dream of a brave new world

listen:there's a hell of a good universe next door;let's go


:D
hoarmurath
Have I ever said how much I hate it when people misspell 'canon' as 'cannon'?

Learn the fucking difference already, people.

*pissy*

Also, I am so behind on my writing stuff it's not even funny.

Blah
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Fic list post
hoarmurath
Fic will be listed here once I get around to writing it.

okay, people.
hoarmurath
I have five Dreamwidth invite codes to give away.

If you promise me that you will be using your potential DW account for stuff and plan to be active there, then I'll give you one.

Just comment.

(no subject)
hoarmurath
Find me on Dreamwidth, under the same username.

Toodles!

Also, this LJ will only be used to lurk on friendslist and to post links to fic. Yay.

my curse and blessing
hoarmurath
This was inspired by catvalente 's post Let Me Tell You A Story

This is personal and kind of messy, and clumsy, and flaily, and bear with me this time. Please. If you would not like to read about my personal thoughts, then I would that you rather close the tab than comment and tell me what a selfish jackass I am or something else. I am choosing to leave this out in the open, because I want this to be known. I want that if somebody reads my journal, they will also be able to read this post.

Here goes. *deep breath*

I have always made stuff up. I started reading when I was 4 or 5 and have not stopped. I started writing about things when I was about 7 or 8. Now I am 18. There is a need inside me. It is a need to tell about things. I was born a storyteller, yet I feel clumsy and rough, and undelicate. English is not my first language, but it is the language with which I can reach the most people.

I need to tell stories. I have ideas in my head, characters living, all playing out their own tales of love and hate and discovery and growing up and pain and hurt and loss and all those other things.

I am not a very good writer. I write my ideas down, and I start stories. I have rarely finished. I have times when I procrastinate, and spend time on the internet doing the stupidest things instead of writing. Instead of doing the thing I need to do. There is a drive inside me, and I stumble along, and sometimes I just crawl, and sometimes I want it to go away. But then my soul would die, and I would not want for that to happen. And I can't walk away from it, even if I wanted, you know.

Stories. I want to tell them. I need to tell them. I need to tell the stories that are not be told, about people like me, and people who might not seem like me. All kinds of people, just not just the default of the straight white man, which tends to dominate. And...obviously I stumbled into SF/F, having started with Greek myths. And I thought that this is it, now I can write stories that are awesome, and go beyond the mundane. I lived with this conception of SF/F as somekind of a holy idol of freedom and crossing boundaries.

My pain is just a speck in this torrent, and my broken illusions are of no consequence but to me and the people who care about me. I find it...I do not know. I wanted to close my eyes at first and pretend that this was not happening, that the people who were supposed to be heralds of the new age of truth had not just flushed all of their credibility down the drain. I wanted to pretend so much. But then I stopped. Then I looked at myself and found it ugly that the pain of others was less important than my own discomfort.

I am still angry. I have been angry a very long time due to my past, and the society, and my family. But I have said to myself that I would be defiant (defiance has pulled me through many years of my life), and despite my voice feeling hoarse, I have to speak. I will speak. I will tell the stories, even as they tear me apart, and I will find glory in it.

I am very privileged - my only visible lack of privilege being the fact that I am a woman. I used to be ashamed of myself, I used to hate myself for not being a man, for not being free. And then, then I saw that freedom is not a thing that you are granted. Freedom is something you take for yourself.

Tell your stories, please. Bleed, and cry your heart out, and live. And defy, speak against those who would rather see us silent, against those who would continue their own little system of comfort that invalidates the rest of us.

We have souls. All of us have souls. All of us have stories.

I defy you, who label themselves as progressive and better than the rest of society yet continue to perpetuate silencing. I defy you, you who would tell the stories that are not yours to tell. I defy you who would claim the right to speak for me. I defy you, I have a voice, and I will not stop. I am not going to be silent.

No more.

I will go to walk my path now, and it is a thin and shadowed one, but there is still sunshine and the glory of one's freedom. You may join me, if you wish. I hope that you do.
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(no subject)
hoarmurath
It is time I stopped being afraid.

It is time that I finally open my eyes and see the lengths I can go to in my writing.

The boundaries are infinite - limited by only my own consciousness.
Tags:

since everyone and their dog...
hoarmurath
By now, you must be either really insular or really clueless or Russian (the not English-speaking Russians, that is) to not know about the imbroglio that has been termed RaceFail 2009 and several other colorful names. I personally follow rydra_wong 's very comprehensive linking posts.

This is not about me, this discussion, the racefail, whatever you wish to call it, and this is why I have rarely commented on other people's journals, having preferred to read and speak to lindra instead.

