Invisible Women in S-P-A-A-A-C-E!!!!

This is appearing as a blog post, and not a book review,  for two reasons:
1. I am reforming my blogging patterns, based on advice from experts. If I have something to say, I will blog it.
2. Ummm...I haven't actually READ it yet.

I HAVE however, read the most excellent and illuminating introduction by that powerhouse editor/writer, Kristine Kathryn Rusch, and it answers a question that has been bothering me for at least the past 10 years or so. And so, after getting the TRUE DIRT (!!!) on the subject, I decided I had to get this out of my system NOW, rather than trust my attention deficit disorder to bubble it to the surface at a later date. This is an issue for me, because I read books in AT LEAST two different locations, sometimes three, and rarely four. Right now, this is my upstairs bathroom book. I'm reading something else downstairs in the man cave, which is where I write my reviews. I don't know how long it will take me to FINISH WOMEN IN SP A A A C E !!! but I do know that the message is right now.
Okay, here's the question I have: Why does it seem today that the field of science fiction is sexist, when it DIDN'T feel that way earlier? I have been reading science fiction AT LEAST for 50 years. I stuck with it, because it seemed to me to be the literature of hopeful futures and escape from a dreary reality, and you just can't get there if you are systematically ignoring and repressing people. And yet, I have read a LOT of smart people who have said that the history of science fiction is replete with male dominance.
I'm reminded of the scene in "Miracle on 34th Street" where the clerk tells Santa Claus that he just found out he hated his mother. He observes sadly, "I never knew that. I always thought I loved her!"
Ummm...the field that helped me keep it together for so long was training me to be a gynophobe? Gee, I never knew that. I always thought I liked women.
But the people who have been saying that CAN'T all be wrong. It's impossible. There are some incredibly gifted people out there with legitimate issues, and so it would be ignorant not to see if there is some truth to the claim.
And that's what Rusch does in her introduction. And I'm going to let you in on the secret.
But you still have to buy the book.
Okay, FIRST of all, Rusch has had her own experiences of being trivialized and ignored, and has been witness to this happening to other women. Just to cite ONE example, she was editor of The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction from 1991 - 1997, after Edward Ferman and before Gordan Gelder. Yet, when Locus magazine announced a new editor in January of 2015, and published a list of past F&SF editors, they left her name off the list. She is confident that it was a simple accident, and not a conspiracy, but still: she was the first female editor of one of the most prestigious titles, and she became a non-person. Just like that.
She had HAD ENOUGH!
So, she met with the utterly fabulous-in-every-way Toni Weisskopf, publisher of Baen, and pitched an anthology of the early ground-breaking women in science fiction, and this work is the result.
And what did she find? Why have women become non-persons?
Anthologies.
From the beginning (literally, we are talking Amazing Stories in 1928 here) women have been writing and editing science fiction, and getting lots of followers. And then, they vanished. WHY?
Simple answer follows; to get a more detailed answer, you have to read the book.
Even though their works were well received in the pages of the magazines, they were NOT featured in the 'Best Of' anthologies for the year. And people typically go to anthologies, rather than dig up the old tattered issues themselves.
And she documents the crap out of this abysmal fact, closely following the research done by Eric Leif Davin, which was published in 2006 . And if you want more information of THAT, you gotta read the book.
And if you want to know WHY they were left out of the anthologies; well, she has some ideas. But she deserves to have these presented in her words, not mine.
I've listed the Amazon link to the book at the top of the page; you can get it directly from Baen here. If you have EVER wondered why there is a flutter, and I think we all have, then the introduction is something you need to read. Then, read the stories, because they are good examples of the work women were doing Way Back Then. The story I am MOST familiar with is the oldest, a creepy little bit of creepiness called "Shambleau" by C. L. Moore.
After I read all of the stories, I WILL do a review, but the introduction packs the punch, as far as I'm concerned.
Enjoy!

Reading About Firearms is OFF LIMITS to Me

I love reading about firearms and ammunition and related topics. I have even made at least one blog post about the HiPoint 4595 carbine as an alternative to the shotgun as a home defense weapon. And yesterday, as the warm-up to my blog, I reviewed an excellent documentary by former footballer, current actor Vinnie Jones, and mildly lambasted him for an egregious firearms error.
And in doing so, I skated dangerously close to the edge of a promise I had made.

