out by one imprint, if their plot had enough twists and quirks for another. It's as if I'm meeting the editors through the words of their writers.
gillpolack @ 2011-04-30T11:25:00
This morning I can't stop thinking about Joanna Russ. I am one of the many who was deeply influenced by her without actually really enjoying her fiction.
It's funny, but I had been reading Russian writers for several years before I discovered Russ. This doesn't mean I was at all old when I discovered Russ' writing. What it means is that Dostoievsky and Chekhov were easier reading for a fourteen year old than Russ was for a nineteen year old. Dostoievsky and Chekhov matched my assumptions of person and of narrative and of who benefited by what behaviour far more closely. They still do. Chekhov writes about my family, I think.
I didn't have any guidance in reading any feminist writer. Some don't need it, but Russ is really not one of those. Her works stand alone, but, in standing alone, they're not easy. I discovered her by chance and have never had a proper conversation about her writing with anyone. They made me angry and edgy and I wanted to talk about this and find out why. No-one around me was reading her. No-one was interested in a conversation. In my late teens, my friends' idea of intellectual freedom was Isaac Asimov and Gene Wolfe and Ursula le Guin. This was the Le Guin of the late seventies and early eighties, before she realised that women could be wizards.
It was hard for Russ to deliver her message in that environment, and it was hard for me to see what she was saying. This is why I didn't enjoy her writing, even as I read every word. It pushed me far beyond places I knew and showed me that the world didn't have to look that way. It's easier for feminist readers these days, I think, but that challenge and the wonder when I realised what she was doing and that it was possible to change paradigms when writing fiction, and the loneliness when there was no-one I could talk to about it - all that was the good fortune of my growing years.
Since then, I've always put the challenges Joanna Russ taught me into my fiction, my non-fiction, my teaching, my life. I'm not her, however, and I try to make them unobtrusive. I believe that it's possible to change paradigms without it hurting so much.
I must be very naive, because I also believe (thanks to Russ) that it's possible to change paradigms without forever going back to the simple: feminisim #101, cross-cultural understanding #101, crowing about being clever for getting something that should be understood rather than saying "Right, I know that - time for the next step". I don't expect rewards for it because of that silence in my late teens - that emptiness alerted me to the effects of writing change. The presentation of the simple and the crowing of how clever one is attracts more notice, but it doesn't do the job.
Joanna Russ didn't present me with the lure of material rewards. She taught me about living in a world which is different.
Her writing made me uncomfortable because it touched so closely on what hurts.
I'm not at the stage yet where that discomfort can leave me. We still accept the gender bias in novels and in the book industry almost unthinkingly. Some of our assumptions have been eroded or have crumbled or have been torn down, but our Berlin Wall is still standing, for the most part. Russ carefully cut a door in that wall, however, and it's possible to walk through that door and see the universe differently.
I really have to revisit Russ, as an adult. The world is a lesser place without her.
It's funny, but I had been reading Russian writers for several years before I discovered Russ. This doesn't mean I was at all old when I discovered Russ' writing. What it means is that Dostoievsky and Chekhov were easier reading for a fourteen year old than Russ was for a nineteen year old. Dostoievsky and Chekhov matched my assumptions of person and of narrative and of who benefited by what behaviour far more closely. They still do. Chekhov writes about my family, I think.
I didn't have any guidance in reading any feminist writer. Some don't need it, but Russ is really not one of those. Her works stand alone, but, in standing alone, they're not easy. I discovered her by chance and have never had a proper conversation about her writing with anyone. They made me angry and edgy and I wanted to talk about this and find out why. No-one around me was reading her. No-one was interested in a conversation. In my late teens, my friends' idea of intellectual freedom was Isaac Asimov and Gene Wolfe and Ursula le Guin. This was the Le Guin of the late seventies and early eighties, before she realised that women could be wizards.
