The Word of the Nerd

I often refer to myself as a Geek but according to this handy dandy visual aid, Nerd is probably the more accurate term. I'm an intelligent woman with any number of specialized interests who isn't a tekkie but who can navigate her way around a computer, loooooves shiny new gadgets and is addicted to video games.

In other words, I am a Nerd who lives on the border of Geekdom: I'm a Nerk.

Back in the day, I wasn't so happy about that.  I spent almost my entire school career trying to hide from bullies so when I moved to a new city at the end of grade 10, I saw it as an opportunity:

      new city + new school = shiny new me.

I buried my love of all things Scifi and Fantasy in a shallow grave, gave away my comic book collection, left my books in storage, quit drama and band, pretended to be scholastically challenged and immersed myself in "teen social life" i.e. clothes, boys, and parties. I hung out with the cheerleaders and athletes and, I cringe to admit it now, I actually chose to become the human equivalent of cotton candy: bright, pretty and absolutely substanceless.

  Initially it was great.  I was accepted.  I was popular.  I was...borrrrred?

Although I had everyone fooled, my personality/popularity reno quickly went off the rails, leaving me almost as miserable as being bullied had.  Eventually I couldn't hack it any more.   I unpacked my books.  I began writing again and I stopped hiding my marks.  Then, I sealed my social fate and began spending my time doing what I wanted with people who shared my real interests.  Needless to say, it wasn't long before I was asked to turn in my pom poms. Whatever. In the end I found some new better friends who maybe didn't share all of my interests but who were OK with who and what I was: a nerdistic wunderkind.

  ***Fast forward a few years...ok, ok...a LOT of years***

Now, I wear my Nerkiness proudly - it is a badge of honour.  

1. I make Joss Whedon, LOTR, Red Dwarf and Star Trek references all the time.
2. I can list all of the Dr. Who's and their respective companions in my sleep although I'm most likely to do so when bribed with a few drinks.
3. I can identify any Star Trek episode from any series (Star Trek, Star Trek NextGen, DS9, Voyager, and Enterprise) no later than 10 seconds into a random clip provided it isn't the intro or credits.   (I highly recommend cultivating this skill because it's a great Nerk party trick.)
4. My calendar is filled with reminders to PVR new Scifi and Fantasy shows and my social calendar is usually pretty limited on Sundays because of that's Game of Thrones/True Blood/The Walking Dead/Lost Girl/Dr. Who night.
5. If it has vampires, werewolves, elves or zombies in it, I'm reading or watching it - guaranteed. If it involves time and/or space travel? Ditto.
6. Steampunk is my new catnip. I lurrrrve me some Steampunk.
7. I have always, always, always got at least 2 Scifi or Fantasy books on the go and I'm now writing my own.
8. I don't fantasize about asking Brad Pitt, Charles Dickens or Abraham Lincoln to pass the salt because my fantasy "who would you invite to dinner" list is populated with Scifi/Fantasy writers and people you would find mobbed by geeks at a Comic-Con convention. 

I know who and what I am and I'm comfortable in my own skin. Hell, I love being a Nerk and I think everyone should aspire to embrace their inner nerd, dork, dweeb or geek because it really is extremely liberating.

And that, my friends, is the word of the Nerd.

Zombies and Why I Love Them

Anyone who knows me knows it was only a matter of time until I blogged about zombies. 

I am, after all, obsessed with The Walking Dead. Ob. Sessed. 

When I'm bored these days I often end up mentally planning my response to a zombie infestation. I'll be on the train and my mind will start wandering until suddenly I'm locating possible weapons, the most defensible location, an avenue of escape and the best way back to Banjoville so I can save my kid.  When I'm cleaning my house I'm not thinking about what I'm doing.  Pfft. No way.  When I'm at the grocery store, I'm not really reading that food label. Noooohohohoho.  I'm figuring out:

1. how to fortify my house or whether I should relocate after Zombipocalypse;
2. how to keep my fortified sanctuary warm in the winter without ringing the dinner bell for the friendly neighbourhood dead-heads;
3. how much food I would have to stockpile; 
4. who I would save;
5. where to go to get some useful weapons; etc.

I know, I know, that sounds like I'm taking the fast train to crazy town but it fills the time while I commute or drive or, you know...whatever. 

