Gillian Polack's Blog, page 30
May 25, 2015
gillpolack @ 2015-05-25T17:18:00
I'm spoiled for choices, right now. I carefully set up a story so that my characters have equal choices at the end, and so they do. Working out which choice they'll actually make is far harder when the choices are genuinely even.
And in other news... there is none. Or there is and I've forgotten it. If you feel I ought to have news, please feel free to invent some in the comments.
And in other news... there is none. Or there is and I've forgotten it. If you feel I ought to have news, please feel free to invent some in the comments.
May 23, 2015
gillpolack @ 2015-05-24T04:46:00
I was going to wake up in 20 minutes and watch Eurovision. Now I'll have blogged before watching Eurovision. This is because the cold I predicted has happened. I thought it was yesterday, but tonight is colder. My body hasn't yet acclimated to the sharp nights, so sleep was something I wasn't going to get until the temperature either stabilised or warmed up. That'll be in 2 hours time.
I'm rather lucky: yesterday I had the market when this happened (and about 4 hours sleep) and today I have Eurovision (and about two). Normally I work. I did that until about midnight, only. This will be the big test as to whether it's lack fo sleep that makes me less-than-useful the day after a seasonal shift like this, or if it' the shift itself.
Now that you know all that useful stuff, you must excuse me. Eurovision starts in 17 minutes and I don't yet have a cuppa*.
For all those friends who don't get Eurovision, you have my sympathy. For all those why don't get it, haven't seen it, and want to tell me how stupid it is, I am making rude gestures in your direction. My excuse for the sudden rudeness towards such explanations is partly because they were one (or two, or three) too many this year, but mostly because I could possibly have done with more sleep. Now that I know that sleeplessness brings forth rude gestures, I might try it again before a day when I need such gestures.
In other news, I only have one work task that has to be done before 2 pm and then I get hot chocolate with a friend! I'm so wildly social!!
*I shall play drinking games using tea, since 5 am is really not a vodka hour.
I'm rather lucky: yesterday I had the market when this happened (and about 4 hours sleep) and today I have Eurovision (and about two). Normally I work. I did that until about midnight, only. This will be the big test as to whether it's lack fo sleep that makes me less-than-useful the day after a seasonal shift like this, or if it' the shift itself.
Now that you know all that useful stuff, you must excuse me. Eurovision starts in 17 minutes and I don't yet have a cuppa*.
For all those friends who don't get Eurovision, you have my sympathy. For all those why don't get it, haven't seen it, and want to tell me how stupid it is, I am making rude gestures in your direction. My excuse for the sudden rudeness towards such explanations is partly because they were one (or two, or three) too many this year, but mostly because I could possibly have done with more sleep. Now that I know that sleeplessness brings forth rude gestures, I might try it again before a day when I need such gestures.
In other news, I only have one work task that has to be done before 2 pm and then I get hot chocolate with a friend! I'm so wildly social!!
*I shall play drinking games using tea, since 5 am is really not a vodka hour.
gillpolack @ 2015-05-23T17:28:00
I just deleted an evil Eurovision post. I love Eurovision and a friend told me how puerile it was and I decided to write a post that would annoy as many people as possible. Instead of doing a minor Gillian variant of what we've seen far too much of recently (Sulky Puppy Syndrome) I shall enjoy myself. Tonight I am watching the repeat of the semi final and first thing tomorrow is the final. Lest this fall into the unheard of category of 'time out' I shall forthwith do a vast amount of work.
In the background, you can hear the sound of my washing machine and of water boiling. I've started on the several-day process for portable soup.
