The Spirit Is Willing

I don’t seem to have a complete copy of Witchfinder ANYWHERE.  Would one of you (I know a few of you are keeping a file) email it to me at sahoyt at hotmail dot com?*

But the flesh is not only weak, it is extremely odd.  I know it will surprise all my readers to find that an author as infallible as I — coughs — could mess up like this, but I went to the party with laptop and WITHOUT the latest file of Witchfinder.  It’s having been three weeks, I could not immediately recall how I’d last left our heroes (sigh) and I’d (of course) a hard time getting back into it.  But beyond that I was suffering from what I call “sliding on sheet of glass atop story” which happens when I’m still “burned” by the last story.

It’s also possible that a con last weekend and two social engagements this week have thrown this hermit-like author off her (scant as is) balance.

So, I think I’ll do normal posts in the morning and a WF post in the evening, probably the next three days, and finish it.  But it won’t happen today.

Yes, yes, I’m dethpicable — however I’m going to bed.  I’ll catch you on the morrow.

For Those Looking For Witchfinder

Come back this evening — and remember I am in the mountain states, so my evening is probably night for most of you.

Sorry, I’ve been catching up on “Other business stuff” ignored while NB was being finished.

But the thing is, though we attend a superbowl party every year, I’m QUITE useless at watching football.  Like most people not raised with it, it never made visual sense to me.  So, I’m taking the laptop (our poor friends are used to this) and writing when there’s no conversation going.

See you this evening.

Noah’s Boy Is Off My Desk

And I’m going to try to do Witchfinder’s end ASAP.  I have everything fixed in my head, how it goes, but I still feel as if my brain is bruised (eh) so it might be tomorrow afternoon before it’s up.  I’m going to try to do it (or at least a fair chunk of it) today after I shower and do the litter boxes (which smell radioactive, if you know what I mean) today.

I’ve been trying to think why NB was so hard to finish, and why it took me so long to figure out what the ending was, and …

The thing is, as with most of my characteristics, you can’t say “she’s this.”  It’s more “She’s this but–”  Not that I’m not a very decided person, but … I tend to complicate things (possibly due to overthinking.)

For instance, you can’t really say I’m outspoken, because I spent 20 years not discussing anything that might upset anyone else.  Yes, part of this was because my job depended on people not knowing too much about my opinions, because the other side of this equation (if I can be said to be on a side) confuses politics with moral redemption and therefore views different opinions (which in the end amount to believing in a different way to make things as good as possible for most people) as evil.  It’s not a coincidence that more and more mysteries end up with “the murderer was insane” or that so many antagonists in a fantasy are possessed before they take a different road from what the character wants.

I did this, myself, in my first written novel.  Of course I was raised very left, simply by virtue of being brought up in Europe.  The pieties filter in, and you have this idea that it’s perfectly clear what’s good and what’s bad: compassion for everyone is good; cutting endless slack to those who do wrong (particularly if it’s very, very wrong in the traditional sense, like murder, theft, or child abuse, but also if it’s a sin of extreme selfishness like refusing to bathe or using up all your money on drugs) is good because, well, they’re victims of society, having tons of sex with lots of different people is good (you wouldn’t want to repress it, now, would you, besides the natural man is the noble savage and therefore good), and things like wanting to have money and material security is evil, wanting to live in a comfortable home is evil, wanting your children to behave politely in public is evil (so repressing!), being good at the sort of job where you supervise a lot of people is evil (so authoritarian!), military is evil (because if you don’t attack people, no one attacks you) and judging other people for their behavior and culture is the ULTIMATE evil.

This type of low grade “poison” seeps into your brain.  It’s all very clear cut and doesn’t account for individual variations or people.  It doesn’t account, for instance, for the person who runs a large factory doing it not because he’s in love with telling other people what to do (the ones who are are actually lousy managers) but simply managing this because his family depends on it to live.  It doesn’t account for the person who doesn’t bathe being, not a natural man, but a sadist, who likes to watch his polite circle trying to ignore his offensive odor, it doesn’t account for the fact that most of us are not victims of society but ourselves.  (Oh, all of us are influenced by society, for good an ill.  BUT in the end we’re thinking, reason-endowed beings who choose our own path.)  The Military is very needed and very praiseworthy in defense of freedom, in a world that is hostile to it.  And if we choose to murder or steal or do evil things to innocents, we are in fact doing what pleases and making OTHERS the victims.  We don’t deserve sympathy.  Victims do.

Anyway, the problem as an artist is that when you have these categories fixed in your mind, you can’t really create an approximation of life.  You hear no villain is a villain in his own mind, but having been brought up to see things in stark black and white you can’t see how anyone could disagree.  (Until you start reading history and economics, which, children, has been my downfall and brought me over to the dark side.  Living doesn’t help, either, and meeting real people not the cardboard cutouts the leftist pieties imply.)

So the only way I could think to make someone go against my enlightened ruler (brother! Don’t get me started!) was to have him go insane.

Anyway — all this digression to explain why I’m not “precisely anything” — I tend to think (or overthink) every point of every position, and sometimes I agree with the conservative or the leftist (they really aren’t liberal, sorry) sides on an overarching point, but for quite different reasons.  Not that most conservatives mind — to quote my friend Bill Reader, the other day, “I can tolerate a lot of disagreement between liberty-minded people.”  Because the point, of course, is that things can be argued out, and even tried out, and then we see which way is better.  It’s not like I (or most conservatives, and even less most libertarians) have anything invested in having anyone do things my way, my main point is that I want to be left alone to live my life according to my moral judgement.  And I don’t particularly want my friends pushed about, either.  Other than that, well — I don’t care.

So.  This brings us to how I’m neither pantser nor plotter.  (My son, neither a pantser nor a plotter be!)

I do get ideas that push, and flashes of inspiration, and “voices” starting a story in my head, but very often, I have to work everything from there on with pen and pencil, and careful plotting (And a lot of cursing.)

Even the novels that more or less dictate themselves will have transitions and rough patches I need to figure out on my own.  (The cursing happens then.  And it’s loud.)

By temperament I’m more plotter than pantser.  Look, guys, I don’t take pain killers even when I really need them — oh, after an emergency Caesarean followed by a three alarm uterine infection, say, kind of like poor Jane Seymour went.  I had all but one of the morphine pills left three years later, when we moved.  No, Dan didn’t let me sell them, and frankly I had no idea how to go about it.  Which is a pity because we were SO FAR beyond broke.  I don’t take them because I want to make sure that what’s thinking my thoughts is in fact ME and as clear-headed as I can be.

In the same way the flash from the subconscious disturbs me.  I’ve come to accept it will happen — I don’t have to like it — but I feel better if I can work out the plot along with — or preferably just ahead of — the flash.  I try to be logical and…

And with Noah’s Boy it failed me.  Part of it was that it got interrupted three times, (Then two or three in rewrite) by the perpetually breaking down body.  When it gets interrupted, I need to read back, to be reminded where I was.  And then the rational mind notices things it didn’t before, and goes and carefully alters the plot ahead.

But more important was that my carefully worked plot wasn’t “Right” and that my sluggish subconscious knew better than I did, but because I liked the character too much and didn’t want it to die, and because I don’t like being dictated to by “voices from the ID” I was blocking it so hard, it first had to get me good and tired and THEN pounce on me with a dream.

Now it’s done, and it’s off my desk, and as soon as I can I’ll do the end of Witchfinder.  And then I SHALL take a week and draw dragons and kick back.  And then I start working on Through Fire, the second of the Earth Revolution, while revising WF and Shadow Gods.

Now to shower and do the cat boxes.

The Temperature At Which The Internet Burns

Today I’m still busy finishing Noah’s Boy.  No, I didn’t run out of steam, but I had to write the big confrontation scene and I didn’t have the energy late at night.  It’s amazing how much energy it takes to type, when your character is clambering up on a roller coaster that’s on fire, while fighting the villain and trying to save the villain’s son.  It’ s like you feel every movement.  You know those experiments they did, where people lost weight while imagining doing exercise?  I think it’s something like that.

The last novel I wrote before the first that was published (it does too parse.  Go back and read the sentence again) had an extensive military campaign towards the end.  Since this was set in the bronze age, there was a lot of sword swinging and horse riding and rope climbing and…

I’d write for four hours and feel like I couldn’t even boil an egg.  I was going to eat the first thing that crossed my path.  So, while working on those sequences, we lived a block from a pizza parlor.  I don’t even like pizza, but I’d call them at noon every time and get a medium delivered and finish it in like five minutes.

