Blog (Irregular Reports From the Front)

Instead of making specific resolutions this year like "walk more/eat less" or "write every day" (though I have some of those too), I have decided instead that what I really want to do is set an overarching intention for the entire year ahead. In that spirit, then, I declare that 2012 is going to be the Year of Practice. It will be the year I stop planning to do things, and do them: I will marry epiphany to action. It will be the year I put into practice all the things I have learned about myself and what makes me tick, and about what I want and what makes me happy. Practice is my mantra this year, in both senses: practice in the sense of non-finalized, open-ended, continual experimenting with things to see if I can get them better, and Practice in the sense of a regular repetition of specific skills over time. I will practice creating Practices for myself: a Writing Practice, a Happiness Practice, a Parenting Practice, a "Be a better friend/wife/tzaddik" Practice, whatever.

The thing that's important to remember about practice (hey self, I'm talking to you) is that it's a journey, not a destination. I'm not resolving to achieve something specific; rather, I'm intending to continually keep myself in a rhythm of regular involvement with the things I've prioritized. I am hoping that thinking of my life as a practice will help me strike a healthy balance between ambition and forgiveness, because I need both. Yes, I want 2012 to be the year of continually transforming intention into action, but I will also keep compassion for myself and not beat myself up for the occasional slowdowns or wrong turns or mistakes (because after all, it's only a rehearsal, not the final performance). 

So there it is, for the record. I'm done with pausing, I've got my priorities (at least temporarily) sorted out, and I'm ready to practice. I will train myself up and get myself in shape for the long haul of the happiness marathon that life should be (and hopefully will become). Wish me luck.

I’m sitting on the couch of a rented house, looking out over the gray and foggy ocean out here in Stinson Beach. I’m here with my extended family on our annual holiday vacation, and I’ve finally found a moment of calm in the midst of the competing demands on my attention to sit down at the computer and start my ritual of year’s-end reflection.

So what was 2011 like? Well, just like every year, it was a continuation of many of the previous year’s patterns and issues, mixed up with some new influences starting up and some new patterns which began to coalesce and become clearer as the year ripened. If forced to summarize (which is kinda the point of this type of blog entry), I would say that this past year was the Year of Becoming. I started out the year feeling like I’d been doing a lot of wrestling with mid-life crisis and identity issues, and I was getting more optimistic and clearer about where things might be going, but I still wasn’t feeling totally crystal. And now, at the end of 2011, surprise! I’m still not totally crystal (are we ever?), but things are feeling more solid now—or at least, less like a crossroads and more like the next leg of the journey.

There’s been a lot of identity work and a lot of happiness work this year, epitomized by a lot of processing changes in career and desired direction(s) for how I spend my days. At the beginning of 2011, we were dealing with the scale-back of Archer Web Solutions; here at the end of 2011, we’ve just finally closed it down for good. I’ve retained a handful of clients for whom I’ll still do occasional web site maintenance or consulting work, but as an individual freelancer rather than as a business. Josh has pulled out completely (though thankfully he’ll always be a resource for me to help troubleshoot when and if I need it) and is looking ahead to his next venture, Iocari Games. With AWS finally about to be in our rear-view mirror, I feel like I’m finally beginning to get some perspective on how the four years or so of effort, activity and meaning that our business represented fit into my overall life story arc. I’m grateful for all the lessons that our business taught me and for the epiphanies I gleaned from our challenges and triumphs, and I’m just now, finally, finding myself able to unclench and let those four years and all that effort go now, and look back on all of it with more compassion and appreciation than regret or anxiety. (This sounds like it should have been a pretty easy or obvious process, but like many life lessons, it only seems easy or clear in hindsight.)

For me, 2011 was all about the struggle of trying to figure out how to spend my post-AWS days in the most personally fulfilling and authentic way possible—from the first “beginner” steps of figuring out what was fulfilling and authentic in the first place, through the harder intermediate stage of figuring out how to sustain an honest belief and inner confidence that what I consider fulfilling and authentic is actually ok and deserving of a try. Here at the end of 2011, I am patting myself on the back for a moment (good job, me, you did a lot of hard personal work this year!) before taking a deep breath and getting ready to plunge into the advanced stage: actually practicing a personally fulfilling and authentic life without getting distracted by “shoulds” or “what ifs” or anxieties around others’ judgments. Put another way, I spent pretty much this entire year figuring out what made me happy and whether or not I deserved it, and now I’m ready to actually practice happiness. I am really looking forward to finding out where I got with everything when I do this again this time next year, but I’m also trying to stay open and experimental or at least unattached to any specific outcome(s).

So what, you might be asking, did I finally decide was personally fulfilling, authentic and happy-making? Writing. Creating. Talking to people. Being an artist who uses art to help others discover, reclaim and appreciate their full, complex, freaky selves. Yeah, none of that will likely be as financially lucrative as other kinds of work that are more traditionally supported in our culture, but a) I’m incredibly lucky enough to not be forced to make pure financial return the only or even the heavyweight in my life-decision-making processes, and b) I’m truly trying to live my belief that there’s more than one bottom line to value (and being “paid” in happiness is much more awesome than being paid in dollars). Again, in hindsight, all that seems pretty obvious (especially to those who have known me for a long time), but it’s worth living out loud about it by saying it in print.

For posterity, here’s a super brief run down of some of the things that were memorable from 2011:

In general:

I spent less and less time on web work, and more and more time on writing and art.

I got involved with my synagogue’s Chevra Kadisha (Burial Society), and had some really meaningful experiences.

I continued to work on collaborative projects with my friend Jeff, and helped shepherd Co-ignite through several evolutions, which eventually morphed into project-based involvement only.

Josh and I committed to a process of “intentional life design” together, which included everything from house remodeling to calendar re-jiggering to improving our relational communication.

In specific: 

In January, I turned 42 (the answer to the question of Life, The Universe and Everything, as all good Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy fans know), and threw myself a giant Hitchhiker’s Guide party, complete with Pan-Galactic Gargle Blasters and a gourmet ice cream taste-off. I’m not sure how or whether I’m going to be able to top that for this year’s party...I think I’ll have to take a year off.

In February, Eli turned 10 (with a sword-fight party!) and we went to DunDraCon (we’re having more and more fun at gaming cons these days...all part of our happiness work).

In March, I went to FOGcon (a new and great little local writer’s con), and we did a lot of hanging out with friends.

April was pretty quiet, May had KublaCon, and June brought the beginning of our crazy summer of vacation action. First Josh went to PaizoCon and then we went to Stinson for a week+ of family reunion with the entire Dvorin clan, in honor of my grandmother’s 90^th birthday. Then in July I had my first Freak Flag Making Party over the Independence Day weekend, after which we headed out to Hawaii for two weeks in Maui with my brother’s family and my parents (not to make anyone jealous, but that was AWESOME). In August, Eli went off to sleep away summer camp again, and after that Josh and I went on a belated anniversary trip to the World Science Fiction Convention in Reno, where we got to hang out with all the crazy writer peeps. Not long after that, I went to Burning Man for the first time (which I’ve written about more extensively earlier in this blog), and then suddenly it was Fall and the start of a new school year, wherein our boys both finally were on the same schedule in the same place (the only year this will be true, sadly).

