Queer Boy Blogging

Queer Boy is Moving House

2011-03-12T16:39:00.000-07:00

Well, moving to a new site, at any rate.

Those of you following me here exclusively may have noticed that I haven't been all that active lately. I've been a little distracted by setting up a new site, something more professional with everything under one roof. A place not only for my blog, but for my writing and my art, a place where I can sell my work rather than simply talking about it. I give you: ericsatchwill.com.

I'll still leave this blog up, letting it float in cyberspace for those curious few who will stumble upon it. But I'll also start reposting my old posts from the archives here to my new blog. The plan is to shift one over every Monday, and to include some follow-up commentary where my opinions have changed over time.

Look for me at my new site. I promise it will be at least as entertaining as this one!

Outside Looking In

2011-02-09T23:34:00.000-07:00

This is where I am most of the time, on the outside of life, watching it go past and wondering what it's all about. I have always been an observer, and a recorder of observations. It's not really something I chose; it's a part of my nature.

Have you ever had the most intense realization about the most mundane things? Thinks like: I'm eating pizza that I made myself. I have been overwhelmed by such realizations. On some level, of course I understood not only that there was pizza, but that I'd made it and that I was now eating it. It's not as though I'd somehow failed to grasp this concept entirely. It's just that for a split second I was somehow aware of how incredible it is that a universe where pizza is possible even exists, and I was in awe. I somehow switched from 'participant' to 'observer' in my own life.

Or perhaps it was the other way around, or both at once. Perhaps I went from going through the motions to being acutely aware of my own participation in life. Whatever it was, I found myself looking at that pizza as though it held all the answers to life, the universe and everything (which is ridiculous since it didn't look a thing like 42.)

The pizza isn't the point. The point is that there is something in my nature that allows me to shift perspective at the drop of a hat. Life is constantly a case of looking at a vase and suddenly seeing two faces, and I think this is why I write. Scratch that. I don't 'think', I know. I write because no matter how much I find myself on the outside of life looking in, what I see is so fascinating that I must find some way of capturing it, recording it in such a way that I might be able to share at least a fraction of it. I write because the only other option is to sit here watching the world go by.

Do you ever have moments like this? Do you find yourself on the outside looking in? Alternately, why do you write?

Shameless Self-Promotion

2011-02-03T16:59:00.000-07:00

I'll admit that I'm not a fan of pimping myself, but to make it in this industry it's something I have to get used to doing. And right now, pimping myself is exactly what I need to do.

I'm not going to lie; I'm looking at some hard times here. I'm about to lose my job and though I'm searching for freelance work, it's not something I can rely on, at least not yet. My savings won't save me, and there's only so long I can keep the student loans folks away. And so, I come asking for help.

However! I'm not looking to get something for nothing. Life doesn't work that way and I don't expect it to. Now in my former life I wasn't a writer, but an artist! Well, I still am an artist though my focus has shifted. So, in return for your kind help, I'll draw you a picture of anything you want. Seriously. Anything. Ink on Bristol plate, 9"x12" (or 12"x9" if you prefer)... that's starting to sound pretty nice, isn't it? Of course it is! And we're talking full colour illustrations here, HD even.

I also have seven gorgeous pairs of earrings for sale. Each pair is unique, hand-crafted from sterling silver and coloured glass beads. Look at them and tell me you don't want some for yourself. Or if not for yourself, than for that stylish someone you know who will really love them.

Do you see something else on the site that you absolutely must have? Shoot me an e-mail and we'll talk: eric.satchwill@gmail.com .

Please, check it out. Treat yourself to something shiny and tell all your friends where you got it, and you'll make me a very happy man.

February the Fifth

2011-02-01T09:45:00.000-07:00

I wanted to do this without making comparisons to other books, I really did, but when it comes right down to it, my first impression of Derek Haines' new book February the Fifth is the one that stuck with me. February the Fifth is like The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy meets Sir Apropos of Nothing, which is to say, my kind of twisted.

You have the young fool who has no business being a success at anything, yet ends up being very important to the future of the Twelve Sun Systems of Gloth. You also have the Supreme Potentate more-or-less stealing a ship in order to find the truth on a distant and wholly unremarkable planet. And, just to make things interesting, several puns revolving around the Gregorian calendar. If you're anything like me, this all adds up to a fun and humorous story, perfect for making people question your sanity while you're giggling over it on the bus.

I say go check it out! Get February the Fifth at Amazon or at Smashwords.

What's In A Name? Part IV

2011-01-30T11:27:00.000-07:00

Guess what arrived in the mail the other day? A shiny new name change certificate! (Or, Certificate of Change of Name, because of course we can't do it the easy way, can we?)

This happened both faster and slightly cheaper than I expected. Remember that $200+ fee I was quoted at the beginning? It was more like $175.00(plus the $25.00 fingerprint processing fee, but we'd already figured that one in.) I was also told, I believe, 4-6 weeks before I could expect it to arrive. Less than two weeks later, there it is!

The registry agent told me it would be all pink and purple, and "pretty enough to frame." And you know what? It really is. It's not something that most people have hanging on their walls, at least. So now I have a certificate, with just slightly less security features than your typical $5 bill, proclaiming me to be me, rather than that other person who was running around with my life.

Of course,(and isn't that always the way?) this was actually the easy part. I still need to go through all the steps to get my name changed on my photo ID, with my phone, with my bank, on my passport... What fun, yes? Oh, and with Alberta Heathcare, at my doctor's, on my prescriptions...

Because You Could Live Off Borscht

2011-01-28T00:00:00.006-07:00

I really do think that, with this recipe at least, one could live off Borscht for quite a long time. It has all the protein, fat, fibre and vitamins a body could need! Ok, don't quote me on that. I have only a vague idea of what constitutes a balanced, nutritious diet, but I still think that if all you had to eat was this Borscht, you'd be doing pretty well.

Now, unlike the previous recipes I've put up here in some premature, experimental state, this one is tried, tested and true. Seriously, I eat this all the time and I've yet to get sick of it. It also changes a bit each time I make it, based on what I have or what I forgot, so you get more of a general guide line than a proper recipe. But that's ok. Vague recipes are a Mennonite tradition, and this one comes down the line from the Mennonite side of my family. And again, mine is probably a little different than my mom's, and hers is different from my grandma's.

I start by making a nice beef stock by boiling soup bones in a big pot of water. And I mean a big pot, not the sauce pan that you can get away with for a pack of KD or a can of soup. Look for soup bones that have some meat on them; you'll want to add that meat later. The process here is pretty simple. Put soup bones in the pot, fill at least half-way with water, set it to boil, and simmer with the lid on for a few hours or "until ready."

Now you take it off the heat, remove the soup bones and set them aside. If you've got time to let the broth sit and cool for a while, do that. Even better if you can leave it in the fridge over night, as that makes it particularly easy to skim the fat off the top(seriously, when chilled in the fridge, I can just grab the solid chunks off the top with a pair of tongs.) Otherwise, use a spoon to skim off the fat and put it in whatever grease collecting container you use for disposal or whatever. I mean, if you want you can always make soap out of it later.

