Holy crap, he’s blogging!

Well I was all set to go to the BCSFA meeting tonight, but while at Denny’s, my IBS decided to throw me a loop and I had a highly unpleasant time in the bathroom, after which I knew that I had to skip the meeting and come home.

I can feel things twitching down there. Right now, just about anything could happen. I know this from experience. So I thought I had better come home, where I can relax, be mellow, and never be more than six feet from the toilet.

That, of course, leaves me with nothing to do but sit in front of this a-here computer. So I figured, WTF, I’ll blog.

In truth, I have really missed you, my audience. I am loving the writing I am doing, but I miss sharing my thoughts and experiences with an audience. In theory, I could blog once I am done writing, but by then, I am pretty much out of words.

So it just doesn’t happen.

But what the hey, I am here alone, I am done writing, and I have a lot of Diet Coke in me. Let’s share!

The work is progressing nicely. I had a bit of a writer’s epiphany when I was between chapters earlier : I do not think I am capable of rewriting. I just can’t do it. To me, it’s all about the act of creation. The very idea of walking in my own footprints again makes me wanna barf. This vehicle only goes forward.

And I know that’s a problem. A lot of people say writing is rewriting. Well, if that’s true, I am fucked. I can’t imagine doing it.

I can edit my stuff, if I make myself do it. Go back in, proofread, tighten up sentences, maybe rework a paragraph or two. But that is it. I can’t imagine ever being able to write the same thing again but better.

So it seems that, like with everything else in life, I have to take an approach that is perpendicular to the usual way. I learn to write by writing, like, a lot. And it works… my writing definitely improves over time. I get better and better at saying things in fewer words and getting a lot more content, a lot more of me, across in my writing every day.

I hope this means that my work is becoming more refined as I go, and so my first (and only) drafts are better than most people’s first attempts. That way, maybe I can attract an editor, and then together we can make the thing as good as we can.

Dunno what I’d do if he told me to rewrite something, though. That would be a real pickle.

Of course, I have continued to bake, with varying degrees of success. My success rate should be going up, though, because I have figured out that our oven is very… moody. Sometimes, despite what the dials say, it just doesn’t turn on. Other times, it does turn on, but only just barely. So I am not getting even 10 percent of the temperature that I need.

Turns out that in order to get things to bake properly, I have to set the oven timer then slam the oven door REALLY hard to get it to actually engage. It is all starting to feel rather BDSM, with the oven as my demanding, disobedient bottom.

Still, every day I bake something. Most days, that’s what I am doing between 5 and 7 in the evening. It’s fun, it’s exercise (relative to my usual totally sedentary lifestyle), and I get healthy desserts out of it.

Well, relatively healthy.

Recently I have branched into cakes. I have not made a lot of cakes in my life. Squares, yes, but not cakes. Squares are less of a commitment. Some of them, you don’t even have to bake. You just mix it together, spoon it into the cake pan, and stick it in the fridge till it sets.

Cakes are just a bit more technique heavy. For example, I made a lovely sugar-free chocolate cake yesterday, then neglected to turn it out of the pan when I was supposed to, and so it burned on top. Dough!

Oh, and the icing… oh the icing. The recipe included two different icing recipes, and I much prefer vanilla icing on a chocolate cake over chocolate, I tried the vanilla one.

The first sign of danger was that the recipes was like half shortening. Shortening in icing? Who wants to smear fat all over their nice tasty cake?

But I figured, there’s not a lot of Splenda icing recipes, so I will give it a try. And the results were… utterly vile. It looked like rancid cottage cheese, smelled like a candle factory fire, and tasted like vanilla lard, which is basically what it was, when you get down to it.

At first I thought I had over-thickened the milk. This was the sort of icing where the first step is to heat up some milk with cornstarch in it. When it gets warm enough, the milk turns into a thick paste.

Why? Because cornstarch is some freaky ass stuff, that’s why, It is weird as heck to watch happen. It’s like… where did all that moisture go? How can a cup of milk turn into a quarter cup of paste in a matter of seconds?

The answer : the cornstarch took the remaining liquid as tribute for its demonic master.

Anyhow, eventually I figure out that the real problem was that the recipe assumed you had an electric mixer (you know, a social dance where electrons from different schools get to mingle), and I do not. Normally, that is not a problem. I can do most things an electric mixer does, it just takes more elbow grease.

Although to be fair, my elbows have a heck of a lot less grease than they used to.

But one thing an electric mixer can do better than a mere human is homogenize things, and so it might be that if I had a mixer like that, it would have been able to fully homogenize the mixture and made something edible out of it.

It also occurred to me that I might have been able to treat it like a lumpy gravy and heat it up very slowly, stirring constantly, to make the lumps disappear.

But alas, that thought only occurred to me after I had flushed the stuff down the sink. Luckily, even without icing on its burned top, chocolate cake is still pretty good.

Next time, vanilla cake. Partly because I actually like vanilla cake more, but mostly because I am out of cocoa.

And I don’t know what kind of icing it will be, but it definitely will not contain shortening. That’s just too gross to me now. That probably leaves me with boiled icings, which is also an issue for obscure reasons.

See, when I was a kid, my mom found this boiled icing recipe that she really liked. Apparently it was simple and easy. So that stuff became the default icing for everything, and I started out not liking it. It was thick and syrupy and heavy and has this sort of greasy texture and a very shiny surface. It was nothing like you would get at a bakery.

So you can imagine how sick of it I got. So now when I think “boiled frosting”, I think of it and I go eww. I am sure there must be very nice ones out there, light and sweet and thin, but I have to get over the bad memories first.

