Help Me LJers (Updated)

So, over the past few days I’ve been slowly unsubscribing to LJ feeds on bloglines and friending people so I can read all the LJs I track on the so-called "Friends" page on the account I started over there awhile back to be able to comment on people’s entries. Mostly, this started because my number of feeds in bloglines was getting too huge; it’s quicker to read you guys this way AND, more importantly, I can see how many comments an entry has. If you’re wondering why I suddenly friended you, that’s why. (And there will be more friending to come!)

Now I need help. I’ve set an arbitrary deadline of the last day of summer to get a first draft done of Aztec Dance Tunes. And I want to keep a progress diary over there at the LJ annex, because I don’t want to do it here. It’ll only be a couple of times a week, maybe three, but what I must, must, must have is one of those little progress bars you LJ lot are always showing off. But I am clueless as to where one gets the code for this and googling has turned up nada. So help me. There or here.

Updated: Got it! That was fast. Thanks, Jason!

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Little Things

Thanks to all who have called, written and commented with good thoughts — Mr. Rowe says thanks muchly (from his hugely swollen mouth area); it’s more cheering than you know. He’s now settled down on the couch doing what the convalescing should. No, not singing "Convalescing in Spain" ("Perhaps this is the best part"): watching movies (you could probably guess, but yes, it’s LOTR). Tomorrow he has finals. Keep your fingers crossed for upright test-takingness.

Meanwhile, four happier things:

  1. Those little illustrations and pictures on the margins in a dictionary. I love those. There’s a dictionary open next to me right now, and I can see a child’s photo for water-ski, a lily with a star behind it for water lily, another flowery illustration for water hyacinth, a picture for waterfall, and a picture of mother and child for water buffalo; on the facing page, there’s a little bird for water ouzel, a settery or pointeryish dog in silhouette for water spaniel, a turbine for water wheel, and a picture of a quizzical bird for wattle. I could do this for hours, if I had hours to do it for.
  2. Endicott Studio has gone and gotten itself a blog. Do stop by and check out the fabulous blog stylings of Midori Snyder and Terri Windling and Helen Pilinovsky and who knows who else. (Thanks for the well wishes, Midori! And yes, the chocolate milkshake family is a cure-all in my book and I also made him mousse yesterday).
  3. Time Magazine cites Jeff Ford as one of five mystery writers to investigate.
  4. You should take Shelley Jackson’s mutant typology test. I’m a CRANIOPAGUS PARASITE.

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Accidental Saturday

Well, we spent seven hours at the ER last night (Saturday night at the ER — we saw a guy get a three inch knife taken out of his chest right in front of us!) waiting for Mr. Rowe to get treated for the results of a pretty nasty bicycle crash. He is not, as they say, resting comfortably, but he is pain-medicated and resting and will be fine. He has new stitches, will get a trip to the dentist tomorrow (not in the Veronica Mars sense), and has a hugely awful amount of soft tissue swelling around his throat. Pray for gentle billing; welcome to the world of uninsured students. And it’s finals week!

Needless to say, there’s a helluva lot of busy going on here, so expect radio silence.

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My Favorite

Democracy Now! interviews Eduardo Galeano about all sorts of things:

EDUARDO GALEANO: I never decided. It’s something — I’m written by my books. I mean, they write me, so I never decide anything. Well, I was always looking for a language who could integrate everything that has been culturally divorced from, for instance, heart and mind. So I was looking for a feel-thinking language, sentipensante, “feel-thinking.” It’s a word. I didn’t invent the word. It’s a word I heard years ago in the Colombian coast. A fisherman told me, "Hay gigrere en las palabras sentipensantes," when I told him I was a writer. "Ah, you’re a writer." "Yes." "Oh." And he asked me if I was using a sentipensante language, a feel-thinking language. And so, he was a master. I mean, I learned a lot from this sentence forever. I am a sentipensante.

I think one of the divorces that has avoided a full integration of human condition is this divorce between our emotions and our ideas. In other divorces, separating journalists, for instance, literary journalists, saying, well, this is an essay. This is a poem. This is a novel. This is an — I don’t know what. And I don’t believe in frontiers. I think that in no — I don’t believe at all in frontiers. And then, how would I practice the alguanas, I would say, the immigration controls between literary journalists? I believe that —

AMY GOODMAN: You don’t believe in borders.

EDUARDO GALEANO: No. I think that when the world — perhaps one day the world, the world, our world, won’t be upside down, and then any newborn human being will be welcome. Saying, "Welcome. Come. Come in. Enter. The entire earth will be your kingdom. Your legs will be your passport, valid forever." And for me, this is true also for words. I mean, the same thing with words, persons, words. I really believe in the universal dimension of human condition, not globalization, which is the universal dimension of money, but the universal dimension of our human passions.

There’s soccer stuff too, of course. (Via Austin Kleon.)

I want his new book Voices of Time so badly; it sounds very Book of Embraces, which is the best, loveliest book ever. Oh, and he also says this in the interview:

We are all making each day, being as we are, obliged to live life as a duty, but secretly willing to live it as a feast.

And then this:

And these new ways are exploding in the contemporary world and opening, broadening the spaces for independent expressions. I now repentido, because I didn’t believe in it at the beginning. I mean, I mistrusted it, all this internet and so on, the cybernetic new ways of — no, I was against it, because I always had a strong suspicion that machines drink at night. When nobody sees them, they drink.

I love this man.

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Sleep Library

I am a colon!
Find your own pose!

(Via Reb Livingston.)

Books available to pick up at the library*:

Aztecs : an interpretation / Inga Clendinnen.

