turns up something like 50 million hits if you google it. Clearly, writing is an endeavour all set about with self-doubt, like the Limpopo River with fever-trees (Just-So Stories reference). Then there are the hopeful writers, often self-published, who have no self-doubt at all, but let's not get into that just now. The point is that one doesn't have to look far on any writers forum or blog or board to find quite good writers meebling and wittering about how they've just written the worst sentence ever in the history of sentences, all their characters are made of delaminated cardboard, the middle of their novel sags like a brothel mattress and their similes are even worse than that one.
Oddly, considering my crap self-esteem (my self-respect is okay, though) and my general lack of confidence in my ability to do anything, I'm pretty confident in my ability to write a good coherent sentence / paragraph / scene. I believe I can write dialogue in which the speakers can be told apart, and characters of at least bas-relief dimensions. I fall short in big-picture structure, but I'm getting better at that. Also, my commas are pretty good.
I am not, for all that, under the delusion that my work will sell easily or automatically be popular. Being a reader first, I'm aware that different readers have different tastes in style as well as in genre.
Since I'm not given to wibbling and wittering and meebling in the way of omg this writing thing how have I gotten myself into it I can't possibly do it I will have to change my name and move to another province... it was disconcerting to find myself doing that very thing last week.
And why? Because the modern storyline has archaeology in it, and museum practice, and possibly rival institutes getting snooty at each other. As I set myself to writing those sequences, I became paralysingly aware that I have never worked at a museum, and I have never excavated or conserved a bog-body, nor engaged in museological infighting. I was second-guessing every detail and every line of dialogue.
Gosh what fun.
When I'd had enough fun, I sought consolation and bracing good sense from Mark and from the Furtive Scribblers. Which netted me contact information for two experienced field archaeologists and one employee of the British Museum. And reminded me that I have been behind the scenes at the Museum of London and its Angel Wharf archives, briefly at the Victoria & Albert, and have penetrated deep into the inwards of the British Museum, with the accents growing posher each time we passed through another locked door. And that I work at a university, where the academic infighting can't be that massively different.
So the meebling has been reduced considerably, and I have somewhere(s) to go for those questions not easily answered by book and online research. But this has been a salutary lesson in how self-doubt lurks skulkingly about and can pop in at any moment.
Now I'll find out how many pages on the conservation of Lindow Man I can read on Google books.
Showing posts with label research. Show all posts
Showing posts with label research. Show all posts
Friday, April 6, 2012
Saturday, October 1, 2011
October? What?
I'm at the Sheraton in Richmond, at the Vancouver Science Fiction Convention. I've been trying and trying to post some pics from our Living History Week in August, but apparently I can't upload from here. Argh.
This will be a more visually interesting blog in a couple of days.
So, you may recall that I was going to produce a revised synopsis of the new! bigger! expanded! Cost of Silver 'after Labour Day. Which I had thought of as being about a week after Labour Day weekend.
This has not occurred. Instead I have been dashing about for 3 weeks, researching byways of 17th c. life and beliefs and customs and folklore and court intrigue and... And writing bits of synopsis with lots of square brackets [ insert motive here ] and [ why? ]. And writing snippets of conversations and scenes to try to figure out who these characters were and what they wanted.
I've researched
- bog bodies
- Prince Rupert of the Rhine
- fen ecology
- the Duke of Buckingham
- Catholic plots and anti-Catholic plots
- rescue archaeology
- King John's treasure lost in the Wash
- Doctor John Lamb
- alchemy
- etc.
And after consulting with (ie throwing myself on the mercy of) my fellow Furtive Scribblers, I think I have it worked out, including the Origin of Vampires.
Now I must go away for a while and write it.
But I will post some nice pictures soonish.
This will be a more visually interesting blog in a couple of days.
So, you may recall that I was going to produce a revised synopsis of the new! bigger! expanded! Cost of Silver 'after Labour Day. Which I had thought of as being about a week after Labour Day weekend.
This has not occurred. Instead I have been dashing about for 3 weeks, researching byways of 17th c. life and beliefs and customs and folklore and court intrigue and... And writing bits of synopsis with lots of square brackets [ insert motive here ] and [ why? ]. And writing snippets of conversations and scenes to try to figure out who these characters were and what they wanted.
I've researched
- bog bodies
- Prince Rupert of the Rhine
- fen ecology
- the Duke of Buckingham
- Catholic plots and anti-Catholic plots
- rescue archaeology
- King John's treasure lost in the Wash
- Doctor John Lamb
- alchemy
- etc.
And after consulting with (ie throwing myself on the mercy of) my fellow Furtive Scribblers, I think I have it worked out, including the Origin of Vampires.
Now I must go away for a while and write it.
But I will post some nice pictures soonish.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
just a little reader rant
As you, my hypothetical reader, probably know, I'm into history, or at least, I'm interested in several historical periods, and I'm a material-culture geek in a small way.
I also read fantasy.
One heck of a lot of fantasy is set in medievaloid or at least pre-industrial world.
WARNING: Gross oversimplification to follow!
Much of the subgenre of epic fantasy (aka Big Fat Fantasy, aka Extruded Fantasy Product) is set in what looks like Saxon-to-Tudor Northern Europe, with a sprinkling of apostrophes across the naming system. There is usually magic, because magic is what makes things go. Sometimes magic and technology are outright enemies and one rules out the other. But for certain sure, there is no industrialisation. Imports and exports may be handled by perilous caravans, less often by ships.
In the historical real world, people in pre-industrial societies did not have cheap consumer goods. Every thing that anyone owned was made by hand, usually by hundreds of hours of labour of several people.
There were no factories turning out cheap shoes and watches and tableware. If you were wealthy, you have some remarkably fine tableware of precious metals, and lovely expensive tapestries and paintings. If you were middle-class you have cheaper imitations, still hand-made (of course) and painted or gilded or whatever you can afford to look like your rich neighbour's goods.
You have a shirt? It was made by growing, cutting, retting, beating, hackling of flax or nettles or hemp into fibre, that was spun thread by thread with a spindle, later with a wheel. That's months before it could be woven into cloth. You have a woolen gown? First someone grows a sheep, then shearing, washing, carding, combing, before the spinning. After weaving, woolen cloth is fulled, combed, and sheared to make it soft and water-resistant. Oh, yeah, then it's cut and sewn into a garment.
When your shirt gets worn, it may be 'turned' (taken apart and rearranged so the worn bits are less visible), then patched, then cut down for another garment, and so on. If you're reasonably well-off and charitable, you may give that shirt to a beggar, or you may sell it to a fripperer (dealer in used clothing) One of the frustrating aspects of studying medieval everyday life is that everyday things didn't get preserved in waste-heaps or attics. They were in use until they were destroyed.
Cloth is valuable. When soldiers looted a city, they didn't just grab gold and jewels (that's for officers...) they carried away clothing and bolts of cloth. Servants and apprentices were paid in cloth, 'enough for a suit of clothes', once or twice a year. Well into the 1800s, the stealing of clothing drying on hedges was a specific criminal trade, and small children were sometimes abducted, stripped, and released--their clothing was worth more than them.
Cloth, ironware, leatherwork, even pottery was repaired and re-used. The upper and middle classes might discard something that was unfashionable or unwanted, but the lower and criminal classes were waiting to snap it up, sell it, use it themselves, take it apart. Kind of like the ocean, with food descending from one level of fish to the next, less and less each time.
Sure, even a generic fantasy world is not actually pre-industrial northern Europe. But if your fantasy world is pre-industrial anywhere, you need to bear in mind that it will not have cheap consumer goods. Not until the Industrial Revolution does home decor achieve the clutter of a Victorian interior. Look at Dutch interior paintings.
See a lot of stuff? No.
See many things that are purely decorative and have no useful purpose? No.
Do you want your fantasy setting to be different from the modern world, to have its own texture and existence? Maybe not. And maybe the majority of readers don't worry about it. I can only speak for what I like to read. But would you lose anything by imagining your world just that much more consistently and plausibly?
This rant triggered by two stories read recently. One was by an unpublished writer on a display site, the other by an established writer in a fantasy magazine.
One story began with two young knights riding into a city. The path to the city was strewn with discarded belongings: knives, goblets, bits of clothing. No beggars had come to carry these things away and sell them. No rag-and-bone man. No mudlarks. (I'm getting 19th c. here, but my point is that even into the 1800s broken cutlery and rags had resale value). For the opening of the story I thought the city had been emptied by plague and the fleeing populace had dropped their belongings as they fled, but no.
The other story began with a corrupt city watch hassling a poor householder, demanding protection money. He refused, saying they'd taken everything. The watch roughed him up and threw him against a small table, knocking down the vase that stood on it. So, what was this everything they had taken? How well off was this poor man, to have a vase? Did he buy cut flowers to put in it, or have an extensive garden?
One of these stories I continued reading (but it was a near thing) and it turned out to be good. I just couldn't believe in the setting.
Would either story have suffered if the author had thought a little harder and made the setting work?
I also read fantasy.
One heck of a lot of fantasy is set in medievaloid or at least pre-industrial world.
WARNING: Gross oversimplification to follow!
Much of the subgenre of epic fantasy (aka Big Fat Fantasy, aka Extruded Fantasy Product) is set in what looks like Saxon-to-Tudor Northern Europe, with a sprinkling of apostrophes across the naming system. There is usually magic, because magic is what makes things go. Sometimes magic and technology are outright enemies and one rules out the other. But for certain sure, there is no industrialisation. Imports and exports may be handled by perilous caravans, less often by ships.
In the historical real world, people in pre-industrial societies did not have cheap consumer goods. Every thing that anyone owned was made by hand, usually by hundreds of hours of labour of several people.
There were no factories turning out cheap shoes and watches and tableware. If you were wealthy, you have some remarkably fine tableware of precious metals, and lovely expensive tapestries and paintings. If you were middle-class you have cheaper imitations, still hand-made (of course) and painted or gilded or whatever you can afford to look like your rich neighbour's goods.
You have a shirt? It was made by growing, cutting, retting, beating, hackling of flax or nettles or hemp into fibre, that was spun thread by thread with a spindle, later with a wheel. That's months before it could be woven into cloth. You have a woolen gown? First someone grows a sheep, then shearing, washing, carding, combing, before the spinning. After weaving, woolen cloth is fulled, combed, and sheared to make it soft and water-resistant. Oh, yeah, then it's cut and sewn into a garment.
When your shirt gets worn, it may be 'turned' (taken apart and rearranged so the worn bits are less visible), then patched, then cut down for another garment, and so on. If you're reasonably well-off and charitable, you may give that shirt to a beggar, or you may sell it to a fripperer (dealer in used clothing) One of the frustrating aspects of studying medieval everyday life is that everyday things didn't get preserved in waste-heaps or attics. They were in use until they were destroyed.
Cloth is valuable. When soldiers looted a city, they didn't just grab gold and jewels (that's for officers...) they carried away clothing and bolts of cloth. Servants and apprentices were paid in cloth, 'enough for a suit of clothes', once or twice a year. Well into the 1800s, the stealing of clothing drying on hedges was a specific criminal trade, and small children were sometimes abducted, stripped, and released--their clothing was worth more than them.
