Why I love my advisor/supervisor, reason #372

Okay, so, we're at Swancon, yeah? And I'm talking with my advisor/supervisor, Van Ikin, and we see someone across the lobby carrying a conspicuously large scepter, topped by a green glass orb. Very eye-catching. She begins to dance. "She's...she's dancing with it," I gasp (somewhat unnecessarily).

"Well, what else would you do with a scepter?" says Van. "If you just stand around with it looking regal, that's stupid." He pauses. "Scepter is as scepter does."

Perth

Yesterday was my Big Tourist Day before the start of Swancon. I started off looking at a swag of museums. The Art Gallery of Western Australia has some really fantastic stuff in it. (One of the pieces that appealed to me most — who can explain these things? — was Tony Clark's Sections from Myriorama; I do not reproduce it here out of respect for intellectual-property rights.) Next was the Western Australia Museum, where I spurned the AC/DC exhibit to focus on the history and natural history. (Note, by the way, the somewhat melodramatic acrylic drool swinging from the dinosaur's jaws.)



Finally, I went through the Perth Institute of Contemporary Arts, which I enjoyed very much.

Entry to ALL THREE of these museums was by suggested donation — almost as good as the free museums in DC!

I also walked around the Northbridge neighborhood, which is supposed to be all funky and Newtown/Greenwich-y, but it kind of isn't. Oh well.

Next came a massive perambulation around downtown Perth, during which time I stumbled upon London Court. My photos are below; I note with dismay that they are pretty much identical to the photos on the Wiki page. Why do any of us bother taking photos for ourselves anymore? Anyway, my favorite was the clocktower with jousting knights. I love that sort of thing.




And just to demonstrate once again that Shakespeare follows me everywhere, his coat of arms:



Oh! I almost forgot: there was an emergency-services museum — tiny, but very earnest — in a disused turn-of-the-century firehouse; when they heard I'd been an SES volunteer, they couldn't do enough for me. I found this display particularly gratifying:



Partly out of curiosity, and partly as recon for Easter weekend, I found and explored St. Mary's Cathedral, which, architecturally speaking, is a surreal yet intriguing combination of old and new. I look forward to seeing what they do liturgically.

Finally, an object lesson in how the arts-and-culture community can be at least as invested in bad decisions as the rest of the world. First, here's the Kennedy Center.



Ugly, yeah? Yeah.

And here's the National Library in Canberra.



Uh-huh. Also ugly.

And now, in its own "I want to run with the big dogs" kinda way, the Perth Concert Hall:



Ugly, without the benefit of titanic bulk. (Note to the Universe: this in NO WAY WHATSOEVER is to be taken as indication that I will be churlish or precious should a work of mine ever have the chance to be performed there. No no no no — I will be most humbly grateful. I will. I promise.)

I love teh internetz.

Some of my Brisbane writer buddies get together regularly for a harsh but salutary custom they call Write Club: everyone sits down to write and eat Bad Food, and if someone's keystrokes sound too infrequent, or (worse yet) degenerate into the ceaseless mouse clicks that suggest a furtive game of Solitaire, the other participants shriek "WRITE!" until the errant party gets back to business. I always feel quite wistful that I am not able to crash their party: I'm sure I'd get a lot more writing done if I could.

However, through the miracles of science, today I was able to have a write-in with one of my bestest writing buddies ever, even from halfway around the world. We found a time that we could both cope with in our respective time zones, set up a Skype session, and away we went! Yes, there was a fair bit of chatting, but there was also very productive writing.

I almost always write in solitude, but changing one's writing pattern — not to mention feeling a sense of commitment and team spirit from writing alongside someone you value — can jolt the writing juju loose to flow again. And so it happened. We'll definitely be doing this again.

I love teh internetz.

Getting better

Getting better is a really painful thing — for me, at least. I don't know about you. But getting better requires, as its precondition, that one admit a deficiency or inadequacy. I must get better means I am not good enough.

This poses a bit of a problem. I have a lot — a lot — of hopes, dreams, and opportunity costs tied up in the conviction that I am a good enough writer. But if there's still room for improvement, then obviously I'm not good enough. Since I must be, have to be good enough, there is therefore no need to improve. Quod erat demonstrandum.

Meanwhile, in another neighborhood in my brain, the thoughts are gathering to stage an intervention. "Laura," they say, "Better is not the opposite of bad. It's not 'be bad, then improve, then be better.' It can just as easily go this way: 'be fantastic, improve, be better.' See?" They nod encouragingly.

One thought steps forward from the crowd: this one, though kindly, is iron-stern: "Don't you owe your readers, your stories, yourself, the very best you can become? Yes, the best you can be right now, but even more, the best you can become? Do you think you, among all the people in the world, are off the hook for this one?"

Um, I think, glancing nervously from side to side. Um....

The stern thought reaches out, smacks me upside the head, and turns to go. It looks over its shoulder: "Now go. Write. Get better."