tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81146582205998723542024-03-05T23:31:07.292-05:00Grey PlacesArtemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.comBlogger241125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114658220599872354.post-36814145957844989812015-10-22T09:41:00.000-04:002015-10-22T09:41:13.472-04:00Attempting a Change In HabitsI know. I know. I did it <i>again</i>. I was gone forever, popped back in with *awesome* news, and was all 'gushy gushy' and then I disappeared.<br />
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Besides the whole contract excitement, life has been super busy recently. Not bad busy, just super busy. I went to Sirens (of course) and for the first time ever, my sister aka Stella Luna, went with me!!! She had a great time, especially when our super amazing and awesome/friend/basically family Hilary, whom I go and stay with (along with her daughters) and camp with, was able to stop by, sneaking into the hotel lobby to surprise ambush Stella Luna and I for a day of adventure visiting the elk rut in Estes CO. All in all, it was a grand trip.<br />
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Since we've been back from Sirens, I've had more developments with my upcoming book. I don't want to give away too much, but suffice to say I have, thus far, been <i>immensely</i> blessed throughout this process. <i>Immensely</i>. I can't say that enough. Thank you for everything so far, and everything to come in the future, Stephanie, and the Clean Reads team!!!<br />
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I've also been dealing with... stuff I won't get into because, TMI, and while I don't care what people know, I don't want to gross anyone out. I'll leave you with one word to google: endometriosis (possibly, working on diagnosis now) and this ominous threat that my Mother has often (jokingly) used on my father 'You know what'll happen if you're not a good boy? When you die, you'll come back here as a woman!' Which, I should make clear, my Mom loves being a woman, and my Dad is not one of those 'Oh, get over your discomfort, already.' type of guys when it comes to repro stuff, but this is a longstanding joke, and one to which he always responds by saying 'No, I'm good. I'll leave the hard stuff to the people who can handle it.' I love my parents.<br />
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On top of all that, I've also been working on two WIPs, one a prequel to CATSKIN, the other an entirely new endeavor, adult fantasy, which was born of several conversations that took place at Sirens. Only at Sirens can you come out of things with ideas based off an agent who wishes she'd see more 'older women' protagonists, and musings over just *why* there is such a stigma in regard to 'crazy cat women' and why they're never considered to be capable women.<br />
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So, with life not really getting any slower, but the importance of having an online presence greater than ever, I've decided to try actually scheduling blog posts, and, after the fashion of Kristin Cashore, structuring them to be more like glimpses into how things are going, with sprinkled bits of information about everything, but not necessarily a single theme that requires the entire post. Make sense? We'll see! <br />
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<br />Artemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114658220599872354.post-14777012950137002332015-09-25T11:50:00.000-04:002015-09-25T11:50:01.626-04:00Big Book News!!! After a Rather Long Absence....Well, I'm writing a post I've wondered sometimes - over the years - if I would ever write. I'm absolutely ecstatic to announce that my novel <i>Catskin</i> has been contracted for publication by Clean Reads, formerly Astraea Press! *And there was much rejoicing*<br />
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Anyone who's friends with me on Facebook or follows my blog will know that I've always envisioned myself as having an 'old school' sort of route to publication, agent first, then publishing, all that. However, the truth is, I have an excellent support system of family who are knowledgable in meaningful ways (IT brother in-law, etc.) and two amazing critique partners, Christi Corbett and Margo Kelly. Christi is a Clean Reads author herself, so I've gotten to watch her own journey to publication with them, which provided me with a wonderful insight into how they work, and how they care about their authors, and their authors' careers. I trust them. So I submitted to them, and subsequently, I've signed a contract with them. *pinches self to check that this is real*<br />
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After a long string of 'almost' rejections (and some amazing feedback from one agent, without which Catskin would not be the book it is now) I took a step back and looked at my life, and realized that basically, I was doing what I've often joked about, and likened to Drew Barrymore's Never Been Kissed prom scene. I was standing on a curb holding a sign that said 'Please believe in me and my writing' and waiting there, frozen, until someone came along who would, and who would then take me across the street, where we would meet someone else to say they believed in me and my writing and help me publish a book, and introduce me to more people, and so on and so forth. I was waiting, convinced that I <i>needed to meet all of these people in a specific order</i>, when really, I was perfectly capable of crossing the street and meeting all kinds of people, in call kinds of order, all on my own.<br />
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Don't get me wrong, I'd still love an agent, and might well get one in the future. But the thing is, I was waiting to start a journey because I'd convinced myself that I had to start it in a specific way. This is something Christi and I have talked about before. I just needed to get to a place where I could embrace 'stepping out into traffic' to begin the journey on my own. And here I am.<br />
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If you haven't heard of Clean Reads, here are a few links. Check them and their authors out! Maybe buy a few books while you're there...<br />
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Their website can be found <a href="http://cleanreads.com/">here</a>.<br />
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Their Publisher's Marketplace info can be found <a href="http://www.publishersmarketplace.com/members/AstraeaPress/">here</a>.<br />
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Predators and Editors readers voted them one of the top E-publishers <a href="http://critters.org/predpoll/final_tally_ebookpublisher.ht">here</a>.<br />
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And <a href="http://sixquestionsfor.blogspot.com/2011/04/six-questions-for-stephanie-taylor.html">here's</a> an interview with Stephanie Taylor, founder of Clean Reads, from 2011. Some of the information is dated, but it'll give you a great overview of what their about.<br />
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In a world of 'edgy' fiction, wherein you'll find every curse word known to society and more varieties of sex than you could ever imagine, Clean Reads provides readers with great stories without all the cursing and sex. Now, I come from a long line of Navy folk, with potty mouths the likes of which would make landlubbers melt into their shoes, and I'm not one to shy away from sex, either. However, I do believe strongly that it's becoming more a 'thing' to have in books, than it is a <i>part</i> of a book. When I look back at the books I still love years on, books that I still reread, most of them do not, in fact, have a lot of cussing in them (besides Stephen King:) nor do they have gratuitous sex. It's perfectly fine to have those things in books, but it's also very nice to have great stories without the cussing and sex.<br />
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<i>Catskin</i>, for example, naturally didn't have a ton of cursing, and no sex. That's just how it came out of me. However more than once, it was suggested that I 'dirty it up' a little with love triangles (that were unneeded) or language to 'make it more realistic' which is something that really bothered me. A good story doesn't <i>need</i> these things unless they <i>add</i> to the story. There are thousands of amazing people out there who don't cuss, and they're very real. I've got friends who write erotica. I've read plenty of erotica. Same with cussy books. There are some very cussy characters whom I love. I'll always stand by the right to cuss! However, it's just not always needed. And when I pick up books off the shelf and encounter a plethora of curse words within the first few pages, well, they aren't books I want my niece reading, and while she's just five, she's already had Tolkien, among others read to her, and she's going to be a voracious reader. I want books that she can read, and enjoy, and remember at a young age, without having to explain what curse words mean, or vetting the books for sex scenes.<br />
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So, here we are. I have a contract to publish a book. (!!!) I'll post more as timelines are firmed up, but sometime in 2016, summerish, <i>Catskin</i> will be here!<br />
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Okay, back to pinching myself to make sure this is real...<br />
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<br />Artemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114658220599872354.post-35341202845453713362015-07-22T09:42:00.001-04:002015-07-22T09:42:51.612-04:00Author Page! And Other Stuff...I officially made and official Author Page over on Facebook. I'm not sure this was the right thing to do, since I don't have any books out (besides the poetry anthology, Poetry Pact 2011, which you can buy <a href="http://smile.amazon.com/Poetry-Pact-2011-Angela-Felsted/dp/1477539549/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1437570549&sr=8-1&keywords=poetry+pact+2011">here</a>, if you like poetry. It's modest, but has come great poets (not me) involved, and poems that range from complex to Byron and Frost-type (me) and is a fun read) out but since so many submissions ask about Author pages and how many followers one has, and so on and so forth, I thought I ought to have an official page. At the very least, I can try to start accruing followers and such. If you're feeling kindly, please go <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Artemis-Grey/851681138247610?pnref=story">here</a>, and follow me.<br />
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The 'other stuff' is mostly just musing about how difficult it is to keep writing sometimes. Not difficult as in, you've got writer's block, or anything like that, but difficult as in, you've got so many stories in your head that want to be written, but you don't know which one should be the next one. There are so many options here, and I find myself flickering back and forth between several. Currently, it's between A Life Once Borrowed, which is a contemporary (with magical elements, though just how much magical elements is still unclear) inspired by the Scottish ballad, The Daemon Lover, and a completely new WIP, tentatively titled The Weight of a Shadow, which is much more fantasy. I'm also continuing to plug along with the Castalia memoir, and the super secret project.<br />
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Also, it's always interesting to find out that you were walking around with an injury you didn't know you had. Since I'm now off the blood thinners, I've finally gone to PT for what we thought was rhomboid pain, which has been causing me an increasing number of severe headaches. After initial treatment of the rhomboid and neck issue my PT guy traced the origin of the trouble back to a lump that I've had for about seven years, since a tragically clumsy 'almost' fall in the shower. Turns out that lump, is not one, but two torn muscles, which have subsequently scared and developed adhesions to the structures around them. Nice. On the upside, at least we discovered this now, as opposed to five or ten years from now, at which point, there might not be a way to fix things. And my shoulder is healing. I'll have PT for another couple of weeks but already the torn area is beginning to resolve and the lump is less than half the size it was.<br />
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And, because life is always better with old lady cats, here's a random photo of Face, who often sits with me while I'm writing. A fitting copilot when I'm working on the Castalia memoir. 17 years young, she is. And still death to any mouse she sees, as well as random feet.<br />
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<br />Artemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114658220599872354.post-44147399096228506102015-07-07T21:12:00.002-04:002015-07-07T21:12:58.311-04:00For the Betterment of Oneself.A friend of mine shared the file below on Facebook tonight, and I thought I'd take a brief moment to pass it on. Not all of these apply to me, but enough of them do, that I'm going to print it out and carry it around with me so that when I need a moment, I can take it and reflect on it. Selflessness is a wonderful, WONDERFUL thing, but sometimes, it's vital that you take care of yourself first, and worry about everything around you second. So, here it is!<br />
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Artemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114658220599872354.post-75366207530120853962015-07-02T11:00:00.002-04:002015-07-02T11:00:13.053-04:00She had a skittish soul, that girl with the faraway eyes...The title is part of the first line of one of my WIPs. Specifically, the memoir I'm muddling through about Castalia, where I worked for thirteen years, and would still be, were that an option. I have so much to say about that period in my life, and yet each sentence is wrought of blood, extricated from my mind like a pale splinter of bone being pulled free from flesh and muscle, each spell spent working on it an exhausting and painful bout of self-inflicted wounds.<br />
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I'm in a maelstrom of life right now. Not because bad things are happening, but because many things are happening, but happening around me, while I'm secluded from them, even though I want to be a part of them so very badly. I am trapped inside a glass ball, tossed from wave to wave, caught by the storming winds, and pulled by the currents, yet completely unable to influence my own movements in any manner.<br />
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I know, so Eeyore, so emo, such a downer. I don't mean to be, and I'm not depressed.<br />
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More, I simply feel disconnected. Friends have books coming out (!) some have second books coming out (!!!) others have gotten agents (!) In the non-writing world cousins have had babies (*squee*) best friends have had babies (*more squeeing*) people have gotten married, other people have died. Everyone is doing things, going places. Meanwhile, I float in my sea-tossed glass, still writing, still fixated on that one goal of attaining an agent or a publishing deal. I don't begrudge the ships of friends, the schooners, and galleons, the sleek yachts or catamarans of other's lives setting off on different courses, but the distance between us has never yawned wider. They ride currents of wind and air, choosing their route with rudders and sails, while I bob at the mercy of the elements, unable to even cobble a ship together, never mind a process of steering it.<br />
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My cage is only made of glass. If I struck it, it would shatter. But that would leave me exposed to the sea without any means of staying afloat, so for now, I keep my hands fisted at my sides, hold all my weapons, the chafing frustrations, and irascible truths, that could fracture the insubstantial globe close against me, where they scrape and cut away at my calloused insides, but cannot damage the fragile cage. And I wait, scribbling stories across my own skin, putting them where I can never forget their sound, where they might safely wait until they can finally be recited within the sheltering glow of the campfires of others' minds. Those stories are all that matters, all that will be left once the body they're written on has dried an turned to dust, their passages impermeable to decay.<br />
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Should my glass some day finally be thrown onto the rocks of a seaside town, or hauled up in the belly of a fisherman's net, at least there will be stories inside it, if nothing else. Indelible traces of the bones and skin that made them so long before. Stories that will be heard and told and retold and reformed and passed from one mouth to another ear, to be regurgitated yet again in yet a new body. Immortality, by its truest definition, gained by accident through the act of creation.<br />
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So, here I bob and sink, and rise and fall, contained, and railing against the sphere around me while at the same time I resist doing anything to escape my cage. For now, I wait. And write. Always, I write.<br />
