dolorosa_12: (Default)
2017-06-07 04:48 pm

A message, on the eve of the UK general election

So, here we are. It's been a pretty awful few years of British politics, and this election -- the reasons behind it, the campaign, and the past twelve months in general have been ghastly. I'm not very happy to be going to the polls tomorrow, and although I'm happy with the person I'm voting for, I'm furious with his party for a variety of reasons, and feel pretty dismal about the outcome of the election.

And yet, I'll be there at the polling station to cast my vote at 7am.

I can vote in three countries, and have been doing so in all three, in every election (local, state, national, and referendum) since I've been eligible. In most, I've been voting against the tide; usually my chosen candidate got in, but frequently their party did not win office. It's not been a good decade for politics in my countries. And still, I vote. In one of my countries it's against the law not to, but even without this incentive I would still vote, as I do in the other two countries in which I vote. Over the years I've come to see my vote less as a marker of tribal affiliation and moral purity, and more as a shield, the last line of defense I have available to protect those more vulnerable than me, including those who live in my countries but cannot vote. I would urge all my fellow UK voters who feel ambivalent about the choices put before them on the ballot paper tomorrow to try to view their vote in the same way.

I want to turn from fellow voters for a moment to address a group with whom I feel a great deal of empathy, and whose plight weighs on my mind: the vast majority of migrants in the UK who live here, but cannot vote. Although I am a British citizen now, before I became I citizen I was a migrant who could vote, as Commonwealth and Irish residents of the UK are allowed to vote in all elections here. However, my partner is an EU migrant, as are a great many of my friends, and still more are non-EU and non-Commonwealth migrants, and it has been awful for them to sit out election after election in which decisions are made that have monumental and terrible effects on their lives. My fellow migrants, I am so sorry. I am so sorry we have had to endure yet another election campaign in which we are painted as thieves and parasites whose motives for wanting to be in this country are suspect and illegitimate. I am sorry that the Tories have been campaigning on a platform of anti-migrant hysteria, and that the result tomorrow may have an impact on people's migration status. I am sorry that EU migrants have now lived for close to a year with no clear certainty about their ongoing right to live, work and study in this country. I am sorry that non-EU migrants are facing the prospect of even more restrictive, expensive and cruel immigration rules that will separate families, possibly permanently. I'm sorry that while Labour has been bold in offering a genuinely social democratic alternative to the Tories' vile austerity, this welcoming welfare state doesn't appear to have any room for migrants, unless you read between the lines, where Labour pledges to leave the single market, and thus free movement. I'm sorry that whenever we raise these concerns, talk about how unwelcome and afraid we're being made to feel, we're met with either open hostility from the Right, and accusations of being divisive from the Left (minor parties notwithstanding). I'm furious that the future of the NHS can be a major part of this election campaign with barely any mention of the fact that a drastic limiting of immigration will cause the NHS to cease to function.

I want to say to my fellow migrants that you are wanted. You are loved. I am voting for you. I beg any reluctant voters who cannot muster up the enthusiasm to vote for themselves to do the same. Vote for those who live and love and give and contribute so much here, but cannot vote themselves. Convince others to do the same. Please. Vote.
dolorosa_12: (sleepy hollow)
2017-05-05 03:22 pm

Writing through despair

I was going to write today about the wonderful trip Matthias and I made to visit friends in Poznań -- our first time in Poland -- and how it was restorative and healing and hopeful. I probably will still write about that trip, but events have pushed it from the front of my mind.

I'm writing, of course, about the dismal UK local election results (and what they appear to predict for the general election in June), and the crushing sense of hopelessness I'm seeing all around me -- both among friends and colleagues here in Cambridge, and among friends all over the world more generally. My colleagues and I had a big screaming rant over lunch, and I think it helped. I thought I'd share with you what I said to a colleague who was feeling particularly down. These are the things I remind myself when I feel at my most hopeless. I'm not naive enough to think they'll save the world: the situation is dire in so many places, and the barriers we face are considerable. But I've been repeating these things to myself to keep myself going after Brexit; they've been helpful to me, and maybe they will be helpful to you.

  • I take satisfaction from knowing, if humanity survives, that in twenty, fifty, one hundred years' time, historians will judge harshly those who got us into the various messes currently plaguing the world. Children will learn about those responsible at school, and write essays castigating their failures. People will build careers explaining the political, social and moral failures of those who are currently running things. This may not comfort you, but it comforts me.


  • We may be powerless against the vast political tidal waves currently sweeping the world, and not everyone will survive them. But we have power to be supportive, uplifting and kind in the smallness of our everyday lives. We have the power to donate to or signal-boost a fundraiser for friends in need, to buy a cup of coffee and sandwich for a person sleeping rough, to be polite to a retail worker or call-centre worker or barista, to donate to a food bank, to join a refugee support network, to make art that comforts the powerless, to build, to teach, to vote, to love.


  • It is impossible and overwhelming to try to fight against every injustice and cruelty. It will grind you down and erode your capacity to help and hope. It's far better if you pick just one (or two, or three, or whatever you feel able) issue or cause to support, and throw as much of yourself and your energy into that issue, or those causes. And make sure it's a cause or issue where you can actually help in a meaningful way. By all means boost the causes of others, and, where appropriate, join forces -- we are stronger together. But focusing on one thing doesn't mean you care most about it, or don't care about other causes. Don't get hung up on doing activism in a certain way -- not everyone can march or demonstrate, not everyone can attend meeting with political representatives, not everyone can phone or write letters, not everyone has money to spare to donate to their chosen cause. Don't beat yourself up about this: it doesn't mean you don't care or aren't helping. It means you are using your energy and skills in the most practical, helpful way.


  • Be as pragmatic as you feel comfortable. By this I don't mean accept the status quo, or allow harmful people to be involved in your cause because they achieve results. Instead I mean don't strive for instant perfection, instant results, or instant, monumental change. Learn to think of incremental change not as a compromise, but as a starting point for further changes. (By this I do not mean people should accept scraps and be grateful for them, but rather to think in the long term and focus on survival.)