And in my backbrain (for I finally saw Interstellar today) I wonder why the foodish assumptions in Death of Grass will ever be replaced in SF as a metaphor for the world going to pot. There are better ways of starving humans to death than by killing corn and wheat. It reminds me of the localised famines in the Middle Ages which turned into total ruin of population in fantasy novels loosely based on it. The concepts of diverse foodstuffs and wild harvesting and regionalism hasn't changed the trope yet. This is a shame, for I spent quite a bit of time at the beginning of Interstellar calculating how something other than corn could be humankind's salvation and how 'clean' countries like Australia and NZ would deal. What's worse, I kept thinking about the public policy side of it (for I worked on international grain policy stuff for a couple of years way back then) and realised that the whole movie was going for the symbolic and thus went for individual redemption above the solution paths we already have. Less drama in public sector solutions, after all, and way less agony. Having thoroughly destroyed the basis of the movie in the first minutes, I sat back and enjoyed it.
I've run out of excuses not to work. See you on the far side.
ETA: The washing machine has nothing to do with the portable soup, just to clarify. Also, the bones are Galloway. And I fear I need a cuppa.
In the background, you can hear the sound of my washing machine and of water boiling. I've started on the several-day process for portable soup.
And in my backbrain (for I finally saw Interstellar today) I wonder why the foodish assumptions in Death of Grass will ever be replaced in SF as a metaphor for the world going to pot. There are better ways of starving humans to death than by killing corn and wheat. It reminds me of the localised famines in the Middle Ages which turned into total ruin of population in fantasy novels loosely based on it. The concepts of diverse foodstuffs and wild harvesting and regionalism hasn't changed the trope yet. This is a shame, for I spent quite a bit of time at the beginning of Interstellar calculating how something other than corn could be humankind's salvation and how 'clean' countries like Australia and NZ would deal. What's worse, I kept thinking about the public policy side of it (for I worked on international grain policy stuff for a couple of years way back then) and realised that the whole movie was going for the symbolic and thus went for individual redemption above the solution paths we already have. Less drama in public sector solutions, after all, and way less agony. Having thoroughly destroyed the basis of the movie in the first minutes, I sat back and enjoyed it.
I've run out of excuses not to work. See you on the far side.
ETA: The washing machine has nothing to do with the portable soup, just to clarify. Also, the bones are Galloway. And I fear I need a cuppa.
May 21, 2015
A Guide to Avoiding Gillian at Continuum (5-8 June)
Obviously the easiest way to avoid me at Continuum is to avoid Melbourne, but who wants to do that? Melbourne is a lovely city. And besides, what if you took out a Continuum membership, thinking I was safely in Canberra? For those who are in this unfortunate position, here is the annual guide to Gillian-avoidance:
Friday 6.30 p.m.
The dangers of the life of a SFnal historian: or, Is there History in this SF?
Gillian Polack, Helen Young
What do we know about how writers use history in their fiction and what does this mean to a writer thinking about a novel? How do an author's assumptions about culture (including race and gender) fit into their writing? What goes into world-building and what research can be saved until later? What is the difference between 'telling detail' and that stuff you dumped into your novel because you thought it was cute? All the deep questions!
Saturday 11 a.m.
Individual Presentation: GUFF + Liburnicon
Gillian Polack
Gillian Polack explores a particular part of her 2014 GUFF trip: a Croatian SF convention. There will be tales and pictures of French game designers, Ian Gibson and we will learn why a picture of naked Danny Oz appeared on the outside of a seaside hotel. Question time will be open to almost anything: about what the fan funds are and how to get involved, about what it was like to present a Hugo, about hugging a Dr Who (or two). The highlight of this talk, however, will be that picture of Danny.
Sunday 6 p.m.
Book Launch: The Art of Effective Dreaming
Gillian Polack, Janeen Webb
Will Melbourne's morris dancers get their revenge on Gillian for killing them off in her new novel? Will they be trapped by the curse and be unable to find the launch? Will Gillian be carrying chocolate to ward off evil and malfeasance (and can she be persuaded to hand any over)? Can Gillian be lured into singing (appallingly) one of the songs from the book? Will Satalyte's other authors disown her? Or will the launch of The Art of Effective Dreaming be a charming and normal event starring a very strange novel, with Janeen Webb as extra-special guest?
