Good morning, Readers.

A problem unacknowledged will forever be a problem unsolved.

I've been noticing a trend, and it has me incredibly frustrated.  That trend is this:

"Hey, this is problematic."
"I don't see a problem."
"There is literally a pattern here."
"I don't see a problem."
"Look, this needs to be fixed."
"I don't see a problem."
"the pattern is obvious to anyone with eyes and a functioning brain. We need to talk about this."
"You're lying. There is no problem."
"PEOPLE ARE LITERALLY DYING!"
"Nope. Not a problem."

It's like banging your head against a brick wall.

We've all been there, right?  We've spoken about something that we notice.  This is for a great deal of social topics. I often talk about the problem that is the entitlement of cis-het white folk, and often about the problem that is cis-het people in general (regardless of ethnicity or gender), and also the problematic patters in the behaviours of men.  I don't do this to be trendy, or jumping on [insert group] for the lols.  I'm not trying to get ahead in any way by talking about what I've noticed, what I regard as offensive, hurtful or dangerous.

I write about it because I see it.  I've heard the stories of people affected by it.

I've been affected by it.

That's the problem currently facing climate scientists.

"Here's the data.  We're fucking things up and we need to stop."
"Oh, we're not the problem.  We don't need to change."
"Uh, we are and we do."
"Nope. Climate change isn't even really a problem."
"Hi, military expert here.  It's not just about destruction of habitat and the loss of biodiversity.  It's legitimately a threat to our national security.  It's a problem."
"Nope. Not a problem."
"Well, great.  We're all going to die."

It's a pattern I've noticed, and getting defensive or pretending that it doesn't happen, or isn't a serious, systemic problem won't make the problem going away.  This isn't a case of ignore it and it will vanish.  It's a case of ignore it and prove yourself an arsehole, because it's literally destroying lives.

These problems need to be addressed.  But I've seen so many people refuse to even acknowledge the problems as problems, when they so clearly are.

How can we possibly move forward with so many people doing that?

The short answer, we can't.

Problems need to be acknowledged.

If they aren't, well, they will never be solved.

And people will continue to suffer.

That, in my opinion, is unforgivable.

Good morning, Readers!

This week has been one of adjustment for me.  I'm in the middle of getting myself back up to a level of fitness I'm happy with.  And by middle of, I mean I'm just starting off, but have been meaning to for a long while.

As with all changes in my exercise patterns, it's taking a bit for my body and mind to adjust.  As of right now, I'm facing a great deal of fatigue.  That's not new.  Fatigue seems to be a fairly staple thing in my life, to be honest.  I'm always requiring a nap, it seems.  I've never been able to figure out why, and my doctor wasn't able to, either.  So I've just decided that being constantly tired is just something I have to live with.  I don't let it stop me.  There's too much to do.

The adjustment period into a new routine always makes me much more tired than usual.  I don't generally get muscle soreness (unless I'm jumping in to weight training after a protracted break, or starting something completely new).  I just get very tired.

So, today, I'm exhausted.

I went for a swim at lunch yesterday.  The plan is to swim every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at lunch hour.  I messed that up thanks to be unwell on Monday (thanks for nothing, migraine, you prick).  Swimming, incidentally, makes me very, very tired.  I wish I was a kid again, when I could wake up at 4:00am, to get to the pool for 5:00am, swim for two hours and then manage a full day of school.  I'm not there anymore, and it makes me sad.

Running will be a part of the schedule, hopefully soon.  I plan to run for a bit in the morning on Tuesday, Thursdays and Saturdays.  But we'll see.  I didn't manage to haul myself out of bed this morning, despite being more or less awake.  I opted to cuddle with the kitties instead.

They're so cute and purry and sweet in the morning.

That said, I did bring my running shoes to work, so I might run today after all.  Probably not.  But the option is there, at least.

I really wish they had showers here at the office.  Le sigh.

Anyway, I'm literally just blogging to complain about how tired I am.  Hush.  I'm allowed!

