Author: Shelley Powers

Categories
Books Writing

Group editing

J.D. Lasica is doing a brave thing: he’s put his new book, Darknet: Remixing the Future of Movies, Music, and Television online at both a wiki and a weblog, and then has invited all of us to join him in editing it.

He writes:

Goal: In the spirit of open media and participatory journalism, I’d like to use this wiki to publish drafts of each chapter in the book. I hope you’ll participate in this effort by contributing feedback, edits, criticism, corrections, and additional anecdotes, either through the comments field below or by sending me email. Feel free to be as detailed as you like or to insert comments or questions. After all, you’re the editor. (And remember, this is for a book manuscript, not a finished online document.) If you make a couple of helpful edits, I’ll mention your name in the book’s Acknowledgments (and buy you a drink next time we meet up).

Request: This is an experiment in trust. Feel free to dive in and make all the changes you think are warranted. I’ve opened this up as a public wiki, rather than a private space. Feel free to link to this main page from your blog, though I’ll also ask at this early stage that people not excerpt material or dissect any of the material in detail because we’re not at the public discussion point yet.

If you’re going to allow group editing, a wiki is the way to do it–have the people merge their own efforts, rather than having to do it yourself. However, I would hesitate before I approached any form of group edit, and it was my experiences with Practical RDF that led to this.

During the review of the book, I posted my chapters online and asked for edits and suggestions from the RDF community. I did receive a great number of suggestions and corrections, for which I was and still am grateful. However, a few weeks into the effort and I began to regret taking this approach, and I won’t do this again. Why? Because people bring with them different expectations about what they want to see in a book on specific topics, and trying to merge these expectations is virtually impossible.

For instance, the semantic web folks wanted the Practical RDF book to focus more on the esoteric aspects of RDF: less on RDF/XML, more on OWL, and more on the underlying theory, and the glorious new future of semantic web goodness. In fact, some of the RDF community was distinctly unhappy at my attempts at opening the technology up for everyday use.The applied folks, though, felt that I spent too much time on the specifications, and not enough on the practical applications. Even within the sections on practical application functionality, some felt I spent too much time on language coverage of RDF and not enough on actual applications based on RDF. Or, conversely, too much on applications, and not enough on language implementations.

All of these people had good suggestions, and I appreciated the time they invested in helping me. However, there was no way to converge these different outlooks into something feasible, workable, and especially readable. All that happened is that I became overwhelmed, and quickly burned out.

There’s also the challenge of receiving critical feedback from dozens of people, all at once. Most book companies only provide feedback from a few people, and this usually gets filtered through the editor. They know that authors can become either discouraged or defensive about writing if they’re hit with too many criticisms of their work in a short period of time. Remember that most people when they review something from an editorial perspective–be it book, music, or food–tend to focus on what’s wrong in the work, rather than what’s right. It’s the nature of what we are.

Now, in some ways, J.D.’s approach works through these difficulties because rather than provide feedback, you provide direct annotation or edits on the work. In other words, you walk the talk. This has the advantage of forcing the person to come up with a solution to go with their criticism. You don’t like the way a paragraph is worded? Then re-word it.

Still, I know for myself that I have a real ownership of my writing, and it’s difficult enough for me to go through the editing process with a trusted editor, much less an unknown, but experienced, reviewer. To do so with just anyone who wants to participate, regardless of ability, judgement, experience, or level of humility–especially level of humility–strikes me as a rather scary proposition.

Regardless of my own personal foibles, I am going to be extremely curious how this works out for J.D.

Categories
Just Shelley Weblogging

The Art of Books: Bookbinding and disappointment

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

I had a call tonight. All the person said on the line was, ‘You are nothing’, and then hung up. Odd sort of call for a crank.

It came when I was in the middle of cutting more paper for another one of the books I’m making. Each of these books is a gift for someone who is important to me, someone I care for. I’ll post a photo of all the books when finished, though the going is slow.

