Chicago TARDIS (November 29-December 1)

I've just returned from DC after a week away--back to Wisconsin for Thanksgiving. Seeing my family again drove home just how much I missed them, but also how much I enjoy living on my own. It's a balance between different sources of comfort and stress, I suppose, especially after as rough a year as this has been (you didn't miss anything; I'm not giving details on this blog, at least for a while yet. Suffice to say this was the first time I've seen some people since certain things had happened, but the adjustment went far better than I feared).

I also took a few days to run down to Chicago and hang out with my other family: the Whovians.

Pictured above: Ellen (as the Eleventh Doctor in the episode Closing Time), "Hearts" (as the Eighth Doctor in the Dark Eyes audios), me (as President Romana III), Fyodor (as the Eighth Doctor--and Plushie Eight), Ashli (as Charley Pollard from the Eighth Doctor audios), and 2 friendly Third Doctors whose names I didn't catch. Photo credit goes to Fyodor's mom!

I just realized a lot of this post will not make much sense to anyone who doesn't follow Doctor Who. Oh, well.

Although I felt bad for running out on Mom for two and half days of the seven we had together, she was really sweet about agreeing to drive me to the convention center on a Black Friday. My sister, back from the University of Davis, rode along and we got two hours of conversation in that way. We've never been Black Friday shoppers (my sister and I have both worked retail) so it wasn't a real loss to be driving that day, although we did worry about finding parking once we found out the convention was right near a shopping center. Luckily, we found spaces--among numerous cars in a certain shade of blue, licence plates like Davros and T4RDIS, and windows decorated in Circular Gallifreyan. We'd come to the right place. 

We'd hoped to get lunch between the three of us and "Hearts," the first of the friends I was meeting at Chicago TARDIS, but the length of the registration line didn't permit it, especially as Hearts & I wanted to make it to Paul McGann's Q&A panel at 2 and it was already one o'clock. So I bid farewell to Mom and the sister, after explaining a few of the costumes they saw in the lobby (aw, civilians).

Hearts and I first met and bonded over a shared love of Paul McGann, and over time we've gathered with others in an internet-based fanmass known as The Clann McGann. I could say too much and too little at this point. I could easily make this entire post one long squee fest about how lovely and adorable 54-year old Scouser Paul McGann is. Here's an equivalent of one thousand-word post in one picture:

(54 as of November 14th!!!)

(In fact Hearts had just given him a birthday present, which explains some of that smile. But I'm getting ahead of myself.)

Anyway, although I've been participating in the Clann McGann since mid-2011, the first time I saw him in person was at Gallifrey One in 2012. Long story short, Hearts and I had a singularly wonderful time, I wound up gushing and calling him "darling" to his face (a bit patronizing, as he's 30 years older than I am) and over the course of apologizing for that, I wound up being kissed on the hand by the Eighth Doctor.

Paul McGann is a wonderful human being.

He wasn't feeling very well at the beginning of the interview (many people laughed nervously as he asked if there was a doctor in the house--not exactly punning) but he was characteristically gracious throughout the interview. He also seemed to liven up when his co-star Daphne Ashbrook came onstage. She's also a darling, and always seems as excited to see her fans as we are to see her. She pulled out her camera onstage to take pictures of the audience a few times. Hearts and I sat with several members of Clann McGann in the audience and we cheered at several opportunistic moments, like when "groupies" were mentioned, and also remembered the title of at least one of Paul's movies--"Paper Mask"--that he didn't ("that one where I was a fake doctor"...as opposed to, well, the Doctor I suppose). When one of the Clann went up to ask a question and said he was her favorite, he complimented her on her discerning taste, which was a refreshing change from modesty ;D. He also, after someone pointed out that Daphne Ashbrook's character Grace is still owned by Fox and can't appear in the current BBC series because of that, suggested a meeting of executive minds to bring everything "into common ownership--if that isn't too socialist." 

There was also one fan who was a bit nervous to ask his question. Paul told him to come onstage and see how nerve-wracking that was. So the intrepid fan lept up, turned around, let out a squeak like a gargantuan mouse, and jumped back down. I take it we were pretty intimidating. 

Speaking of politics, even the more liberal of us admitted to an uncanny feeling of deja vu as we found ourselves waiting...and waiting...and waiting...to see a doctor--for photos or autographs. The "virtual queue" ticket system is good in theory, but in practice--well, I'll hold my peace, especially as I was lucky and got into all the sessions I hoped for. I feel very sorry for the volunteers who had to wrangle all of the crowds, very very sorry for crowd members who got lost in the shuffle, and pretty irritated, though not surprised, at how downright nasty some people are getting on the con's Facebook page. Throwing insults around never makes anything better, you guys, for shame.