I just realized today that all my zombie-prepping plans are fundamentally flawed - I've only ever accounted for slow zombies. In case you've been living in a pop-culture cave for the last 30 or so years, there are two kinds of zombies: slow ones (a la George Romero's Living Dead movies or the Walking Dead) and fast ones (a la 28 Days Later and 2004's Dawn of the Dead remake). 

Slow zombies are scary because they're tireless - oh and they're dead, they're ugly and they want to eat you for breakfast - but fast ones?  Let's just say I'll take a persistent shambling corpse exhibiting a slow Cerebellar Ataxia Gait over a crazy flesh eating Usain Bolt any day.

                  

I haven't always been interested in zombies but over the years I've become fascinated with them.  I began by wondering whether these are just titillatingly horrifying tales or if there's some social commentary in there somewhere.  Surprisingly enough, there quite often is - a message I mean.  Peter Dendle, an associate professor teaching in the US wrote a book called The Zombie Movie Encyclopedia.  He said,  "Zombie movies tap into our apocalyptic fears and anxieties very effectively.  They de-romanticize the connections between human beings and reduce humanity to its lowest common denominator, focusing on power relations in their most brutal human form. It's 'I will exert my will over you.' It's very Nietzscheian." 

*cough* I'm sorry Peter, but I think half of my readers had an aneurysm when you said the word zombies in the same breath as Nietzsche.

Why do I love zombies and zombie stories? Well, because despite the fact that they are monster tales they tell a very human story every single time.  The Zombipocalypse's backdrop of brother eating brother provides an especially bleak backdrop against which to examine how people live, learn, cope, fight, love, die, and maybe even evolve when everything has gone to hell.  Depending on how the story is told, the audience may end up rooting for humanity's survival or despairing at our failings, sometimes at the top of our lungs.

 

My favourite zombie stories:

 

1. The Walking Dead:  As I said, I love this show but it is not for the faint of heart.  In one recent episode three of the main characters drive by a hiker who then spends the entire episode trying to catch up - coming close but never quite making it.  Later, they drive back to their home base and pass through a pretty gory scene showing the hiker has been attacked by zombies and killed.  They don't even blink!  Instead they stop, back up and casually open the door to pick up his pack just in case he was carrying anything useful before heading home.  Eep!
 

2. Warm Bodies: This book was a great, light read.  I could go on and on but I don't want to spoil it for any of you who haven't read it yet...so go and read it already.
 

3. 28 Days Later: OMGOMGOMG! This was the first "fast zombie" movie I ever saw although I'm not sure the monsters in this movie really qualify as zombies.  28 Days Later was scary as hell. I covered my eyes constantly and I loved every minute of it. Let's just say I took up running soon after watching it.
 

4. Zombieland: This movie was a really funny Zombipocalypse story. I still mourn the demise of the Twinkie, not because I ever liked them but because of the role they played in this story.

5. World War Z: I think I read through this entire book without stopping to sleep.  I liked the format because it is a bit unusual: it's a collection of eye-witness accounts talking about the rise of the zombies and the battles fought by the living to survive and I thought Max Brooks did a good job using different voices in his writing while telling a cohesive story. I am a bit worried about the movie that's coming out later this year but the book is well worth reading.
 

6. Dawn of the Dead (2004):  It was one of the few times in my life I've thought a remake got it right and improved on the original.

Despite my love of zombies, I don't write about them...or at least I haven't yet.  Stay tuned.

New Author Blogs to Challenge the Guardian's Literary Snobbery

There's an article making the rounds online: "Top Novelists Look to E-Books to Challenge the Rules of Fiction," by Vanessa Thorpe, an arts and media correspondent for the UK Guardian.  Ms. Thorpe's article is about author and innovator Iain Pears' development of a new and enhanced eBook format that he expects will take the platform to a whole new level.  She also spoke to authors Blake Morrison and Will Self to get their opinion about its potential to transform the typically staid genre of literary fiction.

On the surface, this article is a pretty bland piece about a group of authors discussing one possible way to capitalize on the rise of the eReader but its subtext is horribly snobbish.  Ms. Thorpe clearly broadcasts that as a genre, fantasy shouldn't be taken seriously and its authors are inferior to those who specialize in other forms of fiction but in such a way that she isn't actually taking ownership of it.

"Online fiction is a remote world, peopled by elves, dragons and whey-faced vampires. At least that is the view shared by millions of devoted readers of the printed novel. But now serious British literary talent is aiming to colonize territory occupied until now by fantasy authors and amateur fan-fiction writers."