In October I found out my novel was going to be published (this was a huge personal highlight) by Hadley Rille Books, and armed with that good news, I went to the World Fantasy Convention in San Diego (and had a terrific time). In November I took my Fly Your Freak Flag High project to the North Bay Burning Man Decompression event, which was awesome, and we got a new car—also awesome. December was full of holidays and parties and good times with family, and we adopted our new dark beauty of a kitty, Layla. Suddenly: poof! Another year gone.

It doesn’t seem like all that much when you do a review like this, but that’s because I’ve edited out nearly all the satisfying, challenging, growth-full and/or joyous ordinary moments that days are made of, and all the rhythm of days that turn into weeks, moons that wax and wane, seasons that fade into the next, and holidays and rituals that keep us tuned in to the cycle of the year. That all being said, 2011 turned out to be a relatively happy and healthy year for me and my family, despite living in the midst of a lot of national and global unhappiness, and for this I am grateful. Really I am.

Happy New Year! Here’s to 2012 being a year filled with all kinds of happiness, for everyone—a year of passion and compassion, of collaboration and celebration, with only the minimum amount of pain and suffering required for necessary growth and change.

(Yes, Parentheticals has been distracted by the holidays. But I’ve been *thinking* about blogging, doesn’t that count? Yeah. I know. I didn’t really think so.)

Anyway, today’s seasonally appropriate topic comes out of various experiences I’ve had over the last month with feeling especially aware of my Jewishness—and therefore, my outsider-ness—in the midst of a Christian-centered culture. It always comes up this time of year, when no matter what your beliefs about or relationship with Christ, the Christmas season is an inescapable cultural force. Most of the time I just go along with the inescapable force, and try to enjoy the ride from a tourist’s perspective (“look at the quaint local customs! Isn’t that pretty/heartwarming/fun? I can relate to that.”) I find my own comfort in the repetition of the seasonal decorations and activities, the familiar smells and sounds and tastes. Most (if not all) of these really have nothing to do with Christ or his birth, and I can enjoy them aesthetically without feeling attached to them, the same way I enjoy, say, a Taiko drum performance or Thai food.

But there are also times during the Christmas season where I am forcibly reminded that I am different, that my family is different—that as fun as all this holiday fuss can be, it is not *our* holiday, and no matter whether we join in the reindeer games or not, we are always on the outside. It’s not that I feel discriminated against, or repressed in any way—far from it, I’m always very grateful and appreciative of the way that in this place, at this time in history, I am generally free to believe what I want, worship how I choose, and observe the holidays I want to without fear of repercussion or repression. There’s something going on though, that’s more subtle, that I want to note and put out there.

Even when you are not discriminated against, there’s a specific discomfort in being in the minority: an awareness of one’s difference that is inevitably flavored by a history of persecution (even if the persecution itself no longer exists in overt or obvious form). Related to this, there’s also a specific discomfort in always having to the be the one who educates, who speaks up and says “hey don’t forget about me, I have my own experience, and don’t assume I’m always like you, because I’m not.” Deciding whether or not to educate the majority means deciding whether to expose oneself as different rather than “passing” (when passing is even an option—sometimes it’s not)—and sometimes we still hesitate to expose ourselves, because being “out” hasn’t always been so safe.

Let me illustrate with some recent personal experiences. At my kids’ elementary school, the first graders and their “buddy class” of fourth graders were scheduled for a December field trip to go caroling at a senior home. The class parent for the 4^th grade class decided to put together a craft project in preparation for this trip, where all the kids made Santa hats with their names on them to wear during the caroling. Cute, right? Well sure...except for the fact that the Jewish kids (and there are actually at least 4 or 5 of them in first grade this year, strangely enough) don’t really “do” Santa, so that felt a little weird to some of the moms of those Jewish kids (myself included). We asked ourselves, was that appropriate? If not, should we say anything? Are we being over-sensitive here? It’s just decorative, getting into the “spirit of the season”, plus Santa really doesn’t have anything much to do with Christ either. What’s the harm?

Well, there’s no harm, really. The kids didn’t *have* to wear the Santa hats if they didn’t want to (and btw the Jewish kids decided they didn’t want to), and no one really cared who did or didn’t. The people planning the caroling did apparently include a Hanukkah song along with the Christmas carols and general winter-themed songs, which was inclusionary and thoughtful, for both the kids and the seniors. But the thing is, we Jewish families had to think about how we felt about the assumption that we’d just go along with the overall Christian imagery and customs, and furthermore we had to decide whether or not to make the class parent and teachers aware of the fact that their activities were potentially exclusionary. Should we just let it pass, we wondered, and be grateful that our kids were able to be part of something all together with their peers, even if that something didn’t technically “belong” to them? Or should we speak up, and highlight our different-ness, and potentially make things feel a little more uncomfortable, more divided? None of the other families had to think about any of this—it wasn’t even an awareness, let alone an issue.

I also did a presentation in the first grade class about Hanukkah, where I talked about the holiday’s history, and lit a menorah, and showed them how to play dreidel, and we served latkes. I’ve done this kind of presentation pretty much every year for one or the other kid’s classrooms. I had a fun time doing it (once an educator, always an educator!), and the kids always are open and interested in learning about new customs (Hanukkah is exotic and unfamiliar to most of them). But none of the other families had to decide whether or not to do some educating of the “majority” kids about what the “minority” kids were celebrating instead/alongside of the traditional Christmas customs. There was no risk for the other families to being “out” with their own customs and celebrations.

Let me be clear: I’m not complaining, and I’m not being all righteous about “why can’t the culture pay attention to meeeeeee?” But there’s still something here worth reminding myself (and others) about. I feel like my experience of being a minority in this way (not to mention a lifetime of being a woman in a man’s world) gives me a great deal more empathy and understanding of what it must be like to be a minority in other ways (a black in a white’s world, a queer in a straight’s world, a kid/senior in an adult’s world, a differently-abled person in a normatively-abled world, etc), and that kind of empathy is often what is sorely lacking between us humans (specifically, its lack leads to all kinds of discrimination and persecution and eventually atrocities). I think being a minority has been a tremendously helpful growing experience for me, and so I continue to speak out and educate others who don’t have the opportunity to experience minority status in some way in hopes that they too will be able to grow from it. The thing to remember is that most of us are a minority in some way or other, and even those of us who aren’t are perfectly able (if not always willing) to learn from others’ experiences in order to experience the same opportunity for growth that being a minority presents.

So here’s to hoping that in 2012 we all proactively look for opportunities to learn about and appreciate each other in all our multi-faceted glory, and to use what we learn to make the world a better place. (And on top of that, here’s wishing everyone a peaceful, joyous, and fulfilling winter holiday celebration of your choice...me, I'm gonna go light Hanukkah candles and eat some latkes!)