  • I think things are going to get a lot worse before they get better, but I have to be able to get out of bed in the morning, and these things help me.
    dolorosa_12: (emily)
    2017-04-07 01:33 pm

    The end of an era

    I first joined Livejournal back in 2003, at the urging of high school friends such as [livejournal.com profile] anya_1984, [livejournal.com profile] catpuccino and [livejournal.com profile] miss_foxy. We'd all finished secondary school, and were scattering to various places for university -- the idea was to use LJ as a way to stay in touch. I barely used it at all during those early years, and didn't really get a feel for blogging as a medium (or LJ as a platform) until 2007, when I got heavily involved in online fandom. My fannish activity at this point was mostly confined to the two book fansites where I hung out, but most of the people on those forums also had LJ accounts, so I ended up adding them there, where we had more personal and less fannish subject-specific conversations than those taking place on the forums. However, while I was active on LJ during its heyday, I never really felt a part of things there: most of the people I talked to on LJ were people I knew first elsewhere, and apart from the odd person I met through the two of us being the only people to list very obscure interests, LJ-based fandom seemed to pass me by. To the extent that I was aware of it, it always seemed to be a conversation that was happening elsewhere, with rules and conventions that were opaque to me. By the time I was interested in becoming more involved in this fannish community, the majority of it decamped to Tumblr. What I'm trying to say is that LJ never felt like an online home to me. Home for me was the two forums and their associated chatrooms, and, later, Dreamwidth and Twitter. Those spaces were where I met the most people, where I thought and conversed and wrote and dreamed. For years I'd been mentally thinking of LJ as a backup (as well as a place I entered occasionally to talk to a few stubborn holdouts).

    What I'm trying to say is that I don't feel the same sense of anguished loss and ending that so many of my friends are talking about. I understand their grief -- I would feel it, were any of the online 'homes' I mentioned above cease to exist, particularly Dreamwidth and the forums -- and I am furious on their behalf that they have been put in the position of choosing between erasing years of thinking and writing and creating and history and memory, or consenting to terms of service utterly at odds with their personal integrity. But written records are really important to me -- so important that I've never deleted a single online account, nor deleted a single post or comment anywhere online, save for correcting typos. I feel really strongly about the endurance of online content, of links continuing to work, of matters of historical record remaining.

    The solution I've come up with is to keep my LJ, but, after this post has been mirrored, to disable cross-posting from Dreamwidth. I'm in the process of importing a couple of tiny LJ comms I used to run over to Dreamwidth, and once that's done, I'm unlikely to log back in to LJ again, apart from doing so periodically in order to retain my username. I know a lot of friends on LJ have Dreamwidth accounts, and if you'd like to stay in touch, I'd appreciate if you could add and follow me on Dreamwidth -- I'm [personal profile] dolorosa_12, the same as on LJ. Those of you who do not yet have Dreamwidth accounts, I'm sorry. I will enable commenting from non-Dreamwidth accounts, so if you want to subscribe and interact without joining, that may be a way to stay in touch. As I said, I'm not going to import any more posts into LJ after this one.

    I'm sorry it has come to this.
    dolorosa_12: (sleepy hollow)
    2017-03-26 06:46 pm

    UK politics: apparently able to make me sick

    It was fairly inevitable that I would eventually come down with a cold: this week has been heavy on activities, and short on sleep. As well as going to two back-to-back concerts (one of which necessitated travelling to London after work, and thus not arriving back in Cambridge until after midnight on a work night), I was at yesterday's anti-Brexit march in London, and followed that up with a friend's birthday party in the evening. It seems to have been that, combined with last night's arrival of daylight savings time, that finally brought the cold on. I'm feeling decidedly exhausted, and don't think next week is going to be all that much fun...

    The march itself was well attended (estimates put the crowd size at about 100,000, which is not massive, but not terrible), although I'm aware that it's a fairly futile gesture at this point. It mattered to me that I was there — as it has mattered to me that I've been present at other large marches that were nothing more than symbolic, futile gestures to register discontent. No matter how many people showed up at yesterday's march, Article 50 is still going to be triggered on the 29th, and the UK is going to continue on its dangerous course towards isolation, nationalistic extremism, and impoverished decline. But it's precisely for this reason that I felt people's presence at events such as yesterday's march were important: there needed to be a recorded, visible historical record that showed that not everyone in the country was marching in ideological lockstep out of the EU, and that leaving was not done in everyone's name, nor with everyone's consent.

    Next week is going to be difficult, particularly for EU friends living in the UK (and their non-EU family members whose immigration status depends on Britain being a member-state of the EU). I wish I could offer words of comfort or courage, but I've got nothing. It's a terrible thing that is happening, a decision made by people who voted to take something away from others, something they'd never understood, never knowingly made use of (the irony being that all the times they did make use of it were invisible to them), and whose value they were unable to perceive.
    dolorosa_12: (pagan kidrouk)
    2017-03-12 05:31 pm

    Back to the garden

    I've been in a sort of hibernation, which is why you haven't seen me around these parts that much. Whenever I get into this state of mind, I tend to retreat back to basics: a lot of cooking, a lot of decorating. I suppose you could call it nesting. This weekend, I added gardening to the mix.

    I've been growing a few herbs in our little courtyard garden for several years now: rosemary, thyme, and a mint plant that dies every winter and returns with the spring. This weekend, I also went out and bought a chives plant, some garlic bulbs (the kind that grow over spring and are ready to eat in late summer), and am contemplating adding basil (although I'm dubious about its ability to grow in the English climate), scotch bonnet chili, and radishes. I think that's about the level of my ambition so far, but if these all work out, I might try proper vegetables next year.

    It's really important to me to live in a house that actually feels like a home, with pictures and photos on the walls, candles, flowers and pinboards around the house, and growing things everywhere. For years after I moved to the UK, this wasn't possible: I lived in student housing, or moved around so much that I deliberately kept only what could fit into two suitcases, and then my PhD funding ran out and I was living on what I could earn for the twenty hours my visa allowed me to work a week. So I'm deeply grateful to be in a situation where this kind of gardening, nesting and slow building of a home is possible.

    Those of you who garden — particularly in the UK or a similar climate — feel free to recommend other herbs and vegetables that you think I should grow. Herbs I use a lot include parsley, coriander and chives, and cook with a lot of chili, garlic and tomatoes, but anything other than that that you think I've missed and that would be easy to grow please tell me about. Any other tips (especially re: gardening techniques, essential equipment etc) would also be gratefully received!

    How have your weekends been?
    dolorosa_12: by ginnystar on lj (robin marian)
    2017-02-11 08:03 am

    Three good things

    I suppose the benefit of spending every waking moment on Twitter is that eventually, we find out about stuff like the following:

  • I won a free ebook of Vanessa Fogg's The Lilies of Dawn.


  • Matthias managed to get all of Max Gladstone's Craft Sequence books for something like £6. The ebooks (never mind the physical copies) of this series are normally extraordinarily expensive, which has meant we haven't been able to read more than the first book, so this is great news.


