Today night steps forward to again balance the day. We turn toward the darkness, a time of rest, a time to weave stories. I breathe a sigh of relief. Walking the hill behind our house at sunset, I think of my witch friends, and all those who live in awe of creation. May your seeds find rich soil, may you have the strength to let go of that which is done, may your pillow be soft, may your awakening be gentle, may your life be in balance. Blessed be.
Great ideas for self-employed artists (especially those of us with young kids)!
Originally posted on Writers' Rumpus:
GUEST POST by Carrie Charley Brown
You’ve taken the first day of school pictures, posted them on Facebook, and sent the kids back to school, backpacks and all. YAY! Some of you are rushing off to work yourselves. Then there are others, like me, who are working from home. We all have our own sets of challenges.
Personally, I struggle with the early morning wake-up call. When I #dragmybuttouttabed at 5:00 a.m., I’m not quite ready to tackle any goals. I put on my parent hat and slurp my cup of coffee while barking out reminders to my three drowsy children. After delivering them to three different schools, it takes every part of my being to resist the urge to go back to sleep. Enter the schedule. I know, I know…a schedule alone could send you back to your dreamy soft pillow. We’re taking baby steps here people. It…
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Periodically Mr. Banks says to me, “I just don’t know what you DO all day.” He can’t understand how he could possibly come home from a day at the office to find unwashed dishes, rumpled laundry, strewn toys, and cranky kids. As he recently pointed out, “You have fifteen hours in a day! How can you not have enough time?”
Hmmm. Well—setting aside that fifteen hours dedicated to house and home would take me from 6 a.m. to 9 p.m. with no meals or tea breaks (and certainly no writing time)—how to describe the intensity of day after day with children to someone who’s never done it himself? I’m not sure it’s possible. But for my own gratification, for my own sense of self-worth, I found myself keeping track one summer’s day, of all that I did with my time.
A day with children is a day spent teaching and learning. Some things I teach them directly, some by expectation, some through modeling, and some by opportunity. All of it I teach with as much deliberation and thoughtfulness as this mama can. I find being present with my children in such a way both deeply draining and relentlessly rewarding. I wouldn’t give it up for anything.
Things I taught my children today:
- How to exercise daily
- How to commit to a goal and follow through
- How to be patient
- How to contribute to the family
- How to play independently
- How to play together
- How to brush teeth properly
- How to clean up after brushing teeth
- How to give privacy to people using the bathroom
- How to pursue one’s passions and interests
- How to sew: how to plan a project, use pins, thread a needle, cut a thread, make a knot, make a whip stitch
- How to share underlying feelings
- How to listen deeply
- How to take responsibility for one’s mistakes
- How to be married
- How to take time for oneself
- How to give others space
- How to respond to an invitation to connect
- How to speak one’s mind
- How to keep a house organized
- How to tidy
- How to reuse
- How to recycle
- How to roll out the garbage cans for collection day
- How to core strawberries
- How to break eggs
- How to cook an omelet
- How to load the dishwasher
- How to close a sliding car door safely
- How to treat clerks and service workers
- How to behave at the checkout stand
- The value of a dollar
- How to negotiate
- How to wait
- How to notice the world around
- How to give and receive love and affection
- How to be an audience
- How to hold back
- How to laugh
- How to be silly
- How to create
- How to imagine
- How to have fun
- How to love
That gets us to about lunchtime. I guess the laundry will have to wait until the afternoon.
Kara Newhouse shares a red-hot mission on her blog: social change through kid lit. Does it get any better than that?
Originally posted on Kara Newhouse:
One summer in college I interned at the Human Rights Campaign (a national nonprofit that advocates on LGBTQ issues). My supervisor quickly noticed my keen eye for spelling and grammar errors and put me to work on long hours of copy editing bibliographies. I can’t think of a more boring thing to copy edit, since it’s not even sentences and paragraphs, but the upshot was that some of the sections were lists of children’s books with LGBTQ themes. At the time, I hadn’t read any books like And Tango Makes Three by Peter Parnell and Justin Richardson.