Yes, it’s that time of year again. I really like having a day specifically to focus on the things I am thankful for in my life. I try to bring a general sense of gratitude to every day, and with my new appreciation of appreciation as a tool for social change, I also try to verbalize the appreciation of the things or the people I am thankful for to their source as often as I can. But Thanksgiving (and the days around it, which inherit many of its holiday characteristics) is a day to really focus on feeling that thankfulness all day and in as many ways as possible.

For me, spending time with family and friends on Thanksgiving  is a huge part of what I am thankful for in my life. I actually like my family, and generally enjoy everyone’s company. Unlike a lot of other people (who have many more negative emotions associated with their families and family gatherings), I look forward to family rituals and events. I’m excited and thankful that I get to go over to my parents’ house and help cook (and eat!) the traditional Thanksgiving foods. I am thankful that we always make such delicious food, and that we so much enjoy spending time together making and eating it. I love the ritual of it, and that it’s something I get to enjoy over and over, not just once.

Watching my sister-in-law wrangle her two kids on Thanksgiving Day also reminded me that I’m incredibly grateful for how far I’ve come in my own parenting journey, and how much autonomy over my own time and body I’ve finally gotten back. It was not that long ago that I was chasing toddlers, dealing with baby schedules and kid food and having to focus on keeping kids entertained, all the while yearning to have a non-fractured conversation with the people I loved. Now that I can finally relax and not have to pay attention every moment to what my kids are doing or needing, I find myself much, much happier. So I am thankful, oh yes I am thankful.

Related, but not the same: I also find myself really thankful these days for burgeoning feeling that I am finally becoming the master of my own ship as far as what I spend my days doing. I am immensely thankful that I live in a time and a place and under circumstances that allow me a huge amount of personal freedom, both physical and mental. In particular, these days I am able to choose what I do and when I do it much more consciously and without being so influenced by “what other people think”. I am able to experiment with what makes me happy and what it means to “follow my bliss”. I am really grateful that the circumstances of my life have allowed me this free, open, experimental time, and I am committed to staying present with it as much as I can.

What else am I thankful for this year, or at least at this moment? The usual things, the core things, of course: food and shelter and safety and health. But also my increasingly excellent and deep relationship with my soul-mate and husband of 16 years, my two smart, kind, sweet boys and all the gifts and opportunities that parenting them has given me, my extended family and dear friends who are so loyal and supportive and loving. And then there’s the amazingly great place we live in: our cozy and creatively furnished home, our kind and friendly neighbors and safe, comfortable neighborhood, our snug and beautiful hobbit valley with its creek and trees and golden hills, our lovely liberal and artsy county with its beaches and mountain and good food. I do not take any of these things for granted, and I am grateful every single day for the people and the place that surround and support me.

I am also thankful for my (mostly) healthy body, that sometimes-neglected or taken-for-granted piece of astounding engineering that carries me so relatively easily through my days with so relatively little grief.

A bit farther out, but no less important: I am thankful for my creative tribe, especially my writer tribe and specifically my small circle of VPeeps, but also all the other “freaks” and works that inspire and continue to teach me how to live a large, unabashed “Supernova” of a creative, thoughtful life.

I am lucky. I am blessed. I am thankful. I will remember this.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about reading, and its place in my life. Specifically, I’ve been thinking about how it was being a voracious reader as a kid that made me want to be a writer, and about how these days I write a lot more than I used to, but in “olden days” I used to read a whole lot more than I do now. I miss reading. I miss that feeling of diving into a book and not coming out for hours and hours, finally surfacing blurry-eyed and satisfied out of story world into the “real” world, ready to dive into another story.

Reading used to be my main form of entertainment, my go-to activity whenever I could sneak it in. But then life got a lot more complicated and full of other distractions, and my reading time evaporated. (One of the things I truly hated about grad school was how it destroyed my ability to read for pleasure. And one of the few silver linings about breastfeeding both boys was that I could sometimes still read with one hand, so even if I wasn’t sleeping, at least I was reading.) I still read now, but if I’m lucky I average around 2 books a month (I’m not including all the other forms of reading that I do all the time—everything from Facebook to blogs to online articles to magazines to unpublished manuscripts that I’m critiquing.) Since I belong to a book group, and we read one book (almost always a non-genre fiction book) per month, and that accounts for about half my book reading every month. If the stars align I’ll also squeeze in at least one other book each month, sometimes a non-fiction book, sometimes a genre novel. And then every once in awhile I get on a reading tear (usually when I’m on vacation or hooked on a particularly easy-to-blow-through series) and read 2 or 3 non-book group books per month. But that’s still not that many, and it feels like far fewer than I used to read.

So I was doing some math, just for fun, on the way to book group the other night. And the math blew my mind by giving me some actual data to play with. Let me ‘splain. Going with nice round numbers, let’s say I read around 25 books a year. I’m 42 now, so again going for the nice round numbers, let’s say I’m blessed to live another 50 years to the ripe old age of 92 and still able to read books that whole time. (It could happen—my Grandma is 90 and still reading up a storm.) That means, at my current rate of reading, I will be able to read approximately 1,250 more books before I die. (Yes, I know that the older I get, the more “free” time I will probably recoup and be able to use for reading, so it’s very possible that my reading rate will go up as I age. But for the sake of simplicity I am going to ignore that possibility for now. I’m also willfully ignoring the possibility that I will die sooner—or later, God willing—than 92.)

1,250 books. On the one hand, that sure does sound like a lot of books. Over a thousand books! How delightful! There are so many things I could explore! On the other hand, I probably have well over 1,250 books just sitting around on shelves in my house (yeah, well, I have maybe a little bit of a hoarding problem when it comes to books. Shut up.) Now, most of those are books I’ve read (or Josh has read) at some point, but I have a significant enough pile of unread books (especially after going to World Fantasy Con for 3 years now, and getting a huge pile of free books each time) that I’ve had to expand from one “TBR” (To Be Read) shelf stacked double deep, to two shelves. I haven’t counted recently (purely out of anxiety), but I’m guesstimating that I probably have about 80-100 unread books awaiting my attention. (Probably 60-70 of those are genre books.) But given that I only read about a dozen or so non-book group books each year, getting through that pile of TBR books is going to take me something like 8 years. 8 YEARS! Out of my 50! The math kills me.

One thing’s for certain: if there are “only” 1,250 books left in my life, I should probably start being a whole lot more choosy about what I allow into my reading life. But how do I decide what’s worthwhile ahead of time? Even flawed books are sometimes worth it, for a variety of reasons. I am determined at least stop being compulsive about finishing every book I start—if I’m not enjoying it after the first few chapters or 100 pages or so, I need to give it up without guilt and let some other book take its place. (This is especially important with all the non-fiction books I consume. Sometimes just reading half the book is enough and I can move on.)

Clearly the only other thing to do here if I really do want to read more than 1,250 books before I die is to radically step up consumption. As it is I already watch hardly any TV or movies, so that shouldn’t compete. And I don’t play video games (although I think I’m about to get temporarily sucked in to the new Star Wars: The Old Republic MMO, yikes!) I do spend a little time surfing the internet, I’ll admit, but in reality, not THAT much. So why don’t I have more reading time in my life? Perhaps it’s out of guilt, out of the desire to be more “productive” with my leisure time (because there’s always more work to do, be it housework or writing work or web work or whatever). Perhaps it’s just that I’ve gotten out of the habit. I *want* to read more. I especially want to read more fantasy/sci-fi genre books, because a) that’s always been my favorite and b) that’s what I’m writing, and I feel I should make at least a half-hearted attempt to stay vaguely aware of my field.

