Children's Publishing Blog: A leaf from the Yggdrasil

::Incoming Transmission. WARNING: Emotional Ramble Detected. Proceed at your own risk::

This is going to be something. Sorry ahead of time.

If you don't follow Ta-Nehesi Coates on Twitter, you are on the wrong life trajectory. It is a simple correction. Here. https://twitter.com/tanehisicoates?ref_src=twsrc%5Egoogle%7Ctwcamp%5Eserp%7Ctwgr%5Eauthor Now you are destined for better things.

I bring up Ta-Nehesi because he speaks eloquently on many subjects, but specifically one that's been troubling me recently, albeit in the opposite way it has affected him. That is the concept of "being elite" or "One of the elite." We all go on our various social medias and make authoritative statements. Twitter, specifically, is a place where it's very easy to make grand-sounding statements with vast context. 140 characters well wrought and one button starts a sharing cascade that can take you from noone to CNN (although that's not exactly the best place to be). Our tweets can be prophetic portents, our opinions divine laws. We literally have followers, so when you cross the line from "just some gui" to "one of Them" your words become something more than what they are -- words, opinions, statements from a human being.

Ta-Nehesi has waxed on why he is now considered Elite by many, when his statements have not changed and he does not live in a mansion and fly a jet. But his proximity to what we view as "the establishment" has somehow passed an invisible line and he is now closer to Them than Us. This comes with benefits and blights; he is certainly making more money now, he has increased albeit still limited public influence, and he is now attacked even more religiously by trolls and put on a separate pedestal because white women on TV have asked for his opinion.

He's still the same guy. Fame changes people, but usually only stupid people. You can remain an individual outside of your context, but only if you've reached a particual level of self-awareness. Something I'm still struggling with and I know many other people do too. In particular, how shouting to a vacuum suddenly becomes speaking the Word of Godzilla. I have gone up and down in Twitter popularity based on my involvement with various activities, Nanowrimo being the biggest of them, but my comments have not really changed. I evidently feel less need to share them with my significantly smaller author following, but I think another part of the problem. I don't really feel like my words are valued. When I ran NaNoPals, I was essentially providing a service. People weren't coming for wisdom, for my personality, for ME, they were coming for wordsprints that were presented with some level of emotional positivity. And why shouldn't they? I completely understand the perspective. I'm just another white guy trying to say his bit and get paid by someone for telling stories. Stories that people want and need to hear, in the best of worlds.

And that's my problem right now. I am now going to be a crabby old person, but I hope you don't take it the wrong way. This next sentence is going to make you mad, but it isn't what it seems:

SFF is not the genre it used to be. There are pros and cons all across the board. I have seen such great new authors, almost all from marginalized groups rise in this new genre world. I have seen people who struggle with gender identity and sexuality and a host of other things that I have always fought internally with come to the fore. Being gay is so cool now! It used to be pretty much the opposite. Despite some bathroom laws, it's a whole new fucking world and it's amazing and so much of that is thanks to the genre world, I don't care what you think or how much evidence there is for that. It has always stunned me that people who read Scifi and Fantasy could be stupid, ignorant, hateful people. The books are almost entirely written to fight against that! But that's just my personal journey through the genre. I somehow managed to read Brave New World and think it was a Utopia rather than a Dystopia. (I still think that way, and I will happily argue with you about it all day long. Right now as you're getting angry with me I ask you What Color Were the Natives. Because he never said what color they were)

It used to be hard as shit to find a book that had a character like me in it. I know how that sounds. Oh the poor white boi had so many white bois to choose from it was impossible to find the right one whereas I had princess fucking Jasmine and das fucking it for Indian/Arab American female representation circa 1997.

But what am I? Am I just another white boi?

Let's slap some labels on me now: genderfluid, queer, neuroatypical (depression, anxiety), autistic(?!), chronic-pain-haver, great actor. Now the picture is very complicated, especially when you consider how invisible all this stuff was and is to me and my family. Despite my mother's constant "everyone is on the spectrum" autism talk and side-eye, neither she nor any other authority figure has ever had any understanding or compassion for my behaviour, and no one has been able to put a finger down on what the shit I have/am, despite or perhaps because of my almost completely solo journey for self discovery and care.

You know how some people don't like to wear their whole lives on their sleeve? well despite the fact that I have cool tattoos (all to do with my nerd loves thank you) I don't. I like to be who I am and like things and have my shit without putting labels on all of it. I fucking HATE QUILTBAG and whatever. I despise the 40 gender labels we have and the fact that the word "cis" exists. It's a disgusting sound and I hate it. That's literally why btw. If we used "banana" instead I'd be fine. But I get why a gross sound was chosen. Fag and cunt and all that crap are fun and mean and gross to say. They have mouthfeels that make them matter besides just their meanings. So does cis, and I don't think it's a good one.

I feel like I've been passing my whole life. Passing as a man, passing as a white man, passing as a successful human being. Imposter Syndrome isn't a side-effect of my writing, it's my entire fucking life. And now that I don't "have" to pass, it's apparently a rude choice I've made, and I need to just walk out into the open and embrace my problems and scream them to the world at large, cos that's how "our" culture now works. Be out! Be loud! Be proud!

I describe my ego as the Hindenburg.

I'm literally surprised every time I look in the mirror. Can you imagine that? I don't honestly have an accurate internal view of myself. My internal me is a bloated troll seeping with pus and boils whose rotting teeth and fetid breath can kill a horse from thirty yards. In reality, I'm pretty decent looking. I can tell objectively now, and that helps. I'm fortunate there too -- I can't honestly complain about being ugly. All my complaints are invisible! NOBODY listened to me about ANYTHING until I had a god-damned HOLE in my leg, and now suddenly I'm allow to have all sorts of problems and oh the poor thing they got hit by a car.

MY LIFE FUCKING SUCKED BEFORE I GOT HIT BY A CAR. Now it just hurts more to sit and stand and do everything else, more than it already did before which was a lot. My back is so fucked up when I saw a professional masseuse they actually shrugged and gave up.

