Today's Writing Project:

Extract 40 pages (2 chapters) of pretty bad, jumbled writing from tDW. Make a list of all the plot points that occur in those chapters.

Rewrite the chapters to include all of those plot points, only in half the word length and with twice the tension.

Ah, rewriting.

I'm going to be so happy to start a new book in December. Ah, December, when I'll be rewriting God's War. At least tDW will be in the mail again by October.

Grief

I was on the phone with my buddy Stephanie the other night - I've known her since we were fourteen or fifteen, and she's quite familiar with the fuck-up that was my only other relationship.

I've been mostly OK about my current breakup, though there are times when I experience these terrible moments of absolute grief. B is a good man. Despite all our troubles and differences, he is really wonderful, and I know I'm lucky I dated such a great person. We just weren't right for each other.

"Just think of it this way," Stephanie said. "When you broke up with B, he didn't threaten to kill you and drink bleach. That's an improvement from that other guy you dated. It'll all get better from here."

Gee, it better.

I feel like every time I try to get into some kind of sexual relationship with somebody, it all goes bad. I've had two relationships and two brief affairs. One guy was an abusive fucker. The other one too emotionally exhausting for me. Breaking up with both of them was incredibly hard. I'd like to say the affairs were better, but one of them nearly cost me our friendship, and the other one had a girlfriend who later threatened to kill me.

I'm not seeing a real great pattern here.

Ah, Nick

Am I saying you're a bad writer? Sure I am.

Why is it I'm one of those cynical writers who thinks all writers (including me) should be discouraged?

I suppose some part of me hopes that if enough writers are discouraged, there will be fewer DaVinci Codes in the world.

I'm an optiminst.

"Two Girls"

Two girls, a he and a she, married along the far shores of the Shadow Sea. They were both very small, delicate in the wrists and ankles, light enough to fly. Frost kissed their eyelashes. They lay in the snow, dressed all in martyr's white.

We stoned then to death at dawn. The blood was very beautiful.

Anybody know a good feminist market looking for a dark little spec fic story?

This has bounced everywhere, always with a lot of hemming and hawing about yea, it's pretty good, sure, but too damn "didactic."

Damn me and my silly little political stories...

An Oldie But A Goodie: Some Things Are Worth Repeating

Posted this back on Jan 31st, 2005

Today Was the First Day I Considered a United States Without the Right to Legal Abortion

WASHINGTON (AP) -- President Bush told abortion foes on Monday he shared their support for "a culture of life" and claimed progress in passing legislation to protect the vulnerable.

"We need most of all to change hearts and that is what we're doing," Bush said as anti-abortion activists marked the 32nd anniversary of the Supreme Court decision legalizing abortion with a day of rallies, protests and other activities.

I finally decided to start thinking about it. I've been fobbing it of and fobbing it off for a long time now. I didn't think he'd outlaw partial-birth abortion, either. I don't seriously think he can get away with overturning Roe.

But I considered what I would do if that happened.

I've discussed before the great fertility of the women in my family. My fertility has always been a big issue for me, and I've negotiated all of my sexual encounters knowing just how great my risk of pregnancy was. I've never slipped up. I've never had to get an abortion. I never engaged in unsafe sex - not once.

But that doesn't mean that there won't be a future "oops" pregnancy. And no, I wouldn't hesitate to get an abortion if I got pregnant, say, in the middle of law school.

And today I seriously considered it: what happens if Roe's overturned?

Well, I'd spend a day or two sobbing in my bedroom, probably, out of sheer anger and frustration. All that hard work trying to get the world to see me as a person and not the incubater of some guy's sperm - all that work trying to change people's ideas about what children really are: they are created of a woman's body, a woman's breath. Yes, a man contributes half the potential child's DNA, but at the end of the day, the stuff that goes into the creation of heart and lungs and fingers and toes comes out of my body, is nourished by what I eat, how well I sleep.

So what would happen if I got pregnant without wanting to, without choosing to?

Well, likely, I'd take a trip to Canada. I'm one of those lucky people who could afford to take off to Toronto for the weekend if I had to. I could afford to stay in a hotel, afford to pay for the procedure. In fact, Canada would likely have a nice little business providing reproductive health services to American women hopping over the border.

