The Magic Nutshell

Keep Lupa in Lupercalia!

2012-02-01T13:19:00.000-08:00

Happy Lupercalia!

Lupercalia is the ancient Roman festival that preceded Valentine's Day. It began in honor of the she-wolf (Lupa) who suckled Romulus and Remus, founders of Rome, and it was celebrated by naked men running through the streets spanking women with goat hides. These spanks were thought to bless women with fertility and easy childbirth.

Valentine's Day was not invented by Hallmark. It was simply co-opted by Christianity and capitalized by card companies. If you still hate this holiday, see what The Oatmeal has to say about it.

The Magic Nutshell will be on break for the entire month of February in celebration of these ancient rites. Fresh new posts will emerge in the spring. Happy rumpus!

You are a good mom!

2012-01-29T11:37:00.000-08:00

I have survived the first year of my first child's life! Nux Gallica is now a walking, talking one-year-old.

It has been an amazing journey from pregnancy to toddlerhood. I've experienced extreme joy, anxiety, worry, guilt, shame, exhaustion, and just about every other emotion a human can feel. Nothing in my life has given me such a feeling of completion, contentment, awe, and gratitude as having a healthy daughter. But it has also been hard, and I have watched other friends and acquaintances with babies go through their own ups and downs. And one thing I have learned through all of this is that every parent's experience is very different, and there are all kinds of ways to be a good mom.

I'm addressing this post specifically to mothers because, although much of what I'm going to say applies to dads also (and grandparents and other guardians), there are many struggles that are specific to mothers--pregnancy, childbirth, nursing, and social factors that are different for mothers.

I am surrounded by good mothers. Like when I was pregnant and I saw pregnant women everywhere, now I see mothers everywhere. Partly this is because a friend introduced me to a moms' group several months ago, and partly it's because I'm 30-ish and a lot of my peers are having children right now. What we all have in common is that we are wonderful mothers. We adore our babies and try our best to do everything right by them. But that's one of the few things we have in common. Another is that we don't always feel like good mothers. And here's why: Women today are expected to be superheroes who can do everything perfectly--especially mothers, who are expected to have comic book-style powers of perfect parenting, impressive careers, impeccable fashion sense, and MILFy hotness two seconds after giving birth. If we don't embody all those traits, it must be because we aren't trying hard enough.

In general, dads don't face this kind of judgment. Mr. G can back me up on this. When a dad is out running errands with a baby, he gets all kinds of compliments and encouragement that he is such a good daddy. Because dads aren't expected to do most of the grocery shopping and childcare, even in our modern society, they are seen as going above and beyond when they do these things. Women, on the other hand, are expected to not only do all of those things but also keep our rugrats from annoying everyone else and put some effort into our appearance too. Certainly we are not appreciated just for getting the child in the shopping cart--that's something we are apparently genetically programmed to do with ease.

For me, the guilting and shaming started to come from all directions during my pregnancy. And it came from some quarters that surprised me, that I thought would be more supportive. I did have some great support from family, friends, my employers, and my OB. But certain older women started to make comments, usually not to me directly but to someone close to me, like my mother, implying that it was a shame I had to work so many hours while expecting--they certainly never had to do that--or that I wasn't working enough--their daughter worked 50 hours a week until the tenth hour of her labor, and proud of it!

Then there was the controversy about birthing. I was warned by some not to trust those dirty hippies and give birth in a birthing center without a surgeon present--thereby endangering my child's life like some kind of animal. Ironically, I was warned by others not to consider a hospital birth--which would endanger my child's life and wellness and would encourage "unnatural" birthing. Going in, it was clear that if anything terrible happened, it would be blamed on my choice of birthing location and style by some people, no matter which I chose.

I'm a big fan of researching things when I am inundated with unsolicited, half-baked opinions, so I looked into the relative risks of hospitals vs. birthing centers vs. home births and found that there was not much difference at all in terms of outcomes and that it really came down to personal needs and preferences. I reasoned that because my grandmother and mother both have unusually narrow pelvises and had trouble giving birth (my grandmother was only able to bear underweight babies with great difficulty, and my mother needed cesareans for her average weight babies), I would go with the very enlightened-seeming local hospital, working with OBs given midwife training, to prepare for the very likely possibility that I would need an emergency c-section. Meanwhile, I hoped for a "natural" birth with minimal interventions and prepared for it with prenatal yoga, meditation, and non-medical pain relief techniques.

Like most births, mine did not go as planned. It was very hard, but it wasn't terrible either. Everyone came out of it healthy, which is the most important thing. But the anxiety that I felt on top of all the other pain and stress later filled me with rage. How could a woman who has gone through childbirth herself ever judge another woman for her birth? That's something I still don't fully understand. My guess is that women who experience easier births (and I mean that in very relative terms) could possibly choose to overlook the fact that before modern medicine, say in the time of Charlemagne, most people did not survive infancy, and it was utterly common for women to die in childbirth. If that's ultimately "natural," I'll take the modern risks and inconveniences. Human beings are not kangaroos; we do not bear booger-sized progeny into a flesh pocket and go hopping about our business. "Natural" childbirth, for humans, is usually difficult and dangerous. And women's pelvises have not evolved to keep up with the rate at which the average size of a well-nourished newborn has grown.

Despite knowing all this, I still found myself guilt-tripped by disappointed-looking "natural" women who asked me all sorts of bewildered questions like, did I really get an epidural? And didn't I try squatting? The truth is, after 15 hours of labor, my natural pain relief methods were no longer working. I have a relatively high pain threshold, which has actually been tested against others in both sports and scientific settings on a few occasions. But my labor pains became so intense that I thought I would lose consciousness--which actually happened to someone I know. When the nurses told me I had stopped dilating at seven for several hours and the baby might have to come out without full dilation, I asked for an epidural. The epidural paralyzed my legs completely, so I could not squat or move around as I would have liked to, but I did labor on my side, tilted up, as long as I could. My husband helped hold me in position. Eventually I did dilate completely, and after 24 hours of labor, after pushing for three hours, it became apparent that I did have a narrow pelvis and my baby's skull was stuck. I finally was able to push her out without assistance, but I had extensive tearing that needed a lot of stitches.

And it sounds weird, but I wish somebody would have told me about these possibilities. Instead, medical professionals tended to brush off my questions. Oh, don't worry, they said. You don't look like you have a narrow pelvis. It isn't likely. Oh, you probably won't tear. Don't worry, dear. Think happy thoughts.

I wish somebody would have taken a closer look and said yes, you have a narrow pelvis. Here are your options. You might have a difficult labor. You might need pain medication to stay alert. And it will be okay. It won't harm you or your baby. You might have to push for a long time. But chances are, the baby will still be fine. They're all squishy when they're new. You might tear. It might not heal in six weeks. The stitches might be out by then, but you might still be sore for months. But it will still be okay. Your body is miraculous, and it will heal, and you will look and feel just like you did before your pregnancy by the time your child is a year old.

I wish somebody could have told me that when I went for my six-week checkup, still bleeding and in pain. Instead, the doctor said, "You're all healed!" and gave me the green light to have sex. I was so confused. I thought that might mean that this was as good as it was going to get, that I would always have to deal with pain from now on. If I had known all along that it might take months to get completely back to normal, I wouldn't have felt anxious all those months wondering if there was something very wrong with me.

After my water broke, when my contractions began to overwhelm me and there was no end in sight, I thought of something I had seen in a natural birth video--a woman explaining that "not all women interpret the sensations of labor as pain." I wanted to kick that woman in the face and tell her to interpret that. There is nothing worse than being in the most intense pain of your whole life and have a loop of voices in your head completely discrediting that pain.

And after that, I was encouraged by certain people not to tell my story. My child's birth was called a "horror story" that might frighten other moms into avoiding "natural" birth, so I shouldn't talk about it. I'm aware that all the gruesome details of a birth story aren't appropriate dinner conversation, but I was made to feel this way in a mothers' forum. It was online, so there's always the risk that someone in cyberspace will be rude or misunderstand, but I hear about other mothers receiving that message too, either explicitly or implicitly, in real life as well. And it isn't fair. No birth story that has a happy ending of a healthy baby and a healthy mother is a horror story. It's a miracle. It's a fairy tale--fraught with danger and suspense but with a glorious and happy ever-after.

Most births do not go according to our best-case-scenario birth plans, and it is not because we didn't try hard enough. Whether we do it with or without drugs, in a hospital or a hot tub, vaginally or by cesarean, it is a powerful ordeal that is different for each woman and for each birth.

Then comes breastfeeding. Breastfeeding is a wondrous thing. No one should deny that. It's the best nutrition for the baby and helps the mother heal. But like birth experiences, the nursing experience is very different from one mama-baby pair to the next. I had an easy time. Before Nux Gallica's cord was cut, she was on me like a little shark. My milk came in immediately and was always plentiful. My baby seemed to know exactly what to do. At the hospital, nurses gave me a few tips that helped make it work even better. Breastfeeding is not a completely self-evident, naturally easy task as many people assume. For some mothers and babies, it is impossible, and for most it is somewhat difficult. Even though I had a blessedly easy time learning it, conflicting messages pestered me from the start. I was given a sample of formula but basically told that if I used it, I was doing intentional harm to myself and my baby. I was grabbed, pinched, prodded, ordered to try different positions, and told when to feed the baby. I wanted so badly to be left in peace! And when I got home, I had experts and "experts" telling me that nursing my child for anything less than a full year was basically starving her of proper nutrition, while on the other hand women of a certain generation tisk-tisked about the barbarity and indecency of it all, and their children had done just fine without it.

It made me so angry that women who had trouble or were unable to breastfeed were made to feel like neglectful parents, and that women who did were met with either a shrug and a nod of "yes, of course that's what you're supposed to do" or an air of disgust. Caring for a child is so hard, whether you breastfeed or not. Both come with their struggles and benefits, and both are just fine for the baby.

The breastfeeding drama leads into work drama. Stay-at-home moms are often looked down upon, and so are women who don't breastfeed. But pumping at work is difficult and can be next to impossible, depending on a woman's employer and job. Awful but true: Employers view mothers less favorably than childless women even though they view fathers more favorably than childless men. Women are expected to be perfect mothers and perfect employees even as their work in each realm is viewed as detracting from each other. Luckily, I work for two mothers. I was able to get a good pump and the time and space at work to get it done. I also had a physically easy time expressing, which is lucky for me. I certainly do not generalize that because I could do it without too much trouble, every other woman should be able to do the same.

The judgment doesn't stop with feeding, not by a long shot. I've been told that I hold my baby too much or too little, that I should dress her in certain colors, that I need to buy certain products. I get bizarre advice from people who never had children--so how do they think they know?--and from people who had big families of their own--so why on earth would they tell me to feed my newborn tomato sauce and rum?

I hope I never turn into one of those people who passes along more judgment than support. Because really, with very few exceptions, it is obvious to me that every mother is doing the best she can.

If you are a mom and you're even bothering to read this far, I can tell.

You are a good mom!

If you worry about whether you are doing it right, then you obviously take motherhood seriously.

You are a good mom!

If you are worn down and loopy with sleep deprivation and anxiety, if you can't remember where you put your keys, it is because you are giving so much of yourself to your little one.

You are a good mom!

If you were able and willing to give birth without medical intervention, or if you called upon help when it was needed, you chose to do what was best for you and your baby.

You are a good mom!

If you nurse or pump or prepare bottle after bottle of formula, you do your best to nourish your child in the way best suited to your family.

You are a good mom!

