.031 – Girls Rule, But Don’t Tell Them, They’ll Get Uppity

I’ve been home from Dragon*Con for four days and I’m already biding my time until next year. The con is, as I will explain to any brick space people who are silly enough to ask, my favorite weekend of the whole year. It’s like coming home, really. For five days that slice of downtown Atlanta is host to many musical acts, performers, fans, industry reps, artists, and academic experts across almost any field or genre you can think of. It’s a safe space for enthusiasm that will also make you think if you let it. I’d been looking forward to con with extra zeal this year due to some sharp downturns in my personal life, and con did not disappoint. Or rather, it didn’t disappoint until 11:30AM on Monday, which has kind of put a damper on the whole madcap experience.

The Comics and Pop Art track at D*C is one of my favorite tracks. It’s presented like a mini academic conference within the confines of the larger convention, and you’re just as likely to find an in-depth study on the feminine pose in comics as it relates to art history as you are a panel devoted to the literary wells we draw our comics ideas from. The attendees are usually as curious and well-read as the presenters. The Gender and Race panel I attended earlier in the weekend was standing room only, and it made me incredibly happy to be there as someone asked about the inherent issues in writing a minority character from the side of the majority. These are things I think about quite a lot as a writer and I’m always put a bit at ease when I see other people think about them too. I’m telling you all of this because I don’t want you to think that my issue here is with the con or the track, but with a specific group of panelists and with the moderator who was not prepared and who couldn’t get a handle on her panel.

The 11:30 Monday morning panel was called Girls Rule! and the blurb said that it would be a “discussion of the many incredible female characters and creators who are capable of kicking butt.” I know, right? Doesn’t that sound amazing? Doesn’t it sound like a place where you can get together with like-minded people and talk about Captain Marvel and the Carol Corps? Kate Kane and how she resonates with all of us queer comic loving ladies? Kelly Sue DeConnick and Gail Simone and Becky Cloonan and the rest of the accessible, intelligent, creative, and inspiring women who work in the industry and fight for us every day? That would have been such a great panel! That was not the actual panel.

During the actual panel I got to sit in a room that was about 75% female and watch in shared disbelief as a panelist held up the picture below and, without a hint of irony in his voice, explained to us that this character was a good, strong female character because she was armed to the hilt. She can totally defeat the vampires! Look at all these weapons! Think about what she could do to vampires with them! And while you’re thinking about that, be sure to ruminate on how conveniently attractive and improbably built she is! This is a woman who refuses to be held down by the patriarchal idea of functional clothing! Her tits defy you! They’ll defy you long time!

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[Lady Van Helsing, as proposed for their upcoming Unleashed event.]

Sorry, I got a bit carried away there, but you see where I’m coming from, I’m sure. This particular image is one of the characters from Zenoscope Entertainment’s Grimm’s Fairy Tales comic line. She’s their answer to Van Helsing and I can’t help but think that way too many of her important arteries are exposed for effective vampire fighting. This is a line of comics that I have been warned not to read by a male employee at my local comic shop because of how dreadfully misogynistic it is. I had picked up the book to flip through it, because I love both fairy tales and sexy ladies and I’m not opposed to the Skinemax version of Fables on principle as long as the stories are interesting. In this case they’re not. Some books actually are just what they say on the tin. When the panelist in question was asked about the functionality of her wardrobe and the overtly stylized design he deflected by telling us how women of all stripes read these books and dress up as the characters. That’s…nice, but it doesn’t answer the question. Another non-answer we received is that his wife tells him things about ladies sometimes, so he’s justified in this presentation of them. I’m not even going to touch the ignorance in that.

I am also not going to bash cosplayers or people who enjoy these books. Personal preferences and tastes vary and that’s integral to the way the world works. This company is filling a demand in the market and kudos to them for being able to exploit everything at work here. However, I am going to call into question the mindset that can’t quite comprehend the fact that it’s problematic that we need to ask these questions at all. There is a dangerous fallacy at work here, and that fallacy is that brute force and artillery can stand in for strength of character. They can’t. They can inform it, but there needs to be something better under the surface.

In response to a similar question about the importance of character design in inclusion one of the female panelists told us that if we wanted our characters portrayed differently we needed to vote with our dollars (which is a bit of common sense information I got from my Economics teacher in high school), but she seemed to entirely miss the point as well. The point of these questions, and supposedly the whole panel, was that this common representation of women in the comics industry does a poor job of reflecting not only individual women, but the subset of women as a whole. What we learned throughout the hour was that at least a part of the comics industry acknowledges that people want this and will purchase it, but that they’re too lazy or bored or untalented to give it to us.

I resent being told that there are totally character driven comics with lady leads if I just dig for them. I shouldn’t have to dig for them. Fully realized women make up more than half of the population of the planet. I’m not asking for something niche and gauche that society looks down on. Or, on second thought, maybe I am. Look, I know if I just want tentacle rape and yuri with werewolves that La Blue Girl is a thing, and I find it disturbing that it’s easier for me to get my hands on that than it is to get my hands on a realistic portrayal of a woman reflected in my media. I double resent the fact that there was a woman telling me this, because when women say this to other women their opinion is often used as a way to write off legitimate complaints. We’re told, but this woman likes it, so why are you still mad? It’s almost like these writers and artists don’t see women as individuals. Oh, wait.

It wouldn’t be hard to create the kinds of characters we’re asking for. The things we love about Captain Marvel and Batwoman and Wonder Woman are not the extraordinary things about them, it’s the ordinary things. We know women like this. We know women who are strong and capable and who fight for what they love and what’s right. And yes, sometimes those women really love heels and cleavage and red lipstick and men, but it’s reductive to treat them as if these are the traits that define their character or drive their plot. A lot of comics still treat female characters as if this was the case. That is the problem. Books like Grimm’s Fairy Tales are part of the problem.

One of the men in the audience raised his hand and stated rather smugly that he didn’t know what the big deal was, because men are sexualized too. Don’t women get enjoyment out of men in spandex? Why do we complain when men get to benefit from this enjoyment as well? Half of the panel enthusiastically agreed with this statement. I tried to remain passive. I really did, but I have never rolled my eyes so far back into my head in my entire life. I think I uncovered some hidden childhood memories while they were back there. You’re reading this on the internet, some of you might even be here via Tumblr, so I don’t think I need to break down the willful ignorance of this statement for you. Instead I’m going to talk about a comic character I’ve loved for as long as I can remember: Dick Grayson.

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[From Nightwing #20, May 2013]

I have this joke with myself and a few of my friends where I will refer to Dick Grayson as a Strong Female Character. Dick Grayson spends more time swooning than poorly written Regency romance heroines who wear extra tight corsets on hot days. Dick Grayson is often drawn in that dreaded/celebrated boobs and butt pose for the sole purpose of calling attention to his assets. (They’re fine assets. If I was Dick Grayson I’d spend all of my time in front of the mirror and never get dressed enough to leave the house.) In fact, when asked about that particular Nightwing ass shot, penciler Brett Booth said:

“I thought that was required of all Nightwing pencilers? I remember seeing the Nicola Scott image and thought that was a ‘thing’ you do when drawing Nightwing. So I decided to do one and I wasn’t going to do it half…. baked. I was going all in! .. Wait, that sounds bad… Full Monty?… no… I’m very tired…”

I don’t have any such images easily accessible, but I would bet you a each cup of chai that there are completely canon images of Dick Grayson wrapped around a woman and sitting at her feet as if he was being subjugated. Dick Grayson’s milkshake brings ALL OF EVERYONE to the yard. He’s tied with Vince Noir as the greatest confuser. Dick Grayson is all of these things, but he has one advantage that your average comic book female doesn’t, and that’s that he’s Dick Grayson.

