No surprises.

Which Type of Beer are You Test from Dumb Spot.

Thanks to my friend Rod for finding and sharing the link. (He's a microbrew, too.)

Teeeeeeeeeny Tiiiiiiiiiiiny Win!

My one-minute play "Three Feet from Doom" has been accepted for performance in the Gone in 60 Seconds international play festival (Twitter page here, Facebook page here). I gather there were in the neighborhood of 500 plays submitted, from which they chose 50 for performance in England, and 50 for performance in New York.

The performance of my play is in Yorkshire on June 5, an onerous commute for nearly the entire population of the world. But if you're reading this, you have Internet, and will therefore no doubt be gaspingly relieved to know that they'll be posting videos of the plays on YouTube and on their own site. Have no fear; I will of course post a link here as well.

(They didn't accept my submission last year, a pirate-ninja-zombie-vampire romp, but for some reason this year's alien-invasion piece was just the thing. Go figure. I would have gone with the pirate-ninja-zombie-vampire thing ANY day, myself. Moral of the story: you just never know what someone's going to like.)

Fame, even one minute at a time, is sweet!

I am chastened.

Okay, you always hear about John Ruskin, Ruskin this, Ruskin that, Ruskin was so brilliant, blah-de-blah-de-blah. And perhaps you have thought, as I have thought, "Big deal. Not as famous as, say, Friedrich Nietzsche or, or, George Bernard Shaw, or even Benjamin Disraeli. I will now go and read something not by Ruskin."

On my recent travels, I picked up a relatively inexpensive, and encouragingly slim, volume of Ruskin's writings. It begins with a piece called "The Nature of Gothic." This essay starts out being about what makes Gothic architecture what it is — what distinguishes it from, say, Byzantine. Yawn. But wait —

Men were not intended to work with the accuracy of tools, to be precise and perfect in all their actions. If you will have that precision out of them, and make their fingers measure degrees like cog-wheels, and their arms strike curves like compasses, you must unhumanize them. All the energy of their spirits must be given to make cogs and compasses of themselves. All their attention and strength must go to the accomplishment of the mean act. The eye of the soul must be bent upon the finger-point, and the soul's force must fill all the invisible nerves that guide it, ten hours a day, that it may not err from its steely precision, and so soul and sight be worn away, and the whole human being be lost at last — a heap of sawdust, so far as its intellectual work in this world is concerned: saved only by its Heart, which cannot go into the form of cogs and compasses, but expands, after the ten hours are over, into fireside humanity. On the other hand, if you will make a man of the working creature, you cannot make a tool. Let him but begin to imagine, to think, to try to do anything worth doing; and the engine-turned precision is lost at once. Out come all his roughness, all his dulness, all his incapability; shame upon shame, failure upon failure, pause after pause: but out comes the whole majesty of him also, and we know the height of it only when we see the clouds settling upon him. And, whether the clouds be bright or dark, there will be transfiguration behind and within them.

I am breathless.

Wow.

This is very creepy, and very sad, and very, very brilliant. (Not for small children. I'm not kidding.)



It won a "Short Film Corner" award at Cannes, which I'm assuming is a recognition of its genius. (Found via Articulate, the ABC's arts blog.)

P.S. (and unrelated to the film) Happy Towel Day.

Chilli hot chocolate — interim recipe

Regular readers may remember that a few months ago I had a bash at recreating the chilli hot chocolate I so loved when I had it during my travels. That first attempt was, while interesting (even exciting), not entirely successful. This time I actually measured stuff, and I've come a lot closer to something I'd be willing to have again and offer to adventurous friends. It's still not exactly the way I want it, but you're welcome to experiment along with me.

Chilli Hot Chocolate

• Two cups (measuring cups, not drinking cups) of milk
  
• Two tablespoons powdered unsweetened cocoa
  
• A quarter cup of sugar (I'm thinking this may be too much, and will probably cut it down to two tablespoons next time)
  
• A quarter teaspoon cinnamon
  
• A quarter teaspoon vanilla extract
  
• An eighth teaspoon each of salt, cayenne, and cardamom (the cardamon is a bit much; I'll either cut it down to a dash or eliminate it next time)
  
• A dash each of nutmeg (freshly ground if possible) and black pepper (there is NO excuse for not grinding this fresh)

Heat very, very slowly and gently, stirring often. Makes two smallish mugs or one large mug with a bit left over for seconds.