On a happier note:

I spent some time Friday in my Eighth Doctor cosplay, which has seen a lot of love over the years, but the heavy velvet coat and shirt which would not stay tucked (at least the waistcoat hid my duck tail) left me yearning for a change--plus, I wanted to show off my new discovery. While sorting through my wardrobe, I had discovered the makings of a "closet cosplay" of a native of Gallifrey, flaunting orange and magenta silk. Although not everybody picked up that I was supposed to be Romana III (who only appears in the Eighth Doctor novels), I did get plenty of compliments, and several to the effect that they couldn't believe it was something I'd dug out of my closet.

The secret ingredient to a closet cosplay: prom gown.

"It still fits!"--a closet cosplay is born

Upon discovering a) that my prom dress was still wearable, plus the coat a good friend who works at JoAnn Fabrics had sewn me, b) in the 50th anniversary episode, some random Gallifreyans showed up in a similar color scheme, and c) this was really really fun to wear, I shared some pictures with my online Whovian friends asking them to convince me to do or not do it. They failed to convince me not to do it, so. This meant a number of people who had never before seen me in real life were able to recognize me by the dress, as I found out once I stepped off the elevator and had someone literally run across the lobby to greet me.

Our merry band was rounded out as Heart's (her preferred nom de guerre) and my friend Ellen arrived from Vancouver around 8 o'clock. We traversed the surrounding area in the chill November night to find a food court. Nourishment provided, we caught the tail end of the charity auction being held for the Illinois food bank and went to bed at an hour shockingly early for a con.

"Hearts" is on the left, Ellen on the right. Ellen took many of these pictures, leading to the sadly ironic result that she does not appear in many of them.

Then again, we were up shockingly early on Saturday morning. We wound up in the halls at 9:15, waiting to get in line for the virtual queue--or as I came to call the phenomenon, "queuing to queue for the queue." The virtual queue system did not quite offer the unparalleled convenience it promised. Milling around in the halls did give us the chance to meet with more Clann McGann members and other congoers, admire cosplays, and scout out the dealer's room and upcoming panels.

I am trying to convince Hearts (Plushie Eight's mama) to sew more Plushie Doctors to sell in dealer's rooms to come or perhaps on Etsy. Your help in this campaign is appreciated. 

Once I got my virtual queue ticket, I hurried to the 10:00 one-on-one session with authors Jonathan Blum and Kate Orman. This genuinely sweet married couple has written some of my favorite Eighth Doctor novels, so I rushed in as soon as possible in case I'd be crowded out by other fans. When I told this to Blum, he was genuinely appreciative. As were the 2 or 3 other people in the room. A few more did trickle in over the course of the hour, but I guess it is difficult to get people into Saturday morning panels. Even though plenty of us were up anyway thanks to the queueing.

It was a really fun panel, although small. Orman and Blum compared their different writing styles--going really fast and then revising vs going slowly to create a more polished, if not finalized, first draft--and also reminisced on the "wilderness years" when Doctor Who as a TV show was over and the novels were the focus of fan attention. Not all of that attention was exactly good, as Blum recalls a fan standing up to demand a refund at an early convention. None of that happened here.

Also, one sure way to my heart is to admire Plushie Eight, which Blum and Orman certainly did. He was dubbed "insanely cute," his little cravat was wondered over, and we discussed whether the Eighth Doctor's coat was really green. The latest word I've had, from people who have seen the original in the autograph room, is that it was deep green, but the stunt coat was black and shimmered green in some lighting. The novels also described Eight's coats as brown, purple, or red. Kate Orman related a brief-lived controversy over the color of Paul McGann's eyes, which was settled by an editor spending an hour seated across from him and emerging to declare "They are BLUE." A sentiment with which I heartily agree.

And at some point over the course of the panel, despite a wise policy of not speaking ill of other writers, somebody mentioned writing needlessly overcomplicated plots and someone in the room (naming no names) cheerfully exclaimed, "Hello, Stephen!" Although I'm actually happy with what Moffat did for the 50th anniversary and extremely excited about him bringing McGann back for a mini episode, I'm very annoyed that the message he drew from the fan response to that episode was not "The fans really like the Eighth Doctor" but "The fans really like surprises." To be fair, I think he may have been attempting to drive home a lesson about leaked footage--since that's why McGann's Doctor wound up regenerating a week early ("I can't believe Moffat killed Paul on his birthday," someone said in the Clann)--but, still. To a man with a hammer, nails everywhere, etc etc.

 Anyway, moral of the story is, the authors and stories of the Doctor Who books are awesome even if they're no longer the Where It's At of Who.

"Because Book Companions Deserve Love too!"

At last, Hearts, Ellen, and I found ourselves in the less-than-virtual queue for photos with McGann and Daphne Ashbrook--accompanied by some props. Ever since the "Paul Doll" got cuddled by Daphne at Gallifrey One this February, it has been my ambition to introduce him to the original. Now I had my chance.

I was so flustered to see McGann in person again that I forgot to hand over Plushie for possible hugs or silly poses, an oversight I regret now. I did make Plushie wave (it's not that I revert to 12 years old when shy; I genuinely just make plush toys wave at other people to say hello and I will do this all my life even if I die at 300 after a cyrogenic freeze). McGann said something about him being "Cute" and "like a little brother" but then he had his arm very firmly around my back for the photo and I wasn't paying much attention. Paul McGann's capacity for touchy-feelyness in a way that seems both friendly and sincere is a true gift.

Then it was Heart's & Ellen's turn for a picture. I admit I watched with some trepidation, as their choice of props to pose with was...a little atypical. After sewing Eight for me, Hearts went on to make two other plushies--a little Redcoat and "the Kid," a little faun. The faun was inspired in part by a scene of McGann's in the early 90's miniseries Nice Town. How shall I explain Nice Town? It's an...erm, a comedy about family planning and gender roles in suburban Britain. It avoids being raunchy simply by how bizarre and at times straight-faced it is. That said, [please if you are under 16 can you stop reading this now] the little plushie faun was not...100% anatomically accurate in a way true to the film, which was very true to certain aspects of satyr mythology.

So you have to admit that's an unusual choice of plush toy (much as I love The Kid in his innocently magical way) and even more unusual to actually confront the actor with. I put our chances at 60-40 of Paul McGann taking out a restraining order on us on the spot. That's probably why I made Hearts let me get my picture with him first.

I was so, so, wrong. 

Amanda introduced the plushies. The Redcoat has a complicated heritage but his root inspiration was McGann's role as supposed bad guy Colonel McNab in the Kidnapped miniseries. "It's been a long time!" he said about that one, posing little Plush!coat on his knee. And then out came Faun. "From Nice Town."

Scroll back up to that picture of Paul McGann to see his eyebrows, and consider how expressive they can be.

"He's missing a vital appendage," he told us.

Hearts sputtered that he was, of course, only a little Faun with much growing to do, and I laughed--probably quite loudly, although all the world for me was silent except those amazing words in that soft, gentle Scouse accent. Well.

After the photos he gave Hearts a hug, presumably for her hard work sewing plush toys of his increasingly obscure roles (it's good work and should be ongoing!) and then kissed her on the cheek. She reports she felt stubble, before lapsing into delighted catatonia. 

Above: the result of getting kissed on the cheek by Paul McGann. The little tricorner is from the plushie Redcoat checking up on his mother. 

While we were upstairs, I changed out of my Eighth Doctor cosplay (which I'd worn to get a theme going in my photo--upon reflection, it's a pity that Hearts and Ellen didn't do the same; Hearts would have made a lovely faun) and swept in my Lady Presidential gown back to the mall food court. The Egg Harbor cafe was open for brunch and had an excellent gluten free menu, so take note if you're ever in the area in the future. There was a bit of a wait, though. We spent the time checking out the Yankee Candle shop, which is only worth mentioning because Hearts swears that their Treehouse Memories scent is exactly the smell of Paul McGann and/or his sweater.

I tried to be cool about it, I swear I did. I'm sorry.

After lunch, we went back to queue for the queue--this time for autographs from all Three Doctors. We got to hang out with some other Clann McGann members. There was even a heartwarming moment when two people who had only known each other by icons online exchanged real names, then screen names, and discovered they were best friends all along. Unfortunately, this was followed by a nature documentary worthy stampede once the queue opened up. I swear I could hear Mark Strickson narrating our plight.

In the Virtual Queue holding area, they had a life-size TARDIS to pose with. Both Plushie and I might be considered something less than life size. 

Also, a little ahead of us in the queue, I discovered this fellow Eight plushie. His creator gave him to Paul McGann when she got her autograph--I heard the Scouse-accented "Thank you!" across the room and spotted him lying on a chair besides Paul when I got up. I'm sure he's going to a good home.

The Three Doctors Autograph queue was long and arduous, the less said of it the better. I did have some entertaining moments, especially when I realized I had my photo with Paul but nothing for Colin Baker and Peter Davison to sign except my con program, which I'd left up in the room. The benefit of being very far back in line was I had time to run up and fetch it. On my way back, I encountered two members of a wedding party happening on an upper floor. We exchanged best wishes on our respective festivities. 

Sometime I plan to put together a collage set of all the Doctor Who related autographs I've collected over the years. But really, I go for the autographs less for the sake of having a signature and more to get to meet actors and creators in person.

Although the Doctors had it about as hard as us--waiting in line for 2 hours vs signing nonstop for 2 hours, I'm not sure which I'd rather endure--but were extremely pleasant and preternaturally gracious. Colin Baker was even generous enough to laugh weakly at my comment that "The Sixth Doctor is colorful in ways besides the obvious." I'm truly sorry, Mr. Baker.

