To Boldly Grow Up

I'm sure I'm not the only nerd writing about Star Trek today, but reading these memories from other fans of the franchise on its 50th birthday got my warp plasma flowing.

I didn't grow up with TOS, but rather, TNG. Thanks to my dad, I was lucky to be the kid who watched Reading Rainbow and wondered what Geordi La Forge was doing there, rather than the other way around. I remember Riker without a beard, though whether it's from initial viewings at 5 years old or later reruns, I can't tell you. I definitely recall with terror and wonder first contact with the Borg, whose soulless assimilation has informed my understanding of true villainy to this day.

I was of the tender generation who never found Wesley Crusher to be obnoxious, but instead a character who created a space for somebody like me on the bridge of the Enterprise.

As I grew up, other series attracted my interest, most notably Voyager and Enterprise, the latter of which I will not tolerate any bitching about unless you've actually seen it in its entirety. As a writer, I found their plot lines and character dynamics the most compelling, and resistance to my love of this series is futile. Voyager I watched on Netflix well after it aired, and it gave me the female captain I hadn't known I'd always wanted - and a bit of a grudge against my dad for not introducing me to Janeway when I had been a teenager much in need of a boss lady bending the Prime Directive under duress.

One of the most powerful sentiments I read regarding the franchise was this:

"The show delivered good news: there might be a future that included peace, hope, and bold adventure, and it came in bright colors, featured space travel, and was fun!"

This has always been the thing that I have loved best about Star Trek, that human beings could overcome all of the nonsense, violence, and bigotry to be better, to be a force for peace and friendship in the galaxy. I appreciated seeing the trope of invading alien species uniting us against them turned on its head, with humanity's first contact with the Vulcans instead revealing all that we could be and aspire to, rather than disparage and fear. I grew up with a series that embodied what a society fully entrenched in this kind of noble stability could look like, and to this day it is the utopia that appeals to me the most. It's what I hope for when I see people doing good for the sake of doing good, making sacrifices for others without recognition or compensation, when our ugliest impulses as human beings are forgotten in moments of compassion, creativity, and selflessness.

We have the opportunity now to be bolder than ever, 50 years later.

Roll the Dice to See if I'm Getting Drunk

Unlike most of the live action roleplayers that I know, I didn't get my start in sword and sorcery playing tabletop. I launched right into the ultimate nerdom of LARP, beginning in 2004 in a NERO chapter that has since launched their own pretty killer gaming system. Beyond taking a few years away from the game to incubate and birth my own little weirdos, I am still donning the costume and hefting a fistful of spell packets with local friends. I've been LARPing for twelve years - but only this year am I finally DMing my own tabletop game.

Despite my experiences writing and running plot at a variety of scout camps over the years, and playing in a few tabletop games, I've been as anxious as I am amped about running my own.

But because I've been obsessing about the idea since reading this article on all girls D&D group this time last year, I just couldn't let it go. I knew this was exactly what I wanted. My experiences with mixed groups of players have been phenomenal ones, but I've definitely held back. Many of the things that I enjoy have been traditionally male-dominated, and while that's for sure changing, the stigma is still there - the expectations, the jokes, the out-of-nowhere feeling of being an outsider stealing over me when I least expect it.

https://youtu.be/-leYc4oC83E

The video above has always made me snort with laughter, and now I'd like to make a tasteless comment about getting drunk in a tavern, trolling for dudes, without the awkwardness of there being dudes in the room. Or, alternately, being the only girl in the room when a comment like this is made by a dude. I wanted roleplay, debauchery, thieves and warriors and lovers without the baggage of being a girl - it's complicated, but it's a real wish and I'm definitely selfish enough to be motivated to make it happen.

So, with help, I acquired the manuals. The pawns. Drew the maps. Created YouTube playlists for ambiance. Spent too much time thinking about how each NPC would speak only to eventually really butcher their accents.

After our first two sessions, and anticipating a third this coming weekend, I don't think I could have chosen a finer group of ladies to adventure with. We've had whippings for insubordination, woefully inaccurate pig slaughtering, stories of theatrical gore, secret hook ups, sly bids for power, and moans of mismanagement among pirates. There's not a single gal at the table who hasn't delighted me with her imagination and her wit. While I'm still getting my sea legs rolling the big dice, they are on it.

It's pretty much everything I could've hoped for.