Background: My family and I are members of Liberty Church in Marietta, an independent evangelical church with a strong emphasis on racial reconciliation. It's the first TRULY multi-cultural civilian church I've been a member of in my life (I'm 63), although as far as I know I have never been to a church that had segregation as a formal position.
Interjection: I said 'civilian church.' When I was in the Army, (1972-1975) both the military chapel services and the off-base mission churches I attended were fully integrated. Being a Christian in the military sets one apart, and privates can converse with colonels with no problem. It's just different, and you have to experience it yourself to understand; or at least have some other similar context.
At any rate, ours is a high-commitment church. Nobody FORCES anyone to do anything, but the message of the church is that our beliefs are the center of our lives. It's not weird; we don't do snakes or have a dress code or restrict women. We have seven services on the weekend, and you pick the service that fits best with your schedule: Friday 6 PM. Saturday 5 PM & 7 PM, Sunday 8 AM, 10 AM, 12 Noon, and 6 PM. Within each service, you have the opportunity to join any of several different 'home groups,' reminiscent of the old Wesleyan 'class meetings,' where we eat, share, and study some topic we have chosen.

And it's a church where I feel utterly at home with my family. That's significant, because I am an old fat crippled redneck biker, and I am married to a black church lady, my gift-from-God, happily-ever-after trophy wife Vanessa, the elegant, foxy, praying black grandmother of Woodstock, GA. Nobody looks twice at us; I can hope that would be the case in any church I attended, but I'm not about to find out; I'm happy where we are.

So: high commitment church.

And, twice each year, the church observes a fast. In January, the fast is 21 days; In August, it's 7 days. The concept of fasting is not new to me; I used to observe the Lenten fast when I was in liturgical churches, but the method is new. In prior fasts, I would give up a particular food item, such as meat or sweets. The fasts at Liberty can include that, but most people observe some sort of media fast. Lots of people have found that Facebook can eat up all their free time, and they choose to give that up. Others give up TV, or all TV except football, or complaining; you get to pick what you want to give up.
And this is where I encountered a problem: I don't do anything. I don't drink, I don't smoke, I don't do drugs. I don't indulge in food (although you wouldn't know it to look at me). Since I am disabled and retired, I spend my day reading (and reviewing) and from time to time, I do watch something on Netflix, mostly documentaries, but I lapse into movies every once in a while. Until this past week, I didn't have transportation, so I wasn't going anywhere, either.
So, the time came around to make my choice, and I couldn't think of anything, therefore I asked Vanessa. To her, the answer was easy: give up guns.
WHAT?
Give up guns? Are you CRAZY? That's not even SAFE!
We negotiated. And I realized I had just been through an intense period of research, looking for a self-defense round suitable for a handgun, and I had spent several hours every day for at least a week, reading, watching testing videos, and contacting people in the industry, and I really enjoyed every second of it. It was an EASY trap for me to fall into.
You see, as far as I can tell, I have been given this period in my life to be a reader and reviewer. At one point, I thought I was going to apply myself to writing stories and books, but after a while, I realized that writing good reviews would have more impact than writing good books. So, that's what I do. EXCEPT that when I am happily and furiously consulting ballistic gel tests, and flipping through 'Cartridges of the World,' and reading promotional material, I'm NOT reading and reviewing books.
So I said: "Hmmm."
And here's what we came up with: I can still carry for self-defense, I can still go to the range and take people with me, I can still teach people who are learning (which is my daughters at this point). I can watch documentaries (or movies) that include some gun content, as long as the show's primary focus is on something else (like tough cops in the Vinnie Jones documentary).
I CAN'T read my gun magazines, research ammo, or watch Yankee Marshall videos. I can't drool over the catalogs and sales flyers, whether they are emailed or come in paper form. I can't follow up on guns for sale featured on the single Facebook page I follow that lists offerings.
I CAN (and have) ask my youngest son, who is also subscribed to the Aim Surplus offerings, to notify me if something astounding comes up. Since my wall is pretty full, it would have to be a spectacular offering, like a Sig for $200, but it could happen.
And that's something i can live with. I am voluntarily removing myself from something I enjoy, so as to have more time to do something I am called to do, which is read books and write reviews.
Except so many of my friends, bless them all, are also firearms accumulators and they will write a post, and without really thinking about it, I start to click on a link. GACK! I was reading Peter Grant's blog, Bayou Renaissance Man, so I could make a comment about "Stoke The Flames Higher":


(I haven't reviewed it yet) and I discover a link to an article about teachers and shotguns, and before I know it's treff, I click it. Several minutes later, agreeing with every point he has made, I realize I am off the reservation. GACK!