Originally brought in to the comic in 1940 as Bruce Wayne’s ward after his parents’ death left him an orphan, Dick Grayson is a complex character with over seventy years of backstory that runs the gamut from Superman fanboy to reluctant leader. At no point in time has Dick Grayson’s overtly displayed sexuality been used as a defining part of his character. Which isn’t to say that he doesn’t flaunt it or use it to his advantage–I’m looking at you, Brothers In Blood–it’s just not the thing that drives his story lines and character development. If he was to be wrapped at the feet of a woman he would still be himself. Female comic book characters are often stripped of their costumes or distinguishing characteristics when posed this way, but male characters are left alone in most instances. This way they can be seen as contextually adding strength to the woman who has enthralled them. (And in some cases, nefariously captured them, because why would a man decide on his own to support a woman?)

As your average male superhero, Dick doesn’t look the way he does because that’s what will sell comics or because a male writer or artist personally fetishized trapeze artists. He looks the way he does because he needs those muscles to perform acrobatic feats and because the idealized male body is seen as inherently heroic. It commands power. Unlike the ‘idealized’ female body which is designed to attract heroic men and make them feel strong. The ‘idealized’ female body through a man’s perspective is sexualized, because that is a woman’s worth to a man, ultimately, when boiled down through the lens of our media. Dick Grayson is not Dick Grayson because he’s sexy. Dick Grayson is sexy because he’s Dick Grayson. The difference there is not as subtle as the English language would have you believe. I’m not arguing that male comic book characters are never fetishized, I’m arguing that that’s not their default purpose and hasn’t been historically.

Things have gotten better, though. Natasha Romanoff is a woman who knows she can use her looks to her advantage, and she does, but lately her storylines have been driven by other parts of her character with that as an incidental tool in her belt. She is actually empowered (in some books, I’m not currently reading all of the titles she’s in) to be the best version of her character, physically, intellectually, and emotionally. It’s a really great thing to see. (Even if I am still bitter over the end of Black Widow Hunt.) If a woman’s wardrobe is so important, why can’t we at least create more female characters like this who understand the world around them and are smart about it? Or we could even retrofit older characters to be like this. It’s certainly not uncommon for characters to go through an editorial evolution. DC rebooted their entire universe full stop two years ago. And if I ‘m speaking of DC, the Kate Kane that I know and love is a reintroduction of an entirely different character from DC’s past. She’s just been heavily updated to reflect the time. I’m not really that picky. Dress her up however you like, but make her a whole person whose wants and desires are not defined by the men around her.

So no, random panel goer, it’s not the same thing. It’s not the same thing at all, and it’s incredibly disheartening to me when the gatekeepers and creative forces in a massive industry can’t tell the difference either. The fact that we have to have these discussions is the reason why I needed a panel about how women can rule. It’s really too bad no one was prepared to give me one. I’d like to leave this as official feedback for the panel, but I don’t think it will fit into the box on the app. It would be nice if, next year, there was another panel about women in comics that managed to carry the academic tone of the Comics and Pop Art conference as a whole, and it would be wonderful if the panelists respected their audience.

Addendum 1: The saving grace of the whole ordeal was panelist Chandra Free, who is a talented and intelligent woman. She tried many times to bring the conversation back around to context, but was more or less ignored by the other panelists. She’s just the sort of person I would love to see on the new and improved version of this panel for next year. She does great work that you should absorb and read. So, go do that. I’ll be here when you get back, ready to actually discuss women in comics. I’ll have a gold star for each of you.

Addendum 2: The abstract for the great talk I saw earlier in the weekend on feminine poses in comics in the context of Art History can be found here.

Addendum 3: In light of recent Batwoman news, I’d just like to remind the universe that I still have a lot of feelings about that character and that Plunge magazine let me write an article on it.

.030 – Marry me, Lois Lane?

Five weeks ago we reviewed Superman: Man of Steel for the Wrong Opinions About Movies podcast. The movie itself is muddled and violent. I came away from it confused. I don’t want to go too in-depth into why, because we talked about it at length on the podcast, but it boils down to the fact that I don’t know very much about Superman. In not knowing very much about Superman I have a very specific image of Superman in my mind that’s been cobbled together from 30 years of seeing him show up in Batman cartoons and hearing the way other people and the media refer to and revere him. Let’s say my understanding of Superman lives somewhere about my shoulder like a parrot, and the Man of Steel version lives two states over, possibly Mississippi. After I talked this out with my podcast cohorts I decided I had some learning to do.

Earlier this year I took a Gender Through Comic Books SuperMOOC, which on top of being fun and educational, forced me to read some of the comics that I had long known I should read but was avoiding for various silly reasons. One of those books was Superman: Birthright, written by Mark Waid and drawn by Leinil Francis Yu. Birthright is an excellent comic with a well-told story and I would encourage you to pick it up. It does a good job of staying mindful of Superman’s Kryptonian origins while giving Clark Kent some dimension of his own. It lets him occupy his own space in the DC universe without growing too large for it, which has always seemed to be part of the problem with the character from my place on the sidelines.

In my prejudices Superman is the boy scout. He’s too powerful as a being to be interesting in a fight and too mindful of his power and his place among the people on the earth to really break out and fill his own space in it. Reading Birthright began the process of breaking down those barriers by introducing me to the larger world around him and letting me see how he interacted with people of different creeds and races and locations. I got the sense that he’s a good guy to have in your corner. He’s understanding and patient and fiercely protective, which are all traits I can admire. But, I still wasn’t convinced that I could actually care enough to read more about him.

Up until Matthew had us watch Superman II to pair with Man of Steel, I had never seen Superman in a live action incarnation. Never a movie or an episode of Smallville or Lois & Clark. I was prepared for it to be somewhat hokey, given the age of the practical effects and the source material. Superman II took my breath away. It’s not the best movie ever, and I still haven’t seen the first Christopher Reeve Superman which might make II make more sense really, but Superman II perfectly captures the awe and reverence that I get the general sense of from Superman fans. It captures everything I understood about Superman from the collective conscience and it really is inspiring in practice. I can cotton on to why so many people would want to stand behind the arbiter of truth, justice, and the American way. (Well, truth and justice anyway. I hear he stepped a bit away from America and became a world citizen before the New 52 took hold of the DC universe.)

So, Superman. He’s not so bad I guess, and I have an oddly large amount of respect for the reverence we have for the look of Superman. Christopher Reeve, Brandon Routh, Henry Cavill, and Tom Welling all bear striking resemblances to one another. Clear blue eyes, square jaws, black hair that can be sculpted sleekly into a front curl or modified pomp. They worked to build physiques for themselves that would make audiences believe they could pluck and aircraft out of the sky. I can’t think of another superhero that has worked his way across the collective conscience in such an acutely specific way. When you’re talking about Batman, for instance, the look of Bruce Wayne as a man isn’t as important as the look of the suit or the feel of the world. Because Kal-El’s face IS the face that Superman shows to the world, it’s imperative that casting agents get it right. This brings me back, in a roundabout way, to Tom Welling, who is not really that great as an actor, but who looks the part in a way I think most people in their early 20s can’t.

After watching Man of Steel and being confused by my own Superman feelings and how they’d just been trampled all over, I decided to give myself a Superman education. I’m going to try to un-puzzle him for myself, which will involve watching all of the things and reading a whole slew of comics. Because it’s something of a tradition for me now to watch terrible TV for teenagers over the summer, I decided to kill two birds with one stone and tackle Smallville as the first step to that end.

