Good morning, Readers!

It shouldn't come as a surprise to hear that I consider myself ambitious.  There are things I want, things I'm working really hard towards.  Most of the time, it feels like I'm headed nowhere fast, but hey, I'm working.

There's a lot of stuff I have to fight against, more than just the slim chances of succeeding in the publishing world.  I also have to fight against a whole whack of things that are deeply personal to me.  I have to fight against the pervasive idea that women don't belong writing SFF, and if they do, the writing is inherently sub-par.  It's an idea that has been soundly rebutted (especially at the Hugos.  Way to go, NK Jemisin.  You are amazing), but it's still bandies about enough that it has an impact on me.  Perhaps, more precisely, it was so pervasive while I was growing up, the recent shifts have not yet managed to negate the messages I received when I was growing up wanting to write.

For example, I was quite involved with amateur theatre when I was young.  I was writing then, too.  I can't remember how old I was, but it was probably around my thirteenth or fourteenth year.  The director of the play we were currently rehearsing (Oliver) found out I was a writer (well, 'writer').  I was a young woman, so his first response was, "Oh, romance?"  Because SFF wasn't something young women read, let alone wrote.  It's a small thing, but it was one example in a sea of such examples telling me that I couldn't, and shouldn't.  That it wasn't my place.

That sits with me and haunts my ambitions.  Clearly, I'm still writing, so it's not been that much of a detriment, but I can't help but think that maybe it does creep into my efforts.  I'm wondering if maybe my submissions are not as strong as they could be, because somewhere in my psyche is that little voice that says, 'You don't belong here.  You're not good enough." and that somehow leaks out onto the page.

I am traditionally published now, and I adore working with that publisher.  Renaissance Press is brilliant, very open and so lovely to work with.  They don't have the reach I would like.  Part of my ambition is to be able to support myself with my writing.  I don't need to be a millionaire, but I would like to have more control over my time than I currently do.  I also know that landing the backing of one of the big publishers won't guarantee that for me.  But it can help.  And with my foot in the door, and my willingness to work, it has a chance of being a really big help.

The thing is, I want to make it big.  I have a silly dream of getting onto a bus, and noticing that a few people are reading my book there.  I want to be invited to conventions so I can chat with readers, share a drink with my favourite writers and be considered a peer.  Book tours sound exhausting, but also really cool.  I want to walk past a bookstore and see one (or many?) of my titles in the window.  I want to sneak in and stealth-sign a copy or two.

I want these things.

I'm also afraid of achieving these things.  Success at this level has only ever been a dream.  A thing that can't be achieved.  Hell, it's been years of trying, and I don't think I'm much closer to it than when I started the whole journey.  I think if it ever happened, I'd be utterly lost.  I wouldn't know what to do.

I might freeze, suddenly unable to create beneath the pressure to constantly one-up myself.  Perhaps I let it go to my head, and become the type of person I absolutely detest.  Or maybe nothing like that happens, but the loud, angry voices that want to destroy joy in the world and hoard it for themselves come after me.

Now, looking at the horrific vitriol that has become an entire movement aimed at excluding anyone who isn't a cis-hetero white man from the SFF community, I sometimes wonder if making it big is worth it.  The constant barrage of death and rape threats, the pitchforks and fires, the coordinated attacks designed to make people feel scared and worthless... I've watched it get worse and worse.

I'm an outspoken feminist.  I have very little patience when dealing with ignorance.  I swear.  A lot.  I'm also quite shy in new situations, I tend towards the withdrawn (though I'm working hard on that), and I'm deeply, deeply sensitive, even if I try to pretend I'm not.

I'm not sure I would be able to handle the kind of anger and hate that gets thrown at women for daring to shine in fields than (some) men feel they have no right to shine in.  I'm not thrilled about the prospect of having to face that shit at all.

Thank heavens I'm white and cis.  It would be a thousand times worse if either or both of those was not true.

Anyway, the point is ambition and fear wage a constant battle in me.  I want to be a successful writer.  I'm also scared of that success.  I'm scared I'll crumble under the pressure.  Scared I'll change for the worst.  Scared of the backlash.

It may turn out that I'm worried for nothing, because I simply won't make it.  All that trying for nothing.  Maybe that would be for the best.

I don't know.  Just thinking aloud.

Right, I have work to do. This book won't write itself.

​Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

Of late, I have been waking up between roughly 3:30 - 4:30 in the morning.  No alarm.  That's just when my brain pulls me out of sleep.  For the remaining three or so hours, I roll around in bed, trying really hard to get back to sleep.

This has happened three days in a row with the result of utter exhaustion.  I'm tired.  I'm so tired that I barely got out of bed this morning.  I took the bus in, because I just couldn't walk.  I probably won't go swimming today, and instead just head somewhere for a nap.

I really don't know what's going on with my sleep cycle.  I think stress is part of it.  We still don't have a home for our Tuesday and Thursday training sessions with my martial arts school.  I'm really upset about it.  Training me a lot to me, and I love going.  I love the people there.  I love being able to learn, and be my dorky self, and kick arse.  I hate that I will have to change that all up.  Worse case scenario, I switch to a Monday, and Wednesday schedule, but that means not only will I have to rearrange my entire schedule, but I will have to deal with students.  No offence to students.  I was one once.  But even then I was annoyed with us.