  • We also managed to get advance screening tickets to see Hidden Figures today. It's not actually out for general release in the UK until a couple of weeks later.


  • So all in all, we've got a pretty good weekend lined up. We're also going to be spending this morning trying different wedding cakes at the cake shop, so there's that, too.

    (On a weird little tangent, wedding planning is continuing, and we're getting stuff done, but every so often I have a momentary feeling of shock, like I'm nowhere near close to a 'proper adult' who should be doing wedding-related things. To put this into perspective, I'm 32, I've done a PhD, I've emigrated, I work full-time, I teach doctors and nurses and healthcare researchers how to find information that could be life-saving, in the past I have worked in jobs where I've been responsible for up to eighty primary school children, and I've never once had this feeling. It's very odd.)
    dolorosa_12: by ginnystar on lj (robin marian)
    2017-02-05 02:03 pm

    Panem et circenses

    For the first time in about six months, I was able to make it through half a day or so with all thoughts of politics gone from my mind. It was, quite literally, the aforementioned bread and circuses that did the trick.

    Last year, Matthias had the brilliant idea to get us tickets to see Cirque du Soleil's Amaluna at the Albert Hall in London. He'd never seen them before. I have been a devoted, obsessive fan of Cirque for thirty years. My mother first took me to one of their shows when I was about two years old; my parents had taken me back to New York for a holiday in the northern summer of 1987 and Mum took me to see Le Cirque Réinventé. I don't remember much from that performance, other than the fact that they had an act where seven people all rode on the same bicycle, but I was absolutely hooked. The trouble was that Cirque didn't do any tours of Australia until the late '90s. It was ten years later, in 1997, before I would get to see them again, when Saltimbanco toured Australia. By this stage, my sister was born, so she came to the show too.

    For the next ten years, we saw every Cirque show that toured Australia: Alegria, Dralion, Quidam and Varekai. I taped shows off the TV years before they ever made their way to Australia, and wore out the tapes watching them over and over again; Quidam in particular was deeply important to me. My gymnastics floor routine at one point used the music from the diabolo act from Quidam. My favourite act in that show was the banquine, which I had learnt off by heart years before I ever saw it in real life. When I did finally see that act in real life, I cried because it mattered so much to me. I even ended up working for Cirque at one point — nothing as glamorous as actually performing, but I spent a month or so selling food and drink at the concession stands at their show Varekai during the Canberra leg of their Australian tour, in 2007 when I had finished undergrad, moved back to Canberra, and worked four jobs for about six months. This did nothing to dampen my enthusiasm, although to this day I cannot hear certain songs from the Varekai soundtrack without getting the strong urge to frantically clean the nearest popcorn machine.

    Thought I didn't know it at the time, Varekai would be the last show of Cirque's that I watched for ten years — I'd already seen it once in Sydney in 2006, and I got to watch it once for free in 2007 when I was working for the show. In 2008 I moved to the UK, and couldn't afford tickets (also, a lot of the shows that toured Europe during those years were ones I'd already seen). And thus it ended up being ten years before I saw them again.

    Seeing Amaluna was an almost religious experience, like coming home. I'd never been to the Albert Hall before, but it was like a gigantic, glittery jewellery box inside, and although we hadn't planned it that way, Matthias and I ended up sitting in our own private box on the second tier.

     photo 16473446_10102146397938490_6824374070497316099_n_zps16wnb4ys.jpg

    It was pretty great!

    Matthias was in utter awe, and it meant a lot to me to be with him while he was watching a Cirque show for the first time. The aesthetic was, as he described it, Nightwish-meets-Mad-Max (with an all-female live band), and some incredible acts. My personal favourites were the hand-balancing, which was done with the added difficulty of a large, human-sized bowl of water into which the balancer kept diving (which meant her hands were slippery with water, and meant she had to time the dives exactly, given that the bowl was not very deep), and an incredible act in which a group of acrobats launched each other into the air from opposite ends of a giant springboard, from which they somersaulted, leapt, and sprang. I had been looking forward to the uneven bars act, which was good, but used quite basic gymnastics moves. (Don't get me wrong, they executed them brilliantly, and they had the added difficulty of sharing the bars with multiple other acrobats, whereas in gymnastics of course the gymnast is on her own on one set of bars.)

    I also knew they had a banquine act, and given how much the banquine finale from Quidam meant to me, I had high hopes. The trouble is, being the intense fan that I was, I knew the Quidam act off by heart, beat for beat, move for move, right down to every moment of choreography and even the turns of the performers' heads. So I was gobsmacked to notice, immediately, that the Amaluna banquine was essentially identical to the Quidam one: same moves, same choreography, same movements around the stage. The only differences were that where Quidam's banquine act has a kind of violent, despairing desperation in tone (the choreography is quite aggressive and the performers give off a kind of world-weary, hopeless air), the Amaluna act is more joyful — which actually doesn't work as well with the choreography. The Amaluna performers also didn't attempt the more difficult moves performed by their counterparts in Quidam.

    The banquine was not the only act borrowed wholesale from another Cirque show: the jugggling act was lifted entirely from Dralion! I guess they're not anticipating audience members who wore out video tapes watching their earlier shows over and over again. I still loved watching the show, and our seats up high in the middle tier of the theatre were perfect for me, because they gave me a bird's eye view of all the mechanisms going on slightly behind the scenes: tech guys making their way across the scaffolding, performers waiting to be lowered down on wires, the acrobats calling proceedings during group acts, the ways in which dancers distracted from equipment being set up or moved away. This was exactly what my sister and I used to spot and discuss in muttered tones when we watched Cirque shows together as children, and it gave me a great deal of joy. Matthias' amazed enthusiasm for the show and awe at the performers' strength, agility, and the jaw-droppingly incredible things they could do with their bodies also made me ridiculously happy, and I'm so glad to have been able to share something so deeply formative and precious to me with him.

    All in all, it was a wonderful day out in London. We also ate lunch at this restaurant, and it was excellent. It's in a great location if you're going to a show at the Albert Hall or seeing an exhibition at one of the museums in Kensington, so I highly recommend it. The food is a little expensive, but there's a set theatre menu which is a bit more reasonably priced, and it has an amazing range of cocktails. It was nice to put the things that are making me anxious and terrified aside, if only for a little while, and exist in a space where everything is Cirque du Soleil and nothing hurts.
    dolorosa_12: (pagan kidrouk)
    2017-01-14 01:31 pm

    Perspective

    I had my PhD viva nearly three years ago now, but it still reverberates in weird ways, even though I've long since left academia.

