Deborah's Journal

 This is so good, my omnivorous family loves it! It's also a very flexible recipe, so I will substitute whatever veggies I have on hand (like green beans or zucchini). Plus it doesn't result in a ton of pans to wash. Plus did I mention how yummy it is?

• Cook the spaghetti according to the instructions. Just before done, throw in the bean sprouts and snow peas. Cook for 30 seconds, then drain everything well. Return the pasta, sprouts, and snow peas to the pot and toss with sesame oil.
• In a large bowl, whisk the peanut butter, soy sauce, vinegar, sugar, scallion, ginger, garlic with 2 T (or more!) water. It should be thick enough to coat the noodles, but liquid enough to be easy to toss.
• Toss the spaghetti, sprouts, snow peas, and carrots with the peanut butter mixture.

 BayCon is my local science fiction convention, one I have attended regularly for quite a few years now. At first, the hotel venue was within commuting distance, so long as I did not indulge in too many late night events that left me driving twisty mountain roads when I was already fatigued. But as the convention moved to different hotels, as conventions sometimes do, each successive move took it farther away until I was faced with either driving over an hour in either direction or shelling out for a hotel room. Fortunately, a dear friend and writer colleague offered me a guest bedroom and the chance to carpool from her house. Her adolescent children attended the con, too, so my own experience was colored by becoming a temporary part of her family and also the rhythms and accommodations of young folks. Among other things, I heard about the teen track programs, the gaming room, and other aspects of conventions I otherwise would be oblivious to. The kids reminded me that although conventions are primarily work for me, they can and should be play, as well.

The other difference in this convention is that Book View Café had one of two tables in “author’s alley,” near guest registration (the other was Tachyon Books, featuring Peter S. Beagle). Although the various attending members were not particularly organized, it was a somewhat successful learning experience and some of us sold books, talked about BVC, and chatted with fans.

We arrived at the hotel Friday afternoon, in time to hear both Juliette Wade and Chaz Brenchley read. Listening to authors read their work, sometimes work in progress or yet unpublished, is a special treat. When I have a heavy schedule of panels, I regret not being able to attend, so this was a great beginning to a convention. Not only did I get to hear two very different but equally wonderful stories but sitting quietly in a convention atmosphere helped with the transition.

It seems the older I get and the longer I live in the redwoods, the more difficult it is for me to “shift gears” into convention mode. I’ve become accustomed to long, deep silences, not to mention a slower pace of conversation. I always feel as if I’m moving (and speaking) too fast, which of course increases the risk of mis-speaking or not listening carefully enough to what the other person is saying. Most of the time, no one seems to notice. Being so aware of my own limitations, however, does make it easier for me to respond with gratitude when I am called out on an error. I appreciate not getting backed into a defensive posture.

My first panel – and I was moderator for all of them – got things moving on Saturday with Science Fiction (and/or Fantasy) as a Tool for Social Change, with A. E. Marling, Stephen “Dirk” Libbey, and Carrie Sassarego. In preparing for the panel, I had the thought that the influence of literature can be both good and bad (Mein Kampf and the world of Ayn Rand being two examples). Various members pointed out how pop culture influences people, and the metaphors used in speculative fiction allow subversive ideas to slip “below the radar.” Superheroes and media like Star Trek fill emotional needs but also empower us all to see ourselves as  heroic (for example, how Uhura inspired generations to reach for the stars). Since the theme of the con was “dystopia/utopia, we pointed out how sf/f offers “cautionary tales” of “if this goes on” or “it can happen here.” It offers hope that life can and will go on after a disaster. We need Gandalf and Dumbledore after this last election!

Chaz Brenchley and R.L. King joined me for a lively discussion of Stand-alone or Series. We swapped stories from our own careers and debated the advantages and pitfalls of each form, and how what the publishers are looking for has changed over time. Writers who once regularly got multi-volume contracts found themselves having to market completed stand-alone novels. Chaz pointed out that a stand-alone can and often does become the first volume of a continuing series when and if the publisher decides that book has sold well enough to merit more (“like the first one only different”). R. L. represented authors who have chosen self-publishing to bring out a series in rapid succession. In her case, she set up her own imprint and hired professional editors and cover designers, so the final product had high values. Her urban fantasy series is targeted at a particular reading experience, which reminded me of Amanda Hocking’s highly successful self-publishing strategy. Readers know exactly what kind of experience to expect, and frequent new releases (ever 3 or 4 months) keeps them coming back for more. This contrasts to conventional publishing, where an author might typically take a year to write a novel, which would spend another year in production.

