Paper Fruit

World Fantasy is looming; projects are calling. I’m taking a stern internet break–email, facebook, LJ, lots of stuff will be verboten for a while, except at certain intervals. I’ll still be doing “Films of High Adventure” with Jesse and doing what it is I do for Fantasy, but if I’m slow to get back to anyone or anything, it’s because I have to do this for me. I tend to get caught up in online stuff too frequently–or, as I said to someone recently, I am Eve to the apple of the internet.

LOL, we’ll see how long this lasts. I anticipate full withdrawal symptoms–the shakes, the sweats, the, um, whatever else it is that happens to people in withdrawal. But hopefully the internet will be like cigarettes or something, and after the three-day hump I’ll be feeling OK. Right? RIGHT?

So I seem to recall hearing some stuff recently about the genre community, unrepentant, vitriolic Islamophobia, bigotry going unpunished by so-called advocates for safe spaces, and–you know, look, if this isn’t ringing a bell, just stop reading, because I’m not going to recap what’s essentially been front page news for weeks in the Genre Writers with Internet Presence Times.

For weeks now I’ve been typing up half-posts, trying to figure out what’s been bothering me about this whole situation, and completely failing. But yesterday I was able to really identify for the first time the source of my discomfort. The smart, savvy Shweta Narayan asked an insightful question about WisCon’s decision to not strip Elizabeth Moon of her Guest of Honor status. She asked: Who do you think will, or should, carry the burden of the Teaching Moments at the con?

OK. Yes. Here is the thing: before posting her hateful screed against Muslims and their allegedly uncitizenlike behavior (you know, like always trying to build community centers and shit), Elizabeth Moon was in a position of power. From reading her bio on her website, we can see that she was a white, Christian American who was college-educated. She actually holds multiple college degrees. She had been taught by the Marines to use computers during the infancy of computer science. She was able to pursue a career in writing that led to her winning multiple high-profile awards.

Now, it does seem like Elizabeth Moon “earned” a lot of this “for herself,” which should be a signifier for every American reading this that she should be awarded the Holy Order of Horatio Alger. And yet, as people who like to critically engage with American notions of meritocracy know, she had herself a pretty hefty invisible knapsack of privilege. While some might describe this as “immaterial” (like, apparently, the fact that Muslims also died in the 9/11 attacks), it isn’t actually immaterial at all. It is essential for those who have benefited from unearned privilege (skin color, social class one was born into, gender, sexuality, whatever) to acknowledge they have benefited from that unearned privilege and and not cultivate a disingenuous “but I did it all by myself!” attitude which elides the very real help they’ve gotten from such. It shouldn’t (for reasonable people) diminish her accomplishments to acknowledge that she benefited from being white, Christian, etc. It does, however, contextualize those accomplishments, and it makes her ignorant ranting against Muslims who don’t “realize how much forbearance they’ve had” all the more upsetting.

So moving on, people feel icky about WisCon’s decision to keep Elizabeth Moon as the Guest of Honor. We should feel icky. Because, like I said in a somewhat roundabout way, Elizabeth Moon was in a position of power before she posted her lecture on “citizenship” (as envisioned by a white Christian ex-Marine), and Muslims in America were having their prayer rugs peed on and their mosques burned and their cemeteries being alleged as illegal and their proposed community centers being treated like. . . you know, I don’t even know what. Now, after posting her lecture on “citizenship,” Elizabeth Moon is still in a position of power, and American Muslims are still. . . I think I’ve made my point. The really shitty status quo goes unchallenged, due to people conflating “not wanting to engage in censorship” or “not wishing to violate someone’s first amendment rights” with the idea that with great power (free speech) comes great responsibility (accepting the consequences of your behavior when those consequences might be. . . saaaaaay. . . getting your Guest of Honor status revoked at a progressive convention).

WisCon, through their refusal to strip her Guest of Honor status, is basically saying “hey, it’s OK that you did this, it’s all a dialogue, right?” I mean, they’re actually saying that Elizabeth Moon “would make a positive contribution to WisCon” and she is “an idol who turns out to be human.” Well, as Saladin Ahmed pointed out, it’s not that “an idol turned out to be human,” it’s that “an idol” turned out to be “hateful and cruel and vicious.”* There’s–there’s a big difference there. And it also unfairly puts the burden of “dialogue” (and “teaching”) on Muslims, as Shweta pointed out.

