Horrorfail09

I’ve been taking a break from the genre. I think everyone should do this every few years just to clear their heads and find new perspectives. At least this is what’s happened to me. I’m well rested and energized.

While I was away, an interesting discussion on cultural appropriation and the concept of white privilege, among many other things exploded in the SF&F genres. It has been dubbed Racefail09. If you haven’t heard of it you can catch up here. But let me warn you, it is very long and involving. As these things tend to go, it has gotten very heated and crazy things have been said. Stupid things. Harsh, insensitive things.

But, I don’t want to talk about that right now.

Well, thank God, I guess you say. Who wants to talk about that? It’s a mess.

Well, I say that is the problem.

You see, there has been this deafening silence in horror. One that is so loud that it’s become the giant elephant in the room. This is so out of the norm that it struck a chord with me. After all, how often does SF&F spill over into horror and vise versa? All it takes is for you to think back to the Harlan Ellison and Connie Willis fiasco of ‘06. Everyone had an opinion about that. It invaded blogs and message boards across fandom. This is to be expected. We’re writers. We write. We form opinions and then write about them. So, what about this Racefail thing? Why all of a sudden did we big mouth, opinionated writers have nothing to say? Nothing to write about?

I’ll tell you why. Because it’s hard. It’s damn hard. We don’t want to get involved. We want to pretend that either this doesn’t effect us, or that if we just keep quiet it’ll go away.

Of course there are those who think that because we aren’t talking about it, then maybe it’s not a problem for “us” like it is for “them.” And by we, trust me, I don’t just mean you white folks. No, I mean us PoC too. Because you see, there are a whole lot less of us PoC in this field than there are in the SF&F field. So, we also pretend and hope no one mentions it and turn our heads. Even worse, we hope that by staying out of it we won’t hurt our already slim chance of getting published.

But I must ask myself, is it worth it?

Let’s be honest, no one wants to hear a person they respect say something so unbelievable that it’ll affect their view of them forever? No one wants to get called ugly names and made to feel as if their view is not valid. I don’t want this. So instead, I—like you—ignore it for a few weeks and hope no one notices me. Or better yet, I hope to God they don’t ask me how I feel because I’m black.

But, come on people, at some point we have to admit the truth to ourselves. If we aren’t talking about it, then we are simply avoiding it. And to be honest, this is a topic we have avoided for far too long.

There has been much heated discussion in fandom over this. The term Racefail says it all. But overall the horror community has buried its head in the sand. The problem with the current discussion is that people were so angry that they began yelling past each other (which is not easy to do on the internet, so it’s kinda comical). However, I think we, as a genre, can do better than that. I think we can discuss this much more rationally and intelligently than they did. In fact, let's be honest, we can’t do any worse.

But ignoring this issue and hoping it just goes away isn't going to help matters. This is so huge and so potentially damaging to the genre that we can’t continue to ignore it. Think about it, do you want people to feel so isolated from your work that they can’t even comment about it? Or worse, just stop reading you all together? It’s a serious issue, especially as the genre itself seems to be disappearing. Beyond the big names, it seems to have become an underground genre. Horror, I think, is seen as something for solely fourteen year old white males. And if young white boys are your perceived audience, how can you hope to expand and broaden that audience to other people?

Yes, people will get their feelings hurt. People may even threaten to blackball others. But, hopefully, when all the smoke clears, we will be a better, more diverse genre because of it.

I hate waxing philosophical right now, but—they say, that all it takes is for good men to do nothing...

So, kick me out. Threaten not to publish my books (idle threat, at this point), call me a troll. But, for Gods sake, let’s begin to discuss this. Let’s put it out there, let people listen, and understand. Or don’t, we can continue to pretend these things do not affect us or our characters. But do not make the mistake of thinking that if we aren’t talking about it, it’s not a problem. Even yelling at one another would be better than...silence.

So writers, go write.

School Board Holds County Hostage

Clayton County Schools Lose Accreditation

I posted about this issue already.

I moved from the county several months ago, as I could not put my children's future on the line. But what about those who can not move. They aren't sure what will happen to seniors this year. Imagine having gone to school for twelve years and finding out that your diploma is worthless. Those poor kids!

Well, on my way to Dragoncon. If you'll be there, look me up.

Formidable women, half retarded men

So, I helped my mother move yesterday. She was at work and couldn’t get off, so the only people there were myself, and my two sisters. My mom moves a lot. A lot. She doesn’t like to stay in one place too long, so about every two years she gets the itch, and I know I’ll be getting a call telling me she’s found the most amazing place. And they always are.