I would be OK. I'm intelligent, I'm well-off.

But Roe V. Wade is about a bigger issue than just the abortion part. It's not about protecting life or fetal rights or any of that bullshit (again, if this was about life, we'd be putting all that energy into childcare services).

Overturning Roe V. Wade, making abortion illegal, is about controlling women. Always has been. Always will be. You won't convince me otherwise, not with all of your arguments about sacred egg meeting sacred sperm: a couple of DNA strands slathered in proteins that have about as much self-awareness as a can of coke.

So when I hear Bush & co. make these broad statements about "life" about "championing life" what I'm actually hearing is an old rich white guy telling me who has control over my body - his sperm. His agency. I will be forced to labor against my will producing a child of my body for nine months. Anyone who has given birth, whose wife has given birth, will be the first to tell you why it's called "labor." Making babies doesn't come easy, doesn't come without cost.

And that cost is not my biological burden to bear against my will. It is not something to be forced upon me by men, by women, by the President of the United States.

So though I will travel to Canada, fly over the heads of poorer women who cannot afford the luxury and instead submit themselves to risky and dubious back-street procedures in their god-given, natural right to control their own fertility, I will come back to a country whose laws still view me as vessel, as no better than an empty jug in want of filling.

That is what the laws will say I am. That is what all this talk of life, and packing courts with judges, means to me.

It means I go back to being a dumb body, a thing, a sperm receptacle, a baby vessel, and NOTHING else.

And soon after I will begin reading even more "studies" about how I can't do SCIENCE because ovaries get in the way of learning, and SCIENCE is bad for babies. I will be told I cannot drive a car, because I don't have the spatial reasoning skills. And if you're not careful, if you're not careful, if you begin to view us as things instead of people, if we become a means to an end instead of an end, an asset, in and of oursevles, then you begin trading women for cattle. Men begin hiding us from view like their best possessions. Men begin encouraging us to go back to finding our strength and identities in men, no matter if that man is weaker, stupider, more spineless than we.

Movie heroines will easily slide back to telling their beaus, "You'll have to think for the both of us!" and they'll mean it.

These gains, these little steps that women have taken toward being considered "real" people, are not very old. There have certainly been other times and places where women were treated as people, but none in our recent cultural memory, the Judeo-Christian one that most of the US comes from, and given any excuse, given fear, we'll slide back very easily to equating women with possessions, because it seems so much simpler, so much easier, so logical, so reasoned.

Life. Yes. We're protecting life. We're protecting the 50s ideal that never existed, the one we all pretended was truth, and was nothing so much as a bald-faced lie that everyone told themselves they wanted to live, they should live.

I want a life where I'm treated like in intelligent, informed, responsible person. I want a life where people look at me and see not a vessel, not untapped fertility, but just a person, just this, me. Not my womb. Not my ovaries.

It is never "one" thing. It will not stop at the outlawing of abortion, just like he didn't stop with outlawing Dilation & Extraction. It will not stop.

It will not stop.

This is why this issue terrifies women. Until you have grown up knowing that old men like these have the ultimate control over your body and what you do with it, over your labor, over how you choose to spend your body's breath and blood, you won't know this terror, this uncertaintly, this screaming, terrified anger at the co-option of all that you are for use by the state.

The closest male equivalent I can think of is the draft: being forced to fight a war you did not vote for, for a cause you did not want, at a time in your life when all the world's possibilities are spread before you. And there is no honor in it. There is no medal. Because you will be told that your purpose in life is just this: to live or die for the state. That is your biological burden, and if you survive this war, you will be forced to take home with you a burden far greater than merely serving the state: you'll be given a child that is yours, whose future, whose mental and physical health, whose deeds, will be forever your responsibility.

And there is no conscientious objector clause. There's no medical leave. There's no reprieve if you're mentally ill.

If a man has sex with you, and you become pregnant, you're consigned to the will of that man and his laws.

Your life is no longer yours.

That's the battle women fight. That's why it's such a brutal battle, and that's why we get so violently passionate about the abortion debate. Because what we're talking about is the co-option of our bodies, our lives, for the state. We're talking about giving up our rights, our bodies, to the will of men and their wants and desires.

And we're fucking tired.

