Hello world
May 5th, 2011Here’s where I start, all over again.
Hello again, my friends + a writer’s guide to dreadlocks
November 19th, 2010It’s been a long, long, long time since I’ve blogged. Been heavily preoccupied with a full-time contract, some major family health issues, and other sundry odds and ends. But here I am. Hi.
Recently, I was approached by a writer friend—and then asked similar questions by another writer friend—about my dreadlocks. They both have characters who have dreads (it seems a natural choice for near-future SF/apocalyptic fiction to have characters with dreadlocks), and were interested in some of the mechanics behind them. So, here is my writers-and-other-interested-parties-guide-to-dreadlocks. At least, my dreadlocks.
Dreadlocks are, essentially, felted hair. Any animal-based fiber can felt. My dreads been described as feeling like everything from “a mohair sweater” to “a baby goat.” They feel somewhere inbetween those two, IMHO.
I decided to get these, my second set of dreads, because my hair is naturally dry and knotty anyway, and it always wants to tangle up all on its own. I get sick of fighting it. They are not a religious choice for me, not any sort of a cultural statement. I like the way they look on me and my hair wants to do this anyway.
My husband and I made mine by dividing my clean, dry hair (after I washed it thoroughly to remove any buildup or natural oils) into sections, then backcombing it to break up the surface cuticle. This made fuzzy tubes that we held together, temporarily, with food-grade beeswax (the only time I used any wax) while the rough hairs attracted and tangled up with one another. This was the hardest and grossest part, because the wax is kind of sticky and the baby dreads are pretty delicate, so I spent a week or two with sticky, waxy dreadlets that I couldn’t get wet. After this week, I soaked my hair in a vinegar and lemon juice solution to dissolve the wax, and then started washing as normal, using castile soap. No conditioner.
You cannot make dreads by:
- not washing your hair. Hair gets loaded with its natural oils and sebum, which act as natural conditioners. Aside from the fact that this is a little gross, the hair itself becomes too slippery to knot
- putting toothpaste, honey, glue, gel or some other goo in your hair and hoping for the best. You’ll attract dirt, ants, and misery–but not dreads
- neglecting your hair in general (not combing, etc). Your hair may dread, but it will dread in big, uneven clumps–or worse, one giant beaver tail looking thing
- twisting your hair. It won’t stay like that
Over the next few months. I encouraged the fuzzy tubes we made to knot up by using a crochet hook to pull the dread in and around itself, then palm-rubbing and smoothing them down and in shape with aloe vera gel. Pretty soon, though, between natural friction and regular washings, the hair began to mat—felt—all on its own.
They really don’t require much special attention after that. I wash my dreads—in fact, more often than when I had regular long hair—2 to 3 times a week using castile soap. I blow them dry when I don’t feel like having a wet head for 4 hours. I use aloe when they get frizzy. That’s pretty much it.
There are places thats sell special products for dread: wax, shampoo, and stuff. It’s not necessary. Dread wax, as I said, is sticky and you shouldn’t really need it after the first week. Dread shampoo is just basically castile soap–same thing as Tom’s of Maine or Dr. Bronners, which you can get at a drug store. The other sprays and stuff–they are usually perfumed aloe, occasionally with mint, rosemary or tea tree oils to help fight dandruff (a problem for some if you aren’t good about cleaning your scalp). Buying special dread products is really the difference between buying hair products at Walgreens verses a salon.
Dreads grow, just like normal hair. You lose a lot of length, though, as the hair gets “sucked up” into the dread. Case in point–my dreads are chin length, but if my hair was undreaded, it’d probably be halfway down my back.
When I get an inch or two of growth at the roots—enough to stick my index finger through—I pull the end of the dread up and crochet it through to take up some slack and to encourage the new hair to tangle too.
Dreads get fatter as time goes on, as well. This is because hair that would otherwise get shed instead remains in the dread. This grosses some people out, but really, if you think about it—hair is hair. The hair that is attached to the follicle still is no more alive than shed hair. As long as you keep it clean, that is.
Sometimes, dreads like to stick to one another, like velcro. Unless you want them to dread together into a bigger dread, you need to rip them apart. Sometimes, this hurts, if the hairs have gotten very grabby.
There’s really no way to hide bugs or anything inside a dread. I’ve heard those urban myths about people who cut open a dreadlock to find it’s a hair cylinder stuffed with bugs. My dreads are solid hair all the way through to the core. If you grab one, they feel firm. There’s no “inside” in which ickies can lurk.
Dreads are permanent. There are places that carry products which claim to remove dreads, but these are just very strong, oily conditioners that will help loosen the knots. Dreads, more than likely, need to be cut out to be removed. The first time I cut mine off, I had about an inch of “usable” hair.
Things peoples assume because I have dreadlocks:
- I know where to buy weed (I don’t)
- I smoke a lot of weed (I don’t)
- I like reggae (I like ska better, but sure. OK)
- I smell (I might. Probably not, though. I shower twice a day.)