The only bad thing is that I have to help her move. I hate this. I think this is why I tend to stay in one place; because I’ve moved some many times in my life as a child.

My mother didn’t have any boys, so it has long been left up to my sisters and I to move her. Why not hire someone? Well, why do that when you have several young, capable women to do it for you—for free?

Anyhoo, my sisters and I had four hours to load and unload the truck and get it back. We packed everything we could on the truck. Several very heavy sofas, beds, mattresses, massive bookshelves, washer and dryer, deep freezer and lots and lots of other things. And did I mention that my mother lived up two flights of stairs?

We are formidable women, I tell ya.

So we drive the truck (a large U-Haul type thing) to the new house. The problem is my mom decided to move into the house from hell. Well the house itself is fine. It’s just getting there from the road that makes it hell. The driveway leading to the house is barely wide enough for a Buick mush less the tank we were driving. It’s shared with a neighbor whose house sits directly in front of my mother’s. The driveway itself is at a sharp incline and drops off on both sides into deep ditches. If you can’t imagine it, just think of a big U-Haul tumbling into a ravine and you pretty much got it. The imagery worked for me.

When we got there, the wonderful neighbors, who inhabit the house in front of my mother’s, had placed a garbage can, riding toy and a huge basketball goal in the driveway. He walked out of the house, shirtless, checked his mail and went back inside. My sister was driving and after pulling in, we decided she would have to come out, back the truck in, while dodging the uneven, hilly driveway and ditches.

I called to the shirtless fellow through his open screen-less window to please move his basketball goal while I moved his trashcan and child toy myself. He quickly agreed and we continued on.

My youngest sister and I directed my other sister into the drive, telling her which way to turn the wheel and if she needed to straighten out and start again. As she was backing in, the shirtless neighbor walked out, put his hand on my back, began laughing and said something inaudible.

I looked at him and smiled until I realized what he’d said.

“I wondered what the problem was,” he said, “until I realized it was a woman driving.”

I stared at him for a moment and then at my sister who looked like she could have killed him. I have no doubt she could have taken him.

He continued staring at me earnestly, as I replied. “I know, but it could be worse. We could have a man driving.”

The smile quickly faded from his face and he looked as if I had said the rudest thing in the world to him. He walked back into his house, staring back at us every couple of feet. I think he was really upset that I’d dare say that to him.

My sister said from the truck, “I can’t believe that asshole.”

Personally, I found it amusing. On the one hand he thought we were nothing but pitiful girls who couldn’t do anything. But he didn’t bother to offer any assistance. Not that we would have accepted, but if he’s such a fabulous man—better than any woman—isn’t that the manly thing to do when you see a women you think needs assisting? So what kind of man does that make him? Also, in what world does he live in that it’s completely acceptable to walk up to someone, insult them and expect them to giggle like silly little children.

(side note: seeing him there laughing like an idiot, I could just imagine the slurs that would have come out of his mouth fifty years ago—hell, twenty years ago.)

Also the fact that he thought it was fine to touch me was just strange. Infringing on my space was rude and creepy.

My sister got the truck into the narrow driveway with little effort and we girls unloaded the truck. Sofas, beds, mattresses, massive bookshelves, washer and dryer, deep freezer and lots and lots of other things.

The creepy, shirtless neighbor watched from his screen-less window.

When we left, we waved goodbye to him. He didn’t wave back. I’m sure my mom will be glad we’re making new friends for her already.

I’m aching like hell right now. But, damn, do I feel good.

Clayton County Risk Losing Accreditation

So, have I mentioned that I live here?

My daughters actually go to one of the best schools in the county (for all it’s worth). The school has continuously scored high on national testing, and had the highest test scores in the county on the writing assessment test for the last few years.

My daughter took her SATs on Saturday. I got up at six in the morning (on a Saturday!) to get her there by 7:45. However, all of that will be useless if we lose accreditation. This is also affects my 15 year old, and if it doesn’t now, will affect my 7 and 9 year old.

My home will be worthless. My children won’t be able to get scholarships. Other counties are not willing to take the children of this county in (and really, I can’t blame them).

The problems are due to the school board.

SACS found: “ Today’s announcement that Clayton County Schools are run so badly that they became the first system to ever lose their accreditation is a disaster. With the loss of accreditation, their students cannot receive HOPE scholarships, they may not be able to transfer their credits, and their college future is threatened. Those responsible for educating our children failed.”

The board members, who are accused of misappropriating funds, abuse of power, bid tampering and much more, refuse to step down. Obviously they care more about their egos than the children and families of this county.

