while we’re at it, I’d like a pony.

[note: due to a high level of exhaustion, this post largely lacks Thorough Citations™; I know this blog also has a very small audience, so I’m not too worried and not going to go through the extensive extra work of tracking my links and citations down, but if you’d really like to see photos of people reading newspapers on the bus in the 50s, or read long historical rants about how the telephone will destroy civil conversation and society, I can dig them up]

I keep thinking about the conversation I’d actually like to have about smartphones, personal electronics, persistent and omnipresent connectivity, information overload, social networking, and how to figure out how to safely navigate the spaces opened up by these things, by the reality of connectedness we now share.

I’ve never had the conversation about this stuff I want to have.

Now, I’ve had a lot of conversations about this stuff, don’t get me wrong. A lot of them. I got online just before the turn of the century, when I was just a bit younger than sixteen. And I went headfirst and headlong into the world of digital social interaction, connectivity, creativity and so on. I was just a bit too late (and my parents not quite tech savvy enough) to get into IRC, but I was on mailing-lists and groups; I was on message boards in their earliest incarnations (and what a mess those were), I had my own GeoCities site that was even part of web-rings, I had an account on Elfwood, in the early days of Elfwood. I was part of the so-called Harry Potter Wars (a small, lurker, teenage part, but I’m in there), and laughed on JournalFen about Potterdamerung (aka the day that Book Seven came out and there would be at least some very passionate people, no matter what, whose favoured pairings would be condemned to never-were and the internet would implode).

I had a stand-alone weblog. I remember when MySpace was the new social media site we Established Users sneered at. And so on.

So in the last twenty years I have had plenty of discussions about all of the things I talked about, but not a single one of them has been the discussion I want to have. Just the ones I don’t want to have and definitely don’t want to have again.

What are those ones, you ask, o imaginary interlocutor? I’m so glad you asked that! Let me explain. Read More »


No, is too much, let me sum up:

Buttercup is marrying – wait, no.

So since I last managed to get organized to say anything here, a lot has changed.

Job: Can Has!

I am now working at A Small College Up North, which I will give a fig-leaf of anonymity by referring to as Smol College, on the basis that all views and opinions and statements in this blog are of course my own and in no way should be assumed to reflect the views of any employer etc.

I am the Copyright Assistant, which much to my amusement involves at least as much time spent going “okay but no that is not a forbidden action under Canadian IP law and it is totally fine for the instructor/course designer/etc to do that with this content” as it does the other way around. (Yes, if something is posted under a CC-BY license an instructor is free by copyright law to just take the whole thing and use it as-is in their course. No they really are. All they have to do is credit the original creator. No really. Even if you think that’s Not Fair, that is still how it works.) (Also no, you can’t copyright mathematical equations.) (And it doesn’t matter how hard someone worked on something, if it doesn’t meet the qualifications for IP it just doesn’t. I have case-law from a few months ago to show you about it if you’d like!)

It should be interesting, anyway, and it’s the resume-byline I need.


Pursuant to Job, I have moved back to the region I grew up in, something I once swore I’d never do.

It’s still something I’m emphatically not embracing long-term, but needs-must and so on. I have been camping in my parents’ basement in the town 45 minutes away from Job but have secured a reasonable apartment just up the road from Smol College now. I take possession on July 15th but will probably not be moving into it until the last weekend in August, due to various other factors.

It means I’m currently exhausted all the time: the commute, while not that long by the standards of where I’ve lived for the past ten years, still involves an hour of highway driving twice a day, moving is psychologically overwhelming for me, and my cat is also stressed out and that stresses me out.

My Sibling is still living in the condo the family has in North Vancouver, and they’re taking advantage of the lower occupancy to do some renos to the bathroom and one of the closets, as Sibling can go stay with a partner over the couple nights that the bathroom would be unusable (something that’s a bit more difficult for me as I do not have a partner and have difficulty sleeping at other people’s homes, alas) so that’s nice.