Meanwhile, Hearts was beside me talking to Paul McGann, and Ellen was filming (somebody get this woman an Oscar statuette). The Clann McGann, like all asylums, is a democracy, but if that ever changes Hearts will become our monarch. She'd brought some chocolates and a card as a slightly-belated birthday gift. She also gave him a (watercolor? in any event beautifully drawn) picture of him as Percy Toplis in The Monocled Mutineer, one of his first and favorite roles.

So she got glomped again, and no one deserved it more richly. Then from her bag of tricks she produced several more things.

A copy of the novelization of the Monocled Mutineer:

He was extremely excited to see a copy, as he hadn't had his hands on one in years. He was so excited that he turned to show it to Colin Baker beside him--"Look at that young soldier boy" (this was 30 years ago, but he still looks eerily like Percy. I'm not sure what McGann is doing to keep from aging, although he's such a sweetheart I suspect it has more to do with Time Lord magic than blood sacrifices a la Elisabeth Bathory).

The rest of Hearts' bag of tricks, culminating in a reference to a certain "naughty scene" from Nice Town (watch the series and find out; I'm not telling you) can be found here. Currently clinical tests are being run to see if daily viewing of that video defeats seasonal winter blahs. The subject of these tests is myself, and I suppose Plushie Eight is the supervising physician.

Speaking of Plushie Eight, he was with me--partially so I was still identifiable after my costume change, and partially because I just got in the habit of carrying him everywhere. Colin Baker asked me who my "little doll" was (continuing the demographic trend of everyone over 40 having one word for Plushie, and the younger, hipper crowd another, although Jonathan Blum of unguessable age described him as "Chibi Eight" and that's accurate, too). Understandably, the Sixth Doctor hasn't watched Eight's movie recently if ever. But I could only point at Paul McGann sitting next to him. "Um, it's him."

Paul agreed, and even added that they shared the same "daft grin." Plushie Eight was modeled off a TV movie screencap:

It's all in the left mouth crinkle

--but until now I hadn't realized quite how accurately I have been waking up to Paul McGann's smile every morning the past year. Well, indeed, again. 

Oh, and either because he liked Plushie or he did remember me from Gally after all or perhaps because I was there in association with Hearts and her bag of wonders, he gave me a hug. And told me I was "nice and warm". I was just angling for a handshake, as when that happened the first time my hands were cold and he wound up chafing warmth into them. Paul McGann's mild obsession with regulating his fans' body temperature is oddly endearing, although I don't know if it's the first sign of an oncoming British grandfather transformation or what. Anyway, as per usual, my expectations were proven wonderfully wrong.

Smiling! Left mouth crinkle! And Plushie is under my own left arm, so I guess he's technically been hugged by McGann, too? (Thanks once again to Ellen for being so handy with a camera!)

Peter Davison, after 2 solid hours of signing, was subdued but gracious. Like probably many other people in the line, I thanked him for the Five(ish) Doctors anniversary special.

We piled in to friends car and drove around looking for food, decided against a few sports bars as we weren't exactly dressed for it, and wound up at a Noodles and Company. They served wine, although when Ashli ordered a glass she had to take her blonde wig off to be carded. The unexpected perils of cosplay. A little girl at the restaurant asked me if we were in a play because we were so dressed up. Unsure how much she'd understand the concept of a convention--I don't think I would have at her age--I said there was a big party going on at the hotel and we were in costume for it. Ashli's boyfriend was dressed as Ainley Master, and he said Paul McGann complimented him on the excellent Renaissance-era costume. So Colin Baker might not recognize McGann in plush toy form, but McGann didn't recognize Baker's nemesis. It all evens out in the end.

Speaking of Masters, the one hosting the Masquerade was excellent (Played by William Dezoma, who for some reason bore a resemblance to Tony Lee. Perhaps it was the beard. I did see Tony Lee out of costume going to pet a congoer's dog and having a really friendly and down-to-earth chat, so I'm in his fan club anyway).

Also, it seems like Freema Agyema was just down the hall from our room. Nothing really came of this information, except we saw her going in once and it was kind of cool.

Sunday morning we didn't have any queues to get up for, but we did sit down in the lobby by the elevators to people watch. This paid off as we saw lots of wonderful cosplays, including a fantastic Liz X who enchanted a little girl, and also some of the guests on their way to the brunch. Paul McGann wandered towards the front doors instead until someone called him back. Early-morning dazed and confused, or trying to make a break for it? Who can say.

I went to the Crafty Whovians panel, where I was inspired. I really do want to either take up sculpey clay again or start knitting. If the latter, an accurate 4th Doctor scarf is probably too ambitious of a first project. Still inspiring.

Captain America and Iron Man may not be Whovian, but they sure are cute!

(Brothers of the Other Eight, who went to Paul McGann. And check out that weeping angel!)

