Nicola Griffith's Blog, page 12

Bird flu: it would take a single mutation…

Just out from Science, an article (“A single mutation in bovine influenza H5N1 hemagglutinin switches specificity to human receptors“) demonstrating how very easy it would be for H5N1 to become a deadly human pandemic.

Here’s the editor’s summary, which tells you everything you need to know:

In 2021, a highly pathogenic influenza H5N1 clade 2.3.4.4b virus was detected in North America that is capable of infecting a diversity of avian species, marine mammals, and humans. In 2024, clade 2.3.4.4b virus spread widely in dairy cattle in the US, causing a few mild human cases, but retaining specificity for avian receptors. Historically, this virus has caused up to 30% fatality in humans, so Lin et al. performed a genetic and structural analysis of the mutations necessary to fully switch host receptor recognition. A single glutamic acid to leucine mutation at residue 226 of the virus hemagglutinin was sufficient to enact the change from avian to human specificity. In nature, the occurrence of this single mutation could be an indicator of human pandemic risk. 

Add that to news, less than an hour ago, of a 7.0 magnitude earthquake off the coast of Northern California, and its aftershock (not to mention tsunami warning), and today isn’t feeling too sparkly.

Stay safe out there.

Chat on Zoom with your beverage of choice

Edit to add: GODDAMMIT THIS CAMPAIGN HAS JUST ENDED! Mutter mutter…

Clarion West is raising money. To help, I’ve donated two things

A 10-person Zoom kaffeeklatsch where we all hang out while sipping the beverages of our choice—Ask Me Anything! or Tell Me Anything! or just chat about books (yours, mine, other people’s), or recipes, or maps, or whatever, really. I will most likely be drinking beer. You can drink—or not drink! no one has to drink!—anything you like.A signed and sealed copy of my memoir-in-a-box, And Now We Are Going to Have a Party . In the box are:the memoir bound in five volumes includingdiary entriesphotographspoetryearly fictionfacsimile of my first book (created age 4)CD of songs by me and my early-’80s punk band, Janes Planethree scratch-n-sniff cardsfold-out posterletterpressed preface by Dorothy Allisonand a numbered signing sheet.

This is a great cause. There are lots of other things on offer, too, so go spend some money!

Identity, social location, and DEI

Image description: Graphic of map location pin in blue against a white background.

Note: This is a post I drafted three years ago, before SCOTUS handed down their various foolish decisions regarding affirmative action, and before the MAGA cohort really focused on making the destruction of DEI initiatives a plank of their platform. In case the post isn’t clear, I applaud any organisation’s attempt to improve access for all: I approve, in theory, of DEI initiatives. I am also cynical about some corporate commitment to DEI, and extremely sceptical of how much of it is conceptualised and executed.

#

The other day I was idly reading a thread on social media1 about identity, bias, access, and privilege, and found I had opinions I wanted to express—but was holding back. I realised it was because my thoughts weren’t clear on the relationship between all those terms. So I started thinking about access and privilege and social location and how they all interact with bias and identity, and decided to try sort it out by writing it down.

Social Location

I’m going to assume most of you have your own working definition of identity and of bias, and as I think one’s level of access and privilege depends on one’s social location, let’s start with that. Based on the societies I know best—that is, rich, English-speaking countries—here’s my definition of social location:

The position a person holds within their society based upon characteristics/attributes considered important by that society, such as wealth, class, gender, sexual orientation, ethnicity, race, religion, age, disability, and education. These characteristics/attributes, and their influence on social location, are relative and intersectional.

Social location determines the way the world regards you, the way the world treats you, the way it assigns you rank and privilege, and position and worth, and merit and influence, and power and status (etc). Basically, your access depends on your social location.

Clear? Onward!

Queer

Several times over the years I’ve encountered pseudonymous authors claiming they are oppressed because they’re Queer—even though the writer is, say, a cis woman who is married to a cis man, has two children, and is using a pen name because she’s not out to her family, friends, or community. I’m talking here of the kind of person who once kissed a girl and never told anyone; who, while she fancies the pierced and tattooed barista at her coffee shop, wouldn’t dream of (well, okay she might dream but she wouldn’t initiate or even talk about) sex outside her cishet marriage. She may self-identify as Queer in her secret heart, but in terms of how she’s seen by her society and therefore treated by that society, her functional identity is straight. Her secret queerness has zero impact on her social location and therefore access and privilege.

