Taking Things for Granted

This past Thursday people in the U.S. celebrated Thanksgiving, that holiday where you stuff yourself silly while sitting with your family and friends, watch a football game while shouting at the TV, and pass out on the sofa at 4 in the afternoon in a turkey-induced coma.

At least, if you’re lucky, you get to do those things. If you’re privileged enough to have enough money to throw an expensive banquet, or have relatives who do have money. I’m lucky enough to have an overabundance of family wanting to throw Thanksgiving feasts. I usually go to three or four every year, between in-laws and divorced parents. This year, I barely managed lunch down the hall at my mom’s thanks to a particularly horrendous stomach bug. It was probably the first Thanksgiving where I lost five pounds instead of gaining it.

But lying in bed with stomach cramps gives you lots of time to think, partly about what I could have possibly eaten in the past ten years that could make me feel this bad. I also thought a lot about what I’m thankful for every day, and what I take for granted because of my skin color or my age or my physical ability.

I’m grateful to be able to afford my bills at the moment, something I’ve been struggling with pretty much since I turned 18. I’m grateful for the help of my friends and especially my family, who’ve managed to keep us from living on someone’s sofa through sheer force of will sometimes. I’m grateful for my healthy, intelligent, beautiful son, who amazes me every day just by existing. Then he wakes up and it’s even more awesome. I’m grateful for my own health, physical and mental, especially after the help I’ve received on the mental health front this year.

I’m grateful for the understanding of my family, but especially my husband, who has been through so much with me this year, including that mental health crisis and me finally coming out as a lesbian. He’s my best friend.

Some things I take for granted.

I take for granted being able to pass as straight, for one thing. It’s a hell of a lot easier for me, especially because I’m currently married to a man, to pass. I don’t even have to think about it, 95% of the time. I take for granted being seen as intelligent, because I’m white and dress well and had access to the best high school in my city because of where my mother could afford to live. I take for granted being seen as a responsible mother because I’m white and good looking.

I take for granted being able to get out of bed in the morning without assistance because I’m able-bodied. I take for granted being able to ask for and get assistance from my government in times of need because I’m white and a legal citizen and able to vote. I take for granted being able to vote. I take for granted being able to read because I had access to a free education. I take for granted having access to free books through my library system. I take for granted feeling safe walking down the street. I take for granted the ability to say how and who and when someone else has access to my body.

There are a million things a day that I don’t even think about, that other people have to strive and fight for every day. I can’t even begin to name them all. I can only try to even things out as best I can, by talking about those issues, by supporting others in my community, and by acknowledging my privilege.

I’m thankful for so much in my life, but probably not for enough of it. What have you learned to be grateful for? What have you taken for granted recently?

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Speculative Fiction is Still for Children

Speculative Fiction is Still for Children

I don’t remember the first Speculative Fiction story I read. There are so many possible contenders; I literally cannot pinpoint which one got to me first. I read Anne McCaffrey, Brian Jacques, Tanith Lee, Bruce Coville, Philip Pullman, Piers Anthony, Madeleine L’Engle and many more, all before I got out of elementary school. In middle school, I discovered Tamora Pierce, Simon R. Green, Douglass Adams and Lloyd Alexander. In high school, it was Tanya Huff, Mercedes Lackey, Orson Scott Card, Robin McKinley, Elizabeth Moon, and Garth Nix. I was heavily into fantasy back then. It wasn’t until college that I really started to read science fiction: Octavia E. Butler, Ursula K. Le Guin, Robert A. Heinlein, James H. Schmitz, Neal Stephenson, and David Weber.

Throughout all those years, about 18 now since I’ve been able to read to myself, my books were what kept me going. I had a troubled childhood (who didn’t), and I was looking for ways to escape. Speculative Fiction provided that escape. If I couldn’t personally run away from the things that bothered me, at least my mind could. I read on the bus, I read during classes, I read while walking home. I wanted to be those characters, I looked up to them, I admired the heroes in all those stories.

I wrote quite a bit, too, and made elaborate stories up in my head. I wanted to discover distant planets or alternate realities. I imagined myself the wielder of great and dire powers, magical or psychic. Nobody would ever make fun of me again. I could rearrange the world to my liking. These were childish stories with obvious Mary Sue characters and little to no true merit. But when I was writing them they made a world of difference to me. It gave me power over my own existence.

Speculative Fiction probably saved my life, or at least my sanity. I’d like to return the favor by making it a genre that anyone and everyone can read. When I was younger, all that mattered to me was the story. It didn’t have to be particularly good, and it didn’t have to representative of real life people. It just had to be not my life. As a critically thinking adult, I’ve started to expect more from the books I read. While I grow and change as a person, I expect the genre of Speculative Fiction to grow and change as well. And it’s very disappointing when it doesn’t live up to those lofty expectations.

It is a flawed genre, in some ways very badly. Many writers are still marginalized or go completely unpublished because of their choice of material or what they themselves look like or the way they live. Characters that I could once immerse myself in now reveal themselves to be shallow stereotypes and trite clichés. I’ve begun to realize that some of my favorite authors are themselves quite human, and many times it has been their bad behavior within the spec fic community that has shown this to me. It’s much easier in the age of the Internet to knock your heroes off their pedestals, simply by means of being able to talk to them or hearing them talk about themselves.

These are not irredeemable flaws but they are daunting ones. The Speculative Fiction community isn’t the all-welcoming entity it would like some to believe. Prejudice against women, against people of color, against LGBT fans and writers, is strong and alive.

However, as a feminist, a lesbian, and an advocate for racial and cultural diversity, I can honestly see no better medium then Speculative Fiction works to advance the ideals I believe in. If we can write anything, we can write stories full of characters of color, stories of strong, capable women, and stories featuring lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and queer heroes, not to mention many other marginalized members of society. As real life human beings, we can advocate for the publication and recognition of these works.

The true meaning of Speculative Fiction, for me, is this.

The world is infinite, the possibilities are endless, and anyone can save the day.

It’s up to the advocates and the educators to make sure those stories and the authors who write them have the space they need to flourish. We need to talk about the flaws of the genre openly, review the less well known works, write opinion pieces and analytical essays. Introduce your friends to the little authors and ask publishers for the kind of works you want to read. It’s not a fast process or always a safe one. People might try to intimidate you or even threaten you into silence. But if we don’t stand up for ourselves, who will?

I love Speculative Fiction and I think it has some wonderful authors and amazing stories within its history. But I also think it’s time for the genre to grow up.

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