Gillian Polack's Blog, page 88
December 24, 2013
gillpolack @ 2013-12-25T12:24:00
This morning I finished with Pepys (for the moment). Because the man could write (sinful, isn't it?) I found myself losing my analytical skills after a while, so I cherry-picked for what I needed rather than doing the complete read I'd planned. I'll come back to him, later, for more stuff.
My plan for the rest of the day is meeting a friend online for a chat, finishing with 8 more books, and watching the Sarah Jane Adventures. Food is fridge leftovers, plus some rather nice choc my neighbour just gave me. I have elicited her daughter's aid in the telling-of-bad jokes tomorrow.
And not much else is news, except for one rather curious element in Pepys. This was in the Pepys of the day before yesterday, but I'm still mulling on it. He told something that a friend saw and wrote down the rhyme for his charm collection.
There were four young girls, lifting up a boy. When someone protested that the boy was light so the charm couldn't be working, they did the same again, lifting up a man. The girls were very young, Pepys said, and he explained the charm and how it operated (the girls were French Protestant - the reason Pepys explained this is that magic was a Catholic thing in his mind, so he found it disturbing that the girls were Protestant). The charm worked, and, using just one finger each, the girls were able to lift the man.
What's interesting about this is that, when I was in early high school, a group of us congregated at my place and the others decided to play with the supernatural. I was non-participatory for the most part, for I wasn't at all sure that anyone knew what they were doing, nor how it fitted into my world view. The reason I was involved was mainly because I was the one who had been given the board game that started it (Franklin's ESP - my mother still has my copy of it), so, in a way, it was my fault. We'd played with mind-reading (and totally failed) and with reading the Franklin's cards (also totally failed) and someone said "I know other stuff." I didn't mind playing with the obviously harmless, but I wasn't sure about "other stuff", which is when I became a mostly-observer. This was typical of me as a teen. I didn't mess with drugs, or play cricket on roads, either. My first reaction to anything new was to take a step back and learn more about it.
One of the things my friends tried was the same thing that Pepys did. The rhyme was different, I think (for it didn't spark recognition) but in every other respect, the attempt was the same. The rhyme was in the vernacular, which is also the same as my experience (although the vernacular for Pepys' friend's experience was obviously French) and I can't remember if it worked in our case or not. I didn't observe it, because I was the body being lifted, so my friends could have left me on the floor and cheerfully fibbed about me elevating. I wasn't happy being the body, because, firstly, I didn't want to be part of it (not knowing enough, wanting to be an observer, and etc) and, also, I was told I had to because of my vast overweight ie I would be a good test of it. In revenge, I thought the heaviest thoughts I could.
What I'm really curious about is whether this was a genuine survival, or a re-invention. I wouldn't mind the gaps in my memory filled, either.
My plan for the rest of the day is meeting a friend online for a chat, finishing with 8 more books, and watching the Sarah Jane Adventures. Food is fridge leftovers, plus some rather nice choc my neighbour just gave me. I have elicited her daughter's aid in the telling-of-bad jokes tomorrow.
And not much else is news, except for one rather curious element in Pepys. This was in the Pepys of the day before yesterday, but I'm still mulling on it. He told something that a friend saw and wrote down the rhyme for his charm collection.
There were four young girls, lifting up a boy. When someone protested that the boy was light so the charm couldn't be working, they did the same again, lifting up a man. The girls were very young, Pepys said, and he explained the charm and how it operated (the girls were French Protestant - the reason Pepys explained this is that magic was a Catholic thing in his mind, so he found it disturbing that the girls were Protestant). The charm worked, and, using just one finger each, the girls were able to lift the man.
What's interesting about this is that, when I was in early high school, a group of us congregated at my place and the others decided to play with the supernatural. I was non-participatory for the most part, for I wasn't at all sure that anyone knew what they were doing, nor how it fitted into my world view. The reason I was involved was mainly because I was the one who had been given the board game that started it (Franklin's ESP - my mother still has my copy of it), so, in a way, it was my fault. We'd played with mind-reading (and totally failed) and with reading the Franklin's cards (also totally failed) and someone said "I know other stuff." I didn't mind playing with the obviously harmless, but I wasn't sure about "other stuff", which is when I became a mostly-observer. This was typical of me as a teen. I didn't mess with drugs, or play cricket on roads, either. My first reaction to anything new was to take a step back and learn more about it.