If you give months or years of your life to be at home with your child, or if you go to work day after day to provide a good life for your child, sorry--you are not perfect in the eyes of every person, because you cannot be in two places at once. Despite the criticism you face, whether you are in the office or the nursery, your work is important to your child.

You are a good mom!

If you read every bit of parenting advice and try every best practice, or whether you tune into your unique child's needs and your own needs as a person, you are conscientious and engaged.

You are a good mom!

Motherhood is one of the most demanding, important, and life-altering jobs a woman can take on. Just by trying to do your best, you are amazing.

Need more proof? Check out these great articles on why the first child is so much harder than the rest and why it's okay not to feel sparkles of ecstasy every second of every day with your child.

Nobody knows your child and your life better than you. Don't let the inevitable anxiety and guilt-tripping make you forget it. You're the best mom your child could have.

Ich Liebe Rammstein

2012-01-19T13:44:00.000-08:00

When I say that Rammstein is my idol, I mean it in the Biblical sense.

My husband has bought me the best wedding anniversary gift I could possibly imagine. To celebrate the fifth anniversary of our wedding, this May...

WE WILL SEE RAMMSTEIN IN THE DIRTY! That's right--my prayers to the gods of Metal have been answered, and Rammstein will come to Detroit (OK, a suburb of Detroit because that's where the big stadium is), which is totally the MOST METAL city in the United States of America, on May 6--the night of the full moon, one day after our wedding anniversary! I will be there will bells on, and probably also with these garter underdrawers and stockings, just in case there is an opportunity for me to get "recognized" ...hahahaha... as the "model" who helped this fan video of the last tour (Liebe Ist Fur Alle Da) get over 250,000 views on YouTube. YEAH!

My dear friend Mr. Waxx took this silly photo several years ago when we were dressed in costumes for a Rocky Horror Picture Show. I stuck a LIFAD logo on my bum and posted the shot on the LIFAD Facebook page, which is set up as a "religious organization" spreading its message of love (the English translation of the album title is Love Is for Everyone) by encouraging fans to put the logo all kinds of places and take pictures. I don't normally participate in this sort of tomfoolery, but I had a moment of fan-girl psychosis and then one day years later, I went on YouTube to search for the new single's video and saw my butt used as a thumbnail on this fan video by some German dude. The moral of this story is: Be careful what pictures you put on the internet, because they might end up having fun without you!

Every so often I go look at the comments under the video and laugh at the seething controversy caused by my butt not appearing in the actual video. I tell you truly, the person most disappointed by that fact is myself, seeing as this virtual tease is the closest I will ever get to appearing in a video with Rammstein. I love my husband and child very, very much. If I didn't, well, I might be seeking a career in European rock 'n roll lifestyles.

If you know me in real life or have ever read my blog, you might wonder how a bookish, environmentalist feminist who enjoys domestic life and fine art could become a crazed fan of a heavy metal group that poses in promotional materials as woman-butchering cannibals and is almost entirely responsible for global warming with their 23 trucks full of pyrotechnics.

Please, I can explain!

Much like the thumbnail photo in the fan video above, Rammstein's most provocative antics are flares to draw an audience to their art--and not just that, but also tools for shattering preconceptions to open the mind to an unusual perspective. Often they backfire, drawing harsh criticism and accusations ranging from Nazi sympathies to the promotion of unsafe sex, accusations that eclipse and distract from what the band is trying to show or say. And they do have a lot to say, musically and lyrically, which separates them from the average shock-rock show. I write this in complete seriousness.

One of the band's favorite music video directors, Jonas Akerlund (who also works for chart-topping pop performers like Lady Gaga) has commented on the band members' particular brand of innocence--they tend to react with genuine hurt and dismay when their artfully crafted songs, videos, and stage acts are received with offense. The band members' shared background, growing up behind the Iron Curtain in East Germany before the fall of the Berlin Wall, imbues them with a strange quality of being simultaneously naive and jaded. Their aesthetic style is intense and nightmarish; the themes of their works are sophisticated and nuanced; and their surprise at being misunderstood is frankly childish. They regularly underestimate the public's sensitivity to violent, sexual, and dark imagery, and at the same time they overestimate the average schmo's capacity to appreciate poetry, satire, wordplay, musical inventiveness, and stagecraft.

Even so, after many years of futzing around as Soviet gutter punks and dive-bar performers, then decades as nervous and bewildered contracted artists, the men of Rammstein are now middle-aged uber-rockstars with a massive global following and a live show that intelligent life forms in other galaxies can probably enjoy through binoculars.

Oh Rammstein! How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...

As a heterosexual woman, Rammstein engenders in me both a violent attraction and shock waves of cognitive dissonance. The band members, singer and lyricist Till Lindemann in particular, exude a supersaturation of testosterone. Till's voice makes my ovaries drool. On the other hand, my cortex waves little red flags whenever violence against women is used in any form of art. I'm tired of domination over women used as a way to express masculinity, and I'm disgusted by dehumanizing portrayals of women. And even when I know that that isn't really what Rammstein is doing, my eyes can't help rolling at the band's assumption that most consumers will even notice the deeper meaning beneath the antagonizing face value of their images and words. With their latest album's artwork featuring Rubenesque nudes being spanked and presented like meat on a dinner table and a first single called "P*ssy" with a video featuring porn stars in action, offense will be taken, whether that was the main intent or not.

Are the members of Rammstein responsible artists? Does their work instill good or bad values? Does most of their audience "get" what they do? I can't answer those questions or vouch for Rammstein's moral value. What I can say with conviction is that they are, in all seriousness, deeply thoughtful individuals, highly professional entertainers, brave and groundbreaking artists, and highly disciplined workers in the service of a pure and focused aesthetic. Rammstein may not be about goodness or correctness, but it is certainly about integrity.

I also believe that Rammstein is not an amoral band. They certainly don't offer moral leadership, but that doesn't mean they are careless about their messages or that they promote evils. Their artistic values are strong, and their social and political values, while generally expressed only in the negative, show through, intentionally or not.

Maybe that's why I can't help loving them!

My husband isn't just a romantic and excellent gift-giver for anniversaries; last month was the second Christmas I received a Rammstein Super Deluxe Limited Edition Box Set. The first time it was the notorious Liebe Ist Fur Alle Da lockbox I wrote about in my post Sex, Babies, and Rock 'n Roll, and this time it was the best-of collection, Made in Germany, which includes DVDs of all the band's videos and "Making-Of" or commentary videos about each one. Some of the band members and the directors of their videos touch on Rammstein's distinct kind of integrity and the surprisingly sensitive men behind the fire-breathing acts. I get the impression from the words of lead guitarist Richard Kruspe, singer Till Lindemann, and others that they are absolutely compelled to serve their aesthetic vision, what they know is artistically right, even though it clearly disturbs and worries them when people take it the wrong way. I think the problem is often a difference between the ways in which different people survive trauma.

Where some people develop an itchy scab that begs to be picked, others have a sore spot that can't tolerate the lightest touch.

Who could forget the controversy over the video for their cover of Depeche Mode's Stripped, composed of footage by Leni Riefenstahl? Till claims he did not know where the clips of athletes came from when the director chose them; Richard conveys ambivalence but ultimate approval of the video in the band's recent official commentary. Shortly after the video's release, several of the band members expressed regret about using the footage, which is completely non-offensive in itself (simply clips of athletes exercising) but just so happened to have been used as Nazi propaganda! This was not the first time Rammstein had been accused of using Nazi or white supremacist imagery; the look of their first album cover and music video, showing the band members shirtless with a bright flower, was compared to white power imagery. The band seemed confused and dismayed by these comparisons--again, there is that funny combination of being both naive and jaded. Behind the Iron Curtain, they were inundated with many of the aesthetics that most people now associate with Naziism, Fascism, or the Soviet Bloc. They were so used to seeing such images--athletes performing in formations, half-naked and well-muscled bodies, and so on--sometimes used in Right-wing political propaganda and sometimes not, that it would not have necessarily occurred to them that the outside world would perceive such clear connotations. But those unfortunately charged images, coupled with the band's hard and militaristic musical sound, was a recipe for culture clash. Not many of those who jumped to a Right-wing conclusion--whether they took offense or approved--bothered to listen to the lyrics and discover that they had nothing to do with white power or politics at all.

In a rare direct response to political accusations, Rammstein wrote the song "Links 2 3 4" describing how their hearts beat "on the Left" and that "the envious have not understood it" (my translation, which may not be perfect). The song is one of their hardest and most militaristic sounding pieces, demonstrating that power, heavy metal, and badassery are not owned by the Right. End of discussion!

With the other notable exception of "Amerika," Rammstein usually shies away from political statements. Sometimes they spoof themselves with hilarious creativity, like when they donned fat suits in the video for "Keine Lust," illustrating their overindulgence in material things that did not make them happy.

But much of the time, the lyrics of Rammstein's songs are presented not as their own real perspectives but as a dramatization of horror. What Rammstein does with evil and frightening themes reminds me of what Mexicans do with the concept of death in Day of the Dead celebrations. (And interestingly, Mexico is one of Rammstein's favorite places in the world.) They lift up unspeakable horrors to mockery and ridiculous exaggeration, but they manage to do so with a weightiness that preserves respect and awe. It is a tricky razor's edge to walk, but they do it with gusto.

Many of their songs are written as first-person narratives from the perspective of a murderer, rapist, child molester, or other evil or sick character. When asked why he sings these lyrics in first person, Till Lindemann has explained that to sing about such a figure in the third person would be cowardly. It does not seem to occur to him not to sing about these topics at all. Similarly, when Till was asked why he simulated sado-masochistic anal sex with keyboardist Flake onstage in Chicago, for which they were subsequently arrested, he replied only that buggering an inanimate object like the keyboard itself would have been cold and unfeeling, not even considering that he might not have humped anyone or anything at all. "If you're going to do it, overdo it" seems to be a motto for Rammstein. And if memory serves, I think drummer Christoph Schneider may have stated that in about as many words.

Does Rammstein glorify violence even as they mock and satirize it? I find it interesting that their video for "Mein Teil," a song about a murderer and cannibal, was accused of trivializing the murder case and also of glamorizing violence and perversion. Art is subjective, and Rammstein videos are certainly no exception. In my opinion, the song and video are far too terrifying and forceful to communicate any kind of triviality. And I believe that any attention at all drawn to a topic, positive or negative, in some way glamorizes it--as Rammstein explicitly showed in their video for "Ich Will," about the media's fascination with criminal behavior. Rammstein glorifies the evils they taunt as much as so-called witches were glamorized by immolation.

In interviews about "Mein Teil," the band has talked about how they were all shocked by the news stories about murderer Armin Meiwes and could not understand how a human being could do the things he did. Because the case shocked and disturbed them, they were moved to explore it artistically.

I get the feeling that many of Rammstein's scarier songs are amplified whistles in the dark. They don't just write songs about violence, tyranny, pain, and fear. They put on costumes and out-act the evil. They possess their demons; they embody their own nightmares and set them on fire.

Rammstein's performances feel, to me, cathartic and cleansing. I can see how they aren't to everyone's taste. People who don't like thinking about the ugly and disturbing elements of life and who are good at blocking them out--and there are many people like that, people who are quite content--would not find any pleasure in what Rammstein does. But for people like me, people who can't turn away from the train wreck, people who can't ignore the shadows at the periphery of their vision, people who get so deeply disturbed by injustices and absurdities of life that they worry them raw in their minds, Rammstein offers a baptism by fire. They pull monsters out of their dens, inflate them to ridiculous proportions, and blow them up. They intensify moments of pain to maximum sensory capacity and burn them out. They eat toxicity and breathe out fire.

