Dear Mom and Dad,

Well, I’m here. It’s not so bad, and I don’t want you to worry, even though I guess you will. The Terricks are taking good care of me. Mrs. Terrick is nice. I like her. She showed me how to spin on a spindle the other day. I know, mom, but it’s important here. I think it’s called housewifery? I remember that from one of my social studies classes. It’s not physics, but running a big house like this one takes a lot of work.

Kate paused to rub her fingers. They were smudged with ink. She dipped the quill pen and began again.

Mr. Terrick is just like I remember him. Gruff and kind of forbidding. He reminds me of that judge that you introduced me to at the Christmas party last year? But he means well, and he’s kind of nice. He even –

She stopped. Would her parents understand when she wrote “He even smiled at me this morning”? She couldn’t cross anything out. She knew they would worry over the crossouts and what she didn’t tell them. Look, she told herself, it’s not like they’re really going to read this. In a week or two, she wouldn’t even be able to read it, once her brain reset from crossing the gordath.

Just tell them the truth.

He even smiled at me this morning.

Colar has two brothers, Aevin and Yare, and a little sister, Erinye. He had another sister, but she died, he said of a fever. He said it was probably something we could have cured back home. That’s so sad, isn’t it? That’s why I plan to become a doctor in Aeritan. Aren’t you proud of me? Haha. I know, you always wanted me to be a doctor.

She put in a smiley face and continued.

Aevin is okay, except he is constantly trying to prove himself and it gets tiring. Yare’s a little pain in the butt, and Eri’s a sweetie. We share a room and I look after her.

Kate paused again, thinking about that. It seemed to help Lady Terrick that she was there to make sure Eri was dressed and clean and had someone to keep her company at her chores. She didn’t mind doing it, and had stepped up without being asked, but now that it was expected, she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. She didn’t know how to put any of that in the letter, so she carried on.

I want you to know how much I love you and miss you. I’m in good hands, okay? I’ll write as often as I can, and maybe someday, you can read these letters.

Love,

Kate

Her vision blurred and she sat back so that she wouldn’t let a teardrop fall on the paper. She strewed sand across the paper and blew on it, then set the paper aside so the ink would dry. Kate blinked back tears as the door opened behind her and Eri came in.

“Kett, mama said it’s time for dinner.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there.”

She got up, sniffed and wiped her face with her sleeve. Eri watched her seriously.

“I’m sorry you’re sad, Kett.”

“Thanks, sweetie. I know.”

Eri came over and took her by the hand. She looked at the letter on the thick, coarse paper, cocking her head sideways the way she did when she was absorbed in something. The lamplight cast her delicate face in shadow so the child looked like a Renaissance subject in her kerchief and simple dress.

“Is that writing?”

“It is.”

“How can you read it?”

“I’ve only been here for a half-month,” Kate said. “Soon, I won’t be able to read it. It fades away after a while, and then I can read and write in Aeritan.”

Which made the whole exercise moot, she thought, because at the point that she couldn’t read and write in English, her parents wouldn’t be able to read what she wrote next.

She squeezed Eri’s hand.

“Let’s go. I’m hungry and I don’t want to keep your mom and dad waiting.”

Eri giggled. “You’re funny, Kate.”

“I’m funny! You’re the funny one, you silly kid you.”

Eri laughed louder and they teased each other on the way down the stairs.

#

Kate thought the great stone house looked like a dragon. It was draped across the landscape, its jagged walls and towers like the backbone and winged joints of the mythical beast. The main part of the house was a rough square, its narrow windows facing the road that led away toward the rest of Aeritan.

She and Colar had ridden up that avenue when she brought him back to Terrick two weeks before.

The stables and outbuildings were scattered to the rear of the dragon, its tail as it were. Allegra and Hotshot were stabled there, and Kate made a point of visiting her horses daily and making sure they were well taken care of. She knew enough not to fret; To a Terrick, it was a point of honor to care well for horses and hounds.

She thought she knew about a Terrick’s honor before but now, living under their roof and by their code, she knew she didn’t understand it at all.

Kate and Erinye slipped into the dining room. The family stood by their chairs at the shining table. Lord Terrick would arrive last, per custom. There were Aevin and Yare on the left, Colar at his father’s right hand. Lady Terrick sat at the foot, and there were two empty chairs for Eri and Kate. Even that stinker Yare sits higher than I do, Kate thought.

It shouldn’t have mattered. She knew who she was and her own value, and all the ingrained sexism of her strange world couldn’t change that. It grated though. Maybe that was in her expression, because Colar caught her eye and shook his head slightly. She gave him a half smile, half-grimace, and stood next to Lady Terrick, Eri on the opposite side. As it happened, she stood next to Yare.

“You’re late,” he told her. “And Eri’s face is smudged. Mama!”

