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A Letter is a Gift

By / January 29, 2013

I was twelve years old when part of my family moved away. Deidre and Alan weren’t blood related. They had different parents and lived in the house right across the street from ours, but I couldn’t remember them not being there. Deidre was a year older than me, Alan a year younger. Our games rambled from house to house on a daily basis. But then their dad got a job in Missouri, far away from California. I didn’t even get to give them a grand goodbye because their departure coincided with our family vacation. I just returned home to someone else living in that house.

We wrote letters of course. I kept mine in tied in a bundle the way I’d seen in historical movies. At first I heard of their cross country trip, then their new house, then… the letters slowed down. I wrote two letters, then three. I wanted to get letters back. It was fun to have mail. It wasn’t fair that I sent letters and got silence in return. So I decided to be clever. I wrote a letter and tore it in half. At the bottom I wrote a note stating that I’d send them the other half when I got a letter in return. I walked that half a letter to the local mailbox and sent it on its way.

I did get a letter in return, a letter filled with fury. Later Deidre’s mom told me that it was a second draft, kinder than the first, for which I was grateful considering what the letter contained. Deidre was not amused by my trick. She regaled me with the fact that the moment they arrived in Missouri, their father had abandoned them, that they didn’t know where he was or if he would ever come back. Their life was uncertain and she was generally angry with the whole world about it. There I was in my secure house with my intact family, demanding a return when they really had nothing left to give and didn’t know how to tell what had happened. I will never forget the sinking feeling I had in my stomach on reading her letter. Guilt filled my heart.

Ever since that day I have treated every letter I write as a gift. I send it off with no strings attached, no expectation or requirement of a letter in return. I give the gift because I want to and if the other person decides to gift me with a letter in return, that is cause for happiness. Deidre forgave me, and in later years apologized, because it wasn’t really me that she was so angry with. We continued to write letters for years afterward with me sending about four letters for each one I received.

Through the years I’ve written lots of letters to people I care about who are not letter writers. They mention that they enjoy the letters when I next see them, so I know that my gifts are well received. I find my happiness in the act of writing, in thinking about the person to whom I’m addressing the letter, in the short trip to the mailbox. And on the days when my mailbox has a letter for me, I rejoice for the gift I’ve been given of another person’s time and attention.

*Names have been changed

The Developmental Stages of Teens

By / January 24, 2013 / 9 Comments

On my One Cobble communities on Facebook and Google+ I’ve begun running a weekly feature where I post a Re-Cobble. It is a link to one of my earlier blog entries with commentary. As I was noodling around looking for what to post, I came across this entry called Future Parenting it is from 2004 when my kids ranged in age from one to nine years old. At the time I was contemplating the teenage years and spinning my theories about how that would go for my family. I can tell you now that I was right to not be afraid. I’ve loved Kiki and Link as teenagers. Yes there have been some struggles, but understanding those struggles has meant that Howard and I can sometimes be allies to our kids as they face those struggles instead of always being the enemy. (There is no avoiding being the bad guy sometimes. It’s inherent to good parenting.) What I did not have back in 2004 was a list of what the developmental changes are and how they play out for kids. So here is my list, based on a sample size of two, so your mileage may vary.

Age 11-12: kids tend to get a bit existential and sometimes fear the future. They can see bigger responsibilities and privileges coming, sometimes they want to run toward them, other times they want to flee back into childhood. This is also when kids start to push away from parents, seeking more space for individuality. If a parent is not expecting this shift it can cause the parent to hover and cling, which means the child has to push harder. My solution was to let them try more independence and they came running back to me when that got scary. However I was ready for a hard redirect if their independence looked like it was heading them onto dangerous ground.

Age 12-13: This is heavy-growth-spurt territory. Kiki hit this age and spent a month sleeping for fourteen hours per day. Link and all his same-age friends began to sound like adults and they clomped everywhere they went. During this developmental span some of the higher brain functions and social functions shut down while the brain is renovated into a more adult landscape. Both of my kids regressed in responsibility and emotional management techniques. I particularly noticed the social things with the boys. Link and his friends said the most appalling things to each other and had no clue that they had been hurtful. I had to start supervising Kiki’s homework much more closely because she had a tendency to try to ignore it out of existence.

Age 13-14: Kids begin to need a focus, something around which they can form a teenage identity. This teenage identity will inform their eventual adult identity, but the adult identity will be different, so don’t worry if the teenage identity at 14 doesn’t seem like a good career path. It probably isn’t. Kiki spent her 13th summer drifting, bored. In the fall Art manifested as her focus. Link drifted for longer and is still working to form his identity. But this was the age when he began to feel the need for one. The hard part for parents is that you can’t give an identity to kids. They have to pick it and go for it. All I could do for Link was offer up options–programming, racketball, etc. In the end I had to trust in him and let him find his own way. Though I was ready to head both kids off if it looked like they were likely to pick a focus which would cause them long-term life problems.

Age 14-15: Halleluiah, some of that higher brain function comes back online. As it does, kids tend to re-examine their lives. They may have to re-frame or re-address any childhood dramas or traumas that they have experienced. Link had to learn abou–and come to terms with–his Central Auditory Processing Disorder and his ADHD. He wrestled with how to include them in his self image without feeling like he was doomed to fail. We’re still working on this. Kiki had an exceptionally difficult Sophomore year at 15. It was made of me helping her because life felt too overwhelming.

Age 16-17: I only have a sample size of one here, but this was when Kiki really started to come into her own. She learned to drive and she once again began handling all her own homework without much supervision. She started to feel grown up and thus started to act like she was. Most of the drama from this year was Kiki dealing with peer relationships.

Age:17-18: Again, only sample size of one. Kiki hit the summer before her senior year and everything just clicked. She started applying all the lessons we’ve been trying so hard to teach her for years. She started addressing her own moods and stresses in adult ways instead of childish ways. She is a joy and we’re going to miss her lots when she heads off to college in the fall.

These are only general observations. The specifics will be different for each child, particularly if there are neurological differences. Link hit a lot of the emotional milestones about six months to a year later than typical for boys.

Notably absent from this listing is the impact of teenage attraction and interest in forming romantic relationships with others. I didn’t include attraction milestones because I’m fairly certain that my kids are atypical in this regard. Kiki was un-self-awarely interested in boys starting at age 14. By 16 she was self-aware but scared by the whole idea, so she elected to avoid it. Link hasn’t talked to me much about girls except to state that he’s not interested in girls yet. He hits high school next fall, which was when the whole thing became real to Kiki. (Locally the kids don’t go to the high school until their sophomore year.) I’m curious to see how that will change things for Link.

This has been my experience so far. In another nine years I’ll have to re-visit this post to report whether Gleek and Patch followed the same patterns.

If you are a parent of teens, or have been a parent of teens, I encourage you to post your observations in the comments. Have your teens followed these patterns? Were they different? Do you have any advice for parents of young children so that they can position themselves well for the teenage years? I’d love to hear from you.

Not All Likes are Created Equal

By / January 22, 2013 / 7 Comments

I’ve been doing a social media push these past couple of weeks to promote One Cobble and Hold on to Your Horses. I should probably call it a social media creep, because I’m reluctant to be pushy. So much so, that my sister, who was watching for announcements and information, did not see any. She suggested I might want to increase the volume just a little to get any results.

My reluctance stems from a belief that merely collecting Likes or followers is not inherently beneficial. The person who is excited and interested in Hold Horses will click Like, watch for updates, and be a willing supporter of the sequel. Someone who has just clicked Like in order to enter a contest or win a freebie will probably evaporate when the time comes to support the sequel. I could be wrong about that. It could be that once people show up, they’ll stay and become engaged. I just feel better about hawking my wares if I believe I’m talking to an audience who wants to hear about them. I’m not trying to inflate the number of Likes on the Hold Horses page, I’m trying to use the number of Likes to gauge interest in a sequel. That effort will fail if I use contests or giveaways to artificially inflate the number of Likes. this article is most talking about how buying likes leads to false search data, but it also supports what I’m saying. Spending money and effort to acquire Likes or followers is wasted. Instead I must focus on creating compelling content and use social media to help people become aware that the content is available. Good content + awareness = a growing group of people interested in new projects.

So I’m working hard to be content with a slow-growth model of building fanbase. Yes I get impatient. Yes sometimes I feel like I’m tap dancing to an empty theater or an unresponsive crowd. But I’m still pretty convinced that this is the right way for me to approach social media. I just hope I can build up enough momentum to support the sequel I want to do.

Letter Month 2013

By / January 16, 2013 / 2 Comments


My friend Mary Robinette Kowal is once again issuing a month of letters challenge. I participated in this challenge last year and thoroughly enjoyed it, not just because of the fun of getting and sending letters during the month of February, but also because it gave back to me something I had lost. I didn’t even think to miss it before Mary asked people to write her letters on paper. These days I so rarely write things for an audience of one, but in a letter I do exactly that. Every sentence is intended just for the person who receives it. Even when the month was over, I’ve continued sending letters because it adds joy to my life. It is a small gift I can give to people I love, people with whom I want to connect. Friendships thrive and grow deep when the people involved have more than one point of contact: Neighbors and work out buddies, Twitter friend and person to hang with at conventions, facebook friend and shopping companion. I’ve discovered in letter writing an additional point of contact and I enjoy it a lot. So I am again picking up the challenge to mail something every day in February. Packages ordered by customers don’t count. I’ll also write a letter back to anyone who writes to me.

Sandra Tayler
PO Box 385
Orem UT 84059

Will you also pick up the challenge? You can read Mary’s challenge here. There are also links to forums and communities where you can talk letter writing with other folk. Lots of people are exchanging addresses, talking pens, acquiring paper, and generally preparing to begin.

Adventures in Social Media

By / January 22, 2013 / 6 Comments

I want to fund a picture book, The Strength of Wild Horses, and the obvious choice for that is to run a Kickstarter drive. However those who are wise in the ways of Kickstarter have advised me that the project has a better chance to fund if I do some community building first. This makes sense to me.

Completely separate from my Kickstarter project I have been thinking about ways to build community and about some ways I’d like to do that which are difficult to do from this blog. Or rather, I could do them from the blog, but I am interested in seeing how it would feel to run a different sort of place on the internet. I want to run a series of posts talking about different picture books, how they show character traits which are common in high energy ADHD or Autistic kids, and how parents can use those books to help kids and their siblings to come to terms with these traits. It was to accomplish exactly this that I wrote Hold on to Your Horses in the first place. I’ve had a growing list of books for years and would love to find a useful way to share that list.

I’ve also been thinking about stages of parenting. I’m in the middle of parenting headed for the endgame. Several times I’ve had parents who are just starting out come to my blog hoping to find posts about the early years of parenting. There are some. Patch was only a year old when I began blogging, but I’ve grown as writer since then. I’ve grown as a parent since then. My perspectives have changed and I have new thoughts about old topics. I thought it would be interesting to run a series where I link to an old post and then provide commentary from my current perspective. It isn’t the same as me going through being a young parent myself, but it would help me delve into those topics. It is certainly a worthy experiment.

I’ve also been thinking about cross promotion. Many times people find Howard because of Writing Excuses (or some other project) then they find me because of Howard. Having multiple creative pursuits reaches into different groups of people. For a long time I’ve been dependent on Howard’s internet stature as the primary promotional tool for my creative work. Except we have different audiences and I’ve been feeling like it is time for me to strike out on my own to build my own community which is not annexed to his. In the long run I must do this if I want to be able to afford to create the things I want to create. I need to believe that Hold Horses and One Cobble are works strong enough to be the foundation of a community.

All of these thoughts connected with the advice to build community in advance of running a Kickstarter and the result is an experiment that I intend to run for the next several months. I’m going to extend myself a little bit further online to see what I can accomplish. I’ve picked venues where I’m already comfortable and have been for awhile: Facebook, G+, and Twitter. These are places I like to play already and so I’m just introducing a new game into those spaces.

On Twitter I’ve just set up an account @OneCobble. It will be a simple feed of links back to this blog. This provides a simple way for those on Twitter to follow the blog without me feeling like I’m spamming everyone with links to blog entries. People who want to see every single blog entry will follow @OneCobble. Others will be able to blissfully ignore it.

On G+ I’ve used the new communities feature to set up a One Cobble at a Time community. This is where I’ll post those blog links with commentary. I’ll also post links to articles of interest. I’m sure I’ll come up with other things as well. I’ll be deliberately trying to encourage conversation about these topics.