And for whatever reason, this matters to me: Rammstein's temperature is always hot. There is no cold-blooded cruelty, no desensitized numbness in what they do. Emotions are always heightened, not dulled.

In their video for "Du Hast," the hit song with lyrics that invert traditional German wedding vows, a man meets a group of other men in a sinister rendezvous, leaving his love interest in the car. At the end of the video, a decision is made, and the man joins with the group of other men and blows up the car. What separates this video from other heinous "killing the b*tch" film sequences, for me, is the care the band and director took to humanize the woman. Instead of using a bombshell model, they went out of their way to cast a famous, respected actress. Plenty of screen time is focused on her facial expressions and postures as she waits for her man by the car and tension builds. There is no graphic depiction of her death (leaving some to question whether she "really" dies in the video--which I think is kind of moot, because the intent to kill her is clear), and the "brotherhood" is depicted as unstable and threatening. Inspiration for the video was drawn from Quentin Tarantino's film Reservoir Dogs, and the theme of sacrificing romantic partnership for a problematic all-male gang reflects some of the band members' struggles in placing the band over their own personal relationships.

While the "Du Hast" video is certainly not feminist in any way that I can argue, and while I do feel discomfort about any depiction of violence against women, I do not see Rammstein or their work in general as anti-woman either. Most of their heterosexual kinky songs and videos feature female domination of males (see the delightful fairy tale-themed videos for "Rosenrot" and "Sonne"). In each portrayal of male violence against a woman, the violent male is presented as evil or sick. Man-on-woman sexual violence in their song lyrics is abstract and not very graphic, and usually it is explicitly voiced as fantasy (as in "Liebe Ist Fur Alle Da"). Graphic sexual violence and even graphic sexual domination of the kinky sort is reserved for man-on-man action.

Misogyny tends to go hand-in-hand with homophobia. Heterosexual males who feel their sexuality threatened by the presence of different genders or sexual orientations tend to scorn women and gay men both, if not in the exact same ways. Rammstein is unique among popular heavy metal bands for regularly grappling with the topic of male homosexuality. They are much more often accused of being gay than of mocking gays, and those accusations have not stopped them from carrying out their man-on-man shows of affection onstage.

I already mentioned Till and Flake's infamous bondage sex bit for the live performance of "Buck Dich" ("Bend Over"), but the gayest Rammstein song of all has to be "Mann Gegen Mann." The lyrics are from the perspective of a tormented, lusty gay man who suffers rejection from his family and society. In the video, Till wears a costume in the style of a sexual submissive, while the rest of the band plays in the nude. The hard-driving instrumentation and epic vocals are set off by clips of gleaming, wet, muscled male bodies writhing together. The whole production is about as testosterone-driven as is humanly possible. There isn't anything "nancy-boy" or silly about it. This video made me understand why some straight guys like to watch two women go at it together--if girl-on-girl fun is the ultimate in soft, sensual femininity, then Mann Gegen Mann is the most masculine video ever crafted. The director was Jonas Akerlund, who was supremely impressed by Rammstein's bravery during the filming. Homophobic dudes don't get naked and wet together and sing songs about feelings amidst naked wrestlers--just to make fun of gays. As if confirmation of this was needed, Till (who wrote the lyrics, which feature artful triple entendres, slick turns of phrase, and graphically sensual poetry) stated that he hoped the song would be played in gay clubs and talked about how he personally admired gay men.

The second single released from LIFAD, "Ich tu dir weh" ("I Hurt You"), is their most brutal expression of sado-masochistic kink, and its lyrics got the album censored in Germany. The words describe sexual acts between two men. I think the point of all this is that sexual brutality is most hard and "metal" when it's between two men. Testosterone plus testosterone equals maximum testosterone. If dominating a woman makes a man look powerful or manly, dominating a man makes him look even more manly. I think this is a very interesting twist on traditional conceptions of gender and power dynamics. While it certainly doesn't offer any righteous moral guidance, it does rock the foundations of misogynist and homophobic conceptions of masculinity, which I think is pretty brave and pretty cool.

The private lives of the members of Rammstein are well-guarded. Though they are internationally worshiped rock stars, they manage to keep their personal lives mostly hidden from the media. I find this amazing and admirable. But like any good fan girl, I do find every scrap of information available in English or any other language that I can half-understand and snort it like crack.

Suffice it for me to say that many of them have highly respected wives (or even highly respected ex-wives who remain friends), cherished daughters, and close relationships with their mothers. Two of the band members have adopted the last names of their wives, and one of them continues to use his first wife's last name even though he has divorced and remarried. One of them divorced his wife and then married her again.

Till Lindemann is notorious for philandering with a steady stream of beautiful, young women and impregnating several entire generations of German women--always or almost always with daughters. Yet he is a devoted and engaged father and a loving son to his mother. After the end of a brief marriage in his youth, Till had sole custody and care of his first daughter for many years. My favorite, teasingly mysterious story about the band's personal affairs is this: A few years after Till's daughter was born and a few years before Rammstein formed, Richard Kruspe had a daughter with Till's ex-wife. Rumor has it that Till raised both girls together in one happy family. So, it's kind of like Till and Richard have a love-child. Weird! But kind of awesome! Way to work things out. The whole band seems to have a very special bond that is often described as a marriage-like union.

It's pretty hot when you think about it.

Anyway...

Part of the reason I love Rammstein is that, based on the little breadcrumbs they offer to the media, I like the members of the band as people. In a follow-up to this post, I will give my thoughts on each member of the band and why each one of them gives me the warm snugglies.

In the meantime, my anticipation of seeing them all in real life in May (through binoculars probably, but whatever!) burns like a flame-thrower of joy within me.

Schalte ein!

2012 Resolutions

2011-12-31T08:51:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year! Tonight begins the year 2012, believed by many to be the year of the Zombie Apocalypse. Or something like that. What with the baby, I haven't been paying enough attention.

Anyway, I didn't stick to any serious resolutions in 2011 except to take good care of my family, but I feel ready to set a few fun goals for 2012.

1. Stay in shape with belly dance stretches and drills three times a week. Most of my physical problems are in the area of my lower spine and sacrum, especially since giving birth and having to tote around a heavy child. Nothing seems to work better for me than doing a dance warmup (right now I'm using one of Sadie's belly dance DVDs) followed by at least 20 minutes of mayas, hip circles, or other moves that isolate and strengthen core muscles.

2. Build writing time into my weekly schedule and stick to it throughout the year. I don't want to be one of those people who waits until retirement to pursue their dreams. But until I retire, there will never be a good time to sit down and write. So I want to commit to a modest routine of working on my writing at the beautiful library down the street. My new-ish neighborhood library is a gorgeous building with armchairs by a cozy fireplace, outlets and wi-fi, worlds of books and other resources, and an inspiring view of woodlands from dramatically huge windows. It's my new happy place, and I want to take advantage of it regularly so I don't let all my creative ambitions leak through the cracks of life's daily struggles.

3. Learn enough German by May to fully appreciate all of the tracks on Rammstein's "Made in Germany" Best Of album. This must be done in time for the long-awaited religious pilgrimage that Mr. G and I will undertake for our 5th wedding anniversary. I'm so excited about it my head is about to explode, so I won't even go into it more right now. Squeeeeeee!

4. Destruct my front lawn and plant wildflower gardens. Set off the yard makeover with repairs to the front of my house. I probably won't attempt vegetable gardening yet this year, but I have already torn out the rosebushes and replaced them with a native flora garden in front of the porch. I'd like to annihilate a large portion of the front lawn, execute an ugly shrub or two, and plant a broad area of low-maintenance, native wildflower seeds. A "Curb Appeal" style home makeover is on my Someday To-Do list, but for now I think a fresh coat of paint and a new garage door would do a world of good for the sad-looking front of my house. My aim this year is pretty low--to not be a complete embarrassment to my upstanding neighbors on the right. It helps that my neighbor on the left keeps his home looking utterly derelict. I kind of appreciate that. It takes the pressure off my household. But still. I'd like to do less mowing and at the same time have my home look a notch better than "not the worst eyesore on the block." Meanwhile, a side project may be making dandelion wine this spring with our very rich annual dandelion crop.

Of course, all of these resolutions come second to making sure Nux Gallica has a happy and healthy second year of life. I expect the year to be filled with baby storytimes at the library, playtime at the park, explorations at the children's museum, and messy arts and crafts sessions.

What do you hope for the coming year? Best wishes and cheers!

Merry Christmas from the Nutshell!

2011-12-23T10:55:00.000-08:00

It's my little Nut's first Christmas!

She is eleven months old and still knows nothing about Christmas presents. Nor does she understand anything about Santa Claus, the Nativity story, or Black Friday sales. But she is astoundingly filled with glee about those human elements of the solstice time that are older than any living nation or religion: wonder at lights shining in the darkness, the joy of celebration, and the mood of anticipation. She knows the word "Christmas tree" and points excitedly at every one she sees, when she hears someone say it. Her grandmother has already taught her to say "Ho ho ho!" (not too far from her first word, "uh-oh"). She goes crazy every time she sees colored lights, velvet bows, wreaths, tinsel, or any kind of holiday decor. We take her on walks in the mall and the grocery store just so she can point out all the decorations and hoot and squeal and say, "Ooooooooh!" Every day when she wakes up in the morning and enters our living room, she bounces and waves at the pile of presents from her Florida grandma and points at the Christmas decorations.

Holy crap is she going to lose it when she finds out she can rip presents open and find toys inside!!!

I just went back and read my thoughts on Christmas last year, which I'm re-posting below. Happy holidays to everyone, of every religion or none at all!

From Christmas 2010:

My favorite Christmas package this year is still wrapped up, but she is considered full term tomorrow! My belly has sunk low, and middle aged and older women have been eying it, skeptical that the big lit-up ball in Times Square will drop before my baby does. But this is my first pregnancy, so she's likely to stay tucked inside for at least a couple more weeks.

Because I am so close to the birth at this time of year, I have received many Christmas gifts for little Nux Gallica. I have also heard plenty of sentimental Christmas miracle stories and have had many people ask me what stories I will tell my daughter about Christmas. Will I tell her about Baby Jesus? Which version of the birth narrative will I tell her is "true?" Will I encourage her to believe in Santa? Am I worried about telling my child lies? Am I more worried about being a grinch and spoiling Christmas with cynical realism?

Nah, not really. I don't think that honesty has to be cynical or that myths are the same thing as lies. The UU church where I work (and where Gallica will probably take classes and celebrate holidays) has what I consider a very healthy, refreshing take on Christmas. It's an interesting congregation, made up of mostly highly educated, intellectual folks who value spiritual community. The church is non-creedal, which means there is no official belief system required for membership or participation with the church. People who attend range from self-identified Christians to cut-and-dry atheists, but most fall somewhere in between or outside of that spectrum. They are united by principles about how people should treat each other, not what people should believe spiritually.

Each December, the children learn about winter holidays celebrated by various cultures around the world. They burn a Yule log, call to the sun on the winter solstice, and get together to "deck the halls" with paper chains and a Christmas tree. Every other year, the children put on a traditional nativity story Christmas pageant, and each year there are candlelight Christmas Eve services full of traditional Christmas carols. There is never a Christmas Day service. UUs don't go to church on Christmas. Ha!