In the dealer's room, I got autographs from Jonathan Blum and Kate Orman. Sadly, I'd left my copy of Year of Intelligent Tigers--complete with giant Paul McGann signature on the title plate--at home, but I had them sign a leaf of drawing paper which I intend to decorate as a bookmark soon. My fan bona fides was maintained, however, by the way Blum recognized me--or at least Plushie Eight, although he had my name down to a syllable--as one of the early-morning panelists the day before. Kate Orman detected Plushie's resemblance to Ed Elric from Fullmetal Alchemist, which is cool because when Hearts was just brainstorming how to make him I sent her a picture of my Ed plushie for comparison. Between Orman and McGann, Plushie's pedigree has never before been so well sussed out. Jonathan Blum also took this opportunity to snuggle Eight, and then, realizing this was out of character given how he writes the novels, decided to try stabbing him with a capped pen. Somehow (oh, however could it have happened?) our conversation turned to Lloyd Rose, the other Eighth Doctor Adventure novelist who writes such lovely torture scenes, and it turns out she lives in DC! I was excited, although I imagine it'd be a bit awkward if I hunted her down just to tell her that her villains do such lovely things with knives...

The 50th anniversary celebrations continued with a screening of The Five(ish) Doctors with commentary by Peter Davison, who was happily awake this time around. He was gracious even when exhausted but actually has a real sense of humor! And the shocking revelation of John Barrowman's family was apparently his idea. Also, Colin Baker has a specially tailored copy of the Sixth Doctor's coat that fits, shall we say, more comfortably than the original. Given how much he seems to enjoy loathing the thing (he told a baby Six cosplayer--a winner of the Masquerade, actually--that "you're the only one who makes that look good") this was rather amusing to me.

One last time with Blum and Orman, I dropped into see the screening--if that's the right word for an audio--of the first part of The I Job, which involves some alien monsters that first premiered in the Eighth Doctor Adventures novel Seeing I.  They are a really endearing pair and I sort of envy them each other. Also, although audios are still a little unusual for my American media appetite, The I Job looks pretty fun--the tagline is Blake's 7 meets Ocean's 11 if that gives you an idea.

The Classic Companion panel was adorable, because classic companions are all adorable. It's some sort of hidden casting requirement, I think. Passing by the autograph room by the dealer's room, I overheard one of the volunteers (a little recovered from Saturday) reflecting how lucky they were that everyone involved with the show was somehow magically nice. A good moment of fluffiness to end on, I think. I spent a little more time 'lobbyconning' before Mom arrived to drive me back home. She's not quite converted to Whovianism, but I think she can at least see the appeal it has for me. She also seemed to completely understand when I wore my prom dress for the rest of the day.

Actually, in closing, I just want to state for the record that Hearts really needs to open an Etsy shop.

Between the plushies, who several people thought came from the dealer's room and at least one dealer thought were excellent,

and her handmade steampunk Sonic Screwdriver, which not everyone recognized from the audio covers but at least one person thought was official merchandise 

this really has to happen. 

(The sonic is the thing she & Paul McGann are holding, and is, honestly, the least interesting part of this picture. Even so.)

Happy National Novel Writing Month!

For several hundred thousand writers, the great challenge of the year has just launched: for the next 30 days, they will be scrambling to maintain a semi-functional life while also producing 1,667 words per day, to end with a 50,000 word story on December 1st.

I wish them luck.

While I can't deny the glories of a creative adrenaline surge, I have never managed to get more than 35,000 words in November, and have several times had to step back and let the challenge go before I had a nervous breakdown (or at least it certainly felt that way at the time). It doesn't help that November is the month of Thanksgiving, Final Exams, and in one particularily memorable year my grandmother's passing away at 102. This only makes my admiration stronger for anyone who has managed to complete NaNoWriMo.

In their honor, and in honor of all the brave souls about to begin their tribulation--and with all due respect to Tom Lehrer--I have composed a ballad. It accurately, if with some exaggeration, captures my feelings about NaNoWriMo madness...and perhaps writing in general some days. As Thomas Mann put it, "A writer is someone for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people."

To be sung to something like the tune of National Brotherhood Week:

Oh writers like to clean stuff

And writers like to make stuff

To do anything but to write stuff

Is our old established rule

 

But during National Novel Writing Month, National Novel Writing Month

Write sixteen hundred words before you do any other stuff
It’s time to eulogize
The plot that you despise,
As long as you just get the d*mn thing down.

 

Oh, writers sure like to cook things

And to talk about movies that we’ve seen
And good god do writers love blog-ging,
But write novels? We’d rather die.

But during National Novel Writing Month, National Novel Writing Month

Without six thousand words by this weekend you’re sunk

Step up and write a chapter

Whose completion you’ve been after

You know that you can do it if you try!

