Kipper Lost! and Found!

UPDATE: He's been found! Now being spoiled with some tuna -- a neighbour let him in and then he was retrieved. Whew!!

Poor little guy! He got out of Barb's house. We're hoping he hasn't gone too far and can be lured back in. She saw him on the porch, but he ran off. She's putting out the have-a-heart trap and hoping for the best. Fingers crossed. I feel so helpless, so far away.


UPDATE (Sun night): Barb says that some of her neighbours have seen Kipper around so he hasn't left the area -- a very good sign. The hunt continues. Keep your fingers crossed!

Frustrations

Hastily as I have no time (literally, my 20 min voucher ticks away) things to date: no phone, no internet because I didn't have a bank account until today and couldn't deposit my check before tomorrow, so no money in account and no bank statement. Argh -- no internet on campus because the request for my ID didn't go through until today and it takes 24 hrs for the account to be set up. Won't be able to use it because tomorrow at dawn I'm off to Dublin for orientation which has us traipsing around New Grange and then going to a formal lunch (how to dress for that day?). I find the Ambassador's do now says "no refreshments" which makes me want to give him the high hat (what's the point of Ambassadors if they don't give you cake at least?!). So no phone, no internet possible before next week.

Oh and the whole check being delivered to the wrong address because I am Eyre Square Centre and not Eyre Square which is the opposite side of the square and thank goodness for honest folk not tempted by an enormous check >_<

Decisions: do I pay for the phone outright because the good contracts require a 24 mo commitment? If so, is it worth springing for the iPhone? Maybe not. Argh! Decisions!

On the other hand I had lunch with a fantastic colleague, resident medievalist Frances McCormack who was a delight and a kindred soul for sure, so things are bound to improve. And I have finally had a pint, so you can relax all those who were excoriating me ;-)

Publications: Blink Ink & Scribing Ibis

Here's the lovely package you get when you order the Noir issue of Blink|Ink. And you will order it, won't you? It's got a lovely story by me and gruesomely hilarious one by Mr B (Paul Brazill) and loads of great photography as well as some terrific stories told in a flash -- and for just two bucks! A gorgeous little bit of mail to receive. I should also mention that the Scribing Ibis collection is now available at Amazon. It reprints my story "Sinikka Journeys North" along with a wealth of myth-inspired fiction.



The hell that is moving is over; big thanks to Robert for the final rescue (and sanctuary :-), thanks to Barb for giving Kipper a great foster home; thanks to Catherine for duty above and beyond, thanks to my pals on Twitter for listening to my panicky or whinging messages (especially @lochee :-), big thanks to Byron for a last burst of energy and to the countless others who helped, stored, or took things I needed to do without >_<


Not quite the foot massage I had in mind...


I had planned to have a bit of a lie in this morning, but this was not allowed.


Yes, multiply this by all the limbs (and stomach: how do you bruise your stomach? Very easily it turns out). Sore all over. The bruises will heal. And less achey already.

The Big Day

I expect there will be very little in the way of communication today -- perhaps the occasional burst of annoyance or alarm on Twitter or Facebook, but not much more. It all must be dealt with today. So I've got my kick-ass on and I'm ready for disaster-solving.

Of course I'm writing this from the relative luxury of yesterday because I am a Time Lord (or else I just know how to set posts to appear at a later time), where I can take a moment to say thanks to everyone (because I ache all over and it feels good to sit down for a moment). Thanks to everyone who helped (hopefully today that means Bertie is up here), who had brilliant suggestions or calming words as the need may have arisen, who listened to my endless whinging on Twitter (>_<') and everyone who took things! Grateful, grateful, especially grateful to Barb and Catherine for duty above and beyond with the precious things.

By the end of the day Kipper should be adjusting to his new foster home; he's a tough guy despite his pampered lifestyle. After all, he was tossed over a backyard fence as a baby, so it's all good since then. I should be down in Hudson with my two bags, computer and kantele, quite likely getting a nice meal from my brother and solace from Connor who will probably be licking my face as I fall asleep (I am so tired) perhaps even in my dinner. But all this will be done (oh yes, yes, it must).