I had further conversations with R. L. King and A. E. Marling when we tackled Writing in Someone Else’s World. I’ve spoken on this topic a number of times, about continuing the “Darkover” series created by Marion Zimmer Bradley, and also writing a Star Wars short story (“Goatgrass” in Tales from Jabba’s Palace). Both other panelists came from a gaming tie-in background, where the rules are a bit different. For example, A. E.’s experience writing for Wizards of the Coast involved NDAs (Non-Disclosure Agreements, which prohibit him from discussing material in production and other aspects of the job). R.L.’s tie-in novel was set in “Shadowspawn,” a large and varied gaming world.

My friend Cliff Winnig played sitar in concert. He usually accompanies an author reading for one of his pieces, but this year the author he’d invited couldn’t attend, so I filled in at the last minute. I read the sword fight scene from Thunderlord, and Cliff’s music made the dancing come alive.

After dinner, it was time to play and relax. I particularly enjoyed the Masquerade and Variety Show this year. One of my Darkover anthology authors, Jeremy Erman, won “Best in Show” in the variety show for his keyboard performance of the music of James Horner, but all the other entries and costumes were highly entertaining, too. The musical duo “Library Bards” did their usual hilarious and musical job at the microphone.

Sunday morning began with a panel I actually wasn’t on. (That’s not a joke; I’ve been to far too many conventions over the years where the only panels I got to go to were those I was a participant in.) I wanted to hear the discussion of Women’s Utopias or Queer Utopias, with Meg Elison, Heather Rose Jones, Skye Allen, and Wanda Kurtcu, and I was not disappointed. With a huge audience for a 10:00 Sunday panel, the conversation with animated and thoughtful. People are not uniform, so one person’s utopia is another’s dystopia. Meg described her Philip K. Dick Award-winning novel, The Book of the Unnamed Midwife as The Handmaid’s Tale with queers and pointed out that most apocalyptic stories are asymmetrical with regard to gender and sexual orientation. Typically, such tales don’t question the binary nature of gender, and they often reinforce gender role stereotypes (with notable exceptions like Mad Max: Fury Road). Early feminist utopias didn’t even address sexual needs/preferences, assuming celibacy for equality. Novels set in utopias often incorporate the element of misfits or those who resist (Brave New World, Logan’s Run) to contrast and point out the impossibility of setting up a system that works equally well for everyone. “Who is this utopia for?” becomes a central question. While hell as dystopia is a popular topic, almost no one is interested in heavenly utopias, perhaps because “heaven” pertains to life without the body (“meat suit”) and that’s inherently boring, while the structure of a novel requires conflict or dissatisfaction. “People will always find ways to be unhappy.” All-lesbian utopias assume a uniformity of sexual activity, but people aren’t all the same in this dimension, either. “Incidental queerness” occurs when the sexual orientation of a character is not his or her central problem, it’s just one facet of that person.

My last panel was Care and Feeding of Your Creative Muse, with Skye Allen, Jennifer Nestojko, Mark Gelineau, and R.L. King. We talked about how to balance the different parts of your life: family and other obligations, self-care, day job, and writing. How to keep the ideas coming (and not forget them!) and then wrangle them into stories. How to keep the whole process fun. It’s important to develop strategies that work for you to keep you writing on a schedule and not just “when the muse strikes.” Mark encouraged us to have courage, and faith in our creative process. We talked about how to keep that faith alive when our lives fall apart and we can’t write. Hope during difficulties means remembering that “this too shall pass.” We all need reminders of how our creativity sustains and nourishes us during difficult times. Having a writing ritual can keep us going through distractions. Detractors can undermine our confidence in our work by denigrating its importance; instead, we remember that our art is how we fight the darkness.

 Book View Cafe's Mindy Klasky has edited an anthology, Nevertheless, She Persisted. Here's the Table of Contents (with my historical fantasy story about Dona Gracia Nasi). Release date is August 8, 2017.

 

What an amazing lineup!