Also, I tore the triceps on my right arm a few years ago, and swimming has made that quite apparent.  There's a weird dull ache at the tear site.  Maybe it means I'm doing something right?

Anyway, I have to go learn some Welsh.

​Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

So, this past two weeks was great.

I received the first of my royalty payments.  It wasn't an enormous sum of money (don't go into publishing if it's money you want, folks!), but it still made me happy.  It was more, incidentally than the royalty payment I received from Amazon last year for all of my titles combined, so, progress!

Anyway, that made me really happy.

Also, the first of the reviews for Daughters of Britain has come in, and it's lovely (I also received a really thoughtful one privately via email, which I also loved, but since it was privately sent, I'm not going to share it publicly here)!  It's copied in full below (because I don't have anything of note to say, and I need to fill the space), but you can read it here if you'd rather go direct to the source.

It made me so happy.

For the record, I don't expect a novella from the people reviewing my stuff.  Just a couple of sentences is more than adequate.  I appreciate people taking the time to review at all.

It really does help an author out; not just to fluff or destroy their egos, either.  It helps get word out about the book, and it helps readers find a book that might be an great fit for their tastes.

Anywho, I have to go.  I have Welsh lessons to be getting on with.

Thanks for the review, Robert!

​Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

My apologies for not posting yesterday. I wasn't well.   Here is what you would have read on Monday:

This film is amazing.  It's beautifully shot, wonderfully acted, and tense the whole way through.  Be prepared, though, it is a British film, and so filmed with British sensibilities.  You won't find Hollywood flashiness here.  The understated nature of the film, however, works in its favour.  It gives space for the anxiety to borrow in and sit with you.

The beginning of the film threw me a little bit, what with the scenes being shown out of order, if you're going chronologically.  It doesn't take long for you to settle in, though.

There are three main perspectives that this film follows; the British soldiers trying to get home, one of the civilian boats who answered the naval requisition and headed across the channel to save their army, and the fight in the air.

There were some 400 000 British soldiers stuck on the beach at Dunkirk, basically sitting ducks, waiting for evacuation as the German forces closed in from all sides on the ground, and picked them off from the air.  It was a dire, hopeless sort of situation.  The navy would not risk its destroyers, and the air force spared few fighter pilots for aid.  The film gave the boys on the beach just three spitfires for protection, which turned out to be two, as in the first engagement they lost their flight leader.

If you're used to Hollywood style movies, the gentle calm of the fighter pilots will probably throw you.  There's a pragmatic dealing with their situation that is quite absent in American films.  There is no whooping, no melodramatic screaming, no corny "NOOOOOOOOO!"  It's calm and measured, even under heavy fire.  Even when a fuel gauge is shot to hell.  Even when one of the pilots crashes into the sea.  Even when the other runs out of fuel.  Even when one pilot successfully takes down a German bomber in the nick of time.  He got cheers from the beach, but nothing more grand.  To be perfectly honest, it made a refreshing change from the over-the-top emotional machismo that Hollywood tends to specialise in.  It honestly felt exceptionally British.

You know, keep calm and carry on.

The same spirit is shown when following the civilian boat and her captain (and his son) as they cross the channel, answering the call from the Navy.  They sail into danger, and the captain, who is by no means a military man, holds resolute, doing all he can to save as many as he can.  In the same fashion as the pilots, he remains steadfast and calm.  There's a job to be done, and that's all there is to it.  The only time you see him deviate even a little, is when he takes the time to see if he can save a downed spitfire pilot.  You learn later that his brief departure from absolute calm to attempt what appeared to be a hopeless rescue is because his eldest son was in the Royal Air Force (and was killed three weeks after the commencement of the war).

I cannot tell you how much my heart thrilled to see this armada of civilian boats on the waves off the shores of Dunkirk, France.  It surely paled compared to what those soldiers must have felt.  I was also weirdly so very proud (it's weird because I'm not British) to see all these ordinary people answer the call, to cross into danger, to collect their boys and bring them home.  I heard in an interview with one of the actors that some guy even crossed the channel in a canoe!