Mostly it's the blokes who try really hard to be macho.  That really gets under my skin.  It always has.  I also have lost all patience for people who don't listen which, sadly, happens a lot in a class entirely composed of young people.

All this to say, I'm not looking forward to having to train with younger students.  I like my bunch of achy older folks.

Still, at least there is training at all.  For that, I can thank my lucky stars.

Then there's the upcoming CanCon.  I've had a peek at the programming and OMFG! it looks amazing.  But I have to buy stock to sell at my table, and I haven't any money for that currently.  Plus I always get anxious when I have to speak and be intelligent in front of an audience.  So, that's on my mind.

I also have a pie-in-the-sky dream that the Amazing Flatmate made seem so doable when we talked about it, but the more I think about it, the more it seems impossible.  There's that one, too.  Maybe I'll write more on it, when I'm ready.

​There's the stress of writing the sequel to Soldier, which isn't going well.  And there's the question of Skylark and what's happening with that.  There was yesterday's sad news. And there's the editing of Nights at the Round Table, and the filming of it as well.  There's the editing of the God of War highlights.  There's a lot right now.

So maybe stress is waking me up at stupid o'clock in the morning.

But whatever the reason, it needs to stop.  I can barely function.

And no.  It's not because I gamed last night.  I went to bed at my usual time, thank you very much.

Also, while I'm here, dream interpreters, I need you.

This morning, when trying to fall back asleep, I dreamt a weird dream that was set in my high school.  Yes, the one back in Australia.  So, here it goes.

An adorable ginger tabby kitten delivered three dollars (Canadian, despite the setting being Australian).  I picked it up, and it was literally the clingiest, most affectionate little things ever.  I carried it around with me while investigating classrooms looking for Sifu.

Found Sifu, and suggested we use the high school — yes, the one in Australia — for the location of our training.  Our martial arts classes become extremely popular.  Little orange tabby finally unclings herself and trots off.

Actual cat wakes me up because he's an arsehole.

Alright, dream interpreters.  Have at it.  I have a highlight reel to edit together.

​Ciao!

November is my birthday month. I would appreciate it if you would help me celebrate by spreading some light in the world. Join my Have a Heart Campaign team on Kiva, or find a charity that speaks to you and donate.
https://www.kiva.org/team/have_a_heart_campaign

Good morning, Readers!

Okay, well, here's a thing.  One late Sunday morning, I sat down for a fun flamtmate brunch which turned into a planning meeting for a trip to the UK.  A month in the UK.  A month of travelling, researching and filming, where I get to film my favourite places for YouTube, and maybe combine that with a Daughters of Britain UK book tour (if Renaissance would be willing).

The Amazing Flatmate is absolutely amazing.  She made it all feel so very doable.  We came up with a budget and a timeline, with plans for trying to get it all together and funded.

A couple of months later, and I'm feeling less hopeful.  We'd need about $8 000.00.  That's the least conservative estimate, to be honest, but it's better to be safe and save too much than too little.  Anyway, it's feeling much less doable now.

Still, I keep dreaming of this research trip.  It would be so cool to see all the places, and talk to all the people, and film a little documentary about the real-life events leading up to Daughters of Britain and information on actual places and events I included in the book to put on YouTube.

I don't know.  It seems impossible without me being wealthy.  Le sigh.  I'm going to try and figure out a way to make it happen, because I reckon it would be really, really, really cool.

Right, I have to go write stuff now.

​Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!

Yesterday was a brilliant day.  I wrote an easy two thousand words, had my afternoon swim, and even managed to do some socialising with friends in the evening.

We went to see Crazy Rich Asians, and then had dinner at The Rowan after.  Can I just say, the food at The Rowan was spectacular.  10/10 would go again.  Highly recommended.

The movie was adorable, the company was fantastic, and I've already raved about the food.

It was a great day.

Today is slightly less so.  There was some bad news first thing this morning that has me feeling down.

And it's muggy as hell out there.  I'm not a fan.

But that's life isn't it?  There are good days and there are bad days.  Some days are just fine.  What matters is how you manage each day.  Sometimes, it's a breeze, and you end the day with a full stomach and a smile.  Other times, it's all you can do to survive.  Your stomach is empty, and there are tears in your eyes when they close.  Some days, there are panic attacks.  Other days are spent making hopeful plans.  Some days are darkness.  Other days are sunshine and laughter.

That's just life.

When it comes to writing, there will be days when writing is easy, and days when it's like pulling teeth - painful and largely unproductive.  The usual writing advice is to just write.  No matter what.

That's nonsense.

The real advice is write when you can.

You are not a failure if you cannot write a single word on any particular day.  You're just having a bad day.  Those are allowed.  If you skip a day of writing, or end your day too exhausted to write, that doesn't mean you are not a writer.

You are still a writer.

You're just a writer having a bad day.

So don't feel badly, or like you've failed, if you've written not a stitch.  It's a bad day.