Anyway, this isn’t a long scene, but I find when I’m tired or out of it, I’ll outline action rather than write it, and I didn’t want to risk that.

Also, I’m slightly worried because towards the end sequences with laugh-out-loud scenes alternate with horrific ones.  But – BAH – the editors will let me know how it plays.  So will the first readers.

Meanwhile, since my attention right now is on finishing this and finishing the typo hunt, I don’t have time to set the internets on fire.  So I thought I’d leave you guys with a few cans of gasoline and a lighter.  (According to Hoyt, the place where the internet catches fire and burns.)

So, my friend Pat Richardson found this quote:

“You have to write the book that wants to be written. And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children.”

― Madeleine L’Engle

It relates wonderfully to Heinlein’s statement that he put the big ideas in his YA because teens were more likely to think about them, while the adults had already made up their mind.  I don’t remember exactly, and I don’t know what the latest in psychology is, but my Piaget said that adolescence was when you processed systems of ideas.  (Does this make philosophers cases of arrested development?)

I came at the YA Heinlein’s late, having read his adult books first, but I used the YAs to introduce ideas (and ideas of freedom) to my sons at appropriate times.

You can say Harry Potter still – to an extent – deals with big ideas.  (One of the things that amazed me is how she showed how easily a bureaucracy can be corrupted and yet still holds on to ideas of big government.  I guess a lot of artists don’t integrate what they know emotionally – the art – with what they’ve been told intellectually.  Or perhaps, being outliers, they want to be in with the in crowd.  Joss Whedon you may call your office.)  It deals with the fact that the individual can make a difference, that there can be exceptional people, and that big systems and people who are in authority can be wrong/corrupted.

Few of the other YAs floating around do.  You could say that Twilight deals with the misunderstood outsider, but truly, victimology is something that the kids get from the establishment and aplenty.

I haven’t read Hunger Games, yet, and I’m not sure I will – I hate these artificial “sacrifice” books.  I hated The Lottery.  I hate the idea these are necessitated by excess population.  In Hunger Games, you add the fact that as a mother I can’t imagine any parent letting their kids do this, unless they’re the functional equivalent of Hollywood Moms.

On the other hand, the book fascinates me because I find it odd that both the right and the left see themselves in that book.

I know the publishers perceived it left, which is part of my distaste in attempting to read it.  I don’t think they push anything they don’t perceive extreme left.  On the other hand, they’re very, very dumb, so it’s hard to tell.

However, it seems to me most YA literature deals with the body and not the mind.  Yes, adolescence is when the kids deal with big ideas.  It is also when they deal with sexual impulses for the first time.  Most YA literature – under the guise of being new and special and daring, even though this has been done since I was a teen – soaks them in hormones, sex, victimology and sex.  The victimology is, of course, how the establishment justifies the rest (We’re making them aware of the plight of transgendered, pansexual, one eyed, one legged immigrants from Panasia.)  In the pursuit of this, they often seem to write books set in the fifties or before, when this stuff actually shocked people.  (Of course most of the publishing establishment/writers were kids in the fifties.  Don’t they realize the world has changed?  Do they live in a shell?)

The interesting thing to me, is that these seem to sell worse than the Heinlein juveniles they stigmatize and “squeaky clean” and “goody two-shoes” did in their time, and also that they’re turning readers off books in droves.  Perhaps because the kids aren’t as interested in what old people think their sexual lives should be as the old people would like to think.  After all ideas are timeless, but every generation thinks they invented sex.  (For no apparent reason I’m flashing on the Real Sex programs that we sometimes caught when we weren’t too quick to turn the channel, were watching late at night and had cable – right after nine eleven we didn’t sleep much for about a year.  It seems like the people parading their sex lives in public always had white body hair.  Make of that what you will.)  Perhaps it is that these victim/sex/oppression books are all the same.  Soma doesn’t work very well when it’s always the same soma.

Can the kids be reclaimed?  Even though the schools are trying to teach them/condition them to neither think nor question?  I don’t know.  I do know that the establishment will never do it with their YA books.  (Flash Dilbert “You’ll never survive by your wits alone”.)  So, that leaves it to us to try.

Anyway.  I have a dragon and a saber tooth to deal with.  Oh yeah.  And a wooden rollercoaster.  On fire.

You guys go forth with this here gasoline can and set fire to the internets.

 

 

 

Killing The Ones You Love

When I was very little I used to watch my mom cut clothes and lay them out and pin them.  I remember her fussing for hours with a corner of a skirt or the fit of a sleeve that simply wouldn’t “lie right.”  She would pin and unpin, and cut a little, to accommodate defects of weaving, or whatever, until the thing at last assumed the shape she wanted, or did what she wanted.  (And sometimes she was trying to get mere fabric to do rather unusual things in terms of draping and hiding or flattering a bad figure.)

It’s weird the images that stick with you, that you take with you into adulthood and your own work.  For weeks now, I’ve been pinning and unpinning the end of Noah’s Boy, because it refused to “lie flat” or in this case to crease excitingly at it tilted and sped its way towards the end.  I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what I was doing wrong.

Like mom, unpinning and creasing a corner, I thought “Maybe I need to kill a character.”  But the character it occurred to me to kill didn’t seem to do anything for the plot.  I just lighted on him because he was – and is – one of the important pillars of this novel, and because – well, you know, writers are despicable – he seems to be in a path to get everything he wants, so, you know, shock horror and only the good die young…

Only I told Dan I might have to kill Conan and he said if I did he’d divorce me…  Look, I’m no fool.  I really want the book to be the best it can be, but I like my marriage better.  And while I doubt Dan would divorce me, there would be a coldness.  And I don’t like coldness.

I tried to work around it, but I couldn’t get Tom’s decision at the end to make sense (truth be told, I couldn’t get it to make sense by killing Conan, either, it’s just that I could hide the not quite right crease under the sleeve of emotion, where no one would go looking.  But it would probably make for an inferior book, and I don’t like that.)  And anyway, it didn’t feel RIGHT.

It’s been worrying me so much that I’ve been writing and erasing the “same” ten thousand words for weeks, and my eczema is kicking up a fuss (not as bad as ALWAYS at the end of the musketeers mysteries, when I would have torn holes into the inside of my elbows.  But then, that was a matter of knowing the house was going to do something “creative” to the poor book) and I’m sleeping funny.  How funny?

Well, you know when you sleep and you know you’re really asleep, but your brain is still worrying at whatever the work of the day was and won’t let go.  And you wake up just enough to veto this idea or that?

I’ve had nights like that, my brain kicking up images and scenes I promptly wail back “but that doesn’t make any sense” to and bury.  And with the urgency of getting this to the house before they decide I’m too much trouble to work with (honestly, if it weren’t for the flu, this would have been finished months ago) it just kept getting odder and odder.

And then last night I had this image of Tom waking up to a scene of unimaginable horror involving a character I didn’t even realize was a favorite of mine, but who apparently was, because I felt the unimaginable horror and kind of scooted halfway awake and went “No.  Just no.  Calm down, Sarah, it’s not true.  You can go to sleep again.  No one is hurting THAT character.”

I turned over, and I couldn’t go to sleep.  Because by that time my rational brain was awake, and it was going “Yeah.  Yeah.  That piece” (terribly apropos, actually) “fits, and that one, and that’s how Tom figures out how to—  And besides, it sets it all up nicely for the sequels without Deus ex Machina kicking up every time.  And by the way, it forces Tom to go where you want him, in the final battle.”

All of which is well and good, except I didn’t want that character to DIE.

This weekend at the conference I heard a number of readers say that they thought writers killed characters “just to prove the book is serious” and that it annoyed them, and that they hated it when writers killed a continuing character, and besides – ARGH – how can they trust us when we’re stone-cold killers?

I don’t know about other writers.  Perhaps some writers do kill characters for the heck of it, or to prove they’re serious.  If I had to kill a character to show that it’s not all fun and skittles, it would be a peripheral one, perhaps introduced this book.  Or a fan who’d get a kick out of dying in Noah’s Boy.  (You know who you are, the people who’ve EARNED red shirting.)

But no.  None of this will work, unless I kill a character I’m very fond of, and one who is a continuing character.

One the good side, I now know how to close this book – how to make the end drape as I wish.  Which means I can finally make an end, and then typo hunt, and then send it in, before the editors send specialized revision ninjas to my house and stand behind my chair, and take my cats hostage till I deliver.  (Or before they drop me because I can’t be trusted.)

And if I have to choose between my sanity and a character’s life – wait, there’s a difference? – then (relative) sanity will win every time.  I shall kill the figment of my imagination, and live to write another day.

