Dear White Christians

Dear White Canadian Christians (of whom I am one),

Grace to you and peace from God the Father and our Lord Jesus Christ, who gave himself for our sins to rescue us from this present evil age, according to the will of our God and Father. To him be the glory forever and ever. Amen. – Galatians 1: 3-5 (CSB)

Paul’s greeting seems like a good place to start, because we have a problem.

And since Paul is so eloquent, I’m going to let him speak for me again:

I am amazed that you are so quickly turning away from him who called you by the grace of Christ and are turning to a different gospel— not that there is another gospel, but there are some who are troubling you and want to distort the gospel of Christ. But even if we or an angel from heaven should preach to you a gospel contrary to what we have preached to you, a curse be on him! As we have said before, I now say again: If anyone is preaching to you a gospel contrary to what you received, a curse be on him!

For am I now trying to persuade people, or God? Or am I striving to please people? If I were still trying to please people, I would not be a servant of Christ. – Galatians 1: 6-10

So let’s talk. Because there’s a false gospel that has spread through this country like wildfire and it’s masquerading under the name of “freedom”.

First off let me say: yes, I am sick of the pandemic, I am sick of restrictions, and no I am not in favour of lockdowns because they do more harm than good.

But I am also weary of white people claiming they’re oppressed when they’re not. May I direct your attention to Afghanistan, China, North Korea, and Syria to name just a few?

So let’s talk freedom.

As Canadians and as Christian Canadian we are literally the freest of the free. And what does freedom in Christ look like? You can read the passage in Galatians 2: 11-21, but I’ll sum it up here: as believers in Christ, we are justified by his sacrifice. We don’t need to keep the Mosaic Law in order to be made right with God. Christ’s death and resurrection took that penalty from us. And once we choose to accept that, we are “crucified with Christ, and [we] no longer live, but Christ lives in [us]”. What does this mean? It means that we are finally free to be who Christ intended us to be. We are known by God. We are free to love our neighbour and our enemy. We are free to glorify God with our every waking moment and have His face shine through us. We are free to talk to Him. We are free from striving for perfection. We are free to have the fruit of the Spirit.

Freedom from a Christian perspective really has nothing to do with your physical situation. But it also does not mean that we are permitted to do whatever we want to do. And to be blunt, our legal freedoms in Canada also don’t mean we’re allowed to do whatever we want to. We are to “Give to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” (Mark 12:17) We don’t have to like it.

This means you cannot hold an entire city hostage because you’re tired of health restrictions. And if you think I’m being melodramatic, then please talk to the citizens of Ottawa who live in the downtown core. People who receive death threats for wearing masks (even though they’re following the law); people who can’t sleep, work, or study because of the constant honking (that’s called psychological torture, by the way); minorities who don’t feel safe in their own city because protesters are carrying around swastikas, Nazi flags, Confederate flags,  homophobic material, etc (that’s called “hate crimes” not “jerks”); small businesses who are closed because they want to protect their employees and themselves from people who have decided not to wear masks; children who are afraid to go outside; people who have fled the city because they can’t take it; the elderly who can’t get their prescription medication because of the blockades; emergency vehicles that are attacked or just can’t get through; people who can’t breathe because of the fumes; people who have had their property defecated on. Do I need to go on? Because I can. But quite frankly, if you still think this is about “freedom” then you are mistaken.

“Be on your guard against false prophets who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravaging wolves. You’ll recognize them by their fruit. Are grapes gathered from thornbushes or figs from thistles? In the same way, every good tree produces good fruit, but a bad tree produces bad fruit. A good tree can’t produce bad fruit; neither can a bad tree produce good fruit. Every tree that doesn’t produce good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. So you’ll recognize them by their fruit. –Matthew 7:15-20

So what is the fruit of the Spirit? Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. (Galatians 5: 22-23)

This is not happening in Ottawa.

