I didn’t hear about the explosions at the Boston Marathon right away. It wasn’t until my sister and I were on our way home from a library, where we’d been running a simple jewelry workshop for kids, that she checked Twitter and asked, “What happened at the Boston Marathon? Why would they need blood drives?”
And she read back, and she told me. And my first words were, “Why? What is WRONG with people?!?!”
I’ve spent the last few days in Texas Hill Country, visiting my aunt and working on a project. But before I tell you about that, let me walk you through her ranch.
My aunt Margie lives on a small ranch immediately outside of Utopia, Texas. When she first moved there a couple of decades ago, the smart-aleck kid I was thought the name was doubly appropriate; the idyllic climate and beautiful countryside were indeed paradisaical, and the location was, just like the original meaning of utopia, nowhere.
I just came home from opening night at the Indiana Reperatory Theatre‘s A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I gave it a glowing review, but I wanted to comment on a technique they used which made the play more accessible. (And let’s be honest, Shakespeare often unnecessarily intimidates potential audiences, just because of the language and reputation.)
The yuki onna is a femme fatale of Japanese folklore. When travelers are lost or exhausted in the winter snows, the yuki onna (“snow woman”) appears to greet them — and they are never seen again.
/cue shivery music/
Well, free of guilt from exploitation. You’re on your own for the calories. (But dark chocolate has important antioxidants and flavonoids and stuff. It’s good for you. That’s science.)
So, I signed up for a 5k run to raise funds for International Justice Mission. Now, you have to realize what this means. I don’t run. Even when I was doing insane interval training, I never ran. So you know this is a good cause.
Now that’s not a pretentious blog post title or anything…..
As I write this, society (or at least social media) is still reeling with the verdict from the Stuebenville rape case, in which two high school athletes (illegally drinking) sexually assaulted a 16-year-old girl (illegally drinking) and were convicted with minor sentences, possibly never carrying the sex offender label, with a warning from the judge to be careful “how you record things on social media that are so prevalent today.” That’s right, kids, if you’re going to rape, just be sure your friends don’t post incriminating evidence on YouTube.
My opinion’s clear enough in the above paragraph on that case, so I won’t spend any more time on that. But the trial prompted me to review a topic I’d been mulling occasionally already, on rape in fiction.
Did you ever want to know the difference between a mononoke and an ayakashi? Do you know how to escape a kappa, if one wants to eat you? Have you ever wondered if you were missing some in-jokes in your favorite anime or Asian film? (Yes, very likely.)
Today I intend to justify fantasy as a genre. Not that it needs justified, no more than any other genre, but I’m going to anyway.
But first, I’m going to tell you a story.
Working on a science-fiction short and surprising myself with how much I’m enjoying it. One of my writers’ group last night commented that a character was “a mix of a symphony conductor and Han Solo” — and I’m pretty happy with that description.
I went searching today for some title ideas, and I happened across this nifty toy — tool — program — quest — thing, a computer code meant to blend mathematics and light and sound into a literal music of the spheres.