We're not going to be non-people again in the eyes of the law. We're not going to be second-class, second-best, by virtue of birth.

Never again.

How I'll Be Defined in the Dictionary

Kameron Hurley -- [adjective]: Banshee-like 'How will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com

I Always Knew All This Blood Was Good For Something...

ATLANTA (Reuters Health) - Japanese researchers have harvested stem cells from human menstrual blood. These stem cells could potentially be a source of specialized heart cells, which might be used to treat failing or damaged hearts.

That's awesome.

(via Feministe)

The Life I Want Wasn't the One I Had

After a great deal of angst and second-guessing, I broke up with B last week.

This wasn't a sudden decision. A couple months ago, I filled out a bunch of paperwork for the Peace Corps. Months before that, we broke up or nearly broke up because I wanted to apply for a game-writing job up in Edmonton. The resulting emotional turmoil made me quickly take this idea off the table.

From the very beginning, we moved very, very fast. We lived in different cities. He wanted a real committment. We had to fly all the time. We needed to know if it was worth it.

And it was always moving way too fast for me. I had to make big decisions very quickly, because when I didn't, emotional turmoil resulted. Sobbing, awful, nights of gut-wrenching soul-baring. I scrambled to figure out how I felt very quickly. Too quickly. Whenever I said what I wanted, I got it, and then there were emotional conversations, backtracking, second-guessing. Any answers I got were couched in emotional language, this terrible stuff that made me want to take back everything I said.

There was jealousy over my friends - and worse - my writing. Sure, I could always "do whatever" I wanted, but the consequences of that meant listening to how horrible and awful whatever I did made B feel. And when you love someone, you sure as hell don't want to do anything to them that will harm them like that.

It got to the point where I was on edge all the time, waiting for the next terrible thing I would say or do that would set off a big emotional reaction. Of the year I spent in the relationship, I can only think of about 2-3 consecutive weeks where we were both actually happy, really happy, and I didn't overly-worry about the next emotional blow-out.

When K moved out of the house, I thought all of my stress and jumpiness and health issues would stop. Instead, they hung on. I stayed depressed. Trying to write was like rubbing blood from a stone. I developed a terrible, recurring case of heartburn and bought my first bottle of Maalox.

And it occurred to me that I really didn't want to be in a relationship. I didn't want to move to New York. I didn't want to committ the next five years - let alone the rest of my life - to anybody. Not just B, but anybody. Not now. Maybe not ever.

It's like you look out at this life you've got, the happy hetero relationship. I'd never have to worry about money. We'd get a picket fence. We'd continue to bash heads over our communication problems. The emotional way of dealing with all things would continue. I would always be waiting for the shoe to drop. Waiting for the next rash of jealousy. And there I'd be, parked in that relationship, continuing to work shitty admin jobs while trying to write. Trying and trying to write. But I can't write when everything's been sucked out of me, emotionally. The books are where I channel all of that energy. If I'm spending every night trying to reassure a partner that I love them, that the world won't explode, I don't have anything left for my writing. All I want to do is go to bed.

There's no reason 300 pages of line edits should have taken me three goddamn months. That's fucking ridiculous.

Why did it take so long?

Because I wrapped myself up in other things.

I rebelled against the relationship for a long time, but B was adament that we were perfect for each other, and I didn't want to fail at a relationship. Not after being on my own for so long. We just had to work harder. Once we moved in together, everything would be all right.

That became our mantra when everything was bad: Once we move in together, everything will be all right.

And if that's not a big warning sign for you, I don't know what is.

I tried to bash away at the committment end. Likely, trying to re-work our relationship at the last minute had something to do with that, something to do with me trying to make it work for me when inside, it felt so wrong. I didn't want to go to New York.

I hate New York.

But I desperately wanted things to work. I hadn't dated anyone in five or six years, and B is a great guy in so many ways, but ultimately, we clashed over too many core things for me to be able to stay. If I have nothing left over to write with, I can't be in the relationship.

That's how it is.

Everything felt wrong.

