And Again, I Grew
A strange thing happened to me this month.
I started doing product reviews on Amazon. I thought it might be fun and I like getting free stuff. The catch was, a lot of them wanted video reviews and I have had a strict no-video policy for… oh, let’s see. Twenty years?
When my friends Skype with me, it’s strictly voice only. When family videos are being filmed, guess who is always behind the camera?
I’m thirty-five, by the way. This shit has been going down since I was a teenager.
Why?
Oh, the usual reason. BECAUSE I HATE LOOKING AT MYSELF. AND GOD FORBID ANYONE ELSE EVER SEE ME, EITHER.
It’s really said because there are videos back before then, when I was a little girl, of me being a ridiculous ham. Not shy, not scared, always trying to get the camera in my face.
And then it happened.
I found out I was fat.
Oh, you wouldn’t know it to look at me. I was beautiful on my wedding day. 19 years young, a perfect size 10, feeling horrified about the thickness of my thighs and about the crude reality of my own flesh. I hated every picture. (Except that one out of ten that I LOVED and secretly looked at over and over. That’s the secret of selfies, you know. We are looking for that ONE PICTURE where we don’t hate the way we look, where we believe for a second that we might be lovable. And it’s never enough.)
Where was I? Oh, yes, self-loathing.
Two weeks ago someone that I love called me “jowls.” I hadn’t noticed, until that moment, that my full cheeks are now starting to sag down below my smile line. Now when I look in the mirror I see it. Jowls forming. I’m 35, gravity is starting to catch up with me. Oh, and then there’s another nickname – batflaps. Yes, I have large arms and rounded shoulders. I have an offensively large stomach. WORST of all I have a double chin that I hate.
But guess what? I also have pretty eyes and I get to pick what to do with my thick hair. I have good teeth and a heart that somehow resisted getting bitter so that I can still smile beautifully.
A few years ago I decided I needed pink hair. Colorful hair is getting popular now but at the time, I didn’t know anybody who has pink hair at all. So it was crazy but my husband was into it and I decided to go for it. It was, in some ways, the first step to me taking back ownership of who I am. But I still couldn’t look at myself.
And then I started doing video reviews. I didn’t care because they are just going out to total strangers and I got to try free stuff in exchange so no big deal, right? And then I watched a few of them. And I looked so lame. You could totally see my floppy double chin. And the fact that I didn’t know what I was doing. And my round shoulders. But I didn’t care. Why should I? My husband loves me, my kids love me, I have excellent friendships. I do work that I love.
So as of right now, the ban of images is lifted. The video-loving Rachel has been reinstated. Oh, it is going to take time before I don’t stress about it. But I’ve begun to forgive myself for my mistakes and to maybe appreciate who I am. I guess that’s what happens when you are 35. Things start to pass. Even your lifelong hatred for jazz. Even the heartache of the boy in high school that broke yourself. Even the loathing of brussel sprouts. Even hating yourself.
Okay, maybe not the brussel sprouts thing.
Post Script 1
When I started looking at myself again, I realized my self-esteem would be better if I took better care of my very average skin. So I’m shopping for a cleanser now. Don’t be surprised if I start reviewing some.
Post Script 2
During the writing of this post, I ran into this adorable ad and was also called bat flaps again. The enemy is all around me.
Argos: The Story of Odysseus as Told by His Loyal Dog
I want to share a new trailer released this week with my audience. Argos: The Story of Odysseus as Told by His Loyal Dog is a middle grade retelling of Homer’s Odyssey, told from the point of view of Odysseus’s dog. I was immediately charmed by the concept and was thrilled when Ralph Hardy approached me about the story. We pulled out all the stops for this trailer. The music is epicly cinematic and the graphics and text effects were meticulously customized for the story.
Argos is released May 31, 2016 and can be pre-ordered here:
Bite-Sized Book Review: The Traitor Baru Cormorant by Seth Dickinson
Read if:
- You enjoy exploring social issues in the concept of a fantasy/scifi novel
- The concept of a lesbian main character is important to you
- You like novels that combine elements of fantasy and scifi
- The idea of Til We Have Faces by C. S. Lewis meeting The Mirror Empire by Kameron Hurley, having a one night stand, and making a moody love child appeals to you
Don’t read if:
- Social justice issues aren’t important to you. You heathen.
- You think stories are for entertainment, not enlightenment
- You plan to ever be happy again.