- I attend Burning Man (Never been. Roughing it in a crowd is not my style)
- I’m a “hippie” (Varying definitions. Whatever)
- I like camping (in HOTELS)
And that’s that. Everything I know (or can think of) about dreads. Feel free to ask me questions, if you have any unanswered, burning need-to-knows.
And jeebus crow, pinky swear on the fact that I will start updating this on a semi-regular basis (July! My last post was in July!).
The Four Things I Glommed From Watching My Cats That I Try And Apply To My Working Life These Days
June 4th, 2010I’m officially FUCT (like it? I just thought of it)–a freelance, urban, cat-owning thirty-something.*
Yes, going full-frontal freelance, instead of just dabbling as I have over the years (since the first dot-com boom left me gobsmackingly underemployed and staring down the face of bills). This time**, I’ve sat down and written myself a business plan, complete with self-imposed structure, goals, and other kinds of grown up things. As I’ve done that, I’ve realized how much I’ve grown since the last time I really examined my work habits and attitudes…in my pre-cat twenty-something days. It suddenly became apparent to me that I’ve actually used my feline children as a validation and as a model for learning to work successfully.
In fact, I wanted to call this:
Everything I Know About Working Successfully I Learned From My Cats
because it’s awfully catchy. It’s not quite true, though. In fact, it’s really:
The Four Things I Glommed From Watching My Cats That I Try And Apply To My Working Life These Days
- Work intently for short bursts
I appear to have a short attention span. I don’t really. I focus really tightly on a project and get quite a bit done, but then I have to stop, change gears for awhile, and then come back to it. I noticed my cats will play, run around, poop—whatever, giving their full attention and care to it, doing it well—then they do something else. It was kind of sadly validating to realize I do the same thing, that it works well for me, and that I am allowed to work in this way. - Predict where things are going next
My cats are decent hunters, although all they really have to work with is a laser light and the occasional fly. I watch them hunt—at first, they simply chase the light or the fly, but then, they try and predict where the light/fly is going to go and get there first. Sometimes, they’re wrong. But I can see the brilliance of the technique when applied to trying to catch one’s dinner (like a freelancer). At first, you may have to chase your clients, projects, sources of income, or new technologies, etc., etc. But if you keep your eyes open, you may be able to start predicting and get there first. - Be choosey
My cats don’t like certain kinds of food and there is no way to convince them otherwise. They warm up to some folks and snub others—and there is no getting them to change their minds. I’m really bad at saying “No.” My cats are very good at it. I don’t want to emulate their exact methods of saying “No,” but they remind me that is it perfectly OK to not jump on every opportunity just to jump on it. - Don’t eat and shit in the same place.
Enough said.
*There are so many of us it seemed time someone coined an acronym, even an embarrassingly silly one.
**As opposed to my past seat-of-pants plans.
Paul is a geek
March 11th, 2010Granted, he was not responsible for being named Paul Atreides, but here are the top five reasons I have begun to suspect that OUR boy* CAT MAY BE A GEEK:
1. He always has crumbs of food on his chin.
2. He’s not always very conscientious about his hair or hygiene.
3. He enjoys playing games that involve lasers or chasing cursors on a screen.
4. He’s a little awkward in social situations.
5. He lives at home and has no job**.
A classy geek portrait:
*our girl cat, Molly Bloom, is a totally different story, for another time.
**OK, OK, a joke!
In which I explain my scarceness
March 7th, 2010
I haven’t been updating this much—neither because I’ve forgotten it nor for lack of things going on in life, but mostly because this year has turned into a year of mysteriously rapid personal growth for me. It’s lovely, because in many, many ways, I’ve been stuck in a rut of the soul (or the spirit or the spark or inner life or whatever you’d like to call it), one that lasted since my mid-twenties. After a few years of near-operatic crises, which has urged me firmly onto the grounds of adulthood, it seems to be the time to care for my inner life…plus, start to actually do a few things I have always talked about doing before I die. You know the stuff.
Anyway, most of what’s been going on, I assure you, would be boring as fuck for you to read about—kind of, as if, I started posting long narratives recounting the plot lines of my dreams.
Everyone knows that other people’s dreams are dull; unless *you* are IN them.
Anyway, as for writing stuff, I am floundering around in the dreaded 20k-in novel mess that everyone warns about…when you don’t plot the work beforehand. Which I didn’t.
I refused to, stubbornly—and also because frankly, the pleasure I derive from the actual writing process, which is often painful and absurd, is the discovery process. I learn what something is about as I go—I mean, I have a general sense of character and theme and stuff I want to include, but everything else is fluid.
So. It’s time to break out the index cards and decide where this is going and how I am going to get there.
I’m also pleased to report that, although I don’t seem to be on the website, I’ll be a panel conquering professional at Norwescon this year. I’m hosting the FFS again this year, so come see me in a ridiculous outfit doing geek stand-up, but will also be, throughout the weekend, talking about writing, publishing, and something called “The Blogger as Public Intellectual.”