BUT when you’re reading Noah’s Boy, I want you to know it hurt me.  I might be a killer, but I’m not indifferent.

(And now goes off to make the death really traumatic for EVERYONE who reads this.  Eh eh eh eh eh.  Er… I mean, to write it solemnly and reverently.  Eheheheheh.)

Kind To Be Cruel

So, part of the issue with closing off Noah’s Boy is that, as you guys know if you read the second book Gentleman Takes A Chance, I have to deal with issues of kindness and lack of kindness, and when it’s right and just to be soft, and when being soft might cause more problems than being harsh.

Tom, my main characters (with his gf Kyrie) is, for reasons that will become obvious in the third book, sort of a “natural and universal daddy.”  He’s always trying to help people and be nice to them in the second book.  The big issue, of course, is that he doesn’t get the other side of the father thing: being firm and being a protector… until the third book.

In the second book and at the beginning of the third, Tom is having issues with this, and Kyrie has to be the “heavy” – who prevents his charitable impulses from biting them in the fleshy part of the behind.

This is something that took me forever to learn, and something that is, by and large, not taught in our schools.  You are taught it is good and kind to help everyone, and that you shouldn’t judge those who come in search of help, and that you should give to all regardless of deserts.  In fact the whole point of governmental charity (known as redistribution.  We’re not talking here about short and self-funded safety net, but extended, long term help) is that because we all “belong to the government” as they kept saying at the Democratic convention, no one needs feel bad about asking it for largesse.

The problem of that kind of impersonal largesse – or what I would call the dopy largesse that “we must not judge and we must give to all, and if they’re worse off than you they ‘deserve’ it” – is that it often does more harm than good.

We won’t go into how it harms those who might need a lot less help, but for whom there are no resources left.  That’s been covered in another post.

Instead, let’s talk about how it harms the “victims” of largesse.

Somewhere in my archives I have an article about Africa in which an African pleaded with the West to stop helping Africa.  His point was that when a man with a physics degree can make better money driving some international charity mukety muck around, then Africa is not going to develop its native talent or stand on its own two feet.  (And that’s before considering the fact that much of the money sent to Africa end up in the hands of war lords and despots, thereby not allowing Africa to develop a bottom-up political system.)  I’m not sure I agree 100 percent, but I do agree most of the aid is counterproductive or worse, and it should be targeted at things like children, pure drinking water, and such.  (And even that will cause distortions.)

Also somewhere in the archives is the story of when my youth group decided to help a poor family in the village. They lived in a horrible place, had a lot of children, and well, we wanted to help.  So we collected a bunch of money and gave it to the father…

Only to be told by my mother that the adults in the village had been feeding the kids and giving the kids stuff forever, but tried not to give anything to the parents, because it all went to drink, and then the kids got beaten and were worse off.  In fact, when feeding the kids you had to do it at your place.  If you sent them back with groceries, the mom sold it for drink money.  Ditto with clothes you gave the kids, which is why they went about in dirty rags.

Then there is the soup kitchen downtown in my city, which has such great and no questions asked services that bus-fulls of “homeless” come from Denver for them.

We’ll forget for a moment that it’s destroying downtown business (in cheerful collaboration with the city-council’s ridiculous parking policies.) because it’s really hard to run a bookstore – one of the businesses that closed – when vagrants come in and pee on the floor, or the books, while your patrons are browsing.  Instead, let’s talk about my walking past a group of these and hearing a relatively young woman – around my kids’ age – say she could back to her parents, but they’d make her go to school and stop doing drugs, and why should she?  She can get food, clothing and medical care at the soup kitchen, and she is “free” and no one can tell her what to do.

Looking at the wrecks of older derelicts around her, I couldn’t help but think that the “cruel” solution of making her go home and submit to rules she hates would be kinder to her in twenty years if she lives that long.

Cruel to be kind.  Kind to be cruel.  For a while now, the rule of thumb of my charitable giving has been “First do no harm.” We still give a lot, but most of it isn’t even deductible because it’s to people we know well who’ve hit a rough spot.  For the “impersonal” charity I tend to go with the same things that we spend our money on: stuff that privileges the education of the young and the ability of families to earn a living.  Or, occasionally, charities that help those who genuinely can’t help themselves.

Well, in this book (and for the next few) Tom has to learn to be a protector, which means occasional violence, but not unreasoning, not untargeted.  Showing him learning that without turning into a “bad” guy is difficult and has to be very carefully negotiated.

I’m working on it.

And our whole society needs to work on it too, because kindness and giving without controls only encourages the vices that bring about destitution and need in the first place.

This being Wednesday, there’s a different post over at Mad Genius Club.

Don’t Be A Bonehead

I’m still fighting Noah’s Boy, though actually I’m fighting the crud, which is trying to make a comeback.  Yesterday I worked full time and got 1k words between revision and writing.  For me, that’s a sign I’m running a high fever… and I was.

Before you get horribly worried, this seems to be a recursive virus, both from my friends, who keep coming down with it again and again and again, and from talking to the people at the con.  It seems to be one of those that comes back lighter and lighter, till it stops affecting us.

Some years in Colorado Springs, we get these even when the rest of the country doesn’t, though this year the rest of the country seems to be RIGHT THERE with us.  (Thanks guys, we do appreciate the solidarity.)

This time does seem to be lighter, and my guess is I wouldn’t have got it at all except for the con straining the system, and other than making me late on NB where I CAN’T afford to be later, I’m trying to take it easy.

It occurred to me that though I exercise high and low justice around here, and the privilege of the banning hammer, I never explained the rules whereof the justice comes, which is very unfair of me and also somewhat un-libertarian.  Of course, this blog is not a democratic republic, but an absolute monarchy, in that I own the space and can eject whomever I please, BUT I’d still like to have people know when they’re stepping over the line and also to do a post laying it out, so in the future, you can say to a newby “You’re being a bonehead” and link the post.

The term comes from the Baen fan/author conference, known as the bar, which Jim Baen said had only one rule “Don’t be a bonehead” – only he didn’t say BONE.

Instead of defining it clearly, Jim had moderators who had the gist of what made for a lively conference.  This is important, because in my online life I’ve seen perfectly good blogs either made unbearable or even subverted by boneheads who came in and squatted over the comments section like poisonous spiders, making life living hell for the regulars.

RES has explained this effect best when calling it “the drunken uncle at a wedding.”  I don’t know if other people have experience this.  Not everyone was blessed with my mom’s relatives, which gave me a wide panoply of life experience.  However, this was immediately understandable to me, having experienced it from about age six.

You know, everyone is having a great time and then uncle someone or other gets drunk, and starts loudly making inappropriate jokes to every female of all ages, and calling them prudish when they complain or following them when they try to move away.  Later, for added diversion and depending on how intellectual he is, he will try to argue politics with other men, and take the most extreme positions possible, and shift the goal posts all over, and preen himself on how smart he is.

No matter how much you like uncle someone or other and understand he’s been a little funny since the war/his wife left/that incident with the mating weasels, at some point you realize other people are excusing themselves, developing sudden headaches, remembering dental appointments, or whatever, and leaving a party that was otherwise great fun.

Wise hosts learned that when uncle so and so started to get what he called “fun” and “relaxed” you tried to lead him away to have a little nap, and if that were impossible, you drove him home.  And if he insisted on doing this EVERY TIME you stopped inviting him.

It took me a while to learn to do this to the drunken uncles of the blog world, because I had some odd idea that I should allow free speech.  Only, I’m NOT a public utility.  I pay for the blog.  It’s my living room.  And the regulars here have mostly become friends I don’t like seeing upset.

Mind you, I encourage and welcome newbies and first posters – as long as they aren’t boneheads.

I realize some people aren’t being boneheads on purpose.  At least one of the occasionally regular posters periodically goes off his meds and goes from helpful to “OMG, WHAT?”  Other people just have really bad social skills, particularly in the SF/F field.  So I’m going to try to give some helpful hints.