Smallville ran from 2001 to 2011 and, at the beginning, was meant to show us Clark Kent’s life without the cape. What would it be like for Clark to grow up as a powered being among mere mortals in a town where the very dirt and drinking water was teeming with kryptonite? This is an interesting premise which, unfortunately in this case, has an exceedingly poor execution. I’m not a stranger to WB/CW shows geared towards teenagers and how frustrating they can be. I was ripe Dawson’s Creek age when it aired. I am familiar with the formula of the frustration/betrayal of the week and the circular relationships and the holier than thou dialogue that’s supposed to make the teenagers seem wise beyond their years. On top of this, because Smallville has to acknowledge the impact of kryptonite on Clark himself and the rest of the world, it started as a monster of the week series. And it drags.

It took me five weeks to make it through the ten seasons. The acting doesn’t really get better. The number of times I yelled at Clark for telling someone not to do something and then TURNING AROUND AND DOING IT probably hit a hundred. It’s rife with my least favorite of superhero tropes, which is that of the “I have to protect you, so I’m leaving you.” (In speech with my friends I refer to it as Peter Parkering, which sounds dirty, but is really just a call back to how he did the very thing to Mary Jane.) YOUR PARTNERS ARE ADULTS. LET THEM MAKE THAT DECISION. Well, they’re mostly adults, with the exception of Lana Lang who was a boring teenager and then an aggravating young woman and then pretty badass for about fifteen minutes before they wrote her off the show entirely.

Their main objective from the start was no capes, so in practice the series gave us the boring parts of Clark’s life: his frustrations with Luthors, his need to be on the football team AND save a revolving door of students we’re supposed to believe are his friends even though they definitely weren’t going to that school in the five episodes before, his failed college career, and his eventual and accidental slide into journalism, which I’m pretty sure only stuck because every one of his bosses was uber obsessed with the ubermensch and wanted him in a place where they could study him easily. This is what we get ten seasons of with Smallville. People have been asking me, since I announced triumphantly over Twitter that I was on the last episode, if it was worth it. And no, no it was not. Do not watch all ten seasons of Smallville. Especially do not watch them at the break neck speed of two seasons a week. At some point the name Clark starts to lose meaning, like when you say refrigerator a hundred times in a row. A season or so after that the same thing happens with Tom Welling’s face. I think I stopped recognizing it entirely. Why would you do that to yourself? Justin Hartley would really like to know. It will not teach you about Superman.

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But it wasn’t all bad. Their Green Arrow (pictured above), while wildly different from the Ollie I got used to in CW’s new Arrow series–which is pretty good! watch that!–is incredibly charming and affable. Even when he’s been possessed by Darkseid I can’t bring myself to be mad at him. I would watch the show of him dating Lois Lane for ten seasons. Lois is another good thing about that show. Actually, pretty much every time that show introduced a recurring female character she was awesome. If you’re going to get something right, I can stand for that to be it.

Kara Zor-El threw Clark for a loop. Neither Oliver Queen nor Clark Kent was a match for Lois Lane. Even the introduction of Tess Mercer, as the Luthor proxy when Michael Rosenbaum stepped away from the show, could more or less handle her own. In the later seasons when Ollie had pulled together a group of heroes and entrusted Watch Tower to Chloe Sullivan, who had been a pretty rad female character from the beginning, there were glimpses of the show that I wanted to be watching. That show could have been amazing for ten seasons, but by that point they were only begrudgingly making that show, because Clark and Welling were getting older and eventually you would run out of Time When He Could Not Be Superman.

So, Smallville was a terrible plan for the beginning of my Superman education. It showed me a version of the character that was self-righteous to a fault, overprotective, paranoid, and dull. But maybe it’s for the best that I got this out of the way early. Maybe now as I do my further reading and watching I won’t be slowed down by this parody of the character that so many people love. I’ll be free to explore what it is that makes Superman so much a part of the fabric of our comic culture.

As of right now my plan for furthering my education involves the movies Superman and the Mole Men (1951) and Superman (1978), the television show Lois & Clark (1993 – 1997), and the comics Trinity, Kingdom Come, Superman: Red Son, and All-Star Superman.

Are there other things I should read or watch? What parts of the Superman character speak most to you? What should I be looking for and keeping in mind as I do my research? Have you watched ten seasons of Smallville? What did you think of them? Let me know! Link me to proper analysis, or heck, link me to your Ollie/Lois fanfiction. I won’t tell anyone it’s yours.

Friday Four #2 – …ladies

Last week I slipped back onto this blog with a post about learning to appreciate women. A part of that journey has been about opening myself up to the things women create and building a need for female voices in my life. In that vein, for today’s Friday Four I bring you:

Four Five Women You Should Be Listening To (and Possibly Aren’t)

01. Jenny Owen Youngs

Youngs is exactly the kind of thing I would have refused to listen to before. A young woman with a guitar who writes songs about her feelings and her relationships. It’s so easy for that to stray into the dewey sentimentalism that still makes me pretty uncomfortable even as it’s making me weep into my chai. But just as we’re supposed to imagine people complexly, we should imagine musicians more complexly still. She has a real gift for hooks. Her song ‘Pirates’ has what is possibly one of my favorite hooks ever as she plaintively tells the audience that loves no good, but it sure beats the hurt, beats the hurt, beats the hur-ur-ur-ur-urt. Her music is incredibly catchy, even the slow stuff, and when she does give us stories they come with fearlessness, like this Bonnie & Clyde tale from her last album. She writes the kind of songs that keep you company all day, which is good for me, because I hate feeling entirely alone.

02. Carolina Chocolate Drops

This band has two ladies with a strong grasp of what it means to embody a song. The one in the video above, Rhiannon Giddens, has been with the band since its inception. She plays five string banjo, fiddle, and kazoo. There’s no singing in the video I’ve posted here, but I had to choose this one because of how the percussion in it makes me happy. If you happen to hear her sing, you’ll know immediately that her voice is strong and clear, as evidenced here in the video where she’s singing ‘I Know I’ve Been Changed’ with her sister. The second lady, Leyla McCalla, joined the band on tour in 2012 as a cellist. I could listen to her talk about music all day. She seems to have need for music and a great understanding of poetry which I admire.

03. The Puppini Sisters

While I feel that the Carolina Chocolate Drops take a classical southern sound and ground it in the now, The Puppini Sisters sit firmly in an imagined past grounded in the tightly sung girl groups from the 40s and 50s. (I imagine Noh-Varr would approve.) They do a lot of period appropriate covers as well as their own songs and they wear a lot of costumes and I pretty much adore all of it. Don’t even get me started on the Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy. While it’s an old style, it’s not dusty. Their voices sound great together and they bring a modern flair to their old time sound. Mainly they’re fun to have around if you need a pick me up or are having a party.

04. Valerie Meiss

Valerie Meiss has been a part of several projects I really enjoy. I first learned of her when I stumbled onto a Hellblinki Concourse set at Dragon*Con in 2008. Hellblinki is the least accessible band on this list. I’ve been told over and over by friends that they just can’t get into the sound, because of how strange it is and the different ways they mix sounds and instruments and even audio clips on their albums. These are pretty much all of the things I love about Hellblinki, so I can’t exactly sympathize. But what I do say is ‘how about Valerie’s voice though? It’s great right!?’ Because it is. It’s why I chose the above video instead of any of the more polished or professional things I could have posted. Just listen to her. And it doesn’t stop there. She can sound like an old time skat performer, a baroness of the plains, like a zombie, like a Disney princess, those last two in the same song! Valerie has since moved on to a new project called Miss Mousie and the Rigamarole which is well worth looking into if you like her voice above. Just for fun, here’s a link to an accordion, fiddle, and upright bass version of Salt n’Pepa’s ‘Push It’.

