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Archive for the ‘Biography’ Category

Diary #829

Sunday was graduation day for the pullets.  On Saturday night I left the nursery open, and when I went into the henhouse on Sunday morning only one of them was still in there; after shooing her out I removed the chick feeder, water bottle, heat lamp and timer, so from now on they’ll come and go with the other chickens, on a natural daylight schedule.  It’ll probably be a few weeks before they start to follow the flock, and they’ll generally keep to their own clique until they start laying sometime in July.  I can’t yet tell whether the turkey is a tom or a hen, but she’s bolder than the others because despite being two weeks younger, she’s already noticeably larger.  But in any case, by September the hens will all be one flock (plus the turkey), and on the first day of autumn the timer-controlled heat lamp will go back on, and the cycle will begin again.

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For most of my life, my writing process was more like gestation than construction; an essay or story would grow in my head until I put it on paper fully-formed.  When a high-school English teacher wanted us to include a “jot outline” of rough ideas along with the essay, I would do the outline after I finished (sometimes as late as the beginning of class) because writing down half-formed notions was simply not part of my writing process, and even in university I typically wrote my term papers at the (manual) typewriter, and the only necessary revisions could be accomplished with Liquid Paper.  When I got my first computer in the spring of 1989 this process became even quicker and more seamless, because with a word processor I could revise without even leaving a detectable trace.  And while this may sound wonderful to those of you who struggle to write, it meant I never developed the cognitive tools to write anything more than a few thousand words long, just as I never developed the cognitive tools to gain understanding of any topic I couldn’t master by simply paying attention to the book or teacher.

It has certainly not escaped the notice of my long-term readers that most of my fiction is in the short-short category (< 2000 words), with only occasional forays into the full-length short story category (< 10,000 words).  So last summer, when I wanted to tell a story that needed more time and space for character and setting development, I needed to learn a new skill: actually plotting a story rather than simply shouting “Eureka!”, reaching up to grasp the light bulb over my head, and quickly inserting it into a document.  Most of the work was still done in my head, and my first two novellas were written all out of sequence, with each scene or section written as it developed in my mind, then put together in proper sequence and polished.  And what I learned from that process made me confident enough to embark on a still-larger project, a short novel (in the 45,000 word range) set in the spring of 1925 and tentatively entitled The Big Boom.  So far, I’ve finished the first draft of the prologue and first three chapters, and yesterday I started chapter four (which will trigger some additions to chapter one).  This story seems to be developing more in sequence than the other two, though it may not continue in that wise; still, given that “Hellhound” was written in sequence to a greater degree than “Until the End of Days“, who knows?  I’m taking my time and enjoying the process, and I hope y’all will enjoy the result.

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Calling the name on government records “real”, rather than the name by which people are widely known, the name they chose for themselves and built a career on, is a sickening obeisance to the State.  –  “What is Real?

True principles and valid ethics don’t depend on the gut-level preferences of any one person.  –  “Under the Sun

My lifelong practice of burning my candle at both ends has resulted in my brain aging far more than those of people who haven’t been running theirs on “high” since the Nixon era.
–  “More Often Nowadays

Catholic education has traditionally put such a strong emphasis on critical thinking skills that some wit once pointed out that the Church was its own worst enemy because it provided children with the tools that undermine faith.
–  “Just As Good

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Diary #828

This has been a rather timid brood; though the turkey chick has been occasionally venturing out into the chicken yard since the first day I started opening the nursery in the daytime, it took over two weeks for the pullets to even begin venturing out at all.  It was last Wednesday before I found them all out of the nursery for the first time, and the only reason they even went that far was that I moved their water bottle out.  Then on Sunday I stopped refilling their bottle in the morning, forcing them to use the same water dispenser as the adult hens.  I’ve also started to shoo them out of the nursery in the morning; they’re going to need to be out by Sunday, when they officially join the flock.  The timer (which sounds unusually loud in this video) will be also put away then, to wait until the first day of autumn before it’s again put back in control of the heat lamp.

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100% organic GMO-free dog shit.  –  Beeple

I loved this song from the first time I heard it in the mid-1980s, so there was no way I was not going to use it as Coe’s sendoff.  The links above it were provided by Kevin Wilson (x2); Jesse Walker and Franklin Harris; Nun Ya (x2); and Violet Blue, in that order.

From the Archives

I find paywalls distasteful, and so many people find this blog valuable as a resource I just can’t bring myself to install one.  Furthermore, I find ad delivery services (whose content I have no say over) even more distasteful.  But as I’m now semi-retired from sex work, I can’t self-sponsor this blog by myself any longer.  So if you value my writing enough that you would pay to see it if it were paywalled, please consider subscribing; there are four different levels to fit all budgets.  Or if that doesn’t work for you, please consider showing your generosity with a one-time donation; you can Paypal to maggiemcneill@earthlink.net or else email me at the same address to make other arrangements.  Thanks so much!

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If you are on Bluesky, you’ve probably noticed that I haven’t been around for the past few days; that’s because on Tuesday evening, some moderator over there decided I was a bad girl who needed her social media taken away to teach her a lesson about offending Trumpists.  I was scanning my timeline, getting ready to close the computer for the evening, when suddenly my screen sort of blipped and I was looking at a weird generic timeline, featuring stuff from nobody I follow; in the margin was a signin button.  I thought it was odd and went to sign back in, only to be told my account was suspended for violating the ToS by “hate speech”, and my account would be suspended until the 9th (no time was given).  They did tell me which post was the one which had provoked their fit of pearl-clutching; it was one which stated that Trump’s poll numbers were not yet bad enough, illustrated by this picture: 
I’ve used the same picture with a similar statement literally dozens of times, with absolutely no pushback, so it’s obvious that what actually happened was mass reporting by a gang of Trumpists offended by my being mean to their god-emperor.  But given that in the past Bluesky has been fairly resistant to that sort of thing, this rings an alarm bell for everyone using the site; it means not only that they’re now trying to establish more rigid censorship, but that there are now enough Trumpists over there to make a reporting-gang.  Bluesky’s block function is very aggressive; blocked accounts can’t see the blocker to engage in retaliatory reporting.  I’ve subscribed to several MAGA blocklists, to preemptively close off this exact risk, but clearly that is no longer sufficient because there are enough stealth Trumpists around (who haven’t yet been blocked) to organize a gang.