I will miss all my friends in the area so much! Sad to be leaving you for a time, but so very happy that I have such wonderful friends to miss. And you know I'll be back -- all my stuff is here!

Kipper Help!

At the eleventh hour, I need to make new plans for Kipper's care while I am in Ireland. If you can help out, please email me! He's seven, very timid but very affectionate once he gets to know you. He's a cuddler and completely an indoor cream puff. I had hoped to save him the trauma of a long flight since he's been traumatised on the rare occasions he had to be in a car -- and that was with me right there beside him. Argh. He's been an only cat for some time, but he was fine with Maggie when she was alive (she, however, was less thrilled with the big guy who could stand over her!). My pal Barb has offered to take him, but she has a couple of dogs (including Oisín the Irish Wolfhound!) and we're not sure how he'll be with dogs. Any help, let me know. I am grateful.

A Song for You

Actually, a song for me. Something to sing while the endless packing continues. Just a few more days, just a few more days -- where did all this crap come from...

Looking forward to tonight at the Point! See you there.

Counting the Days

...until the packing is done. Then I remember how few days there are and gulp, because there's still so much to do.

On a more positive note: my play Lumottu ("Enchanted") from Unikirja gets a reading next Tuesday in Kingston at the Arts Society, 6:30 pm. If you can show up, do! It will be fun to hear what it sounds like outside my head. Finnish immigrants in the early 20th century find the magic of the old country follows them.



Yes, made my bed and I'm lying in it (although not much: keep waking up too early). Resisting the urge to set things on fire and run away. I don't know how, but it will get done. I can't wait to be in the pleasant green paradise of Galway with music all around me.

BitchBuzz: Writers as Content Providers

I tried to sneak a random Fall reference into my column today, but my editor generally nixes my loopy titles in favour of those that actually convey the subject of the piece. Go fig. Kudos to the fabulous Nancy Holzner for providing this week's content (see, talk to me and you'll end up in a column and/or blog post):

Writers vs Content Providers

By K. A. Laity

"There's nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein." -- Red Smith

At a writer's conference this past weekend, my astute pal Nancy Holzner (author of Deadtown and Hellforged) said she reckoned everything had changed once writing became "content" and writers became "content providers."

She's both a novelist and tech writer, so she's seen these changes from a lot of angles. I immediately remembered a student a few years back saying that the allure had gone out of the term "writer" because blogging had made everyone a writer. The magic—if it was ever there—has gone.

The big publishing news like the explosion of ebooks and the implosion of bookstores gets most of the headlines; less visible is the slow erosion of writers' pay. As Nancy said, we got used to the dismissal of people calling writers "a dime a dozen" but we never actually thought it might become the pay scale...

As usual, read the rest at BBHQ and feel free to comment, repost, tweet or like it on Facebook (show me the love!). This will be my last column until I get over to Galway; just too much madness going on.

Don't ask me about the packing: it's a nightmare. I can't go to sleep and then I wake up at ungodly early hours and yet seem to be making little progress. Somehow, somehow...

News & The Ongoing Madness

I don't know what I fundamentally do not understand about the process but the yardsale, as many already heard on Facebook and Twitter, was pretty much a bust. I sold a few things but I ended up abandoning the cause and leaving folks to loot as much as they wanted for free. Not all of it, oddly. Some great stuff went begging. I took what was left to donate in the morning. I guess people just don't want my stuff :-(

I am dividing everything I own into three categories: things I must take to Galway, things I want to hold onto but won't take to Galway (and must be loaned or stored) -- and everything else, which must go. And must go now. I have given stuff away and donated stuff and still there is way too much.

>_<

Somehow it will all get done in the shockingly short amount of time left -- despite starting to teach a three-week long course today, yeah. How will this happen? I don't know, it's a mystery.

I got a nice email from the US Embassy in Dublin on Thursday. Apparently Sept 8th is International Literacy Day and they want to feature my project in Digital Humanities, "Writers in Motion," in a news clip on their website. So there'll be a picture of me and an abbreviated description of my project for the first day of my Fulbright orientation in Dublin. By the by, I'll be leaving from JFK on Sept 4 and flying to Shannon, then probably taking a bus to my new home in Eyre Square.