Cloth, ironware, leatherwork, even pottery was repaired and re-used. The upper and middle classes might discard something that was unfashionable or unwanted, but the lower and criminal classes were waiting to snap it up, sell it, use it themselves, take it apart. Kind of like the ocean, with food descending from one level of fish to the next, less and less each time.
Sure, even a generic fantasy world is not actually pre-industrial northern Europe. But if your fantasy world is pre-industrial anywhere, you need to bear in mind that it will not have cheap consumer goods. Not until the Industrial Revolution does home decor achieve the clutter of a Victorian interior. Look at Dutch interior paintings.
See a lot of stuff? No.
See many things that are purely decorative and have no useful purpose? No.
Do you want your fantasy setting to be different from the modern world, to have its own texture and existence? Maybe not. And maybe the majority of readers don't worry about it. I can only speak for what I like to read. But would you lose anything by imagining your world just that much more consistently and plausibly?
This rant triggered by two stories read recently. One was by an unpublished writer on a display site, the other by an established writer in a fantasy magazine.
One story began with two young knights riding into a city. The path to the city was strewn with discarded belongings: knives, goblets, bits of clothing. No beggars had come to carry these things away and sell them. No rag-and-bone man. No mudlarks. (I'm getting 19th c. here, but my point is that even into the 1800s broken cutlery and rags had resale value). For the opening of the story I thought the city had been emptied by plague and the fleeing populace had dropped their belongings as they fled, but no.
The other story began with a corrupt city watch hassling a poor householder, demanding protection money. He refused, saying they'd taken everything. The watch roughed him up and threw him against a small table, knocking down the vase that stood on it. So, what was this everything they had taken? How well off was this poor man, to have a vase? Did he buy cut flowers to put in it, or have an extensive garden?
One of these stories I continued reading (but it was a near thing) and it turned out to be good. I just couldn't believe in the setting.
Would either story have suffered if the author had thought a little harder and made the setting work?
Thursday, February 10, 2011
mostly medieval, otherwise history
Last Saturday was the University's Medieval Seminar, run by Continuing Studies. This year the topic was especially interesting (to me) Medieval Lives.
The talks were as follows:
Program:
9:00 am Welcome and Opening Remarks
9:10 am Introduction, Dr. Marcus Milwright
9:30 am Everyday Life in Scotland during the Viking Age, Dr. Erin McGuire
10:10 am break
10:45 am Abelard and Heloise: Lovers in a Dangerous Time, Dr. Iain Higgins
11:30 am lunch and film presentation
12:45 pm Medieval Map Project presentation
1:00 pm Byzantine Lives Under Siege, Dr. Evanthia Baboula
1:45 pm The Caliph al-Muqtadir (908-32) and the Fall of the Abbasid Empire, Dr.
Hugh Kennedy
2:45 pm break
3:15 pm Christine de Pizan, the first Man of Letters, Dr. Helene Cazes
3:45 pm Closing Remarks
So overall, pretty cool. Erin kept her audience on their toes by starting with questions to them, and asking them to come up with possible explanations for unexpected grave finds and so on. The Christine de Pizan talk ran out of time before it ran out of interest, which is better than the alternative, but frustrating still.
Above, in a pic not taken by me (I'll check and get the credit right later) you can see the site and the setup, during the talks, while things are quiet. Between lectures, we're 'on', and chatting with the attendees while they get their coffee and biscotti. But during the talks, we may attend them or do other things. In the photo I was losing at checkers to a 7 yr old, while his sister walked the labyrinth. (I evened the score later at 9 man's morris.) The lady on the right is warping a tablet-weaving loom, the lady in dark blue is embroidering, and the lady in light blue is playing a harp
Also, yes, I chose this picture to show off the labyrinth and painted floor and backdrops that I painted my own self. Because I think they are pretty cool, actually.
What I should have been doing was getting further ahead with calligraphing the contract indentures for my apprentice-to-be, Deirdre, whom I'll be taking at the end of the month. Writing out two copies of a longish contract, to be cut apart in a sawtooth pattern (the indenting that makes it indentures, in case you wondered) isn't done in one hour or even two. (I'm hoping to get it finished this weekend.)
But I flatter myself that I was still doing something useful, in keeping the kids amused. We also had a non-rules-based foot ball game with the leather-stuffed ball, down past the catering tables and through the empty part of the hallway.
On Wednesday Mark left for the Estrella event in Arizona, with the van, so I am non-vehicular for a couple of weeks, and forced to get my own dinners. I took today as vacation so I could get started on straightening up & tidying the house--after us getting everything medieval out for the display, and then everything needed for a week's medieval camping, the house was in some disarray. (Shall I admit it? I hadn't finished boxing up the Christmas decorations.)
Today was thus spent moving things around and establishing my laptop and immediate-research books on the kitchen table, next to the woodstove; clearing off surfaces; dusting; sweeping; stacking books; and coming down with a streaming headcold that I finally have to admit was not just a response to the dust kicked up by previous activities.
Bugger.
Writing-related, Cost of Silver: I'd reduced the 20-year span of happiness between major threats to 5 years, and am now reducing it by another year or so, by sending Griffin off to war. The Bishops' Wars, in Scotland, so as to include gritty uncomfortable historical detail and increase wordcount.
Originally, after being turned down by apprentice-girl Alice, Griffin was to find comfort and eventual love with Nan Moray (older than him OMG!!!). In revision, he's going to be a sullen overdramatic young idiot and respond to being turned down by going to 'list for a soldier. So a few thousand words of enduring hardships, seeing nasty things happen, engaging in some himself, staying alive, and coming back sadder & wiser and all, then finding comfort and love with Nan. Must figure out which historical figures he'll encounter.
Do I sound a titch cynical? this is because I've been reading Rebels and Traitors, by Lindsey Davis, a novel set in (shoehorned into?) an exhaustively detailed history of Civil War England and the fall of Charles I.
I should say first that it's well written and often engaging, and Davis knows the times and events surpassingly well. Too well, perhaps, and as someone who loves the details herself, I think I can identify when someone has given in to including something because it is just that cool, regardless of whether it assists the story or characterisation.
This would be a pretty good, fast-moving, eventful novel, if you stripped out the irrelevant detail. This would be a fascinating, detailed 'narrative non-fiction' history if you stripped out the invented characters and plot. But as it is, you have both, for 742 pages, and you may be constantly shifting mental gears between fiction and non-fiction--not to mention keeping track of rather a lot of invented characters and rather a lot of historical ones who have walk-ons to be name-checked but don't affect the plot.
On p.14, I encountered this sentence: 'To set the moment in context, that year of 1634 would see the notorious witchcraft trials at Loudon, the first meeting of the Academie francaise, the opening of the Covent Garden piazza in London, and the charter for the Oxford University Press.'
In case you're wondering, none of those have so far appeared in the actual narrative. Then the exposition continues for a page and 2/3ds, bringing us up to date with events in the Americas, continental Europe, and Wales.
I'm not sure I can pull this off, myself.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Rain, steam and speed
Last weekend: The Victoria Steam Expo.
This was a smaller affair than was hoped, with a horrible flu of some sort taking a number of Seattle guests out of action, and preventing the arrival of the Robot Squid. There were some rather good costumes, naturally, including a steam-driven robotic arm, which we didn't get pics of, and a winged girl, whom we did. I made an attempt at a costume, by digging up the Baron Samedi costume I made for Chris some few Halloweens back (minus the 4 ft tall skull-headed walking stick, because Mark and I biked down to the Empress) and borrowing Mark's vintage welding goggles. (but I must now reference Kate Beaton's 'Brunel is tired of these time-travelling assholes')
Cherie Priest was the guest of honour, and did a Q&A on the Saturday and a reading (from Dreadnought) on the Sunday. After the Q&A she signed books for the quickly-forming line, and after that Mark and I took her up on the 'ask me questions and I will talk' invitatio
n. This ended up on the Verandah of the Empress (because the Bengal Lounge will not let you in if you are wearing a hat. T-shirts are okay, top-hats and turbans not. Hm.) for a couple of hours of writing etc. chat, including the 'seven-year overnight success' story, the 'utterly fortuitous rediscovery by a publisher' story, the 'never go with a micropress' story, the 'my early years of B&E and explorations of deserted buildings' stories. I would've felt guilty for snaffling the GoH, but fortunately Heather was one of the volunteers and chaperoned as well as contributing some great stories of her own to the mix.See? I am working on the the schmoozing. But I'm only going to do it if it's fun. Which it definitely was, and you can add Cherie Priest to the list (headed by Mary Robinette Kowal) of 'people you should buy a drink/snack for and provide keywords to for hours of entertainment'.
Didn't get a picture of 'me with GoH', but I'm still too Canadian to be other than embarrassed by that suggestion anyways.
Displays & vendors were way out of my pocketbook's range, but I have to mention the Really Awesome Clockwork Trilobite by Randie Feil.On Sunday there was a talk on Steampunk Archetypes which put me off rather. While I was amused by the theological hairsplitting between steampunk, clockpunk and dieselpunk (apparently you can adapt Victorian/Edwardian fashion as much as you like, but if your imaginary power source is diesel rather than steam or phlogiston, you'd better not call yourself steampunk, hombre), the narrowness of the permissable cultural influences was making me twitch. According to the speaker, the only 'pure' locales were London and the American West. Oh, and parts of the British Empire, if you were an Explorer or Engineer (ie white?).
Um. Yeah.
When questions were permitted I asked if France & Europe were acceptable locales, given that Jules Verne (not from London) was surely one of the founding fathers of Victorian sf? Which point was rather missed in the reply, which was that Verne, yeah, Verne was very important.
Given that K.W. Jeter, Cherie Priest, and Jay Lake (those just off the top of my head) all write stories that deal with the underside of industrial and colonial expansion and have multicultural characters, I hadn't expected this unexamined narrowness--maybe it's more an aspect of the costuming side? The speaker seemed much happier once she got onto weapons-modding.
This weekend: rain and clouds and cold. I've had a fire going most of the day and have moved my laptop into the kitchen for warmth & solace. Working on Cost of Silver with breaks to read Witchfinders: a 17th century English tragedy, by Malcolm Gaskill (narrative nonfic about Hopkins & Stearne). This is not cheerful reading, though engrossing. Gaskill fictionalises a good deal, guessing at motives and background, but as long as one keeps that in mind, I don't think it's a problem.
The thing that's hanging me up with research is trying to get a picture of how the witch fever tied in with the Civil War that was going on at the same time. Not psychologically, because I get that the uncertainty and disruption and privations of war would be a proper breeding ground for fears of intangible malicious influence. But physically, how the witch finders travelled through an England scattered with armed camps that would take passing strangers to be spies, and just how people carried on their lives. I probably need to get Antonia Fraser's The Weaker Vessel: women's lot in 17th century England out again, for that side.
Anyway, I will try not to blather on with historical witchcraft neepery, like how the suckling of familiars is such a particularly English concept, and how the concept of a contract or covenant with the Devil may have developed from the Puritan 'covenant of grace' to become a standard part of witchcraft lore. But I can't resist this anecdote--
Matthew Hopkins asked Elizabeth Clarke in what form the devil had come to her. Clarke retorted: 'A tall, proper, black haired gentleman, a properer man than your selfe.' Asked by Stearne with whom she would rather share a bed, she had no doubt: the devil.
My own particular bedevilment recently is the temptation to (brace yourself for teh stoopid) make a book trailer for Cost of Silver, a book that I haven't even finished yet, to compound the idiocy.
