I called my blog The Best Audience Award because, as well as feeling "not good enough" as a maker (writer, photographer, whatever I might otherwise post) I do actually believe that being an audience, understanding and appreciating (or disliking, or being puzzled by) natural wonders, the peculiarities of societies, and the amazing things that people make, is actually a virtuous thing to do.
The act and process of creation have meaning in themselves, but surely there's much more point to creating art if other people get to see and respond to it. Certainly it can be very valuable to learn another language, write essays, and study various subjects, but what about just taking the time to have a chat, listen to the radio, or read a book?
And sitting quietly and gazing into space is fine too. Restfulness (not just sleep, but being at ease and stopping for a while) is also necessary for our physical and mental health, as well as work, and play, and learning, and creativity, and interacting. I strongly believe this.
Since my last post on this blog in early December, I've:
done lots of baking (in December) for the first time in about six years - might post some pics of the biskits, Ninjabreadmen, and banana chocolate cashew loaf that I made;
my sister was seriously ill and I spent time taking her to a local hospital for intravenous antibiotics twice a day, often waiting for an hour or two, then the IV could take a while, as well as doctors being intrigued by the unusual tropical fungal infection with secondary bacterial infection that she had (in January);
then going op shopping (looking at clothes, books & knick-knacks in thrift/charity shops) with my sister when she was well enough (in February), and observing a Mental Health Connect course, preparatory to being a co-trainer of the course (also Feb, and I want to post about that in more detail); and now it's March.
For many of us, we have been taught to think that only making and doing are good, that appreciating something, whether natural or created (watching telly, listening to the radio, watching snow) is bad. And putting off doing things we need to do is very bad.
So I was very interested to read this blog post about why people procrastinate, by David Cain.
Cain argues that procrastination isn't caused by laziness or apathy, but is a protective strategy unconsciously used by people who are anxious about doing "well enough". See what you think...
02 March 2013
05 December 2012
Bookapalooza, and Slow Crime Fiction
I have bought so many books recently, what with booktopia.com.au's Booktoberfest, and ClickFrenzy (which was a promotional event intended to get Australians to buy online from Australian retailers, but as the ClickFrenzy website crased, I don't know how successful it was. I just went to Booktopia again), and then amazon.com e-book specials on CyberMonday...
So manhy new paper books, so many new e-books. And of course the many many paper books I already have.
I re-read the Familias Regnant sereies by Elizabeth Moon, which I plan to write a separate post about - seven books of wonderful, thoughtful, hard-SF/military space opera, with believable, empathetic characters, a rich, complex world, and some kick-arse action.
Now I'm reading a classic crime novel -
Hamlet, Revenge! by Michael Innes
I read several of Michael Innes' Inspector Appleby novels in my teens and really enjoyed them. Re-reading this one 30 years later, I notice how different the pacing of the book is from any contemporary detective/crime fic/mystery novels. there's a prologue, that gives a lovingly detailed description of the history of the (fictional) Crispin family, from Tudor times until when the book was written (the 1930s), including the changing architecture and landscaping of their estate/manor house, Scamnum Court.
Then there are introductory scenes where the author names and describes to the reader the cast of characters as they appear at Scamnum and begin to interact with each other.
Not sure what page I'm on, because I'm reading an e-book with the font increased quite a bit, but a couple of chapters in, and I could think this was a country house comedy of manners, not a crime novel, but for a few vaguely threatening typed-out quotes from Shakespeare that a few of the characters have found inexplicably in their possession.
the past truly is a different country.
and I've just started reading
Sorcery and Cecelia, or The Enchanted Chocolate Pot by Patricia C. Wrede
I first heard of Sorcery & Cecelia - a Regency romance with magical elements, in epistolary form - and the other books in the series some years ago, and was most intrigued. Any reviews I'd seen of them had been positive, and they sounding like something that would tickle my fancy. So when I found them in the specials on amazon during Cyber Monday, I bought the first three as e-books. and then I saw that Sorcery and Cecelia is the December selection for the Smart Bitches book club. So now I can read it and discuss with others, some also discovering the series for the first time, some re-reading a favourite.
Have only read a few pages so far, and already I'm delighted with the style, characters and world.
I foresee a vast deal of amusement.
View all my Goodreads reviews
So manhy new paper books, so many new e-books. And of course the many many paper books I already have.
I re-read the Familias Regnant sereies by Elizabeth Moon, which I plan to write a separate post about - seven books of wonderful, thoughtful, hard-SF/military space opera, with believable, empathetic characters, a rich, complex world, and some kick-arse action.
Now I'm reading a classic crime novel -
Hamlet, Revenge! by Michael InnesI read several of Michael Innes' Inspector Appleby novels in my teens and really enjoyed them. Re-reading this one 30 years later, I notice how different the pacing of the book is from any contemporary detective/crime fic/mystery novels. there's a prologue, that gives a lovingly detailed description of the history of the (fictional) Crispin family, from Tudor times until when the book was written (the 1930s), including the changing architecture and landscaping of their estate/manor house, Scamnum Court.
Then there are introductory scenes where the author names and describes to the reader the cast of characters as they appear at Scamnum and begin to interact with each other.
Not sure what page I'm on, because I'm reading an e-book with the font increased quite a bit, but a couple of chapters in, and I could think this was a country house comedy of manners, not a crime novel, but for a few vaguely threatening typed-out quotes from Shakespeare that a few of the characters have found inexplicably in their possession.
the past truly is a different country.
and I've just started reading
Sorcery and Cecelia, or The Enchanted Chocolate Pot by Patricia C. WredeI first heard of Sorcery & Cecelia - a Regency romance with magical elements, in epistolary form - and the other books in the series some years ago, and was most intrigued. Any reviews I'd seen of them had been positive, and they sounding like something that would tickle my fancy. So when I found them in the specials on amazon during Cyber Monday, I bought the first three as e-books. and then I saw that Sorcery and Cecelia is the December selection for the Smart Bitches book club. So now I can read it and discuss with others, some also discovering the series for the first time, some re-reading a favourite.