 

“Daughter of Necessity” by Marie Brennan

“Sisters” by Leah Cutter

“Unmasking the Ancient Light” by Deborah J. Ross

“Alea Iacta Est” by Marissa Doyle

“How Best to Serve” from A Call to Arms by P.G. Nagle

“After Eden” by Gillian Polack

“Reset” by Sara Stamey

“A Very, Wary Christmas” by Katharine Eliska Kimbriel

“Making Love” by Brenda Clough

“Den of Iniquity” by Irene Radford

“Digger Lady” by Amy Sterling Casil

“Tumbling Blocks” by Mindy Klasky

“The Purge” by Jennifer Stevenson

“If It Ain’t Broke” by Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff

“Chataqua” by Nancy Jane Moore

“Bearing Shadows” by Dave Smeds

“In Search of Laria” by Doranna Durgin

“Tax Season” by Judith Tarr

“Little Faces” by Vonda N. McIntyre

Spiral Galaxies Shimmer in Hubble Telescope's 27th Birthday Photos.

Mystery human hobbit ancestor may have been first out of Africa.

Maurice Conti: Can Machines Think And Feel For Themselves?

Marie Brennan on New Worlds: Names and Their Meaning

Is It Safe To Eat Moldy Bread?

And, for Tolkien geeks and fans of Galadriel: The Trial of Galadriel, by Jeff LaSala.

DW account established, Lj posts imported, waiting for LJ comments to finish. but I'm here here HERE!

Sff.net has gone the way of GEnie and other beloved communities. GEnie was my introduction to online gatherings. I met people, made friends (still going strong), brainstormed anthologies (and then sold stories to them), kept an eye on friends in need (and noticed when they disappeared and dispatched local friends to check on them), engaged in gossip I wish I hadn't, engaged in kindness I'm glad I did.

Dueling Modems and then sff.net picked up when GEnie couldn't survive the 2K transition. For me, neither had the same vitality, although folks did their best. Sff.net provided an email address and website, however. And we all had to find new hosts as The End neared. As much as I valued these communities, I've oozed on over to blogging, FB, Twitville, and the like. I'm still here, too.

Life moves on. Communities evolve. Friendships endure.

In my work and my life, I notice that I go through times of intense activity and productivity, but that these eventually spin down. No one can maintain such a fever pitch indefinitely. When I am working “well,” I cruise along at a sustainable rate, confident that I have that extra literary “gear” when needed. The same is true for emotional intensity regarding political and other matters, in my case preparing for the upcoming parole hearing of the man who raped and murdered my mother. We step up to the plate, do what is necessary, deal with what we must, and set aside what we cannot handle (hopefully for some future time, rather than burying it indefinitely).

For every advance, there comes a rest. A rest is not a retreat, not a failure, although at times it can seem so. We can become so accustomed to putting forth our maximum effort that it becomes normal. It’s no longer a matter of setting aside other needs to make a heroic effort; those needs get put “on hold” indefinitely. We become desensitized to our own inner promptings, as well as the needs of those closest to us such as our families and partners. We can find all sorts of justifications for our continued dedication to that task or good cause. Just because we can carry the weight to the exclusion of everything else doesn’t mean that it’s healthy for us to do so. It’s important to recognize the difference between an emotionally intense sprint and a long-term, marathon effort.

Another reason why it’s often hard to let go of sprint-mode is that a return to a more balanced life and normal energy levels feels like back-sliding or going in reverse. It’s the emotional equivalent of how the room keeps spinning even when we stop and stand still. Sometimes there is indeed a dip in energy to balance out the extra energy expended during the all-out push. I have to keep reminding myself that needing “down” time is not the same thing as weakness, failure, or deterioration. Recharging my physical and emotional batteries, so to speak, is an essential part of being able to take the next step forward.

These periods of rest always last longer than I think they should. Recuperation and regeneration take time, and they also take resources. Simply ceasing activity stops the outflow, but it may take a long time for the inflow to restore balance. I think of the earth as it passes through the seasons and how winter is a fallow time. Fallow doesn’t mean inert, though. We may not be able to see it, but there are slow, restorative changes happening in root and soil, branch and seed.

What does it mean for me as a human being to be in a state of restoration as opposed to immobility?

What nourishes my spirit? (Music, friends, nature, meditative practices, community?)

What refreshes my body? (Good food, exercise, fresh air, massage?)

What rejuvenates my mind? (Reading, learning a new skill or musical instrument, museums, lively conversation, travel, lifelong education?)

Today is the Day Without Immigrants. I wouldn't be here if my father had not been allowed to immigrate in 1922, before the quota on Jews.

What's your immigration story?