Most UUs (and a lot of Christians too) know that the nativity story is a mashup of lore that has evolved, shifted, and grown in detail and variation over 2,000 years. First, there are the birth narratives found in Matthew and Luke. These narratives were written long after the death of Jesus and are completely independent of each other, unlike the rest of those two gospels, which seem to be based on a combination of the earlier gospel of Mark and another document, now lost, called "Q" by biblical scholars. The two birth stories are spare and have nothing in common except the location of the birth in Bethlehem. At the time and place the birth narratives were written, it was common for birth stories of great men to be made up after their deaths--not as falsehoods but as symbolic representations of the heroes' greatness--like when Greek and Roman portrait statues were made that used features from images of gods and goddesses as symbols of the human subject's traits. This was not the ancient version of Photoshop. The mythological symbols were well known and not taken literally. For example, a real woman's face might be carved onto the recognizable form of Venus to symbolize her fertility.

In later years, the two biblical narratives got smushed together into the more familiar nativity story, and details were filled in--about the number of magi and who they were, about the stable and animals, and about many other elements found in pageants and lawn ornaments to this day. In medieval times, biblical fan-fic writers began to add in many embellishments never found in original sacred texts, from the sweet and sentimental (remember the movie Small One, about Mary's donkey?) to the gruesome (for example, that God sealed up Mary's lady business like a tomb immediately after the birth so her virginity would be preserved).

A similar, later evolution of narrative created Santa Claus. The character has roots in Pagan mythology, Catholic saint lore, and American marketing schemes.

And both main characters of Christmas are sacred to a lot of people. It's considered abominable to tell a small child that Santa isn't real. (We're talking, angry-mob, getting medieval abominable. Check out this recent post on Offbeat Mama for an example.) And, of course, try explaining to a gung-ho Christian that the birth narratives of Jesus were not written to be taken literally, and furthermore, the familiar story is mostly padding in the form of post-biblical creative writing and mistranslations of Hebrew words. To make matters more complex, although both Christmas stories (of Santa and of Jesus) are sacred to so many of the same people, mixing the two is usually seen as sacrilege. Doesn't it seem kind of wrong to see a Santa figure in a nativity scene? (See the image at the top of this post...) And how about the image below?

Nope, that just doesn't seem right. Two of the favorite gods of American culture, Baby Jesus and capitalism, cause some very uncomfortable feelings of cognitive dissonance when placed together.

Here's another interesting thing about the two stories. While the whole fun and magic of the Santa story is that it's a game we play for pretend, some people are very sensitive about the "real" details of the nativity story. And I think it's really cute how some Christians get all starry-eyed and amazed when they hear that a single word or small detail of the nativity story might have actually meant something else... like, wow, was that how it really happened? ...when it's basically moot because the whole story was made up, starting with a couple of symbolic sacred texts and evolving over a couple of millennia. But those changing details, while not historically factual, are interesting with regard to what they symbolize and how they make us feel about the whole story. Here is an example of how the translation of one little word can change the whole mood and significance of the tale.

So what will I tell Nux Gallica when she asks questions about Christmas? Will I feed her the broadly accepted, modern versions of the myths? Or will I spoil the magic of Christmas and tell her it's all fake--Baby Jesus in the manger, Santa, Rudolph, and all? Will I play dumb in the service of sentimentality, or will I be a heartless jerk in the service of literal correctness? Neither. The whole truth is more complex, more interesting, and more meaningful. I will tell my daughter the stories of Jesus and Santa. And then I will tell her the most interesting part--the stories behind the stories, the metamyth that opens the doors to deeper symbolism and cultural heritage. I will explain to her how the stories evolved over time and why some people believe in the modern stories and why those stories are important to them. I will also teach her a respect for the human, cross-cultural trait of passing along--and collectively growing--legends and narratives that give our lives meaning, identity, purpose, and poetry. I will try to set her up to see the difference between bullshit (marketing, propaganda, etc.) and genuine, heartfelt mysticism.

Last Christmas, one of the UUs made a remark in the service that made a profound impact on me:

"To take a myth literally is to miss the point."

Jesus told fables, not as lies, and not as literal historical information that should be logged in a record book, but as a symbolic teaching tool pointing to a deeper truth that is hard to express in plain words.

Likewise, the stories of the rabbi's own birth, crafted decades after his death and layered and enriched with the folklore and imagination of 2,000 years, holds the most value when it is studied for what it really is. Not bullshit, not lies, and not dry fact either. It is a living legend, still growing and evolving with modern culture.

Christmas is a time of hope at midwinter, a time to gather with family, a time to practice generosity, and a time to have fun. Knowing the stories behind the stories need not spoil their magic. I don't need to be ignorant of where babies come from to feel that the coming of my own child is a miracle. I still feel excited on Christmas morning without believing that a man in a velvet suit has dropped down my chimney in the night. The whole truth is that sacred and magical tales are grounded in the imaginations of men and women... and also that transcendent truth and beauty are found in the process of creating those tales. Humans, by nature, are both logical and spiritual, and I do not believe that one quality must be denied for the sake of the other. When understood properly, these two human traits enrich and balance each other.

So merry Christmas, if you celebrate this holiday, whether you are a Christian or not, a believer or a skeptic, whether your lawn features a nativity scene, a sleigh hitched to blinking reindeer, or a mix of both. Christmas as we know it is not strictly a Christian holy day. It is not an ancient pagan festival. Nor is it solely a marketing ploy fueled by corporate interests. Christmas is bigger than all of those. It is a truly hybridized, richly evolved, slow-cooked cultural phenomenon as full of depth and wonder as with nonsense. And I can't wait to celebrate Baby's First Christmas with my own little miracle next year. Amen, alleluia!

Merry Christmas from Michelle Davidson Argyle!

2011-12-19T13:00:00.000-08:00

All ebooks by Michelle Davidson Argyle, including her ever-popular and enchanting debut novella Cinders, are on sale for 99 cents until the New Year. Jingle jingle jingle! That pocket change can get you some magical, exciting, and cozy winter reading. Click click click!

Keep Saturn in Saturnalia!

2011-12-01T06:17:00.000-08:00

Saturnalia is a Roman religious festival centuries older than the baby Jesus, celebrated in December with a week-long frenzy of shopping, gift giving, donning gay attire, feasting, drinking, and sometimes bath orgies. Today, Saturnalia is recognized worldwide by nerds, from Ren Faire devotees to classical history scholars, and by weirdos like me who feel polyamorous about religion. Merry Christmas! Happy Chanukkah! Delightful Divali! Super Solstice!

Happy holidays to everyone!

Grief and Gratitude

2011-11-24T05:52:00.001-08:00

This has been a month of intense ups and downs for the Nutshell. The Baked Chef has left us after more than three years sharing our home, sneaking out in the middle of the night. We don't know exactly why he kept it a secret that he was going and disappeared without saying goodbye, but to be fair, it is exactly his style. The loss we feel is tinged with the shame of someone who has kept a wild animal for a pet, out of irrational love, and didn't fully prepare for the inevitable day when it would take off. But the Baked Chef is not a coyote or a boa constrictor; he is a complicated person. At least our worry has been relieved by a recent sighting of him in the sunny Southwest, buying a girl drinks in a bar. Cheers!

We have to admit that the timing, if not the manner, of this leavetaking is good. Nux Gallica is growing into a talking, almost-walking, curious, monkey-mimicking, bright and active child. It would have been difficult keeping half of the house and the backyard as an off-limits bachelor pad--or kicking our friend to the curb. So in a way, we are grateful for our loss. And we are grateful for all the good times we had together, and we are immensely grateful for our beautiful, healthy, brilliantly happy daughter.

A couple weeks ago, we had a Child Dedication for Nux Gallica at our church, and during the service a member read this beautiful poem written by her late mother-in-law, Anne Porter.

LEAVETAKING

Nearing the start of that mysterious last season
Which brings us to the close of the other four,
I’m somewhat afraid and don’t know how to prepare
So I will praise you.

I will praise you for the glaze on buttercups
And for the pearly scent of wild fresh water
And the great crossbow shapes of swans flying over
With that strong silken threshing sound of wings
Which you gave them when you made them without voices.

And I will praise you for crickets.
On starry autumn nights
When the earth is cooling,
Their rusty diminutive music
Repeated over and over
Is the very marrow of peace.

And I praise you for crows calling from treetops
The speech of my first village,
And for the sparrow’s flash of song
Flinging me in an instant
The joy of a child who woke
Each morning to the freedom
Of her mother’s unclouded love
And lived in it like a country.

And I praise you that from vacant lots
From only broken glass and candy wrappers
You raise up the blue chicory flowers.

I thank you for that secret praise
Which burns in every creature,
And I ask you to bring us to life
Out of every sort of death

And teach us mercy.

Village Schooling

2011-10-24T08:16:00.000-07:00

Public school? Private school? Homeschool? I'm not so sure about any of those options, so I'm dreaming up a new way to think about educating my daughter.

Nux Gallica is growing so quickly that she already has me planning her education. I've located a truly excellent private preschool in my neighborhood, and I've calculated that the tuition costs less than diapers. Hooray!

But what happens when she turns five? The public schools in my area are among the worst in the developed world. (No joke.) The private schools are expensive, religious, and not extraordinary. And the thought of "homeschooling" my daughter at home, in isolation from her peers, makes me cringe.

Part of that is a stigma of homeschooling that I know is not always deserved. Families identifying as "homeschooling" are often linked to large networks of other families that help each other give their children rich educational experiences with classes, field trips, and other activities held outside the home. Not all of them are religious fanatics or conspiracy theorists. The majority of the "homeschooling" parents around here seem to be smart, educated people who enjoy taking a very active, hands-on role in their children's education. And the result is that the average homeschooled child, even including the ones from fringe-of-society families, score higher on standardized tests than public school children.

But the word "homeschool" doesn't seem to fit a model of taking the children out into the world, to interact with many adults and children of all ages (not just one or two teachers and a herd of peers) and learn in a more organic, natural, and fun way than can be done at a desk. The word "homeschool" connotes the same kind of activities done in traditional schools--dittos, drills, and that sort of thing--but done at a desk in the home instead of a desk in a classroom.

What I want to do for Nux Gallica, and what many "homeschool" networks do, is not traditional school, and it is not done at home.

So when people ask how I want to educate my daughter, I am going to use the term Village Schooling. I believe that it takes a village to raise a self-actualized child, and I want Nux Gallica to know and learn from the world directly--not filtered through lectures and textbooks among a heavily managed class of children her age. Lectures, textbooks, and homogenous peer groups have their limited value, but I don't want them to be the bread and butter of her intellectual and social development. I studied child development extensively in college and a little in grad school, and I know that hands-on, applied learning and interaction with many different types and ages of people are optimal ways to blossom.

I agree with something a schoolteacher and mom friend of mine said the other day: "All children are gifted." I would amend, if you give them the chance. Traditional classrooms can only do so much to accommodate different abilities among large groups of children, and the brightest stars often get held back--or become troublemakers when they get too bored and receive more discipline than encouragement. I saw a lot of that happening when I substitute taught and when I was in school myself. I can already tell that Nux Gallica is an especially bright, motivated, and strong-willed child--which can be a recipe for success or disaster, depending on the interaction between her nature and her environment. Traditional schools serve an important role providing food, shelter, and a very basic education to the masses. But I want to give my daughter something more, a special opportunity to be extraordinarily herself and to grow up as a natural, organic component of her community, her village.

So what will that look like? For (again) less than the cost of diapers and about 1/6 the cost of a private Montessori kindergarten program, I could enroll Nux Gallica in art classes, swim lessons, soccer, tae kwon do, ballet, and mini horse camp. Then there are free things like weekly educational programs at the library, private piano and foreign language lessons by family and friends, and Sunday school. I expect that, like me and her father, she will already have her reading and basic math skills down before preschool just from being an inquisitive and interactive child at home. I look forward to watching her grow and learn and helping her discover her own passions and interests.

