Paper Fruit

Here is a list of three true facts about relationships in modern Japan that I have learned from watching years of anime:

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I vowed to do a new “big ups corner” on the blog, so I think this week it will have to go to the Krampus. Have you done your holiday shopping, or, alternatively, made your blog post about not doing holiday shopping yet? We’re into December, folks! Time is running out.

(The big ups should actually go to Jesse for showing me this, but I’m less afraid he’ll hit me with a bundle of sticks.)

Life have been so busy in Tanzer Town I feel like Richard Scarry should write a book about me. While I haven’t been slaying any terrible dragons, I just finished up my very first proofreading gig for Prime Books, which was a tremendous amount of fun. The delight I receive from marking up a manuscript with a red pen is beyond acceptable, but when I mentioned this to Sean, my editor, he responded that, quote, “anyone who is in publishing is certifiably insane.” So OK then.

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So it’s official: I am the Assistant Editor of Fantasy Magazine. Seriously. I am beyond stoked about the opportunity to work with everyone there. This is an honor and a privilege.

All cliches about raining and pouring aside, things have been busy for me. I’m in the process of expanding my duties at Fantasy Magazine, which is very exciting, and there are a few other things in the works, as they say. That said, between World Fantasy, San Francisco, coming home to a whole new and different kettle of stuff to do, and getting back on a normal sleeping/eating/exercising (ok maybe not the last part) schedule, I’ve had little time peaceful enough to write. That’s OK, but for me, spending time apart from my writing is often detrimental– I start thinking about everything I have yet to do with the project and become anxious about even opening the file on my desktop lest all the outstanding issues in my text leap upon me like ravenous onis intent on upon my soul.

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I’m back from World Fantasy, looking and feeling haggard, exhausted, and ready to eat meals not at restaurants for a while, but overwhelmingly happy about the experience as a whole. I met many, many lovely people, made a few new friends, interviewed Garth Nix (who is every bit the gentleman I’d been led to believe he is), hung out, got maybe a little tipsy my last night there, and came home with a bag full of books from the con and from Borderlands in San Francisco, thanks to the awesome efforts of Jeremy Lassen who was so patient with me and knowledgeable and recommended more things than I could fit into my suitcase. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

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It’s official: I just confirmed with Garth Nix and I’ll be interviewing him at World Fantasy! This is so exciting, not only because I’ll be, well, interviewing one of my favorite fantasy authors (everyone go read the Abhorsen trilogy, now) but also because Mr. Nix has been incredibly nice and approachable, even though he is obviously super-busy. More details as they come, but for now, this has lent a beatific glow to me this blustery Monday morning.

Also: Friday night I rolled into Denver with my homedawg Jesse and we saw A Hawk and a Hacksaw live at the Hi-Dive. Oh gosh and golly, it was the best show I’ve ever seen, no exaggeration necessary. I really, really love that band, and they played most of the tracks off their most recent album, Delivrance, which is one of my favorites, and also, uncannily, most of my most beloved tracks from their other albums, as well. They did an entire set on stage, wherein Jeremy Barnes rocked out on his accordion and Heather Trost melted my soul with her violin and also a Balkan contraption like a violin with a trumpet bell in lieu of a resonating chamber. They also had a trumpet/coronet player, a tuba player, and a dude who alternated among an oboe, drums, and what I think was an amplified balalaika. Afterwards they came down into the center of the Hi-Dive and played an acoustic set, which was just as amazing. All in all, pretty much The Best.

Taking a break from all the MoFo-ing, I’d like to announce that I’ve joined The Outer Alliance. The Outer Alliance is, in their own words, “a group of SF/F writers who have come together as allies for the advocacy of LGBT issues in literature. Made up of individuals of all walks of life, our goal is to educate, support, and celebrate LGBT contributions in the science-fiction and fantasy genres.” This is important stuff, especially these days, what with all the conservative backlash to Obama’s election and the fact that Obama himself is dragging is feet on making good on the promises to the gay community that helped him get elected in the first place.

SPEAKING OF CONSERVATIVE BACKLASH, I was inspired to join The Outer Alliance for two big reasons. One, Jesse joined, and was saying good things about the group, so I took an interest. Two, someone on the PPK posted an article entitled, of all things, “The War on Science Fiction,” about how people with vaginas and non-straight sexual orientations are destroying science fiction (Maybe through talking about human relationships instead of, like, robots and stuff? And making Starbuck a woman on the new Battlestar Galactica? Maybe?). Though I’m sure linking it here will only make the author wipe away a tear of pure, unbridled, righteous joy with the corner of her “Official Ursula K. LeGuin Book Burning ’06” t-shirt it’s worth noting that these sorts of frightening, anti-woman, anti-LGBT attitudes still exist, somehow, incredibly, in 2009. So no, Virginia, feminism is not obsolete, nor is fighting for human rights for all humans.