It should come as no surprise to anyone who knows me well that I’m a dragon-slayer. I place myself squarely between my loved ones and anything that threatens them. It’s a longstanding family joke that the only time I used the physical aspect of 30+ years of Chinese martial arts was when I jumped between my preschool-aged daughter and a rampaging swan (and kicked the swan in the head). Now I’m in the position of the taken-care-of, the protected, not the protector.

This sea change came about as a result of a series of family conferences about the upcoming parole hearing. I mentioned earlier that I’ve learned to pay careful attention when people who love me express concern for my mental health. They have good reason to. At every parole hearing I’ve attended in person, I have been the family spokesperson. That meant staying focused and present, no matter what was happening. It meant putting my own needs and reactions on hold so that I could act. The first hearing took place in San Quentin State Penitentiary. I cannot begin to tell you what a not-nice place that is, even if you know you can walk out. Yet I was so focused on my responsibility to prevent the perpetrator from hurting anyone else, I never thought twice about attending or speaking, and it took a terrible toll on my health and sanity. My family and my close friends know what a dark time I went through and how hard I worked to recover. I have learned the hard way that just because I am capable of doing something scary and hard does not mean that I have to.

The last hearing took place in 2008, and neither my sister nor I attended it. We arrived at our decisions independently but in conversation; we each supported the other’s decision, recognizing that we don’t have to do make the same choice in order to support one another. A month before the hearing, the inmate – Sean DeRutte -- sent a letter to us via Victim Witness Services. When mine arrived, I asked my husband to look at it first. When he read it, he turned sheet white and said, “Don’t read this.” On the first page was a description of the sexual assault, containing details never before divulged.

In all the years since his incarceration, De Rutte never admitted to the sexual assault. Doubtless his attorney counseled him to not mention any crime for which he was not convicted (and this was a plea bargain, so he was not convicted of rape). However, the Parole Board Commissioners had previously made it clear that until he was able to express understanding and remorse, he was never going to be released. That he chose to inflict the details of a violent sexual assault on the daughters of his victim demonstrates he has no empathy for other people’s pain.

Once I stopped shaking and made some outreach calls, I tried to telephone my sister. I was too late in reaching her, for she had already opened and read her letter, and while in a public place, the post office. She was terribly distressed by it, as any person with a shred of sensitivity can imagine. I had my husband fax the letter to the District Attorney to use during the hearing. Apparently, even more shocking details came out then, so much so that the D.A. cautioned us to not read the transcript.

Fast forward 5 years to the current hearing, I contemplated whether or not to attend, resolved not to, and decided furthermore that since I have so far been spared these additional, appalling details of the assault, it would be in my best interest to continue to shield myself and to allow people who love me to help me.

Not knowing things doesn’t come easily to me. Most of my life I’ve used knowledge as a way of gaining control over my life. I found much truth in the saying, “We’re only as sick as our secrets.” So to deliberately not open a file or a letter, to not search out facts that have great emotional importance in my life, feels cowardly and counterproductive. And yet that is also what seems healthiest for me to do now. I truly do not want to know any more about what my mother suffered in the last minutes of her life. It’s easier to remember that and respect the boundaries I’ve set for myself if I have help.( Read more... )

This means, among other things, that not only am I not going to attend this hearing – at which time the letter and other aspects of the crime will undoubtedly be discussed – but I must guard myself carefully in the weeks to come. At the same time, I must remember that I am not alone. How does this translate into action? It means two things. First, it’s up to me to ask for help. This is both difficult and easy. Easy because it feels active, and I’ve found that taking empowering action lowers my anxiety. I’m doing something. At the same time, it’s hard to step away from the solo paladin, front-line role. I have a long-time habit of mistrusting any action that I haven’t done myself or personally observed when it comes to this area of my life. Now I must shift to relying on the judgment of others, to take their word on what is safe for me. I know they’ll make errors, but I hope these will be in the direction of protection I may not actually need and not in the other direction. If one of them misjudges the emotional pain something might cause me and as a result I don’t learn certain details of the assault or subsequent events, that is not a problem. It doesn’t endanger my safety.

For someone as information-centered as I have been, it’s a big deal to relinquish specific accuracy for the bigger picture. I am not a prosecuting attorney arguing the case, requiring that high degree of precision. I already know far more than is emotionally healthy for me. At one time, I believed that no information could be worse than what I imagined, but as I have learned more with each successive hearing, I see that is not true. Rather, the reverse. I have learned more than I ever wanted or needed to, and now it is time to close the door and say No more.