Have only read a few pages so far, and already I'm delighted with the style, characters and world.
I foresee a vast deal of amusement.
View all my Goodreads reviews
18 November 2012
Going to the supermarket - woo!
I'd been needing to go grocery shopping for aaaages - maybe six days since I ran out of milk and four since I ran out of bananas & yoghurt, three since I ran out of bread (all my staple foods - except I still had cheddar cheese, and dark chocolate). So I'd been drinking lots of water (exciting! but I'm grateful to have safe, drinkable water on tap) and eating my way through the packets of rice cakes and VitaWeats in the cupboard.
Another pertinent point is that I had run out of my cats' favourite food: Whiskas dry food. They actually prefer Science Diet Original dry food to any other biskits, but we hadn't had that for a while - I have Too Many Cats and not enough income to keep them in the food that they'd like to be accustomed to. We do still have a wee bit of Science Diet Oral Care, which comes in big chunky biskits that do marvellous things for one's fangs, but for some reason the only fur-person who likes that is Ember (aka Good Girl, an aspirational name), which is an excellent choice on her part, as she has need of Care for her teeth and gums. So we were having tinned food instead. Tin (sic) food is normally a Treat, even though it's usually cheaper than standard dry food, simply because I'm too lazy to wash the cat dishes after every meal, as I really should when serving tin food. With dry food, I can get away with just wiping the old crumbs and smears of grease out with a paper towel (save water, use paper *shrugs*).
So I was very excited to break through my lethargy and Aversion to Going Outside which had gripped me for some reason this week, and drive the few blocks to Ashfield Mall. My flatmate is away at the moment, so she wasn't amazed by my going to a supermarket on a Sunday evening. Perhaps because she grew up in a small country town, perhaps because she's blind and doesn't go to supermarkets much, preferring to use smaller shops where she can get to know the layout and the staff are more able to assist her, my flatmate is constantly astonished when I go grocery shopping at night.
At around 7pm on a late spring evening, the car park on the roof of the Mall was balmy and tranquil unlike the middle of the day when it would've been hot and crowded. The aisles of the supermarket still seemed quite busy, and the main indication of the time was that they were Out of Bread (i.e. all types of bread from the two brands I usually buy had sold out), and it must've been end of shift for some of the checkout staff, because twice I joined a queue only to be told by the person in front of me "they're closing" or "I'm the last person" (both of which seemed unnecessarily dramatic to me - the *shop* wasn't closing, just that checkout, and you're not the last person on earth, buddy. ahem.).
(does that bit of punctuation look like boobs? .). Maybe more so with another parenthesis
.).) I may be a little high on sugar right now... :-D )
But I bought a lovely loaf of unsliced dark rye, plus the essentials: yoghurt (several types, including a very nice vanilla one with Added Sugar - woohoo! - a bribe to get me to go shopping); bananas; the aforementioned bread; some double chocolate chip mini muffins (or as I like to call them, chocka chip muffins) which were on special, so I got two packets, one to eat quite soon and one to freeze; six litres of long-life lactose-free milk (I usually drink a litre a day); some Cadburys milk chocolate (Fair Trade, and on special - ethical but not spendy); four tins of cat food (which I hadn't planned to buy, as I still had plenty, but it too was on special); and three packets of Friskies dry food (cos that was on special also! and Trezhy really likes Friskies. such happiness).
So I was quite pleased with my purchases, which helped me maintain my equanimity when twice being told the queue I was standing in was Closed.
Then I found a check-out where the operator was not only continuing his shift, but was the most charming, polite, friendly and helpful checkout operator I've encountered in a long time. I might even ring Woollies and give some Positive Feedback. I should. Ali (I'd guess early middle-age) was efficient in packing, while also asking if the customer had any preferences or objections to which items were packed with what; he greeted everyone while he was still serving the person in front - Hello, ma'am, shouldn't be too much longer - and looked customers in the eye as he took their payment, and seemed to actually mean the standard wish for them to have a good evening.
When he greeted the two young people behind me in the queue, they didn't respond, as they were rather preoccupied with each other - their words and actions led me to deduce that they were A Romantic Couple. A tall young man and a short, curvy young woman, who I overheard saying "but I don't have a big nose". When I turned to look, I saw that she in fact had a cute small nose. Her young man explained that he thought he could hang a keyring on the end of her nose because it tilted up at the end (he tried; the keyring fell off). I was tempted to say to her "you have a cute ski-jump nose", but realised that conversational input from anyone outside their Couple was completely irrelevant, so I didn't, and instead shared a smile with Ali.
[sadly I can't include a photo of the Cute Young Couple, because it would be creepy to start taking pics of people in the supermarket queue. wouldn't it?]
Ali wished me a good evening, after putting my bags carefully in my trolley (most unusual for a checkout operator, and I didn't take it as an aspersion on my strength/lack thereof, just as kindness), and I enthusiastically wished him a lovely evening too.
It was a challenge driving home into the setting sun, because a) I'd been unable to find my sunnies* before leaving home, and b) my windscreen was covered in dust and patterned with paw prints, making it very hard to see the road, cars, pedestrians, etc, when the sun hit the dusty glass at an angle. But we made it home safely, the food and I - it was almost like when I used to buy albums** as a teenager, and walk home from the record shop, hugging the album and thinking "must watch where I'm walking; mustn't get hit by a car before I can get home and play this".