    Quick description of how a PhD is examined in the UK, for those who want to know )

    I wake up almost every day grateful for the fact that I never have to do another viva again. Some examiners will tell you before you get started that you've passed, although they're not technically supposed to (Matthias' external examiner wanted everything done by the book, so he left the room not knowing if he'd passed or failed). Mine tried to tell me without saying so directly — they said something like, 'before we get started, we want to say that we do have some concerns, but you have nothing to worry about. Now let's talk about your PhD,' which helped a bit, but didn't do much to make the experience any more pleasant. Some friends have told me they enjoyed their vivas, but to this day (and I say this as someone who has had some pretty awful things happen to her), that viva remains the worst two hours of my entire life. A few weeks before it happened, I dreamt that the process would involve lying on a rooftop while two senior Celticist academics shot at me with sniper rifles, just to give you some indication of the state of my mind...

    Anyway, you get the idea. I passed, and although I couldn't look at my PhD or my examiners' reports for at least two months after the viva was over, the corrections themselves only took about a week of my time, and I got my PhD, graduated, and got on with a life outside academia. But because I still live in Cambridge, and still have a lot of friends within medieval studies, and because my former department is extremely sociable, I tend to come back from time to time to local conferences, free annual guest lectures, alumni events and so on. And because medieval studies is such a small world (and Celtic Studies an even smaller world within it), I tend to run into my examiners when I least expect it. And, inevitably, I bumped into my internal examiner at a guest lecture late last year. We fell to talking about my viva, and he told me something I found both hilarious, and a great source of perspective.

    The entire time that I had been in a state of extreme anxiety and panic, feeling besieged and terrified, he had been in such awe of my external examiner (who, for some reason, he had never met in person before) that he had reacted by being extremely formal, and more critical than he perhaps intended, because he wanted to make a good impression on his fellow examiner. It's odd, but it's nice to know I wasn't the only one in that room feeling scared and overwhelmed!

    Anyway, academia. It's a weird little universe.
    dolorosa_12: (le guin)
    2017-01-07 03:03 pm

    Crowdsourcing holiday advice

    Friends who've spent time in Iceland (either living there or on holiday), I need your help. My mother and I are going there for a holiday for a week in late May, and I'm looking for advice about what to do, where to go, and where to stay.

    Things to know about us: we both like very active holidays with a lot of walking and outdoorsy stuff. Although my mother is in her late sixties, she is fitter and healthier than I am — to give you some indication, she swims for about a kilometre almost every day, walks everywhere, and the two of us went on a hiking trip in a very hilly part of Devon and Somerset last year that saw us walk more than 100km in seven days.

    We are unlikely to have our own mode of transportation. I don't know how to drive, and she has only ever driven in countries which drive on the left-hand side of the road (and I don't think Icelandic terrain is exactly the best place to start driving on the wrong side of the road).

    At present we are weighing up whether to spend the entire trip in Reykjavik and go out on day trips using public transport, spend most of the trip on some kind of extended hiking tour (the kind where you go with guides and as part of a group, not the kind where you go off on your own and carry your own tents), or some combination of the two. Advice about which of these is likely to make the most sense (especially given that it will still be fairly early in the year, and potentially cold/difficult weather) would be greatly appreciated.

    All suggestions welcome. If you don't want to post in the comments here, feel free to send me a message.
    dolorosa_12: (Default)
    2017-01-07 10:02 am

    Hello new people!

    I've added a bunch of new people as a result of [personal profile] st_aurafina's recent friending meme, so I thought it was high time to introduce myself.

    Feel free to skip if you've had me in your circle/flist for a while )

    I'm really looking forward to getting to know you! Please feel free to ask whatever questions you like.
    dolorosa_12: (sokka)
    2017-01-01 03:03 pm

    Yuletide reveals

    I was planning to do a combined reveals and recs post, but I'm feeling a bit under the weather, and I think I'll leave the recs until tomorrow, when I'm feeling better and more able to write coherent recs.

    I wrote four fics this year. I had always been intending to write at least one treat on top of my assignment, as one of my goals for 2016 had been to push myself a bit more with my writing. All the four fics seem to have been well received, and overall I feel I had a great Yuletide.

    My assignment was for [archiveofourown.org profile] neuxue, and we matched on Robin McKinley's Sunshine. The following fic is the result:

    Dappled Light by [archiveofourown.org profile] Dolorosa
    Fandom: Sunshine - Robin McKinley
    Rating: General Audiences
    Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
    Word Count: 2709
    Characters: Rae "Sunshine" Seddon, Mel (Sunshine), Original Characters
    Summary: In the wake of her confrontation with Bo and unsettling alliance with Con, Sunshine needs time to come to terms with her newer, darker powers, and her fears for the future. She finds help in an unexpected quarter. This story takes place shortly after the events of Sunshine.

    I also wrote the other Sunshine fic this Yuletide, as a treat for [archiveofourown.org profile] corbae.

    Like Bitter Chocolate by [archiveofourown.org profile] Dolorosa
    Fandom: Sunshine - Robin McKinley
    Rating: General Audiences
    Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
    Word Count: 4354
    Characters: Rae "Sunshine" Seddon, Mel (Sunshine), Constantine (Sunshine), Charlie Seddon, Aimil (Sunshine), Yolande (Sunshine), Pat (Sunshine)
    Summary: Five times Sunshine stuck to the recipe, and one time she didn't. Post-Sunshine.

    As soon as I noticed that someone had requested The Pagan Chronicles who wasn't me, I knew I had to write for them. It really is one of my most beloved fandoms of the heart, and it's always miraculous to find a fellow fan, especially someone who likes it enough to want fic, so I was really happy to be able to write a treat for [archiveofourown.org profile] Chocolatepot. I ended up writing a short, canon-divergent AU, and I enjoyed writing it so much that I'm considering continuing the story in a new fic or series of fics.

    Shells on the Road by [archiveofourown.org profile] Dolorosa
    Fandom: Pagan Chronicles - Catherine Jinks
    Rating: General Audiences
    Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
    Word Count: 1217
    Characters: Pagan Kidrouk, Isidore Orbus, Babylonne Kidrouk
    Summary: Pagan and Isidore have rescued Babylonne from a lifetime of drudgery and terrible relatives. Now the trio are on the run, heading west towards the pilgrimage route of Santiago de Compostela. Babylonne is dubious about the benefits of horse-riding, Pagan is relishing every opportunity for an argument, and Isidore is longing for a return to a life of bookish, peaceful contemplation.

