[sticky entry] Sticky: introductory notes

Jul. 20th, 2010 07:06 pm
raven: [hello my name is] and a silhouette image of a raven (Default)
I was [livejournal.com profile] loneraven on LiveJournal, and I have just (April 2017) stopped crossposting there.

Here are some things that I don't exactly assume you know about me, but might be useful/interesting; and here are my stories at the Archive of Our Own. I am entirely okay with people podficcing, translating, continuing, or otherwise-transforming my stories, but I'd love to see the end result if that's what you're doing, and please credit me as an original author.

Really, I'm pretty easy-going.
raven: [hello my name is] and a silhouette image of a raven (Default)
I’ve been feeling some kind of a way about this story! I’m reluctant to say I Am Writing Again, because this felt like a huge struggle and would’ve been impossible without the week on Shetland. But here it is, and I’m glad I’ve written it.

Also, if you’re not familiar, I really think you could read this one as an original m/m short story, no canon required. The tiny bit of backstory goes like thisgoes like this )

No spoilers for the show here.

slung from the mast, a lantern (6075 words) by raven
Fandom: Shetland (TV)
Relationships: Duncan Hunter/Jimmy Perez, Alison McIntosh & Jimmy Perez
Characters: Jimmy Perez, Duncan Hunter, Sandy Wilson, Alison McIntosh, Cassie Perez (Shetland)
Additional Tags: Slow Burn, why is "co-parents to lovers" not a canonical tag

Every few minutes Jimmy’s feet leave the ground, and it’s only Duncan’s weight that keeps him down. It’s terrifying, every time it happens. All of this, suddenly, is terrifying.

(Or––Jimmy grieves, Duncan loves him, things work out okay in the end)

raven: Trinity Santos from The Pitt, caught in a moody moment (the pitt - santos)
I wrote a fic for The Pitt! Not the one I had originally been meaning to write, which I do still plan to. This one was supposed to be one I knocked out over the weekend, but it got quite a bit longer. Here it is.

a woman can't survive by her own breath alone (7491 words) by raven
Fandom: The Pitt (TV)
Relationships: Melissa "Mel" King/Trinity Santos, Trinity Santos & Dennis Whitaker, Michael "Robby" Robinavitch & Trinity Santos
Characters: Melissa "Mel" King, Trinity Santos, Dennis Whitaker, Michael "Robby" Robinavitch
Additional Tags: Trinity Santos and Dennis Whitaker are Roommates, Trinity Santos is Bad at Feelings, Canon Lesbian Character, references to past sexual abuse
:

“I don’t need a fucking script, Huckleberry!” Trinity says, furious. “I can ask a girl out, jesus.”

“I mean, that’s weird,” Whitaker says. “Because you haven’t. Like, that’s what this entire conversation is about.”

raven: Elizabeth Weir from SGA, sitting with a laptop (atlantis - elizabeth)
So mostly these days I am obsessed with The Pitt! I love the show so much, for itself, and because it's such a natural successor to MASH and other shows I have loved. I've said on Bluesky that it's the only show I've ever come across that really understands how teaching and growth and mentoring happen in a professional environment - fandom is full of academia stories, and indeed academics, and school and high school stories, but not so much the grown-up, affirming, important work of teaching someone to do your job because you, they and the job all matter. (What do I teach people to do! Not save lives. But it matters. I had a lovely, lovely email from one of my team before she went off on maternity leave that said wonderful things about my teaching, about what she'd learned from me, how her practice had changed as a result of me, at which point I had to go and lie down and cry for a while. When Robby says with emphasis, "This is a teaching hospital", it makes me think of it.

(Brief outline: Robby, otherwise Dr Michael Robinavitch, is a warm, scathing, compassionate soul who runs an emergency department in Pittsburgh, it's an ensemble cast of interns, resident doctors, patients, nurses and others and Robby is the keystone of it all in a tired, mentally ill kind of a way. Each episode of the show covers an hour, so the entire season covers a single shift. It's very good. Also Robby is played by Noah Wyle - and, as the show's executive producers lost a litigation against the IP-holders for ER, he is emphatically not John Carter. I love this. Robby feels, and is, beautifully imagined: a working-class Jewish man, who wears a magen David necklace, all because Carter was a WASP with a trust fund.)