At the risk of being repetitive: if the world thinks you’re straight it treats you as such. And if it treats you as such then you have straight privilege. If you’re in a consensual, age-appropriate monogamous relationship with a cishet person of the opposite sex, and if you never mention and have never mentioned to others how you feel, you cannot be oppressed or marginalised because of your sexual orientation; you cannot claim the world refuses you access because you’re Queer. Secret selves, if they’re secret enough, have zero impact on social location. Does it suck that homophobia—internalised or otherwise—is probably the reason you don’t want to be open about your innermost feelings? Yes. But it makes no difference to how the world treats you.

Disabled

What about disability? If your condition is invisible, if it has no impact on your daily life2—your work, your relationships, your access, your prospects—and if no one but your medical provider knows you have a condition/impairment, then you are not suffering from being treated differently than a nondisabled person. You might secretly identify as Disabled but your hidden condition has no impact on your social location. In terms of your social access, therefore, you function as nondisabled. Does it suck that it’s ableism—internalised or otherwise—that gets in the way of your disclosure? Yes. Does it mean you might be suffering emotionally because of ableism? Yes. But does it make one jot of difference to how the world treats you? No.

The place where it gets complicated is if, in order to retain your access and social status, you stress out so much about the secrecy that your anxiety a) gradually changes your behaviour and therefore the way others behave towards you, or b) exacerbates your physical, neurological, or emotional condition to the extent that it’s no longer possible to hide it. At which point, congratulations! You are Disabled and that will influence your social location—your access and your privilege.

Invisible disability can get complicated, too, if you want to emigrate to a country such as Canada, which will assign you negative points for certain conditions or impairments (which they check, and test for, and often find). Then, oh yep, definitely, in Canadian immigration circles at least, that most certainly has an impact on your social location—you fall right down to the bottom of the hierarchy (unless you also have a couple of doctorates, several million dollars, and a handful of royal genes3)—but it won’t affect your social location in your country of origin unless you tell people why they wouldn’t let you into Canada.

Immigrant

And speaking of immigration, I could call myself an Immigrant—technically I am. But no one in the US treats a white, English-speaking middle class(ish—and, oh, class is a whole other conversation) woman (ditto) whose PhD is regarded as valid in this country, the way they treat poor, BIPOC, English-as-a-second-language speakers whose educational qualifications—a medical licence, say, or engineering, architecture, or speech-therapy degree—is suddenly not worth the paper it’s printed on. Immigrant, therefore, has no impact on my own personal social location.4

Old

Social location, of course, does not depend on a single attribute or identity but on the intersection of those attributes or identities. Everything is relative and specific to an individual and their situation. Take the intersection of age and profession as an example. I’m 64. If I were a professional tennis player I would be regarded as Old.5 As a novelist, however, I’m not. It’s true that I’m no longer a Young Turk, that I no longer qualify for any of those Best-Under-(small)N age lists,6 but professionally I’m in my prime. In professional terms, therefore, I can’t claim Old as part of my social location. But if I were currently seeking full-time employment—in, say, higher education or some corporate situation—I would be discriminated against; I would be Old. Luckily I’m not looking for FTE. At this specific-to-me intersection of age and employment, therefore, Old does not affect my access.

Corporate Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion

I could go on (and on—there are so very many examples). But if it was just the usual straight white nondisabled well-heeled middle class individuals making overblown claims in public forums—which I’ve been observing and rolling my eyes at for more years than I care to recall—I wouldn’t have bothered writing a public post. But lately I’ve been seeing something similar from corporate entities, purely for the purposes of boosting their Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) scores.7 And that, Dear Reader, actively pisses me off. 

Before we go any further, here are my quick and dirty definitions of corporate diversity, equity, and inclusion:8

Diversity: Making an effort to employ people from/with a variety of backgrounds, attributes, and levels of social access Equity: Creating fair access, opportunity, and advancement for all those diverse employeesInclusion: A kind of radical hospitality—making sure all employees feel a sense of belonging and value

So, Nameless Corporate Entities—but particularly media corporations—here is my unsolicited opinion:

If, in your anonymous employee survey, a worker checks an ‘invisible disability’ or ‘queer’ box but you can’t tell who they are, and they’re not out to you, then, while the simple fact of their existence could (arguably) count towards your diversity goals it most certainly does not count towards a claim that you, as an employer, are being equitable or inclusive. To prove you are inclusive of employees who identify as members of traditionally oppressed groups, or that you treat employees of all identities equitably, you have to be able to show that you have done so despite their differences. And you cannot do that if you don’t know who they are. If you can’t identify the employees you count as ‘diverse hires’ then you have not proved you wouldn’t discriminate against them if you did know who they are.9 So, no, ignorance might be bliss for you as a corporation but it is proof of neither lack of bias nor equal access. Ignorance does not equal DEI.