So…

You might be acting like a bonehead if:

1 – You come in, a poster’s comment presses one of your hot buttons, and you decide whatever the comment casually referenced is the most important thing in the world.  You then proceed to:

a)      Comment on it by insulting the poster’s race/religion/sexual preference, which you can’t possibly know, but you’re SURE must be x y or z which you hate.  You do this completely unprovoked and it will seem to other commenters as though you’re coming out of the blue.  This is called “hitting.”

b)      Anyone else who comes in and even mentions this tangential point, in answer to you or not, you decide MUST be the original poster, even if they’re saying something different, so you immediately jump on it with “Ahah, I knew you’d concede.”

c)      Refuse to give up on your hobbyhorse, even when it becomes IN YOUR FACE OBVIOUS that you’re just upsetting people and not winning any converts to your cause.

d)     Refuse to give up on your hobbyhorse, even when it’s pointed out to you you’re filling the comments section with something that has nothing to do with the post and which unlike say hair dye or shoes, which have taken over comment threads before, is OFFENSIVE to a bunch of people who were enjoying themselves, and who have never done anything to you.  (I’m not saying my posts can’t offend people, nor that your comments can’t – I’m saying if it’s not related to the post and is going after people who’ve never hit you, you’re out of bounds.)

We all have hot buttons and most adults are at best walking wounded.  Most of us, though, learn not to attack total strangers who’ve never done anything to even lead us to believe they don’t like us.  The question here is “What exactly are you hoping to accomplish with this behavior?”  If you’re just making people upset – why do you want to continue?  It’s a wide and free internet.  Go somewhere else.

2 – You come in and define people’s religion/nationality/sexuality/political beliefs for them, even when they try to tell you that you’re wrong.  You then proceed to:

a)      Tell us how superior your nationality/religion/sexuality/political beliefs are to the ones expressed in the post or held by most posters. (And you often misinterpret these, or use reasons no one in his right mind would.)

b)      Tell us we’re stupid to be upset over a development in our own country, which you only know about from your country’s incredibly biased press.

c)      Act in the way my grandmother called “Having G-d in your belly” – i.e. someone gave you the sole ability to look into the hearts of everyone and you get to define everything.

Again, the question is “what do you hope to accomplish?”  If it’s to p*ss off people, don’t be astonished at the troll-hammering

3 – You come over to educate us in Marxist anything.  No.  This one doesn’t need aggravating behavior.  I don’t care what illogical beliefs you have, I had a bellyful of it and more in my schooling and I’m not going to give you a forum for a theory that has caused millions of dead and is looking to cause millions more.

An exception to this is if you are willing to listen and engage in honest discussion on why it’s wrong.

PRETENDING to engage in honest discussion and shifting goal posts brings on the troll hammer, because I don’t find this stuff amusing anymore.

4 – Another instant troll hammer is if you come in and preach at us — usually completely unprovoked — that some race/nationality/religion/sexual preference is inherently evil and needs to eliminated forthwith.

My favorite variant of these are the white supremacists, who might perhaps want to take a look at the blog owner’s photo before peddling their rotten fish.  (Some day I’ll share with you the gems in one of these blogs which I followed back, including the fact they thought Portugal had gone down the drain because the population had become “miscegenated” – to prove this, they used pictures of the Portuguese Royalty in the 18th and 19th centuries… who were, like everyone else, relatives of Queen Victoria and had nothing to do with the population in general.  If they’d gone back far enough, they’d have found Prince Henry the Navigator was swarthy and rather Jewish-looking [His mother was Phillipa of Lancaster, but his father was an illegitimate son of the king by a lady from a converso family.] and was also possibly the brightest star that Portugal has ever produced so while they can be amusing and their delusions “adorable” – I don’t have time to mock them as deserved every time and also they highjack threads.  So, instant troll hammer.)

5- Never had to use troll hammer for this, but came close to it one time – I don’t care how infelicitously someone expressed something.  Before you accuse a regular of being a troll and chase him/her all over the threads, PARTICULARLY when you’re a relative newby, kindly search for that commenter’s name and see how often they’ve commented and what kind of comments.

Persisting in harassing people who have been commenting here for years about an irrelevant point of linguistic expression AND ignoring the blog owner when she says “So and so is NOT a troll” will get you banned. (Getting offended at the owner saying “So and so is often a pain, but is not a troll” leads to self banning and puzzles the owner who thought most of the comments AIMED at being a pain — at least half the time, when it comes to odd puns and weird theories.)

Understand, I’m not saying you can’t have lively discussion or even – if you’re both regulars – tease each other.  I’m not saying even that comment threads must keep to the topic (Ah!  Like any of you could do that.)

I’m saying that unprovoked hitting – say making fun of someone’s religion which hasn’t even been mentioned before, then doubling down when the person is offended – and pursuing hobby horses that are upsetting everyone else, and making the comment thread all about your particular obsession even though EVERYONE else is getting upset at you is likely to get you banned.

In fact, think of it this way, if you’re behaving like a kindergartner and the discussion has devolved to “did not” and “did too” at some point I’ll come in and ban the one of you who is not a regular, or who has done this more than once.  (And yes, I totally know you guys are going to do this in the comments just to get my goat.  Behave.  Goat blood is a b*tch to get off the floor boards.)

Feel free to ask questions or suggest additional rules in comments.  BE AWARE that I can’t require the guys to all wear quilts and that some of the women are allergic to fishnet stockings.  I can’t enforce that kind of rule.  (Or even put the guys in fishnet stockings.)

And now excuse me, I have a novel to finish.

Dreams Whose Time Has Passed

Years ago, I was talking to an older writer friend and she said wasn’t it weird how the future they expected and anticipated, with refectories and public crèches never came to pass.  I pointed out that, though they weren’t provided in a centralized manner, it had come to pass.  Back then (early 2000s) we were living a rather hectic life and often stopped for take-out – along with every other family with two working parents, also stopping for takeout.

It is natural for science fiction writers to think of centralized solutions for the future they want to happen.  This is natural not only because most science fiction writers older than I (and even more younger than I, but the reasons are different.  The younger ones were indoctrinated rather than taught) thought that the only way to achieve brand new patterns of living would be through top down imposition, but also because it’s easier to write a government solution for something, than the myriad, lurching confused, responses of the market – no matter how much more efficient the second is, in the long run.

This is the exact same reason we often end up with our characters saving the world or something of the sort and in my case often in the space of two weeks (I like stuff to go fast) because it’s much harder to say “And then some guy in China did this, and then…”  Also, makes for lousy stories.  The climaxes just are no fun, if you have to show a bunch of people no one heard of before doing a tiny bit to turn the situation.

Anyway, my friend was shocked at the idea, just as she was shocked at the idea that as it was most people WERE being raised by strangers in daycares.

This brings me to a fascinating paradox.  We are supposedly living in an age when feminism won and therefore we have all become… men?

Look, I know some of you – possibly because I WAS saying heretical stuff – interpreted my blowing steam post as meaning that I wanted all women to go back to the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant.

Actually, I don’t believe in broad groups and that very much includes “male and female.”  No, I don’t think that those are “social constructs” – sorry –  even if some of the ways the inherent tendencies express are very much a cultural thing (after all, Elizabethan men wore make up.)  BUT I do think that when you talk about the statistical female and the statistical male you are not, in fact, talking about anyone who exists.  You’re talking about “in general, it is this way.”  Lies, damn lies and statistics.  Depending on where you hang out, you might not know a single woman who is in the center of the IQ curve, who loves shopping and whose greatest ambition in life is to have babies.  (I do know some women like that.  It always strikes me as offensive from a writing POV, the same way my Chinese dry cleaner annoys me.  I mean, shouldn’t these roles be less stereotypical?  What was the Great Author thinking?)

Although there is, broadly speaking, a female brain and a male brain, very few people have a perfectly gendered one.  My older son, in the few minutes before my eyes glaze completely over, has gone on about hormone baths in pregnancy and also how your hormone balance throughout life will affect your epigenetics.  Pregnancy does change your brain too, if you have kids and heck, an extended period on some contraceptives changes your brain too.  And one of the characteristics it changes is how well you fit your gender prototype.

Stereotypes of course got to exist for a reason.  Meaning they have SOME predictive value.  If you know someone who is madly craving a brood of children there’s a good chance the person will be female (though apparently once upon a time it was my dad.  And the partner who didn’t want ANY was my mom.  So they ended up with two.)  But in your circle of acquaintance, the person who really wants kids might be Joe, and the person who is a type A career driven maniac might be Mary.  And in ten years it might be reversed.

So – what do I mean by all of this?  Why am I confusing you?  There isn’t enough coffee for this – just this: people are not the group they belong to.  Humans aren’t chips to be moved around a board.  You can’t say “Group A was advantaged for centuries, so we’re going to punish their descendants.”  Not only aren’t their descendants the same people who got an advantage, but the reason that advantage existed might now be completely gone.  (For instance part of the reason males had an advantage in career was that, frankly, they couldn’t get knocked up.   Which meant their lives were less likely to be interrupted by stopping to have have babies [and trust me, it does a number on your brain] than women were.  Reliable contraceptives have stopped that.)