I hope you find a new voice here. Fall in love a little, it’s the best feeling in the world.

Next week’s Friday Four will be about Birds. You can suggest Friday Four topics in the comments below or over twitter. Have a good weekend!

.029 – Shorter hair, longer skirts.

[Quick Note: Hi! It’s been six months! I came back! I imagine I probably should have come back with something a little lighter, but this is where my head is. Nonsense will resume tomorrow, probably.]

In the simplest shorthand, when a stranger dissects me from a distance, I am these things:

I am caucasian.

I am a woman.

I am bisexual.

Those are the broadest strokes you can paint me in that will mean something to the society I live in. I was all of those things when I was born. I will be all of those things when I die.

Polaroid  A700 picture

Within those three identities I house an infinite number of tweaks and ideas and desires and interests that make up the actual fact of me. By necessity, all of these infinite pieces were born from those first three identities. One would hope that, as a decently self-aware person who spends a lot of time gazing at her navel, I would realize this and purposefully work to grow toward a full version of myself that would fit together nicely and make sense. Unfortunately, the truth of the matter is that for most of my life the only one of those simple groups I felt like I genuinely belonged to was the first.

I have denied being a woman.

I have denied being bisexual.

Those denials were largely denials of omission. I’ve never stated that I wasn’t a woman. I’m cis-gendered, so I’m outwardly female in a socially acceptable way. Most of the world around me looks me over and assumes I check the F box on internet profiles and insurance forms. I just didn’t feel like I could embrace womanhood. I have in the past outwardly claimed to be straight for a myriad of social and emotional reasons, but I have always been attracted to women just as much as men. So while in general this knowledge would have society place me in the bisexual box, I did not embrace that as an identity for myself for a long time. (I’m talking the better parts of society here. Those people who believe varying sexualities don’t exist can take a leap into an active volcano. I’ll even rent a helicopter to fly them over.)

So what does it mean then, to not accept the most basic facts about what you are? It mostly means a lot of internal dissonance, and a lot of external guilt. My family and the small southern town I grew up in are a large part of why I did not allow myself to embrace what they would call a ‘non-traditional’ sexuality until I had moved well away, but this isn’t about them, it’s about me. We’ll just say that my upbringing instilled me with all of the guilt your average WASP upbringing will, and my other WASPs will understand.

Even so, once I was away from all of those oppressive eyes it took me a bit of time to come to full terms with who I was. Now you’re saying, but Lara, sexuality is fluid, maybe you were just straight when you were younger and your exposure to different lifestyles sparked a change in you. I won’t deny you that thought. My exposure to different lifestyles sparked a lot of change in me, and I do agree that sexuality is fluid. However, I have been a sexually aware being from a very young age and there have always been other girls involved. My Barbies often made out with one another and not the New Kids on the Block dolls that had so graciously been provided for them. I kissed my first girl at the age of eight. (I wrote a poem about it that people seem to like.) This was not chaste or innocent, and we knew it was ‘wrong’. When we heard her mother coming down the hall we pulled apart quickly. So I have always liked girls, but there have not always been girls in my life whom I felt comfortable liking, and part of this is because of how I was taught to view girls as I was growing up.

There’s a lot of talk about internalized misogyny. It’s the idea that as young women we see so many negative female stereotypes that we start to believe them about other women, if not about ourselves. It’s why young women proudly proclaim that they only have male friends. They’re not crazy like those other women, you see, because they get along with men, who by societal default are the providers and the strength and are not allowed to be viewed as crazy, even if some of their ideas are pretty disgusting. How could they care for us if they were crazy? For a long time I bought into this.

I had female friends growing up, of course. In grade school you tend to be friends with the people in your class and no class consisted of mostly dudes. I have female friends now that I’ve known since I was five, but we weren’t always close and for a very long time I did spend all of my time with a group of guy friends. I think I was in middle school before I started identifying female gendered behaviors with stigma and not wanting to be a part of them. Girls fought amongst themselves, you see. Sometimes for no reason at all. And there was a hierarchy based on popularity and looks and money that I had no interest in and could never win anyway. Who wants to deal with that bullshit? In the 7th grade I managed to draw the ire of a girl I rode the bus with but never spoke to. I drew so much of this ire that she and her friends followed me to class one day hitting me with their fists and their bags and telling me that if I told they would beat me up more.

My male friends said the right things about this. They offered to protect me in the way other girls couldn’t or wouldn’t. Why would I want to be a girl?

The summer between middle and high school is pivotal for a lot of American students and mine was no different. You’re given the sense that you’re finally growing up. You’re given responsibility and shown that you’d really been learning manners all that time so that you would be able to deflect the ire of other people in a non-argumentative way. So I came back to high school and tried to be friends with girls using my new knowledge. I was still not interested in coolness or popularity or money, but I was mild and quiet and could float between groups and it was fine. It wasn’t the friends-for-life whirlwind they show in the movies, but it was fine.

At the same time, however, because life is never life if there’s not a shit ton of friction in it, I started to notice girls. I would find myself staring off into the middle distance only to realize I was looking right at someone’s chest. I tried not to follow people with my eyes, regardless of how short their skirts were. This felt like a betrayal to the sisterhood I had just become a part of.

In your teens the social line is very much drawn between us-es and thems and the line between the genders is no exception. This line was different though, because it was deep and it cordoned off ‘people who will objectify me’ from ‘people who will understand me’. Because all teenage boys do is objectify girls, right? That’s what they’re taught to do by popular culture. Hell, some of them are still taught to do that deep into their fifties. And girls are taught to remain pure and demure and take it, which tends to close the ranks a bit. I dated boys of course. Senior year I started dating a boy who only recently broke things off with me, so I have a very long career of boy dating and denying things to myself and to them. In some ways I am still fighting the notion that boys will take care of me better than girls will.

(That is a hyperbole. I know not all boys and men treat girls that way. I have many great male friends still who don’t treat women that way. This is just the frame of thinking of a seventeen year old girl.)

And here, at seventeen, this is the moment where it gets truly gross. This is the point I look back at now and wonder how I’ve gone from there to here. Because as a seventeen year old girl I felt it was a betrayal to my gender to find other women attractive, but I did not feel like it was a betrayal to my gender to utter the words: “Yeah, girls are pretty and all, but I could never date one, because girls are crazy.” Very often there was a girl on the other end of the conversation and they would reply: “Oh, yes.”

What?

Why?

What does that even mean? Was I too crazy to date? Objectively yes–which is a whole other story–but subjectively not, because I did not see myself as “one of those girls” I was talking about, which was literally every other girl. I looked at my friends and said ‘you’re too crazy for me to waste romantic energy on’ and they looked back at me and agreed. These are friends that I laughed with and cried with and fought with and drank with and stayed up too late sneaking out to the city with. These are people whose very perceptions of me had the power to break me in half, and yet without stopping to think about it I had written them off as not worth the effort, even though I was already expending all of that effort on them, just in different ways.

God that’s disgusting. I feel a little sick just thinking about it now, but I’ve been thinking about it more and more for months, which is the whole reason I started this post in the first place, so we might as well give it the bald attention it deserves. I did not, at the time, find anything wrong with this statement. This statement was corroborated by everything I saw on TV and in all the songs I listened to and by the attitudes of males around me, even my own father. When I started dating that boy senior year my father looked at me and said ‘you’re just going to hurt him’, reminding me that, as a girl, I was not worth the romantic effort.