Once you have your broth, put about five to eight(or, you know, however many you like) black peppercorns and a bay leaf in a spice ball and drop it in, adding a generous sprinkling of dill to the broth while you're at it. Start it a-boiling and a-simmering again while you chop and add your vegetables.

My understanding of Borscht is that it must contain cabbage and beets, but what do I know? Mine typically contains cabbage, beets, onion, carrot, rutabaga, potato and a can of diced tomatoes. About half the time I forget the tomatoes and/or the potato, but the rest is there for sure. The rutabaga is my own addition to the recipe for the simple reason that I like rutabaga. Yummy rutabaga... What? Right. Anyway. You can pretty much use whatever combination of root vegetables you like or have on hand. Chop up a good amount of each (I'm talking like, one large carrot, one russet potato, half a large rutabaga etc.) into bite-size pieces. Add each vegetable as you chop it, giving it a stir as you do. Add the can of tomatoes(if you haven't done like I did and forgot it.)

While that's simmering away, take the soup bones you set aside earlier and remove the meat. Do this however works best for you; use a knife, your bare hands, a combination thereof, whatever. Your goal is to separate the good meat from the bone, fat and other gristle. Add the meat to the Borscht and let that simmer a little bit longer, giving an occasional stir when you check on it.

You can always add some water at any point if the level has gotten too low. Any excess liquid will boil off, and you really can't kill this.

Serve hot. I always have a bowl or two right when I finish and before I store the rest.

For storage, I usually freeze mine in 1L mason jars, but you can use whatever works best for you. If you do like I do, you've got to do it carefully. Freezer plus glass equals glass shards if it isn't done properly, something I sacrificed four jars to find out. The fact that I still ate those batches is entirely beside the point...

The first rule is to never go quickly from hot to cold. Let the Borscht cool at least to room temperature, or let it chill in the fridge first. The second rule is to leave about an inch of space at the top, and don't seal it completely right away. You want to give the Borscht space to expand as it freezes. You can always screw the tops down properly the next day.

Now, after what you just ate, you probably have a good three litres of Borscht that will keep for however long you need. Sometimes mine makes it a full two week before it disappears.

Share and enjoy!

Momentum And Why I Need It

2011-01-26T19:21:00.000-07:00

This is perhaps the most fitting time for me to tackle the subject, since I seem to have stalled out on the blog a bit. It was looking pretty good for a while there too, wasn't it? Every couple of days, something new.

But then I let myself take a break. I told myself, "Eh, I'll write it tomorrow." "Ran out of time." "Next time I have a good night's sleep, I'll be able to post something." (Note that once sleep-deprived, it is very difficult for me to have a "good night's sleep" for quite a while.) What it comes down to is I made a lot of excuses for why I didn't post something and I let myself get in the habit of not posting instead of what I wanted to do, which was get into the habit of posting a lot. I didn't keep up my momentum. Now, it is totally possible to recover from lost momentum. I've done it. I did it when I pulled out that old novel idea for NaNoWriMo, and I'm doing it again now. And honestly, it's not that hard once I get started. Hence the momentum bit.

Maybe this isn't a problem for you. Maybe you've solved it already and are totally task-oriented, able to pump out content daily as a matter of course. But maybe, just maybe this is a problem for you, too. It's ok, I know. The secret is momentum. Each day, every day, I need to at least be actively thinking about my writing, by blogging, my book reviews, because if I don't, it can take me a long time to get back to it. Ideally, I'm actually doing something towards each of these things daily.

Yes, I slip up at times. But for the most part, I'm succeeding. Not a day goes by that I don't add at least a few words to my novel, or take down a fiddling plot point. Yes, it's been at least a week since my last blog post, but look at my previous dry-spell that lasted a good three months. The trick is to kick your butt into gear before too much time has passed and you forget that you even had anything going on. What's the best way to do that? Keep at it every day. Live it. Breathe it. Dream about it.

Whatever you do, don't lose momentum. But if you do, just be sure to pick it back up again as quick as possible.

For more about why blogging is awesome and some tips on how to go about it, check out Kristen Lamb's series on blogging starting here. And if you want to check out the rest of her stuff, I totally encourage that, too.

I've Agreed to Disagree With Ray Bradbury

2011-01-18T13:24:00.000-07:00

I love Ray Bradbury. There are many reasons for this, possibly as numerous as the stories he's written, but there is one reason above all others: he's the first of my idols that I've ever disagreed with.

I didn't grow up with Ray Bradbury in the same way that I did with Douglas Adams(more about him in the future, I'm sure,) but he was there during that weird, confusing, universally upsetting period when I wasn't quite a child any more, but I definitely wasn't a teenager yet. I read Fahrenheit 451 in school, and made it my gospel. I cherished the copy of Something Wicked This Way Comes that I was given one year for Christmas. I remember fondly the summer spent on swing sets, reading Dandelion Wine with my mom and my sister. His prose had a way of carrying me away just that much more completely than other books, and for a child with an over-active imagination, who got lost in any story e came across, this was something special indeed. In my eyes, for the longest time, the man could do no wrong.

Then about four, five years ago, I reread Something Wicked. The book hadn't changed of course, but I had. I'd grown up some, read a whole lot of other things, and had done some of my own questioning about the nature of 'good' and 'evil'. And as I was reading I realized that I no longer agreed with what he was saying, or at least parts of how he was saying it. I still loved the book, and I always will, yet it was a rare and precious moment, realizing that I could disagree with my idol's point of view but still respect him and love his work. It opened me up to the possibility of questioning my other idols without losing my love for them.

Why did I suddenly feel the need to share this with you all? Well, a few days ago TheEchoInside brought this video of An Evening With Ray Bradbury to my attention. It was a wonderful thing, listening to him talk about the art and the craft of his writing. There were many things he said that I agreed with, things like reading. A lot. Reading everything you can get your hands on, no matter how random or unrelated. Short stories, poetry, essays. Anything. And again, as with Something Wicked, there were things I didn't agree with. Mainly the value of the internet.

He seemed to view it as some sort of cultural sink hole, the information here trivial and without substance. I became incredibly aware then, the difference in perspective that a couple of generations and ten years of advances in information technologies can make(the video is from 2001.) I could see why, from his perspective, the internet could never hold a flame to hours spent exploring a library, and it's true that nothing can replace that experience. However, I don't see the internet as trivial or unimportant. Here I have access to information, even ancient information, that I wouldn't necessarily be able to find at my local library, and I have access to people I would never have come across otherwise. People I can share ideas with, who get excited about the same things I do, or have the same fears. Even ten years ago this was possible, if slightly more difficult.

In short, I love Ray Bradbury. His works will always have something to say to me, even if I don't always agree. And that's ok.

What's In A Name? Part III

2011-01-14T21:50:00.000-07:00

or Our Hero's Epic Quest to Win His Name

The only thing that can explain my day today is the fact that not only am I a masochist, but I'm a stubborn one at that. And before you accuse me of hyperbole or of misrepresenting masochism, let me assure you that I do know what it is to be a masochist. Intimately.