I also love Trinity Santos, a brilliant lovely Filipina asshole of a lesbian, and Jack Abbot, who is Robby's friend and also mirror image - being to the night shift what Robby is the day - and also fascinating for himself. He's a former MASH combat medic which is what decided me for sure that the show deliberately draws on its predecessor. The Pitt isn't a sitcom, but it has the warmth MASH had; and Abbot, who is a lower-leg amputee, embodies some of its ambivalence. (And! In s2 they have someone deliver Henry Blake's "young men die" speech, with the same blocking as the original. I love it.)

Anyway I love this show. It is so rich and funny and so fucking human, all the damn time. Robby's PTSD is from covid, and his nightmares are of full PPE - and I was like, okay, do I want to watch this. Robby has PTSD from treating covid patients but my dad died from treating covid patients. But I did want to watch it, because it takes what it does seriously. I want to write a fic, about Robby and s2 spoiler ), and I also want it to be a daemon AU, because I am insane. I haven't written anything good in a year and like I said I am insane. Maybe I should just ask people to give me fic prompts.
raven: [hello my name is] and a silhouette image of a raven (Default)
There's a feeling, I hope, a unidentifiable but deeply uncomfortable burn, felt by white women, who don't know, but should know, how many private brown group chats are typing.

And as I don't want to take on a cringe middle-class racist white woman (at this point there's about five of them that I have at various times decided not to take on, all terribly right-on, right-thinking, probably-vegan feminist pro-Palestine queer white women), that is all I have to say about that.
raven: [hello my name is] and a silhouette image of a raven (Default)
the inevitable daemon AU, omgggg.

your curious body sitting on the shore (5481 words) by raven
Fandom: Heated Rivalry (TV)
Relationships: Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov
Characters: Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander, Rose Landry
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Daemons

It’s not just that Ilya’s daemon is impressive. Like… a wolf. A fucking wolf. Yeah, Shane is impressed by that. It's that hockey players shouldn’t have daemons at all.

raven: [hello my name is] and a silhouette image of a raven (Default)
A very little story, about not very much.

paper lanterns, one after another (4094 words) by raven
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Heated Rivalry (TV)
Relationships: Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov
Characters: Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Yuna Hollander
Additional Tags: Obon, Japanese Culture

It occurs to Ilya that he doesn't belong here. But then, this is a necessary migration.

raven: [hello my name is] and a silhouette image of a raven (Default)
Here's a bit of admin I didn't manage to do while I was away. For yuletide this year, I got the following story from [profile] ryfkah:

More A Comment Than A Question (2285 words) by ryfkah
Fandom: The Day Before the Revolution - Ursula K. Le Guin, The Dispossessed - Ursula K. Le Guin
Characters: Laia Asieo Odo, Sadik (The Dispossessed)

Odo!

“I’m Laia.” If the voice wanted her father, she thought, crossly, it could go and get him; why was it bothering her?

Oh. The voice sounded startled. You’re too small. I got it wrong. Then, hopefully: Do you have any thoughts yet about anarchism and the necessity of constant revolution?



I was caught right in the maelstrom of the day 1 de-anonning - as in, had opened the tab with the author's name on it and then went back to the laptop every few minutes for an hour to look at the recipe in the next tab - and learned later that I had been an unwitting part of a greater scheme of deception! But honestly I was thrilled at the news Becca was writing me regardless, she is the best and this story is wonderful: does such a good job at catching on to the themes of the original, and does this via a funny little time travel scenario that fits brilliantly into the original. I highly recommend it.

I wrote the following stories:

Flowering (4850 words) by raven
Fandom: The Chronicles of Chrestomanci - Diana Wynne Jones
Relationships: Cat Chant & Christopher Chant
Characters: Cat Chant, Christopher Chant, Millie Chant
Additional Tags: Coming of Age, Queer Themes
Summary:

“Keep the home fires burning, Cat, will you,” Chrestomanci says lazily, and Millie blows Cat a kiss before the portal shuts.


My assigned story, and a couple of people can attest how much I hated it, hated writing it, and how much I wanted to burn it to the ground. I'm in a phase right now where writing fiction is just beyond my ken. It's too hard and it makes my soul ache. But I had been on a podcast, Eight Days of Diana Wynne Jones, on an episode about The Lives of Christopher Chant, so I thought I was feeling Chrestomanci sufficiently much to write it. I was not and I could not. But then I missed the deadline for no-fault default, and felt masochistic enough to continue somehow. I eventually resolved to orphan the story once yuletide was over - I have not done this. Quite a lot of people liked it and I'm grateful to them for saying so! But I learned my lesson here about giving up when I'm ahead.

promises made to be broken, made to last (1988 words) by raven
Fandom: Shetland (TV)
Relationships: Ruth Calder/Alison McIntosh
Characters: Ruth Calder, Alison McIntosh
Additional Tags: New Year's Eve, Romance, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft
Summary:

Ruth's not much of a witch, not really. Kneeling beside a corpse on the year’s turn is something any woman can do.