So now when I go on Twitter, and I see that there are so many people like me, and I see that our stories are succeeding and #ownvoices is trending and the books are being written I am very happy. Then, and now I suppose we will revisit an actual point -- I read them. And they are all fucking depressing. I get it. This post is depressing. Our lives are depressing. Our genre is turning into that most heinous of things... "literature."

And, like every fucking POS Hemmingway wannabe piece and the books by bloated goatfucker himself, I'm so fucking done reading those stories. I'm done, guys. I have been fighting my way out of this depression shithole for twenty years, and I'm so tired of fighting suicidal urges. That isn't mean to suggest I'm giving in, at all. I will be tired forever, and that's just that. But fuck, guys, do you have to make it so hard? I want to join in, I want to be a part of this, I want to be engaged and alive and part of the fucking movement but I don't want the labels, I don't want infighting over who has it worse black cripples or gay autistics. (hint, it's black cripples. but that doesn't mean we can't still have problems!) I don't want the tears anymore. I want us to laugh, for once. I want us to see how good things have gotten for us, even if they're still not great. I can't even imagine what my younger self would have done with Tumblr. I'd probably be wearing makeup and a dress right now. (Nah, I hate makeup)

This kind of an upbringing makes me have pity on GGers and their ilk. If you go on imgur or reddit where a lot of these trolls hang out you will find pictures of hot women and comments like "god I wish I could wake up next to/as that" and other illuminating tidbits that reveal they are troubled and no different from us -- they have been sold a lie and now cannot see the truth behind it. It is so difficult to help them, since they do not seem to want to help themselves, and that I think is the ultimate point. I want to get better. I want to learn. I was hate-filled and angry, I used the word tranny and said other rude things because trans people made me so jealous. Every trans person is a fucking hero. The level of courage and self-love it takes to make that change, announce it to the world and be proud of this new skin you've made yourself is just fucking incredible and I could not do it. Without a magic wand to give me a uterus and change my shape I would go fucking insane, more than I am already.

Good writing apparently comes from the heart. To write openly and honestly, to give it to you completely raw. That's hard as fuck, especially for people who are struggling. My life is better than it's ever been, but my problems haven't gone away. That's the hardest part of having brain problems. Everything looks FINE on the outside. But we need to be honest about the struggle. I need to be open, if anything is ever going to change. But I still need to be me, I still need to live. I need happiness and joy, because my internal production of seratonin is malfunctioning, and another story about being beaten, raped and abused is not going to help me get there. I know the world is awful goddamnit. I am reminded of that by my own life every five seconds because the only memories my brain can save are bad ones. I literally have to record good events separately if I'm going to remember them. I want to know that the world, that people, can be good. Someone, please, show me that. Anyone, anyone at all. The only author I can think of who rides that line and can make me cry about bad things but see hope is fucking Rose Lemberg and I don't understand how they aren't fucking famous as shit yet. They follow me! Why? They're INCREDIBLE and I am an almost entirely unpublished sack of meat-trash.

But maybe that means... I'm not a worthless sack of trash? Watch as I entertain this thought for all of one microsecond before it is disproven by my oh-so-many real life experiences. There's a whole other post about why I think right now I am starting to just "whine" rather than emote about my actual issues. Again, the invisibility of brain problems.

If/when I'm "elite" this post might be famous. It might be garbage. It might be a sore eyesight and I'll delete it shamefully, or no one will ever read it and I'll leave it here because why the shit not, let the future know what a loser I was. It will help with the data mining of our time, and maybe some future child will understand themselves better thanks to my rant.

In a world of a million labels, where we are gaining visibility and strength without losing any of our vulnerabilities, any member of #ownvoices is going to be having a tough time. Finding themselves, finding success, being accepted at all. Just remember that you are who you are. Ta-Nehesi is who he is. Fucking Barack Obama is going to go back to smokin' dope and straight chillin' when he's done with that white house.

Whether I'm a man, a woman, or just a brain in a machine, I'm still going to be me, and you're still going to be you. Whether or not anyone's listening, that matters. Even if I don't know you, I hope you're happy. I hope you can believe in yourself. You matter, and I'm just trying to prove to myself that I matter too, even if I don't scream my life from the rafters.

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Hello! Maybe I will write down one of these recipes ahead of time before saying Oh I'll send you My Recipe Because I Totally Write Them Down and Do Them The Same Every Time.

Totally.

I used to hate potato salad. I think a lot of people do! At its worst, its basically uncooked potatoes in a slurry of fake mayo and red onions, just some sort of tuberous polar stew. At its best the typical American potato salad is chewy potato bites covered with an almost sweet sauce with bright, popping textures from red onions, carrots and occasionally peas? (blasphemy? you tell me) It's basically cold fries. That's what you're looking for here, texturally and taste-wise. Crunch, potato and mayo.

So with that in mind, FORGET THAT SHIT. That's lame tater salad! TSH. New World can suck my newly accented anoos. Now, ve make a potato salad that will actually taste GOOD. And you will be like. How did I ever eat zis pathetic bullsheiße? Also by the end you vill probably say zis was not zuper German you kind of made zis up but zat's okay its very delizious you are totally a chef ja.

Now, I'm going to give you ze quick recipe, but I want you to listen to what comes after -- your ingredients and method are important, and I will help you. But I don't like to vaste time zo I give you full recipe now. Allow yourself the time to stare at it all and wonder how will this possibly come together in my mouth and know that yes, you will love it. Also you can stop with the accent now. You're just embarrassing everyone.

TOTAL PREP TIME: 1 hour+rest overnight in the fridge (don't be hasty!)

SERVES: Probably like 8 people, but not for long.

INGREDIENTS

4lbs POTATOES, chopped into mouth-sized bites. Any kind, organic is best.