It started with my deciding to take transit to the notary's office, even though they offered mobile service. I could have chosen to have them come to me. Instead, I thought it would be a good idea to take the bus into the suburbs. This also could have been avoided if I'd gone to a notary downtown. The reason I didn't actually has more to do with my particular brand of anxiety than anything else. It's easier for me to make an appointment by actually talking to someone rather than leaving a message or e-mail, and the one in the boonies had a 'talk to an actual person' option. So.

Between Google Maps telling me this place was impossible to get to and me only really knowing one bus route in the area, this meant a bloody lot of walking, and just to be clear, there is definitely not a Chinook going on right now. Once I actually got there, things went pretty smoothly. It was warm, the notary was nice and helpful, and the idea was brought up of getting to a registry right away. And guess what! There's one close-ish that's open late! Sounds like a good idea, right?

…

Right.

So maybe if I hadn't stopped at that Starbucks to warm up with a hot drink I'd have made it on time, but I'm a masochist not an idiot. When I say I was freezing I mean it literally, and quite frankly frostbite is not something I'm eager to experience. But I left there in plenty of time, right? Well, plenty of time if I hadn't ignored the route Google Maps suggested and gotten myself just a little bit lost along the way. After wandering around the wrong side of the shopping complex for a while, I finally get there twenty minutes to closing only to have the guy tell me they can't do it tonight because it will take half an hour to process.

Brick wall, head smash, gnashing of teeth.

I'd like to tell you there was some epic, climactic scene here, that I told him I didn't care how long it would take, he was going to do this for me now. I'd like to tell you that I didn't just gather up my things and walk quietly back out the door, but the truth is that I'm no good at conflict. Oh, I can write it well enough. Everything I wish I'd said or thought about doing goes into my characters, but in real life I try to avoid it at all costs. I'll battle my way through ice and snow, navigate inadequate transit coverage and keep at it when most sane people would say “You know what? I'm just gonna go home now,” but bending a registry agent to my will is just not one of my skill sets. I can wait for my name just a little while longer. Tomorrow will be soon enough.

Cat-Bird Stole My Afternoon, And I Don't Care

2011-01-12T16:39:00.000-07:00

I have just devoured Dog-Man And Cat-Bird. I was supposed to be grocery shopping, and I don't care. I was supposed to be baking buns, and I don't care. Hell, I was supposed to be doing my own writing, but again, I don't care. Because for the past 14,000 words, all I've cared about was Cat-Bird. All I wanted to know was how and what now and oh god, why can't you see what's really going on here? Yes, ok, I yell at characters in the hopes they'll figure it all out before it's too late. I do it to the TV. I do it to my characters too. It's only because, even for a little while, I really care about them. And like I said, I cared.

And now for those of you who have no idea what I'm talking about here, I'm talking about the first story in Chuck Wendig's new short story collection Irregular Creatures. Now that you know about it, go buy it. If you already knew about it but haven't bought it yet, what's stopping you? No Kindle? Amazon doesn't like your method of payment? Do what I did, contact the Man Himself through his website, send him the monies through PayPal and he'll send you a PDF. Nothing easier. And I'm not just saying this because he has those incriminating photographs of me...

Ok, I'm done. For now. Chances are I'll report back as I read the rest of the stories though, which I am very much looking forward to doing. Until then, happy reading and writing, folks.

My Writing Process: Making It Up As I Go Along

2011-01-12T00:10:00.000-07:00

Just based on process alone, it's painfully obvious that this is my first novel. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing when I started, or what I was getting myself into. Hell, it started more than anything as a writing exercise.

It all started when this character with the unlikely name of Michael Pariah wandered into my head and politely requested that I write him down. And so, not knowing any better, I did. The whole first chapter was just me getting to know him. (The fact that I've since completely cut that chapter is beside the point.) I was just writing. I would write when I felt like it, and I'd often have to read what I'd already written to remind myself not only what was going on, but what kind of voice I was using. I'd also edit. A lot. I was committing that most heinous of all writer crimes: editing as I went. Honestly, even after I'd heard about it I thought I was above that rule. I'm not, and neither are you. I'd ask you to believe me, but chances are you won't until you've figured it out for yourself.

Well, between the long breaks and the constant editing, it's really no wonder that my novel fell by the wayside for over a year. Even though I had begun to get an idea of the plot instead of pantsing it completely, I was storing it all in my head and losing momentum. Other things got in the way, and I'd made it far too easy for these other things to distract me. That is, until I noticed this intriguing little Twitter hashtag: #NaNoWriMo.

I'd figured out through context that it had something to do with writing a 50,000 word novel in a month, and thought, what the hell. I've got that Michael Pariah thing sitting around doing nothing, might as well pull that out and see what happens. It was already a couple of days into November when I finally found the official NaNoWriMo website, found out it stood for National Novel Writing Month, and joined up. I found out that there was a whole community involved in this, and a local branch with in-person writing sessions that I resolved to take full advantage of. This began my second writing phase: writing every day. I still had my outline in my head rather than written out in any way, but I was keeping up momentum and I wasn't editing as I wrote. I also began reading a lot more about the craft of writing, most notably at Terrible Minds, a blog by the brilliant and bizarre Chuck Wendig.

Did I win, did I beat the NaNo challenge of 50,000 words? No. But that wasn't really my goal. My goal was to finish my first draft, a goal that (I thought) I had accomplished. The fact that I'd only finished the first plot-arc is a post for another day. The upshot here is that I got into the habit of writing, and writing every day. I'd take my laptop on the bus with me, I'd plug in a few words before bed. I was writing and I was reading about writing. And eventually, when December rolled around, I started actually plotting.

Admittedly, I still follow a pretty loose format for my outline, more a series of progressions per character group of this action leads to this action, each one indented further than the one before until it looks like way too many nested replies in a forum thread. Some of it still reads pretty vaguely, like: →Possibly by becoming Timoth's property as well, pulling a Michael? Perverse... Potential. Need to plot on this... There's also a lot there that can only really be understood if you're living in my head, but it gives me something to refer to, something to give me a direction. I've also been noting what scenes I've already written, and in what order so I have a better idea of where I left off and what plot-line to pick up next.

Is it a perfect system? Hardly. I'm still learning as I go along, but the more I do the more I can fine-tune my process, and what I do have now is in part thanks to reading the advice and experience of others. Who knows, maybe by the time I write my second book, I'll actually know what I'm doing. Until then, I'll be doing a lot more reading, and a lot more writing.

How about you, what does your process look like? Is there anything you find particularly helpful? Has your process changed much since you started? I'd love to hear about it.

Making And Breaking The Rules Of Fantasy

2011-01-09T23:50:00.000-07:00

I'll admit right now that I am a one, maybe two genre guy, depending on how closely related you consider Science Fiction and Fantasy. Yes, I'll read other genres, and it's even possible I'll write other genres down the line, but this is where my heart is. Fantasy, especially.

When they say "write what you know," this is what I go to. It's true that I've never dealt with daemons, travelled strange and fantastic lands or wielded mighty magics, but if there's one genre I know inside and out, this is it. I know the rules of Fantasy instinctively, the same way I know when a Chinook* is rolling in. And the biggest rule is? There are no rules.