Here's one that was different! I've seen some of this show, I've been to the islands, but hadn't been particularly inspired to write for it. But then [personal profile] walkthegale was having a bad time just before Christmas, and I'd been promising her something for nearly a year, and, and. On the morning of 24 December I texted her lovely wife with a neverending slew of canon questions and scribbled and scribbled. I got this written finally an hour before the deadline and it was all worth it because C loved her gift and guessed it was me even before the de-anon. I was really pleased this whole thing came off.

ashes, ashes (2099 words) by raven
Fandom: The Incandescent - Emily Tesh
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Sapphire “Saffy” Walden/Laura Kenning
Characters: Sapphire “Saffy” Walden, Laura Kenning
Additional Tags: Aftermath, Recovery, Yuletide Treat
Summary:

It was time to go, and Laura said, “Saffy, you could come with me”—and Saffy said maybe, and it meant something but neither of them knew yet what.


I don't know that I have much to say about this one! I wrote it a few months ago, before the creative void, so it was nice to have a story in the archive that I definitely liked that wasn't written in a mad hurry. The recipient didn't show up, but we can't have everything.
raven: black and white street sign: "Hobbs Lane" (quatermass - hobbs end)
I’ve been rewatching Quatermass and the Pit for the last week, which is apparently something I do every few years and then never write anything about. It’s a black and white BBC serial from 1958, to our eyes science fiction horror though a massive leap beyond genre in its own time, and I love it very much. I honestly think it’s perfect. There isn’t anything I’d change except put more women in it and even so at least it does have one brave 1950s lady scientist academic trying her best. Could be worse if not by much.

So the Quatermass in the title is a person – named by writer Nigel Kneale with what he called the weirdest name in the phonebook; he’s Professor Bernard Quatermass, a restrained, charming British academic in charge of something called the British Experimental Rocket Group. By the time we meet him in the Pit, there aren’t so many rockets; Quatermass the pacifist is in the middle of being told the military are taking over his research; that his planned moonbase is going to be used as a place to build up armament. No one mentions Sputnik or the USSR, but no one has to. This was absolutely on-the-minute current when it was made. Quatermass is furiously angry and kind of heartbroken; then he discovers an old friend of his has a very similar problem, and decides to be a dick to his new employer while he solves it.

There really aren’t a lot of rockets in this story! Matthew Roney, Quatermass’s old friend, is a paleontologist, who has discovered an ancient site of prehistoric hominids in… Knightsbridge. (There’s been construction, ok.) But deep down in the pit there’s also an unexploded bomb (!) left over from 1944, so the military have taken over. Quatermass plays silly buggers with the army folk until they leave Roney alone, and then hangs around to see what happens next. That’s the set-up. And I love it, largely because Quatermass is incredibly charismatic (he was played by five different actors, but this one is my favourite) and also just… you can see here how the series was an influence on every SF, horror or fantasy thing to ever be on television. It’s so fucking interesting and intelligent.

But then. Everything that happens next is creepy in the best way. creep creep creep - rather than cut tag the most horrifying bit of the serial, I have simply not included it so this is cut for length not horrors )

I wanted to finish off this extremely long post about a seventy-year-old piece of television by posting a snippet of it, but I actually couldn’t find anything. Perhaps even better: this was the noise the Martians made inside people’s heads, courtesy of the Radiophonic Workshop. And Hob’s Lane, where the Pit was dug, is in my icon.
raven: [hello my name is] and a silhouette image of a raven (Default)
A lot going on, etc, etc. My mother's first Diwali party in the new house went marvellously well. My in-laws were here for it; lots of family friends; plus three of my friends, brown and married-into-brown. Food, patake, tikka and diya, a little bit of aarti and sweets. I got a Diwali cake from Lola's because I was so shocked and delighted that you can get commercially made Diwali cakes now, and it turned to be delicious; a kind of mango coconut confection with rose petals and pista barfi stuck to the top. So I got dressed up, everyone came, and it's so utterly fucking lovely to see A. and L. casually happy and comfortable as part of a brown family. I never get tired of it. My dad not being here made us realise that no one at the party knew how to tie a kalawa. It's supposed to be a priestly skill, and my dad came from a very traditional Brahmin family. (This was the first time I'd realised this, since his death: because I'm a Brahmin Hindu by solely patrilineal descent, I was the only one in the room. Me. The priestly skills of the Bronze Age pandits. Me.) The thing is, if my dad tied a kalawa, it never, ever, ever came off - he was a surgeon tying surgeon's knots, so the thread just stays with you until it drops off. The threads got tied anyway, without him and even though I know nothing. We're gonna have to abolish the caste system, it turns out.

