The Watch

I've never been good with watches. Watches tend to break on me, and the ones with the metal bands tear out the hair on my wrist, and I just don't like the feel of them there. The one time (well, maybe there were two times) that I had a girlfriend at Christmas, we--without any foreknowledge--exchanged gifts of watches, both engraved on the back. She lost hers within a week, and mine broke. (Yes, it was a sign.) In recent years, I've used my cellphone to tell time.

After my uncle died, mom asked if I wanted his watch, and after a bit of thinking I said yes. A few weeks ago she sent it, in a box of clothes that didn't fit me. I was sure she'd forgotten about the watch until it dropped out when I dumped the box onto the bed.

Roger had worked at GE for 25 years or so, and somewhere in there they gave him a Swiss Army watch. It's a nice watch. Leather band. Hands glow in the dark. The first time I put it on I cried, again. When it comes to Roger I'm still made of glass.

I wear it every time I leave the house. This past weekend my sister got married. I flew back to the Twin Cities and did all the rehearsal stuff and it felt . . . weird. Because, I realized, Roger wasn't there.

It was a small wedding, so they held it in the backyard of my parents' house. Tent and all that. Since I was at the house I figure I didn't need to carry my keys or my wallet or anything in my pocket. But just before we started taking pictures I started to get really upset about Roger not being there, and I remembered the watch. I'd left it with my wallet and keys.

I went up to my room and found the watch, and put it on, and for a moment I was sad. But it helped to wear it. It felt, a little bit, like he was there. I don't know that I believe in spirits or in talismans or what have you. I think it's just a security blanket that ticks. But it feels good there, and I will not lose it. If it breaks I will have it fixed. I will not forget.

Wear Your Outrage

Mr. A.R. Yngve has created a t-shirt in response to the Ellison/Willis sitch. And someone else (not sure who to give credit to) has created this one.

I like the first one best; Haddayr likes the second. The solution: buy both!

(H)Al Duncan Is Smarter Than Me

For those of you who may have been involved in or spectators of this thread over at The Elegant Variation, I kinda think Hal has won the internets with his 8/31 8:31 comment. And without losing his shit, which is pretty much what I was doing every time I wandered over there.

Some Comments

So.

The internets--at least, large chunks of the parts that I visit regularly--have been full of brave, puzzling, insightful, frustrating, biting, ridiculous, praiseworthy and appalling things this past week or so. I can't claim to be particularly brave. This whole thing makes my stomach hurt. I'm bad with arguments, even friendly ones, and a lot of what I've seen has been rather unfriendly. There are exceptions, and others have said things far better than I will here. But the stomach-hurting is kind of why I do this writing thing in the first place, so for the sake of my own mental health and the few folks who read this, I want to put a few things on the record.

1. I wasn't there. I have seen the video.

2. It shouldn't have happened.

3. I was under the delusion that this was an isolated incident. Clearly--Haddayr's have-you-been-living-under-a-rock expression the other night at dinner was priceless--this is not the case. On the one hand I am probably astonishingly naive and optimistic; on the other this misconception probably has something to do with my con experiences, which consist (aside from a single media con to which, ironically enough, I went solely to see Harlan Ellison) entirely of WisCon, World Fantasy, and ReaderCon. I now realize that these things may be happening even there and I am simply too thick to realize it. I'm left wondering if I really have any clue what cons (or, hell, everday life) are like for my female friends. It's not that I'm not aware of the monolithic sexism that is still our framework; but I guess for the most part I've been picturing it as something more subtle than grabbing hands. I need to be more aware of this, and realizing that is one good thing that's come out of all the shouty.

4. Conflating the actions of an individual with the work of the individual doesn't help. Whether you're a fan of one or both or neither of the writers involved, whether in general you think one is charming and the other a jerk, is irrelevant. It's the action that is the issue. As a corollary, taking back awards already given is a pointless conversation.

5. Part of my discomfort with all of this, from the beginning, has been related to what appears, to my untrained eyes, to be a disconnect between generational schools of feminism. One prominent editor commented elsewhere (I'm doing this entry sans quotes (see #7) but I'll paraphrase) that she has had to deal with these sorts of things on more than one occasion in her career, and that she simply handled it on her own; that if the field had taken up grievance on her behalf, she'd have felt as if the control of the situation had been taken away from her. I've been wondering quite a bit whether Connie Willis doesn't feel that way. I feel like this point of view is not being acknowledged. Clearly, things have changed, and I agree completely with those who have said that these sorts of things just flat shouldn't happen; that no matter any given woman's ability to deal with violations of her physical space, she shouldn't have to deal with them. Yes. But, we didn't arrive at the point of being able to demand that without intermediary steps. There first had to be women who demonstrated as individuals that they deserved respect and would not surrender their dignity in the face of abuse. They did this on their own, against a prevailing point of view (even in other women) which figured they got what they deserved. I fear that by stepping in to advocate on Willis' behalf that the blogosphere--while well-intended--may have robbed her of agency in this matter. The option of dealing with it on her own terms was taken away. I don't say this to condemn anyone. It's a misgiving that others may not share. I think the fact that the focus was widened in order to open a conversation on the question of whether cons are a safe space is laudable. But when I see folks saying that it's not about Connie, I'm a little uncomfortable with that. Because it was, in the beginning, and since the very beginning of this she's never had the control.

6. Some of the commentary from the outer fringes of the genre has been puzzling to me. The idea that the speculative fiction community should, as an entity, be speaking out and taking action against Ellison is strange. First of all, I've seen a LOT of condemnation out there, much of it from people I love and respect. They may not be Grand Masters, but they ain't chopped liver. Second, SF isn't a private club, and there's no governing body. It's not as though the genres are separate countries. If this had happened between Norman Mailer and Lorrie Moore, would Toni Morrison and Garrison Keillor and Gore Vidal be expected to vote with their peers to censure him? Um, no. There is no kingdom of speculative fiction, and there sure as hell isn't a democracy. It's just us, where "us" = whoever cares.

7. I'm not a member of SFWA and I don't have access to the fabled magical private boards. I'm eligible, but the twin moons of inclination and fundage have not so far aligned. But seeing the atmosphere of paranoia and intimidation that's converged upon David's recent post has drained any and all inclination away.

8. Whether or not this is about Connie (see #5), it's really not about Harlan. It's not like people just got the news that Harlan can be a jerk. What it should be about, at this point, is looking at ourselves. Examining the behavior and attitudes that we participate in, perpetuate and/or condone. Thinking about codes of conduct for conventions, and an atmosphere of professionalism for awards ceremonies. You know, growing up a little bit.

Now I can sleep. Feel free to comment, but please, let's have done with the shouting.