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October 4, 1999
What I Learned At A "Literary" Conference
September 14, 1999 (later)
Today's mail brought my ballot for the upcoming RWA board elections.  I haven't thought about RWA for several months; I quit my local chapter back in March and when the monthly Romance Writers Report arrives, I toss it into the "if I get around to it" stack.  When my national dues form arrives next month, I will not renew.

It's been a difficult decision to make.  I joined RWA back in 1992, after I finished my first ms, at the urging of my GEnie Romex friends and critique buddies..  They were all members, and full of enthusiasm for the organization.  It was their group, fighting for respect in the industry and the public at large, demanding to be taken seriously and not dismissed because of their genre.   I embraced it, too, at first.  For several years, in fact.  The conferences were great -- a once or twice a year chance to get together with friends and feel a part of something larger.  And since they are always workshop-based, there was no guilt about taking time for ourselves, because we were there to learn and network.

Network.  Gawd, I grew to hate that word.  Just like any other group, personal politics intruded constantly, both on a organizational and personal level.  Too many things measured in appearances and not enough in substance.

I cut my political teeth on the Iowa caucus system, and naively I expected a writers org. to operate the same way.  You fight for what you believe in -- down and dirty and as hard as you have to -- then you weigh the matter, vote, accept the decision.  Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose and most of the time you rank your priorites and compromise.  It's part of the process.  Then when the procedural dust clears, you go out for coffee with the "partisan" you were just fighting against.  Issues are separate from personalities.  In my experience, RWA did not function that way.  I suspect the same could be said of most other organizations.

So I burned out fast.  I got the hell out of the politics, and focused on my writing and my friends.  But over time, that changed, too.  Eventually, I stopped writing romance, and then reading it, and many comfortable friendships drifted away, people I cared for, and miss.  But without the "we're in this together"ness of the genre, there wasn't enough emotional glue to endure.  For that reason, I hung onto my RWA membership--and my self-image as a romance writers--as long as I did.  Longer than I should have.

It's time to let go.

September 14, 1999
Now on the stands ....

I'm on a book binge again.  In the last couple of weeks I've read 5 Butch Karp/Marlene Ciampi books by Robert Tanenbaum.  The titles are: No Lesser Plea, Depraved Indifference, Immortal Certainty, and currently on the stands, Reckless Endangerment.  Also from the "recently read" pile: September 12, 1999

As usual, I'm several months behind the curve; I finally saw Phantom Menace last night.  It was fun, but frustrating on a physical level.  With my hearing problem, most of the dialogue was undecipherable to me, given the number of different accents and the fact that it's really hard to lip-read muppets.   During battle scenes, Kerwin brought me up to date on what had happened in the previous scenes.  Seeing a movie this way is an interesting experience, but one I'm becoming accustomed to.  It gave me plenty of time to assimilate the concepts and ponder on the characters.

Point #1: Anakin has a sociopathic streak a mile wide.  (Either that or the kid's a lousy actor.  Possible but unlikely.)  Since the dialogue couldn't be my primary focus, I studied faces.  Look at the things he accepts as normal -- the deaths in the pod races, including the possibility of his own.  He is completely disconnected from his peer group and is unable relate to the other children at all.  He's a perfect study in sociopathy.

Point #2: the implied Immaculate Conception of Anakin.  Think Ocam's Razor for a minute here -- wouldn't a simpler explanation be a that a hot-blooded young Jedi on shore leave had a brief fling with a pretty dark-haired girl, then wiggled his fingers while saying "You will remember nothing."?

Also the parallels between the various films: will the black moment of Episode 2 be when the Emperor informs Obi Wan that said Jedi is Anakin's father, and by the way, his mother is your twin and I sired both of you, as well as Queen Amidala who at at this very moment off engaging in the Dark Side Of Passion with Anakin?

Really.  When you can't sort out the sound, your mind has to do something.

September 11, 1999

Salon Magazine has a fascinating article on Personal Space Invaders by Jon Bowan.  It references the book Personal Space, by Robert Sommer, as well as the 1960s landmark studies on proxemics by anthropologist Edward T. Hall.  Among other things, invasion of our personal space can result in anger, depression, or even full-blown schitzophrenic episodes.

"... it is necessary to have five hundred [pounds] a year and a room with a lock on the door if you are to write fiction or poetry." (Virginia Woolf)
 

September 6, 1999

Quotes from last night's irc discussion on the OS situation....