Ok, that's a lie. There are lots of rules, and they're different if you're talking about High Fantasy, Contemporary Fantasy or Urban Fantasy. Good and evil are more black and white (or at least you know which side a character/creature ought to be on,) magic and fantastic creatures abound, and chances are someone has a Destiny. The fun part is, even within these rules, you get to reinvent the world each time. In fact, that's pretty much the point. While there's only so much you can change about a certain "race" or "species" and still have it be recognizable, you get to take it and make it your own, with your own rules. For example, there are certain things that make a faerie a faerie or it isn't a faerie, but that can range from sweet Victorian flower fairies, through Tinkerbell right to something downright malicious like Jenny-Greenteeth. Don't like what came before? Reinvent it.

Vampire stories are notorious for having a different set of rules for every author, and while each reader has eir own preference, we can (usually) recognize that it is a vampire when you tell us so. As long as we have drinks blood + immortal/unnaturally long-lived, we'll go "yep, that's a vampire all right," even if the rest of the details get changed faster than topics in an ADD conversation (though some of us still draw the line at sparkles. I mean, seriously! He's a vampire, not a disco-ball.) The upshot of this is, in Fantasy you get to change the rules. A lot.

One thing you can't do is break your own rules. Once you've established a magic system in your universe, you have to stick with it. Your trolls turn to stone in the daylight? You can't have one suddenly take a noonday stroll. Your vampires are allergic to garlic? They probably won't be going out for Italian. Whatever else you do, you have to keep up an internal logic or the reader with think you have no idea what you're doing. Keep that in mind when you're doing your world building; consistency is key.

If you're writing a Fantasy story, how well are you sticking to your own rules? Think I'm full of crap here? Tell me why. I'll never learn otherwise.

*For those who don't live just west of the foothills of the Rockies, a Chinook is a warm wind that comes in from the Pacific Ocean, over the mountains, and is known to raise the temperature above freezing in winter. Also known to cause nasty headaches from the pressure changes.

What's In A Name? Part II

2011-01-08T10:37:00.000-07:00

This part, for some reason, seemed to me like it was going to be something strange and frightening: getting fingerprinted. I'm not sure why I thought this, but I kept picturing Big Intimidating Cops that would glare suspiciously at me, trying to determine what heinous crime I must have committed. What can I say? I'm a writer. I have an over-active imagination.

The reality was actually very different. It was in a small office in a public building downtown with two bored looking officials, a woman and an older man. The man was processing someone else, so it was the woman who helped me. It was pretty much the basic show ID, give address, (current) legal name, yadda yadda, then have picture taken. When she was entering it all into the computer, she actually debated whether she could mark me as M under gender rather than F, but was afraid that would screw up the paper work and cause the whole thing to be rejected. As much as I would have liked it if she could, I had to agree. Just the fact that she considered it meant a fair bit to me. Then I made sure it was all today's version of correct, and signed. At some point in here I did pay my $30.00 fee, confusing her with the relative orientation of my debit card (I love my bank, vertical card design and all.)

Next came the part that I was actually pretty excited about: the fingerprinting itself. By this time the other guy who was there for fingerprinting had left. The man who had been helping him had already set up the ink pad and such the way he liked it, so he did the actual printing. It went pretty quickly and easily. Ink and roll each finger, all fingers together, thumbs, done. I'm honestly not sure whether I'm relived or disappointed that the ink came off my fingers so easily, but it did and there it is. He folded up the sheet and handed it to me in an envelope. And that was it, I was done.

So now I have a very official sheet with my fingerprints on it, waiting to be brought back to the registration agency with the rest of my paperwork. It's actually pretty neat to look at - comparing the swirls on the fingers of my left hand with those on my right - I'm actually thinking of scanning a copy just for myself. The artist in me can't resist, really.

What's In A Name? Part I

2011-01-07T15:39:00.000-07:00

So I am finally going through the process of legally changing my name and I thought, what the hell. Let's blog about it. Because even with all of its bureaucracy, or perhaps because of it, it can be a pretty interesting process. This is of course how it happens in Alberta. I don't know how much is different elsewhere.

It all starts with the Application for Name Change forms that I picked up at a local Registration agency. They come bound in this book which is pretty neat, but also a little weird. Not only do I now have the forms to change my own name, but also the forms to change my children's or my spouse's names, if I had any and thought this was something I wanted to do. Now, I understand situations where one would want to change a child's name, adoption and what-not, but a spouse? I don't know about you, but even if my hypothetical spouse and I decided together that we would change eir name, I'd be a hell of a lot more comfortable if e did it emself. But I digress.

In case I didn't already know this, the front of the application tells me this isn't going to be free. It's not even going to be cheap, really, which is part of why I've had to wait so long.

Fees for Name Changes:

Registry Agents will collect:

a government fee of $120.00.
a service fee, which may vary (I was quoted anywhere from $190.00 to something upwards of $200.)
a fingerprint processing fee of $25.00, on behalf of the RCMP in Ottawa as payment for the criminal record check.

Local Law Enforcement Agencies:

may charge a fee for fingerprinting ($30.00 in this case.) Payment is made directly to the local law enforcement agency.

So that's... $375.00, or thereabouts. And that's not including whatever the Notary Public may charge for affirming the affidavit at the end. Way to make it easy on us, yeah? Still. Hoops. Sometimes you have to jump through them, and sometimes they'll make you pay out the nose for the privilege.

And that's step one: getting the application. Tomorrow I'll tell you all about the fingerprinting.

Also, just a quick FYI. No, I will not tell you my original/old/"real" name. I'm pretty open about the process of transitioning, more so than most people in my situation, but this is one of the few questions I won't answer. The last thing I want to do is give more people the opportunity to call me by the wrong name. Thank you.

Getting Comfortable With Being In Transition

2011-01-05T12:12:00.000-07:00

And I don't just mean the big obvious one, though that's something I've had to get comfortable with too. I mean the whole big transition that is life, that thing we all do every day or else we become some stagnant, stale shell of a human being.

When I was a kid, I thought that all I had to do was figure out who I was, and that's who I'd be. Forever. Nothing else, and nothing less. I'd grow up, find a few words to describe myself, and that would be that. One thing I've had to come to terms with is the fact that that is never going to happen. Who I am today? Really not who I was yesterday. Tomorrow? Well, I'll be someone else again, won't I?

I don't mean every transition I go through is as big and life-changing as the one from trying to be female to finally being male. Sometimes it's as simple as reading an insightful blog post, or engaging with new people on Twitter. Or in real life even. That happens too, on occasion. If who I am is the sum of my experiences, then with every moment I'm in transition from being someone who hasn't experienced something to someone who has.

This also means that I have to update who I think I am at almost every turn. I thought I was someone who was only romantically interested in people of a specific gender or type until I realized it wasn't that simple, not for me anyway. I thought of myself as someone who hated kids and would never have any or want to until I met my niece. And the big one? Perhaps bigger than all the rest, even THE big one?