So when the organizers say that they are “empathetic” towards the people of Ottawa but refuse to budge, that rings false. And if you are a Christian supporting this, what does that say about you? How are you loving your neighbour or your enemy by condoning this? We don’t get to “agree to disagree” about the fruit of evil. Isaiah warned us, “Woe to those who call evil good and good evil” (Isaiah 5:20)

So what would loving your neighbour and your enemy look like in this case? Because this is not a suggestion – Christ was very clear on that point (see the story of the Good Samaritan in Luke 10:25-37, where a man showers love on his enemy, and also Mark 12:30-31). In our situation loving your neighbour and loving your enemy means having mercy on them. So: turn off the horns, turn off the engines, stop blocking the roads, wear the mask, and even leave the city. You don’t have to like it. You just have to do it.

 “Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”

The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.”

Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.” (Luke 10: 36-37)

Please note: I am not disagreeing with your right to peacefully protest. But if you think what is going on in Ottawa is peaceful, you need to rethink your definitions of peace and violence.

And while we’re on the subject of the protest, namely health restrictions and vaccine mandates, let’s talk about the legality of the vaccine mandate.

A vaccine mandate does not violate your human rights. You can read a full legal analysis HERE, but the gist of it is this: no one is forcing you to get a vaccine. No one is holding you down to inject it into you – this action would be a violation of human and charter rights. But this is not the case. You can choose to get the vaccine or not. If you choose not to get it, you are presented with a different set of options – some of these options may be inconvenient, but they are present. Moreover, even if you choose not to get the vaccine you still have access to medical care, to buying your groceries, and essential services. Going to a restaurant or a movie theatre or a gym, travelling, even your job are all choices (and in the case of jobs, employers have the right to protect their employees). Not rights. If you’re looking for an actual human rights violation, you should see Bill 21 in Quebec which prevents people from wearing any religious head covering in a school setting. But I don’t see any protests over that.

Finally, because I know someone is going to bring up Nuremberg:  the Nuremberg codes are not applicable – no one is dragging you from your home to torture you and experiment on you with experimental drugs and then gas you to death. To compare the current situation in any way to the Holocaust is delusional and grossly disrespectful to the millions of Jewish, disabled, and gay people who were dragged from their homes to be tortured and experimented on and ultimately destroyed. This is not a genocide. The Holocaust was a genocide. Stalin’s regime was a genocide.

So to sum up:

This “protest” has caused nothing but deep harm and distress to the people of Ottawa. And if followers of Christ are supporting it belligerently, then to quote Paul, “I don’t know what to do about you”.

There’s more I could say, but if I keep going this is going to get far longer and it’s already longer than I intended. So I’m going to close with Paul’s words from Galatians 4:8-9, 15:

But in the past, since you didn’t know God, you were enslaved to things that by nature are not gods. But now, since you know God, or rather have become known by God, how can you turn back again to the weak and worthless elements? Do you want to be enslaved to them all over again? […] Where, then, is your blessing?

Further reading:

Now that Faith Has Come: A Study of Galatians by Beth Moore https://www.amazon.ca/Now-That-Faith-Has-Come/dp/1735890901/

More Harm Than Good https://montreal.ctvnews.ca/more-harm-than-good-academics-sign-letter-condemning-quebec-curfew-1.5726013

Human rights defenders take issue with hands-off response to recent COVID protests https://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/manitoba/trucker-rallies-human-rights-reax-1.6339070

The Nuremberg Code (PDF) https://muhc.ca/sites/default/files/users/user136/The%20Nuremberg%20Code.pdf

About Bill 21 https://ccla.org/major-cases-and-reports/bill-21/

Maus by Art Spiegelman https://www.penguinrandomhouse.ca/books/171065/the-complete-maus-by-art-spiegelman/9780679406419

Policing Black Lives by Robyn Maynard https://fernwoodpublishing.ca/book/policing-black-lives

21 Things You May Not Know About the Indian Act by Bob Joseph https://www.strongnations.com/store/item_display.php?i=7047&f=

The ZDoggMD Show https://www.youtube.com/user/ZDoggMD

“Healthcare’s Unfiltered Voice. Interviews, educational rants, and more, hosted by Stanford-trained physician Dr. Zubin Damania.” I don’t always agree with his views, but he is solid on the science and not afraid to admit when he’s wrong. San Francisco-based.

