The Bright Day is Done

Convention centres should have beanbags, a pile of extra seat cushions, or comfortable chairs. And footrests.

Now I’m through with complaining, onwards to Continuum 8: Craftonomicon!

My brain was twitching slightly after the first day, because the influx of information was gigantic. Sadly, I haven’t gone to every panel, partly because this is the first time I’ve been away in ten years, and faffing about reading my book(s) and generally wandering about Melbourne had a really strong pull.

The first panel I attended was “Gender and Sexuality in Speculative YA”. The panellists were Kate Eltham, Alison Goodman and Margo Lanagan.

To catch anyone up who is confused by that title, YA is young adult fiction, and if you roam about the teen/young adult fiction section in your local bookshop*, you’ll notice that a great deal of it is considered “speculative fiction” (specfic): either fantasy or science fiction or a mix of the two. Titles don’t really matter in specfic, unless you’re working in the genre. If you’re a reader, big whoop if the story is good**.

Of course, being aimed at teens and young adults, the content and themes of YA will eventually, if they’re doing their job, raise gender, sexuality and transgender issues.

The publishing industry is very conservative in YA, and the argument could be made that it is at it should be: children do not (should not?) have sex or be considering sexuality in concrete terms until they come of age. That’s an interesting viewpoint and one I think is ridiculous on its most superficial level. It’s called YA: young adults are of age.

Teen readers emerging shortly into young adulthood, or discovering questions about themselves cannot be expected to land squarely in their gender identity or sexual orientation simply by reaching young adulthood. Straightforward story, allegory and/or fable can tell us how to live (or rather, how we tell ourselves to), and provide insight on conditions that we may never encounter amongst family and friends.

Without meaning to teach my granny how to suck eggs, that’s where I was up to before I walked into the panel. The ladies of the panel have said it better, but I’m steaming ahead anyway.

The issues facing writers working in YA and trying to get published is being mindful of the conservative: while romance is romance (paranormal or not), “less common sexualities” are considered rare. While not wanting to make a really big point about it. That raises the question of “alternatives” having a value. Personally I question the inherent value judgement of the “alternative” as other, when gender and sexuality come down to essentially human. (That last is Alison Goodman’s point in describing her character in Eon, but one I agree with).

The point was also made that discussing sexuality and gender not your own (separate to it being “other”), is that there is a cultural propriety issue. Inserting yourself into a culture that you are not part of can be cheeky to say the least and can go horribly wrong. Apologies to Margo Lanagan, because I think I’ve quoted her directly without realising it.

There is also the consideration that YA is almost exclusively read by girls. Check out Hannah Moskowitz on the dearth of real male characters and boys bypassing YA and going straight to adult fiction.

Hannah Moskowitz makes a good point about the empowerment of girls, three-dimensional and often violent. That we need to empower girls so they can believe they can do anything, yes, good, but it comes down to (and here I am back in the panel) creating a false reality for young women as they go out into the world. Having read their way through awesome-girl YA, most will assume that they really can do whatever they want.

In terms of getting a job or biffing people (if that’s your style), it really comes down to skill set, and your development and dedication. Being a girl doesn’t award you with the ability to do anything, any more than it does for boys (I think this might be my rant now). While that might read like a whack against feminism, that’s not where I’m going. I deplore the view that saying men and women are equal is sometimes taken that way.

The whole point of equality is equality, not sameness. It is the availability of opportunity regardless of gender. I can do many of the same things my male counterparts can do, sometimes better, sometimes worse. I have a skill set that pays no attention to my chromosomes or my parts – it has been an accretion of skills and experience. I prefer the idea of humanity approaching equality and therefore real choice without limits other than ability, and not as a result of gender, and I’ll throw in all of the other societal limits: money, culture (where it does affect opportunity), feel free to add to the list.

That’s outside the panel, though still part of the argument; YA (most of it) is about the gaining of personal power. Not in the sense of ruling the world, but in the sense of allegory: the reader is coming of age.