I’ve also set up a One Cobble community on Facebook. At first I expect it to be nearly identical to the posts on G+, but I’m quite curious to see how the two communities develop differently. If they don’t become different, it will be because I’m talking to myself and I’m pretty sure I’ll get tired of that in a hurry.

Facebook also has a Hold on to Your Horses page. This is where I’ll post about those picture books. It is also the measure I’ll use to figure out when I have enough community support for a Kickstarter to be successful.

A month from now I’ll evaluate to figure out which of these ventures is adding happiness to my life and which is adding only stress. I’ll see whether I can feel an increase of interest in the things I write and do. Perhaps at the end of that month I’ll pull back inward. I don’t know for sure. I just know that this feels like the right experiment.

I haven’t yet sent out invitations to these new feeds and communities. I’m still debating whether I should or if that feels spammy to me. (It is pretty important to me that I not annoy people by misusing social media tools.) If I do, it won’t be for at least a week. I want to make sure that I’ve already got interesting things in the spaces before inviting everyone. However if any of you blog readers want front row seats while I figure this stuff out, I’d love for you to join me. You’ll be like the guest who arrives early and helps set out the snacks for everyone who will come later. If none of those things sounds interesting, feel free to hang out here. I’ll be keeping this place the same.

Let the social media experiments begin.

Early Morning Adventures

By / December 18, 2012 / 4 Comments

My day began with ringing my neighbor’s doorbell at 6 am to see if they could identify the owner of the silver car which was parked across my driveway. I figured that if they did, then being awoken was a reasonable consequence. Sadly, they did not. So two households were inconvenienced by one silver car and I think I owe my neighbors apology cookies. Or maybe “thank you for being good neighbors” cookies because they offered to let me take one of their cars to drive Kiki to school, or at least to stand around and play guide while I backed my van across my lawn to make sure that I didn’t hit any of the rocks and trees. We were just beginning the process of backing my van, which I gave even odds of getting my van stuck in the snowy grass, when a different van pulled in to the cul de sac and two teenage girls hopped out. One ran into the neighbor’s house on the other side of me. The other came running to the silver car, spilling apologies.

“Oh, I’ve blocked you! I’m so sorry. I just parked here so we could carpool together in one car. We went to the temple this morning.” The apologies kept coming as she tried to unlock and unstick her frozen car door.

“It was so dark when I arrived I couldn’t even see that this was a driveway!”

I looked up at the dark sky with no hint of sunlight. I looked at the streetlamp which shines on our entire cul de sac. I looked at the tree in the corner of my yard which is completely lit with Christmas lights and illuminates my entire yard. I looked at the snowy lawn and the wet-but-clear sidewalks and driveway. I looked at the seven feet of curb in front of my house where she could have parked without blocking my driveway. All of these things were clearly visible, as was the entirely empty driveway of the house containing her friend, which easily could host three cars.

By this time she was inside her car and scrambling to drive away from her embarrassment. My neighbor turned to go back into his house, walking gingerly because he’d come outdoors in bare feet. I called to him “Thank you John, sorry I woke you up!” I pitched my voice so that the girl would hear. Embarrassment is the only consequence she is getting, I wanted to make sure that she got the full load–not out of vindictiveness (well maybe a little,) but mostly because paying attention to where you park is an important safety lesson. The girl is obviously a nice one, just young and inexperienced. I’m just glad that I did not have to leave any earlier. We got Kiki to class only a couple of minutes late and I get to proceed with my morning.

The Choir Concert

By / April 21, 2014 / 2 Comments

“Is Gleek’s Mom here?”
I looked up from the row of chairs I was helping to set up. “Yes?”
One of the choir directors came over to me with an earnest look on her face. My tired brain flitted over reasons she might need to see me. Top fear was that Gleek was not cooperating with the pre-concert practice or that she’d had a meltdown. I knew she was pretty keyed up, over tired, under fed, and with some pain in her mouth caused by twelve year molars trying to make an entrance through her gums. With all that, it seemed likely there would be some sort of issue. Getting Gleek dressed and out the door had been a significant cat-herding experience, which was why we’d barely had time to feed her a light snack with a promise of Wendy’s after the concert.

