Ada Maria Soto's Blog, page 14

On Rediscovering My People

Like most people I misspent my teens and early 20s. However, instead of sex, drugs and rock 'n roll, it was Renaissance Faires, SciFi Conventions, Dungeons and Dragon and weekly Magic the Gathering game nights. There might have been a little sex in there but for a stretch my chaotic neutral half elf mage was getting more play than I was.

Then I got into graduate school and moved across the planet to a city that has only one comic/anime/science fiction convention a year. The first couple of years I was simply too exhausted to go. Then my work schedule clashed. Then last year I just forgot. Not this year. Oh no. was scheduled to speak. And if you think you don't know him you probably do. If you watch TV there are very good odds you've seen him at least once because he's been in everything. For me personally the draw was that he was Badger in Firefly, Crowley in Supernatural, Romo Lampkin in Battlestar Galactica and Canton Delaware in Doctor Who. The man is a walking nerdgasium. I was not going to miss this.

On the morning of the con, my first one in several years I woke up early and did something odd. I didn't get into costume. I didn't even put on one of my nerdier t-shirts. I just dressed nicely and for the weather. I was expecting to get to the convention and spend the day cringing and not making eye contact. Apparently several years of no cons, no faires, no AD&D, no Magic, and coworkers who would admit to seeing Star Wars and not much else has pushed my own personal geekdum deep into the closet.

But I was still determined to go. I paid my money, went through the door and suddenly relaxed. Between one breath and the next an odd tension that I didn't even know was there just melted away. There were Starfleet uniforms, strange anime school girls, a very dedicated Mystique costume and it all felt normal. If anything it felt tame. There were no singing Klingons and no one debating Kirk v. Picard.

Within the first two hours I had discussed theories on what happened to Castiel in Supernatural, if I was a Sam or Dean girl, favorite Doctor Who companions, why I never really got into SG-1, if I should buy a sonic screwdriver or a Weeping Angel t-shirt, and side effects of various mood stabilizers. And this was just with the girl I met on the bus.

I had once again found my people. People that I had forgotten were my people to begin with.

Mark Sheppard gave a great talk. He has a snarky, sarcastic sense of humor. Tells great stories about being on Supernatural, how cheap the BBC is with their Per Diem, and how he'd love to be on Doctor Who again. But it was his wrap up that was truly interesting. Most actors do a standard 'loved being here, thanks for watching the show' thing. Not Mr. Sheppard. He took the time to explain that he did truly love fans. That to him fans, the kind who showed up at conventions, especially dressed in costumes, were people who wore their fandom on their sleeve and by extension their hearts. They were there for something. They might be so painfully shy and socially introverted that they have trouble stringing a sentence together but get them into a debate and passion and intelligence will come through.

I knew on many levels that had been me. The first time I wanted an autograph I was seven and so shy I made my mother get it for me. At fourteen I tried to get Jason Carter's autograph and forgot my own name when he asked. And this was while dressed as a Psi Cop. This time I managed to get Mr. Sheppard's autograph without making an idiot of myself and even exchange a couple of words of conversation.

After that I felt strangely at peace. It had taken 23 years but I had managed to walk up to an actor with my heart and fandom on my sleeve and my head held high. I bought the Weeping Angel t-shirt and will wear it to work tomorrow and explain it, in detail, to anyone who asks. I was raised as a geek by a geek and that's not a bad thing. I'd just forgotten it. I'm already considering costumes for next year. I'm thinking about getting a red wig and going as Donna Noble.

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And for the record: Dean though I would do Cas in the back of the Impala given half a chance. Kirk but DS9 was my favorite series. Donna Noble, Captain Jack Harkness, and Amy Pond. Rose Tyler was skanky and overrated. Spike over Angel any day of the week but Xander rocked my world. I cried when Tosh and Owen died and Firefly is the best thing Joss Whedon has ever done.

On Cakes and Courting

A few days ago I hand one of those strange middle of the night revelations. I realized that I had never baked a cake from scratch. I've done plenty of cakes off the back of a Betty Crocker box but never out of a cookbook. I should point out here that I actually worked as a private cook for a time. I can, and have, done from scratch brownies, fudge, pies, crumbles, scones, and cupcakes but never just a cake.