Cover-Judging: 7/10
Here is another one of those covers where the artist is trying to be all meta and deep but fails to tell you anything about whether you want to buy the story or not. It’s elegant and artistic enough, the execution is good, but for a story like this I would prefer to see actual art. Just my personal opinion, of course. I would never recommend having the author’s name slightly obscured like the beginning of Seth’s name is, but the title typography is exquisite and almost makes up for the art choice.
My verdict:
I hate this fucking book.
Bite-Sized Book Review: Planetfall by Emma Newman
Blurb from Amazon:
Renata Ghali believed in Lee Suh-Mi’s vision of a world far beyond Earth, calling to humanity. A planet promising to reveal the truth about our place in the cosmos, untainted by overpopulation, pollution, and war. Ren believed in that vision enough to give up everything to follow Suh-Mi into the unknown.
More than twenty-two years have passed since Ren and the rest of the faithful braved the starry abyss and established a colony at the base of an enigmatic alien structure where Suh-Mi has since resided, alone. All that time, Ren has worked hard as the colony’s 3-D printer engineer, creating the tools necessary for human survival in an alien environment, and harboring a devastating secret.
Ren continues to perpetuate the lie forming the foundation of the colony for the good of her fellow colonists, despite the personal cost. Then a stranger appears, far too young to have been part of the first planetfall, a man who bears a remarkable resemblance to Suh-Mi.
The truth Ren has concealed since planetfall can no longer be hidden. And its revelation might tear the colony apart…
My Bite-sized review:
Read if:
- You like speculative scifi
- You are interested in 3d printing and would like to see how that might affect colonization on other planets
- You are curious about or can relate to PTSD and/or anxiety.
- You like three-dimensional characters
Don’t read if:
- You might be triggered by reading about PTSD, anxiety, or and (select for mild spoiler) hoarding or hoarding
- You need a neatly finished happy ending
Cover-Judging: 7/10
I thought the cover for Planetfall was a little boring, but it does its job. It tells you very clearly what genre you are looking at – the little bits forming a face clearly say Science Fiction. The head tells me that this is a character-centered story, and the fact that it’s a woman’s head tells me that there are women in the story. Don’t laugh, that’s a big deal. If there aren’t any women in the story, I’m probably not going to be interested.
Here’s also a good example of a cover doing more than it needs to. The face is actually made of a lot of little items. There is a point in the story where that will start to mean something, and you may have that fun “a-ha” moment regarding the cover. Some people really enjoy that kind of thing, but it doesn’t help sell the book. I never even noticed the items when looking at the cover to buy or read the book. Instead, my brain translated them into cubes and I was surprised when I went back to look at the cover again and realized the “meaning” of the cover. Now that doesn’t mean the cover artist did anything wrong. But when you are designing your own cover, you might wish that you had a clever, meaningful cover, instead of just a genre cover. But notice that the cleverness doesn’t sell the book. It’s just fun.
My verdict:
I really enjoyed the world of Planetfall, and was genuinely attached to the characters. Ren is well-drawn – I loved her from the very start even though she is a very flawed human. I could relate to her all too strongly. When the visitor arrives at the colony, I was charmed and really enjoyed seeing the settlement from his viewpoint, and when Ren goes out exploring, I loved traipsing along with her to the eerie unknown. But my very favorite part was learning about the 3d printing. The settlement uses and reuses their materials by recycling them into a machine that balances out their resources and makes new things as needed. Ren is a technician that works with the printer, so this is very important to the story. If that sounds remotely interesting to you, just go buy the book right now. The story also touches on religion in a small group setting and across the cosmos. I enjoyed the book, though I didn’t love the ending, and I would happily recommend it.
Magic to Make
Only the keenest of observers would have noticed the slight hitch in her voice, the subtle buckling of her knees. Her speech was an impassioned one: she wove her shock into the words as though it were a part of the drama. The show must go on.
But in the rear of the packed playhouse, a barn owl perched among the rafters, his star-filled eyes trained on her. All the bodies packed into the refurbished playhouse were observers, all were there to see her perform, but this was the keenest of them all. He noticed.
He’d hidden in the theatre every night for the past week, watching. Her face was lovely as it had ever been, gently marked now by the furrows of time. Each performance had been a little different as she tested the nuances of her words against the rapt attention of her true love. Not him, of course. The audience. She played a great queen, unswayed by the advances, both martial and amorous, of an opposing Lord. The drama ended each night with the Lord on his knees before her, begging to be granted her original terms. She stood above him, haughty and grand, her face unmoved.
Tonight she seemed to look up to the rafters, her chin lifted, eyes blazing.