I thought I was always and forever an Artist before anything else. That was the pinnacle of my identity, the one thing that I had always been and would always be no matter what else changed, I was an Artist and I would paint/draw/make jewellery until the day I died of some bizarre cancer or heavy metal poisoning from my work. I believed this until I looked up one day and realized I was becoming a Writer.

I looked at what I had drawn or made in the past week, the past month. Nothing. I mean literally. I hadn't made a damn thing the whole time, not so much as a doodle. I looked at what I had been doing instead. When I wasn't writing, I was reading about writing. I was talking about writing, and I was on my way to someplace where I would be writing. (Or I was at my day job, but even there I was thinking about writing.) That's when I realized that I was watching my own transition from Artist with a little writing on the side, to Writer with a little art on the side.

I can't say that I was entirely happy about this. I mean, I'd put how many years into that identity? I now owe how much in student loans because of it? And what will my Grandma think? I was always the Artist in the family, one of her kind. I felt like I was betraying a core part of me. But that didn't stop the transition. Because even though I was mourning the Artist, I was celebrating the Writer. You see, the big difference between the two has been commitment. I have actually been able to commit to one writing project, my novel, far longer and more consistently than any body of art I've undertaken. And I've realized, that I'd much rather be productive and prolific at something that I love than be sporadic and occasionally brilliant at something that I love.

Sample Sunday: A Discussion of Self in Carl's Café

2011-01-02T00:00:00.002-07:00

Obviously, some things have changed since I first wrote this. I'd be surprised if it hadn't, seeing as this comes from that same 2007/2008 era as Friday's flash piece, and in fact appears on the page just before it in the notebook. Does it mean that what I wrote then is now completely untrue? No, not really. It was true at the time, and I think I needed it to work through who I was and get to who I am. The fact that I chose to do this through a fictionalized encounter with myself is also unsurprising, given my tendency in the past to use a fantasy world for both escapism and self-discovery.

Anyway, I've done more than enough babbling here about 'what it all means' and other self analysis. I'll let you get on with actually reading it now.

A Discussion of Self in Carl's Café

"I'm not like other guys," he said. "Then again, most other guys aren't perfectly happy living in a woman's body."

He laughed then. "Hell, why shouldn't I be? I mean, I get to live the 'lesbian fantasy' to its most satisfying fullness. But seriously. A man in a woman's body who's not about to do anything about it at all. Am I being a coward? Not taking the risk, not making the commitment to become 'who I am?'" He shrugged. "Maybe. But I'm really only a part of who I am, aren't I?"

He smiled at me and finished his coffee. As he left, I smiled and nodded to myself. What he'd said was true.

Friday Flash: And the Mysteries Knew Me

2010-12-31T00:00:00.001-07:00

Going through an old notebook, I found this little piece. I'd say it's circa 2008, though possibly as early as late '07. I was a bit spotty with dating my work in here. Uncertain time-line aside, I do remember that it was one of those things I wrote in a torrential flood of inspiration and then had no idea what I was going to do with it, especially since I didn't know about flash as a writing style at the time. So I'm posting it here, with a little on-the-spot editing and a new title.

And the Mysteries Knew Me

She sat with me all the while, singing the songs we'd learned in the empty places. Her voice shone with her wings, both lit from some wondrous source. As I lay there, listening, I could feel it. The velvet night wrapped me up in its warm embrace and carried me up through the higher planes of its silence. When I sought to look, I found that my eyes were no more, nor was my body.

The song though, was a thing I could see, a thing I could touch. Her voice became my world and my world became the stars. Light came to the deepest shadows and dark engulfed where light had been. I was ecstatic. When I laughed, my voice was that of the stars which were bells, shimmering in the highest of the heights.

Then the skies became cold, so cold. The very marrow of my being shivered and ached. I found my body again and with it, I found agony. My laughter was no more. My screams ran at right angles to my being. Her song now was a keening, a wailing despair echoing in my existence. The world trembled, and I trembled with it.

Within eternity I wept, tears running hot over cold sweat. Her voice was softening, a whisper then. The chill became bearable, the kind found in a draughty winter shelter. The song slowed. My trembling eased. My breath ragged, I returned to myself, but I was changed. Innocence gone, I now knew the mysteries and by the gods, the mysteries knew me.

Friday Flash: The Seeking-Rhyme

2010-12-24T00:42:00.000-07:00

Here's a wee bit of Friday Flash for you all. A short little scene, really, it's something that was in the first chapter of my WIP. I'm going to cut the chapter in the final piece but I like this scene. It shows the kind of person Michael would like to be and maybe would be if his past didn't continually hunt him down to bite him in the ass.

The Seeking-Rhyme

“S'cuze me, mister?” A small voice called out. Michael turned to look out of curiosity, and was surprised to find that the small child had actually been addressing him. Nevertheless, he squatted down so that he was at the child's eye level.

“Yes, wee-one? What is it?”

“I lost my mommy,” said the child. “I was looking at something, and when I looked back, she was gone!”

Michael glanced up and down the street. “Well, she can't have gotten too far, I imagine. We'll find her, don't you worry your little head. Where was the last place you saw her, then?”

“Over there, by the window with all the shiny things in it.” The child was pointing at a bead store down the street, with many examples of beaded flowers and animals on display.

“All right, we'll start there,” said Michael with a smile. He took the child's small hand in his own and together they walked towards the store front. When they got there, he crouched down again and looked the child straight in the eye. “Now, I'm going to show you a little trick, and with it we'll find your mommy, easy as anything. All you have to do is close your eyes and spin around, all the while saying this little seeking-rhyme. It goes like this: Spin and shine/ Seek and find/ I have lost my mommy-mine/ Spin and shine/ Seek and find/ I shall find my mommy-mine. When you stop, whatever direction you're facing, that's what direction your mommy will be in.”

The child looked at him doubtfully and mumbled, “That won't work.”

“Oh it won't, will it? Well, there's no harm trying though, is there? Come now, I'll do it with you.” He stood up then and started spinning, and the child reluctantly joined in. Together, they recited the words:

Spin and shine

Seek and find

I have lost my mommy-mine

Spin and shine

Seek and find

I shall find my mommy-mine

They opened their eyes to see a woman rushing down the street, frantically searching this way and that, calling out as she went.

“Mommy!” the child exclaimed, and started running towards the woman.

“Oh, my darling!” she cried, scooping the child up into a fierce hug. “Oh, I was so worried about you, where on earth did you get off to?”

“A nice man helped me, Mommy, we made a spinning song and then there you were!”

“Who helped you?”

“That man there, with the long coat,” the child replied, pointing towards Michael.

“Where..? Honey, I don't see anyone in a long coat,” said the woman, perplexed, then she shook her head.

“Whatever, doesn't matter. I'm just glad you're safe!”

Michael smiled and nodded to himself, then went on his way.

Oatcakes of DOOM!

2010-12-18T12:58:00.000-07:00

In an effort to keep blogging, I've decided that if I think of something I want to blog, I'll do it now, not 'sometime later.' Also potentially keeping up with theme days. Who knows, maybe Saturdays will become 'Cooking With Eric' or something. Right now, the only thing I promise you is Oatcakes.

