NaNo Week 2 + some movies + some books

Oh dear, nothing to say. Mind blank. Monday morning, and a new week of writing yawns. Yawns? Did I mean to say dawns? No, "yawn" was the word that came to mind, in the sense of gaping open. The whole boredom/fatigue association was unintentional, but possibly true.

I wrote a lot of words this first week of NaNo (21,592), but I haven't read any of them. Sort of afraid to look. This is giving me some insight into another author's "process" that I had heard about (can't remember who it was), and thought was INSANE. This author apparently would write an entire first draft and then DELETE it and start over. Madness, right? I mean. . . who would. . . who could do that? But I can kind of see it now. If it was a draft like this, totally muzzy and random and flat as a Coke that's been sitting in the sun all day, there might be ideas to keep, but not a lot of actual language. There may be some language I underline as I read this draft, some sentences I want to rescue and carry over into the next draft, but probably not A LOT. This draft is for finding the story, not finding the language. Totally new to me. I'm a language girl, and man can I while away the hours (and weeks. and months.) tinkering with sentences.

So, I'm still on board with NaNo. There have been more "snicks" but none of the true deliciousness of a good writing day, when a scene has come to life, a character finds his/her voice, and I want to high five myself. But the snicks are exciting, the piece fitting into place, pulling the story tighter and making it more meaningful. One of the main things is that I am always getting better ideas as I write, "cooler" ways to have things happen, and then I have to go back and rewrite and rewrite A LOT, and this way, I am giving the cooler ideas a chance to manifest before I've spent a bunch of time tinkering. It makes sense. On Not For Robots I've written about the "exploratory draft", and this is certainly that -- a scribbly map full of cross-outs, with swampy fingerprints and dead bugs stuck to it, and maybe even a little blood. No tears yet. I'll let you know if it devolves to that point.

Here's the thing: I am believing more and more that it is possible to "change channels" in your head. To take a new approach to achieving an elusive goal, accomplish things you didn't think you could. I have said many times that I could never write a fast, messy first draft, and I made myself believe it. But. . . really? There are lots of things I'm sure I cannot do, but is this really one of them? Doubtful.

For fun, some movie trailers. Australia, for some epic goodness with sweaty Hugh Jackman and smoochies:
Danny Boyle's new film, Slumdog Millionaire, which I can't wait to see:
New kid movie, The Secret of Moonacre, starring the adorable girl from The Golden Compass:

And, oh, a few more Cybils reads:
The Knife of Never Letting Go by Patrick Ness. I have not felt this punched in the stomach and bruised by a book since I can remember, and I don't know what to do about it. The book is amazing, the writing, the emotional impact, the premise. But. . . it's a "feel bad" book, so I don't want to recommend it to anyone -- it would be like me punching them in the stomach. Oof. But. If you like it when books punch you in the stomach, then read this amazing book.

Dream Girl by Lauren Mechling. Adorable candy fun in a pink flowery cover, and a good antidote to the gut-punch of Knife. A little supernatural, but not much. This book is about Manhattan teens who are infinitely more real and funny and likeable than the Gossip Girl variety (the show; to be fair, I haven't read the books). There's just enough of a thrill of romance, but this is totally suitable for young teens. I would give it to my reluctant reader 13-year-old niece.

Same with Justine Larbalestier's How To Ditch Your Fairy. Great for younger teens, reluctant readers. The super-fun premise is that [some] people have invisible fairies dedicated to one specific thing, like a "clothes shopping fairy" that finds you great deals that all fit superbly, etc. The protag, Charlie, has a "parking fairy" that always finds good parking spaces. The thing is, she's 14 and doesn't drive and she really wants a better fairy, which she will never get unless she can ditch her current one. But how?

And lastly, Ottoline and the Yellow Cat, written and illustrated by Chris Riddell. WONDERFUL! This is for younger kids -- 2nd, 3rd grade? I'm not convinced it belongs in our category, but still loved it. Fully illustrated with the kind of whimsical art you want to look at again and again, there are diagrams and maps, postcards, lap dog mug shots, and more more more. A clever little girl who lives with a Norwegian bog creature while her parents travel the word collecting strange artifacts, Ottoline likes to snoop and solve mysteries. In this first volume, she's onto an unusual crime ring. . .

How I am such a good grudge-holder

The books, they keep a'comin. Glee, glee. The other day: two deliveries of books, in addition to three other distinct Fed-Ex and DHL drop-offs (contact lenses, dog arthritis medication and something else which escapes me), not to mention the regular mail, and it really did feel like Christmas. Albeit, fairly crappy Christmas, to be getting dog arthritis medicine! [*Ask me about that, if your dog might have arthritis; it is awesome*]

I don't have much to say today, but I want to say this: as I go around to blogs now, after the election, I have been confronted several times with residual posts in support of Proposition 8, and my spirits sink. It's been such a strange experience, since I blogged about it -- to be confronted with proud discrimination by people who are good, kind, and polite. There's no other discrimination that is socially acceptable anymore (well, maybe anti-Muslim or anti-Arab discrimination is unfortunately still a point of pride in much of America), but to be anti-gay, it is not just acceptable, apparently, but something to kind of shine on your sleeve like an apple. Aside from this being really sad, it is also really weird to me, to hear these nice people asserting their prejudice. It's like bizarro world. It could barely be weirder if they started using racial epithets with a smile. (And they don't, these nice people. They never would. Not that. But this. . .)

And I can only imagine what it must be like hearing it if you're gay. After the euphoria of the recognition of these marriages in California, to be smacked down yet again.

It made me remember this Zora Neale Hurston quote, not precisely relevant, but wonderful:

"Sometimes I feel discriminated against, but it does not make me angry. It merely astonishes me. How can anyone deny themselves the pleasure of my company? It is beyond me."

LOVE. That.

Anyway, I'm not trying to revive any debates here, so I'll distract you by telling you that it occurred to me recently I can really hold a grudge. Jim and I were driving by a restaurant called Arabian Breeze, and I got this curdled, bitter feeling, just going by it, from the one time Jim and I had eaten there. It was the day that I had gotten my first offer on Blackbringer and I was euphoric. I was going to be a published author!!! We went out to this new place for a celebratory lunch. As I recall it was cute inside, and the menu was interesting, and. . . Oh boy, this is going to sound really petty to you. It is petty, my grudge, but I am admitting it. The waiter came over to take our order, and Jim said, "I'll have number 3," -- the menu items were fairly complicated combinationy things, and each had a number by it -- and the waiter, a 20-something Middle Eastern guy, gave Jim a bastardy look and said, all condescending, "This is not a Chinese restaurant."