You rotten little brat, Kate thought. She flushed. She had forgotten, again, to make sure Eri was kept clean and presentable. The little girl looked as beautiful as always, but to be sure there was a smudge on her cheek and her simple smock was awry.

“Sorry –” Kate began, but Lady Terrick made a gesture.

“Goodness, child, it’s not the end of the world. Eri is old enough to make herself presentable. Are you not, Eri? Try not to disappoint your father, as he loves you very much.”

“I’m sorry, Mama,” Eri said in a small voice.

Kate’s stomach clenched. No wonder I’ve lost weight; every dinner is like this. The terror of obligation to one’s parents, their honor, and above all their love permeated all things Terrick, even a simple dinner.

Lord Terrick entered the room, bringing the smell of outdoors with him. His eyes flicked down the table and back. Kate’s back stiffened, and she thought even Lady Terrick’s did. To her relief he didn’t cast a particular grim eye over Eri. Saved by the lack of electricity, she thought. The dining room was illuminated with plenty of oil lamps but was still dim.

“By the grace of the high god who holds us all in his hand, we are blessed with food and shelter,” Lord Terrick said. He sat, and they followed suit.

The meal was simple yet hearty; spiced lamb, flatbreads, stewed greens and tubers, like potatoes. Every bite tasted like sawdust. Kate chewed diligently and without savor. She had learned to eat with just a spoon and a knife. Her first dinner at Terrick, she had made a joke to Colar about inventing forks. She thought he would laugh. She thought he would accept her offering of their shared history. It was, she thought, meant as an us against them moment. Instead, he looked at her seriously and said that she would get used to a knife and spoon, just like he had gotten used to forks.

Not us against them at all, she thought. She hadn’t gotten it at the time, but she came to understand that it was him with them. Him with his family. Me against them.

It will be different when we marry, she thought. She washed down an impossibly tiny bite with an even smaller sip of Terrick brandy, which tasted like mouthwash and she loathed. As always it made her break out into a sweat, even the polite taste she had taken. She concentrated fiercely on her dinner, not even trying to catch Colar’s eye. She had tried that on their second dinner, hoping to get a smile from him, only to have Yare shout, “Mama! She’s making eyes at Colar!”

Her face flamed at the memory, or maybe that was the brandy.

Lord Terrick was going around the table, asking everyone their business. When he got to Eri, his eyes narrowed and Kate held her breath, but he said only, “Erinye, have you practiced your letters today?”

“No, lord father,” Eri said in a small, frightened voice.

“I see,” Lord Terrick said. “Perhaps you had better things to do than improve your mind?”

Yare made a derisive noise, then jumped in his seat, by which Kate thought that Aevin had kicked him under the table. Good, she thought at the boy.

“I–I” Eri started.

Lord Terrick waited politely, and when it was clear that he had silenced his daughter into frightened immobility, he turned to Kate.

“Perhaps our foster daughter can help you, Erinye. Kate’s knowledge and understanding impressed us all last year. You learned to read and write with Talios, among your lessons as his apprentice, did you not?”

“Ye – yes, sir, I did.” Kate winced inwardly at her own stumble. “I would be happy to help Eri with reading and writing, and math too.”

“Math! Learned indeed. Erinye, how would you like to be Kett’s pupil?”

Eri beamed with relief and Kate smiled back at her.

“So it’s decided then.” He turned toward his wife, but Kate interrupted.

“Lord Terrick, it’s just that I can’t just yet.”

He turned back to her. The entire table fell silent. Kate took a deep breath. “I can’t read yet in Aeritan. Yet. I’ll be able to in a few weeks, but it takes a while.”

Lord Terrick’s expression was unfathomable. Kate hurried on. “Same thing happened for Colar, actually. Right?”

She turned to Colar. Help me, she beseeched him silently.

“It’s true,” he said, and she sighed with relief. “But,” he frowned. “It didn’t take me that long – a half-month?”

“Yes,” and now she was babbling. “Longer even, because you were in the hospital, and it wasn’t until you were out and at home that we even began to try to read and write, remember? We started with Catcher in the Rye, because you were going to need it for freshman English…”

Her voice faded. Lord and Lady Terrick were looking at the both of them, as if they couldn’t understand what was happening. Yare had an expression of evil glee, and Aevin just looked shocked.

“Catcher in the Rye,” Colar repeated, as if the memory wasn’t a pleasant one. She had to admit, he had a point.

“When you can, then,” Lord Terrick said finally. “Math,” he added in a considering voice. “Perhaps you should also teach Yare.”

Kate and Yare looked at each other in equal disgust.

“Of course,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Yes, lord father,” Yare said, but she could tell by the gleam in his eye that he had no intention of obeying. Great, she thought. And it’ll be my fault if he doesn’t learn a thing.