Monday 10 a.m.
We Do This Stuff So You Can Write About It
Hespa, Gillian Polack, Gindi, Laura Goodin, Stephanie Lai
What would it really be like to prepare and eat medieval-era food? To be in a sword fight? To be a park ranger? "Write what you know" is terrible advice if you need your characters to do things you've never done, so this is your chance to meet people who do all these things and more. Join us for an informal Q&A on some unusual occupations and hobbies - open to writers and the simply curious!
Monday 12 p.m.
Fantastic Food
Gillian Polack, Bismuth Hoban, Stephanie Lai
Soylent is an actual foodstuff that you can buy (although the website claims it's not made of people). What other food from our hypothetical futures can we bring to life? And what will volunteers from the audience say when they taste those dishes we prepared earlier?
Friday 6.30 p.m.
The dangers of the life of a SFnal historian: or, Is there History in this SF?
Gillian Polack, Helen Young
What do we know about how writers use history in their fiction and what does this mean to a writer thinking about a novel? How do an author's assumptions about culture (including race and gender) fit into their writing? What goes into world-building and what research can be saved until later? What is the difference between 'telling detail' and that stuff you dumped into your novel because you thought it was cute? All the deep questions!
Saturday 11 a.m.
Individual Presentation: GUFF + Liburnicon
Gillian Polack
Gillian Polack explores a particular part of her 2014 GUFF trip: a Croatian SF convention. There will be tales and pictures of French game designers, Ian Gibson and we will learn why a picture of naked Danny Oz appeared on the outside of a seaside hotel. Question time will be open to almost anything: about what the fan funds are and how to get involved, about what it was like to present a Hugo, about hugging a Dr Who (or two). The highlight of this talk, however, will be that picture of Danny.
Sunday 6 p.m.
Book Launch: The Art of Effective Dreaming
Gillian Polack, Janeen Webb
Will Melbourne's morris dancers get their revenge on Gillian for killing them off in her new novel? Will they be trapped by the curse and be unable to find the launch? Will Gillian be carrying chocolate to ward off evil and malfeasance (and can she be persuaded to hand any over)? Can Gillian be lured into singing (appallingly) one of the songs from the book? Will Satalyte's other authors disown her? Or will the launch of The Art of Effective Dreaming be a charming and normal event starring a very strange novel, with Janeen Webb as extra-special guest?
Monday 10 a.m.
We Do This Stuff So You Can Write About It
Hespa, Gillian Polack, Gindi, Laura Goodin, Stephanie Lai
What would it really be like to prepare and eat medieval-era food? To be in a sword fight? To be a park ranger? "Write what you know" is terrible advice if you need your characters to do things you've never done, so this is your chance to meet people who do all these things and more. Join us for an informal Q&A on some unusual occupations and hobbies - open to writers and the simply curious!
Monday 12 p.m.
Fantastic Food
Gillian Polack, Bismuth Hoban, Stephanie Lai
Soylent is an actual foodstuff that you can buy (although the website claims it's not made of people). What other food from our hypothetical futures can we bring to life? And what will volunteers from the audience say when they taste those dishes we prepared earlier?
About triggering, learning and being an ally
Today I'm thinking about how one walks with someone and shares a moment of their life, for a friend just rang to tell me all about an article that confirms that what I was saying about violent antisemitism is true. She was shocked and horrified and also surprised. We talked about it. I explained that she really didn't have to copy this kind of article to me. I already know the stats: I already live with the situation. For her it's new. For me, it's a factor in daily life.
It got me thinking that this happens to me all the time.
Someone discovers that my extreme allergies are real, and they need to research them (which is lovely) and tell me all about them and how to handle them.
Someone (usually male) discovers that the precautions I take as a woman to prevent getting attacked are legitimate and necessary and he copies me articles about rape.
Someone discovers that...