1 BIG-ASS RED ONION (or a couple medium sized ones), sliced thick, then chopped. Use pinky finger width as a guide (less you're really huge or tiny)

1lb BACON, thick slice (or whole slab from the butcher!! slice it yoself!), chopped into big chunks.

1 Yellow or Red Pepper, diced (Optional -- add this if you don't/cant have bacon/meat, or if you're me. It's delicious too.)

3 cloves garlic (NOT WHOLE BULBS GUYS. Tho you can if you want *shrugasaurus*)

Green Onions, some. Diced. However much you want, tho probably no more than the bundle they come it at the store.

Salt n' Peppa to taste

DIJON MUSTARD AND FKIN HELLMANS REAL ASS MAYO. Don't PLAY WITH ME less you bout to make that shit yourself. Which is FINE and I probably have a recipe for that too. Damn.

Apple Cider Vinegar, 1 tablespoon.

Some cumin and paprika. For later, baby.

METHOD

Get the biggest pot and pan you got. If you have some fancy le creuset or Kitchenaid enamel pot/pan or cast iron, that's your bet. A lot of times people have trouble with recipes because we assume a certain size of pot and pan. The heat and time for cooking things depends on the size of your pan and how you're getting heat. If you have a really tiny pan on electric stove as your only option cook all this in batches, saving the bacon grease from each batch of bacon for your veggies, and leave it at a solid medium-medium-low at all times. Things should sizzle rather than just simmer. Seriously tho, go to TJMaxx or whatever nearby and look in their kitchen section. usually some cheaper enamel cookware there (I know it's expensive, but $100 enamel cookware will literally last your entire life unlike that $15 walmart pot you've had to replace three times this year). Enamel and cast iron are your friends. Be one with the kitchen.

WHAT KIND OF POTATOES DID I BUY?? Is this question driving you crazy? I know, some people really care about their taters. But I don't. They're all delicious, so long as you're getting good produce. That generally means organic, but not always. I live in Vancouver BC and we have a lot of greenhouse heirloom non-organic potatoes that are generally small and taste amazing. For this recipe you'd just halve or cube them. Generally though, it's worth it to go for organic potatoes. Non-organic potatoes produced in the US have to sit in a decontamination vault for 3 days after harvesting and if you go inside during that time the residual pesticides in the air will literally kill you.

Now, boil those taters for about 15-20 minutes. More or less depending on the size of your cut. Pay attention, and use a fork to prod them every five minutes after ten; they're done when they feel like poking a piece of strawberry. Kind of soft but still resistant. Drain them and put them in whatever bowl you're going to serve all this shit in. This is now your mixing bowl. Ta dah! fewer dishes.

While the taters are boiling, start cooking that bacon in your pan. When the bacon is crispy on the edges but still chewy (probably 3-5 minutes of cooking), set it aside. If your potatoes are done you can throw the bacon in the bowl with it. After you and your friends snack on too much of it, there'll be the perfect amount for the salad (a pound is actually a bit too much. But otherwise you end up with too little cos fucking bacon man)

Sautee red onion, garlic and pepper (if using) until browned on the edges and slightly soft in bacon fat. Add butter if necessary. (It's probably necessary. Mm butter) If you've got a reasonable size pan and everything fits well in a single, even layer, then MEDIUM-HIGH HEAT for a few minutes, then drop it to LOW for 10-15. Otherwise, finagle. The idea is the same -- high heat to get everything searing and browning, then low heat for a while to draw out the sugars and carmelize everything in that glorious bacon fat.

While THAT is going on, whisk together our sauce. This amount is somewhat personal. Do you want this goopy or a nice covering, almost like a batter? I suggest the latter (haha). Either way, it's 1 part moutard, 1 part mayo. So for this amount we're going to take 1/2 cup mustard, 1/2 cup mayo and our tablespoon of cider vinegar and whisk it all together, along with our salt, pepper, cumin and paprika. You just want a little dash of paprika, but you can put in a lot of cumin. However much you like. This should have a definite bite to it, but don't worry. it will mellow out after being mixed and resting overnight.

Add the cooked veg and bacon to the salad bowl, then add your sauce -- start with half and toss from there. You can always add more in cooking, but you can't really take away. It should be a steaming, brown-yellow mountain of delish.

NOW DON'T EAT IT. This is frankly the ultimate secret to all cooking. LEAVE IT OVERNIGHT IN THE FRIDGE. AT LEAST TWO HOURS GUIS. I call this cold-cooking; you've got all your flavours, but now they need to cook together, to really mix and meld. You'll notice this effect most with soups and sauces, and potato salad is basically a sauce. You've probably tried some while making it, but try it the next day, cold. All those flavours you found yesterday are going to be there, plus some you had no idea could possibly exist. And you'll be like "woah, did i add something extra there?"

You did. It's called love.

(also green onions chopped and sprinkled on top right before you serve. Don't need to have those sitting in there)

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This unit has received a request for a BBQ sauce recipe. In advance of other such requests, I am posting the entire recipe here. This is... MARSICAN SAUCE. Cos it's Red like the Red Planet, and has a shitload of mexican spices in it.

THERE WILL BE NO PICTURES. Pictures are unnecessary and only for you to gaggle and drool. DROOLING IS FORBIDDEN. Until you start making this DELICIOUS SHIT.

HERE ARE YOUR INGREDIENTS (Listed in Freedom Units, because I didn't grow up w/ metric)

1 phat can (28oz) of tomato puree/crushed tomatoes.
1/2 cup BLACK STRAP molasses (or more)
3/4 cup beyonce (brown sugar)
1/4 cup butter (1 stick, if in the United States of Trump)
1/2 cup apple cider vinegar (or white wine vinegar, but the apple cider is best. If you use a really raw apple cider, use a little less, maybe 1/3 cup)
1 large onion, diced (red or yellow -- I use yellow. Red will give it a slightly more acidic bite, which I get elsewhere. Yellow helps make this a sweeter sauce)
1/4 cup garlic, diced (or more)
1 tsp worshteshire sauce
1 can chipotles in adobo sauce (usually 1 cup. If you don't have a blender of some sort, mince these before throwing in)
1/3 cup dijon mustard
2 bay leaves
1/4 cup regular style ketchup (if on hand, otherwise don't sweat)
A healthy amount (1/2 cup) of MARTIAN DUST (see below)
Salt & pepper for onions+garlic+any peppers you decide to obliterate yourself with (add with onions)

Okay. Here's the directions. First, if you want (AND YOU WANT) prepare the MARTIAN DUST, as instructed below. If you are impoverished or otherwise missing ingredients, you will at least want a 1/2 cup of smoked paprika and some cayenne pepper.

