I did not watch the inauguration. This is nothing new, though, I rarely do. I saw Bill Clinton’s first inauguration, I watched Obama’s, parts of it, after the fact. I would rather read the inaugural addresses than listen, but really the main reason I skip them is that for me they don’t mean much. This is the party after the fight, so to speak. Parades, lots of glad-handing, important people with lots of money doing a Hollywood red carpet thing. It’s show.
Show is important in statecraft, certainly, but it’s not important to me, so…
But the aftermath this time has been fascinating. It’s a show, so why lie about what went on? Why try to tell the national press corps that what they saw with their own eyes was not the reality? Why start with petty numbers games as if the show was the only thing that mattered?
Well, Trump does do reality tv.
However, I would like to say a couple of things here about some of the images I’ve seen—and some of the vitriol attached—after the fact.
I’m not going to say one damn thing about Melania Trump unless she starts getting involved in policy. Which from all appearances, she will not. Likewise for his kids, especially Barron. I don’t believe in that “Well, your dad’s a so-n-so, so you must be, too!” kind of schoolyard bullying. I rejected that whole sins of the father argument back when I parted ways with christianity. I won’t go there.
I will say this, though, about her supporters and detractors: hypocrisy runs deep.
The so-called Christian Right lent considerable support to this man. His wife is a former model and sex symbol. She’s done nudes. She projects an image which I had thought ran counter to the standards of that so-called Christian Right. Had Michelle Obama done anything like that, these people would have declared the advent of Sodom and Gomorrah and the End Times. (Many of them do that anyway, on a regular basis.) These are people who collectively have made it clear they see the sexualization of culture as a decidedly Bad Thing. But they voted for him anyway and got in the face of anyone who criticized Melania for being what till now they claimed to oppose. This is Through The Looking Glass Time for them and I won’t pretend to claim any understanding, other than recognizing the serious two-faced hypocrisy evident.
As to those critics who have held old photographs of her up for disdain, mocking her and her husband thereby, as if the fact that she pursued a career which many of them might have made apologies about (women have so few options, etc) has anything to do with her suitability to be something else.
Lay off. This is all part of the same bifurcated mindset that places sex in one room and everything else in another and then treats public examples of it as alternately empowering or a disease.
Just because her husband treats her like a trophy doesn’t mean the rest of us get to repurpose her for our own ends.
I have no problem with pointing out the hypocrisy of the Family Values crowd over this, but I will not blame Melania for it. We just bid farewell to a presidential family that had no sex scandals of any kind and clearly set an example as a solid, loving, neuroses-free family—who suffered ongoing derision for 8 years at the hands of people who have violated their own professed standards in that that regard to elect someone who has pretty much been a poster-boy for everything they claim is wrong with America. Well, clearly the whole thing was a deep, deep neurosis on their part. I will not blame Melania for their shallowness, lack of integrity, and evident moral malleability.
Nor will I support attempts to ridicule him by holding her up as some example of unsuitability based on the opposite neurosis attaching to women who—
Well, let me put it this way: all those who were (and are) madly in love with Hillary and feel the world has ended because she is not the president—would you have supported her fervently if nude photos of her from her college years surfaced? With all the rest of her qualifications intact, had she taken a year to do something that doesn’t fit with an image of “stateswoman”, would the love have been there?
Food for thought.
But for now, unless she gets involved with policy—and if she does, I will wait to see how and what she produces—I will not credit any shaming that goes her way.
Here it is, middle of January, and I haven’t done a wrap-up of 2016. Well, what can be said of such a year?
Politically, I think I have said enough. You can revisit if you wish, especially via the links to my favorite posts back just a little way. Personally and professionally…
I finished a new novel. It is currently in the hands of my agent. As time passes and I hear nothing the usual swarm of doubts begin to devil me. It’s probably not as good as I hope, possibly not as bad as I fear, but if things run according to form it won’t much matter. I continue to write in a manner that I’ve long characterized as half a bubble off.
Which has me contemplating where to go. I’ve decided to devote 2017 mostly to short fiction. I have one more novel to finish, the final in a trilogy I feel I’ve been living with forever, which my agent feels very positive about. Since the first two books are done and have not yet found a home, I’m not in as huge hurry to complete the third one, although of late I’ve been having some stray thoughts on where to take it that are the beginnings of an itch to finish it. Regardless, I am committed to short fiction for the time being. I’ve already written two new stories and I am working to complete a novelette that’s been sitting stewing for a bit over a year now.
I declared a goal to myself. Before I die I want to have published 100 short stories. Which means I have about 40 to go. It’s as arbitrary as any goal, I suppose. I have roughly 20 stories in my files in various stages of completion, and maybe 10 more that are done but require revision. A few have been the rounds and not found homes, so maybe I should take them apart and put them together again, only better. I have one I know that I have written four versions of to completion and can’t decide which one works best (or at all).