    It seems to have become something of a tradition for me to write Wise Child fic during Yuletide — I've been participating now for three years, and for the first two years I was assigned to write a gift in this fandom. This year, I decided not to offer it, but [archiveofourown.org profile] Merriman's prompt grabbed me, and I ended up writing the longest fic I have ever written. It's based very loosely on the medieval Irish tale Tochmarc Étaíne ('The Wooing of Étaín'), and I absolutely loved writing it. (In my head it sort of exists in the same universe as the other two fics I've written for this fandom — both mention Trewyn going to Ireland and doing doran work for kings there — but all three are self-contained and make sense if read in isolation.)

    On the Boundary Walls by [archiveofourown.org profile] Dolorosa
    Fandom: Wise Child Series - Monica Furlong
    Rating: General Audiences
    Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
    Word Count: 8009
    Characters: Trewyn (Wise Child Series), Juniper (Wise Child Series), Angharad of the West (Wise Child Series)
    Summary: After several years spent roaming around Britain together, Juniper and Trewyn part ways. Trewyn's journey takes her to Ireland, where she travels strange paths. This story occurs between the events of Juniper and Wise Child.

    I would be remiss if I didn't mention my absolutely marvellous gift, written for me by [archiveofourown.org profile] antediluvian, which made me ridiculously happy. I've been requesting Demon's Lexicon fic for several exchanges without luck, and had actually given up on nominating or requesting it. It wasn't in my original list of requests, but as I was editing my sign-up, I noticed the fandom in the list of nominated fandoms, and added it into my request on a whim. The fic I received was perfect — my author managed to include all of my prompts, and really got why I loved this canon in the first place. I'm planning to spend the rest of the afternoon going through their other fic and seeing if they've written anything else I like.

    Tell me in the glance of a hand by [archiveofourown.org profile] antediluvian
    Rating: Mature
    Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
    Word Count: 6270
    Characters: Mae Crawford, Nicholas "Nick" Ryves | Hnikarr
    Summary: “This is fine," Nick said. "It’s defensible.”

    “Ah yes,” Mae said. “That was obviously top of my list of qualities for a first date.”


    I hope those of you who did Yuletide this year had as great a Yuletide as I did!
    dolorosa_12: (le guin)
    2016-12-31 11:13 am

    Into the light at the end of the road: the 2016 meme

    This has been my tradition since 2007, and I've found it to be a good way to take stock and pause for reflection in the moment as one year slips into the next.

    Questions and answers behind the cut )

    Happy 2017, everyone.
    dolorosa_12: (Default)
    2016-12-31 10:40 am

    The end will come like an iceberg

    I am about to write up my annual 'year in review' post, but because this year has been A Lot, I had some things to say that weren't going to be covered by a Q-and-A-style meme about favourite songs and best new TV shows of 2016. I'm always very contemplative at this time of year, and over the past few days I've been thinking a lot about stories.

    I haven't really felt genuinely happy since June 24th this year. However, I managed to struggle on for a few months after the EU referendum result by telling myself, pretty much every day, 'I can live with the Leave vote, as long as Hillary Clinton wins the US election in November.' Well, we all know how that went. I didn't sleep much for the whole month of November, and the activities of daily life, of planning for the future, seemed utterly futile. What was the point of the next cohort of NHS doctors knowing how to search databases, or of healthcare researchers managing their data or conducting a systematic review properly? What was the point of planning a wedding, or growing a garden, or meeting up with friends, or cleaning the house? I remember very little of November, just this kind of dampening fog of despair, interspersed with flashes of fear and worry about how to help distant friends.

    And then I went to the cinema, and watched Rogue One. It's not a perfect movie — it's not even a perfect Star Wars movie — but it is the story of a ragtag found family of misfits, finding courage in each other, choosing to fight against incredible odds and an overwhelmingly technologically and numerically superior enemy. More importantly to me, it's about people making a choice in the face of utter hopelessness and despair, and the knowledge that they are unlikely to live to see the results of their actions, to save the world for others, when they know they will not be able to save it for themselves.

    This brought me back to myself, not because I believe I would be one to emulate those characters' actions — I've never been tested in this way, but I am pretty certain I do not have that kind of moral courage — but because it reminded me of the comfort and consolation and power of stories, and of the stories that I carry around with me like a kind of personal canon.

    And then I remembered the five wives of Fury Road, a quintet of traumatised and violated women, making common cause, fighting back against oppression and exploitation and a misogynistic death cult, asserting 'We are not things' as they build a better world.

    I remembered the clones of Orphan Black, women supporting other women as they reclaimed control over their own lives and choices and bodies. I remembered Jessica Jones, another abused, exploited woman, bringing herself out of the pit of despair by protecting and saving other people.

    I remembered the characters of Station Eleven choosing, in a blighted, postapocalyptic world, to create libraries, make music, and become a band of travelling players performing Shakespeare, because 'survival is insufficient.' I remembered the children of Space Demons giving up the gun and dreaming of a world of peace and plenty.

    I remembered Pagan Kidrouk, Isidore Orbus, and Babylonne Kidrouk learning, loving, and living fiercely, carving out spaces of tolerance, pluralism and integrity in a world slowing crushing such spaces in favour of extremism and ideological uniformity. I remembered the characters of The Lions of Al-Rassan doing the same.

    I remembered Noviana Una, organising a rebellion against an oppressive empire from within a twenty-first-century Library of Alexandria, and leading a mob of the dispossessed, abused women and traumatised military conscripts, to confront a violent, misogynistic, abusive, all powerful ruler. And above all, I remembered the story that started everything, that has taught and given me so much, and was the first one that ever told me, 'Tell them stories. They need the truth you must tell them true stories, and everything will be well, just tell them stories.'

    Your stories will be different to mine. They may not be in books and films and TV shows. They may not be fictional. They may not be stories at all. Whatever they are, I hope you find them, and find strength and comfort and courage in them. We are going to need all those things in the coming year, and we must draw on what we can to get them. Happy 2017, everyone. Love, hope, and stories to you all.
    dolorosa_12: (sister finland)
    2016-12-15 10:45 am

    December Talking Meme: (belated) Day 14

    [personal profile] umadoshi asked me to talk about my favourite animal or animals, and apologies for posting about this topic one day late. This is a bit of a difficult one for me, because I am really, really not an animal person at all. My mother is, likewise, not an animal person, so we never had pets growing up, and no one in my extended family had pets either. As a result, I never grew up with the idea that a pet was a normal and expected part of every family home. Ultimately, this was probably for the best, given how much I've moved around, as I get the impression that it's very complicated to emigrate with pets. Thankfully, Matthias comes from a similar family, and also is not an animal person, so we're on the same page there. It really would be a dealbreaker for me.