And then there’s just the fact that the way Moon has behaved throughout this thing demonstrates that she doesn’t want to be taught or learn new stuff. I mean, if you’re going to be a bigot, at least be a brave bigot. Deleting 400+ comments, most of which, from what I saw, were of a “hey, being a jerk to 1 billion+ people makes you a jerk” nature makes you a coward, as does posting a snide note that amounted to “go home, kids,” as does locking the post against further comments but keeping it up. It certainly doesn’t indicate that she’s interested in dialogue or learning or, as WisCon put it so teeth-hurtingly, engaging in “a difficult conversation.” It indicates that she’s the sort of person who is right and everyone else is wrong/just doesn’t understand. And that is total bullshit, and she shouldn’t be rewarded for it.

Elizabeth Moon is a person who deliberately and unrepentantly put unnecessary stress on an already misunderstood and marginalized community. WisCon, by keeping Moon as a Guest of Honor and slapping together some panels and stuff to provide “balance,” is also putting stress on a misunderstood and marginalized community. In the wake of hateful shit being slung about, the people in power are still in power, and the people who are marginalized are still being marginalized. Nothing’s changed. And it just goes to show that when a bigot somewhat spectacularly shows her ass, as long as that ass is white, Christian, and economically successful, it’s totally OK.

***

*I’d like here to record Saladin’s entire comment, which I found extremely illuminating, but couldn’t find a way to neatly quote in text:

Even though some of them SHOW SIGNS of being civilized, these Muslims are dangerous and ungrateful” is not a position from which to launch reasonable discussion of our current political climate, any more than “Rape is bad, but women who dress that way are asking for it” is a reasonable point to start a discussion about rape. No one’s talking about barring her from the con–they’re talking about, in light of her remarks, an ostensibly progressive con not according her its highest honor.

I, Molly, would like to add: word.

throughout the process, mr. rutherford belleview was there to answer any and all questions

Hey! Happy Monday to me! My interview with badass zombie musicians The Widow’s Bane is up over at Strange Horizons! Thanks so much to my editor Dave, amazing senior articles editrix S.J. Chambers, every one of my friends who helped me during the process of writing and editing the piece, and, of course, The Band, Themselves.

Due to the fact this is an interview with a group of gentle and talented undead artists, I’d heartily appreciate it if anyone who reads the piece (and ends up liking them and their music) could re-post! They deserve it.

Oh, and this interview went up as part of Strange Horizons‘ 10th Anniversary celebration, so if you’ve enjoyed the high-quality fiction (and non-fiction, natch) they’ve brought you over the past decade, why not help out with their fund drive?

I just got done with a fun, busy week with my parents! They came into town last Wednesday and left Sunday morning. While they were here, we went to the Denver Botanic Gardens, did the Continental Divide drive, took a lovely hike in the Flatirons, went to the Boulder Farmers’ Market for fresh peppers and Colorado peaches and bread, visited Boulder Falls, and ate a lot of delicious food, including my parents’ first-ever encounter with Ethiopian food at Ras Kassa’s! While John took my father on a brewery tour, my mom and Raech and I all got pedicures at ten20, which is an awesome establishment for many reasons, not the least of which is that they TiVO What Not To Wear so I got to watch an episode for maybe the first time in a year. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, but man, I am tired.

Now vacation is over and it’s back to work. I am anticipating receiving the edits from Strange Horizons for my interview with The Widow’s Bane (which is going up the 27th of September, so huzzah!), and working on another go-through of my novel.

Regarding the novel MS, I’ve received most of the comments back from my beta-readers, which have been incredibly helpful and not-discouraging, so that’s rad! It seems that, on the whole, everyone pretty much enjoyed reading it, and enjoyability was a huge concern for me. While I cannot be certain of the novel’s prospects, I am certain that I have written something genuine about things I care about, and I am happy about that!

In other news, I successfully veganized something I used to order when I was a vegetarian–baked goat cheese in tomato sauce. It came out amazingly well, and I plan on posting a tutorial ASAP. For any former Pinehurstians who might occasionally visit paper fruit, it’s totally that thing we used to order at Cafe Tu Tu Tango! OMG!

A true and thorough transcript of some of the unfortunate events that transpired during the Inquisition of Johannes Cabal, 8/23/10, provided by Inquisitor Tanzer to her Superiors, among them the Most Honorable and Lenient Inquisitor Staggs.