“I just wanted to make sure that you knew the kids are supposed to be in best Sunday dress, because Gleek’s clothes are kind of casual.”
As if I could have missed all of the four emails which had stressed this point in the past week. My tired brain stuttered over forming an answer. This was not the conversation I expected. I wanted an answer that conveyed, yes I had read all the emails, yes I’d understood them, yes I’d planned to help Gleek look her gorgeous best for the concert, but then the day had turned out so differently that I was just glad we’d made it at all. Because making it to the concert was important. I loved that Gleek was singing and finding a focus for her energies. I also wanted to give a somewhat biting response because I could hear between the words to the message Gleek doesn’t match the other students. She doesn’t fit with my vision of how this concert would be perfect.

The words which came out of my mouth were “I tried to get her to dress up, but she argued.” It was a half truth. Gleek had come downstairs wearing a swingy skirt and her choir t-shirt along with a pretty purple scarf. She’d obviously chosen the clothes with care, I’d mentioned Sunday dress, but my brain was full of a dozen other things, so I hadn’t argued. I’d just hustled us out the door.

“Well there is plenty of time. So if you wanted to run home and get something…”

I nodded and said “I’ll go ask her what she wants to do” as I walked away.

The thing is that we attend our current school, not because we live in the neighborhood, but because my kids tested into the program. Running home would be a twenty minute round trip. Yes there was time. No I didn’t want to do it. I was tired. I’d spent the afternoon helping Kiki nurse an injury and evaluating whether the injury was severe enough to merit an ER visit. The following doctor’s appointment had been reassuring, but we’d returned to immediately launch into a dinner scramble and helping Gleek get ready for the concert. In the middle of all of that there was an issue with damaged calendars that Howard needed fixed so he could sketch and then there was an email telling me that my childhood best friend’s mother–my surrogate mother–was hospitalized after multiple strokes. I’d also been short on sleep every night for a week. I wasn’t just tired, I was weary in my mind and heart.

I found Gleek. She wanted me to go fetch fancier clothes because she felt out of place among the fancier dresses of the others. I’d been prepared to face down the director and stand up for my daughter’s choir t-shirt, but for my daughter I would drive home. On the way to the car I berated myself for not grabbing a dress on the way out the door. It would have been easy. Then I would not have to give up the excellent parking space which had been the reward of our early arrival. Then I could sit in the gym and work on a critique for writer’s group which would begin at my house just after the concert was over. Instead I drove carefully through the dark, aware that my fatigue and frustration might impact my driving.

I couldn’t find the shirt Gleek wanted. Instead I brought back a Christmas red shirt which turned out to be a little too big.
“It’s okay.” Gleek said “I’ll just keep it pulled up.”

I went to sit in the gym. I had a good seat because I’d taken one page of the story I was critiquing, wrote Reserved on the back, and left it on the chair. During my twenty minute run, most of the seats had filled, but mine was still there. I looked up at the stage then focused on reading because I did not want to think about the last time Gleek performed on this stage. The stress and excitement of performing had triggered a panic attack. I’d spent half the show smiling at her, making “you’re okay” gestures, and pantomiming taking deep breaths. Gleek seemed to have forgotten that experience, but I had not. I worried that this concert would trigger the same response. I wondered if I was about to spend forty minutes trying to help my child manage anxiety from forty feet away. I’d intended to have a calm afternoon, a solid dinner, all carefully staged to reduce stress. Instead she’d skipped dinner, ran around in the gym before practice, and was wearing a shirt which made her feel self-conscious. There was a tap on my shoulder.
“Gleek looks lovely. Thank you.” said the choir director.
I just smiled at her and she moved on. I barely knew the woman. I barely knew anyone at the school. I felt bad about that sometimes, as if we were interlopers and freeloaders in their community. The solution would be for me to get involved, volunteer, work to chat and make connections with the other parents at the school. I haven’t had the emotional energy to spare. Not last year. Not this year. I watched the director and knew her for a good person. She cared so very much about choir, about teaching the kids, about making this concert be a good experience. I thought all these things, but mostly was glad that she didn’t stay to chat more. I didn’t have any chatting energy left.