Question to ponder: do I want to include a dash of cloves next time? (A bit of Internet research has yielded many, many recipes for chilli hot chocolate, none of which is as complex as mine. The only flavorings they have, apart from the cocoa and sugar, are the chilli, cinnamon, and sometimes vanilla. Hmph. Amateurs.)

I've got some sort of virus or other (I'm assuming it's not swine flu), and I'm hoping this concoction will prove to be medicinal as well as tasty. And tasty it certainly is! I can't wait to fine-tune it the next time.

Outlandish Voices the podcast: sitrep

A sitrep, for those unfamiliar with the term, is a situation report. An update, in simpler terms, but I rather like saying "sitrep." It sounds so brisk and...and...obscure. Mysterious.

Anyway, here's the sitrep on Outlandish Voices the podcast: three stories are recorded. One more is on its way from Thailand, but I need to find an actor to read it. I haven't decided which of my own stories I want to read (producer's prerogative — I get to post my own stuff).

I'm currently learning how to edit and mix sound files, which is both more straightforward and more complex than I would have predicted. More straightforward in that, if you know how to edit graphics files (for example, if you've done anything more than the basics with Photoshop, and I have to an extent), editing sound files feels familiar. More complex in that I still have to learn a whole lot of new terms that don't mean what I think they should mean (like compressor, leveller, normalize) and think about the files in time rather than in visual space.

It's fun, because it's my idea, my project, my legwork and mousework and brainwork pulling it together. And because the authors who have agreed to read their stories (or given me permission to have them read) are all really cool people and really good writers. And because I actually don't mind the endless, fiddly detail work to get it as good as I know how to get it; that's the editor's brain at work after all. And because I'm learning a new skill, which always makes me happy. And because the process is also requiring a lot of bizarre old skills, which I didn't think would ever come in handy, such as a familiarity (albeit very basic) with linguistics and acoustics.

Do you (or did you ever) live or work in the Wollongong area? Do you (or can you) write good science fiction and/or fantasy? Would you like to submit a story for Outlandish Voices the podcast? Here is the Facebook group with the submission guidelines. If you don't have or refuse to get a Facebook account, email me at outlandishvoices -at- gmail -dot- com and I'll send them to you.

More Writin' Rations™

Well, it's a bit of a cheat, actually, because I'm neither writing nor editing at the moment (although I will be spending a fair bit of tonight editing podcasts for Outlandish Voices — join the Facebook group to get the notification when the first story is posted!). However, this invention was too good not to share. Genius, if I do say it myself. Genius.

A sub roll or half a baguette, something like that.

Equal parts by volume of butter, freshly grated parmesan (or similar), and finely chopped almonds (roughly a half cup each, although you could cut down on the butter if you wanted)

Mix the butter, cheese, and almonds thoroughly (it helps if you've already taken the butter out of the fridge an hour or so before).

Slice up the bread (I just cut it into plain old round slices).

Spread each slice with a teaspoon or two of the mixture.

Place the slices on a baking sheet and bake gently until the butter has definitely melted and soaked into the bread. It won't be all that obvious, because the almonds and cheese will sort of stay in a layer on top of each slice, but assuming you keep your eye on things so nothing burns, it really doesn't matter how long you bake, as long as the bread is heated through.

Nom nom nom nom.

Oo, there's some left!

Nom.

Writin' Rations™

It's an oldie but a goodie.

Sesame Salad

A bowl (big enough for a large single serving of salad — this will be your dinner when you're under a writing or editing deadline, so make it generous), filled about two-thirds full of salad greens that you have washed and torn with gusto or desperation (depending on how close the deadline is) into bite-sized pieces. (I am lucky enough to have an abundance at the moment of organic bok choy and lettuce from some friends with a large garden plot.)

One carrot, grated straight into the bowl, because that means one fewer cutting board or plate you have to wash.