    I quite enjoy watching David Attenborough nature documentaries, and love things like the Strange Animals Twitter feed (also the feeds devoted to beautifully coloured birds), so I guess I appreciate animals in the wild. I think if I have a favourite animal, it's probably birds, especially corvids, and Australian birds like lorikeets, rosellas, Australian magpies (terrifying in the spring, beautiful song all year round; there used to be a magpie that my grandfather would feed porridge oats every morning, and he would whistle at it and it would sing back at him), king parrots, galahs, ganggangs, lyrebirds, bowerbirds, black swans and so on. There are a lot of Australian birds. I do miss the sounds of Australian birds in the morning, even though we have wood pigeons in the trees around our complex and thus aren't exactly lacking for morning birdsong.

    I suppose my attitude towards animals is probably summed up as follows: most of the time I don't give animals much thought, I have no interest in having pets, but I'm glad that they bring so much happiness to my friends who have them.
    dolorosa_12: (sokka)
    2016-12-05 01:54 pm

    December Talking Meme: Day 4

    (I'm going by dates in the month, not posts in the series, hence the jump from Day 1 to Day 4.)

    Kathy (a friend who doesn't have an LJ/Dreamwidth account), asked me to talk about 'doing gymnastics.' Given we met when she was six and I was eight, while we were doing gymnastics, I think that's a very appropriate topic!

    I started gymnastics when I was seven, when my mother noticed that I was spending more time on my hands than my feet, and seemed to be climbing to the tops of trees and playground equipment on every available opportunity. Her suspicion proved correct: I loved gymnastics, and continued to do gymnastics for the next ten years. I began in the 'recreational' group, which was a class of one hour a week, and slowly made my way from the lowest levels of regional competitive gymnastics (the kinds of competitions where hundreds of girls were packed into a tiny gymnasium and everyone got a ribbon) to state- and national-level competitions which involved months of arduous training, and, for some reason, industrial quantities of glittery hairspray holding beribboned french braided hair in place. At my peak, I was training for around twelve hours a week, and was strong enough to do fifty chin-ups, hundreds of push-ups and sit-ups without effort, and could climb a rope with weights tied around my ankles, using only my arms.

    It was clear, pretty early on, that I was not destined for the Olympics, but I still worked incredibly hard, because it was important to me to do as well as I could at the level I was at, and I was the sort of child and teenager who had no problem with endless repetition and practice, as long as it led to a successful score, exam result, grade, or praise from authority figures. It also helped that I really, really loved doing gymnastics - learning the skills, though sometimes difficult and frustrating, was fun, and because they weren't skills that the average person could do without training, I always felt a real sense of achievement when I learnt to do something well. And, best of all, doing routines on my favourite apparatus - bars - felt like flying.

    I'd like to talk about two other things I came to appreciate about being a gymnast. These were not apparent to me at the time, but as an adult, it's clear to me that there were two major benefits to being a gymnast beyond simply physical fitness and another arena in which to develop a good work ethic.

    Firstly, precisely because I was not naturally very good at gymnastics - and indeed was not even the best gymnast in my group/team, let alone regionally or nationally - being a gymnast gave me the experience of a decade of working really, really hard at something in which I was never going to succeed. This meant, firstly, that I had to redefine how I understood 'success': success as a gymnast thus became learning new skills, and, after months of hard, repetitious work, performing them as well as I could, progressing to higher levels, and getting scores that I considered to be reasonable. Secondly, a lot of things came easily to me as a child, and I think it was helpful to have areas of my life, such as gymnastics (maths was a similar area, and piano, although I did well in exams, was not naturally easy to me and required hours of practice) in which I had to work very, very hard. I think this gave me a sense of perspective, and prepared me for times later in life in which persistent, repetitive, consistent work would be required.

    The second reason I'm grateful for my decade doing gymnastics is that it spared me a lot of traumas and pains of adolescence, especially those common to being a teenage girl. Because I spent the years between the ages of seven and seventeen running around in a mixed-gender gym wearing very little clothing, I managed to avoid body-image issues, instead viewing my body purely as something powerful, something that could do extraordinary things. Because gymnastics took up so much of my spare time, I missed out on most of the house parties, underage nightclubbing, and drunken nights hanging out in the playgrounds of inner-south Canberra that were common to my cohort (and indeed attended by many of my friends). Although these often sounded like a lot of fun, they were also the site of a lot of heartbreak, dubiously consensual sexual activity - and occasionally, sexual assault and violence - none of which we were equipped to deal with. I can remember conversations with my female friends, when we were fourteen, fifteen, sixteen that worried me for reasons I couldn't then articulate, but which now fill me with sadness, as well as relief that I was spared those particular experiences during my teenage years. Of course, what ended up happening was that all the angst, and painful or mortifyingly embarrassing experiences that normally happen in your teens happened to me in my twenties! I might have been slightly more mature than I would've been as a teenager, but I was still ill-equipped to handle them, and my early-to-mid-twenties were really awful in lots of ways. I'm still glad I missed out on all that in my teens, though.

    I had to give up gymnastics when I was seventeen, nearly eighteen, towards the end of my second-last year of secondary school, due to both the pressure of schoolwork and the fact that a decade of slamming with the full force of momentum, speed and gravity onto my narrow, flat feet had taken its toll. There's a reason you don't see many older gymnasts - Oksana Chusovitina notwithstanding - the body can't take it after a while. But I still keep vaguely in touch with the goings on at my old gymnastics club (which is now run by a former teammate of mine, and her husband, who was a fellow gymnast at our club), watch Olympic gymnastics, the World Championships, and other high-level competitions whenever they come around, and am still friends with people I met more than twenty years ago when we were little girls dressed in the best in lurid '90s lycra, dreaming of our very own puffy fringes.
    dolorosa_12: (flight of the conchords)
    2016-12-01 08:00 am

    December Talking Meme: Day 1

    [livejournal.com profile] promiseoftin asked 'What got you into journalism/writing'? This was a bit of a complicated, two-stage process. It's also worth saying that, aside from blogging and the odd bit of reviewing on my reviews blog, I'm not really a writer or journalist any more. But I was for a long time, and for a longer time before that, it was the only career I imagined for myself, and everything I did was geared towards becoming a reviewer/journalist.