There has also been a Great Vehicle Shuffle in the family, as our father bought himself a nice shiny new truck. I now possess the 2011 Edge he used to drive, and we traded the two Fiestas me and my sister had for a newer-but-still-used 2015 Focus.

Other Things

  • I unlinked my twitter account from this blog on the basis that what with the world as it is and all I’m having difficulty not swearing a lot on twitter. XD
  • That said I am contemplating linking (with appropriate content notes) the podcast on Tolkien’s The Silmarillion that I’m in the midst of releasing weekly (with a missed week this last week due to moving). Not sure yet!
  • I do plan on trying to post here a lot more regularly, as there are things I have thoughts on. But I’ve said that before, so I guess we’ll see!


And that’s about it at the moment!

refracted senses of self (or: how kids think they work, vs how they actually work)

Thanks to the convergence of this twitter thread, the fact that elsewhere I’m recording a readthrough of Neil Gaiman’s Coraline, and of course my own perpetual interests in these things, I’ve been thinking about children’s lit – particularly stuff we now call “middle grade” – and its cultural history, and our cultural history (by which I mean, more or less, “Anglo/Anglo-Colonized European-descended cultures”) and how that impacts our ideas of what “should” or shouldn’t be in kid’s literature.

But most specifically, what struck me as I was reading Coraline aloud was how few children would actually react like Coraline does, and how that interacts with the ongoing observation that often, children love Coraline and adults find it upsetting, disturbing and terrifying.

The following is not so much an argumentative essay with a thesis, as much as a lot of me pondering about this and pulling out different threads and looking at them all together. Read More »

violence is violence; the trick is making violence stop

Yesterday was Pink Shirt Day, the day we all wear pink shirts to show we’re against bullying.

I have this split reaction to Pink Shirt Day that I think is common to a lot of people who grew up being bullied: on the one hand, it’s good to see it existing, and it’s good to see and hear the words of anti-bullying action being used, and all of that stuff. And I even know actual statistics about “bullying” and awareness and so on. With half of me, there is a genuine positive reaction, one that wants to dive right in and push and participate and hope it helps.

That part of me is genuine.

There’s another part, though, a very dry and darkly cynical part, which says: everyone’s against “bullying” when it means putting on a pink shirt and getting a photo-op, or making a reading list, and that doesn’t mean all that much when it comes to actually changing anything.

It especially doesn’t mean much when it comes to the sometimes quite difficult work and uncomfortable choices involved in actually making “bullying” stop.

I could make a very poignant post about bullying and growing up being bullied. I could talk about watching the news about the murder of Reena Virk [cn: murder of teen by teens] hit the news at a few years younger than Reena was and being startled mostly by how startled the adults were, both that she’d been killed and that the kids had tried to hide it (didn’t they remember being our age?), and about how I actually discovered that the best way to make bullying stop was in fact to hit back harder (and I did). I could talk about how much of my life has been shaped by spending so many formative years knowing that my peers were out to get me and that nobody who could do anything cared, and nobody that cared could do anything.

I’m not going to, because I don’t actually want to: I wouldn’t enjoy it, and gods know there are enough first-person narratives about this kind of thing that if people can’t find one already that makes them pay attention, another one won’t help. But I want to say that I could, because I want to foreground the fact that this is my context, when I approach the topic: one of having once been a target, and one of having what stopped me from being a target anymore be my own actions and the exact actions people told me not to take.

Instead, I think I’m going to do this:

I’m going to talk about the things I wish the adults around me had known when I was that teenage target, as well as the things I think it is absolutely crucial to know today.

Read More »

posting as a parent on the internet: do remember your child is a person

Well that was certainly a few months, wasn’t it? While not my country, it turned out that between the effects on global everything in general and how may friends I have in the US, the drama of the US 2018 Midterms was enough to completely drain me for a good solid while there, and then of course we ran straight into the Winter Holiday Season.

However, as the days begin to lengthen again I’m also starting to gather my stuff back together, and since this article came across my twitter timeline and is right in an area where experience and training mean I have some thoughts and opinions, I figured this counts as a good way to wade back into posting and trying to do it more regularly.