So I got home, carrying Wonderful Food for me and the fur-persons. I have nommed some of the lovely vanilla yoghurt, and one (so far) mini chocka chip muffin. The cats were not as excited as I expected them to be by the New Dry Food (for heavens' sake, they'd been surviving on Woollies Select dry food! but I guess the tin food had out-rated the New Dry Food). They did all eat some though, and seem satisfied. Now I'm blogging about this delightful expedition, with Trezhy sleeping, fluffy-tummy-side-up, on my lap, both of us content with our yummy snacks.
*sunnies: noun, plural (but referring to one composite object) Australian vernacular for sunglasses.
**albums: noun, plural. Recordings of music on vinyl disks.
Another pertinent point is that I had run out of my cats' favourite food: Whiskas dry food. They actually prefer Science Diet Original dry food to any other biskits, but we hadn't had that for a while - I have Too Many Cats and not enough income to keep them in the food that they'd like to be accustomed to. We do still have a wee bit of Science Diet Oral Care, which comes in big chunky biskits that do marvellous things for one's fangs, but for some reason the only fur-person who likes that is Ember (aka Good Girl, an aspirational name), which is an excellent choice on her part, as she has need of Care for her teeth and gums. So we were having tinned food instead. Tin (sic) food is normally a Treat, even though it's usually cheaper than standard dry food, simply because I'm too lazy to wash the cat dishes after every meal, as I really should when serving tin food. With dry food, I can get away with just wiping the old crumbs and smears of grease out with a paper towel (save water, use paper *shrugs*).
So I was very excited to break through my lethargy and Aversion to Going Outside which had gripped me for some reason this week, and drive the few blocks to Ashfield Mall. My flatmate is away at the moment, so she wasn't amazed by my going to a supermarket on a Sunday evening. Perhaps because she grew up in a small country town, perhaps because she's blind and doesn't go to supermarkets much, preferring to use smaller shops where she can get to know the layout and the staff are more able to assist her, my flatmate is constantly astonished when I go grocery shopping at night.
At around 7pm on a late spring evening, the car park on the roof of the Mall was balmy and tranquil unlike the middle of the day when it would've been hot and crowded. The aisles of the supermarket still seemed quite busy, and the main indication of the time was that they were Out of Bread (i.e. all types of bread from the two brands I usually buy had sold out), and it must've been end of shift for some of the checkout staff, because twice I joined a queue only to be told by the person in front of me "they're closing" or "I'm the last person" (both of which seemed unnecessarily dramatic to me - the *shop* wasn't closing, just that checkout, and you're not the last person on earth, buddy. ahem.).
(does that bit of punctuation look like boobs? .). Maybe more so with another parenthesis
.).) I may be a little high on sugar right now... :-D )
But I bought a lovely loaf of unsliced dark rye, plus the essentials: yoghurt (several types, including a very nice vanilla one with Added Sugar - woohoo! - a bribe to get me to go shopping); bananas; the aforementioned bread; some double chocolate chip mini muffins (or as I like to call them, chocka chip muffins) which were on special, so I got two packets, one to eat quite soon and one to freeze; six litres of long-life lactose-free milk (I usually drink a litre a day); some Cadburys milk chocolate (Fair Trade, and on special - ethical but not spendy); four tins of cat food (which I hadn't planned to buy, as I still had plenty, but it too was on special); and three packets of Friskies dry food (cos that was on special also! and Trezhy really likes Friskies. such happiness).
So I was quite pleased with my purchases, which helped me maintain my equanimity when twice being told the queue I was standing in was Closed.
Then I found a check-out where the operator was not only continuing his shift, but was the most charming, polite, friendly and helpful checkout operator I've encountered in a long time. I might even ring Woollies and give some Positive Feedback. I should. Ali (I'd guess early middle-age) was efficient in packing, while also asking if the customer had any preferences or objections to which items were packed with what; he greeted everyone while he was still serving the person in front - Hello, ma'am, shouldn't be too much longer - and looked customers in the eye as he took their payment, and seemed to actually mean the standard wish for them to have a good evening.
When he greeted the two young people behind me in the queue, they didn't respond, as they were rather preoccupied with each other - their words and actions led me to deduce that they were A Romantic Couple. A tall young man and a short, curvy young woman, who I overheard saying "but I don't have a big nose". When I turned to look, I saw that she in fact had a cute small nose. Her young man explained that he thought he could hang a keyring on the end of her nose because it tilted up at the end (he tried; the keyring fell off). I was tempted to say to her "you have a cute ski-jump nose", but realised that conversational input from anyone outside their Couple was completely irrelevant, so I didn't, and instead shared a smile with Ali.
[sadly I can't include a photo of the Cute Young Couple, because it would be creepy to start taking pics of people in the supermarket queue. wouldn't it?]
Ali wished me a good evening, after putting my bags carefully in my trolley (most unusual for a checkout operator, and I didn't take it as an aspersion on my strength/lack thereof, just as kindness), and I enthusiastically wished him a lovely evening too.
It was a challenge driving home into the setting sun, because a) I'd been unable to find my sunnies* before leaving home, and b) my windscreen was covered in dust and patterned with paw prints, making it very hard to see the road, cars, pedestrians, etc, when the sun hit the dusty glass at an angle. But we made it home safely, the food and I - it was almost like when I used to buy albums** as a teenager, and walk home from the record shop, hugging the album and thinking "must watch where I'm walking; mustn't get hit by a car before I can get home and play this".
