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Immanion Blog - Recent Entries |
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| 08 March 2010 by Nick Marsh |
To Cut is to Cure? Medicine vs Surgery
My wife and I are both vets, which makes for some very boring discussions most eveings. We do like to have our own area of expertise, however. For instance, I consider myself a medic. My wife considers herself a surgeon.
(Not that either of us have officially specialized - neither of us have quite got round to it, somehow. It was so nice not having exams after taking them every year for the first twenty-three years of our lives that we're not in a hurry to get started again, though we both have plans in that direction at some point in the future... though this may be in the same way that I have vague plans to get bitten by a radioactive spider and develop superpowers)
The difference between medicine and surgery is relatively easy to define. Basically, pretty much anything up to the point where use a scalpel blade, and after you use suture material, is medicine. The bit in the middle is surgery.
(Incidentally, why do we call our consultations 'surgeries'? Surgery is, literally, the one thing you're pretty much guaranteed not to be doing when you are consulting, and considering that's really the fun bit of the job, it's kind of rubbing your nose in it, isn't it?)
Now, I can really see the appeal of being a surgeon. Surgery doesn't involve a lot of talking to owners. and life wound be so, so much easier without talking to owners. Surgey also has a much higher, shall we say - satisfaction quotient - than medicine. What I mean by that is, if you see a surgical problem (a broken leg, a ruptured diaphragm, lingerie stuck in a dogs abdomen (no, really!)), you knock the animal out, fix the problem, the animal wakes up. Job done. Instant healing work. (Incindentally, this satisfaction sometimes doesn't matter whether the animal actually recovers or not. It has not been unknown from me to hear phrases from surgical colleagues along the lines of 'The operation was a complete success. Unfortunately the pateint did not survive.')
Medicine is never quite as simple as that. If you work out the animal has diabetes, or Cushing's disease, lymphoid leukaemia or renal secondary hypoparathyroidism, you can't just magically fix it with a swish of the blade. You're then commited to a lifetime (well, the animal's lifetime) of tablets, or injections, or of which can go wrong at any time and need fresh blood-sampling, fresh jiggling.
So why be a medic? There are times (including right now, when I'm writing this blog) when I wonder that very same question. Surgery is fascinating. There are times during operations, when I experience one of those 'self' moments - I take a step back and look at who I am, what I am doing. What I am doing is standing with my gloved hand inside another living, breathing animal, one that will recover (hopefully) and be absolutely normal. That is a strange experience, and quite a fulfilling one, too. Medicine has no comparitive Godlike moments to offer.
I think what I like about medicine is the puzzle - piecing together the history, and blood results, the symptoms. Working out the problem has a lower key buzz, but one present nevertheless, that makes me feel a bit like a veterinary Sherlock Holmes, eliminating the impossible until the truth, however unlikely, shines through.
Of course, these are romantisized views of both disciplines. There are many medical cases (surgical too - see my first blog) which defy explanation and the textbooks, are are exercises in pure frustration (we don't get to call on Hugh Laurie to come and sort it all out, either). On the surgical side, there is a horrible, creeping sweaty feeling that only surgeons know - the feeling that something has just gone very, very badly wrong with your surgery.
(Which reminds me - a classic surgical euphamism is 'He lost a lot of blood.' What a lovely phrase. Kind of makes it sound like the animal's fault, doesn't it? Like he dropped it behind the sofa. Well, what the surgeon really means is 'I fucked up, and cut something that I shouldn't have, which was followed by twenty minutes of swearing and a whole lot fresh swabs.')
Still, at least I gives me and the wife something different to talk about of an evening. One fine day, you might see the fabled letters CertSAM printed after my name.
And one day, you might see me climbing a brick wall, and doing whatever a spider can. |
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| 18 February 2010 by Neil Robinson |
Failing Better Now?
I’ve been working on a BIG project. The plot tackled grand themes, spanned decades and was highly complex. Stylistically, it was experimental. It was all planned out, and I was about a quarter of the way through the actual writing.
Then a family crisis occurred and I had to stop working on it for a while. I finally went back to my BIG project on one of those rainy days when the whole world – or, at least, my section of Essex – seems sodden. Birds perch on garden fences looking as if they’re trying to put a brave face on things; as if they might, after uttering a feeble chirp, drop dead on to the lawn and become food for some bedraggled anorexic cat which will choke on a jagged splinter of fragile wing bone. I read through my magnum opus and experienced a moment of clarity: my work wasn’t complex, it was just chaotic. It wasn’t experimental, it was pretentious crap. Ooops.