I have no suggestions about avoiding this, other than pointing out that the picture having actual dead people in it is probably what they took exception to.  I’m merely pointing out that mass reporting has obviously made it to Bluesky, and the Trumpists have access to the weapon.  According to their official email my account should be back sometime tomorrow, which means a ton of playing catch-up, and alas, the retirement of this useful image.

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Diary #827

At this time of year, the chickens tend to dominate the animal news in these diary columns, but they’re not really doing anything right now; this has been a rather timid brood, so I’m currently engaged in trying various maneuvers to coax them out during the days, so they’re used to it before I kick them out of the nursery for good a week from Sunday.  Axel is doing well; as of Friday I cut his trazodone in half again, down to 12.5 mg/day, a mere 3.125% of the dose he started with at the end of November.  The only really noticeable difference in his behavior is that he seems a lot more attention-starved since I cut him down to 25 mg at the beginning of April, but I’m sure he’ll adjust, and I hope to have him off of the meds entirely by the end of spring.  Last Saturday I caught Lilith sunbathing on the atrium roof, but by the time I got downstairs to grab my phone and back upstairs, she had decided to get up.  She has become the main pest control cat now that Rocky is getting old (I believe he’s ten now), and I often see her ranging around the area, from the roof to the atrium to the basement to the paddock, and even out on the driveway.  Several times a week I find that she’s left me tribute of a dead mole or mouse, and last Friday I went out in the morning to find a rather large and rather dead rat right in front of my boots; I’m glad she rids me of vermin, but I must admit it was a bit startling to encounter a dead rodent nearly as large as my foot before breakfast.  The only real complaint I have is that I wish she wouldn’t devour birds in the atrium, because it leaves a mess of feathers sprinkled with unidentifiable but definitely avian offal that I then have to vacuum up.  I was concerned she might attack the pullets, but they’re nearly as big as hens now so I think they’re safe, even though I’ve actually found her in the henhouse a few times.

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In lying fashion you ignore what even children know.  –  Martin Luther

Although I’m not especially fond of this song, its lyrics make it the appropriate sendoff for the man who wrote it.  The links above the video were provided by Anarres Ansible, Mike Siegel, Ryan Cooper, Nun Ya, Alex Vitale, and Shiv Ramdas, in that order.

From the Archives

I find paywalls distasteful, and so many people find this blog valuable as a resource I just can’t bring myself to install one.  Furthermore, I find ad delivery services (whose content I have no say over) even more distasteful.  But as I’m now semi-retired from sex work, I can’t self-sponsor this blog by myself any longer.  So if you value my writing enough that you would pay to see it if it were paywalled, please consider subscribing; there are four different levels to fit all budgets.  Or if that doesn’t work for you, please consider showing your generosity with a one-time donation; you can Paypal to maggiemcneill@earthlink.net or else email me at the same address to make other arrangements.  Thanks so much!

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Diary #826

Though I’ve opened the nursery every morning for over a week now, the pullets are still largely uninterested in coming out yet. This is not unusual; there was a flurry of activity on the first day which resulted in one of the pullets going missing, but since then they have stayed where they feel safe.  That includes the missing one; Wednesday I needed to drive into Seattle, so I planned to let them stay in the nursery that day. But when I went out to check their food and water, whom should I find wandering around the chicken yard but the missing pullet, very hungry and very vocal, but otherwise none the worse for wear.  I was able to catch her and put her in with the others, and there she has stayed since.  I have no idea where she went; I spent over an hour looking for her the day she vanished, to no avail.  My best guess is that she managed to get through the narrow gap under the ramp and had been hiding under the house for three days; even though I crawled under there with a flashlight as part of the search, it’s a large area and even a thorough, hours-long search wouldn’t have sufficed to peer into every space under there large enough for a pullet.  I’m just glad I didn’t lose her, and choose to view her mysterious return as a good omen for this year.

 

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The myth that memory is a video recording playing in a private theater in your brain is one of the biggest lies about hypnosis.  –  Penn & Teller

It was very difficult to pick a song with which to send off Moya Brennan, so I finally decided on a live video of one of their early, more traditional songs rather than their more pop-influenced work of the ’80s and ’90s.  The links above the video were provided by Anarres Ansible, Shiv Ramdas, Jesse Walker, Radley Balko (x2), and Popehat, in that order.

From the Archives

I find paywalls distasteful, and so many people find this blog valuable as a resource I just can’t bring myself to install one.  Furthermore, I find ad delivery services (whose content I have no say over) even more distasteful.  But as I’m now semi-retired from sex work, I can’t self-sponsor this blog by myself any longer.  So if you value my writing enough that you would pay to see it if it were paywalled, please consider subscribing; there are four different levels to fit all budgets.  Or if that doesn’t work for you, please consider showing your generosity with a one-time donation; you can Paypal to maggiemcneill@earthlink.net or else email me at the same address to make other arrangements.  Thanks so much!

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