One packet of ramen noodles, pounded judiciously on the counter with your fist until the noodles are more or less crumbled. Again, pound with gusto or desperation, but not too hard, lest the packet split and you end up with ramen shards underfoot for weeks. Not fun. Ask me how I know. No matter how many times you sweep, there are always more, lurking, lurking. Oh, and make sure you REMOVE the flavor packet and set it aside for another day; it's a cheap thing to empty into a pot of rice while it's cooking. Not very healthful, but cheap, and easy, and relatively tasty, which qualifies it for Writin' Rations — but I digress. Anyway, put the crumbled ramen noodles in the bowl with the greens and carrots.

The Dressing
It's not sesame salad without the dressing. So this part is mandatory.

In a small saucepan, combine a quarter cup (or so) of soy sauce, a tablespoon (or so, maybe less) of sesame oil, a teaspoon (or so) of grated ginger, and a generous two (or three!) tablespoons of honey or brown sugar. Oh — I almost forgot — a teaspoon of rice vinegar (frankly, probably just about any vinegar would do; you're not adding that much of it, after all). Heat gently until it's all combined, and let it cool for a few minutes (lest it wilt the greens overmuch). (Note: if you wanted, you could add crushed garlic, but I had a lot of garlic last night in my dinner and didn't feel like a repeat tonight.)

The Conglomerative Act
Once the dressing is cool enough, pour it over the stuff in the bowl. Mix gently. Eat while doing something either very geeky or very bohemian or both. (My choice tonight is listening to café music from Radio France Internationale over the Internet and pretending I'm back in Paris; ah, Paris....) The reason you're not eating this while writing or editing is that it took such a short time to make, you can afford a few minutes' break to eat it.

Towel Day is on May 25th!

Towel Day commemorates the life and work of author Douglas Adams. More info here (and, for that matter, here).

(Thanks to my friend Cathy for indirectly reminding me of it by joining one of the many, many Facebook groups devoted to Towel Day.)

My new enthusiasm

Many, many years ago, I managed to — well, not master, exactly, but sort of get the hang of, a basic three-ball cascade. I practiced sporadically. To say the least. Or perhaps to say the most.

I brought my juggling stuff (balls and scarves) to Clarion, because I figured I might want something frivolous to do when the pressure mounted. To my surprise, I found that juggling is a fantastic way to get words and ideas flowing when they feel blocked. Can't explain it. Can't say whether it will work for you. But it worked for me.

I recently found out that Circus Wow* was holding a two-hour juggling workshop, and decided to go; it was this morning. I can't remember when I've felt so just plain good about doing something physical (I think the last time was a fencing workshop about four years ago). Moreover, I know I'm going to be very, very sore tomorrow (I dropped things a lot). But even the constant stooping and reaching following the tell-tale thud feels good, like tai chi. Even "failure" is beneficial, and fun. So there's exercise, and mind-body coordination, and focusing and centering, and collaboration with partners, and silliness, and an endless path of self-challenge and skill. Except for the silliness, it's just like martial arts! (Oh, that, and juggling has nothing to do with hitting people. But I bet I could devise a hybrid art -- juggle-do! Be afraid! And entertained!)

By the way, the photo above is one I took in Christchurch last July. After this morning, I now know the jester is doing contact juggling.

For your juggling-related entertainment, I offer you this video montage of the Flying Karamazov Brothers, whom I was fortunate enough to see live many, many years ago, and who I am thrilled to see are still performing.



Oh! I just found out (because we lovez the intertoobz) that June 20 is World Juggling Day!!!

*Sorry to point you to the splash page of the Circus Wow site instead of the actual home page, but the photo on the splash page is just too, too good to miss.

Wisdom at unlikely moments

I have decided that writing a verse play in sestina form, and keeping it under a minute of stage time, is a project for another day. If ever. I'll still have another go at a sestina, don't get me wrong, but the whole verse-play thing is hard enough without shoehorning it into pretty much the most rigid poetry form I've ever tried to work with.

There are times to challenge oneself, and times to just say "Nah."

I'm not sure, but I think I've just been insulted.

My quiz about me

1) What does Laura want for Christmas?
a) Crystal fishes and turtles made of dreams.
b) An agent.
c) Many laughings and a good night's sleep.
d) A fresh-cut tree, carried home under the stars.
e) A trip in the TARDIS.