Gentlemen, I have failed you, and I only hope that the following record will shed light upon the reason that Herr Johannes Cabal was found roaming the passages of the Inquisitorial Chambers when the men employed by Inquisitor Jacobs found him. I pray to God that He will forgive me for my oversights in this matter once I die; for now I pray to God that you, my superiors, will show me the degree of mercy we expect from our Creator.

I had One-Thumb Harry (as opposed to Gap-Tooth Harry, he simply can’t be trusted ever since the incident I described in my transcript of the events of 7/3/09) tie him up, but though Harry assured me that his lack of a thumb wouldn’t hinder him in the art of knot-tying. . . perhaps I’d just better move on to the transcript. I asked:

Mr. Cabal, do you believe this court possesses the authority to try you for your crimes?

No.

Do you even feel that your nefarious actions constitute crimes?

No.

Do you believe in a universal standard for ascertaining right from wrong?

No.

To be clearer, do you feel that there is a way of determining right from wrong?

No.

Do you even care?

No.

Madam, a word of advice. I would recommend you avoid closed questions in future. Didn’t they teach you this in Inquisitorial College, somewhere between “Applying Thumbscrews the Modern Way” and “Framing Innocents 101”? No matter. I shall do you the courtesy of expanding upon my answers while I tie you up and make my escape from this dank cellar it pleases you to call a dungeon. No, believe me, I’ve escaped from proper dungeons, and this doesn’t compare. Yes, escape. Well, the way I’d planned on this working is that I point this handgun at your head, and then you become all manner of helpful. It usually works. Ah, how I procured a Webley .577 in a secure cellar. . . my apologies. . . dungeon, constitutes a professional secret. I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you. No, I would have to kill you. Yes, seriously. I have a gun, and you know I have killed before; I fail to see why this is so difficult for you to believe. Ah, there we go, that’s better. Being in denial is a corrosive state, much better to be in fear of your life.

So, to your questions. I do not believe that this court, as you call it, has any authority. It is a religious court and claims its authority from God, and trust me, God does not care. I am in no sense an atheist; I have met demons and devils and seen the irrefutable handiwork of gods–yes, plural–so why would I deny that which I have scientifically proved? My evidence for your god is more circumstantial. I have met Satan, who identified himself as Lucifer, a fallen angel, and who agreed that he had been cast down from the presence of God for the sin of pride. There is a Satan, ergo, there is a God. Although it occurs to me that Satan is a terrible liar. Try this for a hypothetical; there is no God, except as a scarecrow set up by Satan for his amusement. He watches mortals make fools of themselves in the somewhat smug knowledge that all will eventually go to Hell, because there is no alternative. Think of all the evil that has been done in the name of God–we are in a chamber full of instruments of torture, after all–and then think of how my hypothesis would explain so much.

Well, why not? It would make a change from cribbage. Oh, contain your outrage, madam. I am merely playing devil’s advocate.

Hah.

My actions–most courts would regard adding the adjective “nefarious” as an affront to the judicial process, but I don’t suppose that bothers people who dress for Halloween in August–my actions were necessary. If they are crimes, it is unfortunate, but irrelevant. You have no idea the things I have done to get this far. Stopping my researches, that would be the crime. My right may be your wrong, and that may mortally offend you but, believe me, madam, the answer to your last question was entirely heartfelt.

I do not care.

Now, I can hear your guards falling over one another in their haste to meet my revolver. That is acceptable. Good day, madam.

May God have mercy on his soul. And may the court have mercy upon me. . .

It seems that Running with the Pack was reviewed over at Innsmouth Free Press, and that, among others, “In Sheep’s Clothing” attracted the notice of Ms. Kinney enough that she discussed it in depth! Yay!

I continue to be touched and amazed by the favorable attention my story has received. Yet, I must admit, while I was intensely happy that my narrator was dubbed the “heroine” of the story by Ms. Kinney over at IFP, my favorite review of all actually appeared on my facebook page, courtesy my good friend David, who said on the matter, “[I] do like the black magick references and lessons against working with one’s neighbors.”

Being in the business of providing valuable advice and life-lessons has its rewards, and it’s nice to know that my message was interpreted correctly by at least one kind soul. Cheers!

I know, I always call my updates that when it’s been friggin’ forever, but I don’t care even one bit!

First of all, I must mention that there’s a new Films of High Adventure over at Fantasy Magazine, this one on The NeverEnding Story. We’re probably the nicest we’ve ever been to a movie prominently featuring an annoying moppet telling the audience what they’ve seen/are about to see, so, yay!