The false reality of a lot of YA (and Kate Eltham described it as “Buffy-sized” heroines) is partly due to the fact that the story provides snapshots of time in a character’s life. A montage or a paragraph detailing the years of training is not the same thing as living through all of those boring bits.

*If you can find a local bookshop. Mine just closed down.

**In my opinion. Purists differ.

The next panel was “Daikaiju Go Heavenly!” and the panellists were Dirk Flinthart, David McDonald (can’t seem to find a link for him, oops) and Cat Sparks.

I’ll confess at the outset that I had no idea what Daikaiju meant or rather, are, but the blurb sounded fascinating.

“What if the gods were daikaiju? Could Buddha beat Jesus, could Loki outwit Allah? Is anyone strong enough to defeat Thor and his mighty Hammer? Jade Emperor, Kali, Ganesh. Which deity will reign supreme, or will king of the daikaiju Godzilla crush them all?”

Well after deciding that the gods on Earth would probably manifest from their giant statues, there was discussion about the giant super-Jesus statue in Brazil coming to life. Seeing as how the statue is on the cross already, he is aerodynamically fit for flying and could harry Godzilla quite a bit.

Then there is the giant Buddha in Phuket – but would Buddha fight? Well, this panel thought probably not, being against the ethos of the Buddha. I would have thought the same thing about Jesus, but by the by.

Since Australia is known for the Big everything, perhaps they qualify as daikaiju, and could gang up on super-Jesus.

Once the possibilities include statues, how about the Sphinx? One problem: Godzilla is shit at riddles. Oh well.

But for something interesting, check out the Bloop. There are many things unexplained out there. (Although I do like the idea of ice-calving).

The next panel was “Turning the Gears: Steampunk Craft”. The panellists were Nicole Canal, Paul Poulton (who has awesome facial hair), Michael Pryor (who has some awesome fashion) and Jo Spurrier.

I don’t have a lot to say about this one, although the steampunk aesthetic appeals to me in many ways, but Jo Spurrier mentioned the wood-burning USB charger. The stove really exists, and if you don’t believe that, here’s a short video. So the zombie apocalypse is looking less scary – at least I’ll be able to use my iPad.

I disappeared for a little while then so myself, small lad and husbandly could Skype. We’ve never used it before and it was lovely to see the boys’ faces.

The next panel was “You Say You Want a Revolution”, examining social networking tools in the context of protest, to wit, is it twitter or is it people causing revolutions? The panellists were Dave Cake, m1k3y , Rjurik Davidson, also of Overland magazine, Roman Orszanski and Sarah Stokely.

The springboard for this was the quote from V for Vendetta: “People should not be afraid of their governments, governments should be afraid of their people” (Alan Moore), and the meltdowns in the Middle East.

Given the tremendous power of social networking tools to provide instantaneous communications, the use of twitter and facebook in Egypt and with the Occupy movement raises some questions. If social media platforms were integral, were they the cause of revolution, or simply a tool?

Rjurik Davidson pointed out that posters can have the same effect, and that the advantages of social media are the speed of their messages.

The disadvantages of tools which rely on either corporations or licensed technology are that the corporation may (or may have to) bow to external pressures to shut down these tools, and whoever holds the licence or polices regulation of the internet can attempt to disrupt free speech by simply closing down the network. In addition, the use of monitored technology has several consequence for free speech.

The most obvious of this is surveillance and the erosion of privacy, in particular the potential for government bodies (the FBI was mentioned here) to monitor and profile groups and individuals in their exercise of free speech.

It was pointed out that the majority of usage was for trivial things (my use is often about what I’ve cooked for dinner, so I cringe slightly here), and that both facebook and twitter were primarily designed as distractions: speech and immediate response without deep thought. And how. Even working within email a great deal, the responses can come back where it is clear the recipient hasn’t read what you’ve written, and has replied to what they think you’ve said.