So this I vow: I am going to try to spend more of my evening downtime reading. I am going to spend more of my weekend time reading. I’m going to see if I can stretch to three books a month instead of two. I’m going to stop feeling guilty about reading instead of doing other things, or only letting myself read when everything else is done. And I’m going to read whatever I damn well please, and if it isn’t pleasing me, I’m going to stop reading it.

Now excuse me, I’m done with blogging, I need to go read.

(Sure, I know it’s a week overdue, but better late than never, right? Right.)

The 2011 World Fantasy Convention (or WFC for short) was held in San Diego this year, right before Halloween. This was my third year going to WFC, and I have to say this con is probably my favorite now (though Worldcon has also proved to be pretty awesome most years too, and I’m not knocking Worldcon). WFC is smaller than Worldcon, and feels more like a “trade” con than a “fan” con (though of course we’re pretty much all fans of science fiction and fantasy as well, it’s how we got where we are as writers or editors or agents, so the distinction is a bit blurry). As far as official activities go, there are panels and readings during the day, all kinds of events and parties after hours, an art show and autograph session and an awards ceremony, plus lots of just hanging around in the hotel bar or the con suite or the hallways or the dealer’s room (which is 98% book sellers) and talking to people who float by. The purpose of all of the activities and the con as a whole is to inspire, instruct, provide food for thought and most of all encourage connections and conversations amongst like-minded folks around topics of mutual interest. It’s really amazing to me every time how great it feels to be around this particular set of like-minded folks, this wonderful tribe of geeky,  word-centric, “speculative fiction” book-lovers and book-makers.

By now I’ve been to enough cons enough times that I’m finally starting to get to recognize and feel comfortable around a broad set of my fellow tribefolk. I feel like some people also recognize me, and that I actually belong to this tribe more solidly than I felt when I very first started going. And it feels especially great to have my own “posse” of writer-buddies that I regularly meet up with and pal around with at cons—that itself is definitely a pleasure in its own right, not only because they are all kind, brilliant, and endlessly interesting creative people, but also because with a posse, I completely bypass all those social anxieties about whether I’ll have someone to room with, or sit with, or eat with or drink with. (Yes, even an extroverted “people person” like me has social anxieties like that!) Now, after a few years of going to cons and being at least mildly involved in online social networks with other writers, I feel a lot less like a “wannabe” and more on the road towards “professional”, especially this year when I was finally (finally!) able to announce that I have a book of my own coming out. (Next year I’ll probably feel even more that way, especially if I have actual ARCs of my book to wave around.)

So all that is preamble to saying this: I had a great time at WFC this year. The hotel was quirky but comfortable, and the weather was gorgeous. I had lots of buddies to hang out with and lots of great conversations. There were interesting panels, great readings, fun events and of course I came home with a huge pile of (mostly free!) books. I also got that critically important injection of motivation and determination to move forward on my own writing projects that I always seem to need. I came home determined to significantly re-jigger my calendar in order to carve out specific, “sacred” space for both writing and reading (and blogging!) I decided to put aside the novel I’m currently working on for now, and write the sequel to the novel I just sold. I also hatched some plans with fellow author friends to create a book-review blog, and to help market and build our small press. I connected with my Viable Paradise tribe (VPeeps rock!), and made some new friends. 

Some memorable highlights of the event for me were, in no particular order:

• Traveling with my friend Heather McDougal (travel is always better with a buddy), and arriving early for the con and staying the night at our friend Kim Vandervort’s house in Corona before driving down the next morning to San Diego. It was such a nice relaxed way to begin a con, plus it’s always fun having a girl sleepover!
• Stopping at Target (excuse me, “Tar-zhay”) on the way down to pick up some snacks for the con and then getting distracted together in the makeup and costume jewelry sections of Target. We had a goofy and wildly entertaining time buying sparkly jewelry and headbands for the Hadley Rille “Sparkle-off” that was supposed to happen during the autograph session. (It did happen, and we all totally lost to Shauna Roberts. I mean, in addition to sparkly makeup and feathers, the woman had a sparkly gold lizard bracelet, for crying out loud! How can you compete with that?)
• We had a raucous and very entertaining dinner at P.F. Chang’s on Thursday night with a combination of Hadley Rille Books people and VP people. There was much teasing and hilarity around raccoons being bedazzled, and yeah, that’s a private joke that’s going to be hard to explain. I also got to hear about newly minted VPeep Kelly Lagor’s astonishing accomplishment of selling her VP story to Tor.com while *at* VPXV, and as much as I wanted to hate her for it, I couldn’t, because she was such a fun and awesome person that I was compelled to forgive her instantly.
• I had several sessions of sitting around with other Hadley Rille authors and coming up with great ideas to help market and support both the press and our individual books. I am excited to be a part of this particular family of vibrant, creative individuals, and eager to collaborate with others by lending my gifts and strengths to the whole. I’m still sort of pinching myself and going “really? I get to be a full-fledged author member of the HRB club now? Squeeeeee!”
• It was awesome being able to tell people about my book being published, but I especially loved being able to tell Elizabeth Bear, who was my teacher at Viable Paradise, and Elaine Isaak, who did a critique for me at my first Worldcon writer’s workshop “hey, that book you critiqued for me? I am getting it published now! Thank you!” I also loved Bear’s response: “Congratufuckinlations!”
• There was a VP party. There was a VP coffee. There was VP lunching and drinking and hanging out at random intervals. VPeeps rock.
• Speaking of VPeeps, somewhere in a tipsy haze at one of the parties I remember having much fun coming up with song titles for the first album release of the fictional band “Writer Angst Apocalypse” with fellow VPeeps Bart and Sylvia. I have just retrieved the list I so thoughtfully tucked into my badge holder and I see that the songs on WAA’s first EP are apparently:
  1. Sometimes I Wish I Were Neil Gaiman
  2. Your Niceness is Not Scalable
  3. Now You Look Like You Belong—But I Don’t
  4. Rejectomancy Romance
  5. November is the Cruelest Month (Down with NaNoWriMo)
  6. I Write Alone (I Don’t Need A Writer’s Group)
  7. Revisions Ate My Baby

(Ok, so maybe some of those were funnier while tipsy...)