It was hard for Russ to deliver her message in that environment, and it was hard for me to see what she was saying. This is why I didn't enjoy her writing, even as I read every word. It pushed me far beyond places I knew and showed me that the world didn't have to look that way. It's easier for feminist readers these days, I think, but that challenge and the wonder when I realised what she was doing and that it was possible to change paradigms when writing fiction, and the loneliness when there was no-one I could talk to about it - all that was the good fortune of my growing years.
Since then, I've always put the challenges Joanna Russ taught me into my fiction, my non-fiction, my teaching, my life. I'm not her, however, and I try to make them unobtrusive. I believe that it's possible to change paradigms without it hurting so much.
I must be very naive, because I also believe (thanks to Russ) that it's possible to change paradigms without forever going back to the simple: feminisim #101, cross-cultural understanding #101, crowing about being clever for getting something that should be understood rather than saying "Right, I know that - time for the next step". I don't expect rewards for it because of that silence in my late teens - that emptiness alerted me to the effects of writing change. The presentation of the simple and the crowing of how clever one is attracts more notice, but it doesn't do the job.
Joanna Russ didn't present me with the lure of material rewards. She taught me about living in a world which is different.
Her writing made me uncomfortable because it touched so closely on what hurts.
I'm not at the stage yet where that discomfort can leave me. We still accept the gender bias in novels and in the book industry almost unthinkingly. Some of our assumptions have been eroded or have crumbled or have been torn down, but our Berlin Wall is still standing, for the most part. Russ carefully cut a door in that wall, however, and it's possible to walk through that door and see the universe differently.
I really have to revisit Russ, as an adult. The world is a lesser place without her.
April 29, 2011
gillpolack @ 2011-04-29T14:01:00
I'm sorry, Canberrans, I forgot to remind some of you of the food history course that was to have been held starting next week. It just got cancelled. It had enrolments, but not quite enough. Given I suspect I'll be editing cookbook during that period (becasue quite obviously I can't edit it while travelling), this is financially not wonderful, but will be good as a small contribution towards me not overworking.
The only useful thing I've done today so far is read my ten reviews and reduce my in-box by 100 emails. This virus is draining. I do not recommend it as a lifestyle choice.
The only useful thing I've done today so far is read my ten reviews and reduce my in-box by 100 emails. This virus is draining. I do not recommend it as a lifestyle choice.
gillpolack @ 2011-04-29T10:33:00
I'm still a bit viral. I still have a fever. If the post delivers my birth certificate, I'll still run messages, however. I need that to happen, but I'm rather hoping that it will happen Monday, not today.
Stuff that will happen today, regardless of my body temperature and aches: laundry, 1500 words of novel, 2 other books*, finish booking ground transport for the trip**, answer at least fifty emails, finish with at least 20 research notes and put them away. And those are the numbers, I think. This is only because I can't for the life of me remember all the other things I listed last night. Tomorrow. I can do all those other things tomorrow. And I'm quite capable of writing that much and reading that much with this nice fever. I shall drink much wet stuff and rest in between spurts of work.
ETA: I forgot the book reviews! I need to read ten a day, otherwise my bibliography will remain problematical. Not ten a day until May 7, ten a day until about June 20. I've been quietly collecting important ones and keep forgetting to deal with them.
*yep, I'm back in two books-a-day mode and will read that or more until I am caught up with the next two slabs of must-dos - it's only 21 books this time, and I have until 6 May
**which means sorting out the Beziers situation, which has me a bit flummoxed at this moment, and which means finding out those market days and emailing someone in Gignac. Last night my brain couldn't distinguish between Newcastle and Durham, which is when I stopped and went to bed and left it for today. I *know* the difference between the two! I've done everything French except for the sections from Montpellier, and none of the England legs.
Stuff that will happen today, regardless of my body temperature and aches: laundry, 1500 words of novel, 2 other books*, finish booking ground transport for the trip**, answer at least fifty emails, finish with at least 20 research notes and put them away. And those are the numbers, I think. This is only because I can't for the life of me remember all the other things I listed last night. Tomorrow. I can do all those other things tomorrow. And I'm quite capable of writing that much and reading that much with this nice fever. I shall drink much wet stuff and rest in between spurts of work.
