Monthly Archives: January 2014

Would Anyone Like A Brown Sweater?

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This is not a political or issue-oriented blog in the least, but sometimes you see something so ridiculous that it requires good rant. First, familiarize yourself with the following:

Vaginal Knitting Casting Off My Womb

Now, THAT is one inspirational piece of performance “crafting” — so much so that my own muse has struck! I am now taking orders for my own very personal crafting statement, sweaters quite literally pulled from my own ass.

Some pedestrian minds might judge this art h-arse-ly, thinking it among the crappier of my ideas, butt I shit you not, this is the end-all, be-all statement of my personal philosophy. I’m lettin’ it all hang out!  And not to be too anal about it, but what is that philosophy exactly? Just that writers, like performance artists, are often completely full of it.

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Sophomoric? Indeed, and proudly so. Okay, disclosure time:  I’m just a regularish guy. I understand art, feminism, and knitting all to the same abysmal degree. I don’t get it, and I’m probably not the intended audience for this young womyn’s statement, but I do have a nicely uninformed opinion about it. (After all, like assholes, everybody’s got ’em.) In my opinion her performance piece and all its bloody, scratchy, and not-very-sanitary excess is ludicrous, unnecessary, and quite likely obscures the very issues she is trying to call attention to.

I am not a feminist. That doesn’t mean I don’t understand or empathize with the issues feminists rally around — they just don’t hit me to the point where I would label myself that way or form my life around that label. And that is said as a proud and involved husband and father of two girls (and a son).

The equality of women in the home, workplace, society, and in leadership positions is an important issue still today. The struggle to achieve all the growth we have made in the US and worldwide has been a long and noble one, and my wife and daughters have benefited greatly from the efforts of almost all the self-identified feminists that have come before.

But not all.

I think most would agree that there is a profound difference between feminists who daily battle to eliminate artificially unfair barriers to achievement placed before women — and “feminists” who demonize men, see everything in terms of oppressive patriarchy, or insist that anyone who disagrees with their more extreme views is somehow bewildered or afraid of their lady-parts.

Congratulations, Ms. Jenkins, you have a vagina, similar to approximately half the planet. Your performance art is akin to the proud announcement of my neighbor’s 4 and 5 year-old daughters when they very publicly proclaimed their discovery of the difference between boys and girls. Yes, the vulva is not to be feared. Yes, wondrous, miraculous things can come from your uterus. Yes, menstruation is both a huge imposition no man could comprehend and completely normal at the same time.

But we kinda already knew all that before you turned your va-jay-jay into a yarn cozy.

I’ll grant that your piece (of art) is unique, in that most folks just haven’t thought it a good idea to cram spun sheep hair up their nethers in order to make the world’s worst Christmas gift, but it is also neither profound or revelatory.  You obviously have a great creative flair, but you seemed to have squandered your (possibly) only 15 minutes of fame on either pointing out something completely trite or by combating a straw-man argument against all you deem to be non-feminist.  There are actual injustices committed against women and girls around the world, and there still are real, unfair gender biases against women in our own, more progressive countries, but none of those are because the patriarchs in power don’t understand or fear your plumbing.  By going forward in this manner, you’ve turned a real issue into an object of bafflement, derision, and scorn, hurting her compatriots and giving those who pigeonhole feminism into the crazy femi-nazi stereotype more reasons to stick by their stereotype.  This project is more about you as a shock-jock than about advancing the real cause of feminism.  I would recommend you aim higher on your next “craftivist” project.

Of course, this leads to a more general warning about the labels we wear and the labels we cast upon others.  Anytime you employ a label as a shortcut to refer to either “us” or “them,” you begin circumventing reason.  Whether the labels you employ are “conservative” or “liberal,” “feminist” or “masculist,” you risk allowing the label to define you and those you disagree with rather than their actual words or actions.  Think about this next time you feel compelled to use those labels:  is the term just a convenient verbal shortcut to show a difference in ways of thinking, or is it being used as a filter to disregard any and all arguments employed by the opposite side of the dichotomy (if, in fact, such a dichotomy truly exists).