But, but, I have IMovie! I have photographs I took in Suffolk! I have jpgs of copyright-free woodcuts! And my cat runs away from vacuums, so she's no help!
I'm trying instead to channel this impulse for good by working further on the (provisional title) Chimps on a Blimp novel, which is at least writing, not messing around. Also it is steampunk, so I should be all inspired after the Expo. Also I have inspirational music, specifically Navigator by the Pogues, and Rain, Steam and Speed by The Men They Couldn't Hang. So really there is nothing to stop me. Right?
Next weekend: panicked speed as I start on the last (please!) revisions of Willow Knot. Somewhere in the cross-border mail is a packet of the first 200 pages of the mss. marked for trimming and tightening.
I promised I'd have the revisions finished within a month of receiving the pages, so I expect June to be a somewhat distracted month in the run-up to Fort Rodd Hill and our Living History week.
Especially since June includes a trip to the Known World Heraldic Symposium (and a visit to Seattle, yay!)
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Oh no! It's worldbuilding!
While carrying on with Tom's story (1600s revenants & witchfinders), which is over halfway through, I've started muddling about with the Chimps on a Blimp story as the setting for a probably-YA novel. It's kind of relaxing to be able to move between stories, after the more-than-a-little intensive spells of revision of Willow Knot.
Tom's story is dead easy for world building, because it's Stuart England, barely tweaked. Sure, it has working magic, but since most people in 1600s England (and elsewhere) believed in magic, real magic doesn't change the society as much as one might think. I mean, there are legal and philosophical discussions about magic already in place.
With the short story (On the Transmontane Run With the Aerial Mail Express, plug, plug) I was able to do a fair bit of handwaving and 'quick, look over there!' to avoid setting-holes (like plot holes, but you can fall further and it's all mucky at the bottom) or at least direct attention away from unexamined areas. With a novel I can't do that nearly so much, just because the canvas is wider, and I'm not painting miniatures.
Also, there are things I will need to know about the world for my self, whether or not those aspects come directly into the story. What I'll need to know may not be what another writer in the same situation would need to know, and some of it I'll only realise as I write.
Obligatory link to Patricia Wrede's worldbuilding questions, both helpful and daunting.
The first and biggest question is: why no railroads? What makes airships commercially viable? In the short story the blimp travels over swamp and mountain, both difficult terrain for railways. But what about the plains? Do the rails run over the prairies, then stop as the foothills rise?
Then there's the weird ecology, the freshwater jellyfish that are a crucial plot point. And the flying squid, that don't show up in the short story, but might be real later on. I began to think longingly of Australia, and wonder about heaving some sort of Atlantis out of the sea, and supplying it with weird critters. Maybe I could crack North America down longways, put some massive waterway between prairies and Northwest coast.
I brought the question to the Scribblers, and bookherder said 'go and look at late Cretaceous maps'. Lo, there was the Western Interior Seaway, almost exactly as I'd pictured it.
Now I'm all excited, and need to find something like A Child's Illustrated Guide to Paleogeography, with fold-out maps. Research!
What happens if the prairies are covered with water? No giant buffalo herds, for one thing. How much of Europe should I allow? Does the land bridge last longer?
Such fun to come.
Tom's story is dead easy for world building, because it's Stuart England, barely tweaked. Sure, it has working magic, but since most people in 1600s England (and elsewhere) believed in magic, real magic doesn't change the society as much as one might think. I mean, there are legal and philosophical discussions about magic already in place.
With the short story (On the Transmontane Run With the Aerial Mail Express, plug, plug) I was able to do a fair bit of handwaving and 'quick, look over there!' to avoid setting-holes (like plot holes, but you can fall further and it's all mucky at the bottom) or at least direct attention away from unexamined areas. With a novel I can't do that nearly so much, just because the canvas is wider, and I'm not painting miniatures.
Also, there are things I will need to know about the world for my self, whether or not those aspects come directly into the story. What I'll need to know may not be what another writer in the same situation would need to know, and some of it I'll only realise as I write.
Obligatory link to Patricia Wrede's worldbuilding questions, both helpful and daunting.
The first and biggest question is: why no railroads? What makes airships commercially viable? In the short story the blimp travels over swamp and mountain, both difficult terrain for railways. But what about the plains? Do the rails run over the prairies, then stop as the foothills rise?
Then there's the weird ecology, the freshwater jellyfish that are a crucial plot point. And the flying squid, that don't show up in the short story, but might be real later on. I began to think longingly of Australia, and wonder about heaving some sort of Atlantis out of the sea, and supplying it with weird critters. Maybe I could crack North America down longways, put some massive waterway between prairies and Northwest coast.
I brought the question to the Scribblers, and bookherder said 'go and look at late Cretaceous maps'. Lo, there was the Western Interior Seaway, almost exactly as I'd pictured it.
Now I'm all excited, and need to find something like A Child's Illustrated Guide to Paleogeography, with fold-out maps. Research!
What happens if the prairies are covered with water? No giant buffalo herds, for one thing. How much of Europe should I allow? Does the land bridge last longer?
Such fun to come.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
hitherto-ignored Nanowrimo
I've hit the stage where the intarwebz are seriously interfering with my nanocount, so I'll go all meta and write about writing (write about not-writing?) instead of writing.
Started by dipping back into some source material, picking up Evelina (by Fanny Burney), and on the Richardson side, Pamela and a (severely trimmed so that it fits into one volume) Clarissa Harlowe. I've read a severely-trimmed Sir Charles Grandison, with lovely Chris Hammond illustrations, but this is my first acquaintance with Clarissa Harlowe. That for the novel of sentiment/manners, trusting that I had Jane Austen's works reasonably well absorbed into the hindbrain, having read them all twice (okay, except for Mansfield Park, that only once) as well as most of the juvenilia and several continuations-by-other-hands.
For the Gothick, I had Clermont, Castle of Wolfenbach, Manfrone or the One-handed Monk, and The Passions by Rosa Matilda, having read the first two previously, and dipping into the second two. There's a beautiful passage from Manfrone that I will try to quote later.
For scholarly material, I had The Epistolary Novel in the Late Eighteenth Century, by Frank Gee Black and The Gothic Novel 1790-1830, by Ann B. Tracy, which is a collection of plot summaries (all hail Ann Tracy!) and index of motifs that makes for somewhat hilarious reading--one of the reasons synopses are so difficult is that summary piles on what narrative portions out, and the effect can be, um, bathos instead of pathos--as Tracy admits.
Back when I'd come up with the original concept, I'd thought of the two correspondents as being cousins, and each writing from her own coign or eyrie (look, it's already affected my vocabulary) of genre and convention. When I came to the point of needing a plot, what swam up from the depths was the old twins switching places plot (because the idea is not to be original), allowing for more explanation and observation and complication all around.
Which meant not starting in media res with an existing correspondance, but bringing the two to the same place so that they could become acquainted (because obviously they had been parted and kept in ignorance of each other, I mean, obviously!) and the switch could be effected.
Which meant they had to start out with other correspondents to whom to confide their situations, hopes and fears, and thus I had more characters all at once. As to be expected with twins, there was immediate mirroring of their circumstances. Each had an older woman companion or mentor (with her own secrets), and each had an older man who stood in as grandfather. Each was about to be removed from her home and sent to the place (London) where she could meet her long-lost twin.
Ethelinda is the good twin. As you might guess from the name, she and her circs are a hommage (as they say in high-toned literary circles, rather than copy or rip-off) of Evelina, including her fluttery old hen of a clergyman guardian (I heartily disliked Evelina's guardian, so I'm taking some resentment out on his double), but for female mentor I've given her a more redoubtable sort, Lady Fortuna Beldam (I'm so in love with that name you wouldn't believe) based on early women travellers like Lady Mary Wortley Montagu and Lady Hester Stanhope.
Poking through my background reading, I realised that the divide between the Novel of Sentiment/Manners and the Novel of Gothick Horror (they weren't called Gothics in the day, any more than Gothic architecture was called that in the 14th c.) was much less a chasm than a ditch. The highly-coloured and unlikely events of the Gothick, the abductions, the imprisonments, the forced marriages and secret marriages, the concealed births and disinherited heirs ... pretty well all happened in novels of sentiment as well. Richardson built his reputation on Pamela, a long series of abductions and attempted seductions, but of a servant girl instead of a heiress (Clarissa and Sir Charles Grandison are about gentryfolk abducting each other). Evelina, because of a secret marriage and concealed documents, is really the heir to two fortunes, but she has been raised in rustic seclusion, just as Ann Radcliffe's heroine was in Mysteries of Udolpho.
Evidently I would need to distinguish the two storylines by something more than choice of events.
Started by dipping back into some source material, picking up Evelina (by Fanny Burney), and on the Richardson side, Pamela and a (severely trimmed so that it fits into one volume) Clarissa Harlowe. I've read a severely-trimmed Sir Charles Grandison, with lovely Chris Hammond illustrations, but this is my first acquaintance with Clarissa Harlowe. That for the novel of sentiment/manners, trusting that I had Jane Austen's works reasonably well absorbed into the hindbrain, having read them all twice (okay, except for Mansfield Park, that only once) as well as most of the juvenilia and several continuations-by-other-hands.
For the Gothick, I had Clermont, Castle of Wolfenbach, Manfrone or the One-handed Monk, and The Passions by Rosa Matilda, having read the first two previously, and dipping into the second two. There's a beautiful passage from Manfrone that I will try to quote later.
For scholarly material, I had The Epistolary Novel in the Late Eighteenth Century, by Frank Gee Black and The Gothic Novel 1790-1830, by Ann B. Tracy, which is a collection of plot summaries (all hail Ann Tracy!) and index of motifs that makes for somewhat hilarious reading--one of the reasons synopses are so difficult is that summary piles on what narrative portions out, and the effect can be, um, bathos instead of pathos--as Tracy admits.
Back when I'd come up with the original concept, I'd thought of the two correspondents as being cousins, and each writing from her own coign or eyrie (look, it's already affected my vocabulary) of genre and convention. When I came to the point of needing a plot, what swam up from the depths was the old twins switching places plot (because the idea is not to be original), allowing for more explanation and observation and complication all around.
Which meant not starting in media res with an existing correspondance, but bringing the two to the same place so that they could become acquainted (because obviously they had been parted and kept in ignorance of each other, I mean, obviously!) and the switch could be effected.
Which meant they had to start out with other correspondents to whom to confide their situations, hopes and fears, and thus I had more characters all at once. As to be expected with twins, there was immediate mirroring of their circumstances. Each had an older woman companion or mentor (with her own secrets), and each had an older man who stood in as grandfather. Each was about to be removed from her home and sent to the place (London) where she could meet her long-lost twin.
Ethelinda is the good twin. As you might guess from the name, she and her circs are a hommage (as they say in high-toned literary circles, rather than copy or rip-off) of Evelina, including her fluttery old hen of a clergyman guardian (I heartily disliked Evelina's guardian, so I'm taking some resentment out on his double), but for female mentor I've given her a more redoubtable sort, Lady Fortuna Beldam (I'm so in love with that name you wouldn't believe) based on early women travellers like Lady Mary Wortley Montagu and Lady Hester Stanhope.