If something doesn't happen soon, this will be me.

African American National Biography

The AANB is now up on Amazon. I don’t expect any of you to order it, as it’s a whopping eight hundred bucks. I would love to own a set myself, but I just can’t afford it with that price tag.

I have seven entries in the collection. Many of the African Americans I wrote about were important in the movement, but the one who sticks out to me the most is Mary Turner. Turner was lynched in Georgia in the early 1900s because she threatened to go to the federal authorities if her husband’s killers were not brought to justice. He had been mistakenly (as much as these things were mistakes) murdered by a mob.

Turner was eight months pregnant when she was led out to a field, tied to a tree, upside down, set on fire and had her baby cut from her. When the child fell to the ground crying, one of the on lookers crushed its head with his boot. This woman’s story really affected me a lot.

I had to go to the Georgia archives and read through months and months of old news papers, where blacks were talked about as if they were less intelligent and nothing more than thieves and murderers (ironic isn’t it?). It was interesting to read advertisements about ointments and herbs that were said to calm the black man. The Atlanta Journal-Constitution article about Mary Turner actually said that she had caused her own death because she’d “made unwise comments."

I enjoyed writing all the articles, and if you get a chance, check them out in your local library. I will.

People of Color in Genre Fiction

Most of you have figured out by now that I’m black, if for no other reason than my picture off to the side of this blog. I also happen to write genre fiction. You probably have figured this out too.

There are a lot of issues people of color (PoC) face when writing genre fiction. Should you write about black characters? Will it hinder you if you do so? Do you have to sneak PoC characters on white readers? Believe it or not, all of these things are issues within the community. I think too often the default color for writers and readers is white.

I also think that it’s too simple for writers to revert back to what they’ve been taught or they’ve seen and read all their lives. Dark skin and hair is bad and ugly. Pale white skin is beautiful and good.

It’s a shame how many writers, even today, simply fall back on this formula, instead of trying to create more complex, multi dimensional characters of all shapes and colors and worlds. Sure it’s harder but in the end it will be more engaging, thought provoking.

I attended a Fantasy Roundtable about people of color working in the field. There were a lot of interesting people from many different backgrounds. We talked about many of the problems facing PoC in the genre. It was very enlightening. Check out the first part here.

After that, go over to read Catherine Valente’s interview with Tempest. She discusses race and diversity in fiction. Then go out and buy her book. Buy two.

WFC

So, I just got back from the World Fantasy Convention on Monday and I’m tired and sore (don’t ask) and excited. I had a wonderful time, and got to meet lots of cool people. Also caught up with loads of friends. Too many to name here, but you know who you are.

For those who don’t know, my sister is a flight attendant, and although that means I get all my flights cheap (OK, VERY cheap), it also means I have to fly on stand by. I didn’t particularly mind, as I had Robert McCammon’s Queen of Bedlam with me in the airport and only had about a hundred pages to go and couldn’t wait to find out what would happen. (I’ve since finished it, btw, and although it’s not quite as good as Speaks the Nightbird, it’s well worth picking up.)

As it turned out, I made my scheduled flight and arrived in Saratoga Springs on time. At the airport I met Christopher Barzak, an unbelievably talented writer who later read from is new book, One For Sorrow. We had over an hour wait for the bus, which just flew by while we talked about business, religion, class, sex and any and everything else possible. Man, did we cram a lot into that hour.

On the bus Diana Paxson sat in front of us, while the driver recounted all the times he had to strike his children (ages 2 and 4) to keep them in line. It seems as if his son, who is two-years-old, has taken to saying “no” over and over again. No worries, the driver insist, his teeth will grow back. But seriously, it was disturbing. Diana, however, is a fabulous lady, and we had a long, involved talk about Octavia Butler. She knew her.

The town was absolutely beautiful. It was picturesque with cute, little store front shops, and old Victorian buildings. Everything was within walking distance, and so I’m sure I walked off at least as much food as I ate. I can hope. Ok, probably not...

My friend Jenny Orosel, who brings me cookies every single convention, had not had time to make them this time, so she brought me some fantastic toffee. Oh. My. God. Ok, I guess I didn’t work it all off.

The convention was a rush of mad meetings and private parties. I met some wonderful people including Carol M. S. Burrell, Holly Black, K. Tempest Bradford, Alaya Dawn Johnson and many, many more. I am really looking forward to next year in Canada.

If I owe you an email, I will be getting to it shortly. I miss you all already.

See ya next year.