Say Yes

Saying “yes” to myself feels like I’m taking a page out of my 3-year-old’s book, but given 2016 has thus far felt like the year of saying “no” – including all too frequently to her – and it hasn’t been the happiest or the most productive, I’m changing my tune. Read a book for two hours instead of folding the laundry? Yes.

Ice cream on the way home after a long day? Yes.

New dress? Yes.

Take a nap when I have an hour to myself rather than the myriad of other things demanding my attention? Yes.

Blog without an agenda? Yes.

I’ve never felt like creation is born from misery, at least not for me. I am not a tortured artist. Cranky, yes. But not tortured. If I’m going to create, not to mention if I’m going to be a good mother, wife, and friend, I need to take better care of myself.

And I absolutely have not been.

So I’m writing about this, because that’s what I do. And I’m writing about it here, because how I used to blog is how I’d like to blog again. It was a conversation, an invitation, a play of words between friends. I want that honesty, that frivolity, that refreshing dialogue that wasn’t about making an impression but rather just making fun.

Which is why I want to know, what’s the last thing you said “yes” to?

Top 5 Television Crushes

If you've ever fallen for a fictional character, we should get a drink sometime and discuss our unreasonably broken hearts. Or at least obsessively YouTube clips of the following. Because really, it's my love of their stories that's really behind all of the blushing. Sure, they're hot stuff, but the way they move... through an expertly crafted narrative, that's the thing. Right.

John Crichton is the first and the finest of men I've fancied on the screen. My attachment is likely aided by a serious girl crush on Aeryn Sun. Who doesn't want to be Aeryn?! I actually didn't watch Farscape when it was on the air, but caught The Peacekeeper Wars when it aired for the first time when I was in college. I was hooked. Despite having seen the end of the story first, I found the series full of surprises. And delicious wardrobe changes for Commander Crichton.

Because I do love a man in a space-faring uniform, Commander Charles "Trip" Tucker III from Star Trek: Enterprise is a forever favorite. Enterprise is the most underrated Star Trek series, and not just because this Chief Engineer is worthy of more than four seasons and a better end - don't even talk to me about the series finale, because I've never watched it, and I never will.

They say that you always love your first Doctor, and while Christopher Eccleston as Nine surely occupies an eccentric corner of my heart, Ten will always be the TImelord I'll pine for. His suits. HIs swagger. His silliness. Though I grew to appreciate Eleven in time, I'm not sure I'll ever weather the oncoming storm.

Why wear my heart on my sleeve when I can wear a brown coat? Malcolm Reynolds, of all the fellas to admire on Firefly, is just my type: a guarded asshole who nevertheless FEELS ALL THE FEELINGS.

Which maybe explains why I love Logan Echolls so much, the man who occupies the one-of-these-things-is-not-like-the-others place on this list. Veronica Mars may not be set in space, but it's clever girl noir and exceedingly worthy of all your love and attention. Logan is a surprisingly dynamic and genuine character, and hot enough that you're willing to ignore the puka shell necklace.

ETA: And an honorable mention to Jamie Fraser of Outlander, because, obviously. Perhaps I initially failed to include him because he really would've taken up two spots: one for himself, and one for his amazing shoulders.

Play Like a Girl

My husband recently acquired The Witcher 3, and has been on me to make time to play. He insists it's just the sort of game that I like: immersive, open world, story-rich. Despite being pretty deep in the game himself, he's even gone so far as to entice me to the couch, start up a new game, and pass me the controller. But while I'm content to watch him play for a bit, or hear his stories about particularly well-executed plot lines, I just haven't felt the itch. Is it lack of time? Lack of interest? Lack of desire to really lose myself in a proven stellar game? Nope.

It's because I can't play a girl.

Despite growing up with Link and Mario, I didn't really get into gaming until college, when Morrowind blew. My. Mind. And guaranteed I'd spend the entire day in my pajamas monopolizing my then-boyfriend's Xbox, stopping only to take the stereotypical pee and Ramen breaks. The customization was laughable by today's standards, but carefully crafting an avatar, another self, and pursuing my wildest questing dreams in an open world was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

And that's just my marriage.

