Kate Lansky's Blog

Okay, people of the internet. You need to stop getting offended when someone who is queer or a PoC calls you out on the way you’re choosing to mourn this shooting. Take their words, sit with them, think about them.

Because if I see ONE MORE PERSON come back from being told off, and say all affronted that “those victims weren’t just gay, they weren’t just Latino, they were *people* and I have a right to mourn that” I’m going to lose it.

Yes – they were people. But by saying “they weren’t just x” you are playing a part in erasing their identities, and that’s not cool. Everyone has a right to be upset over the loss of life here. Of course you do. But it is going to mean more to – and hit closer to home for – the people who have shared life experiences with those who died. It’s going to mean more to those who lost not only people, but community. A sense of a safe space in a world that treats them as less. Those who died – many of them were PoC. Many of them were queer. And BOTH of these groups – and in particular when you start looking at the intersection of the two – will have spent most of their lives being told that they AREN’T people. That they are just gay, or just Latinx.

They will have spent most of their lives being told that they are less.

80% of LGBTQ people killed are minorities.  80%.  My LGBTQ friends of color will often speak about when – not if – violence will occur to them.  Seeing numbers like that, I understand their fear.  So when I heard the race and sexuality and gender of the victims of this shooting being left out over and over again, I felt the need to speak.  This is absolutely a race issue, and absolutely an LGBTQ issue.

When white, cis-gendered, heterosexual people come in and say that they’re grieving too because these people weren’t just queer, weren’t just Latinx, it has the potential to feel… disingenuous to those within the community itself. It can feel like all their lives, those same people have been giving them a very different message, and suddenly in the face of tragedy, they get “we’re all just people.”

I really think that’s something a few folks might need to consider in more depth.

I am not trying to say cis-het white people don’t – or can’t – sympathize. I’m just asking folks to consider what their words mean, and how the way they’re expressing sympathy can hurt others.

I’m going to be honest – this week has hurt a lot of people I love dearly. There have been a lot of blows, and I’m out of spoons. I’ve lost the ability to pull punches.

I have seen too many people bring up the Pulse gunman’s race, faith, and mental health as a way to explain away his actions – as a means of ending the conversation and silencing the voices of those seeking change.  Nor is this the first shooting people have done this for.  It is an old and tired and hurtful means of saying that the hate and anger, the horrific acts committed come from something alien and foreign.  Their hate is not the same as our hate.  We are not alike.  We are not responsible.

But we are.  Their hate is our hate.  We are alike.  We are responsible.

Yes.  I’ve heard that he pledged support to ISIS – but he also targeted a gay club, during PRIDE.

He was previously investigated for ties to ISIS – but his own father saw the homophobia he exhibited recently, his anger and hate.

At this point, it sounds like he did claim to support ISIS – but I REFUSE to let that derail the discussion. I refuse to let a radical branch of Islam – a branch that feeds off fear, hate, and death – be a stand-in for all of Islam.  It is not.  It is so far from the teachings of true Islam as to be laughable.  So I will not let Islam take the blame here. I am tired of people saying “Well, Islam” and then letting that be the end of the discussion, letting that justify their own bigotry.

I will not let ISIS be the end of the discussion either.  It is the easy way out, a way to blame the other. It is a way to excuse our own shortcomings and failures.

The shooter was born and raised in America, and I’m guessing that the racism, bias, anger and fear he faced HERE in THIS COUNTRY helped lead him into extremism. Perhaps he pledged support to ISIS, but his acts were fostered and fed by our own country. And even if he was pledging support to ISIS, I will absolutely call this a hate crime. When you target a marginalized group, in their own space – a space where they feel safe, welcome, and free to be themselves – that is absolutely a hate crime. I believe to my very core that recent hate speech – the actual *encouragement* of hate speech in this country of late, particularly in relation to the Trump campaign, has created an environment that breeds acts like this.

We live in a place and time where voicing our racism, when saying “go back to Mexico” or “We’re going to build a wall” or “this judge is biased because of his Mexican heritage” or Trump using this attack to say his anti-Islam rhetoric is justified… We live in a world where this is the DAILY HATE that marginalized and oppressed groups live with. This is the incubator of racism and bigotry we’ve created.

Perhaps he pledged support to ISIS, but this was a hate crime, a homophobic act. And whether or not he pledged support to ISIS or the Westboro baptist church, that is irrelevant in the discussion of gun control. When we’re talking about whether and how to restrict who can purchase a gun, and under what circumstances, and after what steps… whether or not an act was one of terrorism is not the point we need to be focusing on.

