A Break to Say Where I've Been

As I'm sure you probably already knows by now, I went to New York the weekend of ComiCon, but there's a back story.

Soon after the last post I wrote, I had an epiphany of awesome proportions. I've had this little pet story line for a couple years, which I've picked at and played with, but never gotten to formulate into a full-on plot. While I was mulling over what to do with my webcomic side project, questioning ad nauseum if it was even a good enough story to put the effort to, I thought of my old story, "What a perfect graphic novel!" 

The flood gates opened. As soon as I considered the format, it was like the entire plot came spilling out and I had to write! I decided that it was the perfect excuse to run away to my favorite New York couch for an impromptu writing retreat. While I was there, it just so happened that Shane had an extra pass to ComiCon. It was a killer opportunity to get an idea for what I was getting into- to speak with other writers, illustrators, network, and maybe taste the industry a bit. It was overwhelming, but in a good way. I came away fully charged, and with a goal: I was going to have my own booth for ComiCon 2013.

It's lofty, I know, but still...

I've been writing like crazy ever since and I'm about three quarters of the way done with my first draft. There is a long way to go, and a lot still to figure out, but I'm feeling the progress and I'm pumped. Maybe I'll get lucky and finish before NaNoWriMo (November is National Novel Writing Month)- that would be fantastic!

Art Dilemma

    I've been all sorts of distracted for a few weeks. So many fun new disasters have come along that I almost forgot what I want the most!
    I was having the most fun in ages when I was regularly writing the comic collaboration with Jason, but the breaks got slammed when life happened to my artist and I was churning out pages faster than he could meet them with panels.
    I tried to compensate starting another comic project. This time I intended to draw it myself. Dusting off my art supplies, however, proved harder than I expected, and I haven't even tried Photoshop yet.
    So now I face a dilemma. Do I spend triple the time drawing for the end of a writing medium, or do I try to find another artist?

The Cats

This week we adopted a couple of furry family members.

I'm not sure how long ago we first spoke of getting a pet, but the discussion ended last week with a mouse. Living in this city, mice are just a part of life. But this little bugger avoided every trap, precaution, and tactic we threw at it. Late one night, standing in his underwear with a salad bowl in hand, Jason declared we were getting a cat and that was that.

We considered just getting a kitten on craigslist- kittens are playful, cute, cheap, and perfectly trainable, clean slates. But when I started browsing the website for the Animal Rescue League of Boston, I started to melt. There are so many sweet animals in shelters waiting for forever-homes. And for the amount of vet care that the ARL puts into them, adoption is an amazing deal. A new kitten would cost upward of $500 for first year care alone. I asked Jason and he agreed adoption was the way to go.

The ARL site listed a pair of cats that caught my eye- a 1 year old black and white tuxedo American Short-Hair and his all-white brother. I called the ARL and was given scads of information. I learned that they had come from a placed that was overpopulated with cats. This left them neglected and drastically shy. Their socialization had been the focus of their care, with great results, but they still had a way to go. This, their age, and a prior rash on the white cat's neck had all worked against them when it came to adoption. They'd been there for 5 months (that's a long time to be in a shelter, in case you didn't know). But there was wonderful news. Because of their special case, the ARL was willing to adopt them out for the price of one!

Funny little coincidence- that night I found out that it was "Adopt a Less Adoptable Pet Week."

We hadn't told the kids our plan, in case something didn't work out. So we broke the news the next morning to much excitement. Before I said anything about the cats I'd found, Lala said "Can we get an all-white kitty?"
"As a matter of fact," I grinned.

We went to the ARL after Cal got home from school. We finally got to meet the cats, and despite their timidness had a great experience with the children playing with them. Five minutes in the room with them and I was in love. They were so sweet and full of personality! As we moved forward with the adoption the shelter started buzzing- volunteers kept spreading the news "The Brothers are getting adopted!" There were cheers and high-fives, congratulations and assurance of the cats' general awesomeness. It was such a happy day.