This quote from the article pretty much encapsulates both the terrible prose style and the upsetting sentiments voiced therein:

“Slash fiction is a form of fan fiction written primarily by women where characters in science fiction TV shows are gay and have homosexual relationships completely contrary to the established canon of the show.  The first slash fiction was about the original Star Trek series where women wrote stories about Kirk and Spock in a homosexual relationship.” (Emphasis mine.)

Come the fuck on. Seriously. I dare anyone, ANYONE, even Heinlein enthusiasts, even people older than 15 who think Ayn Rand’s Anthem is a really good, original piece of science fiction, even, I dare say, whackjob bloggers with an axe to grind about the new Doctor Who, to go watch some original series Star Trek, most notably, off the top of my head without even thinking about it for a second, “The Paradise Syndrome” (ep. 58) or “Turnabout Intruder” (ep. 79) and tell me that a Kirk/Spock makeout is “completely contrary to the established canon of the show.” Bull. Shit.

Joking aside, the amount of self-hatred contained in this vitriolic rant about how women and women’s issues (and teh gayz, too) are destroying science fiction (the author is female) is incredibly sad and depressing. Though slash/fic is not really my bag per se, I think it is a cool venue for anyone to express themselves, especially women eager to write something “for them by them,” or, alternatively, an opening market for people nervous about the wall of Western, masculine names in the SF/F section of Borders to get into speculative fiction writing. Is that really such a travesty? Of course it isn’t, but why be reasonable when you can nail sixty years of progressive feminism and LGBT activism square in the uppity jaw with your violently jerking knee? Why view non-white, non-straight, non-male folks as valuable when you could spend your time writing this inspiring sentiment:

“As we know science fiction has inspired boys to pursue careers in science, engineering, and technology as men.  With women killing science fiction on television, the current generation of boys won’t have this opportunity to be inspired to work in these fields.  There is still a great deal of written science fiction that is real science fiction so all is not lost.  However, many boys who would have gone on to make scientific discoveries and invent new technologies will not do so since they will never be inspired by science fiction as boys.”

Holy freaking crap.

At this point, I really do wish some dude (you know, the kind with balls and a penis, those genetic prerequisites to understanding science fiction and also technology and math and stuff) would please just invent a time machine (because he read some H.G. Wells) so this blogger, and all of the people who wrote comments in support of her, could go back to 1948 or whatever time period they genuinely believe to be “the good old days.” Please. For the good of humankind, some man, any man, please do this. Save us all!

So the long and short of it is that women, LGBT folks, straight allies, and other such types are ruining not only science fiction, but science itself. Really! We lefties are just basically banging rocks together, calling for us all to return to the caves.

It’s funny, you know, this kind of ignorance. The author implies that it’s women who insert women’s issues into science fiction, but really, that’s just total lunacy and self-delusion. Five minutes of research would have told her that Gene Roddenberry– the very same man who put absolutely no gayness into Star Trek, really– actually wanted the character of Wesley Crusher on Star Trek: The Next Generation, to be a girl. Leslie Crusher. I’m not making this up, it’s in the official ST:TNG Companion which yes, I have read. Anyways the network said no way, because it would limit the number of storylines for the character, since lady issues would have to be addressed. Geez, Gene! Why would you want to ruin ST:TNG like that? It’s almost as crazy as having a woman of color on the bridge of the original Enterprise! Or a lady doctor! Roddenberry was obviously an Obammunist before his time, excise Star Trek from the Sci Fi Canon immediately! Also, five more minutes of research would have told her that Jonathan Frakes– you know, the dude who plays super-macho Commander Riker– complained that his asexual love interest in the 5th season episode of TNG, “The Outcast,” was played by a female actor and therefore made less of a point about love transcending gender.

And that’s just Star Trek, yo.

Is it just that these men were pressured by screeching harpies and swishing predatory homosexuals? Of course not. They were intelligent men who realized that their own sexual orientation and gender made them uniquely able to advocate for the representation of “others” in science fiction, which is always what science fiction has been great at doing— taking us away from our immediate selves and allowing us to consider the problems within our own society with more objectivity. Or maybe that’s just my x-chromosomes having some girl talk about how The Foundation Series should be more like Bridgit Jones’s Diary. Probably.

It is sad, but it is also inspiring, because while there will always be allies who are willing to speak up for the inclusion of women and LGBT folks in science fiction and fantasy, more and more we are just having to get in there and write the stories about ourselves and our friends and our world that we want to hear. So it’s time for me to stop blogging and get back to my fantasy novel, which has, right there on the page, some lesbians.

There I go again, destroying genre like it’s no big deal.

