Inspired by @corlin's latest post on the return of #Print...
We're all old enough to have been in the trenches with 'zine culture, right? 👀 Hand-printed, cut, collaged, block-painted, haphazardly aligned, chaotically edited ziiiiines! (You know what I mean. 🤟)
So! Question for you louts:
If you were to start a 'zine today, in the style of one of those grand old pubs, what would you call it and what would it be about?
I have the deepest gratitude to everyone who makes the world a safer place for children, especially after knowing unsafe places themselves as a child, and for everyone who strives to that better end only to have Life get in the way.
Thank you for doing the best you can. 🌺 Happiest of necessarily messy days.
Today, while in line at a grocery store, I introduced a Catholic neighbour to the concept of Calvinism, as a way of explaining some of the theological differences that make it difficult for people even within similar religious spheres to coexist in peace, so don't tell me I wouldn't be a blast at parties. 😅
Funnily enough, while making patacones I was sent a writing request from a top travel magazine. Just a quote about food culture here in Medellín, but HECK YES I can do that.
And do I have a chip on my shoulder about people who slag the food here for being "rustic", "simple", and "not as good as all the other South American countries"? MAYBE.
But Medellín apparently found its way onto a top 20 list of foodie cities, so apparently I'm not *entirely* alone in my love of simple cuisine done right.
I was supposed to be fasting this week, but a neighbour gave me ripe mangos and green plantains from her farm, so... patacones were necessary.
Years ago, back in Canada, patacones were the first thing I learned to cook for the displaced Colombians (and other Latinos) working in my neighbourhood. Simple to make, and a joy to serve with hogao and guacamole.
(And in return, I got an outlook on life that led me to a whole new world of learning. Also: leftover patacones!)
Another hilarious reminder of how hard new-agent-hunting is going to be. (Yes, I decided to send along a handful of queries this afternoon instead.)
Although this timeline is atypical among agents, it's also coming from someone with a solid literary practice.
If I didn't so desperately want to give this trilogy a chance at being traditionally published, the slim pickings among SF agents, and messages like this, would drive me to self/indie-publishing it in a heartbeat.
After my meeting last Thursday, in which I closed off my relationship with my first literary agent, I submitted a pitch right away to my top choice for a better fit, and now I'm reviewing the next volley of agent pitches, to send out first thing tomorrow.
There aren't really many agents for sci-fi: more for literary stories with a whiff of spec.
But as I was looking through more databases, I came across this chuckle of an agent wishlist.
There's someone for everyone, eh? 😅
And with that, I'm off for the week. 🫂 (Meeting nerves.)
The world is so big and so full of pain, and the hardest part of sentience is that we're *just* self-aware enough to feel frustrated by the limits of our agency in it.
We take it out on ourselves.
We take it out on others.
We try our best to act with integrity from our subject-positions--and we screw up all the same, because our subject-positions are never the full picture.
It is enough that we're still here, though--and still trying.
😂 I've said this before, because the trial scene in THE BROTHERS KARAMAZOV is excellent for describing the whims of the crowd, but hot dog: Dostoevsky had social media *down pat* long before our current tech.
I first read NOTES FROM UNDERGROUND as a teen, when the self-loathing protag best sings out to self-loathing youth, but I've always loved this chapter, and its description of how even educated humans will sometimes make a public spectacle of pain just to regain some agency over suffering.
I've always loved this quote, because of how seamlessly it transitions from the innocuous to the dangerous.
It starts with "instrument". It ends with "weapon". But it can be difficult to trace the shift from one to the other in the text.
I think I'll be writing on Murrow's speech next week. 1958, and yet it feels like yesterday.
We don't change as much as we think we do.
But we have to live through our moment like everything *can* change. Maybe, just maybe, this time it will.
Lil buddy got super lost (I live high up), but now we get to hang for a while. They're currently playing dead and I'm currently playing sane, so it's a good match.
Writer (SFWA), translator, humanist, general odd duck • 🇨🇦n in 🇨🇴 • avoids pronouns, they/them if key