I started with this recipe on the Canadian Living website to get an idea of ingredients and proportions. I'd started messing around with it already on the first batch. Any time I make something on the sweet side of oats, I use cinnamon and nutmeg, so that was a no-brainer for me. This time however, I went all out. One of the first things I changed was to use the handy-dandy servings converter on the site to calculate proportions for 100 servings. Their original 36 was good, but I'm using these babies as a staple snack, so I need to be able to make more at a time. So from there we have:

Ingredients
4 1/4 cups rolled oats
4 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
2/3 cup granulated sugar
1 1/2 tsp baking soda
1 1/2 tsp salt
2 cups cold butter or margarine
~1 cup cold water
cinnamon, nutmeg and honey to taste

In a large bowl, combine oats, flour, sugar, baking soda and salt, with a generous dash of cinnamon and a less generous dash of nutmeg. Nutmeg is a powerful spice, and a little goes a long way. Cut up the butter or margarine and mix it into the rest by hand until mixture is pebbly. The original recipe wanted me to use knives or a pastry blender, but I have no such blender and find getting in there with my hands more effective and satisfying anyway.

Add honey and sprinkle water in a little at a time. Press it together with your hands, adding just enough water to hold the dry ingredients together. Again, hands. This is baking, we're meant to get our hands dirty.

Pre-heat oven to 350F. Form balls (a little larger than a golf-ball) and flatten onto a greased baking sheet to make cakes approximately 3/4" thick. The 1/4" thickness in the original recipe was good enough, but I found it too dry and wanted something more 'cake' and less 'cookie' anyway. This seems to work. Bake for about 20 minutes or until golden on the outside. Let cool.

The whole thing makes about this much(minus the two that I already ate):

Share and enjoy!

Flash Friday: Lockbox

2010-12-17T01:29:00.000-07:00

This was originally for a contest, but I never did finish it before the deadline. Instead, I kept it around until an ending occurred to me. Now I'm sharing it with you. Proof that I should be writing fantasy rather than crime or noir.

Lockbox

I shuffled into my room, not bothering to turn on the light, and fell into bed.

“Ow! Sunnova-” Rubbing the back of my head, I got up and flicked on the light.

There was a box on my pillow.

It was a standard metal cash box, which explained why it hurt like hell when it connected with the back of my head. Since it remained inert after a blow that threatened to give me a concussion, I figured I could safely assume that it wasn't wired to explode. I picked it up and began examining it.

The box looked brand new, without so much as a scratch on it. No name, no note, nothing to indicate where it could have come from, and what's more, it was locked. There must be a key, I decided. Who would leave a locked box on my pillow with no way for me to open it? Oh, sure I could pick the lock, but if I didn't have to put in the effort, I wouldn't. I looked around for a place to put the box while a searched for a key, quickly realizing why whomever had gifted it to me had left it on my pillow. There was nowhere else to put it.

Ok, so the place was a mess. Who was I trying to impress? For me the room was little more than a place to crash out after a long night of either hunting or hiding other people's secrets. I didn't really care what they were up to so long as the money was right, and until now, none of it had ever followed me home. Hell, I wouldn't even know if this was my work following me home until I got the box open.

I gave the back of my head another rub before tucking the box under my arm while I searched through the rumpled bedding one-handed. After a little while, I spotted a glint of metal where the key had fallen between the pillows. Keys, actually. It was the standard two keys on a small split ring that came with the purchase of such a cash box, confirming for me that it was bought new just for this purpose. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I balanced the box on my knees and unlocked it.

The small figure inside stood up.

“T'were 'bout time, Jack-a-daw, though I'd thank ye not to rattle me 'round so,” he said, dusting himself off.

I stared at the fey creature for a moment before closing the lid on him again and locking it. Whatever he wanted from me could wait.

Sample Sunday: Christmas at Barnaby's

2010-12-12T02:06:00.000-07:00

Since it is now technically Sunday, I figured I'd take advantage of #SampleSunday and post a sample here. This is a rough scene from a short story in progress derived from a novel just newly into the editing stages. And yes, that is all the context I'm giving you. For now. And now, I hope you enjoy them as much as I've enjoyed bringing them to you:

The Faerie mummers from Christmas at Barnaby's

They were watching the mummers, Michael sitting at Barnaby's feet. Isabell sat before Tristianne, her arms around Lisa. It was, to say the least, an entertaining show.

“My Lord,” said Michael, “are you quite certain hiring the Faeries for this was such a good idea?”

Barnaby raised an eyebrow. “We always hire Faeries. Besides which, where else could we find mummers these days, particularly ones who will perform in the Realm?”

Michael shook his head slowly. “I suppose, my Lord. It's just that this here is the strangest Herod I've ever seen.”

Lisa looked more closely at the Faerie cavorting before them. She wasn't sure what the creature looked like it might be, but she definitely couldn't see how Michael had gotten the biblical king out of it. “Herod? How d'you figure?”

“Who else would the villain be?” said Michael, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Lisa watched the Faerie a while longer as it pantomimed running off the end of a cliff like Wile E. Coyote.

“Michael,” she said, “you might not have watched any TV, but between this and the carollers back there, I think these Faeries have.”

Isabell giggled and the Daemons smiled while Michael just shook his head again. “Strangest Herod ever,” he repeated.

Lets Talk About Food: Oat-covered Chicken and Fried Rice.

2010-09-18T18:04:00.000-06:00

I've been cooking. The real thing too, with basic ingredients from scratch and everything. Ask anyone who's known me for a while; this is a strange occurrence. Still, if you think about it, me starting to cook now makes a lot of sense. It really comes down to three things:

One, hunger. I'm on T and among other things, it makes me hungry. Very hungry. Food-is-the-best-thing-in-the-world hungry.

Two, cost. I'm on the prowl for a job, but in the meantime money is tight. I could spend over $60 for frozen, ready-to-heat meals, or I could spend $45 on twice as much chicken, some eggs, and everything I need to make Borscht a couple of times over.

Three, something one of my teachers said. It was an analogy about learning skills versus learning specific projects by rote. He said, and I paraphrase here, that say you know how to make scrambled eggs, and only scrambled eggs, that's all you're going to make. However, if you understand that heat + eggs = cooked eggs, you can come up with a variety of ways to cook eggs. I pretty much took this analogy and sent it back to the concept of cooking: food + heat + spices = cooking. From there, I can experiment.

So, here's what I did today. I took a piece of boneless, skinless chicken breast, an egg, some breakfast-type oatmeal, and various spices. I beat the egg in one bowl and put some oatmeal and spices in another. I took the chicken, dipped it in the egg, then rolled it in the oats etc. until covered. Then I put it on a baking sheet in the oven at 400 Fahrenheit. I think I let it cook for about 15min, though I'm not 100% sure. Meanwhile, I made some rice and cleaned up a bit. The chicken was ready before I needed it, so I ended up keeping it in the oven with the heat off and the door open a bit while I worked on the rest. When the rice was ready, I added the egg I'd used for the chicken into the same pot I cooked the rice in. I also messed with the burner heat some and added soy sauce and frozen peas.