 

Oh, how I hate writing adverbs

And I keep choosing weak nouns and bad verbs

My participles are less than superb

And my character’s a Mary Sue

But during National Novel Writing Month, National Novel Writing Month
It’s National Ignore-this-pencil-that-I’m-biting Month.
Keep your butt in the chair
And get some words done there
It’s only for a month, so have no fear.
Be grateful that it doesn’t last all year!

Return from the 18th Century

It may say something about how much I've traveled this year that I have not purchased a single bottle of conditioner, instead relying on the cute little bottles they give you in hotel bathrooms. I'd have the same record for soap but this weekend at Colonial Williamsburg their scented and fun-shaped "soap balls" were too much fun to resist.


I got peppermint scented and "Castille," which is actually not the name of the scent (it's vaguely floral) but the Spanish town where that style of soapmaking was invented. The more you know.

My good friend Amanda, who came with me, got a much more involved souvenir: a new dress.




As well as hats for herself and the Plushie Redcoat she made (she's also the creator of my plushie Eighth Doctor--an all-around talented individual).

Speaking of which, yeah, little 'Who' (my mother's name for him--I'm not going to correct her that he's "The Doctor") was along too:


Considering we were bringing a fun-sized version of the enemy into Williamsburg, everyone was quite courteous to us. Specific shout-outs to that charmer Lafayette, Chelsea at the milliner's where we got Amanda's dress, and the hosts of the ball at the Governor's Palace Saturday evening. I may have butchered a Scottish Reel but they were nevertheless gracious. It's rare to have an audience-participation event handled with next to no stage fright on my part, but they managed it.


We stayed 2 nights at the Chiswell Bucktrout house, which we remembered by the name of a certain British actor (perhaps better known as Sherlock). Although not as cheap as a Motel 8, it was happily affordable, especially considering our package included not only historic housing but also complimentary breakfasts at the super swanky Regency Room up at the Williamsburg Inn. All in all, a pretty cool way to make the most of your visit to the 18th century. The gift card that came with also managed to cover dinner at the King's Arms tavern, which this impoverished recent graduate would not have managed otherwise. We got to sample syllabub for the first time (tangy, because of the lemon, and just enough white wine to give teetotalers a buzz although our server said they were allowed to serve it to children) and I got the first good peanut soup I've had since my trip to Ghana. I bought mixes for both at the general store. All in all, a good review for the King's Arms too, even if they didn't believe me when I said I was from Washington, D.C. (apparently nothing had been named for the General yet--I wonder if visitors from Washington State encounter the same paradox?), and when we agreed I was from Foggy Bottom, the mosquito-ridden shores of the Potomac, this was taken as the reasoning behind my slovenly state of dress.

Well, slovenly compared to Amanda's period-appropriate round gown, I suppose, but I leave you to judge for yourself:




Returning home, I've got an email from mom in the colony of Wisconsin (yes, I know Wis. was never a colony) that my contributor's copy of Outposts of Beyond has arrived safe and sound. It'll sadly be a bit until I can read it, but that doesn't mean you can't get your hands on Issue #2, which contains among other delights my fantasy short "Murderer, Confessor, Executioner." The story evolved as an experiment in creating nonhuman characters, specifically a character who is other than human not merely in physical appearance but in emotional life as well.

Speaking of fiction, there's a call for submissions out for the Mammoth Book of Science Fiction by Women. If you have written stories meeting both those parameters, I encourage you to go check it out!


 PostScript: Okay, so Lafayette may have been a charmer, but it can't be denied he had eyes in other places than just the colonial ladies. That man's crush on America (perhaps personified by Washington, but consider the fact he brought home barrels of soil from Bunker Hill to be buried under) is historically adorable.

Story up at Perihelion! "Equations in the Mirror"

My science fiction story "Equations in the Mirror" is up at Perihelion Science Fiction. This is one of the few stories that ever required me to whip out a calculator (another is Ayema's Fleet in the Battlespace Military Science Fiction anthology) and was based on a number of cool medical techniques I'd learned about. Being for a time a Paleolithic history/pre-history fan, I was delighted to learn that obsidian stone blades are still used by surgeons in the modern day. The idea of dark glass and dark reflections tied in with other, more unsettling medical advances in cosmetic surgery.

That math I did involved taking measurements of my own face (actually just one measurement: I think of the length of my lower eyelid) and then extrapolating the other numbers according to the supposed ratios of the Golden Equation as applied to the human face. You may roll your eyes (which are the perfect length, if I may say) or raise your eyebrows (wonderfully proportioned--not to be creepy), but for what it's worth, some cosmetic surgeons do claim their work has a basis in the Golden Ratio. Which is why I was more amused than stung my one of the rejection letters I've preciously received for "Equations," one that said The concept of basing cosmetic surgery on the Golden Ratio just didn't ring true...at all.

Dancing to Replace PowerPoint: A Modest Proposal

I confess it, I'm a TED Talk fan--the videos are short enough to appeal to my attention span, interesting enough to make me feel smart of watching them, and free--and this is now one of my favorites.