This post, however, is. I am writing to work out some things on my own head. Agree or disagree. If you do not wish to read about what I think, you are welcome to click the back button. However, I do not want to be flamed or attacked for my feelings, and these are my feelings. They are relevant to me.

I am a white person, and until January 2009, happened to be comfortably content and clueless, swathed in my privilege and generally feeling like a good person. I am saddened, and also the fuck angry about how certain people can engage in destructive behavior towards people who do not deserve it at all. I will not summarize, and ask you to use your own head and eyes and hands to educate yourself. No one else owes it to you, to educate you. And for fuck's sake, don't make it about your pain as a poor white person whose bubble was burst. My bubble was burst, though I had been peripherally aware that you know, not everybody gets equal treatment. Boohoo.

It has gone beyond that. It has degenerated into personal attacks, outing, and general asshattery. I am shamed to share my race with these people, who lack consideration, humility, and the ability to admit that they might not be right all the time - especially on an issue that is not a constant hanging shadow on their head. This was also why I found the call to cease fire insulting - one cannot stop being a person of color or a woman or disabled. One can however stop thinking about things that do not directly affect their life, but it does not mean that you should.

Privilege is good to have. It is. I am glad to be where I are. Also - I personally believe that having privilege carries with it a moral duty to use this privilege to bring about a world in which we do not discriminate, but embrace diversity and difference, and still find common ground.

I speak from a different position than many white people here. I have not lived my life in a country that started as democratic and has been democratic to this day - the US. I live in a country that has been for the last 700 years conquered, shared and plundered by foreigners, its people killed or deported, with no other goal than direct elimination. The USSR did it. As a result, our current society is xenophobic, especially towards Russians, and I personally thought that deporting our Russians back to Russia would be a good idea no less than a year ago. Issues, I have them. We were colonized and oppressed and many peoples and languages have died out to the USSR killing them. The rage inside me is my constant companion, and it is also the constant companion of many other people from the Eastern Block, or whatever you want to call it. It is rage and anger.

And now. Now privileged white Americans with trust funds and money and support come and whine? What the fucking fuck? And yes, this is angry. If your little feelings are hurt, then you can fuck off. I don't care. I care about the fact that these people, who most likely have never tasted even the remnants of oppression and discrimination, dare to make it about them. It is not about you, just like sexism discussions are not about the hurt feelings of poor men.

I wanted to speak.

I want to say that I will not be giving these people money, and I will never work for any publisher that does not protest the racist behaviour of their writers and editors. I will never work for any publisher who pays to people who don't respect the identities of other people. I will not give them my money. I will buy certain authors from Tor Books, who have not to my knowledge engaged in this behaviour, but not the others. I will read books by people of color, to broaden my own view and just because I don't want to read books by privileged white bastards.

I will, as my own personal journey, deal with my own rage and ideas about colonialism and postcolonialism. I will write truth, I will do my best to grow as a writer and never rest on my laurels, or pat myself on the back and except cookies.

I wanted to name myself a SF/F writer. No more. I would be ashamed to. Now I will name myself a speculative fiction writer and do my best to show that it does not mean the same thing, that instead it means mapping out new paths, growth, and the promotion of ideas, and the desire to seek and discover and think - what I thought that SF/F could have been. I will speak out, and I will protest, and I will challenge people to examine themselves and their prejudice. I will fight, until the end of my life.

White people, this is not about cookies. This is not about how good a person you are when you help people of color. You don't get cookies for acting humane. You don't get cookies for doing your moral duty.

This is about being a decent human being.

Decent human beings take care of the world, speak for truth and show light on falsehood.

also, don't try to argue or I will banninate you. stating your opinion or calling me out on some idiosyncrasy in this post is okay.

:D
hoarmurath
Well. Turns out that the laptop's video card is messed up. Luckily Dell will replace it. Yay for Dell.

Had the essay writing of doom today. I live still. Also, did a bit of writing on the Neverwinter Nights fic. Yay.

Woe
hoarmurath
My computer (writing this from the famputer aka family computer), decided to go crazy on me. As in restarting-itself-every-fucking-five minutes kind of crazy. This made of massive fail.

On the good side - I am considering looking for uni opportunities in Hongkong, because that would be kind of badass. Or just some kickass uni thing in Asia. Woooo.

(no subject)
hoarmurath
Well, it turns out that I am doing Nanowriye. 600 000 words. I know that there are people on my flist who are doing it as well, but this is just a special brand of crazy for me, really. I should not have. Meh.

Anyways, it also turns out that I went on and signed up for stargate_summer. Yay. But then again, I don't mind much.

Also, I will start JanNoWriMo by writing my Neverwinter Nights fanfic. THIS IS A GOOD THING. Not that I think that anyone will want to read it, since it's slash, but go figure.

Ladeedaa. See you on the other side of the year's change.

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