One of the things my friends tried was the same thing that Pepys did. The rhyme was different, I think (for it didn't spark recognition) but in every other respect, the attempt was the same. The rhyme was in the vernacular, which is also the same as my experience (although the vernacular for Pepys' friend's experience was obviously French) and I can't remember if it worked in our case or not. I didn't observe it, because I was the body being lifted, so my friends could have left me on the floor and cheerfully fibbed about me elevating. I wasn't happy being the body, because, firstly, I didn't want to be part of it (not knowing enough, wanting to be an observer, and etc) and, also, I was told I had to because of my vast overweight ie I would be a good test of it. In revenge, I thought the heaviest thoughts I could.
What I'm really curious about is whether this was a genuine survival, or a re-invention. I wouldn't mind the gaps in my memory filled, either.
gillpolack @ 2013-12-25T00:21:00
What have I done today? I was visited, which was a lot of fun.
Several of my closest friends are listening to what I've been saying and are finding time in their season to drop round, say 'hi', and share their happiness with me. It's wonderful. It more than balances out those who are still being annoying ("Happy Chanukah" has again been added to the list of inappropriate things said to me this week.). I find myself explaining to people that "Christmas is not a Jewish thing" and I find myself wondering why people don't know this.
Why don't I stop saying it? Why don't I just accept it all? Because the numbers are in, and the rise in reported antisemitic incidents in Australia last year was over 20%: 657 incidents were reported (second highest number on record) and that was before the Bondi bashings. This is not just about my tender sensibilities. Lack of understanding is not neutral - it operates in a wider culture of intolerance and even hate.
I'm still very happy to be wished Merry Christmas. I just want it accepted that when I say I'm Jewish, it's a working day for me" that this is just a fine a way of spending the day as eating trifle and that the wishes I wish back are a sincere desire for the person who celebrates to enjoy that celebration, not a declaration that somehow my religion has changed.
It's the second anniversary of Jimmy's death, so there is a deeper thread of uncheer today. In fact, the weave of today's cloth is passing strange. Jimmy Goodrum was a young man who left an enormous hole. He lived more in a few decades than most people live in double that. A good friend of both Jimmy and myself is dropping in on Thursday, and we are going to toast him, I think. Probably in tea.
We're also going to toast my father. Ninety, after all, is a significant birthday, even if the birthday boy is somewhat dead. I'm asking any friend who feels inclined to make as many bad jokes as they comfortably can on Boxing Day. You don't have to have known Dad. He was a techie (albeit with holes punched in cards - he's been gone since 8/8/88) and made enormously bad jokes, and it would totally tickle him to have little waves of jokes on the net in his honour.
I don't sound that cheerful? But I am. This is a fine season for me - I have friends and I have research and I have less than ten books to go for the Aurealis awards. It's never an easy season for me, but the friends visiting and the gifts they bring and the games I play with my honorary nieces and nephews - this is what leavens a difficult season. And me getting to give gifts (albeit small ones) always makes me happy.
Several of my closest friends are listening to what I've been saying and are finding time in their season to drop round, say 'hi', and share their happiness with me. It's wonderful. It more than balances out those who are still being annoying ("Happy Chanukah" has again been added to the list of inappropriate things said to me this week.). I find myself explaining to people that "Christmas is not a Jewish thing" and I find myself wondering why people don't know this.
Why don't I stop saying it? Why don't I just accept it all? Because the numbers are in, and the rise in reported antisemitic incidents in Australia last year was over 20%: 657 incidents were reported (second highest number on record) and that was before the Bondi bashings. This is not just about my tender sensibilities. Lack of understanding is not neutral - it operates in a wider culture of intolerance and even hate.
I'm still very happy to be wished Merry Christmas. I just want it accepted that when I say I'm Jewish, it's a working day for me" that this is just a fine a way of spending the day as eating trifle and that the wishes I wish back are a sincere desire for the person who celebrates to enjoy that celebration, not a declaration that somehow my religion has changed.
It's the second anniversary of Jimmy's death, so there is a deeper thread of uncheer today. In fact, the weave of today's cloth is passing strange. Jimmy Goodrum was a young man who left an enormous hole. He lived more in a few decades than most people live in double that. A good friend of both Jimmy and myself is dropping in on Thursday, and we are going to toast him, I think. Probably in tea.
We're also going to toast my father. Ninety, after all, is a significant birthday, even if the birthday boy is somewhat dead. I'm asking any friend who feels inclined to make as many bad jokes as they comfortably can on Boxing Day. You don't have to have known Dad. He was a techie (albeit with holes punched in cards - he's been gone since 8/8/88) and made enormously bad jokes, and it would totally tickle him to have little waves of jokes on the net in his honour.
