Good morning, Readers!

I spent most of yesterday editing a video.  It wasn't easy, because this shitty computer at work likes to sometimes stop various functions. Yesterday, it was the tablet driver, which, while it didn't complete disable the tablet, it did reduce its function.  It made for a frustrating time.

At least it's done.  I have more videos to edit today, and a fair amount of writing.  Not on my manuscript, mind.  I don't think I'll be able to get to that this week, but other things.  It's all work.

*unenthusiastic yay* click

Anyway, I don't have much to say today, except that I am loving this weather.  The wind is wonderfully cool, the sun is bright and warm... a perfect morning.  It's such an improvement over the hell that was Saturday.  Why couldn't the run have the weather we're having now?  Le sigh.  Still, I'm really glad we're having it at all.  It was cool enough last night that I had a warm shower.  And I didn't require another one the moment I stepped out of the shower.  It was great.

Oh, here's a sad tale, there was a dead mouse at the bottom of my stairs this morning.  I highly suspect that the cats played with the thing to death, like arsehole dolphins bullying a porpoise.  Poor little thing.

It's a sad day indeed, when your most exciting news is a dead mouse in your house.  Alright, I'm just going to leave it here, and go do the work I'm dreading today.

​Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

This weekend was a mixed bag, really.  Saturday was the first of the two 5km runs I signed up for this year.  It was, of course, the Ottawa Foam Fest, a 5km obstacle course run that involves mud puddles and pits of foam.  It's a lighter run; nothing like the Spartan Race, which I have done and did not enjoy nearly as much as this one.  Your run is not timed.  Your fellow runners are not there to compete with you.  There are no meatheads, no judgement, and a whole lot of silly fun.  I really like this run because it is so relaxed and all about enjoying your day.

My own personal goal was the same as last year's Foam Fest.  Run in between each obstacle.  I managed that, so I'm pleased.

We arrived late, alas, as my ride was a little late, and there were, on top of that, a couple of accidents on the way to the race location.  When we arrived, it felt like things were not moving well at all on their end.  Our registration line took a full forty minutes for us to get to the registration person and get our gear.  There wasn't much shade for us while we were waiting, either, and it was obnoxiously hot.  We would have missed our start time even if we had been on time, if things were always like this.

I have to admit that I was not exceptionally patient, waiting in that line.  I hate waiting at the best of times.  But standing in the full sun, in that awful heat, for that long, boiled away what little patience I had.  Apologies to everyone in my vicinity as I fumed.

It was genuinely a sweltering day on Saturday; the hottest one yet, and dangerously humid.  It made running hell.  It hit the 30s, and ended up feeling like 47 or so, according to the weather app on my phone.  For those of you who are still using outdated measuring systems, that's degrees celsius.  It was hot.  It was hot and awful, and I didn't manage it very well.

I don't deal with heat very well, at all.

I'm not the only one in the house who doesn't.  Galahad, the younger of our two cats, also does not cope well with the heat.  He got heat stroke last year, and was suffering these last few days.  He spent most of his time downstairs and wouldn't let me anywhere near him.  Like the majority of cats, he dislikes attention when he's not feeling great.  So, for three days, he's been downstairs, trying to hide from the heat and me.  This morning, it was wonderfully cool, and so Galahad spent the morning in my bed, being exceptionally cuddly.  I had missed him so much these last few days, and getting the chance to cuddle him again was great.  Thank you, cooler nights and mornings!

That was a diversion.  Back to the run.

I am super impressed with my sunscreen which, despite the sweat and the puddles and the mud and the running and the climbing and sliding over things, kept my ghostly skin from burning.  I do not have a sunburn, except, perhaps, a mild one on my scalp, which... I mean... I should've worn a cap.

Anyway, I'm super thankful for and impressed by my sunscreen.

Sunday was just as much of a mixed bag.  I proved I'm a terrible friend by double-booking myself, because I forgot about a get together.  I did get to spend the day with Dad, though, which is always lovely.  We saw the latest Spider-Man, and I really enjoyed it.  As far as live-action Spider-Man's go (Spider-Men?), I think Tom Holland is my favourite.