Not a lot of people, particularly in North America, are all that educated on the events in the war prior to America's involvement.  Nolan brings something incredible into to their consciousness.

Churchill, when activating the civilian boats, hoped for the rescue of about 30 000 men.  In the end, some 340 000 soldiers were rescued from the beach at Dunkirk, thanks to those civilian boats.

Operation Dynamo became the Miracle of Dunkirk.

This film did a fantastic job of showing that miracle.  I was tense the entire time, chewing my nails, watching as we followed a small group of soldiers doing whatever they can to survive the beach, fretting about fuel levels as the spitfires engaged German fighters and bombers, and thrilling when the civilian boats arrived.

My Kung Fu brother came with me, and admitted after that he was close to tears watching the film.  The fight for survival resonated with him so deeply.  War films almost never fail to move me.  I mean, I've teared up at the reading of the names at every ANZAC Day ceremony I've ever been to.  War is such an incredible fucking waste.  Nolan's vision and the incredible acting all served to make this film seem real, the anxiety of the evacuation sits with you the whole time, gnawing at you.

Honestly, go see it.

You won't get the Hollywood flash.  This film is exceptionally British in its execution.  You will, however, be moved.

Good morning, Readers!

So, it's not been long since Daughters of Britain came out.  Not long at all.

And still I find myself being extremely anxious waiting for reviews of the book.  To be clear, I don't expect any, but I'm anxious about it all the same.

I did receive a lovely note from a reader on Twitter, who said they loved it.  Thanks, Julienne!

And so, I sit here, biting my nails for silly reasons.

I don't even know why I'm so anxious about it.  It was good enough to be published, clearly.  I should be fine.  For some reason, however, I'm so much more anxious about this than I was about any of my other books.

Part of that, I think, is that so much of this is totally out of my control.  While I'm still hustling to be seen in the writing world, I'm not the one chasing down review sites trying to get word out about my book.  I'm not seeing the sales numbers, I'm not arranging for places to sell this book...  So much of the process that I'm so used to doing myself, which helped give me at least the sensation of being in control, is missing.

There, I think, lies the source of my anxiety.

It's a weird place for me.  Being self-published for so long and having everything on hand was actually a great comfort, even if it was a tonne of work.

I'm glad not to be doing all the work this time, though.  Still, it's a struggle to keep anxiously pacing to and fro.

Man.

Right, I have to go now.  Welsh lessons are calling.

​Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

So, the 13th Doctor has been announced, and to the delights squeals of people everywhere, this time, The Doctor is a woman.

And then there are the not so delighted squeals.  There's a whole lot of butthurt out there about the fact that The Doctor is not a man this time around.  Here are just a few idiotic examples of the broflakes freaking out:

Oh, what special little broflakes we have in the world.

I actually don't have a horse in this race.  I don't (gasp) watch Doctor Who.  I am glad to see women finally getting to be the hero instead of the sidekick or love interest, though.  For others, this is a huge moment, and one they've been wishing for a long, long time.  I witnessed first hand the sheer joy from friends and online from strangers who are over the moon with this.

As I sit and watch the backlash, all I can do is shake my head.  Those who rail against "political correctness"—as if this casting decision wasn't more about a brilliant actress than "PC culture"—are also, it has been my observation, the same people who decry safe spaces.

But here's the thing, until very, very recently, the whole world has been their safe space, particularly entertainment media.  Entertainment media has been a space where heroes are straight, white and male.  Now that is changing, and all the broflakes who've gotten used to it are freaking the fuck out.

They flipped out when one of the Fantastic Four was played by a black character.  The freaked when Ghostbusters decided to do a film with an all-female cast.   They had an absolute meltdown when Idris Elba was cast as the Gunslinger (I'M SO EXCITED TO SEE HIM IN ACTION YOU HAVE NO IDEA!).  They got really cross when Ubisoft decided to make the villain of their next instalment of the Far Cry series a white Christian extremist.  There's actually a petition going around demanding the that the Black fucking Panther movie be "less black."