The new issue of Pagan Friends features an excerpt from Pelzmantel. If you haven't had a chance to check it out, and think you might enjoy a story of medieval magic, here's a fine opportunity.

Oh, and um -- print editions of The Mangrove Legacy! Did I mention that already? :-)

10 Things I Love

Tapped by my Twitter pal, Betty Herbert, here is a random list of 10 things that I unabashedly love. They are not in rank order and this might be a completely different list tomorrow. Anyway, it distracted me for a moment from the packing panic.

1. Peter Cook

2. Mark E Smith

3. Jane Austen

4. Beowulf

5. Cary Grant films

6. Martinis

7. London

8. AbFab

9. My kantele

10. Writing

What are YOUR ten?! Don't think about it; just list them. I challenge you! Come here and leave a comment to tell me when you've answered.

Rationalizing

I am back to columnizing while I panic about the big move. Reminding myself: break it down, do it little by little, stop looking at the enormity of it all! Applies to both subjects, I suppose. Sigh.

Atheists, Rationalists & Rape

By K. A. Laity

The "rational answer" depends entirely upon your starting point.

While most of the hubbub on both sides of the pond focuses on various egregious examples of tabloid mayhem (depending on whether you hate Nancy Grace or Rupert Murdoch more), there's been a smaller but just as shocking story developing in the rational (not necessarily to distinguish it from tabloid) world.

At a student leadership conference where she had been invited to talk about the religious Right's War on Women,"Skepchick" blogger Rebecca Watson had an unpleasant encounter:

You may recall that last week I posted this video, in which I describe an unpleasant encounter I had with a fellow atheist that I thought might serve as a good example of what men in our community should strive to avoid – basically, in an elevator in Dublin at 4AM I was invited back to the hotel room of a man I had never spoken to before and who was present to hear me say that I was exhausted and wanted to go to bed.

 What she was unprepared for was an atheist community—both men and women—who dismissed her discomfort with an unsolicited sexual comment and accused her of everything from outlawing sexuality to "constantly" telling men " how sexist and destructive they are"...

Read the rest at BBHQ.

And Away We Go --

This is how hot it's been: Kipper lying on his back in front of the fan, feet in the air. Undignified. I hope it's not like this in England, but the truth is the last couple of years it has been ungodly hot. I am taking one sweater along just in case (Manchester might be chilly at least at night) but I doubt I'll use it much. Here's the vague schedule:

Land in Manchester, stay for a couple of days where I will lunch with a friend and see THE FALL! Then it's off to Great Dunmow to visit friends, then London where I'll idle for some time seeing museums, plays, concerts and of course, many friends as well as attending the Great Writing Conference. Next I'll be off to Littlehampton and the shore. A first for me (as is actually being *in* Manchester as opposed to passing through), then I'll head up to Derby and the Alt-Fiction conference which ought to be great fun. After that I'm staying with my friend Adele in Leiceister before flying back from Manchester. Whew! It's going to be fun -- and far more relaxing than it sounds because I won't be doing any work but writing.

I'll set up the Twitter feed for a bit until I'm somewhere that I can post actual coverage of the trip. We'll see if--like Robert--I end up with any LaCroix, sweetie darling (doubtful but I just wanted to say that).

Utter Madness

What was I thinking? That I could somehow manage to do all the last minute things I need to do before getting on that airplane tomorrow and go down to Kingston for a reading of my play Lumottu?

HA HA HA HA HA HA!

So, yes, the play reading has been re-scheduled for August 30th. Yes, right before I head off to Ireland, but things will have to be sorted long before that. Um, I hope.

I must be mad; yes, it's the only explanation. I am up early to pack, finish things that need to be done, run errands and then actually teach today, too! My mantra continues to be, "Somehow it will all get done, somehow..."

Not sure exactly how that will happen, but things are bound to get done if you stare at them long enough, right? What? It takes more than staring? I'm doing this all wrong then. Thank goodness I have help: thank you, Catherine, and thank you, Peg! I think there was something else I meant to mention in this post, but for the life of me I can't recall what.