TOOLS: a pot. Anything non-reactive, NO TEFLON. I don't trust you guys with that stuff. It's dangerous. Also, a wooden spoon or other wooden implement. (not dong) Also a blender. I have a Kitchenaid hand blender, and I love it more than my left foot. (f u lefty) You already used the knives.

Saute onions in butter until soft, dusting with salt and pepper as desired. If using any additional hot peppers, like jalapenos or dried peppers, add these now.
Add garlic, stirring to incorporate
Add brown sugar, stirring until it all turns into a delicious brown caramel goo.
Stir in some (1/4 cup) MARTIAN DUST or smoked paprika. Stir, then add cider vinegar
Add remaining ingredients and simmer until thickened, about 45 minutes. I find that this recipe burps A LOT, so you may want to turn on a show and stand nearby, stirring consistently but lazily.
Once thickened, remove bay leaves and blend, preferably with a hand blender (I like it chunky) Let sit for at least an hour before serving, preferably overnight.
CONGRATS! You have made BBQ sauce. Prepare for everyone you know to be really jealous.

Okay fine, a photo. Here's what it should look like at the end of the day :)

MARTIAN DUST(tm!)

Grab a container. Whatever you're gonna fill with this spice mix. You should probably make it reasonably big, because if you like spicy food, you will want to put this mix on pretty much everything you ever make. I like to use old peanut butter jars and old spice mix containers. Don't throw glass away!

These amounts are just examples, and will make a TON of this spice. You probably want to do half this, but that would have made the fractions intolerable for me. Sorry! Scale up and down, all that matters is ratios. Think "parts" in your head if that's easier.

1 cup smoked paprika
1 cup ancho chile
1/2 cup cayenne pepper
1/2 cup cumin
1 tablespoon oregano
1/2 tablespoon sea salt (you get plenty of salt from other things, but it's good to have some in here)
2 tablespoons cracked pepper -- I use a five-pepper mix from a store nearby, but any peppercorns will do. Make it unique! Make it your own! Just don't use cheap pre-ground pepper)
1-3 teaspoons ground cloves
1/2 cup garlic powder (optional -- I use enough garlic in everything that you don't need it. If you don't always use fresh garlic though, definitely throw this in)

Put this all together, make sure there's a little room left in the top of whatever container you're using, SEAL THE CONTAINER, and SHAKE! That's it, you've just made what is probably your first Real Spice Mix!(tm) Sniff it, and if it makes you wince and look away, it's good.

Feel free to play with all of this -- the key base ingredients are the smoked paprika, chile powder and cumin. Another optional ingredient here would be coriander, between 1/2-1 cup. I didn't use that for mine, but you certainly could.

Enjoy cooking! I have a lot more of these, so if people want recipes, I can supply ;)

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Everyone heard of Rachel Dolezal? If not, here's a recent interview with her that points out all the things I'm about to rant on. Good? Good.

This lady has problems. Like, I wanna be a hot brown arabic princess with wizard powers, but I don't identify as one. Wanna be a spaceman too but I ain't no astronaut. Really hate seeing people with mental disorders trotted out on the news instead of given some goddamn therapy. The issue isn't that she wants a black hairstyle or dark skin, it's that as a white woman, she has power, and privilege, and taking on the black struggle like she lived it, like her children will live it, like her parents and grandparents and theirs before that through generations of colonialisation and slavery and saying "I know enough about this, I know the feeling, I know the hate, it all happened to me" is fucking fucked up. When you appropriate a culture -- and make no mistake, that's what she's doing, despite having her four black brothers or whatever -- you don't bring that culture up to your level. Americans love this idea, that when you get a dreamweaver tattoo or some Maori shit you are making yourself a part of that culture, bringing it onto this global stage or whatever, that it's a part of you. Well it's not. I still don't feel comfortable getting a chinese tattoo and 我可以说中文. Because seven months in China chilling and getting wasted with a bunch of Ozzies (much love) isn't me becoming Chinese. YOU don't get to say you're part of a culture. YOU don't get to say you deserve a tattoo of someone else's religious icons -- and this is coming from someone who thinks ALL religions are as real as Lord of the Rings. And that analogy carries! You wouldn't get a fucking tattoo of the One Ring without reading the damn book, would you? And if you do, you're a goddamn idiot and any LOTR fan, who is part of a nerd culture, will look at you and go "What the fuck, dude?"

Culture is like a nickname. You don't give yourself a nickname, you don't make up your own, you can't change it yourself -- it's given to you by other people. It's something you earn, for good or ill, and I don't think black america told Rachel Dolezal that she could be black, and put on blackface, and identify as someone who shares their history and culture. Every white liberal in America is desperate for a nigga to come up and call them "nigga," because then you're "not part of the problem" you're "part of the solution." You're "one of them." Well you're not. They're your friends, you are their friend, but you are not black and never will be no matter how many black people say "you my nigga." The cops will not pull you over or beat you. Your job application will not be denied out of hand because your name is Shaniqua (Rachel.)

You still have privilege. Try to give it up as much as you like, it's a part of you and always will be. It's up to us to use that privilege to help, to spread it around, to raise people up from oppression, not join in that oppression and pretend to be a victim. Rachel Dolezal is a crazy person with identity issues and I feel bad for her. But what she's doing is cultural appropriation. It encourages racists and takes attention away from the real victims of racism like Tamir Rice and the countless other dead black men and women murdered at the hands of a racist police state. And it must be condemned.