At times like this I stare out at the garden for solace. The three birch trees I had planted in a tasteful little triangle would look pretty when they came into leaf. But it wasn’t a tasteful triangle. The trees were much too close together and would soon grow far too big for my suburban garden. My neighbours would inevitably complain about branches looming over their patios and roots causing their extensions to subside. The hours I’d spent watching my old VHS tapes of Ground Force had been wasted. Clearly, I’d been fixated on Charlie Dimmock’s unfettered charms when I should have been taking notes as Alan Titchmarsh dispensed wisdom. I’d failed again.
At times like this I ignore my soggy, shabby little garden and turn to the words of great men for solace. James Joyce (1882 – 1941…I think it makes me seem erudite if I insert the dates of great men’s lives) once said: “A man of genius makes no mistakes; his errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery.” Comforting words, except that I saw little evidence of genius when I looked in the mirror; and absolutely no evidence of that mysterious condition when I looked at my garden or my BIG project.
Samuel Beckett (1906 – 1989) once said (or wrote; I’m not sure): “Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” Which reminds me of the time I heard a sports commentator tell a tennis player – one of those never-say-die-battlers – that he must “really hate losing”. The player, who had just been defeated by a younger man, laughed and said he didn’t hate it at all because the majority of professional tennis players, over the course of their careers, will lose more matches than they win.
And now I’m reminded of the words of the Prussian philosopher Immanuel Kant (1724 – 1804), who wrote (or maybe just said): “Out of the crooked timber of humanity no straight thing was ever made.” Maybe curves are beautiful in their own way. The art historian EH Gombrich (1909 – 2001) wrote (definitely wrote) that the painter tends to “see what he paints rather than paint what he sees”. I think this applies to all artists and would-be artists, not just painters. And perhaps I need to adjust my vision to appreciate crooked things.
I think I’ll cut down two of the birch trees and use their slightly crooked timber to make a coffee table. A good friend of mine once made a coffee table for a school project. Paul (1960 – ) knew that coffee tables should be low. Unfortunately his was so low that his dad, invited to admire his son’s handiwork, tripped over it and broke his ankle. I don’t know what Paul is doing now, but I hope he’s learned to fail better. I’m trying to do the same. I'm trying not to hate it.
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| 04 February 2010 by Sheta Kaey |
Ouija Boards, part 2
I received a reply from the girl on Facebook regarding her Ouija board use. She indicated that she and her cousins have been seeing the ghost of a young boy, and that they had panicked and screamed, running through the house. It read as if she had several people involved in this encounter, though it was unclear if they were feeding into each other's vision and reactions. She also asked if my guides were "random spirits" that I encountered on the Ouija board. My reply:
Spirits can indeed decide to linger if they are attracted to you and first visit you via a Ouija board. As to whether you are speaking to different spirits each time, it's difficult to say without being there. Try to feel the energy of each and see if they match . . . just like you'd feel the presence of someone you know in the room with you. Everyone feels different.
As for the "code," no — typically that sort of spelling just indicates a "bad connection," in other words, the spirit can't quite settle into answering the questions coherently. Just make sure that when you're using the board that everyone is calm. Be patient, ask simple questions — maybe start with yes or no questions until the pointer is moving smoothly and volunteers real words. If it still doesn't work, trying a different partner or put two new people on the board.
As for spirit guides, I did indeed meet mine via the board, but it took almost 20 years before I learned not to be frivolous in my attitude using the board. That makes a big difference. Most people, however, meet their guides during meditation and learn to hear them that way. I was young and not very patient — ironically it ended up taking me longer to meet them!
If there is one of you who is the most hysterical (screaming etc) during the board use, you might try using the board when that person is not around. Calm is much better.
If you need to banish the ghost, start by asking it to leave and tell it why. If that doesn't work or you have trouble getting a spirit to leave, try the LBRP. It's a very good banishing, though might need to be performed daily for a while to ensure they're gone. It only takes about 2 mins to do.