A Sense of Wonder

So, I watched The Little Mermaid last night for the first time in a long time. It is so good. There were a couple of things that registered differently this time, and one of them was Ariel’s sense of wonder.

Fathoms Below by John Rowe

She is constantly looking for treasures of the human world – and she is delighted and amazed by everything she finds. But this sense of wonder is even stronger once she is transformed into a human herself.

For those who have seen the movie, you remember the scene where she and Eric are riding in the carriage? And he does a double-take because she’s upside down and hanging over the edge, fascinated by the movement of the horse’s hooves? And then at the Punch-n-Judy when she pulls the puppet off the man’s hand because she’s never seen it before? Or when she’s pulling Eric through the crowds, pointing at everything?

And you know what? Even though this is perfectly ordinary to everyone around her and no one else is reacting in any way like her…she doesn’t care. She’s excited by the beauty, the novelty, the things everyone finds ordinary or mundane and she allows herself to feel it, to be excited and entranced by it.

And to be honest, I think that’s powerful. How often do we walk through life with our eyes glazed over by the ordinary-ness of it all – when, in fact, maybe it’s not so ordinary. Maybe there is still wonder to be found in the everyday – in the blue of the sky on a Spring morning or the sunlight rippling on the river or the smell of freshly baked bread in the metro early in the morning. Or in a cup of coffee by the office window at the start of the day.

There is still wonder, even in the everyday. Sometimes, a fork is actually a dinglehopper.

The Midnight Hour — FINALLY FINISHED!!!!

Woah woah woah.

I finished the book. And not only did I finish the book, but I finished the edits. And then the query. And then the synopsis. And now I’m starting to go out on submission.

 

*squeaks*

So if you want to know what the book is about…here ya go:

 

The heist at the jeweler’s goes with surgical precision – until Doctor Raoul Daviau discovers that one of his men is missing, along with a diamond shipment. At first Raoul assumes the man is indulging his habit in the opium dens, but when his mutilated body is discovered – without the diamonds – Raoul is forced to reconsider. Without a whisper in the slums about the gems, the next place to look is the holier-than-thou upper class. The same upper class that spat him out in disgrace for letting a boy die on the operating table ten years before.

But Raoul’s search for the missing shipment is complicated when monsters begin to creep into the festering streets of the slums he calls home. Known as the pallidi, they are human vessels infected by parasitical spirits. Someone from the upper classes is breeding them through a strange marriage of medical science and the occult – and they are using the slums as a hunting ground.

To find his diamonds and the truth about his murdered man, Raoul infiltrates the sinister ranks of the elite and uncovers a plan to cleanse the slums through unholy experiments. But the slums aren’t the only thing they want purged, for the elite remember why they ostracized Raoul – and as Raoul’s allies begin to do the same, he must choose who to trust. If he chooses wrong, he’ll find himself on the operating table as the subject of a monstrous experiment.

THE MIDNIGHT HOUR (96 000 words) is a work of Victoriana horror with fantasy and steampunk elements.

 

And that’s what I’ve got. For now.

Dead in the water (but still afloat)

Well alright. The blog has been dead in the water for nearly a year. I’m attempting to revive it with, ironically, a post about burnout.

Yep. Burnout.

The good news is, I finished The Midnight Hour and it is now with my crit readers and I am not-so-patiently waiting for their feedback.

