Issue 14, containing: Mom, Commonplaces, &c.

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SOME EDITORIAL NOTES

This will be a foreshortened issue.

I have, since the beginning, wished this to be an escape from doomscrolling, the rotten world, and the sad environs so many of us find ourselves in. This becomes impossible, however, when my life is completely eclipsed by the those same things. I can’t write about recipes and cheerful outings as if nothing has occurred. I can’t be one thing and project another.

My mother died on Halloween. It was, and continues to be, a shock. I had many things to speak to her about. I had many years I wanted to give to her. I had planned a place, in my future home, where she could sit and read to her heart’s content, always at whatever temperature she desired, with comfortable chairs and takeout available whenever she desired it. My mother’s wishes were appallingly simple, and ones that I was reaching, every day, to try and make a place for.

And now, that dream dies, and it takes with it some part of me that I will have to learn to live without.

This is not a happy issue, but it’s one that needed writing. As my sister has said with far more eloquence than I can muster: “Tell your people you love them. I love all of you, and I’ll love her forever.“

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MOM

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COMMONPLACES

From Richard Siken’s “Detail of the Woods“:

I looked at all the trees and didn’t know what to do.

A box made out of leaves.
What else was in the woods? A heart, closing. Nevertheless.

Everyone needs a place. It shouldn’t be inside of someone else.
I kept my mind on the moon. Cold moon, long nights moon.

From the landscape: a sense of scale.
From the dead: a sense of scale.

I turned my back on the story. A sense of superiority.
Everything casts a shadow.

Your body told me in a dream it’s never been afraid of anything.

******

From my mother, Dr. Debra Doyle’s, editorial blog:

Science Fiction’s Hugos would not be what they are without accompanying periodic outbursts of controversy.  This year’s topic is  the email sent out to nominees for the award, “encouraging” them to  dress professionally for the awards ceremony.  The backlash from the  sf/fantasy community was, shall we say, vociferous and overwhelmingly  negative.

As well it should be.  To quote my elder daughter, on an occasion  some time ago when I was fretting about the advisability of going out in  public with my hair pulled back using a kid’s Snoopy-the-Flying-Ace hair tie:

“Don’t worry, Mamma.  You’re a science fiction writer.  You can wear anything.”

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ANNOUNCEMENTS

-Until next week, be safe.