Moving on, I’ll be heading to Florida this Saturday to visit my folks! I’m looking forward to reading some novels, chilling out, cooking some food, doing crafty stuff with my mom, taking walks with my dad, all that sort of thing. Sadly, John will be in Orlando at a staff conference for his job while I’ll be in Tampa, but I think we’re going to organize some WoW parties with Raechel, who’ll be holding down the forts in Boulder.

I am also very proud that I just sent out the novel I finished up recently to the host of awesome beta-readers who volunteered to tell me if it sucks or not, and also correct my grammar. I am excited to get some outside eyes on this project, because I am too blinded by love for it to be objective at all. I know we need some time apart, this book and I, so I’ll be reading some non-fiction so maybe I can perk up a few details, and also reading some fiction to cleanse my palette. I’ll also be working on some various and sundry fiction and creative non-fiction things, and I’m looking forward to reacquainting myself with short form since I can’t recall the last time I wrote a short story.

Additionally, I feel the need to mention that I just read what I believe might be one of the most racist stories ever written, and no, I’m not talking about that piece in the NYT about how Indians have taken over New Jersey (though it was, obviously, in the running). No, I speak instead of Robert E. Howard’s “The Vale of Lost Women,” which wasn’t published during his lifetime but still managed to find its way to the printed page several times. I know it’s pretty un-shocking to out Howard as a racist, but seriously. I give authors from the past so much leeway when it comes to the odd racist comment or sexist trope. I feel strongly that there’s a place and time for holding people accountable for their beliefs–and that people, both living and dead, should be held accountable for their beliefs–but that such accountability need not be the only way to consume and interpret stories written during a different time. This story, however, gets a big brown F in every way. It is hideous. Not only does it have Conan straight-up telling a girl he’d rape her if he felt like it (and, OK, whatever, I’d forgive that in isolation, it’s a Conan story), but the girl in question is a little white girl with blonde hair who was captured by black savages and raped by their hideous leader. Let’s just for a moment consider Howard’s description of the leader, a fellow by the name of Bajujh (FAIL, already):

On an ivory stool, flanked by giants in plumed headpieces and leopardskin girdles, sat a fat, squat shape, abysmal, repulsive, a toad-like chunk of blackness, reeking of the dank rotting jungle and the nighted swamps. The creature’s pudgy hands rested on the sleek arch of his belly; his nape was a roll of sooty fat that seemed to thrust his bullet-head forward. His eyes gleamed in the firelight, like live coals in a dead black stump.

Woah. Also, the rest of the language regarding Bajujh and his tribe hits all the notes–the black folks are compared to animals (“panther-like”) or demeaned for possessing native African-ish features (their hair is described as “kinky” and “wooly” as compared to Conan’s and the little white girls’ flowing tresses, among other crimes of wtf). The women are described uniformly as “wenches” (often “ribald wenches”) with white eyeballs rolling wickedly in their black faces or, by Conan himself, as “black sluts” who make him sick with their very appearance. Jesus. So, yeah. I don’t know why this struck me as being blog-worthy, I just. . . I’m making my way through my anthology of all the Conan stories, and up until now there’s been some serious-business Orientalism and some problematic white-dude-conquers-brown-people-for-good nonsense, but this was my first encounter with out and out WHAAAAAA?!?!?! in that book. I’ve read novels about slavery written by white English during the 18th century that were less racist and accorded more respect and humanity to black folks than “The Vale of Lost Women.” Ugh, ugh, ugh.

Finally, and most of all, sadly, I recently had to put my beloved cat Penelope to sleep. About a year ago, the vet noticed some of her liver values were elevated. Perhaps eight months ago, she was diagnosed with fatty liver disease, which is curable with effort and attention. We gave her the effort, we gave her the attention. Things were looking up for a time, she was steadily improving. Then, right before we went down to Florida for weddings and family visiting, her shape got kinda odd. At first it looked like maybe she’d just gotten a pot belly–she was eating more–but I took her in for a checkup before the vet had recommended anyways, to be sure. It turns out that her liver had failed, though her pathology wasn’t totally consistent with that or anything else. I believe now that a number of things just gave out at once. We did everything the vet recommended, but it wasn’t enough. The vet was frankly baffled she was even alive and as perky as she was toward the end. Most cats, apparently, would’ve succumbed to disease or depression far earlier. Penelope was a fighter, though–she loved her life, it was obvious she was trying every bit as hard as we were, but she started to decline after a few mild gains. A few days before we made the decision to have the vet come to the house and help her pass on, even though she was having trouble jumping, she got into bed with me, something she hadn’t done in years. Every day she meowed and purred and snugged and took a few little laps of tuna water or hummus, even though she was having a hard time keeping herself clean.