• Saturday night Heather, Kim, our new BFF Sylvia from VPXIV and I finally left the parties and closed our night with all kinds of crazy martinis at the hotel bar. We talked about all kinds of fun writerly stuff, most of which I can’t remember but I am convinced nonetheless that it was extremely awesome. I am telling you, VPeeps are always fun and awesome. I am lucky to be a part of that tribe.
• I loved listening to my friends Gary Kloster and Ferret Steinmetz read some of their work out loud. You know how you get to know people, and like them as interesting creative people, and enjoy talking with them, but never get a taste of their actual artistic output? Well these are two people I’ve always enjoyed as people, but I’d never really read much, if any, of their work. And I was totally blown away by how awesome both of them were.
• I also went to readings by Nini Kiriki Hoffman and Peter S. Beagle, both of whom read outstandingly great stories that moved and touched me, and made me go “WOW I want to be a writer like that when I grow up!” Very inspirational.
• I had a great conversation about all kinds of things, including the zany delights of publishing as a small press, with the very sweet Canadian couple Anita and Brian Hades who run the small press Edge Science Fiction and Fantasy Publishing.
• Also enjoyed as always talking with Jacob and Rina Weisman, who run Tachyon Books here in San Francisco. I keep meaning to get to some of their “SF in SF” events—they seem to attract a great crowd of tribesfolk. I just gotta get out more.
• I really enjoyed meeting Cinda Williams Chima and talking to both her and Garth Nix and getting to gush to them about how much my son loves their books. It’s fun to fangirl when it’s not actually about you.
• I had a great conversation at the art show reception with Kelley Caspari about her incredible “half and half” bronze sculptures. I was fascinated by the way she blended two different people into one bust, and really enjoyed talking to her about her artistic process.

That’s it for the wrap-up...now excuse me, I’ve got a gigantic pile of books to go read and new fiction to write!

I recently found out that a big hairy audacious dream of mine just moved one huge important step farther towards reality: my novel Ice Will Reveal has been accepted for publication by Hadley Rille Books, with a tentative publishing date of early 2013. I am, how can I put this...oh hell, why not: verklempt. It’s actually kind of hard to describe exactly what it feels like, but I kind of want to, which is why it’s taken me a week to actually blog the good news. I know...metaphors to the rescue! Ok, then: my feelings about finally becoming a published author are a spicy, complex goulash: there’s a good solid base of lots of “squee! I’m gonna be a REAL author!” type excitement, of course, and a decent amount of pride; but also a good splash of anxiety (will anyone buy my book? will anyone like it? will anyone even read it?) and a generous dollop of trepidation around all the new things I’ll have to learn (marketing, self-promotion, blablabla). Spicing it up further are a sprinkle of validation and relief that the next phase of this long journey has finally been achieved, mixed with a pinch of amazement and a bit of self-chastisement at how long the process has taken so far and how much longer it will yet take before the book is printed and in a bookstore or library (or someone’s e-reader). And I’d be lying if I didn’t acknowledge that there’s also a zest there of nervousness about going the independent small press route instead of continuing to try to break down the doors (or glass ceilings, or whatever) of the big publishing houses.

But enough about goulash, let’s switch metaphors, shall we? (It’s my blog, I can do what I want to!) It’s been such a long and winding road to get to this critical juncture of “yay, someone wants to publish the novel I wrote”, and it feels important to take a look backwards and see how I got from “writer” to “author”. So let me lay out some of the journey, both as a hopefully useful reminder for myself and in the vague hope that perhaps it might be useful to other people for whom this kind of project doesn’t go quickly or easily either. (I know I suffered at first, and still do in my more gloomy moments, from the “I must not be very good at this if it’s so hard and it takes so long” syndrome. It’s a sucky syndrome. Try to avoid it.)

Ice Will Reveal (which used to be called something else entirely until it was pointed out to me that I’d unintentionally used a double entendre as my title—doh!) is my first novel-length work. In fact it’s so long, it’s practically two novels, but that’s a whole other blog post. It’s my newbie novel, my MFA equivalent: it’s the project with which I learned how to elevate my craft from “unconsciously incompetent with the occasional flash of competence” to “conscious incompetence with slightly more frequent flashes of competence”. I started writing it sometime around the end of 2003, triggered by a series of entertaining emails back and forth with a friend of mine where we each recounted the ever more epically heroic and over-embellished achievements of our individual characters from a D&D game we were playing (yes, yes, I’m THAT kind of geek...but in all fairness I can say that this novel bears only the very smallest resemblance to either D&D or to that long-ago game). At that stage in my life, I had a fairly absorbing day job as a Licensing Manager for a calendar company and was the mother of a young preschooler. I didn’t write very often or very much at a time, but I was determined to try to produce a longer piece of work. I had always been interested in and good at writing (in fact, I started out as a Creative Writing major in college before getting wildly distracted by academia for oh, roughly a decade), but I’d never written anything as big as a novel before (though I’d read a half a zillion of them already.) In what I used to sarcastically refer to as “my copious spare time”, I started reading books about writing and participating in online critique groups. Eventually I found myself some in-person writing buddies too, all of which helped a lot.

This went on for a bit, then in 2005 I had another baby and most everything went on hold for a while until I regained some kind of equilibrium (albeit a precarious one). I still tried to write here and there, and continued to learn by critiquing others’ writing, but it wasn’t until I finally decided, almost as a dare to myself, to apply for the week-long Viable Paradise workshop for speculative fiction writers in late 2007 that I really began to make progress. That workshop, in addition to its really useful information and mentoring from all sorts of fabulous professional speculative fiction writers, gave me the opportunity to seriously (re)claim my writerly identity, and find a tribe that still supports me to this day (and which directly led to this publishing opportunity, as a matter of fact, but more on that in a minute). A few months before attending VP, I also decided to open a web solutions company with my husband, which then led me a few months after VP to quit my day job (at that point I was a salesperson for a financial education company) and spend most of my free time learning how to be an entrepreneur. It was hard to be both a fearless creative entrepreneur with two small kids and also find time to write, but I kept plugging away, even if it was only in bursts. I started going to cons (Worldcon and World Fantasy, especially), and tried to create writer retreats for myself and friends, and that helped keep the writerly identity alive, even if my pace of production stayed somewhat glacial.

Somewhere in early 2009, one of my friends from VP (hi Kim!) had started publishing with a small press (yep, this is where Hadley Rille Books comes onto the scene), and wrangled an invitation for me to submit something to an upcoming fantasy anthology: Renaissance Festival Tales. How could I resist that subject? I couldn’t. So I took some time out to plan and write what turned into a novella, “Cupid for a Day” which appeared in the Renaissance Festival Tales anthology from Hadley Rille Books in 2010. (I still really like this story and the characters, and have actually toyed with expanding some of it into a novel someday. If you're curious, you can now get that story for $.99 on Kindle by clicking here. But I digress.)

I finally finished the full draft of Ice Will Reveal on the last day of the World Fantasy Convention at the end of 2009 (two years after VP for those keeping score). Then I took a year to edit it. At the end of 2010, I sent it to Hadley Rille Books, because after we’d worked together on “Cupid”, the publisher (hi Eric!) had expressed interest in seeing the manuscript of my novel. While waiting to hear what Hadley Rille thought, I also got together a query letter and synopsis (a much harder process than it sounds), and started doing some sporadic querying. (I say sporadic because just like the writing, there were bursts of querying, and I was distracted by other life drama for much of this past year.) I got a couple of requests for partials but mostly got “no’s”, and then I got tired of the querying process and let the thing languish while I turned my attention to a new novel (because I wanted to see if I could do it again, but take fewer years to finish this time). I noodged Hadley Rille a couple of times (politely!), and was told to hang on, it was still in the “to read” pile.