I don't sound that cheerful? But I am. This is a fine season for me - I have friends and I have research and I have less than ten books to go for the Aurealis awards. It's never an easy season for me, but the friends visiting and the gifts they bring and the games I play with my honorary nieces and nephews - this is what leavens a difficult season. And me getting to give gifts (albeit small ones) always makes me happy.
December 23, 2013
gillpolack @ 2013-12-23T19:59:00
I've done some solid work today, and more to go. It's not reportable work. By which I mean, it's difficult and dull, but fundamental to other work. I'm tempering it with Supernatural, since I still don't want to watch regular TV. I was on the receiving end of a musak carol by mistake in the chemist today and that is my full quota. Also, I don't need to do any Christmas shopping, so I can't be bothered with the ads. In fact, I've made a clear decision to watch DVDs right up to the Dr Who special. And I've chosen most of the DVDs specifically to be good background for the slow and technical side of work.
I took this morning off. I spent it with two of my favourite people, who treated me to coffee and muffin and, best of everything, the Inca exhibition at the National Gallery. We have two world-class, once-in-a-lifetime exhibitions in Canberra right now and I've seen them both. The explanations for the Inca (which was a lot more than Inca) were lacking, but I can remedy that with some select research when I have time. The pieces are lovely. Some utterly amazing ancient textiles, which I never thought I'd get to see so very near and in such detail.
It also has a really good kids' room, with some great activities, and I covet the purple and blue sneakers in the gift shop. I had to tear myself way from them and tell myself firmly "They're not going to fit." I need new shoes, but I'm hard to fit and in between income and a host of other reasons. But these were ordinary sneakers with the outer fabric being Peruvian textiles and yes, I could see me wearing them. One day.
No other news. I hope. I keep forgetting things, though, for friends keep dropping in. This is unexpected and wonderful - my loneliest time of the year has suddenly turned into my most sociable. I'm radiating contentment... also, I'm very glad I made the almond-lemon thingie, for it means that I can serve fruit and thingie and chocolate and all my friends have something they will eat. These wonderful friends often bring gifts, too, - I feel very loved this year.
For those who were curious, I'm doing the At Home thing all January and maybe into February. Every single week friends have dropped in. Obviously what worked for people who wanted to catch up with me 25 years ago is just as good now. And no-one seems to mind when I haven't done my housework. It turns out that it's not a pristine flat they want to see, it's me. Change of generations, for Mum and her mob can't offer someone even a biscuit unless everything is terribly respectable. Also, my friends understand high pain days, for they know me. (And they bring top-up coffee and they bring fruit and they bring biscuits - I'm so well supplied to entertain!)
So now my Sundays are working only in the morning and evening and the afternoon is time out with friends. Which is a bit like this week, really. I get time out with friends in between the massive deadlines. It's such a happy feeling, and rather unexpected.
I took this morning off. I spent it with two of my favourite people, who treated me to coffee and muffin and, best of everything, the Inca exhibition at the National Gallery. We have two world-class, once-in-a-lifetime exhibitions in Canberra right now and I've seen them both. The explanations for the Inca (which was a lot more than Inca) were lacking, but I can remedy that with some select research when I have time. The pieces are lovely. Some utterly amazing ancient textiles, which I never thought I'd get to see so very near and in such detail.
It also has a really good kids' room, with some great activities, and I covet the purple and blue sneakers in the gift shop. I had to tear myself way from them and tell myself firmly "They're not going to fit." I need new shoes, but I'm hard to fit and in between income and a host of other reasons. But these were ordinary sneakers with the outer fabric being Peruvian textiles and yes, I could see me wearing them. One day.
No other news. I hope. I keep forgetting things, though, for friends keep dropping in. This is unexpected and wonderful - my loneliest time of the year has suddenly turned into my most sociable. I'm radiating contentment... also, I'm very glad I made the almond-lemon thingie, for it means that I can serve fruit and thingie and chocolate and all my friends have something they will eat. These wonderful friends often bring gifts, too, - I feel very loved this year.
For those who were curious, I'm doing the At Home thing all January and maybe into February. Every single week friends have dropped in. Obviously what worked for people who wanted to catch up with me 25 years ago is just as good now. And no-one seems to mind when I haven't done my housework. It turns out that it's not a pristine flat they want to see, it's me. Change of generations, for Mum and her mob can't offer someone even a biscuit unless everything is terribly respectable. Also, my friends understand high pain days, for they know me. (And they bring top-up coffee and they bring fruit and they bring biscuits - I'm so well supplied to entertain!)