Poking through my background reading, I realised that the divide between the Novel of Sentiment/Manners and the Novel of Gothick Horror (they weren't called Gothics in the day, any more than Gothic architecture was called that in the 14th c.) was much less a chasm than a ditch. The highly-coloured and unlikely events of the Gothick, the abductions, the imprisonments, the forced marriages and secret marriages, the concealed births and disinherited heirs ... pretty well all happened in novels of sentiment as well. Richardson built his reputation on Pamela, a long series of abductions and attempted seductions, but of a servant girl instead of a heiress (Clarissa and Sir Charles Grandison are about gentryfolk abducting each other). Evelina, because of a secret marriage and concealed documents, is really the heir to two fortunes, but she has been raised in rustic seclusion, just as Ann Radcliffe's heroine was in Mysteries of Udolpho.
Evidently I would need to distinguish the two storylines by something more than choice of events.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
World Fantasy last post
In which I eat bugs for research.
As those who know me know, I'm not the most social of persons. At WFC last year I would have been content to attend panels and buy books, but Mark pushed me into socialising and buying people drinks and so on. Which is also entertaining, because I will admit, yes, that whatever socialisation I possess comes from the Society for Creative Anachronism and from fandom--which is why I am such a geek.
The advantage of socialising in geek circles is that it hugely reduces the occasions on which I lie awake reviewing every word, glance, and gesture I've made for social faux pas. Because mostly no one notices.
Anyway. It's been said that the lessons of Viable Paradise are time-release processes, that they unpack over months and years (like that friend of my husband who fell out of his chair laughing in Music Theory class because he'd just gotten a PDQ Bach joke).
The friendships also unpack. VPXers whom I didn't get to know during VP itself become acquaintances and friends over time spent online and at cons. The network expands, busy little spiders sticking strands to strands to strands.
That being the long way around of saying that I got to hang out w
ith Dru, a damn fine roomie, and chat with Zak and Sharon--one of the WFC giveaways was the latest Realms of Fantasy, with Sharon's name on the cover!--and meet VPers of both single and double digits (or triple & quadruple if you use the Roman numerals). I missed the VP dinner, because of having no watch and no sense of time, but made the gathering in Zak and Sharon's hotel room, where I had a rather nice half-glass of mead. I met some of the Fighting Thirteens, and a fine bunch they are, and well-named.
I failed to buy drinks for either Tim Powers or Mary Robinette Kowal, though both of them came and went repeatedly to the table in the bar that the VPers had laid claim to, and Mr. Powers very kindly gave me the bullet points on how he does research, in quick bursts of knowledge between dashes back to the editors & publishers table.
I learned that from the back I can be mistaken for Sherwood Smith. I don't see the resemblance myself, but then I can't see me from the back. She also dresses with far more flair than I do--but I did get Lucy's okay on the clothes I brought, which were intended to look moar srs than the usual dressed-out-of-the-laundry-basket look that's all I can usually manage.
World Fantasy has a couple of distinct features.
One is the Giant Bag of Books that attendees are given, which they can then swap and trade as they wish (there's a swap table where you can leave your surplus, and would it surprise you at all to know that almost everyone who put books on there stacked them appropriately and tidily? and sorted by type, with all the zines and journals on one side and books on the other?)
One is that there's one giant autograph session where all the authors of whatever degree sit at tables with their names and whatever display they are inclined to put together, and sign books and chat. I was able to get books signed for friends by Sherwood Smith, Tim Powers, and Jane Lindskold (the next day), and thank Garth Nix for signing Zoe's book last year. Got book
s selfishly signed for myself from Elizabeth Lynn and Patricia McKillip, and found myself buying Elaine Isaak's new book The Eunuch's Heir, and Dan Wells' I Am Not a Serial Killer--he had a brilliant elevator pitch, I have to say.
On my last circuit (because I am utter pants at finding people in giant rooms) I spotted Lucy sitting among the others, with a name card in front of her, but I had nothing for her to autograph for me (sob!) This year the organisers made 'tent cards' (now I know what they're called, I feel so informed) for everyone. On the way out I picked up my owny-own tent card so I could pretend I was real. Or practice for being real, however one cares to phrase it. I'm going to have to think about what looked good on the tables. A good many authors don't seem to think about presentation at all.
Wandering past the bar I stopped to take a picture of some luminaries of Canadian genre publishing representing themselves as the three wise monkeys, and ended up going for dinner with their party, which expanded as it went. Janice had come out wearing the light dress she'd put on for the Edge party, and outside was chilly. Brian Hades was taking his jacket off for her, but I was carrying my sweater, and offered that, thus becoming part of the Janice Effect, which is that when she needs something she has only to look around to have it supplied--this was explained by Mr. Hades (the princess Errigenie in Willow Knot has a similar effect, so I understood). Someone (at the Edge party?) had been singing first-aid songs, and someone else had been captioning them, so two of the women were practicing the ASL(?) sign for internal bleeding, which I now know, though I'm not sure I'm doing it with the correct hand. A party where you learn the signs for emergency medicine simply has to be a great party.
At the Mexican restaurant, Brian Hades gave us the Cole's notes version of his grandfather's life story, which really should be a Great Canadian Novel, possibly by Robertson Davies. What can be better than a boy orphaned by a fire joining the circus to become a fire-eater and magician, travelling with Gypsies, riding the rails and eventually becoming a fireman?
Two young girls were going from table to table doing card tricks, and Janice taught one of them a trick with a knife (paging Michael Ondaatje for an obligatory CanLit ref) to add to her repertoire. (you can do it with a pencil, but there were knives on the table)
The menu had grasshoppers listed, with a parenthetical yes they are grasshoppers. Unlike the eels I had in Norfolk, the grasshoppers had no immediate research application, but how often does the chance come one's way? So I was one of the three at the table who ordered the grasshopper appetiser (I also had chicken soup, to soothe me in case the grasshoppers weirded me out.) You'll want to know, I expect?
So. They come in a bowl, with guacamole and thick nacho chips. They are fried in oil, and look like a bowl full of small brown bugs. The way of eating them is to dip the nacho in the guacamole, and scoop up grasshoppers with it. This triggered my squick somewhat, because clinging to the guacamole they look very bug-like. It was easier to spoon them than dip them.
Mostly they tasted of oil and salt. The texture was crunchy. They're cooked complete (well, imagine the labour of peeling or de-legging individual grasshoppers) but the legs of the smaller ones come off when they're stirred about, so there's a scatter of tiny legs clinging to the edge of the bowl, which was also slightly squicky. When I was able to examine some of the larger ones, they were quite brown except for the abdomen(?) which was paler, more greyish or greenish. I imagine that was the actual food-part.
There were a few moments when I thought 'I have bugs in my mouth' but generally I was more conscious of just how salty they were. I expect they'd be better with beer, if I liked beer. I ate about half the bowl, and took the rest away to eat cold the next morning, wrapped in a tortilla. They aren't bad cold, but I'd like to know what they taste like without the salt and oil.
As those who know me know, I'm not the most social of persons. At WFC last year I would have been content to attend panels and buy books, but Mark pushed me into socialising and buying people drinks and so on. Which is also entertaining, because I will admit, yes, that whatever socialisation I possess comes from the Society for Creative Anachronism and from fandom--which is why I am such a geek.The advantage of socialising in geek circles is that it hugely reduces the occasions on which I lie awake reviewing every word, glance, and gesture I've made for social faux pas. Because mostly no one notices.
Anyway. It's been said that the lessons of Viable Paradise are time-release processes, that they unpack over months and years (like that friend of my husband who fell out of his chair laughing in Music Theory class because he'd just gotten a PDQ Bach joke).
The friendships also unpack. VPXers whom I didn't get to know during VP itself become acquaintances and friends over time spent online and at cons. The network expands, busy little spiders sticking strands to strands to strands.
That being the long way around of saying that I got to hang out w
ith Dru, a damn fine roomie, and chat with Zak and Sharon--one of the WFC giveaways was the latest Realms of Fantasy, with Sharon's name on the cover!--and meet VPers of both single and double digits (or triple & quadruple if you use the Roman numerals). I missed the VP dinner, because of having no watch and no sense of time, but made the gathering in Zak and Sharon's hotel room, where I had a rather nice half-glass of mead. I met some of the Fighting Thirteens, and a fine bunch they are, and well-named.
I failed to buy drinks for either Tim Powers or Mary Robinette Kowal, though both of them came and went repeatedly to the table in the bar that the VPers had laid claim to, and Mr. Powers very kindly gave me the bullet points on how he does research, in quick bursts of knowledge between dashes back to the editors & publishers table.
I learned that from the back I can be mistaken for Sherwood Smith. I don't see the resemblance myself, but then I can't see me from the back. She also dresses with far more flair than I do--but I did get Lucy's okay on the clothes I brought, which were intended to look moar srs than the usual dressed-out-of-the-laundry-basket look that's all I can usually manage.
World Fantasy has a couple of distinct features.
One is the Giant Bag of Books that attendees are given, which they can then swap and trade as they wish (there's a swap table where you can leave your surplus, and would it surprise you at all to know that almost everyone who put books on there stacked them appropriately and tidily? and sorted by type, with all the zines and journals on one side and books on the other?)
One is that there's one giant autograph session where all the authors of whatever degree sit at tables with their names and whatever display they are inclined to put together, and sign books and chat. I was able to get books signed for friends by Sherwood Smith, Tim Powers, and Jane Lindskold (the next day), and thank Garth Nix for signing Zoe's book last year. Got book
s selfishly signed for myself from Elizabeth Lynn and Patricia McKillip, and found myself buying Elaine Isaak's new book The Eunuch's Heir, and Dan Wells' I Am Not a Serial Killer--he had a brilliant elevator pitch, I have to say.On my last circuit (because I am utter pants at finding people in giant rooms) I spotted Lucy sitting among the others, with a name card in front of her, but I had nothing for her to autograph for me (sob!) This year the organisers made 'tent cards' (now I know what they're called, I feel so informed) for everyone. On the way out I picked up my owny-own tent card so I could pretend I was real. Or practice for being real, however one cares to phrase it. I'm going to have to think about what looked good on the tables. A good many authors don't seem to think about presentation at all.
Wandering past the bar I stopped to take a picture of some luminaries of Canadian genre publishing representing themselves as the three wise monkeys, and ended up going for dinner with their party, which expanded as it went. Janice had come out wearing the light dress she'd put on for the Edge party, and outside was chilly. Brian Hades was taking his jacket off for her, but I was carrying my sweater, and offered that, thus becoming part of the Janice Effect, which is that when she needs something she has only to look around to have it supplied--this was explained by Mr. Hades (the princess Errigenie in Willow Knot has a similar effect, so I understood). Someone (at the Edge party?) had been singing first-aid songs, and someone else had been captioning them, so two of the women were practicing the ASL(?) sign for internal bleeding, which I now know, though I'm not sure I'm doing it with the correct hand. A party where you learn the signs for emergency medicine simply has to be a great party.At the Mexican restaurant, Brian Hades gave us the Cole's notes version of his grandfather's life story, which really should be a Great Canadian Novel, possibly by Robertson Davies. What can be better than a boy orphaned by a fire joining the circus to become a fire-eater and magician, travelling with Gypsies, riding the rails and eventually becoming a fireman?