Then finally, just a few weeks ago, I was doing that anxious writer chat thing with my friend Kim, who now works as an official (albeit wildly underpaid) fantasy editor at Hadley Rille Books, wondering if the long response time meant “no” and whether I’d get an answer by the time the World Fantasy Con rolled around at the end of October. Kim decided to use her special noodging superpowers to get the book out of the slush pile and into the hands of the other official (and probably also wildly underpaid) fantasy editor, Terri-Lynne (hi Terri!). Terri read the book in a week and had a pow-wow with Kim and Eric and then with what felt like supersonic rapidity, I finally had the pleasure of opening an email that said “yes, we’d like to publish this.” (I paraphrase.) SQUEE!

So all that took approximately 8 years, from humble beginning to gleeful SQUEE! Of course, this isn’t by any means the end of this book’s journey. Far from it. Still to come are a round or twelve of edits, ranging from major to nitpicky, and the fiddling with cover design and cover copy and marketing blurbs and all that. Plus copyedits and the creating of ARCs (Advance Reader Copies) to be sent out for reviews. Eventually, just over a year or so from now, there will be an actual book. Then there will be lots of other marketing hoo-ha (which I will need to get savvy with, stat), and eventually, approximately 10 years after starting the damn novel, then, maybe, oh how I hope there will be, THEN there might even be some sales and some appreciation from readers. I’m still dreaming of that day when I get my first fan letter or at least my first positive review on Goodreads from a stranger.

It’s been a long, winding road to get here, and there are still miles to go before I sleep (to paraphrase a couple of way more famous writers), but I am feeling pretty good at this moment. I like this feeling of validation. I have toiled, yes: but I have not toiled in vain.

Onward!

Once we bid farewell to the sunrise and the playa, we came down from the DJ booth and dragged ourselves back to camp and to the flurry of final camp breakdown and packing the car. I was exhausted by the time I finished packing everything back up again, but Isis really wanted to leave by 8am Sunday morning to beat the crazy exodus traffic. So we powered through, bolstered by a cool random hot air balloon sighting right above our camp and a final stop at Center Camp for coffee for Isis. Then we began the slow crawl out through Black Rock City and the dead zone between BRC and the highway.

We got out without too much trouble (Isis had been right), and stopped in the closest town (Gerlach) to get a preliminary carwash. As we headed back towards highway 80 and Reno, the euphoria of the previous night and the adrenaline of packing and leaving ebbed away and I started falling asleep at the wheel—so we pulled over in one of the other small towns en route and found a shady place to park and nap for a little bit. We slept for maybe an hour, and then roused ourselves to get back on the road.

The rest of the trip home was long and tiring but relatively uneventful. We stopped in Truckee for gas and lunch (we had sushi in an air conditioned mall restaurant, which was a bizarre contrast to what we'd just been living), and I think a couple of other stops to pee and stretch, and eventually made it back home around 8 o’clock at night. I unloaded Isis’ stuff for her at her house, and then quickly unloaded most of my stuff into a pile to deal with in the morning. The boys and Josh were away at a gaming con until the following day, so I had a lovely, quiet and relatively clean house all to myself, which was great. I took a long hot bubble bath (which I dozed off in briefly), then I finally got to go to bed in nice clean sheets in my very own comfy bed and even though I missed being at Burning Man, that made it a glorious homecoming.

Epilogue

It took me over a week to recover from my time at Burning Man—and by recover I mean get enough physical energy back to resume any kind of normal schedule. In the week or so that followed my return home, I was incredibly sluggish and sleepy, and took multiple naps when I could. (Yes, I am blessed to be the captain of my own schedule and able to do that!) I kept remarking on how tired I was, and how intense my dreams were, so I think it wasn’t just my physical self that needed some rejuvenation, but also my emotional/spiritual self that needed some quiet time to nurse the new baby inner transformations into strength. (It’s also taken me a really long time to finish this incredibly long blog post about the whole thing, but hopefully it’ll be a good record and reminder of not only things that happened, in all its chaotic story glory, but also of all the epiphanies, realizations and gifts I want to carry forward.)

Now, almost two weeks later, I feel like I am starting to settle into a new equilibrium, a new sense of self. It sounds a little cliché maybe, or a little “woo-woo”, but I do feel like I have experienced a rite of passage, an inner transformation from fear into freedom, from little to big. I feel expanded. I feel less bound up in fears and anxieties and old patterns and more comfortable with, understanding about, and appreciative of my own unique freaky fabulous and fun self. My energy is different, calmer, steadier and more joyful (and some people have even noticed and commented on it). In gamer terms, I’d have to say that this is what it must feel like to “level up” in wisdom. I know that as I get farther away from this self-precipitated transformative experience, things will continue to shift and settle and present me with even more opportunities for reflection and pattern-identification and wisdom, and I look forward to that.

So in summary, and for those who were too impatient to read the whole long detailed ramble of my recollections, I present:

My Top 10 Takeaways from Burning Man

1. Set Your Intention(s)
2. Welcoming Is An Important Piece of Community
3. Appreciate Others’ Self-Expression Loudly & Often
4. Women are Awesome, and I Need More Women More Consistently In My Life
5. Think Big
6. Release Fear and Mediocrity
7. Be a Supernova
8. Serendipity is On My Side
9. Everything is Equally Delightful
10. Fire is Really, Really Delightful

Saturday was really our last day at Burning Man, since we were going to try to leave really early on Sunday morning, so there was lots to choose from to do. I chose to go off on a bike ride on my own in the relatively cool morning hours, leaving Isis to go do her own thing for a while. I biked around the playa for a while and saw some more art, but found myself really drawn back to the Temple, so I biked over there. (Side note: It was at this point I decided to name my bike “Shifty”, since it had the temperamental habit of randomly shifting into a new gear without provocation. But since everything there was so flat, I didn’t really mind, and in fact found it kind of entertaining.) I found a bench on one of the walkways connecting the main temple to one of the smaller outbuildings and sat there for a while, hanging out and being quiet with myself, trying to process some of the things that had come up over the last few days. I wrote in my journal, and eventually on the Temple itself. This time I wrote on the Temple “WE ARE ALL CONNECTED” along with a little drawing, and “NO ONE CAN MAKE ME FEEL INFERIOR WITHOUT MY CONSENT...AND I DO NOT CONSENT”. I wanted those concepts to burn up and send opposite messages to the universe—one was a wish for something that would come into being (the communal realization that we are all connected) and one was a wish for release (from the hold that others’ expectations have had over me). I also tucked one of my little freak flag cards into a crack in the wall, so that it would come into being in a big and hot and flame-tastic kind of way.

After that I came back to camp and shifted into work mode—we broke down and packed up as much of our camp as we could, and organized things for a quick getaway in the morning (put things in the car, moved our car, made sure the way was clear, etc.) That took most of the afternoon, though of course we took chillout breaks. Then we had dinner and got dressed in our final costumes (Isis was dressed as Isis with beautiful gold wings, and I was the Silver Supernova with my fabulous silver cape and silver sequin-and-fringe skirt). Then we headed out to go see the Man burn—the one big event that the whole city was built around, and that (most) everyone was excited about.

