I’d been majoring in Computer Science for about a year when I met Dr. Pam McClure. It was one of those weird class sessions during which none of my major courses were available, so it was an opportunity to take care of some gen eds and electives. One of those classes was Creative Writing: Poetry.
I’d been an avid writer in school, and focused on literature, language, and journalism, but hadn’t done much with it since. Dr. Pam’s class changed all that. She had a rare touch. She worked us hard, critiqued us fairly, but she had a genius for finding the things about our work that were good. In her class, all the ways the world has of treating poetry like it doesn’t matter ceased to have any authority.
I changed my major.
About a year and a half after I went on hiatus from college in order to have time to really, really write, I discovered she’d been diagnosed with cancer. I’ve spent a lot of time regretting being prodigal, and about not finishing the thing I did because of her. I’ve been starting to work on ways to make it possible to go back this year or in 2011, and had been quietly hoping that my second stab at my undergraduate thesis course might be with her.
Yesterday, I got word from a friend that she’d passed away this week. Yesterday evening, a group of people gathered under the tree where she met with her daytime classes and read poetry and shared stories about her until well past dark.
Pam McClure was kind to me, and I don’t think she ever knew how much she saved my life. She gave me back my words and taught me that they meant something. She was a brilliant instructor and a gifted poet in her own right. I’m gutted she’s gone. I’m sorry I missed my chance to make her proud.
~*~
“Ode to the West Wind”
Percy Bysshe Shelley
I
O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being,
Thou, from whose unseen presence the leaves dead
Are driven, like ghosts from an enchanter fleeing,
Yellow, and black, and pale, and hectic red,
Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O thou,
Who chariotest to their dark wintry bed
The winged seeds, where they lie cold and low,
Each like a corpse within its grave, until
Thine azure sister of the Spring shall blow
Her clarion o’er the dreaming earth, and fill
(Driving sweet buds like flocks to feed in air)
With living hues and odours plain and hill:
Wild Spirit, which art moving everywhere;
Destroyer and preserver; hear, oh hear!
II
Thou on whose stream, mid the steep sky’s commotion,
Loose clouds like earth’s decaying leaves are shed,
Shook from the tangled boughs of Heaven and Ocean,
Angels of rain and lightning: there are spread
On the blue surface of thine aëry surge,
Like the bright hair uplifted from the head
Of some fierce Maenad, even from the dim verge
Of the horizon to the zenith’s height,
The locks of the approaching storm. Thou dirge
Of the dying year, to which this closing night
Will be the dome of a vast sepulchre,
Vaulted with all thy congregated might
Of vapours, from whose solid atmosphere
Black rain, and fire, and hail will burst: oh hear!
III
Thou who didst waken from his summer dreams
The blue Mediterranean, where he lay,
Lull’d by the coil of his crystàlline streams,
Beside a pumice isle in Baiae’s bay,
And saw in sleep old palaces and towers
Quivering within the wave’s intenser day,
All overgrown with azure moss and flowers
So sweet, the sense faints picturing them! Thou
For whose path the Atlantic’s level powers
Cleave themselves into chasms, while far below
The sea-blooms and the oozy woods which wear
The sapless foliage of the ocean, know
Thy voice, and suddenly grow gray with fear,
And tremble and despoil themselves: oh hear!
IV
If I were a dead leaf thou mightest bear;
If I were a swift cloud to fly with thee;
A wave to pant beneath thy power, and share
The impulse of thy strength, only less free
Than thou, O uncontrollable! If even
I were as in my boyhood, and could be
The comrade of thy wanderings over Heaven,
As then, when to outstrip thy skiey speed
Scarce seem’d a vision; I would ne’er have striven
As thus with thee in prayer in my sore need.
Oh, lift me as a wave, a leaf, a cloud!
I fall upon the thorns of life! I bleed!
A heavy weight of hours has chain’d and bow’d
One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.
V
Make me thy lyre, even as the forest is:
What if my leaves are falling like its own!