So, there is good news. Since I've been on the fast, I have been able to crank out several reviews that were owed since November. And, with 11 days to go, I'll be able to do several more.
But the bad news is, I won't be commenting on SHOT show, or any new toys, until it's old news. It's a self-imposed discipline, and I truly do hope to grow spiritually through the process, because I'd hate to think all this deprivation is wasted.

Vinnie Jones, I love you, but you are wrong

I hope a million people read this post and that it changes America.
Vinnie Jones is a British gentleman, who I believe is now living in America (Los Angeles, to be exact). He was a professional British footballer for 15 years, who has been very successful as an actor in many action & adventure films. Look him up; it's likely you will recognize him.
I'm watching a documentary on Netflix he made in 2008 called "Vinnie Jones' Toughest Cops". It's an excellent series for those who want to see what it's like fighting the worst situations in America, and it really doesn't pull any punches (but it does bleep obscenity). He visits prison inmates, and goes on ride-alongs with the SWAT teams. He even acts a spotter for fleeing felons, which conceivably places him at risk to life and limb (as well as his camera crew). Good show, watch it if you can.
However.
Vinnie knows very little about firearms. Some have said that this is customary for a British subject, since they have disarmed themselves, and boy, could I go on a rant about that. On the other hand, he MUST have some working knowledge of firearms, since he uses them in his films. He even shows his ability to rack a pump shotgun on the police range, and fires off a magazine of 5.56 using a police rifle with full-auto capability.
Quickly, let me get to the point at which Vinnie makes an egregious error:  On a police raid in New Orleans, the cops pick up a stash of firearms in the possession of a felon. One of the weapons impounded is a HiPoint 995, which is a 9 mm, semi-automatic carbine. A 'carbine' is a rifle which fires shorter, lower power pistol cartridges. 'Semi-automatic' means that with each pull of the trigger, the firearm will fire a round, eject the spent brass, and load a fresh round into the chamber, ready for firing. This is the most common type of action found in firearms owned and operated by civilians in the United States. '9 mm' describes the type of ammunition used by the firearm; it is an inexpensive round, with low recoil. As is the case with most pistol rounds, it's really not suitable for hunting game much bigger than a rabbit or squirrel, because it is so low-powered. It's just fine for self-defense or short-range target shooting.
So: are you with me so far? He has found a rifle which fires a mild mannered round, one at a time.
BUT:
He calls it a machine gun. He repeatedly calls it a machine gun, and makes a point of it being an awful and amazing thing to find in the hands of a citizen.
And WHY does he identify it as a machine gun? I expect it's because it's made of black plastic, and looks scary. Maybe also because it makes for good TV, ALTHOUGH (!) in my humble opinion, he is already MAKING good TV, and this error degrades the quality of the product.
In very quick laymen terms: A machine gun will fire continuously, as long as the trigger is pressed. That means that if you pull the trigger, and hold it back, a machine gun will fire every bullet in the magazine or belt, without stopping.
Are machine guns against the law?
NO. NO. A Thousand Times, NO! It is PERFECTLY legal to own a machine gun, as long as you have paid for the appropriate tax stamp, and pass the federal background check. The stamps are issued by the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms, and cost $200. There are usually another few fees, for photographs and finger prints, but the one-time $200 fee is all it costs to get the stamp. (I think there might be a dealer fee you have to pay as well.)
BUT THERE IS MORE TO THE STORY. In 1986, legislation ironically titled the 'Firearm Owners Protection Act' made it illegal to manufacture a fully automatic firearm for civilian use after that date. Therefore, the supply of these weapons is frozen, and the cost to purchase one has risen to the point that no average citizen can afford one.
Now, I could say a LOT more about firearms, but then the blog enter TLDR status. I do have a final point, and it is, in fact, the most significant thing I have to say.
Virtually all of the crime Vinnie was documenting had origins in the drug trade. Vinnie and the cops made that observation on numerous occasions, and it was particularly evident when he went to Laredo and visited the impound lot.
But never once did anyone make the statement that the situation closely resembled that during Prohibition. It does. Exactly.
The fights over turf are fights over who has the right to distribute narcotics in that area. Drug dealers are killed and robbed. Buyers are killed and robbed less frequently.
And thus far, NOBODY with any political weight seems willing to take the appropriate next step.
Legalize it. Regulate it. Tax it.
Provide treatment to those willing to kick the habit, paid for out of the proceeds.
And that's all I have to say about that.