As we headed to the Man, I looked around and saw a really cool effect—practically the whole city was heading towards the Man, and since everyone was lit up in some way (both pedestrians and bikes, in addition to the art cars of course) there was this interesting kind of arterial pulsing effect, where from all sides rushes of light and movement were moving together, converging on the same point. There was a palpable feeling of excitement and anticipation but generally everyone seemed pretty peaceful and calm about the whole thing. Isis and I found a spot to spread out a blanket and sit down to watch, and though we chatted a bit with our neighbors, we mostly spent the pre-burn time appreciating each other (I feel like we have a super close and supportive bond now that we never would have had if it weren’t for Burning Man) and appreciating the transformational week we’d had so far, and talking about what we wanted to release and burn away (fear, anxiety, safety, smallness, expectations, and other stuff I don’t remember) along with the Man.

 A ring of empty space surrounded the Man, with a perimeter guarded by lots of volunteers (presumably to make sure none of the crazy or drugged-up participants decided to do something crazy like charge the fire). In that ring, before the big burn, there were a bunch of fire art performances, which were beautiful and amazing to watch. The most amazing and impressive part was watching several people in full head-to-toe fire suits dancing around—I did not see how they could breathe in there. At some point there was a big cheer, which we only belatedly realized was because someone had activated the pulleys to make the Man raise his arms (we only figured it out because at some point after that we looked up and said “hey! The Man has his arms over his head! It wasn’t always like that...”). I loved that even the Man had his own transition, his own rite of passage from one state into another.

Eventually the burn began and it was truly spectacular and moving. It’s hard to describe it, because it wasn’t just the burn itself, it was also the surges of energy and emotion going through the crowd and within my own self as the burn went on. There were gorgeous, spectacular fireworks, big bunches of them, that went on for what felt like a really long time—longer than any firework show I’d ever seen (and easily rivaling Disneyland’s, which in my admittedly somewhat limited experience had set the previous record for the Best Fireworks Ever). And yes, there was an incredibly huge and impressive conflagration. I thought I’d seen a lot of fire when the Trojan Horse burned, but this, this was even yet more above and beyond—NOW I can safely say I have never seen so much fire in one place (and never hope to see as much anywhere else, as it would probably mean I was about to lose my life in the middle of a disaster zone). It was, and I don’t use this word lightly, epic. Epic and symbolic and mysterious and beautiful and powerful. It was awe-inspiring, in the sense that other kinds of big impressive natural vistas or forces of nature are. I felt very small and unimportant, but in a good way. But I also felt connected with everyone around me in some way, and that was comforting and uplifting.

We watched the Man burn and eventually fall down (with huge cheers every time a piece fell off or crumbled), and finally the people guarding the perimeter fell back and allowed the crowd to surge in and get close the fire. Isis was particularly drawn to the fire, so we spent a goodly time right at its hot-coals perimeter (though I hung back somewhat and talked to other people nearby.) Isis kept asking me what I wanted—get close to the fire? Go back to camp? Go elsewhere? And I was able to honestly reply that actually, I found everything was delightful. I realized then that this apparently was one of my super-powers (the ability to be interested and delighted by anything I chose to focus on, no matter what or where.)

After glutting ourselves on fire, we wandered back to our camp, where there was a big dance party going on once again. We danced and talked and danced some more. We watched our camp neighbor Christopher spin his fire swords (beautiful!) I granted a wish using my blinky star wand for a man we’d been dancing with, and he gave me a button that said “exhale fear/inhale love”. We danced some more. We stayed up all night and eventually, exhausted but delighted, Isis and Christopher and I wrangled our way up to the DJ booth to watch the sun rise over the mountains and light up Black Rock City. It was beautiful, and we were feeling pretty light and serene and had that kind of dizzy, expansive giddiness you get when you’ve been up all night and the light comes again. I was sated, and satisfied, but also sad, watching that sunrise—because I felt the transition upon me, and I knew my burn was coming to a close (and I’d loved it so!) I would miss this wide open, starkly beautiful place, even with all its dust and heat. I would miss the unique, beautiful people we’d met and gotten to know (including those I’ve mentioned in addition to our truly wonderful camp neighbors Jerry and Christopher, Eric, Dina, Amy and even Left Nut and Right Nut). I would miss living at a different pace, in a world full of appreciation and art, exploration and discovery, creativity and joy, fire and fun. I was determined to hold on to what I could, but I knew that the vividness of experience would fade into memory, was already fading, and that made me wistful. I was already grieving, but grief is a rite of passage too, and nothing to be afraid of.

[To Be Continued and Concluded in Part 7...]

[To see more or full sized pictures, click here for the whole set on Flickr]

On Friday we had sort of a slow start to the day because of our late night the night before, but eventually I got myself together to go bike over to Center Camp to fetch us the ice we never got the day before. It was the first time there that I’d ridden my new beater bike (bought specifically for Burning Man), and it was pretty fun just cruising along the Esplanade with everyone else. The day was still relatively cool and it wasn’t particularly dusty, so riding was pleasant and I liked the feeling that I was getting to know my way around and recognize certain landmarks, as well as the people-watching.

As I was locking up my bike in the giant bike racks outside of Center Camp, a woman with a little cooler approached me and asked if I’d like a popsicle. Well of course I wanted a popsicle, even though truthfully it wasn’t all that hot yet. I like popsicles pretty much any time, but it especially made me happy to receive such a pleasant gift right at that moment. So I sauntered over to Arctica (where they sold the ice) while sucking on my popsicle, and yay there was no line so I just breezed in and out. Everyone at Arctica smiled at me because I was clearly in such a great mood. Then I went over to Center Camp to get iced coffee (once you start it’s hard to stop) for both me and Isis. I drank mine down pretty quickly and then I went and got my bike and rode back to SSV while carefully balancing a shopping bag full of ice on one shoulder while holding a full travel mug of iced coffee in the other. I made it back safely and deposited the ice in the cooler and the coffee in Isis’ paws, then headed over to the SSV office for a shift as an office coordinator. 

The office shift was quiet and mostly uneventful, although there was pretty much always a trickle of people to talk to (and Isis came by towards the end of it to keep me company). I organized the space a little bit, took some random pictures of myself, trained the guy who was after me, and then I was free. Isis and I grabbed our backpacks and I grabbed my bag of freak flags and freak flag-personalization supplies (sharpies & newspaper) and we headed out. We loosely agreed that we would aim for Center Camp so that I could hand out my freak flags and have a place for people to personalize them, but first we wanted to walk a little bit in the other direction down the Esplanade, because we hadn’t really gone that way yet and Isis wanted to find some friends at the Deep Heaven camp.