Hmmm, this sweater’s a lot less brown than I anticipated.  Maybe I’m not completely full of shit.

Launch Copy Poll!!!!

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We are now T – (something imminent, gimme a break — I do this in my spare time between working, caring for kids, wife, home, sleeping, etc) for the Stealth Books launch of A Sword Into Darkness, and I need your help!

Which version of back cover / website copy below would make you more likely to spend your hard-earned beer money (or wine and cheese money, we ain’t snobby around here) on my rousing tale of near future, space-faring daring-do?

Version 1:

Humanity is not alone in the universe, and we are not ready for what’s coming.

Something is out there . . . . That’s all Gordon Elliot Lee knows.  His scans of the Delta Pavonis region have uncovered a massive energy source moving toward Earth.  Something is definitely coming our way, but no one will believe him, despite the clout he’s built within NASA and the military.  Not one to be stymied by the doubts of others, Gordon lays the groundwork to meet a threat that’s still a generation in the future.  He is determined that the Earth will be ready, even if the preparations cost him everything.

Nathan Kelley is a bloodied naval warrior, scarred by his own actions in the waters off North Korea.  Kris Munoz is an avant garde scientific genius with more ideas than sense.  Nathan and Kris are the only two people Gordon can count on as they sour the very edges of fringe science and engineering to develop Earth’s first space navy in time to oppose the Deltan invasion.

They will have to face ridicule, government obstruction, industrial espionage, and their own demons to get this insanely ambitious project off the ground.  But the challenges on Earth are nothing compared to what awaits them in space.  Against an unknown alien enemy with vastly superior technology, a handful of human scientists and warriors must become the sword that holds the darkness at bay.

The human race is about to make its stand . . . .

Or Version 2:

AN UNKNOWABLE THREAT APPROACHES EARTH

WE ARE UNPREPARED FOR WHAT’S COMING

Gordon Lee – an industrialist with the vision and the means.  Nathan Kelley – a haunted naval warrior with the skillset to see that vision accomplished.  Kris Munoz – an unpredictable genius with more ideas than sense.  These three alone will take up the task to create Earth’s first space navy.  Beset by ridicule, government obstruction, corporate espionage, and their own personal demons, it will take a miracle just to get off the ground.

And, should they reach their alien quarry, they will have to become the sword that holds the darkness at bay.

MISSILES WILL FLASH

RAILGUNS WILL RUMBLE

LASERS WILL BURN

AND DEFENDERS WILL DIE

IF THEY FAIL, OUR END IS AT HAND

Ooooor, some complex mix of the two.  If so, leave your thoughts down in the comments and we can pick and choose from the best elements of each.  The first is more informative – you know what you’re gonna get.  The second seems punchier – you know the kind of story you’re going to get.

What say you, internet?  The clock, it is TICKING!

Open Letter to Indie Authors

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Great thoughts to consider as I embark along this new path . . . .

Unknown's avatarJena Gregoire + Avery Lennox

Open Letter Graphic

1/6/2014 – AN UPDATE ON THE UPDATE – I have been approving 100% of the comments left on this post.  I haven’t hidden a single thing.  I have received exactly FOUR pieces of negative feedback on this open letter, three of which were about my use of profane language.  Due to this, I feel it necessary to issue this warning:  I say ‘fuck’ a lot.  If you don’t like it, take a hike because you’re not going to like what you’re about to read.    Sorry to be a bitch about it but this is MY blog.  That’s like going to someone’s house and ragging at them because of the way they do something in their own home.  Had I posted it on YOUR blog, you’d have the right to complain about it.  Instead, you’re posting the comment just to have something to say.    

GOING FORWARD:  WE HAVE ALREADY…

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“A” is for Anxiety, “B” is for Bitterness, “C” is for . . . .

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Cancer.

As Tweeters, Facebookers, Tumbl’rers, bloggers, and writers the internet over tackle the challenge of summing up 2013 and looking forward to 2014, my post turns out to be a hell of a lot different from the one I thought I’d be writing when The Improbable Author began last year.  This was the year I was to be published, whether by a big house or as an indie.  ’13 was to have been the year I put on my big boy pants and tried to make my own way through the marketplace.

