too damn picky I guess

I was reading a back issue of Fantasy & Science Fiction recently, and thinking once again that it had an old-fashioned feel to it. Retro, maybe. One story I enjoyed for the most part, because it had a very Edward Pangborn vibe:  enigmatic old man with Biblical name arrives at early-settler-type village, befriends adolescent narrator, reveals knowledge of advanced tech and lost history of colonisers of alien planet, is feared and accused of witchcraft by less-enlightened, lights out for territories with adolescent narrator. You see what I mean.
The Pangborn echoes kept me reading on, though after a while I started to wonder why far-future colonists would revert to a 1600s American Colonial sort of social structure, and why they would fear witchcraft (why would they know about witchcraft?) without the sort of pressures and fears that were present in the 1600s? Since there was a hint that the colonists were multicultural, why not revert to clans or tribes or monasteries? But yeah, okay, pick one, and the author did pick one.
And when the village crops depend largely on a steam-powered tractor that's a piece of ancient tech, why is knowledge of ancient tech suspicious? I get that fear-of-tech is a common trope in post-catastrophe stories, but they didn't fear tech, they'd just forgotten how to maintain it.

Near the end of the story, a sentence just jumped out at me. A sympathetic character says that our adolescent narrator will reach adult status and "choose a bride".
Wait, what? Choose from where? Because other than the narrator's dead mother, there were no women in this village. The speaking characters were all male, the named secondary characters were all male, the un-named tertiary characters were male. (Come to that, the only non-adult character was the narrator.) The enigmatic old man scores points by teaching the locals how to make devilled eggs and to add "aromatic herbs" to the stewpot (yeah, might want to be a bit more specific about which ones, this being an alien planet and all). He tells this to the men because there are no women present in the narrative. I skimmed quickly back through the story, and didn't spot any women.
I think I figured out why your colony isn't doing too well, fellows. And it's not just because you forgot how to fix machinery and make devilled eggs. (Speaking of which, where did they get the pepper?)

The more I thought about this story, the more worldbuilding problems I began to see. The villagers live apparently at the brink of starvation, one bad harvest and they have to start eating each other. Again, I don't think devilled eggs are going to solve that problem, and if hunger means you routinely pop wrongdoers into the stewpot, making stewmeat tastier is not the big issue. They have 'bottles' in which they could preserve food (hey, where did they get bottles? who made them? Is there a glass foundry somewhere nearby?) but don't bother to do so until the enigmatic old man suggests it.
Okay, maybe the lack of nutrients in the native plants or starvation because of climate change is making everyone stupid, as in some theories about what happened to the medieval Greenland colony. 
By the time I reached the end of the story, I was so distracted by background questions I had to re-read the last paragraphs a couple of times, which only made the problem worse.

It wasn't badly written. And I was prepped to enjoy a Pangborn-style story. But there were so many loose threads that I couldn't resist pulling on one, then on another, until it all came apart. I don't know if there's a moral here, unless it's Don't have picky readers.

labours of the months, 1371

Our Living History Week is over for this year. A new campsite, just down from our previous one which is now becoming a Garry Oak meadow. I was a bit apprehensive, but it worked out nicely. So, a few pictures of everyday life in the 14th century, below.

 Isabeau at the churn. Behind her you can see information booths for some modern enterprises. She's actually quite close to the kitchen, which is just out of the shot.

I love this medieval style iron-shod spade. Unfortunately we aren't allowed to do any real digging onsite, but I got Mark to pose with it as a model for a potential calendar of the labours of the months. 

Ditto with Havise, performing one of the labours for November (rather ahead of time)--baking bread. This is a labour for every day, to be accurate. Yes, we had fresh-baked bread from the oven and fresh-churned butter. Life in the Middle Ages was nasty, brutish and short, and everyone was starving and clad in rags, don't you know?

Alicia card-weaving. Ingeniously, she is able to adjust tension by turning the tent-pole her work is fastened to. I have a video as well, but given my past lack of success at posting them, I'll wait to attempt it this time. 