But since I finished it, I haven’t felt able to write. I’ve had the ideas and I’ve made notes. I’ve been listening to music that makes me think “Hmmmm”. But in terms of actual writing I’ve been feeling pretty burned out over the past couple months. Life keeps on happening and sucking my will to write as I try to stay afloat.

                 Long live The Princess Bride

The fact that I work from home may also be part of the issue. Once I’ve stared at my computer for hours on paying projects, I don’t feel like staring at it again. And it feels more like I can’t. I can’t be in that same space again.

I have no clue how to fix burnout. I think taking a break and not stressing about it helps. And I’m changing up the medium, at least to start: new fountain pen and ink and notepad, that I can bring with me anywhere. Which is the third thing: changing up the space. Gonna try scribbling in a coffee shop (or something). And since I’ll be starting a new job that will be out of the house, here’s hoping I’ll be able to work in my home space on the writing again.

So we’ll see. It may take a while. But better to start with baby steps than no steps at all. Because there are so many stories I want to tell. Because this book needs to get out and the rest of the story needs to be told, dammit.

Watch this space.

And while you wait, have some good music (because Jamie N Commons is always a good idea):

 

That Which They Defend

Ok. So I’ve literally spent weeks trying to figure out how to put this into a coherent blog post because where my heart is concerned, coherency doesn’t always happen. But in light of recent threats against Muslim students at my university, my heart is aching again. So let’s start with this:

2016 was the year I learned to fight. Not just how, but that I must. Because sometimes you have to fight for who and what you love. So much shit happened – the Orlando gay nightclub shooting, the shootings of unarmed black men and women, the horrible comments coming from someone who should be a role model for an entire country – and it breaks my heart.

And in the aftermath all I could think was What can I do? I am only one person. God, show me how to love.

And I had my answer (well, part of it). I am a teacher. I don’t have a classroom yet but that’s beside the point. The point is that I know what I want my classroom to look like. I want it to be a place where anyone – regardless of gender, race, religion, sexual orientation, dis/ability, etc. – can walk in and know it’s a safe space. Know that when shit happens, this is a place we can talk about it, breathe, and try to work things through. I’m not saying I’m going to have all the answers. I won’t. And there are things I need to unlearn and things I need to learn. But to create that space where my students know they are cared about and respected. To create that space where we can all learn to use our voices to stand up for the marginalized. That is my vision.

These things that have happened, that are happening, touch people I love fiercely. And all I can say is: if “they” are coming after you, they have to go through me. And if all I can do is stand next to you and hold your hand while the stones fly, then that is what I am going to do. There is no second option.

And that which they defend, which I defend, is you.

Publication Day!!!

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!!!

At long last I can say…my flash piece Aeternum is now published by the wonderful folks at Mothership Zeta. You can purchase it HERE.

Even scientists have to take risks. Some may say it’s the only way breakthroughs happen. How far would you take a leap of faith?

Now excuse me while I squeal.

New! Services!

Just a quick update, but if you are in need of proofreading or editorial services check out this shiny new page!

The Adventures of Nick & Ginny (aka Mr & Mrs Claus)

Right. So  few years ago I took part in the “Countdown to 2015” Challenge on Absolute Write. For every day of December we were given a prompt and the challenge was to write a piece of flash fiction every day. Some of those prompts turned into a series about the (mis)adventures of Nick & Ginny (aka Mr & Mrs Claus) around the Christmas season.

Shenanigans, sarcasm, and silliness ensue. Enjoy 🙂

Being the Adventures of Nick & Ginny (aka, Mr & Mrs Claus)

(Shenanigans, sarcasm, and silliness ensue)

Anna F. Humphrey

 

PRE-CHRISTMAS

1-The elves are building…

“What,” Nick growled, “is that infernal racket? Can’t a man have a little peace and quiet around here?”

“It’s the elves, dear,” Ginny answered, pouring the tea. “They’ve got it into their heads that they need to keep themselves in practice or they’ll fall behind on orders when Christmas gets here.”