Regards,
Sheta
P.S. You should also know that attention is a potent form of energy. Ever told a ghost story or watched a scary movie that made the house feel creepy? The more you talk about it, the more oppressive it becomes until sometimes you just have to leave your own house to get away from it! Laughter is a good banishment in such situations. Just find a way to make it funny — like in Harry Potter when they faced the boggart in their Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
If you and your cousins are feeding into the energy of a presence through your screams and hysterical running through the house, it will make it that much more appealing for a spirit to linger. After all, it's getting attention!
I hope this helps shed more light on Ouija board use.
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| 03 February 2010 by Sheta Kaey |
Problem with Ouija Boards
I received a Facebook email this morning from a young lady who has been playing with a Ouija board. In the interest of sharing the issue in general, I'm going to paste that email here with my response. I hope this will help others who are using talking boards with little to no success. Her email reads (edited for readability):
Please, I hope you can help me with some information, because I'm rather lost and you seem like you could.
My cousin and I got into using a Ouija board. On two occasions when asked what its name is, it has spelled out my name. Is that normal? Maybe its confused by the question? And also, my brother passed away and it said it was him, but it answered only a few of the question we asked correctly, and got a few wrong. It kept saying things with a mix of numbers and letters, and when we asked if it was speaking in code, it said yes.
Is there any way you know of for us to understand what it is saying, and whether it really is my brother? Because I know sometimes spirits try to do impersonations and then feed of the negative energy from the distress they cause by saying they're someone that we knew.
So I'm just hoping you will be able to shed some light on this. Thanks.
My reply:
Ouija boards are [arguably] operated by random spirits and rarely provide useful information (even when they spell properly) without a certain amount of preparation, through (for example) ritual protection circles and other things that demonstrate your serious intent. When approached casually or frivolously, they give casual or frivolous results.
The odds that your brother is the spirit operating the board are very slim. Spirits are by nature telepathic, so it would know your name and other things about you. A lot of the time the spirit can only convey information known to both people operating the board, so if you asked a question about something only you (and not your cousin) knew, odds are it wouldn't be able to provide a correct answer.
Most people who've passed on are beyond reach, on to their next thing. The spirits on the board may believe they are helping you by telling you it's your brother on there — they will also lie and tell you just about anything you want to hear, because they want to make you happy AND because they want you to stay on the board to give them the contact that they desire. It's a connection, for them, to this world, something they may not otherwise be able to find.
Based on your description, it sounds like you have a random and not very helpful spirit. If you want to try using the board more seriously, then cast a circle or light white candles, be very serious, and speak aloud your intentions. For example, "We use this talking board to reach only truth, and invite spirits willing to speak the truth and to aid us in understanding the well-being and location of (brother's name). We banish those spirits who would mislead us, in the name of (preferred god etc). May our genuine intentions receive only genuine results. Amen." Or something like that.
Above all, be careful. When a spirit is willing to tell you everything you want to hear, it's very hard to walk away. Spirit boards are addictive and create obsession in the people using them. Be aware of this, and don't get caught up in finding out every little detail or in asking about (for example) your love life.
Hope this helps.
I didn't answer the question about it using her name because she'd answered it herself in her email — it was probably confused.
Ouija boards are, more than anything, seductive. I started using them when I was 14 (that was in 1975), and my usage grew until by around age 16 I was thoroughly obsessed. The spirit I talked to most often at that point was very friendly, but essentially useless, as it just told me whatever I wanted to hear. I started making my own boards from nothing more than a piece of paper with the letters drawn on, so that I could just make one anytime I wanted to use it but didn't have one handy. I used a ring from my finger as the planchette (pointer). I even successfully used a very impromptu "board" in a parking lot, with one rock for yes and one for no. It got a little ridiculous.
When I was 17, I broke my Ouija board in half and threw it away. After that, anytime I tried to use a board with friends, the pointer would just go to "No." Finally, in 1992, after years of randomly attempting to use one with no luck, I started again, but with a much more serious approach. Initially, I was using homemade, lacquered boards, and I was using them alone. Using a board alone, it's not even necessary to move the pointer (and it won't move alone, very often). It was just a tool for reaching the receptive mindset, much as the tarot or a crystal ball is a tool for the same thing. I would just turn the pointer in circles and listen. I reached my first spirit guide, who was called Tamra, this way, and I would speak to him for guidance for a friend of mine.