I’m inclined to think that that will change the longer these platforms are used. The majority of my email traffic has been professional, and subject to use by people that are twenty to thirty years older than me, or if they are in my age group, with less familiarity with both the written word (as communication) and the use of email, other than sending around the latest funny picture, youtube link or tiresome joke I’m sure I read first three years ago.

Back to the point and the panel, are these technologies liberational? Since they allow free speech (at least until you hear the jackboots or get a visit from some clean cut young persons), does the platform mean that we can speak freely? Well yes, and more of us can (and do). It has to be said that the vast majority of people use these platforms for simply staying in touch with their friends rather than making political points, and occasionally sharing the thought-provoking moment. (Apologies to a lot of my facebook friends here, who often post thought-provoking material – political or otherwise). (Twitter it goes without saying, since I follow a lot of journalists).

The argument in defence of the “trivial” post was this: the greatest defense of freedom (and free speech) is its exercise. Keep saying what you want to say, regardless of the content.

The most troubling part of this argument for me was the mention of anonymity. That anonymity is integral to free speech in oppressive society, but even in places like Australia. While the police aren’t about to kick open my door because of something I’ve said online, anonymity can have its uses. The troubling part of this for me is old-fashioned: if you have something to say, stand up and say it, as yourself.

There are vast numbers of voices on the net. Could it be possible that your voice is ignored, since it only has an internet profile and no other identity? As a younger woman I would have gotten out my soapbox and made speeches on exactly this thing and urged everyone to be brave. Now I have a child, I worry. I want my son to question everything he is presented with, not to challenge it for the sake of the challenge, but to make informed decisions about how to live. But am I willing to risk my freedom and his? There’s a thorny question. If we lived somewhere where arrest was the only result of protest, you bet I would be anonymous. But we don’t, and the question remains.

If I ever have an answer, I’ll be sure to post.

Check out: Tactical Technology, a website packed with tips and tools for using the internet anonymously and a great one for tracking your digital shadow (I looked at mine, and I’m very scared now, *snort*). Also check out Overland Literary Journal for your provocation.

The next panel was a Joss Whedon fest which involved a lot of back and forth about he and all his works. Enough said.

That was the end of day one, and what a day it was. Since I’m way past my usual word limit, I’m tying off here and coming back to it later.

Apologies to any of the panellists at Craftonomicon if I’ve missed them out (or gotten any wrong). On the off chance any of you have read this, email me and I’ll correct any mistakes.

Thanks for slogging through so far. Laters.

Spread My Dreams Under Your Feet

There were wasps flying outside the garage, in formation, orange and black. The garage and side doors were open and small lad was running down the driveway towards me. I put my hand up to stop him, my voice frozen, circuits jammed. Husbandly was standing behind me. The wasps flew past the open side door, diverted by something outside. Small lad came into the garage to look at what Dad was holding - a friendly duck wrapped in a towel. The duck was happy to be with us, a smile sensed (since ducks can't smile, can they?), nice and warm inside the towel. As I looked at him I saw the wasp-maggots on his feathers. He was a diversion. I turned to look out the side door again and the wall in front of me disappeared; the walls behind me changed to a deep golden cream colour with a white trim, the wasps outside, four, five, six of them flying straight for me. As the walls changed behind me, the wasps veered away, unable to attack in the reflected golden light; husbandly woke me up to offer me a cup of tea.

We have wasp issues. There is a nest somewhere near the bathroom window and every now and then (okay, it's only twice so far), I've found a wasp in the bath after I've cleaned. Bees don't bother me at all, I'll happily stand still if a bee is crawling on me. I've scored plenty of bee stings, particularly when I was a kid and went barefoot just about everywhere. Wasps, ick. For some reason we keep getting nest attempts on the front door as well - quickly killed off but after ten years of it, it's annoying. I've never been stung by a wasp, which is why I'm creeped out by the whole notion of wasps.