Parents who may be reading this, have you tried something like this with your own children or know someone who has? What has it been like?

What % is bored by martyrs?

2011-10-23T12:19:00.000-07:00

There are people disgusted at Wall Street. There are people disgusted with the people who are disgusted with Wall Street. I'm jumping into the chain to express my disgust with the people disgusted with the people disgusted with Wall Street.

Hello, I am the Genie of the Shell, and I am not angry. I have a fortunate life. But I understand why lots of other people are angry right now. Bailouts for banks but not families, layoffs, benefit cuts, infrastructure cuts, and other economic problems have come to a head lately. Most of the nation is living in substandard conditions in comparison to other “developed” nations while the richest people get richer and more powerful. It’s no surprise to me why the people getting screwed are pissed off. What seems a bit absurd to me is the people who are angry at the people who are angry about getting screwed. There appears to be an Occupy Facebook movement to counter the Occupy Wall Street protests, with signs like this one.

I’m also confused as to why being debt-free is more important to some people than anything else, including health care and humane living standards. My husband and I are in about $140,000 of debt from our fancy college tuitions, a slightly underwater mortgage, and credit card bills racked up from plane tickets and cool bikes. But we don’t really care, because we live a comfortable lifestyle in a nice house in a good neighborhood that is safe and pleasant for our growing family. We both work unusual hours at humble jobs so we can spend as much time as possible with our family, which we value more than a balanced budget.

I have worked since the age of 13 as a babysitter and later in restaurants, stores, and offices. Mostly I blew my money on concert tickets, clothes, going out with friends, Cedar Point road trips, and gas and maintenance for my beloved Ford Escort. I also enjoyed donating some of my money to good causes and buying really excellent gifts for the people I loved. I also enjoyed donating time as a volunteer. Looking back, I don’t regret "wasting" some money and time instead of wasting my youth.

My husband and I both graduated with high honors and received top scores on our final exams. We followed the advice of our guidance counselors and chose expensive, private colleges because they offered much better curricula and richer experiences than the local public universities. We also received scholarships, which filled the gap between our savings and loans and the total cost of tuition, room, and board.

We soon realized that many of the promises made by our guidance counselors and the admissions people at our colleges were a lot of BS, but all the fancy education and job experience still helped us get jobs that pay way well above minimum wage and even offer good benefits. We prioritize, and we indulge in what we value most—spending quality time with family and friends, learning and growing as human beings, and having luxuries like craft brew beers and restaurant meals once in awhile—thereby supporting our local economy! We also support some causes in our community that are important to us. We’ve never been on welfare, but we're glad it's there for those who need it. We save money for retirement and emergencies, but we’re not hoarding for the zombie apocalypse.

We’re in debt past our eyeballs, but it’s no crisis. Having good credit frees us to live well anyway. Aside from our mortgage, all of the interest rates on our debts are at or under about 3%. My credit card gives me 5% back on purchases and charges me no interest. I don’t pay it off in full. I save enough money in my bank account, earning interest, to cover the balance, but I pay only the minimum. When the zero percent interest promotion ends, I transfer the balance onto another card with a zero interest promotion. If the day ever comes when credit card companies stop stuffing my mailbox with those promotions, I can pay the card in full with my savings. However, that gravy train’s been running since college, so no reason to get off now.

I don’t have a new car, an iPad, a smart phone, cable TV, Netflix, a designer bag, or anything else I don’t care much about—but if I did care, I would buy them with my credit card and earn a bunch of points.

I live well and save for the future at the same time. I support my nation through my work, the taxes I pay, and the charitable causes I support.

I vote, and I have high expectations for my country. I hold my government accountable for doing right by me and the rest of the American people.

That’s how it’s supposed to work.

I am the 99%, and I am a privileged member of the 99%. I recognize that as a middle class white person from a healthy, supportive family, I cannot attribute all the good things in my life to my own initiative. I have compassion for the half of America that has less than me. That includes unimaginative ascetics who live in shitty apartments, went to lame schools, toil at crappy jobs, and want companionship in their misery instead of a better nation. It also includes booboo-faced former Marines like this fellow who take pride in being the nation’s whipping boys—while going commando on the health insurance.

Making sacrifices or dying for a noble cause is heroic. But "sucking it up" in the face of injustice is no virtue. I am completely unimpressed by people who eagerly martyr themselves for the very powers that oppress them and their fellow citizens instead of working for a better future.

In a democracy, the people have the power to write each new chapter of our history. They also have the right to ignore politics and spend all day playing Farmville. Or writing up signs about how much they like the abuse. Whatever.

UPDATE: After a quick Google search, I have discovered that the most egalitarian nations (mostly socialist) are also the richest, happiest, healthiest, smartest, and those with the highest standards of living. So reforming our financial and political systems to be more fair and equal is not just good for the poor and working classes, it's good for the whole nation.

I'm Feeling Yummy Head to Toe

2011-10-07T12:17:00.000-07:00

Hey, friends. "I know you've been waiting, but I've been off making babies..." Okay, to be honest, my blog posts and creative writings are probably a little less in demand than a pop star's albums, but even so, I'm feeling yummy these days--and so antsy to write! I'm feeling Gwennie's excitement about getting back into the groove after having a baby. Remember this song? Yeah, reach far back in that memory bank, pre-Gaga. Yeah?

My family just took a trip down to Florida to introduce Nux Gallica (now eight months old!) to her paternal grandparents for the first time. It was so affirming and warm and wonderful. We listened to a bunch of great family stories about Gallica's great-great-great-grandparents and beyond and stocked up on love and memories. That, and I got to wear a bikini outside for the first time since I got pregnant. Woo woo! Here I am demonstrating the "Venus de Milo" look.

To get this look in three steps: 1. Chase an active baby around all day to tone up after childbirth. 2. Breastfeed for "nature's boob job." It's temporary, but there are no scars. 3. Don't get any sun, ever. Live in a gloomy, overcast place like Michigan until you have a complexion like a hunk of cold marble.

Ta-da!

Nux Gallica's naps are not NEARLY long enough for me to work on my novel, but even though I'm itching to get back to work, I'm getting a lot out of this fertility sabbatical. I'm experiencing life like only a child can make you do, and I'm finding the time to write little bits (like sporadic blog posts) and do some good reading. My breast pump bag is currently stocked with Isabel Allende, and I've written an entry for the Literary Lab's Variations on a Theme contest! Have you written yours? Do it! See your work in print and try for a cash prize!

I hear a baby waking up! Time to disappear like Houdini... I'll come back for my spotlight one of these days. Let me check my itinerary...

Stowaway with Me!

2011-09-13T10:24:00.000-07:00

Hop aboard the link on September 13 for my interview with Lisa Findley of Stowaway. Lisa, a classmate of mine from Kalamazoo College, has a delightful travel blog where she is hosting a series of artist interviews this month. Lisa is a writer and traveler who is saving up for a 'round-the-world tour. Check out her blog and give her a suggestion for a great place to visit!

Emotional Landscapes

2011-09-10T09:43:00.000-07:00

Fiction writers, how do you use setting to tell your stories? As I go through major life changes (mainly, bringing Nux Gallica into the world), I've been musing on setting--the settings in my stories and also the setting of my own life, which influences what and how I write (not just how often I can do it!).

I find that when I better understand my own feelings and opinions about my material, it frees me to write with a depth and clarity that I can never find when I haven't examined my personal, social, cultural, and political relationship to the subject. Because whether we are aware of it or not, our own "settings" as authors, both external and internal, shape what and how we write. This is true not just for blatantly political works like satires. Our beliefs about things like human nature, love, the earth, men and women, class and power, values, and morals set the stage for how we develop characters and draw plotlines.

The characters in my novel-in-progress, Briars and Black Hellebore, keep evolving as my understanding of people and my life experience evolves.

One way I like to examine "where I am" inside my head is by paying attention to those magnificent emotional landscapes, the spaces in dreams. During my pregnancy, I had recurring dreams about alien landscapes. Usually I was exploring them by flying over them at exhilarating speeds. I was shocked to come across Bjork's video for Joga on YouTube, which I don't recall ever having seen in my life! The footage of Icelandic geography looks almost exactly like these dream sequences of mine.

In dream interpretation, it doesn't so much matter what you dream about as how you feel about it. My feelings in this set of dreams included wonder, fascination, fear, thrill, hope, and yearning. It makes sense to me that exploring a foreign or alien landscape refers to entering a new phase of my life as a mother. When I had a chance to reflect upon those feelings I was having about motherhood, I went back and added new depth to a character in my book who becomes a mother for the first time.

Another recurring dream of my pregnancy that has continued is a dream about a house. It's not exactly my real house, though it usually has elements of my actual home. In each dream, the house is a little different--rooms are added, removed, or changed around--and the symbolism about my life and my feelings about life stand out. During pregnancy, I kept dreaming about moving into a larger house or adding on to my house--or just stumbling across undiscovered rooms! I took this to be a recognition that my life is expanding with a new "addition" to the family. In some of the dreams early in my pregnancy, I would find rooms filled with children's toys. Right before I found out the baby's sex, I dreamed that I found one room filled with toys and another filled with jewelry. Soon after, we confirmed we were having a girl!

Whenever I read fiction, I can't help peering through the words at the shadowy figure of the writer, whose imagination and use of language and literary devices have been influenced not only by literature but by her or his personal feelings and beliefs, which are heavily influenced by the people and place in which the writer lives and works.

So I think carefully about my own settings, too--the worlds I build in my stories and also the world I live in, physically, mentally, and emotionally. All these emotional landscapes flow together to give life to our stories.

How aware are you of your settings? How do you choose which details and descriptions to include in your fiction? Is it something you plan carefully, or does it come to you more intuitively? Do you ever discover new things about yourself or your characters in the worlds you build on the page?

Variations on a Theme: Contest by the Literary Lab

2011-09-03T16:10:00.000-07:00

Did you know that Anton Chekhov banged his high school teacher's wife? Neither did I, until I fell into a Wiki-hole searching for short story ideas for the The Literary Lab's third anthology contest. I really don't have time for writing contests, but the fairy tale theme is too close to my heart to pass up. I took a peek at the two prompt stories, and my mind was reeling with themes. Class and gender! Fairy tales! West vs. East! I have no idea what the Lit Lab Techs were thinking when they chose these two stories, but they are both so interesting.

First, I thought I would write a story about pillow talk between Chekhov and his teacher's wife, gossiping about the pathetic Hans Christian Andersen, who would have been wasting away in a nursing home about then--an official national treasure, yet dying alone and friendless. I wanted to highlight the differences between the two authors' luck with the ladies and how it affected the way they wrote male and female characters.

But that was depressing and would have involved way too much research about the personal lives of real historical figures, so I came up with a second idea: a meta-fairy tale called "Clever Hans and the Magic Feather." In it, I cast Hans Christian Andersen as a character inside his own fairy tale, a wizard with a magic quill that could conjure and modify elements from other fairy tales to fulfill his own desires--but only vicariously, through the "life" of his main character.

That, too, was kind of depressing and felt a little too much like I was making fun of the real Hans Christian Andersen, which made me feel kind of Mean Girls.

So then I came up with a third idea, which was lots of fun! I can't tell you what it is, because I'm going to enter it in the contest once my local beta reader, Miss Moppet, has had a look at it.