Blogger Has Been Down

Hence the lack of posting: more soon.

Hectic

Paperwork for the Fulbright to prepare; details to work out; pictures for the work permit; appointments to schedule; belongings to jettison; prep for the reading of "Lumottu"; revisions of essays to finish; grading grading grading. So, um -- here's something from the Fall!

Iowa with a Big Question Mark

Epiphanies and Inspiration

No column today: I'm not writing any this month as I'm just too swamped. Tonight's the dress rehearsal for the Camerata's production of Saint-Saëns' Carnival of the Animals with me as narrator. Do join us tomorrow night for the performance if you can at 7:30 in the Picotte Recital Hall of the Massry Center. It will be lovely -- we have some amazing performers.

From Rome

I had a little epiphany this morning: Modern publishing is like science, extracting genre from organic story like chemicals from herbs. The best stories straddle genre. I already knew the falseness of marketing to strict genres; what I hadn't realised was its similarity to how medical science has sought to isolate the "effective" chemical and extract it from the plant. What they've been discovering of course is that all the seemingly extraneous elements play important roles in absorption and so forth.

Over at UAlbany they had John Patrick Shanley visiting. I went to the afternoon seminar, as always hoping to hear something that will kick my brain back into high gear. I loved his story about how Cyrano de Bergerac inspired him as young teen in the Bronx, being both tough, smart and a freak -- and getting all his friends pastries with just the power of his words. "That's what I do." He has a very direct (and funny) way of talking, as befits an ex-Marine from a rough part of New York. You can see it when he mentions telling a critique partner in exasperation, "I don't know why you're alive," because his script was full of "lies" and bad writing. But he also says how much he hungers to have the ultimate romantic connection. A lot easier for an ex-Marine to say that and be taken seriously, but you see within the snappy patter the guy who wrote Moonstruck. The image that gave birth to that film was his mother's face and the sky that he saw as a child and then she was gone and what was in the sky? The moon.

He got a little impatient with one guy who seemed to want to pump him for the secrets to success and repeated exactly what I have always believed: writing has shamanic power. You're not writing for yourself, you're writing for your tribe (and sometimes, to find your tribe). All I need, he said, is a torch in the dark telling my stories before a circle of people. "The problem with a lot of bad writing is all the subtext, I'm sick of subtext." People speak less when they tell the truth, Shanley said, because it always costs them something.

Things to keep in mind as I keep working on the talk. Trying not to think about Lucky Jim too much. Be truthful. Offer something real. Tell my tribe what I know.

Handling Rejection

[I wrote this for another site, but I think it's worth reprinting here.]

This is not a book that should be tossed lightly aside.
It should be hurled with great force.
– Dorothy Parker

From Rome

I write for BitchBuzz, the global women’s lifestyle network and my column for this week dealt with — among other things — the most spectacular writer meltdown in some time. You may have heard of or even participated in the Greek Seaman Incident as I like to call it (who can resist that name?). I liked Sally Quillford‘s take on the whole situation and how — bad as the author behaved — the need to pile on her after the point was made showed the worst in humans and especially writers and wannabe writers.

The truth is we all have to deal with rejection and the way you do that tells the world a lot about what kind of person you are — and tells publishers, editors and agents what kind of person you are to work with. It’s a rare person who can take criticism without some bitterness. Throughout the ages writers have taken exception to those who found their work wanting:

What a blessed thing it is that nature, when she invented, manufactured and patented her authors, contrived to make critics out of the chips that were left! — Oliver Wendell Holmes

Writing is an occupation in which you have to keep proving your talent to those who have none. — Jules Renard

There is probably no hell for authors in the next world – they suffer so much from critics and publishers in this. — C. N. Bovee

You need to be able to take criticism in stride. That can be especially hard for new writers and particularly for women because we are taught to seek approval and often take it to heart when someone coldly rejects the manuscript we’ve been working on for days, months or years. Fear of rejection keeps far too many authors from getting their words out where they belong. I know — I used to be one of them. I’d write and write and write — and put it all in a drawer.

Coward.