ETA: I forgot the book reviews! I need to read ten a day, otherwise my bibliography will remain problematical. Not ten a day until May 7, ten a day until about June 20. I've been quietly collecting important ones and keep forgetting to deal with them.
*yep, I'm back in two books-a-day mode and will read that or more until I am caught up with the next two slabs of must-dos - it's only 21 books this time, and I have until 6 May
**which means sorting out the Beziers situation, which has me a bit flummoxed at this moment, and which means finding out those market days and emailing someone in Gignac. Last night my brain couldn't distinguish between Newcastle and Durham, which is when I stopped and went to bed and left it for today. I *know* the difference between the two! I've done everything French except for the sections from Montpellier, and none of the England legs.
April 28, 2011
gillpolack @ 2011-04-28T17:19:00
Today becomes odder and odder. I'll step back into normal reality tomorrow. Right now, I have to say goodbye to someone. Since I missed saying it personally, I'm saying it here.
There are some people who are so much part of our lives that - even when we don't see them from year-end to year-end - just knowing they're around makes the trials of everyday endurable and even safe. Uncle Effie was my father's best friend and I just can't imagine him not being there, making wry jokes and smiling at me. We never talked much, because it was his wife with whom I could chat. I was, in fact, rather shy of him. But Uncle Effie was there, always, solid, reassuring, sensible. He was one of the cornerstones of my existence.
Dad used to go to synagogue for three things: to hear the sermon, to have a nap, and to chat with Uncle Effie. This is what he claimed, anyhow. He often slept during the sermon. He always had his time with Uncle Effie, however. Uncle Effie was his best man and the Ehrmann household was an extension of our own when we were little. They were there, always.
Uncle Effie gave me the gift of the dignity of prayer. He allowed me to laugh. He wasn't worried that I wasn't a perfect child and he supported everything I did, quietly, without a fuss. He and Dad discussed my teeth at excruciating length, often. I saw him glance at me across the coffee table at afternoon tea and stand up, and I readied myself to open my mouth, wide, so that he could take a look.
The Charnwood Grove synagogue is full of memories for me. My family has been members since it was built. When the family drifted elsewhere, whenever I went there was still Uncle Effie, who always made time for me and gave my love to his family. We'd remember Dad and miss him together.
Next time I'm in Melbourne I shall visit Charnwood Grove and remember him, spiffy in his tall black hat, walking, long and slender and dignified, to Dad's seat right at the back (Dad refused to sit anywhere where he could be seen napping - he was honest in his lack of devout religion and in his friendships, both) so that Dad could emerge at the end of the service, full of gossip and the company of friends.
Maybe after that visit I'll be ready to say goodbye. I'm not ready for that, yet.
There are some people who are so much part of our lives that - even when we don't see them from year-end to year-end - just knowing they're around makes the trials of everyday endurable and even safe. Uncle Effie was my father's best friend and I just can't imagine him not being there, making wry jokes and smiling at me. We never talked much, because it was his wife with whom I could chat. I was, in fact, rather shy of him. But Uncle Effie was there, always, solid, reassuring, sensible. He was one of the cornerstones of my existence.
Dad used to go to synagogue for three things: to hear the sermon, to have a nap, and to chat with Uncle Effie. This is what he claimed, anyhow. He often slept during the sermon. He always had his time with Uncle Effie, however. Uncle Effie was his best man and the Ehrmann household was an extension of our own when we were little. They were there, always.
Uncle Effie gave me the gift of the dignity of prayer. He allowed me to laugh. He wasn't worried that I wasn't a perfect child and he supported everything I did, quietly, without a fuss. He and Dad discussed my teeth at excruciating length, often. I saw him glance at me across the coffee table at afternoon tea and stand up, and I readied myself to open my mouth, wide, so that he could take a look.
