Women were known to fight in Medieval battles
It wasn’t long ago that academic medievalist and author, Adam D. Jones, shut down an argument by tweeting that women played much more prominent roles in medieval society than most of us realize. Despite that contribution to history, though, our fiction would have us believe that they spent their time languishing in locked-up towers, waiting for princes or knights to finally get off their horses for the rescue. Only recently have authors begun cladding medieval heroines in armour and chain, and some of those authors are copping more than a bit of flak for it in the often-hostile Twittiverse.
Jones says they’re right, though… and that’s the first reason for authors to rewrite what we think we know about minorities. Continue reading
There is something in everyone’s basement.
The basement is a place where accumulations of treasures coat themselves with enough dust to make them seem immaterial—dispassionate and discolored. Technology that you were going to repair decades ago has gone obsolete alongside boxes of unsorted photos. Exercise benches languish; spare parts oxidize into the air. The smell over there catches your attention, but for another few weeks might be mild enough to ignore. That’s what the place is for, after all: ignoring.
It’s just a basement. It’s where you ignore colors and treasures.
It’s where you ignore your passions.
As the temperature rises to the point of causing slow insanity in the town where I live, people often ask me if I wish I’d stayed in a cooler climate. Sometimes I have to think about it, but my answer is always ‘no.’
It was her dance with this northern land that had kept him here.
He would have sought warmer climates if just for himself, but could not imagine life without her delight over the glittering flakes and various snow-beings: men, angels, and bunnies. She would advance each day into the spiritual winter, then return to him with stories that overflowed him, for that evening, with perfect understanding.
He could not imagine her dance without the winter as her partner. Continue reading
I apologize if you’ve seen this already. I posted it yesterday as a guest-post on Cow Pasture Chronicles. It’s another attempt to express what has been troubling me about the friction between creativity and social media, and so important to me that I decided I need it here, too. I hope Sheila doesn’t mind.
The ocean is constantly changing.
It churns millions of gallons between continents every year, and each cupful of water on one beach could well have visited another. Enslaved to tidal forces even greater than itself, movement and change are essential to the ocean; they keep the life underneath it thriving, and sculpt the land between it. A still ocean, one imagines, would surely herald a dying world.
Of course, the ocean isn’t all that changes. Timber wheels evolve into rockets so powerful that they break the force of the very gravity holding that ocean here, so that we can watch a privileged few explore the distant force of those tides. Literature changes, from just a few men being watched playing women on a small wooden stage, to women directing masterpieces that are watched on screens worldwide. And communication changes, too, perhaps most of all; a single letter that was once an act of true devotion is now a daily expectation, to be read and discarded with a swipe.
All the while, the ocean keeps churning Continue reading