    I have to admit that, in hindsight, the main reason I gravitated towards journalistic writing as a career was the fact that both my parents are journalists. My father is a very prominent Australian political TV journalist, and my mother is a radio broadcaster; both have been working as journalists for over forty years. Growing up, basically all the adults around me were journalists, so that I developed this unconscious perception that to be an adult with a job meant being a journalist. It helped that reading, writing, and analysing the written word came naturally and easily to me, and that I was encouraged in this, particularly by my mother, who was always telling me that as long as I could write, I would always have a job. By the time I was in my teens, she was pushing me to submit reviews to newspapers and write for student papers, and I was enthusiastically doing so.

    That is what underlay my entry into journalism and writing - parental example and encouragement. How I actually started working in this field is quite an embarrassing story. At one point, when I was sixteen, I was having yet another discussion with my mother about books, sparked by what I believed to be a terrible review of my favourite book series, His Dark Materials, in the weekend edition of the Sydney Morning Herald newspaper. Mum, who was always one to push and encourage me in ambitious directions, said that I should write a letter to the reviewer explaining why her review was flawed. I wrote an incredibly pompous letter to this poor woman - the children's book editor of the Sydney Morning Herald! - and, to her credit and my eternal shame, she wrote back. Instead of telling me I was being ridiculous (which was very kind, given that in the letter I accused her of not having read the book she reviewed), she asked me if I thought I could do a better job, and offered me the opportunity to review The Amber Spyglass along with two other books that had been my favourites of that year. My review was duly published in the Sydney Morning Herald's yearly roundup where multiple reviewers talked about their favourite books of the year, and I was paid normal reviewer rates. Please, please, people trying to get into writing and reviewing - don't do what I did. I found the letter years later when clearing out my room at my mum's house, along with the letter the editor had written back, and it was absolutely mortifying to read. Most editors are not going to behave like her!

    That review was a one-off. I didn't really get a permanent newspaper reviewing foothold until, about two years later, I was having another discussion with my mother about books, writing, and ideas, sparked by a documentary on Roald Dahl that was playing on the TV in the background. I was insisting to my mother that J.K. Rowling owed a debt to Dahl, and that the Harry Potter books were part of a clear tradition of British children's literature that also included Charles Dickens. Mum suggested that I pitch this idea to various newspapers, and, as a new Harry Potter book was about to be published, one paper - The Canberra Times - eventually agreed to publish it. What followed was a ten-year career writing reviews for that paper. They were a great paper to write for, because, until 2013, they had the most amazing literary editor, who was incredibly supportive of her writers, gave me pretty much free rein to write about whatever I wanted, interview whoever I wanted and review whatever I liked in however many words I saw fit, and would make space in the paper for any review, interview, or commentary piece, whatever the length. She was a real mentor to me, and really helped me find my voice as a writer and improve my reviewing skills. I also did a stint on the student newspaper at the University of Sydney, wrote a review of the final Harry Potter book for The Age, and blogged for the ABC Radio National Book Show's blog.

    All through undergrad, I was determined to become a journalist or newspaper subeditor. All this writing was intended to get me to that point, and I also did a two-week internship at The Canberra Times as a trainee journalist, where I published scintillating stories on crises in rural dentistry, children's soccer tournaments, amateur theatre productions, and so on. And when I graduated from my undergrad degree, I sort of fell into a subediting job at The Canberra Times by accident, mainly because I was panicking about what to do, asked if they needed any subediting help over the summer holidays, and somehow ended up with first a part-time, and then a permanent full-time job.

    And I hated it. I have never been as miserable in my life as I was during that one year as a subeditor. [livejournal.com profile] catpuccino and [livejournal.com profile] angel_cc will know what I mean, because they had the misfortune of living with me. Looking back, it was the perfect storm of awful working environment (tense, like all newspapers, because of the decline of print media and the resulting loss of jobs), too many changes to my life, and the escalation of the depression that had plagued me since I became an adult, rather than journalism itself, and if I had been less depressed, or could have stayed in Sydney, or worked for a different employer, things might've turned out very differently. But as it was, I didn't last long as a full-time journalist, and fled to the welcoming arms of academia, emigrating to the UK, and thence to the life I have now as a librarian. Throughout all this I continued to churn out reviews for The Canberra Times, as I had done while an undergrad, and as a subeditor, and during the year I worked four other jobs. I only stopped reviewing for them in 2013, when Fairfax (the company that owns pretty much every paper in Australia not owned by Rupert Murdoch) had mass layoffs, including my wonderful editor. We reviewers were offered the opportunity to continue writing for the paper, but, with a drastically reduced features section, and features editing being run out of Perth by an editor who seemed unequal to the task ahead, I could see the writing on the wall. I have not been paid for my writing since. I still love to write, and I miss the ease and fluency with which I was able to put together a review, particular during the middle years of my time writing for The Canberra Times, when I frequently produced multiple reviews in a week. I was incredibly privileged - I got paid to interview Garth Nix, Jeanette Winterson, John Marsden, Kevin Crossley-Holland, Sophie Masson, Gillian Rubinstein, Shaun Tan, and others. Many of those authors were childhood heroes of mine, the writers of incredibly formative books for me, and meeting them as an equal to talk to them about their writing was an unbelievable experience. Making a career out of writing and reviewing was never on the cards - it always seemed to me a very stressful and precarious way to earn money, and even though my former editor has often told me she thought it a shame that I didn't make a huge effort to pursue a career as a freelance writer, I prefer the security of a full-time job and regular paychecks. I really admire those who do - it's a difficult road to follow.

    I hope that answers your question, [livejournal.com profile] promiseoftin!

    I still have spots available for more December posts. You can make suggestions for topics here on Dreamwidth or here on Livejournal. Multiple suggestions are very welcome.
    dolorosa_12: (sleepy hollow)
    2016-11-13 02:47 pm

    All systems red

    The emotions of Trump's supporters need no economic explanation: hatred is its own ground. It is the oldest and most pitiful liberal self-delusion to imagine that ethnic hatred, or, now, misogyny is merely a masked form of economic distress — the bad way that an authentic emotion expresses itself.
    — Adam Gopnik, A Point of View.