We all get this. The good people of this world do not always know what our life experiences are and sometimes they will say "Yes" to our explanations out of politeness, because they like us. The fact that they're good people shows instantly when we receive those calls and those emails telling us that we were right. Up to that moment, this is great news. Friends who see what we're going through and who care enough to ring us and tell us! Awesome!
I find it interesting the number of people who believe that I'm wrong until they find evidence that's external to me, that I haven't sent them towards. It can't be helped: my life experiences are unusual to people who aren't female, aren't Jewish, aren't short, don't have chronic health conditions, aren't or haven't been middle aged and so on. I admit, I use this in speeches to certain audiences, for I can talk about myself simply and naturally and to the right audience it will sound wonderfully exotic and not quite believable. The big stuff, the scary stuff isn't believed by most people. They're nice, though, so they don't contradict me to my face. And they're solid human beings, so they change their opinion when they find that external evidence.
"How can you have lived through this?" they ask. And that should be a start of a good conversation. And it is, fifty percent of the time. The other fifty per cent of the time the friend wants to lead me into their new place of knowledge. Intellectually they know I'm already there, but emotionally it's shocking and new and their first thought is to share it with the friend they know will understand.
It comes from a place of privilege when you demand that someone who has been dealing with a situation for years hold your hand while you discover it. It's generosity on their part to hold your hand and walk with you on your new voyage of discovery. It's not something you can assume nor something you should assume.
I'm not even sure that people should be asking this of friends, unless they're very certain that it won't hurt. Given my PTSD comes from events that only happened because I am Jewish, I don't need newcomers to the charming universe that is created by antisemites to send me articles about other Jews hurting, or about the Shoah. I find these things for myself. I refuse to stop learning because it hurts, but I do control when I read things, so that learning doesn't actually make me unlearn my humanity. That's my privilege.
Taking a friend through your 101 can also be disrespectful ("I know you said you've been there already, but have you really? Let me just send you this article.") It's like someone trying to convert me to their particular religion: they're intimating that my religion and my life are insufficient. None of my friends are trying to do this, but I hate having to be rude and point it out. I do have to, though, because the other thing that will happen is I will hurt. The things people discover that they didn't believe in are usually life experiences that leave certain marks. We don't ask someone to break a leg again so that we can experience it alongside them, we shouldn't be asking them to revisit personal trauma in order for us, personally, to know that it exists.
"You're right to want to share this," I say (because they are), "But I'm not the person who you need to share it with." They need to find someone who they can share this voyage of discovery as a voyage of discovery and be properly shocked and horrified because it's all new, not find someone who wants to pack everything in because life's just too damn hard. For having to relive the bad things because someone else has discovered them for the first time can push people to the edge. It's not doing that now, to me, but it did so a few years ago.
How often is this happening right now? About once a fortnight.
This frequency is both wonderful and worrying. Wonderful that people are opening themselves to the world not being a nice place and that people they know might be paying prices for this. Worrying, because these are all people who know me and didn't believe what I was saying. For mental health issues, for issues relating to bigotry, to gender, to sexuality, to trauma people often feel they need to learn alongside their friends. If the friends are those who suffer this bigotry, it can make bad worse.
I'm almost always happy to answer questions about the various things I've experienced and endured. I'm a good person to ask questions of, therefore. This doesn't make me the person you should teach the basics of my own life experience.
I want to say to these friends "Don't tell me how I think or feel." I do tell these friends "You're not going to fight the bigotry by telling me about it, for I already do what I can. Find someone who doesn't know."
There's a safety in telling me, for I won't give back the feeling they had when they first heard my story and didn't believe. I understand that, truly I do. But that safety can hurt people who are already hurting, or condescend to them about their life experience. Safety is not always wisdom.
It got me thinking that this happens to me all the time.
Someone discovers that my extreme allergies are real, and they need to research them (which is lovely) and tell me all about them and how to handle them.
Someone (usually male) discovers that the precautions I take as a woman to prevent getting attacked are legitimate and necessary and he copies me articles about rape.