Whether or not he specifically got the gun illegally is also just a straw-man argument. That gun was gained legally somewhere along the line (in this case, all guns were obtained legally by the shooter himself). And if we start limiting what guns are legally obtainable, that means the number and type of guns that are *illegally* obtainable will have a bottleneck too. Saying “but it wasn’t obtained legally anyways” to dismiss a call for gun control is not a contribution to the discussion.

So.  Did the victim’s race, faith, and mental health play a role in what happened?  I’m sure they did.  But I am also absolutely sure that it’s only because this country allowed them to.  And while discussing the whys of a crime like this are important, using such simple, single-word answers as an excuse to shut down a conversation is silencing the voices of those working toward change.  It is allowing atrocities like this to happen, again and again.

My thoughts are with the family and friends of those killed and injured.  My thoughts and prayers are with the gay and latino communities of Orlando.  But my thoughts and prayers are not enough.  My thoughts and prayers do not foster change.  And change is what we need.

We need stricter gun control.  Guns kill more Americans than AIDS, war, and illegal drug overdoses combined.  We’ve mass shootings at movie theaters, clubs, businesses, and schools.  But gun violence isn’t strictly limited to mass shootings – it’s reporters being shot on camera, husbands and wives, children finding a parent’s fire arm.  It’s gang violence, and people protecting their homes.  It’s police officers shooting and getting shot.  It’s a widespread acceptance that the ownership of guns – all guns, as many as you want – is a right.  This is a uniquely American problem.

We need stricter laws regarding threats made online, via spaces like Facebook and Twitter.  We need to stop doxxing.  We need to better educate our law enforcement and ourselves as to what the current laws surrounding such attacks might even be.  We need to feel safe when we choose to speak out.

We need to change the way we speak – and the way we allow others to speak – about certain groups.  We need to stop fostering hate and fear.  We need to realize that things like not allowing gay men to donate blood is a fear-based act, a discriminatory act, and it too helps foster the idea of other, provides space for fear.  We need to confront our own moments of xenophobia, racism, bigotry, and overcome them.  We need to realize that verbally attacking accomplished young undocumented high school graduates on their way to college is insanity. We need to realize that telling people whose skin is a different color to “go back home” is hateful and horrific.  We need to stop allowing the acts of one extreme sect influence our views of a quarter of the world’s population.  We need to stop using slurs, stop saying someone deserved what happened.  No.  We need to build each other up.  We need to see the extremism in our own thoughts.  Because it’s there.  All those examples I just gave?  Those are the acts and thoughts and words of extremists.  They are the acts and thoughts and words of Americans.

We need to be heard.  We need to vote, to research the down ballot, to speak out via letters to public officials, attending local political meetings, and taking part in petitions and protests.  We need to recognize our own privilege when we have it, and fight for those who do not have the same privilege, so that their voices can be heard too.

I’ve run out of words.  We need change.

A few months back, I entered a writing contest over at Toasted Cheese Literary Journal.  48 hours to write from the announced theme of ‘underground railroad, fantasy genre.  I sat down and wrote a story, but with spotty internet connection had to leave off an unfinished section and just hit send when my connection was up and running.  I kept my fingers crossed, but without the second chunk of the story, I didn’t feel like it was ‘finished’.

Then I got word that my story won second place.

So here it is: Save What We Can.  Enjoy!

Of course, now I’m wondering what to do with the extra 500 words I currently have and the notes for probably another 1000… Hmm.

Well, the anthology is officially published.  Yay!  The Adventure of Creation is now available on Amazon for all to read.

It’s also up on Goodreads, so after you read it you can go and post a lovely review!  Seriously – you should.

I ordered a copy for myself today, and am waiting very impatiently for it to show up at the door – a real book with my name and my story in it.  I can’t wait!

As I mentioned once upon a time last month, one of my short stories was accepted into an anthology that was put together by some of the moderators of Holly Lisle’s writing forums.   Well, there was an official press release on Monday, and with it came the cover image – though still no news as to who received 1st, 2nd, or 3rd place in the contest.  I will continue to keep fingers crossed.  But in the meantime, my short even got mentioned in the blurb!  So, without further ado, here’s what was released:

35 marvelous short stories by gifted new writers

Follow a girl to the Below-World to slay the Sharkshadow, or help a timid girl to overcome the destructive criticism of her art teacher. Witness a solitary drone on Mars or a naive homunculus struggle to become human. Sew with a mother who lost her daughter in a quilt, defeat super-villains in a bank robbery with an unlikely superhero, or join a great mage in the fire.

In thirty-five imaginative stories, emerging authors present the diversity of their creativity. Each author found a different angle for the unifying theme: The Adventure of Creation. Witness the talent nurtured by writing teacher, Holly Lisle. For the 5th anniversary of her first big writing course, How to Think Sideways, this anthology features the best of her talented students in a great variety of genres.

The eBook and print book will be released on the 24th of July. Help us spread the word.