2) What does Laura like best to do on a sunny afternoon?
a) Read YA fantasy.
b) Sleep.
c) Go horseback riding.
d) Sit on the porch and wait for the TARDIS.
e) Cook a massive and complicated meal.

3) If Laura were non-human, what would she be?
a) A wildebeeste.
b) A Time Lord.
c) The wind in your hair.
d) Wistful.
e) On her way.

4) What does Laura think would make a great ice-cream flavor?
a) Caramel chilli.
b) Exhilaration.
c) White chocolate Milo.
d) Money.
e) Pixie Stix.

5) What does it mean if you get all these answers right?
a) Guessing is a powerful force.
b) Laura told you the answers.
c) You think just like Laura.
d) You are Laura.
e) You understand Laura with a mystical understanding.

You don't need to actually attempt the quiz. All the answers are correct, even the ones that are mutually exclusive.

A sudden memory

I'm old enough that when I was very young — like, first or second grade — photocopiers were still way, way too expensive for most schools. Instead, our worksheets were dittoed using a "spirit master." This yielded copies with writing of a mystical purple color, fragrant with the scent of competence: not flowers or incense or Easter-egg dye, but a different purple altogether, brisk and important.

Every time I received one of these dittos, I surreptitiously held it to my face and inhaled. I stared at the writing: alphabet or math worksheets, maps, illustrations to describe. My pencil marks looked crude compared to the purple lines, rich and heavy like watercolor.

Each question or puzzle was one more step towards competence of my own. I was good at worksheets. One day, if I did enough worksheets, I would know everything.

Some people are astonishingly clever and capable.

It's an invisible car. But it isn't. It's a scary-smart artist who really knows her stuff and has a fabulous work ethic. Read about it here.

I'm assuming that since boingboing Articuate (the ABC arts blog — sorry, I forgot where I snurched it from!) published the photo (which is where I saw it), I can too.

A review of "The Dancing Mice and the Giants of Flanders"

Yesterday, between getting OVtp started, cooking a really rather fabulous dinner, thinking hard about my YA novel (which I am about to take up again), and getting ready for a marathon homework-completing session (I'm currently on a start-your-own-business course, and the main, massive assignment is due tomorrow), I happened to stop by The Specusphere to check out their latest batch of reviews. As I'd suspected, there was a review of the Masques anthology, and my story "The Dancing Mice and the Giants of Flanders" got a favorable verdict:

Laura E Goodin’s The Dancing Mice and the Giants of Flanders is a cute, clever piece of neo-mythology constructed around the curious Flanders Giants. Goodin’s protagonists are quirky and poetic mice, pursuing partners and children before their short lives end. Whilst Goodin’s writing has some exceptional imagery and beauty, there is an abstractness at the core of the tale that detracts slightly from the impact. Overall, Goodin’s piece is accessible and emotionally intriguing, with a unique voice.

I'll take a review like this any day.

The whole anthology is reviewed, including stories by Cat Sparks and Richard Harland, both OVtp contributors and all-around cool people, and by Jason Fischer, who has been touted by many people whose job it is to know as Someone To Watch.

If you happen to stumble upon any other reviews of Masques, I'd be very interested and grateful if you could point me to them.

Coming soon: Outlandish Voices the podcast

Today we started recording stories for Outlandish Voices the podcast (that's its official name, including "the podcast" in all lower case). The extremely gracious Rob Hood, Cat Sparks, and Richard Harland each recorded a story. Now it's up to me to edit, post, and promote them.

As soon as the first story is up, I will be certain to blog about it; moreover, if you want the news to come to you with none of that pesky initiative required, go on Facebook and join Outlandish Voices the podcast (the group).

The submission guidelines are also on the Facebook group page. If you stalwartly refuse to Facebook yourself, you can email me at outlandishvoices -at- gmail -dot- com, and I'll send you the guidelines in a normal (i.e., Facebook-independent) email. The catch is, the podcast is sponsored and facilitated by the terrific folks at VOX-FM, and their brief is to serve and support the people of the Wollongong area. So if you live or work in the Illawarra, or have some other connection to the area, please submit a story for consideration! (And if you don't fit that description, at least feel free to check the stories out and tell all your friends, family, coworkers, and casual acquaintances.)