The Last Naked Barbie

The Last Naked Barbie lies on her side underneath the bookshelf in the bathroom, her head twisted at an angle that would be uncomfortable for a human. For months now, her eyes have been fixed on the same spot of wallpaper, and if I have anything to do with it, that will remain the case for the next many, many years.
She was left there sometime in the past by our dear daughter/grandchild Alicia Ann. Alicia is now half-way through with the fifth grade, and is now much more interested in styling her own hair than she is in arranging Barbie's tresses. So, she probably thinks nothing of the fact that Barbie occupies that particular space on the floor, where she is safe from being trodden upon.
May I insert in here: One would think that parents would learn after the FIRST child not to allow their children to own ANY toys with hard plastic corners? The innumerable times I have been jounced into full wakefulness by a Lego, toy truck, or some other implement of youthful delight and parental pain SHOULD have taught me a lesson. On the other hand, there are always doting uncles, aunts, and grandparents who stand ready to provide artificial foot-destroyers, so it's a moot point, really. Caltrops are a way of life when you have kids. Barbie has protuberances that not only would destroy a real woman's balance, but also destroy a real man's balance when he encounters them in the middle of the night.
But, Alicia is girl number six. My gift-from-God, happily-ever-after trophy wife Vanessa , the elegant, foxy, praying black grandmother of Woodstock, GA, raised four girls; I raised one; and Alicia is a grand-daughter that we re raising together. The first little girl, Carmen,  went off to kindergarten more than 30 years ago, and Alicia is only five months away from moving up to middle school. And for some reason, the last six grandchildren have been all boys. I don't see any new purchases of Barbies in our foreseeable future, although we do have at least four sets of married children who are capable of presenting us with a little girl.
I'm not making any bets on that, however. I don't want to be utterly maudlin about it; at least I won't have to explain to any more little girls how to make up a field-expedient sanitary napkin when she starts to bleed while Mom is at work. (That's kind of sad, too, though. Is that weird?)
At any rate.
Today is the last day of 2016. In 3 1/2 hours, the two-faced god Janus starts his month, and so I am in a mood to reflect as well as resolve.
And I resolve to reserve The Last Naked Barbie's place underneath the bookcase in my bathroom, to remind me of all the sweet butterfly kisses and bedtime stories I have shared with my little girls over the years.

All I Want For Christmas: Provide for the poor & Lame Duck Presidential actions

What I REALLY want for Christmas is no presents for me, first of all. Not even ammo,  ALTHOUGH I HAVE BEEN SAYING FOR THE PAST 15 YEARS TO BUY ME AMMO WHEN YOU WANTED TO BUY ME A PRESENT!!! Now, not even ammo.
Nope, I think I want just two things, and I can't rank them, because they are both life-changers. I'll start with what I think is the easiest thing I want; instead of buying me anything, including ammo, spend money on this.
NUMBER 1. Provide food, shelter, clothing, transportation, job training, and health care for someone who has limited access. Now, that can be money, or volunteer work, or donating items. In my opinion, the BEST programs are those that provide job training, along with social support, childcare, and so on. My PERSONAL favorite to recommend is the City of Refuge in Atlanta, which is located in the heart of the city, and provides all kinds of services; they even are staging a fund-raiser fight, between the sweet lady who runs the safe-house and long-term care housing program for survivors of sex trafficking; three rounds between her and whoever dares get into the ring with her.
Another great local organization I have personal experience with is Must Ministries. When I was working with the Cherokee County School System, they often helped families we served, and they do great work.
My own home church also is worthwhile, but I don't want to give a link to what we are doing, since some might find it self-serving. However, If requested, I'll make a link in the comments.