Nick rubbed his forehead. “Why did I choose elves?”

“It was the ‘Help an Elf’ program, dear. You were saying you wanted to give back to the community.”
“How’s about I give them back to the community.”

“Oh, be nice. They’re building you a swimming pool.”

He lowered his glasses. “They do realize this is the Arctic, don’t they?”

Ginny shrugged. “I never said they were terribly bright.”

 

2-Not the usual office party

“Who,” Nick growled, “invited the bloody dragon? And don’t tell me it was the elves.”

Ginny looked at him over the rim of her punch. “For someone who gives gifts to children, you are a remarkably grumpy old man.”

“Did you see the naughty list this year?”
“Yes, well, it’s over now dear. Smile and enjoy the party.”

“There’s still a dragon. And someone brought gremlins. I can feel them waiting to make off with my best mittens.”

Ginny smiled and handed him the punch. “Here. Have some of this.”

He scowled. “Is it spiked?”

“Of course.”

Throwing back his head, he drained it.

“Has the dragon started to look cute?”

He held out the glass. “That’ll take at least two more, love.”

 

3-Something On the Roof

What the hell?

Nick forced his eyes open, now convinced that the incessant drumming was not just the after-effects of too much punch. How much had he drunk? Not enough for the bloody dragon to look cute, especially after it had torched the hall.

Dragging himself out of bed and over to the window, he threw up the sash and stuck his head out.

“Jack! I’m-hic-flying!”

“Rudolph, I really don’t think this is a good idea right now…”

Nick groaned and retreated back to bed.

“Nick, dear, what’s going on?”

He pulled the covers over his head. “Rudolph had too much eggnog, that’s what.”

“Oh.” Ginny rubbed her eyes. “Well. At least he knows how to fly.”

Nick snorted. “Tell him that.”

 

4-Wrapped

The elves were hard at work making toys. The painters were painting, the craftsmen were crafting, the sculptors were sculpting…all in all, Nick was forced to admit that when they had a focus, elves were good workers.

Not that he would ever say that.

He strode through the workshop, practicing his ho-ho-ing (couldn’t disappoint the kiddies, no matter how ridiculous he felt), until he came to the Wrapping Room.
“Ginny, what are you doing here?”

She rocked her chair, which was right in front of the door. “Knitting.”

“I can see that. Why?”

“Because you can’t go in just yet.”

His stomach plummeted. “Why not?”

With a sigh, she set down her knitting and looked at him over the rim of her glasses. “Because one of them decided it was a good idea to wrap the boxes before they were filled. To save time afterwards.”

He stared at her. Then he let loose a long string of words that were very unsaintly.

“Nick!”

“Next year I’m hiring dwarves.”

 

5-The Solstice

Nick cracked his eye open and stared at the date on the clock: December 21, the winter solstice.

Well, damn.

With a groan he hid his head under the pillow. Maybe it would go away if he wished hard enough. Hell, wasn’t it time some fat man in a red suit brought him a present?

“Time to get up, dear,” Ginny said, gleefully pulling the blanket away. “The reindeer games won’t wait.”

He tugged on the blanket. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

Ginny gave a violent yank and the blanket fled from his grasp. “If you don’t referee then Rudolph won’t play, and then he’ll sulk, and don’t you remember the last time that happened?”

“Rudolph is a diva.”

“But he’s a diva with clout, dear.”

 

6-Ancient Rites

There are many ancient rites surrounding Christmas and the winter solstice, many of which were so old no one could remember why they started or how.

This was one Nick bloody well wished they’d bloody well do away with. There were only so many cookies he could eat in one night without making himself sick. And giving them to the reindeer was out of the question, since sugar rendered them high and useless.

Just once, he wished someone would leave him a nice bottle of whisky – maybe a Scapa 16 – or a really old French red.

With a sigh, he stared down at the plate of chocolate chip cookies and glass of milk.

“Bottoms up, Nick.”