But even so, I spent the night I finally ended it sobbing in my room, those great, body-wracking, Greek-chorus sobs that come up from deep inside of you, the ultimate expression of grief; it felt and sounded like death, so loud the neighbors probably heard me. Jenn certainly heard me, and came in to offer some kind of comfort, but really, there was no comfort to be had. I was mourning the relationship, certainly, and how much hurt I felt I'd inflicted on everyone by making the break, but I was also mourning a life lost. A whole life path, an entire mapped-out existence, just gone, obliterated, because it felt so stifling. It felt so wrong. No matter how much I tried to fix it, to make it right in my head, it never was.

And I fought hard.

That night, I slept like death, slept soundly for the first time in nearly a week.

I woke up and opened my eyes and felt... freer.

I had carried so many worries. I waited so many days for the other shoe to drop, for the next emotional grief-session. I would spend my days rapidly replying to emails in case silences were mis-measured. I would no longer have to repeat myself over and over again or talk and talk and talk about how I felt all the time.

I could get up and read, work on my books, sleep, without worry, without fear.

And best of all - I didn't feel boxed into a path that had become increasingly claustraphobic.

I could go back to relying on myself, on what *I* wanted. I could apply for the job in Edmonton. I didn't have to twist myself in knots justifying New York. I could go back to standing on my own two feet.

Just me.

I will never understand the media hysteria about women longing for partners. Having a partner has never worked for me. I hurt everyone I'm with, and without them, I always feel so much freer. If I just go around hurting people, what's the point of being in relationships?

I don't think I'm going to date again, really date, for a long, long, time.

Maybe casual sex isn't overrated?

In any case, I'm going to go work on some tDW edits.

Come Pick Me Up

Song on repeat today:

Ryan Adams, "Come Pick Me Up."

When they call your name
Will you walk right up
With a smile on your face
Or will you cower in fear
In your favorite sweater

With an old love letter
I wish you would

I wish you would
Come pick me up
Take me out
Fuck me up
Steal my records
Screw all my friends
They’re all full of shit
With a smile on your face
And then do it again

I wish you would
When you’re walking downtown
Do you wish I was there
Do you wish it was me
With the windows clear and the mannequins eyes

Do they all look like mine
You know you could
I wish you would
Come pick me up
Take me out
Fuck me up
Steal my records
Screw all my friends behind my back
With a smile on your face
And then do it again

I wish you would
I wish you’d make up my bed
So I could make up my mind
Try it for sleeping instead
Maybe you’ll rest sometime
I wish I could

!!!!

Line edits for God's War are complete.

Finally.

Now it's time to finish writing the damn thing. 100 pages to go.

Picking it Up

It's planting season. It was 66 degrees last night, and let me tell you - I'm ready for spring.

Spending the morning cleaning up the back porch area, getting the bins ready for planting basil and parsley, morning glories and peas.

Have about 90 pages of line edits left on God's War. Edits for The Dragon's Wall continue apace. Writing up a crit of a buddy's novel.

Reading a lot, looking forward to Wiscon.

Had a bunch of dreams about food. Thought that was odd because I've been doing my usual eating-when-hungry deal. Then I remembered I've been eating crap all week. I've been depressed, struggling with ending a relationship, and so ate take-out every night. Got back to eating better, and the food dreams abated.

Went out to a really good Italian place with Jenn last night, watched some movies. Bought 35 books from bookcloseouts.com. Ah, retail therapy. Will probably go hit Borders today, too.

Rambling, rambling. Had an omelette this morning. Finished reading a book about food obsession. I used to think that being a binge eater was something you just "were", like being an alcoholic, but I haven't binged in.. a long, long time. I'm starting to think it's something you work through and get over. My next goal is to learn how to deal with money. That'll be easier when I engage in less retail therapy.

My life, though, feels freer. The world opens up.

Gee, I Sure Feel Like Shit

And then the whole world imploded!

Just like I didn't want to happen.

I deserve no less.

In Which Exhaustion Kicks In

Wow, I'm tired.

The Clock is Ticking: I'm Up For A Campbell Award For Best New Writer

Sadly, I qualify this year for a Campbell award for Best New Writer for my short story, Genderbending at the Madhattered.

This is sad because

1) I haven't written a ton of stuff that would showcase my work because I'm bogged down in novels

2) I only have one year left of eligibility for the award

3) The nomination period ends March 10th, which is three days from now. Not much notice, eh?

