The Slow Demise of the Tornado

Apparently the planet Venus has a pair of perpetual tornadoes centered around its poles. Look at the thermal images from the Venus Express probe. See?

Like the planet Venus, this site has been enduring a destructive anomaly–a state of perpetually suspended repair that has now lasted nigh on three months, and which thankfully now is drawing to a close. I’ve reached a stage of satisfaction sufficient for me to announce the vortex officially dissipated. I was thinking seriously about dropping back to the main index format, having all the enties appear in order regardless of category on a single main page. I decided I like this way better. So huzzah. Everything more or less works now–the new menubar links, the monthly archives, the search feature. Try it!

In the Throes of the Virtual Tornado

Just a heads-up, my allies. Things might start to look a bit messy for a little while; I’m commencing the mad reorganization which will lead into my new site layout.

You can get some idea of what the new layout will look like here.

Oh, and any feedback you might have would be much appreciated.

Boskone, MFA, Acoma, Unholy Angels, etc.

So… what have I been doing, then?

Went to Boskone. That was good. Got some crazy Allen Steele stories. Heard an evocative little SF tale Tobias is getting published in Nature. Had some in-depth discussions with Jeff on the state of the publishing industry. Found out the Green Line inbound is free from Prudential. Sweet!

Paid a long, rambling visit to the Boston Museum of Fine Arts in which I almost completely ignored the hip new exhibits of the moment (some Picasso sketches, I think, and some Degas), in favor of rambling through the usual humdrum ancient artifacts. And damn, did I have a good time. I mean, these are exhibits I must have seen a dozen times in the course of my life, and yet… Well, seeing them again under a writer’s gaze is just a completely different experience. I could probably fill several entries talking about it. Maybe I will. Here I’ll limit myself to one example:

There is a suite of rooms on the second floor devoted to 18th century Chinese furniture. Doesn’t sound too interesting does it? Furniture? No, not really. The kind of thing that on an 8th grade field trip might make me want to gouge my eyes out. Yet somehow I was fascinated. At one point there’s a mockup of a little courtyard in the Chinese countryside at dusk, complete with crickets chirping and distant music. I sat on an authentic three century-old decorated stone stool and had a genuine moment of zen mind-blanking buddhist bliss.

I’ve also been working on a big ole organizational/graphical update, an 2.0 so to speak, using new-learned MovableType arcana discovered in the course of working on and It’s going to be much easier to navigate, administrate and update. And prettier too. You’ll like it, I promise.

Reading up on the history of the pueblo of Acoma, an ancient cliff-top city in New Mexico–in particular on a pair of consecutive massacres visited by the Pueblo Indians on the Spanish and by the Spanish on the Pueblo Indians. One of those events in history where it’s impossible at this point to figure out what actually happened, but boy, isn’t it fun to speculate? One tertiary source claims the Spaniards had attendant on them in their righteous siege an honest-to-goodness, blazing-eyed, sword-carrying, avenging angel. Following their victory, their punishment of the surviving Indians involved cutting off the right foot of every adult male, enslaving every person over the age of twelve, sending everybody else off to the convent, and forcing the slaves to build a church. Which church remains one of the oldest colonial structures still standing in North America.

Hoo. You just can’t get fiction like that! Damned if I’m not going to try, though.

I don’t see how I can not use this story in a piece of fiction. And don’t doubt I will totally be influenced by that angel. A lovely opportunity to experiment with the formation of myth out of reality, the nature of oral history, the play between belief and self-delusion in the conversion of fiction to fact.

I’ll let you know how it goes.