<br />Artemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114658220599872354.post-86007635708126739632015-06-25T12:14:00.001-04:002015-06-25T16:43:27.155-04:00My Response to the Criminal District Attorney's Office of Austin County's Press Release<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px;">
An Open Letter to the Criminal District Attorney’s Office, Austin County,</div>
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Congratulations. You have gloriously failed Tiger, along with the tens of thousands of humans, and hundreds of thousands of abused animals who were watching you with the earnest hope that a rational, and public champion for the prevention of cruelty to animals had finally stepped forward. Instead, you have proven, yet again, that those in authority are most often in that position because they’ve chosen to take the easy route whenever faced with an obstacle. In a state that leads the Nation in criminal executions, you decided that you couldn’t be bothered to mount a thorough prosecution against a woman for inhumanely butchering the beloved pet of a local family.</div>
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I’m not talking about the Grand Jury’s failure to indict Kristen Lindsey . I’m talking about the fact that you, the Criminal District Attorney of Austin County, did not provide the Grand Jury with enough evidence to indict Kristen Lindsey- likely knowing that the wrath of the public would fall on the Grand Jury, rather than your office. I am not a lawyer, I am not an expert on legal matters, but I understand this game of public appearances, and I haven’t been fooled by your attempt at diversion. There was no lack of evidence in this deplorable - and very blatant - situation of animal cruelty. Rather, there was, decidedly, a lack of effort put forth to gather, and present that evidence. If the Criminal District Attorney’s Office chose to collect the evidence required to gain an indictment of Lindsey by the Grand Jury, they would have obtained an indictment. Instead, the Criminal District Attorney of Austin County shuffled a few papers, requested more time for gathering evidence in order to convince the public that they were applying sufficient attention to the matter, and then, in actuality, did nothing.</div>
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In your press release, you stated that while you subpoenaed Lindsey’s Facebook account, it was unsuccessful because the account had been deleted. Just to make you aware, this is the twenty-first century, and nothing on the internet is ever truly deleted. Erased from one location, maybe, but eradicated from existence? Never. If that had been a photograph of child trafficking, or pornography, I guarantee you, that a ‘deleted account’ would serve as nothing but a speed bump for you on your way to justice. I did not realize that simply deleting posts on Facebook is sufficient to stop the authorities from ever successfully finding evidence of a crime. Someone should let the Federal Bureau of Investigation know that they’re wasting tens of millions of tax dollars on their Cybercrime Division.</div>
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You also stated in regard to Lindsey’s Facebook photograph, and caption that “Evidence is insufficient, based on the online photograph alone, to determine whether the animal was killed in a cruel manner,” and then you cited the American Veterinary Medical Association’s guidelines on humane euthanasia, again, I suspect, just to prove that you’ve ‘researched’ the matter. Or that some intern in your office has ‘researched’ it, at least enough to sound like you cared. But as your own citation reveals your complete ignorance - or your determination to just make the subject ‘go away’, I can’t decide which - let us examine these AVMA guidelines that you proudly hailed as proof that you couldn’t conclude from a single photograph that Tiger was inhumanely killed.</div>
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Here is what you said in your press release, and I quote:</div>
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<b>‘First, the American Veterinary Medical Association guidelines state that physical methods of killing animals such as a gunshot or bolt to the head can be humane when done correctly. (A.V.M.A. Guidelines for the Euthanasia of Animals, 2013 Ed., at 11-12). When performed properly, the animal may exhibit involuntary movements but is unaware and unable to experience pain. (A.V.M.A. Guidelines for the Euthanasia of Animals, 2013 Ed., at 16). Evidence is insufficient, based on the online photograph alone, to determine whether the animal was killed in a cruel manner.’</b></div>
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I’m not going to properly cite the reference, I’m simply going to copy and paste the entire thing. Here is the full passage in regard to humanely dispatching animals by physical methods:</div>
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<b>‘Physical methods of euthanasia include captive bolt, gunshot, cervical dislocation, decapitation, electrocution, focused beam microwave irradiation, thoracic compression, exsanguination, maceration, stunning, and pithing. When properly used by skilled personnel with well-maintained equipment, physical methods of euthanasia may result in less fear and anxiety and be more rapid, painless, humane, and practical than other forms of euthanasia. Exsanguination, stunning, and pithing are not recommended as a sole means of euthanasia, but may be considered as adjuncts to other agents or methods.</b></div>
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<b>Some consider physical methods of euthanasia aesthetically displeasing. There are occasions, however, when what is perceived as aesthetic and what is most humane are in conflict. Despite their aesthetic challenges, in certain situations physical methods may be the most appropriate choice for euthanasia and rapid relief of pain and suffering. Personnel using physical methods of euthanasia must be well trained and monitored for each type of physical method performed to ensure euthanasia is conducted appropriately. They must also be sensitive to the aesthetic implications of the method and convey to onlookers what they should expect to observe when at all possible.</b></div>
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<b>Since most physical methods involve trauma, there is inherent risk for animals and people. If the method is not performed correctly, personnel may be injured or the animal may not be effectively euthanized; personnel skill and experience are essential. Inexperienced persons should be trained by experienced persons and should practice on euthanized animals or anesthetized animals to be euthanized until they are proficient in performing the method properly and humanely. After the method has been applied, death must be confirmed before disposal of the remains.</b></div>
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<b>M3.2 PENETRATING CAPTIVE BOLT</b></div>
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<b>Penetrating captive bolts have been used for euthanasia of ruminants, horses, swine, laboratory rabbits, and dogs.331 Their mode of action is concussion and trauma to the cerebral hemisphere and brainstem.48,332,333 Adequate restraint is important to ensure proper placement of captive bolts. A cerebral hemisphere and the brainstem must be sufficiently disrupted by the projectile to induce sudden loss of consciousness and subsequent death. Appropriate placement of captive bolts for various species has been described.130,332–335 Signs of effective captive bolt penetration and death are immediate collapse and a several-second period of tetanic spasm, followed by slow hind limb movements of increasing frequency.46,47 The corneal reflex must be absent and the eyes must open into a wide blank stare and not be rotated.45</b></div>
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<b>There are two types of penetrating captive bolts: a regular penetrating captive bolt and an air injection penetrating captive bolt. In both cases, the bolts penetrate the brain. In the air injection penetrating captive bolt, air under high pressure is injected through the bolt into the brain to increase the extent of tissue destruction. Powder-activated guns that use the traditional captive bolt are available in 9 mm, .22 caliber, and .25 caliber.130 Captive bolt guns powered by com- pressed air (pneumatic) are also available in regular and air injection types. All captive bolt guns require careful maintenance and cleaning after each day of use. Lack of maintenance is a major cause of captive bolt gun failure for both powder-activated and pneumatic captive bolt guns.101 Cartridges for powder-activated captive bolt guns must be stored in a dry location because damp cartridges will reduce effectiveness.336</b></div>
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<b>Advantages—(1) Both regular and air injection penetrating captive bolts may be used effectively for euthanasia of animals in research facilities and on the farm, when the use of drugs for this purpose is inappropriate or impractical. (2) They do not chemically contaminate tissues.</b></div>
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<b>Disadvantages—(1) Euthanasia by captive bolt can be aesthetically displeasing. (2) Death may not occur if equipment is not maintained and used properly. (3) The air injection captive bolt must never be used on ruminants that will be used for food because of concerns about contamination of meat with specified risk materials (neurologic tissue). (4) Because the penetrating captive bolt is destructive, brain tissue may not be able to be examined for evidence of rabies infection or chronic wasting disease.</b></div>
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<b>General recommendations—Use of the penetrating captive bolt is acceptable with conditions and is a practical method of euthanasia for horses, ruminants, and swine. To ensure death, it is recommended that animals be immediately exsanguinated or pithed (see adjunctive methods) unless a powerful captive bolt gun de- signed for euthanasia is used. These guns have recently become available and reduce the need to apply an adjunctive method. Ruminants used for food should not be pithed to avoid contamination of the carcass with specified risk materials. Captive bolt guns used for larger species must have an extended bolt.</b></div>
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Well then. That’s quite a bit of information you didn’t offer the public, either because you didn’t think it was relevant, or because you didn’t want to draw attention to it. Since you saw fit in your press release to pick out a single fragment of information from within a plethora of it, I’m going to do the same thing here, by highlighting just a few other points.</div>
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<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span>Penetrating captive bolts have been used for euthanasia of ruminants, horses, swine, laboratory rabbits, and<b> <i>dogs.</i></b></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><b>Adequate restraint </b>is important to ensure proper placement of captive bolts.</li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span><b>Inexperienced </b>persons should be trained by experienced persons and should practice on euthanized animals or anesthetized animals to be euthanized until they are <b>proficient in performing the method properly and humanely.</b></li>
<li style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12px; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica;"></span>Because the penetrating captive bolt is destructive,<b> brain tissue may not be able to be examined for evidence of rabies infection </b>or chronic wasting disease<b>.</b></li>
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<b></b><br /></div>
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Nowhere in the section regarding physical methods of euthanasia does the AVMA state that either penetrating captive bolts, or non-penetrating captive bolts are considered a humane method of euthanasia for <i>cats</i>. On top of that, a penetrating captive bolt is a self-contained unit, from which a bolt is expelled into the skull and brain of an animal, and then retracted into the unit. The photo Lindsey posted of herself clearly shows a full length arrow protruding from both the front and the back of the cat’s head, and she herself proclaimed it a ‘bow kill’. Not a <i>bolt</i> kill. The perpetrator herself announced that she was using a bow, not a AVMA recognized method of euthanasia.</div>
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If the cat was feral, as Lindsey has stated multiple times she believed it to be, it’s not possible for the animal to have been restrained at the time of ‘euthanasia’ in order to assure that it was quickly and humanely killed.</div>
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Unless Lindsey has been secretly euthanizing animals repeatedly with a penetrating captive bolt, she is not experienced, and thus is outside the AVMA guidelines on the face of it, never mind the fact that Tiger was not killed with an approved bolt gun, but a bow and arrow.</div>
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And lastly, there have been references to the fact that Lindsey thought Tiger was feral and was afraid the cat was rabid, and The Austin Country Sherrif's Office said that they ‘received an unsworn hearsay report that Lindsey was protecting her pets from a 'potentially rabid stray cat’. Interesting, considering that the AVMA guidelines clearly state that penetrating captive bolt euthanasia can damage the brain, making it impossible to determine whether or not the euthanized animal had rabies. One would think that a vet, of all people, would know this, and would take care not to damage the animal’s brain. So was Tiger ‘feral’ and unwanted, or ‘rabid’ and endangering Lindsey’s other animals? Or was he, in fact, just a pet she thought she’d kill for fun?</div>
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Finally, we have the matter of proving that the cat in the photograph is, in fact, Tiger, the missing pet. Horses can be positively identified by nothing more than trichoglyphs (whorls) in their hair growth. I find it impossible to believe that the District Attorney’s office was unable to make even a rational argument for identification of the cat in the photograph. If the photo depicted a dead human, the lack of a body would not result in a ‘sorry, we tried’ shrug. That Tiger didn’t happen to be wearing a neon sign proclaiming his name and the fact that he was owned does not mean he was a stray. The striations of a tabby cat are not unlike the fingerprints of a human. Individual Snow Leopards, Jaguars, Leopards, and Tigers can be identified on game cameras by their unique coat patterns. Similarly, whales can be identified by callosity patterns, scars, and fluke shapes. This is not bunk science, it’s actual science. Lindsey’s own photograph provides you with a full side view of Tiger, and Tiger’s owners can provide, and have provided, multiple full side views of Tiger while he was alive. Tiger <i>can</i> be identified as Tiger from the photo provided. It’s simply a matter of applying effort.</div>
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If they wanted to, the Criminal District Attorney’s Office of Austin County could indict a couch cushion under the charge of aiding and abetting the delinquency of a minor who gained weight and developed diabetes. But would take some effort. And obviously, despite the continued scientific links between animal abuse and criminal activity, despite the tens of thousands of people calling for justice for Tiger, and straining for forward steps in the prosecution of animal cruelty in general, the Texas District Attorney felt that it had better things to do, and more important things to worry themselves over. Perhaps, for example, the next planned execution of a criminal who was caught, by tracking his movements online, and convicted of murdering someone without the victim’s body ever being recovered.</div>
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And the worst part about this - besides that Tiger is still dead, and Lindsey is still free and living her own life - is that the Criminal District Attorney’s Office thinks so very little of the intelligence of the public at large, and has so little in the way of courage that instead of simply stating that they would not seek charges against Lindsey, they dragged the matter to the Grand Jury without bothering to provide them with any evidence, and then merely claimed it wasn’t possible to gather that evidence. I’ve no doubt that you hoped the public would take their anger out on the Grand Jury, rather than the Criminal District Attorney who ‘attempted’ to have charges brought. A grievously spineless, and simultaneously pretentious action. It is my sincere hope that in the struggle against animal cruelty, the Texas District Attorney’s Office be remembered in perpetuum as an icon of what it is that we rail against in our fight.</div>
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The press release from the Texas District Attorney’s Office can be found here:</div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none; text-decoration: underline;"><a href="http://media.graytvinc.com/documents/GRAND+JURY+PRESS+RELEASE.pdf">http://media.graytvinc.com/documents/GRAND+JURY+PRESS+RELEASE.pdf</a></span></div>