Later, I got another board and reached my guide Henry. This was around the time that I was getting deeply into trance work, and was doing a lot of guided meditations for accessing past lives. I had a friend (same one who spoke to Tamra) who was a hypnotherapist, and we spent about 18 months doing extensive trance and hypnosis work. One night, I trance-channeled Tamra for about eight hours, without a board (of course). Then I got the other (normal) board and reached my guide Henry. (No idea if Henry was his actual name, but it's what came to me in trance.) My friend Xanquela (Mel) and I began to use the board together, and the new, serious mindset I approached it with paid off. Henry was present on the board, and he helped Mel and I with our study of the Qabalah. We spent many days fully immersed in pathworking with Henry's help. It was phenomenal.
Henry is the guide who ultimately brought Meridjet to me. We'd been working with Henry for about 8 months when Meridjet came along. For the first two years of our relationship, much of my contact with Meridjet was on the board, though there was also contact off the board. The problem was that I didn't trust my perceptions — this was during the period when I feared for my sanity quite often, interspersed with periods when I thought I was making the whole thing up. Problem was, things were happening that were definitely real, so it wasn't all that easy to dismiss. There were many witnesses (but those stories are for another day).
After I moved away from Seattle in 1996 and Mel stayed behind (this was right after Meridjet left), I never got on a board again until this year, when I briefly helped Tina play with hers. (It didn't work so well; maybe I'll talk about that another day, too.) When Meridjet returned in 1999, he taught me how to develop my perceptions. My work with him also taught me discernment, though at times it was a very painful thing to be learning. I no longer have the need of a board, but I don't mind telling you that if Mel (or other skilled party) had been around when Meridjet returned, I probably would've gotten right back into using the board out of habit. It's a really good thing that it wasn't an option. Boards are addictive. Like any tool, they are useful to a point, but should not be used as a crutch. They ultimately keep you from learning more appropriate and more permanent ways to access your guides.
I have a bunch of freaky stories about how Ouija boards can lead to manifestations. This is a real possibility, and one that most people aren't prepared to handle. Remind me, and I'll tell you the best one in a few days. :) Meanwhile, if you are using or intend to use a Ouija board, take the proper precautions and don't let yourself get hooked. If you feel a strong pull to talk on one, it's probably a bad sign. Then again, maybe one day it'll lead you somewhere profoundly life-altering. Let's just hope it doesn't take 18 years, like it did for me!
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| 27 January 2010 by Erynn Rowan Laurie |
Erynn at PantheaCon
The home page for PantheaCon has the official schedule up now. Here's my schedule for the weekend in San Jose:
Saturday, February 13
3:30 - Silicon Valley: Warrior Return Ritual panel
7:00 - San Jose: Constructing CR Ritual
Sunday, February 14
1:30 - San Juan/San Carlos: Immanion Authors panel
7:00 - Santa Clara: Women's Voices in Magic panel
9:00 - Fir: Yes they are! Meeting the Queerest of Gods (backup for Hanuman)
Monday, February 15
1:30 - Fir: Ekklesía Antínoou Lupercalia/Communalia
I'll be there for the entire festival, as usual, and will have 10 copies of my book with me for sale after my sessions, thanks to the generosity of one of my readers. I don't currently have any book signings scheduled, but that could easily change -- I signed up for two of them while I was at the con last year. I may sign up for a reading slot and do ogam readings in the merch room as well. I haven't decided yet.
I hope to see many of you there! |
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| 26 January 2010 by Neil Robinson |
Climb Every Montaigne
I was listening to the radio today. Several learned people were discussing the French essayist and thinker Montaigne, who was alive in the sixteenth century and pretty much dead after it. I’ve never read anything by him and I know almost nothing about him. Before listening to the radio this morning, I knew even less. At some point in the learned persons’ discussion, a woman who’d written a book on Montaigne said he was the world’s first blogger. I think that’s what she said. I wasn’t fully paying attention. It was certainly something like that. She just meant that he wrote like a blogger, and she admitted she was saying it to provoke debate rather than because she believed it. Imagine that: a blogger – or someone a bit like a blogger – writing before the launch of the internet. It’s one of those comparisons that seem arse about face. Surely, some bloggers write a bit like Montaigne. This is of great significance…isn’t it? He came first. It’s as if I’d said Gorgonzala was a bit like Dolcelatte. I’d be guilty of a crime worthy of a visit from the dreaded Cheese Police. (Now then, lad, didn’t you know Dolcelatte was invented for the British market as a bowdlerised version of Gorgonzola? Ignorance is no excuse in the eyes of the law.) The order of things is important, and comparisons are dodgy at the best of times…including the one I just made.