So I got home, carrying Wonderful Food for me and the fur-persons. I have nommed some of the lovely vanilla yoghurt, and one (so far) mini chocka chip muffin. The cats were not as excited as I expected them to be by the New Dry Food (for heavens' sake, they'd been surviving on Woollies Select dry food! but I guess the tin food had out-rated the New Dry Food). They did all eat some though, and seem satisfied. Now I'm blogging about this delightful expedition, with Trezhy sleeping, fluffy-tummy-side-up, on my lap, both of us content with our yummy snacks.
*sunnies: noun, plural (but referring to one composite object) Australian vernacular for sunglasses.
**albums: noun, plural. Recordings of music on vinyl disks.
03 November 2012
GenreCon: What Do Writers Get Wrong in Crime and Medical Dramas?
the Con* started on Friday arvo, with panel sessions and a cocktail party, which I skipped cos I was knackered. I missed the morning sessions on Saturday too cos I'd not got much sleep Friday night, and finally got to GenreCon at midday, in time for lunch (included, and there was some food I could eat - yay!). Had a lovely catch-up with author Cheryse Durrant/Cherie Curtis .
There were three program strands in most timeslots. the first session after lunch I chose What Writers Get Wrong, with former police detectives PM Newton and Simon Higgins, and medical doctor & engineer Charlotte Nash Stewart (all fiction authors) talking with Aimée Lindorff; very informative and entertaining, with great questions from Aimée and excellent answers from the panel.
Some highlights:
What common errors really stand out in genre fiction (text, film or TV)?
PM: cops taking case files home with them and spreading them out all over their living room, and pinning crime scene photos up on their walls. no cop she's known has ever done that.
Simon: dramatic arrests on rooftops, and the bad guy falling to his death.
Charlotte: CPR is usually wrong, particularly defibrillation, and childbirth. and internal inconsistency distresses her. in spec fic, you can make up the rules regarding physics, biology, etc - but please stick to them once you've written them. cited end of Walking Dead season 1 as an example of internal medical inconsistency (won't reveal cos of possible spoilers).
Tell us some other things that are unrealistic:
Charlotte: the speed of pathology tests in crime shows, e.g. CSI. the tests themselves take time - 48 hours to grow a culture to identify an infection.
PM and Simon: and there's the bureaucracy that you have to go through to send stuff off to the lab, doing the paperwork. And the lab will have a backlog anyway.
Simon: and why are the pathologists going out, armed with guns, and kicking in suspects' doors? they don't do that, a tactical response team would.
PM: and the detectives would do interviews, and write up case notes. then someone else might sift through all the info to see what was significant...
Simon: We don't fight over whose jurisdiction a case falls under - there aren't territorial disputes between cops, district attorneys/public prosecutors.
PM: more likely to be happy for someone else to take the case.
How many cases are you likely to be handling at one time?
Charlotte: it depends on the setting. in a big metropolitan hospital, you're more likely to specialise, but there'll still be lots of patients in your area (e.g. cardio-thoracic, oncology) that you'll be responsible for at one time. in a small country town, you get everything, don't specialise, but still have lots of cases.
PM spoke about being the only cop covering a big rural area in northern New South Wales - based in Macksville, including Dorrigo, Nambucca Heads... Not only does that solo cop deal with all the cases, she then sees the people she arrested last week in a social setting. can be very awkward. great demand to keep confidentiality, to keep professional boundaries. can lead to cops feeling isolated and barricading themselves in psychologically.
Charlotte: the same for the GP in a one-doctor town. you know so much about everyone, and the community needs to trust that you'll keep confidences, and not think about those things when they see you in other contexts.
Simon: coming back to how many cases - lots of overlapping cases, unlike one case/story per episode on most crime shows. they don't even get phone calls about anything except that one case.
All the authors were talking about what is factual, and also what makes a good story. Depending on the style in which you're writing, your audience/readers can make allowances for unrealistic things if it's e.g. a crime-com (I thought of Castle, which is clearly screwball crime-com, and should be watched with the perspective that it's about as realistic as the average coincidence-ridden rom-com). Simon said you need to set up the readers' expectations of lightness/seriousness in the first chapter or two, with your tone and the events you create, then stay with it, don't mess the reader around.
Aimée read out a list of cliches and asked True or False:
Angry and budget conscious cop in charge:
PM said true, though not necessarily both at the same time. She's known plenty of angry cops, and some very budget conscious bosses. in small country town, sometimes she wouldn't go out to a case at night because the boss didn't want to pay her overtime.
High body count and/or high speed car chases:
Rarely, but sometimes True: Simon told dramatic story of a high speed car chase that went from Adelaide Hills into centre of city, with way too many cop cars involved, chasing a driver who kept going when all the tires on his car blew out, and he was driving on the wheel rims.
Tracheotomy with a pen:
True, but very risky. Charlotte explained how a tracheotomy is usually done - it's a specialised surgical procedure, and is extremely risky if you don't have medical knowledge and the right equipment. She also explained a crichothyroidotomy (which is what is often shown in medical dramas) and we in the audience felt on our necks where the little space is between the thyroid cartilege and the cricoid cartilege. I wouldn't want to try cutting into there with a pen, penknife or even scalpel, trying to avoid damage to the person's thyroid, larynx (voicebox), trachea (windpipe), and any nerves and blood vessels in the vicinity. Charlotte pointed out that a clicky pen wouldn't work, you'd need a simple barrel-type ball point, and even that would be a bit narrow. Rolling up a business card into a cylinder might be better.
I asked about the Diana Gabaldon novel The Fiery Cross, in which one of the characters is hanged but survives, with major trauma to his throat. another character does an emergency crichothyroidotomy and uses the stem of a pipe (cleaned) to keep the wound open and provide passage for air into the trachea below the area of swelling and bruising. Yep, she could have done that.