But truly, I was hooked. Over the years my favorites have always been those games that allowed for me to really immerse myself not only in a killer story, but also do so in a very personalized capacity. If there's a game with an algorithm that allows for it to accommodate <Insert Name Here>, chances are I've played the hell out of it. Knights of the Old Republic I and II, Dragon Age: Origins, Mass Effect, Fallout 3. I probably spent as much time in graduate school playing World of Warcraft as I did writing papers.

My desire to play a female avatar, to play through a story that doesn't assume I'm a dude, doesn't come from a place of just wanting to snog Alistair's face off - though I totally do. It has a whole lot more with feeling culturally like I'm always coming up against a male narrative as a universal narrative, which I feel like I shouldn't have to say isn't true, and because the very best games give the player the opportunity to forget they're playing, just like reading a good book. These are RPGs. Giving me the space and imagination to assume a role is what they're supposed to be doing. And if I'm constantly being reminded of my non-maleness by rescuing a princess, or visuals that are clearly designed to arouse your typical heterosexual dude, I'm pulled out of the story and reminded that this wasn't made or meant for me, at least not wholly.

I'm sure The Witcher 3 is stellar; I've heard and seen enough about the story to feel pretty confident in recommending it. But I've also heard just about every female character the protagonist encounters proposition him, so I feel pretty confident, too, about my decision to invest my time elsewhere.

For the Love of Podcasts: Part Two

I promised more podcasts, and while I aimed to deliver rather sooner than I am, I hope it's like a belated birthday wish - sweeter for not having been expected. You should start listening to Lore straightaway, and not just because it's nearly Halloween and it's the best and creepiest thing ever. Host Aaron Mahnke truly delivers on the podcast's premise that "sometimes the truth is more frightening than fiction." It's like what I imagine the child of The X-Files and Unsolved Mysteries would be like if they were sentient beings and, you know, into it.

Mystery Show's handful of episodes are responsible for making me giggle my way into profound feeling, and my trying desperately to think of something I want to know that I can't Google my way into knowing. There's a whole episode about how tall Jake Gyllenhaal is that I swear you won't be able to stop listening to, and Starlee Kine's voice half-tells the jokes for her. She's lovely.

And while it's definitely the one-of-these-things-is-not-like-the-other of the group, Ask Me Another indulges my every geeky whim. Puzzles and word games and nerd references and Jonathan Coulton. It never fails to delight.

Now, get to subscribing and never suffer another irritated run through your radio's presets only to hear commercials on every station because they're all owned by the same vile conglomerate.

For the Love of Podcasts: Part One

It's always been a rare treat of a weekend when our outings coincided with a Radiolab or This American Life broadcast, so I am not entirely sure why it took me so long to start downloading podcasts to listen to throughout the week. I've  been lovingly complaining of NPR for years that it really ought to be weekend public radio all week long.

Now I feel pretty confident admitting that I am a podcast junkie.

But, I can only really dig into certain kinds, and I realized recently that there's a common element. Though I enjoy the occasional Geek's Guide to the Galaxy if I'm really interested in the guest, my taste in podcasts don't really follow my tastes in genre fiction. I enjoy curiosities and vulnerable human things, science and strife and storytelling. I can't get behind a couple of folks behind microphones just chatting about things - unless one of those two people is Neil deGrasse Tyson, because I could listen to him all day - but I love, love, love a good podcast whose hosts act more as curators for the bold, human stories of others.

Radiolab is the first and best. I can't get enough of the quirky, adventurous stories they collect, so much so that I get irritated when one of their shorts is less than twenty minutes long. Given I have about fifty episodes on my iPod at any given time, this is an unreasonable response. I've listened to this episode about autisim several times, and this one about professional wrestling, too - I'm as shocked as you are, seriously. These really never get old.

Recently I haven't been able to get enough of Snap Judgment. I love the humor and the gravity and the variety, how the stories Glynn collects really have the power to surprise me. Storytelling with a beat - couldn't be truer. The first story in the "Caught Up" episode will blow you away.

There's only one season of Invisibilia, which means it should be no trouble at all to get caught up on every single, amazing episode. Alix and Lulu have such energy, and they're fun. "The Power of Categories" is a must listen, if you can make time for just one.

Now that's a lot of links. I'll leave you to it and be back soon with more.

Secrets are for Suckers

I'm a writer. I don't believe in privacy. This is mostly true. I'll share just about anything if I think it will make a good story, and as some of my favorite stories are of the dangerous and dirty and little human kind, and my life is so very, very mundane, I'll end up confessing everything eventually. A fictional mouth isn't even always necessary, though sometimes, I need two. But, I am at heart a consummate sharer. I can't not. I remember reading as a girl that Libras are particularly good at keeping secrets, and while that may be true for yours, it's never, ever true for mine.