I was still quite exhausted from the run (and still am.  The heat, folks, I can't deal), though, and ended up going to bed very early.

And that was my weekend.  How was yours?

This week, I doubt I'll get much writing done, as I have a bunch of other stuff to do, starting with a video that needs editing and uploading.  If I'm very lucky, I'll get it done today.

Right, I'm off to do work.

Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

Last night I streamed my first stream of Far Cry Primal.  Thus far it's a great game.  But the game play is not what I'm talking about here.

I'm here to talk about what happened in-stream.  Which is to say, my mic cut out.  It wouldn't be an SMC Awkwardly Plays if there wasn't some sort of technological disaster.  Here's the thing, though.  The mic cut, and no one said anything.  I'm streaming.  I can't tell, because I'm not hearing the stream fired back at me.  It would be impossible to play if it was.

People did come into the stream.  I could see it in the watch count.  But then they left again, likely because it was apparently just a silent game play.  For, like, two hours.

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHH!

Anyway I have a favour to ask.  If ever you drop by one of my live streams, and you can't hear me talking, just let me know, 'cause chances are, my mic is fucking up again.  I'm always babbling about nonsense (or sometimes musing to myself, particularly if I'm sneaking).

Anyway, if you can't hear me, for the love of all things good and green in this world, tell me!

Right, that's all I've got for you today.  I have to go now and do some writing things.  Have yourselves a great day.

​Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

I'm over on Black Gate Magazine today, talking about one of my favourite games, and how writers could learn from it.

No one who knows me is surprised when I say I love video games. I’ve written about them previously for this very site. I think it’s hard to overstate just how much I adore video games (specifically narrative-focused games). The one game that got me to buy my first console and actually dive head-first into gaming was Bethesda Studio’s epic addition to their Elder Scrolls series, Skyrim.

This open world game lets you go anywhere, and do pretty much anything. Best of all, it has dragons (which you can kill and steal their souls to fortify your own powers [insert evil laugh]). Loving video games, but without a PC (my home computer is a Mac) or a console, I resorted to watching other folks have fun with them on YouTube. I stumbled across a Let’s Play of Skyrim, and after three episodes, I knew I had to play it for myself. I saved like a madwoman, bought myself a console, and Skyrim.

And I was never heard from again (not really. I did not ignore my responsibilities… but it was close!).

Skyrim proved to be everything I had been promised. It was epic in scope, the combat was fun, the dragons were amazing, and it let you play however you would like.

For the record, I always play in first person, and my build is always a bosmer (wood elf), whose strengths lie in archery and sneaking. There’s something ridiculously satisfying about sniping fools from the shadows with a good bow.

Good morning, Readers!

I am almost all caught up on the things I should have gotten done over the weekend.  The articles I should have written during that time were written yesterday.  One will be published this morning (and linked to by me tomorrow, because I'm too lazy to write another blog post), and the other will be published Thursday or so.  I'll link to that one on Monday, because, again, it's a good excuse not to write a blog post that day.

Unfortunately, of course, that means that I wasn't able to write my manuscript at all.  This makes me sad, but maybe it also has its uses.  When I'm exhausted, my brain doesn't function nearly so well as it should.  Taking a break from my main gig in that circumstance may help with the quality control.  Also, it might give me some time for the next part of the story to brew in the back of my mind, giving me a better writing session when I sit down.

That's actually why I give myself the weekend off from writing.  That, and my weekends are usually so full I'm exhausted by the time they end.  There's no time to write on the weekends.

So, hopes are high that today's writing session will be fruitful.  That said, I'm also still quite tired, so I'll be pleased to reach my goal of one thousand words.  If I hit my usual two thousand, that will be just a bonus.  Or that's the mindset I'm trying to maintain.  With writing having gone so well up until now, I will be a bit disappointed if I don't manage to keep the pace.

Anyway, I have to go do the writing thing now.  Hope you all have a lovely day.

​Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

The past few weeks have been going wonderfully well.  I've been writing two thousand words a day consistently on my writing days.  I'm getting to a quarter of the way through the manuscript.  It's been great.  I've been streaming on time.  I've been editing the videos and getting them out. in good time.  I've been teaching, and training, and it's all been so good.

So naturally, I crashed hard.  By the time Friday rolled around, I was battling a panic attack, which, thankfully, never actually became a full-blown attack.  I had to cancel all of my plans, not least of all because OC Transpo took two hours to get me home from teaching Friday night, and so had to cancel Saturday morning's plans so I could do the things I was supposed to do Friday night.

To the surprise of no one who has been utterly overwhelmed, none of it got done.  I went to bed Friday night, and did not wake until almost 2pm Saturday afternoon.  Then, because I just couldn't do much else, I binged YouTube videos, and then slept more.

Saturday, I also got a huge reaction to something on my neck.  I have an awful outbreak there, which I'm currently trying to hide with too much make-up.  I have no idea what I could have reacted to, and am fairly convinced that it's all related to being so thoroughly overwhelmed.

Yesterday was much better.  I actually did things.  Not the things I was supposed to, mind, but I was functioning.  I practiced my guitar for the first time in too long, and even managed to go out for an extra long run.  The day was cool enough for a long run in the afternoon.  While I ran a little slower than usual, I felt pretty good during the run, and better after.

It didn't really take care of the feeling of being overwhelmed, but it was at least something.  Nothing I needed to do got done this weekend.  I'm pissed about it, but there's nothing for it, I suppose.  I was utterly unable to function on the weekend.

That does mean, however, that I have my work cut out for me today.  I won't be writing today, though I'm itching to.  I mean, i won't be writing my manuscript today.  I will be writing.  I have a blog post due today that will be going out tomorrow.  Ordinarily, I'd have brainstormed a topic, but I'm dry.  I've got nothing.  I'm angry about that too, but I know from experience that it's a side-effect of being overwhelmed.  My mind ceases to function.  Most of what I have to do today is come up with a topic, and then write it.

I also have to write a Sassy Review for Shadow of Mordor, which will happen as soon as the article for Black Gate Magazine is written.

Right, I should stop procrastinating and get to it.  Hope you're all having a fantastic day.

​Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

At risk of inviting all manner of hostility, let's talk about masculinity. *cue dramatic music*

For the record, this was prompted by a recent arrival on my Twitter feed.  One of the images I remembered from many years ago, which had prompted so many arguments about what was and was not masculine.  I figured I'd tackle it here, because the question of masculinity and how it is performed carries weight; it influences and is influenced by fiction.

But first, the images on my Twitter feed that sparked my brain:

Okay, so the second image is the one that I am certain I had seen before.  It was posted on some site or other, and it sparked a raging debate in the comments.

By and large, most of the women in the comments were crooning about the image and how handsome the man in it looked.  Enter the others.  Mostly men, but definitely some women, started to pile in on how effete the model was.  Long hair and fanciful hairstyles are not masculine.  That stuff is for women.

Except... LOL, no.

The idea that short hair is masculine is actually really, really recent.  It dates back to the war, when soldiers had to crop their hair in an effort to control lice; a huge problem when people are stuck in trenches together in less than ideal situations with less than ideal hygiene.  There was a dedicated campaign to equate this new, short hair with things considered traditionally masculine - toughness, strength, owning a penis.  You know, the ideals of that are held up as paragons of masculinity.[1]

This isn't to say that men before then did not crop their hair, particularly for practical reasons (Alexander the Great had his soldiers crop their hear and shave their beards so that they couldn't be grabbed by the enemy, for example).[2]  However, generally speaking, men used to wear their hair long.