What a bunch of fragile, hypocritical morons these people are.

For all their lives, and the lives of every generation before that in the West, entertainment media was designed for men, particularly straight, white men.  Video games were tailored to the power and sexual fantasies of straight white male players - the assumed demographic.  Films and television were largely made for a straight white male audience.  They starred white men - even in non-white roles - as the heroes.

Entertainment media was the place where straight white men could go and feel safe, represented, and listened to.  Entertainment media was the straight white male safe space.

And now that's changing, and the need for safe spaces has become apparent to these broflakes, even if they aren't consciously aware of it.  It's apparent in the whining and crying and knee-jerk reactions when their broflake safe space bubble is burst.

And I'm sick of it.

Find a different safe space, broflakes.  Start a "butthurt fragile" club or something.  Entertainment media is for everyone, and you aren't everyone.  You aren't even most these days.  Welcome to the real world.

And when you do find your new safe space, perhaps stop laughing at those who are demanding theirs, because your hypocrisy is making me physically ill.

And so ends today's rant.

I'm off to get more coffee and learn some Welsh.

​Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

As I promised myself, I went swimming yesterday.

Not at lunch hour, though.  Because in typical style for my life, there are no lunch hour swims this week.  So, I went after work and swam for only roughly twenty minutes ('cause the pool closed after).  Still, I went for a swim.  Be proud of me.

Swimming, incidentally taught me a number of things.

One: I was a freak in high school that somehow managed to never get her hair wet, thanks to putting on a swim cap extremely well.  I will never be able to replicate it.  Which means my hair will be quite bleached by the chlorine in the pool.  Oh well?

Two: I can still swim.  It really is effortless to recover the form of swimming.

Three: I can't swim like I used to.  Holy breathing, Batman!  I finished two laps and was out of breath.  I've lost the rhythm, though not the form.  Since I still have the form, I can find my rhythm again.  All I need to do is practice.

Four: Swimming makes me dog tired.  I was falling asleep on the couch by nine last night, and though I went to bed at a reasonable hour, I'm still tired today.  I will be headed to bed earlier tonight, I think.  Like, pretty much immediately after training tonight.  I might have to take a nap today.

Five: I cannot - CANNOT - forget to bring my sunscreen everywhere I go.  I got sunburnt on the walk home (thanks to construction on the shaded side of the street) and I regret not having sunscreen to apply.

Six: I've missed the pool.  I was on the swim team in primary school.  I abandoned sport altogether in high school for a number of reasons (depression, body issues etc.), and I've missed training.  Now there isn't a real reason for me to be training like in primary school.  There isn't a swim meet happening any time soon.  But I've really missed swim training.  Of course, when I was on the team, I was up at stupid o'clock in the morning to swim for two hours before school started.  I'm not sure I could get up at 4:00 to be in the pool by 5:00.  Nope.

So, swimming yesterday was a good thing, despite how tired I still am.  My muscles were in pretty good shape, because I'm only mildly sore today.  I should be more sore, but my breathing really put a stop to how much work I could do.

Oh, also, I think swimming gave me terrible dreams.  I was playing hide and seek in my sleep, only we were hiding from hideous monsters.  It was a game, but also not, as random YouTube gaming celebrity Jacksepticeye found out, when he tried for my hiding spot, only to find I was in there.  He couldn't fit, so he left to find another one, and was promptly devoured by the monster we were all hiding from (there were at least eight people).  Then, for no reason, I was in a giant store looking for shampoo (because I need it to wash the chlorine from my hair after my swims), and ended up bumping into YouTubers Dan and Phil (I don't know why YouTubers were featured so prominently in my dreams.  They just were last night), and being wholly unable to find the damned shampoo, I ended up playing a virtual reality game with Dan and Phil.

And then a grumpy cat woke me up demanding to be fed, and I don't know how that VR game ended.

So yeah.  That was my yesterday.  How was yours?

Let me know in the comments below.  For now, though, I want to leave you with my favourite image from this year's Comedy Wildlife Photography Award winners:

Ciao!