They were already in their carriers, so we had to hold up their pictiures 

Now the newly named Sherlock and Watson are getting acclimatized to their new home and family.   I'd be lying if I said that their timidness didn't get to me now and then. But they are warming up in strides and I have great hope and assurance from my Cat-people friends. And it's nice to just have them around. They are already a pleasant addition to the household.

Scary Things

Have you ever tried something that scared you a little?

Somewhere growing up, in between the American Dream and New Wave Feminism, I got the impression that if it scares you a little, you're doing it right. I can't say that I actually ever experienced what that means, being alternately  too crazy/stupid or too cowardly. Yes, my name is Heather Louise and I am a chicken.

Now I'm experiencing it.

I've been skating with a few other beginners about twice a week for three weeks. It's done about a tablespoons worth of good. Saturday was the first day of Fresh Meat Training and I got the piss knocked out of me. Seriously. By time I got home I was bruised from my butt to my ego. I started to question whether I could actually do this.

Part of me wavered till the other day when I got a good talkin-to from an unlikely source- my mother. Ms. I-don't-like-this-but-I'll-play-along-with-your-shenanigans. She spent a good ten minutes telling me about all the skills Derby would give me and how they could be applied to the real world. She talked about how when we pay attention to life, life tends to hand us exactly what we need. And she told me that if I was feeling chicken, so stare the situation in the face and say "Bring it on!" It was just what I needed.

It got me thinking about other things that scare me, like speaking up about values I believe in and "getting involved." I think it's time I make a list of scary things and start doing them.

Am I still afraid for the next practice? Yes. But I'm ready to face it head on. And I'm armed with a puke-bucket.

Trippin'

This is coming to you via my phone because I couldn't use a keyboard if I tried. Trust me- I have tried. It all started a few weeks ago when a slight tweak in my medications caused (among other things) the forgetting of appointments, one-off tasks, and the watering of my plants. I took my crisp menagerie as a cue to find a more resilient hobby.
For ages a friend had been talking about a newfound love of Flat Track Roller Derby, swearing it was perfect for me. After a little encouragement I started researching. A few YouTube films and a book later, I was seriously crushing. After my first live bout I was completely in love.
I ordered my skates over the phone to make sure they would ship over night (indie retail trick), then waited all day for them to arrive. When they finally came I could've been more pleased; a perfect fit, wheels that practically move on their own- if we didn't live on the second floor I'd be living in them!
But they were going to take some practice- these were no Roller-rink skates. I only got about 20 minutes of practice in before sundown on day one, but decided to skate to work the next morning anyway. I put on all my gear except elbow pads, because seriously, who hurts their elbow except in derby?
Well, after about the 4th fall I decided I had better walk for the time being, lest I be late for work.
That's when I noticed the pain in my arm. The more time passed, the less I could move it. By the afternoon I had a useless throbbing right angle of an appendage. Lesson learned: always wear ALL your pads.
The worse part is that now I have to wait to skate again.

Adventures in Electronics

   I'm one of those weird people that likes to personify inanimate objects. Mind you, I'm not random about it- I don't go around naming toasters. I stick to electronics. After all, you have to "register a device name to activate" the darn things most of the time anyway, so you might as well come up with something creative, right? 

   Somehow my new phone was definitely a dude. I decided to name it Crowley after my favorite sleek, sexy, super smart character who always wears black (all the more appropriate given that my computer's name is Aziraphale).

   I'd been complaining since I got the phone that it needed a case before I scratched it to pieces. I spent way more time than I care to share combing the internet for "just the right case." It was quite pathetic. Finally Jase said "There are some alright cases at Target- I'm just going to pick up one for you next time I go." So the other day Jason came home with this sweet little phone case that's just right. It's pretty and feminine without being overly girly, and neutral without being too kitsch. And I didn't have to deal with picking it out- see? Perfect for me. Except...now Crowleyis a man in a dress. 

Keep It Real Challenge

   I wasn't sure about writing this post until two things happened. First, I listened to a speech by Neil Gaiman in which he says, roughly, that right when you start to feel unsure- like you're about to walk naked down the street- that's when you might actually be getting it right. Second, the friend I trust most for advice in artful ventures swore on my Facebook page. I guess that was enough for me. It's a few days late, but better late than never.