Blue Heelers syndrome - that if you're in a small town, you get all the weirdest cases:
True, and in fact Charlotte had had an example when she first took up a position as GP in a one-doctor town of someone who'd had an emergency tracheotomy done on the spot in the consulting room by the previous GP.
Private Investigators breaking into suspects' houses:
False, said Simon, who has worked as a PI. He has taken people's garbage on several occasions though - this isn't illegal if the garbage has been put out at the kerb for collection.
Then someone (PM?) raised the cliche of a character - an informant, or a cop or PI ringing a colleague - ringing the hero investigator to say "I have crucial information about this case. Meet me at this deserted warehouse/creepy underground carpark/rooftop so I can tell you" and then the caller is killed either before they get to the meeting place, or at the meeting place, just as the hero arrives, so they don't find out the crucial info. why not just say it in the phone call?!
Charlotte mentioned that Petri dishes are cultivated upside down, so that condensation doesn't fall onto the culture (it's in a gel, so it doesn't fall onto the lid when upside down).
Aimée asked each author: what is sheer fiction that you wish was true?
Simon: that the cops I worked with were all sexy women like the lead females of TV crime shows. And that I could be Rick Deckard of Blade Runner
Charlotte: That there really was a way to diagnose every case you came across, and a cure for every disease and condition.
PM: That I could bounce back from a punch or a night of too much whisky the way noir detectives do.
After that panel, I went to Villains, Monsters and Cads - a great discussion about creating characters that readers will fear or hate (in a good way), with Tansy Rayner Roberts, Kim Wilkins, and Christina Brooke, chaired by Peta Freestone. Fun and thought-provoking, with mention of Vikings, harpies, manticores, the Gothic dark hero, re-working myths, villains who think they're heroes, heroes who think they're villains, the Laxdaela Saga, wicked women of classical Rome, and the dearth of female villains with convincing motivation.
but I'll blog about that one later - need sleep now so I can get to lots more of the Con tomorrow.
*GenreCon, a convention for writers, readers, editors and publishers of various genres of fiction, present by the Australian Writers' Marketplace and organised by Peter M Ball and Meg Vann of the Queensland Writers' Centre. Held at Rydges Parramatta (which is actually at Rosehill, right opposite Rosehill Racecourse).
There were three program strands in most timeslots. the first session after lunch I chose What Writers Get Wrong, with former police detectives PM Newton and Simon Higgins, and medical doctor & engineer Charlotte Nash Stewart (all fiction authors) talking with Aimée Lindorff; very informative and entertaining, with great questions from Aimée and excellent answers from the panel.
Some highlights:
What common errors really stand out in genre fiction (text, film or TV)?
PM: cops taking case files home with them and spreading them out all over their living room, and pinning crime scene photos up on their walls. no cop she's known has ever done that.
Simon: dramatic arrests on rooftops, and the bad guy falling to his death.
Charlotte: CPR is usually wrong, particularly defibrillation, and childbirth. and internal inconsistency distresses her. in spec fic, you can make up the rules regarding physics, biology, etc - but please stick to them once you've written them. cited end of Walking Dead season 1 as an example of internal medical inconsistency (won't reveal cos of possible spoilers).
Tell us some other things that are unrealistic:
Charlotte: the speed of pathology tests in crime shows, e.g. CSI. the tests themselves take time - 48 hours to grow a culture to identify an infection.
PM and Simon: and there's the bureaucracy that you have to go through to send stuff off to the lab, doing the paperwork. And the lab will have a backlog anyway.
Simon: and why are the pathologists going out, armed with guns, and kicking in suspects' doors? they don't do that, a tactical response team would.
PM: and the detectives would do interviews, and write up case notes. then someone else might sift through all the info to see what was significant...
Simon: We don't fight over whose jurisdiction a case falls under - there aren't territorial disputes between cops, district attorneys/public prosecutors.
PM: more likely to be happy for someone else to take the case.
How many cases are you likely to be handling at one time?
Charlotte: it depends on the setting. in a big metropolitan hospital, you're more likely to specialise, but there'll still be lots of patients in your area (e.g. cardio-thoracic, oncology) that you'll be responsible for at one time. in a small country town, you get everything, don't specialise, but still have lots of cases.
PM spoke about being the only cop covering a big rural area in northern New South Wales - based in Macksville, including Dorrigo, Nambucca Heads... Not only does that solo cop deal with all the cases, she then sees the people she arrested last week in a social setting. can be very awkward. great demand to keep confidentiality, to keep professional boundaries. can lead to cops feeling isolated and barricading themselves in psychologically.
Charlotte: the same for the GP in a one-doctor town. you know so much about everyone, and the community needs to trust that you'll keep confidences, and not think about those things when they see you in other contexts.
Simon: coming back to how many cases - lots of overlapping cases, unlike one case/story per episode on most crime shows. they don't even get phone calls about anything except that one case.
All the authors were talking about what is factual, and also what makes a good story. Depending on the style in which you're writing, your audience/readers can make allowances for unrealistic things if it's e.g. a crime-com (I thought of Castle, which is clearly screwball crime-com, and should be watched with the perspective that it's about as realistic as the average coincidence-ridden rom-com). Simon said you need to set up the readers' expectations of lightness/seriousness in the first chapter or two, with your tone and the events you create, then stay with it, don't mess the reader around.
Aimée read out a list of cliches and asked True or False:
Angry and budget conscious cop in charge:
PM said true, though not necessarily both at the same time. She's known plenty of angry cops, and some very budget conscious bosses. in small country town, sometimes she wouldn't go out to a case at night because the boss didn't want to pay her overtime.