The concert was lovely. Gleek sang with all the others and while she did fiddle with her shirt and fidget with her feet, she didn’t show any other outward signs of stress. We acquired Wendy’s on the way home and headed on into the rest of the evening. The next day brought a general thank you email, in which the choir director was gracious and praised everyone who participated in the concert. She also mentioned how she would be stepping down from her director position because her step-father was dying and she needed to focus on her family. I was not the only one that evening with a head full of more things than I could possibly express. The new knowledge did not erase my frustrations of the evening before, but did increase my ability to bestow the benefit of the doubt. The director was right. Gleek would have felt awkward in her t-shirt.

Some days are difficult and there are no villains to blame.

Thoughts on Community and Withdrawal

By / October 29, 2012 / 3 Comments

In years past I’ve written glowing descriptions of our church Halloween carnival. I described how the community of congregation members creates this event for each other and how the creation draws the members of the community together. I’ve loved that aspect of it, just as I’ve loved how trailing a trick or treating child lets me feel part of a larger community of parents. I love these things about Halloween, so the arrival of the carnival last night should have been happy. It was, in a distant sort of way. I felt like it was a generally happy thing, without being made happier because of it. I was at the event, but did not truly engage with it. Certainly not in the way that my kids did. They were decked out in costumes and helping run the games. I did not have a costume, not really. Throwing on Howard’s old lab coat does not qualify as a costume in the same way that Kiki’s autumn elf with pointy ears and leafy skirt did. Kiki spent hours on her costume. I decided ten minutes before departure that I did not want to be completely boring.

The challenge is that I’m currently in a social withdrawal phase. I recognize this as part of my regular emotional cycles. Sometimes I’m reaching out, ready to give energy to the world. Other times I draw inward trying to conserve that energy to myself. Lately I’m pulling in. At some point in the future I’ll reach out and connect again. Paying attention to these cycles is important, because knowing why I’m withdrawing can make a huge difference in making my withdrawal into an effective and temporary retreat rather than into a prolonged period of self-imposed social isolation. Noticing that I’m withdrawing is an important indicator.

My current withdrawal cycle has, in part, been driven by shifts in my extended family. My grandmother’s health has been up and down in the past six months. I’ve often felt worried about her and about my parents who are acting as her primary care givers. All is currently well, Grandma is getting around the house with a walker, which she mostly needs for balance. Yet I worry about them. Several of my siblings have gone through periods of unemployment and financial stress. I’ve spent time sending them prayers, trying to think how I could help, and hosting people in my house as they pass through while on trips or relocating. Mostly there isn’t much I can do to help. I just wish I could, and the wishing takes emotional energy.

The withdrawal is also driven by internal shifts. This past year has taught me much about myself. I’ve found deeply hidden lies which were driving my behavior. I’ve rooted out sources of anxiety. I’ve made lots of progress on building new patterns of thought. Some of that involved figuring out which sorts of events feed my demons of self doubt and which fill my soul. I’m also trying to re-organize my life around writing. This requires that I have empty spaces in my mind and heart for the stories to grow. To create those spaces I need less input, fewer new things to think about.

This school year is being good for my kids, but I can also see how it is a preparatory year. Three of them are shifting and preparing to leap into new things next year. The changes have already begun and I want to savor this space before those changes are complete.

So the withdrawal makes sense. It is logical. I have good reasons for it. And yet…

Today at church during the Relief Society lesson I felt strongly that I should engage, participate in the lesson. I’ve mostly been drifting through church without doing that. In fact there have been weeks when I’ve spent time in the hallways because the meetings felt claustrophobic. It is all part of the withdrawal, I drifted through the Sunday meetings, just as I drifted through the Halloween carnival. But today I raised my hand and said something not particularly brilliant, but it supported the point the teacher was making. Discussion on the topic continued to bounce around the room, and I thought of another thing to say. I raised my hand again. For the first time in months I was not merely a passive member of the congregation, sieving inspiration from the lessons as they washed past me. Instead I was in the middle, speaking, sharing thoughts, helping to shape the lesson. It was powerful. I’d walked into that room idly noting all the familiar women who were there with me–even feeling a little frustrated that I ended up surrounded instead of off to the side where it is easier for me to observe. When I left the meeting, I loved the women, or rather I remembered that I’ve loved all of them for years. Somehow I had lost that connection and I got it back. I felt connected again because I reached out, not because someone reached to me.