If you also enjoy modest proposals, the Onion Talks are excellent, too.

WisCon 37--A Partial Review

I was certain I wouldn't make it to WisCon this year, coming as it did right before my moving trip to Washington, D.C. But with some last-minute crunch and a willingness to run around disoriented (I've learned these will get you far in life, or at least lead me very far afield), I made it for at least the weekend and Friday evening.

Friday:
After hurriedly packing for DC, I stuffed my backpack with my immediate needs for one weekend and set out to brave the Memorial Day weekend traffic. And then Madison's one-way streets. This harrowing experience concluded in time for me to make it to dinner with my sister and some lovely strangers she met on the Internet. Between weekend festivities and the convention, every restaurant in central Madison was packed. Still, the 45 minutes before harried waitresses brought our food gave us time to go through our pocket pamphlets and circle likely-looking panels. This process is one of anticipation mixed with frustration--there's always 2 or 3 different panels going on at the same time that I want to see. And there's a limit to how much running around disoriented even I can do.

The first after-dinner panel we attended was "Cyborg Identities," a discussion of Donna Haraway's theory that cyborgs transcend science fiction and have potential for feminism and social theory--given the omnipresence of technology and constructed reality means that we are all cyborgs. I'm paraphrasing from what I gathered, as I haven't actually read Haraway (Megan, the grad student, made our panel decision there ;D). Still, it left me with some take-away thoughts on how reality is constructed--"there's no such thing as nature," if nature means a state where humans do not alter our environment through our interactions with it--and a glimmer of understanding about polyrythms as the panel was lead in an impromptu performance by panelist Andrea Hairston. I am not particularly good at managing even a monorythm, but it was interesting to know more complex patterns are possible.

We dropped by the QUILTBAG TARDIS party, but turned in early after a long day. Megan wanted to prepare for her reading and to be a panelist on Saturday, and I saw a morning panel that looked appealing.


Saturday
Woke up bright and early, hoping I could get lunch before the panel on 'Digital Death' that I dearly wanted to attend. I was in luck, as right outside the hotel doors I discovered a farmer's market, including multiple booths selling bakery items. Cinnamon raisin bagels provided me with nourishment to face the next few panels.

Digital death: Worrying about the privacy of your online information while you're alive is bad enough, but what do you do when you die? Who inherits your ebooks? How technologically savvy does your digital executor need to be? Are you better off just waiting for a grad student of the future to crack the encryption on your hard drive (much joking about what that student may find there--including disappointment that it's only 2D), or perhaps creating a "dead man's switch" to automatically revert your password to 'password1234' when you, presumably dead, fail to log in after a year? Takeaways to remember: Katherine Mankiller's story of the parents of a friend whose discovered, upon that friend's untimely death, the slash fanfiction on her LiveJournal (they made peace with that side of her, prompting the slogan "We love our dead slash-writing daughter!"); the importance of periodically reviewing your will and any listing you have of active accounts and passwords; the impact of changes in format ("Plain text is your friend," and maybe pdf if it's kept simple), and "loooove your data". Also sue people if you really want to do a favor to your future family genealogists; it's a great way to get your information recorded and preserved.

Women in Power: This one seemed to fly by far too quickly, before the panelists could really sink their teeth into issues like "what is our working definition of power?" and "Do we recognize power when it's coming from someone other than the recognized head of a community or association?" We did learn about a number of remarkable historical and modern women, from Wu Zetian (first female emperor of China) to a modern Chinese scientist who single-handedly fought an AIDS epidemic in her province. Also discussed was the importance of media attention, documentation, and the use of awards and public recognition to turn the personal power of an individual into the communal power of a movement.

I met up with Megan after the morning panels to grab lunch in the con suite (the sweet onion relish, which must come from a local Wisconsin farmer or his/her grandmother, is to die for; and for some reason all the LonCon fortune cookies we opened recommended stores by Iain M. Banks) and explored the dealers room and art show. Despite being too broke to buy much of anything--except a copy of Dr. Who Magazine with Paul McGann on the cover, modeling the Eighth Doctor's new black leather peacoat look--I made grabby hands and high-pitched yearning noises at books, jewelry, paintings, felt creatures, and a miniature clay figurine of Jon Snow and his white wolf puppy. I haven't even read the books or watched Game of Thrones.

Editing for Writers--this after-lunch panel was packed, probably to the joy of panelists who remarked "There is not enough good editing going on." Being almost obsessive in my pursuit of melodious prose, I can only agree. However, the main problems are less stylistic than failures of clarity--or, as one panelist put it, "Is this clear? And is this funny to anybody but you?". Thus the importance of beta readers and professional editors, and the importance of listening to and communicating with your editor. However, the main flaw of beginning editors (and betas!) is tactlessness--being too blunt about the failures of a text. Sadly, I can testify to the truth of that myself (I and my friends have gotten way better since the first meeting of our high school writing club). Another observation true in my experience is that many new writers develop bad habits as a result of lax schooling--basically, teachers are so happy to find students who enjoy writing and have a grasp of grammar and structure that they never push us to try better. But again, that's what editors are for.