(I feel like I should pause here and calm the creeping fears of any friends from those days who may be reading this. Don’t worry! I didn’t want to date you! I don’t want to date you now. But you’re all incredibly rad and I’m proud of you. So thank you for putting up with my shit and still being here.)

At the time this all went further than merely my uninformed and immature romantic notions. The idea that girls were inferior colored everything I engaged with. I think that this is a cyclical problem that’s hard to break out of sometimes, because it’s hard to tell where it begins. And often it doesn’t begin with advertisers looking to exploit you for money, but with people who love you and think they’re doing the right thing. So I didn’t listen to girl bands because I associated the with soppy emotion and not important ideas. (Which is truly hilarious coming from someone who over-identifies with Conor Oberst’s ouvre, but that came later.)  I didn’t watch many TV shows or read many comics that prominently featured women. I went to see teen comedies, but I think we all remember the rash of those that came out in the late 90s and early 00s. They were mostly (and have probably always been, historically) about changing who you are to find the man. Or in the case of something like 10 Things I Hate About You, which is pretty excellent, feeling bad sometimes because you don’t feel like you should change who you are to find a man, because it makes other people see you as in some way deficient or less feminine. My world was pervasively tinted with an explicit form of masculinity, and I believed it. The people around me for the most part also believed it.

Time moves on, though. I moved a couple hundred miles away to college in a bigger, more diverse city. I made some excellent friends, male and female and some in between. People started calling me on my shit and I started thinking, really thinking about the things that I said. I very vividly remember making a rape joke to a friend who called me on it and my response was basically that well, if anyone had earned the right to say something like that, it was me as a person who had lived through it. That is a terrible attitude. Why should I celebrate the culture that hurt me under the guise of taking it back? I shouldn’t. I try very hard not to now.

All through my college years I was introduced to different lifestyles and different attitudes and different cultures and now on the other side of it I feel the better for it. I may not use that degree in Advertising and PR, but I use the stuff I learned from my Junior year roommate every day. Especially the stuff about how valuable relationships with women are. So gradually, I came to accept the parts of myself that I had been keeping under lock. I shifted into letting my speech and actions show an interest in women as well as men. My friends accepted this. My family still doesn’t know. Over the years I’ve come to identify with different LGBTQAPI movements and take things to heart. Most importantly, in a lot of ways, coming to terms with my sexuality forced me to embrace my womanhood.

I mean, how can I love things about someone else that I hate or ignore within myself? And I’m not talking about the physical aspects of women, which are pretty great no lies, but the general aspects that make them human. How can I value the great, important, deep friendships that I have now with other women when I don’t believe myself worthy of the same based simply on my gender, which is a thing that we share? It’s my old friend dissonance again, and it took me quite a while to get up the courage to tell him to fuck himself. The things that I love about people are not gendered. When I view them as gendered I am reducing who they are to an unfair shorthand and the people that I love deserve more than that from me. I love people who are caring and generous and funny and strong and creative. I love women who are these things and I love men who are these things, and I’m just sad that it took me almost thirty years to realize it was the same.

So I get angry, so very angry, when I see comments like I saw over the weekend about how women aren’t interesting or worth a consumer’s time, as if our mere physical attributes or the way we identify with womanhood made us worth less. Not because the world is full of misogynistic douche bros–okay, maybe a little bit because the world is full of misogynistic douche bros–but because that is a sentiment I used to believe. I have identified as female my whole life and it’s only been the last 5 or 6 years that I believed my woman-ness had any unique value or strength.

I’m not special. I’m not speaking for anyone but myself. Everyone’s personal journey to who they are at any given point in time is different and I do not claim to understand or appropriate the individual struggles of others. Especially others who have not had the privileges I was lucky enough to have. I wanted to pull my thoughts together all the same, though. I’m still learning and growing and patiently listening to the things that other women are saying. I’m not cured of internalized misogyny, but I feel like I’ve hit a good benchmark in my journey, and I want to have the road so far here for reference. Maybe there’s a person out there who wants or needs to see the journey. If they do I hope it helps a small bit. Life is hard. It’s full of good things and bad things, but it’s only ever harder if you’re fighting yourself along with everyone else. Stop doing that. Stop resisting who you are.

It’s always good to know there are people out there on your side who know what you’re thinking and feeling. I love me. And I love you. Thanks for reading.

Friday Four #1

Someone remind me that I wanted to make a post about Rise of the Guardians and childhood dreams. I really meant to, but time slipped away from me, as it often does. In fact, some of you might notice that this went up after midnight eastern standard time, which actually makes it a Saturday Four. Anyone who speaks up about this will be kept after class and made to write “I will not question people in their own blogs” a hundred times. And I want that handwriting neat!

I was in a bit of a conundrum over what to make the first Friday Four about. I have spent the last two days trying to pull together stuff to talk about for our 2012 reviews at the Wrong Opinions Podcast. (Well, when I wasn’t trying to figure out how to warp one of the Big Damn Existential Scifi Novel characters into something I could write for a call). I’ve also spent a lot of that time feeling sad that I couldn’t talk about We Need to Talk About Kevin on the podcast this evening because it came out last year. Then, finally as so rarely happens, the two separate sides of my brain connected somehow and I realized I should make the first Friday Four about movies I watched last year and couldn’t talk about on the review podcast. So here, in no particular order, are four movies you should definitely watch if you missed them the first time around.

1. We Need to Talk About Kevin (2011)

Before I begin this, I need to warn you that this movie will never let you go. It’s brutal and effective in its attempts to force the main character’s unease on to you. I watched it many months ago and yet I was just last month in the middle of a long car trip when all of a sudden out of nowhere I was struck by the immense sadness of the ending of the movie and couldn’t breathe for a moment.

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(TRAILER)

The story is that of a mother’s (Tilda Swinton) frustrations over her inability to understand and form a relationship with her son (played at different ages by Jasper Newell and Ezra Miller) and her husband’s (John C. Reilly) inability to listen to what she’s really saying when she talks about her fears. The whole thing culminates in a school shooting, but it’s not really the end that sticks with me as much as all of the build up. Ezra Miller and Tilda Swinton turn in outstanding performances. Miller’s performance in particular haunted me for days after I watched it. (And then gave me some wicked whiplash when later that weekend I went and saw him The Perks of Being a Wallflower. He’s one to watch.)The friend who recced the movie to me told me she wished she could forget having watched it, it’s so disturbing. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that it’s a horror film, but a lot of the elements of suspense are there. It grabs you by the throat and doesn’t let go.

If you like deft character development, scripts that don’t mince words, and aren’t afraid to get your hands (or your imagination) dirty, then this movie is for you.

2. The Lodger: A Story of the London Fog (1927)

This is one we did discuss on the podcast, as part of our Hitchcock Extravaganza at the beginning of last year, but I will never be tired of trying to force people to watch it.

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The Lodger is a silent film about a murderer who is loosely like Jack the Ripper in the way he carries out his crimes and who he targets. It mainly concerns a man who takes a set of rooms during this turbulent time (Ivor Novello) and the daughter of his landlords (June Tripp) whom he falls in love with. This movie had my undivided attention about five minutes in when it gave me some awesome shots of the room sized newspaper printing presses of the time…and then Ivor Novello happened. I think maybe you need to have been raised on Lon Chaney and Boris Karloff like I was to understand how such an expressive face and entreating eyes can capture my heart so, but I fell fast and hard for our hero.

…or is he? He’s mistaken for the killer and then cleared after a harrowing mob scene, but you can’t be sure. The movie itself has the normal narrative snags that we often find when we watch movies structured for audiences of a different time, but you can see Hitchcock’s developing style in it. Especially in the very last scene where all of the intent of clearing the lodger’s name that was in the script–Novello was a popular actor and they couldn’t sully his name by having him play a murderer–is undermined entirely by Hitchcock lingering on a particular lit up sign.