 

POST-CHRISTMAS

7-101 Easy Tricks You Can Teach Your Druid

“What,” said Nick, speaking very slowly so that the elf would understand him, “is this?” He held up the book.

“Oh,” said the elf, so brightly it hurt. “You weren’t supposed to see that.”

Nick smiled. It was the type of smile that would have sent a polar bear running, but the elf seemed not to have received the memo. “Why not?”

“Because I haven’t finished it yet. I’m in training to be your own personal druid!”

“And what makes you think I need a druid?”

“Sir, you fly a sleigh in the middle of winter. As your personal druid, I can control the weather to give you optimum flying conditions.”

Nick flipped to the table of contents. “They don’t list controlling the weather in here.”

“That’s because it’s in the second volume. Right here, sir: 101 MORE Easy Tricks You Can—”

“I don’t need a druid.”

“But—”

“No. And if you even think about messing with the weather, I will replace you with a dwarf. Am I clear?”

“Yes sir.” The elf rose and leaned forward, lowering his voice confidentially. “Actually, sir, I’m glad you said that. It’s a lot of work.”

Nick pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dismissed. Go take a holiday.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you sir!”

And then the elf bounded out the door.

Nick picked up the phone. “Ginny, please tell me the bags are packed.”

“Ready and waiting,” she said, cheerfully. “Let me guess, you just had your yearly “I want to be a druid”?”

“Yes. Please tell me we’re going somewhere very far away.”

Ginny sniffed. “Of course, dear. I can’t wait to see you in your swimming trunks.”

Nick smiled. “Why Mrs. Claus, whatever are you planning?”

“Why don’t you come home and I’ll show you?”

Nick laughed. “On my way, love.”

And with that, he hung up. He reached for his coat, grabbed the druid books – leaving them in the open with a hundred silly elves running around the place was a bad idea. How did the damn thing keep turning up, anyway? – and headed for the door.

It was time for a holiday. Just him, Ginny, and a beach.

He couldn’t wait.

 

8-At the Bottom of the Stocking

The plane landed and Nick stared out the window, grinning at the heat waves that shimmered on the tarmac. Four weeks of sun, sand, and Ginny and no bloody elves or extended family knocking on the door.

The hotel was perfect – they’d stayed there last year – and they paused only long enough the dump off their bags before they wandered down to the beach, hand in hand.

“Why,” Ginny asked, “for the love of frost, are you wearing stockings? We’re on the beach, dear.”

His grin grew wider (he hadn’t stopped grinning since they’d landed and he was worried he might have pulled something). “Because, Ginny love, I love the feel of sand at the bottom of my stockings. It’s bloody irritating, but it reminds me we’re not at home.”

Ginny laughed. “You strange old man.”

“You married me.”

“Well, it was either you or the Easter Bunny.”

“Mrs. Claus!”

And with a roar that put his ­ho-hos to shame, he chased her down the beach.

 

9-Relative

Time slipped by rather too quickly and it was nearing the end of the third week when Nick began to worry.

“Let me get this straight,” Ginny said, sipping her martini. “Everything is going so well you’re sure the other shoe is about to drop.”

Nick glared into his scotch (a lovely Scapa 16. Damn but the Scots made a fine whisky). “Doesn’t it always?”

“Usually because you expect it,” Ginny answered, dryly.

“I—”

“Damn!” Ginny set down her glass. “Nick. Out. Now.”

“What—oh.” He downed his scotch (no sense letting it go to waste) and ushered Ginny out the side door.

His cousin, Father Frost, had just entered the restaurant, complete with bodyguards.

A life in organized crime tended to require that of a person.

 

10-Friends

“Kolya! Cousin! What are you doing here?”

Nick groaned and Ginny made a face. “Better face the music, dear,” she muttered.

He snorted, watching as Father Frost – Boris – drew near. “The last time we met I almost did, or don’t you remember?”