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The AVMA guidelines for humane euthanasia can be read in full here:</div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none; text-decoration: underline;"><a href="https://www.avma.org/KB/Policies/Documents/euthanasia.pdf">https://www.avma.org/KB/Policies/Documents/euthanasia.pdf</a></span></div>
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To learn more about identifying animals by their coat patterns, whisker patterns and other patters see:</div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none; text-decoration: underline;"><a href="http://www.snowleopard.org/learn/research-tools/cameras">http://www.snowleopard.org/learn/research-tools/cameras</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none; text-decoration: underline;"><a href="http://www.felidaefund.org/?q=species-leopard">http://www.felidaefund.org/?q=species-leopard</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none; text-decoration: underline;"><a href="http://www.kidsdiscover.com/spotlight/big-cats/">http://www.kidsdiscover.com/spotlight/big-cats/</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none; text-decoration: underline;"><a href="http://etd.fcla.edu/CF/CFE0001671/Anderson_Carlos_J_200705_MS.pdf">http://etd.fcla.edu/CF/CFE0001671/Anderson_Carlos_J_200705_MS.pdf</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none; text-decoration: underline;"><a href="http://www.neaq.org/conservation_and_research/projects/endangered_species_habitats/right_whale_research/right_whale_background/identify_a_right_whale/callosities.php">http://www.neaq.org/conservation_and_research/projects/endangered_species_habitats/right_whale_research/right_whale_background/identify_a_right_whale/callosities.php</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none; text-decoration: underline;"><a href="http://www.alaskahumpbacks.org/matching.html">http://www.alaskahumpbacks.org/matching.html</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none; text-decoration: underline;"><a href="http://horseandrider.com/article/horse-hair-swirl-patterns-13160">http://horseandrider.com/article/horse-hair-swirl-patterns-13160</a></span></div>
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http://veterinarynews.dvm360.com/horse-identification</div>
Artemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114658220599872354.post-75953758193363149922015-06-15T19:50:00.001-04:002015-06-15T19:50:50.981-04:00Obligatory Post...I admit it. I'm writing this post, literally just so that I've written a post. I probably shouldn't bother. They tell me that having an ill-tended social platform is worse than not having one at all, but the truth is that I like blogger, and I want to be a part of it, but it's changing, and I'm changing, and '<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">there's always a fork in the road... at some point. And sometimes you have to go on one part of the fork and they gotta go on the other part of the fork. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">Or just down the back part of the fork while you go forward. And they're like, *sigh* </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;">Or they got a salad fork and you have one of the big dinner forks and you have longer to go but they're like done because that's it, they're stuck on a piece of food, that they *sigh*</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"> Theirs is a dessert fork or like one of those, you know small little shrimp forks or crab forks and you're trying to get out a crab. They're like that and you're over here jumping to the huge serving fork or something like that, or a ladle, you know.'</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span>
Still one of my favorite quotes ever. It's just so freaking true.<br />
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Anyway. I've been plugging away at writing, working on both a Beauty and the Beast retelling (are you really surprised I'm working on another one of those?) and a memoir, and a super secret project that we're not talking about publicly yet, because it's still in the itty bitty baby stages and no one wants to jinx anything, or count chickens before they're hatched. Other than that, I'm just treading water mentally and physically. More than ready to be off Coumadin, and ready to have been off it long enough to know that I'm not going to suffer any complications from coming off of it.<br />
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Not much else to say, so I'm going to leave this post short, and get back to plugging along on my writing. As another one of my favorite quotes goes 'Just keep swimming, just keep swimming!'Artemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114658220599872354.post-35810000871519030062015-05-16T20:48:00.002-04:002015-05-16T20:48:45.764-04:00Why Mad Max, Fury Road is Now My Favorite Movie of All Time, and Why Hollywood Needs to Take Notes From It.<b>******SPOILERS AHEAD, I AM ENTIRELY TOO LAZY TO AVOID THEM******</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIc9aF4MIGfqZl-qzgBvcuAaYgC2lV05q2hJcRrGcOp3qMzo1yDsn5iw0JEgO3PqoZInH0TZxozOQbrwqPRSl84kZjtfhB4kh9qcYVBnsTH_W7-r8MXocSZ_LYDQrU543oHEjqPaRAe6Y/s1600/mad-max-fury-road.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIc9aF4MIGfqZl-qzgBvcuAaYgC2lV05q2hJcRrGcOp3qMzo1yDsn5iw0JEgO3PqoZInH0TZxozOQbrwqPRSl84kZjtfhB4kh9qcYVBnsTH_W7-r8MXocSZ_LYDQrU543oHEjqPaRAe6Y/s320/mad-max-fury-road.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>
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I went with a group of friends to see Mad Max, Fury Road last night. Over the last year, my hopes in regard to the upcoming Mad Max movie had shifted from dubiously guarded, to ecstatically hopeful. By the time the movie arrived, I knew I was going to enjoy it. The question was simply, would I like it? Or would I <i>love</i> it?<br />
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The answer is a resounding <i>I utterly adore Mad Max Fury Road to the end of all things.</i><br />
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There are so many areas of adoration to cover, that it would be almost impossible to get them all discussed, so for this post, I'm just going to focus on a huge factor that the rest of Hollywood has been floundering with of late. Women. For the last several weeks women in action movies has been the theme of numerous headlines, none of them good. Heroines have been undermined on posters, and in toys lines, they've been thrown under the bus due to their sex lives and written clean out of parts that are rightfully theirs.<br />
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If all the aforementioned bullshit plucks your nerve, then let me humbly suggest that you get your ass to the nearest theater and watch Mad Max Fury Road. Yes, it's a movie about Max Rockatansky. But it's also a movie that embraces women. I mean seriously, and honestly <i>embraces</i> them, without any reservation. Doubt me? Here's a small list (because I'm super tired, and I overworked myself today, so a list is easiest) highlighting the female embracement going on in Mad Max FR.<br />
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- Max is only one of the main characters, not *the* main character. He shares the podium equally with Furiosa.<br />
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- Furiosa and the Wives thoroughly beat Max's ass when they first meet each other. Not by luck, by brute strength. In fact, Furiosa would kill Max, if not for faulty shotgun shells (nice nod to Mad Max 2, there)<br />
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- Furiosa and the Wives save themselves. Repeatedly. Yes, Max is with them, and he's fighting as well, but the women hold their own, despite that one of the Wives is 8 months pregnant, and all of them have been kept as prisoners for at least the last several years of their lives, and have not allowed to do anything for themselves.<br />
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- Furiosa and/or the Wives save Max repeatedly. True, he saves them here and there as well, and Nux, the War Boy is not to be discounted, but the women do a huge amount of saving each other as well as saving both Max and Nux.<br />
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- Furiosa is first introduced to us as an Imperator. She is held in awe by all of the War Boys serving in Immortan Joe's army of 'half lifes'. A literal army of men view Imerator Furiosa with reverence and respect, and take orders from her without ever questioning her. So profound is their devotion to her as a leader, that when she drives her War Rig off course, abandoning her supposed run for a gasoline shipment, the War Boys with her don't immediately question her actions. Also, she does all the mechanics on her War Rig, she built it and she maintains it.<br />
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- At a pivotal moment, when it <i>all</i> hangs in the balance, and Max has already missed one shot (and only had two bullets to start with) he hands the gun to Furiosa, and tells her to take the shot, putting his faith in her without hesitation. She nails it perfectly.<br />
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- Once Max, Furiosa, the Wives and Nux are all on the same page, and have managed to escape (temporarily) the reach of Immortan Joe, the People Eater, and the Bullet Farmer, they discover that their destination is a place that no longer exists, but at the same time, they're reunited with people Furiosa grew up with. Who are all women.<br />
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- This is where we learn that Furiosa grew up among the Many Mothers, a group of all-female tribes. The Vuvalini are the last of these tribes, and though they regard Max and Nux with guarded acceptance, they readily welcome Furiosa and the Wives.<br />
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- When the lot of them eventually decide to return to the very Citadel they escaped from (in hopes of gaining control of it, since Immortan Joe and all of the War Boys are still after them) which means charging directly into their enemies, the Vuvalini readily join forces with them. To Nux and Max, this is the best chance they have. No one ever questions the decision, even though it means a group of maybe a dozen women (and two men) are going up against <i>hundreds</i> of male warriors.<br />
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- Through the ensuing battles, the women - Wives and Vuvalini alike - fight shoulder to shoulder with Max and Nux, just as powerfully as either man. In one instance, Furiosa actually catches a falling Max by the ankle with one (prosthetic) hand and drives while holding him upside down out one window. Oh, by the way, she's doing this during and after she's been viciously stabbed by an enemy and she never falters.<br />
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- Mad Max doesn't kill the ultimate bad guy, Immortan Joe. Though he does kill the two side-kick-type baddies (the People Eater, and the Bullet Farmer, whom Furiosa had already blinded with her perfect shot) It is Furiosa, with the help of the Wives, who destroys Immortan Joe, and subsequently end the war.<br />
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So, there you have it. There is virtually no part of Mad Max, Fury Road that doesn't utterly and unfailingly embrace women and all of their strengths. Why the rest of Hollywood can't do this, I don't know. But if you want to see the most badass, high octane, action packed, gender equal movie hitting the big screen this year, I suggest you go see Mad Max, Fury Road.<br />
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<br />Artemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114658220599872354.post-68249839615154289992015-05-13T09:41:00.000-04:002015-05-13T09:41:00.087-04:00Last Of The ThunderbirdsIt happened again. The Henni Penni killer returned last night and took Woebegone. Not literally, but it killed him.<br />
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It was easier, in some ways, this time, to find the aftermath. Woebegone was so very old (13ish) and he couldn't walk much, only hobbilty-hop from resting place to resting place. Most people would have put him down already, but he was so happy with Henni, who gave him purpose, and provoked sun-worshiping crows from him on a regular basis. Since finding Henni yesterday, he was subdued, withdrawn. I don't know if it was simply the sudden unexpected solitude, or if he possessed some sense of failure at having been unable to protect her. After all, Woebegone was a battle-ax of a rooster, who once tore a spur clean off fighting with a cat (who was just examining them, not stalking) through the fence of the chicken pen.<br />
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He was sleeping when it happened last night, and these days, he slept with the sort of utter detachment reserved for the very young, and the very old. There is no indication that he suffered. He was, I suspect, glad to meet Lord Death, just as most warriors of legend are, choosing that over a continued half-life of crippled existence. The wee chick who couldn't even get out of his own egg without help did, in the end live longer than any of his contemporaries.<br />
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I plan on setting a trap tonight, and if I'm successful in catching the chicken killer, I suspect that it will meet a similar fate itself. Not out of revenge. I don't begrudge anything the right to live, but out of protection of the other animals I look after. Whatever this animal is (raccoon/weasel/opossum(doubtful)) it's been here three nights, leaving the tray I feed the ferals on in disarray the first night, killing Henni the second, and killing Woebegone the third. The only thing left for it to do is get into the outside cat cage (where there is a supply of dry food in their bowl) and possibly harm or kill one of the cats, if they fight. I don't intend to let that happen.<br />
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Will post results, if and when there are any.<br />
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<br />Artemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114658220599872354.post-39392123015922631052015-05-12T14:44:00.000-04:002015-05-12T14:44:05.926-04:00Loving My Food... But Not In The Way You're Thinking...It was a high stress week, last week, for us. Anyone following will recall that last Monday, Mad Max decided to sample a few pieces of lily leaf and we subsequently learned just how toxic lilies are to cats. After two nights and three days in hospital, I'm relieved to say that Max is fine and suffered no lasting effects from his adventure.<br />
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The weekend was much better. I've gotten my vacation set up, even managed find super cheap tickets and get them bought, I spent Monday with the woman who taught me to ride - and in truth taught me a huge amount about life - and I got a whopping 17 new pages written on two different stories and also got several pages edited that belong to an old story that I'm reworking. It was an awesome weekend.<br />
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Which is why I never expected to face a dead pet this morning. Woebegone, my ancient rooster (whom some of you may remember from waaaaay back as both a thunderbird, and one of the Demon Chickens from Zorgnog) has been ailing recently, and though he seems happy and comfortable, I know his time is limited. But it wasn't Woebegone I lost. It was little unassuming Henni Penni whom I found lying dead in her favorite wallow, in the front corner of the chicken pen.<br />
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It was fast. Probably a raccoon, because whatever it was reached through small gauge chicken wire and wrung her neck. I'll spare you anymore details, except to say that because she was in her wallow, which is dusty, I know truly that it was fast, virtually instant. The smooth dust proves that. No struggle. No terror. She likely never woke up.<br />
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I was so shocked, that for a few moments I just stared, trying to grasp the fact that she wasn't busily chattering to me while waiting for her breakfast.<br />
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I was very, well, <i>human</i>, about losing her, at least right at that moment. We forget, so very easily, when animals whom we love are, within the realm of the natural world, basically food. People who raise animals and subsequently butcher them understand this, and rarely forget it. But those of us, even the ones with farm experience, who don't regularly raise animals and then kill them, easily forget.<br />