Someone discovers that...
We all get this. The good people of this world do not always know what our life experiences are and sometimes they will say "Yes" to our explanations out of politeness, because they like us. The fact that they're good people shows instantly when we receive those calls and those emails telling us that we were right. Up to that moment, this is great news. Friends who see what we're going through and who care enough to ring us and tell us! Awesome!
I find it interesting the number of people who believe that I'm wrong until they find evidence that's external to me, that I haven't sent them towards. It can't be helped: my life experiences are unusual to people who aren't female, aren't Jewish, aren't short, don't have chronic health conditions, aren't or haven't been middle aged and so on. I admit, I use this in speeches to certain audiences, for I can talk about myself simply and naturally and to the right audience it will sound wonderfully exotic and not quite believable. The big stuff, the scary stuff isn't believed by most people. They're nice, though, so they don't contradict me to my face. And they're solid human beings, so they change their opinion when they find that external evidence.
"How can you have lived through this?" they ask. And that should be a start of a good conversation. And it is, fifty percent of the time. The other fifty per cent of the time the friend wants to lead me into their new place of knowledge. Intellectually they know I'm already there, but emotionally it's shocking and new and their first thought is to share it with the friend they know will understand.
It comes from a place of privilege when you demand that someone who has been dealing with a situation for years hold your hand while you discover it. It's generosity on their part to hold your hand and walk with you on your new voyage of discovery. It's not something you can assume nor something you should assume.
I'm not even sure that people should be asking this of friends, unless they're very certain that it won't hurt. Given my PTSD comes from events that only happened because I am Jewish, I don't need newcomers to the charming universe that is created by antisemites to send me articles about other Jews hurting, or about the Shoah. I find these things for myself. I refuse to stop learning because it hurts, but I do control when I read things, so that learning doesn't actually make me unlearn my humanity. That's my privilege.
Taking a friend through your 101 can also be disrespectful ("I know you said you've been there already, but have you really? Let me just send you this article.") It's like someone trying to convert me to their particular religion: they're intimating that my religion and my life are insufficient. None of my friends are trying to do this, but I hate having to be rude and point it out. I do have to, though, because the other thing that will happen is I will hurt. The things people discover that they didn't believe in are usually life experiences that leave certain marks. We don't ask someone to break a leg again so that we can experience it alongside them, we shouldn't be asking them to revisit personal trauma in order for us, personally, to know that it exists.
"You're right to want to share this," I say (because they are), "But I'm not the person who you need to share it with." They need to find someone who they can share this voyage of discovery as a voyage of discovery and be properly shocked and horrified because it's all new, not find someone who wants to pack everything in because life's just too damn hard. For having to relive the bad things because someone else has discovered them for the first time can push people to the edge. It's not doing that now, to me, but it did so a few years ago.
How often is this happening right now? About once a fortnight.
This frequency is both wonderful and worrying. Wonderful that people are opening themselves to the world not being a nice place and that people they know might be paying prices for this. Worrying, because these are all people who know me and didn't believe what I was saying. For mental health issues, for issues relating to bigotry, to gender, to sexuality, to trauma people often feel they need to learn alongside their friends. If the friends are those who suffer this bigotry, it can make bad worse.
I'm almost always happy to answer questions about the various things I've experienced and endured. I'm a good person to ask questions of, therefore. This doesn't make me the person you should teach the basics of my own life experience.
I want to say to these friends "Don't tell me how I think or feel." I do tell these friends "You're not going to fight the bigotry by telling me about it, for I already do what I can. Find someone who doesn't know."
There's a safety in telling me, for I won't give back the feeling they had when they first heard my story and didn't believe. I understand that, truly I do. But that safety can hurt people who are already hurting, or condescend to them about their life experience. Safety is not always wisdom.
May 20, 2015
gillpolack @ 2015-05-21T14:48:00
This is the week of the work experience phonecalls.
