Good morning, Readers!

Last week was pretty rough.  I had a crippling hit of depression Thursday.  It wasn't my usual slow, oh-I-know-whats-happening kind of descent into the black melancholy, it was a sudden nose-dive into the hell of expansive nothingness.  It took me by surprise, and I didn't really have a chance to do the things I normally do to mitigate the effects of it.

So instead, I went home and cried.  I curled into bed and just let myself be miserable for a little bit.  Sometimes you just need that.

I've been slowly crawling out of the funk ever since.  I'm feeling much better today, having spent last night screaming obscenities at Kratos as I floundered my way through God of War II in an unofficial live stream.  It was so cathartic, even though I died a whole bunch and genuinely hurt my voice.

Honestly, it really did help.  I'm in a much better mood today.  Not great, but better.

Slowly but surely, that's how these things go.

I'm hoping to get in a few lunch-hour swims this week as well.  I've discovered that a gym very close to work has lane swims at lunch hour and I think it'd be good for me to get out of the office and do some exercise halfway through the day.

Come September, the swims will change to early morning.

Maybe.

We'll see.  I know I need the exercise to improve my mood, though.  It usually does, and I'm training less than I used to do.  Time to find other outlets.  And who knows, maybe I'll perk right up after the swim, instead of being tired and cranky by the time 3pm hits.

Right, I have to get on with my Welsh lessons.  Wish me luck!

Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

Yesterday during my rant, I mentioned a programme that was twice now denied funding from the Ontario Arts Council.  That programme is the ChiSeries; a night of speculative fiction readings.

The idea behind the series is to expose the best of speculative fiction during an evening out.  Writers are invited in to read to an audience, who happily buy drinks and food, and listen to snippets of amazing stories.  This kind of exposure, this set up, this programme is fantastic for aiding writers be discovered by new audiences, and readers finding new books to read.

Best of all, ChiSeries pays its readers.

Underlying their operation is the philosophy that artists deserve to get paid.  And so, ChiSeries always pays the talent who comes to read for them.

Look, you don't have to be in a creative field to know how sadly rare this is.  Too often creative types are expected to deliver their art for nothing but "exposure" in return.

Quick reminder, exposure is a thing you can die from, and it is a thing you will suffer from because you will no longer have food or a place to live due to lack of paying things like rent, because you weren't paid.

I feel like that sentence could use a little work.

Anyway, the point is, ChiSeries has been nothing but a positive for the speculative fiction community all across Canada.  Seriously, though.  They're in a tonne of cities where ChiSeries now takes place.

The denial of funding for the last two years puts this all in serious jeopardy. It would be a real loss for the speculative fiction community in Canada if we were to lose this programme.

ChiSeries is currently looking for funding alternatives.  I'm really hoping that they'll manage to create a Patreon for it.  It's a great platform for crowd funding, and they should get enough interest to make it viable for them.

Until then, I'm doing what I can to spread the word about this great programme.  You will be hearing more from me about it as things become available.  For now, though, check out their website and if you're interested in listening to some past readings, Silver Stag has them all up on their YouTube channel.  Here is a playlist for this year's Ottawa readings thus far.

I sincerely hope that ChiSeries manages to continue.  It really is a gift to the spec. fic. community.

Do check it out.

And now I must go attempt the same damned Welsh lesson I've been struggling with all damned week.

Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

So.  Here we are again.  I'm irritated.  Again.

Look, everyone, this is likely going to be a rant.

​And the rant is this:

So, one of the programmes that I greatly enjoy has been denied funding twice now for a grant by the Ontario Arts Council (they help out the Canadian arts scene financially).  This is, the organisers suspect, partly due to the fact that they specialise in genre fiction (and poetry).  This wouldn't ordinarily be a problem, but for the fact that a large number of literary types believe that genre fiction is unworthy of, well, pretty much anything.

I don't know where this kind of idiotic snobbery comes from.  A lack of understanding, certainly.  A feeling of insecurity?  Hispter syndrome?  Quite likely.