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To me, Henni wasn't a walking main course, or an egg machine. She was a little wily person, who'd dominated her first residence (and gotten her beak cropped for it) and who had escaped that place, wherever it was, and hit the open road in search of a better life. She'd found my sister, who had in turn, brought her to me, and at my house, she'd gotten what she seems to have always wanted. Adventure and solitude and one aged rooster, who didn't ask much of her, and was a nice companion, when she felt like being companionable. But to the rest of the natural world, she was food. And sometimes, no matter how much we try to protect creatures, to shield them from their own being, nature finds a way of reclaiming them. No human walked by and opened the chicken pen and killed Henni Penni for love of killing. Some animal (probably an asshole raccoon - the only good raccoon, to me, is a Rocket raccoon) saw an opportunity to grab an unsuspecting meal, and attempted to take that opportunity. That animal failed, but in the end Henni still rejoined the natural circle, because I took her small body out into the woods and left her under an oak sapling, that both the tree, and some other animal might benefit.<br />
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I will always remember Henni Penni as a very small entity, with a very large personality, someone who didn't look at herself, or her situation and ever consider, even for a moment, that she might be incapable of changing her own stars. She simple went out and changed them.Artemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114658220599872354.post-39629978554246147092015-05-07T12:56:00.000-04:002015-05-07T12:56:08.037-04:00Appropriations, and The Concept of Human EntitlementMax is back home now, and happily running amok. Even after a full evening, night, and morning with him, I found myself following after him, just watching him and aching with how much I love the little disaster-invoking fur ball. He's oblivious to my residual, PTSD fretting, of course, and seems perpetually surprised to find me hovering, whenever he turns around, and thus merps his little trilling greeting and comes trotting over to me for chin scratches and to offer me love nibbles. I love him all the more for that. The discharge papers from the vet described him as capable of being 'very affectionate' but also capable of being 'quite fractious'. That's Mad Max, just like his namesake.<br />
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But onto the meat of this post. I've posted before about Native appropriations, and everything I said in those posts, still stands. This time I'm focusing on a different sort of appropriation, one that the public at large has probably not even noticed, or registered, and one that I'm sure at least a chunk of folks will tell me is simply me taking offense to something unoffensive. But I'm going to write the post anyway.<br />
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It all started with a trip to Starbucks. I had gone and gotten Max from the overnight vet, and transferred him to our regular vet for daytime care, and on my way out of town I stopped to nab some coffee goodness for my coworker and myself. While I was waiting for my order, I noticed another patron's shoes. My instant response was *I WANT THOSE SHOES* but then I looked at them more closely, and my insta-love turned into insta-loathing. Such insta-loathing that I covertly snapped a photograph to be used for this post.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO0NpdYlyknQom7k6JDqy-pIPjKYGzgStjq8rsyG3IPli2Ejied6Wza9XCP1BmrfsFzND8rhiem__4iA23B8YkLYKeNOzkK6HP3wkwXIQSGW4iPvhYgoYF9y-g1MC4zslwAGxBfIM-gjc/s1600/IMG_5085.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO0NpdYlyknQom7k6JDqy-pIPjKYGzgStjq8rsyG3IPli2Ejied6Wza9XCP1BmrfsFzND8rhiem__4iA23B8YkLYKeNOzkK6HP3wkwXIQSGW4iPvhYgoYF9y-g1MC4zslwAGxBfIM-gjc/s320/IMG_5085.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Here's the thing. Those shoes are awesome, because they look like actual pointe shoes. The problem is, you don't just 'get' pointe shoes, you <i>earn</i> them. And you earn them by doing years of hella hard fucking work. This is a picture I've seen going around which is a great representation of the sacrifice that goes into gaining the beauty of a pointe shoe.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3rRXdKm4jkCps-pJfIb7C8ho7jy-YOaP7C3GBUIy8k1YqSM7FmYl1zjhJ6xsgb-14iPpHih711iPD2rQefSBq0WjquPsaUEAhJ1kruzggXru9BsDniecKs1Ecs44-wddl0pWyvsEBoJA/s1600/ballet-on-point.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3rRXdKm4jkCps-pJfIb7C8ho7jy-YOaP7C3GBUIy8k1YqSM7FmYl1zjhJ6xsgb-14iPpHih711iPD2rQefSBq0WjquPsaUEAhJ1kruzggXru9BsDniecKs1Ecs44-wddl0pWyvsEBoJA/s320/ballet-on-point.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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My point (no pun intended) is, pointe shoes are a right you earn, not an accessory you wear. Before anyone argues with me, I know it's *possible* the woman in Starbucks is a dancer, but her body says otherwise. If she danced, it was years in the past. So what right does she have to wear a pointe shoe, or a shoe designed to look so much like an actual pointe shoe, that at a glance one would think it <i>was</i> a real pointe shoe?</div>
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And I don't feel this way only about this specific pair of shoes, and this specific incident. I was rolling in my grave, so to say, over the obsession with fashion riding boots - and 'riding pants' - in recent years. Uh, no. I've spent 26 years working to earn the right to wear riding boots - and let me tell you, honey, even I don't wear the black boots with the brown tops, hunt-tops, they're called. That's formal hunting attire, to be worn only with a red hunt coat (there are numerous regulations) and if you aren't a member of a hunt club, you don't wear that shit. And yet, here I am surrounded by people, many of whom have never even touched a real horse, wearing 'riding boots' and 'riding pants' (For the record, they're called jodhpurs if you're a junior, and you were them with leather garter straps around the leg below the knee, and jodhpur boots. They're called breeches, if you're older and those are worn with tall leather boots, field boots for hunt riders, and dress boots for dressage riders. There are major differences in attire across the disciplines) while I'm just walking around in my jeans, and my breeches and field boots are in the closet, because, you know, <i>I'm not riding a horse</i>, I'm walking down the street. Look at this hot mess, which I found particularly amusing and irritating, with its fake little 'spur' around the heel. No riding boot ever looked like this.</div>
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Where did this concept of <i>I'm a human, therefore I'm entitled to wear anything that looks cool</i> come from? I understand such appropriations have been going on for centuries, but they've certainly gotten more profound or, perhaps, more widely visible in recent years. I'm sure much of such visibility comes from the internet and social media. But I still fail to grasp why society in general thinks it's okay to appropriate things. I look at fashion icons (I'm thinking Michael Jackson, whose distinctive style was influenced by various things, but which never actually copied anything that I know of) who created their own style without appropriating cultures or skills. Yes, at some point in their career, I'm sure something was appropriated, inadvertently or otherwise, but they didn't sell entire fashion lines by taking another cultures style. And no, I don't count Cher and her 'Cherokee' outfit as an appropriation because she is of American Indian descent (in part, at least). </div>
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Appropriation has been in the news quite a lot recently, and I think that's a good thing. But I think we also need to take it further. Enough of this picking and choosing what's okay to appropriate, and what's not okay to appropriate. If you aren't of American Indian descent, don't wear something that utilizes one of their cultures, unless it's something you bought directly from an American Indian artist. I wear tons of turquoise, but I don't wear anything with religious emblems, or tribal patterns, not unless it's an item I bought from a Native artist. If you don't ride horses, don't wear freaking 'riding boots' or 'riding pants'. If you're not a ballet dancer, don't wear pointe shoes, or shoes that mimic true pointe shoes. Be aware of crap like Givenchy using words like <i>chola </i>to in their fashion designs, and lines, when they have no right to, and have no understanding of what the word means to those who <i>do</i> have a right to use it. Don't be sporting bindis just because they sparkle. Pierce your nose if you want, but don't wear jewelry designed to mimic the plethora of nose-specific jewelry worn by the various cultures of India, because, you know, those styles <i>mean</i> something spiritually and religiously to those peoples.</div>
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Basically, if something being utilized in fashion is defended by the designer as 'simply inspiration' or 'just hair' or 'just makeup' then you need to take a closer look at the designer/company, and why they feel like they have the right to 'just use' whatever it is they've utilized in their fashions. The same goes for popular trends. If it's something that seems cool because it makes you feel like another culture, or whatever, then you probably ought to look at it a second time, and discern whether it's something that was actually <i>inspired</i> by a culture or subset, or if it's something that simply <i>copies</i> an existing culture or subset. </div>
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<br />Artemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114658220599872354.post-40599509197175035212015-05-04T21:19:00.000-04:002015-05-04T21:19:30.967-04:00Lily of DeathI type this to you with Xanax seeping through my veins. Meanwhile, I.V. fluids are creeping through the veins of my beloved Mad Max Rockatansky. Why? Because he chewed on the leaves of an Asiatic lily. The life of my cat hangs in the balance because of four fucking leaves. Or more accurately the mere <i>pieces</i> of four different leaves.<div>
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Until 3:47 this afternoon when my Mom informed me 'Your son is chewing on my lily, google that and make sure it's not poisonous.' I had no idea - literally no fucking concept - of just how toxic lilies are to cats. If <i>pollen</i> gets on their fur and they lick it, they could die. No, I'm not being dramatic. That was my first reaction when the first website <a href="http://www.petpoisonhelpline.com/2011/09/are-lilies-poisonous-to-cats/">PetPoisonHelpline.com</a> so, being the 'multiple reference' person I am, I went to another site <a href="http://www.petmd.com/cat/emergency/poisoning-toxicity/e_ct_lily_poisoning">PetMD.com</a> and then to <a href="https://www.aspca.org/pet-care/animal-poison-control/toxic-and-non-toxic-plants/asian-lily">https://www.aspca.org</a> and <a href="http://www.preventivevet.com/cats/lesser-known-pet-toxicities-lily-toxicity-in-cats">http://www.preventivevet.com</a> and <a href="http://phys.org/news/2009-04-lilies-deadly-cats-veterinarians.html">http://phys.org</a>. </div>
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By then, I was genuinely starting to panic. I had *watched* Max swallow one of the leaves, and three others were tattered. So I called our vet, and was told to bring Max in immediately. To overview: At approximately 3:47 Max chomped the ends off four leaves of an Asiatic lily. By 4:30 we were at the vet's, and he was consulting with a specialist in animal toxicology. By 5:00, Max had been induced to vomit (he vomited all the leaves, they could practically put the pieces back together) and they were waiting for the sedative (with cats, they give them an anesthetic, which causes nausea, and vomiting) to wear off so they could begin giving him activated charcoal. He's a twelve pound cat, which equals a dosage of 70 MLs of activated charcoal. By now, Max was swearing that he'd never even look at anything green again. Amazingly, they got all 70 MLs into him, and other than burping droplets a few times, he kept it all down. The next step is I.V. fluids. For 48hrs. The idea is that any bits of toxin which don't adhere to the activated charcoal, will be flushed out of his system before they have time to settle in his kidneys. Basically, it's the same sort of toxic process as antifreeze poisoning.</div>
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Shocked yet? Yeah, me too. I'm still trying to convince myself that in the span of five hours, I went from loafing in my pjs to writing this and not knowing if Max is going to live. Scientifically, rationally, and medically, his prognosis is 'very good' according to the specialist, my vet, and the emergency clinic vet, where he'll be spending tonight, and possibly tomorrow night. But anyone who has much experience in medicine understands that having everything go even the best way, doesn't guarantee that it will *continue* to go the best way. Now, with lily poisoning, the consensus is 'treatment within the first 18 hours' gives you the best chance for recovery, and obviously, Max started treatment within the first hour, so *crosses fingers and knocks on wood* in <i>theory</i>, Max stands a good chance of running rampant for years to come. </div>
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But we won't know for sure until we're through the next 48 hours without problem. And no amount of scientific or medical fact is going to assure me of his safety until 48 hours has gone by without incident and he's charmed all the vet techs and comes bouncing home with me. So in the least, this incident has given me more gray hair, and empty bank account and a hell of a lot of emotional trauma.</div>
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The terror associated with the idea of losing Max aside, I'm still reeling with horror over the toxicity of lilies in general. And it's not just cats. Dog, humans and goats (of all animals) are incredibly vulnerable too. I mean, let's get real. <i>Dropping pollen on a cat can kill them? </i>Now think about a toddler chewing on a leaf of that Easter lily on the coffee table. Or the dog snuffling it.</div>
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There is not enough public awareness of just how poisonous lilies (all of them, to varying degrees) are to us, and the animals many of us keep as pets. I beseech you to share this post on all of those Facebook groups you're in, or Pages you frequent. And the lily that got Max into all of this? $3.98 at Walmart, not a single word of warning anywhere on the label or pot. Nowhere on that plant did it say just how devastatingly harmful it could be to an animal or human. I presume that the lack of warning is because everyone and their second cousin buy lilies in the millions around Easter and in the spring or early summer. This one happened to be be given to my Mom last week for teacher appreciation week. I hazard that the mother who bought it might have had second thoughts if there was a big old skull and crossbones on the tag. But I wouldn't be going through all of this, either. Even my vet, who's been in practice for over 30 years, hasn't ever dealt with this. He has indoor cats, and his yard is full of lilies of various types. That's probably going to changed. </div>
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Please, share this. Help me spread this information now. The majority of lily poisonings are fatal, simply because people don't understand how dangerous they are. If no one witnesses the cat consuming the lily, the symptoms that eventually provoke treatment are related to renal failure, not the actual poisoning. And once the cat enters renal failure, chances of survival are slim, at best. Sometimes even weeks of dialysis are not sufficient to get the cat through.</div>
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The best way to assure that a cat recovers from lily poisoning, is to make sure they never get poisoned to start with. ALL LILIES ARE POISONOUS. If you have pets, or small children, don't have a lily. Period. It's just too dangerous. </div>
Artemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114658220599872354.post-61096295160880967172015-04-21T12:13:00.000-04:002015-04-21T12:13:50.626-04:00Driving All Over The Place And Going Nowhere...I figured it was time to throw another post up, you know to stay in the habit of posting... at least every couple of months... or so... Anyway, I'm *finally* over whatever abominable plague I had. At leas, I'm over it enough to feel like a million bucks, but I suspect I'm still slow enough that once I'm *TRULY* over it, it'll seem as though I've been sick for most of my life. Point is, I'm back to doing stuff, laughing and snorting, and writing. Also, mowing the lawn.<br />
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Anyone who's known me for any length of time will remember that I'm not normally allowed to touch things like the weed eater or lawn mower. This is because like some sort of rogue EMP wave, I can break the shit just by touching it. No joke, this happens a lot. On smaller things (like watches) the stuff just stops working for no obvious reason. On larger things, it's sometimes more obvious (split main belts, ruptured things, whatever) but the result is the same. Shit no work, no more. So normally, I don't touch it, and that solves the problem.<br />