Back to the dreaming, I don't always get the wake up call from husbandly or small lad; if I'm deep enough I go back to sleep and barely remember dreams unless they are somehow important.

In another, I was sprawled on the lounge reading a book while small lad was playing in his room with a friend. For some reason my hackles were up - I didn't know who the other child was - when both boys came out of small lad's room. The unknown boy came first and my stomach went cold and creepy; there was something wrong about him being in our house. He had blue eyes and blonde hair and a gorgeous smile; but he wasn't supposed to be here. Then someone knocked on the door four times (the heartbeat of a Time Lord?) and I was relieved. Thank God, that will be the police, I thought, so I opened the door, ready to welcome them in when the words died and my mouth hung open. At the door was a lady with a scarf over her head, wrapped completely around her head so I couldn't see her face, facing away from me and turning slowly in my direction - I woke up, heart pounding, since I don't want to be anybody's blue-eyed girl, Mrs Death.

While I'm freaked out about the door knocking - it was so clear, so concise somehow, even if Death was shorter than me - no, I'm freaked about that dream. I think I know that child from somewhere, so whatever freaky thing I'm processing in that one, it's freaky. Unlike the last time I dreamed knocking on my door, this one has me unsettled. The vivid patterning on the scarf, the slow turn of her face toward me, ponderous and unstoppable, until I woke up.

I'm at work at the minute and it has been a very quiet night (yes! I said the Q word!). I'm too scared to move near the stock fridge since it keeps hitting 5.5 degrees and therefore setting off nearly every alarm in the place. Or rather, two alarms, and nowhere near as loud as the oxygen depletion alarm from the BMT lab (that's a horror).

I've had a very full five days off. There was housework. There was shopping for birthday presents. There was an appointment with a hairdresser. There was a christening and birthday party. There was more shopping, this time at Ikea. There was building of furniture. Okay I'm going to stop this half-arsed list.

I went home and crashed out completely last Wednesday, having had the wasp dream on Sunday and meaning to put it in here. Ha! After spending Saturday night reading a book, Sunday through to Wednesday morning was amazingly busy. If it wasn't a bleeding patient, it was an antibody, or just volume of work. Come to think of it, the only thing I didn't have was a transfusion reaction.

So! On Wednesday morning I crawl into my bed, thinking of nothing more than picking up small lad from school, then coming straight home to catch some more z's; oops, I'd forgotten his haircut appointment. I manage to stagger around for the afternoon. I think I made it to about seven in the evening and out like a light. I slept until about two, then surprisingly (surprising to me anyway) went back to sleep until six. Oh bliss.

On Thursday there was housework. Enough said. Small lad and I went to get some veggies for dinner after school and, standing in the "food court" (no it isn't), I talked myself into a hair appointment for Friday, because this going to work and coming home and going to work and coming home is getting a bit dull. With some trepidation, because I have never come out of a hairdressers utterly pleased with my haircut. Until last Friday. Talk about awesome. Three hours later, I have a marvellous colour (not blue, maybe next time) and when we got to the end (because I did so much, sitting there, watching everyone else's haircuts, reading my book and blissed out on the head massage), R. (the BEST hairdresser in the WORLD) says "I could straighten it out, or I could do...what I want to do, and give it some body." "Go on," I say, "I'll let you." Am I glad I did? Or rather, he did? You couldn't have wiped the smile off my face with a sandblaster. Or a grinder. What an awful mental image that is. Particularly compared to how wonderful my hair looked. It still does. Although it's not quite so fancy, I find I'm wearing it out rather than tied back and hidden away. Marvellous.

I was so excited by the Amazing Impromptu Haircut, I had to ring an old friend and burble at her about how truly wondrous it was; which was nice for me, but not much chop for her since she was at work and I could hear people wanting to talk to her in the background, but oh well.

