An Infinite Struggle

(or, My Love/Hate Relationship with BUGS)

As many living on the east coast are aware, we have just experienced a 17-year cicada swarm, the particular group of which is known as “Brood II.”  My own area saw a strong showing of the little beasties, though their numbers are well on the decline at this point.  This is a difficult time for me because, on the one hand, I can’t stand being in close proximity to bugs.  I see something flying at me or (heaven forbid) crawling on me, and I start screaming and flailing like a little girl.  All my sense and reason go out the window; the situation boils down to some nonsensical rambling paired with involuntary muscle spasms.  However, on the other hand, I find most bugs to be fascinating, even beautiful when I can observe and examine them without the threat of them crawling on me.  Also, this:

That video just about moves me to tears.  This man’s Kickstarter is still running, by the way, so, yeah – go fund that!  But the problem remains that even though I feel such compassion for this species, even though the raucous symphony of cicada-song echoing from the trees fills me with joy, even though I would never wish this docile insect any harm, when I see one bobbing toward me in their classic erratic, bumbling flight pattern, all I can feel is a crippling, inhibition-busting sense of revulsion and terror.  What is wrong with me?

As an artist and a writer, insects, arachnids, and other invertebrates are excellent sources of inspiration.  They represent beings that cohabitate in our environment, but go about their lives in very different ways.  Their bodies develop and function in a manner that’s foreign but functional, and sometimes unbelievable.  Their forms inspire artistic and industrial design, an influence can be seen in everything from construction equipment to the alien invaders of the next summer blockbuster.  Because of their capacity to be both beautiful and disgusting, they can also inspire creations with strong emotional impact, either positive or negative.

"So ... positive, right? Oh god don't squish me!"

“So … positive, right? Oh god, don’t squish me!”

Of course, it’s important to understand what it is about the bug that elicits the desired reaction.  Think about the xenomorphs from the Alien franchise.  They have insect-like qualities about them, and they are definitely frightening, so what insect elements achieve this effect?  Is it their exoskeleton?  Or their lack of facial features, with the exception of prominent jaws?  Their parasitic breeding habits?  Or maybe it’s an inversion of an insect trait – the fact that compared to normal bugs, they are enormous.

Sometimes you can get inspired by thinking about bugs in a different way.  One of the best insect documentaries I’ve ever seen was a French film called Microcosmos.  With no narration except for a brief introduction and denouement, it gave a fascinating up-close look at the lives of different bugs, including a snail-on-snail love scene so strangely romantic and beautiful that it called into question every perception I had about the slimy brutes.

Despite my physical discomfort with the various creepy-crawlies of the world, now that the hum of cicadas has faded and I no longer see them bobbing across the highway during my morning commute, I confess I’m going to miss them.  The experience was so fleeting, yet so impressive.  But life goes on: the young cicadas will hatch and burrow underground as the fireflies begin to flicker out for the warm summer nights, floating about with their warm, golden glow as the sun sinks into the horizon.  I can still handle fireflies.  Whatever strange bug aversion I have does not extend to them.  So whenever I can, I let them alight on my outstretched hands, and we share a brief moment of connection before they float back off into the dusk.  It’s a good way to start the summer.

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Publishing, Professionalism, and You

(or, Why Every Time I Learn New Things About Getting Published, I Feel Completely Oblivious)

I have this terrible habit of choosing life ambitions for which I have no good personal mentors, barreling blindly along toward a goal that I slowly discover to be more and more unattainable.  Coming from a family where college educations were rare and career paths were often just whatever came along first, any time I stood up and said, “I’m going to do something crazy and amazing and clever with my life!” all they could really do was smile and say, “Cool!”  Not that the emotional support was undesirable, but it usually came with the understanding that they had no idea what challenges I would face, how I might face and overcome them, or what were the right and wrong things to do.  They operated in the same school of thought that tells children they can accomplish anything they set their mind to, if they want it badly enough, or work hard enough, or whatever, and I’ve learned from experience that that mentality, when not supported by knowledge or experience, can lead to soul-crushing frustration as you begin gaining that knowledge and experience.  Eventually, you hit that brick wall where you know enough about what you’re doing to know that you have no idea what you’re doing or how you’re ever going to get it done.