If you like the brand of suspense found in silent films or learning about where famous directors got their starts, then this movie is for you.

3. Circumstance (2011)

I wanted so badly to see this film that I almost broke my keyboard ordering it on Netflix when it finally showed up there. I knew absolutely nothing about it except what I’d seen in the trailer at the beginning of 2011, but that was enough.

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(TRAILER)

This movie was so much more than I expected it to be. I thought it might be your average coming of age lesbian tale with enough cultural differences to keep me intrigued. I did not expect to see the harsh realities of living as a young person of suspect in Tehran, how the things that a person does can get back to their families in a hundred painful ways, or the strength of rebellious spirit in a growing class of young people who refuse to live in the world their parents have left for them. I cannot deny that I take a lot of things for granted about my life, and watching things like this kicks me outside of my head, which is a good thing. The girls (Nikohl Boosheri and Sarah Kazemy) in the movie give engaging performances, and their group of friends made me smile as often as they made me think. There’s also an incredibly creepy plot with one of the girls’ older brother (Reza Sixo Safai) and his obsession with her girlfriend that was way left field from what I was expecting, So good job, movie.

If you are interested in LGBT youth or stories about coming of age in Iran, then this is the movie for you.

4. La planete sauvage (1973)

Billed as Fantastic Planet in the US, La planete sauvage is a feature length animated film written by René Laloux and Roland Topor, and animated at Jiří Trnka Studio. It reminds me a great deal of many things, but I feel like all of those comparisons would be unfair because of the cultural differences between where I’m coming from and where this coming from. Though, that isn’t to say that those things I’m thinking of weren’t influenced by this or other works by the studio.

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(TRAILER)

The main action of the story concerns itself with a human boy named Terr who is being kept as a pet by one of a race of gargantuan blue aliens called Draags. The aliens believe humans too stupid to learn, so Terr passes his many bored hours by listening to his owner’s school lessons. When he finally manages to escape and find more people like himself his knowledge of the alien race helps the other humans (referred to as Oms, a term too close to the French word homme for me to ignore) fight back in a way they hadn’t been able to before.

The ‘camera’ here lingers long and heavy on the surreal landscape of the Draag planet and its many strange and wondrous creatures who seem to enjoy capturing and taunting or torturing smaller animals for fun. It’s this behavior that probably informs the Draags opinions of the Oms as unfeeling beasts, but in the end a shared reason saves the day.

If you like speculative science fiction, existentialism, surrealist art, or listening to people speak French (look, I’m easy for French), then this movie is for you.

And that’s enough of that for one night, as it’s now way past my bedtime. Is there a movie you’ve been dying to tell someone about or that you think I should see? Share in the comments! And have a good weekend.

.028 – The Year of Finishing

2012 was the Year of Doing Frightening Things, and I did. Some of them were more frightening than others, and some of them were entirely unintentional, but over all I think I challenged the way that I think about a lot of things in my life and that’s good. I even got a poem published and made some friends on the way. I can consider that mission accomplished. However, I cannot consider myself done with missions entirely. My princess is in another castle, you see. Time to shimmy down an improbably sized drain pipe and move forward. 2013 will be the Year of Finishing Things.

I am total shit at resolutions. I never keep them and I never complete them, so instead of setting myself up for finishing failure, I’m going to make goals instead. I’ve outlined them below. If you catch me slacking in the next year, please beat me about the head and shoulders with the closest non-lethal instrument and get me back on track.

Health-

  • Drink more water: This one is pretty self-explanatory. But seriously, I drink too much soda. It’s probably gross to anyone else who stops to think about it.
  • Walk to Rivendell: God but I love nerds. Some enterprising Lord of the Rings fans got together and worked out the distances between key locations in Middle Earth. It is 458 miles from Hobbiton to Rivendell. Armed with that knowledge, I am pledging right now to make it to Rivendell by the end of the year. I want to walk/jog at least a mile a day, not including time spent doing walking heavy activities like being at theme parks or in big cities. A mile extra. My writing partner, Alli, has put together a spreadsheet for us to keep track of our distances. For added fun, if you use this website and enter your total mileage, it will tell what you are seeing as you go.
  • Prep to run a 5k: Ideally, eventually, I’d like to be able to run a half marathon, but let’s not put the cart before the horse here. I would like to enter and run at least one 5k before the end of the year. Preferably in less than half an hour. Not that I have any idea how long you’re supposed to take to run a 5k, but half an hour sounds good.

Writing (fiction)-

  • (IE, I’m wasteful with my words, and in turn, my words are wasteful with me.)
  • Burst: I think I’ve finally settled on a time period and overall scenario for this novel I’ve been kicking around in the back of my head for the better part of the year. 1915, travelling sideshow, two young-ish girls just trying to figure out what they need and how they can leave. See also: makeouts, flocks of birds, rain of diamonds, and an old magician who doesn’t do magic. It should be fun to work on at the very least.
  • Volunteer Vampires: Guys, I know. I know that I’ve been saying I was going to finish this all year. It’s just a lousy short story. Why do I make everything so hard? I don’t know. Hence forcing myself to finish things.
  • The Steampunk: Alli and I got sidetracked on this because of life. Life is pretty lame. But hopefully in the next year we’ll be able to make some actual headway on it. It’s always nice to return to that universe, so I’m really looking forward to it.
  • Superheroetry: Sometimes I just have really dumb ideas that I can’t let go of! I like to think that’s part of my charm. In this case I think I’ll write a collection of poems about superheroes. Probably made up ones, since I can’t afford to be sued for copyright infringement.
  • Poetry (legit): I’d also like to polish up some of the poems I already have and work on new ones to submit to different places. You will not be able to escape me! Moo ha ha!
  • Submit to places: A short list of publications I’d like to submit work to over the next few months is: Yeah Write, Snake Oil Cure, Plunge, Spark Anthology, other things I discover as I bumble about the internet.

Writing (non-fiction)-

  • (IE, I’d also like to make sure I’m writing regardless of inspiration or cause, so there are several things I’m planning on keeping up this year outside of any attempt to really publish. Just so I don’t lose sight of what I want to be.)
  • This blog: Surprise! None of you are surprised. I need to be around here more often. I really struggled last year, trying to find a tone and a purpose for this thing. I don’t want it to be a writing blog, because I feel I have no authority there yet. But I DO want it to be a blog that writers want to read and than help me interact with other people who have similar interests. Because of this I think this year I will try to run it as the blog of someone who happens to be a writer, but who also does a whole bunch of other things that she likes to natter on about on the internet. That’s probably the most authentic tone I can strike right now. You know, since I DO do a whole bunch of things and I REALLY love to natter about them on the internet.
  • Friday Fours: I know the Friday Five is popular about the internet. I don’t want my Friday activities to be confused with being a part of any official Friday Five, mostly because I don’t want to disappoint anyone looking for such a thing. So I will do Friday Fours, based on, well, whatever I want to base it on. I’ll probably be taking prompts for those elsewhere. Hopefully they’ll ensure that I’m here at least once a week.
  • Research: Gosh, do I love researching things. Just the other week when I was doing some planning on the new Burst outline I learned that Inspiration (1915) was the first movie to include a nude scene from a leading female that was not pornographic. That’s the kind of information I feel like everyone should know! I’ll be posting things like that more often when they strike my fancy.
  • Wasting My Thirties: I only really mentioned it here once, thoguh I have linked to it from my twitter account several times times. When I turned thirty this year I started a Tumblr dedicated documenting the ways I will spend this monumental year changing and growing. That stuff is more personal than I think I want to have up here, so if you’re interested in my minor freak outs, ridiculous pictures, and occasional reblogs, then please come by and stay a while.
  • A Year With Hafiz: Have I mentioned I’m addicted to Tumblr blogs? Because I think I’m addicted to Tumblr blogs. One of my plans for 2013 was to make my way through the book A Year With Hafiz by documenting a reaction/reflection to each day’s poem. When I mentioned that I was thinking of doing this I was asked by a few people to make it public, so now it is: My Brother, the Light.