Diwali isn't till tomorrow, actually! But I'm so pleased about it all.

I'm having a bit of an existential time, otherwise. Writing has been bad, it's making me feel genuinely sick and sad, and I've been worrying a lot about my Wednesdays. If I don't write on them, and I don't work on them, what do I do? Related: cluster is why I don't work in the mornings, but if cluster isn't hitting me every day, then what am I doing with my time? And that, inexorably, has been turning into - well, what am I doing with my life? I'm having trouble with that. My therapist, who is helpful sometimes, gave me advice, and then started laughing at herself for just... giving me advice, against all tenets of the therapeutic relationship. It was good advice, I think. It was - do nothing. Stop trying to get a grip on your life. Fill each Wednesday with whatever you feel like doing that day.

I'm trying it. We'll see what happens. So far it seems to have been reading a lot of children's literature, Joan Aiken, CS Lewis, Judy Blume - and I was actually going to divide this part about the books from the rest of the post, but it strikes me that "Hindu adult reads books intended for Christian children" is a pretty good segue. the rest of this is about me rereading Narnia )
raven: [hello my name is] and a silhouette image of a raven (Default)
Dear yuletide author,

I'm [archiveofourown.org profile] singlecrow on the AO3. Thank you very much for writing for me, I will be happy and excited about whatever you write! I am also open to and excited about treats, should anyone wish to write me any.

My general do not wants are violence against women and omegaverse, with a caveat about "The Day After The Revolution", see below. But that aside, I read very broadly. I enjoy sad and dark stories, happy stories, love stories, stories with sex in, stories without. I don't do Christmas, so would prefer a story not be entirely about the characters celebrating it. Other festivals are marvellous.

One thing I really love, in sad and happy stories alike, is people being quietly kind to one another. I also really like people being competent, and found families of all sorts.

Fandom-specific stuff follows.

The Chronicles of Chrestomanci - Diana Wynne Jones )

The Day Before The Revolution - Ursula K. Le Guin )

The Saint of Steel - T Kingfisher )

That's it - as above, I read many things, and I'm thrilled that you're writing for me! I hope you have a wonderful yuletide.

Cheers,
raven
raven: [hello my name is] and a silhouette image of a raven (Default)
Some good friends of mine asked me to go on a podcast to talk about a children's book I love that I didn't actually read when I was a child, on which more when the time comes, and this very delightful experience sent me in the direction of some books I did read as a child. Which is why I just reread - reread? - Arabel and Mortimer, Joan Aiken's series of unhinged tales about Arabel (4) and her raven, Mortimer (age unknown). Mortimer is not a talking raven - the only things he says are "Kaaaark" and "Nevermore!" - but he's very expressive. When he gets upset he sulks in the fridge and when he's bored he eats stairs. This is a problem for the local users of Rumbury Town Tube station, who can't get out when there's no stairs. I say unhinged - in-universe everything is hilariously internally consistent; after a while Arabel's parents get a letter from a lawyer about damages to premises, to wit, stairs, caused by their giant bird, and there's a little debate about whether you can be answerable for the actions of a wild bird, and in the meantime the people of the Tube station decide it must be haunted (because something shadowy and dark is haphazardly clipping the tickets). And it's so funny, especially for adults! The address of this fictional London district is NW3 1/2!

I say maybe reread, because what I may remember from childhood is Aiken reading the stories for Jackanory on CBBC in the early nineties. (That was long, long before it was CBeebies! I'm very old.) Which would mean I am reading it for the first time, and what a treat.

I thought I might as well not go for any kind of theme, and instead just reread books from childhood that I want to. So I have The Magician's Nephew, which was always sneakily my favourite in the series and the one that has lived longest in my memory. (It's a really good book about grief, okay.) And also The Starlight Barking, the 101 Dalmatians sequel that everyone has read, believing they are the only person to have read this truly deranged piece of unDisneyish mysticism. Following that, I don't know. It would be Ballet Shoes if I hadn't reread it after I saw it at the National. Maybe the time has come for the decennial read of Watership Down.
raven: [hello my name is] and a silhouette image of a raven (Default)
I've told this story to so many people but I just. I cannot. I. Well. The new job is going pretty well, I'm really getting into it, I have a crush on my boss and I like everyone I've met so far.