In fact, the ultimate definition of evil is always treating humans like things.  Humans have this tendency, statistics or not, to be highly individual.  Take me, for instance – for a while in my life (we were furnishing and rehabilitating a house) I hung out with the good old boys outside the hardware store, waiting for it to open.  I still like carpentry.  I was a tomboy until I had kids, and in some ways I still am (as you’d see, if you could glimpse me fighting the boys with nerf swords, up and down the stairs.)  So you’re thinking I’m a boyish type female.  I’ve certainly never had trouble competing with men intellectually or professionally.  BUT I love doing crochet, I enjoy dressing up and make up and if you saw me out – in high heels – for an evening with my husband you would think I was the girliest girly who ever stepped.  (The only form of shopping I like is for shoes.  Deal.)  I also wanted to have a dozen children.  (Stoopid lack of fertility thwarted me.)  And I chose a career that allowed me to work at home and raise the boys rather than the more monetarily rewarding career I could have had in translation or teaching.  (The fact I really wanted to write is neither here nor there.  The reason I quit my technical translation job was that I had pre-eclampsia with Robert and it does interesting things to your brain.  The reason I chose not to go back was that trying to establish myself in writing, instead, allowed me to stay home and raise him myself.)

The point is, if you try to fit me in either role, you’ll get me very upset.  (And trust me, no one wants me very upset.)

And I fit about as well in “the thing to do” now as I would have done when the “thing to do” was to “be a good wife and mother.”  I chose to have a career AND to raise my own kids.   So the career had to be one that allowed me to raise the kids, but I failed at soccer mom 101, because I was busy writing. Both were perfectly reasonable.  I had to do something intellectual or I’d go batty(er) and I always wanted to write fiction.  At the same time I’d seen the result of kids raised by strangers, knew there was a good chance my kids would be outliers of the type that always do worse in daycare, and I decided no, I wanted to raise them.

Yes, I spent years being looked down upon because I stayed home to raise the kids.  A gentleman who BARELY escaped having his head bitten off, this only because he was too stupid to talk to, at a party for a company Dan worked for in the late nineties, asked me what I did for a living.  I told him I was a writer – at the time I had sold my first novel, had five stories published and WAS working 8 + hours a day on getting the career off the ground.  Yes, I was normally working with the kids playing legos at my feet, or reading in my research chair.  He asked what I’d had published, and when I explained, he curled his lip and said “In other words, you’re a housewife.”

Now, the anedocte is illustrative of two things: first, he thought being a housewife was bad.  In fact, he thought it was so bad that he decided I was lying about writing (I still wonder how easy he thought it was to sell five stories and a novel.  Let me tell you, at the time, not easy) to cover up my condition as housewife.

He wasn’t the only one.  All through my life I’ve run into people assuming that a) because I’m married; b) because I chose to have kids;  c) because I chose to raise my own kids, I must have the IQ of warm milk.

Without an exception, the people making this assumption were feminists – whether male or female – and would have said that they were for female equality…

I’m fairly sure the shows showing every position of power from police captain to corporate exec as female (for double points female of color!) also think they’re striking one for equality.

My question is…  If we must all be equal, why must we all be equally male?  Why shouldn’t it be equality of opportunity: jobs have certain requirements, if you can fulfill them we don’t care what gender equipment you were born with.  (Unless the job is prostitution, where legal, of course.  Oh, wait.  That falls under requirements.)

I don’t at all oppose showing women in positions of power – though I’d prefer if it were made clear there is a price in both cases.  The stay-at-home, no-job mom will be paying a price in employability and also in social standing.  But the career woman also pays in an often (though not always) lonely life and in childlessness.  There is no perfect path.  You lays your bet, you takes your earnings.  BUT I do oppose showing women in EVERY position of power (or just about.  Sometimes you’re allowed a minority guy in those roles.)

Why is it that from promiscuity while young (though I think that is because of the misguided late-nineteenth century idea that if we all had all the sex we wanted there would be no neurosis.  We should be past that now) to single minded pursuit of career as an ideal, we are pushing women into male roles and giving male roles the high status even as we disem-power (totally a word.  Deal) REAL males.

It’s as though we’ve determined the best  thing possible for society is for everyone to be males or ersatz males.  And ersatz males are better.

In a truly feminist society wouldn’t the female roles be more valued?  Wouldn’t we have guys bragging how they stay home with the toddlers because they’re way better at it than their wives?  Wouldn’t we have women embarrassed to admit that kids were put in daycare?

And you know, the puzzling thing about this, is that – no sentimentality considered – traditional female roles were of paramount importance.  The raising of the next generation is not only vital, but perhaps the most vital to the continuation of the civilization.

It is also one done very badly by strangers, be they the government or private people.  It is not the first time a civilization has tried this.  In fact, squinting and from a distance, our pursuit of status through abandoning of the raising of our own kids is exactly what Rome did, and what the French aristocracy did, and what the British aristocracy did.  And every time – mark me – every time the kids thus raised either brought the civilization that created them down, or had a d*mn good whack at it, even if saved by peripheral events.

The fact that we consider raising kids low status shows how far we’ve come to devaluing women in this supposedly woman-centered society.  This is just like the promiscuity that is supposed to “liberate” women actually results in young men who never feel the need to commit to a monogamous relationship.  Who is it liberating?

Look, the old model was restrictive and oppressive.  No doubt about that.  There were, I’m sure, excellent scientific brains that could have advanced humanity but instead were expended in the dark dankness of a cottage, rocking the cradle, because women weren’t to be taught.  (For that matter, I’m sure that there are excellent brains covered by burkas in places where women are simply what’s between their legs.)

The new model is restrictive and oppressive.  Young women are taught that wife and mother is not an honorable choice even if they are working at home AT THE SAME TIME.  Even if their profession is demanding.  For that matter, young men are taught that staying at home to raise kids is somehow wrong.  (For a brief time my husband was the “kindergarten mom” and I went out to work.  The sneers were WORSE.)

Are there women who would do very well in combat?  Probably.  And given other psychological arrangements (like, perhaps the instincts of their male colleagues cause problems, so perhaps an all-female unit, if it can be managed) if they meet the requirements men meet, let them do it. There are women (vanishingly few) who can fireman-carry a 400lb man out of a burning building.  And if they pass the tests, for the love of G-d why not let them do it?

But please don’t push them into it, don’t lower requirements for them, and don’t sneer at them if they choose NOT to do it.  Value what used to be called “men’s work” and “Men’s ways” and “women’s work” and “women’s ways.”  It’s all human work.  It all needs doing.

In the same way – I know a few couples this way – if the man is more nurturing and wants to stay home with the kids, suspend the jokes.  And if the man wants to be an engineer and the woman wants to stay home and cook and sew and raise babies, what business is it anyone else’s?  Why should people be made miserable to fulfill dreams of past generations?

Oh, sure, I’d prefer a future in which because of tech we have even more flexibility: a future in which most people work from home and parents can supervise their kids’ education which is mostly online.  A future in which human potential is highly augmented by labor-and-time saving technologies.

But even then it won’t be universal, and the best way to GET there is to stop grouping people: by color, by gender, by … whatever.

Let each person do what they’re best at and WANT to do.  You’ll find that people are best at what they like – or at least they work harder at it.  And that everyone is better off, when people are allowed to do what they feel called to do.

I believe in individuals.  Whether the individuals want to be barefoot (pregnant is more difficult, because some of those will be male and others will be infertile) in the kitchen, or suited up in the boardroom, or driving a truck, or exploring Mars, or teaching toddlers, or nursing the sick, or fighting wildfires, or fighting on behalf of their nation, or researching scientific puzzles, or writing a novel WHILE rocking the cradle.

I think each person should do what they want and are best suited to, and that we should stop counting heads and thinking there’s a “problem” if there’s more outies than innies here or there.

Let’s stop pounding square pegs into round holes.  It ruins both the holes and the pegs.

 

Surviving Cons — Or A Mother’s Iniquity

*My older son, Robert, has a blog he rarely updates.  In fact, I think his last update was about a year ago.  He says that his life is not interesting enough, so he writes about his life in a parallel universe, which is much more fun.  This means, mostly reports from the Ultrabowl where teams such as the Colorado Cthulhus face the New Orleans Bone Dolls.  He has also written about the problem of hobo balloons infesting downtown and other, weirder things.  (No, trust me.)  Since (I suppose?) this requires a creative effort and he’s full up with college AND the Ninja Nun comic, you can see he wouldn’t update often.  However, his post on attending conventions, written before the Denver Worldcon in 08, remains one of my all time favorite ways of approaching cons.