If you can't quite believe that this kind of snobbery exists, I can tell you from first hand experience that it does.  In full disclosure, I was once such a snob, but it was books versus comics.  For some reason, I thought books were far superior, and looked down my nose at anyone who read comics.

I was an utter twat and have since learnt better.  Much better.

The point is, I have experienced this kind of snobbery myself, from both sides.  I have been the snob, and I have been snubbed.  And it is the stupidest thing I think I can currently think of.

Well, that and Donald Trump is still the president of the United States.

Look, literary snobs, there is a lot to genre fiction that you would be able to understand if you could just get over the fact that it is more popular than your stuff (you hipster twats).

Is there drivel in genre?  Abso-fucking-lutely.  But here's the thing, literary snobs, there's drivel in your field too, so let's not pretend that you're better, okay?

There is no way that anyone who reads widely could possibly say that literary fiction tackles deeper issues more effectively than genre does.  That's not to say that they don't tackle deep issues effectively, either.  They do.  Of course.  But so does genre, guys.  Honestly, just fucking read it.  You'll see.

There is a bloody good reason why genre books strike a chord with readers (Harry Potter, anyone?  It's been twenty fucking years, and that series is still incredibly relevant and looming large in people's lives) in a way that literary books don't really tend to.  I'm sorry if that upsets you all, but fucking deal with it.  I'm so fucking done with the mindset that because something is popular, it must be shit.

Clearly, if it was shit, it wouldn't be all that popular.

Spouting these ridiculous opinions about genre being trash just makes you seem bitter.  And I suppose you are.  Even your best literary works are fucking genre.

The Picture of Dorian Gray? That's horror.  Slap on a literary title all you want.  That won't get rid of the fact that it is genre.

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley?  Genre, you sheep.  It's science fiction and horror wrapped up in one classic novel.  You can call it literary fiction if you really want to, but that doesn't strip it of the fact that it's genre.

I don't think that it is a coincidence that the most enduring classics are, in fact, genre pieces (and those that aren't tend to be read only because it's in a school curriculum).

Like I said, genre has a way of resonating with its audience.  It's more than just silly stories with outlandish premises.  It can use distance and the veneer of untruth to explore deeply human truths, to explore the human condition, traumas, and very current issues, and examining what it might take to resolve them.  As G.K. Chesterton put it:

I'm not alone when I say that I internalised a great deal from the books I read growing up.  They were genre; unbelievable tales of hobbits and orcs, elves, dragons, kings and queens; the struggle for goodness in worlds where evil seems utterly victorious.  I am who I am today thanks in large part to these books.

I'm also not alone when I say that genre books saved my life.  I struggled with undiagnosed depression.  Not only did these books transport me to a different place, away from the everything I was facing, but it helped me redefine my relationship with depression.  If I could imagine myself as the hero of one of the books I read, and my depression as the villain of the piece, I found it easier to stand up and fight back.

Of course, like the heroes in those stories, I came dangerously close to giving up, and I even tried a few times.  But I'm largely still standing today because tales of heroes battling overwhelming odds gave me something tangible to cling to; and example to strive for.

If Frodo can walk all the way to Mount Doom, I can get out of the fucking bed.

However childish I may act at times, I am now an adult (ish), and I still reach for these stories when I need an example of heroic courage.

Even the just fun "fluff" pieces in genre have at least that; an example of heroic courage.

The value of genre is so much deeper and richer than simple escapism (though there is a great deal of value in that, let me tell you).

That is why the bizarre snobbery against genre from those in the literary fiction field is so fucking frustrating.  It tells me that perhaps those people are not as capable at examining literature as they pretend to be.  If they were, the value of genre would become apparent almost immediately.

Look, literary fiction is genuinely wonderful.  But so too is genre.  Can we all just stop pretending that literary fiction is better.  Those snobs who just love to express to me how frivolous, meaningless, and valueless genre is (in an effort to make themselves feel superior, no doubt... compensating for something, are we?) prove only how ignorant and close-minded they've chosen to be.*

And I don't have time for people like that.

​End rant.

Good morning, Readers!