Yesterday one of my new colleagues came into the office a little down-hearted after being out for a meeting. The meeting hadn't gone well, she explained. "I forgot to invite anyone."
raven: [hello my name is] and a silhouette image of a raven (Default)
Sometimes I feel weird about letting this kind of thing take up space! But you've gotta give people a chance to know you. I've used they/them pronouns since 2018. That's still right, but it's she/her as well as they/them now. Both are fine, both in the same sentence especially fine.

a bit more about it )
raven: [hello my name is] and a silhouette image of a raven (Default)
So I mentioned Disco Elysium, which I have now finished! Well - I've finished one playthrough, I feel like I could enjoy another half-dozen, but I have also spent literally all my evenings this week playing it so maybe I'm setting it down for a while in aid of... idk, literally anything else. (My book. gotta write a book, right.)

Anyway. I adore it. I really do. Disco Elysium is an RPG with that very traditional game mechanic where you put points into this thing or that thing and build your character that way. The thing is, none of these are combat-related or anything remotely sensible- they're things like "Electrochemistry" (how much does your character like drugs), "Shivers" (their wacky intuition), "Half-Light" (are they the sort of person who hauls off and kills people in a red haze), as well as some more normal things like coordination, perception, etc, but think logically consistent and also ridiculous. When they wake up at the start of the game, they're in a trashed hotel room with no memory, and it's your job to get them out of there and start figuring out who they are.

The thing is... well, spoilers, they're a cop. A mouldering, miserable alcoholic, who loves disco music - everyone who meets them that day complains about the volume of the night before - who's been sent to this place to solve the murder of a guy who was hanged in the backyard. The thing is: the murder is not about the murder. it's about Revachol; because this, this place, is a city called Revachol, on an island in the sixth distributary of a river. Revachol is under foreign control - its revolution a generation earlier was dismantled by coalition powers - and has been partitioned like West Berlin. And... what to say, really, to explain how impressive and lovely all this is? The game is about meeting the people of this city halfway between peace and war - more wars than one: there's a strike, also; there's the old communards who are grieving for what they lost; there's violence erupting between what the communards would call the anti-revolutionary forces of capitalism and the ordinary people of the city who are trying to get along in the Zone of Control- and also it's about one utterly hopeless human whose partner has left and whose world has collapsed. And it's very funny. It's extremely funny. You need take only one look at the wardrobe of the man whose body you are inhabiting to know this. There's a bit where Kim, his partner - not romantic partner, who as mentioned has left him, forever, ever, love is dead, all is lost, etc - intervenes in the middle of the whole crime-solving thing to tell him to maybe consider an outfit that matches. It is not typical of Kim to be concerned with other men's outfits. He's just extremely concerned.

Kim Kitsuragi, incidentally, is my boyfriend. He doesn't know we're getting married but we're going to be very happy together.

I am not doing a good job with explaining this game! It's just, it's so funny, and so weird, and ambitious, and beautiful as a watercolour painting, and totally unhinged. You can solve a murder. And another murder. You can also help a bunch of ravers start a nightclub, or a strange computer programmer find the secrets of the universe, or you can help the ravers with the secret of the universe and the programmer with the nightclub. You can help some doomed RPG writers finish their doomed RPG. You can sing karaoke. (Badly, says one of the audience members; he hasn't heard anything so bad since he last had his cluster headaches (I laughed so much I cried). You can add beauty to a wall, shoot the members of a tribunal, or put your face in a bunny rabbit and keep it there for a while. You can do all this wacky shit, and underneath it the game has so much to say about how people inhabit the places where they find themselves. I'm told there are lots of endings and whole cabinets of unhinged, but I suspect they all draw organic from Revachol. The city itself is the main character, and I love it. Though I do love [unnamed main character] and Kim, too. They are very good.

Anyway, I highly recommend it - and it's still £8 in the Steam sale, so it's a good time.
raven: [hello my name is] and a silhouette image of a raven (Default)
Different kind of writing post. I only wrote one thing for Yuletide this year:

never waste a Friday night on a first date (2113 words) by raven
Fandom: Casual - Chappell Roan (Music Video)
Rating: Explicit
Relationships: Chappell Roan/The Siren
Characters: The Siren (Casual - Chappell Roan Music Video), Chappell Roan's Character (Casual - Chappell Roan Music Video)

The Siren likes tequila. Chappell gets wine for herself. So you made an app profile, she says. How funny.