Note that, as the son of a writer, Robert is hazy on the difference between SF cons and writer conferences.  Possibly, of course, because at sf cons he hung out with writers anyway.  Easy to get somewhat confused.  But other than that, it’s quite fun.

Today is the last day of the con and — argh — I’m not done with Noah’s Boy, partly because of course yesterday we ended up meeting with friends and fans and I didn’t run home to write between my panels, as I should have.  Truly, if we weren’t broke, I’d have got two nights at the hotel — which would have made it easier to work between things.  I’m now looking at G-d willing finishing tomorrow, and then doing the finale on Witchfinder on Tuesday (and I really AM sorry.)

Meanwhile, I got up late, and as I get ready to go out — Dan has a panel at 11 and I have a reading at noon — I find myself all out of words.  So I’m reposting Robert’s post on the lead up to Denvention 08.  Robert blogs here and has promised another Ultrabowl post next week.  And his Ninja Nun comics are here.”

G*d is a Pantser – By Robert A. Hoyt

Eventually, almost every writer comes to the conclusion that G*d is an author. It makes some sense, when one considers the nearly soap-opera-like setting many people, especially authors, seem to live in. Since the plot is moved along by the problems that the characters encounter and face, and humans in general come to a unanimous consensus that there are way too many problems around, we can make the safe extrapolation that whatever celestial plot we are taking part in is zooming along at a merry click.
And then it occurred to me that we are always assured that said plot is not going to go wrong. Most plotters can immediately see the problem, because no matter how carefully you plot it, stories come out the way you were expecting only if you were very lucky. And one could probably assume that, if we are to believe G*d can make the proverbial kidney stone even He can’t pass, in the form of free will and such, then by logical dictate we can assume that the universe could well be a technically demanding job even for the omnipotent. If you plotted it out ahead of time, when all you can do in the end is manipulate the circumstances around the characters and let them be themselves, the chance you’d end up where you were going would be infinitesimal. Given the assumption that you could see the future, you’d still be seeing all possible futures when the actions of the subjects were variable. This, I thought, presented a quandary, and I was not about to settle for the typical “C’est la vie” theological answer of its being a “mystery”.

And then, as I was watching McGyver, suddenly the mystery was solved. McGyver said that he didn’t plan things out in advance, because plans could go wrong… the very problem I had been pondering. Would it not be possible, then, that G*d solved the problem the same way McGyver does? I do not mean that on some higher plane, G*d is sitting there looking at earth and telling an angel “I need a paperclip, some bubblegum, and a fourth dimensional divine sphere”, but certainly a plan that you make up as you go along cannot go wrong. After all, if you aren’t certain what you are supposed to do next, then it’s hard for you not to do it according to plan; there isn’t a plan until you make one up, and then, of course, your actions in doing so almost necessarily assume you are going according to plan. Especially if we think of the universe as being, in a sense, a tremendous, complex game of solitaire, it’s impossible to know what cards are coming, but the skillful player excels in dealing with the cards as they come.
End conclusion? Our Author, who art in heaven, is in all likelihood a Pantser. He has a divine plan for you, certainly, but He might not know what it is yet. I was actually somewhat relieved upon coming to this conclusion, since it meant that the universe may be screwed up at times, but, if you take the long view, it’s awfully hard for it to go astray. Unfortunately, we probably ought to worry that, in the long view, history is also inexorably a story like “The Moon is a Harsh Mistress”, and not like “Pride and Prejudice”, which would be a wonderful thing if not for the fact that we are the characters, and so ineffability is weighted towards our living in interesting times. Any historian can easily confirm that history is very rarely boring, and in fact has more sex and violence then a Brazilian soap opera.

It was while contemplating this train of thought that it occurred to me that most writers eventually go to a writer’s convention. Since G*d is reputed to be everywhere at once, we can probably assume that transportation would not be a problem in His case. Granted, your standard writer goes to a convention to network, maybe pick up some pointers on writing, although it is not unusual for them to go just because they want to have a good time and see some old friends. In most cases, G*d probably wouldn’t find that necessary. He already has the ultimate network, for starters, and I wouldn’t imagine He needs many pointers. But let’s face it… what’s the point of making a world if you can’t play in it occasionally? Most writer’s conventions are a lot of fun, even if they’re nerve wracking and even if you do go for business.

So, next time you look around a convention, be on the lookout. Don’t worry if other conventions are going on at the same time, He’s probably attending both if He’s going at all. He’ll be the quirky bestseller who you can never quite remember the nametag of, although you’ll come away with the strange impression it said “Mr. Jaho Vah”, and subsequently determine He was Swedish on this basis (speculation as to G*d’s nationality ends there, although it might explain a lot if He eventually turned out to be American. I will say, however, that although it’s a lovely country, G*d is almost certainly not Canadian.). He’ll be the largish man who sits at the back of the inevitable “How to Build Convincing Worlds” panel, giggling occasionally in a strangely unnerving way. He may, perhaps, express slight disappointment with the angel food cake in the hospitality suite, and is adamantly certain He can do it better. He will know all the secret parties and show absolutely no problems with staying up all night during the convention. He will know all the editors and agents, perhaps hinting incredibly subtly at some shady events in their past that no one could possibly know about during casual conversation, until eventually they include Him in the dinner party out of self-defense. You can spot instantly whether you have also been included in this dinner party, because one member will order the fish and be very fond of the dinner rolls (if the restaurant did not serve either of these prior to your party’s arrival, this is another dead giveaway), and no matter how little of either you originally had you will need several doggy bags for what’s left over. Writers in attendance who have previously had careers that dropped dead will miraculously see them revived, and people who were previously condemned to the slush pile with good reason shall be healed.

This, however, raises an uncomfortable possibility that there will also be demonic intervention. It is well known that the darker side of the occult attempts to thwart all things that the almighty does, which may well include taking a vacation. This is why preparation is of the essence. Firstly, be aware of evil forces when you see them. Keep in mind that small press editors, animé fanatics and filkers rarely invade cons en mass or travel in groups. Perhaps mischievous little tricks like the guest of honor being unable to get a badge will give it away, or if nothing else, loud groups of people who manifest outside your door at three AM to torment the three hours you have allotted for sleep.

If demonic forces do invade the conference you are at, it is important to keep in mind the con-goers basic handbook for occult defense and survival, which I will include some excerpts from:

1: The basic field kit for a con-goer should consist of at least one standard bell, one book, and one candle (Your standard issue BBC. It is very rare that you will be able to see Monty python on this kit, however.) The bell can be of any description the user wishes, although a shop bell is not recommended unless one is fighting demonic influence in the dealer’s room. Religious books are preferred, although in most cases a Heinlein book or in a pinch even something by J.K. or J.R.R. can be used by a true believer. Care should be taken with pronunciation in versions of the bible written in the original Klingon, and throat lozenges are recommended. Sadly, Manga has not shown a great deal of potency although ones with higher age ratings may be used to amuse demons with short attention spans while you run away. For the candle, use your own discretion. Something suitably impressive is usually available in the dealer’s room. Flame throwers are effective, but you shall have to convince con authorities they do not work and put a big orange tag on them. NOTE: You should not include garlic, protective herbs, or silver bullets. In the first two cases because they have absolutely no effect on the forces of darkness, and the best usefulness you can expect out of them is they may be used to flavor you. Silver bullets would only be effective against werewolf demons, which are, unfortunately, a completely unconfirmed species. If you do choose any of the above, you should take the precaution of wearing a large, noticeable protective amulet. Not that this will do you any good, but it will make IDing your remains simpler.

2: Stay away from Foci of evil. If you feel an irresistible urge to go watch the filking hour, take a few deep breaths, and look up train wrecks on YouTube. You will receive the same perverse satisfaction, but with less danger.

3. Know your way around the con hotel. Because nobody needs to run into the middle of the J.K. vs. J.R.R. pajama challenge panel when they’re looking for the exit.

4.No matter how great the urge, do not attempt anything you saw on Buffy the Vampire slayer on actual demons. You should not take advice on fighting the forces of darkness from a girl who apparently went to the afterlife primarily to unwind in between huge climactic battles.

5.Avoid being badly plotted. Most writers know exactly what I mean. Do not do anything that you would not write a character doing because it would be obviously stupid. Do not under any circumstances become the best friend of anyone, since there are fifty-fifty odds that you will die in a crucial battle with the con-demons if you do. Do not develop a love interest, and if you start to, find the section of the hotel which still has cold running water and use it.