My studio this year. I found the big easel at a consignment shop and snapped it up right away. I managed to finish off the two paintings on it, and begin a new one. The smaller one in front is, yes, baking bread as the Labour for November. 

A final picture of the oven, with two loaves of bread successfully produced. Beside them you can see the ashes of the fire that heated the oven and was pulled and swept out so that the loaves could be put in for baking.

Merry Christmas!

to you, from a house full of shortbread and wrapping paper.

I bought myself a thriftshop cookie press ($4, missing only one of the nozzles, including all of the random discs) so I can try making spritz cookies, which I've never done. It has a camel disc. Does anyone make camel cookies? What flavour would be most appropriate?
The disc for the heart cookie of the bridge set (hearts, spades, diamonds, clubs) does not look like a heart. I suppose it must produce a heart, just as the squiggly cross must produce a diamond, but I'm taking it on faith so far.
It looks ... okay, it looks like a poppy-head.

Poppy-head is what that same shape is called when found carved on the pew-ends in an English church. Here, I'll show you a poppy-head bench-end from Fressingfield, church of St Peter & St Paul. See the resemblance?
Yes, medieval English churches are well-stocked with these, but Fressingfield must have the most blatant examples. I feel I must quote Simon (stolen from the link above) on Suffolk Churches:

"No, what makes Fressingfield's benches wonderful is the sheer quality of the whole piece; nowhere else in East Anglia is the 15th century so substantial, so full of confidence. Often quoted is Cox in Bench Ends in English Churches (but he is talking about the furnishings as a whole, not just their ends): Fressingfield church, he says, is better fitted throughout with excellent fifteenth-century benches than any other church in the kingdom."

And a happy NSFW Yule to all my pagan friends and readers!

Since good Ink is neffecary

to good Writing, I fhall give a Receipt or two for making fome of the beft black Ink in the World, which is as follows, viz.

(and yes, once again I shall substitute the short s for the long, for the sake of clarity)

A Receipt for making black Ink.

TO six quarts of Rain or River Water (but Rain Water is the best) put one Pound and a Half of fresh blue Galls of Aleppo, (for those of Smyrna are not strong enough) bruised pretty small ; 8 Ounces of Copperas, clean, rocky, and green ; also 8 Ounces of clean, bright, and clear Gum Arabic ; and two Ounces of Roche Allum : Let these stand together in a large Stone Bottle, or clean Stone Pot, or Earthen Pot, with a narrow Mouth, to keep it free from Dust ; shake, roll, or stir it well, once every Day, and you will have excellent Ink in about a Month's Time ; and the older it grows, the better it will be for Use.

Ingredients for a Quart.

I Quart of Water, 4 Ounces of Galls, 2 Ounces of Copperas, and 2 Ounces of Gum, mixed and stirred as above.
(graphic of pointing hand) If you soak the green Peelings of Walnuts (at the Time of the Year when pretty ripe) and Oak Saw-dust, or small Chips of Oak, in Rain Water, and stir it pretty often for a Fortnight: the Water strained off and used with same ingredients as above, will render the Ink still stronger and better.

How to make Red Ink.

TAKE 3 Pints of stale Beer, (rather than Vinegar) and 4 Ounces of Ground Brazil Wood ; simmer them together for an Hour ; then strain it thro' a Flannel, and bottle it up (well stopp'd) for Use.
Or you may dissolve half an Ounce of Gum Senega, or Arabic, in Half a Pint of Water ; then put a Pennyworth of Vermilion into a small Gallipot, and pour some of the Gum Water to it, stir it well, and mix it together with a Hair-Pencil*, to a proper Consistency ; but it will not incorporate presently, tho' by the next Day it will ; then having a clean Pen, dip it into the Ink, having first well stirred it with a Pencil, and then you may use it : It is a fine and curious Red, tho' not so free as the other. And after the same Manner you may make any other coloured Ink, as Blue, Green, Yellow, Purple, &c. having divers Gallipots for that Use. In like Manner you may mix the Shell-Gold for curious Occasions ; pouring two or three Drops, according to the Direction, into the Shell, and mix it well with a clean Hair-pencil, and with it put a little into a clean Pen, &c.The small Shells may be bought at some Fan-sellers, or Fan-painters, at two or three for Two-pence ; or the large ones (which are the best) at the Colour-shops, at Six-pence a-piece.