It's a five-minute fandom - Chappell Roan's fantastic short-film-esque video for "Casual", which although the song sounds like it's about some random fuckboy is about a Siren. Who keeps killing sailors. And making Chappell jealous when she wanted her to herself. It's very silly and good.
raven: Elizabeth Weir from SGA, sitting with a laptop (atlantis - elizabeth)
Happy new year, folks. I have a book out today:

You Are Here: Nine More Stories

It is not a sin, to love a wild thing…

A witch falls out of the sky; a dragon joins the resistance; a smuggler of magical trifles loves a girl she can’t have. A spaceship lights up for Diwali; an arch in the woods leads to wonders; and in a small community in lunar orbit, for no reason understandable by normal people, romance has been abolished. 

Here are nine more stories, of hope and passion, grief and bureaucracy, and how you can’t go home again but it doesn’t mean you’ll never be found.

(In a white room, full of ghosts, a woman cries and will never be found.)


[The cover is absolutely gorgeous - I advise you click through just to see it, which I can confidently say as I had nothing to do with it. I love everything about it. Links to Amazon and other ebook buying options are at the link, ditto Goodreads, paperbacks are available but sadly only from Amazon - apologies.]

So, anyway, this is a short story collection containing all of my shorts from 2019-2023, plus a new novella, "Wish You Were Here". As this is my space I can tell you that "Wish You Were Here" in part, is intended to let me put some of my characters and worldbuilding out in the world even if the book they really belong to never sells. But it's a good story in itself, and I really like it - although it's a spaceship story, it's really a story about an odd friendship and all that follows from that fact. And it begins by being about a refugee girl, just out of her teens, who works as a cleaner in a psychiatric hospital. Once there, she meets a stranger - an inpatient who is being held anonymously, for Mysterious Reasons (although said stranger does not at any point describe herself as the Woman Without An Iron Mask it's only because I missed a trick) who likes the new girl, and in her tired, sad sort of way, wants to help this brave teenage refugee who comes in to clean every day. It gives her something to do while she contemplates how she's a washed-out failure who's ruined her own life and everyone else's. What she doesn't know is that her new teenage friend, who is busy thinking of herself as stupid and pathetic rather than brave, has never met anyone like her before: sick and miserable, sure but, a woman who's so casually brilliant she's forgotten about it herself, and vividly familiar with power.

So these two are friends, for a while; but of course, the Mysterious Reasons do strike back.

Anyway, so that's what you're getting, if you try it out! I hope you enjoy, if you do. And I hope 2025 is all you ask for.
raven: [hello my name is] and a silhouette image of a raven (Default)
Yet more answers!

[personal profile] asakiyume asked:  if you yourself were to invent a weird museum, what are some ideas that cross your mind?

I am very interested in--and fond of--ephemera. I like old ticket stubs and postcards and letters. But most of all I like emphemeral ephemera, things that last less time than any of those things. I would like a Museum of Lists. Did the Apollo 11 astronauts make to-do lists in space? Did Napoleon have anything on his before "TAKE VIENNA"? Was there a daily checklist at Checkpoint Charlie? Were there prisoner lists at Ahmednagar Fort when Nehru was there?

...etc. I feel in all seriousness a museum of to-do lists, shopping lists, checklists, could have plenty to teach us about history, and maybe life, too; I don't know much about how they make shopping lists in Svalbard or the Amazon, but I do know they make them. There seems something very human about the whole concept.

[personal profile] china_shop asked: what would your ideal living-room harem look like? Is your living room big enough to encompass it?

And [personal profile] chestnut_pod asked: in what primary ways are organizing a living-room harem and a notable speculative fiction collection the same, and in which ways are they most different?

I think I will answer these both at once! china, my living room is very large by north London standards, which means miniscule by anyone else's. It contains an L-shaped grey Ikea sofa, a matching armchair and ottoman, four large bookcases, four portable and two large medical grade oxygen canisters, a corner table with three red hurricane lamps, and a table next to the balcony door with a bunch of flowers that a girl I went on a date with last week gave me. If I had brought that girl home with me, it would have been ok, but more than one would have been troublesome. You could have rearranged the furniture I suppose.

Unfortunately, I love sex but not more than those three hurricane lampes and the books and space for flowers.

So I suspect I am stuck. There is an American girl who I hang out with occasionally, who looked around the living room the other night and made me realise I hadn't seen it through someone else's eyes in quite a while. That's the drawback of a living room harem. Scrutiny of your decorating choices. And your books.

chestnut_pod, I am going to be a bit of a wanker and give you a brief excerpt from a story that has not yet seen the light of day.