Two young girls were going from table to table doing card tricks, and Janice taught one of them a trick with a knife (paging Michael Ondaatje for an obligatory CanLit ref) to add to her repertoire. (you can do it with a pencil, but there were knives on the table)
The menu had grasshoppers listed, with a parenthetical yes they are grasshoppers. Unlike the eels I had in Norfolk, the grasshoppers had no immediate research application, but how often does the chance come one's way? So I was one of the three at the table who ordered the grasshopper appetiser (I also had chicken soup, to soothe me in case the grasshoppers weirded me out.) You'll want to know, I expect?
So. They come in a bowl, with guacamole and thick nacho chips. They are fried in oil, and look like a bowl full of small brown bugs. The way of eating them is to dip the nacho in the guacamole, and scoop up grasshoppers with it. This triggered my squick somewhat, because clinging to the guacamole they look very bug-like. It was easier to spoon them than dip them.
Mostly they tasted of oil and salt. The texture was crunchy. They're cooked complete (well, imagine the labour of peeling or de-legging individual grasshoppers) but the legs of the smaller ones come off when they're stirred about, so there's a scatter of tiny legs clinging to the edge of the bowl, which was also slightly squicky. When I was able to examine some of the larger ones, they were quite brown except for the abdomen(?) which was paler, more greyish or greenish. I imagine that was the actual food-part.
There were a few moments when I thought 'I have bugs in my mouth' but generally I was more conscious of just how salty they were. I expect they'd be better with beer, if I liked beer. I ate about half the bowl, and took the rest away to eat cold the next morning, wrapped in a tortilla. They aren't bad cold, but I'd like to know what they taste like without the salt and oil.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
The panels, racing through.
WFC, as you may know, limits programming to one or two tracks of panels. On the surface, this makes it resemble a small fannish con, like VCon of old. Probably the limitation is to allow plenty of opportunity for business to be done in the bar, but that side is still muchly a mystery to me.
Friday I started with the Who, What or Why Done It panel, about mysteries and puzzles in ghost stories and urban fantasy, which sounded like fun buuuuutttt... when the moderator showed up (late) and then spent what felt like 10 minutes rambling on about what he'd been reading before he came, introducing the panelists (himself), giving them five (long-winded and verbose) questions to consider, talking about the etymology of 'mystery', praising another story he'd read recently, and ... Well, I left before he'd given the panelists a chance to talk. Every time he paused, and I thought 'he's done, he's going to open discussion' another clause would roll oleaginously from his lips, never a period, always a comma. I ditched. (The same moderator drove me from a panel last WFC--why is he asked to moderate?)
And headed over to Writing Human Characters, which was well underway. This was okay, going over fairly well-trodden paths. Make characters human by giving them something they want and can't have, how to make an alien/inhuman 'human', but how to make a character really alien if they're all humans with forehead prostheses? Discussion of monocultural planets and races (one of my pet peeves) and the dubious practice of using non-European stereotypes as a basis for alien races. All in all, entertaining.
Shelf Lives was a slideshow and talk by John Picacio about how he creates book covers, which I found very interesting, especially the layering of effects, and how he gathers photos and items to trigger concepts.
Non-Conciliatory Fantasy was a bit frustrating, in that the panelists (and audience) didn't seem to be clear whether they meant 'conciliatory' or 'consolatory', ie. fantasy that does not bring into harmony, or fantasy that does not alleviate grief. Because those would be different. It strikes me that most epicky fantasy is non-conciliatory because it ends with one side defeated in battle, or mostly defeated but enough undefeated for the sequel, but it rarely if ever ends with treaties, negotiation and hard-won harmony. (Adjust for ignorance--I read very little doorstopper fantasy). But generally the discussion was about non-consolatory fantasy, fantasy that doesn't leave you feeling comforted or reassured. Point made that many epic fantasists were survivors of war, soldiers, drawing on their combat experience, from Tolkien onwards. Was any fantasy classic really conciliatory/consolatory? Conclusion seemed to be that most end with loss, something small and precious saved from the general wreck. Heroes and anti-heroes considered briefly, the anti-hero not a recent development either, Jack Vance's heroes often brutal and amoral, this bearable because of his detachment.
Having missed the Round Robin Painting on Thursday, I wanted to listen to Artists Who Write and Writers Who Paint. It was fun, and convinced me that I'll have to read Seanan McGuire: when the discussion veered over to book covers and how authors are not consulted, she mentioned that she'd been asked what was the one thing she wanted on her cover and she'd said 'clothes'. That her heroine should be fully clothed, no butt-cleavage, no tramp-stamp, and that this wish had been answered. That one reader had taken Toby for a boy, and she'd wanted to hug them for that. Discussion of using art to unblock or to organise and free thoughts by painting/sketching. I was surprised to learn that no one really made sketches or paintings of characters or settings or scenes, though occasionally art echoed the mood of a story-in-progress.
Academic Treatment of Fantasy and Horror, the advance of genre studies in the last ten years. It's happening, but the 'name' universities are still resistant, and likely to continue so. Degrees in genre studies are easier to get via sociology (popular culture studies) or anthropology than through eng lit.
Know the Soup You're In, slideshow and talk by Lisa Snelling about the creative process, and how she balances art and mass production, where she finds inspiration, and finishing with a lovely playful short film made by a friend, which reminded me of early Norman McLaren.
When People Confuse the Author with Their Work was huge fun with lively opinionated panelists and lots of anecdotes. The fear of your mother (of whatever sort) reading your work as an inhibiting factor, and the decision to write deeply flawed characters. Not answering fan mail from prisons. Preconceptions about one's favourite authors, disappointment or relief? Is the confusion more likely with first-person narrative? Three of the panelists had worked in publishing and found it necessary to separate their love of certain authors' works from their increased knowledge of the certain authors' personalities.
Urban Fantasy as Alternate History, a fascinating topic: if supernatural creatures really were part of society, what would the sociological, legal, historic etc. implications be? And it started off well, with examples of how history might be changed, ways the panelists had approached the question, who did it well ... and then it veered into what's the difference between science fiction and fantasy, and the moderator made no attempt to bring it back, but in fact led it determinedly into surely one of the most trite of all genre questions. So I left.
Coarse Dialogue and Graceful Description, about balancing high and low diction in fantasy, moderated by Deanna Hoak, whom I totally fangirl. Did veer a few times into good and bad copyediting anecdotes, and notable for Ellen Kushner and James Frenkel having a set-to. I felt that Guy Gavriel Kay ran on rather when he got hold of the mike, too.
What Makes a Good Monster was okay, but in some ways was a mirror-image of the Human Characters panel. The most frightening monsters are the most alien or the most human? Humans can make the best monsters; Pennywise the Clown is vastly more frightening than the giant spider-thingy it becomes.
The Sorcerer in Fantasy was one of those panels where every panelist disavowed writing about sorcerers, but they managed to muddle through until it turned into a discussion about the difference between magic and technology, which ties with sf vs. fantasy for mind-numbingly irrelevant and over-studied question. I ditched.
Contemporary Rural Fantasy was pretty good, though not brilliant. Contemporary rural settings make for fantasy for teens and children, horror for adults, so much discussion of horror. With population more and more urbanised, perception of country changes, both safer and more dangerous. There have always been works set in the countryside, why is it not recognised as a subgenre, or so often conflated into urban fantasy? Panelists and audience name rural fantasy works, come up with fairly substantial body of works. Moderator says again that subgenre is waiting for iconic work which will establish it.
Bad Food, Bad Clothes and Bad Breath was brilliant. Just bloody brilliant. Discussion of the gritty and unpleasant realities of pre-industrial societies. I'd thought of ducking out early to catch some of Weird Weird West (which I heard was also brilliant, afterwards) but couldn't tear myself away. Must go and find Kari Sperring's academic work (under different name). Why agriculture? Unintentional germ warfare. Insect life. Positive influence of Christianity, sorry about that, guys. Why doesn't anyone in fantasy have lice or fleas (I do happy dance here, because I have, yes, a lousing scene in Willow Knot) and why do the characters have such enlightened views on medicine and slavery and so on? Anyway, I can't restrain myself, but actually do go up post-panel and brag about my lousing scene.
And those were the panels I attended.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
rose progress
The roses have been sadly neglected for some few years. This spring I've been lopping and pruning and scraping out the detritus to find the little tags from when they were planted, about 20 years ago.The Dortmund and the Bourbon Queen are lovingly intertwined. Each throws out long runners like brambles, so until the flowers (which are quite distinct) appear, it can be difficult to determine which cluster of buds belongs to which set of stems.
But once the buds open, it's dead easy.
The Dortmund has clusters of small open flowers, deep red, not showy but plentiful. It keeps on flowering into November, at least here in Victoria.The Bourbon Queen has, well, these. Big double flowers, with a scent that can pretty much fill a room.
I thought this might be a good year to do a rose map, with pictures of the flowers as each one blooms, and notes on how the plant is doing. Consider this the first notes toward that plan, and please excuse the quality of the pics. Mark's pics are the ones that are in focus and generally better. Mine are the others.
Next to the Bourbon Queen was the Ulrich Brunner. Note past tense, for to judge from the evidence, Ulrich was dragged down into the earth by teams of woodlice, which then spat back the bare stems, like graboids.So the next surviving rose is the rugosa rubra, which has a few more blooms today than it did when this picture was taken. The evil caterpillars have been busy, but it's holding up well.
The Rosearie de la Haye and the Kazanlik next to it are leafy but have no sign of flowers or buds so far. The Kazanlik is probably 8 feet tall, but I can't recall what the flowers look like. If we get any, I'll post an update.
But here's a bloom from the Rugosa rubra, this one not eaten by caterpillars.My own mental category of 'rose' seems to be something close to this, an open flower like the wild roses that grew in the scrubby cleared fields when I was small, not the complex double flowers that I saw in gardens. Perhaps because the garden roses were always seen from a distance, never smelt and picked?
Sitting demurely below the towering Kazanlik is a little Blanc Double de Courbet, which Mark particularly likes for the startling whiteness of its blooms.
It's like the ghost of a flower.
We pass quickly over the Sir Clough, Ferdinand Pichard, and Jenny Duval, none flowering at present.
Until we reach Henry Hudson. The stems have toppled, I don't know why, perhaps trampled by dogs or cats, but the rose itself is healthy, and putting out nice open double flowers. The scent doesn't quite overpower the Bourbon Queen, but it might, if the plant itself were bigger.Today I bought a plant-propper-upper thing, so if it works for Henry Hudson, I may be propping or restraining more of the roses.
Over to the other side of the yard past the path, and it's nowt but greenery. Buds on the Jacques Cartier (sending exploratory runners into Alain Blanchard's territory) and the Wenlock, but for flowers nowt, nowt.Until Sir Walter Raleigh, throwing himself against the trellis to flower into the driveway. It took both Chris and me to nail the trellis up a couple of years ago, against Sir Walter's exuberance.
At least we have a rough map for the front yard, and tags for most of the roses (some are blank, now, with the action of weather and time). The back yard is going to be mostly guesswork, aided by the rule that the backyard is medieval, so the roses have to be from 1500 or earlier.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
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)
(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.
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.
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'.
(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'.
Friday, March 27, 2009
cutting a quill, 1770s
THE INSTRUCTOR :
OR,
Young Man's Beft Companion.