Despite her weak attempt to deflect any criticism by attributing this view to "millions of devoted readers of the printed novel," the article's messaging makes it clear that Thorpe shares or wants to appear to share that negative opinion about fantasy.   She characterizes Pears, Morrison and Self as "acclaimed authors" and "serious...literary talents" while dismissing fantasy as a garbage genre analogous to amateur fan fiction or fanfic - a subgenre many see as being populated by poorly written works created by would-be writers incapable of dredging up an original idea.  Let me be clear: I am not one of those people who thinks fanfic is bad.  I think there are any number of fanfic writers out there who are amazingly talented and it's a way for people to work on their craft while paying tribute to authors and characters who have inspired them.  Yes, I get that their work creates copyright concerns but let's just leave that to another blog, shall we?  Of course, on the other side of the coin are the fanfic writers out there who are...hmm how shall I say it...ah yes, they're 50 Shades of Barftastic.  Clearly, I don't want to be compared to them, but the rest of fanficdom? Sure! The more the merrier.

On to my major objection to this article: the reporter's unjustifiably biased messaging against fantasy.  It is perfectly fine for Vanessa Thorpe to prefer or want to appear to prefer other genres but that doesn't justify the snobbishly prejudicial tone of her article's reference to fantasy and fantasy authors.  Whether she knows it or not, fantasy can be just as serious and seriously well-written as books from any other genre, even "serious literary fiction" and I've got the bookcases full of quality work to prove it.  Just off the top of my head, I can list five of my favourite authors' works that fit the bill (in no particular order):

     1.  J.R.R. Tolkien's Lord of the Rings trilogy;

     2.  Michelle West's The Sun Sword series;

     3.  Tad Williams' Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn series;

     4.  George R.R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire series; and

     5.  Guy Gavriel Kay's The Fionavar Tapestry series.

What's frustrating is that there are too many others I would love to mention but it isn't practical to list them all in one little blog entry.

I know readers won't care if Ms. Thorpe's "serious literary talents" (i.e. not fantasy authors) are online and interactive.  They will choose what to read based on who and what they like and bells and whistles added to an eBook aren't going to change that.  If readers like historic fiction, then Iain Pears may end up on their eReader.  If they like satire, then maybe they'll read Will Self.  And if biographies, thrillers and other fiction are their cup of tea then they might spring for a Blake Morrison offering.  Fine. I have no problem at all with that and I have to admit, these three are pretty impressive so I might give them a whirl too.  However, that doesn't change the fact that if readers enjoy well-written fantasy they aren't going to pick up a Pears, Self, or Morrison; they're going to look to authors like the ones I've listed above or maybe - when I finish my book - to me.  Here's hoping. 

I guess what it all boils down to is that I think Vanessa Thorpe should examine why she feels the way she does about fantasy or why she thinks she should feel that way because it isn't based on an informed and unbiased assessment of the genre's offerings.  She and anyone else who thinks fantasy is garbage should read one (or better yet, all) of the authors I mentioned above before dismissing it because there is plenty of quality fantasy out there, both serious and lighter fare, that is well worth the read.

The Creative Stress - I Mean Process

"There should be a Writer's Pie.  It would consist mostly of red wine and pencil sharpenings, seasoned by tears." - @MaireTRobinson

My friend Janet recently gave an interview where she talked about why she wrote her first book, Cinnamon Toast and the End of the World.  Apparently, her book's two main characters first appeared in a short story she wrote years ago but her brain's casting agent forgot to send them their pink slips and they kept popping up year after year in other projects.  Eventually, she recognized the pattern, bowed to the inevitable and wrote a book just for them.  I like to imagine Janet shoving her very awesome book at Stephen while shouting, "Here, here you go. Now fuck off!"  I know that's not how she feels but it makes me laugh.
 

In the abstract that creative process sounds kind of romantic.  People who've never tried writing a book might think of a writer like Janet as a creative medium - peacefully communing with the spirits of her characters while sitting in front of a computer effortlessly transcribing their stories.  Urg.  I can just imagine Janet's epic spit-take, fueled - no doubt - by a fine Irish beer or Strongbow Cider.  Janet, like every other writer worth their salt, didn't create a book like hers without sweating blood and shedding tears over it.  Yes, Stephen and Mark were strong and persistent characters but it was her talent with words that shaped the lines of their lives, that painted their settings and shaded their personalities. Without her, they would still be literary ghosts so discounting the work Janet put into her creative process by making it sound easy does her, her book and her characters a great disservice. 