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But Dad, while he's doing fine, is at a point where stuff like riding the mowing for two hours, affects him more and more. So I'm his replacement. I know, terrifying. It's like sending Chris Farley to stand in for Chris Pine. Not the same. But after a lesson from Dad, I managed to mow the whole property without dying, killing anything or breaking anything. Sunday, I repeated the procedure (except that I forgot to mow the back lot...) and succeeded again.<br />
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While I was driving the mower the first time, I was hit with yet another story idea. I know, I <i>know</i>. You're thinking <i>Just pick a story and write it, kid! </i>But the problem is that I don't have anyone waiting for the stories, so I just keep plodding along with them instead of running a marathon, and along the way I find shiny new things to pick up, and eventually I start dropping other shiny things that I've gotten tired of carrying. But I do remember where they all got dropped, so I can go right back and pick them up if anyone is ever interested in them. This is what happens when you drive all over the place and go nowhere. You start playing make believe while you're driving.<br />
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In my case, that means that while I'm writing, but not moving forward toward publication (not that I can tell, anyway) I tend to have many multiple projects going at once, and sometimes, they get traded out for new projects, which eventually get set aside so I can work on older ones. But at least my engine is still going. And when that gate toward publication finally opens, I intend to roar down the racecourse without a backward glance, my stories flying behind me like banners in the wind!Artemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114658220599872354.post-2055827392025474852015-03-31T21:09:00.001-04:002015-03-31T21:09:55.442-04:00Childhood Dreams Become Artist's FodderOverdue for a post... as is custom. But I must have some traditions, mustn't I? Anyway, I've been laid up sick for a week (not in a fun 'oh I get to be 'sick' and stay home and write' kind of way, but in a 'occasionally surfacing to consciousness, then submerging again' kind of way) and since I've been able to cling to humanity long enough to string a few thoughts together, I've been writing madly on yet another new project, one that I already love dearly.<br />
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I'm not entirely sure what this project is going to look like once I'm finally facing it at close range. It's like a massive stag moving back and forth through thick fog. But I know the project more intimately in other ways. I know the characters in it, the things that drive them, the things that haunt them. I know where it's going, and I'll learn what it looks like on the way.<br />
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All of this ties into the fact that while I was sick, I saw the latest Transformers movie (Edge of Extinction, or Age of Extinction or some such...) and - I know, I <i>know</i>, stop rolling your eyes! So much of the recent 'live action movies' are terrible, but some parts of them are actually pretty wonderful. While I have an undying hatred of the 'token hot bimbo with no intelligent reason to be there' and the 'token hot guy who's supposed to be witty' (I'm not even able to quantify my hatred of Shia Labeouf. I mean, plagiarizing your apology for plagiarizing something else? I can't even.) and all the other random story devices that Michael Bay has made up because, Bay does what Bay wants, I really do think he got the souls of the Transformers themselves well represented. It's something I'm willing to debate, anyway, with anyone who wants to. Also, the music in those movies is awesome.<br />
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So, anyway, the whole point is that I'd never seen the most recent movie, so I watched it. Like four times. Because, you know, I'm sick on the couch, and they just kept playing it, so I kept watching it. I cannot remember a time when I didn't love the Transformers. I've been with them since the very beginning, and I maintain a certain devotion to them even in less than perfect manifestations. I, personally, rather liked the newer looks given to them in the more recent incarnations, because they're viably realistic. Even if there are parts of these movies I don't care for, the Transformers themselves give life to all the daydreams I thrived on as a kid. They make me go out and look at the stars at night and wonder what might be up there. Consider things like the idea of a non-human entity having more humanity than humanity generally does, and how being alive has more to do with actions than it does with having a heartbeat.<br />
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Which leads me to new ideas, new themes, new stories.<br />
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My happy obsession at the moment is this revisitation of longstanding childhood dreams involving the Transformers, and associated themes. But they're only one remnant of my childhood dreams that provide me with fodder for stories and characters. So often as people grow up they leave behind influences that, at the time, meant a great deal to them, even shaped how they viewed the world. Let's face it, not many guys will say 'I went into the Marines because it was the closest thing to being He-Man that I could find.' But how many engineers really wanted to find out if you could built a glider out of three pieces of bamboo, a trash bag and a garden rake, like MacGyver, how many conservationists wanted to be like Jana of The Jungle and run with the animals. Adult underestimate the influences of childhood dreams, even as they're utilizing those very things in their careers.<br />
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I prefer to embrace my childhood dreams, feeding them and loving them.<br />
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<br />Artemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114658220599872354.post-11185901825012947382015-03-10T20:58:00.000-04:002015-03-10T20:58:12.173-04:00Random March PostThis post will be random and rambling. I'm warning you because I've had two good glasses of scotch and I haven't had scotch in at least two year, so I'm pretty drunk about now. Obviously not drunk enough to throw grammar and spelling out the window, but then, the moment I'm so drunk that grammar and spelling go out the window, you need to lock me in the shed out back...<br />
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ANYWAY... I'm sitting here drunk because I am very unhappy right now. There's shallow unhappy, like I had a shitty day, and I hate my job, I don't have enough time to write all the things I want to write and UPS didn't deliver my package that I paid extra to have delivered today, unhappy, and there's deep unhappy, like I still miss Di, I shouldn't be sitting here missing her because she ought to be alive, instead of half the worthless souls who are still walking within our realm, unhappy. And I'm sorry, I know she's *just a horse* to most of the population, but she was a lot more to me.<br />
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But shallow or deep, the fact remains that I'm unhappy. Blah blah blah.<br />
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There's not point in whining. What is, is what is. All I can do, is to write. Sometimes, I write better drunk. Who said that? Hemingway? Write drunk, edit sober? It's good advice. You're free when you're just enough tipsy to not give a shit about the consequences of saying wha you feel. Now, maybe you're going to say something in your ms now, and then later when you go back to edit, you're like WTF was I thinking? And you change things- usually for the better. But I think you know what I mean. You get so much more in touch with raw emotions when you're not worried about what anyone is going thing of you for revealing those raw emotions. Like I said, maybe later you go back sober and edit things, but there's something to be said for offering up your most raw emotions.<br />
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And on that note, I'm off to offer up my most raw emotions on a new WIP...Artemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114658220599872354.post-71688440311142573042015-03-02T12:19:00.000-05:002015-03-02T12:19:16.056-05:00Di's Poem For 20153:00 Am on March 2, 2013 I lost my beloved Di. On the anniversary of her death 2014 I wrote a poem for her. This year, it just felt right to continue the tradition, and I plan on doing it for the foreseeable future. So here is Di's poem for 2015.<br />
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Marrow Lost</div>
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The world somehow faltered, when she went away</div>
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All the bright allure began to go to grey.</div>
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From dawns’ firsts breaths to darkened gloamings</div>
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No solace found, in midnight roamings</div>
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She walks no more with a mortal’s stride</div>
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Just a shadow now, on the moon’s tide</div>
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Silent are the mountain hollows, and empty stand the trails</div>
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No hoofbeats echo long, to race the rushing gales</div>
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Fallow lie the fields and lanes, and haunted are the glens</div>
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The world now seen always, through a shattered lens</div>
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She walks no more with a mortal’s stride</div>
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Just a shadow now, on the moon’s tide</div>
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A void remains within, where once she held much sway</div>
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A dark forsaken corner, in a heart so fey</div>
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Always will it be, the soul against long sorrow</div>
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Sundered from the pneuma, of her closest marrow</div>
Artemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114658220599872354.post-78501934157547004882015-02-21T14:40:00.000-05:002015-02-21T18:52:14.150-05:00Four Hundred Years And No Progress At All<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 14px;">
Sometimes, I’m ashamed of every fragment of my DNA that is not identifiable as Cherokee.</div>
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This is one of those times.</div>
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On February 18 the London-based fashion company KTZ, designed by Marjan Pejoski revealed its ready to wear Fall line at New York Fashion Week. The problem with the 2015 Fall line designed by Marjan Pejoski is that <i>Marjan Pejoski didn’t design any of it. </i></div>
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Oh, you haven’t seen any headlines leading with ‘Famed Fashion House Plagiarizes Existing Designs’? Me neither. And the sad part, is that you’re not going to. Not unless mainstream-everywhere suddenly realizes that using other peoples’ cultures to add a ‘primitive touch’ to clothing, art, or, well, anything, <i>is wrong</i>.</div>
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Pejoski states - very proudly - in an interview with Milk Made</div>
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“-<i>as a way of paying tribute to the country, to the land, and all the indigenous people, it was based on the Native Americans, after a lot of research obviously. With every collection I go through lots of troubles when I take different countries and places, and coming to America was something that I wanted to explore. I’ve always adored Native Americans and their culture since I was a kid and I always loved their flamboyancy and their furs and feathers and leathers, and it was just something that was almost very close to me to do.”</i></div>
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Huh. It’s almost as if Perjoski, like about 98% of mainstream hive-mind America, doesn’t understand that the term ‘Native Americans’ does not connote one massive universal culture, but rather it encompasses hundreds of individual entirely unique and entirely different cultures. Loved their flamboyancy? It’s like Perjoski thinks of the various clothing types, patterns, styles and colors used by the different tribes as daring fashion choices instead of what they are: Representations of religious figures, theories and symbols, of family heritage, history individual culture.</div>
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Pejoski says that his 2015 Fall line “-<i>was based on the Native Americans, after a lot of research obviously.”</i> and that it is <i>“-a tribute to ‘the primal woman indigenous to this land,’ who evolves into a sexualized, empowered being.”</i></div>
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With claims like those, I’m a tad confused as to why Union Army kepis and military style coats and braiding were used in the line as both accessories and designs. I wonder if Pejoski meant for them to somehow honor the thousands of unknown and unnamed women captured, raped, traded and sold by soldiers during the Indian Wars, which took place pretty much from the moment that settlers arrived until (officially) 1890, though armed conflicts continued sporadically until the 1920s. Is that what he intended to honor?</div>
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But let us set aside my confusion over what Pejoski states that he <i>wanted</i> to say, and what he <i>did</i> say, with this clothing line, and let us, instead, focus on this single, simplistic declaration by Pejoski during his Milk Made interview:<i>“-we do a lot of custom-made things—every detail you see is everything we developed in house, the whole thing.”</i></div>
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If every detail you see in Pejoski’s line is developed in house - <i>the whole thing</i> - then how, pray tell, did the family beadwork designs of <a href="http://www.byellowtail.com/">Bethany Yellowtail</a>’s ancestors end up on a dress in his runway show? Below is a side-by-side of the dresses for comparison. On the left is Yellowtail’s Apsaalooke Night dress (2014) which is based on beadwork from her great-grandmother’s collection. On the right is the dress from the 2015 KTZ line.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuTQ9YRYrc2AJzNm_mhq2hhtkqan_XZDnRF71UPAKJv37BIo22QMhDJOkLO6ZJG6_VAdgROeEqPIebXzb1AFZZW5yifhUq7qlnjmD_fizxjRhOMsmtVV0XKYcPIxVu8MEd1eihsJZJE80/s1600/_81142395_dress_yellowtail_ktzcopy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuTQ9YRYrc2AJzNm_mhq2hhtkqan_XZDnRF71UPAKJv37BIo22QMhDJOkLO6ZJG6_VAdgROeEqPIebXzb1AFZZW5yifhUq7qlnjmD_fizxjRhOMsmtVV0XKYcPIxVu8MEd1eihsJZJE80/s1600/_81142395_dress_yellowtail_ktzcopy.jpg" height="179" width="320" /></a></div>
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If you’re looking at the two dresses and thinking <i>“What is she talking about? So they both have triangles and squares?” </i>bear with me. The issue here isn’t about whether or not the mass public can see or understand the importance of Yellowtail’s designs. The issue is that the designs are sacred to Yellowtail, a Crow/Northern Cheyenne and they are sacred to all Crow people. It’s also a portrayal of her own great-grandmother’s beadwork.</div>
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The matching silhouettes and lengths of the dresses aside, you don’t just artistically arrange some shapes and accidentally recreate a generations-old pattern of beadwork. Pejoski took a historically, culturally, important - and for Yellowtail, an incredibly personal - beadwork design, loosened it and called it his own creation. Pejoski’s line is not ‘inspired by’ the designs, color, and forms of American Indians, it’s a twisted amalgamation of blatantly copied designs, constructed with absolutely no consideration for the multiple cultures he was pillaging and bastardizing.</div>
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Here is another glaring example of Pejoski’s theft of pre-existing cultural designs. In this case, Lakota skinners who have been ripped off.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOBn-eNVKNSoZ7LhUGGeK95eGtJpxWOQKdzbqlvXHTRgmsljE2OWYStf9JYmPlc0oe8L_r6Jb0oiKWnrOBsPYV12S8YJkagUA7EA8H-2UI-TWERQPpr3QYnYUm50PIxHyC2mUWQqNof1I/s1600/B-LWa3ACIAAlMB4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOBn-eNVKNSoZ7LhUGGeK95eGtJpxWOQKdzbqlvXHTRgmsljE2OWYStf9JYmPlc0oe8L_r6Jb0oiKWnrOBsPYV12S8YJkagUA7EA8H-2UI-TWERQPpr3QYnYUm50PIxHyC2mUWQqNof1I/s1600/B-LWa3ACIAAlMB4.jpg" height="312" width="320" /></a></div>
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The greatest tragedy of this fashion conflict is not even the gross affronts committed by Pejoski himself. People do stupid things. Artistic people of position and means often do incredibly stupid things. The greatest tragedy of this debacle is that the mainstream media <i>doesn’t even know it’s going on</i>. And any of the larger mainstream outlets who <i>have</i> noticed what’s happening, are choosing to very politically stay mum about it, rather than openly making a stand one way or the other.</div>
