As soon-to-be parents, we find ourselves awash in baby clothing. This isn’t a problem, given that I hear most newborns go through more costume changes than Diana Ross at the Sands—though maybe fewer sequins. The problem is this: sizing for baby clothes is a joke, or an example of the chaos that runs rampant throughout the known universe. Take for instance, the following exhibit:
All of these outfits claim to be for a 3-month-old baby. Read More…
I had a battle with a newly sharpened knife last night, and the knife won. I know better than to cut toward me, force a cut through meat, and all the other rules about handling knives, but it was late, I was tired, and I rushed through deboning a chicken I’d roasted so I could put it away. In less than one second the stainless steel sliced my left index finger just under my cuticle, and I shrieked over to the sink to get cold water on the cut and help numb the sensation. Susanne, firmly in her waddling phase of pregnancy, managed to skeedaddle into the kitchen and assess the damage, so we opted for some gauze and tight tape to staunch the bleeding. I realized, during this morning’s shower, that I am a professional when it comes to keeping recent wounds dry. And this is because I have stabbed and slashed myself accidentally so many times I can barely count the instances anymore.
But let’s try, shall we? Read More…
There is a heavy glass frame on a sideboard table in my dining room, among other sundry items like playing cards, pottery serving pieces, and right now, a stack of diplomas earned by Susanne and myself as we reorganize the office into a nursery. In the frame is a picture of my parents, some sunny day from the 1980s, on a trip they took to Hawaii. They’re seated at a luau, with beautiful leis around their necks—nothing resembling the cheap plastic ones you can find at the dollar store—but what they’re wearing most wonderfully are their smiles. My mother’s hair is perfect; my father is wearing a new, hasn’t-been-stained-yet tropical shirt, and they’re just about to settle in for a fun evening. If photos can capture and preserve a moment in time forever, this was a great one to snatch. Read More…
In all of the blogs, articles, books, and groups on writing, most of the emphasis is on the affirmative path toward publishing, no matter the definition of publishing itself (indie, traditional, journal, etc.). I, however, am a fan of the avoidance method for success, otherwise known as the “Learn from My Mistakes” school of winningness. Type “avoid” into the search on this blog, and readers will be confronted with many posts on what not to do as writers and when trying to get noticed.
It should go without saying that one should not masquerade as another person, deny that such masqueradization is occurring, and then blame readers for noticing the hoax, but well, apparently it needs to be said to at least two people. They know who they are (they just don’t care). So in the interests of making a few rather blunt, you’d-hope-this-is-obvious information, I have the following bad ideas to list: Read More…
I’ve written about facing literary rejection before, in part because I’m a prince at receiving them, but since those days of yore several months ago, a new tendency has sneaked into the publishing world: the nonresponse.
Used to be that writers, being commandants of verbal intent and letters, would parse through a rejection letter for any smidgen of meaning. Is it a form rejection? Is there an extra sentence with a pearl of insight from the agent, telling me that memoir is just too competitive right now, or that my voice is great but the book is too niche, or so forth? Is someone congratulating me for transitioning (that was my favorite, by the way)? Does it mean anything if the period at the end of the third sentence falls on the 219th pixel from the left? Read More…
Harold Camping wants us all to know that Doomsday is coming soon. Specifically, later this week. More specifically, on May 21. It should be a bummer of a weekend, according to Harold Camping, who has presumably spent his life savings to broadcast his message so that as many of us as possible can be saved before the rapture. Excuse me. The Actual Rapture. Not like the last apocalypse that Camping asserted would happen, which was in 1994. Oh those bible verses! They can be so confusing to interpret! Read More…
I’ve said it before, and I suppose I’m saying it again; I don’t think there’s a progressive movement. I mean, of course, there’s a progressive movement, in that there are causes on the liberal and radical left that push specific interests. But the idea that a broad left wing will show up to march through the Mall in Washington, D.C. on a single issue, with no major fracture points on display, or that we’re beholden to a single figure who is speaks for even a majority of us, is dead on the vine. Read More…
Chaz Bono ruffled more than a few feathers in the trans community this week when he gave an interview to The New York Times in which he explained his decision to transition:
“There’s a gender in your brain and a gender in your body. For 99 percent of people, those things are in alignment. For transgender people, they’re mismatched. That’s all it is. It’s not complicated, it’s not a neurosis. It’s a mix-up. It’s a birth defect, like a cleft palate.”
Yes, that is one way of looking at it, but certainly, not everyone who transitions—or defines themselves along the transgender spectrum—feels that way. And while Chaz is entitled to his opinion, half-assed reporting from the Times notwithstanding*, I would like to interject a few opinions of my own regarding the way in which some transfolk talk about transition and the way in which the media pick it up and report it. Read More…
I am familiar with the rejection machine, so I’ve blogged about it from time to time, mostly in terms of how to handle it (read: don’t take it personally) and what to do in its wake (submit again). Stories, however, need to be as polished as possible without reaching into the universe of pedantry. If writers throw semi-finished work into the publishing machine, they’re not going to get very far. While I don’t subscribe to the idea that agents and editors need to “fall in love” with my writing—because I have issues with the dating model—I do agree that pieces need to be as good as possible. Milquetoast stories are not going to be published while well thought out, crafted words wait for the next opportunity. Also, our work is our reputation. I acknowledge that this is a high bar, but it’s also the only fair standard upon which to measure.
Fortunately, there are lots of things we writers can do to get our work where it needs to be. Read More…
We took you to Seattle this weekend to meet up with some old friends and celebrate a union of two women we know. It was sunny if not warm, but you probably didn’t notice any of that. We’ve learned to appreciate what the late-day light looks like as it filters through a cumulus cloud and falls on gently moving water from the Pacific. We know to watch it when walking on old wood, or to hold onto a handrail as we lean over the sound and crane our necks to spy on a lone sea lion who has wandered near us and who makes us giggle as he snorts when he comes up for air.
I’m not sure about the world into which you’ll be born, and I apologize for that, little one. Read More…
Trans/plant/portation 