Feel free to steal or modify either of my first two ideas if you really feel like it. I want lots of competition for this contest so the anthology turns out really great. I hope my story gets in, but I'd rather have a hard time getting into a stellar book than have an easy time getting my story into a mediocre book. So check it out and enter something good!

You Gotta Fight for Your Write

2011-08-27T14:36:00.000-07:00

What a year it has been! It's amazing how a baby pops into your life and completely rearranges all your priorities. For example, who knew that I can survive without social media? It's funny how my Facebook feed and my blog have an inverse relationship to how interesting my life is--when a lot is going on, I don't have time to post about it. I used to notice the same thing with journaling as a teenager. (Remember those days before social networks and texting--even before Instant Messenger and even before everyone had email? When kids passed notes in class and wrote in journals with tiny locks on them? Journals filled with nonsense about cute boys and TV shows and only brief mentions of really important things two months after they occurred?)

But through it all, I've managed to add or swap a few words from my first chapter here and there. For anything I can write this year, anything at all during this first year of motherhood, I'm giving myself extra credit. My most important goal as a writer this year is to try to absorb everything, be in the moment, and learn life lessons while fighting the good fight for a teeny bit of writing time just to keep in practice.

At this very moment, Nux Gallica is taking a nap, and I'm too pooped to clean the house, so it's time for a long overdue update on the Nutshell. Stuff that has been more important than blogging includes:

The Bad and the Ugly

Bicycle Anxiety: One of Mr. G's greatest challenges during my pregnancy was that I didn't allow him to ride his bike to work. He needed to have a car with him at all times just in case I needed him. Now that he's back on two wheels, both he and our roommate, the Baked Chef, have had some rough rides. The Lansing area has been making great progress toward becoming bike-friendly, but it still has a long way to go.

The Baked Chef got himself a spiffy new hipster bike and skinny jeans, the better to do stupid tricks in the road. He spray painted his wheels hot pink, handmade a houndstooth cover for his seat, and bought this crazy tiny speaker that pumps out earth-shaking dubstep while he shows off for the passersby. As a result, he has come home cheerfully bloodied on a regular basis. Of course he doesn't wear a helmet, because that would be a terrible waste of a mohawk, and what's one more concussion on top of the last 15 or 20, right?

However, even the Baked Chef was a bit shaken the day he rode his bike to work and was charged by a stray pit bull in the street. He managed to fend the dog off for awhile. He yelled and threw stuff and guarded himself with the bike, but the dog kept attacking. Then, the classy owner of the dog finally came out of his house and said, "Don't yell at my dog!" and egged on the dog to attack more. At which point the Baked Chef pulled *my* Kryptonite bike lock out of his bag and smashed the dog's skull in. He fled to work and called the police, who didn't follow up but basically thanked him for dispatching one of Lansing's many neighborhood-terrorizing fighting dogs. Ever since, I have been waiting for Mr. Dogfight to find the Baked Chef in an alley somewhere and seek vengeance. Ah, Lansing.

But it's far more likely he will be crushed in some kind of horrific accident, because those happen to cyclists all the time around here. Just last week, the Baked Chef came home with a bloody face after being run off the road into a tree by some texting girl in an SUV.

As if the Baked Chef's adventures aren't enough for me to worry about, Mr. G, my husband and the father of my baby, who always wears a helmet and proper cycling gear and doesn't do stupid tricks in the street, nevertheless got into an awful wreck on the way to work one day and ended up in the hospital.

Baby Nux Gallica didn't recognize her daddy when he came home and was very upset. It was heartbreaking. It was also face-breaking. Seems like every time I turn around, Mr. G and the Baked Chef have a few more scars, a few more chips in their teeth, and repeatedly rearranged noses. Luckily, when I was pregnant, we purchased supplemental accidental injury insurance! Except...

Baby Scams: I had Pollyanna-ishly ignored the fact that insurance companies love it when women have babies, because it's the perfect opportunity to deny or ignore claims, relying upon our vulnerable position to ensure we won't argue! As soon as Nux Gallica was born, our health insurance company, usually excellent, sent us some bills for expensive but routine pregnancy tests that they had denied without giving a reason. I called the medical lab, which informed me that my particular insurance company had stopped paying for those tests for all women at the end of their pregnancies and refused to give a reason. I looked up the insurer's policy, and it clearly stated that they did cover the tests they had refused to pay for. So I sent a registered mail letter demanding an explanation (registered so they couldn't pretend they didn't receive the letter, which is their routine way of handling appeals), and lo and behold, the insurance company sent me a letter saying I was absolutely right, paid the claim, and would not say why they had denied it in the first place.

Likewise, when it came time to make a small claim to cover a fraction of Mr. G's medical expenses from this bike accident, the supplemental insurance company let us know that they were understaffed and couldn't process anyone's claims anytime soon. So, we asked, can we just cash in our cash value insurance account and call it quits? No, they said. Even though it was never stated to us in writing, the people on the phone said they wouldn't give us any money until we had paid four years' worth of premiums, and even then, it would only be a paltry fraction of the total paid.

That's a straight up scam! Word to the wise: Don't be fooled like me and buy whole life insurance. EVER. It's a complete scam, and you can't win, even if your spouse dies tragically. They'll probably take advantage of your grief and confusion to try and pull one over on you. Sick but true--insurance companies work in the interest of their stakeholders, not their customers. That's how the money is made--by denying claims or illegally breaking contracts. I KNOW this, but I blame the pregnancy hormones for causing the delusion that everyone is my friend, including that nice insurance salesman. So, from now on, we're on our own when it comes to personal injury. Which leads me to...

MILFy Workout Injury: Nux Gallica absolutely hates it when I work out, because she has an attention span of about 30 seconds, and even if I use her as a weight or dance with her in my arms, she gets bored way before I even get my heart rate up. So I've gotten a bit out of shape this summer.

Miss Moppet kindly lent me a few of her super awesome belly dance workout DVDs, so I told Nux Gallica to buck up, and I popped in Veena and Neena's Bellydance Fitness for Beginners - Arms, Abs, Hips, Buns & Thighs. The "basic moves" segment went just fine, but when I tried the cardio workout the next day, which consists of jumping up and down on the balls of your feet for an eternity without a break, I tore something in my left calf and couldn't walk right. For about a week, I was stumping around like Frankenstein because I was unable to lift my left heel off the ground.

The only way I could walk right was by wearing high heels so my feet were already extended. Mr. G thought it was hot that I wore tall shoes all week. I felt like a Barbie doll--all stiff, rubbery legs with feet that don't flex. The injury might have been a good excuse to sit down, skip the chores, and do some writing and blogging, except...

The Good Stuff

Friends! There was a whole week this month when every day after work, an old friend popped by and either made us dinner or took us out to eat. And anyone who says no to dinner with an old friend on a summer evening so they can sit alone and write is insane.

Family! Fans! My parents and brother have generously spent a lot of time at our house this summer, helping us do things like install new ceiling fans and clean up our jungle of a yard.

Fun with Baby! Nux Gallica is at an exciting stage full of giggles and food-smearing and crawling everywhere. We've had to do lots of baby-proofing and adjusting to new routines and activity levels. We had about a month of sleepless nights when the little Nut decided she wouldn't sleep apart from Mommy. Thank goodness she's doing a good job of sleeping through the night by herself again. Mommy and Daddy could barely drive to work and form complete sentences, let alone do stuff like write books.

And there is more, so much more, but a genie needs to keep a little mystery about her. In the meantime, I am grabbing moments here and there--while pumping milk, early in the morning, late in the evening after Nux Gallica has gone to bed--and writing, often on good old-fashioned paper. I don't want to become one of those people who identifies as a "writer" but who doesn't actually write anything.

So tell me, parents and other busy people, how do YOU fight for your write?

Vepres Revision Workshop: Chapter 1, section 2

2011-07-18T14:26:00.000-07:00

This week, my manuscript has had a negative word count. I've been cleaning up the first chapter, cutting material that is really character sketch and sprinkling descriptions and details about characters throughout the story in dialogue and more gradual revelations. I'm more fully developing the character of King Eduard while removing most of the material about Yula to keep her more mysterious and spooky. Here is my original paragraph introducing Yula:

Even the noblest of family trees grows a strange fruit here or there, and King Eduard’s had a particularly fermented one. Old Mother Yula was the widow of some moldy, long-dead, distant cousin of Eduard’s. The King was not exactly sure how Mother Yula was related to him, for some of the oldest records had been misplaced, and Eduard could hardly read anyway. What he did know was that the old woman had stubbornly outlived three husbands, countless children and grandchildren, her wealth, and her dignity in the marshy borderlands at the southern end of West Vepres. It was whispered throughout the land that Old Mother Yula was a witch, but owing to her noble status and hermetic lifestyle, no one had ever tried to burn her at the stake along with the young, common witches who were regularly incinerated during festivals. Eduard felt both disappointed and grateful about this—disappointed that the embarrassing old hag stubbornly persisted in his world, but grateful that she kept to herself and had not caused a public spectacle during his reign. It helped that the farmers who lived near the old woman were so accustomed to seeing her take harmless walks through their cow pastures that they hardly felt afraid of her at all and barely noted her existence. For at least twenty years, Yula had lived as quietly as a sleeping dragon.

Here, I've shortened the paragraph introducing her and started to reveal more about her in dialogue and action.

Even the noblest of family trees grows an odd fruit here or there, and the most fermented of Eduard’s, a crone named Yula, was rumored to be a witch. The king was not exactly sure how he was related to Yula, for some of the oldest records had been lost, and Eduard could hardly read anyway. All he knew was that the old woman had stubbornly outlived four husbands, countless children and grandchildren, and her dignity in the marshy borderlands at the southern tip of West Vepres. Eduard reasoned that by feigning ineptitude at social affairs and notifying the Western nobility of the feast just before it began, he could draw an impressive show of guests from Vepres’ aristocracy without stirring up the dregs. The king understood that he took risks with all his tricks and shortcuts, but he was a gambling man, and his confidence had never been higher.

And so it was with stupefaction that mere seconds after the messenger to West Vepres had departed, King Eduard looked down from his tower to behold the sun-dried face of Old Mother Yula herself, squinting up at him from the courtyard.

“Damn that old prune,” he blustered. “She looks dry as driftwood. How has she not caught fire after all these years?” He goggled bloodshot eyes over his shoulder at Stephen, Captain of the Guard. “Answer me, Stephen. The villagers light up every festival of the year burning the devil’s concubines. She has been called a witch since I was a boy. How is she preserved?”

“Your Majesty,” Stephen smirked, “it is true that the villagers often burn young, pretty wenches who have broken one of their hearts. But the only emotion that ancient dame stirs in men’s hearts is fear. They believe she really is a witch, who would not be killed by burning, and so no one touches her.” He tossed his thick mane of brassy hair and puffed his chest. “Shall I send her back to the marshes?”

“Don’t be a fool, Stephen. I am no common bumbleclod to be frightened of fairy stories! Tell her—oh.” Eduard spread his thick fingers over the stones of the windowsill and leaned out. The heavy, groaning doors of the great hall had not been unbarred for Yula, and yet the courtyard and the hillside beyond lay empty. Even the birds had vanished. Eduard shuddered but squared his shoulders. “No need. The old bag of bones seems to have been drug off by one of the hounds. So much the better. I shall count it among my blessings.”

The king and his captain chuckled, but in the eerie silence that had settled over the castle, the sound was like the snorting of horses in the presence of danger.