How cool! I thought immediately. Most of the books seemed to have a message that having gay parents or being a gender non-conforming kid is A-OK, like the two more recent picture books I reviewed on this site in June. So my next thought was, Now we need children’s books where gender and sexuality’s not…
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I’ll be pinning this list up on the bulletin board above my computer, and re-reading it every time I revise.
Originally posted on CK Webber Associates:
- Query is for a book in a genre I don’t represent.
- Query is for a vampire book. Come back in 3-5 years.
- Query letter is addressed to “Dear Sir or Madam” or “To Whom It May Concern.”
- Query letter is addressed to “Dear Agent.” My name is not Agent.
- Query letter is not addressed at all. It just begins, “Hi!”
- Query letter is addressed to Kristin Nelson. (This is not a problem if you’re actually sending your query letter to Kristin Nelson.)
- Query letter is 2 pages long.
- Query opens with a rhetorical question.
- Query opens with a tagline.
- Author has spent too much time constructing a one-sentence hook and not enough building the rest of the query.
- By the end of the query, I’ve learned more about the author than I have about the book. (Does not apply to nonfiction.)
- I can see that you’ve copied 100 other agents…
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I have spent the past four Mothers’ Days alone with my children, while Mr. Banks was away on business. Every year, I have wondered if he would remember what day it was, following a foreign calendar all the way across the world. Every year, I have stepped into the bountiful garden we have grown together, and seen the flowers he had already given me. So I would pick myself a Mother’s Day bouquet, and then send those flowers to you, honored mothers of my life. At some point later in the day, the doorbell would ring, and Mr. Banks would deliver his love for me, from all the way across the world, in yet another fragrant extravagance of flowers.
California is facing a serious drought this year. We ended winter with just 5% of our usual annual rainfall, and by the end of spring had only edged up to 30%. We have decided not to water our garden this year. Out here in the valley, our garden needs irrigation from Spring to Fall Equinox in order to truly thrive. We’ve had just enough rainfall to bring out the blooms and the grass. Now we get to watch everything die. It makes spring flowers that much more precious, when we’re unable to artificially extend the growing season with imported water.
I noticed the Mother’s Day bouquet really changed in character this year. Usually I end up with armfuls of giant blooms, and still have flowers left in the garden to enjoy. This year harvested every single stem, and ended up with this little nosegay. The flowers are different, too. Instead of roses and tulips and lilies, I’m getting the self-seeders–forget-me-nots and bachelor’s buttons and carnations–and the hardy perennials. It will be interesting to let our garden go back to what it was meant to be, to start over on the canvas nature intended for this region. To tend my little corner of climate change. And still find flowers, for you, for Mother’s Day.
I slogged my way through all five volumes of George R. R. Martin’s Song of Ice and Fire, because he managed to invoke my deep commitment to his characters. I cared about the Stark children and their doomed parents, Tyrion, the transformed Jaime…I cared even about his most despicable characters, reading on in the hopes of seeing them eventually crushed by the same indiscriminate heel of Fate that beheaded Ned Stark and orphaned Arya. The HBO series capitalizes on that keen and deep portrayal of character in its frequent use of tightly-written, superbly-acted, richly-costumed and beautifully-lit scenes of intimate conversation and revelation between two actors.
But I don’t think I can keep going anymore. I only got through the novels by simultaneously ignoring and loudly reviling the despicable and unrepentant treatment of women throughout. My husband nobly bore the brunt of this disgust every night, as I verbally abused the author for his misogyny and lack of accuracy. Yes, you heard me. I am accusing Martin himself (not his characters) of misogyny, and I am calling him out for his incomplete and inaccurate portrayal of women and gender relations in ANY moment in history, imagined or otherwise.
In a recent New York Times article (“For ‘Game of Thrones,’ Rising Unease Over Rape’s Recurring Role,” May 2, 2014), Martin is cited as claiming that “he had an obligation to tell the truth about history and about human nature.” Except that he doesn’t tell the truth. Yes, one thing he says is true: “rape and sexual violence have been a part of every war ever fought, from the ancient Sumerians to our present day.” But Martin’s depiction of sexual brutality is consistently limited, inaccurate and deeply-biased — making it his truth, perhaps, but nothing near the truth.