"This is not a Chinese restaurant?" Are you effing kidding me? The menu was numbered!!! There were numbers on the menu!!! So Jim, who is insanely polite, hurriedly corrected his *mistake* by stating the name of the menu item, and I ordered too, and we ate our food, paid, and left. But I don't remember any of the eating or paying or leaving, or if the food was good, or what. I just remember how that snarky comment totally changed the tone of our celebratory lunch, and I am enduringly pissed at myself for letting him get away with it. It's not like me, to let snark pass unchallenged! But for some reason, that day, I did. And as we drove by the other day, nearly three years later, I found myself reliving, once more, what I should have said to him, which would have gone something like this:

"This is not a Chinese restaurant."

"Excuse me? You didn't really just say that, did you?" *Laini smiles nicely, showing her fangs* "May we please speak with the manager?"

And then we would have spoken with the manager, and left, and celebrated somewhere else. I know, it's not like it's even a zinger. Just instantly ask for the manager, tattle, and go. Lame. But it gives me pleasure to imagine it. So, driving by, I was joking with Jim that if I had a time machine and could go back to any moment in history -- any moment at all -- to witness the building of the pyramids or watch Michelangelo carve the Pieta, or kill genocidal dictators in their sleep or anything I would go back to Arabian Breeze three years ago and try to get that waiter in trouble.

See??? I can hold a grudge!!! I have a longer-standing and just as stupid grudge too, and it involves a fake nemesis. By fake, I mean, he doesn't know he's my nemesis. He doesn't know that I pronouce his name like Seinfeld pronounces "Newman;" in fact, he doesn't know, has long forgotten, that I even exist. He's a writer, and he made the fatal mistake of blowing Jim and me off at a professional event years ago, doing that constant restless scanning of the crowd to see if anyone cooler was close at hand? And then said something really self-important and dismissive -- I don't even remember what. Does it matter? Let's assume he said, "Oh, insignificant little unpublished peons, shoo. I'm looking for more important people who are worthy of my divine presence." I don't think it was exactly that, but you get the point.

And I've really gotten back at him over the years. You know how? By refusing to read his books. Take THAT! *maniacal laughter and gleeful hand-wringing* Well, the truth is, in this case, I don't really still hold a grudge -- much -- it's just FUN having a fake nemesis. It's fun pronouncing his name like "Newman" if it ever comes up, which isn't often because -- ha HA! -- he's not even that famous.

Holding a grudge is awesome. Try it.

Now, a question:

-- If you had a single solitary trip in a time machine, where and when would you go, to do what, or witness what? First, for real, and then, for silly. Anyone want to play?

Artifacts, fossils, predators, corpses, lovers

Anybody else out there writing a book right now? Writing a book really fast? I am trying to. Well, not a book exactly. Let's not call it that. Too intimidating. It's a draft, that's all. For some reason I feel sheepish admitting I'm participating in NaNoWriMo -- maybe because I feel like I should be able to do this without tricks by now? Well. I'd begun writing this particular book some months ago, and immediately fell into my usual trap of tending the first chapter like it's a garden that needs constant care, rather than moving forward into the rest of the story. Anybody else do that? Work on that first chapter like it's the showcase of all your talent ever and must be perfectperfectperfect? Ugh. That gets so wearisome.

It got so wearisome the book was un-fun before it was really begun, and I'd been dreaming of this book, dying to sink my teeth into it for months, and then. . . bluhhhhh. So, I gave myself a play day to do some fun writing like back in the good old days of Sunday Scribblings when odd and wonderful little stories were hatching at my fingertips. And that day was the most fun I'd had writing in ages. It was GLEE. And I let it seduce me and I started working on that instead. And you'll never guess what happened.

Or, maybe you will.

As soon as "newt" stopped being an evasion and became instead my new work, it pretty instantly became hard and un-fun too. Fancy that. So, what to do? Fate intervened in the form of the blog conference, a trip to California, a visit from mother-in-law, final Silksinger revisions, and a new set of Laini's Ladies to design, and I didn't write much for weeks and when I was ready to go again, it was October 31 and NaNoWriMo was starting and I'd been toying with the idea noncommitally for a while. Some of my writing friends have been working all year on revisions of books they wrote first drafts of last NaNo, and they were such cheerleaders for it, it kind of got me thinking maybe even MY white-knuckled, uptight, persnickity writing brain could do this. If I try rillyrilly hard, and force myself not to treat this draft like some magical garden that needs constant loving care, but more like our actual yard, which we take absolute minimal care of in the form of a grudging once-a-year weeding and Jim's sporadic mowings. . . If I treat this draft like my yard and let it be totally frowzy, then maybe I can do it!

So, at the beginning of Day 7, how is it going? I am happy to report, 16,066 totally frowzy words, some in third person, some in first, some in present tense, some in past. A distressing lack of dialogue and characterization. Flat cardboard people, very little dramatic tension (though someone died on page two -- that was a shocker), little or no sense of place. . . and, what's that? . . . Snick snick snick! Snicks all over the place. People. [My friends.] The story is happening. You write to find the story, right? And I am finding it. The knee-high weeds in my manuscript are unveiling all manner of mysterious and wonderful things. Artifacts, fossils, predators, corpses, lovers. Wheeeee!

So I'm feeling pretty good! I know the persnickity me will catch up and assert herself and start hyperventilating over the mess and drastic badness, and I will try to deal with that and get through 24 more days of this. The pep talks help. This week we got emails from Jonathan Stroud and Philip Pullman, and both had gems in them. Like this, from Philip Pullman, who is one of my heroes anyway:

"The question authors get asked more than any other is "Where do you get your ideas from?" And we all find a way of answering which we hope isn't arrogant or discouraging. What I usually say is "I don't know where they come from, but I know where they come to: they come to my desk, and if I'm not there, they go away again." That's just another way of emphasising the importance of regular work."

Wonderful! Any other NaNo-ers? I want to add more Writing Buddies to my list, but I don't really know how to find people.

Speaking of wonderful, I have not yet mentioned that the candidate Jim and I did some phonebanking for WON -- Jeff Merkley is the new Senator-elect from Oregon. Woo hooooooo! He was on the Jim Lehrer show last night, which was way cool! Now, two progressive senators from Oregon, rather than one with televangelist hair who's always canceling out the other one's good votes! I'm thrilled by the voter turnout nation wide, thrilled with some of the states that went "blue," and unthrilled with a few things, namely: Michelle Bachmann, Prop 8, and Al Franken. Ach, Minnesota, you are responsible for 2 of 3 of my disappointments. Michelle Bachmann! For realsies???? Oh, and I guess I should add Alaska and Ted Stevens to the list, but that's more like incredulity than disappointment. I suppose I shouldn't even be incredulous. This is Palin-land, after all. Have you been hearing all the stuff coming out about Palin now? What a piece of work. Oh, and as for Al Franken: I still have hope. If memory serves, the Washington gubernatorial race in 04 came out for the Republican by a very narrow margin, and the Democrat, Christine Gregoire, won in the recount. So, fingers crossed for Al!
(Jim and Alexandra and me on election night)

And I am so excited to hear who Obama's cabinet appointments will be. Heard a wonderful rumor about RFK Jr for the EPA. Can you imagine? I feel giddy: an EPA chief who actually cares about protecting the environment? Could it BE?? It's a new world!