Good days are a-coming.  Hold on for those.

And now I have to go and write.  Hopefully it'll be another good writing day, even if I'm feeling a bit down this morning.

Ciao!

Not an awful lot has changed between Tomb Raider and Rise of the Tomb Raider when it comes to character design.  Lara is still much more believable as a character now, with strong arms and legs that look like she can really haul herself around in impossible terrain.

Though it hasn't changed, it's well worth mentioning.  Nothing pisses me off more than badass women being drawn in such a way that defies that label; stick thin bimbos with bosoms bigger than the sun somehow managing to stay upright despite waists narrower than my forearm.

Look at her.  She looks strong.  That's important to me.

Here you see her in three different outfits.  As part of the shift in the gaming, you can dress Lara up in different outfits throughout the game.  I spent most of the game with her dressed in the Baba Yaga outfit; mostly because it looked vaguely like the Forsworn of Skyrim, and it amused me.

Forsworn, right?

I derived far too much amusement out of that fact.

The other characters are all similarly well created.  On the side of good (for want of a better phrase):

On the other side:

Not one of these characters looks cartoonish or oddly proportioned, or overly roided-up fever dreams of masculinity.  It's great.  More of this, games!

This story was good.  It wasn't as great as in the first game.  I wasn't as enthused about it, largely because it didn't have the themes I seem to gravitate towards.

The friendship element was still strong, with Jonah coming to find Lara, and Lara subsequently abandoning her quest to try and save him, but the thrust of the game was Lara's effort to prove her father correct, to reverse his academic disgrace.  That's... fine, as far as stories go.  I just wasn't as into it as I was the theme of the last game.

There also wasn't the emotional gut-punch that I love in stories.  They attempted it, I think, with Jacob, but it wasn't the same as losing Conrad, and so the payoff of killing the bad guys didn't feel as satisfying.  Perhaps that's the point though.  I felt really badly for Konstantin, and not at all justified in killing him in the end.  Not like Matthew in the first game, while avenging Conrad's death.  Bastard.  Ahem... Still salty about it.

Then ending of the game made little sense, since Lara is upset about having the destroy the Divine Source (I SWEAR Trinity is The Order, and Lara is unknowingly an Assassin), since she can no longer prove her father correct.  That's bullshit.  She can still redeem him, at least a little bit, by leading a proper academic excursion into the ruins of Kitezh.  I mean, lots of it got destroyed during the events of the game, but the ruins are still there.  Good lord, writers.  They may have been going for bittersweet with that ending - at least Lara knows her father wasn't crazy, but even a little bit of thought renders that bittersweet goal into stupidity.

Seriously, though.

Once again, this game delivers believable women.  There are three that play relatively major roles in the game: Lara, Ana, and Sofia.  Each woman is their own person, each with different goals and personalities.  Lara is tough and clever, determined and courageous.  Sofia is much the same, but far less trusting (understandably) and open.  Ana is, being the bad guy, manipulative and untrustworthy, but determined.  She's a desperate woman.

All three are different, and none of them feel flat or one dimensional.  Their motivations, too, feel organic.  Ana is dying, and is doing whatever is in her power to stop that from happening.  Lara is curious and loves her father, so of course would want to redeem him.  When she learns what Trinity is after, she changes her goal, and is determined to stop them, at any price.  Sofia is defending her home, and the Divine Source; sacred and dangerous.

It's all believable.  As much as their physical appearance is important, their internal life is also important.  A realistic-looking character whose actual character falls flat is just as bad as the weird biology-defying barbies of other games.

Perhaps I'm just getting better at this whole gaming thing (AH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH! *wheeze* AH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH HAH!), but the game play felt smoother this time around.  There weren't any cases I recall when I was pressing one direction and the character goes a different one.  All the times I died or failed to create a Molotov etc is literally because I am wildly incompetent.

Which, of course, made for some pretty hilarious deaths.

I really liked the game play.  It was challenging enough, and the puzzles felt more practical than some games that incorporate puzzles.  It was a good balance between combat and puzzle-solving.  I also really appreciated the stealth kills, since stealth is kinda my thing.  I love being sneaky.

I have no complaints when it comes to game play.  Hellblade: Senua's Sacrifice still holds its place as best combat system I've played.

I liked this game.  It wasn't as great as the first, particularly when it came to the story, but it was a decent follow up.

Also, my gaming inability made for some pretty silly deaths, which was amusing.

Good morning, Readers!

Thanks to everyone who joined me for last night's stream.  It was fun.  Next stream will undoubtedly have a lot more death and I go head to head with a dragon.

In writing news, things are going slowly, but they're going.  I have more writing to do today, so I'll be off doing that for most of today.  Hopefully things will be easier.  It's like pulling teeth at the moment.

As I don't have much to report at the moment, here's the latest episode of Nights at the Round Table, in which we discuss the Netflix adaptation of Fullmetal Alchemist.  Marjolaine made me laugh entirely too hard this episode.

Right, I'm off to write.

What have you got planned for today.  No, I'm not looking for stories so I can procrastinate.  Your face is.

...

Ahem.

​Ciao!

Good morning, Readers!