“Of course I remember; you looked good in orange. But you’re not exactly low-profile. You can’t hide from him.”

“Wanna bet? Borya!” he cried, and plastered a huge grin on his face. Yep, he had definitely pulled something there. “What a surprise.”

“Konechno!” Boris gripped his hand in a bone-crushing handshake, then enveloped him in an equally bone-crushing hug. Ginny, he noted sourly, seemed to be having trouble not laughing.

“So what brings you and your…friends to this island?” Nick asked.

Boris looked up from kissing Ginny’s hand. “I heard you were in the neighbourhood.”

Well, damn. “What do you want, Borya?”

Boris nodded his head over at one of his bodyguards. One was tall and broad, his scalp plastered with Russian prison tattoos, and the other was smaller than Nick, muscular, and clearly grumpy behind his beard. “I need you take Igor with you to the North Pole.” He motioned at the shorter one.

Nick felt his heart sink. “Why?”

Boris coughed delicately. “Don’t ask questions, Kolya. You should know that. Besides, I think you’ll like him.”

Nick glared at him. “What makes you say that?”

Boris smiled. “He’s a dwarf.”

Ginny burst out laughing.

 

11-Home Again

Ah, yes. The North Pole. After a month’s vacation, Nick was almost ready to see the place again. “Well, Igor, what do you think?”

Igor sniffed and stepped outside the terminal. “Xolodno. Cold. Good. Very good.” He stomped on the ground with his boot. “There is good rock here. I can build. Very good.”

Ginny nudged Nick in the ribs, her mouth forming the word “elves”. Nick winced.

“So, Igor…did Kolya tell you I work with elves?”

Igor froze. “Elves? Why you work with elves? Elves silly. Elves—” He stopped, staring at the waiting sleigh.

Nick frowned and looked over. Rudolph was leading the team, and waiting outside were the less ridiculous members of his enterprise: Green, Everest, and…oh damn.

Ginger.

The pretty little elf with the red hair and rosy cheeks and a surprisingly sarcastic sense of humour.

“Elves pretty,” Igor murmured. Then he stepped forward, swept off his hood, and bowed low over Ginger’s hand. “Krasotka!*”

Nick groaned. Damn. And damn again.

Ginny took his arm, shaking with laughter. “Welcome home, love.”

 

*babe, lovely, cracker, bombshell, cutie, beautiful

 

Bonus-About those gremlins…

The Chief Gremlin set his Santa hat at a jaunty angle (‘twas the season, after all) and strode into the room.

“Task force!” he barked.

As one, the assembled gremlins jumped into formation and saluted. “Sir!”

He whipped his pointer stick against the map on the wall. “Tonight, we tackle the Upper West Side of the city. Shaggy’s Task Force has the Lower West.” He narrowed his eyes. “We are 2-0 and we’re keeping that lead.”

One gremlin raised his hand.

“What?”

“Sir, some of the humans have been investing in idiot-mittens.”

“What is this, training school? Snip them. Any other stupid questions? No? Good. I want a pile of mittens on my desk in the morning. Dismissed.”

 

 

 

 

Til we have faces

::dons surgical mask::

::grabs dust mop::

DIE DUST BUNNIES!!!!!

::a cloud of dust erupts as the killer mutant monster dust bunnies are swept out of the blog::

Phew. I’m ba-ack! 🙂

 

 

In my defense, it was a hell of a summer and I never promised to update regularly. 😛

The title for this post is from C.S. Lewis’ novel of the same name and it is brilliant. Read it, if you haven’t. The title seemed appropriate for this post. I have literally spent weeks trying to figure out how to put this into words as all the thoughts kept being a whirlwind in my head, refusing to coalesce into coherency. I finally found the key in the words of one of my friends (you know who you are):

 

Don’t let your passion and creativity take backseat to your image.