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I want tell you about a movie. There's a lot of movies coming out right now, and going to come out, and some of them are quite good (Looking at you, ex Machina). Others are just further iterations, rebootequels like, well, just about everything, or weird artsy movies about humanity, as always manage to make it through Sundance (once again, ex Machina). They are the movie, again. Age of Ultron is a good example, because I can't tell what made it any different from the first Avengers movie. Or the Iron Man movies. Or the Captain America movies. I can differentiate between AoU and the Hulk movies because Edward Norton is a good actor and the Hulk is a terrible hero on his own. Otherwise, these movies are just blasting repetitions of the same overly expensive CGI blasting frictionless across fake scenes where actors desperately try to imagine everything that's happening in front of them while also imagining their own fake emotions. Really. Think about the movies you've watched in the last couple of years. Increasingly all green-screened, increasingly repetitive, and increasingly based off of old franchises.

Well, Mad Max: Fury Road is like those movies, but also unlike them. It is iterative. Mad Max is there, as he has been. This movie is, at its core, no different from the other Mad Max movies. If you are unaware, Mad Max is a survivor of the nuclear post-apocalypse in 100% sad desert Australia where people are interested in three things: Oil, Water, and Crazy Face Masks. This movie adds one: Women. The first movie is fun, if forgettable. The first 45 minutes of Beyond Thunderdome (i.e. the Thunderdome part of the movie) is amazing, the rest forgettable. Cult favourites more for prop work than any storytelling. Fury Road is no different, but better. Because George Miller has realised the truth. He has seen the dark heart of Mad Max, and he has realised that he isn't actually very good. He's just not that interesting of a character. He's a guy, who's good at being alive, and that is his focus. All of Max's depth is spelled out for us within the first 180 seconds of Fury Road in choice sentences and a couple meh flashbacks. It is the madness of this world that we are attracted to, the complete insanity of humanity once we are stripped of the legal systems and comfortable lifestyles that constrain our bestial (especially male) instincts. In a time where studios are looking at past franchises and forgetting what made them good, George Miller looked back on his movies and realised exactly why they were bad.

He then corrected those mistakes. This movie is a lean, mean, murderous entertainment machine, with a simple message delivered by a mechano-fisted bald Charlize Theron: Women are badasses too, and just because it's the apocalypse doesn't mean you get to own them like cattle. (Since some of the women in this movie are literally fat women who are being milked, this is not even a metaphor. George Miller does not work in metaphor) The story and plot are spelled out immediately. There is a citadel, it is ruled by a bad man who controls the water and food, and he keeps a harem of healthy, non-mutated wives for his exclusive disgusting use. Charlize Theron does not like this, for good reason. The worldbuilding is simply and masterfully done -- you do not need to have seen any Mad Max or any post-apocalyptic movie to understand what is going on here. Yes, the movie is basically one long chase scene. It's really like four or five strung together, but there's only like one real slow moment in the movie, so come on. It's one.

But what a chase. Oh what a glorious chase, to roughly paraphrase one of the characters, who you no doubt have seen from the trailers, if not the movie itself. George Miller took the gigantic dumptrucks of money handed him for this movie, and he turned them into murdertrucks of incredible amazing power. All the vehicles in this movie are real. All were driven. All exploded, for real. I can not adequately explain to you just how satisfying every fight scene was in this movie. Everything felt real, was real. The grit, the grime, the sand, the mud, the blood, the burns and bolts and flaming spears, the men waving back and forth on poles swinging from the back of souped up desert roamers, the man strapped to the front of a bus playing a flamethrowering guitar. This movie will be a cult movie. It already is. It's the best Mad Max movie. It had people chanting at the end of it. WITNESS!

In short, I liked it. I will spell out the two issues I had with this movie. One, it could have been a wee bit shorter, just so that I didn't have a heart attack. There was a slow moment in the movie and my adrenaline stopped pumping and then it had to start all over again and I was literally exhausted after watching this. Not bad, but someone might die while watching this movie.

Second, and this is actually serious: this movie needs some diversity. There was an old asian woman, and while I couldn't actually spot the one black man, others have and I know he exists somewhere in the movie. Given that this movie takes place in Australia, and was filmed in the Namib desert, I feel like they could have dredged up some stunt actors of colour. There was also a brown lady wife who was pretty cool, but didn't get enough action. I love this movie, and I will tell everyone to see it. But racial diversity should go hand in hand with gender diversity, and this movie only succeeded in championing one. I'll take it, don't get me wrong, but intersectionality is important and real. I am thrilled beyond words that this movie was basically Charlize Theron kicking ass while her manboy sidekick Max shot things and gave blood while grunting. Seriously guys, Max says like 20 words in this movie. I'm going to count next time I see it, which I will. But we have to do more than take one step. I thoroughly enjoyed seeing Hugh Keays-Byrne come back as a different masked madman in control of the world's dwindling resources, but there were plenty of opportunities to introduce some characters of colour despite the fact that every other character in this movie is literally painted white or related to our white antagonist. This isn't entirely Fury Road's problem. It's Hollywood's, which is why the ACLU is now suing them! Progress.

Bottom line: Mad Max is amazing, fun, wow. 11/10 fun and joy, some number out of 10 for quality of movie. You figure that crap out once you go see it, it's not my job. (But it's still 98% fresh on Rotten Tomatoes) WITNESS!

PS: To all the MRAs crying about this movie.