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Despite that online entities like <a href="http://www.beyondbuckskin.com/">Beyond Buckskin</a> and <a href="http://indiancountrytodaymedianetwork.com/2015/02/20/bethany-yellowtail-gutted-crow-design-dress-new-york-fashion-week-159319">Indian Country</a> among others, are coming out in support of Bethany Yellowtail, and are denouncing the appropriations of traditional American Indian designs, the mainstream media hasn’t noticed, or if they have noticed, they’ve remained conspicuously silent about it.</div>
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A simple Google under KTZ 2015 Fashion Week reveals pages of articles touting Pejoski’s fall lineup as a triumph, a bold, primally satisfying group that any woman would want to wear. It is only Native-based sites, or more outspoken, less mainstream sites who have made any mention of the ongoing conflict, and then it’s often in a passing article, a note of interest that’s quickly set aside.</div>
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People who aren’t associated with any specific American Indian tribe (or any other indigenous peoples) fail to see what the big deal is, and in this world of social media and distanced opinions, most of them opt to shrug and suggest that it’s <i>not</i>, in fact a big deal and that those of us who have grievances should just <i>get over it</i>, already.</div>
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For the last four hundred years the indigenous peoples of America have been slaughtered, demeaned, shoved aside, cheated out of their own cultures, and disregarded in general, and all along the way they’re been told to <i>get over it</i>.</div>
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Now, those who have managed to survive repeated assaults by the American army, who have managed to surpass the excruciating poverty and impediments forced upon them by the United States government, those individuals like Bethany Yellowtail who have succeeded in becoming forces within their own industries are effectively <i>still</i> being told to <i>get over it</i> when a non-Native person like Marjan Pejoski decides to loot the ancestral coffers of cultures not their own.</div>
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Four hundred years of history, and mainstream America still cannot grasp the concept that <i>you don’t have a right to claim something just because you like it. </i></div>
Artemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114658220599872354.post-82682506089347997382015-01-28T12:52:00.001-05:002015-01-28T12:52:12.474-05:00The Age Of ChaosThis is mostly a hashing out of my own feelings on the 'rise' in police brutality, and the rise of bullshit rationalizations of criminal innocence. Yeah, I made that last term up, but it's meaning is totally legitimate. Do I sound a wee bit slanted in favor of the police? That's because I am, for the most part.<br />
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Here are the facts that I was raised to understand and uphold:<br />
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1) If you break the law, then you are responsible for the fallout that comes from it, no matter how large or small that fallout might be.<br />
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2) If a police officer confronts you, and you act disrespectfully, or violently towards them, then you are responsible for their reaction to your behavior.<br />
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3) Police have a very difficult job. Yes, they might make mistakes. Yes, they might have you falsely associated with a crime. Yes, that's scary and horrible, but the officer is doing their job, and by freaking out, you are not helping. *Normally* if you are genuinely innocent, they'll figure that out, but you must be patient and give them the time to sort things out.<br />
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4) You are as responsible for how an interaction with the police goes as they are.<br />
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This is what I was taught. No, I'm not what would fall into a stereotypical category of minority, but you know what? I grew up with a lot of minority friends, and they were taught the same stuff. And most of them are off living full lives, with successful careers right now. This post is not about race. It's about the fact we as citizens are just as responsible for ourselves and our situations as the police are responsible for maintaining the law.<br />
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I titled this post the age of chaos because all religious drama about the end of days aside, I very strongly believe that our societally is dancing around the slippery precipice of chaos. At no other time in history could criminals declare their innocence - sometimes even when there is video evidence of them committing a crime - and have the public take up arms in defense of them. Call me dramatic if it makes you feel better, but you'd be wrong. I can list out incident after incident in which someone who was breaking the law helped create their own demise, but the public rose up demanding that the officers involved faced justice, while utterly minimizing or completely erasing the fault of the criminal within public dialogue. It has suddenly become unacceptable to point out, or even acknowledge that in nine out of ten of the media-publicized incidents of police brutality that nothing would have transpired had the 'victim' not first broken the law, and then (in many cases) resisted the police. Even cases in which I felt the officers were in the wrong (the Eric Garner case) I can say without doubt that Eric Garner would be alive if he wasn't illegally selling cigarettes. Did he deserve to die for that offense? Certainly not. But the fact remains that had he not been breaking the law, he'd be alive because the police wouldn't have gone after him for the cigarettes.<br />
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With the current media happily producing news stories not in an effort to report facts, but in an attempt to 'break the internet' with their sensationalistic articles, it's virtually impossible to find, and then keep track of the truth. Breaking news stories are subsequently altered, revised, or deleted entirely with no justification, or citing, and other stories with vastly differing 'facts' are offered in their stead. Words like 'allegedly' are inserted with regularity, even when video evidence available to the public clearly shows something happening. It's this gullibility of the public to believe anything published, and on top of that, believe anything spoken by the 'victims' who are ALSO the criminals that instigated the need for police action to start with.<br />
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I know and acknowledge that there is a problem with police brutality, but the thing is, I am not convinced in the slightest that this is really a 'rising' problem. The truth, I think, is that it's a<i> more widely reported</i> problem, and thus is only perceived as a rising issue. Which is not to say that I don't believe there <i>is</i> a problem, I do believe there is a problem. I believe there always <i>has</i> been a problem. The thing is, in history, the problem has been smothered, and now that we've got the power to bring it to the forefront of society, the media is running rampant, and people are jumping on the bandwagon left and right. Rational, intelligent people that I thought I understood on some level, have come out and said things in response to recent events that I cannot believe any rational, intelligent, <i>sane</i> person would say.<br />
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Examples of this would include the ongoing Jessica Hernandez case, where Jessica was shot by police as she rammed one of them with a stolen vehicle. Protesters maintain that Jessica was 'innocent and unarmed' and thus, the officers had no right to fire their weapons with lethal force. These people suggest tasers or rubber bullets should have been utilized even though the 'victim' was in a moving car actively trying to run over an officer. Or even worse, they suggest that the officers could have simply fired at the car, completely overlooking the danger of ricochet to innocent people in the surrounding buildings, as well as the other occupants of the vehicle. Five days after the incident (which I remind you, involved a STOLEN CAR) one of the passengers (there were four, all of whom swear they didn't know they were in a stolen car) says that the police opened fire without provocation in a dark alley (though she does say that Jessica was 'trying to escape' because, somehow, running from the police is 'okay') and only AFTER they'd intentionally 'murdered' Jessica did she lose control of the car and hit one of them. Without hesitation, the media has embraced this contradiction to the officers' reports and many are yelling cover up.<br />
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When did we start doubting officers from the very start, while believing the criminals? Very few criminals deserve to die at the hands of police, but that only proves that the majority of them who DO die during police confrontations helped to create that confrontation. I'm sorry they broke the law, I'm sorry they were facing jail time, or criminal charges. I'm sorry they reacted to getting caught by police in a violent or confrontational matter, and I'm sorry they ended up dead. But I'm NOT sorry that the police protected themselves. The hardest fact for the mass public to accept, apparently, is that there are exceedingly few (nowadays) cases of police singling out and blatantly abusing completely and utterly innocent people. Does it happen? Yes. But these are exceedingly few instances.<br />
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The only recent case of an utterly innocent person being killed unjustly by police in what amounts to police brutality and misconduct is John Crawford. And in that case, the 911 caller who lied repeatedly to dispatchers and grossly misrepresented Crawford, is criminally to blame for his death, though no charges have even been filed. The police needed to be held accountable, but so did the civilian who orchestrated the situation.<br />
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Getting pulled over by a cop is not brutality. Being questioned by officers because you physically resemble a criminal they're hunting for is not police brutality. Being mistaken for a criminal, is not police brutality. Yes, all those things suck. Some of them suck A LOT. But that doesn't give you the right to act like an asshole to the police. And if you do act lack an asshole, and they react similarly, it's not police brutality, it's them treating you like you acted like an asshole. Life is not always fair.<br />
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I do not understand how our society has devolved into a place where we are incapable of accepting responsibility for our own actions, and are willing to unjustly condemn the very people sworn to protect us rather than admit we did something wrong and got caught.<br />
<br />Artemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114658220599872354.post-59078530989005405472015-01-20T09:37:00.000-05:002015-01-20T09:37:03.257-05:00In Which I Ponder Things, and Probably Whine A LittleOr maybe I whine a lot. Not that I'm feeling whiny, but it's hard to lament (not to be confused with complaining) the fact that I can't write the way I want to, without feeling like you sound at least a little whiny, since the reason I can write the way I want to is because I have a job, which is paying the bills since writing is not.<br />
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But I digress.<br />
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With all of the backlash and discussion about Stacey Jay it really makes me look at my own situation. I found the entire thing shocking, that an established author with a fan base would meet with such indignant rage. Admitting that maybe *how* Stacey carried out the kickstarter, she still didn't do anything <i>wrong</i>. In fact, I just googled 'author kickstarter backlash' and found pages of authors and independent directors, and other people all promising to create stuff if you pay for them to be able to create it. So why naysayers fixated on Stacey, I'll never understand. Anyway, the thing that scared me the most about all of that, is that I would have already done something like a kickstarter if I thought it would bring in enough money to allow me to write full-time. <i>And I'm not a published author. </i>But the idea would be that I could write something, and self publish it and those who funded the project would get their book, and I'd get to write full-time.<br />
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Now I know that this fantasy of mine is just that, a fantasy. It's not logistically or rationally sound all the way through. But it seems like it could be the best idea ever. And if I ever managed to get an agent, then a publisher and actually <i>sell a book,</i> you're damn straight I'd do a kickstarter to fund other books if that was what it took to stay published, because <i>I already made it</i>, I'm not about to fold and go home now. And to be fair I'd probably do a kickstarter in regard to, say, the memoir I'm working on that involves a local historic estate, with photographs and stuff, prints of which could be included as pledge rewards, etc. It would be more feasible and marketable than an unknown fiction. Plus, since I live right where the book is set, I've got the ability to put it out in the public that would be most interested in it.<br />
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But I digress again.<br />
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The point of all of this, I suppose, is just to ponder how much us authors are willing to do, and risk, in order to be able to write. I spent thirteen years working on a farm that gave me much more time to write and create, and I spent every moment that didn't involve farm work, or horse work, on writing work and trying to better myself as an author.<br />
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Now I'm in a job that has cut my writing time by more than half. I'm literally (on average) down to writing (and by the word 'writing' I mean first drafts, second drafts, editing, working on critique partners' stuff, queries, etc) from 8-bedtime in the evenings. And I get up at 6am. Which, if I'm lucky, and I don't happen to have insomnia (thank you, blood thinners, and it's not a writeable type of insomnia, just an brain dead no sleep type) means I get two hours. TWO HOURS. I know for some writers, that's a huge block of time. But for me, who was accustomed to basically 8-9 hours a day of 'available' writing time (even when I was at work on the farm, I could often write) it's been extremely difficult to use that those two hours productively. As a panster, I'm used to just sitting down and going with it. But now I've got to triage WIPs into what is more viable, or marketable (in a broad sense, vampire vs something totally not done, or whatever) and at the same time balance anything else that needs tending, like editing finished drafts, or anything else in the stages of writing. As a result, I've shelved the only competitive manuscript (still with an agent and publisher, but I'm a realist and not holding my breath by now) and I'm not even thinking about agents at the moment. If I had any sort of guiding necessity (deadlines, agent guidance, whatever) it would be much easier. Instead, I'm in this very vexing position of 'the sky is the limit, just keep writing and create but only do it in two hours - in the evening, even though you're often a morning writer - and that's it'.<br />
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I find myself evaluating how little I could live on, but in todays economy, I'm pretty much already there. *If* nothing comes up unexpectedly, I *might* be able to put aside a little money every month. That's if I do not travel anywhere, do not buy anything extra, do not use money for anything besides established bills (phone, groceries, health insurance and one, small, credit card, standard animal maintenance) The moment crap hits the fan, any money saved is gone. At the moment, on top of regular bills, I've got one cat on $260 a month medicine (for at least 6 months) another who's hit old man stage and needs dental work, $700 on top of the $300 that just went out the door to get him prepared for the dental stuff (vet trip to have a senior work-up and blood tests to make sure there's no other health concerns) and along with that, all my own bills that are accruing with this blood clot. Because, we wouldn't want the health insurance to actually pay for anything health related, would we? Still bracing for the ultrasound bill from when I was diagnosed, plus all the blood work, which will continue weekly, since I'm not on Coumadin, which I could afford, unlike the synthetic blood thinners they originally put me on, but I couldn't afford. Not that I'd rather be dead from a thrown clot. I've got tons of family support, I'm going to be fine. The point is, this is a struggle <i>with</i> a full-time job. I don't see how it's possible for someone like me (single, childless) to ever just 'quit and write' like I read about authors doing.<br />