Some aspects of the bookbinding have been a surprise and delight for me. For instance, I’ve found that I’m quite good at cutting things out–even things that are complex and curvy. Though I had a slight accident when I was putting the exacto knife blade into it’s piece of protective cardboard and pushed through it into my finger, I am, shall we say, to the knife born.

In addition, the primary component of one of the star tunnel books has also come out extraordinarily well; I can only hope the rest of the book falls in line. The Japanese stab binding books are extremely satisfying in their elegance and simplicity; with their colorful covers, intricate knots, and handmade papers.

A couple of the projects, though, have not gone as expected. It’s not that they don’t match my mental expectations; it’s that when they are real, they aren’t what I was hoping to achieve. Disappointing that, but I think that all good craft work results in disappointment from time to time.

Working on the books provides something I’ve been missing in my life–a tactile contact that I don’t have with other activities. What I particularly like about working on the books is that I can attach part of my mind to the task at hand, but the rest is free to roam, to think on other things. I can’t do this when I’m working on the computer, nor when I’m on most of the trails I hike, either (that’s a good way to end up with a broken ankle).

Today while working, I found myself thinking, oddly enough, about the weblogger known only as Invisible Adjunct. She’s been on my mind ever since I read her decision to not only quit her weblog, but also the profession she had been working towards for a long time–a tenure track position at a university. I thought about her disappointment, which must be acute; but I was also taken by the grace she exhibited when she wrote about her decisions:

A few months ago, I made a vow to myself that this would be my last semester as an invisible adjunct. Since I’ve failed to secure a full-time position in my final attempt at the academic job market, what this means, of course, is that I made a vow to leave the academy. Six more weeks of teaching, and I head for the nearest exit.

Though I must inevitably feel a sense of loss and sadness, it’s thanks to this blog and its readers that I don’t feel the kind of life-twisting bitterness that I might otherwise have experienced. I’ll take with me, among other things, a knowledge of XHTML (which I never thought I could learn!), an undiminished passion for the Scottish Enlightenment, and a heightened sense of life’s possibilities.

In the meantime, I’ve decided to give up the blog.

Simple words expressing a profound message. It was the nature of her writing that made her words that much more piquant and feeling and even though I’ve never been a reader of hers, I felt a deep and personal connection with her–all through her elegant acceptance of her disappointment.

I know some may not agree with me–Invisible Adjunct’s words are seen as a cry to arms, to kindle anger at the academic establishment that fosters the heartbreak of so many. I can also imagine the loss that IA is experiencing, having myself lost a career built up over 20 years. But Invisible Adjunct showed that there is a beauty in disappointment; that it can be a way of stripping away one more layer of the wants and needs we wrap about ourselves; leaving the core essence of what we are, separate from what we want to be. Or, as she eloquently put it, what remains is …a heightened sense of life’s possibilities.

This afternoon, out walking on a familiar trail where I can safely let my mind wander, I thought more about disappointment, and how it can be shallow and slight, such as the minor disappointments we suffer growing up; or it can be deeply altering, such as that which Invisible Adjunct embraced.

The shallow disappointments, the present not received, the trip not taken, the treat denied, are minor and trite and soon forgotten unless we ourselves bring them up in a burst of pettiness. You know what I mean–the anger at spouse or parent when you regress to that young inner child and pettishly say, “But you didn’t get me that doll”, or, “But you didn’t get me that coat I wanted.” Getting caught up in these slight acts makes us as small as the act, and the wise person quickly purges them from memory so as not to waste time in an infantile state.

“You promised!” You promised! You promised!

The larger disappointments, though, they’re different. Having to leave a beloved career, as Invisible Adjunct did; discovering that a long held hope will not be realized; being deeply in love with someone who is attracted to another; a wished for pregnancy that turns out to be a false alarm–these are emotionally significant disappointments, and they shape us in small ways and large, though we may not know it when the event occurs, and may not cherish it until later. Much later.