So now my Sundays are working only in the morning and evening and the afternoon is time out with friends. Which is a bit like this week, really. I get time out with friends in between the massive deadlines. It's such a happy feeling, and rather unexpected.
December 21, 2013
Gillian's very Important Baking Tips, or, Creating Frankengillian's Biscuits
First, let me admit up front, I can actually cook. I know most people know this, but I feel the need to reaffirm it publicly. The reasons for this are manifold and will son boe manifest.
In my many years of actual cooking, I forget that I have a pattern. I do my baking for Rosh Hashanah. That's September. It's a good time of year for baking. It was not obvious to me that I didn't do much baking in late December. Nor was it obvious to me that it's 20 years since Ive made pastry on such a warm and humid day. Nor that I was out of bench space (all the shopping yesterday) and was doing all my work on an 8 inch long and 2 inch wide strip next to the kitchen sink.
With all that in mind, here are some tips for saving the perfect recipe from extinction (which is this one, here: http://togs-from-bogs.blogspot.de/2013/01/lemon-things.html ), once you've been daft enough to try to make it when the temperature is 30 degrees and the humidity is palpable.
Tip 1:
If you feel you must bake and you find your perfect recipe, having all the ingredients and having made many similar recipes in the past may not be sufficient. Ask your German Australian friends, ahead of time if this recipe was one of those that worked well for their summer, or if it's one they save for cooler seasons. It tastes perfect for summer - lemon and almond and a rich shortcrust pastry, but that's not the point. I didn't ask. The remaining tips are the consequences of not asking.
Tip 2:
Check the humidity. If it's above 25%, make something else. If it's about 40% and you still intend to cook, have a drink. Maybe have two drinks.
Pastry doesn't like humidity. A metal rolling pin helps a bit. A wine bottle filled with ice helps a bit, but the truth is that there are some days when pastry will not be your best friend. The way to spot these days is when the actual shortcrust takes 30 seconds to make (by hand) because the butter is so wonderfully soft. You should remember at that point that it only just came out of the fridge.
Tip 3:
The butter melting at room temperature is a sign that the recipe is not really suited for hot days. You can deal with this by adding more flour, but the end result won't be perfect.
Tip 4:
Pressing the base into the tin then rolling it sort-of flat works. it's not graceful, but it works.
Tip 5:
Rolling the top layer in tiny bits with extra flour to hand works. It's very patchwork and gives that extra-special Frankenstein's monster look. Some of the ugliness can be softened with a bit of gentle encouragement, as the butter melts again. More of it evens out during the baking.
Tip 5:
Australian summer lemons are not the same as German winter lemons. One Australian summer lemon appears to have as much juice as at least 2 German winter lemons. At least, mine did.
Tip 5:
Tell all your friends that it's experimental. They don't need to know that it came from the perfect recipe...
In my many years of actual cooking, I forget that I have a pattern. I do my baking for Rosh Hashanah. That's September. It's a good time of year for baking. It was not obvious to me that I didn't do much baking in late December. Nor was it obvious to me that it's 20 years since Ive made pastry on such a warm and humid day. Nor that I was out of bench space (all the shopping yesterday) and was doing all my work on an 8 inch long and 2 inch wide strip next to the kitchen sink.
With all that in mind, here are some tips for saving the perfect recipe from extinction (which is this one, here: http://togs-from-bogs.blogspot.de/2013/01/lemon-things.html ), once you've been daft enough to try to make it when the temperature is 30 degrees and the humidity is palpable.
Tip 1:
If you feel you must bake and you find your perfect recipe, having all the ingredients and having made many similar recipes in the past may not be sufficient. Ask your German Australian friends, ahead of time if this recipe was one of those that worked well for their summer, or if it's one they save for cooler seasons. It tastes perfect for summer - lemon and almond and a rich shortcrust pastry, but that's not the point. I didn't ask. The remaining tips are the consequences of not asking.
Tip 2:
Check the humidity. If it's above 25%, make something else. If it's about 40% and you still intend to cook, have a drink. Maybe have two drinks.
Pastry doesn't like humidity. A metal rolling pin helps a bit. A wine bottle filled with ice helps a bit, but the truth is that there are some days when pastry will not be your best friend. The way to spot these days is when the actual shortcrust takes 30 seconds to make (by hand) because the butter is so wonderfully soft. You should remember at that point that it only just came out of the fridge.
Tip 3:
The butter melting at room temperature is a sign that the recipe is not really suited for hot days. You can deal with this by adding more flour, but the end result won't be perfect.