To keep Ink from Freezing or Moulding.

IN hard frosty Weather, Ink will be apt to freeze ; which, if once it doth, it will be good for nothing ; it takes away all its Blackness and Beauty. To prevent which (if you have not the Conveniency of keeping it warm, or from the Cold) put a few Drops of Brandy, or other Spirits into it, and it will not freeze. And to hinder its moulding, put a little Salt therein.

Of Secret Writing.

HERE it may not be improper to say something of Secret Writing ; to which Bishop Wilkins, in his Book of Mathematical Magic, speaks largely ; but it is principally concerning writing in Cypher, which requires great Pains, and an uncommon Share of Ingenuity, both in Writers and Readers. But however I shall shew two or three particular Ways, that are very pretty and amusing, and also very easy both as to Cost and Pains. And,
First, If you dip your Pen in the Juice of a Lemon, or of an Onion, or in your own Urine, or in Spirits of Vitriol, and write on clean Paper whatever you intend, it shall not be discerned till you hold it to the Fire, and then it will appear legible. and if with any of the aforementioned, you write on your Skin, as on your Arm, and Back of your Hand, &c. it shall not be seen till you burn a Piece of Paper, and with the Ashes rub on the Place, and then it will appear very plain : And this I have experienced and tried, and therefore can say, Probatum est.
Another Way is, when you write a Letter that you intend it shall not be discovered, but to those you think fit ; first to write your Thoughts on one Side of your Letter with black Ink, as usual, (but it ought to be on thin Paper) and then, on the contrary side, go over the said Matter that you would have secret, with a clean Pen dipped in Milk, and that Writing shall not be read without holding it to the Fire, as mentioned above, and then it will appear legible in a bluish Colour.
A third Method is, to have two Pieces of Paper equal in Size, and the uppermost cut in chequered Holes or Squares big enough to contain any Word of six or seven Syllables, and in those Squares write your Mind in regular Sense ; and then take off the said chequered Paper, and fill up the Vacancies with Words of any Kind, which will render it perfect Nonsense, and not capable of being read, to any Purpose of Intelligence. And transmit and send the said uppermost, or chequered Paper, or another exactly of the same Form to your Correspondent ; whereby he shall, by laying it nicely on your said Letter, read your intended Sense, without being perplexed with the Words of Amusement intermixed, which make it altogether unintelligible.
Or again, you may write to your Friend in proper Sense with common Ink, and let the Lines be at so commodious a Distance, that what you intend to be secret may be written between them with Water, wherein Galls have been steeped a little Time, but not long enough to tincture the Water ; and, when dry, nothing of the Writing between the said Lines can be seen ; but when it is to be read, you must, with a fine Hair-pencil dipped in Copperas-water go between the said Lines, and so you make it legible.
Note. This Way will give you no Ground for Suspicion, because the letter seemeth to carry proper Sense in those Lines that are set at a proper Distance.




*Pencil: "an artist's paint-brush of camel's hair, sable, fitch, or other fine hair, gathered into a quill; esp. one of small and fine make, suitable for delicate work." The other kind are called 'pencils of black lead', 'dry pencils', or 'wooden pencils'.