Let me say that again in bold:

IGNORANCE ≠ DEI

So there you have it.

Writing it all down has, as usual, helped to clarify things for me. Maybe it will help you too—or maybe just give you a rage aneurism. But in the end this post isn’t about you, it’s about me.

Nevertheless, if you want to talk about it I’m open to all reasonable, assume-good-intent discussion.10

On a platform I no longer use ︎Seriously, pay attention to this wording. If your condition/difference/impairment does limit your activities, and people—an employer, say—treats you differently because of it, then essentially your disability is not invisible—it’s just not immediately apparent. ︎When it comes to social location all attributes and identities are intersectional. It’s just that the Canadian immigration points system is brazen about it. I have a PhD, I’m fluent in English, I’m married, I earn my keep; if I could just add a zero to my net worth they’d let me in despite all the points I lose for using a wheelchair. (And, yes, I know they’ve promised to fix this ableist crap—but they haven’t yet.) ︎At least in this country. When I go back to England—and please note I’m referring specifically to England here, not Wales or Scotland or Ireland—I’m treated as irrevocably tainted by my association with their amusing but inferior colonial cousins. But it’s a fond sort of condescension, so I cope. ︎I’m guessing a tennis player starts being seen as Old well before 35. By 64 I’d be officially Decrepit.  ︎I could argue, too, that at a certain age, the awards stop being awarded—except those things based on a body of work: things like Honorary Oscars, various Medals of Service to this or that, Halls of Fame of various stripes, and so on. Actual competitive awards? There’s a perception of, Oh so-and-So? they don’t need any more awards! Let’s give it to someone to whom it will make a difference… ︎Why do corporations like to boost these scores? To burnish their public image (and thereby increase market share), or attract social investors (and thereby increase share prices) or to win contracts. It’s serious business. ︎No doubt you have your own definitions. There are also a variety of definitions online, ranging from folksy to academic to self-serving. But this is how I’m using these words for the purposes of this post. ︎Also, you might want to ask yourself if/why your employees feel the need to remain anonymous. ︎Anything else will be deleted. Life’s too short to waste it on those who like to fight just for the sake of fighting—except if you want to take it into the boxing ring, in which case I will happily, and with zesty joy, beat the living shit out of you. ︎

Don’t drink raw milk. Ever.

I’ve said this before: do not drink unpasteurised milk or consume raw milk products. Not only can it contain Salmonella, Listeria monocytogenes, toxin producing E. coli, Brucella, Campylobacte, and more, but milk from cows infected with H5N1 contains extremely high levels of the virus. When cats drink it, they die. Read that again: they die. (Once the milk is pasteurised, the virus is inactivated and is harmless.)

H5N1 virus has been found in raw milk retailed in California. Don’t drink raw milk. Will you die if you drink raw milk containing live H5N1? I have no idea. But I’d be a fool to test the theory. And so would you.

So, one more time, for cheap seats: DO NOT DRINK RAW MILK OR CONSUME RAW MILK PRODUCTS!

Menewood playlist at Largehearted Boy

As part of Largehearted Boy‘s Book Notes series I have a longish piece about all the kinds of music I used to find my way into and through Menewood and Hild’s different moods: Wyrd Music. I’ve talked before about how I use music as an emotional signpost when finding my way into story but with a book like Menewood—huge in every way; dense, wild, and contradictory—music becomes not just useful but vital: a lifeline. I used two playlists, one that I called Wyrd Hild, and then a modified and extended version of my original MainHild playlist that I’ve talked about before. This combined list is as maximalist as the novel. The first part was largely whole albums and chunks of albums—interspersed with single, radically different tracks, as a kind of slashing shock—all chosen for a sense of lostness and search.