The Gypsy Crown -- a book review

Here's a book that I'm sorry to say, until it arrived in a box from the publisher, I had not even heard of. And I'm sorry I hadn't heard of it because it is wonderful and if life were fair, it would have built some good buzz by now. This just goes to prove the arbitrariness of what books get buzz and which ones run the risk of slipping quietly past. This is probably well-known in its native Australia, but it deserves some chitter-chatter here too -- and honestly, maybe it has been getting chitter-chatter; I'm not exactly "in the know."

So, The Gypsy Crown by Kate Forsyth. Set in 1658 England, it's a fast-paced and poignant adventure story of two young Rom (gypsy) cousins trying desperately to figure out how to get their family out of jail, where they've been tossed for the crime of singing and dancing in public, and are awaiting execution. This is during the reign of Oliver Cromwell, a name that buzzed up from some deep well of my forgotten education -- perhaps your English history isn't buried as deeply as mine, but in case it is: Cromwell was a soldier who rose through the ranks and ended up becoming a regicidal dictator during a short period called the Commonwealth, when King Charles I was executed and his heir exiled.

In the book, it's portrayed as a time of staunch Protestant values -- enforced joylessness and rigidity fraught with the fear of spies and snitches, land confiscations, finger-pointing and betrayals. The gypsies are persecuted terribly, and here I think Forsyth has struck a good balance in depicting the brutality of history in a way middle-graders can digest. Violent and at times heart-breaking, the persecution is toned down but not made light of. Young Emilia and her cousin Luka are already victims when the story starts, and throughout they are hunted by a hard, cruel "crow" of a pastor and a heartless "thief-taker," and shown no mercy, though they are only children.

When their family is imprisoned, only Emilia and Luka escape -- with their dog, monkey, Arabian mare, and 600-lb. dancing bear -- and go on a journey to find their farflung kin to a) enlist their help, and b) retrieve the five gypsy charms that once hung from the same bracelet and were split apart, bringing an end to gypsy luck. As the charms are united, Emilia finds her nascent gifts as a drabardi (fortune-teller) are sharpening -- or is it, as Luka insists, merely luck? The children are forced to make heart-wrenching choices again and again, parting with the things dearest to them in the desperate effort to save everyone they love. And you really can feel, throughout, that the consequences if they fail would be dire. The book is filled with people who have lost their families and way of life, who live in fear. And yet there is levity and humor to relieve the sadness -- the animal characters are delightful, and will have kids begging for a monkey. The Rom way of life, their free spirit, their proverbs, are fascinating. Throw in a mysterious spy for the exiled prince, some colorful gypsy families, a glimpse of 17th Century London as well as the surrounding countryside, and you've got a great story.

My favorite kind of story: fast-paced, makes the page disappear as you fall right into the flow of events, and all the while, painlessly (not just painlessly, but enjoyably), you're learning stuff. Neat. Truly, there are many parallels to be made to the Cromwell era with its rigid, enforced morality and repression and intolerance, to things happening around the world today, summed up neatly by these words: ". . . we have our own way of doing things, but these pastors. . . they can't abide anyone not thinking or believing the same way they do." Yeah.

The Gypsy Crown is a Cybils nominee in the middle-grade fantasy/sci-fi category.

The cover above is the US edition; I had to photo it because the online graphics I could find were really stinky. Lovely cover, though, as are these two other editions I found pics of:

Thank you, America

Thank you, America.

Today's the day

Vote.

For inspiration, see the wonderful array of voting-related posts linked HERE.

ohmygoshlookatallthebooks

Oh heavenly bringer of books, thank you for thy bounty. Look. Look!!! When I got home from mailing shwag packs at the post office, LOOK WHAT WAS WAITING FOR ME! I would send out shwag more often if I could be assured I would come home to find parcels of books waiting for me! How to choose what to read???


Excuse me while I go roll around in books. . .

Okay, I'm back. I rolled gingerly so as not to bend or warp any lovely, lovely books. (Oh, yeah. These are all Cybils nominees. And more will be arriving. And more. I want to laugh like a greedy movie villain. Mwa-ha-HA!)

Hey. It's November 3rd. Americans among you, have you early voted? If not, do not forget to vote tomorrow!! There are some murmurs among pollsters that the youth vote hasn't exactly turned out yet, so youths: GO FORTH!

VOTE!!!

(for Obama)

People, the world changes tomorrow, one way or another. Let it be for good.

Sigh, I never did write my "liberal" post. I've been writing sci-fi instead. Hopefully we will have some massive celebrating to do this week and I can write it then. And if it's not celebrating, then I suppose I can post it as a lament. But my mind cannot go to that dark place. Not now.

pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease. . .

New ladies, new book

The first things I do when I design some new Laini's Ladies are: email the design files to the Bottman Company, who licenses the artwork and creates the products; and make two sets of samples by hand, with ribbons and beads, and send those along by snailmail. Above and below are the cut out, laminated samples ready for beads and ribbons.
And here are the samples, finished. The Bottman Company will keep one set and send the other to the manufacturers (in China) for bead and ribbon matching.
These four new ladies will be available in spring '09. This lady and many more, including holiday ornaments, are available now:
Incidentally, children's book lovers, the quote on the purple and orange lady -- "Talent is something rare and beautiful and precious, and must not be allowed to go to waste." -- is from A Cricket in Times Square. Remember that book? Ooh, I realize right this second that I have misspelled the author's name. Eek! It should be Selden, not Seldon. Luckily, I have not sent the design files yet and can still fix it!

The quote on the yellow and orange and sea green lady is also from an old children's book, Gypsy by Kate Seredy. It goes: "Each thing she learned became part of herself, to be used over and over in new adventures."

And speaking of Laini's Ladies, the shwag packs are ready to go out tomorrow. Here they are behind sweet old Leroy:
By the way, I've written down addresses of everyone who emailed me. Next round of shwag will go to you first :-)

And speaking of shwag, I have every reason to expect a landslide of books arriving on my doorstep tomorrow. Oh HAPPY! Most of the others Cybils judges got eight deliveries from publishers at the end of last week, but I got only one, from Tor. I've just started reading Zoe's Tale by John Scalzi, which genre-wise is in the same vein as my current work-in-progress. I haven't mentioned writing much lately because I was doing final futzes on Silksinger and designing the new ladies, but I am back at it as of yesterday (which, incidentally, was the first day of NaNoWriMo), and it's not "newt" that I'm working on but the book I had begun over the summer and then broken my own very clearly stated rule of not jumping to a new book when a w.i.p. gets tricky. I reasoned with myself that I wasn't far enough invested in it for that rule to apply, but still, it was a beeg meestake. I should listen to me more often. So I'm back to the sci fi book that has been burning in my brain for the past year and a half. "Newt" needs some time to gel, anyway. It sprang out of a freewrite one day (when I was frustrated with the sci fi) and made me giddy with the incredible fun and possibility of it. It seduced me. It also had me checking airfares to Morocco, where I suddenly needed to go for research. Snort! Like I went to India for Lips Touch? Not. The Himalayas for Silksinger? Not. Scotland for Blackbringer? You guessed it: not. But I rillyrillyrilly would like to go to Morocco (and Venice) when I am ready to write "newt," so it's just as well I'm letting it gestate right now. Ripen, little idea, ripen. There's nowhere I could go to research the current book anyway, since. . . it is not of this Earth. . .

