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[sticky post] Cleaning Up the Internet

I'm not really posting much here anymore and when I do, few seem to notice, so I've decided to just let this lovely old LJ account go quiet.

I shook myself free of my brief dalliance with DreamWidth and deleted the account. What I don't need is one more place to not post on the internet!

I renewed my paid LJ membership early this last year to continue avoiding the ads, but I think I'll let that lapse when it comes up for renewal.

I will still be checking my friends posts here, though, and commenting now and then (though many of you are very quiet, too), but most of my online activity is done on Tumblr and Twitter these days (I'm trying to figure out how to extricate myself from Facebook, too).

So if you want to see what I'm up to, here are your options:

Jian Ghomeshi, Honey Boo Boo, and Bullshit

There is zero reason on earth for the Jian Ghomeshi situation to be anything but what his victims say it is. Like many famous people, Ghomeshi is a dirtbag who has gotten away with it for a long time and it's finally coming out. It really isn't that hard to wrap one's head around.

Honestly the unsureness asserted by so many of my (mostly Canadian) acquaintances about this matter is deeply disappointing. If we are too determined to assume the innocence of the accused in a non-legal context then we are de facto assuming the guilt/lying of the accusers (in this case victims), and frankly, I am not going to do that.

I'm going to believe women and children who say someone hurt them. The very rare cases where these accusations are made up are not worth overcompensating so much we abandon the people who have been hurt. Really hurt. Statistically very ilkely to have suffered exactly what they say they have.

This kind of thing goes on all the time and yet people never stop being shocked that someone who seems like a nice person in public could have been a creep in private all along. Being shocked and in denial when these kinds of truths come to light just gives aid and comfort to those not yet caught.

In response to the whole sordid mess with the TV show Honey Boo Boo and that little girl's stupid mother, a friend of mine who was in social services (children) shared that on average a child has to tell seven people about abuse before they are believed.

Seven people. Some little kid -- in this case an eight year old -- has to struggle against fear and hurt and humiliation and tell seven people in hopes that someone will believe them and help?

That is all kinds of bullshit. And in the HBB case? Her mom did not believe her. Her mom was one of the seven. And that is far from rare.

The thing is? It isn't just children who aren't believed about accusations of abuse. And it's because people really don't like having to reevaluate their opinions of others. Changing one's opinion of the nice guy, the priest, the uncle, the babysitter, the best friend, the sister, the brother, dad, the pop star, the football star, the radio guy... Well, that just isn't comfortable. It doesn't feel right. It makes us sad.

Isn't there some way the kid/woman/victim could be lying? Wrong? Dreaming? Misunderstanding? At fault? Out to get our nice friend for some reason?

Sure. Let's do that. Or, hey! Let's pretend it's impossible to know! And if it's impossible to know then maybe it'll all go away! Sure, there will still be a little kid or a young woman or a young man or an old woman or an old man -- anyone whose stories we can dismiss as maybe imaginary or exaggerated or vindictive -- who's hurting and who we've now treated like shit for making us think about something we'd rather not think about.

But at least we don't have to feel uncomfortable anymore.
I wrote a guest post today for book blogger Caravan Girl!

New story ideas are the best. They are shiny and sparkly and the words flow like water!

Eventually, however, it’s important to step back and take a long, hard look at your work in progress and make sure that all of the really cool, shiny, sparkly things are happening in a way that makes sense to the world and characters you’re creating.



Running at Busse Woods

Or How I Became a Disney Princess for an Afternoon!

No, seriously...Collapse )


I went for my first outdoor run in over three months today.Read more...Collapse )


Electric Velocipede

Apparently I missed this though it isn't fresh news. Electric Velocipede, the literary journal in which my last* published short story, Beata Beatrix, was published** is shutting down. Their last issue is #27.

It's very sad to see another speculative fiction magazine go under but not terribly surprising, either. My story's issue (21/22) was plagued by delays and other issues and as happy as I was with the editorial side of things, the getting-the-issue-out side seemed to be a complete nightmare. I was personally frustrated enough by my tiny little part in dealing with that aspect of the situation that I know it must have been just awful for Mr. Klima.

I'm a bit amazed Mr. Klima made it for so many more issues before the frustrations and difficulties he had to deal with beyond the editorial side made it not worth the effort.

So in closing, I'd like to take a moment to raise a glass to Electric Velocipede and to its valiant editor John Klima as we bid the fine magazine farewell. It was an honor to be published in such fine company.

*I'm not much of a short story writer so as it turns out, BB was also my last attempted sale of a short story which makes it a nice coda and not some bitter, "If only I could sell mooooore!" situation.

**As I understood it at the time, Issue 21/22, which my story was in, was their print issue.

In Which Nuala Is Also The Best Cat

Nuala has a urinary tract infection of DOOOOM which we're now on our second (possibly third if the last one was actually not totally cured and this is still that one several weeks later) round of antibiotics to attempt to cure. The first (two?) round was an injection which was GREAT because it did not involve the ongoing dosing of a confused and increasingly resistant clawed animal.

But now we're doing liquid doses, twice a day, shooting what must be a truly foul-tasting mixture into her mouth. If things go well, it hits the back of her mouth and she's just annoyed; if it goes badly, the look of utter disgust she has when she gets it right on her taste buds is truly a thing to see and feel REALLY BAD about causing.

But instead of hating me and fleeing at the very site of me, Nuala generally is just kind of skittish and annoyed for maybe five or ten minutes. And then she's back for pets. I tend to go after her with treats and leave them by wherever she's gone to hide during her brief snit and she eats those pretty quick and then we're pretty much good.

Which means she's The Best (along with Liffey)*.

*Or that she has the memory of a goldfish...but I think it's just that she is The Best.

My Cats are the Best Cats

My cat Liffey is pretty much the Best Cat (don't tell Nuala who is also the Best Cat) because she is *so good* even when she really doesn't want to do what I tell her to.

Like just now, she walked by and I called her back, and for some reason she thought I was going to do something like check her for Klingons (this is not unusual as she is not the best at hygiene), but she just cried piteously in protest and waited for me.

Because she is SO GOOD. So of course I just loved on her because that's all I was going to do. It's been awhile since I've had to get her down and tidy her up, so maybe she felt she was due...


coffee, cheers
Jennifer Ford

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