I miss her so much. Her favorite chair looks so empty now, the little bed next to mine that she slept in toward the end of things seems even smaller. I had been getting up in the middle of the night to pet her and check on her after the diagnosis/prognosis, and a few times I’ve woken up for that purpose only to realize that she is beyond being checked on any more. I am glad she is at peace, but twelve years wasn’t enough for me.

I know I don’t usually talk about writing stuff too much here, but I’m a bit overwhelmed and maybe a little happysad that yesterday I finished the final chapter of the novel I’ve been working on. I wrote THE END, typed it like it was no big deal, and woahmigod. Now editing, which I’m generally better at/enjoy more than banging out rough drafts so I should really go do some of that.

This project was certainly whirlwindish, given that I believe I started the pre-planning for this manuscript around mid-April of this year. It’s a short novel (under 100k), but damn! It just took over my life–it wanted to be on the page. Sure, it needs work. Sure, it’s not totally internally consistent. But I love it, and that makes me pretty happy.

Richard Adams tells us that the lapine equivalent of the expression “when it rains, it pours” is the slightly more accurate “one cloud feels lonely.” With that in mind, I present two awesome bits of news:

Esteemed anthology editor Ekaterina Sedia guest blogged over at The Mad Hatter on the subject of anthology-creation. It’s an interesting read as a whole, but I was tickled and flattered that she singled out and praised my story:

Now, what makes a story good? Usually, the stories I pick have surprised me somehow. For example, Molly Tanzer’s story “In Sheep’s Clothing” (from Running with the Pack) surprised me by an ingenious way it fused some very modern concerns with the werewolf myth. Others, like Kaaron Warren’s “The Gaze Dogs of Nine Waterfalls” (which will be reprinted in Bewere the Night), delighted and shocked with their very strangeness, with the language and imagery that created an uncanny, dreamlike feel. I even dreamed about the story the night after I read it, and the next day emailed Kaaron asking her for the reprint. See? All you have to do is to haunt editors’ dreams.

So awesome!

Coming on the heels of that, Jeremy Jones facilitated a round-table discussion on werewolves over at Booklife. Six Running with the Pack authors contributed, among them myself and Jesse. The questions we were all asked were intriguing, and so you can head over there to read various writerly opinions on working with lycanthropy as a trope. It’s fun stuff!

Since we’re speaking of werewolves, I feel compelled to mention that I sat through the new Wolfman movie last night. . . but this post is brimming with positive vibes, so I won’t sully it by raking that movie over the coals, though it richly deserves such treatment. Perhaps later! Right now I’m totally stoked about the awesomeness above, so wooo!

Jesse linked me to this review of Running with the Pack, from prolific and awesome reviewer Nancy (AKA temporaryworlds on LJ) in which. . . OK, you know what? This is my first sale and my first review and so I’m going to selfishly pull out the pertinent quote and just put it up in all its glory:

“In Sheep’s Clothing” is a sci-fi/dystopian short story about the downfall of our society, and what happens after that. Reading this story reminded me a lot of “The Lottery” by Shirley Jackson. The werewolf aspect is not obvious at first, but it’s done quite well. Tanzer has created a fantastic voice in “In Sheep’s Clothing,” and the twist at the end is really well done. If you’re going to only read one story in this collection, read this one. I think it’s my favorite. Five stars.

Tag this under “totally thrilled” because. . . well, OK. I mean, you read it.

Nancy reviews each and every story in the anthology and gives it an overall ranking of four and a half stars (which means, according to her system, “very enjoyable book. Any flaws were minimal and did not diminish enjoyment). I have to say, from what I’ve read so far, I have to agree. In particular, I have to say that Jeffrey Ford’s “The Beautiful Gelreesh” and Jesse Bullington’s “Blamed for Trying to Live” are worth the cover price alone.

I’ve been holding back on talking about RwtP until I finished the anthology, but I had to jump the gun as a result of this review and thus am certainly neglecting some worthy stories. But, uh, I couldn’t resist.

Eeee! Thanks, Nancy!