    Felt a tremor stir beneath my breath
    That forecasts storms on the gallup poll
    Woke up from the nightmare news
    And hoping to read a sign in the morning air

    Nothing changes here and nothing improves
    All say my friends who just want out
    And leave these troubles behind
    Scatter like paper in the eye of the storm
    Documented with a silent snow
    That's only heard from far away

    More cards in play, follow in suit
    Everywhere you look, you only see red
    And wonder when to call off the race
    Watching a horse running down its last legs
    Just when you think it couldn't get much worse
    Watch the numbers rise on the death toll
    And the chimes of freedom flash and fade
    Only heard from far, far away

    I hear you can't trust in your own
    Now the grey is broken in the early morn
    And the words forming barely have a voice
    It's just your heart that's breaking without choice

    Everything you've learned is distorted in your head
    Bouncing off the walls, unravelling the thread
    Staying up with the blue screen glow
    Forgetting everything you ever dreamed years ago

    When the dread is flowing down my veins
    I want to tear it all down and build it up again
    Tear it all down, build it up again

    Hear your heart that's breaking without choice
    I want to hear those chimes ring again
    Ring again

    — Calexico, 'All Systems Red'.


    The latter is my favourite political protest song, written as an anguished cry of despair during the George W. Bush years. How bleak, how horrifying, how much it crushes the soul that it is again applicable today, that it was always applicable, hiding just around the corner.
    dolorosa_12: (emily hanna)
    2016-10-23 03:51 pm

    The sun goes down, your eyes look out

    I'm sitting here drinking a cup of tea and eating salted caramel fudge in the late afternoon sun, and thinking it's been a pretty great weekend.

    Yesterday we mostly hung around at home, apart from an hour or so when we went out for one of the talks at Cambridge Festival of Ideas (this is a free programme that runs every year, a series of talks and panels by a mixture of Cambridge academics and other speakers on various topics, aimed at the general public). The panel we went to was about new media, and panelists ranged from fairly senior editors at Buzzfeed and Open Democracy to an academic doing research on the role of the media in Turkey, Morocco and Tunisia, and was excellent, although it didn't really tell me anything I didn't know. We've been trying to take more advantage of events like this — there's always a lot on in Cambridge, frequently free and generally right on our doorstep, so we're trying to make an effort to go to as much as we can.

    Today we went to Apple Day at the Botanic Gardens. This happens once a year; you can taste about fifteen varieties of apple (kinds you can't buy in supermarkets), and buy bags of them to take away. There are stalls selling stuff like apple juice, cider, jams and cakes, honey, and (our favourites) cheese and gin. We walked away with three bags of apples, cherry sloe gin, and some cheese. There are also a few food trucks, a stall selling coffee and cake, and activities for children. We went last year and it was overcast and occasionally rainy, but this year the weather held (always a bit of a gamble in the UK in October) and we had a fabulous time in the autumnal sunshine, eating apples, bumping into a couple of friends, and wandering around the gardens. The only drawback was that you had to queue for ages for everything, but we were aware this would happen and thus weren't shocked by the long, slow-moving queues.

    Now we're back at home and just lazing around until dinner time.

    Over the past few weeks I've oscillated between cheerfulness and moments of crushing despair, and had to do things like avoid reading any news or thinking about the state of the world. At times the darkness, cruelty and sheer violence of the world has been overwhelming, and it seems like many people I care about are going through particularly difficult times. It's left me feeling helpless and despairing, and struggling to know what I can do in the face of it all. But every so often there'll be these moments of kindness and gentleness, existing almost out of time, like a pause in which I can gather my strength. This weekend was one such bright moment. I have to store it up with the others, for later. These brief moments of warmth and light are a small, fragile thing, but I have to believe that they will be enough.
    dolorosa_12: (emily hanna)
    2016-10-16 04:31 pm

    Take my hand and I go under

    Last night, Matthias and I braved the Cambridge rains and went out to see Aurora. For those who don't know her music, I can best describe her as another in the long line of fey, ethereal, slightly discordant female Scandinavian electropop singers whose lyrics are vaguely unsettling. Think a calmer Niki & the Dove, a less pointed Karin Dreijer Andersson, or a sweeter Susanne Sundfør. It's very watery music, both in sound and lyrical content.

    I'm not the most seasoned concert-goer: I get really tense in large crowds, particularly if they're close enough that I'm going to have lots of strangers touching me, so I have to really want to see the act, so I'm not sure exactly where I'd rank this in terms of Concerts I Have Been To, but it was a very different experience to any other concert I've attended. It was somehow warm and welcoming and meditative, and almost magical, as if she were reaching out and enveloping the audience in a hug, or a blanket. It was interesting to me that so many of the audience — the most passionate of Aurora's fans — were young teenage girls, aged around 13-16 to my eyes. She was so gentle and encouraging to them, and I found that quite precious and moving. It was as if she could relate to them on their level and see the power of the moment — being in the same space as someone they admired and loved — without ever being patronising or minimising the depth of their emotional engagement.

    And as for the music? It fed my soul, somehow. The convert came on the heels of a really trying, exhausting, and in many ways upsetting week, and being in that space, in that moment, was exactly what I needed.

    My favourite songs from the set (links go to live versions, but not from my concert):

    'Black Water Lilies'
    'Conqueror' (in this clip, as at our gig, she engaged in what Matthias describes as 'Ronni dancing', which I'll have to admit is true)
    'I Went Too Far'
    'Through the Eyes of a Child'.
    dolorosa_12: (flight of the conchords)
    2016-10-14 06:08 pm

    A breath, a pause

    I have a brief moment of calm between a week that's been very full on, with lots of intensive teaching, and essentially a week with an event happening almost every night. This is mainly because the Cambridge Film Festival, and the Cambridge Festival of Ideas have pretty much overlapped this year. For someone like me, who has very low energy and needs to spend a lot of time doing quiet stuff at home, it's going to be fun but exhausting.

    Coming up over the next week or so:

  • A concert (Aurora) on Saturday 15th

  • A film (American Honey) on Tuesday 18th

  • A concert (Birdy) on Wednesday 19th

  • A talk ([twitter.com profile] Nalo_Hopkinson) on Thursday 20th

  • A talk (on new media) on Saturday 22nd

  • Apple Day (basically show up and eat as many types of apples as you can) on Sunday 23rd

  • A film (The Handmaiden) on Monday 24th

  • A film (Toni Erdmann) on Tuesday 25th

  • A talk (Farah Mendlesohn on children's fantasy novels) on Wednesday 26th

  • A film (Into the Inferno) on Thursday 27th


  • I feel exhausted just thinking about it! But everything should be a lot of fun.

    I wrote a new post on my Wordpress blog. It's a review of A Torch Against the Night by Sabaa Tahir.