Apparently, guidelines fore the award were relaxed, so SH stories now qualify.

Ah, well.

Anyway, if you're interested, here's my bibliography:

"Wonder Maul Doll." Forthcoming in the From the Trenches anthology, November 2006.

"Genderbending at the Madhattered." Strange Horizons, February 2004

"Holding Onto Ghosts." Talebones. Summer 2003

"Once, There Were Wolves." The Leading Edge. Spring 2003

"If Women Do Fall they Lie." Deep Outside. December 2000

Surprise! People With Low Expectations Tend to Be More Content With Their Lot In Life

Well, yea.

That's why you don't teach women to read. Or slaves. Or anybody else you want to control. They might realize there's something else out there. They might start thinking things could be really different.

Weight Hysteria

The regional VP stopped me in the conference room today and said, "Are we losing you? You've lost a lot of weight. Are you OK? You don't want to do anything dangerous."

It still bothers me when people do this.

"I'm just lifting weights in the morning," I said. "I don't really feel like I'm doing much."

"It's so strange how people losing weight just changes the, you know." He made a motion around his face, "You know, the whole way people look in their face and.." he gestured to my body, "Their body. It's just so strange."

"Uh, yea," I said, and I thought, Is this as close as he feels he can get to saying I look a lot hotter? Better be, cause if he goes there, I'm gonna snarl.

I'm startled a lot at the reactions to my weight loss, mainly because I don't really feel like I'm trying. I spent all day Sunday on the couch in my pajamas eating cookies and chips with that cheese salsa dip, reading and watching the snow. Five days a week, I do a 15-20 min morning weight routine. I walk a lot. But I haven't been to the gym in at least six weeks because of weather and personal issues. And I just went to Old Navy this weekend and bought size 12 pants because the 14s are falling off.

What a lot of people at work don't get, I guess, is that when I got to Chicago I was at an abnormally high weight for me. A 12/14 is where my body naturally sits. If I cascade below a 12, I'll get pretty scared, but for now, I'm really comfortable with where I'm at.

The problem with that comfort, however, is that I'm less likely to go to the gym because I'm not constantly thinking about weight. This is bad because being "thinner" doesn't neccessarily equal "being fitter." Weights or no, I'd like to go back to getting in a little jogging or bike riding everyday. If nothing else, it'll make our three flights of stairs easier. And you know, I still want to be really fucking buff, and no matter my pants size, that ain't going to happen if I spend all my time eating cookies on the couch. Though a day a week of that is probably good for me...

Anyway, I'm going to go and eat something. Every time somebody comments on how much weight I've lost, I get hungry.

I do feel that I have this psychological thing about weight: I feel more vulnerable without that extra layer of fat. I feel like more people are looking at me. There's this weird conflation with gaining weight and avoiding male attention, to my mind. Which is why I think that the only way for me to permanently stay at my natural size is if I feel strong enough to defend myself. When the VP eyed me over, I totally tensed up. I hate feeling like I'm on display.

I gotta get back into boxing. The urge to do so gets stronger with every size I drop.

Land of the Free!

MaBell

Didn't we break up MaBell because it was a monopoly?

So, wouldn't putting it all back together be rebuilding a monopoly? And, um, be illegal?

You know, like banning abortion?

Wait, sorry, for a moment there I thought I was living in another country! Like, say, America!

I'm moving to Canada. Brendan, how are grad schools in Toronto?

Here We Go!

Gov. Mike Rounds signed legislation Monday banning nearly all abortions in South Dakota, setting up a court fight aimed at challenging the 1973 U.S. Supreme Court decision that legalized abortion.

The bill would make it a crime for doctors to perform an abortion unless the procedure was necessary to save the woman's life. It would make no exception for cases of rape or incest.

Makes me pretty pissed at all those people who kept reassuring me, "You're being hysterical. They're never going to overturn Roe v. Wade. You feminists, getting all worked up about nothing." And then they all went and voted Republican, patting themselves on the back for being so smart.

Yea, right.

This is how it's done. I bet it's going to ZOOOOOOM into the Supreme Court. I can see them all licking their lips already.

Animals Remixed With Everyday Items

As someone who writes about a lot of bug-tech ideas, I thought these were neat.