What else…. hmmm. Not a heck of a lot, really. My life is pretty much writing and baking lately. I rather like that idea, honestly. It sounds like the sort of thing you are supposed to be upset about, but I like thinking of my life as something simple, honest, and productive.

Makes me feel like an artisan, which is not easy when you are a writer. I love writing and I love reading, but it’s hard to escape the basic intangibility of writing as an art form. Perhaps that is why books are so important. They are at the very least a physical manifestation of the writer’s craft. Something you can point to and say “I did that!”.

You can’t do that with an eBook.

Well, anyhoo, I an done for now. Time to lay down. Do glad I got to blog at you nice people tonight.

Closed for renovations

Totally was gong to do this yesterday but got onto that whole honor kick instead. My bad.

As man of you know, every year I do the NaNoWriMo thing. That’s the National Novel Writing Month, and it’s this thing where every year a bunch of us wacky writer types take the thirty days that hath November and try to write fifty thousand (50000) word towards what we pretend will be a novel.

That means that this here space might not get a lot of attention this month. Every day, the novel will come first. Once I have done my 1667 words for that day, then we will see if there is any more gas in the tank for a blog entry.

So if you don’t hear from me often for the next month, all you nice people who read my words, rest assured that everything will go back to normal on Dec 1.

If I don’t see you again before that, have a great November.

The two kinds of honor

There are two meanings to the term “honor” as used in modern society.

One is the summation of all the traditionally male virtues. A man (or woman) of honor holds true to a very strict code of conduct that accepts no excuses. They do the right thing in every situation no matter what and accept whatever consequences fate chooses to deal out rather than violate that code.

A person of honor is courageous. They step up to the plate every single time duty calls. They define courage as the ability to do what is right no matter how you feel, and it is a definition they live out every single day of their lives.

A person of honor is honest. They mean what they say and live what they believe. Their word is sacred to them and they will not break it except in the direst of circumstances. And even then, they will regret it, and seek to make amends.

A person of honor is courteous. An honorable person strives never to hurt another unintentionally. They are polite and considerate in all public discourse, and are meticulous in their dealings with others.

A person of honor is noble. They do not allow petty personal concerns keep them from doing what is right. The greatest good is always on their minds, and part of the strictness of their code of conduct is the upright and forthright way they keep their heads above the fray, always striving to uphold the highest of ideals.

This version of honor is all about maintaining personal integrity. What motivates the honorable person is the desire to live their lives in a morally correct way. They know that there is nobody out there keeping score on what they do and do not, and they do not expect to be rewarded for their virtue.

It is the desire to be able to look oneself in the mirror and respect the person looking back at you that motivates the person of honor to live each day in as upright, noble, and honorable way as they possibly can.

Then, there is the other sense of the word honor, which is basically just an excuse for men to respond with violence when they get their feelings hurt.

I am serious about this. This is the mis-use of the word “honor” that used to lead to duels, and still does to this day, just in a far less official and regulated way. It is the perversion of the concept of honor that leads to the unthinkable madness of so-called “honor killings”, where a father will kill his own child just to keep the other men from making fun of him. It is the mutation of the word “honor” that leads to blood feuds, saber-rattling, and even war… just to keep men from getting their feelings hurt when they lose face in front of other men.

Think about it. Say a man is in a bar when some no-good sidewinder comes up to him and makes a string of highly vulgar speculations as to the breadth of our hero’s wife’s tastes in sexual partners, including various local lowlifes and the local wildlife and, of course, the sidewinder himself.

Now obviously, what our hero wants to do is attack. That’s basic caveman human nature. When someone makes us angry, we want to thump them with our club. Our hero wants to beat the sidewinder up for saying something that hurt the hero’s feelings, but he knows that civilized human beings are not actually supposed to do that. So he needs an excuse.

Enter the terrible miscasting of “honor”. The sidewinder has not actually injured anything but the hero’s feelings. It’s not like anyone is likely to take the sidewinder’s word on his wife’s broadly accessible virtues. Once you pull back the testosterone veil of pseudo-respectability from this farce of “honor”, you realize that all that is at stake is our hero’s feelings.

Under this bullshit idea of honor, a man has to beat up (or even kill) anyone who says something that hurts their feelings so that everybody will be too scared to hurt the man’s feelings in the future. This is honestly how men deal with their emotions, women and girls.

The problem is that, deep down, men want to fight. There is a drive deep within the male psyche to butt heads with other men and find (or challenge) our place in the hierarchy. We know we are not supposed to fight, and so we keep it in check or redirect it into other forms of competition. But it is always there.

The very flimsiness of this grotesque misuse of the idea of “honor” demonstrates how deep this desire goes. We will take nearly any excuse to drop civilization (symbolically enacted by taking off your jacket) and enter a primal world of brutality.

That is why action movies are structured as they are. It is all to support a male violence fantasy. The villains are a genuine threat to the safety of the innocent specifically because that makes the hero’s acts of violence justified. The girlfriend has to die or get captured so that the hero both has a personal reason to take down the bad guys and is free to do so, without any messy personal involvements holding them back. The enemies the hero fights have to get stronger as he goes, because the violence thrill has to get stronger to have the same effect.

The only righteous use of violence for any honorable person is to protect people. Anything else is just a paper thin justification for acting like any old caveman by using violence to resolve disputes instead of reason.

Remember this the next time some man (and it will be a man) said he was defending someone’s “honor”.

Bullshit. All they really did was try to beat someone up for making them angry. That is not civilized behaviour, and therefore it is the exact opposite of truly honorable behaviour.

And if anyone disagrees with me, I’ll beat the crap out of them.

I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.