We did make it to Deep Heaven, but no one was home. We wandered a bit more, but Isis was feeling tired and starting to despair about walking back, so we hooked up with an art car that had stopped nearby. It was a converted VW van painted in sort of a blue camouflage pattern, and it had open sides, a platform on the top, and four sky chairs suspended at each corner of the van from big wooden beams. We asked if we could have a ride, and if they might eventually be going to Center Camp, and they said yes, but that they were going cruising first. So we jumped on for an adventure. Isis sat inside with all our stuff and I got to sit in one of the front sky chairs, and off we went into the playa, grooving to some dance music and checking out whatever art caught the drivers’ eye. It was really a peak experience: I was sitting so comfortably and feeling so fine, swinging along with my butt just a few inches off the playa and my feet up in the sky chair foot sling, and mostly even in the shade since the car was between me and the sun (at least at first). People gave me lots of thumbs up and “nice!” and “oh yeah” as we rolled by. At one point I was tapping on the side of the passenger door of the van along with the music, and the guy sitting in the passenger seat was thumping the top of the door in syncopation with what I was doing. It was really fun, and satisfied at least a little of that drumming urge.

We stopped at the Temple at one point, beside another art car that was built on a semi-truck chassis, but which was all painted up to look like a giant VW van (albeit one with gargantuan steer horns). People took pictures of the two cars next to each other, and we listened to someone on top of the horned car read a poem about the Temple into a microphone so that everyone could hear it. (They were apparently doing some sort of mobile spoken word performance.) We eventually got going again and cruised by some more cool art, which I attempted to take artsy pictures of as we went by. Eventually we wound up somewhat near Center Camp, so we bid farewell to our ride and the other passengers (and I gave them all freak flags) and got off to go walk over to Center Camp.

At Center Camp, we got ourselves another iced coffee (because really, how can you resist?) and then found a good place to set up the coloring station for the freak flag giveaway. This was a nervous moment for me, because I really wanted to put my little baby project out in the world and yet I was a little afraid that no one would really care much about it. But I screwed my courage to the sticking point and took a bunch of flags and started approaching people to ask if they would like a freak flag...and almost all the people said yes! I invited people to personalize them too, and quite a few people took me up on it. At one point I had a small group of people all standing around at the same time, coloring and chatting and laughing and appreciating what they were doing, and I felt so great, like this project really was having an effect on people in a positive way, just like I had hoped. I was having fun waving all the flags around, they were having fun playing and drawing, everybody was happy. If only I had brought another 40 flags, I could have easily given them all away...and next time I will! I asked a few of them if I could take pictures of them with their freak flags, and you can see the results over on the official Fly Your Freak Flag High website.

After all that freaky fun, we were ready to go back to SSV. On our way out, we saw the lamplighters in their beautiful white-with-fire-trim robes lined up in their solemn rows ready to bring fire from the eternal flame around to light various street lamps. We tried to find another art car to ride, and we did, but they only took us one block so we wound up walking most of the way back anyway. One highlight which I had to take a picture of was passing the circus camp (I forget their official name) and seeing a convocation of stilt people all walking around, and bellying up to the stilt bar (you could only reach it if you were a tall stilt-walker).

After dinner at SSV (which I haven’t really been mentioning in detail but I will say it was all vegetarian and mostly delicious and it was great to have someone else do the meal prep) I finally screwed up my resolve and went to go take a shower in our camp showers—not an easy thing to do at all. I had already filled my portable shower bag with water earlier that day, and it was still relatively warm from being left out in the heat. I had to figure out where to put my clothes (the dirty ones I took off and the clean ones I wanted to put on), what to do with the lantern, and how to hook up the bag to the pulley inside the shower stall (I mostly failed at this and wound up taking a squatting shower, which wasn’t easy). Then I had to figure out how to soap up my hair and body with the minimum amount of soap and rinse with the minimum amount of water from the shower bag hose, and then get my clean clothes on without getting immediately dirty again. Then I had to empty the bucket of gray water into an enormous gray water box outside the showers, and finally I was done. It was really a pain in the butt, but I must admit that after I had showered off nearly 4 days of playa dust, I felt a whole lot better.

After the shower, we changed up our outfits yet again--I went for a comfy sparkly purple-trimmed wizard robe over jeans and a warm sweatshirt while Isis wore her blue furry kitty outfit. Then we headed out to hunt down another art car for night-time playa cruising. We did manage to find another art car, this one a bizarre sort of seahorse-looking creature. It was full of drunk party people who all seemed to know each other, but we squeezed ourselves in a corner and mostly ignored everyone else while enjoying the tunes and cruising around the nighttime playa. One sour note (and there really weren’t many of these during the week, so I mention it here just for flavor) was that at one point when we stopped for a break, I stumbled over my wizard robe in climbing down from the car and fell and whacked the hell out of my thigh, ribs and shoulder/collarbone. I was able to shake it off though, and surprisingly enough, the next morning I could feel where the bruises were but it really didn’t hurt anywhere near as much as I’d feared it would. After getting on and off a couple of times and cruising around the playa, we eventually wound up at the Trojan Horse, along with practically every other art car and half of Black Rock City, because it was going to burn. (A lot of the big art pieces are intended to be burned, but apparently there’s often one big one that gets its own big burn party, and the Trojan Horse was this year’s big one.)

The Trojan Horse was pretty much exactly what it sounds like—a giant wooden horse on wheels, big enough for an army to fit inside (but at this moment it was all packed with fireworks and explosives). We’d heard that earlier in the day it had been dragged by hundreds of people (whoever wanted to help, showed up) out from its camp to the open playa, and then supposedly it was going to be lit on fire by people firing flaming arrows at it from some distance away. We couldn’t see the arrows from where we were, all packed in with all the other people and art cars, but we did see the moment it caught on fire and the fireworks began to go off.

It was an enormous fire, bigger than anything else I’d seen so far (but of course not as big as the burning of the Man). Every time something big happened, like the crumbling of the horse’s limbs or a big bunch of fireworks, the crowd cheered like crazy and people celebrated. It was wild and fun and beautiful. I kept marveling at how I’d never seen so much fire in one place before, nor would I probably ever see that much in any other place without being in fear for my life. Fire is so satisfying on a primitive level. It moves with such mystery and grace and deadly power—it is mesmerizing even in small amounts, and let me tell you it was even more so in such vast quantity.

After the horse had crumbled to a relatively low bed of small flames and coals, our art car took off again, cruising around the playa. We got off at one point to go visit the Temple again, and spent some quiet time listening to the bells again and walking around, reading what people had written and just generally soaking up the sacred energy of the place. I found a ballpoint pen someone had left behind and used it to write “I WILL RELEASE FEAR—I WILL BE A SUPERNOVA!” I liked the idea that the giant fire of the Temple’s burning would burn away the bindings of fear and anxiety that were keeping me small so I could be big and bright.

We were prepared to walk back to our camp from the Temple (which would have been a pretty long walk, but doable) when we saw the same seahorse art car we’d been riding earlier parked on the outskirts of the Temple. We scampered over to it and there was still room, and even better, they said they were heading home for the night—and their home was right next to our camp. So we rode all the way back home in style, and after a good wipe-down, it was sleepy time for Supernova.

[To Be Continued in Part 6...]

[To see more or full sized pictures, click here for the whole set on Flickr]