For some reason I thought I was shopping some more on Saturday what with the birthday presents and the christening thing (supposedly) on Sunday. Oops again, because all of that was on Saturday, so emergency shopping and run around later we're all enjoying the splashing of Holy Water (well I might find it a hoot, Catholics may differ and I probably have to avoid any of those people if they read this blog) then on to a two-year old's party (the sister of the christen-ee). Small lad had the joys of trampolining, husbandly reconnected with some seldom-seen friends and I did the helping out, the sitting around chatting, the running after kids. The latter might have been a mistake since I wound up under a pile of kids on the trampoline; it did give a couple of adults a chance to have a lend when they told me I had to get back in as minder. Har dee har har.

Again I have the good intentions and intend to start on the blog entry because the wasp-maggot-duck has caught my imagination, but I crash out again Saturday night, waking up again at two. That night I didn't go back to sleep, but read a book instead (Deep Water, Pamela Freeman, book two in the Castings Trilogy, very good).

Confronted with a now-empty Sunday, instead of a day of family fun, I decide to betake myself off to Ikea. Again. I seem to do that a lot. I spent an hour fiddling with the kitchen planning software and harassing the Ikea "coworker". I'd already picked out the furniture I wanted from the net, only to reverse myself midstream and get completely different furniture. And a soap dish. Coming home at midday, I spent the rest of the afternoon building furniture and emptying the fucking ugly hand-me-down-glad-we-had-something-but-yuck-how-awful we've been putting up with for fourteen years. I can finally open my wardrobe door fully without having it clunk against the bedside. Downer note (to wit: fucking ugly etc.) aside, it does look much nicer than it did.

Once again, I opened my fat mouth and fell in while at Ikea. A lady asked the Ikea coworker (*snort* going to run that into the ground? You bet) about parts missing, and muggins here pipes up with "not ever happened". Guess what I found when I got home. Go on, guess. Not only a couple of screws, but an entire side panel of a storage box missing. Bahahaha. The universe loves me. My first thought was "I hope that lady doesn't have any missing parts," before fixing it up. Ikea will post it so no dramas there.

Much nicer five days off than I've had since I started this noo improoved job. Today (meaning Monday, although it is Tuesday morning), I got it into my head to iron clothes. While I'm happy I only have some odd socks left to match, it probably wasn't the brightest choice given it's four in the morning and I need some toothpicks or matchsticks for my eyelids. Because then of course I did the floors. Colour me silly.

Today (meaning Tuesday, since I'm looking forward now and it is, indeed, Tuesday morning) I plan to crash out again so I'm on form to cook something nice for dinner. Or possibly some washing, because we just can't have enough of that in our house.

Are dreams better than newspaper to wipe the mud off your feet? Not really, ephemera leave smears.

Interpret Your Dreams - Because the Shadow Doesn't Know

Or at least there is a lot of contradiction on the internet.

I've been away for a few days since I was so tired and flattened I was boring myself. Only working a lot of shifts, nothing dramatic, although I seem to have rediscovered my inner lunatic and am laughing and generally behaving idiotically. Tonight I think I freaked out a colleague by declaring "TASTES LIKE CHICKEN" apropos of nothing. Oops, sorry.

Today I had a Nanna nap during the day. Unfortunately I wound up having a fairly unpleasant dream, to be woken by (I thought) knocking at the door. I check the door and no-one is there. Then the dream I was having was running through my head and I realised I'd actually dreamed it.

That's interesting, methinks, and I boot up google to find me a dream interpreter. Apparently I am either about to come into money, I need to pay attention to something or, last but not least, something bad is going to happen and it will affect me deeply. (Personally I would have assumed that the part of the package of "something bad" would include "affect me deeply", but let me not be picky in the face of the wisdom of the intey-net). I would like to go with the first one, since when I woke up I thought it was Australia Post delivering some goodies.

Rather than being put off or put out by this, I think this is very funny. Either something good (ish), something in the middle or something bad.

Well let me face that off with:

1. A shrug, and
2. GGGGAAAAAAHHHHHH, WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!!, and
3. Giggling. Lots and lots of giggling.

That should cover all eventualities.