For all our lives, we're told to strive for the heights.  Be a success.  Once you have all the hallmarks of success, you will be happy.  And don't we all want to be happy?

Only, there's a problem with that.

Success seems to be quite narrowly defined (and not a little gendered).  Women are considered successful one of two ways; they are a top-earning power figure (lawyer, banker, CEO or some such nonsense) or they are a mother.  Most often, they're not a success unless their both.

Men tend to be seen as successes if they're a top-earning power figure of some kind in whatever field they like.

But does that immediately bring them happiness?

My observations is that no, it does not.

For some it does.  For some they've worked their arses off to get what they wanted and they couldn't be more thrilled with where they ended up.  For others, though, it has been a long, slow, painful realisation that everything they've worked so hard for and spent so much money on, all the "success" they've had, is nothing but an empty promise.  They're not happy.  They've done a lot of work, gotten all the things, and... turns out that what their families wanted, or society wanted.  It wasn't what they wanted.

If happiness is to be the marker of success, then we all need to take a step back and reevaluate what we mean by success.

If success is what engenders happiness, then we still need to take a step back and reevaluate what we mean by success.

And we certainly need to stop looking down our noses at people whose version of success and happiness do not line up with our own.

For some people, success is finding a partner, settling down and raising a family.  There lies their joy.  For others, it's claiming their place in the job of their dreams.  For others, success is a hot cup of tea in the morning, and pottering around the garden for a bit (which requires being in a position to do so, obviously).

I think more and more people are starting to realise this.  They are less and less likely to measure success in dollar bills or the value of their assets.  Fewer people are willing to postpone their current happiness for vague, empty promises of happiness in the future; promises which we've all observed to be largely false.

Most of us aren't falling for that shtick anymore

*Cue idiotic articles about how Millennials refuse to work obscene hours and brave through workplace abuse and how that makes them the literal worst*

Anyway, the point is, we often mistake societal ideas of "success" to equate instant happiness once they're achieved.  We pursue "success" because we're told success is happiness, only to find that this isn't the case.  Or rather, what was once defined as success is actually just empty promises.

The cake is a lie.

You could, conceivably work a menial job, the kind of job most people would look down on (serving fast food, for example), and be perfectly content.  While many wouldn't judge a job at McDonald's a success, the worker might be thrilled at the flexible hours, which gives them time to spend with loved ones, or painting, or something (I don't fucking know).  They might get a great deal of satisfaction knowing they served someone food that was, if not healthy, at least enjoyable.

At least, it would be conceivable if people stopped believing that these kinds of jobs and the people who work them are beneath human dignity and far beneath worthy of a living wage.

Christ.

Sorry, got righteously side-tracked.

There seems to me to be a lot of pressure to be successful, but the definition of success is extremely narrow.  Humanity is incredibly varied.  Our dreams, desires, loves, interests... they are all so very different.  Success, you would think, would be as well.

Here's some life advice from someone who is far too young to be giving life advice:

Fuck what everyone else is telling you.  If being a stay at home father is your version of happiness, if raising a well-adjusted, good-hearted person is your idea of success, you do that.

If all you want to do with your life is paint, and you have a crappy job, but it pays enough to cover your bills and buy your paints and canvases, you do that.  Your goal was to paint.  You are painting.  Congratulations, you are a success!

And with that, I have to ask, where is your happiness?  What is your idea of success?

For me, it would be my being able to support myself solely with my writing.  It would be travelling the world on book tours, meeting readers, and making guest appearances at conventions.  I would die of success overload if I could be considered a peer of the great genre writers of the past and present.

​Your turn!

Good morning, Readers!

I've been thinking about this a lot of late.  Not necessarily the pursuit of happiness itself, but why we feel compelled to be happy.  I mean, it's not just feeling happy, it's a weird obsession with it, as if happiness must take precedence over everything else.

It's gotten to a point where people are destroying themselves in an effort to appease this bizarre cult of happiness.

I honestly feel like this idea that someone must be happy all the time is one of the most destructive things I've seen.  People spend copious amounts of money on things, hoping that whatever they will buy will make them happy.  They twist themselves into emotional knots, bottling normal, natural feelings because they will interfere with happiness, no matter how warranted things like grief and anger are.  Happiness is the only thing we're allowed to feel.