Today I was talking to my parents on my phone, outside my usual coffee shop, and noticed that someone tied up and left a really rough-looking German Shepherd puppy outside. I had seen the dog before ,looking scraggly and in need of a bath, but when I really looked at him today I noticed he had bald patches on his skin that he was gnawing at, and what appeared to be maggots nesting in his fur and skin. His tail was also chewed down and horrifying. Two kids were playing with him, rubbing his fur as they ate a croissant, which was just. . . ugh. Bleh. Ugh. The area around his bottom was the worst, matted and filled with the things that were maybe maggots, and he kept gnawing at the area and his scrotum as if it itched terribly. So yeah, he wasn’t fixed, either, so that’s great. Probably because he’s a “purebred” dog. Bleh. Ugh.

So I called Animal Control. I wouldn’t have if it had been the first time I saw the dog tied up and looking terrible, but the repeat viewing convinced me it was a good idea. Fortunately the AC officer showed up before the “caretakers” of this creature came out, and the officer seemed really unhappy about the dog’s condition (as well as the fact that the poor thing had just been left outside with no water, tied to a fence).

So we talked about the pup for a minute, but  just as I was pointing to the patches on his skin that looked maggoty the two kids came out with a woman and seemed really concerned I was standing over the dog with a dude in a uniform. He asked if it was her dog and she said “it’s my husband’s” and looked at me quizzically, at which point I excused myself not wanting a confrontation. I’m glad I did because as I went inside one of the kids ran in screaming “DAD THE POLICE ARE HERE ABOUT YOUR DOG!!!” so I decided discretion was the better part of valor and biked home. My friend Jesse stayed and went outside, pretending to talk on his phone, and said that the officer kept pointing out spots on the dog’s coat and the guy just looked surprised and was acting like he’d never noticed it before. Then I guess the officer wrote the guy a ticket, and the guy took the poor dog in his car and drove away.

Ugh. Poor doggie. The last time I called AC they didn’t want me to stay around and just told me to leave (I was also bleeding and injured but not as a result of the incident, long story), so I hope I did the right thing. I hope the dog gets the help he needs. He’s such a cute pup, and had just sad eyes. I had no idea the kids were at all related to the dog, he didn’t seem to greet them with friendliness or interest when they tried to play with them– just listlessly sat or laid down, while they pulled on his leash to try to make him do stuff.

I hope he doesn’t get abandoned. I hope the guy realizes he’s not taking care of the pup and takes him to a shelter where he can find a good home. I know I wanted to take him home. Bleh. Ugh. Bleh.

The last time I was all flippant and stuff about a famous author’s writing I got in a wee bit of trouble (Hello Mr. Gaiman! I’m disappointed you won’t be at World Fantasy Con, according to your blog, as I wanted to get your autograph and introduce myself as “that blogger who called you a misogynistic butthole”), but I can’t pass up posting this article from the Telegraph calling out Dan Browne for murdering English prose.

Full disclosure: I read The Da Vinci Code. I read it for one reason, which was that it came out when I was majoring in Art History at Rollins, and roughly 463 people (including my parents) asked me if I had read it, and when I said no, each and every one would proceed to tell me all about Leonardo Da Vinci and how he was (spoilers, I guess) really a cultist who believed Jesus put a baby in Mary and painted her into The Last Supper and blah blah blah. At some point I realized it would take less time for me to just read the damn book and tell people “Yes, I didn’t care for it” so I did. It was horrible. I know it’s old news to report on just how awful The Da Vinci Code is (it is so, so bad), but now that Dan Browne has released OMG MASONS IN WASHINGTON D.C.! or whatever the title of his latest book actually is, it’s open season again on his terrible, terrible writing, and justifiably so.

I actually have more of a problem with the plotting in The Da Vinci Code than anything else (characters are so implausibly motivated I think I laughed out loud at their actions more than once) but Browne’s actual word-smithery is just as noxious. Even worse– somehow– than the part of The Da Vinci Code when Plucky French Orphan Lady (who will remain nameless because I don’t feel like Wiki-ing her name) admits that she broke with her dead curator grandfather just because she walked in on his kinky sex club (Really? I would just be like “Ew! Lock the door please Gramps! Can I borrow that mask for the Halloween party next week?” but I am not. . . French? Maybe?) is this actual line from the actual book, unadulterated by cowed editors who I assume saw this and just said “fuck it, it’s Dan Browne, it will sell a gajillion copies because it is about Jesus having sex and conspiracies”:

“The Knights Templar were warriors,” Teabing reminded, the sound of his aluminum crutches echoing in this reverberant space.

The Telegraph, because they are British, follow up this monstrosity by reminding us that “Remind” is a transitive verb – you need to remind someone of something. You can’t just remind. And if the crutches echo, we know the space is reverberant.

Thank you.

See that, and 19 other pieces of some of the worst writing in the English language here.