Nanni bustles forwards with enthusiastic warmth. Half-past ninety and in space for the first time, Eden thinks with pleasure, and taking it all in her small but determined stride.  

“So you are Eden’s darogha,” Nanni says to Quarren, then clicks her tongue in annoyance when nobody knows what that word means. “A zenana must be run by a woman, yes?” she says impatiently, waving her hands around. “For an emperor’s zenana, with a thousand women, that woman is a darogha. An empire’s administrator.”

“Oh,” Quarren says, obviously flattened by this, and by Eden’s entire family. “I see. It’s good to meet you.”

“You too, beti,” Nanni says, kissing her on the cheek.


"Zenana" usually means the women's half of a traditional Muslim household, where women may live in seclusion from men. But here, you could translate it as "harem" - the emperor in question is the Mughal emperor Akbar, and the women of his court, his concubines and wives and courtesans, would have lived together in essentially a little walled town of their own within the capital. What I find fascinating about this is just what Nanni is noting here - an emperor's darogha, the woman who was the administrator of the zenana (which was, as above, the emperor's harem), was one of the most powerful women in Akbar's court and possibly in the empire. These would have been high-born women, because they would need to be literate and numerate and able to meet many people on their own terms, but they weren't royalty, and they weren't separate. They were doing this out of the emperor's zenana, out of his harem; they lived among the other women and were part of that community. And yet: by modern standards, they might be CEO of a large organisation or permanent secretary to a government department. They held very significant civil administrative power, complete with spreadsheets and staff and complex finances and strategy.

So there are lots of ways in which organising a harem and putting together a notable short story collection are different, but one way in which they're the same is how sometimes women's traditions of scholarship, art and service of others are unseen, so it feels like you do a thing that hasn't often been done by people like you, and sometimes you're right about that, but sometimes it's just that no one ever told you about it.
raven: [hello my name is] and a silhouette image of a raven (Default)
More questions!

[profile] parauque asked: Why is your name raven?

Because, friend, dear friend, I am a teenage goth deep down in my deep, dark, teenage soul. Back when I actually was a newly-teenage goth making my first LiveJournal, it was 2001, and "raven" was my first choice. Ominous! Goth! Literary! Etc! Perfect.

...it was taken. So I decided I could be a cool lone wolf but only not a wolf I could be a lone raven instead. And that's what my principal LJ was, for all those years: "loneraven", even as I grew up and out from under it. As social media became a thing in other places of the internet, I got a bit of a sense of humour about my teenage goth handle and turned "lone raven" into "single crow" - which is what I usually am, everywhere on the internet including bluesky and AO3 and twitter-as-was. If I have an internet name, that's it. But when I migrated my LJ over to Dreamwidth a few years back it didn't feel right. Instead, [personal profile] raven: as a wee kiss for my teenage goth self, almost a quarter-century later. I like seeing it. hi, dear heart, I'm glad I was you. <3

[profile] mssilverstar asked: What, if anything, can you say about maritime anything?

I can say very little about maritime anything, except s80 of the Merchant Shipping Act. I get seasick on small, flat bodies of water.

Oh, wait, the Merchant Shipping Act 1906, how about that! During its drafting and passage, the team of parliamentary counsel and drafting lawyers working on it kept a hand-annotated copy (I say hand-annotated; you could only mark things up by hand back then) that they added it iteratively during the parliamentary proceedings for the Bill. Detailed, beautiful, handwritten. When the Act passed, parliamentary counsel put it carefully away, in case someone in the future might find it useful.

Someone did, a hundred and fifteen years later, when some of my maritime colleagues found it at the back of their legislative nonsense cupboard under a box of Celebrations and some abandoned pairs of shoes, and in so doing won a hard-contested prize for "Most Arcane Item Found In Office Clearout". The National Archives thought it was a lovely object and wondered gently about the century-long delay in providing it. The department sent its apologies for its tardiness in this regard.

[personal profile] longwhitecoats asked: What, if anything, makes you feel gender euphoria?

A good an excuse as any to talk about this, I would say! I am in a new gender place these days. As you and most others reading know, a few years ago I decided I was done with cis womanhood; it had never fit, had never felt right, and while I wasn't moved towards physical transition, I knew I'd want documentary change if possible, and in the meantime please could I be they/them in English.