Shhh. I think I've said too much. Tell no one.

Happy Halloween! Random memory + a book review: The Order of Odd-Fish

We are laming out on Halloween, as usual. No costumes or parties, no jack-o-lanterns, no pumpkin guts on a sheet of newspaper, no skeleton in the window. And I like Halloween. I love the woodsmoke nights of this time of year, the dark, misty mornings, the grim reapers on porches, their eyes glowing red. And I don't mind sinking my hand to the wrist in a gigantic bowl of candy, either, but for some reason, we have no will to participate. Lazy? Preoccupied? It's so easy for life to flash past the lazy and preoccupied. I look forward to [hopefully] having young children some time in the not-too-distant future and getting reinspired to celebrate holidays like this.

But tonight we will just watch a scary movie with a couple of friends. It's John Carpenter's The Thing, which scared the bejeezus out of me -- in a good way -- when I was a kid. I have always loved scary movies, since I was a wee little twig. I remember watching Trilogy of Terror (you know, with the freakish doll that cuts its way out of the oven with a butcher knife?) when I was very small. I can't imagine why my mom let that happen, but perhaps my brain was wired to horror on that very occasion. After that, whenever it was my turn to choose the movie, I chose horror. There were plenty of options. From the age of 9 to 13, we lived in Gaeta, Italy, a small southern Italian beach town with one movie theater, where all movies were in Italian. We saw E.T. there when it first came out ("telefono, casa"), but mostly we rented movies one night a week at the video club held in the basement of the American school. Or better: we watched them aboard the USS Puget Sound, the 6th fleet destroyer-tender stationed in Gaeta.

I don't recall how often my father had "duty," which meant he had to spend the night aboard the ship, but when he did, we would go down to the harbor in the medieval quarter of Gaeta and go aboard the ship for dinner with him in the officer's mess (I only remember the terribly watered-down red drink that was called "bug juice") and a movie either with the sailors or alone in the Admiral's wardroom, which in my memory is a place of leather sofas and masculine luxury.

If you've never been aboard a Naval vessel, they're labyrinths inside; I don't know how sailors learn to find their way! My brother and I could find our way from the officer's mess to the Admirals' wardroom, and every once in a while we'd go it alone, to find the "head" or whatever. And once I didn't pay attention to some alert siren that had gone off signaling a security drill, and I got held at machine-gun-point by some poor confused young sailor for several long minutes before my father came to find me. I was probably ten, and the sailor was above me, pointing his gun down through the stairwell, so I didn't really realize what was happening, and when he told me to halt or whatever, I just sort of hung out there, leaning against the wall patiently. It was only when my dad came that I realized the sailor had a gun on me the whole time! Maybe ships aren't good places to play. . .
This is Old Gaeta, by the way, where the ship was harbored. There were great festivals here every August for Gaeta's saint day, and a fireworks *battle* with Formia, the town on the far side of the harbor. This was a great place to be a kid. Halloweens weren't great, to try to bring this back to topic, but we would have an American carnival in the school gym with candy and booths and a cake walk (man, as a kid, I really wanted to win the cake walk and have a whole cake to myself! In fact, I still want that!). School festivals are most memorable for the awesome Filipino food that the Filipino Navy wives would make: pansit and lumpia. Yum! That's something that's not so easy to find, Filipino food. I wonder why. It's so delish, and I'd wager that any Navy brat probably knows it well.

A book to mention, in honor of Halloween, though it's not exactly horror, it is squeamishly gross at the climax, like icky read-squinting-through-your-fingers gross. My lastest Cybils read. But first, do you want to see the Cybils reading list in my category, Fantasy & Sci Fi? Here's the middle-grade list, and here's the YA list. Wowza. We will come up with a short list of 5 in each category and pass that up to the judging panel. (Can you imagine the blogging prowess and powers of concentration it took to put that post together with all the links and nifty formatting?)

Okay, The Order of Odd-Fish, by James Kennedy. This book is very difficult to describe. The word "wacky" wants to be used, but I'm scooting it aside with my shoe because it's not quite right. "Wacky" is a little distasteful to me, because it carries with it a hint of "zany" and nobody likes zany, right? Or madcap? Zany and madcap are trying too hard, and wacky is kind of like a clown with a manufactured laugh. . . So let's say that this is. . . a carnival of odd. When Jo Larouche was a baby, she was found in the washing machine with a note pinned to her blanket that read, "This is Jo. Please take care of her. But beware. This is a DANGEROUS baby." For 13 years, Jo has been about "as dangerous as milk," but at her Aunt Lily's annual costume ball, an adventure is kicked off that will unveil to Jo her true provenance, and the nature of the DANGER within her. Okay, if I had to give a one-line "elevator pitch," I suppose it would be something like that, but I'd have to follow it with something like, "The imagination, whimsy, and humor aren't like anything else you've read before." Truly.

You know how it's better to watch a comedy with somebody, that somehow the humor is riper and deeper when shared? Well, the whole time I was reading this I wished I was reading it with someone, so I could elbow them at particularly bizarre moments, or chortle, or read passages aloud and savor them. I don't recall having that kind of reaction when reading a book before, at least, not so consistently.

The adventure that Jo embarks upon with her Aunt Lily, a fat Russian named Colonel Korsakov, and a giant, vain cockroach butler named Sefino, carries them (in the belly of a fish) to Eldritch City, which is not exactly of our world. I love the word "eldritch" (I think I first fell in love with it when Kelly Link used it to describe an oddly upholstered couch), and to my mind Eldritch City joins the ranks of China Mieville's New Crobuzon and Scott Lynch's Camorr for mind-bendingly imaginative, sprawling weird cities. Only, it's less disgusting than New Crobuzon and Camorr -- but not entirely un-disgusting either. To make a complex story simple: Jo finds herself a squire to the knights of the Order of Odd-Fish, and she has to hide her true identity while seeking to thwart her hideous destiny, all this while riding flying, armored ostriches to fight duels, exploring ancient, drowned cathedrals buried deep beneath the city, drinking fermented centipede milk, fueding with other squires, sneaking around through secret passages, and soothing the oft-wounded vanity of a posse of cockroach butlers. Oy!