As for the fanciful hair styles, let me let you in on a little secret.  It's a secret that might shock the very posters who derided the model for creating these elaborate hairstyles for himself, particularly since it is about a culture such people often celebrate as paragons of masculine representation.  I'm talking, of course, about the Celts.  Men often wore their hair long, and often took the time to put that hair up in braids and curls, and decorate it with gold and bronze rings and other decorations.  Yes, that's right.  Men styled their hair; they dyed it blond (bleached with lime water), curled it or pulled it back so that it might resemble a horse's mane or tail.[3]

In fact, the first thing I thought of when I first saw the above model and his beautiful hair was - Celt.  That's what popped into my head.  I was not far off.  He also dies his hair blond.

Long hair on both men and women was pretty much the norm.  The length of hair had nothing to do with masculinity.  In fact, it was considered desirable for men to have long hair.  It makes sense, when you think about it.  Having long hair requires good health, good nutrition, and rest.  Long, beautiful locks are an important signal to potential partners that the owner of those locks is healthy and hale, and probably has really good genetics, to be honest.  This is true for both men and women.

Here's the thing, the Celts, this warrior people who once inspired fear in all of Europe, were quite vain.  They were conscious of their hygiene, they spent a great deal of time on their appearance.  This is true of the men, by the by, not just the women.  Celtic men, it seemed, liked to feel beautiful.  This did not impact their masculinity in any way whatsoever.  In fact, their masculinity might have depended upon it.  There are records of laws that state that a woman may divorce her husband for a variety of reasons, including losing sexual interest in him or if he could no longer sexual satisfy her.[5]  It was in the man's best interest to keep himself beautiful.

This also appears true of the vikings, who seem to be the spiritual successors of Celtic vanity, though, granted, I know an awful lot less about them than the Celts.  It's not my area of expertise.

The point I'm trying to make here is that the visual cues of masculinity that we've become used to in the modern era - the short hair, the tanned skin, and some of the performative aspects - the disregard of one's appearance (or the pretense of it), are not inherently masculine.  They're modern constructs.  In fact, a great deal of "traditionally" (HAH!) masculine traits, both physical and performative are not actually inherently masculine.

So, what is?

Well, nothing really.  Like femininity, masculinity comes in all shapes and presentations.  I can see how this can cause problems for those who require definitive definitions for everything (like the commentators I had previously mentioned).  Generally speaking, masculinity is not any particular trait.  What makes a man a man isn't a set of behaviours or a certain appearance.

Near as I can tell, what makes a man manly is the man's own confidence in himself.  Nothing more.  Nothing less.

How that translates into one's writing is up to the writer, really.  I tend to write men who are entirely themselves, and don't pay much mind to the constructs of masculinity.  They don't try too hard to be masculine.  They refuse to perform it, if any part of that performance is not genuine.  In fiction, as in my life, male characters who are clearly performing masculinity makes my eyes roll.  I don't care for it.  It makes that character immediately unlikable.  That might be just me.  Clearly there are a large number of people who are totally invested in men performing their version of masculinity.

Still, people who refuse to perform masculinity in this way are gaining a lot of momentum in the social consciousness.  Think Keanu Reeves, who appears to be a sweet soul, Tom Hiddleston and Dan Reynolds, both of whom have shed tears publicly, Taron Egerton, who refuses to kill his affection for his friends and tells them they're gorgeous... all these people have dedicated, adoring fans, and appear to be gaining momentum and praise without performing masculinity as we're used to seeing it.  They are simply men, who are apologetically their sensitive, silly, soulful selves.

So far, writing men this way has worked for me.  I've gotten a lot of compliments on how I write men (which I still find bizarre.  I'm hardly an expert on the subject).

Still, the subject of masculinity is fraught, with a goodly amount of vitriolic backlash levelled at people who do not perform it well enough (in many, many cases).  What it is, and who embodies it is far from agreed upon.  I'm fairly certain that I've only helped muddy the waters with this post.  I'm okay with this.

All a writer can do in situations like these is to write and hope they're doing it correctly.

What do you think?  I'd love to know how you consider masculinity in your writing (or in life, really).  Be warned, though, I will not tolerate abuse on this site.  Any comments I deem unacceptable will be deleted for any reason I see fit.