A lot of it is already a blur that first night, what with meeting friends, enjoying a first swing through the dealer and art rooms, and dinner in the bar. My first panel was on “What they didn’t know then we know now,” or what predictions science fiction writers failed to make. Interesting discussion, and I discovered there were two people in the audience who had read the same obscure Ann McCaffrey anthology as I had (Get Off The Unicorn, if you are interested). The panel went into Heinlein a lot. We could have gone all night; well, other people could have gone all night. I was in bed by midnight.

Up early the next morning for the writers workshop. Everyone gave and received excellent feedback on their stories. I think the workshoppers got a lot out of it.

From left, Elze Hamilton, Raymon Daniel, Kyle White, Laurie May, Amy Thorp, Lee Lackey

The other writing panel I was on, Writers Boot Camp, or No Excuses! Panel, was also a blast. We talked about how to make room for writing in your life by making it a priority, not an afterthought. A lot of it is time management as well as managing the expectations of the people around you, who may not understand how important your work is. Good stuff for everyone to think about.

Rosemary Clement Moore, Katherine Eliska Kimbriel, Michael Bracken, Patrice Sarath, Rhonda Eudaly

I was on the Civil Rights panel as well, but these never get as in-depth as they should and I can’t help but feel we’re asking (and answering) the wrong questions.

Plenty of fun at the masquerade, lots of excellent parties as well. I got to catch up with Kimberly Frost, my partner in Robert Earl Keen appreciation (and an all around fun person and talented writer), and it was over all too quickly.

By the way, driving home there was a massive traffic jam on 290, but I managed to make a U-turn and go out 21 through Bastrop and thence home. Wow, that was a pretty drive. Even though it takes me out of my way, I may go that way all the time. It’s a lovely drive, through tree-lined streets that hardly feel like Texas at all.

Fri 10:00PM – 11:00PM What they know now that they didn’t know then.
Scott Cupp, Patrice Sarath, Melanie Miller Fletcher, Bennie Grezlik (M), Lou Antonelli

Sat 9:00AM – 12:00PM Writers Workshop
Patrice Sarath (M)

Sat 1:00PM – 2:00PM Autographs: Rhonda Eudaly and Patrice Sarath Autograph Table
Patrice Sarath, Rhonda Eudaly

Sat 3:00PM – 4:00PM Readings: Bennie Grezlik and Patrice Sarath
Bennie Grezlik, Patrice Sarath
25 minute reading session in 50 minute shared slot.

Sat 5:00PM – 6:00PM SF Civil Rights Scorecard
Patrice Sarath, David B. Carren, Lee Thomas (M), Julia Mandala, Alexis Glynn Latner

Sun 10:00AM – 11:00AM No excuses! Writer’s Boot Camp
Rhonda Eudaly, Katharine Eliska Kimbriel, Rosemary Clement-Moore, Patrice Sarath(M), Michael Bracken

Sun 12:00PM – 1:00PM The Sporting Geek
K. Hutson Price (M), Larry Friesen, Sam Cooper, Patrice Sarath

I like this. I’m looking forward to digging into these topics. I’ve already got a few things I want to bring up for the first panel Friday night — What they know now they didn’t know then. What did SF writers predict and what did they miss? That’s the kind of topic that reminds me of late nights in college talking about Stuff.

I was thinking it was okay to have an hour for lunch after the workshop before the autographing, but it might not give me a lot of time. So if I get to the autograph table late, just try to catch me at the con if you would like me to sign something. I’ve never signed a body part, by the way. You could be the first!

Kyra Sedgwick as The Closer

Prolific short story writer and novelist (and cancer survivor) Jay Lake does not watch TV. He attributes his productivity to that one simple fact. He’s been quite successful, with hundreds of published short stories and a respectable handful of novels. He’s a stylistic, successful writer with a great work ethic, and aspiring writers could do well to emulate his habits.

Would I have more published short stories if I didn’t watch TV? Maybe. TV isn’t my productivity killer, though (that honor goes to Facebook at the moment, but Minesweeper is certainly up there). But even more importantly, I watch TV because I like good writing.

Yes, you read that right. The tradition of television bashing is a long and glorious one, going back to names like “idiot box” and great lines like, “television is called a medium because there’s nothing about it that’s rare or well done.”

There’s a lot of great television out there, and if you as a writer are scorning TV because you think it’s all crap, you are quite wrong and you may be doing yourself a disservice. You need to find all the good writing you can because if you surround yourself with good stuff you will start imbibing it and you will start writing good stuff yourself.

So what do I watch? The Closer. Friday Night Lights. Glee. Project Runway. There are others, but that’s the core group. Shows I remember with fondness include Buffy of course, as well as Frasier and Friends, because as we all know, “dying is easy, but comedy is hard.” I rarely watch SF or fantasy, so while I watched all of the Star Trek incarnations except for Enterprise, I missed BSG and Babylon 5. I don’t have HBO so I have to get True Blood on Netflix.