So here’s an article from a mother whose child is uncomfortable with how that mother posts about that child on the internet.

And not to beat about the bush, while I don’t disagree with the eventual solution she hammers out as such, in a more general sense I think it’s a terrible take, and moreover that it’s a terrible take that attempts to defensively use something that’s true (that we have as a society unfair and warped expectations of mothers) but is not actually relevant to this issue as an excuse/justification for continuing to ignore and violate her daughter’s boundaries.

Read More »

Existing While Mentally Ill: Don’t Talk About It

I’m currently job-hunting.

Job hunting is a kind of soul-crushing experience for everyone. It’s weeks, maybe months, maybe years of having to go out into the universe and pleadingly attempt to convince other people – most of whom you’ve never met – that you’re worth providing with the means to acquire the representational units that allow you to get the necessities of life.

Aka give you a job so you can earn money.

And mostly you’re going to get ignored. You’re going to apply to postings that say “sorry we’re too busy to let everyone know when they’re rejected, so send your application into the void and wait.” (Except in nicer language.) Sometimes, you will get an apologetic form-letter – obviously sent to everyone – that lets you know that someone else got picked, but you are “encouraged” to apply for more jobs at this institution (whenever they materialise).

It’s a kind of grinding gauntlet and nobody enjoys it.

People around me generally know that I’m job-hunting. And the other day I got a very well-meaning Concerned note from someone I know.

Your LinkedIn connects to your Twitter and blog, they said.

Yeah, I know, I said.

Well, they said. On both of those platforms, you talk about, well. Mental illness and disability issues a lot.

Yeah, I said. I know. I consider my awareness of these issues a selling point.

Well yes, they said. But you talk about you having chronic depression and your experience with neurodivergence and that’s really the kind of thing you shouldn’t mention around possible employers until after you get the job. You don’t have any protection until after you get the job, after all. That’s the kind of thing that means you don’t get hired.

Nobody wants to hire someone with a chronic mental illness.


It’s not the first time I’ve heard this wisdom, by any means. I’ve even given it out, in some circumstances, and I’ve hated it every single time I’ve given it out.

I’ve also told people not to let on that they’re queer, in many cases, for the same reasons. And of course we’ve all seen the articles on making your name more “white” (or more male) to get a job.

The fact is, that concerned person is possibly even dead right: it’s not like I haven’t also lived through direct, applied, targeted stigma in similar areas because of being open about my mental illness, or my neuroatypicality.

Or the fact that I’m a queer woman.

But I tried living closeted as a queer woman for a few years when I was much younger and it was, in fact, absolute miserable poison. And I also know that my ability to live openly on that score inasmuch as I am able to do so is in no small part thanks to the amazing number of incredibly brave, often long-suffering queer people – men, women, both and genderless – who came before me.

They also saved me from thinking I was alone, that I was sick, that I was tainted, that I was wrong, that I was evil, and any number of other things that I would very, very easily have thought of myself had I not been able to see them, when I was figuring out that part of myself.

So when I draw that across to issues of mental illness and neurotype, I am doing it directly and deliberately. And I’m also doing it because I’ve lived it. I continue to live it.

I am very open about living with depression, with disordered anxiety, with neurodivergence. I am perfectly willing to say in casual conversation “I was dealing with a depressive downswing at the time”, or “that’s when I was first medicated” or any number of other things.

And I can’t tell you how often someone nearby, part of the conversation or sometimes even just listening to it, suddenly wants to talk. Needs to talk. How often, when we’re done, or sometimes when we’re halfway through, says I’ve never been able to talk about this before or nobody around me in my life really gets it or I thought I was just broken.

How often they say, I thought I was alone.

Often there’s qualifiers: often someone says my spouse is really supportive, they try hard, I just – where the “I just” means “I still feel like a freak, I still feel alone and Wrong and isolated.”

My family helps a lot, it’s just –

It’s not like anyone’s horrible about it, just that –

Just that. Just.