I recently finished up with a Women in Comic class, and during that time, I wrote this post.  Then promptly forgot to actually, you know, post it.  So here it is, several weeks later.  But still pertinent.  So hush up about my ADD and forgetfulness, and read.  That is all.

There was a moment in the fake geek girl video this week where one of the women talks about the idea of possession – sports fans say “my team is really blowing it this year”, etc. – and how this concept of possession can be used in gatekeeping.  I think it can be related here, to the harassment of cosplayers.  There’s this idea as a fan that we are in some way invested in a character or a company.  We’ve read these stories for so long, we know the ins and outs of these characters.  We are privy to their innermost thoughts.

They’re ours.

And the way many women are drawn doesn’t encourage a positive kind of ‘ownership’ either.  These characters are drawn in ways that encourage or even demand ogling.  They are meant to be sexual, to be consumed.

When we see a person dressed as one of those characters, I think perhaps some of what we take in from the comic bleeds over into the real world.  That character wants our sexual attention – they ask for it, they crave it – and thus, that woman dressed as that character, must want it too.

I agree, it doesn’t only happen to women (Among other things, I think that largely cosplay is seen by outsiders as ‘dressup’ – and thus effeminate, and as such, male cosplayers can face some pretty harsh judgement.  There are also girls out there who do this to guys)  And I’m not saying that portrayal of characters in the medium is the sole cause of it.  I think it plays a role, though.  I also think those massive, 15 foot high banners of a character’s breasts play a role, as does the hiring of booth babes… I don’t think there’s any one aspect that you can point to and say “That.  That’s what’s causing the harassment of male and female cosplayers.”  There’s just so much that feeds into this attitude of ‘they must want it’.

The Mary Sue did an article recently on an event at PAX – The event is like so many others… but the discussion of how the women reacted is what really struck me.  That too often, women laugh comments off.  They don’t know how to react other than to smile and nod and walk away – and this plays into a perception that silence, not speaking out about abusive behavior, is consent to that behavior.

That was a pretty rambly answer, but I think I got all my little rants in…

About a week after my update on the state of getting published, complete with my goal of amassing my own shiny pile of rejection letters, I got word that one of my short stories has been accepted for publication.  Today, I got the notes from the editor, looked it over one last time, and sent it back.

That’s right, bitches – my name is going to be in print.  Well, e-print, but still.  How awesome?

My piece, titled The Burn, will be published in an anthology put together by Holly Lisle (and an awesome troop of moderators who not only chose the pieces, but provided real actual feedback on each one regardless of whether it was accepted), coming out on July 24 2013.  It’s titled The Adventure of Creation.  I’m still waiting on a few details, but you can bet I’ll be posting links when the thing goes live.

Until then, I’ll be over here doing a little happy dance.

I love writing.  Sitting down, pouring these worlds and people out onto the page, teasing life from the strange corners of my mind.  I love it, I really do.  And for as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to see my name in print, somewhere real.  I’ve wanted… maybe not the money, necessarily, more the recognition that the money of being a real published author implies.  It’s having someone else, someone not friends or family, go “hey – this is really good” – or even better, “Have you heard of Kate Lansky?  She writes some cool stuff.  You should check her out.”

Over the years, my dream hasn’t changed.  My pursuit of it, however, has been lacking.  This year, I’ve decided to change that.  I’ll be honest – I’d love to get published, to see my name in print, blah blah blah – but that’s not my goal this year.  My goal is to send out as many of my short stories as I can, garnering as many responses as I can.  And next year, to beat that response count.  I want to prove to myself that I’m trying. That I’m progressing.  That I’m not just madly treading water, smiling at my friends and saying “oh, I write.”

I want that to MEAN something.

I’m expecting most of my responses, if not all, to be rejections.  I’m kind of looking at them as an honor badge.  So periodically I’ll update here with how I’m progressing.

Right now, I have three pieces out for consideration, and two more going through final revisions before they can join my spreadsheet.

Onward with rejectionpalooza!

Clothing has long been used as a gatekeeping mechanism in many subcultures.  Grunge, goth, J-pop (just to name a few) – they all have a uniform.  Walking into any of those communities and saying “Oh, I am SO into X” while not adhering to the dress code means people won’t believe you.  They’ll judge you harshly, they’ll probably say mean things, mock you, and exclude you.  (there was a really awesome Youtube post about how this applies to hipsters, since they co-opt bits and pieces of other subculture’s dress codes, and how they are harshly judged by others for this.) The geek community is no different.

The geek and nerd ‘uniform’ tends to be very… dressed down, meant for hours of comfort in front of a screen, book, tabletop game.  The emphasis was on the mind, on skills, not on style.  It was about people who lost themselves in something else to an extent that whole days disappeared… and as such, a uniform was created.  A way of identifying your fellow geek.