That being said, I would still choose her creative process over mine.  In fact, I'd go ever farther and wish my protagonist had (metaphorically, of course) walked up to me on the train one morning, plunked herself down beside me and told me to get off my ass and write her a book already. Oh, if only...

Nope.  My process, at least thus far, is more like F. Scott Fitzgerald's.  To prepare for a story Fitzgerald organized tonnes of notes into categories like “Feelings and emotions,” “Conversations and things overheard” and “Descriptions.”  My phone, my office and my house are all hopelessly littered with random notes, lists and pictures I've taken of and about things and moments that have inspired me: descriptions, feelings, experiences, sights, sounds, smells, and songs.  I can't tell you how many times I've disrupted foot traffic by suddenly stopping to type something into my phone's notepad or to dig in my bag for pen and paper.  Like Fitzgerald, I have to do it in the moment because my words are never quite right when I'm forced to wait to scribble it down.  I know that admitting I stop dead to type into my phone makes it sound like I'm one of those people who can't chew gum and walk at the same time but I learned early the stopping part is necessary or Head will inevitably meet Pole. 

 

Yes, I'm THAT person.

 

My book's character started her life more like a ninja-esque shadow.  I knew something was rattling around in my head but I could only see a hint of it out of the corner of my imagination's eye.  It was only after all those notes, pictures, dreams, people, songs, sounds, and experiences fermented in me for quite a while that I was finally able to see my character and her story.  It was a hard slog but I felt like a million dollars when I was finally ready to start writing. 

Of course, when I finally sat down in front of my computer and stared at the blinking cursor I realized it was time to face the Hemingway challenge: "All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know."

Crap crap crapcrapcraaaaaaaap!

Bully for You

So here is where I finally talk about my latest "artistic hiatus." (That's my gentle and somewhat self-serving euphemism for writer's block.)

In the fall, I had finally begun to feel like I could work around the residual effects of my concussion syndrome.  I was blogging again and had made progress developing a story idea with some serious potential when the news of a complete stranger's death came and kicked my inspiration out from underneath me.

In October, I saw a news story about a young local girl named Amanda Todd.  Her picture was of a pretty, sweet looking young teen who looked like she could have grabbed the world by the tail but the story behind it was one of victimization, bullying, loneliness, desperation, and eventually suicide.  Hearing Amanda's story was a strangely intense moment for me.  I got nauseous.  I felt hot and prickly and I began to sweat like I had just run a marathon.

I was horrified.
I was sad.
I was angry.

I was really confused by my visceral reaction to Amanda's death. Obviously, I didn't think it strange to feel sad, horrified or angry when someone so young is driven to suicide but I couldn't figure out why I reacted as strongly as I had or why I suddenly couldn't write a single new creative word: not one. I wondered why the death, however tragic, of a complete stranger would have that effect on me. Then in late January I found myself struggling to write a short guest post for my friend Janet's website and it all came into focus.  I felt that way because, like Amanda, I had been bullied.

Wikipedia's entry about bullying is pretty damn dry:

          Bullying is the use of force or coercion to abuse or intimidate
          others blah blah blahdeblahblah. Yawn. zzzzz

That doesn't (and couldn't) give a reader an accurate picture of the intensely personal and utterly horrific experience of being bullied. How was I bullied? Practically everyone excluded me. They mocked me. They spoke about me and over me as though I wasn't there. They kicked, punched, tripped and threw things at me and on a daily basis I was told I was ugly, stupid, worthless and unlikeable so many times and in so many ways that I quickly (and mercifully) lost count.  Those that didn't overtly participate enabled by staying silent and it wasn't just kids who saw what was going on and did nothing - teachers did too. Not once did any of the adults at my school step up and say that what was being done right in front of them was wrong.

By the time it ended, I hated myself more than these kids ever apparently hated me.  Oh...and when I say "it ended" I don't mean these small town high school kids woke up one morning, looked at themselves in their mirrors and had life-altering epiphanies that resulted in a collective pledge never to bully again and a group hug. Nope. This ended when my parents actually sold their house (at a loss), packed us up and moved away.

I'm here to blog, to mash my face on my keyboard on a daily basis as I write my first novel, and to hug my daughter a thousand time a day because one amazing friend stuck by me during my tour of hell despite the risk of being sucked into that abyss herself (Janet!) and because my parents were willing do do whatever needed to be done to protect me.  Saying thank you to those three special people just doesn't cover it, you know?

