May 17th, 2010

Willow

On time management

I'm practising efficiency by admitting I am sick today and spending it in bed. I''m actually about to shut down the laptop and do the thing you do when you are really sick - watch crappy TV.

So here is a great link via @tansyrr on Twitter for advice on time management. I have to admit that after running ASif for 5 years and working at indie press for nearly 4, I've begun to hear the subtext of writers - shorthand if you will for whether a particular project will ever be turned in. And the big No for me is when someone says it's hard to find time because they have kids/have a job. For me, that's code for "I want to be a writer and I like saying that I am a writer, but I don't really write." Because writers, write. They find the time and they make it happen. Those two are key to becoming successful - sure you need talent and IT but you also need to have actually committed and dedicated yourself to the task in order to have work to submit.

Willow

Why yes, we need to have this conversation AGAIN

I'm sick and my voice is hoarse so I can't shout as loud as I would like but this stuff is just starting to make me *very* angry. I would just let it slide by as yet another man with another non-diverse, reading experience but I did say on the latest episode of Galactic Suburbia that I am going to point and shout louder and louder on this issue. And besides, it's obvious that James L Sutter doesn't spend much time on the internet because ...

Why yes, it's another man editing a collection of reprint stories that is embarrassingly lacking in women.

Personally, I am infuriated that more recently published writers are taking the slots that should rightfully be held by some of the GIANT FEMALE writers that have graced the science fiction field, even if so many of today's male critics and commentators, and editors, seem to have forgotten them. Or perhaps never saw them in the first place.

This will be another book that I do not buy.

Tansy says more here

Willow

Memory

Thank goodness for the great complexity that is the brain.

Today I was reheating dinner from last night, all I was up today for fending for myself, and as I was doling out some of last night's pasta into a bowl, the smell of it hit me as exactly the smell of a dish my grandmother made. It wasn't remotely anything she ever made so it must have be the smells of various things when cold hitting each other. But in that moment, I stood in my kitchen with a happy memory of my grandmother. Nothing particularly of note - but it made me happy that a smell could take me to her when I wasn't thinking of her. That I was going about my day, feeling sorry for myself cause I was sick, totally focussed inwards and a random smell could throw to happily remembering her.