To whet your appetite, here are three track discussions:

Felt Mountain  — Goldfrapp. “Lovely Head”

The first track begins with human vocals electronically manipulated to elongate sound—like whale song circling the global deep, with strange, slow stops that themselves echo; a vast, alien call to…whom? To do what? And this is where I was at the beginning of writing the book: I knew what had just happened at the end of the previous novel, Hild, and I knew some of the major turning points of Hild’s life ahead, but I couldn’t quite decide at what point to begin the next part of her story. I felt unmoored; I needed an anchor point. Paradoxically I knew I needed to wander to find it. Hearing that high, lonely whistle put me inside a woman on the high moor of Elmet, in the cold of Wolf-month, as wind hisses like grit through frozen bracken. And something is coming…

“Papa’s Got A Brand New Pigbag (12” version)”— Pigbag

Eventually, Hild finds herself literally between two opposing armies, in the middle of a battle that, rationally-speaking, is simply not survivable. This percussive piece, which hurtles along at an unsustainably high number of beats per minute—I’ve tried to count but always lose track—for over six minutes is similarly impossible to dance to, full tilt, beginning to end. But in my snorting amphetamine-and-dance-past-dawn days I would try anyway. For me it evokes the sheer insanity required of battle: knowing you can’t, knowing you must, setting your will to stun then just giving yourself to gore-glee and blood lust, the weight of muscle and bone; heart thumping and turning, turning, turning endless as a mill wheel as you plunge, lunge, jab stab thrust, on and on, step by step, cutting your way through the line, even as more enemies come, even as your limbs turn to lead and you can’t breathe and the light begins to gutter. On and on and on…

Meddle  — Pink Floyd. “One of These Days” “Echoes”

The driving, doubled bass on the first track is all about purpose, but this time it’s towards life—Hild is rebuilding her hidden community, getting ready for the second phase of the war, feeling the world come alive all around her: crops growing, birds fledging, sun breaking out from behind the clouds. But the dialy rhythm is not her wyrd; her wyrd and gift is to understand what others can’t, to find the quiet place and listen. The last track begins with the ping of sonar and moves through the wuther of wind and cry of the great albatross as Hild casts her mind loose to soar, to skim over the daily crests and troughs and rise to the realisation of the startling strategy and unexpected alliances that will change the world. Here, too, is where the playlist changes.

I really enjoyed writng this one—it was lovely to revisit those emotions again, as though for the first time. If you’re inclined to go read it I’d love to hear your thoughts. Oh, and theres also a Spotify playlist to listen to as you read.

Bird flu update: CA and BC

California has reported possible bird flu infection with no known source in a child in Alameda county I say ‘possible’ because the levels reported in the first test were very low, and subsequent tests showed none. Samples have been sent to the CDC for confirmatory testing.

I wasn’t planning on posting about this unless/until the confirmation, but then I read more about that teen in British Columbia I talked about the other day—and that news is worth talking about.

Nature has a useful article on it, “Why a teenager’s bird-flu infection is ringing alarm bells for scientists.” But it boils down to:

There are 3 key three key differences between the teen’s virus and the H5N1 viruses infecting poultry and cattle:Two possible mutations that could enhance the virus’s ability to infect human cellsOne that might allow it to replicate more easily in human cells (not just cells of usual animal host)The patient began with an eye infection, which then turned into ARDSThis might mean the virus mutated within the host

And what all that means is, as I’ve said before, these viruses evolve fast. Nonetheless, as I’ve also said, we’re still at the pay attention but don’t panic stage.

Let me emphasise: I’m following all this because it’s interesting to me. Yes, of course it could turn into a pandemic and kill zillions of people—frankly, the next pandemic is just a matter of when, not if—but no one has a clue about that. And if it did, it might take another year or two of stops and starts and viral evolutionary dead ends because it has to figure out how to not just replicate better inside humans, not just infect human cells more easily, but also—the key—the ability to spread from human to human. And even so, we know masks and other PPE work, and air filtration, and basic hygiene. And there are effective vaccines, and antivirals.

So let me repeat: interesting, but not panic-worthy.

A ‘super-explosive’ bomb…

Image: NOAA.

So apparently our bomb cyclone wasn’t just a “bomb cyclone” but a “super-explosive cyclone.” As the Seattle Times explains:

Pressure dropped 27 millibars in six hours, about four times faster than the rate meteorologists use to label storms as bomb cyclones. It dropped so far and so fast that, under one method of analysis, it landed in a category reserved for the strongest of its kind: A “super explosive cyclone.”

