Husbands that help
It’s strange that when a mother talks about a good husband, she says things like, “He helps a lot.” I say it myself all the time. It’s strange for two reasons:
First, it is strange that somehow everything to do with raising a child falls on the mother’s shoulders, and the father just “helps” when he could be bothered. And he somehow deserves enormous credit for everything he does – whereas the much larger amount that SHE does is simply her job.
Second, it is strange that a father’s love and attention for his own child is not considered as a grand thing in its own right – it’s merely an addendum on the mother’s love and attention – as if she is the real parent, and he is not.
It is a beautiful thing that, with the exception of feeding, Louisette is mostly CJ’s responsibility during evenings and weekends. In those times, CJ is the “real” parent and I am the helper – if I volunteer to change a nappy or to run downstairs to replace the dummy in Louisette’s mouth, CJ thanks me without irony. Because in those times, it’s his job – not mine. I noticed this phenomenon the other day, and I’m so glad.
In the mornings, he gives me the gift of ten minutes – enough time to cram in breakfast and brush my teeth if I haven’t had the chance – which makes a huge difference too.
Best of all, he actually spends time with Louisette without my supervision.
Steamy Valentine
From 2D goggles, where there are many adorable comics featuring Lovelace and Babbage (if you don’t know who they are, you haven’t been around steampunk long) – your Valentine’s Day card:
PS Nerds will love this (and all the other xkcd comics, although one must be extremely nerdy in particular ways to get every single one).
How to write a sequel
Here, via John Scalzi, is one woman’s cunning plan for dealing with sequelitis. She makes a lot of sense. For example:
3. The plot deals with an entirely new problem. You can often pick detective novels up mid-series because each detective story is a self-contained plot. They start with a new question and then have to solve it, tidily, by the end of the book. Shades of Milk and Honey had a Jane Austen plot structure so the big question there was: Who is she going to marry? That’s no longer a question. Since I’ve sent [person A and B] to the Continent in 1815, the big question in Glamour in Glass is: What are they going to do when the Battle of Waterloo happens?
A lot of fantasy writers (myself included) write book two (or perhaps two and three) of their fantasy trilogy while waiting to hear back from publishers about the first book. The fundamental problem with this is that book one may never sell – and then you’re screwed.
Or perhaps, if you write very carefully, not.
PS Although I think it’s solid advice above, I also think she may have gone too far, since the first book is a romance. That technically makes the two books different genres.
Temeraire: Tongues of Serpents
Aussie Aussie Aussie! Oi! Oi! . . . . oh.
The book takes place in Australia, but it certainly doesn’t make you want to go back in time and visit. The rest of this review is at Comfy Chair, where I get paid for it.
ABC Sunday Live
ABC Classic FM radio station puts on free music performances every Sunday and broadcasts them live at 3pm. The performances move around Australia, and April is Canberra’s month. Last Sunday CJ and I went to this performance by members of the ANU jazz course, led by Mike Price on guitar (the picture below was taken from the ABC Live site).
I find jazz really challenging in much the same way as listening to Gamelan music (which uses a five-note scale): the rules are just. . . different. But it’s not difficult to fall for the mellow spontenaeity of jazz: the round sound of the trumpet; the smooth groove of a good bass; and the swinging singing of a sax*. The guitar is my favourite instrument, and it’s always good to see it wielded with such skill. I especially liked the original pieces scattered among a whole lot of Miles Davis.
Drums miss out a bit in jazz, I think – at least with this selection. I love a good rock and roll drum solo, but in jazz most of what the drummer does is to keep time (while everyone else seemingly ignores them). Or maybe I just don’t get it 🙂
*I like rhymes and alliteration, yes.
One-third of her life in pictures
Here is the first month of Louisette’s life, and here is the second.
Here is the third:
As CJ pointed out, she has spent one-sixth of her life travelling.
One last adventure
On our final full day in Beijing, CJ and I sought out a restaurant we’d liked on our first visit to Beijing back in 2010. We took the subway, and cunningly got off one station early due to a subconscious desire to make the day more epic.
For future reference, this is what the restaurant actually looks like (plus a sign taken after turning 90 degrees left in the street facing the restaurant):
CJ and I call the restaurant either “The DongBei restaurant” (about as specific as saying, “The Chinese restaurant”) or “The pumpkin chips restaurant”, neither of which is especially useful.
Nonetheless, we found it and we ordered (along with pumpkin chips, naturally – easy to recognise by their picture despite the lack of any English in the menu) something that looked like either duck or chicken. It arrived startlingly quickly.
“Well,” said CJ, “it’s chicken.”
“Oh?” I said.
“I can tell by the head. And the foot.”
It was served cold, and with all the bones intact – much as if it had been left on a table for a while, then passed through a paper shredder. It was a boy chicken, and it looked at me funny.
I couldn’t handle it, and decided to order another dish.
“One with a mix of meat and vegetables,” said CJ.
I flipped through the pages frantically, as Louisette’s cries of hunger grew increasingly strident. When I spotted something that looked like it might be pork but was definitely beans, I ordered it.
It wasn’t pork. It was beef (well, probably. It’s hard to tell with Chinese beef, which is horrid even when it’s actually made from a cow). And the beans were not beans. Oh no, dear reader. They were chillis.
The pumpkin chips were a little undercooked.
The rice we ordered never came.
In Winter 2010 we always enjoyed the free tea served on every table. When I asked for tea, the waitress said they “didn’t have any”.
So that was our last proper Chinese meal. Oh, China. You always come through when we need surprises.
The following day we left on an even more epic three-part journey home – pausing only to say goodbye to Bonnie’s family and to pee on Louisette’s grandma (Louisette did the peeing; we said the goodbyes). I could write about the journey, but the only important thing now is that we arrived home in the end.
What’s wrong with this picture?
Well, not wrong exactly. Just. . . something.
If no-one guesses correctly, I’ll post the answer next Monday.
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And the answer is. . . . . .
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The baby is not Louisette: It’s our niece.
The three most likely people to get it right were Bella (the baby’s mum, who didn’t notice), Bella’s husband, and my own mum (who is constantly telling me how much they look alike, and who has several hundred photos of each).
Congratulations to Bonnee, for guessing wildly but correctly, and to CJ’s Mum, who got it right away.
Here’s a similarly oriented picture that *IS* Louisette.
Steampunk Cats
How can I not link to this?
Incidentally, this afternoon at 3pm you may like to sync your awesomeness with mine. I’m going to a free jazz performance at the Llewellyn Hall (no I don’t know how to spell that) at the ANU – or if you’re not in Canberra but you are in Australia, you can listen to it as part of ABC radio’s Sunday Live program, from 3pm each Sunday (the performances themselves move all around Australia’s capital cities, and April is Canberra month this year). Details here.
Cook your novel
This is one of my favourite blogs, and it’s Australian. This post on how many points a fiction submission gets – or loses – made me laugh several times, but sadly every single point made in the article needs to be said. But most of all, dear reader, pay attention to Agent Sydney’s final plea to make sure your novel is fully baked before it gets sent.
Here’s how it goes:
1. Write novel. Edit if you must.
2. Wait several weeks/months.
3. Edit. Edit again.
4. Use beta readers – and not your mum, spouse (unless they actually criticize you, and do it well), or best friend – and edit again.
5. Send.
Savvy?
Felicity Banks 