And the villains! Ken Kiang, who has studiously shaped himself from a do-gooder philanthropist billionaire into the vilest (he thinks) of super-villains: "He devoured books about evil; he interviewed terrorists, serial murderes, and dictators; he dabbled in strange and wild diabolisms, slit the throats of shrieking beasts on stone altars in far-off lands, drank kitten blood, and sold his soul no fewer than twenty-thhee times to any supernatural being who cared to bid on it. No price was too low: the fifteenth time he sold his soul for a bag of barbecue-flavored potato chips. Ken Kiang had eaten the chips with indecent glee as the demon looked away in embarrassment."

But Ken Kiang's most industrious efforts at wickedness pale in comparison to the astonishing depths of evil of the tale's true villain, a mysterious character known as The Belgian Prankster, who dresses, if my memory serves, in goggles, a cape of furs, and a ragged rawhide diaper.

Ancient devouring goddesses; weird creatures; ritual exchange of insults; wars fought entirely with sarcastic apologies; a musical instrument that is a giant worm one climbs inside of (lubricated) and squeezes its internal organs to expel air through its 41 orifices; gods with names like "Nixilpilfi, the Gerbil Who Does Not Know Mercy" and "Zookoofoomoot, the Maggot of Dismay." And did I mention the climax is really squishy-gross?

This book is too much fun. If you read it, let me know, so we can mentally elbow each other at all the weird parts :-)

A champion for a new age

Watching Barack Obama's 30-minute commercial last night, and being so deeply impressed once again by his grace and strength, compassion and vision, a parallel came to me out of Silksinger, so I want to share a brief passage with you and explain a little bit what this candidate means to me, what this potential presidency means to me. It might seem a little overwrought to you, but I know I'm not the only one who feels this way.

So, for context, there is a character in Silksinger named Hirik, a young faerie who dreams of becoming a Djinn's champion like Magpie Windwitch. He's keeping his dream a secret as he works his way across the great Sayash mountains (the Himalayas) as a mercenary on a dragonfly caravan, trying to reach the city of Nazneen, where he plans to search for the lost Djinn called the Azazel. During the journey, the threat of devil attack looms. . .

Well, he told himself resolutely, if he wanted to be champion, he would come to know plenty of devils -- they would be his life, in large part, as he worked to rid the world of them like the Magruwen’s champion did.

But it wasn’t all about hunting and capture, being champion. A new age was dawning, and the return of the Djinn meant the awakening of wonder, as it had been awakened halfway round the world in Dreamdark. The new age would be about magic and purpose and beauty. About building. Not just clinging on to the tattered hem of the ancient world, but making a new one. And how he wanted that!

The thing is, Hirik is a lad who wants to be champion for the right reasons. He has a vision for a bright new age for his people, and he wants to help make it a reality. He's not in it for the glory or the title; he's not in it just for himself. Corny or not, that's how I see Barack Obama. He has a plan and a vision, he has the brains and the temperment and the goodness to lead this country to a new era: an age of green, sustainable energy, and a huge new economy based on green, sustainable energy; a new age of diplomacy and regaining world respect; renewed respect for our Constitution and our civil liberties here at home; a new rise of the American middle-class, like the one we saw after WWII, with good jobs created and protected here, with a move toward affordable health care and college tuition. Barack Obama believes all this is possible and more, and I believe he will fight tirelessly to accomplish these goals, to make America stronger -- "not just clinging to the tattered hem of the old world, but making a new one."

McCain belongs to the old world, Obama to the new. When you watch Obama speak, he exudes hope and strength. McCain and Palin? They exude something very different: sarcasm, devisiveness, and lies. Their entire campaign is based on lies and mischaracterizations, attempts to deceive their supporters with rhetoric. They cry "terrorist!" and "socialist!" and suggest Obama is not a legal US citizen; they've got a plumber on the campaign trail now saying that an Obama presidency would signal the death of Israel -- so egregious a claim that even a Fox News reporter finds it frightening (video #1 below). I listen to their rallies, and they spend all their time on the attack, repeating lies that have long ago been discredited. There is a nastiness to everything they say, a sneering kind of bitchiness. McCain puts dismissive air quotes around "health of the mother," on abortion issues, and mocks Obama's concern for the environment on nuclear power (video #2 below, and this one astonishes me -- he actually says, mimicking Obama, "It has to be safe. . . environment. . . blah blah blah--" He actually says "blah blah blah," dismissing the idea of environmental safety in the most belittling way, and the crowd goes WILD. Just WILD. Like they're dogs that want to rip the damned environment apart with their teeth. Wha. . .? *Laini confused.*)

I tend to be a fatalist about the environment, believing that humanity lacks the will to come together to save this planet from the greed of corrupt corporations, or to stop the merciless onslaught of poverty and population explosion that make the environmental crusade seem like such a lost cause. But I do believe that Barack Obama genuinely still believes there's hope, and how magnificent would it be to be a part of the generation that finally sets out to do what needs to be done, to try to keep Earth habitable by our undeserving selves? Because that IS what this is about. This whole "environment blah blah blah" isn't just about polar bears and spotted owls, it's about the air we breathe and the water we drink, it's about the fragile balance of all life on this planet - including US. One candidate cares deeply about it, the other mocks it.

There's nothing positive, nothing hopeful or beautiful or uplifting about the McCain campaign, just this pervasive nastiness, with its ever-present undertone of racism. "He's not like us." It's not just the campaign, of course, it's the supporters, but this is part of my point: what do you want to be a part of? Do you want to be part of "building the new age," or of "clinging to the tattered hem of the old"? Part of the movement of hope? Or the campaign of lies and sarcasm and insidious McCarthyism?

Please don't leave me a comment supporting McCain. I honestly don't want to hear it, and I don't want to spend my day being frustrated or carefully phrasing replies. Your vote is your business; I'm not telling you how to vote, I'm just identifying what to ME are the two camps one can choose at this critical point in our nation's story.

If you didn't see the Obama commercial last night, it's video #3 below. It's part I, but there's a link in the bottom that allows you to click through to the rest of it as you go. Four families are featured as a way of illustrating his plans on the economy, health care, and other issues for helping working people. It's very moving, and honestly, there was a swelling in my heart as I watched it, this unmistakably buoyancy of hope. Here's a man who understands, and who cares, and who actually wants to be president for the right reasons. It isn't often a politician comes along who has the good heart and altruism to want to change the world for the better AND the strength of character to make it happen. Such a man is before us now.

Videos
Video 1 -- Joe the Plumber with Shep Smith on Fox:
Video 2 -- McCain on "safe for the environment blah blah blah":
Video 3 -- Obama commercial:


[P.S. This still is not my post on being liberal. That's yet to come.]

Bird teeth & other curiosities

So, Jim and I were having this conversation with a dear friend yesterday, who I shall call Dear Friend to protect her identity, when she made some comment about "ostrich lips," and Jim replied, in jest, "You know ostriches don't have lips, right?" I mean, I think we both assumed she knew that -- people know that, right? -- but rather than joking back, she got this flummoxed look on her face and said, "What?" Like, what do you mean birds don't have lips? And then this whole conversation unspooled on the subject of beaks and lips and teeth, concluding with the shocking assertion, made by us, that BIRDS DO NOT EVEN HAVE TEETH!