   Everything I’m about to tell you sounds absolutely crazy, and it is.

   When I was small -5 or 6 years old- I hated my nose. My role models were animated princesses, women on TV, and my big sisters - and every one of them had a narrow nose. By Kindergarten it was clear that the heroines of the world had dainty snouts and I had an Opus beak.

 Pulling the reins of Western society are two juggernaut industries. On the one hand, the food industry, which taps into our basest instincts to feed us crap from pretty boxes and wrappers, often plastered with bogus “health” claims while slowly killing us. The obesity rate in the United States has officially passed 33%. On the other hand, the fashion industry manipulates us by taking an unhealthy, immorally narrow subset of models then digitally alters them to an impossible level of perfection. It’s a social fabric woven of self-loathing.

   When I was 10, a hand full of people started commenting about my weight, and it stuck. I wasn’t overweight. Sure I was on the bigger side of average, but even a little more out-side-play and puberty would’ve taken the “bigger” part out. But come on- I wasn’t thinking about average. There was no average. There was thinner. Thinner was better. It was important, like brushing teeth or getting haircuts. I don’t know why- it was just important. So I started exercising. A lot. Do you know an 11-year-old whose proudest achievement was doing 100 crunches every day for a year? You do now.

   By junior high it was an absolute social game to diet. We would all go to B’s house every night, weigh ourselves, and compare. We would flip through women’s magazines and try out the latest “Europe’s Secret Miracle Diet” or “What Every Brazilian Woman Knows.” Tai Bo was all the rage and I couldn’t go to sleep without doing a tape (yes, they were still tapes). We’d pass around Dexatrim at lunch time. It was an unspoken medallion of honor to be the one who went with the fewest full meals.  I started counting calories and restricting my fat intake to 15 grams a day or less. I would exercise and exercise and it was never about being healthy or strong. It was about being thinner. At 104lbs I felt too fat because I wasn’t 100. At 98lbs I was frustrated because I wasn’t 95. I told myself that what I was doing was fine as long as I didn’t drop below 90lb. If I ever got to 90lbs I’d stop. I never did. I was only socially rewarded. I was gifted with praise and compliments and I’d go up to my bedroom at night and cry because I was ugly. I liked my hair, and my eye color was kind of cool, but my knuckles were knobby, my nose was huge, my boobs were too small and I always needed to be thinner.

   I joined the track team when I was 13 and suddenly, I couldn’t control my appetite. Calorie counting went out the window. I’d do my best to consume the “right” kinds of foods, but enough was never enough. So I started throwing up.

   I never did get back down to 98lbs- I’d fluctuate between 102-115lb depending on my activity level and over all diet, but that’s how I kept things in a manageable rang. I threw up 1-3 times a day, 5 to 7 days a week for the next 7 years, like brushing teeth or getting a haircut. 

   It was my socially acceptable dirty-little-secret. I’ve talked to countless women and girls who’ve all tried something unhealthy or extreme for the sake of being thinner. Never once in my life have I heard a woman say that she’s not done something unhealthy. We sit in gym classes and watch cheesy Lifetime network movies about the one girl with anorexia and it rolls off like a load of crap because everyone is doing it. The extreme was normalized from birth!

   The misrepresentation of women in the media has become so rampant, Photoshop abuse (yes, that’s what I called it) so common place, that whether it’s weight, skin color, or feature size,  we are raised from the very beginning of life to be unhappy with our bodies because we’re not “perfect” and “perfect” is…just, important. It’s sick. And I’ve had enough.

   So when I heard that Seventeen Magazine had refused a Change.org petition to include one non-retouched photo spread per issue, and the responding Keep It Real Challenge, I decided to get on board.

   Things won’t change until we start talking about it. Things didn’t change for me until I finally talked about it with someone I trusted- till something was more important than “important.” And you know what? One of the first things that they ever told me was that they loved my nose.

The official challenge may be over, but we can still tweet to editors, stop buying the magazines and products, something- anything!- to get them to drop the Photoshop. Enough is enough.

http://www.sparksummit.com/2012/06/25/join-the-keep-it-real-challenge/

http://www.missrepresentation.org/blog/