The fried rice, pretty much perfect, at least by my standards. The chicken... well, it ended up a little bland and a little dry. I think next time I'll get the rice started before hand, and maybe use more spices, and putting them in the egg as well, rather than just the oats. Either way, it was more than edible, and I didn't have anything half-cooked to give me food poisoning. I'll call that a success.

The Aesthetics of Technobabble

2010-09-15T13:49:00.000-06:00

I have a confession to make: I love technobabble. It doesn't much matter what the subject is, I find technical jargon fascinating. Though I don't really need to understand in order to enjoy it, I can usually follow the gist of what's being talked about. Sometimes I can even relate it back to other subjects, and by sheer repetition and unconscious cross-referencing, learn something. Basically, it's fun.

This, naturally, accounts for my taste for science fiction. In fact, I've been making a point of reading some vintage scifi, partly for fun and partly to gain a sense of the history of the genre. In particular, and in all honesty the inspiration for this post, I've been reading 'The Complete Venus Equilateral' by George O. Smith.

Due to its publication history, it's not laid out like most novels I've read. Essentially, it's a compilation of stories, most of which were originally published in the periodical 'Astounding Science Fiction' and each followed their own story arcs. So each 'chapter', if you will, is a short story which just happens to tie directly into the one before. What does this have to do with technobabble? Well, these stories are full of it. Oh, granted it's laughably out of date by now, seeing as these stories were written mainly in the early 40's and centred around radio tubes, but the whole premise leans heavily on the technical. The whole thing is really about a bunch of electrical engineers in space.

However, even with my love of technobabble, I'd still probably find the whole thing terribly dry if it weren't for the way Smith wrote the characters. Just reading the way these fellows interact makes me believe they're real. Curious, jocular, and continually teasing each other; I could easily imagine myself with these guys, trying to find the next new advancement in technology.

Out of date as it is, and as much as it tests the limits of my suspension of disbelief (for example, the idea of anyone living on Venus), I'm really quite enjoying 'Venus Equilateral'.

Musings Regarding Self-Preservation and Survival of the Species

2010-05-28T18:02:00.000-06:00

I was having an interesting discussion with my sister today. She's in nursing, mostly long-term care facilities thus far. Of note, when she mentioned her crack patients and wanting to tell them to 'switch to weed for a week because they're too damn skinny right now.' My response was that it must be a matter of trying to find the most likely solution in a bad situation, and she said that's pretty much what nursing is. This, among other things led to musing about a general lack of self-preservation in humans to which she said, 'in this world, is that really surprising?'

I have to admit, she's got a point. When you think about it, a sense of self-preservation is an extension of a sense of survival of the species, something that, based on daily life experiences, is hardly something we as humans need to worry about. I mean, look around! We are horribly over-populated, we cover every corner of the globe where human life is even vaguely tenable, and it really doesn't look like we're going to stop any time soon. It's impossible to feel that the species is on the verge of dying out when crammed over-capacity on a subway train, when walking shoulder to shoulder with strangers in the street, when waiting hours in line to get into a party or trying to find good seats at a movie theatre. When faced with this in daily life, I think the average person can be forgiven for thinking that, as a species, we're pretty well on top and there's nothing really to worry about. So what if I die young as a result of drugs/alcohol/pervasive chemicals/cellphone radiation/etc.? There will always be someone else to take my place. As far as humans go, plenty more where I came from.

Now the thing is, I have a certain difficulty seriously believing this to be a problem. I'll admit that probably has more to do with my personal cynicism about most things, and very likely has something to do with the pervasive attitude I just described. The gods know I don't have a very strong sense of self-preservation myself. If it seems like more fun than playing it safe, chances are I'll go for it. Hell, my dearest friendship is based on mutually assured destruction, and really, I wouldn't have it any other way.

Who's Your Doctor?

2010-05-10T17:19:00.000-06:00

It might seem blasphemous to say this, especially so early in the season and so soon after David Tennant... but I think Matt Smith may be my Doctor.

I'll admit that I was a wee bit sceptical when I first saw the publicity shots of the new Doctor. He was alright from certain angles, in the right light... but mostly he looked odd. How could this guy compare to out beloved David Tennant? Then I saw him move.

By that, I mean I saw a preview clip, not just just some still photos. I was hooked. There was something very real, very alive about this new Doctor. And so, without even having seen a full episode, I must confess he stole my heart. As I continue to watch the series, this feeling that he is The One, my Doctor, only grows. There's something very immediate about his performance; I love the way that even he is surprised and delighted when one of his plans works out.

Of course, lets not forget the new companion, Amy. I'm sorry Donna fans (you too, Sarah) but I think Amy is the strongest companion yet. She's sharp, she's clever, and she can often figure things out for herself. (The fact that I've always had a soft spot for redheads doesn't hurt...)

Identifying Identity

2010-04-28T13:48:00.000-06:00

A while ago, I was at a pub with an acquaintance and we were talking about life, the universe and everything; our little corner of it anyway. One of the things she said was, "when you decide to transition, it becomes everything that you are."

At that time, I hadn't actively decided to transition. I was still testing the waters so to speak, though now I'm sure I was past the point of no return already. Now I look at her words form the perspective of having decided, and I can tell you that for me, she wasn't entirely right.

In a some ways, I was more trans before starting my transition. I was obsessive about the concept, particularly about it in regards to me. Every day was am I? Aren't I? Checking in the mirror to see if I could tell just by looking; which bits are masculine? Which bits are feminine? Every time I met someone new, what name was I supposed to use? Sometimes I introduced myself using both names, and left it up to the other person to choose what to call me. In short, I could not stop thinking about being trans.

Around the same time I started my physical transition and sought out hormones, I also came to realize that the identities that meant more to me throughout more of my life had more to do with what I did than who I was. Artist. Performer. Writer. These were things about me that had no real bearing on my gender or my sex, and were things that were important to me before I ever even heard the term 'trans'. Of course, being trans has and will always have a profound influence on these aspects of myself, how could it not? But being trans is only a facet of who I am. It is not the entirety of my identity.

Opinions and Consequences

2010-03-26T23:54:00.000-06:00

This is just a short post to expand upon a thought that occured to me today: Everyone is entitled to their own opinions. They're also entitled to the consequences of voicing them.

What prompted this was reading the comments here in which someone pointed out, very politly I might add, the author's transphobic/cis privilaged language. While it's true that she used this language out of sheer ignorance, instead of apologizing and learning when being called on it, she got defensive and essentially refused to be held accountable.

This seems to me to be symptomatic of a pervasive attitude in our society, particularily on the internet. Starting from the idea that everyone is entitled to their own opinions most people seem to go on to assume this means and therefore you can't tell me I'm wrong. I however posit that not all opinions are well informed, and that there are consequences to voicing uninformed opinions. The best thing any of us can do when being called on an uninformed or poorly thought out opinion is to learn, to take other points of view into account, and apologize when necessary.

Too Tired to Party, But Not Apparently Too Tired to Blog

2010-03-18T00:13:00.000-06:00

So it's St. Pat's and instead of drinking the night away, I'm sitting in bed with my computer on my lap.

