Sorry this is late. I am very tired/dragging, partly because the monster tiredness hit yesterday, I went to bed at nine thirty, then had a conversation with a family member that not only prevented me sleeping till well past midnight, but gave me the sort of night where you fight shadows in your sleep. So I’m tired and achy.
For those who sent donations recently and to whom I haven’t answered because a ton of things are slipping as I’m trying to deal with older son’s (and his evil cat) moving out, as well as with getting the house ready for sale — I’ll get to it.
I meant to explain, because we sound as though we are in financial trouble — we’re not, precisely. We are simply in a tight position, right now and until house sells. We have no other debts, though we have financial obligations, such as helping sons with their tuitions (though not nearly most of it) which we promised to do if they took useful degrees. The financial trouble will come only if house just sits and doesn’t sell, and I hope that’s not the case.
This is in fact one of those gambles you take for a better position, because if house sells as we hope/expect, then we can substantially reduce our mortgage debt, be able to help the boys more and also stop running scared.
My problem is that I don’t have the nerves to be a gambler, so I sit there imagining the worst possible outcomes. It’s who I am. As I said nervofage, or nervibore.
The other problem — one of you whom I will not name unless you choose me to — researched the surgery I had and tells me the normal recovery time is six months, and that either my doctor lied when she told me it was six weeks or I misunderstood, which is possible due to being high as a kite on percocet at the time.
Anyway, I thought it was six weeks and I’ve been impatient and trying to do what the guys need me to do (this whole house stops if I go to bed, as does the “house to be finished and sold”) and working more than I usually do even while healthy.
So, the whole Tiredness that Falls On You From Nowhere and which I’ve nicknamed The Stupid Tired, because I can’t function and nothing matters, and you could tell me the house is on fire and I’d ignore you and try to lie down and sleep (and sometimes just find myself lying down with no idea how I got up the stairs) is apparently a NORMAL symptom during recovery from this surgery. For six months. Which means I’m normal (for what I’m sure is the first time in my life.)
What difference does this make? Well, today not much. I have to go to the other house for the glass man (he fixes your panes) and while there, I might as well wax the front room floor, though cleaning the kitchen might wait till tomorrow.
Going forward? Well, I’m afraid I might have done damage — I swear I thought I was following doctor’s orders — so I’ll try to rest more, but I will also try to write more. Despite the Stupid Tired, stories have been bubbling up, and I’m reading again (three days after house death-march. At the end of that I couldn’t even LISTEN to stories.) I have my story for the Black Tide antho started and I WANT to write it. (Rocky Mountain High plays a part in it. No, REALLY.)
But I might schedule naps in the afternoon.
Meanwhile the point of this post: All of us make ripples in the world. All of us change culture for the better or worse. It might be small ripples, a conversation you had that someone else thinks about that leads to them having another conversation. Sometimes the ripples turn big.
When I decided to start speaking and come out of the political closet, it was because I caught ripples of something vaguely hinted at in a post at a large and influential blog, where, to my knowledge, no one reads me. But clearly because it was a very specific thing, someone talked to someone who talked to someone. And I had been feeling a “pressure” to speak out, and suddenly that pivoted me out of the political closet.
Most of the ripples of what we do might never be obvious to us. Jim Butcher speaks of that in the beginning of Side Jobs. Others we think are really important and aren’t.
But the thing is this: some things that seem small or playful are the only things that can do the really big jobs.
I’m not announcing I’m closing the blog. I need to say this, because my being late and what I’m going to say next will seem to lead to it. It doesn’t. This blog does its job and serves its purpose and I don’t know how big the ripples are, but I’ll leave to someone more omniscient than I to determine that. I’ll just do what I can. (I might run more guest posts, because fortunately I have a dozen or so waiting, and I’ll be able to run them once the “help older son find apartment” run is done and I’m home to approve/nix comments.)
But yesterday I was reading something that truly made me ill about the culture and our government’s response to it: to whit that Planned Parenthood is selling fetal organs and our government’s response to it is to investigate the whistle blowers.
And the thought that ran through my mind was: this is too big and too sick to be handled by blog posts speaking directly to the point. This needs stories that build the culture as it should be, that make people think and question things about humans and what happens to a culture that views humans as commodities.
That’s a big and slow job, like getting rich slowly. It’s a job for fiction.
Before you laugh, Heinlein’s ripples in the world — sight unseen, possibly unintended — made a little Portuguese girl a Usaian, and are probably responsible for my being an sf writer. (I likely would have been a writer, anyway, but probably not sf, almost certainly not in the US.) Anything I do in/to the culture is a far off ripple of his work. And he was “just” telling stories.
So my stories — as my publisher keeps telling me — need to happen and be front and center of my work. The blog will happen too, because it too has its place, but it will have more guest posts (when husband and younger son are done with their work in the house probably regular features by both of them) and more bfps. But it will have my stuff too.
I’ll do that best I can. And I’ll leave for someone else to judge and access my ripples.