I never know if a work experience student will see my workplace as suitable for them or not. Today, not. Three years ago, very. Today's was a shame, for a student I had calls about wants to be a journalist and I could have given her everything from interviews with writers to getting information to media concerning my work. She has found a more obvious match in another workplace, however, which probably means she'll be photocopying and making coffee more than interviewing and sorting out media presence. Other years I've had books to sort and paper to file, but this year almost everything I can offer a work experience student is higher level. Life is a bit odd like that.
I don't mind not having a student right now, to be honest, for I have a book to finish once teaching is over for the term, and I might be pressed for time. From my point of view, the whole work experience thing is time-consuming. Fun and rather cool, but it eats large chunks of my day. So the very moment when I have the most interesting things to offer is also the very moment when it's better for me to be working alone.
And in other news, I am a guest on David McDonald's blog today, talking about the cost of being a writer: http://www.davidmcdonaldspage.com/2015/05/paying-for-our-passion-gillian-polack/
I never know if a work experience student will see my workplace as suitable for them or not. Today, not. Three years ago, very. Today's was a shame, for a student I had calls about wants to be a journalist and I could have given her everything from interviews with writers to getting information to media concerning my work. She has found a more obvious match in another workplace, however, which probably means she'll be photocopying and making coffee more than interviewing and sorting out media presence. Other years I've had books to sort and paper to file, but this year almost everything I can offer a work experience student is higher level. Life is a bit odd like that.
I don't mind not having a student right now, to be honest, for I have a book to finish once teaching is over for the term, and I might be pressed for time. From my point of view, the whole work experience thing is time-consuming. Fun and rather cool, but it eats large chunks of my day. So the very moment when I have the most interesting things to offer is also the very moment when it's better for me to be working alone.
And in other news, I am a guest on David McDonald's blog today, talking about the cost of being a writer: http://www.davidmcdonaldspage.com/2015/05/paying-for-our-passion-gillian-polack/
gillpolack @ 2015-05-20T21:27:00
I'm nearly finished my Moomin re-read. My favourite Moomin book from many years ago is still my favourite and it's still up there with To Kill a Mockingbird as the closest to a perfect novel I'll ever see. Moominvalley in November is way more sophisticated than I realised as a child, but it's exquisite and lonely and full of friends and exactly the way I saw the world when I was the perfect age to read it.
I discovered it in early high school (I can't have discovered it earlier, because it simply wasn't available in English until then) and its compatriot in that year of discovery was the whole Lord of the Rings. I really liked Lord of the Rings and I still have the family copy, but Jansson was closer to the core of me, myself.
I didn't know why, then, for I lived under the false belief that I was a happy child. I told myself to remember my childhood for it was happy and I needed to know what happiness was in case things became unhappy. I remember telling myself this, with great vigour. I didn't want to challenge the received truth that childhood was happy, so I tried to associate the feelings I had with the word I knew. (The Red Shoes was another favourite story, unsurprisingly, and the Moira Shearer film still moves me to tears.)
I think this is why, when I read Moominvalley in November, I entirely understood what it meant to come into Moominvalley and find the core strangely empty and to have to make-do in the way I could, because this was my childhood. Jansson knew my childhood, I felt, in a way no-one else could.
This doesn't sound very cheerful, does it? Except it was. The first step in never being lonely is to identify that one is alone and that this is not actually a problem. Moominvalley in November is all about that.
My life hasn't taken any of the paths I wanted or expected in personal terms. Obviously I wanted and expected to write, and I'm doing that, but I expected to have a family and settle down and own a house with a garden and cook its produce and shop for nine people every week (I like children, so I thought that a big family was inevitable) and be part of an extended community. This hasn't happened. My lifestyle is strange and unique and very Gillianish. If I hadn't know that this was possible, I would have lived forever in November, in the shadow of someone else's full existence. This is the public pattern for a spinster, after all.