The tumult of thy mighty harmonies
Will take from both a deep, autumnal tone,
Sweet though in sadness. Be thou, Spirit fierce,
My spirit! Be thou me, impetuous one!
Drive my dead thoughts over the universe
Like wither’d leaves to quicken a new birth!
And, by the incantation of this verse,
Scatter, as from an unextinguish’d hearth
Ashes and sparks, my words among mankind!
Be through my lips to unawaken’d earth
The trumpet of a prophecy! O Wind,
If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
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The new Win But Fail is up. This week I take on my discount chain of choice, Target.
Also, if you like zombies, poetry, and e-books, you can get Vicious Verses and Reanimated Rhymes for $2.99 in Kindle format at Amazon or in other formats at Smashwords. I’ve got a piece in there, as does my good friend JC Hay.
~*~
Heads up for US readers: the Freedom For Consumer Choice Act (aka the FCC Act) is looking increasingly like an AT&T-sponsored effort to prevent the actual FCC from enforcing net neutrality laws.
It’s the last week to bid to help Maria graduate. I haven’t got anything in over there, but some of what’s on offer is amazing.
Hey, remember that church in Gainesville that plans to burn copies of the Quran on 9/11? They’re also protesting Gainesville mayor Craig Lowe, who was elected in April and happens to be gay. Consider this a second call to moderate and progressive Christians to publicly repudiate this kind of thing.
Related: NOM is running a cross-country summer bus tour to protest against marriage equality. The Human Rights Campaign has flat-out called it a sham intended to provoke the LGBTQ and ally communities into behavior that NOM can characterize as intimidation in their legal fight to restrict donor information, but it’s still drawing some nasty elements from the anti-gay crowd. As others have pointed out, when an organization’s entire platform comes down to a group of people being a threat to Western Civilization, that fosters this kind of violent hate.
On the other hand, groups like NOM and the American Family Association are good for one thing: helping me know where to shop. The AFA is boycotting Home Depot for being pro LGBTQ. Man. I knew I wanted to go out and buy a bunch of lumber. Mmm. Lumber.
In honor of all my friends at RWA this week, I link you all to As His Kilt Rises.
Harper Collins have adopted a novel (if slightly ridiculous) strategy for marketing literary classics to the Twilight generation: gothy covers and turgid jacket copy. They didn’t just stop at Wuthering Heights. They’ve done it to Pride & Prejudice as well.
Maurice Broaddus did a guest spot over at Jeff VanderMeer’s blog about the PC challenges of being an editor. This should be required corrective reading for apologists for all-white, all-male, all-straight, etc. anthologies, or for the underrepresentation of women and other groups in publishing.
The list of reasons I regret not going to San Diego Comic Con gets longer every year. This year: Klingon-language trolley signs.
I’ve used pin-up calendars before — I’m actually using one full of firefighters in my writing office right now — but somehow I can’t help but feel I haven’t reached my full potential in this arena. (Possibly a little bit NSFW.)
From NPR’s Morning Edition, China’s government is changing its stance on religion to encourage the resurrection of indigenous Chinese faiths and folk practices.
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My review of Sandra McDonald’s Diana Comet and Other Improbable Stories is up at Lambda Literary. Go check it out!
Also, AC was looking for reviews of local bookstores this morning, so I gave them a little something as well. You can read it here. For the record, when I’ve got disposable income, I hit all three of these places monthly.
~*~
I have an uneasy relationship with reviews.
I prefer to take things on their own terms. It brings me more happiness than going in with a set of expectations ripe for dashing, or a load of preconceived notions that I’m going to spend the duration proving. I don’t actively seek out things not to like, because I feel like that’s a waste of my time. And really, I think I enjoy finding the good in things more than being critical. I have to be careful sometimes because I like things by default.
But I’m also a big fan of discernment, which is that ability to separate one thing from the other, and to take stock qualitatively and quantitatively, and forge reasoned conclusions and opinions. I’m not above a good sporking when something deserves it. It just really has to deserve it.