Tip 4:
Pressing the base into the tin then rolling it sort-of flat works. it's not graceful, but it works.
Tip 5:
Rolling the top layer in tiny bits with extra flour to hand works. It's very patchwork and gives that extra-special Frankenstein's monster look. Some of the ugliness can be softened with a bit of gentle encouragement, as the butter melts again. More of it evens out during the baking.
Tip 5:
Australian summer lemons are not the same as German winter lemons. One Australian summer lemon appears to have as much juice as at least 2 German winter lemons. At least, mine did.
Tip 5:
Tell all your friends that it's experimental. They don't need to know that it came from the perfect recipe...
gillpolack @ 2013-12-22T09:18:00
A kind friend finally took me aside and explained, "It isn't you." Apparently, this year's strangeness is some people reacting to a 'war on Christmas.' And apparently some of the less spiritually secure have decided that everyone who doesn't celebrate Christmas must be a part of that war and this is the biggest reason for the rather stupid responses that have caged me this year and meant I've chosen to avoid certain events and places. I don't approve of a war against Christmas, anymore than I approve one against Ramadan or Loi Krathong.
I realised that I have so much to offer those whose culture and religion are under attack and who need that little bit of extra something, just to get by at a difficult time. I developed the fervour someone who has seen a bit of light. I nearly made a long list of ways in which festivals can be diminished by those who believes one doesn't have the right to enjoy them, and I wanted to list all the mechanisms I've used over the years to retain my heritage, in the hopes that it would help people who were suffering from this war on Christmas. Then I realised I was being stupid. The festival is the world's biggest. It's still easier for everyone to celebrate than not to. It's perfectly safe to celebrate it in most places, and perfectly permissible to be happy. I can't give anyone those permissions - they should reach out for them for themselves.
If anyone knows someone who's worried abut this war, tell them from me that I'll fight for their rights to their festival if it's needed. Only I don't think it's needed.
I'm going to make a German friend's totally amazing Christmas biscuit recipe today, to gift any Christmas-celebrators I encounter between now and then. Just because the threat to Christmas is a storm in a teacup, doesn't mean that some people don't need just a little reassurance. And this biscuits are rather wonderful. And anyone I see between today and Thursday is going to be a friend who has taken the trouble to reach out to me. They've earned a bit of extra seasonal happiness.
I realised that I have so much to offer those whose culture and religion are under attack and who need that little bit of extra something, just to get by at a difficult time. I developed the fervour someone who has seen a bit of light. I nearly made a long list of ways in which festivals can be diminished by those who believes one doesn't have the right to enjoy them, and I wanted to list all the mechanisms I've used over the years to retain my heritage, in the hopes that it would help people who were suffering from this war on Christmas. Then I realised I was being stupid. The festival is the world's biggest. It's still easier for everyone to celebrate than not to. It's perfectly safe to celebrate it in most places, and perfectly permissible to be happy. I can't give anyone those permissions - they should reach out for them for themselves.
If anyone knows someone who's worried abut this war, tell them from me that I'll fight for their rights to their festival if it's needed. Only I don't think it's needed.
I'm going to make a German friend's totally amazing Christmas biscuit recipe today, to gift any Christmas-celebrators I encounter between now and then. Just because the threat to Christmas is a storm in a teacup, doesn't mean that some people don't need just a little reassurance. And this biscuits are rather wonderful. And anyone I see between today and Thursday is going to be a friend who has taken the trouble to reach out to me. They've earned a bit of extra seasonal happiness.
December 20, 2013
To market, to market
The wonderful thing about Farmers' Markets is one gets to ask questions. The mushroom guy got a mushroom recipe from me, and I found out what farmers do with their produce during peak fruit season.
They have to pick it and sell it. It's obvious. I've just not asked before. I feel very stupid at not asking before! Their holiday isn't a holiday any more than mine is. They go to markets (the cherry and pea lady explained that she goes away, but takes her produce with her and goes to the market local to where she is 'holidaying') and make their living and somehow, in between things, fit in Christmas.
Christmas really is a festival designed for the northern hemisphere, when the land is quiescent and the harvest is over. It's not only people like me who keep working here. All the stone fruit people are impossibly busy. They're happy about it, but busy.
I ran into someone from the Jewish community and so strong is the push of Christmas this year (it's not just me) that she was stumped as to what to ask me or wish me. After we caught each other out in polite hesitations, she took the safe and wise route out and asked me what I've been doing. She plans to maybe read a book of mine. Or she's very courteous. Either is good. Both is better. I wouldn't mind increased royalties, this next year being what it is.