 

Why is this so forefront in my mind right now? This semester I took a class on teaching and pedagogy. It was, I kid you not, the most valuable class I’ve taken in the course of this degree. It stretched my mind and gave me a vision for what I want my own teaching practice and classroom to look like, and gave me so much to think about.* But one of the major things it made me think about is who I am in the classroom. Not as a student, but as a teacher. And it’s not something I ever had to think about before because I just decided to be myself, and that seems to work. My first time teaching research methods I was new, nervous, though I thought the whole thing went reasonably well. The second time around, I decided to have fun with it. I geeked out my slides: every week was a different theme, ranging from Star Wars to Doctor Who to Lord of the Rings, which inevitably led to pre/post class discussions on why exactly the Witch King could NOT have broken Gandalf’s staff**, why Peter Capaldi is a bloody brilliant 12th Doctor***, why Thor: The Dark World was NOT the worst Marvel film ever****, etc.

And that one seemingly small change changed the entire atmosphere of the classroom. I was still the instructor, but I was human. Everything was more relaxed. We got the work done, but we had some laughs along the way as well. I loved that semester.

So bringing myself into the classroom with the things that make me me is not something I ever thought about. I learned to do it.

And then we started talking about image in the classroom and the problems in academia in that respect. Do a Google search for “university professor”. Go ahead. I’ll wait.

You see the problem? The image search results overwhelmingly favour older white men*****. While the situation is changing within academia, it’s far from changed over. One of the women panelists who came to class, a young woman in her thirties, gave a talk on how she felt she had to keep the “dancing” part of herself out of the classroom in order to be taken seriously.

STOP. RIGHT. THERE.

I am a dancer.******

I am a writer.

I need both these things like breathing. I was made to dance like I was made to write. They are part of what makes me a whole person, and when I bring the whole person into the classroom as opposed to the person I think I should be it gives me so much more confidence. And I’m a better teacher for it.

 

Point.

 

 

*Trust me, that’s another blog post. I’ll get to it. Eventually. Patience is a virtue, people.

**I have no other complaints about the films. They are gorgeous. Stunning. But I will nitpick on that one detail. Fight me.

***BLOODY. BRILLIANT. I LOVE HIM.

****I WILL FIGHT YOU ON THIS. DANCE OFF. NOW.

*****I’d have provided a screenshot but my computer is being stupid and won’t let me. Grr.

******And lemme just say, I spent the entire summer dealing with an injury it only served to make me go HELL YES I AM A DANCER AND I WILL DANCE.

Forged in fire (aka, what doesn’t kill you…)

…makes you stronger.

And, ok. Fine. So the title is perhaps a tad melodramatic (you should be used to this by now. I regret nothing. 😉 )

Basically, this blog post was born out of minor over-use knee injury (note: I said minor) which, nonetheless, caused a bit of a freak-out on my part as a) I’ve never experienced anything like this in my knees (neck and back pain, yes. Knees, no.) and b) I’m a ballroom dancer. My knees are important. So are my feet.

So I find myself in the process of strength-training, since I don’t have the kind of strength in my knees that I need. And let me tell ya: the morning after the gym is pretty uncomfortable. As is the day after that. And I’m not used to it. I’m not used to using those muscles in that way. It will come, once my body’s used to it, but in the interim it’s hard. And I might be a bit of a wuss.

But there’s a larger picture here. Let me put it this way:

I AM A DANCER.

It’s a relatively recent discovery (though apparently my subconscious has been screaming this for years…) and it fits like a glove. I can talk all day about how much I love it, but in the end the only way to express it is to get on the dance floor and show you.

 

 

And to dance the way I want to dance – with strength, precision, ease and grace – will take time and effort and training. But because I love it, I’m going to do it. I mean, there really isn’t another option here. My instructor’s stuck with me, heh. This is too much fun, too much joy, too much wonderful.

So in the immortal words of…somebody-who-isn’t-me:

Suck it up, princess.

 

::Exits stage left, dancing a samba::