Disappointment is not grief, though grief can also have its own beauty, a darker beauty like watching the moonlight reflect on the wings of a moth in the darkest hour of the night. Unlike disappointment, grief never ends. It may become less real over time and the sharp edges dull, and we may become better because of it–but it never leaves.

No, living through a profound disappoint is like being sick, for a very long time, and then gradually getting well again. The experience isn’t pleasant, and may even be frightening because you wonder if you will recover; but then there’s that moment when you wake and you feel better. You rise, and take your first steps away from your bed, lightheaded, as if you’re not quite anchored to earth.

I have this mental image of a person who has suffered through a profound disappointment. I see them as a figure wearing a cloak of soft, sad grey; gradually, over time, they drop the heavy cloak and underneath is …

Categories
Just Shelley

Bookbinding and Disappointment

I had a call tonight. All the person said on the line was, ‘You are nothing’, and then hung up. Odd sort of call for a crank.

It came when I was in the middle of cutting more paper for another one of the books I’m making. Each of these books is a gift for someone who is important to me, someone I care for. I’ll post a photo of all the books when finished, though the going is slow.

Some aspects of the bookbinding have been a surprise and delight for me. For instance, I’ve found that I’m quite good at cutting things out–even things that are complex and curvy. Though I had a slight accident when I was putting the exacto knife blade into its piece of protective cardboard and pushed through it into my finger, I am, shall we say, to the knife born.

In addition, the primary component of one of the star tunnel books has also come out extraordinarily well; I can only hope the rest of the book falls in line. The Japanese stab binding books are extremely satisfying in their elegance and simplicity; with their colorful covers, intricate knots, and handmade papers.

A couple of the projects, though, have not gone as expected. It’s not that they don’t match my mental expectations; it’s that when they are real, they aren’t what I was hoping to achieve. Disappointing that, but I think that all good craftwork results in disappointment from time to time.

Working on the books provides something I’ve been missing in my life–a tactile contact that I don’t have with other activities. What I particularly like about working on the books is that I can attach part of my mind to the task at hand, but the rest is free to roam, to think on other things. I can’t do this when I’m working on the computer, nor when I’m on most of the trails I hike, either (that’s a good way to end up with a broken ankle).

Today while working, I found myself thinking, oddly enough, about the weblogger known only as Invisible Adjunct. She’s been on my mind ever since I read her decision to not only quit her weblog, but also the profession she had been working towards for a long time–a tenure-track position at a university. I thought about her disappointment, which must be acute; but I was also taken by the grace she exhibited when she wrote about her decisions:

A few months ago, I made a vow to myself that this would be my last semester as an invisible adjunct. Since I’ve failed to secure a full-time position in my final attempt at the academic job market, what this means, of course, is that I made a vow to leave the academy. Six more weeks of teaching, and I head for the nearest exit.

Though I must inevitably feel a sense of loss and sadness, it’s thanks to this blog and its readers that I don’t feel the kind of life-twisting bitterness that I might otherwise have experienced. I’ll take with me, among other things, a knowledge of XHTML (which I never thought I could learn!), an undiminished passion for the Scottish Enlightenment, and a heightened sense of life’s possibilities.

In the meantime, I’ve decided to give up the blog.

Simple words expressing a profound message. It was the nature of her writing that made her words that much more piquant and feeling and even though I’ve never been a reader of hers, I felt a deep and personal connection with her–all through her elegant acceptance of her disappointment.

I know some may not agree with me–Invisible Adjunct’s words are seen as a cry to arms, to kindle anger at the academic establishment that fosters the heartbreak of so many. I can also imagine the loss that IA is experiencing, having myself lost a career built up over 20 years. But Invisible Adjunct showed that there is a beauty in disappointment; that it can be a way of stripping away one more layer of the wants and needs we wrap about ourselves; leaving the core essence of what we are, separate from what we want to be. Or, as she eloquently put it, what remains is …a heightened sense of life’s possibilities.