Even if you weren't bullied yourself, chances are that you do know someone who was although they probably won't talk about it as honestly as I just have.  We are, all of us, potentially Amanda Todd.  I was bullied. What if it was you? Your sister or brother? Your partner? Your friend? Or, even worse, your child?

Bullying clearly killed Amanda but isolation and silence did too.  Step up, people, take that chance and speak up: for her, for you, and for us all.

Herbie - The High School Years

I recently wrote a guest post for my friend Janet's authorial and very entertaining website where I talked about my decades-long obsession with "How Soon is Now?" (the best song in the history of the world for those whippersnappers too young to remember the 80's).

I know it is hard to believe (ahem!) but I spent my big haired, blue eye linered youth being the miserably awkward odd girl out instead of blithely skipping through a decade I look back on as the epitome of substanceless gloss and excess: Big Hair! Neon Clothes! Cocaine! Brat Pack Movies! Blahdeblahdeblah. As a result, I spent a lot of time listening to what would now be called goth and pre-goth music like "How Soon is Now?" If it was deep, dark and depressing, you can be sure it was in my record collection. 

Soon after I wrote my guest post I got into my car and realized that my phone's playlist wasn't syncing to my radio properly.  No matter what song I cued up, my car's display showed this:

 

 

The resulting battle was one I was doomed to lose.

 

Me: Car, I want to listen to Deadmau5.

 

Car: Nope. How about the Smiths?

 

Me: Well, you know I love them and this song in particular but after the day I just had I'm thinking something a bit more mindlessly upbeat might be to our advantage. Maybe Calvin Harris?

 

Car: Nah. "How soon is Now?" is plenty upbeat. (begins playing song)

 

Me: Umm...how about we compromise: Radio Head? Depeche Mode? Thomas Newman? Massive Attack? City and Colour?

 

Car: "There's a club, if you'd like to go

         You could meet somebody who really loves you
         So you go, and you stand on your own
         And you leave on your own
         And you go home
         And you cry
         And you want to die
         When you say it's gonna happen now,
         When exactly do you mean?
         See I've already waited too long
         And all my hope is goooooone."

 

Me: aaaaaugh.

 

I shouldn't be surprised that telling my car I've been there and that someday it will look back on this as a minor bump in the road is falling on a non-receptive speech recognition interface.

Shameless Plug

So you'll notice I took a not-so-brief powder (again) on the blogging.  I wish I could say it was because I won the Lotto Max and I've been living off the grid in Thailand for the last few months but that would be a slight exaggeration.  Instead, picture this idyllic scene: get up, realize you're still in Banjoville, groan, schlep to work, die a little inside, leave work, pick up child, rush through nightime routine, put child to bed, fall into couch coma, sleep 2 hours too little, wake to cat hacking up a hairball on your duvet, realize you didn't write the pages you had promised yourself the day before, rinse and repeat.  Le sigh. 

I'll talk about my blogging absence in a future post but today I'm writing to plug my bestie since grade 4, Janet Cameron.  The other day, Janet tweeted to ask if I would mind doing a short guest post for her website's countdown to the March publication of her book, Cinnamon Toast and the End of the World. Instead of the ohsoboring "buy my book" kind of tweets so many aspiring writers spam me with to flog the fruits of their creative labours, once a day she's blogged about a song that her protagonist, Stephen, might have listened to as he struggled with teenage ennui, life in a small town and an intimidating emotional bombshell.  (For those of you too lazy to click on the link I've thoughtfully included above, the book takes place in 1987 so she's been blogging about 80's music.)

I'm a child of the 80's so when Janet came a'knockin' I was a bit overwhelmed by the choice. Should I pick something ironic? Should I critique the craptabulous? Should I bare my soul and reveal that (at times) I earnestly listened to the schlock, drek, and drivel that made up 95% of the 80's music scene? Tempting, but no. Instead, I chose a song that I've been obsessed with since 1986 because the music is insanely haunting and the words accurately described my seemingly endless adolescent experience of alienation and loneliness. Good times.  

Here's the rub: the lazy amongst you will now have to bestir yourselves to click on yet another link below to read what I wrote.   It's all part of the evil plan, people.

http://www.asimplejan.com/index.php/65-80s-songs/166-song-32#addcomment