I am a woman of my time, though, and relish, too, controlling the flow of information from me to you. I want to tell when I'm ready to tell. I want time enough to find the best way to say it. So it's entirely possible I have things from my eighth year I might be crafting still for a reveal in my eightieth. Online and on the page I can spill the beans in as careful a pattern as a like, a mess that arranges itself into a silhouette of shame or regret or artless lust, so much prettier than the snotty, pajama-clad mess that holds the pen or punches ragged-nailed fingers against sticky keys. I think you'll like her better. I know I do.

You know what else I like? Little intimacies. Like my husband's hand on my belly when he imagines I am sleeping, when my arrested breath alerts him to the fact that I am not and it's all the change that either of us can feel in my slowly-growing-strange body. I like writing it. It's like we're all closer together. You and me and baby makes three, thirty, a thousand dreams.

Saturday's Child: Imaginary Lovers

I prefer sexual tension to sex. There's a reason the characters in my novel don't kiss for more than two-hundred and fifty pages, and it isn't because they aren't hot and bothered for each other after a scattering of charged dialogue. One, because it is so much more fun as a writer not to give them the things they want straightaway, and two, as a reader, the payoff is so much sweeter if I've been sucking my own lip for fifteen chapters in hopes they'll get the hell over themselves and shag or snog with the wanton abandon of the young and stupid. Because I've never been (young). I've over thought just about every single thing when it comes to the opposite sex since I was old enough to develop a crush on a playmate in kindergarten over a rousing game of Hi Ho! Cherry-O.

The standard fare just isn't enough to get me hot. It's all bodies; no heart, no brain. Give me Juliet Marillier's Daughter of the Forest or Son of the Shadows, especially, Tamora Pierce's Trickster's Choice and Trickster's Queen, or of late M.K. Hobson's Native Star. If I've read Dreadnaught Stanton purging himself in blood and desperate clinging to Emily once I've read it twelve times. I don't need or want a love triangle unless it's a reasonable complication (and not something conceived of by editors to drive teenage girls wild; I'm looking at you). And while I want love and my fair share of understated lust, there's got to be more driving the story than the human hyperdrive to procreate.

Some of the best science fiction television programs, especially, do better than throw me a literal bone when it comes to romantic subplot. Farscape had more than Muppets with John Crichton and Aeryn Sun, and Star Trek: Enterprise's third season boasts some of their best writing and more of Trip and T'pol than I thought I'd ever see. Don't get me started on Ten and Rose (and don't watch if you haven't seen the whole of their story).

Suffice to say, I'm a sucker. But you've got to work for it.

Computer Monitors are not Crystal Balls

I was thinking that the good ol' days of my fortune telling was my infantile exploration of the internet at fourteen and fifteen years old: the widgets - did we even call them widgets then? - on personal Angelfire pages that would provide Tarot readings or random sentiments for luck; Ask Jeeves' maternal aunt Madame Jekaterina beseeched in a chat box regarding whether this boy or that one was worthier of my ardent affections or if foregoing AP Biology would really cripple my chances at a scholarship; the notion that the disorderly primeval ooze out of which true randomness slunk could somehow offer me direction and heart, that these things gave me what conversation and real world experience could not. Some other energy that could be heralded or blamed for when things went terribly awry. Or just plain terrible. But it didn't start then. I've liked looking for signs my whole life, though not in any of the usual places. It wasn't only that I enjoyed imagining patterns where there weren't any, or reading into things that probably weren't meant to be read in the first place, it was a comfort that of all the meaningless possibilities, this one was mine. That there were answers I could not find in a book, even if it meant I had to fathom them into existence. When K and I dared to ask Zandar or I rolled a pair of mismatched dice or looked up a dream interpretation in my secondhand almanac, what I think I always wanted was confirmation for the things I already knew anyway. Worst case scenario, the things I hoped were true or real or immediate.

Now I Google the truth. Over and over again until I've got enough right answers to shut up the part of my brain that wants shutting up, that's forever fourteen and in need of daily affirmations. Usually accompanied by the appropriate Yahoo horoscope and a Lisa Frank sticker.