This bothered me. It felt up there with an inability to drive a manual car, but unlike driving a manual baking a cake should be much easier. First thing I needed to do was find an excuse to bake a cake. Contrary to my social network photos I actually don't have much of a sweet tooth (give me salt), so just saying 'I want to bake a cake' doesn't work.

I finally landed on baking a cake for the guys at work. Due to the Rugby World Cup they have been working their asses off for months and I know they're going to get no real credit. There will be the standard 'Thank you to the little people' form email but last I checked the guys are not even getting overtime despite being around until 3 a.m. after every major game.

And since I'm a total loon I've decided to start off with a vertical layer cake.

So, what does any of this have to do with writing?

While I still had baking and food in general on the mind I started going over the outlines for my three novels. I realized there was a lot of food in them. The first one, which is well outlined and started, has a wealthy character courting a working class single parent. A lot of nice restraints are involved in this. The second novel, which has a solid outline, has a character practically raised in a professional kitchen going after someone who is totally indifferent to food, eats the exact same thing every day, and doesn't eat much more than what is needed to stay alive. The third novel, loosely outline, the vampire novel (with no teenagers, no damned souls, and nothing sparkly), has the father of the vampire as a good cook which happened in a fit of post-divorce passive aggression. He is very concerned that his son is suddenly avoiding family dinners and has become quite adverse to his favorite dish. Garlic prawns in angel hair pasta.

I spent some time wondering if courting actually involves that much food for 'normal' people. I know it did for me. I'm not exactly classically pretty and I have some personality flaws that even my therapist has given up on. But my cooking has gotten me marriage proposals from gay men, straight women, and the general love of the guys in the office. And I do mean guys. I'm the only woman on the entire floor.

I spent a couple of evenings thinking about all the food in my writing and have decided to leave it. Write what you know, right? Plus, despite what the screaming harpies on all those weight loss shows say, food and shared meals have been pretty closes to, if not the center of, human social life and family life for a very long time.

Other animals have learned how to use basic tools. Some of them have fairly complex systems of communications. But we are the only ones who have figured out how to throw meat on fire and serve it with a béarnaise sauce, kumara mash and lightly grilled seasonal asparagus.

The Science Fiction Cherry

Let's get this out of the way right now. I am a nerd. I was raised by a trekkie. I was a trekkie and lurker simultaneously. By fifth grade my two favorite shows were The Prisoner and Red Dwarf. I was reading Bradbury when other girls were reading Babysitters Club. I was the first kid in school to have an email address, I used to work renaissance fairs, I got my baby niece Star Trek onesies (original series, not red), and the less said about my university Dungeons and Dragons antics the better.

I have pretty solid geek credentials. Despite this I have never been able to write a science fiction story and not for lack of trying. I've never even managed sci fi fanfic and you better believe I have fanficed with the best of them.

This is until two days ago. I've given myself a writing to do list. No more 'I'm going to work on that novel one day.' I now have a deadline for a first draft (December 15). I also put 'Sci Fi Sort' on my to do list with the date October 18. A completely arbitrary date but a due date none the less. I was going to write and SF story or else.

And I did it. It's the story of a recovering alcoholic who is planning on falling off the wagon since the human species is about to go extinct anyhow.

Is the story any good?

No clue. Needs about 50 rewrites but it is done. I had a costuming professor who always used to say 'done is good, done is beautiful'. This was usually in reference to hemming skirts with hot glue on opening night, but for the first draft of something I have never before in my life been able to accomplish, done is very good and done is very beautiful.

Let's Start This Thing!

Hello Everybody,

This is that awkward first post where I'm not sure what to say. It's like that moment at the party where the host wanders off and you're suddenly left standing next to that pretty girl/boy, and realize you have nothing interesting to say, but you also called dibs on him/her when you walked through the door with your best friend.

^^^

"So… Have you known [insert name of host here] long?"

"Oh ages. We used to date in college."

"Really? So you went to [insert name of much better school than yours here]?"

"Just for a few years. Then I shifted over to Oxford."

So very out of you league

"Oxford! That must have been interesting. Study anything… interesting?" Yes, you sounded like an idiot there.

"I did my thesis on gender rolls and representation in gay male erotica authored by women."

"Cool."

^^^

You make enough intelligent conversation to get his/hers number at the end of the night. Your friend gets drunk and throws up in the back garden.

Can't wait for our second date.