Reviewing is good exercise. I don’t do it for a living, so when I indulge it’s either because I’ve spotted an opportunity to check something out, or because I’ve got a strong enough opinion on something to put it out there. Either way, it’s that discernment piece that gets a workout. I think this is part of why I’m having such a blast with Win But Fail. It’s excellent practice.
~*~
An interesting article from NPR’s Morning Edition about growing acceptance for gay marriage among the Indian diaspora.
Offered without comment: Naked Girls Reading. (Semi NSFW.)
Remember Constance McMillen, the teenage lesbian who was barred from prom, then sent to a fake prom, touching off legal battles and national scrutiny? She’s won. The Itawamba School District will be updating its non-discrimination policy, paying McMillen’s court fees, and awarding her $35,000 in damages. Frabjous.
According to the good people of MIT, postselection may hold the key to time travel without risking the grandfather paradox. Of course, you do need to have a quantum teleporter first…
From the Department of Fuck You, the Dove World Outreach Center in Gainesville, Florida plans to burn copies of the Quran on 9/11. Yeah, I think the symbolism of the dove and the words “world outreach” do not mean what these folks think they mean. Christians? This would be a fantastic opportunity to prove your good faith by publicly repudiating hate speech.
From the Department of Fuck Yeah, counter-protests v. Fred Phelps & co at San Diego Comic Con.
According to PopSci, Dick Cheney no longer has a pulse.
The Onion reports that spending cuts in the UK are forcing the closure of a mysterious seaside village. Nicely played, The Onion. Nicely played.
400 parents have demanded that a school stop using The Simpsons in its media modules instead of Shakespeare. Here’s a post from Innovation Unit about why Shakespeare himself might well have been in favor of teaching Matt Groening instead.
I am deeply conflicted about this article from Daily Kos about why liberals should love the Second Amendment.
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That’s right, kids. It’s Win But Fail Wednesday! This week’s installment is all about Old Spice and The Man Your Man Could Smell Like.
~*~
I am up way, way too late because of television. Oh sure, I could catch this week’s White Collar and Covert Affairs on USA’s web page tomorrow, but where is the excitement in that?
Incidentally, if you’re a fan of White Collar, check out Jeff Eastin’s twitter account. He’s been great about giving fans fun details during and after episodes.
~*~
Zing-zing, link party!
Thor v. heart disease. Does what it says on the tin.
In NYC, where discrimination on the basis of gender identity is illegal, a team of researchers proves that transgender people are still being refused work.
The Lizard, The Catacombs, and The Clock. I have no idea how much of this account of the Parisian underground and the movements that move within (and above) it is true, but it’s a compelling read nonetheless.
Think you own the water on your land? Think again.
Guess who doesn’t want to be associated with known scam vanity publisher PublishAmerica? If you guessed PublishAmerica, you’d be right.
Speaking of scams and vanity publishers, that little “I Write Like…” thing that’s going around looks increasingly sketchy. Commentary here and here.
I have zero idea how to respond to Zombies v. Unicorns.
Word has it that Fred Phelps and Westboro Baptist Church will be in California to protest San Diego Comic Con. That’s fine. God Loves Batman.
And now, I think I’ll go to bed.
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If a picture is worth a thousand words, this one might well describe my feelings about this being Friday:
~*~
This has been an excellent writing week, though about half of my words have been aimed in directions other than novelward. One thing I’ve discovered about myself this year is that doing just one thing eventually makes me crazy, and that I’m more productive in a world with a little bit of variety. Win But Fail will be a good outlet, I have a review to send some edits out on tonight, and I’ve got some short story stuff coming up in the next couple of months.
The strange and wonderful thing about this, of course, is that just a little bit of time away from the book seems to stimulate it. Like I’m teasing it a bit and getting it excited before I throw the tennis ball down the hallway and let it go crazy.
~*~
A dear friend of mine is helping run an auction on LiveJournal to help an abuse survivor named Maria complete her degree. You can read about Maria here, or see the auction items here.
SyFy brings us the the Greatest Story Ever told. Brace yourselves, people, for SHARKTOPUS. I kid you not, when I find out an airdate for this thing I am going to clear my calendar. SHARKTOPUS!