Montaigne was apparently very fond of his cat, and often used to play with her (incidentally, that’s not a euphemism. In case you were wondering. I apologise if you weren’t). He famously speculated that it was the other way round, and the cat was playing with him. This too is of great significance. It reveals Montaigne thought about animal consciousness. Which also reveals that there is much I have still to learn; and in fact, fortunately for me, and as I have discovered through the power of Google, Montaigne’s essays are now available free on the internet. This is of great significance. The not-quite blogger from the time of Shakespeare now has stuff on the internet. It must mean something profound. I’m just not sure what…Maybe I should get a cat. But I don’t like the way they lick their backsides and eat things they find in the garden. They crap on the vegetable patch, too. If they’ve got consciousness, you have to wonder what goes through their minds when they decided to chomp on the rancid three-week-old corpse of a rat that in life made the mistake of dining heartily on warfarin.
The writer Will Self, who was among the learned people, didn’t like the suggestion that Montaigne was an ancient blogger. He objected mildly. Perhaps he too was thinking that the suggestion was arse about face. Will Self is bloody impressive. He seems to have read just about everything. I often have uncharitable thought about him – I suspect that when he knows he’s going to be part of a TV or radio discussion panel, he bones up the night before. He probably knows very little about topics like the life of Montaigne until his agent rings him and give him the heads up. Then he learns all the salient facts, and intersperses them with words like “heuristic” and “eschatological”. I suspect he’s a blagger, basically. Except that on the radio today he said he’d read Montaigne’s essays a long time ago during a long quite winter stay in Scotland. He wouldn’t have made something like that up, would he? Then Will mentioned the English writer Thomas de Quincey (1785 – 1859), comparing him with Montaigne. What a bastard that Will Self is; de Quincey too for that matter. The thing is, I have read Thomas de Quincey’s Confessions of an Opium Eater. It was a long time ago and I was in Essex, not Scotland. But I remember bugger all about it, except that it was good – I think – and that de Quincey was addicted to opium. Which is anyway in the title of book, and thus hard to forget. Oh, and I pinched the dates of his life just now from Wikipedia.
Bloody blaggers and dodgy bloggers. I think I’ll just bog off to Scotland, stop worrying about them, and read the complete works of Marcel Proust. At least, I would if I had anywhere to stay in Scotland and if I owned the complete works of Marcel Proust…Please don’t tell me they’re on the internet.
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| 23 January 2010 by Neil Robinson |
Avatar Experience
Hello out there. Greetings etc
I went to see James Cameron’s Avatar recently. Along with everyone else. Of course, I don’t mean every single person in the country went to the same cinema I went to – that would be absurd, and it would have made the queue for tickets nightmarish. My cinema was quite full, however (the carpet had a thick and crunchy dressing of discarded popcorn. Apparently audiences don’t know where their mouths are in the dark); and everyone I know has either seen the film – some people more than once – or is going to see it.
And did I like Avatar? I did. What’s not to like? Saying I hated Avatar would be like saying I don’t like ice cream or chocolate. Everyone likes ice cream and chocolate. The film is fast-moving, gripping and hugely spectacular. The 3D made me feel a little motion sick at first, but I soon got used to it. Massive gun ships looming from beautiful extraterrestrial skies, though awesome, were not for me as breathtaking as the flakes of ash that rained down following a conflagration: at one point I had to restrain an urge to reach out and snatch a glowing ember as it drifted past; I feared it would land on the woman in the seat in front of me and set her hair ablaze. Pandora, the alien world that Cameron and his special effects wizards have created, is of course the real star of Avatar, and I foresee I brace of sequels set in its resplendent rainforests. So, yes, Avatar is a great show. It’s put two of my favourite things – science fiction and fantasy – at the top of a lot of other people’s list of favourite things. Also, there’s a proper story behind the 3D and fancy stuff…but…however…There’s always a “but” and a “however”, isn’t there? Just a few nagging doubts…
Coincidentally, showing on terrestrial TV not long after Avatar’s official release in the UK was HBO’s film of Dee Brown’s book Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, a history of Native Americans at the end of the nineteenth century. This book, which I read an awfully long time ago, describes the injustices done to various tribes, and HBO provide a slightly abridged version, focusing on Sioux leaders including Red Cloud and Sitting Bull. There are obvious parallels to be drawn with the plot of Avatar, a film that is in many ways an American guilt-trip and atonement. Both stories relate the struggles of an indigenous hunter-gather people whose environmentally friendly lifestyle conflicts with the greedy domineering schemes of a more technologically advanced civilisation. Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee tells its tale through complex flawed characters – many, on both sides of the conflict, are degraded and degrading; both sides commit atrocities; but ultimately by far the greatest injustice is done by a duplicitous European culture that cannot tolerate a different way of life. It’s a tragedy of staggering proportions; no happy endings; no wish fulfilment. Whereas Avatar…well, I don’t want to spoil it for anyone who hasn’t seen it, but I don’t think I’m giving too much away by suggesting Hollywood doesn’t allow that kind of negativity.