High body count and/or high speed car chases:
Rarely, but sometimes True: Simon told dramatic story of a high speed car chase that went from Adelaide Hills into centre of city, with way too many cop cars involved, chasing a driver who kept going when all the tires on his car blew out, and he was driving on the wheel rims.
Tracheotomy with a pen:
True, but very risky. Charlotte explained how a tracheotomy is usually done - it's a specialised surgical procedure, and is extremely risky if you don't have medical knowledge and the right equipment. She also explained a crichothyroidotomy (which is what is often shown in medical dramas) and we in the audience felt on our necks where the little space is between the thyroid cartilege and the cricoid cartilege. I wouldn't want to try cutting into there with a pen, penknife or even scalpel, trying to avoid damage to the person's thyroid, larynx (voicebox), trachea (windpipe), and any nerves and blood vessels in the vicinity. Charlotte pointed out that a clicky pen wouldn't work, you'd need a simple barrel-type ball point, and even that would be a bit narrow. Rolling up a business card into a cylinder might be better.
I asked about the Diana Gabaldon novel The Fiery Cross, in which one of the characters is hanged but survives, with major trauma to his throat. another character does an emergency crichothyroidotomy and uses the stem of a pipe (cleaned) to keep the wound open and provide passage for air into the trachea below the area of swelling and bruising. Yep, she could have done that.
Blue Heelers syndrome - that if you're in a small town, you get all the weirdest cases:
True, and in fact Charlotte had had an example when she first took up a position as GP in a one-doctor town of someone who'd had an emergency tracheotomy done on the spot in the consulting room by the previous GP.
Private Investigators breaking into suspects' houses:
False, said Simon, who has worked as a PI. He has taken people's garbage on several occasions though - this isn't illegal if the garbage has been put out at the kerb for collection.
Then someone (PM?) raised the cliche of a character - an informant, or a cop or PI ringing a colleague - ringing the hero investigator to say "I have crucial information about this case. Meet me at this deserted warehouse/creepy underground carpark/rooftop so I can tell you" and then the caller is killed either before they get to the meeting place, or at the meeting place, just as the hero arrives, so they don't find out the crucial info. why not just say it in the phone call?!
Charlotte mentioned that Petri dishes are cultivated upside down, so that condensation doesn't fall onto the culture (it's in a gel, so it doesn't fall onto the lid when upside down).
Aimée asked each author: what is sheer fiction that you wish was true?
Simon: that the cops I worked with were all sexy women like the lead females of TV crime shows. And that I could be Rick Deckard of Blade Runner
Charlotte: That there really was a way to diagnose every case you came across, and a cure for every disease and condition.
PM: That I could bounce back from a punch or a night of too much whisky the way noir detectives do.
After that panel, I went to Villains, Monsters and Cads - a great discussion about creating characters that readers will fear or hate (in a good way), with Tansy Rayner Roberts, Kim Wilkins, and Christina Brooke, chaired by Peta Freestone. Fun and thought-provoking, with mention of Vikings, harpies, manticores, the Gothic dark hero, re-working myths, villains who think they're heroes, heroes who think they're villains, the Laxdaela Saga, wicked women of classical Rome, and the dearth of female villains with convincing motivation.
but I'll blog about that one later - need sleep now so I can get to lots more of the Con tomorrow.
*GenreCon, a convention for writers, readers, editors and publishers of various genres of fiction, present by the Australian Writers' Marketplace and organised by Peter M Ball and Meg Vann of the Queensland Writers' Centre. Held at Rydges Parramatta (which is actually at Rosehill, right opposite Rosehill Racecourse).
30 September 2012
Dreams, Death and the Waking World
I often know that I'm dreaming (always have, as far back as I can remember) but that doesn't make the dreams any less real, or any easier to control.
and I know that there's the reality in dream-life and the reality in waking life, and they're different. sometimes I know in the back of my sleeping mind that Mum is dead in the waking world, but that doesn't affect her existence in the dream.
today was the first time that I consciously (unconsciously, I spose, given I was asleep) thought "I'd better hug Mum now in this dream, because, although she's alive in the waking world too, some day she won't be, so I'd better make the most of hugging her in this dream now".
27 August 2012
The Cat Soap Opera Continues...
Trezhy was happily snoozing on my lap as I sat in the armchair where I use my laptop when it's connected to the modem. Then I went to get something to eat, and returned to find Trezh had claimed the chair. So I did stuff with photos on my desktop 'puter (using software that isn't on my laptop) and let Trezh enjoy the armchair by himself.
His aunt Tabitha comes to sit on the armchair, and wants to snuggle with Trezhy. She doesn't seem to be trying to push him off - she's smooching him and purring - but he isn't keen to share, so hops down and wanders off.
Then Ember comes to sit on the armchair with her mum, and smooches Tabitha just as Tabitha was smooching Trezh. Poor Ember is smacked by her mum, and goes away.
Rosy comes in, sees me at the desktop, Tabitha on the chair, and Trezh and Ember roaming around, and goes to sit on the cardboard box in the corner by the window.
Ember tries sharing the armchair with Tabitha again, this time just curling up next to her, not smooching. Tabitha tolerates this.
Trezhy jumps onto my lap as I sit at the workstation trying to do stuff on my extremely slow desktop puter, and settles down happily to snuggle and snooze.
Sandy comes in and playfights with the stripey rug by herself, and mrrps at me asking for chin rubs, which I manage by twisting and leaning to reach her behind me. She has previously shared a sofa with her sister Tabitha, and thinks about joining her on the armchair, but sharing the armchair with Ember as well would be too much, so she settles on the rug.