Communities work only as their members make them work. You get out of it what you put into it. Often, through some incomprehensible divine formula, you get out more than what you put in. Which leads me to wonder whether withdrawing to recharge is a wise strategy at all. It is certainly the one my instincts would have me choose. When my resources are slim, I should conserve them carefully. Except I then feel like I’m continually having ever lessening amounts which I can conserve. Sometimes a withdrawal fills me up and I’m ready to engage again. Other times pulling inward is itself draining and what I need is to trust that I can continue to feed everyone with what feels like a mere handful of meal and a few drops of oil. I’m afraid to give more. I have so many things to tend already, but I think I need to connect with my communities. I need to be willing to give, particularly when I’m afraid that I’ll run out.

Withdrawing is good. Reaching out is good. Giving is good. Conserving is good. It feels like a test where all the answers are based upon context and interpretation. The best I can do is to muddle my way through trying out the different options as they seem called for.

My Deep South Con 50 Experiences

By / June 19, 2012 / 7 Comments

The lobby chairs were pulled into an irregular circle and we slouched in them comfortably. It was Sunday night and all the events of DeepSouth Con were complete. Many of the guests and most of the attendees had already departed for home. Those of us who remained clustered together talking. In many ways it was like the closing scene of the pillow fighting episode of Community where two characters keep hitting each other with pillows for hours because they know the minute the pillow fight is over, then so is their friendship. We sat there and talked late into the night because once the talking stopped, DSC 50 would be done.

Conventions are hard to sum up in a single blog post, because a convention is not a single narrative, it is a multiplicity of interwoven stories. Many of them rely on in-the-moment humor which is hilarious, but can’t be retold because the context is no longer present. This convention’s running joke for Howard and I was Rosie’s Cantina, which was recommended as a restaurant choice on our first night. Our liaisons, Robert and Laura Nigg, attempted to find it, but multiple cell phones came up with multiple locations and driving directions, so we went somewhere else. However Rosie’s Cantina did not go away, We saw signs and advertisements just about every time we left the hotel. Huntsville was taunting us with the existence of this Mexican restaurant. Two different concierge’s recommended it, so on the third day we resumed the quest and succeeded.

In the end the food was solid Ameri-Mex fare, nothing particularly special, but we felt satisfaction in finding the place and eating there. Rosie’s Cantina was an oft referenced source of humor for us and the others who shared our quest. Conventions are made of stories like these, small experiences which become shared contextual humor between the people who experienced them. Since the convention-going population is fairly small, we’ll run across these same people again in a few years. Then we will regale others with The Quest for Rosie’s Cantina in such a way that reconnects us and brings others into the laughter. Many times over the weekend I played audience while others shared their mutual remembrances. This is how communities are made and reaffirmed.

One of my treasured parts of the convention was meeting Lois McMaster Bujold. I’ve read every book she’s written multiple times. Lois’ words and thoughts express some of my experiences so well that it is simpler for me to reference her words rather than finding my own. I very much wanted a chance to talk to the person who created those words. I was pleased that more than one opportunity arose.

Here is Lois talking with Dr. Demento while Toni Weiskopf of Baen stands and speaks to David Drake. Yes, that is a total name-dropping sentence. Yes I had the opportunity to converse with all of those people. This is part of the attraction of conventions, particularly smaller ones. Everyone there is in awe of someone else. These admirable people are all people who are quite happy to sit down and talk about writing, music, food, exercise, pets, and a host of other topics. While I was feeling honored and pleased to be included in conversations with Toni and Lois, they were both feeling fangirl squee about getting to speak with Dr. Demento. I found Lois to be a wonderfully pleasant person. Our conversations tended to be short, as there were many people around, but each time it felt as if I’d picked up a long-running conversation with a long-time friend. It almost certainly did not feel that way to her, which did lend an imbalance to the conversations. I did get to ask her about the narrative structure of the Sharing Knife series which is so very different than her other books. The structural differences threw me off during my first reading of them because I’d expected the familiar structures of her other books. I’m pleased to know that these differences were a conscious and deliberate exploration, rather than a result of being lost in the story. I was certain that had to be the case, but she confirmed it. I also noticed that Lois attended panels all the time. Many of the pros I know are busy at conventions and rarely attend a panel unless they are participating in it. I know that is the case for me. I have a hard time sitting in the audience listening when I feel like I could add to the discussion. I’m reconsidering that. If Lois, with all her experience in writing and fandom, finds things to learn in panels, perhaps I should try to be more teachable as well.