In his fiction, and now in the series, no one stands as witness to this horrific treatment of women, and that is where Martin’s vision and accuracy fail. Martin claims that “certain scenes are meant to be uncomfortable, disturbing, hard to read.” But that is not in fact what he either attempts or accomplishes as an artist. At most, his depiction of the rape, subjugation and abuse of women achieves a sort of background eroticism in his work, because it is perpetually mired in the perspective of the rapists and the bystanders. The experience and voices of the victims, the naysayers, the comforters, the survivors, the brothers and the sisters, the change-makers — these are almost entirely absent (with the occasional exception of Arya Stark, Jon Snow and Samwell Tarly).
Over the course of actual human history, people have borne witness to rape and brutality – -cradling their mothers’ torn bodies, comforting a brutalized boy, marching through college campuses with lit candles to Take Back the Night, standing over their children and saying: “NO! I will NOT let you hurt them.” How do I know this is true, even in those feudal times Martin claims to depict so accurately? If it were not, we would still be living in those times today. The world that Game of Thrones represents holds no possibility of transformation, no one as witness to the things that must change — because they are too cruel, brutal and inhuman to survive against the collective will of humanity.
Will I boycott the show? Decline to buy the next book in the series? I don’t know. I am drawn to these characters and their destinies. There is no doubt that Martin has me hooked. In spite of my instincts, I have continued to read and to watch so far. To find out what happens next, to remain connected to these characters about whom I have come to care, I will probably squelch that inner recoil, swallow the bile, and keep going back for more. And in this way Martin with his art has replicated exactly the experience of rape itself: the confusion, the mixed allegiance, the blurring of self-protective boundaries and yes, the arousal, that occur when someone — usually someone we know and love — abuses us. The HBO writers and directors perpetuating this rape may read this blog and others, and perhaps tone it down a bit, just enough to keep us coming back for more — precisely as child molesters groom their victims, creeping past boundaries only to destroy them from the inside out.
When we consider rape as a society, every rapist — actual or imagined — is our father and our brother and our self, and every victim is our mother and our sister…ourself. Martin and his artistic partners at HBO are raping all of us, and we are allowing it. It won’t stop until we say no, walk away, and hold them — and ourselves — accountable.
Love these reminders, so well-expressed. I appreciate the tenderness with which Mylisa Larsen holds herself and her ideas.
Originally posted on EMU's Debuts:
“Where do you get your ideas?”
Man, I hate that question. Not because I’m jealously guarding writerly secrets. Not because I haven’t thought about it. A lot. Just because when I try to answer that question honestly, I babble.
Here’s the thing. Ideas are strange creatures. I know they’re out there. I see them out of the corner of my eye. But it might be in the grocery store. Or in the woods. Or looking at me from the window of a passing bus. Ideas don’t seem to have an established, identifiable habitat. Or habits. Sometimes they’re out wandering at 2 AM. Sometimes they refuse to show up at all until sleep needs have been lavishly met. They eat chocolate. No, grapefruit. Spicy fish?
It’s a puzzle. I can’t give a satisfying, tidy answer. But here are a few things that work for me.
Show up at your desk. And…
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Is your three-year old son asking for a tutu? Is your daughter wondering why Master Wu only picked boys to become the Ninja who save the Lego world of Ninjago? Do you gag when you cruise the color-coded toy aisles of Target? Read this!
Originally posted on ThinkBannedThoughts Blog:
I got a tweet from a friend last week that lit all kinds of lightbulbs in my head.
It was a simple – but very rare – tweet.
So many thoughts hit my head all at once.
The loudest was that this was the first time I’d ever been asked that by someone with a son, or sons.
I get asked all the time to recommend books to parents of daughters in order to promote the ideal of gender equality. But I hardly ever hear from parents of sons, asking how they can teach gender equality.
It filled my heart – because that is where it starts, with parents. And if we’re only teaching girls how to be equal, we’re missing half the equation!
Then I thought of this amazing blog post by male author, Robert J. Bennett about the first time…
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