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Hello everyone! Just dropping by the blog to leave this little teaser here: It's the prelude to my novel Leylined. I hope you enjoy it, and feel free to share. (HINT HINT KNUDGE KNUDGE KNOW WHAT I MEAN EH EH? SAY NO MORE SAY NO MORE)

PRELUDE

“Brothers! Sisters! The day of prophecy has arrived!” Zhi-Yao spread her arms over the sea of cheering people. Ten million strong, the crowd was one of many across the world. For the first time since the days of the Ancients, humanity was united. Wars had been fought, cultures eradicated, whole islands sunk beneath the waves, but it was done. This night, the Nine stars not fallen shone brightly, arranged in a perfect circle above them. The heavenly Ring's rotation was halted for over the for the first time in millenia, her silver sides reflecting the sun’s light to the shadowed mountain below. Samantha’s Child was not yet visible. Tonight would be her final orbit.

Zhi-Yao held a crystal tablet aloft, its glowing letters shining bright.

“As it was written in the Book of Truth, handed down from the Ancients to the First Children, held by the wisest and most pious through the Mad Age, so shall it occur. The Machinari keep the Ancient destinies alive, and as they have before, they shall today. Samantha’s child, whose name we have kept for so long, shall fall. Our saviour shall be born! We will witness the birth of a new world, a free world!”

The cheer was a volcanic eruption of noise.

She turned to the angel standing beside her. Sleek, with a body of silver metal and robes of shimmering gold, the Machinari was a reminder that once, the world had been clean. Once, the world had been pure, good. And that it would be again.

“Keeper of Samantha’s spirit,” she said, bowing. “When shall the Child fall?”

The angel’s translucent eyes, hovering lines of light, did not meet her gaze. Such would be below a servant of the gods, despite her divine position.

::Soon:: the angel said, in its electric voice. Its grip tightened on a long crystal staff, an object she knew could obliterate and create with the slightest motion. ::Very soon::

Zhi-Yao’s heart quivered, but she put it down to excitement. Millenia of war would end. Famine, poverty, hate and injustice would all come crashing down once the Star fell. All her crimes would be forgiven. All the blood washed off her hands.

She turned back to the crowd. “The Child falls soon! Let us pray to welcome her!”

Her words spread like a wave. When all had knelt, she began to speak, her words echoed in a great roar.

“Ancient gods, from worlds near and far,

Holy Samantha, mother of us all

Forgive us our mortal sins

Pity your children, who have forgotten who we are

Let your Child fall

Let your daughter be the saviour of us all.

Fall, Fall, Samantha’s Child

Open for us the heavenly door

Give us, O Child, a whole new world”

A cry went up on, emanating from the west. Samantha's Child was rising. She travelled speedily across the sky, far faster than any of the Nine. How she fell was anyone’s guess. Would it be in flames? Would it be slow, like a leaf in the wind? Or would she rocket into the sea, casting up waves? The island they stood upon was not overlarge, and her every inch was covered in human beings, from the olive groves to the hot springs. It mattered not. It would be beautiful.

The Star moved overhead. A great cheer rose from the people. Zhi-Yao found herself weeping.

The Star passed, and continued on her way.

The cheer transformed to confused rumblings, murmurs and screams.

A sudden silence, spread at the speed of light, cut the crowd.

A red star rose on the horizon.

“Angel,” Zhi-Yao turned. “Did we do wrong?”

The angel’s gaze met hers, the shifting lights dimming to a somber blue.

::The decision was beyond me:: the angel said. ::I am sorry::

The space around the angel warped, pulling over its form as a tired man pulls a blanket. The air puckered as it disappeared.

The Red Star shone. There was a great heat, and then nothing at all.

0 Comments on A Teaser as of 9/5/2014 1:34:00 AM

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Here's my tale for the #ShortStoryShuffle, a little game I put together on the @nanopals blog. I guess it needs a title so we'll call it:

TEXTS FROM LAST DIMENSION

So I guess like chateau is just a word for fancy mansion

LOL, but isn’t it castle?

tht so but none of the ones we’ve been to are really castles

A fking catapault would take them down

LOL or a pipe bomb.

ikr, I should look up a recipe

omg dooooo ittttttt lol

that would be so bad. I really should now, just to piss off mom

we’re going to another one tonight

imma do it

she being a bitch?

no dont

yea made me take out my headphones so I have to listen to the stupid guide

can’t understand him at all, hes talking like latin

txting you in secret

and im not gonna do it, jail would suck even worse than her

ROFL were secret buddies

yeah it would

fk yeah

whatchu up to?

messing around online

Tell me about the chateau!

were just getting to it, this whole bus is really weird

like all weirdos

where is it? what’s it called?

that’s really weird, don’t let them touch you

dunno. france somewhere. been on this bus foreverrrrr

lots of creepy trees

called umberlich or something stupid like that

wish we could go to a f1 race instead but she said its stupid and dangerous

glad u still have signal!!

ikr

r u still seeing Amal?

he just texted me hey

i wasn’t seeing him, we had shop together

w/e u 2 are lovers I know it

f u

haha jk <3 span="" u="">

woah dude shit just got fked up

whaat? u okay?

yeah we just turned the corner and all of a sudden we werent in forest it’s like this huge valley and a lake

wtf where’s the chateau?

dunno theres like an island in the middle of the lake

think theres a building on it

sounds crazy scary.

yea I dunno

wtf kind of trip did your mom take u on?

all the others were okay but I dunno last one we were at some guy kept talking to her

dont see him here tho

good that would be creepy

hey were gonna get on a boat now I prolly cant txt you 4 sec

kk be safe

dude I think my mom maybe joined a cult

im kinda freakin out

dont get on the boat

too late

i think the guide is like a priest

hes trying to get us to do some chant

jump off

swim back

my mom will kill me

this water is really cold

k they stopped chanting

so glad

did ur mom chant?

a little, she tried to make me but I said no

this island is mad creepy

i dunno this place isnt like the other chateaus

all black and red

super creepy

dude I’m worried about you

its probably draculas house or something

omg lol prolly true

dont joke ur in trouble

its ok

im fine

actually this place is kind of cool

some crazy monsters carved onto the doors

like what?

are there unicorns??

they look like that thing on Craig’s shirts

no unicorns

kinda look like fish

that guy who’s always playing that game?

woah this place reeks

smells like a fkn sewer

there are all these paintings of old dudes and ladies in robes

wtf they’re all holding fish

this is like some long john silvers cult

LOL but dude that’s creepy

this must be some kinda art museum

maybe thats why its all so weird

europeans

racist LOL

what’s your mom doing?

she’s reading all the little plaques out loud

least these are pretty much the same

some weird named dude killed this old dude

for the glory of his stupid god

this is just like the vatican

except they have nicer hats

LOL ur hilarious but I still think that place is going to kill you

u should tell your mom you want to leave

i did! she’s not listening…. she says the bus doesn’t go back for another three hours

imma go find the bathroom

huh

think I found some dude’s office instead

don’t look around you’ll probably get cursed

w/e

can’t get more cursed than I already am

dude your gonna get in trouble

you should go back to your mom

oh are you my fucking dad now?