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Are there any other single writers out there who don't have significant other income to rely on? Any helpful tips for a panster who's trying to squash herself into a small cubicle of strict structure?Artemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114658220599872354.post-66273928681650165712015-01-02T00:28:00.001-05:002015-01-02T00:28:15.127-05:00Charging Into The New Year Like a Grocery Cart Jockey In A Downhill Obstacle Course Race, With A Blindfold On.If you're gonna go, go all out, like the old commercial says. So I went. All out, and every direction, all at once. Am I rambling? I suspect so. Pain meds do that. No, shockingly, not pain meds for shingles. Got you! Thought I had them <i>again</i>, didn't you? That'd have been a safe bet, but no. I went even <i>further</i> out this time.<br />
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The last post I wrote was morose, at the very best, verging on depressive in reality. I was in a bad spot when I wrote it. Oddly enough, I wrote that on the 23rd, right before Christmas. which was three days before I got the <i>real</i> devastating news. I sent Christmas cards this year, something I failed to do last year. The day after Christmas, I got a phone call from a woman named Jennifer. She's the daughter in-law to Sonny, the handyman from Castalia whom I worked with for fourteen years. Jennifer explained that Sonny had died very unexpectedly in September. The entire family had tried desperately to find a way to contact me. They had pictures of Sonny and me, of him and my sister, of all three of us together They knew my first name, because Sonny had talked about me all the time. But he'd never told them my <i>last</i> name. They had no phone numbers. No way to find me, or the other girls from the farm. They were tormented by this inability to reach us. By the fact that they had to bury their husband, their father, and loved one, without people that <i>he</i> loved even knowing that he'd died. During the obviously shocking and upsetting phone call, Sonny's daughter in-law asked if I would be willing to speak to his widow. I said yes, of course. She cried, I cried, both of us sundered by the loss of a man we loved, even though the two of us have never met each other. She told me how much Sonny loved me, and I told her how much I loved him, then the two of us announced that we both loved each other. Back on the line with Jennifer, she kept apologizing for having to tell me the news at Christmas, and I kept thanking her for telling me at all. We're going to get together sometime in the near future. They would like to meet my sister and I, whom Sonny talked about so often. And they have a few things he wanted me to have, apparently. I want to meet them too. We might have managed to get together this week, but fate decided to play meddlesome games with me.<br />
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It started with what felt like a leg cramp. I woke up Sunday the 28th with what I thought was a leg cramp in my right calf. Being on vacation as I am, and being lazy, I couldn't think of any specific incident in which I might have strained the muscle. But there's always the chance of middle-of-the-night charley horses, which could leave morning-after pain. So Sunday, I did gentle stretches, to no avail. Monday morning it was a little worse. I figured I'd live dangerously and took one of two leftover Flexeril from my last rhomboid trouble. It *seemed* to help, though the discomfort didn't entirely leave. I continued stretches and messaging it. I didn't sleep great Monday night, as I kept trying to alleviate the cramping sensation by stretching my leg out, which only caused more discomfort. Tuesday saw things much the same as Monday. I took the remaining Flexeril, and polled Facebook for suggestions. (might have polled Facebook on Monday, can't remember, too lazy to check) Since my new insurance (which might actually pay something) didn't start until the new year, my sister and I decided I wouldn't seek any medical advice until it had kicked in. That was before I spent Tuesday night wallowing and got up Weds morning with pain in the calf that had inched its way into near-constant. Walking was painful. I was still stressed from the Sonny news, about to go on my period, and miserable for the second week of vacation (the first having been spent with shingles, round three for the year) so I regressed into a blubbery mess of frustrated tears. After discussion with my Mom, we went to First Med. Who sent me to Martha Jefferson for an ultrasound 'just to cover bases' and instead of 'covering bases' the ultrasound tech found a blood clot in my calf. At 35, no traveling, no smoking, no 'at risk' me had a deep vein thrombosis.<br />
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Now, the good parts (so far, anyway) are 1. I went to the docs and we found it early. 2. It's a 'small clot' in a 'small vein'. 3. Numbers 1 & 2 *theoretically* reduce my chances of suffering complications from my DVT. 4. I totally got to see the insides of my legs on the ultrasound. It sucks that I needed to have it, but hey, it was something new I'd never experienced before and it was <i>awesome</i>.<br />
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So the girl who has a tendency to break anvils, and fall off roofs, and down stairs, and self-damage in all sorts of random, unexpected manners, is now on the blood thinner Eliquis along with pain meds (just until the blood thinners start to do their magic, thus reducing the pain) and will have to undergo further blood work and testing so that we can hopefully pinpoint why I developed a clot, with the goal being, of course, to avoid developing any other clots in the future. I'm hoping that it can be linked to the Minastrin birth control. While that would be sad because it works great for me with no side effects (besides the clot, obviously) it would be a tidy, not scary explanation that can be easily remedied by not taking it again. But we'll see how the testing goes.<br />
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The craziest thing about this week, is that I feel like I've turned a corner somehow. I don't mean in a 'omg, I almost died, I feel alive!' way because while the DVT is serious, and could get more serious suddenly and without warning, I'm not that dramatic about it. I mean I've turned the corner in a more abstract manner. It's hard to describe. But I've written pages on the Farm Memoir project. I'm getting words out, and it's not like pulling teeth to do it. I feel like I'm back <i>in</i> life, and not just watching it go by. Which is a pretty damn good feeling.<br />
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I'll sign off now, see if I can get a little writing done before crashing for the night. But I'll leave you with a picture of Sonny and me. It was taken one of the the last times we were together.<br />
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<a href="" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a><a href="" style="background-color: transparent; background-image: url(data:image/png; border: none; cursor: pointer; display: none; height: 20px; opacity: 0.85; position: absolute; width: 40px; z-index: 8675309;"></a>Artemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114658220599872354.post-27236953677745196482014-12-23T22:53:00.000-05:002014-12-23T22:53:22.809-05:00On Things That Are Uncomfortable So, it's been a struggle recently. A struggle pretty much in every way, even though I'm very aware of how 'not really that bad' things are. Funny how knowing that things could be so much worse than they actually are, doesn't do anything to make you feel better about the things that also aren't great at the moment.<br />
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Writing has been hard. It's not a matter of not having any ideas, but rather, not being able to settle on any of them. I'm like a deranged trout trying to swim upstream in every directing except right through the rapids where I need to go in order to get anywhere. Catskin is officially 'dead' for the time being. Yes, it's with an agent, and a small publishing house. But they obviously aren't *incredibly excited* over it, or they're so busy that even if they love it, they don't have the time to address new clients at the moment. That's fine, and also totally understandable. Maybe something will come of it, maybe it won't. At this point, though, I can't afford to keep dicking around with it (and I'd be wrong to) and since I'm not making anymore changes without professional guidance, I'm shelving it.<br />
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My current projects run the gamut of fantasy, to contemporary, to contemporary/paranormal/ghost to something dangerously futuristic/post apocalyptic. The problem is that in an industry that's currently undergoing a glut of self-publishing and independent publishing (good things, and cheers to those who can utilize them) I have no sense of direction, so I'm finding it exceedingly difficult to actually finish anything new. I'm perpetually second guessing myself and which project is more worth the time and might stand more of a chance at being successful. The recent largely publicized celebrity book deals haven't helped, just because on a purely emotional level, they're rather depressing to hear about. Especially the ones that don't bring anything new to the ring, or that involve 'authors' who never intended to actually write books, and were just writing 'for the fun of it'. I hold no grudges against them, but it's agonizing to have shaped my entire life around the goal of becoming a published author, and then see opportunities handed to people who DON'T WANT to be professional writers, but whom the publishing houses see as an 'easy moneymaker' for at least one or two books. Those not-really-writers will have the time of their lives, and if nothing else comes of it, fine. But meanwhile there are thousands of people like me struggling daily to attain that dream who have, essentially, maybe lost out on a chance to make it because a huge amount of money was tossed at someone else. Never mind the established very hard working authors who are literally just scraping by, and then are being brushed aside by these flash-in-the-pan deals.<br />
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Which brings me to my current emotional state. It's not an entirely happy one. While Mom is doing super well (YAY, omg, so grateful to the powers that be, still praying, but I'm so grateful) there have been a lot of other stressors. Mostly, the fact that I'm still not over the farm. I know, I drone on about it so. But it's the truth. It's a fight, trying to find the sort of happiness I had at the farm, when I'm no longer at the farm, no longer anywhere near it. I've got the scraps of two separate memoirs in regard to it, but they've been harder to write than I could ever have imagined. One of them focuses entirely on Di. I thought that I had at least acclimated to the fact that she's gone, but the more I work to write her story, the more I realize I'm not adjusted at all. Dwelling on her can send me into the closest thing I've ever felt to depression, or what I imagine depression is like. It takes a toll on me. So, of course, I only work for the briefest times on it, then stop. Which, really, only makes things worse, in some ways, because then I'm back to feeling as though I haven't gotten anything meaningful done on any manuscript. It's a vicious circle, but I'm still motoring around it determinedly.<br />
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Here's the thing about me, and things that are uncomfortable: I'm really good at dealing with them, if I know there's going to be an end to it. But when I can't see an end, I feel like I'm lying to myself, weaving untruths about how things are going to turn out just so I'll make it through. I've always been one who would rather face the harshest truth, than the kindest lie, so this floating around making up shit about how someday I'm going to be a real, published, writes all the time writer just sucks the life out of me. I don't want a handout, I just want a freaking chance. And now, I'm not even sure how to go about pursuing that chance, since at least the two memoirs are entirely different balls of wax than the YA that I usually write. Which, I don't even know if I should be spending time on those manuscripts. They are books that I want to write, and at least the one about the farm will have the local interest angle, along with my twin sister's photographs. Commercially, that one is the strongest simply because their aren't many memoirs written by one identical twin, photographed by the second twin, and revolving around a local historical estate. But what do I know? Sometimes, I feel like I'm just grasping at ideas, turning it into a spaghetti toss to see what sticks to the wall. I don't even know anymore.<br />
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Now that I've sufficiently blathered out my woes for the time being, I'll leave it open for opinions (I think you can leave comments, though I'd tried to turn them off at one point) and tell me what you think. And know that I AM grateful for all the good things in my life, the fact that *so far* everyone is healthy (well, besides me, hello, shingles for the THIRD time in one year, but I'll live) and all my Christmas shopping is done. Tomorrow is Christmas with my sister, niece and brother in-law. Then Mom, Dad and I will have our Christmas on Christmas day, and go up to my aunt's for the family hoopla. It'll be a fun time for sure.Artemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114658220599872354.post-90416713329555401442014-12-03T21:24:00.000-05:002014-12-03T21:24:05.803-05:00The Craziness That Is MeIt's been more than a month since I posted, which is too long even by the standards of my craziness, so here I am jotting a short post down just for the sake of jotting one down. You know, in case some agent randomly checks me out, there will be proof that I'm at least <i>trying</i> to maintain a blog. I think part of my trouble is the fact that right now, it's hard to see why I need to have one. And maybe I <i>don't</i> need to have one, maybe I just feel like I'm <i>supposed</i> to have one because it's a form of social media. Anyway, here's my rambling attempt to blend in with the rest of the socially conscientious people. As much as someone like me can ever 'blend in' with anyone who falls into the normal range of the normal spectrum.<br />
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Let's see, what stories do I have with which to entertain you? Should I recount the accidental 911 butt-dial? That ended up being exceptionally exciting, since the officer who responded went the extra mile and very seriously informed me that I'd have to ride to the county jail with him and explain everything to his Captain. I, of course, totally bought it. Then there's the second 911 butt-dial, which wasn't nearly as exciting because it was a different county, and they didn't have to send an officer out. I fell out of bed once, and partway down the stairs. No, the highlight of things has to be when one of our clients asked me if I'd ever been told that I look like Lucille Ball. That's a new one, but I take it as a huge compliment. And if I can be even a quarter as funny as Lucy, I'm gold. He now calls me Lucy, rather than by my given name, which is fine by me.<br />
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There have also been two different water leaks (Do not ever buy a house with copper pipes. Ever.) and a health scare with sweet Mutton Chop (It's a fungus, not cancer, but treatment will be long, which, I don't care as long as she's okay) Here she is, snoozing on my legs. The stitches are from where the doc opened the lump on her nose in order to get material for a biopsy. They'll come out on the 8th when she goes back for blood work.<br />
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I got a new iPhone 6, which is pretty much made of awesome, and which would also be totally unaffordable if not for that AT&T Next plan. My insurance also threw me out the window (big surprise) and I then learned that I'd been getting shafted when I tried to see if I qualified for any subsidies, and the moment I had a broker, everyone backpedaled, and amazingly, I now have a policy that I can actually afford without cutting out things like groceries. Of course, I've got to find $252 to pay Anthem pretty much just so they can cancel me.<br />
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I'm still working on my Appalachian YA, plus playing around with a new fantasy YA. I've also begun outlining and strategizing a nonfiction memoir sort of book about the farm where I worked for thirteen years and about what it's like to be an identical twin, and work with your twin. What I think will add a special facet to it, is the fact that while I'm writing it, my identical twin sister - who is a gifted photographer - will provide photographs documenting the historical building of the estate as well as many of the animals. The resulting book, I hope, will be an interesting combination of art photography, involving architecture, history, humor and animals. It's an entirely new venture for me, but I'm excited about it, and I think that there will be a certain amount of ready marketability to it.<br />