This afternoon, out walking on a familiar trail where I can safely let my mind wander, I thought more about disappointment, and how it can be shallow and slight, such as the minor disappointments we suffer growing up; or it can be deeply altering, such as that which Invisible Adjunct embraced.

The shallow disappointments, the present not received, the trip not taken, the treat denied, are minor and trite and soon forgotten unless we ourselves bring them up in a burst of pettiness. You know what I mean–the anger at spouse or parent when you regress to that young inner child and pettishly say, “But you didn’t get me that doll”, or, “But you didn’t get me that coat I wanted.” Getting caught up in these slight acts makes us as small as the act, and the wise person quickly purges them from memory so as not to waste time in an infantile state.

“You promised!” You promised! You promised!

The larger disappointments, though, they’re different. Having to leave a beloved career, as Invisible Adjunct did; discovering that a long-held hope will not be realized; being deeply in love with someone who is attracted to another; a wished for pregnancy that turns out to be a false alarm–these are emotionally significant disappointments, and they shape us in small ways and large, though we may not know it when the event occurs, and may not cherish it until later. Much later.

Disappointment is not grief, though grief can also have its own beauty, a darker beauty like watching the moonlight reflect on the wings of a moth in the darkest hour of the night. Unlike disappointment, grief never ends. It may become less real over time and the sharp edges dull, and we may become better because of it–but it never leaves.

No, living through a profound disappoint is like being sick, for a very long time, and then gradually getting well again. The experience isn’t pleasant, and may even be frightening because you wonder if you will recover; but then there’s that moment when you wake and you feel better. You rise, and take your first steps away from your bed, lightheaded, as if you’re not quite anchored to the earth.

I have this mental image of a person who has suffered through a profound disappointment. I see them as a figure wearing a cloak of soft, sad grey; gradually, over time, they drop the heavy cloak and underneath is …

Categories
Critters

Look, do not touch

bear cubPhoto credit: Ray Morris, licensed under a CC BY-NC-ND 2.0 license.

update The bear cub was not killed. They held it for ten days in quarantine, which most likely means the petting zoo bought the bear cub through an exotic animal dealer, and it wasn’t “wild”. Currently the bear cub is being cared for at the St. Louis Zoo, while the incident is under investigation.

earlier A story receiving wide circulation today is about a bear cub having to be destroyed for rabies testing because it bit students at an event at Washington University in St Louis. The wild bear cub was brought to the event as part of a petting zoo.

I first read about it in an article in St. Louis Today, but the story is showing up in all of the local media.

Petting zoos are a leading source of both salmonella and E.Coli poisoning. In all but rare cases, such as petting zoos at larger well-established zoos, petting zoos are also an unhealthy, miserable life for the animals. Both of these problems are accentuated when exotic animals are introduced into the mix.

Because of this act, this bear cub—most likely bought through our disreputable but legal exotic animal trade—is going to be killed for rabies testing, because it did what any animal would do in a situation where it was stressed and frightened: it bit people. Not seriously, but enough to break the skin with some of the folk, and that’s enough to doom it.

The University states that it demanded only domestic animals, but such a demand doesn’t make the act better. Petting zoos, especially small, poorly maintained operations, are miserable places for the animals. They’re also potentially very hazardous for humans because of the aforementioned salmonella and E.Coli poisoning risk. Now we can add rabies to the list.

I doubt the bear cub had rabies—they rarely do in the wild. But it died just because some students want a selfie for Facebook.

The petting zoo is Cindy’s Zoo, owned by Cindy Farmer. She’s licensed with the USDA under the name Cindy Farmer-Ryan. A quick lookup in the APHIS database turns up numerous violations of the Animal Welfare Act. So many that the operation is on a multiple-inspections-a-year track.

What a tragic end for this poor cub. Bluntly, it’s time to start putting down some rules about exotic animals in this free-for-all state. And it’s past time for Wash U to find some other way to help students release stress. I suggest jogging.

update: Riverfront Times has a story about the cancellation of an event using this same petting zoo. The story contains a link to a video featuring the poor little bear. It’s just a baby.

Categories
Political

Can we still be friends

What happens after the Presidential elections in the United States in November has been on my mind a lot lately. The ramifications for my country are significant, and of the seven elections I’ve participated in the past (missing the eighth because I turned 18 two weeks after the election), I don’t remember one having such a degree of emotional commitment as this election. No, not even the elections during the Vietnam War.

This year we’re seeing two hundred years of political flashpoints come together into one huge, and disturbingly virulent fireball: race, religion, state rights versus federal; US as empire and US as peacekeeper terrorism, expanionism, libertarian versus socialistic economics, and the role of the federal government; abortion, gay marriage, immigration, health care, creationism versus evolution, and the environment and progress.

It’s almost like a bad poem, and since I missed the Blogger poem day yesterday:

Race, religion, fed versus state
who do we appreciate?

US as empire and peacekeeper, too
boils down to US rules.

Terrorism and expansionism
put the bad guys into prison.

Libertarian or social, true.
I got mine, and so do you.

Abortion or gay,
who holds sway?

Give us your money,
you can keep your poor.

It’s okay to die,
just don’t get sick.

Can’t stuff a tree into a gas tank
but it’s hard to breath petroleum.

God created me, you stupid ape.

But more than just the impact this election will have on this country and the world,
I wonder about the impact on our online relationships with each other. To say that nothing will change after this election in regards to our interactions with others we’ve come to know online is foolishly optimistic. Of course things will change, but how they’ll change, I don’t know.

I’m lucky in that over half the people I’ve come to know online are not from this country. I’ve been able to meet people from South Africa and Canada; Austrlia, New Zealand, and the UK; Germany, France, Italy, Brazil, Japan, South Korea, Israel, Iraq, China, and other countries known and not. It’s been a rich experience, but its also been painful at times . Never before have I been able to borrow so many other’s eyes to see my own country, and the sight has not always been pretty or pleasant.

There are not a lot of countries who are very happy with the United States now, but much of the anger has been directed at the President and his staff. After all, Bush did not win the popular vote, so we can’t necessarily be held accountable for his actions. But what happens if Bush gets re-elected? At that time Bush’s actions will be seen as following the mandate of the people of this country, and how is that going to alter other country’s views of each of us?

If Bush is re-elected, can we still be friends?

Even when I share much of the same views as those who would condemn our actions, I have found myself experiencing tension, more than once, with someone I consider friend, primarily because of condemnation of our actions has been balanced, precariously, against condemnation of the nation as a whole. And good or bad, I am part of this nation.

I’ve known Chris, otherwise known as Stavros of Emptybottle almost longer than anyone else, but when he says in my comments, “I hate America”, it is difficult for me to accept this with any form of objectivity. What “America”, I want to say. I am part of America.

I have long respected Mike Golby’s satirical eloquence and his passion, and he has become an important part of my life, but even so earlier in April I found myself pushing back at him, in anger:

What do you want, Mike?

You don’t want Bush. You don’t want Kerry. You don’t like Americans, because we fuck up constantly.

Do you want us to just detonate all of out atomic bombs over our own country and wipe us off the face of the world? Will that then end all evil, since we are the root of?

I’ve read Mike’s condemnation of the Bush administration and our actions for months and never had anything but agreement. So why did I get angry this time? I think it’s because I see that precarious balance against America, the government and America, the people. Even when Mike says this is bullshit, he also writes:

Until U.S. citizens start telling the U.S. administration what they think of it, the world and I can only believe they condone what is happening in Iraq and elsewhere.

