between the rock and the cold, cold sea

Yesterday we celebrated my mother's birthday. I made soup from the leftover vegetables in the fridge - onions and garlic and butter-browned mushrooms chopped small, leftover green beans, carrot and broccoli and three small potatoes left over from the previous day, vegetable and chicken stock, Italian seasoning, all simmered up together, part-blended, and served with creme fraiche stirred in to give it a creamy texture - and we cooked ham and cabbage and tiny potatoes for dinner. My beloved had made a cake, and we sang Mum happy birthday with candles.

I'm really very lucky to have the life I do, and the people in it.

I mean, I'm not currently loving culling my hoard of books, so that whenever the house C and I are planning on moving into actually becomes ours, we'll have slightly less huge a job in hauling paper: I feel like a small, resentful dragon having its hoard pulled out from beneath its claws piece by piece. Since this process started, I have reduced the total number in my catalogue (despite also adding new items to that catalogue) by a minimum of 130 volumes. Since the number to Go Away also includes volumes that were never actually added to the catalogue, there are six large bags and two small carry-on suitcases full of books to leave MY POSSESSION and find new homes.

It's a painful process.

It feels like a very long year. Mostly the length is down to political news from around the world: between the US and the UK, there's been more than enough to make you really feel the "week's a long time in politics" - but add Australia's dreadful "postal survey," and the litany of violence and tragedy from around the world, and, well.

I'm still here. If you're reading this, you're still here, too, and a whole new calendar year is just around the corner.

In personal terms, 2017 is probably the happiest/best year of my life so far. I met an amazing human at the beginning of the year, and now she is my amazing girlfriend. (I want to keep her. She says she's keeping me.) Aqueduct Press published a collection of my reviews in July. Around about that time, Locus invited me to write a proper column monthly. I've had a couple of clients for editing services, and one gig as a "sensitivity reader" (terrible term: wouldn't "experience consultant" be better? Or even "editorial consultant"?) Professional progress is happening for me, albeit slowly and not in a way I ever expected.

In work terms:

- I've written a Sleeps With Monsters column just about every week for a year. That's roughly 36,000 words just on the column.
- Tor.com has also published 42 reviews which I wrote - it'll be 43 by the end of the year. That's another 32,000 words approximately. (Calling the average column length 700 words, and the average review length 750 words, which is actually underestimating the reviews some, I think.)
- I've written, oh, let's call it six three-thousand-word columns for Locus: 18,000 words
- Some reviews for Patreon: let's call it 18,000 words, or 1500 words per month, as an estimate.

That's a minimum of 114,000 words written this year.

Well. That's a long chalk from the "not very much" my brainweasels keep trying to tell me I've been doing.

(I also read a minimum of 222 books.)

And this was the year I got involved in local politics. I'm a branch secretary for a political party now. So. I have DONE THINGS, 2017!

And I turned 31. I wonder what 2018 has in store?

Today I'm twenty-nine years old. Another year older and still not dead!

It has been my habit on my birthday, the last couple of years, to send messages to people telling them how much I appreciate their presence in my life. This year, I think, there are too many people to make that entirely practical - and I don't know all their emails. So I'm just going to write here what I want to say.

Dear friends,

It's been a tricky year, since this time in 2014. Without you, I wouldn't be here. Without you, I wouldn't have a PhD all but in hand. Without you, my life would be so much poorer and smaller, and contain so much less joy. I am honoured by your acquaintance, and your friendship, your hospitalities and your support: your presence in my life is a gift and a blessing, and it humbles me.

Thank you. Never stop being awesome.

Today I have committed bureaucracy, and also gym. Give us this day our daily bread, and deliver us from waiting in ticketed lines, for lo it is a small evil among many small evils.

It was relatively painless, as these things go, except for the part where I have to go back again tomorrow to collect my new ration of paperwork. Adulting. I am doing it? Especially since I also bought socks. Socks without holes in are important. I probably should not have bought socks, because money, but, well. The sock drawer is deeply embarrassing right now.

And gym.

Benchpress: 1x5 @60kg, 3x5 @65kg
Squats: 1x10 @20kg, 1x10 @25kg, 1x10 @27.5kg.
Sundry other weightlifting things, like military press and other things whose names I have forgotten, at embarrassingly small weights.
Cycling, resistance 8, 10km in 28:45.
Rowing, resistance 10, 2km in 11:00.