Relatedly, I really, really want one of these. I have no idea when or where I would wear it, but believe me, I would find an excuse.
I know it’s probably wrong for me to love this as much as I do, but behold: MOJOCERATOPS.
I am really tempted to throw my hat into the ring for this. Talk about a singularly amazing experience.
You know what’s probably not a good idea? Spending Federal funds on evangelical Christian projects in Northern Iraq. As one of my friends so succintly put it, “Wow. Way to foment holy war.”
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It seems to me these days that a lot of the things that make me happy are not un-alloyed joys. Film, books, politics, etc.
I suspect it’s something that comes of being an adult, or at least of being socially aware, or having taste, but more often than not I see people who cotton onto this swing to extremes. They either ignore the bad and handwave it away or latch onto it and declare the whole thing a bad job.
That’s not ideal, I don’t think. I mean, if alloyed joy can’t still be joyful, and if flawed things can’t be worthy, I think most of us are pretty much screwed.
Therefore, I bring you the first installment of Win But Fail, being a (hopefully) weekly column about something mostly wonderful, and why it wins, but also why it fails.
This week: White Collar’s series two premiere.
~*~
Oh wait. I’ve got more links.
The Creativity Crisis From the article: When faculty of a major Chinese university asked Plucker to identify trends in American education, he described our focus on standardized curriculum, rote memorization, and nationalized testing. “After my answer was translated, they just started laughing out loud,” Plucker says. “They said, ‘You’re racing toward our old model. But we’re racing toward your model, as fast as we can.’ ”
Log Cabin Republicans bring suit against the United States government over DADT I distrust the LCR because I think it’s a little bit crazy to hang out in a party that consistently and overtly makes discrimination against the LGBTQ community a part of their local, state, and national platforms, and uses fear of “the gay agenda” to rally their base. On the other hand, I’ve actually had that moment in my car where I think, “Yeah, maybe I will check out the Reserves,” before the lightbulb pops on and I realize why that wouldn’t work.
The Advocate brings us A Day in Gay America, Part One.
Native American sovereignty? Well sure. Unless you want to travel.
A planned Islamic community center in NYC continues to face opposition because of the site’s proximity to Ground Zero. I’ve been following this story for months, and every new article makes me more heartsick. It baffles me that people still seem to have trouble working out that terrorist groups like Al Quaeda are not representative of mainstream Islam any more than Westboro Baptist Church is representative of mainstream Christianity. And yet a community center — not just a mosque, but a learning space like the YMCA, and already greenlit by the Lower Manhattan community board — engenders such hate and fear that a Republican candidate shows up and declares it a matter of public safety? Not cool.
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So the Festival of Paperwork that comes with a name change officially began today with a quick trip to the Social Security office at lunch.
Aside from the wildly unnecessary touch screen (press 1 if you have an appointment, 2 to take a number), the high point was discovering that Patty Duke appears to have reprised her role(s) as Patty and Cathy Lane to spread the word that Social Security retirement forms are available online. The posters were a hoot, and there’s even a little video here.
(Look, I know The Patty Duke Show started airing 17 years before I was born and that I’m too young to know it, but I was a pre-teen Nick at Nite junkie. It was a sickness. Deal.)
~*~
I’ve been reading Jim C. Hines‘ Red Hood’s Revenge a couple of chapters at a time before bed. I’m about halfway through, and thus can’t give much of a review beyond saying it’s awesome and telling everyone to buy it (preferably along with The Stepsister Scheme and The Mermaid’s Madness so you can enjoy the whole series properly).
It’s awesome. Go buy it.
~*~
Links! Links down the side of my face!
Gyles Brandreth has apparently been writing the answer to a question I didn’t realize I had until this week. Oscar Wilde! Solving mysteries! I’ll just be over here planning a book binge (and hating Brandreth for having this idea before I did).
I’m withholding judgment on the whole Lady Gaga bisexuality thing until I can find a full English language version of her interview in Gisele (and possibly more commentary; context and editorial bias can do some hilarious things to nuance), and even then I’m skeptical that it’s my place to police her sexuality. Regardless, the girl gets props for having a hot drag king persona. Boy howdy, I’d hit it.