I have seen men judged for not wearing the geek uniform.  I’ve seen men seek entrance to the geek community while looking metrosexual or in a suit and tie.  I’ve seen them ostracized as not real geeks.  But the turnaround, the transition from judgment to acceptance, is fairly quick.  After all, maybe you just came from work.  You *have* to wear a suit and tie.  It’s not your fault.  Still – if you’re ‘out of uniform’, you often have to make excuses for being out of sync with the norm.  But once you started talking about all your geekly interests, your misstep could be overlooked.

But whereas grunge and goth and J-pop all had unspoken dress codes for both genders, geekdom and nerdom did not.  For a very long time, standard female dress code and standard geek/nerd dress code did not overlap.  Even when I was young, you had to dress like a boy to dress like a geek.  You had to wear the baggy Tshirt with your favorite comic book character printed on it (because back then, these shirts just didn’t come in babydoll cuts).  You wore comfy jeans and comfy shoes.  Your hairdo took you ten seconds, and you didn’t wear makeup.  For me, donning the uniform was a way out of a female culture I never understood or felt any connection to.  For many men, this form of gatekeeping worked the same way.  It was a safe space for us all – at least in my experience as someone who, well, fit in.

But for many women, it can be a hardship to forgo all the trappings of the feminine.  For many, they either cannot or do not want to leave behind their makeup and jewelry and heels.  When these women try to enter the community, like men who did not conform to the dress code, they are judged harshly.  But unlike men, they are not granted the same ability to escape that judgment.  They are not given the benefit of the doubt.  The question becomes why?

I think the answer comes from that issue of gatekeeping.  One transgression is forgivable.  One misstep, and we can get past that.  The problem is, being female is, in and of itself, an indicator of not being part of the club.  But it’s only one misstep.  We can get past that.  (As for why it’s a misstep, well – I’m sure many other geeks and nerds had similar experiences to mine, so I’ll just give voice to that: I do remember women judging me.  I learned like pavlov’s dog that these were not my friends, not people who understood – or wanted to understand – me.  I saw the makeup and the hair and the jewelry, and I reacted.  I distanced myself.  I saw them, and I saw all those snapshots my brain had stored away of past women in makeup and jewelry and with their hair all styled.  I remembered, and I saw in them their own dress code, their own subculture, their own gatekeeping at work.)  After all, there are at least a few other girls we know who like the things we like…

But what that means to the rest of the nerd and geek community is this.  It means that when we see a feminine woman, someone who is by their dress – in our experience, at least – identifying with a separate subculture (much like the metrosexual or the suited man), and someone who by their gender has already raised doubt in our minds, they have now crossed two lines.  And they must now work twice as hard to prove themselves within the community.

Vacations are odd beasts.  They have a way of both recharging and draining the batteries all at once.  This vacation was probably a little heavy on the draining, no doubt due to traveling with a toddler.  And an unscheduled stop at the doctor’s office that was my own fault.  And traveling with a toddler.

That being said, a week in Montana with no phone service and a very limited internet connection is sometimes just… well, I was going to say what the doctor ordered, but the doctor ordered medical glue and a week’s worth of antibiotics, so maybe not.

My aunt lives in a small log cabin.  You look out one window, you see the shimmer of a nearby (and in April, very cold) lake.  Turn 180 and look out another window, and you see distant mountains.  Town is a ten minute drive down and a two minute drive through, if that.  The doctor is a forty minute drive with a kleenex tucked behind your ear.

Montana is a different life.  I may look like a big city girl most of the time, but god – I miss those mountains.  I’m not sure why they sing for me, but they always have, for as long as I can remember.  And each time I head out to places like that, it gets a little harder to turn around again.  I clearly need to become a famous author just so I can run off into the woods and never look back.

It’s the little things that make me smile about life in the middle of nowhere.  It’s that ten minute drive to town, or the occasional run to the town dump, since there’s no garbage pickup.  It’s the high fences around your garden so the deer can’t eat your greens, or sending the dog out to chase the creatures from the yard.  It’s the way life seems to revolve around the seasons, like time actually means something, measured in more than the mere passage of repeating days.  And it’s the way my aunt casually decides to sell an old pair of earrings from her own distant days as a city-dweller, saying she doesn’t wear them anymore, so they might as well pay for next month’s wine.

I realize that living in such a rural setting means not having the vast array of restaurants, shows, general entertainment I have here.  I know it means I can’t just walk to public transit and be lazy, going to and fro.  Somehow that doesn’t seem to matter to me all that much.  Maybe I love the mountains, the trees, the two lane highways and the speed of life.  And maybe I just love the idea of selling a pair of earrings to pay for alcohol.