still writing, still submitting

Let's see.
Realms of Fantasy rejected "Foretold", and Strange Horizons rejected "Bride of the Vampire" (though they liked the writing). I was going to send Bride off to RoF, but after thinking it over for a while, I submitted both of them to Glimmer Train, one as a regular submission, the other as a contest entry. Mark fronted me the contest fee, on the rather sweet grounds that I'd subsidised his career in its early days.
Glimmer Train doesn't do genre. I write genre, mostly fantasy. So was this a bad idea? Well..."Foretold" deals with gods and men, a conflict which has had some long-term mainstream usage, and one plot aspect (men forgetting the gods) is kind of tired in an sff context, but may look fresher to someone without a genre background. It also has a deeply downer ending. (Rocks fall, everybody dies) which seems to be a commonplace of mainstream or litfic.
"Bride of the Vampire" doesn't have a lot of plot. It's more observational, what I think is called 'slice of life' by some. There are some pop-cult refs which will probably sail past someone who only reads litfic, but they also sailed past an sf-reading critiquer, so it's fortunate the minimal plot doesn't depend on them.
"Milk Run", retitled "Chimps on a Blimp", has floated off to its fate, whatever that might be, so I'm back to working on The Willow Knot.

I've had another happy plotty thing happen. Once Myl gets hold of a hatchet, she can make full use of the osier-bed she found at the marsh. I'd sketched in much of what she does, very lightly, and my old fascination with the prehistoric-to-medieval timber trackways through marshland popped up. Causing her to make narrow hurdles (the fence kind, not the jumping kind) and make a secret pathway out into the marsh, along the lines of the Sweet Track.
I don't know yet whether she'll need it herself, but with the addition of a threat to Alard to the plot-mix, and him being (as according to the original text) away hunting while she's giving birth, I'm pretty sure that he's going to need that trackway to escape from the people after his head. Tyl, of course, will be the one to lead him to it, and that will give Tyl more presence in the events, which he needs.
When Myl first finds the osier-bed, she sees it as a troll army, frozen while erupting from the earth, with the stools being their contorted faces, and the osier coppicing a crown of spears on each. So I'm playing about with the idea of having the osiers do something thorough to Alard's pursuers, during the night, so it's all by sound-effects and no one's quite sure what's happening but it sounds nasty. We'll see.

post-Jacobean interlude

Reminder that the Viable Paradise diary is not current, just in case anyone came in partway through and is confused. The interruptions and intervals are present-day. Thank you.

Currently, The Willow Knot stands at 56k, which doesn't mean all that much but is something to tell people when they ask how it's going. I figure the story breaks roughly into three parts, probably not of equal length:
I. Leaving Midame's house, Tyl's transformation, and accepting the forest.
II. Surviving in the forest, growing up, learning what they lost, up to the arrival of Alard.
III. Surviving in the court, learning to be wife and queen, attacks on Myl and Alard, semi-happy ending.

The middle part is the one that really interests me. "For some time they were alone like this in the wilderness." When I talk about the book, people often expect me to skim over that part, to get to the court again, where things happen. But if they consider some of the difficulties--how does Myl clothe herself, what can she eat if she believes that other animals in the forest may be Christian souls enchanted into beast form, what else is in the forest that might be dangerous--usually they become interested as well.
The appeal of a Robinson Crusoe or My Side of the Mountain story is pretty sturdy. The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon, by Stephen King, and Deerskin, by Robin McKinley, very different stories, both use the survival of a girl in the wilderness.
Plus, I'm Canadian, so it's practically my patriotic duty (if west-coast Canadians could say that sort of thing without blushing) to write about Survival. Just ask Margaret Atwood.

Writing the middle also gives me a chance to develop the knotting / weaving / braiding / netting motif that's the unexpected bones of the story. I've just done a first draft of Myl repairing the thatch on the cottage after a winter gale has torn off much of her first, inexpert repairs, and from the writing hindbrain came a thatcher's luck-piece of braided straw, meant to keep the work strong, like the ritual marks carved on certain beams in old timber houses. I don't know whether such a thing was done (and it very likely wasn't recorded, if it was) but it fits. Myl has to fix the damaged luck-piece, and that makes her more consciously aware of her early training.
I'm not sure where this theme is going, quite, but it's a happy thing thus far. Now I think I'll go and poke through English Folk-rhymes for some potential charms.