Seeing it laid clear when I was so young has helped me to avoid that shadowed life. I'm alone, but not in a shadow. The books of our childhood don't just speak to our adult selves, they help us become who we can be.
I discovered it in early high school (I can't have discovered it earlier, because it simply wasn't available in English until then) and its compatriot in that year of discovery was the whole Lord of the Rings. I really liked Lord of the Rings and I still have the family copy, but Jansson was closer to the core of me, myself.
I didn't know why, then, for I lived under the false belief that I was a happy child. I told myself to remember my childhood for it was happy and I needed to know what happiness was in case things became unhappy. I remember telling myself this, with great vigour. I didn't want to challenge the received truth that childhood was happy, so I tried to associate the feelings I had with the word I knew. (The Red Shoes was another favourite story, unsurprisingly, and the Moira Shearer film still moves me to tears.)
I think this is why, when I read Moominvalley in November, I entirely understood what it meant to come into Moominvalley and find the core strangely empty and to have to make-do in the way I could, because this was my childhood. Jansson knew my childhood, I felt, in a way no-one else could.
This doesn't sound very cheerful, does it? Except it was. The first step in never being lonely is to identify that one is alone and that this is not actually a problem. Moominvalley in November is all about that.
My life hasn't taken any of the paths I wanted or expected in personal terms. Obviously I wanted and expected to write, and I'm doing that, but I expected to have a family and settle down and own a house with a garden and cook its produce and shop for nine people every week (I like children, so I thought that a big family was inevitable) and be part of an extended community. This hasn't happened. My lifestyle is strange and unique and very Gillianish. If I hadn't know that this was possible, I would have lived forever in November, in the shadow of someone else's full existence. This is the public pattern for a spinster, after all.
Seeing it laid clear when I was so young has helped me to avoid that shadowed life. I'm alone, but not in a shadow. The books of our childhood don't just speak to our adult selves, they help us become who we can be.
May 19, 2015
gillpolack @ 2015-05-19T21:39:00
I'm wiped. I had three meetings today, just before teaching and then my students were so excited by what we were doing that tea break was very, very short (for me, there was none) and we went a little overtime. Tomorrow I have a meeting before teaching again, and the same on Thursday. I only get paid for one of these meetings, but they're all for good causes. (One day I shall stop mentoring, but that day has not yet arrived.)
Anyhow, that means no CSFG meeting tomorrow night, for I have to do my other work then. Also, it means I'll be glad when I can sleep in, which is not til Sunday. I won't be sleeping in, precisely. I'll be sleeping a bit, getting up for the Eurovision final, then going back to bed after it's all over, which is probably going to be around 10 am. I don't think I've got the energy this week to do the same for the semi-finals, though voting might be late enough for me to join in. We'll see.
Tonight, I'm ignoring everything that must be done and just resting. I don't get to reward myself with Eurovision if I'm too tired to wake up at 5 am on Sunday...
Anyhow, that means no CSFG meeting tomorrow night, for I have to do my other work then. Also, it means I'll be glad when I can sleep in, which is not til Sunday. I won't be sleeping in, precisely. I'll be sleeping a bit, getting up for the Eurovision final, then going back to bed after it's all over, which is probably going to be around 10 am. I don't think I've got the energy this week to do the same for the semi-finals, though voting might be late enough for me to join in. We'll see.
Tonight, I'm ignoring everything that must be done and just resting. I don't get to reward myself with Eurovision if I'm too tired to wake up at 5 am on Sunday...
May 18, 2015
On hearing from readers
Elderly women, in my experience, write the best fan mail.
It's real mail, for one thing. They find someone who knows me and ask them to deliver it, or they ask around until they find an address for me and they post it. It comes through the strangest places, sometimes, but it's real mail. I can look at the letter in their handwriting fifty times and it will still say the same thing in their handwriting.
The one that came today was a case in point. I knew it was coming, for the writer had hunted out my mother and asked her for my address. She loved the book so much that she had to write to me and let me know what she thought.