I been looking for a new one

sorry sorry

just worried about you

imma steal something

no!

creepy book

another creepy book

some weird star drawing

bunch of fuckers fucking in a pit

huh

what?

fucken my little pony pen case

OMGGGGG okay that place isn’t cursed if it has that

lol you’re ridiculous

kk imma steal this for you

nice its even got pens on the inside

fancy ones w pointy metal heads

omg I can use them with my calligraphy book!

mom bought me one for xmas

at least someone’s mom gets good gifts

i got a self help book titled “will your way out of depression”

and a fucking talking to

when can I become emancipated?

18

sucks girl

:(

ill just run away

w/e

imma draw something on this stupid desk

its covered with drawings

what should I add?

buncha dicks haha

or a dinosaur

eating all the dudes

haha imma do that

god I hope no one comes in

what if you get caught

they’ll like sacrifice you or something

ur mom is probably pissed as hell right now

mai?

u there?

fk

fking cut myself

well

now the dinosaur has colour

:(:(:(:(:(

u okay?

yah its okay just got got it all over the desk

w/e

fk these drawings

im outta here

dont die

holy shit

what???

fking earthquake

I dunno

omg

i think I just heard something roar

get outta there dude

ur a good swimmer

just gtfo

holy shit

its real

holy fucking shit

help me

dude I don’t know where you are

your fb location just says something about spacetime

did you do that?

lyons

send help

Ok but I don’t speak french

what do you mean it’s real?

Mai?

omg mom

it fucking ate mom

im so sorry

where are u?

mai??

it changed

it fucking changed

its not my little pony

how did I not see it b4?

wtf r u talking about?

ur scaring me

mai?

u there?

the pens are real

the drawings are real

the star

the pit

everythings real except me

mai? it’s been like three days! Where are u? r u okay?

u sound horrible

ive been so scared for you

mai??

mai???

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A bit of flash fiction inspired by the Wow! signal.

“I’m telling you, this recording is real.”

“Well where did it come from? Why can’t we still hear it?”

“This transmission travelled around a black hole and through an active star-forming region of space to reach us! It’s incredible that it even did in the first place.”

“That’s gonna be hard to prove.”

“Look, even if they don’t believe me now, we’ll just wait. I’m sure that the circumstances will repeat themselves. Or if not, maybe they’ve moved on to more advanced modes of communication than radio since this transmission was sent out. Neutrinos would arrive much faster from the same area and more regularly. But we need the funding to build a dedicated detector.”

“Have you seen the economy lately? We can’t exactly afford to build giant detectors made of silver mirrors in the arctic circle.”

“The absorbers actually only have to be steel. Not that expensive.”

“That’s not the point. Nobody’s going to fork over the cash for something that you can’t even be sure of.”

“I am sure of it. It’s just that people aren’t ready to believe. I know the weakness of my case -- there’s only one instance of this contact. But it’s real.”

“I believe you. I’m just not sure anyone else will.”

The recording crackles to life. Mostly static, terrible noise. But in there are sounds that do not sound electric. They sound organic, living. Only a few words and indistinct syllables, but something unmistakably a language.

“Missiles flying. Fires, blazing. -d Help us.

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A bit of flash fiction inspired by the Wow! signal.

“I’m telling you, this recording is real.”

“Well where did it come from? Why can’t we still hear it?”

“This transmission travelled around a black hole and through an active star-forming region of space to reach us! It’s incredible that it even did in the first place.”

“That’s gonna be hard to prove.”

“Look, even if they don’t believe me now, we’ll just wait. I’m sure that the circumstances will repeat themselves. Or if not, maybe they’ve moved on to more advanced modes of communication than radio since this transmission was sent out. Neutrinos would arrive much faster from the same area and more regularly. But we need the funding to build a dedicated detector.”

“Have you seen the economy lately? We can’t exactly afford to build giant detectors made of silver mirrors in the arctic circle.”

“The absorbers actually only have to be steel. Not that expensive.”

“That’s not the point. Nobody’s going to fork over the cash for something that you can’t even be sure of.”

“I am sure of it. It’s just that people aren’t ready to believe. I know the weakness of my case -- there’s only one instance of this contact. But it’s real.”

“I believe you. I’m just not sure anyone else will.”

The recording crackles to life. Mostly static, terrible noise. But in there are sounds that do not sound electric. They sound organic, living. Only a few words and indistinct syllables, but something unmistakably a language.

“Missiles flying. Fires, blazing. -d Help us.

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At Madeline Dupont's (@_vajk) request for #7lines, here are the first seven lines from the seventh page of my book. (I may have cheated, I skipped the prologue)

From the novel Leylined:

-

It occurred to Lena that she was in a dream when she realized that for some reason, the world was square. There were still trees, and the ocean was there, and the Spire was there, tall and white and spindling, but for some reason it was all made of squares. Even the clouds were square. Nine, she thought, even the moons are square. They were just two blocks hanging up in the sky, little squares of color dotting their surfaces. The Ring somehow maintained an appearance of being smooth, but Lena figured that was just an illusion. It was likely made all of squares, just too small to see.