Ember is nudging Tabitha, wanting her mum to wash her. I reach over to give each of them chin rubs, but it's hard to do that without disturbing Trezhy. I suggest to Tabitha that she and Ember could give each other face washes, but after licking Ember's forehead once or twice, Tabitha starts biting her neck, and not in a friendly way. They squabble, and Tabitha leaves the armchair, and goes to sit on another box next to the one Rosy is on. Rosy is wary, but not going to take action unless Tabitha starts something.
Treasure leaves my lap to go and have a snack in the kitchen, and Ember follows to see if any interesting new food has appeared. I've finished doing stuff with photos on the desktop, so I close it down, and move back to the now vacant armchair and start using the laptop again.
Sandy comes to sit with me on the armchair - yay! She doesn't often sit on or near my lap, so I'm pleased when she does.
Fern is still out, avoiding Sandy and Ember; sadly I don't see much of my darling girl - I really need to rehome Tabitha and Ember so Ferny can feel more relaxed in her home again.
Sandy is bothered by my clicking away at the keyboard and so leaves me and the armchair, and curls up on the chair I use at the desktop workstation.
Ember comes to sit with me on the armchair. She's not into laps either, but is very happy to smooch a bit. She headbutts my arm, I rub her forehead and chin, she purrs, tries to bite me in a friendly but ouchy way, I pull my arm away, she settles down on the arm of the chair.
Trezhy comes back in and approaches me; Sandy perks up on the computer chair and tries to swat him. They shadow box a bit. Trezhy jumps back up on my lap, but isn't really happy sharing the chair with Ember, even though she's just on one arm of it, so he leaves again - not sure where he is now.
Musical chairs? French farce? Just another day in a multi-cat household.
Then Ember comes to sit on the armchair with her mum, and smooches Tabitha just as Tabitha was smooching Trezh. Poor Ember is smacked by her mum, and goes away.
Rosy comes in, sees me at the desktop, Tabitha on the chair, and Trezh and Ember roaming around, and goes to sit on the cardboard box in the corner by the window.
Ember tries sharing the armchair with Tabitha again, this time just curling up next to her, not smooching. Tabitha tolerates this.
Ember is nudging Tabitha, wanting her mum to wash her. I reach over to give each of them chin rubs, but it's hard to do that without disturbing Trezhy. I suggest to Tabitha that she and Ember could give each other face washes, but after licking Ember's forehead once or twice, Tabitha starts biting her neck, and not in a friendly way. They squabble, and Tabitha leaves the armchair, and goes to sit on another box next to the one Rosy is on. Rosy is wary, but not going to take action unless Tabitha starts something.
Treasure leaves my lap to go and have a snack in the kitchen, and Ember follows to see if any interesting new food has appeared. I've finished doing stuff with photos on the desktop, so I close it down, and move back to the now vacant armchair and start using the laptop again.
Sandy comes to sit with me on the armchair - yay! She doesn't often sit on or near my lap, so I'm pleased when she does.
Sandy is bothered by my clicking away at the keyboard and so leaves me and the armchair, and curls up on the chair I use at the desktop workstation.
Ember comes to sit with me on the armchair. She's not into laps either, but is very happy to smooch a bit. She headbutts my arm, I rub her forehead and chin, she purrs, tries to bite me in a friendly but ouchy way, I pull my arm away, she settles down on the arm of the chair.
Trezhy comes back in and approaches me; Sandy perks up on the computer chair and tries to swat him. They shadow box a bit. Trezhy jumps back up on my lap, but isn't really happy sharing the chair with Ember, even though she's just on one arm of it, so he leaves again - not sure where he is now.
Musical chairs? French farce? Just another day in a multi-cat household.
24 May 2012
Genetic Cause For An Addiction to Fiction?
I've long thought that I have an addiction to fiction. Between reading lots of prose fiction and writing a little, watching drama & comedy films and TV, day-dreaming as much as I can, and having long, involved stories in my sleep-time dreams, I spend a large proportion of my life absorbed in tales that I or someone else has made up.
Personally, I think that's a good thing. There are lots of respectable ways of saying this - it's part of human nature to want to tell and hear stories; reading or watching fiction about other people's lives helps us develop understanding and compassion; we can learn a lot, educate ourselves, by reading well-researched fiction... I agree with all of those, as well as thinking that, for me at least, losing myself in a good story is an addictive behaviour. It soothes me, cheers me, distracts me; I get edgy if I can't do it most days; when I'm doing it, I lose my sense of time and often my awareness of what's going on around me, or even in my own body - fatigue, thirst, needing to go to the loo - everything fades away except the fictional world, if it's really gripping. Good thing I have cats, then, as they are very effective at bringing me back to the real world with their demands for food, attention, action.
Not surprisingly, I own quite a few books (rough estimate, somewhere around 1500 - 2000) in many genres and for all ages, as well as a lesser but still goodly number of film & TV DVDs (about 500 +/-). Probably my books are about 85% fiction, 15% non-fiction. Very few of my DVDs are documentaries (although those docos are fab - Simon Schama's A History of Britain, George Gittoes' Soundtrack to War, series of Who Do You Think You Are?).
So I'm surprised that six out of the thirteen books I bought at/just before the recent Sydney Writers' Festival, by authors who I planned to hear speaking or ones who I was enthused by after hearing them, were non-fiction. Most of those, though, are memoirs or biographies, so I guess I'm sticking with stories about people, even if some of those stories are about scientific learning as much as about the individuals involved.