"Linux is a rocket-powered tank, shipped 'some assembly required.' "
--Tom Powers

"Linux is a single man's (or woman's) OS.  Those who like to tinker will tinker endlessly."
--John Aegard

Tamela's survey:

NAME: Teresa Laree (Montgomery) Kanago

SEX: F

HOME: currently Spokane, WA, originally Spencer, IA

HEIGHT: 5' 2 3/4"

EYES: East Lake Okaboji In October (aka muddy brown with flecks of rotting algae green)

HAIR COLOR: black

FAVORITE TV SHOW: Dennis Miller specials, Sliders reruns

WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?: cigarette ashes

FAVORITE BOARD GAME: does SNES Yoshi's Island count?

FAVORITE MAGAZINE: Time, Games, Salon

FAVORITE SMELL: strawberry candles; oil paints & kerosene (memories of my grandmother)

WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD: Physical - an itch on my back I can't reach.  Emotional - the moment when depression spirals out of control and you can't do a damn thing about it.

BIGGEST FEAR: Something happening to my children.

BEST FEELING IN THE WORLD: Watching my children sleep.

FAVORITE THINGS TO DO ON THE WEEKENDS: Dance.  Watch good dancing.  Play baseball.  Go to a Spokane Indians (short season A-ball) game.

FAVORITE SOUNDTRACK: Young Guns II (Jon Bon Jovi)

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE IN THE MORNING?: coffee (triple shot latte, skim milk, no syrup)

DO YOU GET MOTION SICKNESS: Stomach-sick, no.  Vertigo, yes.

ROLLER COASTERS- DEADLY OR EXCITING?: Terrifying.  I can't even stand to watch them.

PEN OR PENCIL: keyboard - since I broke my right hand playing baseball a few years ago, I can't grip well enough to write with it.

HOW MANY RINGS BEFORE YOU ANSWER THE PHONE: Two, after Caller ID kicks in.

FUTURE SON'S NAME: already have one - Anthony James

FUTURE DAUGHTER'S NAME: already have two - Julia Ann and Meredith Laree

FAVORITE FOODS: chilled Dungeness Bay crab, hummus & fresh pitas, split pea soup & cornbread, chocolate pecan pie

DO YOU GET ALONG WITH YOUR PARENTS?: yes

HAVE YOU EVER BEEN CONVICTED OF A CRIME?: Convicted?  No.

CHOCOLATE OR VANILLA?: What's vanilla?

FAVORITE ICE CREAM: chocolate pralines and cream

CROUTONS OR BACON BITS: Croutons, the great big ones with lots of garlic and romano cheese.

DO YOU LIKE TO DRIVE: Love it, specially travelling alone.

THUNDERSTORMS- COOL OR SCARY: an event not to be missed!

WHAT KIND OF CAR WAS YOUR FIRST CAR: 1961 Ford Custom 500, converted to 3 on the floor

IF YOU COULD MEET ONE PERSON, DEAD OR ALIVE, WHO WOULD IT BE?: Paul of Tarsus

FAVORITE ALCOHOLIC DRINK: tequila

WHAT IS YOUR ZODIAC SIGN?: Aries

WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE POET/AUTHOR?: Poets; Alicia Suskin Ostriker and TS Eliot  Authors; Alexandre Dumas and James Joyce

DO YOU EAT THE STEMS OF THE BROCCOLI: No.  They're tainted from attachment to the other parts of broccoli.

IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY JOB YOU WANTED, WHAT WOULD IT BE? Shortstop.  Barring that, an anthropologist/archeologist.

IF YOU COULD DYE YOUR HAIR ANY COLOR, WHAT WOULD IT BE?: my own color (black) but with a permanant dye that never shows white roots.

IF YOU COULD HAVE A TATTOO, WHAT AND WHERE WOULD IT BE? a hummingbird (the totem for stopping time) on my right shoulder blade, covering up a large birthmark

HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN LOVE?: yes

WHAT IS ON YOUR WALLS IN YOUR ROOM?: Trolls, trolls and more trolls.

IS THE GLASS HALF EMPTY OR HALF FULL?: half empty and evaporating fast

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SNAPPLE?: I don't drink the stuff -- it's all sweet.  When they come out with half-n-half (tea and lemon juice, NOT ade), I'll buy it.

FAVORITE MOVIES: The Terminator, Gotcha, The African Queen, Bull Durham

ARE YOU A RIGHTY, LEFTY OR AMBIDEXTROUS?: Write right, throw right, bat right, dance left

DO YOU TYPE WITH YOUR FINGERS ON THE RIGHT KEYS? Most of the time.

IF YOU COULD BE ONE GARDENING TOOL, WHAT WOULD YOU BE?: None. I don't like getting used.