CONTAINING,
Spelling, Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic, in an eafier Way than any yet publifhed ; and how to qualify any perfon for bufinefs, without the help of a Mafter.
Inftructions to write Variety of Hands, with Copies both in Profe and Verfe. How to write Letters on Businefs or Friendfhip. Forms of Indentures, Bonds, Bills of Sale, Receipts, wills, Leafes, Releafes, &c. ... (much, much more)
By GEORGE FISHER, Accomptant.
The Twenty-third Edition, Corrected and Improved.
London : Printed for W. Strahan, et al. M.DCC.LXXIX.
[Price bound 2s. 6d.]
(long s is used throughout, but I have replaced it with short s in this transcription, except where it is listed as a letter with head and tail - there I have used f)
DIRECTIONS to BEGINNERS in WRITING.
FIRST, it is necessary to be provided with the following Implements, viz. good Pens, good and free Ink, and also good Paper, when arrived to commendable Performances ; likewise a flat Ruler for Sureness ; and a round one for Dispatch ; with a leaden Plummet or Pencil to rule lines : Also Gum Sandrick Powder (or Pounce, as they call it), with a little Cotton dipp'd therein, which rub gently over the Paper to make it bear Ink the better ; particularly when full Hands are to be written, such as Text, &c. and especially when you are obliged to scratch out a Word or Letter : for then there will be a Necessity for its Use ; and rubbing the Place with the Pounce, smooth it with the Haft of the Penknife, or clean Paper, and then you may write what is proper in the same Place. These Implements are summed in these Lines :
A Penknife, Razor-Metal, Quills good Store ;
Gum-Sandrick Paper to pounce Paper o'er ;
Ink, shining black, Paper more white than Snow,
Round and flat Rulers on yourself bestow.
With willing Mind, these, and industrious Hand,
Will make this Art your Servant at Command.
To hold the Pen.
THE Pen must be held somewhat sloping, with the Thumb and the two Fingers next to it ; the Ball of the Middle-finger must be placed straight, just against the upper Part of the Cut or Cradle, to keep the Pen steady : The Fore-finger lying straight on the Middle-finger ; and the Thumb must be fixed a little higher than the End of the Fore-finger, bending in the Joint ; and the Pen be so placed to be held easily without griping. The Elbow must be drawn towards the Body, but not too close. You must support your Hand by leaning on the Table-edge, resting on it half Way between your Wrist and Elbow, not suffering the Ball, or fleshy Part of your Hand, to touch the Paper ; but resting your Hand on the End of your Little-finger, that and your Fourth-finger bending inwards, and supported on the Table as abovesaid. So fixed, and sitting pretty upright, not leaning your Breast against the table, proceed to the making the small a, and a, c, e, i, m, r, s, w, and x ; which must all be made of equal Bigness and Height : the Distance or Width betwixt the two Strokes of the n, must be the same with the Distance or Width of the three Strokes of the m ; the same Proportion of Width must be observed in the u, w, and o. The Letters with Stems, or Heads, must be of equal Height ; as the b, d, f, h, k, l, and f. And those with Tails must be of equal Depth, as the f, g, p, q, and f. The Capitals must bear the same Proportion to one another, with respect to Bigness and Height, as A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, and I, &c.--This Proportion of Letters, both of Small and Great, must be observed in, and will serve for, all Hands whatsoever. N. B. That all upright Strokes, and those leaning to the left Hand, must be fine, or Hair-strokes, and all downright Strokes must be fuller or blacker. And when you are in Joining, where Letters will naturally join, without any Straining, take not off the Pen in Writing, especially in Running or mixed Hand. Care likewise must be duly taken, that there be an equal Distance between Letter and Letter, and also between Word and Word : The Distance between Word and Word may be the Space the small m takes up ; but between Letter and Letter, not quite so much. Sit not long at Writing, (that is, not longer than you improve) especially at the first, lest it weary you, and you grow tired of learning. Imitate the best Examples ; and have a constant Eye at your Copy ; and be not ambitious of writing fast, before you can write well ; Expedition will naturally follow, after you have gained a habit of writing fair and free ; and 'tis much more commendable to be an Hour in writing six Lines well, than to be able to write sixty Lines in the same Time, which perhaps will be altogether unintelligible. And besides, by a slow and fair Procedure, you will learn in half the Time ; and therefore 'tis a vain Thought in a Learner to desire to be quick before he hath acquired Experience, and a Freedom of Writing by frequent Practice. If you have Cotton in your Ink, look well that there be no Hairs at the Nib of your Pen. Never overcharge your Pen with Ink ; but shake what is too much into the Ink again.
How to make a Pen.
THIS is gained sooner by Experience and Observation from others that can make a Pen well, than by verbal Directions. But Note, that those Quills called Seconds are the best, as being hard, long and round in the Barrel ; and before you begin to cut the Quill, scrape off the superfluous Scurf with the Back of your Penknife ; scrape most on the Back of the Quill, that the slit may be the finer, and without Gander's Teeth (as the Roughness in the Slit is by some called). After you have scraped the Quill as aforesaid, cut the Quill at the End, half through, on the back Part ; and then turning up the Belly, cut the other Half, or Part, quite through, viz. about a Quarter or almost Half an Inch, at the End of the Quill, which will then appear forked : then enter the Penknife a little in the back Notch, and then putting the Peg of the Penknife-haft (or the end of another Quill into the back Notch, holding your Thumb pretty hard on the Back of the Quill as high as you intend the Slit to be) with a sudden or quick Twitch, force up the Slit ; it must be sudden and smart, that the Slit may be clearer ; Then by several Cuts on each Side bring the Quill into equal Shape or Form on both Sides ; and having brought it to a fine Point, place the Inside of the Nib on the Nail of your Thumb, and enter the Knife at the Extremity of the Nib ; and then by other proper Cuts finish the Pen, bringing it into a handsome Shape, and proper Form. But meddle not with the Nib again, by giving it any Trimming or fine Cuts, for that causes a Roughness, and spoils it : But if you do, to bring the Nib the evener, you must nib it again, as above directed. Note, that the breadth of the Nib must be proportioned to the Breadth of the Body, or downright black Strokes of the Letters, in whatsoever Hand you write, whether Small or Text. Note also, That in your sitting to write, you place yourself directly against a fore-right Light, or else to have it on your left Hand (which I esteem best) but by no Means to have the Light on your right Hand, because the Shadow of your Writing-hand will obstruct your Sight.
Thus far for Direction. Now for Application. I have here set Copies of the most usual, fashionable, and commendable Hands for Business ; with Alphabets of Great and Small Letters proper to each. Be sure you make your Letters well (both Small and Great) before you proceed to Joining. Be careful in Imitation, and observe the foregoing Directions, and without doubt you will gain your End. Command of Hand, or the Art of striking Letters, &c. is gained by frequent practicing after good Examples.
Double Lines in Verse.
All you that in fair Writing would excel,How much you write regard not, but how well.
Bear your Pen lightly, keep a steady Hand,
And that's the Way fair Writing to command.
Carefully mend in each succeeding Line,
For that's the Way to reach to what is fine.
Descending Strokes are dark, but upwards small;
Even at Head and Feet keep Letters all.
From Blots keep clean your Book, and always mind
To have your Letters all one Way inclin'd.
Grace every Line with perfect, full and small,
And keep a due Proportion in them all.
Hold your Pen lightly, gripe it not too hard,
And with due Care your Copy well regard.
Join every Letter to his next with Care,
And let your Strokes be admirably fair.
Keep a light Hand, and smoothly glide along;
Ascending fine, and downright Strokes are strong.
Let graceful Beauty in each Line appear,
And see the Front do not excel the Rear.
Majestic Grace, both beautiful and strong,
Doth, or else ought, to every Line belong.
No Roughness at the Edge should e'er be seen,
But all the Letters should be smooth and clean.
On Care depends the Beauty of each Line,
For that alone will make your Art to shine.
Praise is deserved by the careful Hand,
But for the Unthinking doth Correction stand.
Quit yourself nobly with a prudent Care,
Of clumsy Writing and of Blots beware.
Remember strictly what the Art enjoins,
Equal-sized Letters, and as equal Lines.
Small Letters must of equal Height be seen;
The same of great, both beautifully clean.
Time and Delight will easy make the Task!
Delight, Delight's the only Thing I ask!
Vain are the Hopes of those who think to gain
This noble Treasure without taking Pain.
Whilst idle Drones supinely dream of Fame,
The Industrious actually do get the same.
'Xemplar Lines are Writing's surest Law,
Precepts may lead us, but Examples draw.
Youth is the Time for Progress in all Arts;
Then use your Youth to gain the noblest Parts.
Zeal for Attainment of each Art will prove
One means of purchasing the general Love.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Huh. How about that?
My article on painted cloth hangings in the Middle Ages, Whips and Angels, is cited twice in Wikipedia. Once for the article on Samite (where they misspell my SCA name) and once for the article on Joyous Entry (where they give my modern name).
Every now and then the article brings me an inquiry on either 'How can I paint my medieval costume to look as if it's embroidered?' or 'How can I tell whether this tatty piece of painted linen is medieval?'
That it should be used within the Society for Creative Anachronism, and perhaps re-enactment groups, for documentation or research, that I pretty much expect. That it should be treated as a 'real' resource always surprises me. Especially when Diane Wolfthal's book The Beginnings of Netherlandish Canvas Painting, 1400-1530, is available.
I suppose it's the immediacy of it being online and not requiring physical movement.
The title, in case anyone is wondering, is a reference to one of the many, many, many (and yeah, many) medieval and early modern painted cloths that have been lost to time and changing fashion and moths. That one was recorded in an inventory which mentioned that it was painted with 'whips and angels', probably for Lenten decoration. It's my little shriek of frustration that so little is known for sure.
Though it would also make a good title for something by krylyr, maybe?
Every now and then the article brings me an inquiry on either 'How can I paint my medieval costume to look as if it's embroidered?' or 'How can I tell whether this tatty piece of painted linen is medieval?'
That it should be used within the Society for Creative Anachronism, and perhaps re-enactment groups, for documentation or research, that I pretty much expect. That it should be treated as a 'real' resource always surprises me. Especially when Diane Wolfthal's book The Beginnings of Netherlandish Canvas Painting, 1400-1530, is available.
I suppose it's the immediacy of it being online and not requiring physical movement.
The title, in case anyone is wondering, is a reference to one of the many, many, many (and yeah, many) medieval and early modern painted cloths that have been lost to time and changing fashion and moths. That one was recorded in an inventory which mentioned that it was painted with 'whips and angels', probably for Lenten decoration. It's my little shriek of frustration that so little is known for sure.
Though it would also make a good title for something by krylyr, maybe?
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
the analog web
This story from the NYT is probably being linked and emailed all over the place. All I have to add, which someone else must have said already, is that this is a Borges story come to life.
Also that it is massively cool, and that I miss 3x5 cards, which came into use in (I think) the 15th c. as temporary records scribbled on the backs of playing cards. Like other temporary measures, they worked surprisingly well and stuck in use. Anyway....
'In 1934, Otlet sketched out plans for a global network of computers (or “electric telescopes,” as he called them) that would allow people to search and browse through millions of interlinked documents, images, audio and video files. He described how people would use the devices to send messages to one another, share files and even congregate in online social networks. He called the whole thing a “réseau,” which might be translated as “network” — or arguably, “web.”' (NYT)
And 'reseau' can also be translated as fishnet, so the older meaning of 'web' - thing that is woven - is closer than it might seem.