Bomb cyclones are common enough, but rarely form as far south as this one did and gather so much strength so quickly, said Jason Ahsenmacher, lead meteorologist for the National Weather Service in Fairbanks, Alaska.

As far back as the records go, a cyclone this strong hasn’t formed before in this part of the world at this time of year, Ahsenmacher said. It belongs to an upper echelon of low-pressure systems.

We still have more than a quarter of a million people without power and restoration is still reckoned to be some number of days. One friend tells us she’s been told ‘late Saturday’.

The kicker? There’s another storm coming—which given the conditions (the jet stream, the atmospheric river) could also develop into a bomb cyclone. The cherry on top? If it does, it could be worse—because it’s slated to come even closer to the coast.

November really is turning into a super-fun month…

Bomb Cyclone!

So last night we returned briefly to the (literal) dark ages when a bomb cyclone arrived right behind an atmospheric river and hit Puget Sound in the early evening. Power went out for well over half a million people.

What is a bomb cyclone? The AP defines it this way:

…it largely concerns a swift drop in pressure. Atmospheric pressure is measured in millibars by the National Weather Service. If a storm decreases 24 millibars or more in 24 hours or less, it can be considered a bomb cyclone, said Stephen Baron, a forecaster with the weather service in Gray, Maine.

“I would say rapid intensification of hurricanes is one of the more common times we see it,” Baron said. “We do see it with Nor’easters occasionally.”

Here’s what was forecast for us:

(courtesy @zoom_earth on Threads)

Here’s what we got:

Apparently our bomb cyclone dropped 66 millibars in less than 24 hours. The winds were, well, pretty fucking windy. Off the coast it was hurricane force. In the lowlands, 77 mph. Around here I’m guessing it hit 55-60 mph. It was…interesting. Our power went out around 6 pm (I can’t remember exactly). We found flashlights and the nifty little square LED things we bought just a couple of months ago that attach magnetically or via carabiners or you can just hook over things or put flat on a table, turned on the gas fire and candles, and opened some wine. Later we heated up stew on our gas stove, followed by hot tea from water boiled in pan. (Not to self: buy stove kettle!)

As we’d had the forecast we had also had time to start charging our big power block that can run a bunch of things at once for a little while—but while it was useful for keeping our devices charged and running a portable heater if we needed it, those devices aren’t massively useful when cable goes out and, along with, it broadband. (We essentially have zero cell service here down at the bottom of a hill by the ravine—every now and again I’ll catch one bar or, gasp!, two, and be able to send a text, or post to Bluesky, but mostly when cable goes down, so do we.)

Here in western Washington the winds mostly come from the southwest. The bomb cyclone, on the other hand, pulled in air from the east. So all those tall conifers that are quite nonchalant about high winds because their roots are braced for it just fell like ninepins when the wind came roaring in from the east like a freight train.1 I’ve heard that least one woman was killed by a falling tree, and hundreds of thousands of Puget Sound Energy customers will be powerless “for multiple days.”

As you can probably guess from this post, we’re lucky: our power came back on early this morning. I’m glad. I’m creature of the 21st century: my wheelchairs run on electricity; our gas-powered water heater only reaches parts of the house because of an electric pump; our sump pump (which believe me we need when we get these atmospheric rivers dumping oceans of rain overnight) is electric; our gas furnace relies on electricity to blow the hot air through the vents; the modem and router; the microwave and kettle and toaster oven… On and on. And, oh, if there’s no real light to read paper books by and my Kindle runs out of juice? I am lost.

Our power outage lasted perhaps 12 hours. It was a cosy little adventure that was nonetheless disturbing: no electric hum anywhere; no streetlights; no electric blanket to keep warm. It was as though the rest of the world had vanished (but for the faint sound of sirens in the distance). The cats were seriously freaked out. But cats are creatures of the Eternal Now—today they’re fine. And so are we. But the first thing I’ll do if we ever win the lottery is get both a gas generator and a massive solar power/battery backup system. I like my creature comforts. And this kind of extreme weather is just going to start coming more often and more severely.

Today though: I’m grateful, and I wish speedy reconnection to all those without power.