And Dear Friend asked, "But. . . how do they chew?"

This was all great fun, especially when she whipped out her phone, called a friend in Boston, and unceremoniously, without context, demanded, "Do birds have teeth?"

He was on speaker phone, and to his credit, took the question entirely seriously and said something like, "I believe fossil records suggest that they once did, but no, birds, to the best of my knowledge, do not have teeth." (which is right, by the way)

And Dear Friend promptly hung up on him. I believe she spent the rest of the day quizzing people in order to discern whether she was the only person who did not know this. I haven't heard a tally yet, but this morning she sent me the above photo as "proof" that she was right!

The whole conversation was much fun, and it serves as an interesting example of how many common everyday things we might discover one day we have just never spent a moment considering. Well, this is an extreme example perhaps, but last night, out with another dear friend, another topic came up: hypnotism.
And I realized I actually had no idea if it is real, what it really is, and if I believe in it or not. Having not yet researched it, I will say that I DO think I believe in it -- which is horribly unrigorous of me, to say "I think I believe in" something I have not looked into, but whatever -- but I am expecting it is not mind-control like in the old movies, and it is not like a direct telephone line to your subconscious either. But the sudden discovery that I have NO IDEA what hypsosis really is, it's like a conk on the head. Do you know what I mean? Does that happen to you? The realization, all of a sudden, that you've never thought about some ordinary thing?

[By the way, I had said I was going to write a post on what it means to me to be liberal, and I still am going to, I just haven't had time yet. If you care.]

Am I a dancing princess?

I woke up this morning with stiff, aching muscles in my calves, and I immediately, thought -- of course -- that I must have been whisked away in the middle of the night in a fairy boat, led down tunnels filled with silver and gold trees, to dance my slippers to tatters in a magical ballroom, before being returned to my bed with no memory of any of it. Just aching calves. Or, maybe it's just from running on the treadmill late last night. . . less interesting, more likely. Ehh, I'm sticking with the fairy tale. I am a dancing princess, and don't you forget it!

Thanks for all the votes on the Laini's Ladies book lovers quote. I loved both, but the Borges votes far outweighed the Mrs. Piggle-Wiggles. Here's the design (I'll may still redesign the text):
You can't really tell, but the books are: Grimm's Fairy Tales, Peter Pan, Alice in Wonderland, and Through the Looking Glass. Those two ladies above are still semi in-progress.

And check out these lovely old photos I found. Eleanor Roosevelt (standing) reading with her daughter and some other relations:
A woman entertaining her grandson at the train station:
Reading in the garden:
A WWI-era American family in their living room:
It's awfully dull being a prince (a young Prince Charles):
A lovely day boating:
HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY!

The Explosionist -- a book review

You know I really only mention books I loved, and I loved my latest Cybils read: The Explosionist by Jenny Davidson. I'll describe it as "an alternate history supernatural mystery" set in 1938 Scotland. With terrorists, dynamite, seances, and creepy government secrets. Intrigued? You don't know the half of it yet.

You don't see that much alternate history. I loved Jo Walton's Farthing, an English country-house murder mystery that just happened to take place in a world in which the English had made a truce with the Nazis and changed the course of history. In The Explosionist the turning point wasn't World War II but the battle of Waterloo in 1815 -- in which, instead of losing, Napoleon won, consolidated his power in Europe, and later conquered England as well. Scotland is now allied with the "Hanseatic States" -- the Scandinavian countries and Russia -- and maintains an uneasy autonomy through manufacture of the weapons with which Europe fights its wars. So, that's the backdrop, but the author never overwhelms with exposition; the history comes in just how I like it, in small, fascinating doses where relevant, and it never slows the story.

The fun of the alternate history is in the little references to how the world is different. Small things, historical personages turned upside-down. We learn in passing that Oscar Wilde is the famous Irish obstetrician who invented the incubator; Freud is a crackpot radio-show host nicknamed "Thanatos"! Alternative energy sources have been developed, because Scotland didn't have access to oil reserves -- "You'll find a few fuel cell enthusiasts in the Americas, of course, but most of their motorcars are powered by a filthy and wasteful method called internal combustion. All very well if you're American and sitting on top of huge petroleum reserves, but that kind of reckless comsumption doesn't suggest a very sensible attitude toward the future!" And how! There's also a chilling reference to the unnamed European chancellor having a "toothbrush mustache." And aside from the historical differences, there is one major way that the world of the book differs from our own: spirits commune freely with the living in all manner of ways, notably through radio waves and photography! Spiritualism is a respected scientific field, and when 15-year-old Sophie is warned in a seance that she is in danger, she has good reason to be afraid.

But. . . what nature of danger? The city has been rocked by a series of terrorist bombings, and she can't help but suspect the teacher she has a crush on might be involved. The medium who delivered the warning turns up murdered, spirits are sending Sophie messages, and as if that's not enough, a new and sinister threat emerges from a source much closer to home: her own aunt. To tell what that is would be to spoil a very creepy revelation, but I'll say this: it raises the question of what sacrifices a country can, in good conscience, demand of its citizens, and it takes the role of woman-as-selfless-helpmeet-to-male-power to the most devastating extreme.

Only as I try to convey in some simplicity what this book is "about" do I really realize how complex the story is, and I mean that in a good way -- while reading, all the threads are woven so well that you don't feel like you're in the midst of a labyrinth of plot. To be extremely simplistic, here's what the book is about: it's the story of Sophie and her Danish friend Mikael trying to unravel the mystery of who murdered the medium, and while they're at it, who's behind the bombings in Edinburgh, and what are the political stakes. With the help of dead people, and sort-of dead people. While the country ramps up for war. Whew.

Okay. I can't do it justice. Just read it. It's a great book-group book. Much to discuss about power and resistance, armed deterrance, government abuse of power in the shadow of war, and more. I liked the way the author showed Sophie's perspective on her own country slowly shifting as she begins to see familiar things through the eyes of her foreign friend, and questions them for the first time. Like here, in response to the "suicide machines" in the public library:

"I don't see why you're getting so worked up about it," Sophie said, uneasily conscious that it had taken Mikael's reaction to reveal what was troubling about the familiar practice. She suddenly wondered whether she might be blind to other things about Scotland as well.

I think about that a lot -- the way people are blinded by their indoctrination, whatever it might be, religious, political, whatever, and with the most recent discussion on my blog, this seemed particularly appropriate. It is terribly difficult to see beyond one's own indoctrination, particularly if one doesn't travel or meet a wide variety of people. It is through connection with people of different experience that we have a chance of broadening our own vision. But first, you have to open yourself up to it, and not cling to the things you've always blindly believed.