The Charnwood Grove synagogue is full of memories for me. My family has been members since it was built. When the family drifted elsewhere, whenever I went there was still Uncle Effie, who always made time for me and gave my love to his family. We'd remember Dad and miss him together.
Next time I'm in Melbourne I shall visit Charnwood Grove and remember him, spiffy in his tall black hat, walking, long and slender and dignified, to Dad's seat right at the back (Dad refused to sit anywhere where he could be seen napping - he was honest in his lack of devout religion and in his friendships, both) so that Dad could emerge at the end of the service, full of gossip and the company of friends.
Maybe after that visit I'll be ready to say goodbye. I'm not ready for that, yet.
gillpolack @ 2011-04-28T16:04:00
Today is a bit exciting. Mostly this is because I have a very impressive fever. I keep going back to bed and having fever dreams. I'm calling it the birthday flu, because most of the friends I saw on Monday also have virii. Mine is the least ugly of them and my symptoms are the least foul.
In other news, still no birth certificate, although I received a most amazing review book in its stead. This means I have all the books I need to write BiblioBuffet articles right up to Conflux. This means I can do that next week and the week after and be finished with yet another batch of 'must dos.' I have a bunch of more-or-less historically based spec fic books for one article, and am conducting more interviews, to boot.
Having mentioned Conflux, I ought to say (one last time) that people have until tonight to get entries in for the Conflux workshop competition. Title and subject description. The chosen one gets free entry to the workshop. I'll be back from my month of Very Medieval stuff and will be totally chockers with Medieval, world-building and time-travel stuff, if anyone wants hints. I've also been researching writing techniques to do with character relations with a foreign environment. Comments to this post will do fine for entry - I'll just copy and paste them into a document for the committee to look at.
And in other, other news... sorry, I'm not going there.
In other news, still no birth certificate, although I received a most amazing review book in its stead. This means I have all the books I need to write BiblioBuffet articles right up to Conflux. This means I can do that next week and the week after and be finished with yet another batch of 'must dos.' I have a bunch of more-or-less historically based spec fic books for one article, and am conducting more interviews, to boot.
Having mentioned Conflux, I ought to say (one last time) that people have until tonight to get entries in for the Conflux workshop competition. Title and subject description. The chosen one gets free entry to the workshop. I'll be back from my month of Very Medieval stuff and will be totally chockers with Medieval, world-building and time-travel stuff, if anyone wants hints. I've also been researching writing techniques to do with character relations with a foreign environment. Comments to this post will do fine for entry - I'll just copy and paste them into a document for the committee to look at.
And in other, other news... sorry, I'm not going there.
April 27, 2011
gillpolack @ 2011-04-28T00:36:00
I have a new HP mini.
For months I've been dreaming aloud about a new netbook that had the battery life and bigger screen and keyboard to make my worklife easier. Quite a few friends were aware of this - I'm afraid I dreamed very loudly. Whenever my finances belly-flopped it was something that I used to keep me going. "When I'm financial," I said, and said again, "These are the specifications I shall have in my new handbag-computer." I love having a computer in my handbag. It means I can work anywhere.
I have adored my eeepc, but I knew its limitations (it came from the second netbook shipload into Australia: it's not young), and so I dreamed. A great deal. I was, in fact, saving for it. I think the order of my savings was air travel to Europe, accommodation, conference and masterclass costs, land transport, food, then computer, then luxuries - I was getting closer and closer to the computer - other friends gave me food money and the Montpellier to London flight, you see, again for my birthday. Having a major birthday was rather well timed and I am - as I keep on saying - just extraordinarily fortunate in my friends.
The group of friends who took me to the Yacht Club on Monday gave me the HP mini. Lesley and Griff make me part of their family for Christmas every year - this was a family present.
I've been giving the mini a run-in yesterday and today and it's totally wonderful. I've been writing novel on it using my desk slope. It doesn't cause my RSI to act up nearly as much as the smaller eeepc and I run out of energy before the battery does. I have space for 9 piles of paper notes around it, which makes it far easier to keep my mind in order than when I work at the normal desk. I should be able to take computer notes the whole of each day of masterclass and conference with no problems, plus work on my study in the evenings alone in France.
