I love Idaho. I love the town where I live. I have had a lot of people talk about how this town will suck a person's soul, but I have found the natural beauty and its character fulfilling and lovely. I love the light, the hills, what is referred to as Old Town, the access to the university resources (theater, library, the fabulous local NPR station, etc.), the cemetery by the university, the folklore, the history, some of the charming parks, the town's magic.

I love where I live. I love my house, I love the scenery when I look out my windows, I love the mountains, the green, the mist the covers the landscape on a rainy day.


I'm not so fond of the air quality, or the town's economic issues.

There are some really fine, kind, good people here. And I know some of them, but I seem to be drowning in the other kind.

When Rice and I attended school here we made some great friends. I knew some really smart, fun, interesting, cool people. But we all grow up, you know? We move away. We get night jobs and are up when others sleep. That sort of thing.

I am an introvert, yet I do like people. I like having fulfilling, intelligent, fun conversations. I like socializing. Some socialization really fuels me. Some of it, well, not so much. In the end I still need my down time, but I like visiting with friends and enjoying their company.

I can't say that I have a lot of friends here. Not any more. They moved mostly. All away from the town that sucked their soul, or because they were laid off, or their work moved, and so on.

I have tried to get involved in some local social activities, but usually they just don't go so well. So many of the people here are so worried that if they expose a bit of themselves that something Bad Will Happen. I think they're afraid I'll judge them as being a bad, "unrighteous" person, and so they protect themselves and talk about nothing. As soon as a conversation gets mildly less than superficial the walls come up, and there's no penetrating them.

A lot of the people believe it is their job to maintain the social order of things. I have had people I barely know tell me when it's time to have another baby, and when I've been pregnant and have expanded I have been told I should knock off the donuts, and by the way, isn't it time for me to have another baby?

I tried a book club out for a while. We were reading Willa Cather's O, Pioneers. At several places in the book, the main character has several "visions" of a golden personage. Based on my background and the text I interpreted the personage to be a pagan god of the land, like a corn god. (After the book group I did some research and found that such an interpretation is the common one among literary circles.) A lot of the women in the group interpreted the personage to be Jesus Christ. When they heard that I thought the personage, who was obviously their Savior, was a pagan god, they were a bit concerned. They told me that because of my background I didn't know the Savior as they did, and hadn't known pain or experienced loss in my life, and so of course I didn't recognize the Savior when he appeared in literature, but maybe with age and experience... Of course, they also pointed out I had better get to know my Savior so I shall recognize him in the future.

This might be a good time to point out that they know little of my past. Of course, I don't tell a lot of people about my past; I've only touched on it here.

The upshot is this:

I am surrounded by people who disapprove of the books I read, the music I listen to, the movies I watch, and what I write. This is okay. The problem is that their disapproval enters into the social arena. They feel I need to be saved, or that I'm not the kind of person one should be friends with. And you know, when someone is primarily concerned with how to save you or how to have as superficial a relationship as possible with you because your taste in music might rub off and send you both to hell, well, that's not a very productive relationship, now is it?

This is not a new thing. I was an incredible oddity for a lot of my formative years. When I found people in high school who wrote and listened to Dylan and the Beatles and Bowie and read Hesse and Steinbeck and the Brontes and Bradbury, oh, that was a wonderful thing. But it took eleven years.

But during that time I wasn't alone. First of all, my parents were fine conversationalists about all sorts of things. My grandparents were fine company. (I lent my grandmother my Steinbeck and Kafka books, and she read them, and then we discussed them.) I had teachers who were great conversation. And even when I didn't have friends who had similar interests I often found myself with really bright, interesting people.

I think a lot of the people up here have the potential to be such. I really do. But it won't be me who brings it out in them.

Part of the problem is also that in most circles I'm only socially permitted to make friends with women, particularly women with young children. I can't make friends with men, as a general rule; we may have an affair.

There is a community of writers here in town, but I already tested the waters at one point and a speculative fiction writer wouldn't be welcome. We don't write litrachur, you know.

There are people here who write as a hobby, but I have read their work and I am a snob. If they want me to critique their rhyming iambic pentameter about their testimony of Fox news I will, but it wouldn't go over well.

Do you see what I'm saying?

There is one professor here who is interested in speculative fiction, but I'm not sure how well we get on. He is pretty impressed with himself, and perhaps for good reason, but I'm weird. I have heard him talk about concepts, as if they were great new truths, and I said, "Eco wrote about that years ago," but your average person around here doesn't read Eco. The point is that I'm not sure if he is interested in having a give and take relationship -- from previous experience he seems more comfortable in constantly being the professor, and I'm cool with that, but only up to a point. He tried having a sci-fi movie day and discussion group, but there was no interest, sadly. (Where he played professor.) It was hard for me to attend at the time because of the kids and the familial situation. But it would have been just the two of us.

We're an odd breed.

Sometimes, though, I'm tempted to email him and say, "Hey, I read your book/paper/story" and start a discussion that way.

I think there are people here to be met. The problem is going out and finding them. And figuring out young children, particularly when I have no husband. And don't forget -- I'm an introvert.

Screwed? I don't think so.

I'm sure I'll figure something out.

And maybe when we move... A lot of the social situation is similar up there, from what I gather. But maybe I'll hang out the Barnes and Noble with a "I heart Hal Duncan" t-shirt, or a "My husband has my heart, God has my soul, but the rest of me belongs to Bob Dylan" t-shirt. Maybe one that says, "Sing along with the Common People". I think this has potential. :) I can't tell you how many times I've been in the Barnes and Noble and some young guy will come up to me (I have no idea why me, really) and ask where to find the H.P. Lovecraft, and, of course, I know. The B&N up there sells Asamov's, F&SF, and Realms of Fantasy. They have carried Tim Pratt's The Strange Adventures of Rangergirl, which I really hope sold and didn't get sent back. They have carried Jeff VanderMeer.

Maybe I don't frequent the right places. Maybe I need to hang out in comic shops more. Put out an ad in the paper.

Someone over at the LJ suggested I go to some cons. I think there's potential there, too.

But I guess part of the point is that I'm grateful for the 'net, and for you all, as well. It's not so alone out there, knowing that other people know and enjoy Stephen Merritt and Kelly Link. That there's people out there who write intelligent and magical fiction that isn't Eragon or Nora Roberts. (Nothing against Christopher and Nora, obviously they're doing something right, but that's not my type of story, per se.)

And I'm grateful for In House Radio, which tells me there's someone else in this town with fine musical taste. Maybe I should hang out at the university when Jeremy Peterson broadcasts with one of my t-shirts and see if anyone else shows up to enjoy the music. :)

And I'm also grateful for Winter, who messages me and asks questions that combine Nietzsche and Huxley.