It is very pleasant to have energy to go forth and do things. Also it is very pleasant that the sun is shining, even though it remains cold. It is thirdly very pleasant that I know many wonderful people who are kind and appear to like me, which I can appreciate all the better now the thesis is submitted, and fourthly it is very pleasant to have LEISURE TIME.

Fifthly: sleeping normal people hours and waking up in mornings? The novelty and wonder, it has not worn off.

My thesis is submitted. Until my viva voce examination, it is officially someone else's problem.

Now is the time for sleeping normal people hours again and re-learning how to gym and feel things that aren't stress-feelings.

Today I also got a haircut, went to the gym, and found myself borne out to a coffee shop in good company for celebratory foodstuffs. I am amazed at the amazing people whom I have the privilege of knowing.

Gym log:
Cycling: 7.5km in 21:45.
Rowing: 0.4km in 02:00.
Benchpress: 4x5 reps @60kg
Squats: 1x10 reps @20kg, 2x10 reps @25kg. (Though I'm pretty sure my squat form is terrible.)

I'm hard on my clothes. (You don't need to know this, but I feel like sharing anyway.) I sweat into my shirts like a packmule in the tropics, no matter what I do and regardless of the weather, and my trousers wear out at the seams with disturbing regularity. Were it not for my lifelong aversion to skirts, solidified by six years under a uniform code, I might consider them a better investment.

So today, after discovering my last pair of trousers required surgery, I hied me into town (after meeting a friend I hadn't seen in ages for elevenses) and discovered that THERE WAS A SALE.

Now I have six pairs of trousers, and am very very broke. But hopefully these trousers will last a while longer.

And I am now on five panels.

---

The Changing Face of the Urban Fantastic

Thursday 13:30 - 15:00, Capital Suite 13 (ExCeL)

Urban fantasy is a broad church. To some, it's the genre of "Wizard of the Pigeons" and "War of the Oaks"; to others, it means Sam Vimes patrolling the streets of Ankh Morpork, or Locke Lamora conning his way through Camorr. Most recently, it has become synonymous with werewolves, vampires and hot detectives. What holds together the urban fantastic? Are different strands of the genre in conversation with each other? And how important is the influence of the structures and tone of other genres like crime fiction?

Liz Bourke (M), Paul Cornell, Robin Hobb, Freda Warrington.


Chivalrous Critics of Fannish Dimensions

Saturday 20:00 - 21:00, Capital Suite 16 (ExCeL)

What makes a good epic fantasy? Does quality of prose matter, or is insisting on literary rigor killjoy and elitist? Is it possible to 'overthink' your experience of reading epic fantasy - or is it patronising to the sub-genre to suggest it should be given an easier ride than other types of writing? What are some of the primary critiques of epic fantasy and how can they be used to improve the genre moving forward?

Myke Cole (M), Liz Bourke, Nic Clarke, Justin Landon, Mari Ness


What does Ireland have to offer?

Sunday 11:00 - 12:00, Capital Suite 2 (ExCeL)

Ireland is disticntly different as a nation and its people posses a unique identity. How does this work through the creative fiction of modern times? Has the mighty weight of Irish Mythology that have permeated fantasy had an impact on modern writers in Ireland? Where is the new fiction coming from, and what issues of interest are explored?

Liz Bourke (M), Susan Connolly, Kathryn (Kate) Laity(, Ruth Frances Long, Bob Neilson.

I see I'm moderating this one, so I won't be allowed to go to town on the snark. But seriously. Irish Mythology has a "mighty weight"? OH CELTIC TWILIGHT ROMANTICISTS I STAB YOU.

Seeing the Future, Knowing the Past

Sunday 12:00 - 13:30, Capital Suite 7+12 (ExCeL)

Fantasy's use of prophecy - knowable futures - often parallels the way it treats the past, as something both knowable and stable: details of history known from a thousand years back, kingly bloodlines in direct descent for several hundreds of years, etc. In reality, George I of England was 58th in line for the throne and there is a Jacobean claimant still out there somewhere. No one really knows where France originated. History is messy and mutable. Why is fantasy so keen on the known?

William B. Hafford (M), Sarah Ash, Liz Bourke, Karen Miller, Kari Sperring.


Critical Diversity: Beyond Russ and Delany

Monday 11:00 - 12:00, Capital Suite 10 (ExCeL)

The popular history of SF criticism might just be, if possible, even more straight, white and male than the popular history of SF -- but things are changing. Online and in journals, diverse voices are starting to reach a critical (if you'll excuse the pun) mass. Which publishers and venues are most welcoming to critics from marginalised groups? What are the strengths and weaknesses of academic and popular discourse, in this area? And most importantly, whose reviews and essays are essential reading?