So: That's my number 1 request. Don't get me ANYTHING; instead, make a donation to one of these or other similar organizations.
Note to my children: That doesn't count with respect to pictures of my grandchildren. You can give me all you want of those.

NUMBER 2: This one is way different, because it's not for ME, it's for the entire country. Mr. President, before you leave office, I ask to you to pardon all non-violent drug offenses, de-criminalize marijuana to the fullest extent you can, and commute all death sentences to Life Without Parole. Every dime that is spent on cops filling out paperwork on a marijuana bust is a wasted dime. Every dime spent by a prosecutor on death penalty case, instead of opting for LWOP, is a wasted dime.
LWOP won't actually enhance revenue, just slash expenditures, but if you can decriminalize marijuana, regulate it and tax it, you've just gone a long way toward paying for renewal of our infrastructure, which will create thousands of jobs, and that's a really good thing. It will automatically cut the guts out of a LOT of criminal enterprise, just as the ending of Prohibition did.
And note: this isn't something that is going to provide me with a ticket to dope city. I can't use marijuana, both because of the pain-treatment contract I signed, and because it makes me psychotic. I know that from experiments some 40+ years ago, and do not require additional evidence. Something about my brain chemistry; I'm assuming I'm riding the edge of insanity always anyway, and pot just pushes me over.

So, for those of you with influence in such things, don't wait for the Macy's Day parade. Start writing your checks to various homeless ministries and letters to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue TODAY, and if we all make ourselves heard, we can make a change.

(P.S. Sometime ago, I commented that I felt discounted, because no one ever said "Pat, you are a frappen idiot." I penned this missive in the hope that that I will now unlock that achievement.

Waiting for the Greater to drive out the Lesser

This may not be the thing for you to read if you have just had a birthday, or just heard the baby's heartbeat. Those are times of pure joyous celebration, and this isn't a celebratory post. However, DO save this for later, because at some point you will need it.
I've heard enough doom and gloom about the Presidential Election that even I, who am not a joiner, and not a believer in promises of bread and circuses, have been known to get a grump about the results. I should have known, when the utter inane rhetoric began to irritate me, that something else was in the pipeline that was going to make it look insignificant.
The Greater always drives out the Lesser. You are at work, ands your petty boss makes a petty comment about your performance; then you get a phone call from your husband; they have found a tumor in his neck, and need to do more tests. Suddenly, the greater drives out the lesser. The silly fussiness of your boss reveals itself for what it is, and you just want him to get out of your way so you can punch the time clock and go home.
It's not always bad; at the last minute, a deal on your new house falls through, and you've already enrolled your kids in a new district.Then, out of the blue, a much better house appears on the markey, same school district, and within a week, you have a new place.
There are two things I am NOT saying:
1. "Enjoy it while you can, because disaster is on the way." Nope, nope, nope. That's a destructively pessimistic outlook which would strip you of your ability to enjoy present truth, in favor of torturing you with bad consequences that haven't arrived.
2. "Oh, that's nothing, wait until _____ happens." A LONG time ago I had a boss who simply adored saying this to me in varied circumstances. I do not know why; it was inconsistent with the genuine affection she showed others, and me in particular; it was like this was some sort of verbal spasm that had to pass out of her mouth on certain occasions. She couldn't POSSIBLY know the effect she had on others when that erupted from her mouth; she was too nice to MEAN harm.
Disregard BOTH of these approaches, as they are harmful and untrue. When you are experiencing joy, then hold on to that joy; when you are experiencing pain, it is YOURS to experience, and you dare not deny it, just because there are other theoretical worse outcomes.
But, it is true, that in time, the Greater will drive out the Lesser. This is a good thing; even in the case of a greater trauma coming along. Quickly, we discover how petty our other concerns were, even while realizing they may require a second resolution.
More likely than not, the really great trauma does us the favor of knocking us on our knees, where we can only cry "Father! Abba Father"
Truthfully, it's where we live at all times.