And finally:

6. Do not do something to annoy someone who can crush your career like a bug on a semi truck’s windshield. Because the prospect of being out of work in this business is probably worse than facing Satan himself. You are planning to survive, so be as plastically jovial as you usually are with people you don’t like and who have power over you, so that they remember how nice you were even in a crisis. Certain editors and bestsellers are probably at least as powerful as G*d, so even if you run into Him, do not bet you are saved.

Above all, remember that if you do run into the almighty, the little touches make the difference. For Catholics, a cross in your Starfleet insignia may garner some favor, for Jews, perhaps a nice yarmulke with Klingon sayings. Since writers tend to work on a “share and share alike” system, and helping newbies is common, you could get some sympathy from our Heavenly Author and become one of the few writers who actually appears to have G*d on their side.

Major cons may attract more attention from the almighty, depending on how literally one takes “the first shall be last”. Keep in mind the above signs, and you should do fine. With a little preparation, you’ll be ready should Denvention turn out to be a religious experience.

Or, worst case scenario, a metaphysical warzone.

Blowing Steam — or The Counterfactuals Can Harm You

Okay, before I start this, I’m going to warn you I’m going to utter several heresies.  It’s not anything I’ve never said before, but we’re so cocooned in a nest of false reality, that these things still have the power to shock.

When I was little, my mom had this gargantuan pressure cooker.  I mean, I’ve never seen another one that size.  Because mom tended to feed the entire extended family on weekends, I think she bought some of her cooking implements from restaurant supply stores.

I was terrified of the d*mn pressure cooker, because there were stories of people getting their faces blown up in them, and I’d run across the patio when mom brought it out, set it in the middle of the patio and opened the steam valve and let the steam escape, before she opened the pot.

You could hear that thing whistle a mile away, like an oncoming train.

That’s sort of what I’m doing today.

A con is a social situation and a wise man taught me that only a fool or a sadist tells the truth in social situations.  My blog on the other hand is my blog, and if you guys aren’t used to the steam by now, I’ll eat my hat.

So this is my blog post to avoid blowing up in someone’s face and/or taking half the room with me.

Today at noon I’m scheduled for a panel on how YA has changed since Heinlein and Clarke wrote for Boy’s Life.  Note that there, the “boys life” slipped in – not “the golden age” but “Boy’s Life” – pretty clever, uh?  That tells you the direction they want this panel to go.  Nifty, uh?

I don’t find this stuff amusing anymore.  At the back of my mind, clanging like a funeral bell, the thought goes “What can’t go on, won’t.”*

And guys, let’s face it, this can’t go on.  It just can’t.  We made some joking comment to older son yesterday.  You see, he had one more humanities requirement to fill and after despairing of anything interesting (no, they don’t have any classical history, which was his first and abiding love) he settled on Jane Austen.  He likes Jane Austen.  He grew up on Jane Austen.

We teased him that he would be knee-deep in girls in that class.  Both boys looked at us like we were nutbars.  They’re knee deep in girls in EVERY class.  These are stem classes, and boys are maybe ¼ the class, at best.

I’d guessed it was somewhat like that – I’ve seen our friends’ SONS fall by the wayside since middle school, while their SISTERS, not notably more endowed with brains than themselves, had As.  I’ve seen my own kids’ classes.  It’s not just that the teaching style, the demands on timeliness, putting tab A in slot B etc are far more suited to girls learning styles, it’s that many of the teachers – almost all female – have an ax to grind, and their ax ALWAYS grinds on the boy side.

But I didn’t realize that college ratios in stem were that out of whack, too.

So, do let’s talk about YA fiction – and why I’m on this panel except to start a fight I don’t know.  I don’t WRITE YA fiction, except for the novel I’m trying to re-write, and I haven’t read any specifically YA fiction since Harry Potter.  (Pratchett doesn’t count.  I’d read his laundry list.) – and Saturday morning cartoons, and commercials, and–  DO let’s.

So in Heinlein’s time there were a lot of male main characters.  Yeah, okay, fine.  If you think that women and girl characters weren’t treated with respect, then truly, you haven’t read Heinlein.  What you have read are the feminists ranting about Heinlein.  NOT the same thing.

Oh, yeah, I forgot, Heinlein’s women wore aprons – therefore eeevil.  (Not, in the fifties clothes were way more expensive, therefore aprons, and people CLEANED a lot more intensively than we do.  Heck, I still clean that way,  Look kids, I hate aprons for OTHER reasons – as in, they catch and bind, and I can never find one when I need it.  But I buy my clothes at the thrift store, so I can afford to replace the $5 pairs of jeans when I can’t find any non bleach-splattered.)

Nowadays, though…

When Marshall was three he came to me and told me he wanted to be a girl.  I get alarm bells at the back of my head, the sort of incoming signal you get when you start going “Is this serious?” and “Is it something I did?”  So, very carefully I ask him why, trying to look perfectly neutral.  (And here you guys have to trust me, but Marshall, in both learning style and presentation and play was my very much boy son.  In fact, he was the most MALE child I ever saw growing up.)

He answered quite easily, “Well, it’s just that girls get to do ALL the fun stuff.”  So I sat down with him for Saturday morning cartoons.  Yep.  Girls have all the adventures.  And boys are either dumb or evil, and sometimes both.

In fiction it’s not that naked (it is in commercials) but you get it nonetheless. 100 pound females take out armies QUITE routinely.  (Oh, fine, but Athena is bio-engineered.  And her husband is her equal.  Deal.)

I have a friend who thinks this is good.  She also thinks it’s a pendulum and this is the “revenge” for the times when “the boys got to have all the adventures.”

She is missing the point.  She is missing the point by a mile and a half.

Those stories were REAL – i.e., they fit with the universe around us – and ours aren’t.

(I told you I was going to be a heretic.  Oh, and the kid got over this impression.  More on that later.)

Look, men and women are not the same.  They can be equal before the law, but they can’t be EQUAL.  They serve different functions in society, or in a sane society at any rate.

Or look at it another way: men and women were shaped by different evolutionary pressures.  I remember reading that human ancestors first formed in bands because of pregnant females, who needed someone to look after them, and who couldn’t walk as far as the males.  I don’t know if that’s true, (I read it in Scientific American) but considering how complicated our pregnancies are compared to most animals, it might very well be.  Our young CERTAINLY require a lot more care and vigilance than most young.  And for a longer time.  It’s the price we pay for the brain.

What this means is that in general, the pregnant women and the old ones, and perhaps the juvenile males or the older males, stayed behind in camp and looked after the littles, while the men went out and hunted.  We do know from primitive tribes, most women forage.  The men hunt.

BOTH functions are essential.  Yes, meat in the diet is important, particularly for large brains.  BUT often the men come back empty handed, and it’s the women’s berries and tubers that allow the tribe to live to hunt another day.

Would a female who wanted to hunt be accepted?  I understand in some tribes they are, at least while unmarried.  BUT would it be practical to encourage all the females to hunt, and all the men to gather berries and look after toddlers?

Um…

Let’s leave aside for a moment the fact that violent exercise of that sort while pregnant might not be the smartest idea and that frankly you don’t FEEL like doing it.  Also that women athletes, who run miles every day often stop ovulating.

Let’s instead look at me.  I don’t think my husband is strange.  He’s the best of husbands (trust me) and he adores the boys.  He’s FAR more patient than I am with them.  BUT when they were toddlers, he did  not have the “psychic” bond.  (It’s not really psychic, of course, but it might be instinctive.)  What this meant was that – we shared an office – I’d get up from my desk, go running down the stairs, come back up and he’d be all like “What?” and I’d go “Marshall was about to overflow the bathtub again.”  And he’d go “What?”  And I’d have to say “Well, there was silence, then a very quiet sound of running water, which meant he was being stealthy.  And he was breathing fast.”  “How can you hear his breathing in another floor?”  And I couldn’t explain.  I just could do it.  The bond slowly dissolved, over time.  I mean, I still pay attention to them, but I’m not connected by a sensory tether.

The explanation might be as simple as women being naturally multi-taskers, while men concentrate better (hey, studies show this.)  He concentrated better on his work, but I could hear the kids.

A tribe that sent the toddlers to the bush with a bunch of men would shortly have no toddlers.

In fact, maybe some tribes did this.  It’s like my son and I the other day, trying to sort out why most people aren’t individualists.  Heredity.  Imagine the proto-tribe composed entirely of individualists.  “Come on man, today we hunt mammoth.”  “Who is gonna make me?  You and whose army?”  Yeah… if there is a tribe that did that, we’d NEVER know.