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Here are a few of my sister's photographs. Everything from posed to offhand. Vicario is in his thirties in this picture. Thirty-three, I think, but I'm not positive.<br />
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Now off I go to write a little.Artemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114658220599872354.post-36310095238930268632014-10-06T11:24:00.001-04:002014-10-06T11:24:33.123-04:00Short Post, Busy LifeI'm writing a short post literally just so I can say that I wrote a short post, and posted, well, <i>something</i>.<br />
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Life has been crazy, recently, and I know they say that it just gets crazier the older you get, but for the sake of my sanity, I hope it doesn't get too much crazier. Leastways crazier in a not good way. Crazier in an awesome way would be just fine. And even though some of the crazy stuff that's been going on has been not good, it's been way less not-good than it could have been. Things can always get worse, so for that, I'm super grateful that the not good stuff has actually been as super awesome as not great stuff like it can be. And yes, I know, I'm not really making a lot of sense but I'm very superstitious (hey, my Great Nona collected fingernail clippings and hair trimmings so the gypsies wouldn't get them and put spells on the kids) and some things I just can't hardly talk about, either aloud or in writing, for fear of jinxing the good, or invoking the bad. Suffice to say, a family member has been dealing with something many women find themselves dealing with, but *so far* the treatment has gone very well, and the prognosis is awesome. *so far* So, pray or cross your fingers, or however you send good juju, for me and mine that this continues to go well!<br />
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In brighter, much more easily talked about news, I'm considering shelving Catskin (formerly titled Gone Missing Girl). Not forever, but for now. I've been thinking about it A LOT recently, while all of these not great things have been going on, and it's gotten to that place where each rejection is affecting me more than it should. The business is subjective. Rejections aren't something I should take personally. But I'm starting to be injured by them where Catskin is concerned. Mostly, I think this is related to being in a very stressful situation emotionally that has nothing at all to do with writing. But some of it relates directly to Catskin. Primarily, the fact that both I and my closest critique partner agree that the ms is at a point where needlessly fiddling with it will be a major screw-up in the making. Am I opening to revisions on Catskin? TOTALLY. But I need guidance from inside the publishing machine before making changes. Otherwise, I'll just be blundering along changing shit for the sake of changing it, with no direction or vision of what the end result should be. Definitely something I don't want to do. So until I get feedback/revision suggestions from an agent, or editor, it's going to stay as it is.<br />
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That said, I do have the ms with both an agent (one whom I love!) and an editor (!!!) Which is not to say that anyone has requested the ms, these were just resubs, and while they make me hopeful and excited, I'm trying to brace for rejection. I think I've got the fortitude for two last blows before backing away from Catskin for a while and retreating to the writing den to work on the next submission-worthy project (code name Silver Cage) which I hope I can get written over the winter.<br />
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I also intend to maybe go back and dally with Evernow, which while I have no immediate plan to try and peddle (dystopia is still dead, after all) I still love and find refuge in.<br />
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Also, I've managed to collect half a bucket of pohickery nuts, which I plan on cracking (they're very tricky, and I've never tried it) and which always puts me in the mood to play with the few period pieces I've started, because they involved Appalachia and, well, there's just no place like home :)<br />
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<br />Artemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114658220599872354.post-41650932434660820992014-08-23T16:49:00.000-04:002014-08-23T16:50:24.767-04:00A Jaunt On The Hunt For Tree Bones, and Thoughts on SuicideWe've got my niece at the house today, which means that I get to take her adventuring with me in the woods. She and I do this a lot. It's kind of our 'thing' when she's here. Today, we went to visit the Great Swamp (which isn't actually there, all of a sudden, and we're not sure why, though you can see where the water once stood, and it's still very wet, so maybe it'll come back) and then on to where I'd found a pig skull earlier this year. It was still fleshy and in need of the attention of scavenger beetles, so I'd left it, hoping to return later and get it. Because, well, I don't have a pig skull and bones are so awesome. I know, I'm weird.<br />
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Anyway, off the two of us went, discussing what we were looking for, and what we might find. There is something glorious about jaunting with small kids. Everything is new to them, and it reminds you that even if you're looking at something you've known about and understood for decades, it's still just as amazing and awesome now as it was when you first discovered it. You've just slowly forgotten how to see the amazingness and awesomeness. I virtually never go out in the woods that I don't think of the literal years my twin sister and I have spent out in them running feral. I also never go out in them that I don't think of Eddie Coles.<br />
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I didn't know Eddie all that well, but I sure was fond of him. Tall and lean, with a shock of snow white hair. He was in his forties, I guess, and I was in my early twenties. A coworker at the farm had grown up knowing him, and in the horse world, everyone knows everybody in the manner of the Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon. Anyway. Eddie had an easy way about him, a good laugh. Horses loved him, and he had that elusive touch when it came to training and working with them.<br />
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Then, one day Eddie went missing. When we got to work, my friend who'd grown up knowing him arrived bleary eyed and exhausted. She'd been part of the search crew who'd been looking for him since the prior afternoon. That was how I found out he was missing. The area where the farm is located is a network of sprawling ancient estates, and old houses, but it's a close community. Most people have lived there for years, if not generations. They'd all been looking for Eddie since the prior afternoon. We went to work as usual, but opened one of the barns which wasn't in use, so that members of the search party could stall their horses and rest them. The farm was just two farms down from Eddie's place, so we saw a lot of those searching for him.<br />
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Eventually, they found Eddie up on the ridge, sitting against a fallen log, facing the east to watch the sunrise. His wrists had been cut, deeply and without hesitation. He was dead.<br />
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What I didn't know about Eddie, was that behind the easiness, the smiles and laughter and gentle hand with the horses, he suffered from depression. And he'd been fighting it for years. I have been depressed, but I've never suffered from depression. Not even close. Nor have I felt the side effects of medicine that's supposed to help the depression, but often causes all sorts of other problems. Back then, I knew even less than I know now. At that time, all I understood, was that for reasons I didn't understand, Eddie had gotten tired of dealing with the depression, the drugs, the therapy, the everything, and he'd decided that he'd rather be dead, than keep dealing with it. I cried because Eddie was gone, but I remember distinctly thinking 'But that must have been nice, sitting there watching the sunrise, and looking out over the land you love so much. I wouldn't mind going out like that.'<br />
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Of course, I didn't mean it would be nice to cut your wrists and kill yourself. But even then I didn't blame Eddie, or get mad at him for doing what he did. He'd done something that I couldn't (and, for the most part, still can't) imagine doing. But the way I saw it, he chose his own path, and I didn't have any right to an opinion about it.<br />
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Now, I'm older, I understand more about depression, and the fact that it's not as simple as making a choice. But since then, my Mother's cousin has committed suicide, and I've had other experiences with it. In my Mother's cousin's case, she was diagnosed with ALS (love the ice bucket challenge stuff!) and the disease was progressing very quickly. She chose suicide over succumbing to the disease. I get that. I would too, I think. I simply would rather die the way I choose to, than in a hospital bed like that. Many people choose to live with ALS. Maybe they're stronger than me. But I know I don't want to go out like that.<br />
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Since Robin Williams' shocking death (and I think it was shocking mostly because even though many people, me included, knew that he had his demons, we just never pictured Robin deciding to not fight them) there has been a huge avalanche of opinions on suicide. Some folks have called it the 'cowards way to go' some folks have said he didn't even understand what he was doing, because the depression had taken over. I think neither one was probably the case. Robin wasn't a coward. If he was, he'd have never flung himself before the American public into showbiz the way he did. And I don't think the depression had robbed him of his understanding of things. He was much too strong for that. I think that the only thing we can know for sure about Robin, and the choice he made, is that we'll never know quite what it was like to be Robin and have that choice to make. Just like I'll never know exactly what it was like to be Eddie, and have the choice he had to make.<br />
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Suicide is a funny unpredictable thing. You might stop on the street and tell a total stranger how nice they look, and your remark might be the one thing that makes her decide not to take too many sleeping pills that night when she gets home. You might smile at someone in the park, or make them laugh when you lose your shoe playing in the puddles with your niece, and that afternoon when he's sitting there looking at the handgun on the table in front of him, he hear your laughter and decide to put it back in the cabinet. And then maybe it's someone you know. Someone you love. Someone you've told of your love many times. Someone you've held and stood by. And it still isn't enough to keep them from deciding not to go on. Suicide is a twisted thing.<br />
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For me, I will always love Robin. I'll love Eddie and anyone else who chooses to do something I wouldn't choose. I will love them while I have them, do everything I can to keep them as long as I can, for as long there is something I can do to help them stay. But when, if, they suddenly aren't there, I will not blame them, I will not rage at them, nor will I blame myself, or rage at myself because I did not somehow stop them from leaving. I will just look back and know that I loved them, that they knew that I loved them, and that both of us did all that we could.<br />
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So, now I'm back to picking up pig bones (or not, because we never found the pig skull) and tree bones (my niece's knew term for sticks and logs) and turning over rocks, catching praying mantises, playing in puddles and dragging home acorns, nuts, stones, moss, and a myriad of bones. Eddie would have loved this kid. I like to think Robin would have too. I honor them by teaching her to love the outdoors, the sunrise, to laugh, even at the things that hurt, and to never lose her own little spark of madness.Artemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8114658220599872354.post-72098461138784110122014-08-04T11:40:00.004-04:002014-08-04T11:40:59.661-04:00Thoughts, Changes, Progression.I've been thinking a lot about my blog lately. Mostly, about my lack of a blog. When I first began writing a blog, I posted regularly. Sometimes it waxed and waned, but invariably a post went up at some point. That's changed in the last year. A heck of a lot has changed in the last year.<br />
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Let's look at a little listy thing here:<br />
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Mrs. H died<br />
Castalia was sold<br />
I got a new job<br />
My horse died<br />
One of my cats died<br />
I got Shingles<br />
I got a bunch of rejections<br />
My Mom got diagnosed with breast cancer<br />
I got Shingles again<br />
One of my sister's horses died<br />
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And not to leave things totally negative and dramatic-weepy:<br />
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I met my AWESOME new coworker, 'sister wife' and partner in crime, Valerie<br />
I met Valerie's AWESOME husband, my new 'pseudo-hubby' and all around good guy, Cody<br />
I got over Shingles<br />
I got some AMAZING feedback along with the rejections<br />
MY CRITIQUE PARTNER CHRISTI GOT PUBLISHED<br />
My Mom is undergoing chemo/treatment and *so far* things are looking GREAT and her cancer is fleeing at top speed<br />
I've written so much, and learned so much more, and I'm still writing and learning<br />
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So, yeah, things have changed. Some for good, some for bad, but mostly just for different. And different isn't always easy. So my blogging has fallen by the wayside. Triaged nearly into oblivion because everything somehow became more important than jotting down posts for the blog. I've been thinking about it, about how it barely exists, and that maybe I should just put it down altogether. Then I was checking other blogs in my feed (it's easier to keep up with reading others' blogs, than it is to write on mine) and happened across Kristin Cashore's blog.<br />
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I utterly UTTERLY adore Kristin. She is an old soul, a deep thinker, someone who sees so much more than most people and perceives much more as well. I love her views, and how she shares her experiences. In short, she is someone I would love to know better. And some day, maybe I'll get the chance to. Way back, at the beginning, her blog was open to comments, but she came to a point at the beginning of 2010 when she decided to close her blog to comments. I miss the opportunity for interacting with someone I greatly admire, yet I understand the simplification of things for Kristin.<br />
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By closing her blog to comments, she made her blog more of an outlet for herself, and less of a podium behind which she had to stand, if that makes sense. Now, she's able to present ideas, share adventures, provoke thoughts on subjects that are important to her, but she's able to do so in the form of a written art installation. We experience her posts, but must digest them ourselves. She gives them to us, sets them free into the world and then is, herself, free of them, and is safe from hateful or argumentative comments. This is an important thing, in a world where there are no longer defined lines between oneself, and the belief that everyone has a right to have an opinion about the things that makes oneself their own. Sometimes artists (writers are also artists) need to be able to share pieces of themselves without being expected to somehow justify and explain those pieces of their shared self.<br />
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Now, I am no Kristin Cashore, and I don't have anywhere near the following Kristin does, but I find myself attracted to her policy of blog posting with closed comments. I've decided that I'm going to give it a try, simply to alleviate some of the stress that comes with the feeling that I must post something 'interesting' in order to post anything at all. I've got an active Facebook page, and I post all of my blogger stuff there as well, so there's still an option for anyone who wants to comment, to do so. Mostly, this is for me, to see if I'll find it easier to post on a more regular basis, if I know I'm able to just post tiny, interesting tidbits, etc. rather than long engaging posts.<br />
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For any of you who actually read my posts, I thank you for your continued support, and I promise I'll still be trolling everyone else's blogs! Take care, everyone!<br />
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<br />Artemis Greyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10849091563671031929noreply@blogger.com