Of course, the characters of Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee are fictionalised versions of real people with a real place in history. The characters of Avatar are imaginary – but that doesn’t entirely excuse them from being a little one dimensional. Avatar’s bad guys – the gung-ho military types and corporate snakes – are very bad; the good guys, human and alien, are very good. There’s a tiny moment of ambiguity at the beginning, but it doesn’t last long. None of the characters is permitted tragic stature. I don’t mean to say the film is all bad; far from it. This story of repression, ecological atrocity and a people’s struggle for self-determination is always worth retelling, in many different forms: by viewing a landscape from different vantage points you get a more complete picture.
I suppose critics could fault Avatar by claiming it suffers from “call a rabbit a smeerp” syndrome. Cameron’s alien race, the na’vi, might be blue-skinned and eight feet tall, but they smile, cry and laugh just like Earth humans. They ride horse-like creatures. But I’ve never been a fan of the whole “call a rabbit a smeerp” critical movement. A story about truly alien aliens could easily, and justifiably, be incomprehensible. And like I just said, it’s the job of fiction, of all art, to change our perspective when looking at familiar things, even if that change is fractional.
Avatar is about the here and now: it’s America’s way of questioning itself and perhaps supplying atonement as a wish-fulfilling fantasy. (I know Cameron is Canadian, but he’s spent an awful long time in the States.) The film clearly reveals the US’s current moral uncertainty about its place in the world, and many might say this uncertainty is an indication that the US is in decline as a world power. Great empires are sometimes said to produce their highest art shortly before they expire. I’m not sure. I suspect America’s putative obituaries are premature and that the US has yet to produce its finest art. Let’s hope so. Because I have reluctantly concluded that Avatar, while it is a good film and a meaningful modern fable whose heart is in the right place, is not a great film…perhaps…maybe…Hmmm, I think I need to watch it again.
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| 22 January 2010 by Erynn Rowan Laurie |
A few introductory words
Hello everyone! (Or at least as many of you who might be actually reading this...)
I have a couple of other blogs out there; my LJ where I talk about my daily life and ramble a lot, and my Searching for Imbas blog that's more focused on my Celtic Reconstructionist spiritual work but updated much less often. This blog will primarily get posts about my writing projects and any appearances I'll be doing.
With that in mind, I'll be teaching at PantheaCon in San Jose this February. I'll be doing a workshop on creating Celtic Reconstructionist rituals as my teaching work this year.
I'll be on three panel discussions. Taylor and Lupa are hosting an Immanion authors panel, which I'll be speaking on and Brandy Williams will be hosting a panel for her Immanion/Megalithica book, Voices of Women in Magic, to which I was a contributor.
I'm sponsoring another panel on my local Celtic Reconstructionist (CR) group's Warrior Return ritual. This will be a continuation of the dialogue begun last year with the Warrior Sending ritual, when our group supported a vigil by one of our members who was shipping out to Iraq. This is important work that addresses the position of warriors and the military in the Pagan community and last year's panel was well-received by Pagan active duty, veteran, and military spouse and friends who were in attendance at the con.
The other activity I'll be doing is helping out with the ritual for the Ekklesía Antínoou. This is a queer, Greco-Roman-Egyptian reconstructionist group with a focus on the classical God Antinous. I'm proud to be a part of this group and it was the topic of my article in the Women's Voices in Magic anthology.