All of which prompts contemplation of the worth of doing what I do. Yeah, I tend to do that a lot. But one reality (out of many) is the fact that I am now 62. Figuring out what I want to do when I grow up has become somewhat problematic.
Along those lines, I had a small revelatory experience in 2016 that has been working on me since. I have been privileged to work (day-job) with some extraordinary and talented people. One of them is a new novelist, her first book came out last summer. It’s a terrific novel, I recommend it (Kea Wilson’s We Eat Our Own), and she and I have had many conversations about writing and publishing. One day when I was complaining about the dismal condition of my career, she brought me up short by telling me she thought I was very successful. “You have twelve books out.” It caused me to reassess my own metrics regarding “success.” I’m still reassessing, but I have decided to stop sulking about it. These things really are relative outside certain narrowly-defined parameters.
When I attended WorldCon in Kansas City last August, I did so with a different attitude and enjoyed the whole thing much more.
My main concern now has to do with finishing the work I want to do. I’ve got that one more novel I mentioned above, but I also have one great big epic I want to write—it’s all in the back of my head, waiting for me to get around to—and a few ideas for other books I’d like to do. Setting the 100-story goal is part of that. Finishing. Leaving a legacy.
No, I’m not dying. I in good health. I had a whole round of tests last year. I’m fine. Still going to the gym, still doing my 100-push-ups-a-day, still being a taunt to the young guys at the gym. (You’re how old? No!) But I’d be a fool to look at life the way I did 30 years ago. I don’t have time to waste.
Of course, I will waste time. It’s built in. Humans do that. We should learn to enjoy it.
Along those lines, though, things have gotten to be a bit better in that we can waste time on things we like more than in previous years. The situation that has bogged us down for the last four (which I won’t discuss here, but my close friends know about it) has reached the point of being naught but an occasional annoyance. We’ve been cleaning house, relaxing, getting to the point where we are allowing ourselves to do things like go to the movies if we choose or just sit together reading. The pressure has eased. Life seems a bit broader.
As long as we don’t obsess over the news.
No politics here, I said. Although just a comment, that the way things have come to pass, we seem to have witnessed a nationwide example of the efficacy of Dunning-Kruger. (I’ll just leave that here, unexplained for the time being.)
Culturally, I feel beaten about the head and stomach with all the deaths. The two that hit me hardest were Keith Emerson and Greg Lake. They, among others, provided the soundtrack of my youth. Their music still thrills me. Much imitated, but nothing to compare. I wasn’t happy when Umberto Eco died. David Bowie didn’t go down too well for me, either.
2017 doesn’t seem to be starting off too well itself, but…
All in all, though, 2016 has turned out to be a year in which I began to be comfortable with what I’ve done, who I am, and where I might be going. It helps to have a good partner, and I have that. Donna and I celebrated 36 years together last spring. Between us we have tackled the many-hued exigencies of timeless conundrums and come out the other side of various rabbit holes with our fluffy whites intact (if a bit rumpled and smudged). I appreciate her, in the full meaning of the word.
I have no idea where this year is going. I feel we have gotten onto a space mountain ride. We may come out on the other side of the galaxy.
One thing, though: there will be more stories. It only ends when the stories stop.
Fox News is defending CNN in the wake of a Trump insult and possible threat at his first press conference in over 160 days. In recent years one could not imagine Fox News chastising someone who is in many ways the perfect flower of their mutated brand of “news.” But since Roger Ayles has stepped down and may now be looking at some very serious problems, there seem to be a few people at Fox trying to reposition themselves in order to gain a credibility that the network actively shunned for more than two decades.
This on top of a sitting senator actually testifying against a colleague before the senate committee vetting Trump’s cabinet picks.
That rumbling, still faint, may be the severe indigestion coming from one of the worst morning-afters this country has ever had. The headiness of the post-election high has faded and people who thought everything was going to be “fine” (or some version thereof) are starting to wonder who this is snoring beside them.
It may make for some of the most trenchant reassessing we’ve done for a long, long time. In that regard, this may turn out to have been to the good.
But only if it doesn’t take too long for the bromo to work
I’m giving my office a thorough resort (long overdue). Also, I’m attempting to catch up on sleep (likewise long, long overdue) and taking the first few months to relearn the art of short story (so overdue as to almost not be doable). In the meantime…the other night, coming home from work, the city was ensconced in a thick fog, and for once I pulled over to do some images. So while I am endeavoring to straighten out the physicality of my existence, for your edification…
Let us hope for more clarity as the year goes on.
2016 was a thorough-going challenge to a sane hominid’s equilibrium, regardless how you try to contextualize it. Picking the “best” posts from such a year reveals a litany of political views, deaths, and photographs designed to distract from the magma-flow of WTF that worsened as the year continued.
Still, some good things happened. I’ll try to do a more cogent overview later. For now, my “favorite” posts of the year.
The last couple of months descended into escapism and disbelief, for evident reasons. Stay tuned for more.