What am I doing right now? Mainly I’m elbows-deep in the rewrite of the fantasy novel, currently titled THE MOONS OF TABAT, which may change. But on other fronts:
I’ve written a first column for Conjurings Magazine, and will be doing so regularly. I’ve got my essay for CHICKS DIG GAMING semi-drafted and need to finish that up. And there’s some stories I was asked for hovering in the wings. But the rewrite is my primary concern.
I’ve figured out most of my convention appearances for the rest of the year: Norwescon (soon!), the Nebula weekend, WorldCon, SteamCon, and Orycon. (That’s always subject to change at the last moment, but we’ll see.) I’ll be enjoying talking with the Clarion West students each week at the readings and parties.
So far it’s been a great year. Here’s hoping that trend continues!
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"(On the writing F&SF workshop) Wanted to crow and say thanks: the first story I wrote after taking your class was my very first sale. Coincidence? nah….thanks so much."
~K. Richardson
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Nattering Social Justice Cook: Self-Defense Class, Week One
Sloths are kinda irresistible in the morning.Well, it’s been interesting.
Monday, I got up at 4:45 AM and drove over, first making sure I’ve eaten half a protein bar despite my stomach protesting the early hour. Because I’m always anxious about getting places late, I was there fifteen minutes early and got a chance to chat with the instructor, Carrie, a peppy woman maybe 10-15 years older than I. The gym’s fairly minimal: mats and bags. Four other women arrived, and we got started.
Shock number one. We’re learning self-defense, but this is also a fitness bootcamp with a hearty dose of circuit training included. I find the fact that I walk a lot and do a plank once every few days has totally deluded me to my state of fitness. This is brought painfully home during the jumping rope section. I haven’t done it in decades and simply cannot do more than a couple without hitting my feet. Still, I persevere.
We spend some time hitting and kicking the bags. It’s satisfying. I like it because it’s getting me used to the idea of using my body like that. This part of the drill is kinda killer, though, as we alternate hitting/kicking with things like push-ups, side bridges, and jumping squats.
It’s a long time before an hour is over.
Wednesday I get up at the same time, eat some yogurt, and decide I’ll walk over. Things are dark at 5 am, but not too bad, and I get there in plenty of time. We’ve lost one person and are down to four now. It’s much like the last session, particularly the humiliation of the jumprope session, but this time, somewhere in the middle of sit-ups, I find myself on the point of tears at how unfit I am and how painful all of this is. It’s unpleasant to the point where the thought of just apologizing and walking out flits across my mind. But again I persevere. Towards the end, we learn how to break free if someone grabs your arm, by always moving towards the spot where the resistance is least.
Afterward I walk home. It feels uphill all the way, and actually is, due to West Seattle’s geography. It’s highly unpleasant and I stride along grumpily wishing I’d driven.
Keeping that in mind, I decide to drive over on Friday. I’m surprised by the internal objections to going I’m feeling when I get up that Friday morning. What if it’s as bad as it was on Wednesday? What if it’s worse? I finally talk myself into it with a promise: if it’s that bad, then I will let myself quit after this session. Having managed my yogurt and drunk some water, I head over.
And it’s not as bad as I thought. I actually manage five jumps in rapid succession with the jumprope. (I do follow this triumph up by somehow managing to tangle myself in the rope to the point where I feel absurd and pray that no one is watching.) I’ve ordered my own online and it’ll arrive Saturday, so I can practice a little before Monday’s class. Overall I feel peppier than I have before, to the point where there are moments where I might actually be enjoying myself, such as the warm-up where we’re circling to the sound of “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” and the dodgeball session. Make no mistake, though, there’s still plenty of pain.
I leave feeling pretty good about the week. The class is one quarter over, and I think I’d be a bit better equipped if someone came at me. Next week includes the Ladies Basic Gun Training on the 4th so that should come with its own set of revelations, given that I grew up in a household where we were forbidden toy guns.
Getting Ready for 2014: One Method of Decluttering
I have a photo of this fabulous object, a clown teapot with cups shaped like clown heads, each with xes for eyes, as though the principal clown had slain all his enemies and taken their severed heads in the process. Therefore it's okay I didn't buy it. Someone else gets all the joy.We’ve (as in two humans, two cats, a briefly lived betta, and assorted temporary insects) lived in this space since 2001. While I’ve decluttered and cleaned before, cruft inevitably creeps in. An odd little ball colored red, white, and blue. Countless keys. Sharpies in a rainbow of colors. Twists and ties and clips. Twenty years after my D&D days, there’s still a few polyhedrals rolling around.
Many things have memories attached, and discarding the object sometimes feels like discarding the memory. The paperweight I bought in Prague while traveling to train Eastern Europeans about network security software. A tin butterfly from our time in Mexico when I was a child. The sequinned baby shoes I use as a prop in the flash class. I feel as though if I put them aside I may lose the thing that triggers the memory.
While I’m not ditching everything, a lot of these are getting digitized. I take a few pictures with my camera and stick it aside. Here’s an example of a book I’ve been carrying around since high days. My paternal grandmother got it for me when I expressed an interest in folk tales and folk songs. I drew on it heavily when writing songs for Armageddon, sometimes adapting songs outright, otherwise creating ones patterned after the originals.
It’s a hefty doorstop of a book. I suspect I’ll be able to find this knowledge, or comparable stuff, on the net whenever I need to. But at the same time, the object holds memories: sitting in my room in high school, reading through it, while the rain drummed on the roof and the locust tree outside my window tapped its long fingers on the glass, for one. Performing songs based on it as my bard on Armageddon, purple-haired, seemingly bemused but secretly sharp, Karaluvian Fale. I take more than just a photo of the dustjacket: one of the inside so I can see the font, another of an illustration, one of an enigmatic and very scrawly note. Enough that I’ll be able to evoke it, access those memories again if I want to.
What’s the best way to preserve these images? I haven’t gotten that far yet. For now I’m saving and tagging, and trying to shrink down the mass of physical stuff attached to my life.
What am I doing right now? Mainly I’m elbows-deep in the rewrite of the fantasy novel, currently titled THE MOONS OF TABAT, which may change. But on other fronts:
