Stuff your rose. Names matter.

Working on the last stage of my thesis has largely enforced radio silence, but I had to get this out. I invite you to consider the following images as you read:

Gravestone of Henry Alfred Dudley

Reverse of Gravestone of Henry Alfred Dudley

One of my personal hot-button issues is that of womenʼs names. I passionately believe that the current system, in which women are named as adjuncts to the men in their life (typically first their father, then their husband or series of husbands), is deeply flawed, not least of which because it reinforces a rigid idea of what a woman or femininity can be. This is most commonly seen in married women, who bear the brunt of the idea that to be a ʻproperʼ family requires sharing oneʼs husbandʼs name. It also directly negatively impacts those who choose not to marry, who do not fit heteronormative or monogamous models, or who do not fit the gender binary system on which the name issue depends.

It’s a huge issue, and the longer I consider it, the larger and more important it gets. This post is merely to introduce one aspect, as I see it. Continue reading

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“Greetings and salutations,” said the spider to the pig.

I have a long-standing love affair with the written word.

I have to stretch before I can reach memories from before I could read. Writing became become tremendously important to me as I matured, from my first tentative forays into fiction to the text now before you.

It’s not all I am, though. A writer needs something to write about. This blog will be a hodgepodge, drawing from my own experiences and readings. It is an experiment of sorts, one I am content to leave unfocused for a time to see what develops.

By way of introduction, I am human, female and still with a great deal of life stretching before me. As for age, suffice to say that my parents had two children by this point.

I have lived in western Canada all my life, though not always in the same parts. My genetic heritage draws from much of northern Eurasia, though how much from where is an occasional source of speculation.

I earned a Bachelor of Arts, combining my love of writing with my love of Classical history and mythology. I am continually frustrated by my lack of a job that uses many of the skills that degree imparted.

My taste in fiction is speculative and fantastic; my taste in non-fiction is largely, though not limited to, the biological, anthropological and cultural. One room in my home is a dedicated library, ever-growing.

The periods without cats in my life have been brief.

I consider myself a creative person; the numerous craft supplies in my home support this claim. I cook as often as I can, make my own soap from scratch and can’t watch TV without a crochet hook and yarn. I drew my own tattoo.

My life is not extraordinary. I never went backpacking across another continent after high school or university. I’ve certainly never lived through a zombie apocalypse.

It is my hope that my writing will engage nonetheless.