Like everything else in life, the more you do it, the easier it gets. Bradbury rule: start something, finish it, send it off, start something else. When the story comes back with a rejection, send it somewhere else and keep writing! You have to learn to take rejection not as an indication of personal failing but as a wrong address. Think of these wise words:

This manuscript of yours that has just come back from another editor is a precious package. Don’t consider it rejected. Consider that you’ve addressed it ‘to the editor who can appreciate my work’ and it has simply come back stamped ‘Not at this address’. Just keep looking for the right address. — Barbara Kingsolver

And rejection doesn’t end with publication. No matter how well you write, you will get critics who do not like your work. Sometimes they will teach you useful things about your writing. Sometimes it will simply be a matter of taste. You can’t always know the difference. Save your snark for your friends; don’t complain on the ‘net because the world is watching.

I decided some time ago that while I could be Elizabeth Bennet in private, I needed to be Jane in public. Be gracious in your dealings with people especially when they don’t deserve it. You will impress everyone (though I can’t guarantee you a Bingley). And just get on with your writing. That’s what you need to do.

Pay no attention to what the critics say; no statue has ever been erected to a critic. – Jean Sibelius

[Why am I scrambling this Monday morning? Because I ran off yesterday to have lunch in NoHo with the QoE and May -- totally worth it :-)]

BitchBuzz: Exploding on the Internet

So, yeah -- it's a bit late. The column I usually send in on Wednesday to appear on Thursday was there, unsent, Thursday late. I would say I can't believe I did that, but it's all too believable with the hectic way things are. I take it as a reminder to slow down and pay attention. Never a bad idea.

Rebecca Black, Fame, & Exploding in Public

By K.A. Laity

"Fame is a bee. / It has a song / It has a sting / Ah, too, it has a wing." - Emily Dickinson

There have been a couple of instructive internet memes this past week: Rebecca Black and The Greek Seaman. The former is a 13-year-old with well-to-do parents who paid for a professionally recorded music video, the latter a novice writer who attacked a reviewer who did not like her book. The two are seemingly unrelated but for the internet sensation they became, but if we dig a little further we will find some unsettling parallels.

You may count yourself lucky if you didn't get a friend on Facebook linking to "The Worst Music Video Ever" and asking for you to watch it and agree. First, it's not the worst ever (there is so much competition, but a rough internet agreement seems to have settled on Armi &Danni's "I Wanna Love you Tender"). Further, it's surely not any more (or less) annoying that Justin Bieber or a host of other teen sensations. I quizzed my students on why they thought Black was so much worse than any other but they simply shrugged and put it down to fatigue with Autotuned pop music. A valid point, but I think that's a tipping point we reached some time ago...

Read the rest at BBHQ.

BitchBuzz: Why Elizabeth Taylor Mattered

My column pays tribute to the luminous Ms. Taylor; I want to sit down and enjoy Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? with some friends. Such a good and harrowing film! I altered the last line of my bio as a nod to the movie :-)

Why Elizabeth Taylor Mattered

By K.A. Laity

I don't think President Bush is doing anything at all about AIDS. In fact, I'm not sure he even knows how to spell AIDS. - Elizabeth Taylor

Accolades abound upon hearing the news that Dame Elizabeth Taylor has died at the age of 79. The most common theme seems to be that she was the last of Hollywood's glittering stars, rocking the old school glamour. From her dewy-eyed youth as the doomed Helen Burns in Jane Eyre and of course the allegedly-boyish National Velvet to her seven tempestuous marriages and her rock star lifestyle, the camera loved her luminous face.

But there was much more to the star as she ably demonstrated in her finest film role: Edward Albee's Who's Afraid of Viriginia Woolf? where Taylor transformed into the foul-mouthed Martha to duke it out verbally with the love of her life, Richard Burton, as the hapless yet vicious George. Under all the glamour, she was one tough broad who didn't get enough credit for her accomplishments and her loyalty.

Read the rest: http://culture.bitchbuzz.com/why-elizabeth-taylor-mattered.html#ixzz1HWRijjbK

Still working at getting the photos up: bit by bit they're getting there. I'm adding captions as I go along so you can know where things are. Oodles of things to do in the meantime. It never ends!