Instead, the last two months of this year — during which I had grand plans for a book launch — were instead waylaid by something a lot more terrifying and important than whether or not my pulpy space opera would do well or not.  Just after Halloween, my wife Jen received news that scared us a more than any monster possibly could:  she had tested positive for breast cancer.  The moment I received that first teary call from Jen relaying the doctor’s diagnosis, all plans I’d had fell by the wayside.  Whether I had the time or not to devote to writing or book-marketing, I couldn’t even gather the thoughts needed to work out the details.  I was numb, and angry, and dismayed, my emotions and thoughts contradicting themselves as fear and hope, pragmatism and delusion swirled around my brain.  And I think I’ve remained in that state ever since.

Everything after the diagnosis seemed to proceed at a fast-forward pace.  My day job’s insurance is (thankfully) very, very good, so doctors, specialists, and hospital staff jumped on Jen’s diagnosis with the enthusiasm of a hungry stray.  We leapt from diagnosis (invasive ductile carcinoma), to planning the surgery, to informing our family and friends, to the surgery itself in almost no time. Less than a month after finding out about the lump in her right breast — the week after Thanksgiving — she went under the knife.  Jen’s family has a long, sad history of cancer, so she made the brave and terrifying choice to not merely have a lumpectomy, but instead opted for a double mastectomy with reconstruction, with the full concurrence of the medical team.  Once there, however, as our luck goes, it became more complicated. The cancer had spread to the lymph nodes on that side, such that they all had to be removed as well.

Recovery from surgery was another ordeal entirely.  She had a horrible time managing her pain, with complications arriving at every turn.  Where many can leave a day or two after surgery, she was not able to check out for four days.  And then she was in and out of the emergency room and re-admitted a few days later when another complication arose with her medication along with a surprise fungal infection out of left field.  Finally, she came home to stay home, but things did not necessarily get easy from there.  The drains leaked and pulled and awkwardly, painfully obstructed everything from laying down to going to the bathroom. Stiches, tissue expanders, her entire chest, EVERYTHING hurt, almost all the time, interrupting her sleep and keeping her loopy on meds when she could stay awake.  She could only gingerly hold her beloved children and my every move seemed to be the bumbling, jerking motions of a golem targeted upon annoying and hurting her despite my intentions.  I grew frustrated, angry, confused, fearful, petulant, and lonely — and then guilty for wasting thoughts on my lot when nothing I felt could possibly compare to the fear and anger of my wife who ACTUALLY had a reason for her feelings beyond mere selfishness.

I thank God for her mother and her sister, who were there to help her in a much more soothing manner than I could manage.  I’m also appreciative of the help our neighbors have offered, for Facebook’s numerous contacts that have enabled strangers and distant friends both to stay in touch, provide advice, and buoy her spirits.  And I’m completely in the debt to the wonderful doctors, nurses, and staff of the Portsmouth Naval Medical Center.

2013 ended on a very sour note, but there were good things about the year’s end as well.  Jen is on the mend, off the meds, and getting better every day.  Christmas wasn’t the holiday she looked forward to before the diagnosis, but it was a good Christmas nonetheless.  And though my book launching plans completely hit a wall (with apologies to all of those to whom I made promises and owed things which went totally unfulfilled), my partners in crime have kept working, garnering praise for this thing I created and then left untended.

2014 offers challenges, fears, hopes, and surprises as well, of course. First and foremost, my wife’s reconstruction and treatment continue.  Chemotherapy is supposed to be a different kind of hell to experience, with the only good thing about it being that it has a fair track record at killing cancer and keeping it from coming back.  I fear for the nausea, pain, and muddled thinking it carries with it and wish a child’s wish that I could face it instead of her.  When it and the radiation are done, though, and when the reconstruction is complete and all the hair has come back, my more realistic hope for 2014 is that my wife can be not just a proud cancer survivor, but a genuinely happy, hopeful, and strong woman, fully aware that she excites me now just as much as she did when we were dating.

And I also hope to get a book out. 🙂