It's ridiculous.  And it's a lie.

Happiness is an emotion.  It is not the only emotion.

We really need to get used to the idea that happiness is not a continuing state.  It isn't a plateau.  It is a spike.  And we really need to stop invalidating the other things we feel.  They are as informative, and as necessary to our lives as happiness.  And they're healthy.

It is uncomfortable to grieve, but permitting ourselves the time and space to do so is infinitely better than hiding it away, forcing it beneath the veneer of happiness.  If we give ourselves the time and space, if we sit with our grief, we can eventually work through it.  If we do not face it, it will always be there, hovering on the edges of our minds.  Undealt with.  There.  Always.  Interfering with everything, whether you're aware of it or not.

The same is true for anger.  No, it's not pleasant, but permitting ourselves to be angry when anger is appropriate takes the sting out of it.  It takes away its longevity.  Anger unresolved is like grief unresolved.  It's always there, simmering, and it will explode the moment our guard is down.

It is exhausting trying to keep everything contained like that.

Here's something I want people to know:

It's okay if you're not feeling happy at this very moment.  It's alright if you need to cry.  Cry.  There is no shame in it.  It's fine if you need to rage for a bit.  Rage.  Get it all out of your system.

You don't need to break your back trying to adhere to this new cult of happiness.  You cannot be happy all the time.  Just as sadness and anger pass, so does happiness.  It is the same as any other emotion.

Certainly, pursue the things that make you happy.  Refrain from injuring others in your various states of unhappiness.  But you must not feel obligated to feel happy when you aren't.

That, to me, is where madness lies.

Good morning, Readers!

Yesterday I sat down for a radio interview with Jim, AKA The Passionate Friar, to discuss the craft of writing characters.  I honestly don't remember much about it other than I was very nervous, it was fun, and Jim was lovely.

I also remember that for some reason I only credited my father with raising such an opinionated person.  I would like to make it clear that my mother is equally responsible for the person I am — for good or ill!  I don't know why I defaulted to Dad for that.  Sorry, Mum!  In my defence, my brain was fried and my ability to form coherent thoughts greatly impacted by the end.  I couldn't even pronounce Janelle, for crying out loud.

Also, be very proud of me, guys.  I didn't cuss once!  It took a lot of concentration, let me tell you (and probably was why my brain was so fried)!

If you're at all interested, you can listen to the interview here for the next little bit.  I am also hopefully getting an MP3 of the interview for a more permanent record.

I can only hope that I sounded vaguely intelligent, and that I answered the questions adequately.  I always worry about being worthy of the time and energy of the people listening.  I hope I was.

Of course, I was a great ball of nerves before the interview.  Afterwards, I marched home, my hands shaking.  I allayed my nerves and worries about how I performed by practicing parkour, collecting cockades and heraldry devices, looting chests, and assassinating random criminals on the street.  Not in real life, of course.

I'm rubbish at parkour.

Yes, I played Assassin's Creed Unity for a couple of hours.  No, I didn't stream it.  I wasn't in the right mind for more talking, and besides, it was just literally the small stuff.  I didn't play any missions.  That's for next Wednesday.  Oh, speaking of!  Here is the highlight reel for Sunday's live stream:

I'll have the reel for Monday's stream done for next week.

​I'd like to thank Jim for having me on his show.  It was a great discussion, and Jim was a fantastic host.  For now, I must be getting on with my Welsh lessons!

​Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

As you're reading this, I'm walking down to my radio interview on The Passionate Friar on CKCU (93.1 FM) radio.  Tune in!

I did not, this time, forget to schedule a blog post, though.  It's just a short one to let you all know that the two competitions that were running for free copies of Daughters of Britain have just closed.

Join me in congratulating the winners!

Jerry Toussaint

Congrats, Jerry!

Caitlyn Zant

Congrats, Caitlyn!

You both should be receiving your books shortly.

Thanks to everyone who entered.  I really hope you enjoy the book!

Ciao!