“You have no power over me.”
A flicker of annoyance crossed the Lord’s face. The Observer read much in the actor’s steely eyes. Oh, two names graced the front of the playbill, but the tired man who played across from his love had had to fight for his. Hers, after all, was the name that drew the crowds. At forty-five, her star still shone brilliantly across the world of little theatre. Yes, it was a small sky, for certain, but hers was the brightest star in it and that was all the joy she needed. The poor Lord was on his way down. He’d been in movies once. She outshone him in every way and he knew it. Here she was again, his eyes seemed to say, trying to upstage him. His scowl broke through character of the fallen Lord, showing the sad, angry man underneath.
The Observer understood. He had been that man once, trying to upstage her.
She didn’t notice. She wasn’t even looking at him, but out, out at her adoring audience, out at the glowing stained glass on the theatre windows, out at the balcony where sticky-cheeked children were beginning to wiggle in their parents’ laps or doze against their parents’ shoulders.
Out at him?
She ended the night with a graceful bow to her love, The People, and with a kiss on her co-star’s cheek. He was undone by her sweetness. Well of course he was. He fumbled awkwardly and offered to drive her home, or perhaps out for coffee? She declined in the sweetest possible way. The man felt glad to have asked her and fell asleep later that night with his nightly bottle only half-drunk and a smile on his face.
But the Observer cared only for her. On this, his last night, he would spare only a moment’s glance for the people that she had been entrusted with. The people she surrounded herself with. Were they enough for her? Was she as happy as she had hoped?
Home at last, she stripped off her working clothes, down to her skin and spun around in her warm bedroom. Surrounded by things that she loved. A clock that went to thirteen. Books about far-away places, each with a taste of the kingdom of her childhood. A stuffed bear. A stuffed owl. A stack of records, proper vinyl. She put on a music, words on wings. No bottle for the queen, why would she need it? She was full of the night’s glory and never drank after a show. Sank into her bed.
The feeling surfaced again. A combination of grief and fear. What was it? She stuffed it down, that cold-water shock that had hit her on stage, that shaking certainty that something was Wrong. Was it something she had read or seen or perhaps just known? She conjured up warmth for herself. The magnificence of the final speech, the way the crowd had been glued to her, the eruption of their applause.
She slept.
A fluttering against the window. She sank deeper into her covers. No. Let him fly off into the rain. He couldn’t come in against her will. She was too strong for him.
Her stomach twisted. She sat up. Threw on a dressing gown; threw open the windows. He flew in, wings fluttering with her silk sheers, to the beating of a thousand wings, to the turning of a hundred years, to the soft pulsing of the music.
He stood before her. Tried to be imposing. He knew she liked it when he was imposing.
She dropped into her vanity chair.
“Why have you come?” she asked. Pretending not to know. “I told you not to come again.” She tossed her hair, then peeked over to see if he was suitably chastened.
“I came to say goodbye.”
Her stomach turned. There it was again. Something she’d seen in the newspaper. “Goodbye?”
“Please. I am dying. I just wanted to say…”
She stood up. Worse than she feared. “Is this a trick? You weren’t to come back here until St. Valentine’s. We agreed on-”
“I don’t have the strength for a battle. Please. I’m sorry. The magic is almost run dry.” He held out his hand.
She took it and drew close. Peeled off the black glove to find long, gnarled fingers. Cold and dry. Her fingers wrapped his in warmth and he shuddered.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice was tiny in the dark. “We could have had more time.”
“There’s never enough time.”
“We could have – I could have come to you.”
“I didn’t want you to see me weak. Old.”
“And now I won’t see you at all. When… when did you get old?”
He chuckled. “I’ve been old as long as you’ve known me.”
“You never were.”
“I was! But it didn’t matter. In the songs, in the stories, in the adventures, it never matters.”
“So now there won’t be anymore?”
“Not new ones, no. But you can keep everything I’ve given you. You can visit me in all the old places. I’ll see you. And I’ll be there. And… I’ll come back for you. Just once. One more time, when your time is ended.”
“You don’t mean it. That’s just something people say.”
“I mean it. I always mean what I say.” He enfolded her in his arms and kissed her head. “I’ll be back, darling. One more time.”
And then he was gone, in another flutter of wings.
She walked over to the windows; pulled them closed. She swiped at her face, pressed her hand to the glass, tears mingling with the rain. She swallowed. “I wish… I wish…”
She stepped back. Not yet. Not today. Now she had her own magic to make.
R.I.P. David Bowie