The author, Jenny Davidson, is a professor of English and Comparative Literature at Columbia, and hey, she blogs. I have only just this second discovered her blog, andI see that she has a post about "Dark Banquet: Blood and the Curious Lives of Blood-Feeding Creatures," accompanied by a photo of a vampire bat in action. Oh joy! It's like she wrote it just for me! I must go and read it. . .

More thoughts on yesterday's post + a shwag giveaway

Here's a berry tiramusa that my mom made yesterday for my dad's birthday -- to sweeten things up after yesterday's post and comments. But I'll get to that later. First, some frivolity for maintaining that careful ratio. How about this: a Laini's Ladies giveaway!

I just got boxes of Ladies in the mail yesterday from the manufacturer -- they include four new "everday" designs and the new Christmas line of 6 designs, in cards, ornaments, and boxed post-it notes. Oh, and gift tags. I love the adorable gift tags. These will be distributed to friends, family, and colleagues, but I will still have leftovers to join the mass that is taking up space in the studio, so I think I need to thin the stash a little! So, if you are interested in receiving a Laini's Ladies shwag pack in the mail, EMAIL ME, and put "SHWAG PLEASE" in the subject line. I will do a drawing or something. (And Enna Isilee, I will already send you one, as a way-belated birthday/thank you for reading package; sorry for the delay!)


So, there's something fun and colorful. And now. . . there are some things I need to say as follow-up to yesterday's post about gay marriage.

First, thanks to the commenters. Thank you to Tone for being a consistent voice of acceptance and an advocate for love. Thank you too to the pro-8 folks who came over to voice their opinion -- it is important we hear from you, and it is courageous to own up to one's beliefs in a potentially hostile environment and not post as "anonymous." Almost everyone stayed within what I would consider to be the bounds of civility, and one who didn't removed her own comment herself. Anyway, there are two main things that I want to address.

1.) What is "discrimination"?
Though I posted the dictionary definition of it yesterday, I still feel compelled to quote Inigo Montoya: "You keep using that word. I don't think it means what you think it means."

Commenter Afton said, "It seems like the cry of "discrimination" is a little hypocritcal, however, because there is a lot going on in this discussion: namely, the discrimination of people who don't believe the way you do." Commenter Wyman echoed the sentiment: "Laini, the title of your post is: "To discriminate or not to discriminate?" Taken literally, the answer is you chose to DISCRIMINATE, as did virtually all commenters. Not to discriminate, would have been not to post."

And when I followed some other commenters back to their own blogs, where they had posted their own pro-8 opinions, I saw more of this view. So let's clear this up. Am I discriminating against Hwalk by disagreeing with her view of gay marriage? No. Because I am not trying to shape laws to deny her rights. I perfectly accept her right to be anti-gay; I do not accept her right to discriminate against gays. Is it discrimination to speak out against discrimination? No. It is standing up for law and liberty. Is it discrimination for Hwalk to blog or speak against gay rights? No. It's discrimination for her to vote against gay rights. See the difference? In our country, we DO have freedom of speech. Even the KKK can get permits to march. They cannot, however, ban African Americans from schools, commit violent acts, or otherwise perpetrate bigotry. Am I discriminating against the KKK by saying they shouldn't be allowed to burn crosses on people's lawns? No. Would I be discriminating if I said they should not be able to obtain legal permits to march? Yes. Abhorrent as they are, they have a right to express their views -- but not a right to act on them in violation of the rights of others. Are you seeing what I'm saying?

You can THINK what you want. You just can't actively try to prevent others from having equal rights. The Mormon church, as a private entity, can preach what it wants, and its followers can believe what they want. THAT is freedom of religion. What they cannot do is try to force their religious views on other people. That is the opposite of freedom of religion. That is tyranny.

So, it's just nonsense that protecting equal rights is "discrimination against discriminators." One pro-8 blogger wrote:

"If the law stands as it is now (meaning Prop 8 does not pass) it will have consequences. We have seen some of these happen in MA already. For example, religious leaders who speak out against gay marriage have been sued for discrimination and hate crimes. I believe that is an infraction of free speech. It is up to each person to choose their own way of life, which goes for both gay and traditional couples. Just because one holds a traditional view does not mean they should be kept from expressing their own opinions, just as those who do not hold a traditional view."

What of this argument? First of all, I am skeptical of the premise. IF someone sends me links to court cases in which religious leaders in MA have been sued for refusing to officiate gay marriages, I would concede that this violates a church's right to its own beliefs. But from what I have read in language in California same-sex marriage bills, this is very much NOT the intent. From House Bill AB-849:

SEC. 7. Section 403 is added to the Family Code , to read:
403.
No priest, minister, or rabbi of any religious denomination, and no official of any nonprofit religious institution authorized to solemnize marriages, shall be required to solemnize any marriage in violation of his or her right to free exercise of religion guaranteed by the First Amendment to the United States Constitution or by Section 4 of Article I of the California Constitution.

So basically, I deny the argument. I personally would support the above clause. This issue is not about forcing any church to perform a ceremony against its beliefs. It's about preventing churches from forcing people to abide by their religion. You've got it all turned around backward, discriminators. It's you against the gay community, not the gay community against you.

Which brings me to my second point.

2.) Believe what you want. But WHY do you have to make others live by your beliefs?
Freedom of religion in America also means freedom from religion. What no one who is against gay marriage has yet explained to me is: who are YOU to decide? What jurisdiction does your church have over those who are not its members? Why can you not practice your religion in private? What would happen to America if all churches expected all Americans to follow their own religious practice?

Defend "traditional marriage" by practicing it well yourself.

There's so much more I could say on the issue, but I really need to get back to work. I'll just summarize my response quickly to a few arguments that were brought up yesterday:

1.) To paraphrase: "Marriage is a social institution for the making of babies. Gay couples can not make babies, so they should not be allowed to marry." Really? Which is it, is marriage sanctified by God, or is it a social institution that exists purely for propagation of the species? I hope anyone reading this can see the huge flaws in this argument without my having to point them out. But I will anyway. Lots of married couples cannot or do not have children. My husband and I have been married for over seven years and we do not have children. Does that mean our marriage is invalid?

We know gay couples who are raising their own biological children from previous hetero relationships. We know gay couples who have adopted. We know lesbian couples who have used sperm donors, and gay couples who have used in vitro and a surrogate. We know straight couples who have done all of these things too. Are the straight couples real parents while the gay parents aren't?

My argument yesterday was that marriage is the highest expression of love and commitment one human being can make to another. This comment seeks to redefine marriage as a purely biological arrangement wherein sperm meets egg. Does anyone really think that?

2.) "The nuclear family with a mother and a father is proven to be the best kind of family." Malarkey. Loving same-sex household are wonderful places for children to thrive. Plenty of nuclear families are miserable places for children, and plenty of single parents or even grandparents do tremendous jobs of raising children. It's about the people involved, it's about love and support -- not gender, not age, color, religion or anything else. The assertion that only a man and a woman can raise a child properly, well, it simply does not square with the reality of complex human experience. Y'all need to meet more people.