Yet I don’t want Chris or Mike to stop what they are saying because I do agree with their anger; I know, intellectually, neither means me when they make their statements. But what will happen between us if Bush were re-elected? Will that anger grow? If so, will the tension grow, too?

Even within the country, Bush being re-elected is going to create an enormous amount of tension. If I seem to be angry at Mike for demanding that we be held accountable for our actions, imagine the contradiction when I turn around and get angry at other of my fellow citizens for just this same reason.

I should maintain an intellectual detachment from the political process, but I cannot. Every time I hear the President invoke religion as his platform, I will find myself pushing back at the religious, yes even those who are tolerant. Every time I hear the President paint yet another country as ‘evil’, I lash out at even the most reasonable in his support. Every time I see a wilderness area opened up for oil exploration, or more foul substances released into the air or water, I turn my frustrated, heart broken, and desperate eyes of rage on the nearest moderate Republican, and I let loose with both barrels.

“Damn you! Look what you’ve done!”

You might think that in those circles where only the like-minded frequent, such as among the warbloggers, the results of the election won’t be an impact on the relationships because the people agree. If Bush doesn’t win, they will support each other. If Bush does win, they will still support each other.

However, it doesn’t take much to see that among the warbloggers, for the most part, the only thing they do agree on is Bush’s aggressive military stance. Once the election is over, Bush winning or not, what will then form the cohesive elements in their lives? At that point, I see many reaching a point of burn out and either they will quit or they will change. No one can talk about war every day, day in day out, no matter how much they relish it now. But if the warbloggers don’t have war–what will they have?

What if Bush does not win, like I and so many others hope? One can say if getting Bush re-elected is the cohesive force behind those who support “the war”, whatever “the war” is, making sure Bush isn’t elected is just as much a cohesive force for others.

Look around you. Can you see all of us engaging in the same level of rhetoric for the next four years? But do we then write about poetry and technology and bookbinding and hiking and ignore the hundreds that were just blown up in Baghdad? I can, and I will, and so will you–but sometimes the words seem stretched thin, like new skin over an open wound.

Maybe they are. New skin signifies healing.

Regardless of the election results, I think too many things have been in motion for us to ever pull out without enormous damage, no matter what course we take. I’d like to think that we can mend our differences with other countries, and find a solution to Iraq and the Middle East, and save the environment, and feed the hungry and care for the sick, but unlike so many other pundits, I don’t know what the solutions are.

(Speaking of pundits, how many sincere essays written with an absolute confidence that the weblogger knows the truth can we read before our heads implode? Including our own essays (as I raise my hand signifying my own guilt)? When I see somebody write with gentle humility or compassion or humor now, I want to cry. I want to drink in the words like they are water in the desert. I’ll even partake of delicious arrogance, if it’s done in service of poking holes in our self-satisfied bubbles.)

Perhaps I am too sensitive, or lacking in the objectivity or the necessary degree of intellectualism that allows us to have our dissenting dialogs without blowing apart in fire and bits of burnt ego. After the election, we will continue as we are, with no difference, and I am seeing non-existent specters. At this point, you’re all shaking your heads with pity for me, all the while in the back of your mind is a single thought: let’s form a pool to see when she’ll crack.

Maybe I’m just experiencing the frustration of feeling close to people who I haven’t met physically, and most likely never will, and I miss that direct contact. I can’t hug Chris or Mike to reaffirm that we are friends despite our countries and our differences, and this makes it worse. I must also admit, too, in quiet moments, that even if we were to have the chance, we might still not meet because what we share is woven of silver threads that are beautiful as long we don’t look directly at them.

And maybe it’s nothing more than my mood reflecting this gray day and the storm last night. It’s odd, but as I lay there in the dark and watched the lightning through the window and listened to the crack of thunder, I thought about the events in the last few weeks, and how the brightest moment in them was a silly little meme known as “23rd page, fifth sentence”.

It is now 185 days until November 2nd, 2004