I've removed several pages that follow Yula as she makes some discoveries and travels from her home to the castle. Instead, I've restructured the chapter so that the reader "meets" Yula when she arrives at the castle, and I let Yula explain in her own words why she has come and what she has discovered.

Vepres Revision Workshop: Paragraph 1

2011-07-10T12:19:00.000-07:00

Here is the first installment of a new series I'm doing here at the Nutshell to keep me on track with my novel, which I'm currently calling Briars and Black Hellebore. For anyone new to this blog, it's a fairy tale-based fantasy story set in a fictional kingdom called Vepres. Long, long ago, I posted some excerpts from an earlier draft. Now I'm rewriting the early chapters and showing how I have rewritten various selections.

You can offer feedback if you'd like, or discuss how your own revisions are similar or different from mine.

Below is an earlier version of my very first paragraph, followed by my latest rewrite.

Old first paragraph:

Long, long ago, a beautiful young queen gave birth to a baby girl. Princess Rosemarie was every bit as beautiful as her mother, and she was said to be the loveliest child ever born in the known world. Queen Hildegard was the first to say it, and to Hildegard, “the known world” consisted of her father’s fiefdom and the court of Vepreskastel, where she had reigned for nearly two years. King Eduard seconded her observation, which made it official. Throughout the land, in villages where none had set eyes on the blessed child, legends of Rosemarie’s transcendent beauty sprang up fully formed, like Venus from the ancient sea foam. Minstrels sang of her hair the color of spun gold, her skin as white as milk, and her cheeks blooming pink as the delicate briar roses that ornamented the stone walls of Vepreskastel. Still, Queen Hildegard was not content.

And the new one:

Long ago and far away, in the sleepy kingdom of Vepres, a young queen gave birth to a baby girl. The child was much like other children born in Vepres, slimy and wrinkled with a head like an overripe aubergine, but within moments she became the most beautiful child ever born in the whole world. Queen Hildegard said it first, warbling through delirious tears, and her words tumbled like so many floating spores, borne on the breath of serving women and men, out of the birth chamber, through the great hall, out of the castle, down the hillside, and deep into the Shining Forest where the king hunted. When the news reached King Eduard’s ears, he repeated it aloud: “The queen has given birth to the most beautiful child in the world,” and it became official. Curiously, by the time King Eduard and his men scaled the mighty hill of Vepreskastel and entered the royal birth chamber, it was not only official but true.

Which first paragraph do you like better, and why? All opinions are welcome!

Get On Your Duff

2011-07-02T08:57:00.000-07:00

Having a baby means that there will never be a good time, ever, to get anything accomplished. I will always be sleep deprived, overtired, busy, and distracted. However, I have discovered my parental superpowers that have lain dormant all these years. In college, I couldn't get through a day without falling asleep in a chair after pulling an all-nighter. These days, I only get two or three hours of sleep at a time, and yet I somehow manage to work the equivalent of a couple full-time jobs taking care of my child and helping bring home the bacon from two employers.

Why not get moving on my novel now, too??

Whether you have kids or not, whether you are in school or have three jobs or an addiction to Warcrack, there will never be a good time to write that novel. Fellow writers, join forces with me this summer! Quit running around. Park that butt in your office chair. Clear your workspace of novel-unrelated sticky notes. Is the baby napping? Are you on break? Commence guerrilla writing! Let's make some beautiful literature.

Revised excerpts from Briars and Black Hellebore will be posted, starting mid-July. You can just read them for fun, help me workshop them, or get envious of me for putting words in my manuscript while my brain is operating at 30% capacity and seek revenge by writing more and better words in your own manuscript. Whatever works. Oh, and have a happy Independence Day weekend!

Breeders of Readers

2011-06-20T15:50:00.000-07:00

Breeders of readers, that's what we are! Mr. G and I are excited about instilling a love of reading in our daughter, starting before she knows a single word. Here is Mr. G on Fathers' Day, reading to Nux Gallica.

She's usually a lot more into her books, but you know how it goes--she's turning pages and talking to the pictures, but as soon as the camera starts rolling she's bored. I suppose that's why baby books are only a few pages long.

Nux Gallica is five months old today!

I might write a few books in my lifetime, which will be cool, but it will be even cooler to raise a person who might read thousands and thousands of books in her lifetime.

Have you been following the latest YA spat between Meghan Cox Gurdon and Sherman Alexie? One of my very smart and sophisticated college classmates, Lisa Findley, wrote this article for the International Business Times, which sums up my feelings on the issue exactly. Read it and be inspired!

Happy Fathers' Day! (video of Mr. G booger interview with pooping unicorn shirt and baby)

2011-06-19T08:59:00.000-07:00

Happy Daddy Day, men with sprouts! I am so appreciative of Mr. G today. He is a super provider and a super dooper daddy to his beloved Nux Gallica. On his Daddy Duty Days, he carts her all over town running errands and proudly showing her off to everyone he sees. Last week, he got interviewed by the local news station about boogers while waiting for his allergy shots. He is one cute dude, especially holding that adorable baby. Am I right??

Also, his top secret blog code name cover is totally blown when they say his real name. Shhhh, pretend you didn't hear that.

The only thing I'm really sad about is that you can't see the picture on his shirt: a unicorn pooping Lucky Charms marshmallows into the mouths of happy aliens. Because being a dad is no reason to grow up.

Writers Are Boring People.

2011-06-14T14:00:00.000-07:00

It's been said many times, once by Tobias Wolff in the interview I mentioned in my last post: Good writers tend to be boring people. But their friends shouldn't be.

While we're planted in front of a computer, somebody has to be out there doing all the interesting things we write about. And while we can't always be out there with them, we need to know them well to write interesting characters.

In my last post, I mentioned going to a wedding and hanging out with a bunch of college friends. It is always fun and inspiring to get together with my three best girlfriends from college, the Swedish Maid (the bride, who played Ultimate Frisbee in thrift store finery with her wedding party), Elle (a jazz saxophone player who found love on Study Abroad and now resides in France), and J.Mo (another bilingual world traveler and musician). I got all teary when Elle and J.Mo, who look as beautiful as they sing (picture the most adorable French and Spanish girls, respectively, dressed up in flowers and sassy polka dots) performed a duet by the Weepies accompanied by J.Mo's guitar. It was a touch of supreme sweetness in the middle of a tart and juicy weekend celebration.

The Swedish Maid plays Ultimate in one of her many "disposable" wedding gowns.

It was hard living up to her little sister's zombie wedding shoot (the Swedish Maid is the dead maid of honor there), but she did a bangup job with her own wacky nuptials. I can't wait for the photos to come out!

I sat at a table with two more women from my college class who went on to graduate from Johns Hopkins. One of them works for a nonprofit like me, and we laughed about the pitfalls of holding conference calls with hearing-limited old folks. None of us have come close to paying off our student loans, but all the other women have exciting lifestyles.

Of course, none of them besides me--not even the married Mormon--have children. They also got to dance and drink the night away while I rushed my leaky boobs back to the hotel to nurse my baby. Not that I'm that jealous. I certainly wouldn't trade my time with Nux Gallica for any job or travel experience. Also, I have accepted that my dream to be a writer dooms me to a life of sitting in front of a computer and boringness.

Well, maybe it's not that writers are boring. Maybe it's just that we keep our freak on the inside.

Elle once said of me and my husband Mr. G, "You are each other's antidote." We do complement each other well. I am an internal sort of person, constantly analyzing and imagining. When I think too hard, I sometimes walk into things or forget where I'm driving. Mr. G, on the other hand, is a major extrovert who wears all his eccentricities on his sleeve and notices every detail of his surroundings like he's had spy training. It's a lot of fun because Mr. G points out weird things around us, and I analyze them.

I can't even tell you how amazing it was to walk the streets of Chicago with him during the International Mr. Leather festivities, which happened to be going on the same weekend as the Swedish Maid's wedding.

Assless chaps, latex aprons, mutton chops with shaved heads, fierce mustachios, bondage accessories paired with camo pants, and knee-high boots on men were everywhere. Mr. G, who happened to be wearing leather bracelets and a fierce beard with a shorn head, got a lot of strange looks as he pushed the baby stroller.

Mr. G noticed the colorful demographics right away, but we found out about Mr. Leather International when we met up with Mr. G's best buddy from his college class, Mr. Berlin. "Hey Mr. Berlin," Mr. G said, "what's with all the leather boys?" We knew Mr. Berlin would know what was going on, seeing as he's basically a connoisseur of sexual fetishes.

Once, while Mr. G was off flying Nux Gallica around the hotel lobby like an airplane and I sat alone with Mr. Berlin, downing Krug champagne truffles and artisan beer (it was his birthday and he needed a little cheering up after a nasty breakup with his middle-aged supervisor), Mr. Berlin looked at me quizzically and said, "It is so weird to see Mr. G as such a natural father."

"Oh yes," I said. "I always knew that deep down, having a family would make him happiest."

Mr. Berlin furrowed his brow and said, "It is amazing that you saw that in him." He then regaled me with a few stories of himself and Mr. G in college--of Robo tripping, insomnia, pyromania, and survival challenges in the woods, nothing I hadn't heard before.

But it's true. Years ago, at the old alma mater, I told the Swedish Maid that I really wanted to hook up with Mr. G while home for the weekend, but if I did that, we'd probably end up married and having babies, and I wasn't sure I was ready for that kind of commitment. She looked at me like I was crazy. Mr. G was a drug-addled, philandering genius gone mad who had been known to disappear for days into the wilderness or onto the streets, surviving on grubs or dumpster dived pizzas. But I knew that what Mr. G wanted more than anything was a good hug, a committed relationship, and a stable family. I might not notice posted signs or people waving at me, but I am very attuned to matters of the heart and psyche. Now, Mr. G is a happy and healthy model husband and father--who tells a lot of good stories.

The reason I like to read and write stories about people is probably the same reason I like to surround myself with fascinating people. My best friends, for better or worse, have always been vivacious, outgoing, sometimes on the edge of deranged people. In comparison, I am shy, introverted, and bland. I like to watch. I like to analyze. I like to have people close to me who can do the work of socializing and coruscating that I personally find exhausting.

It's worth pointing out that there's good weird and there's bad weird. Eccentric people are generally happy, good people. Then there are wounded, toxic people who, while often fascinating, are more of a drain than an inspiration. There is an art to weeding out the wackos and treasuring the splendidly unique. Too much drama and too much negativity are distracting and harmful to creativity. For example, Mr. Berlin is probably the kinkiest person I've ever met. He's slept with people in more countries than I've ever visited and tried just about every legal, ethical fetish known to mankind. But he manages to do all of that without being the least bit dirty or creepy. He is kind, cheerful, honest, straightforward, responsible, hardworking, and very smart. He says things like, "There is no such thing as wasted time. I'm learning and having new experiences every moment. It's not the end goal that matters so much." How very tantric.

Even if I don't keep in regular contact with the most fascinating people in my life, I try to keep in touch on some level, even if it's just on Facebook. They live in many states and nations. Most have amazing artistic skills. Sometimes, we keep them in our basement. (The Baked Chef is only one of four friends who have dwelled in our cellar.) Most of them have personal stories sad and horrible enough to keep the most jaded cynic up at night, and most of them could tell a story funny enough to bust your bladder.

As I write this post, the Baked Chef is outside spray painting his bike wheels hot pink, the better to impress his tribe of disc golfers with mohawks, and Mr. G just called to tell me he's going to be on the news tonight getting interviewed about seasonal allergies while wearing his t-shirt depicting a unicorn pooping Lucky Charms. It's a good thing I'm an aspiring writer and not an aspiring politician.