When you hit that wall, it’s discouraging.  You begin to see clearly for the first time just how difficult the path ahead of you is.  You begin looking back at all the wrong decisions you made, decisions that cost you time and money and got you nowhere closer to your goals.  You start looking ahead at all the time and money yet to be spent toward uncertain returns. I have to believe this is the point where many people give up.  The nagging doubts and the nay-saying become the most prudent-sounding voices.  At the very least, this is where you have to really look at the costs of your pursuits and decide whether the end result is worth the effort.  Are you capable of achieving this goal?  Are you good enough?  Strong enough?  Persistent enough?  Charming enough?  Lucky enough?

I’d like to believe you can break past this point simply with the power of positive thinking, but to me, relying on optimism alone here seems irrational.  This stage requires honesty more than anything.  Honesty to yourself, and honesty from the world around you.  I think that if you’re honest with yourself here and decide that you can and will proceed to your goal, then nothing can stop you.  Well, nothing apart from a freak hot air balloon accident or a hostile alien invasion.

Now to circuitously get to my point.  It seems that the further I get into my writing process, the more things I learn I should be doing or thinking about.  Writing, like anything, is an industry, driven in no small part by cash flow and complete with its own rules, regulations, best practices, and etiquette.  It’s one thing to set aside your idealism and acknowledge that fact, quite another to actually operate within that understanding.  To me, it feels a little like wandering around in a foreign country where your language skills are just about equal to the first ten pages of your pocket phrasebook.  There are a lot of exciting things around you, but also a lot of confusion and awkward, shuffling silences as you search for the right words to express the simplest concepts.  For every new scrap of information you learn, three new questions emerge, and at some point, you find you’ve gotten yourself inexplicably lost.

So where do I stand now?  Well, apparently I should a) have a website (for which this ramshackle blog may or may not count), b) have a social media presence, c) be a member of some sort of writer’s association and/or d) be subscribed to some publication about the writer’s market, e) be networking with publishers and authors at conventions, f) be shamelessly self-promoting, and g) probably be looking for an agent.  Of course, the list changes depending who you talk to, and there doesn’t seem to be any proven method of “success.”  I’ve encountered writers over twice my own age who have done everything “right” for longer than I’ve been alive and still seen no success while on the other hand some starry-eyed teen strolls out of high school in a haze of invincibility and promise to get work published from the get-go.  I’ve obviously passed the stage of youthful prodigy, but where on that spectrum am I going to land?

The best I can do right now is take all the things I learn and just file them away.  First things first: finish the first draft of my novel, then worry about publication, publicity, and professionalism.  Some sources seem to suggest that I should establish myself as an author before I’ve actually written anything final, but however prudent that may be, I can’t help but feel like it’s a little pretentious.  For the time being, this little blog is my web presence.  A story will unfold here as I bring my novel to completion and (hopefully) get it published, and maybe as I start putting the things I learn into practice, I’ll become that smart, professional author I’m supposed to be.  In my most idyllic dreams, I imagine looking back at this moment years from now, with several published titles to my name, and laughing over my panic and naïveté.  Maybe some other young author with no clue what they’re doing will dig up this blog post and say to themselves, “See!  She was a wreck too, but she turned out ok!”  One can only hope.

Story Time is Forever Awesome

(or, My One Saving Grace in My Inability to Interact with Small Children)

I’m at that age where my peers keep inexplicably producing offspring.  To be honest, I guess I’ve been at that age for a while, but my closest friends and family have had the good sense not to engage in reckless baby-making, at least until now.  In the past year, however, I’ve had one of my best friends give birth to a little baby boy, and I’ve discovered I’m going to be an auntie as well.  It seems I can’t let my discomfort with these little imps continue as it was.

Now, to be fair to my own ineptitude, I’m still no good with babies.  Try as I did, while handling my friend’s infant son, most of what passed through my head sounded like, Look at you.  All you can do is drool, flail, and nod off.  You’re like some kind of mutant slug creature that somehow inspires adoration instead of revulsion.  OH GOD I’M SCARED I’M GONNA BREAK YOU!  Here, back to your mommy before I do something wrong …  However, now that the boy has mastered things like eye contact, giggles, blowing raspberries, and basic motor skills, I’m feeling more optimistic.  You see, there’s one thing I think I could be awesome at.  I am super excited about the prospect of telling these children stories.

These days, something about the act of being read to personally makes me cringe, but when I was a child, it was about the best thing ever.  There wasn’t a huge selection of books my mother to read to me, especially since I was reading my own books pretty young, and I realized in retrospect that some of the stories she read got a lot of ad-libbing, but they were special nonetheless.  I’m almost ashamed to admit it, but one of my favorites was some generic 1960’s Western boy-and-his-horse tale that belonged to my mom called Fury and the White Mare by Albert G. Miller.  She would read me the whole thing with cowboy voices, and though I can’t recall most of the plot or characters, I do recall thinking it was pretty neat.