I did attend some panels at DSC. I even got to moderate for a panel where Howard was one of the panelists. It is always a little odd for me to moderate Howard, rather like long-time dance partners switching which partner leads. I felt the panel went well and several people corroborated that opinion.
Howard was, of course, on many panels. Conventions schedule their GoHs pretty thoroughly. One of his panels was about designing aliens, his co-panelists were Tedd Roberts, Travis Taylor, and Stephanie Osborn. I’m told that video of this panel will hit the internet after a quick editing pass. I’m also told that it was fantastic and that everyone will want to see it.

Howard and Travis Taylor of Rocket City Rednecks hit it off really well. After listening to Travis’ stories, we’re convinced that we need to get our hands on all the episodes because it is like Mythbusters with more materials science and physics. Plus, Travis made us laugh all weekend long. Some of that funny must end up in the show too.

Howard and John Ringo did a joint panel, which has also been recorded for future internet viewing, though I’m told that one will take longer to clean up and prep. They hauled almost the entire audience from that panel into the dealer’s room where The Missing Volume was selling both John and Howard’s books. This made Glennis quite happy, and us happy too. Howard and John even stole the autographing table from the hallway. No one minded because it was empty at the time and we un-stole it forty minutes later when John and Howard had to head off for a panel.

This convention was one of the few where Howard was able to announce a Watch Howard Draw event. Fans gathered around while Howard scribbled out comics. Howard was quite glad to get some work done (He always feels behind) and he loved having the relaxed environment to converse while doing it.

One fan even had a Schlock themed birthday party


Yes that is a cake. There was also a little sculpture for the birthday guy. Howard signed it.

I knew that DeepSouth Con had a hard science fiction, history of southern fandom, and funny music focus. These are not areas of expertise for me, so I expected to mostly drift through the weekend in observational mode. I did play observer quite a bit, and I paid more attention to photography, but then I was pulled in. I had several long and deep conversations which left me thinking new thoughts to think. There was a small group of attendees who gathered around me after a panel and we held our own mini panel/discussion about organizing life to support creativity. It was extremely gratifying to be sought out that way, and I’m very glad that some of the things I said seemed useful to them. There is nothing better than turning one of my experiences into something useful for someone else.

A particular shout out is owed to Gray Rhinehart here. I’d never met him before this event and knew him only slightly online. But we talked for hours. This is also one of the hidden treasures of conventions, when I meet someone new and their current concerns intersect with mine. Conventions give me friendships which last long after the convention is over. Conventions give me chances to renew friendships begun at a previous convention. I’m learning to be patient and play the long game in building a writing career. I don’t have to push to have the critical conversation with a particular agent / editor/ author, because there will be another chance. This chance is not the only one.

Huge thanks are due to Toni Weiskopf. This show was her baby. She pulled together a dream team of Southern convention runners. I think this may have been one of the smoothest-run convention I’ve ever experienced. I did not hear any of the usual politicking or kvetching which I’ve come to believe is inevitable when highly stressed people care very much about something but have different opinions about how it should be done. We are so glad that she included us. This was exactly the weekend we needed it to be.
To close out this very long convention post, I leave you with a photo of Dr. Demento dancing on stage with a pair of belly dancers.

Enabling Creative Dreams

By / May 28, 2012 / 2 Comments

When my fourteen year old son comes to me and tells me he has a plan to change the whole world for the better, I listen. When he clarifies that this plan is for him to video himself talking about his thoughts and life, I give him the video camera and get out of his way. His plan may completely lack in distribution planning, he doesn’t intend to edit anything. It may be uninteresting and unmarketable to the world at large, but even if the only thing in the world that is changed by this effort is my son, then the effort is worthy. Son, have a video camera. Take over my office for an hour at a time. Record away. Because I remember twelve years ago when your father, the full-time cartoonist, took up doodling as a hobby.

Dreams are worthwhile because they change the world, starting with the internal world of the dreamer.