My loot from today's market visit with C:
1 dozen duck eggs
1 kg organic tomatoes
750g super-miniature mushrooms (for pickling, late tonight)
1 kg zucchini
1 kg yellow peaches (very new and crisp)
fresh Thai roast duck rice paper rolls with ginger sauce (dinner tonight, for today is another hot day and I don't want to cook)
3 apple cucumbers
3 big lebanese cucumbers
1 bag sugar snap peas
1 bag snow peas
1 bag cherries
1 very big bag of cooking apricots
I don't need quite so much fruit, but it's so very beautiful... Anyone who visits over the next day or so might have to suffer bowls of radiant summer fruit, bought from the farmers. The farmers were all wearing silly hats, if that helps.
And now I have no shopping to do until next year! I will go to the library just the once on Monday or Tuesday and I will totally avoid the mess that is local shops until after the silly season. No musak! No random wishes of cheer! Watch my level of grump diminish.
ETA: I have made an executive decision. I won't even go to the library. I have enough material to last me a week, and it's open next weekend. This means that I only emerge from my flat for Valuable Time With Friends. I have chocolate and cherries and coffee and cream and enormous numbers of books. I also have the Doug Anthony Allstars for the next hour, because the last book I read was immensely depressing. Not that they're more cheerful, but they're amusingly depressing. Also, I'm in need of timewarping.
They have to pick it and sell it. It's obvious. I've just not asked before. I feel very stupid at not asking before! Their holiday isn't a holiday any more than mine is. They go to markets (the cherry and pea lady explained that she goes away, but takes her produce with her and goes to the market local to where she is 'holidaying') and make their living and somehow, in between things, fit in Christmas.
Christmas really is a festival designed for the northern hemisphere, when the land is quiescent and the harvest is over. It's not only people like me who keep working here. All the stone fruit people are impossibly busy. They're happy about it, but busy.
I ran into someone from the Jewish community and so strong is the push of Christmas this year (it's not just me) that she was stumped as to what to ask me or wish me. After we caught each other out in polite hesitations, she took the safe and wise route out and asked me what I've been doing. She plans to maybe read a book of mine. Or she's very courteous. Either is good. Both is better. I wouldn't mind increased royalties, this next year being what it is.
My loot from today's market visit with C:
1 dozen duck eggs
1 kg organic tomatoes
750g super-miniature mushrooms (for pickling, late tonight)
1 kg zucchini
1 kg yellow peaches (very new and crisp)
fresh Thai roast duck rice paper rolls with ginger sauce (dinner tonight, for today is another hot day and I don't want to cook)
3 apple cucumbers
3 big lebanese cucumbers
1 bag sugar snap peas
1 bag snow peas
1 bag cherries
1 very big bag of cooking apricots
I don't need quite so much fruit, but it's so very beautiful... Anyone who visits over the next day or so might have to suffer bowls of radiant summer fruit, bought from the farmers. The farmers were all wearing silly hats, if that helps.
And now I have no shopping to do until next year! I will go to the library just the once on Monday or Tuesday and I will totally avoid the mess that is local shops until after the silly season. No musak! No random wishes of cheer! Watch my level of grump diminish.
ETA: I have made an executive decision. I won't even go to the library. I have enough material to last me a week, and it's open next weekend. This means that I only emerge from my flat for Valuable Time With Friends. I have chocolate and cherries and coffee and cream and enormous numbers of books. I also have the Doug Anthony Allstars for the next hour, because the last book I read was immensely depressing. Not that they're more cheerful, but they're amusingly depressing. Also, I'm in need of timewarping.
December 19, 2013
gillpolack @ 2013-12-20T17:22:00
I'm up to a stage with my current reading where the worldbuilding issues in novels leap out at me. One type in particular leaps out, of course, because of my non-writerly self. When a writer bases a world on a shallow view of a culture or a place or doesn't understand how things work in the real world, then it hits me, right now. What hits me in particular, for these are the themes of the new books this year, and besides, I'm looking into early modern magic for my own benefit, is when the writers simply take ... what? I need a new term for it. The Wikipedia approach, maybe. Where a shallow half-understanding of the events at Salem is enough of a base to devise a whole line of witches or a number of paranormal beings.
What this reminds me is that, when we writers create novels, we're displaying all our limitations. Mine are just as apparent as the writers I'm reading this year. It's a constant struggle to address them, and that's why each novel has its own trajectory.