If you’ve seen The Two Towers you may remember the ents destroying Isengard, bending forward and bracing against the just-released waters behind the dam. Now imagine the water suddenly rushing from the other direction: over they go… ︎

Two Battles

Over on my research blog, Gemæcce, I post a link to Part One of my two-part essay examining the two major battles that bookend Menewood, the battles of Hatfield and Deniseburna. I made nifty maps that link through to large files, like this one:1

I’m not sure if the Historia article links through to the larger image files I provided. The one above does. Enjoy! ︎

Celebrating Hild’s Feast Day

Today is the Feast Day of Hild of Whitby,1 a patron saint of learning and culture (including poetry), who died on this day in 680, having spent 66 years kicking ass and not bothering to take names. Why is she patron saint of learning and culture/poetry? Learning, because she trained five bishops who became renowned for their own erudition—one of whom, John of Beverley, was the one who ordained and mentored the Venerable Bede—the only British person ever to have been learned enough to be honoured as a Doctor of the Church. Poetry, because she pretty much midwived Engish literature: the earliest surviving piece of Old English is Cædmon’s Hymn, composed at Hild’s behest at Whitby.

I’m not religious but I mark the day because Hild—and Whitby, its abbey, and ammonites—marked my life, in particular my writing life, indelibly. (I’m marking this day, too, because by beautiful coincidence, today—later today, when it will be tomorrow in the UK—is also the day that Menewood becomes available in paperback in Britian, wherever books are sold.)

My first novel was Ammonite, which was published when I was 32. The author photo I used for that book was taken at Whitby Abbey when I was 30. You can tell from the look on my face how much the place affects me.

Nicola Griffith, Whitby Abbey, 1991. Photo by Kelley Eskridge.These are UK covers, because I like them better than the US illustrations—for one, they actually show ammonites, not weird jellybean spaceships or women wrapped in sheets

In my third novel, The Blue Place, Aud talks longingly of Whitby—now mostly known for the abbey founded by Hild in 657. In Whitby you can commonly find three species of fossil ammonites, or snakestones. A whole genus of ammonites, Hildoceras, is named for Hild. This is Hildoceras bifrons. It’s what I think of when I think of ammonites.

There is a legend that ammonites result from Hild getting pissed off one day and turning all the local snakes to stone. The legend was so well-established after her death, that, in the later middle ages and even up until Victorian times, enterprising locals carved heads on the stones and sold them as the snakes she petrified.

Sir Walter Scott mentions this legend in his 1808 poem Marmion:2

When Whitby’s nuns exalting told,
Of thousand snakes, each one
Was changed into a coil of stone,
When Holy Hilda pray’d:
Themselves, without their holy ground,
Their stony folds had often found.

You might think that, given their shape, ammonites are closely related to the chambered nautilus, but while both belong to the class Cephalopoda, Ammonoidea are more closely related to Coleoidea like squid and octopus:

Nobu Tamura. CC BY-SA 3.0

Ammonites fascinate me. Their shell growth—developing into that lovely spiral—is guided by phi. And phi (Φ = 1.618033988749895… ), the basis of the Golden Ratio or Divine Proportion, has all sorts of interesting mathematical properties. The proportions generated by phi lie at the heart of myriad things: the proportions of graceful buildings, the orderly whorl of a sunflower, ammonites, Fibonacci numbers, population growth, and more. (If you’re interested, a good place to start is Wikipedia.) Phi is what creates the underlying pattern in much of nature. I think phi is responsible for what Hild may think of as God.

There are many images of Hild out in the world that I could have used for this post but none of them look like a woman who could have had the impact on the world that Hild seems to have had. One thing I do like about most of them is that they show her with what is essentially a bishop’s crozier—very much a symbol of both religious and secular authority—also handy for controlling unruly sheep; also most useful as a weapon—and of course part of the inspiration for my fictional staff-wielding .

In my opinion, of course, the best image of Hild are those created by Anna and Elena Balbusso for my novels about her: Hild and then Menewood:

Menewood by Nicola Griffith (FSG/MCD, 2023). Cover illustration by Anna and Elena Balbusso. Design by Na Kim.

Now that is a woman who could change the world!

Did Hild make me a writer? No—or, well, maybe. I am confident that without Hild my books, if they existed at all, would have been very different. So tonight I will drink a toast to her—this time I might do a comparative taste-testing of mead—and ponder, as I often do, getting an ammonite tattoo.

At least it’s her feast day in the Roman Catholic Church. The Anglican Communion celebrates on the 18th. ︎Not a great poem. I’m guessing Hild might have been just a titch embarrassed by it. Oh, well. ︎