I still have it.  No joke.  This is my own copy.

I still have it. No joke. This is my own copy.

Of course, there were also the stories told on the spot, and sometimes those were even better.  Sometimes they were anecdotes of my parents’ own pasts, sometimes they were paraphrased stories and fairy tales, but no matter what the subject matter, hearing them told on the spot from memory somehow made them more real and intriguing.  Precious, too, because when I asked for the same story again, it was always slightly different.

That’s the part I’m most excited about.  Reading to children is certainly important, but I feel like there’s a lot to be gained by both the kids and the adults when passing along a story from memory.  Plus, the library becomes infinite!  I can share fairy tales, fables, and myths, personal experiences, plots of films and video games (or spin-offs based on those stories and characters), or I can ask the child to give me a few things he or she wants in their story and just make it up as I go along!  Sure, they may not always be the best, most technically competent stories around, but I have an audience who is basically willing to give me the benefit of the doubt, at least for a while.  So, could my desire to tell little children stories be in part a way to bolster my ego by winning the praise of someone who doesn’t have the experience to know whether or not my stories actually suck?  No.  Shame on you for thinking that.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be a mother myself, and I don’t pretend to know the first thing about parenting, but storytelling is something I know and love.  For now, I’m perfectly content with being “that lady who visits every now and then with all the cool stories” – here’s hoping that’s what I become!

Strong Female Character: Round 2!

(or, The Visual Representation of the Warrior Woman)

Despite what I said about strong female characters being too focused on the warrior woman, I am here today to focus on … the warrior women!

Particularly their visual representation, because, you know …

Source: http://womenfighters.tumblr.com/post/43562502843/lady-armor-exposed

It is well known that tough ladies in any genre can suffer from a ridiculous visual representation.  Fantasy warriors get dolled up in metal bikinis, science fiction has a habit of churning out sexy alien lasses, superheroines fight evil in revealing, skintight apparel that would barely stay on while walking down the street, much less brawling with baddies, and even spies and detectives somehow find themselves in stiletto heels at most inconvenient times.  Historically, this is a result of men working in male-dominated industries marketing toward a male-dominated audience, and though the demographics are shifting, old habits die hard.  But there are plenty of places around the internet that go into depth on that score, so I’m not going to ramble on too much here.

One major complaint against some of the more outrageous designs is in terms of practicality.  Any lady cosplayer can tell you that things like heels, patent leather, corsets, and so on may look cool, but they can be a pain to wear and usually end up being very limiting to your mobility.  I can say from experience that even trying to tie your shoes while in a steel-boned corset can be a frustrating and laborious process (that is very fun to watch, apparently), and it’s impossible to run at full speed wearing pencil-thin 4″ heels.  And, needless to say, when it comes to stopping bullets or blades, steel or Kevlar does a much better job than Spandex or bare flesh.

The other complaint is sexualization and objectification, another thing lady cosplayers know well.  Films and comic books are especially guilty of presenting gratuitous cleavage, near-nudity, and other sexualized representations of women, often when male characters are not treated the same way.  Often times, this is pandering to a male demographic, but sometimes it’s just a matter of taking a cool-looking design a step too far.

The problem in finding a solution is that there are so many factors to balance.  When I go to choose an outfit in the morning, I have to think of what the weather is like, where I’ll be going and what is considered appropriate for that environment, what will be most comfortable for the tasks I’m going to engage in, whether I’m in a mood to be pretty, or cute, or professional, or bad-ass – the list goes on.  Different ladies (and men too) have different motivations for the attire they choose each day, but there is always a thought process, even if it’s as simple as, “I’m not leaving the house today, so I’m not going to wear pants.”  The (often but not always male) artists and designers who give visual form to the many warrior women of fiction don’t usually seem to take the approach of thinking from the character’s point of view about what they might wear.  Rather, they take a purely aesthetic approach, designing based on what looks good to them, fits their overall style, and best complements (or exposes) the female form.  The aesthetics do matter, as evidenced when an artist who recently did a series of practical superheroine costume redesigns as an exercise got backlash for the designs being unattractive and frumpy, but they need to be tempered with a little sense.

