There are two impulses. One is to leave a legacy. Maybe it’s children or creations, good works, discoveries, or even a legacy of kind acts. There are other things to be remembered for, but those seem the most important.
The other is this. To be able to say, at the end of one’s life, “You gave me this gift and I used and appreciated it. I looked at the way the wind moves in the trees and the flecks of light in more than one cat’s eye. I took time to watch sunsets and how they changed from minute to minute. I practiced gratitude for this wonderful world and the fact that is is always moving, always acting, even in the stillest moments. I participated in the dance and let myself hear the music. I listened when people were showing me their souls and in return they gave me bravery and honesty and joy.”
Joy IS the skill of skills. Everything is subservient to that collective joy, the shout of being and doing.
Will you, won’t you, will you join the dance today?
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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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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.
I’m finally catching up, post-Wormhole Workshop in Girona, Spain, and pronounce it a success! We had a great time, and the students wrote their tails off, producing amazing, sometimes location-flavored, stories, such as “We Have Always Been Going to the Castle,” and “Murder at the Castell de la Cava.” Being in a 10th century castle was an evocative space for our first effort, and a number of moments, including my 60th birthday celebration, will live in my memory for the rest of my life. This newsletter is illustrated with sunrises and sunsets from the stay.
So many thanks to my partner in the effort, Janet K. Smith and her indefatigable husband Geoff. We learned a lot for the 2024 Wormhole, which will be a fully accessible location inside the United States. Look for a formal announcement mid-February but the scheduling will again be for November.
If you want access to the recordings from the workshop in Spain, featuring Tobias Buckell, Ann Leckie, Sarah Pinsker, and myself, they are available individually or as a group – and best of all, we implemented sliding scale so more people can afford it. Please check out what’s available and spread the word if you know people who might be interested. Find out more here.
Some Wayward Gift Ideas
Want to give your favorite writer a gift from the Rambo Academy for Wayward Writers? Here’s some possibilities:
A subscription to the community ($50 for a year)
A class credit ($75, good for any two hour class)
A coaching session ($50, 30 minute consultation via Zoom)
For any of the virtual gifts, mail me at cat@kittywumpus.net. You will receive a .pdf that can be mailed to the recipient or printed out to give them physically.
What I’m Working On
The year is passing away with fierce quickness and I’m trying to wrap up the draft of Wings of Tabat in order to get that in before the end of the end. I’m planning changes for next year’s Rambo Academy classes and events – if you’re a community member, please weigh in on the post asking for feedback on what you’d like to see!
Augur Magazine – Augur Magazine is open to fiction and poetry submissions from everyone, everywhere from December 15th 2023 until January 31st 2024. From February 1st to February 14th 2024, Augur Magazine will be open only to submissions from creators who are BIPOC, trans, and/or disabled and Canadian citizens/permanent residents and/or those who are living within the settler-defined border of the land colonially known as Canada.
Tales & Feathers Magazine – Tales & Feathers Magazine is open to cozy fiction submissions from everyone, everywhere, from December 15th 2023 until January 31st 2024. From February 1st to February 14th 2024, Tales & Feathers Magazine will be open only to submissions from creators who are BIPOC, trans, and/or disabled from around the world.
There are two impulses. One is to leave a legacy. Maybe it’s children or creations, good works, discoveries, or even a legacy of kind acts. There are other things to be remembered for, but those seem the most important.
14 Responses
Lovely! Thank you for the reminder.
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