The more we confront ourselves and our assumptions and the deeper our understanding, the easier it is to turn these limitations into amazing writing. Wikipedia history leads to Wikipedia fiction, and Wikipedia fiction is going to fade. I've read five novels this week that fit this, and I don't want to go near them again. I've read two that didn't, and they're both on my "Gotta keep this. Gotta re-read this. Gotta make sure this book gets noticed." list. I can't talk about them til Aurealis is over, of course, but I've already made it very clear in my notes that these books should not remain invisible.
Our writing can only be as interesting as we are. How interesting we are depends so much on how we encounter the universe and what we do with the universe we encounter. Learning counts, of course, but understanding counts more. The best novels of my year all have a lovely balance between learning, understanding, and challenging.
In other news, I got the second review book today (the one I've been waiting for - I had the first book, but the publication of the second was delayed, and they really do fit together) - expect a foodie blog post, soonish!
What this reminds me is that, when we writers create novels, we're displaying all our limitations. Mine are just as apparent as the writers I'm reading this year. It's a constant struggle to address them, and that's why each novel has its own trajectory.
The more we confront ourselves and our assumptions and the deeper our understanding, the easier it is to turn these limitations into amazing writing. Wikipedia history leads to Wikipedia fiction, and Wikipedia fiction is going to fade. I've read five novels this week that fit this, and I don't want to go near them again. I've read two that didn't, and they're both on my "Gotta keep this. Gotta re-read this. Gotta make sure this book gets noticed." list. I can't talk about them til Aurealis is over, of course, but I've already made it very clear in my notes that these books should not remain invisible.
Our writing can only be as interesting as we are. How interesting we are depends so much on how we encounter the universe and what we do with the universe we encounter. Learning counts, of course, but understanding counts more. The best novels of my year all have a lovely balance between learning, understanding, and challenging.
In other news, I got the second review book today (the one I've been waiting for - I had the first book, but the publication of the second was delayed, and they really do fit together) - expect a foodie blog post, soonish!
December 17, 2013
gillpolack @ 2013-12-18T15:23:00
I made my students work this morning, because today is the day of the Evil Gillian. Although I got called the Uber-Gillian by one student. Writing and thinking during a writing class is not unforgivable.
What is unforgivable is what I just did to my work experience student. She's putting some books in order, and brought me a book by Camille Bacon-Smith, for it was her first hyphenated name (my work experience student, not Camille!) and I told her about hyphens, but I then said "Now look closely at the cover." She did so and noticed the lovely garden. "Now look at it from a distance." She did so. "It's a sku-ull,"I intoned. Her face was priceless.
Camille, I owe you one. She can't get the cover out of her mind.
What is unforgivable is what I just did to my work experience student. She's putting some books in order, and brought me a book by Camille Bacon-Smith, for it was her first hyphenated name (my work experience student, not Camille!) and I told her about hyphens, but I then said "Now look closely at the cover." She did so and noticed the lovely garden. "Now look at it from a distance." She did so. "It's a sku-ull,"I intoned. Her face was priceless.
Camille, I owe you one. She can't get the cover out of her mind.
gillpolack @ 2013-12-18T08:55:00
I only read the one book yesterday. I appear to have end-of-year-itis and to need time out to just unwind every now and again. I guess most people get that unwind-y time by having parties. I have some, but not many, for I'm very tired of the whole reaction to not having Christmas. That's why I wasn't unhappy to trade in tonight's party for a quiet dinner with a friend I don't see often. It's not at all unwind-y to have to explain that just following the religious or secular majority doesn't work for me. The people who say they want to know very seldom actually want to know, either.
Today is the last of my wonderful Wednesday students for the year. We will play word games, as we always do on the last class of the year.
Between my class (for which I possibly need to wear clothes - must have a shower shortly) and my dinner, I have a lot, lot, lot of things to do. In a perfect world, this will be the last time I go into Woden Plaza until the silly season is done. If that works, my life will have a modicum of sanity *and* I'll get back to my reading schedule.
In a few days time, most of my 17th century will be replaced by the Beast (the High Middle Ages) until early January. From research at the early end of a project, I shall be moving to work that takes us closer to the end of it. Quite different types of work. I like the former better than the latter, which is quite different to me in my twenties, when the careful finishing up of things and checking footnotes and sorting references appealed to me intensely. The public service trained me to take less joy in these things, or age has crept up, or something. I don't hate it, but I no longer rub my hands with glee.
And on that note, I ought to get ready. I'm still teaching, after all, and I can't do it dressed in only a t-shirt and from my own desk, when the class is way south of here.
