300 for 30: Day 25

I closed my Fanstory.com account today, ending what has been a significant era in my development as a writer.

Fanstory.com is like fictionpress.com in that authors post their work for reviews, but you have to pay for a subscription, which gets you two guaranteed reviews per chapter, a newsletter, and free entry into their contests for which you can get cash prizes. It was the one spam email offer I ever took up, and for several years it served me well. I got better, more rounded and mature feedback from readers, and best of all, I met my fairy godmother there.

Sally Odgers was initially just another of my fans, but she critiqued with a steady combination of enthusiasm and a helpful eye for details, eventually putting her marks on all the Laconia novels. I started reading her work and realized she was a woman of vast talent, a real professional. Eventually I discovered that she has been working in the business for six decades as an author, editor, manuscript assessor, and workshop teacher. She has won the Australian World Fantasy Award, an achievement even mentioned on Wikipedia. And she loved my work. She volunteered to write me a letter of recommendation to anyone I wished while I was still trying to get published, and when she got a job contracting for Eternal Press she introduced me to the company, nudging them to take me on. She is now my regular editor. She might as well have waved a wand and told me that I would go to the ball.

I don’t regret my time subscribing to Fanstory. But after a hiatus where I was concentrating on getting the first three novels out, I came back to find the place changed. Perhaps it was me who had changed. All I knew is that I saw an endless circle of people patting each other on the back in order to receive pats in turn, a wheel of inflated yet insubstantial praise and excessive granting of stars per review, with ugly flames and comments for those who didn’t comply. It feels more like an author mill than a think tank of creativity. I am saddened, and I have said goodbye.

300 for 30: Day 21

I went on a hike today with my parents to a waterfall. I really didn’t want to go. It was the waxing period of another depressive episode; the rainforest was tropical, humid, and full of insects that wanted to drink the sweat from my face so I had to constantly wave them away with my hat; it was raining intermittently; there was nothing particularly interesting or exciting about yet another Southeast Asian waterfall; and there was mud everywhere. But had I not gone, not only would I face my parents’ disappointment on Father’s Day of all days, but my self-critical thoughts would have had a merry time reminding me how I’m trying to lose the weight the medication has made me put on.

The guidebook said that the walk was 400 meters. They had left off a digit; it was actually 1400 meters, up and down hills and across creeks and streams. I generally enjoy hiking, but not in such mugginess when I was feeling this lousy to begin with. I constantly waved my arms like propellers to keep the flies and other creatures from attacking.

The problem with walking in one direction, turning around, and then walking back, is that every step on the way there is another step you know you’ll have to take on the return journey. A long, cantankerous spiel was running through my head as I panted through my nose to keep from swallowing any bugs by accident, and my soul itched and creaked inside me.

Yet when we got to the waterfall, which I still found utterly uninteresting, I felt myself begin to heal. The rain fell in earnest but it didn’t bother me. I had pushed and pushed, and it had gotten harder and harder, but when the endorphins kicked in and I had worked through all the ill-temper, I was okay. Okay. I even made jokes on the walk back.

Sometimes dealing with something difficult is like lancing a boil.

300 for 30: Day 20

My Objections to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints

1. All “worthy” young men age 12 and up can have the priesthood power bestowed upon them. No female ever can. The arguments for this sound suspiciously similar to those once used to justify women not having the vote: women share in their fathers’ and husbands’ power, they have hidden influence on the men that runs deep, it is simply not their sphere, etc.

2. They made me fear and hate my romantic feelings towards women.

3. They made me fear and hate my budding sexuality towards everyone in general.

4. The Book of Mormon states that the Lamanite people, a supposed lost tribe of Israel, were cursed with dark skin because of their sinfulness. ‘Nuff said.

5. For several decades men of African descent were not permitted to be ordained with the priesthood. No explanation or apology was made after this policy was altered.

6. The church authorities commanded the masses to support and campaign for Proposition 8, overturning legal same-sex marriage in California.

7. The older I got, the more and more my female role models om in the Church started to resemble Stepford wives.

8. This quote: “Of course it’s important for a woman to be educated. You never know what might happen to your husband!”

9. This quote: “The Prophet has instructed women not to delay marriage and family for the sake of education.”
10. This quote: “Oh, don’t worry about your mother being a Buddhist. She’s sure to convert one day.”

11. Though polygamy is banned, a widower may be “eternally married” to multiple women if only one of them is alive. A widow must be “eternally married” to only one husband, living or dead.

12. I was taught to rely on a “still, small voice” in my mind to confirm that things were true. The voice was no stiller and no stronger than the voices that criticized me, that mocked me, that hurt me, that proved to be symptoms of my mental illness. I tugged on the thread and the whole thing unraveled.