So when you hear “merit pay for teachers,” that sounds pretty good, right? Yeah, not so much. Waldo explains what’s wrong with the system they’re trying to impose, and why it won’t actually help the kids (and teachers) who need it most.
This is probably one of the best anti-rape ads I’ve ever seen. Read the commentary, too. Memo to Scotland: I love you.
A friend sent me this guide to writing a synopsis without going insane ages back, and I keep forgetting to share it. So here it is.
Hey, check it out. The LGBTQ community has a history. A long, long, history. And there are pictures. (Now give us our damn rights, already.)
Randomly, the installation of “piano stairs” appears to reduce escalator use because piano stairs are awesome.
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Again, thank you to everyone who sent good thoughts our way while my mother was in the hospital. She came home earlier this week, and the dogs couldn’t be happier.
~*~
The novel and I are talking again. It’s awkward.
Left to my own devices, I’m delighted. I’m seeing things in my head again, feeling my characters, and I’ve managed to get at least some words written in some kind of order since mom came home. I care about my story and want to tell it. Writing it makes me happy.
But I’m also frustrated. I really feel like the work I’m doing now should have been happening months ago. I hate feeling like I’ve wasted time, but every time I look at the calendar, I feel embarrassed at how long I’ve been supposedly “working on a novel” for how little I actually have on the page.
Before any of you leave kind words on this point in an effort to try to make me feel better about myself, don’t. I’ll be proud of my achievements and secure in the knowledge that I’m a good writer when I prove it. With the possible exception of my failure thus far to actually do the thing, my self-esteem is fine.
It’s just that it’s difficult to focus on output when I’m having a lot of anxiety over working on this thing in a workshop context. I really don’t want to workshop at the moment.
For me, writing is similar to working through something emotionally troubling. There are times I desperately need to discuss a story so that I can figure out what makes it tick. There are also times that I don’t want to talk about it at all because it’s still too delicate or personal, and a persistent querent who doesn’t get the hint can make it difficult for me to make contact with my work again.
It’s not just that I get angry or upset, though I do (and then I spend weeks feeling both offended at the querent for trampling all over my boundaries and appalled at myself for being an asshole in return). It also seems to frighten those parts of me that do a lot of the writing and sends them to take shelter in the sub-basement until it feels safe to come back up.
That can take some time and coaxing. I’ve got a whole toolbox for this kind of thing, but it’s an abuse of my whole person to take the position that it’s inevitable and I should just deal with it. One doesn’t disturb a souffle unnecessarily, or a chrysalis. One shouldn’t do it with my novel, either.
And yet, tomorrow night I’m scheduled to walk head first into a situation that my imagination is casting as Invasive Querent Island. The last touchbase featured an unwelcome interrogation, and I spent more energy than I like to admit feeling angry because both finishing and not-finishing the novel would be Letting Someone Else Win.
And then everyone came out of the sub-basement and reminded me that not-finishing sucks more, and that what we really needed to do was work on this scene, etc. It’s so good. I don’t want Sunday night to wreck it.
The trick, I think, comes down to choosing my attitude. I can go in still angry, expecting to get knocked down again, and let it be a bad experience, or I can put on my big kid pants and go in ready to see what works and what doesn’t, secure in the knowledge that these people are my friends, and that in the end I get to choose what advice to keep.
I know which one sounds better to the folks downstairs.
~*~
Links. Woo-hoo.
Offered without comment: 13-Inch Travelocity Gnome
Kitties Rescued by US Marine Soldiers in Afghanistan.
Because it’s been brightening my day for about the last 14 hours or so, the video for Erasure’s cover of ABBA’s “Take A Chance On Me.” Those of you who know the reference, say it with me: Poptastic Danceability.
Speaking of dancing, I bring you the best G20 protest moment ever. Well, certainly it’s among the most non-violent. I feel weird saying it made me smile.
Possibly of interest to people reading: Survey on Divorce and Handparting for Wiccans and neopagans.