Bury me standing : the Gypsies and their journey / by Isabel Fonseca.

Road trip USA : cross-country adventures on America’s two-lane highways / Jamie Jensen.

The Aztecs / Frances F. Berdan ; Frank W. Porter III, general editor.

The complete world of Greek mythology / Richard Buxton.
The end of tragedy : four novellas / Rachel Ingalls. (Okay, this one’s just for fun)

The genealogy of Greek mythology : an illustrated family tree of Greek myth from the first gods to the founders of Rome / Vanessa James.

The practice of dream healing : bringing ancient Greek mysteries into modern medicine / Edward Tick.

*Yes, I’ve read some of these already. Yes, I’m too cheap to actually buy them. Yes, they are research material. And more on the way. Yes, I treat the library as my personal collection. Yes, I’ll keep all these out for the allowed three months. Mwahaha.

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Wednesday Hangovers

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Items of Decorporealization

Cfghost03chardonnayus_smallWe had a mostly pleasant, busy weekend that started off with us purchasing the last bottle of Cockfighter’s Ghost (2004, Chardonnay), because the title and label were just unpassupable. We ended the weekend drinking it, with a fabulous, mostly homemade pizza. (There were a couple of other delightful Chilean wines in the interim.) And we discovered that the wine shop makes a great burger.

Four thumbs up to the opener of Hex, which is nothing like Buffy, but is pretty damn charming on its own steam. You’d never see teen sexuality dealt with quite so openly or cheekily on American television (at least not yet), but the tone and content are very similar to what you get in good YA fiction here. And none of us watching found it slow at all. (Though we were concerned about the nonexistent eyebrows/overplucking issues on display.) Also, a thumbs-up to The Family Stone, which I’d wanted to see ever since Laura Demanski (aka OGIC) wrote about it so glowingly.

I’m not taking an official hiatus or anything so dramatic, but posting may be heavy or light, depending on the day, for the next month. Between now and July 12 (my 30th birthday, coincidentally), I have to:

– do massive amounts of freelance editing work
– write an application essay (oh, woe, do these make anyone else feel like a moronic fraud?) and a critical essay for the MFA skool
– write at least two new chapters of Aztec Dance Tunes and polish the first 25 pages for MFA skool application
– ensure that husband gets story written and gets safely to Sycamore Hill
– make sure I eat and cat and dog theater are taken care of during the week he’s gone
– and everything else of the normal life tasks.

So yeah, posting may be light. It may also be full of typos and poorly thought out. (But how would that be different than normal, you ask? Moreso.) But rest assured: I love you. You’re my favorite. I’ll be back, just like the Ahnuld.

And things will normalize on July 13.

One hopes.

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Monday Hangovers

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Itzkoffian

The likely controversial, but all-in-all far better second effort from Dave Itzkoff; the relevant (to me) paragraphs:

The Nebula Awards, bestowed annually by a literary society called the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America, don’t have a special prize for the speculative work possessing the year’s most striking literary imagery. So I hereby invent the category myself, and declare its first winner to be Christopher Rowe for his story "The Voluntary State," a surreal work collected in the Nebula Awards Showcase 2006 (ROC, paper, $15.95) anthology. Rowe’s vision of an American South, hauntingly different from the one we know, begins with an artist sketching what appear to be children floating in a body of water. But as the inhabitants of this alternate reality know, the convincing cherubs that kick and struggle in the surf are not really children at all, but highly sophisticated decoys used by submerged predators. They are "nothing but extremities, nothing but lures growing from the snouts of alligators crouching on the sandy bottoms."

Rowe intends this scene, and its suggestion of swimmers enticed to their deaths by a Spielbergian impulse to save youth at all costs, to be taken literally. But as a metaphor, it is an extremely potent representation of the science-fiction and fantasy community’s complicated relationship with the idea of nostalgia — a dynamic simultaneously defined by an inextinguishable yearning to search for lost time, and by an eternal vigilance for the dangers that even a quick glance in the rearview mirror can pose to forward-looking genres.

Now’s as good a time as any to point out, once again, that "The Voluntary State" can also still be read online. As can Ben Rosenbaum’s also-rightfully-lauded "Embracing the New."

As for the column as a whole, the key thing to me is that it shows that regardless of what Itzkoff intimated in Ron Hogan’s PW piece, he is listening and does care about the field’s reaction.* A little bit. And that’s a good thing, because he could do a lot of good with that column, if he so chose. And hey, if that’s how it goes down, a list debacle like that seems almost a gift to a beginning literary critic — if it leads to a reevaluation of the critic’s tastes and an ultimate broadening of them. (And clearly, Itzkoff does have a measure of good taste; that was never in dispute, the narrowness of it as represented on the list was. I want to believe!)

Re: McCaffrey and the rest of the column — those are supportable, legitimate opinions, whether you agree with them or not.

*I doubt there was much other reaction.

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Tempest

Apparently, Asimov’s owner forced Sheila Williams to kill a story she’d bought by Jim Grimsley that dealt graphically with child abuse and technology. Much discussion about this at the Asimov’s message board (Gordon van Gelder and George R.R. Martin weigh in, among others); see also Scalzi’s take. I always half-wondered if mailing the first issue of Say…, which contained Scott Westerfeld‘s story, "The Child in Society,"* internationally would get us in trouble, but it never did. Nobody reads!

(*This story doesn’t actually have anything all that offensive in it — certainly nothing graphic — but boy, does it make you think it will. And later Scott sent us another taboo story. For awhile there, I thought he was trying to get us banned in Canada.)

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