Well, none of that should be too hard, so long as I keep my wits about me and forget what it feels like to be lazy. I have some other goals, but they’re mostly money and clutter related and I realize you’re probably not all that interested in hearing about how I most certainly not allowed to buy any more cardigans, because Jesus Crimminy I have way to many cardigans and before I move I should really get rid of some of the freaking cardigans.  So yeah, it’s like that. Are there any things you’re looking forward to accomplishing finally?

Here’s to tomorrow and every day after.

“Ian MacArthur is a wonderful sweet fellow who wears glasses and peers out of them with delight.”

 That was the first sentence. The problem was that I just couldn’t think of the next one. After cleaning my room three times, I decided to leave Ian alone for a while because I was starting to get mad at him.

-The Perks of Being a Wallfower, Stephen Chbosky

The Perks of Being a Wallflower came out my sophomore year of high school. If I’d read it then I probably would have loved it just as much as everyone else seems to. I felt like a watcher then, especially that year. But as is my custom I didn’t get around to it, and then everyone else loved it so I avoided it. I do that sometimes, because I’m afraid that if I don’t love something as much as the other people I love and respect, that their love and respect for me will diminish. Better to be able to plead ignorance and nod along to the lecture you get about the thing. At least it’s still pulling you together that way.

I was perfectly content to live out my years in that ignorance, even though I had easy access to the book. There was a copy on my To Read shelf that had been given to me by a friend at some point along the way. It looked like it was going to be destined to sit there between Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park and Jasper Fforde’s The Big Over Easy forever. And then the movie came out.

The movie–surprisingly well-written and well-directed by the author, two things almost unheard of in the Making Movies Out of Books business–is a thing of pain and beauty.  The three leads do a wonderful job of portraying the tumult of teenage life and offering lines that might seem a bit silly in any other context with a large amount of unabashed sincerity that reminds me very much of what it was like to be a teenager. Everything felt so big then. The whole of my life was in front of me, yet every feeling I had and every slight I suffered felt like the last time. I held on to everything, worried that without any of it the rest of my life would unravel empty. In the movie, it’s Patrick (the amazing Ezra Miller, whom I’ve developed quite the crush on) who plays these things out the best, trying to maintain his air of ease and amusement while dealing with an unhealthy relationship that is eating away at him.

The movie broke open my heart and then sewed it up again. I laughed. I cried. I sobbed like a child. The book, which I finished on a plane on my way to Boston this past weekend, is something else entirely.

It’s unusual that a movie affects me more than a book, but I did not leave the book with the same sense of catharsis and hope that clung to me after the movie. In this case I’m tempted to say that the movie got there first, but I don’t think that’s it. I tried to leave the movie out of my reading of the book entirely, knowing that they’re two very different things. The format of the book left me stilted for a large part of it. It’s composed of first person, epistolary, observations from a young man just trying to figure out himself and the world around him. He seems to be a pretty reliable narrator when it comes to everyone but himself, because he’s not trying to persuade us to think things about these people, simply documenting the ways he interacts with them and the how that makes him feel. And maybe that’s it. Because he feels so removed from even the things he’s directly involved in it sometimes reads like a case study of modern youth. I didn’t quite feel the love he said he had for them for most of it.

That’s also one of it’s strengths, though, and the reason I wish I’d read it in ‘99. Because Charlie is viewing everyone through a window you get to see a lot of things that you probably wouldn’t see at all were the book written in another format. The people around him are in messy relationships that leave them vulnerable in different ways and are, for the large part, unable or unwilling to let go of them, even though they might hurt less in the long run.

I wish I’d known in high school that sometimes girls would have boyfriends that hit them and that sometimes girls would make hard decisions about their mistakes and their bodies. I wish I’d known, in a more than academic sense, that sometimes boys fell in love with other boys and that sometimes girls want to ‘explore’ lesbian relationships and that it’s okay. Normal even. I wish that I’d known that it wasn’t a weakness to cling to the small amount of love you think you have, because that’s what everyone does, even well into their adult years. And I wish I’d learned earlier that sometimes you have to laugh, because there’s nothing else you can do. The thing that the book does in an amazing, resonant way, that the movie doesn’t quite do for me, is normalize a whole host of different relationships that would have saved me time and agony had I just known that I wasn’t alone.

And that’s the whole point of it, really. None of us are alone, even when we think we are or want to be. Someone has lived this life before us. Someone has left behind instructions. We just don’t always know how to find them, and even if we do, we’re sometimes too proud and stubborn to believe that we’re not different and special and that the things that happened before aren’t going to help us.

Not only do we accept the love we think we deserve, but we accept the lives we think we’re owed, and we’re not always fair to ourselves. That’s a lesson I really could have used at sixteen, if only I hadn’t been too busy being afraid of the things I wanted to take them.

 

My friend Matthew Bowers and I discuss the film version in more depth over at Wrong Opinions About Movies, so give that a listen if you’re interested in all the ways that film broke me and put me back together, because that would be another 5,000 words if I tried to nail them down here.

.026 – Flight.

It’s that time of the year again. It’s the time of year where the annually new and improved NaNoWriMo forums open up and welcome all of the previously scattered new and old writers into their open arm chairs. It’s comfortable there. It’s nice.

This will be my eighth attempt at making the 50,000 word uphill slog, and if I can stay focused, my 5th “win”. The quotes are there because It’s been quite a while since I decided to work on one story over the course of the month. As of late I’ve been using the month to chat to interesting people while working away on any number of things that I’ll probably never finish. There’s just something that feels productive about failing on four things instead of one. Though I do notice, now that I’m looking at the site, that my win rate directly correlates with my decisions to actually work on one project through to the end. This year I’m bringing the focus back. It’s simultaneously comfortable and nerve wracking, because while I’m moving back to the novel format I’m also moving into a new genre. Or rather, a couple of new genres. It feels like time to focus on this YA/Magical Realism novel, and I’ve never really seen myself as a person who writes either of those things.

Of course, I’m not really a person who writes anything in the eyes of the rest of the world, since my finish rate is dismal and my attention rate is ADD lite at the best of times. I’m really good at research and scene development, I’m not so good at tying those things together into a completed manuscript. But there’s a first time for everything! There has to be, if I’m ever to become who I want to become. (A published author. And also maybe someone who owns a baby tiger. I’m still trying to talk the boyfriend into that one.)

I found this video while doing some light googling on flock mentality in migrating birds. It’s relevant to the story, I promise. But more importantly, it’s a beautiful piece of art that I wish I could see in person and want to share. The information from the video page says:

FLYLIGHT is an interactive light installation by Studio DRIFT that composes of a minimum of 80 glass tubes.The glass tubes that light up and respond to the viewer are inspired by the behaviour of a flock of birds and the fascinating patterns they seem to make randomly in the air.

Actually this behaviour is not as accidental as it looks; birds have to keep a safe distance from the other birds in front, below, above and next them. They all want to be in the middle of the group and no one wants to be the leader, flying in the front. And what will happen if an intruder interrupts this? This is what the viewer will experience when approaching the Flylight.