For locals my body is telling me we're getting hot weather. I don't know if it will be a scorcher today or if we're building to one later in the week, but this morning already has that hot Aussie-summer feel to it and, at 8.45 it was 22 degrees. I want to ask the thermometer to stay within my comfort zones, but it will only do that occasionally from here until early March. Expect whingeing, for I am really a cool climate person. The heat is probably very good for me. I'll keep telling myself that. Some people pay to visit here in the summer. I'll keep telling myself that, too.
Today is the last of my wonderful Wednesday students for the year. We will play word games, as we always do on the last class of the year.
Between my class (for which I possibly need to wear clothes - must have a shower shortly) and my dinner, I have a lot, lot, lot of things to do. In a perfect world, this will be the last time I go into Woden Plaza until the silly season is done. If that works, my life will have a modicum of sanity *and* I'll get back to my reading schedule.
In a few days time, most of my 17th century will be replaced by the Beast (the High Middle Ages) until early January. From research at the early end of a project, I shall be moving to work that takes us closer to the end of it. Quite different types of work. I like the former better than the latter, which is quite different to me in my twenties, when the careful finishing up of things and checking footnotes and sorting references appealed to me intensely. The public service trained me to take less joy in these things, or age has crept up, or something. I don't hate it, but I no longer rub my hands with glee.
And on that note, I ought to get ready. I'm still teaching, after all, and I can't do it dressed in only a t-shirt and from my own desk, when the class is way south of here.
For locals my body is telling me we're getting hot weather. I don't know if it will be a scorcher today or if we're building to one later in the week, but this morning already has that hot Aussie-summer feel to it and, at 8.45 it was 22 degrees. I want to ask the thermometer to stay within my comfort zones, but it will only do that occasionally from here until early March. Expect whingeing, for I am really a cool climate person. The heat is probably very good for me. I'll keep telling myself that. Some people pay to visit here in the summer. I'll keep telling myself that, too.
December 16, 2013
gillpolack @ 2013-12-17T11:19:00
I have just one book to finish between now and 3 pm, but it requires very close reading, much note-taking and enormous amounts of pondering. I keep having to take breaks to think. This is a very particular book, you see. I get them from time to time. I don't normally mention them, for they're other peoples' work and the other people release news of them when they're ready, but this one is slowing me down. I'll only read two other books today, and I only read two others yesterday. Any novel that forces me to think this much at this time, deserves a public note.
On other news, if I can lose one more kg, I'll have got rid of the weight I put on when I was so very ill. My overweight will be quite normal overweight, rather than the other sort. This means that I'm going to have a lot more physical energy in the coming year. I suspect I'll need it.
And in other news, I'm making lists of items I need and will just have to find money for. This is the downside of being single (no big birthday presents except for the decade-celebrations) and Jewish (no Christmas) - I have to sort this stuff out for myself, almost always. The moment I made my list, though, a friend offered me her old iPhone.
This means I'll have a mobile in the new year, which will make quite a few of you happy. I won't be using it for long conversations, but it'll be handy if there are meetings, or if I get into trouble, and yes, I will work out how to send texts. This is only an interim measure until I have income, but the iPhone should be easier to use than the Nokia and Motorola interim measures that failed so very thoroughly at other times. There are only a few models of phone that work for someone with my eyesight and brainshape, it seems.
The money that I was going to find for the phone itself, will now go on running it. All recommendations of cheap and reliable packages will be gratefully accepted and carefully thought about.
On other news, if I can lose one more kg, I'll have got rid of the weight I put on when I was so very ill. My overweight will be quite normal overweight, rather than the other sort. This means that I'm going to have a lot more physical energy in the coming year. I suspect I'll need it.
And in other news, I'm making lists of items I need and will just have to find money for. This is the downside of being single (no big birthday presents except for the decade-celebrations) and Jewish (no Christmas) - I have to sort this stuff out for myself, almost always. The moment I made my list, though, a friend offered me her old iPhone.
This means I'll have a mobile in the new year, which will make quite a few of you happy. I won't be using it for long conversations, but it'll be handy if there are meetings, or if I get into trouble, and yes, I will work out how to send texts. This is only an interim measure until I have income, but the iPhone should be easier to use than the Nokia and Motorola interim measures that failed so very thoroughly at other times. There are only a few models of phone that work for someone with my eyesight and brainshape, it seems.
The money that I was going to find for the phone itself, will now go on running it. All recommendations of cheap and reliable packages will be gratefully accepted and carefully thought about.