It’ll be a fun way to try and convince myself I know what I am talking about before I pack off to two weeks of solitude and writing frenzy at Hedgebrook.
A love letter to Seattle
February 6th, 2010I was staring out the bus window this afternoon, staring harder than usual. I’d forgotten my earphones, so I was trying to drown out the cacophony of naked humanity—Seattle’s bus system can be, let’s politely say, gritty and colorful, especially on an unseasonably warm February Saturday. As I started, I counted the number of luxury condominium complexes that have sprung up in the past few years, noting how almost all of them—no, shit, all of them–were now advertising specials, leasing, rentals, specials, move in nao plz! banners and signs, and it was worrying me. Not because of the poor investment and development companies who, due to greed, stupidity, and plain old bad timing, decided to develop overpriced housing in a country about to belly flop into recession, but for what it portends for my city.
Then I realized. My city. I was worrying about the health and welfare of my city.
After I graduated high school, I started moving around. I lived in Vermont for a time, then Florida, then a stint in Colorado for my BA, Chicago for my masters, and 2 years in Portland, Oregon. I’ve been in Seattle now for 10 years—the longest tenure in one place in my adult life—long enough to see it change. Some good changes, some bad changes, some changes that to me herald hardships to come, but I’ve lived here long enough to see change. And long enough to give a shit about these changes.
I never really expected to have civic pride. And I feel a little like a sports fan, pledging my allegiance to a thing that will never care about me, yet depends on me for its success.
Seattle’s a weird city. People are friendly and intelligent, but a little cold and stand-offish. Passive aggressiveness is de rigueur. The weather temperate and either way wetter or far less wet than you expect. The politicians are especially idiotic. Traffic is abysmal. It’s not super-duper diverse. We don’t have a particularly hopping nightlife. There are tons of bookstores but the libraries are on reduced hours. The attitude is both sophisticated and provincial. There isn’t a shitload of violent crime, but we lost like 7 policemen inside 6 weeks to shootings.
Seattle’s given me a lot: my husband, some good friends. Access to a stubbornly thriving literary community, an appreciation for wool socks and wild blackberries. A wealth of treasures discovered in people’s garbage, really scenic vistas, a habit of thanking the bus driver as I disembark, Norwescon, really good Thai food on every corner, a wicked coffee habit. The ability to never, ever-ever-ever again have to wear pantyhose if I don’t feel like it. A weird peace when I realize this weird-ass city is my home.
My weird city.
Know what?
February 1st, 2010I have has a few publications this year that are eligible for Nebula and Hugo nominations, if you were, you know, feeling the spirit.
Also, Brain Harvest is eligible to be nommed for a Hugo semiprozine, and Eden, Shane, and I are ripe for the editors short form category.
Just sayin’. You know. *kicks some gravel*
Lesson relearned
January 23rd, 2010“Simplicity is the most difficult thing to secure in this world; it is the last limit of experience and the last effort of genius.” –George Sand
Why can’t I learn this lesson once, instead of once a month?
What lessons do you learn over and over again?
Washington is “at hope” of being a clueless, albeit well-meaning, douchestate
January 12th, 2010Of all the states I have ever lived in, Washington may be the most kind-hearted—and the most misguided.
One of the first bills to hit the docket in the 2010 state’s legislature was a proposal by the honorable Democratic State Sen. Rosa Franklin of Tacoma to change the language the state uses when referring to at-risk youth…to “at hope” youth.
Seriously. Read about it here:
“Democratic State Sen. Rosa Franklin, South Tacoma, says negative labels are hurting kids’ chances for success and she’s not a bit concerned that people will be confused by her proposed rewrite of the 54 places in state law where words like “at risk” and “disadvantaged” are used.”
OK, fine. We play nice. We change the wording in 54 places throughout state documents to the tune of $3500.
$3500.
This made me rant and rave and scream for a bit. Then my palms started sweating. In my mind, this nice, kind-hearted lady wants, truly, to help these kids. I know that her intentions are kind. But in my mind, rather than waste legislature time (which costs money) and waste $3500 on changing wording in documents no one ever reads—take that 3500, purchase 10 rebuilt computers from rePC or another local reseller, and start up a computer program at a community center, teaching kids the computer skills they would need to go to college or become more competitive in the workplace. 10 rebuilt computers in a community center open for 4 hours after school 5 days a week could serve ~10 – 30 students per session, up to 150 students per week.
I dare someone to tell me that this would not do more for assisting at risk, disadvantaged youth more than talking about them in sweet innuendos.
Help people by HELPING people. Get the resources into the community, not the dusty documents that refer to the community—which will do nothing other that maybe earn this nice, kindly older lady another term representing Tacoma.
I was at risk, disadvantaged. I didn’t care what you called me, what the state called me. If I was even AWARE of what they called me, that is—which I pretty am well sure I had no clue. I cared what my mentors called me and I cared when my parents were involved and encouraging. I cared when someone took the time to help me build my skills and my self esteem. That’s what got me through high school, to college, then even into graduate school. Then, ultimately, into a life where this seems SO OBVIOUS.