WHAT IS UNDER YOUR BED?: Nothing.  It sits on the floor so I can get in and out of it.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE NUMBER?: 8 - Joe Morgan wore it for the Cincinnati Reds

WHAT IS YOUR DREAM CAR?: '68 Camero, jacked, with 5 on the floor and 8-track blasting out Janis Joplin

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SPORT TO WATCH?: BASEBALL!

SAY ONE NICE THING ABOUT THE PERSON WHO SENT THIS TO YOU:  Tamela's got a great website with insightful, irreverent commentary.

September 4, 1999

History Of The World, part 212....

One of my obligations as a parent is to see my children educated on music.  In light of the current retro fad,  I think I've given them an advantage.  One of games we've always played is Name That Tune/Artist-Band.  I'm proud to say that all of them recognize Jimmy, Janis, Grace, Heart, The Guess Who, etc, before the vocals start.  But since music needs the anchor of history, I always tell them the year and how old I was when the songs came out.  Today's case in point is the timeless classic, Takin' Care Of Business by Bachman Turner Overdrive.

I bought that album as soon as it hit the record store in 1973, with my 2nd official paycheck.  (The first one paid for a guitar.)  Within weeks all the garage bands were playing it and I'd dance til I collapsed each time they banged it out at the junior high dance.  Not too long ago, the song came on the radio, curtesy of my favorite "classic rock" station.  Naturally I had to dance.

The kids laughed, of course.  (I think it's in their contract.)  I'm used to being considered cheap entertainment, so I ignored the insults and tried to tell them about "way back when."  I mentioned how it was my favorite song in 7th grade, and how I'd dance to it -- shimmying into a backbend and bouncing until my hair dragged on the floor.

Meredith looked at me, then the floor and its great distance from my head.  "No way," she said.

I assured her it was so, telling her my hair was much longer then.

"How long?"  The kid was born a skeptic.

"Down to my butt," I told her.

She considered this.  "Yeah.  But your butt was higher then, too."

*sigh*

How old was I then, oh so long ago?  The same age Meredith is now.

September 2, 1999
Welcome back to all the NASFIC folk -- hope you had a fabulous time!  Congrats also to Myke on the impending marriage (post pics afterwards, please!)

I spent the weekend on some fun doodling - made a web page for my friend/teacher Debbie.  Check it out here.

  Blast from the past: 8th grade, 1975
Meredith found this picture in an old box yesterday.  She can't imagine Old Mom at her age. :)

Douglas made an interesting comment in his August 29 entry, about the first moment he felt normal.  Although it was in a different context, I had a similar experience lately, when I stepped off the plane in Miami, FL.

It was 7 pm, prime-time rush hour at an international airport, with elbow to elbow traffic, but instantly I relaxed.  It took a few minutes to figure out why I felt so at ease, because I'm usually a wreck under those conditions.  Then it hit me.  Everywhere I turned, the women looked like me.  Hundreds of women; with black hair, dark olive skin, almond eyes, full lips, breasts and hips, few over 5'3" tall.  But unlike me, they dressed in bright colors that hugged their lush bodies as they sashayed down the concourse in their exquisite "look at me!" shoes.  So comfortable in their bodies.  So confident.  So beautiful.

The only time I'd felt this before was in Appalachia, among the Melugeons.  There I blended into a tiny minority, and for a brief instant I savored that flash of normalcy which faded when I crossed the Wise County line.  But Miami is a long way from Big Stone Gap.  Nearly as far as Spokane is, in just as many ways.

So I was puzzled.  These women weren't Melungeon.  Or Middle Eastern or Italian or Jewish or Native American.  Nor Hispanic (to my local definition), and even though they were speaking Spanish, it was with a different accent than I recognized.  Finally it hit me.  They were Cuban-American, the descendants of the Spanish colonists and their Portuguese servants, with centuries-old roots in Iberia.   They were everywhere, and they looked like me.  There was no logical reason why they should, but they did.  And some locked away piece of me broke free.

Hugging myself and grinning like the Cheshire Cat, I must have been a ridiculous sight, spinning around and bouncing in that airport.  I was in no hurry to claim baggage; I didn't want to leave and lose that joy.  Eventually we did get our suitcases and head to the hotel but the feeling didn't fade away.  I've been back in Spokane for 3 weeks, and it still hasn't.

I think I'll go shopping for shoes.  The "look at me!" kind. 

Past months:
August, 1999
July, 1999
June, 1999
May, 1999
April, 1999
March, 1999
 
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