Ah, life.

Today I was offered a job.

Alas, I was waiting on the corner for the light to change so I could cross the street.  I politely told him that the retirement benefits are better at my day job, thank you.

I work in an interesting neighborhood.

On Trayvon Martin

Hey, all:

I don't normally use this blog for political purposes (or political purposes that don't dovetail into self-publishing and/or books, anyway), but this is too big an injustice for me to let to go by without comment. On February 26, 2012, a 17 year-old black youth named Trayvon Martin was killed by George Zimmerman, a Latino neighborhood watch captain. Mother Jones has a pretty good write-up here. While the comments sections of these types of articles can be dangerous spaces, I'm going to cautiously say that it's all right to read this time. There are some smart cookies running around in there explaining why the Stand Your Ground law might not protect Zimmerman here, and that it's certainly cowardly of the state attorney's office to not even try. But here are the pertinent details all the same.

1) Trayvon was unarmed.

2) He was doing nothing more suspicious than walking.

3) Zimmerman, according to his neighbors, had an obsession with crime among young black males and said, "These assholes always get away" when he was speaking to the 911 dispatcher.

4) Trayvon ran away from Zimmerman, and Zimmerman pursued him.

5) Trayvon screamed for help before he was killed.

6) Police officers belonging to a department with a history of racism attempted to pressure a witness at the scene into changing her statement.

7) Regular police procedure in potential homicide cases was not followed.

There's a petition here urging Florida law enforcement to prosecute George Zimmerman in Trayvon Martin's death. I highly encourage you to sign it.

Does it? Or at least, the way you say?

Telegraph UK: the paper book survives yet.

Gracefully, they do admit that the title of "recreational reader" is snobbish. They are correct in stating that making citations, looking for quotations, etc., is much easier in a physical book. Those of you who adapt to new technologies more easily than I will be quick to point out how easily the Kindle, Nook, and their like allows you to make notes and find quotations, but I will counter-argue that most academic writers work by spreading sources around themselves in a quasi-religious halo of productivity. Even the technology-forward and easily-accessible JSTOR articles wind up being printed out. This could, granted, be changing as tablets become more and more available (and colleges start pushing their use as incentives for attending as they do with laptops). However, I've read more classical literature over the past year than I did during the previous ten due to an e-reader, specifically because the classics are out of copyright and thus free or at least very cheap. (I will not begrudge some poor volunteers their three bucks for formatting the entirety of Shakespeare, come on.) I raise an eyebrow at the article's assertion that some literary in-jokes from the days of authors breaking the fourth wall and addressing readers directly being lost, however: give people some credit for being able to understand metaphorical language, please. Paper books aren't going to disappear from the collective consciousness for a long time yet.

What do you think?

Book Giveaway in Tribute to Deceased Indie Writer L.C. Evans.

Full details here.

No strings attached, it's being done completely for their friend's memory. Be sure to swing by on January 24th to pick up your book.

In other news, I'll do my best to start posting actual content again soon, but I started the first draft of the fourth Super book, Siren, earlier this week. (That would be Naomi's book, in case you had doubts based on the title.) Dear Reader, it is kicking my ass. I hope to see you again before my brain dribbles right out of my ears.

Link and Commentary: Why SOPA Is Dangerous

Mashable article here.

Unless you've been living under a rock (or are the lone college student who doesn't use Wikipedia as a go-to source at the first opportunity), you've probably heard about the impending SOPA and PIPA bills being considered by Congress. You've probably heard that they're bad things, with little in the way of pro-SOPA commentary.

That's not because the media has a liberal bias. (LOL.) That's because SOPA and PIPA are bad things. They are very, very, very bad things. If these bills pass, they mean the end of every website out there that allows its users to upload content. That means the end of FaceBook. Of Twitter. Of Wikipedia, Tumblr, and YouTube. It means the end of fan-dominated sites like Livejournal and Dreamwidth, where writers ranging from nobodies like little old me to heavy hitters like Cassandra Clare and Naomi Novik learned their craft. Shutting down YouTube will cut off performing artists, since most people these days are discovered through viral marketing. (You might say that a world without Bieber would be a better one, but: I may not agree with your decision to shellac your hair and sing like a prepubescent, but I will defend to the death your right to do it.) The end of sharing and critique sites cuts off up-and-coming writers.

Yes, SOPA and PIPA are very, very, very, very bad things. Functionally, they mean the end of the internet.

Yeah, but now I have a car and a checkbook.

Researchers find that sticker rewards are the most effective way of getting small children to eat their vegetables.

You never really grow out of that, you know. We just refer to them as Klout rewards now.

In which I am a good daughter.

I went to pick up my mother's Christmas present recently, which was...well, let's just say that it was a bit of an adventure into an unfamiliar culture. Since she owns a handgun, I bought her a year's membership to a shooting range.

It was like entering a whole new world full of wondrous and previously unseen technologies. Apparently, you can purchase a holster to keep a gun between your breasts. No, really, it's a thing:

Uh, "between my breasts" is one of the worst places I can think of to stick a presumably loaded weapon, but I've also seen way too much dudes keeping guns in the waistbands of their pants without stopping to think about just how wrong that arrangement can go. Stupidity knows no gender distinctions. However, taking a gander at how flat-chested every mannequin displaying such a holster has been so far: that carry ain't nearly as concealed as you think it is, honey.

Oh, July.

I have a couple of other blog posts sitting around in rough draft that I really ought to cleaning up (about deep thoughts, too, like e-piracy, internet pretend feminism, and an ode to UST containing all of the climax jokes that good taste would allow and then a few more besides), and I was bending myself to that task with my customary work ethic and good cheer when a slow and Poe-like sense of dread overcame me. I looked at the calendar on my computer. Have I really been so busy that I didn't notice, didn’t prepare…?

Yes. The worst was true.

Y'all, it's nearly July.

The beginning of July signals that the world is half-over, of course, and you guys might think that I'm flailing because I'm behind schedule. Quite the contrary. I've completed nearly four first drafts, two outlines, and a last spit polish on the first book that I'm going to self-publish. There was the one episode where I sat down in my living room floor and started laughing hysterically after the cover model who told me that she was only six weeks pregnant and would be fine if I shot her quickly went into labor and delivered a six-pound boy (WHY WOULD YOU LIE ABOUT SOMETHING WITH THAT KIND OF EXPIRATION DATE?!), but on the whole things have been sailing pretty smoothly on the big-girl writing front.

No, my dread is much more primal, my reasoning absolutely irrefutable. You see, July is the devil.

For the past five years of my life, if something bad is going to happen to me, it's going to happen in July. There have been car wrecks (multiple car wrecks), deaths (multiple deaths), and a mental breakdown (just the one so far, but if anyone reading this is interested in graduate school, I can tell you my story sot that you can then do the exact opposite). July is a sneaky bitch. She hides around corners and waits for you. Last year, the only thing that happened over the first three weeks or so was that someone smashed the bumper of my car and drove away, which is a pretty light sentence as far as July is concerned. I mean, I also had to ride on a plane that month. Over the oil spill. I am not the girl that dolphins or volley balls befriend, and if I ever fall through a hole in the space-time continuum it's going to be straight into the waiting jaws of the smoke monster. I didn't relax until the plane was within ten minutes of home. Then an elderly woman two rows ahead of me went into respiratory distress. (She didn't die, this is not that sad a story.) Coincidence? No. July took a swing at me and missed.

You might not want to stand too close to me for the next thirty days or so.