Also that it is massively cool, and that I miss 3x5 cards, which came into use in (I think) the 15th c. as temporary records scribbled on the backs of playing cards. Like other temporary measures, they worked surprisingly well and stuck in use. Anyway....
'In 1934, Otlet sketched out plans for a global network of computers (or “electric telescopes,” as he called them) that would allow people to search and browse through millions of interlinked documents, images, audio and video files. He described how people would use the devices to send messages to one another, share files and even congregate in online social networks. He called the whole thing a “réseau,” which might be translated as “network” — or arguably, “web.”' (NYT)
And 'reseau' can also be translated as fishnet, so the older meaning of 'web' - thing that is woven - is closer than it might seem.
Monday, September 24, 2007
the most beautiful intelligence report in history
Excerpted from The Palace Museum: Peking: treasures of the Forbidden City / by Wan-go Weng & Yang Boda, New York, Abrams, 1982, p.160-163:
"One of the most celebrated of Chinese figure paintings is Han Xizai ye yan tu, or The Night Revelry of Han Xizai. The son of a general executed by the emperor of a northern kingdom, Han (907-970) fled and offered his services to the Southern Tang dynasty. But during the reign of its last ruler, he perceived the inevitable fall of the corrupt regime and tried to stay out of politics, deliberately leading a pleasure-seeking life in order to disqualify himself from responsible positions. The suspicious monarch sent his court painters Zhou Wenju and Gu Hongzhong to spy on Han and make a visual record of his licentious behaviour.
"This scroll, attributed to Gu, is the most beautiful (and possibly the most wryly deadpan) intelligence report in history. It comprises five distinct scenes, artfully separated by three screens and one very brief space. The first scene is of feasting to lute music, with a curtained bed suggestively half-visible in the background. Han, with high hat and full beard, sits on the couch with a man in a red robe who may be Lang Can, a scholar who ranked first in an imperial examination. Before the couch stands a long, low table (like a modern coffee table) set with footed dishes of food, ewers of wine, and wine cups. Seated near the table are two guests, who are probably Chen Zhiyong, an official in charge of rites, and Chen's student Zhu Xian. The lute player is the sister of Li Jiaming, assistant director of the Imperial Theater and Music Academy, who sits watchfully by her side. The small girl in blue behind Li is Wang Wushan, an extremely talented dancer. Behind her stand two students of Han's and two servant girls. Han and most of his guests focus their attention on the lute player, thus subtly unifying the composition by sightlines.
(description of middle scenes omitted, but I can add them if requested)
"In the fourth scene, Han sits cross-legged upon one of the fashionable Western-style chairs. The wine has made him warm: his hat is still firmly on his head, but he has stripped to his loosened undergarments and is fanning himself. A concert is now in progress. Five female musicians are playing straight and cross flutes under the stern eye of Li Jiaming, who keeps the beat with a clapper. Around the edge of a floor-standing landscape screen a man and a woman exchange a few words; they serve as the transition across time and space into the fifth and final scene.
"This penetrating study of a private party displays excellent draftsmanship, exquisity coloring, an ingenious composition, and convincing details such as the celadon wine warmers typical of the tenth century. It is an exquisite commentary on the social decadence of the age. ... the characterization of Han Xizai appears to be true portraiture, although other figures are perhap within the artist's repertoire of stereotypes. The historicity of the subject has never been questioned, and the picture provides us with an irreplaceable example of Chinese figure painting datable between the tenth and twelfth centuries."
The painting is findable online, though mostly in very small images of the original or larger images of mediocre modern copies. On the very small side is this one, at the site of an artist who parodies classic works. His take on 'Night Revels' is reviewed here, and isn't a mediocre modern copy, at least. Ah, here's a more visible image (in two parts) of the original.
I've thought for a long time that this would be a terrific setup for a novel, whether straight historical or fantasy. Someday I may be capable of enough subtlety and texture to attempt it.
"One of the most celebrated of Chinese figure paintings is Han Xizai ye yan tu, or The Night Revelry of Han Xizai. The son of a general executed by the emperor of a northern kingdom, Han (907-970) fled and offered his services to the Southern Tang dynasty. But during the reign of its last ruler, he perceived the inevitable fall of the corrupt regime and tried to stay out of politics, deliberately leading a pleasure-seeking life in order to disqualify himself from responsible positions. The suspicious monarch sent his court painters Zhou Wenju and Gu Hongzhong to spy on Han and make a visual record of his licentious behaviour.
"This scroll, attributed to Gu, is the most beautiful (and possibly the most wryly deadpan) intelligence report in history. It comprises five distinct scenes, artfully separated by three screens and one very brief space. The first scene is of feasting to lute music, with a curtained bed suggestively half-visible in the background. Han, with high hat and full beard, sits on the couch with a man in a red robe who may be Lang Can, a scholar who ranked first in an imperial examination. Before the couch stands a long, low table (like a modern coffee table) set with footed dishes of food, ewers of wine, and wine cups. Seated near the table are two guests, who are probably Chen Zhiyong, an official in charge of rites, and Chen's student Zhu Xian. The lute player is the sister of Li Jiaming, assistant director of the Imperial Theater and Music Academy, who sits watchfully by her side. The small girl in blue behind Li is Wang Wushan, an extremely talented dancer. Behind her stand two students of Han's and two servant girls. Han and most of his guests focus their attention on the lute player, thus subtly unifying the composition by sightlines.
(description of middle scenes omitted, but I can add them if requested)
"In the fourth scene, Han sits cross-legged upon one of the fashionable Western-style chairs. The wine has made him warm: his hat is still firmly on his head, but he has stripped to his loosened undergarments and is fanning himself. A concert is now in progress. Five female musicians are playing straight and cross flutes under the stern eye of Li Jiaming, who keeps the beat with a clapper. Around the edge of a floor-standing landscape screen a man and a woman exchange a few words; they serve as the transition across time and space into the fifth and final scene.
"This penetrating study of a private party displays excellent draftsmanship, exquisity coloring, an ingenious composition, and convincing details such as the celadon wine warmers typical of the tenth century. It is an exquisite commentary on the social decadence of the age. ... the characterization of Han Xizai appears to be true portraiture, although other figures are perhap within the artist's repertoire of stereotypes. The historicity of the subject has never been questioned, and the picture provides us with an irreplaceable example of Chinese figure painting datable between the tenth and twelfth centuries."
The painting is findable online, though mostly in very small images of the original or larger images of mediocre modern copies. On the very small side is this one, at the site of an artist who parodies classic works. His take on 'Night Revels' is reviewed here, and isn't a mediocre modern copy, at least. Ah, here's a more visible image (in two parts) of the original.
I've thought for a long time that this would be a terrific setup for a novel, whether straight historical or fantasy. Someday I may be capable of enough subtlety and texture to attempt it.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
drizzling and happy writey stuff
Reading up on 18th c. German society, I discovered something that may just have to go into the Willow Knot. A pastime of wellborn ladies, called parfilage, which at first I read as persiflage, but no, less wit required.
Parfilage, or in England, drizzling (I'm not making this up) was the pastime of unravelling gold braid, lace, or trim. Yes, really. Taking ornament apart. Now, I can see not wanting to waste gold thread, and unpicking or unravelling it seems a thrifty thing to do, akin to sides-to-middling sheets, a housewifely task my own mother performed. (If you're not familiar with that, it's exactly what it sounds like.) But as a courtly hobby? As something to fill one's days, up there with tambour-work and opus anglicanum?
Must be an exaggeration, I thought, and started looking for more references. Which I found. It does seem to have begun as an economy, with old-fashioned or worn uniforms and livery being refitted--cutting the buttons off and that sort of thing, and the remainder being given to charity/the poor. The braid could be unpicked, and the gold thread sold back to the goldsmith. Simple enough.
Somehow it was taken up by the nobility, in France and Austria, then in England (England is always a late adopter). Noble ladies were never without a bag to hold the unravelled braid, scissors, and a tool for unpicking. Court business and social gossip had a continual accompaniment of tsrr...tsrr...tsrr. (History of Needlework Tools and Accessories, Sylvia Groves, 1966)
Where did they get all the braid and lace? Aha, here's the meat of it. Gentlemen friends brought them old jackets and suchlike, as gifts. But the enthusiasm outran the supply of old clothes, and pretty soon the clever goldsmiths started making little figures and ornaments of galons that a gentleman could give to a lady for brief admiration followed by careful destruction.
"Sheep, dogs, squirrels, cradles, carriages in miniature, &c. were offered, admired, and then pulled to pieces for 'parfilage'. It afforded good opportunity for innumerable gallantries. A gentleman went to a masked ball in a costume purposely composed of cloth of gold and bullion, worth two hundred pounds, which he sent next day to a lady." (Lady Sarah Davison Nicolas, 1849)
A lady sufficiently flirtatious and industrious could reportedly earn 100 Louis d'or in a year. With apparently no damage to her reputation, either for the labour or the rapacity.
I'm not at all sure what I'm going to do with this, but it fits so clearly into the braiding / untying / knotting themes of Willow Knot that it must go somewhere in the court section.
In other news, I've found another way to make things difficult for Myl. She's been aware that she's vulnerable to accusations of witchcraft, or just nasty gossip, and today I figured out where that's going to happen and how. Yes. And how difficult it will be for her to confront or even track down.
A discussion on the book forum reminded me of the old belief that scratching a witch's face enough to draw blood would break her spell, and I think that's going to fit in nicely.
And last weekend, though I didn't get as much written as I'd hoped, I did figure out a way to up the drama of the scene where Alard has his last chance to catch Myl before she returns to the willow for good. Not only does he get to deal with the walking corpse of his queen (well, she's mostly dead) but Midame will be on the scene as well, and will probably try to prevent any reconciliation by whatever means she has access to.
More characters to keep track of in the room, but much better if she's there.
The awkward part is that I probably won't be home this weekend, although I have all sorts of bits to add to the story. I won't even be near an electrical outlet, most likely. The best I can do is to bring the research books I need and spend my spare time (which there will be hours of) reading what I didn't get to at Pennsic.
Presently reading: Blood and Ivory, by P.C. Hodgell, Meisha Merlin, 2002. I'm enjoying it, mostly because I like Hodgell's books, and I'm happy to read more of Jamethiel Priest's-Bane regardless. The stories so far are fairly slight, giving more depth to backstory already established in the series. It's for fans, and I'm a fan, so that works out nicely. It probably wouldn't appeal to someone who hadn't read the series, or to someone who wasn't also interested in how a writer develops a character. Jame has been with Hodgell since her teens or childhood, by the looks of it, and has gone through many settings and incarnations. I had a little thrill of confirmation to see that Tai-tastigon was intentionally a Fritz Leiber setting, because that's what I thought it was back when I first began reading.
As always, I'm vastly impressed that Jame escapes Mary Sue status. I don't quite know how, because I'm sure she'd score very high on the test. Perhaps because Hodgell is playing with the tropes, winding them until they snap?