A meditation on Parent Moments: Far Flung, by Laura Montgomery

First, I review; then, I meditate.
Preliminary: You must know that I am writing this with my fat black Manx cat SugarBelly resting in the crook of my left arm. and looking over her shoulder at the keyboard from time to time in anticipation. I believe it's because one of Montgomery's earlier books is "Manx Prize," and SugarBelly thinks it's about her; and, by extension, she thinks every book and story Laura Montgomery writes is about her. I have ceased to argue the point. I think Mark Twain had observations about men and cats which apply. The reason I pass this bit of feline intrusion along is because at some point, SugarBelly will turn around, and start attempting to use the keyboard. Therefore, any unexpected change in point of view should be regarded with suspicion.
The review: Far Flung is a novella-length (53 pages) work painting the picture of a small population of adventurer-engineers who determine that libertarian principles will be better served by forming an independent nation. They acquire a decommissioned mining platform, add to it, and construct huge sea-going island, which they christen New Oregon. Most of the N.O. crew are from the United States, and they have formally renounced their US citizenship prior to declaring a new entity.
They are opposed in this endeavor by factions in the United States, some governmental, others private. The governmental factions are headed by the IRS, which regards the new nation as a fictional construct, designed to free the NO citizens from their tax burden (including prior accumulated debt). Other governmental agencies are interested in nationalizing new technology being pioneered in New Oregon. And finally, in the private sector, families of the relatively young crew/citizens of New Oregon want them to return to the US because of concerns for their safety.
All of this is brought to a head when Venezuela, pretty much acting as a rogue state, decides to annex New Oregon, claiming it has entered waters under their control. Since this is patent lie, provable  by satellite imagery and GPS recordings, it's clear that they are relying on brute force to impose their will, and give a black eye to the US in the process.
Communications have been established between the US government and the crew of New Oregon . As a libertarian state, New Oregon refuses to ask the US for aid, because they can't pay for it, and accepting it would revoke their independent status.
And as a kicker: the Secretary of State for New Oregon is engineer Betha Tenney, the daughter of Navy Captain Adam Tenney, who has been sent as an observer to the negotiations. This permeates the drama of the  "rebels with a cause" narrative with a personal tension, which brings the theoretical home to roost.
Thus endeth the review.
The meditation.
A quick quick bit of family background: My gift-from-God, happily-ever-after trophy wife Vanessa, the elegant, foxy, praying black grandmother of Woodstock, GA and I have between us 10 children and nine grandchildren, with one grandchild on the way. MY (biological) firstborn son, Jordan has two sons of his own, Heath and Eliott. When Heath was a newborn, March 2013,  Jordan was on active duty in the Georgia Army National Guard, and deployed to Shindand Air Base in Herat Province, Afghanistan.
A bad thing happened.
What with this and that, three years passed.
Last night, Vanessa and I were babysitting six month old Eliot while big brother Heath and Mommy Courtney were at church. Vanessa was moogling a laughing Eliott, and I was faithfully reading "Far Flung" in preparation for the review. And as I'm reading about the anguish Adam Tenney is experiencing, knowing that his daughter is in a situation in which she may be killed, and that she has freely chosen the path that lead her there, and that he is utterly POWERLESS to do anything to help her, Jordan calls me to tell me he's on his way to pick up Eliott. A short time later, he comes in the front door, the same door he's used since 1992; but now, he's using a cane. He eases himself into a seat on the couch, and we chat.
It's been three years since a 155 mm rocket blasted him into a concrete wall in Shindand, smashing his knee and giving him a traumatic brain injury. He has come a LONG way ; he has a long way to go.
After he and Eliott left to rejoin Mommy and Heath at home, I TRIED to return to "Far Flung." I couldn't do it. Reading about Adam Tenney experiencing the same thing I had experienced; and still experience; it was just too much for me.
So, I had a Parent Moment, and I cried.
I briefly raged. See, he had a college degree when he enlisted. His best friend had served two deployments in the Marines, and we have a family history of service including WWI, WWII, Korea & Viet Nam, plus all the non-combat service; so I GOT it that he wanted to serve. BUT he was supposed to be a cannon crew member, he was field artillery, NOT infantry! Not guarding an air base! I didn't rage long, though, because: he is a man I am proud of, and he told me: "I don't like the outcomes, but I'm proud of my decisions." And I can't rage at that. he is an honorable, righteous man, and a good father and husband.
And after I had my Parent Moment, I moved on, and breathed, and did the next right thing, which was to go to sleep.

My nam is SugarBelly Patterson, and I don't approve thsi coz he wasn't scratch my hed.