Daily Archives: July 22, 2009

Interesting Reading from L.E. Modesitt, Jr

“Yet they’d be outraged if someone applied the stereotype of “parochial” or “limited” to mainstream fiction.” – L.E. Mosesitt, Jr, source

What was really interesting was also that people who work hard in the F&SF genre were also outraged that anyone lay such a claim against the mainstream genre.

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Question of control…

http://nihilistic-kid.livejournal.com/1345886.html

The strange thing about Nick’s claim is that the people who are being silenced are going to write more, and longer, because they’re being silenced.

It’s not silly at all. It’s human.

What he describes as “interesting debate” is made so not because I left the discussion. There’s another human fact at work here.

(BTW, Nick, in case you’re google alerts pop up to lead you here, or something like it, in fact, I was in the middle of BFE Maine with limited web access, doing graduate work morning, noon, and night, while still working on my dayjob and new writing. So… No, Nick, it actually had nothing to do with you, or your continued insistence on shoving my voice and thoughts into your own experiential narratives. Your odd insistince on engaging in rudeness is part of why I’m posting this right now.)

The thing is, when Nick describes the debate as “interesting”, it is also because he took the reigns of it, and forced it down a path he wanted. He shoved everyone into his experiential worldview at the expense of other narratives.

Look at how many posts Nick makes in comparison to everyone else, after I left, and the shape they took and you see how the discussion shaped itself around one man’s voice, the crankiest one, the first one to engage in true juvenalia up above, like putting words in my mouth, or thoughts in my head. Once again, he’s shaping the narrative around his own preconceptions of what that narrative should be, and if you watch, you’ll see him shutting down perspectives that don’t line up with his own.

It’s a control thing, man. It got interesting to him because he took control of it, not because it actually got more interesting. It was just as interesting the whole time.

Try to see yourself from the outside, party people.

The thing about publishing and books is that no one has the whole picture. We all only know a very small slice, no matter who we are. If we actually want to create a whole, we can’t use our little slice to cut away other experiences.

We learn more by approaching everyone’s perspective as inherently valid in the soft knowledge learning of books.

It’s weird to know the many things Nick’s done to try and increase the liberation of the mind, yet to watch him engage in discussion in a way that is loudly and softly bullying.

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Cats are like the crazy ex-girlfriends…

Cats are like the crazy ex-girlfriends. You see them. You think they are cute. They look at you with cat eyes and mew. You think this means – because your body and brain and biochemistry are built to think this – that the animal loves you.

Actually, what that animal is saying is “If you were only a little bit smaller, I’d kill you slowly and eat you.”

We think they are rubbing against our leg, we think this means they are engaged in an act of affection. We hear their purrs and think we are beloved.

In fact, the cat is marking you as their possession, in preparation for the day when you die, and they get to eat you. The purring you hear is just the anticipation of a meal.

Serve them, if you must. Clean up after them. Brush the mats from their hair. Coo their name into their ear and tell them they are so cute.

You’re misreading the signs in their human-like faces. It’s like those crazy ex-girlfriends that you thought, at the time, you loved, and it turns out they weren’t wired the same way you are wired, and it’s only a matter of time before you are devoured. They want to devour you.

There was a cat at my doorstep this morning, with a collar around its neck. It looked up at me like I was everything in the world to it, with big, cat eyes. It pressed against my leg.

“Does the one who loves you know you’re cheating on them?” I said. I refused to open the door. I refused to pet the creature. “Go on, now, pussycat. Go home.”

Had I but known this ten years ago, about certain women and all the cats…

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