Just actually, don’t talk about it until after you have the job, because nobody wants to knowingly hire a ~*mentally ill*~ person, that’s a black mark. Just don’t actually mention anything on a date, because that’s ~*private*~, a secret, a piece of dirty laundry that you’d never just out and tell someone before they even know you’re worth knowing anyway.

Just don’t actually force people to know this secret about you, because well of course we’re not saying it’s something to be ashamed of or anything, but it’s just you don’t want people to see your bad side before they know you have so much to offer!


It’s quite possible, maybe even probable, that making it easy to find where I talk about mental illness, about my mental illness, under my own name and in some depth, is sometimes very much like putting a sticker on myself that says “do not hire, will not be worth it, will only be a problem.”

Fifteen years ago, being open about being queer would have been the same way, even here in Openminded Vancouver. Thirty years ago, definitely.

And sometimes, you just can’t afford that sticker. Believe me I understand that, and I will vehemently defend people who make the choices they need to in order to get where they need to go in a society that is incredibly messed up about this stuff.

The thing is, I’m lucky enough that if I really have to, there are things I can do to get a job. (And it is luck: luck in my family, luck in my friends, luck in other skills and abilities I’ve had the precious opportunities to require). Other people might not be. I am.

There’s tracks I can abandon, alternatives I can pursue.

I don’t want to: if I didn’t want to work in this field, I wouldn’t’ve worked so hard to train for it, to get the MLIS in all its expense in time, energy, money and – yes! – mental health.

If I didn’t think I could be good at it I wouldn’t be here.

But if I have to, I can look elsewhere, and I can survive. Whereas I don’t survive very well being ashamed of myself at all. I don’t survive very well in closets. Any kind of closet.

So yes: I talk about mental illness. I talk about my mental illness. I talk about my experiences as a member of this population, as someone on the Autism spectrum, as someone with chronic depressive disorder, with anxiety disorders, with disabilities that impact my life.

And actually this makes me a better librarian. It makes me better at the services I want to provide. It makes me understand the needs and the challenges of underserved parts of the population of library users better than I might otherwise do, starting with “because I’m part of it” and then moving onto “well if people can misunderstand what my kind of person needs so much, they must get other kinds of people wrong all the time too” and inspiring me to find out what those populations say they need, ask for, say is a problem, say about how those problems can be ameliorated.

I am better at understanding how I can help other people because I had to throw out so much “wisdom” about how to help myself and figure it out.

It’s entirely possible that’s not how that sticker will look for other people.

But that’s the way it goes. And I’ll deal with that. I’ve dealt with everything else.

My brain’s been trying to kill me since I was twelve. I’ll be fine.

Reacting to Text: The Boy Who Was Raised As A Dog

[see the first post in this series for preamble on what “reacting to text” is]

The Boy Who Was Raised as a Dog: and Other Stories from a Child Psychiatrist’s Notebook – What Traumatized Children Can Teach Us About Loss, Love and Healing, by Bruce D. Perry and Maia Szalavitz


How does trauma affect a child’s mind–and how can that mind recover? In the classic The Boy Who Was Raised as a Dog, Dr. Perry explains what happens to the brains of children exposed to extreme stress and shares their lessons of courage, humanity, and hope. Only when we understand the science of the mind and the power of love and nurturing, can we hope to heal the spirit of even the most wounded child.

There are very few books I recommend for people wanting to understand human brains and why humans do what we do than this one. I’m pretty sure that people in my MLIS courses got tired of hearing about it, and certainly strongly suspect one or two professors did. I consider it an excellent tool for conveying absolutely crucial knowledge about the nature of neurological development in children and also what happens when that development is messed up, truncated, damaged or otherwise interfered with – and what we can do about it, how we can start changing how we think.

I am deeply appreciative of the work that Perry has done in this field, of the existence of the ChildTrauma Academy and its programs, and I strongly think that if we can get it to take hold properly in a conscientious and intelligent way (that isn’t oversimplified or bonsaied into something barely resembling itself) that the Neurosequential Model of Education will, if not save the world (since hyperbole while sometimes satisfying is rarely useful) at least make the endless work we have as human beings to suck a little bit less a lot more fruitful.

Read More »