I haven't scheduled anything definite as yet, but there is always the possibility of a book signing in the merchant's room. If you're attending and have a copy of my book, don't be afraid to catch me in the halls and ask me to sign it! I love talking to my readers. It's also possible to get an ogam reading from me if you see me.
Thanks for dropping by, and maybe I'll see you at the con!
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| 21 January 2010 by Nick Marsh |
Happy (late) Anniversary!
It was a momentous anniversary last year, as I'm sure you all know. No, not the forty years since mankind first walked on the moon. Something much more important. Well, to me at least.
It has been ten years since I became a Bachelor of Veterinary Science (decidely not hons) and a member of the Royal College of Veterinary Surgeons (which, I have just worked out, means that I have paid the Royal College so far roughly £3000 for the privelidge of being a vet. Yay.).
Ten years. Several ways of celebrating this anniversary spring to mind, but as I no longer have a firearms licence, and all the pentobarbitone is at the practice, I'll settle for a glass of beer and a Blog entry.
I've being trying to think today when the idea of being a vet first curdled it's way into the youthful cream that was my young mind. I'm fairly sure that I've narrowed it down to a holiday in Germany when I must have been about eight or nine. I always took several books to read with me, and one was a copy of 'Every Living Thing' by James Herriot...
(... and yes, I'm very aware that it's a massive cliche that I decided to be a vet because of James Herriot. What do you want me to do, lie? In retrospect, it's a shame I didn't base my career choice on one of the other books I took with me - Deathwing over Veynaa by Douglas Hill. I could have ended up as an intergalatic Legionnairy of Moros with an adamantium skeleton! Now that wold have been a fun job)
...and I loved that book. It all sounded som much fun, and the guy was helping animals! For a living! When I was a child, I loved animals (Not in that way, before you start, okay), and I loved Biology. When I read that book, it just made perfect sense to combine the two. Plus, it sounded really funny when James Herriot wrote about gruff Yorkshireman having to explain that their dog 'had a problem with his...with his pencil, Mr 'Erriot).
So I was very fortunate - from that time on, I had a sense of purpose. I knew exactly what I was going to do for the rest of my life. That nagging, insistent voice at the back of my mind, that was always telling me that I should try and make the world a better place, would be silenced! I would be making the world a better place with my day job! I could even spend my evenings playing rolepaying games and computer games, and not feel guilty about it!
The determination lasted through all the teachers, and all the careers advisors who told me that it was a waste of time (seriously, has anyone -ever- recieved one useful scrap of advice from a careers 'advisor'? My wife's told her she should be a florist. Though, considering my current feelings towards the profession, maybe we should have listened back then), it lasted through my GSCE's, through my A Levels, and right up to that final glowing day when I recieved my one (and only) offer to go to Bristol, to study being a vet.
I have now been a vet for twice as long as I studied to be one. I am older, arguably wiser, and a whole lot tireder. That nagging voice, the one that I hoped would finally shut up when I was doing good deeds and getting paid for them, is not fooled, and though it has grown quieter over the years, it has never been silenced. My job does not consist of doing good deeds, all day, every day, as I imagined it would. And though I may relieve some suffering, I also help to perpetuate it in the form of helping dog and cat breeders continue to spawn the various mutants that they seem to consider 'cute'. The best thing I do, the honest-to-goodness kindest act I generally perform, is euthanasia, and with the best will in the world, it's hard to feel good about oneself for repeatedly killing small animals.
Ten years gone. My attitude to my job is, and I suspect, always will be, mixed, but it has brought me the greatest thing in my life so far - my wife - and for all the wonderful years we've had together, I actually feel it was worth it all!
There are many more things I could write about, but I'll leave them for another time. For now, sit with me and raise a glass, for years gone by, and to absent friends.
Cheers. |
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| 20 January 2010 by Storm Constantine |
New From Storm Jan 10
Reading books about the weather as research for a new novel. Wanted to brush up on the science of weather as well as its folklore. The novel is based on a short story that will be appearing in 'The Bitten Word' edited by Ian Whates and published through Newcon Press in March. The story's called 'Where the Vampires Live' but there aren't any vampire in it really. Just had this feeling about the wind in the story, and the spirits within it, so the idea developed from that. |
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