Quite a few years on I remain reasonably content with that. But it's more complicated, somehow (isn't it always?). I've been having a queer crisis of a sort. I was out as bi from earliest teenagehood; I always knew I liked men and women both. It turns out that it's man and women both. Probably; I mean, there are a lot of men in the world and who knows them all. But the sum of it is, I'm a lesbian. A bi lesbian, I've been saying, with sympathy for past me who hated the term so much but still: accurate. Bi in the sense I have been with men, I still am with one, and this is a bi4bi household, anyway, A's bisexuality is of more recent provenance but does make some of our relationship make sense in retrospect. But I only really feel right under the word lesbian, now. I've been dating a bit, bi women and lesbians both, and all it's done is emphasise it. Lesbians are a tonne of drama and I still want them.

This is a long preamble to: lesbian implies some kind of womanhood, doesn't it? And I find I feel okay with that; even good with it. Perhaps, to go with bi lesbian, I can be a nonbinary lesbian, or a nonbinary woman; I don't know if it matters, but I find it's nice to inhabit womanhood when it feels like I've been away for a while and have chosen it. I am, and have always been, femme; this is something in addition.

Gender euphoria, then, your actual question! I'm in a place where femme is right, but artful femme: chosen femme. So, as is the way for me, that comes out in being even-more-than-usual obsessive about clothes. I got a £20 dress at the the Traidcraft charity warehouse in Hackney - the tags are cut out but I think it's a piece by Urban Renewal, and it's this green floral chiffon overlay thing with full lining, halterneck and sewn-in boning. It fits me like it was made for me. I think the gender euphoria comes from that perfect fit. It's such an incredibly femme confection - chiffon! flowers! - but wearing it doesn't feel like, oh you could be beautiful; you could be a real woman. Its bones follow my bones. It follows the lines of the body I really have. Is that gender euphoria? I don't know, but it feels like it. I'm seeing it a lot with my clothes, recently; typically I don't buy or wear bras, and going to M&S to look at racks and racks of something I'm supposed to like and want, but don't, hasn't sat nicely with me. But I got a couple from Traidcraft and a few off Vinted recently. Measured in centimetres. Pretty, perfect fit. It's the fit, I think, and I think there's also a bit about capitalism in there. These things have not been sold to me in packages and bullshit women's sizing. They're things I went out and found myself and knew they would fit my body because I measured my body in centimetres.

(Also, the Urban Renewal dress is fancy but I've been wearing it styled down with cycling shorts and butch goth boots, and butch-and-femme together is my one-way ticket to gender euphoria but I just mistyped it as "bitch-and-femme" and I think maybe I just found an even quicker route.)

[personal profile] sewn asked What's your experience with (hypo)manic episodes, do you feel them coming on or do you only see it afterwards?

OH FRIEND FUNNY YOU SHOULD ASK. When you posted this I hadn't been able to sleep till 4am for four nights in a row, and I just couldn't understand WHY.

God, aren't we funny. All of us. In answer: I don't see them coming, and it always takes me a while to realise they're here, but I do usually spot it before they go away. I have a reasonably traditional type of (hypo)mania - I'm awake, all the time! and I don't wanna eat! and sometimes I want to write a lot of fiction!! (though not always, which is disappointing) and also everyone annoys me! And I always find it vaguely humiliating, but there's that thing we do, when we talk. Where you know what you're thinking, and how it connects to thing 2 and then thing 3, but you never said thing 2 out loud because you're just thinking so quickly, and the person you're with is staring at you funny because from their perspective your brain is skipping from thing to thing with nothing in between. Sigh.

And you also asked: What is your favourite medication, and why is it lamotrigine?? (:D)

Heeeee you're not wrong. Actually, what fucking kills me these days is that cluster has ruined my bipolar control. All that time, carefully establishing my levels, titrating up and down, discovering that, as you say, lovely lovely lamotrigine is the dream, and now--eh. All my bipolar meds are cluster meds too, so they've been fussed with and raised and forgotten about, and who gives a damn about my mental health these days anyway, right? I tend to treat lamotrigine like vitamins at the moment - I know some amount is good, I guess I'll take a couple of tablets today? Is that good? Who knows??

Oh, this may amuse you - I'm still tending manic on 1000g/day of lithium carbonate. WHO DOES THAT. WHOSE BRAIN IS THAT BROKEN. we just don't know. But, no, you're right, lamotrigine is my favourite, it's everyone's favourite, they should build a statue of it, I've no doubt it is still keeping my bipolar under control even now I'm its crazy ex-girlfriend who's mean to it.

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