Andrew M. Butler (M), Liz Bourke, Fabio Fernandes, Erin Horakova, Aishwarya Subramanian.

I don't read a lot of criticism. I'm usually too busy trying to meet deadlines. But I can talk about what I do read, I guess.

I didn't miss the windows rattling while fighter jets buzzed the city, though. Even though I couldn't see them.

It being a national holiday, I stuck close to home until mid-afternoon, since all the archaeological sites and libraries would be closed anyway. But eventually I went down to Plaka, and had a kebab and some frozen yoghurt, and walked up around the Roman agora and back down to the square at Monastiraki, where an African drum band of some description was playing. Recorded drum music never quite captures the bass tremor, the reverberation of beat in one's diaphragm. The guys playing were so obviously having fun, and I wanted to dance really badly - but no one else was dancing.

So I came home and went out for a run - I lie, it was more of a shuffle - for the count of one hundred in the park. My wind is so gone. But if I try to do that every couple of days, it'll get easier.

Now, I suppose, I should work on this review. Since I'm supposed to be dedicating the rest of the week to research...

Writing up of the conference continues over at the wordpress blog.

I got up before nine today, to go to the gym and get home before full tide. The weather is stunning at the moment: sun, blue skies, light breeze, 20-22 degrees Celsius.

So, gymming! Benchpress 30kg + bar, 1x8 reps, 2x6 reps, with a lovely spot of spotting from one of the gym staff. Deadlift, 20kg + bar, 3x10. Chest fly, 4kg/arm 3x10. Shoulder fly, 4kg/arm 3x10. Standing shoulder press, 4kg/arm, 3x10. Bicep curl, 6kg/arm, 2x10. Supported bicep curl, 12kg, 1x5.

Then exercise bike, 10km inside 27:30. No running today. Had to get the train home to be in time to catch the tide.

---

I met my mother on the beach. We spent half an hour mucking about in the water. The tide was high and full, and floating somewhere out beyond the harbour mouth was the front bumper of a car (detail reported by lifeguard in kayak). The water was murkier and a little choppier than it was yesterday, but still blue-green. A little scattered about with surface collections of weed. The cold freshwater current met the warm water - in short, it was glorious.

I'm trying to improve my swimming capacities, which means I swim for a count of thirty and then muck about some more. (I am not a good swimmer, although it seems that the lifting has improved my upper body strength to the point where I'm better than I was.)

---

After beach, lunch of soup and a toasted sandwich, and shopping in the supermarket. No sooner did I get home, I realised I needed to nap.

Nap like a napping thing.

Everything is exhausting and productive of anxiety right now. This is natural, and would be natural with a thesis alone. With a thesis and family medical crises... Well. Fun times!

Today, dear friends, I acquired a new haircut. I believe this is my first haircut since summer, but I could be wrong. It could just be since October. It feels fluffy, and I no longer have bowl head, so it's good by me. (Although the gender discrimination in prices in the hairdressing industry, my word...)





On the way to the haircut, though, I stopped off in the bookshop. I wanted to get a copy of Patrick Leigh Fermor's Mani: Travels in Southern Greece, but there wasn't one. But in the travel literature section was a big table with paperback copies of travel writing out of Eland Publishing, and among them was an absolute gem of a find: An Ottoman Travller: Selections from the Book of Travels of Evliya Çelebi, edited and translated by Robert Dankoff and Sooyong Kim. I believe possibly I'd vaguely heard of Evlija Çelebi before, maybe? But this was the first time properly, and it is his first time in English translation. Extracts from the work of a 17th-centur Ottoman travel-writer! How brilliant!

...Of course it came home with me. Of course.

My mother also bought for me today the first dressing-gown I've owned in fifteen years or more. It is purple toweling. Robe! I like robes. Something very pre-modern about them. Also, warm.

I am presently feeling guilty about the review copies on my shelf that I haven't read yet. I do not have a timeframe for reading them either. When there are slightly fewer demands on my emotional attention?





I also get to feel guilty about how I have deprioritised the gym in my life in the last fortnight. Other things have to come first. Thesis, and work, and emotions, and stuff. Like training myself off the copious amounts of Coca-cola I was drinking. No more than one can a day henceforth... (Besides, building shelves was exercise, right?)

Guilt! Frustration! Guilt! Exhaustion! Fun, life is...