And, before you think "Aren't all her friends practical - doesn't she get life's luxuries?" Emma knitted me a silk lace shawl. It's a gorgeous dusky pink and I promised her a picture of me wearing it.
I don't get much in the way of large presents normally. My family is not that way inclined. My fiftieth and my amazing friends have made up for years of wondering what it would be like to have big gifts. I've discovered what I always knew. It's not the size of the gift - it's the warmth and love that's delivered with it. And that's the real magic of my fiftieth (and my actual celebration is still to come!) - discovering how very rich I am in friends who listen and care and are happy to have me round. I feel much less worried about travelling, because I carry all this love with me. I also feel much less worried about the next fifty years, because I have the most wonderful people to keep me company.
For months I've been dreaming aloud about a new netbook that had the battery life and bigger screen and keyboard to make my worklife easier. Quite a few friends were aware of this - I'm afraid I dreamed very loudly. Whenever my finances belly-flopped it was something that I used to keep me going. "When I'm financial," I said, and said again, "These are the specifications I shall have in my new handbag-computer." I love having a computer in my handbag. It means I can work anywhere.
I have adored my eeepc, but I knew its limitations (it came from the second netbook shipload into Australia: it's not young), and so I dreamed. A great deal. I was, in fact, saving for it. I think the order of my savings was air travel to Europe, accommodation, conference and masterclass costs, land transport, food, then computer, then luxuries - I was getting closer and closer to the computer - other friends gave me food money and the Montpellier to London flight, you see, again for my birthday. Having a major birthday was rather well timed and I am - as I keep on saying - just extraordinarily fortunate in my friends.
The group of friends who took me to the Yacht Club on Monday gave me the HP mini. Lesley and Griff make me part of their family for Christmas every year - this was a family present.
I've been giving the mini a run-in yesterday and today and it's totally wonderful. I've been writing novel on it using my desk slope. It doesn't cause my RSI to act up nearly as much as the smaller eeepc and I run out of energy before the battery does. I have space for 9 piles of paper notes around it, which makes it far easier to keep my mind in order than when I work at the normal desk. I should be able to take computer notes the whole of each day of masterclass and conference with no problems, plus work on my study in the evenings alone in France.
And, before you think "Aren't all her friends practical - doesn't she get life's luxuries?" Emma knitted me a silk lace shawl. It's a gorgeous dusky pink and I promised her a picture of me wearing it.
I don't get much in the way of large presents normally. My family is not that way inclined. My fiftieth and my amazing friends have made up for years of wondering what it would be like to have big gifts. I've discovered what I always knew. It's not the size of the gift - it's the warmth and love that's delivered with it. And that's the real magic of my fiftieth (and my actual celebration is still to come!) - discovering how very rich I am in friends who listen and care and are happy to have me round. I feel much less worried about travelling, because I carry all this love with me. I also feel much less worried about the next fifty years, because I have the most wonderful people to keep me company.
gillpolack @ 2011-04-27T18:04:00
I've been exploring the telephony possibilities for England and France and right now, I'm very tempted to be phoneless for a month. I can't work out what I have to do and how, nor how expensive it will be. I don't have a mobile now, so it's not simply a matter of taking mine over and getting a SIM for England and one for France. The problem with me being phoneless ofr a month is that it will seriously inconvenience my friends, especially for the first three weeks.
All advice seriously considered... (considered even more seriously if it takes into account that I have never used a mobile phone for anything except playing secretary when friends and family are driving - my stepfather gave me his second hand Motorola once, but I couldn't actually make out the keys and I gave up)
All advice seriously considered... (considered even more seriously if it takes into account that I have never used a mobile phone for anything except playing secretary when friends and family are driving - my stepfather gave me his second hand Motorola once, but I couldn't actually make out the keys and I gave up)