Part of the reason I started this blog was to address the hypersensitivity I've seen on so many other trans blogs and discussion groups. I couldn't really understand why they were so ready to jump down people's throats any time someone uttered anything that could be even remotely construed as being offensive. I could guess at the roots of this anger, but mostly I felt sorry for them that they'd gone through something bad enough to make them so bitter. That wasn't going to happen to me, right? After all, I'm stronger than that, and transitionning under better circumstances, right? Well, as I get further along in my own transition, I'm beginning to realize that while they may still be somewhat hypersensitive, it's not without cause.

My first inkling that perhaps not all was right with my world was reading my letter of recommendation to
start hormone therapy. While I could understand that much of it was lifted from the Standards of Care which is currently about 9 years out of date, I was still surprised and not a little irritated to find it riddled with 'she's and 'her's in reference to me. I have a certain amount of patience for friends and family who might not understand, after all it takes time to educate. But to have someone who works with trans people on a regular basis commit such blatant disrespect? That I could not fathom. If it got me what I needed, however, I could grin and bear it. Irritated but undeterred, I shrugged it off.

What really drove it home for me though, was listenning to this same psychologist explain to my mom how trans man and women aren't real man and women; they're trans. They are and will always be in between. I sat there listenning to him talk about how he'd felt 'uncomfortable' at a house party full of trans men and how you could always tell that there was something 'off' about a trans person... It dawned on me then that he didn't take this, or me, seriously. Worse, he was being transphobic. Here was someone who was supposed to be on my side, and all the while it seems that he's just playing along and humouring this poor, gender-confused little girl. Because over the course of the session, he as good as said 'I don't see you as male.'

Between this and other social opposition I've encountered, it's becoming more and more clear to me that in the eyes of most of the rest of the world, I'm either a fraud, or else not a person. And coming from the privilaged possition of being white and middle-class, I'll admit it's more of a shock than I expected.

The Star Trek Analogy

2010-02-20T17:46:00.000-07:00

Ask pretty much anyone who knows me and they will tell you I am a geek. I'm all about Sci-Fi/Fantasy novels, comics, Dungeons & Dragons and of course, Star Trek.

Ever since I was a little kid, I've loved Star Trek, Next Generation especially, though I was only ever managed to watch it once in a while when I could catch it on TV, and never in any particular order. What I can remember of my childhood impression of the show is this: Data was my hero, Jordie and Warf were also pretty cool, and I really did not like that doctor-who-wasn't-Beverly-Crusher. Until I began to watch all the episodes in order, I couldn't say why, only that there was something about her that rubbed me the wrong way.

As I reached Season 2 of my viewing campaign, I came to realize that my dislike of Dr. Pulaski had less to do with her not being Dr. Crusher, and more to do with her attitude towards Data. While the rest of the crew at least made a consistant effort to treat Data like a person, she just couldn't seem to get past the fact that he was an android, and continued to see him as a machine, no more worthy of regard than any piece of equipment. That diregard rankled, not only because Data was my favourite, but because the attitude of people like her can be a real threat to people like me. I might not have been conscious of this as a kid, but part of me understood. Part of me was afraid, and so I hated her.

What it comes down to is this: Data, the android who would be human, is analogous to any minority group who has had to fight to be seen as even human. In my case, Data's experience parallels my own as a trans man. I see my own struggle for personhood in his character. In Dr. Pulaski, I saw all those who would disregard my experience as real, all those who would continue to judge from a position of priviledge.

Still... watching now, I can't completely condemn her character. She has made sacrifices worthy of respect, and though stubborn she seems willing to at least try to learn. Whatever the case, I'll keep an eye on her as I watch, secure in the knowledge that for better or worse, we do get Beverly back eventually.

A Question of Charity

2010-02-19T00:19:00.000-07:00

Something interesting happened today. A boy came to my door, essentially selling newspapers as part of a programme that would help him pay for university. After a little thought I agreed that for ten dollars, this was something I could feel good about supporting.

It got me to wondering. Why this cause? Why should I be more willing to help one kid go to school while I find the idea of disaster and poverty relief charities questionable? I tried once to work as a canvaser for a public outreach service, but quickly left because I could not bring myself to promote an organization that I did not support 110%. Opting to promote the branch I found least objectionable didn't help. It simply went against my values.

When I think about it, I believe my attitude comes down to my ideas about the role of more developed countries when dealing with less developed ones. It may be cynical of me, but I see a trend wherein anytime a more 'advaced' society gets involved with a more 'primitive' one, regardless of the intentions someone, usually the conquered/colonized/aided population ends up worse off than when they started. Although I've seen methods that seem more sound to me, for example providing the building blocks for sustainable resources rather than handing over finished products, I'm still not totally convinced that it will pan out.

There is also the question of whether it's right for one people to impose their values on other peoples. Who gets to decide who's morality is better? Every society has abhorent as well as redeeming qualities in different proportions, and what is abhorent to you may be natural to me, and vice versa. Is help even wanted? Most of the time with large, overseas causes, I don't know if they want our help, or if 'help' is being imposed upon them.

This brings me back to the boy at my door. He was out doing this work on his own behalf. The programme was there to help him help himself, and from the looks of things he was willing to make the most of the opportunity. As a college student myself, I recognize that you get out of it what you put into it. If this kid is willing to work to get there, then it seems to me that he'll put the same kind of effort into the post secondary experience.

In The Beginning...

2010-02-06T18:26:00.001-07:00

Man, when I was young I shoved my ignorance in people's faces. They beat me with sticks. By the time I was forty my blunt instrument had been honed to a fine cutting point for me. If you hide your ignorance, no one will hit you and you'll never learn.

~Faber, Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury

When I decided that I wanted to write a blog, I knew that I wanted it to be a place where I could examine
my views and ideas, a place where I could define and refine them. I spent a while mulling this over, and the above quote kept coming back to me. It absolutely describes what it is I intend to do here. Right now, I am a young man. I have thus far been doing myself a disservice by keeping myself on the sidelines of discussion, and never showing my ignorance. How am I to learn if I don't know what it is that I don't know? Also, by the magic of the internet, I can promote discussions to expand the minds of others in the same way.

In particular, I want to take an uncommon stand on today's issues, particularly those which impact myself and my community. I want to examine the concept of privilege, rights and community activism. I want to understand what people are doing in these areas, why they are doing it, and if in the end it's doing any good. I also want to understand and solidify my own views on these issues, how it effects both myself and my interactions, as well as what I need to work on in order to become a better person, and what will lead to actual positive effects. I want to see where sensitivity to a cause becomes over-sensitivity and reactionary behaviour.

I want to try to take an outside perspective on a community that I am a part of. This means equally the queer community, the trans community, and to a certain extent the art community, because art is one of the many ways we influence opinion. I also want to look at community efforts on a larger scale and look at the fine line between a need for better protection and the sense of entitlement rampant in contemporary society.

This is an open invitation to participate! Learn, discuss, tell me where I'm wrong and why. Hopefully, we will both learn from this experience.