I've been hugely enjoying novellist Hilary Mantel's memoir, Giving up the Ghost, while also finding her experiences as a young child very moving, particularly her puzzlement at how and why school does what it does to children - very reminiscent of my own bewilderment as a four year old. At least I had my dad, who told my teacher that if his daughter wanted to read instead of watching TV with the other children, she should be able to, even if she wasn't supposed to have learnt yet. Hilary didn't get into trouble for being an early reader - she found Dick and Jane too boring to be enthused about - but her spontaneous creativity when reciting rote lessons angered the teacher, who asked what was obviously a trick question, "Do you want me to hit you with this ruler?".
But because I wanted to start reading all the books, all at once, soon after starting Giving up the Ghost I leapt into another memoir, by Russian Jewish journalist Masha Gessen.
Masha Gessen's memoir Blood Matters is chock full of information garnered from Gessen's interviews and personal experiences with geneticists, oncologists, genetic counsellors, economists (she consulted a professor of economics about using economic theory to help her decision-making about having prophylactic surgery to prevent breast and/or ovarian cancer), genealogists, DNA analysts, match-makers, rabbis, historians... She is impelled to learn about genetic medicine and inheritable diseases, and breast & ovarian cancer, their treatments and survival rates, when she tests positive for the BRCA1 gene mutation.
Along the way, she hears about the genetic evidence that present-day Jewish men who identify as Cohanim (belonging to the priestly caste of Cohens, descended from Aaron, brother of Moses) do carry a particular Y-chromosome gene that apparently originated with one man whose Y-DNA haplotype shows he lived in the Middle East around 2650 years ago, give or take a few hundred years. She has a harrowing conversation with the sole survivor of a Nazi-run "home" for disabled children (reading the description of what the doctors did to the children at the Spiegelgrund nearly made me throw up). And she meets Miriam, mother of Yehuda, who has a system of hand-written file-cards recording prospective brides for her son; considerations include personality, religiousness, appearance, family occupation, inheritable illnesses.
Some of the stories, whether of people with Huntington's disease (in a chapter justifiably called The Cruellest Disease), or women who have lost all their female relatives over 20 to cancer, are heart-breaking, but I'm still reading, partly because it is fascinating and eye-opening, and also because I haven't yet reached the chapter where Masha decides what she will do - whether to have either or both operations, and what else instead, or as well.
On a much lighter note, I'd like to know if there is a genetic cause of my addiction to reading stories. My father was adopted by a loving, hard-working family who didn't read books. (Later, when I was a teenager, my ever-generous Nana would offer me a "book" to read, meaning Woman's Day or another magazine.) Once he was in a position to buy books, and stay up late reading them, my dad did both, sometimes to excess. In adulthood, he met his birth mother, who turned out to also have a staying-up-late-reading habit. My sister and I had little chance of avoiding this inheritance, if it does have a genetic origin, as our mother too was an inveterate book-buyer and would often be caught up in a good story and lose all sense of time while reading.
My darling ma, reading, with cats
Personally, I think that's a good thing. There are lots of respectable ways of saying this - it's part of human nature to want to tell and hear stories; reading or watching fiction about other people's lives helps us develop understanding and compassion; we can learn a lot, educate ourselves, by reading well-researched fiction... I agree with all of those, as well as thinking that, for me at least, losing myself in a good story is an addictive behaviour. It soothes me, cheers me, distracts me; I get edgy if I can't do it most days; when I'm doing it, I lose my sense of time and often my awareness of what's going on around me, or even in my own body - fatigue, thirst, needing to go to the loo - everything fades away except the fictional world, if it's really gripping. Good thing I have cats, then, as they are very effective at bringing me back to the real world with their demands for food, attention, action.
So I'm surprised that six out of the thirteen books I bought at/just before the recent Sydney Writers' Festival, by authors who I planned to hear speaking or ones who I was enthused by after hearing them, were non-fiction. Most of those, though, are memoirs or biographies, so I guess I'm sticking with stories about people, even if some of those stories are about scientific learning as much as about the individuals involved.
But because I wanted to start reading all the books, all at once, soon after starting Giving up the Ghost I leapt into another memoir, by Russian Jewish journalist Masha Gessen.
Masha Gessen's memoir Blood Matters is chock full of information garnered from Gessen's interviews and personal experiences with geneticists, oncologists, genetic counsellors, economists (she consulted a professor of economics about using economic theory to help her decision-making about having prophylactic surgery to prevent breast and/or ovarian cancer), genealogists, DNA analysts, match-makers, rabbis, historians... She is impelled to learn about genetic medicine and inheritable diseases, and breast & ovarian cancer, their treatments and survival rates, when she tests positive for the BRCA1 gene mutation.
Some of the stories, whether of people with Huntington's disease (in a chapter justifiably called The Cruellest Disease), or women who have lost all their female relatives over 20 to cancer, are heart-breaking, but I'm still reading, partly because it is fascinating and eye-opening, and also because I haven't yet reached the chapter where Masha decides what she will do - whether to have either or both operations, and what else instead, or as well.
On a much lighter note, I'd like to know if there is a genetic cause of my addiction to reading stories. My father was adopted by a loving, hard-working family who didn't read books. (Later, when I was a teenager, my ever-generous Nana would offer me a "book" to read, meaning Woman's Day or another magazine.) Once he was in a position to buy books, and stay up late reading them, my dad did both, sometimes to excess. In adulthood, he met his birth mother, who turned out to also have a staying-up-late-reading habit. My sister and I had little chance of avoiding this inheritance, if it does have a genetic origin, as our mother too was an inveterate book-buyer and would often be caught up in a good story and lose all sense of time while reading.
My darling ma, reading, with cats
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