The Mark of a Masterpiece, being a really fantastic article from The New Yorker about art fakery, authentication, and what the standards really are for deciding what’s real and what isn’t.
DADT: The DoD Survey A pagan perspective on the current DOD survey on DADT.
Of Death and the Gender Binary Masculinity, suicide, and the problems/benefits that come of how we draw the lines.
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Tonight I stayed past visiting hours in the ICU with mom so we could watch the Boston Pops fireworks thing on television. Things are looking up. The bleeding has stopped, various things have stabilized and evened out. While it looks like there’s been some minor cardiac symptoms in with all of the rest of this, I’m pleased to say that as of tonight the worst thing mom seems to be experiencing at the moment is crushing boredom at still being under observation to make sure that these stable, even things remain so. I’m hopeful she’ll get to leave tomorrow or Tuesday.
Thanks to EVERYONE who’s sent good wishes and continues to keep us in mind. I haven’t had a lot of emotional resources with which to reply and thank people individually, but your kind words, thoughts, and actions have been of great benefit to me, and I’ve been telling mom since Thursday night that the Internet hopes she feels better and gets to come home soon.
And now, to continue providing an excellent space for my fireworks-phobic dogs to hide while the good people of my neighborhood flout local ordinances.
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At around 7 o’clock Thursday evening, my mom called me and asked me to take her to the emergency room. Her blood sugar had been playing up since early that morning, and she’d been self-administering small doses of insulin all day but couldn’t get it back under control.
The A&E doctor prodded her, did some tests, and admitted her to a low-intensity ward just before midnight. She was seriously anemic, and her blood sugar was still a bit wonky, so they wanted to hydrate her overnight and give her a couple of units of blood. Prospects were good that she’d be out by Friday night.
And then, sometime Friday afternoon, she got moved to the step-down unit because of bleeding in her stomach copious enough it manifested in ways that have given me real-life points of reference for certain horror visuals.
Today they moved her into an ICU ward because it’s the weekend and that’s the best place to do scope work on weekends/holidays. The GI doc I spoke to says they’re guessing its an upper GI ulcer of some sort, but until they get in there they can’t say anything for certain. They’re starting the scope procedure right about now.
My mom hasn’t got much stomach left. She had bariatric surgery in around 1986, and massive complications after. For many years her diet was extremely limited. These days she says she doesn’t actually get hungry as such. She can’t eat much. So this isn’t exactly welcome news.
When they asked her in the ER about resuscitation — the typical “if your heart stops or if you quit breathing” question — she gave them her usual colorful directive: “Try everything up to and including faith healers and snake handlers.”
Based on that, I figure any and all flavors of good thoughts are welcome.
~*~
Here. Have some links.
Doctor Who Series Five in two minutes. Spoilers for all episodes. Gorgeous. Makes me smile every time I watch it. Which…has been a lot of times.
Chris Buckley at Ctrl+Alt+Delete gives us a terrifying, all-too-possible vision of what Doctor Who might look like if Hollywood had its way. Ironically, I’ll pretty much watch anything with Jason Statham in it, so I’m getting a pretty good laugh (to say nothing of the continuing visual).
Mystery object orbiting distant star baffles astronomers. I’m with io9 on this. The science fiction explanation is presently as good as any until such time as Actual Science figures it out.
Are you a UK resident, or a resident of any other Commonwealth country or the Republic of Ireland? Are you an unpublished author working on an 80k+ first novel? Sir Terry Pratchett may want to give you a prize.
I’ll be the first to say that the legal issues here are nebulous, and may vary depending on things like contractual obligations, but io9 gives some perspective on why pitching things to strangers out of the blue can be troublesome and unwelcome.
Phill Barron, meanwhile, reminds writers (particularly individuals looking to write scripts in the UK, though much of what’s written here applies to any writer) that life isn’t fair, and to just fucking well write, already. I laughed, I cried, I got off my ass and started working.
Functional fitness will help you survive the impending zombie apocalypse.
More links later when I’m a little saner.
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