“But Sarah, we have the pill and all sorts of modern stuff, and women should be encouraged to break out of their traditional roles.  Why should you be tethered to child raising?  Let’s free that half of humanity.  That’s why it’s important to present women as leaders and—”

Brother!  You’re not listening.

You missed the part where we were SHAPED by evolution.  Evolution is a funny thing.  It takes a LOOOOOONG time.  Oh, fine, okay, we’re self-tamed, and we might change ourselves faster than nature intended.  It’s still not something you change between a generation or the next, or even two, or three or ten.  NOT when evolutionary pressures have been changing male and female brains FOREVER and picking the most successful.

And then, even if that were your goal, you’re going about it ALL WRONG.

Heinlein’s women were accomplished and they were good at many things (if you read him you know he often showed them smarter at book learning and abstract thinking than men.  They were also wives and mothers.  It is their being wives and mothers that excites the hatred of our “feminists” who, of course, are the establishment voices and who control publishing and entertainment and even our news – either de facto or the screaming at being “offended.”

And thereby hangs the inanity.  First, our most “accomplished” women aren’t reproducing.  Well known fact, and something that frankly I wrestle with everyday.  Part of the reason we only have two kids was probably the high stress I put myself through trying to break into publishing in our best reproductive years.  Women’s bodies aren’t BUILT for continuous high stress.  (Men’s aren’t either, but weirdly their sperm production gets better.  We stop ovulating, because, well… For men it’s “pass it on before you die.”  For women it’s “We’re always threatened, no time to have babies we have to carry and share resources with.”  We are not EQUAL.  Not before nature.)  Even women who are married (and a lot of our high achievers don’t have time for that, or lack the courage to buck the establishment) among our best performers, will rarely have kids or many kids.  The women who ARE reproducing still and in droves are either from very traditional segments of the society or being supported by the government.

If your goal is to change evolutionary direction – brother, you’re doing it wrong.

But let’s go with your goal just being having a bunch of women in power, and a bunch of men as their toadies.  I often thing that this is the goal of most boomer “feminists.”

I even understand them to an extent.  Remember, I was raised in a country that was at least 20 years behind the US.  My first big trouble was for refusing to clean up after my brother who was 10 years older.  I thought he could take his own fargin banana peel to the trash can and it wouldn’t hurt him.

The fifties were an aberrant time because so many middle class women could afford to make no money, which meant middle class men were important as sole bread winners (no, this is not normal, historically, and partly had to do with affluence, part with societal dynamics.)  That meant the culture in the forties and fifties here – and sixties and seventies in Portugal – picked up all sorts of junk about men being more “important.”  No, not in fact, I know.  There were all sorts of  protections built in for women and girls, too.  But when you’re a pre-teen you don’t see that.  You just see boys lording it over you, and you want to make them eat dirt.

And a lot of the women ten to twenty years older than I never got over it.  This is all about getting their own back, and never mind what it does to the world.

I’m going to be blunt and heretical again: men’s and women’s brains are not the same.  There is a reason men engineers are more “natural” than women engineers.  There is a reason, even now you find fewer women than men working in engineering, though we’re training more women than men.  It’s not discrimination.  It’s that  men are better at spacial visualization.

There is a reason most nurses are female – women have been shaped through evolution to be better at perceiving non-verbal signs of distress and at dealing with the sick.

Now keep in mind that I’m not talking about ANY individual.  This is “statistical likelihood.”  The best nurse I ever had was a guy.  And I’m so awfulbad at dealing with sick anything, that I even shy away from sick cats – while my older son (you know, looks like a Mafioso, is built like a brick sh*thouse) is a natural caretaker, gentle, attentive and kind to those who are sick, old or impaired, human or animal.  (He comes by it naturally.  My dad is like that too.)

No, I don’t think all women should be nurses or teachers.  I also don’t think we should push all of them – or most of them – to be doctors or engineers and push the boys to the caring professions.  And I PARTICULARLY don’t think we should shape our YA fiction that way – i.e. telling lies to the young.

And that’s what our YA has been doing.

Sometimes I wonder what future civilizations will think of this psychosis, (then I remember there won’t be any – at least not any adhering to our culture.)  What will they think of 100 lb girls taking out men four times their size in books and movies.  What will they think of all the girls who are great warriors and brilliant engineers while the man are doltish knuckle draggers.

What besides saying “couldn’t they tell reality isn’t like that?”

Which brings us back to Marshall.  Once, when he was in fifth grade, we were shopping together (groceries.  I hate shopping – deal – so I take my kids along as comedy relief.  They hate it too, but they’re funny.)  I don’t remember why I reminded him of his “I want to be a girl moment.”  He looked at me and curled his lip.  “Yeah, I got over it.  I realized it wasn’t real.  There was no relation between girls on TV and in books and real girls.  Most real girls just want to talk about hair and clothes and go shopping.  The fun ones will play space-games, but mostly they just want to treated like they’re a space-princess and rescued and stuff.  I’ve yet to meet one who likes fighting and running.”  (And here, kids – I LIKED fighting and running as a girl.  Of course mostly I played with the boys, markedly increasing my female relatives’ white hair.)

But this is all a fantasy, because once Islam takes over, all the books from our time will be burned.  After all, there’s no need for any reading outside the Koran.

What’s that you say?  Well, it will be Islam or something very similar.  Perhaps a new form of it.

What can’t go on WON’T.  You can’t keep lying to the young.  For one they notice.  For another those who don’t, those who buy the culture lock, stock and barrel don’t reproduce.

If I thought Islamists were half as intelligent as they think they are, I’d assume they were investing in our publishing houses and pushing the crazy feminists, so that when the revolt comes – it will come.  What can’t go on forever won’t – the boys would all be attracted to Islam and the girls all ready to lay down the burden of being disapproved for wanting to do what women want to do – have kids.  Nest.  Have a safe place to retreat to. – that they’d convert in droves.

I don’t think they’re that smart.  BUT I do think a correction will come.  And since it’s not a pendulum but a sort of crashing reckoning with reality, I think it will be terrible and might destroy us.

And no, that’s not what I want.  What I want is Heinlein’s world, with maybe a little more flexibility – he was working for fifties publishers, after all – where, you know, women could be brilliant engineers and work from home while raising six kids (our tech will help with this, too.)  And where men went out and had adventures, but usually in the service of women, children and civilization.  It’s a lesson boys need.

If a little more flexibility is applied, and men can stay home with the kids and not be frowned at, all to the good (though please, G-d, have technology augment their ability to monitor toddlers.)

I want a world where you can be what you want to be, regardless of what’s between your legs and some desiccated woman’s revenge-agenda.

We can have it.  All that’s standing between our world, where we’re turning men anti-social in droves, and making women so neurotic most teen girls I know are on heavy anti-psychotics (wouldn’t you be?  Grrrrrl power, but the men are keeping you down.  How do you even reconcile that?) is giving up on the stupid fantasies of stupid people.

And we might not.  We might not correct in time to save the future.

But I’d like to.  And now that YA doesn’t have to go through NYC, maybe we can.

Perhaps we should, at the very least, try.

How about some boys who are bluff, protective and adventurous?  How about some women who are smart, capable and feminine?

Or how about YAs that have kids that seem real to you, without pushing anyone’s agenda?  Isn’t that worth the trying?

*And we’ll leave for another day the fact that Heinlein’s day YA dealt with revolution, societal organization and other important issues, while ours deals with sparkling vampires.  Mind you considering the wretched preparation – educational and social – we’re giving these kids, and the debt they’ll inherit, perhaps we don’t WANT them to learn revolution.

UPDATE: Credit where it’s due.  The feminist stuff was NOT brought up.  The idea that what is being written now is just as good was… and some of it is.  Some of it appallingly bad, of course.  All in all not a bad panel, but I took issue with the claim that freezing out sf (versus fantasy) is NOT a publisher thing.  At least, I’d like someone to explain my numbers, otherwise.  OTOH — hard sf doesn’t fly with kids, no.  BUT it flies with precious few adults.

UPDATE: Welcome instapundit readers, and thanks to Glenn for the link — no, I haven’t checked yet, but only one thing sends my counter through the roof like that.  I apologize verb tenses are all over the place in this, I have “finishing novelitis and didn’t revise.”  (Now you know what fun I am to my copyeditors.)
Additionally — The people here know, so I was unclear and confused at least one commenter — my kids are in STEM degrees, and most of their courses are STEM.  This is why we thought the Austen course would be a change.  We’re such innocents.