3.) The "slippery slope" argument, that if we legalize same-sex marriage, then all kinds of loopy marriages are going to rain down on us. Men will marry dogs! Girls will marry their grandmothers! Life will become a pornographic circus of bestial and incestuous marriages! People who make this argument in sincerity evidently equate homosexuality with bestiality and incest, and are likely the same people who believe all gay people are pedophiles, or at the very least, lewd and wildly promiscous. These are vicious stereotypes made in ignorance (and not only ignorance, but a particularly vile brand of smirking self-righteous, willful, hateful ignorance), and shouldn't be dignified with discussion. We are talking about loving adults who are human and not related. Bestiality and incest are both illegal. Homosexuality is not. If you have even the most rudimentary training in critical thinking, you know that the "slippery slope" form of argument is an "informal fallacy." It is faulty reasoning, and is used to manipulate and mislead. The Right loves to use it to instill fear, and this whole "next they'll be trying to marry dogs or their own grandmother" is not worthy of thinking people. Period.

Oh man, I need to wrap this up RIGHT NOW. If you want to leave a comment, I ask that it be civil. If you want to defend Prop 8, please give me a very thoughtful reason why YOUR personal beliefs should govern other people. You don't have to leave a comment, you know. I respect your right to your beliefs. It is just where you try to force them on other people that I have a problem. So, go in peace.

To discriminate or not to discriminate?

After a nice, frivolous post about gigantic hats, it's time for another serious post. The election is only twelve days away (though we already voted. Yay!) and as you probably know, it's not big hats that are foremost on my mind. I'm only trying not to inundate my blog with politics. A nice ratio of frivolity to politics must be maintained! But today's a politics day. I'm going to write about gay marriage. Thankfully, this has not been trotted out as a major wedge issue in this election -- with one huge exception. Californians have to vote on Proposition 8, the "Protect Marriage" initiative which would amend the California Constitution to specify that marriage is only between a man and a woman.

I don't know that I would have written about this issue if I had not happened upon a blog post in support of Prop 8, written by an earnest young Mormon woman in California, who sincerely did not believe that what she was espousing was discrimination. She wrote:

"Please understand that I do not discriminate against same-sex couples. I feel everyone has the right to choose what they want to do. But for religious reasons, I believe that marriage should be defined as between a man and a woman, and nothing else."

Umm.

discrimination = treatment or consideration of, or making a distinction in favor of or against, a person or thing based on the group, class, or category to which that person or thing belongs rather than on individual merit.

Anyone who is against gay marriage, it is your right to believe whatever you want, but do not be deceived by church rhetoric that this is not discrimination. It is the very definition of it. By telling yourself you support civil unions but not marriage, you might feel righteous and open-minded, like you have resolved an important conflict between civil liberties and religious beliefs, but you have resolved nothing. You are discriminating. And yes, my presidential candidate and his running mate espouse the same discrimination, and this bums me out, but the fact is: because of the pervasive religiosity of this nation, a president can not WIN who favors gay marriage. That is what sickens me most.

However, I am very proud to say that our Democratic Senate candidate, Jeff Merkley, supports gay marriage. Not just civil unions, but marriage.

I imagine that people like the young woman who wrote that post cannot understand why the gay community is not satisfied with their tremendous largesse at being willing to allow them civil unions. Why is this not enough? Why must they agitate for marriage?

I'm not going to try to answer this question for the gay community, but I am going to answer for myself, as a married person who is not religious. What is marriage to me? It is the highest expression of love and devotion one human being can make to another. It is powerful. As George Eliot once said, "What greater thing is there for two human souls that to feel that they are joined for life?" This is human and highly personal; it is powerful. To me, it has nothing to do with God. Whether you are religious or not, marriage is an extraordinary commitment of love and trust.

If you are against gay marriage: who are you to tell anyone else that their love is only worth a "civil union"? If you are voting for Prop 8, you should imagine your single vote as keeping a couple from making the ultimate commitment of love to one another. Casting a vote in privacy, it goes too easy on you. You should have to stand up and object at a wedding, perhaps a wedding between lesbian life partners who've already spent forty years together and raised a family. You should have to stride to the front of the church and stand between them, tell them they don't deserve it, and while you're at it, tell them how much better you are, how much more righteous and entitled. Marking a ballot is too easy; it's cowardly. To take away someone's rights, just like that?

Why should any potential bigot get to cast a vote on another person's civil liberties at all? This shouldn't even be on the ballot. What do you think would have happened if voters were allowed to decide on interracial marriage back in 1948, rather than the Supreme Court of California? For the record, 60 years ago the California court found in Perez v. Lippold that interracial bans on marriage violated the Fourteenth Amendment to the US Constitution. But it wasn't until 1967 that the US Supreme Court decision Loving v. Virginia finally struck down all race-based restrictions to marriage.

As with interracial marriage, gay marriage should not be a matter of public opinion, but of civil liberties -- to be decided by courts based on the document wherein our freedoms are written and guaranteed. That document? Not the Bible, people, but the Constitution.

However, Prop 8 is on the ballot, and 77% of funding for the "Yes on 8" campaign is coming from the Mormon church. I know there has been a vocal contingent of Mormons who have opposed their church's involvment in this issue, and I commend them for their willingness to speak out. I can only imagine it isn't easy. And of course, it's not only Mormons and other religious groups who will vote Yes on 8, it's all manner of folk who think their personal beliefs should govern others. Some relevant quotes by Mark Twain:

"Loyalty to petrified opinion never yet broke a chain or freed a human soul."

"In religion and politics people's beliefs are almost always gotten at second hand, and without examination."

Marriage is a human instititution and predates Christianity. Why then should Christianity be the arbiter of all marriages? We are not all Christian, and in America, we should not be beholden to the church for our freedom. And that is certainly not to say that many gay and lesbian Americans are not Christian or do not want a Christian marriage ceremony. I would just suggest that the churches decided for themselves whether they will allow the marriages within their own institution and not try to influence laws and enforce their own beliefs on all Americans. Because when churches enforce their beliefs through law, that is theocracy. Saudi Arabia has that. Malaysia has that, and I just read that Malaysia is trying to outlaw tomboys because girls dressing like boys is against Islam. Who do we want to emulate in our liberties?

So please, if you are in California, vote against putting discrimination into the California Constitution. Vote no on 8.

By the way, immediately after reading that Pro-8 blog post, I made a contribution to the Human Rights Campaign, which works for GLBT equality.

And to lighten up the mood a little in parting, a last Mark Twain quote:

"I thoroughly disapprove of duels. If a man should challenge me, I would take him kindly and forgivingly by the hand and lead him to a quiet place and kill him."

Snort!

[Updated to add a link to this beautiful post about love and family. Which made me think. I've been ruminating on a post about what it means to me to be liberal. Does anyone else want to write a post about what it means to them to be liberal or conservative? Say, Tuesday? Anyone?]