Women's History Month

I've had such a wonderful WHM celebration. Thank you, everyone, for being part of it.

Just in case you missed a post by a favourite author, I'm listing them alphabetically by first name. I was going to write a couple of posts myself, to fill in gaps, but there were no gaps. It was a very fine month. Lots of writers I love remembered by other writers I love, all that gorgeous art and music... maybe I'll do this again next year.

Alma Alexander

Angela Slatter

Anita Heiss

Deborah Biancotti

Deborah Kalin

Delia Sherman

Donna Maree Hanson

Elizabeth Chadwick

Felicity Pulman

Jack Dann

Joanne Anderton

Kaaron Warren

Karen Simpson Nikakis

Kari Sperring

Kate Forsyth

Kay Kenyon

Kylie Chan

Laura Goodin

Lisa Hannett

Lucy Sussex

Marty Young

Mary Victoria

Nicole Murphy

RJ Astruc

Russell Farr

Samantha Faulkner

Simone Penkethman

Sue Bursztynski

Sue Isle

Thersa Matsuura

Thoraiya Dyer

Trent Jamieson

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My right eye is finally stable. I have one last check in 6 weeks and I'll be out of danger, but the specialist pronounced himself very pleased.

I did a bunch of work prior to this and will do a bunch of work in about an hour, but now I'm waiting for painkillers to kick in. It was coincidental, but well timed, for the eyedrops haven't faded entirely yet and everything looks harsh still.

This week is a strange mixture of messages, health and catching up on all my work.

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I have - entirely unexpectedly - totally bamboozled a telemarketer. First off, he called me 'Mrs Polack' and I accepted it with, "That's not quite correct, but what do you actually want?" I'm afraid I used my teacher-with-a-class-that's-trying-my-patience voice. This has been known to give innocents nightmares of homework not yet done, even when I haven't actually assigned homework.

This flustered him and it took him a moment before he said, "I'm calling about your mobile phone usage."

"I don't have mobile phone usage because I don't have a mobile phone."

"Do you want one?"

"If I wanted one, I would have one."* I used my firm I-don't-believe-a-dog-ate-your-homework-and-if-you-give-any-more-excuses-it's-a-week's-detention voice. I didn't even know I had this voice in me.

I went silent.

He started asking me his next question and stopped in his tracks and suddenly realised that none of his scripts applied. He turned and said something about this to his colleague. I missed most of it, but the words "I'm just trying to..." definitely appeared.

He thanked me politely and we both hung up.





*And so I will, when money is better. Although I actually do have the one I borrowed from J for the UK, but I haven't used it since I was in London and it's not actually mine.

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I love the world again. It's not just the eyes, it's the last book I'm reading tonight, Mark Rose's Alien Encounters. I like the way he approaches genre. He understands its fluidity; he places it in time; he understands how writers push limits and how they don't. It fits my Medievalist interpretation of genre far more than the work I threw a hissy fit over yesterday. I'm going to try to finish his book before I give up for the night.

After that, I'm having an early night. I don't want to. What I want to do is sit up late and watch old Dr Who.

I've been fighting a migraine since about lunchtime, and I'm finally losing the battle. Chocolate will get me through for a little, but not for more than a half hour. Most migraines I can work through (with care) but every now and then one hits that requires a dark room, medicine and hot water bottles. I did that earlier tonight and it worked well enough so that I ate dinner and did some solid work. And I answered my telephone. And I blogged.

It's all caught up with me again, alas. I like Rose's treatment of genre, though - it redeems my jaundiced view of humankind. When I lie in bed with those hot water bottles and with painkillers inside me, I shall be smiling.