All of these shows have the same thing in common. Really really good writing. Excellent acting. It makes no sense for writers to deprive themselves of the opportunity to see good work. That’s like saying you won’t read a book because it keeps you from writing. Writers must read, they must surround themselves with good writing. No one creates in a vacuum.

So give yourself permission to turn on the TV and then turn it off and go write.

Page Readers talks with Patrice Sarath

Page Readers Show

I will add a link to the podcast when it’s complete.

Thanks and hope to hear from you!

But I’m really here to talk about Caitlin Flanagan’s article on the sexuality of teenage girls. And people say that fantasy writers write the same thing over and over.

The jumping off point of the article is a horrendous sexual escapade perpetrated on (and by) a teenage girl at a posh (it can only be posh, right?) private school.

Flanagan’s obsession with the emotional, sexual, and physical vulnerability of teen and tween girls is really creepy. And one of the creepiest things about her take on girls is that she doesn’t allow girls any power in their own lives and outcomes. They are victims of their brains, their hormones, of boys, and of media. And every time she writes on the subject, I end up wondering, does she even know any teenage girls?

My daughter has officially left teendom, but those years are not so far behind us. And I can categorically say that plenty of girls have full agency over their actions and desires. They are artists and athletes, crack students with ambition to go to top schools. They enter fields that were previously closed to them, and it’s annoying how little gratitude they show for the groundbreakers who came before them. My daughter has friends of both genders and traverses these friendships with a forthrightness that is to me, her geeky mother, a little breathtaking.

So who is right? Are girls dreamy hairbrushers who look into their soft-focus futures with wistfulness and trepidation and are buffeted by the fascinating, stronger-willed males among them? Or are they, in fact, fully capable of making decisions about their futures, sometimes calculatingly so, with optimism, hopefulness, and resilience?

The incident in the books, in which a girl gives sexual favors to a bunch of boys in front of an audience, is an anomaly. That girl was screwed up. She was emotionally compromised prior to the act, and it is not something that a healthy teen would do. I also feel the same way about the boys taking part in the act, that it was equally sick and twisted.  I don’t think I’ve read anything that Flanagan’’s written in which she has talked about the sexual lives of boys. I do hope that she doesn’t think that this is normal for boys, because it’s not.

So taking it as an illustration of the pressures on girls, and the way we are abandoning them to navigate the treacherous shoals of sexuality on their own, is simply misleading. And Flanagan does this again and again. She will take the singular and the deviant and make it the norm, and it isn’t.

I don’t want to brush aside the pressures on girls  to succumb to someone else’s decisionmaking regarding their own sexual lives, whether that is to give some guy a blowjob so he’ll say he’s her boyfriend, or let her father put a ring on her finger in a True Love Waits ceremony. Part of growing up is making those decisions, navigating those waters, and for the most part girls have the resilience and the judgment to choose accurately. As for the others, who fall into bad decisionmaking habits, who can’t break destructive patterns, why does Flanagan hold these girls up as the example of what girls suffer and endure? Yes, we can feel compassion for a girl who is so lacking in self knowledge that she gives sexual favors to a group of deviant young men. But that doesn’t mean that we disrespect all girls by saying they are equally at risk of being victims of the same crime.

I think westerns must be the most fun movies for actors to make ever. They get to play iconic bad guys and good guys, ride horses, shoot guns — this isn’t work! It’s work like getting to play baseball for a living is work! It looked like everyone on this movie was having a blast.

Anyway, if director Ji-w0on Kim wanted to make a movie of Gordath Wood, that would be awesome. I’m just saying.

The Good. Although technically, this is more about the horse.

The Good -- a better view

The Bad

The Weird

Note the tree closest to the porch. It had the suspected owls nest.

Sure enough, when the tree guys climbed up there, he peeked in and saw a nest of four baby owls. So before they cut the tree down, Ben carefully took the babies out and put them in a bucket for safekeeping. Ben said that they basically just settled in to a sort of stupor once they were in the bucket, which leads me to believe they are very young.

note the baby in the middle -- still quite dinosaur-looking.

When they were finished with cutting down the trees (by the way, any suggestions for a long-lived native tree that will provide shade and comfort for generations to come?) the yard was bare and sunny, and the owls were still huddled in their bucket.

The tree guys set aside the section of trunk that held the nest, and Ben put it on the roof of the workshed at the back of the yard. Then he put the babies in. We’ve been keeping an eye out for the mother owl but haven’t seen her yet. The wildlife rescue people said the babies will start chirping for her, and if it doesn’t seem like the mother can find the babies again, they will take them.

If you look closely you can see the one baby in the nest.

This was the section of the trunk that held the nest originally; now it's sitting on the workshed overhang with the babies inside.