That's the other thing. When someone is in their seventies or eighties and is a lifelong reader, then every word in that letter counts. When I'm told my book is a masterpiece and will be cherished, I know this to be true. Or when I am given a poem that describes the reader's personal reaction to the novel and it's an exquisite poem, then I know I've done something very right. The poem was for Ms Cellophane and the words for Langue[dot]doc 1305.
And yes, I'm cherishing today's letter, the way my reader is going to cherish my novel. I get very few reviews and almost no press attention, but I still get real letters from readers, and they're extraordinary. Any day I receive one, it makes sending my novels into the world something that's worth doing.
In this new world of books, it's better for sales and career if people blog about a novel or comment in public somewhere and it's best of all if they write reviews or persuade reviewers that this book or that needs to be read, but for giving inner joy to a writer (or to this writer) there's nothing like a personal letter.
It's real mail, for one thing. They find someone who knows me and ask them to deliver it, or they ask around until they find an address for me and they post it. It comes through the strangest places, sometimes, but it's real mail. I can look at the letter in their handwriting fifty times and it will still say the same thing in their handwriting.
The one that came today was a case in point. I knew it was coming, for the writer had hunted out my mother and asked her for my address. She loved the book so much that she had to write to me and let me know what she thought.
That's the other thing. When someone is in their seventies or eighties and is a lifelong reader, then every word in that letter counts. When I'm told my book is a masterpiece and will be cherished, I know this to be true. Or when I am given a poem that describes the reader's personal reaction to the novel and it's an exquisite poem, then I know I've done something very right. The poem was for Ms Cellophane and the words for Langue[dot]doc 1305.
And yes, I'm cherishing today's letter, the way my reader is going to cherish my novel. I get very few reviews and almost no press attention, but I still get real letters from readers, and they're extraordinary. Any day I receive one, it makes sending my novels into the world something that's worth doing.
In this new world of books, it's better for sales and career if people blog about a novel or comment in public somewhere and it's best of all if they write reviews or persuade reviewers that this book or that needs to be read, but for giving inner joy to a writer (or to this writer) there's nothing like a personal letter.
May 17, 2015
gillpolack @ 2015-05-18T15:39:00
I sorted out Saturday and I sorted out Sunday and I've done considerable stuff, but it doesn't feel as if I've done anything. Just now I realised that I've reached the stage of first semester where the work never diminishes, the teaching never diminishes,the cold increases and a few things going wrong can cause the house of cards to collapse.
What I need to do is get rid of tasks (by finishing them) and make my desk the clear and lovely place it was for two days last week, so's I can focus on the book. What happens is each task I diminish causes the universe to throw teeth into the ground and a hundred more spring up ready to do battle with me (maybe only 5 more, but enough!) and so what I do is revert to type. In this case, 'type' means I'm doing a lot of very solid thinking for writing of fiction and of non-fiction. That's my comfort food for impossible work zones. It doesn't reduce anything urgent.
I have between now and 7.30 to get rid of five tasks, in date order. No detour. No passing of Go. No eating of pomegranates. And no dinner until I'm done. Only chai... (I could mix chia and cacao into chai and make a hot chia chocolate chai thickshake and test it on my friends.. or I can work.)
What I need to do is get rid of tasks (by finishing them) and make my desk the clear and lovely place it was for two days last week, so's I can focus on the book. What happens is each task I diminish causes the universe to throw teeth into the ground and a hundred more spring up ready to do battle with me (maybe only 5 more, but enough!) and so what I do is revert to type. In this case, 'type' means I'm doing a lot of very solid thinking for writing of fiction and of non-fiction. That's my comfort food for impossible work zones. It doesn't reduce anything urgent.
I have between now and 7.30 to get rid of five tasks, in date order. No detour. No passing of Go. No eating of pomegranates. And no dinner until I'm done. Only chai... (I could mix chia and cacao into chai and make a hot chia chocolate chai thickshake and test it on my friends.. or I can work.)