So, fellow writers: Do you consider yourself "boring," or at least "boring on the outside?" Do you maintain relationships with people who are "more interesting" than you? Who are the best "characters" in your life?

2011 Half Year Review: Bottles, then Books

2011-06-11T10:25:00.000-07:00

I just went back and read this interview with Tobias Wolff, which is old news but probably one of the best author interviews/articles I've ever read. (Another is this new one by old favorite Sherman Alexie.) It is good to remind myself often that good writing takes time. Most writers get better with age. Novel writing is a slow process that draws upon life experience and knowledge, our stores of which are built up by living our lives and reading--and living and reading are impeded by the act of writing.

When I start to get down on myself because I'm looking at 30 years old and haven't completed a manuscript, I need to remind myself of what I know and what I have chosen. I know that spending my youth reading and living will make me a better writer at 40, 50, 60, or 90 than I could possibly be at 30. I know that I can write at any age, but other things must be done within a magical window of time.

Not long ago, I went to a wedding with a bunch of people from college. All of them are sparkling, intelligent, fascinating, fun, lovely people with exciting lives and mostly fabulous careers. But none of them except me have children--though most of them want families "someday."

One of the great things about a solitary, artistic career like writing is that writers don't need to break into the field in their twenties to find success. Women writers don't have to choose between using our best childbearing years to either have babies or achieve career goals. I see my colleagues traveling the world and climbing ladders while I'm at home, sleep deprived and spattered with boogers and spit-up, with all my brains (or at least all the nutrients that make brains work right) spurting out of my boobs, and sometimes I panic. But then I remember what I chose: to enjoy family life now and enjoy a writing career later. It seemed the healthiest and most logical use of my years at the time, and it still does. But the urge to create is nearly as strong as the urge to procreate, so my breast pump bag and nursery cubbies are stuffed with research materials and good, meaty fiction.

Nom nom research!

And I have this trusty blog to record my annual goals and reassure myself that the things that matter are moving right along. My 2011 resolutions were:

1. Save $200/month, in addition to automatic contributions to retirement and the baby's college fund. We're on track. Having a baby cost us more than we expected, but money is being hoarded a few bucks at a time. Also, I notice that 0-interest-for-18-months credit cards are easy to get again. Mmm, credit. I'm not worried--I'll pay it off with my first advance check. Pffffhahaha!

2. Plant and nurture 300 square feet of garden. People like my husband and mother thought this was a ridiculous goal for a new mom, and they were right. I tearfully agreed to quit the garden this year after having a breakdown because I hadn't found time to vacuum the floor in three weeks. Then I snuck outside and squirrelled a few pepper and tomato seeds into the rose bed by the front door. But the Mosquitopocalypse going on in Michigan this year is preventing me from taking Nux Gallica outside, and I can't leave her inside while I dig in the dirt. So resolution #2 is canceled.

3. Resume belly dance as a postpartum fitness program as soon as my body has healed enough from childbirth. Last month, I did a lot of shimmying and chest circle/hip circle drills for Nux Gallica's entertainment. They made her laugh and toned my shoulders, legs, and belly. This month, she is having a growth spurt and a cold and an ear infection, which means Mommy gets no sleep or energy for dancing. But technically, I accomplished resolution #3. I look forward to doing more when I'm feeling better.

4. Complete a first readable draft of my fantasy novel Briars and Black Hellebore and send it to beta readers by the end of the year. Call me crazy, but I still think this is possible. Before Nux Gallica got sick, I was able to revise the first page (one small step for an author, one giant step for a mommy author). I had hoped to start working on it again in the summer, so I have a teeny head start. I requested reduced work hours at one of my jobs so that I have more time for the baby, and once she feels better, I might just be able to squeak in a few hours each week to finish my manuscript. If I can just finish the first 1/3 of my book and send it to beta readers this year, I'll be satisfied.

My biggest priority this year, though it wasn't included in my list of resolutions, is to keep Nux Gallica growing and healthy and happy. So if I can accomplish any other goals during her infancy, I suppose I should feel pretty super. Producing 40 ounces of milk a day is a big undertaking; I still have plenty of time to produce fiction later.

Think of teh Children's!

2011-05-23T12:06:00.000-07:00

I am already starting to worry about my child seeing, hearing, and repeating bad language.

I'm not talking about swear words. Mr. G and the Baked Chef are pretty much incapable of forming a sentence without a few bombs in it, especially after a long day at work. I do my best, but I've given up on trying to keep my daughter's ears pure from profanity.

No, by "bad language" I mean a shameful misuse of the English language. I am seeing spelling, grammar, and punctuation errors everywhere lately, from restaurant menus to business signs to online news articles. Weird spacing, apostrophes in plurals, random hyphens inside words, abuse of commas and semicolons, quotation marks that are sometimes inside and sometimes outside of periods or even floating away after an odd space, incorrect word usage, the "alot," and other textual wrongdoings abound.

Last week, I saw a flyer for an expensive Montessori school in the area. I noticed that the flyer had a couple of typos on it. "Come visit us on the 25rd," it said. "See our multi-age classroom's." (I paraphrase. As offended as I was, I don't want to reveal the identity of the school.) It seemed odd that a $600/month institution wouldn't bother to spell check or proofread their promotional materials, but I guessed that some harried volunteer or underpaid staff person had whipped it out in a hurry. Then I checked out the school's website and was appalled at the number of grammatical, spelling, and punctuation errors.

Um. If your staff doesn't know the different meanings of "there," "their," and "they're," I'll just keep my $600/month. SO THERE.

Good writing skills are important for just about any career, and I want my daughter to be functionally literate. It is amazing to me how many people--not just everyday folks but even journalists and people calling themselves "writers"--seem to have no idea how English works. It's cute when the menu at the Mexican restaurant says "been deep," and it's fine to use slang and abbreviated language in informal contexts like personal e-mails, texts, or notes to self. It is not cute when native English speaking professionals muddle words and punctuation marks so badly that their meaning is lost.

During my brief time in graduate school, I learned that educators of illiterate people tended to make more and more spelling and punctuation mistakes in their own writing, because seeing the same mistakes over and over again normalized them in their brains.

So every time you stick an apostrophe in a plural noun, you could be damaging an innocent child's developing brain. Or assaulting the writing skills of her aspiring author mother.

Some of the smartest-pantsed and most awesomest people I know are horrible spellers and punctuators, so don't think of this as a personal judgment if you are a textual offender. But please think of the children and find a proofreader before you print a large business sign, promotional flyer, or that NaNoWriMo manuscript you want everyone to enjoy.

Thanks!

Sweet Buns and Olive Oil: An Ancient Diaper Rash Remedy

2011-05-16T08:31:00.000-07:00

To battle the dreaded Mommy Brain and the feeling of being a factory farm dairy cow, I have stocked my breast pump bag with research for my stalled work in progress. In 15-minute pumping sessions, I'm reading a biography of Charlemagne, Beowulf, and the Nibelungenlied.

Reading ancient texts really puts life in perspective. Sometimes I think, "Wow, I'm sure glad I live in modern times!" when I read about things like the life expectancy of 25--yeah, 25 years--in the time and place of Charlemagne's birth. People got married at age 12, had as many kids as possible, then quickly died in childbirth, in battle, or of disease.

Yikes. At other times, I think to myself, "The Romans (who had a much better expected lifespan, especially in times of peace) seemed to get by fine without Desitin and Johnson and Johnson products a couple millennia ago. Do I really need to make another trip to Babies 'R Us?"

Last week, Nux Gallica started to get a little diaper rash. We have a great cloth diaper service and haven't seen much diaper rash so far, but it appears on every set of baby cheeks at some point. I wanted to do something for it and didn't have any diaper cream, and then I was reminded in my classical studies that olive oil has great skin healing properties. Of course!

I often use olive oil as a general moisturizer, especially on my legs after shaving, but it hadn't occurred to me to use it on baby buns. I rubbed a couple of drops on her diaper rash and also on a red patch under her chin that was irritated by spit bubbles, and the next day the skin in both areas was soft and almost completely rash-free.

And yummy-smelling!

Reading ancient texts makes me oh so thankful for modern miracles like immunizations and modern plumbing, but it also reminds me often that there are simpler ways to do things. It's interesting how doing research for my writing can give me parenting tips and how raising a baby is also enriching how I write my characters with children. Being a mommy and a writer can benefit each other in strange ways.

Cinderella Nights

2011-05-09T08:40:00.000-07:00

As my "About Me" description states, the Genie of the Shell commands the power to grant her own wishes. This comes in handy now that I have a baby and still no fairy godmother.

One of the difficult things about nursing is that I can't be away from the baby or a breast pump for more than three or four hours. If I want to go to the ball and I manage to get the chores done and dress myself, there is still the threat that when the clock strikes that magical hour, my breasts will turn into pumpkins. Prince Charming might be enchanted by nature's boob job, but there is nothing more uncomfortable than leakage, engorgement, and the fear of a mastitis infection.

Going on a fancy date is still possible, but it takes some careful planning and creativity. Last month, my Prince Charming and I went on our roughly-annual opera date to see The Magic Flute.

Though I don't have a fairy godmother, I do have a wonderful human mother who loves to babysit. I applied a little makeup while pumping milk, and Mr. G and I transformed out of our work clothes with magical speed. I don't have the money or time to go shopping for opera gowns lately, so I put together a few items that I already had to create a new look: a floor-length glittery black gown, a stretchy black corset belt, and a sleeveless ivory silk blouse. I wore the silk blouse over the dress and tucked it into the belt to give the look of a high-waisted black skirt. Ah, it's fun to have a waist again!

The opera was great fun, and the coloratura performing as the Queen of the Night was marvelous. We had a sophisticated and decadent few hours enjoying the performance, from the second row near all the regular patrons in their finery and queenly hats, and as soon as the curtain fell, we made a mad dash for the exit. It felt a little wrong leaping over the red velvet stairs before the curtain call, like we were Catholics skipping out of Mass right after the Eucharist, but we smiled when we saw a few other couples toting little girls in sparkly, frilly dresses doing the same thing. Hey, bedtime is bedtime.

A couple of weeks later, Mr. G and I celebrated our fourth wedding anniversary by going out to dinner at the same restaurant where we celebrated our third--just before I found out I was pregnant. It was on a weekday evening when Nux Gallica was already with her grandma, so I just changed out of the button-down work shirt I had on over a breezy dress, replaced it with an off-the-shoulder lace top, had a romantic dinner with my charming husband, and came home by sundown.

Our date nights are shorter this year, but that's okay. We're always eager to get back to living happily ever after.

***The Magic Nutshell***

Keep Lupa in Lupercalia!

You are a good mom!

Ich Liebe Rammstein

2012 Resolutions

Merry Christmas from the Nutshell!

Merry Christmas from Michelle Davidson Argyle!

Keep Saturn in Saturnalia!

Grief and Gratitude

Village Schooling

What % is bored by martyrs?

I'm Feeling Yummy Head to Toe

Stowaway with Me!

Emotional Landscapes

Variations on a Theme: Contest by the Literary Lab

You Gotta Fight for Your Write

Vepres Revision Workshop: Chapter 1, section 2

Vepres Revision Workshop: Paragraph 1

Get On Your Duff

Breeders of Readers

Happy Fathers' Day! (video of Mr. G booger interview with pooping unicorn shirt and baby)

Writers Are Boring People.

2011 Half Year Review: Bottles, then Books

Think of teh Children's!

Sweet Buns and Olive Oil: An Ancient Diaper Rash Remedy

Cinderella Nights

The Magic Nutshell