-

Hope you enjoyed the tease!

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At @_vajk's request for #7lines, here are the first seven lines from the seventh page of my book. (I may have cheated, I skipped the prologue). All the #7lines links should be compiled on her website www.madicienne.com!

From the novel Leylined:

-

It occurred to Lena that she was in a dream when she realized that for some reason, the world was square. There were still trees, and the ocean was there, and the Spire was there, tall and white and spindling, but for some reason it was all made of squares. Even the clouds were square. Nine, she thought, even the moons are square. They were just two blocks hanging up in the sky, little squares of color dotting their surfaces. The Ring somehow maintained an appearance of being smooth, but Lena figured that was just an illusion. It was likely made all of squares, just too small to see.

-

Hope you enjoyed the tease!

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A small interlude story I wrote for my WIP Leylined, just to add to the world at large. Kailith isn't even a side character at the moment, but her life is the same as many others in this world. Enjoy!

Ah, still here today? Kailith thought, looking at the quartet of square metal rods that angled solidly from the surface of the gently breaking sea. The sun was bright overhead, and the water was clear enough that you could actually see the rods continue deep into the depths, spreading into a massive, bigger than could be really believed -- actually island sized shadow far in the murky depths below. The real island was just a few leagues behind her, a rolling green bump that stretched to a blackened, smoldering peak. Hinara was only occasionally truly active, but she routinely oozed lava off her northern slopes, slowly extending the size of the isle. The bringer and destroyer of life, aren’t you? She thought kindly.

The volcano was a living goddess, a real power that both gave and took, and they worshipped her as was right. But the thing, the Ancient thing that was the giant, square-cut rods and the massive bulk they led to was some fallen demon, a lost power better sealed beneath the waves. But as Hinara had risen, so had the demon, the rods inching higher and higher each year, as if they were ancient lovers who could not bear to part.

The elders spoke of the birth of the demon, the first time it had risen above the waves. Hinara had been smaller then, the island little more than a league across. The time of their forefathers, the great times eight predecessors to their tribe. So told, the story said that Hinara gave a massive roar and the entire mountain leaped upwards, furiously expelling her rage into the air and sea, almost killing the entire tribe. The survivors had fled on their canoes and rafts into the churning, acid sea and saw their island rising before them, growing as if pushed by the living earth herself.

As they fled, they were greeted by an even more terrible sight -- the four-armed claw of the demon sprouting from the ocean’s skin. As soon as the demon broke the surface, Hinara’s rage quieted, her rumbling fury ceased and though ash fell for nearly a twin, the tribe survived, and the island life rebounded tenfold. At first, the demon’s claws had sprouted some twenty canoes in length from the sea -- the same as was discovered Hinara had grown. Each year, they found their villages farther from the shore, and the Demon higher in the sea. Now, some hundred migrations after it had first appeared, the demon’s grasp stretched over a hundred canoes, longer than the longest whale.

How tall will you grow? She spoke to both, her goddess and the demon. Surely you cannot grow forever. You must stop sometime. She knew her thoughts were prayers at best. The demon and the mountain would rise, and continue rising until Hinara’s endless rage was spent, or the demon truly broke free. For now, the few traders that came to their land saw the demon as an idle curiosity, its secrets locked too deep below the waves to be of any use. But every year it rose. Every year that shadowy mass, so indistinct grew larger, more pronounced. It was still hard to actually see the body of the demon, far below the waves, but once you saw how gigantic it truly was, you could never unsee it. The demon truly was clawing his way from his watery prison. And their goddess was helping it.

Why? Kailith looked down through the clear green waves, watching the creatures of the deep flit through the waters above the demon’s bulk. Why, Lady, must you bring this evil back to us? When the demon finally rose, there would be no denying the onslaught of pirates, looters, buccaneers or whatever treasure-hunting adventurers tried to avoid looking like these days. Explorers had come before, claiming to be interested in the demon, but not for financial gain, but she had seen the glint in their eyes all the same as the others. They told them all the same. ‘The demon lies under so much waves for a reason. Risk its rewards and bring down its wrath.’

Whether or not that was true was a whole other matter for debate. Kailith had little belief in the idea that the demon itself was inherently evil, or that it was a demon at all, but the fact was that without the demon, there would be no interest in their tiny isle. They could remain at peace, free from interference from machismo-laden Guilds, Empires and Republics. Pirates and the lot included as well, but they accepted reality, knew they had no possible manner in which to reach the demon’s true frame. The rest, those governments and their armies and enterprises all thought they could manage some the impossible task, using everything from huge glass balls to strange, fiery tubes that did little more than hasten their wearer’s drowning after they blasted them too deep underwater for them to hope to ever return. Yet still too far from the body of demon to be of any use.

The men from the so-called Explorer’s guild had been the most persistent, using elaborate steam-belching contraptions and unholy relics stolen from other demons to lower themselves down into the darkened depths. They had remained for half a dozen turnings of the twins, extending cables and building thicker shells for their ceramic underwater boats, but in the end, they too had left. But they would return. They all would. Whether it would be with this year’s passing of the trilowhales or a hundred more migrations from now, when the demon’s hulk rose above the waves, the result would be the same. The destruction of her people.

Sink, she prayed to the dark hulk. If you have any mercy left within you, demon, return to the depths from which you came. Forget our goddess. Do not chase her, rising to the sky as she does. Leave us.

There was no answer to her prayers. No hint the demon heard her. From what the Explorers had said, she wasn’t very surprised. They had scoffed at the story of the demon, and told her it was more likely a machine. A machine made by the Ancients, for travelling the stars. She had scoffed back. Now, as she looked at the threatening, ever growing shadow beneath the waves, she wished it was true. She hoped it was, and that when it rose, that would be all it would do. Return to the stars, never to bother them again.

Kailith sighed as she plunged her paddle into the sea, turning her small outrigger canoe back towards not-too distant shore.

I’ll see you tomorrow.

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