I think the most important factor about the visual representation of a warrior woman (or any female character) is whether or not she would realistically approve of the attire.  If the character in question is some lusty, sexually-liberated femme fatale, then she’s probably going to want to show a little skin whenever possible, but if she’s a strong-willed peasant woman trying to defend her village from marauders, she’s probably going to want to get as much protection as she can using what’s available to her.  It is possible to have a character look amazing and still dress suitably to face her story’s conflict.  Women Fighters in Reasonable Armor does a great job of gathering images of practical and/or historically accurate armors as designed for or worn by women, and other resources for inspiration are endless.  An artists needs to think of the character’s personality, what kinds of resources she has, what her society considers appropriate and whether or not she would agree, who she fights, how she fights, whether or not she would dress in some kind of standard uniform or style, whether she is more stylish or more practical, and so on.  Readers and viewers of genre fiction are always willing to engage in some suspension of disbelief, so as long as you are faithful to the character, and you are being honest with yourself about being faithful to your character, you’re probably on the right track.

On Steampunk

(or, Sign Me Up for Airships, Adventure, and a Pair of Those Ravishing Goggles)

For a long time, I only recognized steampunk as this sort of fringe fad within geekdom.  In my college days, it was the reason why there was always that one booth at conventions that sold ornate goggles, pocket watches, and impossibly tiny hats.  My opinion began to change in recent years as elements of steampunk culture and aesthetics grew more pervasive, or at least more noticeable within my own interests.  Now, I confess, I walked into a used book store seeking one work of steampunk-vs.-zombie fiction (in this case, Boneshaker by Cherie Priest), and yet I walked out with two.  Clearly, this has become a bigger sub-genre than I was previously aware.

© Kyle Cassidy via Wikimedia Commons

Truth is, there’s something vastly appealing about the whole steampunk aesthetic.  My current writing project even includes some steampunk elements.  But what is it about the genre that’s made it so popular, especially in recent years?

All I can say is what draws me to the genre.  For one, the pure visual aesthetics it offers are captivating.  On the one hand, you have the environments: sometimes bleak, grey, and heavily industrialized, other times elegant and ornate in the Victorian tradition.  Either path provides a reader, viewer, or gamer with a world packed with visceral detail, something familiar enough to be relatable but foreign enough to be exciting.  The environment can channel the gritty, coal-spattered atmospheres of industrialized 19th century Europe and America, where the working class struggled through harsh or potentially lethal conditions for the sake of progress, industry, and the ability to keep their families fed, or it can surround you with the captivating wonders depicted by authors like Jules Verne and H. G. Wells, wrapped in an opulent, artistic setting.  Sometimes it can do both.  Then, there are the clothes, the devices, the vehicles and inventions.  There is something deeply satisfying about appropriating the ultra-feminine but ultimately restrictive Victorian era women’s clothing into something fit for a fearless explorer of the unknown, likewise with taking the garb of a proper gentleman and turning him into some sort of clockwork crusader.

Part of what makes the aesthetic so fascinating, particularly in regards to the mechanical aspects, is the sense of imagination it represents.  When you were a kid, did you ever try to make home movies, improvising flashy special effects with whatever you could find lying around the house?  Sure, someone somewhere with fancy cameras and computers could do it better, but you enacted your alien invasion scene using kitchenware and some of those leftover poppers from the Fourth of July, and it was epic.  In steampunk, there is a strong sense of scientific inquiry and wonder, but rather than leading to the inventions we now have, it leads to elaborate (and sometimes completely unrealistic) devices based on the technology they did have at the time.  The genre often utilizes the scientific and exploratory tone of science fiction, but it doesn’t hold itself wholly responsible to science fact.  Is it possible to create an automaton powered by clockwork and steam that can function for millenia, or a device made of brass and crystal that can travel through time?  Sure, why not?  The stance of steampunk seems to be that any logical hypothesis can be brought to fruition eventually by someone clever enough.  Still, even the most bizarre pseudo-science is governed by certain rules when it’s done well, just as good magic is governed by rules, so within its own paradigm, it remains believable.

Of course, as I pointed out earlier, there are many sub-sub-genres within steampunk.  Not all of them take such an optimistic approach, but they all seem to have some element of wonder, exploration, and discovery.  Maybe that’s what draws me most of all.  There is a promise of adventure, of unexpected marvels and untold dangers.  You don’t find yourself following “chosen ones” and impossibly powerful demigods, but regular people driven by curiosity and intellect, or resourcefulness and survival.  When these factors come together in the hands of a skilled storyteller, you’re in for a good time.