My gratitude to those loved ones who are willing to act as buffers for me is immense. I understand that the same details that might give me nightmares for years are horrific but not nearly as traumatizing for them. Nevertheless, it is sometimes a struggle to allow them to place themselves between me and the fire. I wrestle with stepping back and accepting their help. That part feels passive in the sense of not doing anything but is actually receptive. I think of how a gift enriches both the recipient and the giver, and how good it feels when I am able to help someone else. When I see that I am offering that same opportunity to my loved ones, I feel empowered rather than indebted. This isn’t charity, it’s compassion in action. And for that to happen, I have to hold open the space for others to act on my behalf.

When I received a letter from the Department of Corrections, informing me of the late March parole hearing for the man who raped and murdered my mother, I felt overwhelmed. It had been as much as I could do to maintain emotional equilibrium in the face of the election and then the illness and death of our wonderful German Shepherd Dog, Tajji. I knew the next hearing was schedule for 2017, but I did not expect to begin the year in dread of that ordeal. I know what these hearings have done to me in the past and how hard I have had to work on survival and recovery. Each hearing has not only opened old wounds but created new ones as more was revealed.

Almost immediately, I started noticing worrisome changes in my mental health. In the 30 years since my mother was killed, I’ve come to know the “warning signs” quite well. I no longer ignore them as I once did. I dare not “soldier on” or bury myself in work: that way lies madness. Thank goodness, I have never been tempted to use substances, legal or not, to escape. Instead, I run to anxiety as my drug of choice. This time I decided to take action on my own behalf before I got into serious trouble.

First I enlisted allies. At the top of that list is my family, both my daughters (one at home, one across the country) and husband, and my sister, with whom I’m very close but who lives in a different part of the state. I let them know I was having a hard time and that if I was distracted or irritable (or flaming irrational), to not take it personally because that meant I needed help. No matter what’s going on, extra hugs are always helpful! So it goes without saying that I am asking for – and receiving – more physical affection. I find my whole body relaxing into a hug and I often fall asleep while cuddling with my husband, I feel so safe and loved.

I decided to tackle my broken sleep first. My daughter and I had gotten into the habit of watching videos until it was bed time. We made a pact (and shook on it) to turn off the television early, to not begin a new episode of whatever program we were streaming after 9 pm. I was delighted at her enthusiasm for meditating with me. We got out our cushions and sat on the living room floor, facing one another. The first evening, we lasted only 5 minutes, but that was enough to produce a sound night’s sleep. Since then we’ve missed a night here and there, but have been continuing the practice for progressively longer times. I don’t need an hour; 10 or 15 minutes seem enough right now. Soon we realized that one of the cats was joining us, sitting in between us or on my lap, and purring. I found the purring added to my relaxation and mental calm.

Secondly, I began keeping a journal again with the specific purpose of using this method to sort through the various logistical decisions surrounding the parole hearing. Taking out the old spiral bound notebook was like meeting an old friend again. This practice had the effect of “corralling” stressful thoughts into a specific setting. Knowing I had a time and place to figure things out – and that I was not allowed to do so at other times and places! – is very helpful. I reminded myself that once I decided what order I wanted to do things in, it was necessary to only worry about the one at the top of the list. One thing at a time, breaking what seemed like an insurmountable load into small, manageable steps. Soon I had prioritized the decisions and tackled the first, most time-critical action. At this point, I had to take myself in hand and not go on to the next one but to allow myself a breather in which to regain my emotional balance.

Third, I have been reaching out to other people I trust, most of whom know the whole wretched story. This way, I have people to talk to with whom I don’t have to rehash history. I miss my best friend, who was an incredible source of support through very painful times, but since her passing I have gotten closer to other friends. As has happened before, I have been sometimes surprised and deeply touched by the kindness and wisdom of the people in my life.

Next up is to ask the Quaker meeting (of which my husband is a member, and I an attender) for a Clearness Committee. This is a small group of weighty Friends who sit with you not to offer advice but to support you in your discernment of a path. I’ve done this for the last two parole hearings and the experience of being “held in the Light” with such tenderness has sustained me.

I find myself missing the comfort of a dog, especially one as responsive and emotionally literate as Tajji. The cats have been extra cuddly since Tajji died, and Shakir, the one who meditates with my daughter and me, curls up beside me at night on the other side from my husband. But it’s too soon to get another dog, so I imagine Tajji wagging her tail at me and giving me a big doggie grin.