You can read more about DRIFT at their website, and see videos of their other work at their Vimeo page.

And so, Nanos, who’s ready to fly come November?

.025 – Where’ve ya been, Lars?

Oh hey there, internet. I did not mean to run quite so far away. I just started going and then found myself somewhere near the end of it all and decided to turn around and start over again. It’s basically the story of my life.  How have you been?

 

The places I’ve been.

I’ve been quite busy while I was away.  I went to Dragon*Con, which my friend Alli and I discussed a bit on the Jaws/Raiders of the Lost Ark episode of Wrong Opinions About Movies. When people ask me about whether or not I think they should attend Dragon*Con I always give them an enthusiastic and slightly pushy ‘yes’. For me it’s the best weekend of the year, and even though I start out every con weekend with the same plan of attack, it always ends up being a unique experience. This con was no exception, as I did maybe half as many panels as usual, spending my time instead dabbling in costuming and hanging out with people I don’t get to see on a day to day basis. It gave the weekend an entirely different feel, but was still completely wonderful.

And while I was at Con–more specifically, while I was sitting in a Tactical First Aid panel learning how to deliver your babies during the mother effing apocalypse(!)–I got the email notification that a poem I wrote had finally been published online. I’m so excited!

I linked it around before, but in case you missed it you can read “HOPE for the AFFLICTED!” here at Exercise Bowler along with some other rad steampunk themed poetry.

I feel very grateful to Exercise Bowler, not only for posting poetry that I like on quarterly basis, but also for sharing something I wrote with the world. It’s my first published piece and I’m very excited to be able to produce things people won’t absolutely hate in the future. Let’s all raise a glass to that possibility.  

And in the theme of possibility, I’ve started a Tumblr Blog that I really want to share with you. I turned 30 while I was away, and while I’m not anymore stressed about 30 than I was about 29–because seriously, nothing can be worse than 25–I would still like to spend this year focused on learning about myself and my place in the world around me. So Wasting My Thirties is there just for that. Come learn with me. Come teach me. Come point and laugh and just be along for the ride.

 

The places I’ll go.

In the vein of the things I’ve been doing while I was away, I’ve been trying to figure out how best to use this space. I want to use it talk about writing and share information about when my friends and I are published or start exciting projects, but I also want it to be fun and informal and a place for us to just chat. So here are some things you might see here in the future.

Wrong Opinions About ALL The Movies! Sometimes I watch a movie for the podcast and find myself unable to really discuss what it is about it that has affected me, partially because I’m incredibly dense when it comes to sorting out my own feelings and partially because conversations sometimes just don’t work that way. I also watch movies that aren’t going to be discussed on the podcast, but that I still feel a need to touch on somewhere. I’m going to start doing that here as I feel the urge to. The first movie will probably be Circumstance, because that film was so much more than the American trailer led me to believe it would be.

Research, the breakfast of champions! The other thing I want to start sharing more often is the off the wall research I do for the projects I’m working on. I write a lot of science fiction, mostly steampunk and cyberpunk, which leads me down the rabbit hole of Wikipedia and peer reviewed magazines on a quite regular basis.  I think it would be fun to start sharing some of the more interesting things here. It would also give me an excuse to do that post on underwear my friend Chrysta requested.

Any old thing you want me to be! And to that end, because I want this to ultimately be a place you like checking in on, is there anything you’d like to see me post? Is there anything you just want to have a conversation about with another person? I’m here for all your conversatin’, distractionary needs! You just let me know what I can do for you and I’ll probably do it! (Because I’m easy that way. Just love me!)

 

So that is a plan. We’ll see how well I stick to it. If nothing else I have a draft of a short story due to someone by the end of October, so I really should get on finishing and fixing it, or possibly weakly calling for help. Whichever. You’ll know when I do.

.024 – The only thing I have to fear is fear of love itself.

This is a post about Esther Day and saying ‘I love you’ when you don’t know how. It’s not actually about Tom Hardy crying, but I thought I’d start with a distraction. Break glass in case of Feelings.

 

For those of you who don’t know, Esther Day is the day where people who are familiar with John and Hank Green and Nerdfighteria commemorate the life of Nerdfighter Esther Early by asking “who do I love that I have trouble saying ‘I love you’ too?” Then, ostensibly, we should all go and find that person and tell them we love them. Those among us who are brave probably follow through on that. I am, however, not brave, so instead I’m telling you guys. I hope you don’t mind.

My dad’s a pretty swell guy. I mean, he has a temper. He’s the kind of guy who would yell “I’LL GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT” at a frustrated child. He’s the kind of guy who doesn’t help my mother clean up around the house even though it desperately needs it. He’s the kind of guy who, as I recently learned, came home several months after my brothers were born and told my mother he didn’t want to have children. He uses racist slurs in every day conversation. He thinks liberals are stupid, including me.

But he’s also the kind of guy that WOULD help me with my homework and pick me up from school and run me to doctor appointments and take us on cross country trips in an RV so that we could discover all of the beautiful things our country had to offer. He cooked and made sure we had healthy food on the table almost every night. He made damn sure we went to college so we could have more than he had. He wants us to be happy. He’s that guy too. Fathers, like all people, resist simplicity.

I was not raised in such a way that makes me feel comfortable telling either of those guys that I love them and I can’t place my finger on why.

I say ‘I love you’ so easily. I say it to my friends and my boyfriend and the rest of my family. I say it without thinking and very often don’t even take into account that I should be feeling some strong sense of trust or loyalty or friendship when I say it. Sometimes I say it without feeling anything at all. When I think about saying it to him I suddenly feel silly and trivial. I simply don’t know how.

In the video I linked to above, John Green says that saying ‘I love you’ is different from showing people that you love them. I think the sense there is that there are a hundred motives that another person might assign to me opening a door for them or making them a lunch or picking them up at four am when their card dies, but if I come out and say it it suddenly becomes concrete. Even if they eventually come to another conclusion for the reason I’ve said what I said, they must first deal with the fact that I might actually love them.

I tend to try and show my dad that I love him with money. Money was such a big deal when I was growing up because we never had very much of it. A car repair or a set of golf clubs came with the understanding that the money being given was an inconvenience and that people who loved you went out of their way to do things even if they were inconvenient. Honestly, a lot of the non-monetary things he did would be brought up later by degrees of inconvenience as well. Over the last 29 years I’ve been given the sense that love is a thing that happens when there isn’t any other choice. And let’s face it, I am my father’s daughter and a contrary jerk. If I have to do something I’m going to resent it and take my own sweet time about it. More accurately, I’m going to spend 29 years sublimating my love for my father by tearing up at every father-daughter relationship I come across in the media and buying him things.  When I go home I take him gifts of books and bourbon and chocolates I think he’ll like. These things say “Look! I was paying attention! I don’t entirely discount your existence like you think I do!”

Or at least I want them to, but as John Green pointed out, the only way to really get that message across is to sit at the kitchen table and watch him make dinner and say “Look! I was paying attention! I don’t entirely discount your existence like you think I do!”

“And also, I love you, even when you’re a jerk.” Everyone deserves a person who will say that to them.

One day I’ll do it. I’ll take a deep breath and just casually drop it in at the end of a conversation. My hands won’t shake and my voice won’t catch. I won’t feel that familiar pressure building in the pit of my stomach, the one that sends me scampering. One day I’ll be able to collect a little of that bravery Esther Early left behind. It really is a beautiful way to remember someone.

But until then I’ll simply have to settle for putting the words in my blog and the feelings behind the next red velvet cupcake I bring him just because.

“I love you, dad. Even when you’re being a jerk. Thank you.”