Parfilage, or in England, drizzling (I'm not making this up) was the pastime of unravelling gold braid, lace, or trim. Yes, really. Taking ornament apart. Now, I can see not wanting to waste gold thread, and unpicking or unravelling it seems a thrifty thing to do, akin to sides-to-middling sheets, a housewifely task my own mother performed. (If you're not familiar with that, it's exactly what it sounds like.) But as a courtly hobby? As something to fill one's days, up there with tambour-work and opus anglicanum?
Must be an exaggeration, I thought, and started looking for more references. Which I found. It does seem to have begun as an economy, with old-fashioned or worn uniforms and livery being refitted--cutting the buttons off and that sort of thing, and the remainder being given to charity/the poor. The braid could be unpicked, and the gold thread sold back to the goldsmith. Simple enough.
Somehow it was taken up by the nobility, in France and Austria, then in England (England is always a late adopter). Noble ladies were never without a bag to hold the unravelled braid, scissors, and a tool for unpicking. Court business and social gossip had a continual accompaniment of tsrr...tsrr...tsrr. (History of Needlework Tools and Accessories, Sylvia Groves, 1966)
Where did they get all the braid and lace? Aha, here's the meat of it. Gentlemen friends brought them old jackets and suchlike, as gifts. But the enthusiasm outran the supply of old clothes, and pretty soon the clever goldsmiths started making little figures and ornaments of galons that a gentleman could give to a lady for brief admiration followed by careful destruction.
"Sheep, dogs, squirrels, cradles, carriages in miniature, &c. were offered, admired, and then pulled to pieces for 'parfilage'. It afforded good opportunity for innumerable gallantries. A gentleman went to a masked ball in a costume purposely composed of cloth of gold and bullion, worth two hundred pounds, which he sent next day to a lady." (Lady Sarah Davison Nicolas, 1849)
A lady sufficiently flirtatious and industrious could reportedly earn 100 Louis d'or in a year. With apparently no damage to her reputation, either for the labour or the rapacity.
I'm not at all sure what I'm going to do with this, but it fits so clearly into the braiding / untying / knotting themes of Willow Knot that it must go somewhere in the court section.
In other news, I've found another way to make things difficult for Myl. She's been aware that she's vulnerable to accusations of witchcraft, or just nasty gossip, and today I figured out where that's going to happen and how. Yes. And how difficult it will be for her to confront or even track down.
A discussion on the book forum reminded me of the old belief that scratching a witch's face enough to draw blood would break her spell, and I think that's going to fit in nicely.
And last weekend, though I didn't get as much written as I'd hoped, I did figure out a way to up the drama of the scene where Alard has his last chance to catch Myl before she returns to the willow for good. Not only does he get to deal with the walking corpse of his queen (well, she's mostly dead) but Midame will be on the scene as well, and will probably try to prevent any reconciliation by whatever means she has access to.
More characters to keep track of in the room, but much better if she's there.
The awkward part is that I probably won't be home this weekend, although I have all sorts of bits to add to the story. I won't even be near an electrical outlet, most likely. The best I can do is to bring the research books I need and spend my spare time (which there will be hours of) reading what I didn't get to at Pennsic.
Presently reading: Blood and Ivory, by P.C. Hodgell, Meisha Merlin, 2002. I'm enjoying it, mostly because I like Hodgell's books, and I'm happy to read more of Jamethiel Priest's-Bane regardless. The stories so far are fairly slight, giving more depth to backstory already established in the series. It's for fans, and I'm a fan, so that works out nicely. It probably wouldn't appeal to someone who hadn't read the series, or to someone who wasn't also interested in how a writer develops a character. Jame has been with Hodgell since her teens or childhood, by the looks of it, and has gone through many settings and incarnations. I had a little thrill of confirmation to see that Tai-tastigon was intentionally a Fritz Leiber setting, because that's what I thought it was back when I first began reading.
As always, I'm vastly impressed that Jame escapes Mary Sue status. I don't quite know how, because I'm sure she'd score very high on the test. Perhaps because Hodgell is playing with the tropes, winding them until they snap?
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Write, submit, repeat
Let's see.... "Spellcheck" came back from Neo-Opsis, with a note about the beginning being slow, but the part in the repair room holding interest. So I've trimmed the beginning a bit, and will try On Spec, another Canadian zine, where I may have an unfair advantage by being Canadian.
"Foretold" will go off to Cemetery Dance, though I suspect it's not quite dark enough for them. I haven't tried it on Strange Horizons yet, so that will probably be my next shot.
"Climbing Boys" has been revised, after helpful crits on OWW, particularly one from Eric Lowe, who suggested changing the setting from Neo-Dickensian with sf touches to straight Dickensian. The central conceit of the story is (I believe) sfnal, but he may be right that the other sf details are more distracting than enhancing. Dammit. I now have two versions of the story, one sf, one, um, alt-hist, I guess. Is that sf or not? There are no airships.
Anyway, I'll probably send the sf version to F&SF for the quick turnaround, and the alt-hist version to RoF after that.
I don't know what to do with "Fluke". It's too long for most online markets. Kelly Link really liked the first half (Editor's Choice on OWW), and compared the voice to Connie Willis and Jennifer Crusie, but that doesn't get me a sale, does it? Torgo suggested it was two sf ideas fighting it out in one story, and I think he has a point, but I'm not at all sure what to do about that, if so.
I'm a bit further on with the Boxer Rebellion story, still undecided about the title. The working title is "Elementary Magic" which is both misleading and blah. I've found the books on the Boxers that I had before, and may have a chance to get back into it before leaving for Pennsic. And I need to read up on the Chinese theory of elements, so probably I should poke through the Joseph Needham history, Science & Civilisation in China.
Research: Reading more on the German Small States, for Willow Knot, and messing about with maps. I need to name at least two 'kingdoms' (Palatine states?), with cities and some towns.
Mark, in his helpful way, suggested that I only need one name, and that everything else will be Nord-name, Ost-name, Ober-name, Unter-name, Hinter-name, etc.
For which there is something to be said, though I might have to anglicise or latinise the system, because the story-setting isn't exactly Germany. Hm, Name-parva, Name-magna.
At the moment I'm happily reading through a list of the German States and Families in the Imperial Assembly, 1792. While it isn't always possible to tell from the list which are states and which are families, here's a selection of names (some of which I've seen in other contexts, some of which are quite new to me):
Vorpommern
Hinterpommern (see?)
Nomeny
Moempelgard
Hohenzollern
Savoy
Thurn und Taxis
Taxis for Eglingen
Traum for Eglof
Isenburg-Birstein
Isenburg-Buedingen-Meerholz-Waechtersbach
Leiningen-Hartenburg
Leiningen-Heidesheim and Leiningen-Guntersblum
Wild- und Rheingraf zu Grumbach
Wild- und Rheingraf zu Rheingrafenstein
von Colloredo of his own person (probably not a state)
Westerburg Christophsche Linie
Westerburg Georgische Linie
King of England for Hoya
I see much google-time ahead of me, as I make sure that my made-up names aren't in use for something else, or meaning something awkward. Joy.
Side note: I have learned the meaning of palatine and of allodial, just today. Okay, I did know vaguely what Palatine meant, despite my early impression that it was a geo-political association like the Hansa. But only vaguely. I'm good at vague. For many years I thought an isotope was something like a cyclotron, and that bespoke was a type of weave, like twill or tweed. This is what happens when you guess meaning by context. I should be more tolerant of M--'s conviction that cloying means 'sticky'.
Secondary side note for those who are not already more knowledgeable than me, this public service announcement:
palatine adj. possessing royal privileges, having jurisdiction (within the territory) such as elsewhere belongs to the sovereign alone; of or belonging to a count or earl palatine.
allodial adj. from allodium n. (hist.) Estate held absolutely, without acknowledgement to an overlord.
bespoke adj. Ordered (now only in bespoke tailoring, boots, etc. as opp. to 'ready-made').
"Foretold" will go off to Cemetery Dance, though I suspect it's not quite dark enough for them. I haven't tried it on Strange Horizons yet, so that will probably be my next shot.
"Climbing Boys" has been revised, after helpful crits on OWW, particularly one from Eric Lowe, who suggested changing the setting from Neo-Dickensian with sf touches to straight Dickensian. The central conceit of the story is (I believe) sfnal, but he may be right that the other sf details are more distracting than enhancing. Dammit. I now have two versions of the story, one sf, one, um, alt-hist, I guess. Is that sf or not? There are no airships.
Anyway, I'll probably send the sf version to F&SF for the quick turnaround, and the alt-hist version to RoF after that.
I don't know what to do with "Fluke". It's too long for most online markets. Kelly Link really liked the first half (Editor's Choice on OWW), and compared the voice to Connie Willis and Jennifer Crusie, but that doesn't get me a sale, does it? Torgo suggested it was two sf ideas fighting it out in one story, and I think he has a point, but I'm not at all sure what to do about that, if so.
I'm a bit further on with the Boxer Rebellion story, still undecided about the title. The working title is "Elementary Magic" which is both misleading and blah. I've found the books on the Boxers that I had before, and may have a chance to get back into it before leaving for Pennsic. And I need to read up on the Chinese theory of elements, so probably I should poke through the Joseph Needham history, Science & Civilisation in China.
Research: Reading more on the German Small States, for Willow Knot, and messing about with maps. I need to name at least two 'kingdoms' (Palatine states?), with cities and some towns.
Mark, in his helpful way, suggested that I only need one name, and that everything else will be Nord-name, Ost-name, Ober-name, Unter-name, Hinter-name, etc.
For which there is something to be said, though I might have to anglicise or latinise the system, because the story-setting isn't exactly Germany. Hm, Name-parva, Name-magna.
At the moment I'm happily reading through a list of the German States and Families in the Imperial Assembly, 1792. While it isn't always possible to tell from the list which are states and which are families, here's a selection of names (some of which I've seen in other contexts, some of which are quite new to me):
Vorpommern
Hinterpommern (see?)
Nomeny
Moempelgard
Hohenzollern
Savoy
Thurn und Taxis
Taxis for Eglingen
Traum for Eglof
Isenburg-Birstein
Isenburg-Buedingen-Meerholz-Waechtersbach
Leiningen-Hartenburg
Leiningen-Heidesheim and Leiningen-Guntersblum
Wild- und Rheingraf zu Grumbach
Wild- und Rheingraf zu Rheingrafenstein
von Colloredo of his own person (probably not a state)
Westerburg Christophsche Linie
Westerburg Georgische Linie
King of England for Hoya
I see much google-time ahead of me, as I make sure that my made-up names aren't in use for something else, or meaning something awkward. Joy.
Side note: I have learned the meaning of palatine and of allodial, just today. Okay, I did know vaguely what Palatine meant, despite my early impression that it was a geo-political association like the Hansa. But only vaguely. I'm good at vague. For many years I thought an isotope was something like a cyclotron, and that bespoke was a type of weave, like twill or tweed. This is what happens when you guess meaning by context. I should be more tolerant of M--'s conviction that cloying means 'sticky'.
Secondary side note for those who are not already more knowledgeable than me, this public service announcement:
palatine adj. possessing royal privileges, having jurisdiction (within the territory) such as elsewhere belongs to the sovereign alone; of or belonging to a count or earl palatine.
allodial adj. from allodium n. (hist.) Estate held absolutely, without acknowledgement to an overlord.
bespoke adj. Ordered (now only in bespoke tailoring, boots, etc. as opp. to 'ready-made').
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