I attended this panel for more than one reason, given my freelance editing jobs. It was not exactly encouraging to hear one woman ask for advice on becoming an editor only to be pressed to keep writing instead--"You can make it rich writing!" Then again, these are also editorial positions that include wading through slush piles, which I have only heard horror stories about. Panelists did mention that developmental edits can be particularly useful for writers who have what they feel is a solid manuscript which keeps getting rejections for no reason they can discern. Developmental edits and copy edits are both essential for authors considering self-publishing--otherwise, the publisher will supply a copy edit. Sometimes a copy edit from Hell where all the flavorful local dialect your characters utter is corrected, but that's why communication is important! Personally, I think it's also appropriate to hire an editor when you have a manuscript which needs attention that beta readers can't give it (either because you can't find a beta in your genre, or want something more in-depth than most volunteers can offer) before being submitted for publication.

It's Actually Quite Hard to Rip a Bodice Part 2: The panel on historical accuracy in fiction was as much of a riot as it was last year! Refreshingly, there was a greater range of panelists this year--guest of honor Jo Walton said her method of research was less directed than "suddenly writes something and realizes random recreational reading of the past decade was leading up to it", which sounds more my style than "50% background research before story, 10% during, 40% after" because with my luck the 40% after will be what proves everything I wrote could not possibly have happened (in this world, at least). I'm more likely to look at real-world historical research for inspiration than to let it tell me what I can or can't do (*stops foot like petulant teenager, shakes fist at History*). All the same, I'm perfectly happy to hear what people who do research exhaustively write and discover. Discoveries include things as weird as the "Swiss army knives" carried by the Roman legions, and the fact that ancient Greeks and others told the future by examining the liver because they believe the liver is the seat of the mind. "Because it's triangular," Walton assured us. This somehow led to her wondering whether they ever told the future by the placenta (apparently you have to have seen one to get this; I have not and will take it on faith). They never did, so she can write that original idea into a story sometime...the payoff for intensive research, I guess.
Oh, and they've tried ripping bodices. From what I remember from the panel last year, bodices are sewn together in a way that resists tearing quite remarkably. Sorry.

Help, Gender Essentialism Is Everywhere!: I attended this panel on how writers can avoid gender essentialism to give support to my first-time panelist sister, missing out on a discussion of Large House vs Small Press vs Self-Publishing and, perhaps even more distressing, "Realistic and Unrealistic Sex in Fiction."
I jest.
Well, a little.
I did attend to provide moral support, but this was an intensely interesting panel that I would gladly have attended anyway (even to the point of missing out the other two? Well, that's what the internet's for! By which I mean the Absolute Write Water Cooler forum has plenty of discussion of publishing options--what did you think I meant?). The panelists discussed their own efforts to include sexualities outside the gender binary, what methods were successful, and what happens when reviewers get confused. Luckily, there seems to be a healthy number of short fiction markets that are enthusiastic about representing non-binary identities, though this may be more difficult in longer works with New York houses--none of us are exactly sure. My question about managing and countering stereotypes for characters who lie on multiple identities prompted one of my favorite quotes of the convention, from Keffy R.M. Kehrli: "Be careful when playing at intersections; you may get hit by a truck!" By which he meant not that it isn't worth doing, just that it needs to be done sensitively and with care. The air of the panel was overall encouraging: representing non-binary and/or trans* characters isn't to be done lightly, but it's also done far too rarely and many editors and readers are eager and supportive of writers willing to try.

After grabbing dinner (and an ARC of Sam Sykes' The Skybound Sea, which I was literally unable to put down--I tried, but blasphemous monstrosities were rising from the ocean and the prose sang in my ears), Megan and I grabbed seats somewhat in view of the stage for the Tiptree Auction. Last year we were on the far side of the ballroom, but really, wherever you're sitting the auction is as good or better than a night with the stand up comedian of your choice. From the opening bids on a paperback copy of the 1971 classic The Feminists--our sacred text went for almost $50; not bad considering I think the cover said 35 cents--to an Alice Sheldon pillow, decorated rocket ship tiles, original Lynda Berry illustrations, more pulp paperbacks featuring buxom 'hoydens' and sheer pastel spacesuits (I'd have bid on A Woman in Space but it was already over $30, which given my budget seemed a bit much even for such a juicy morsel), a Space Babe engraved hip flask, a robot-decorated bag featuring the damn cutest baby robot ever, and the shirt off Ellen Klages' back. Also an Ellen Klages doll, which I'm sure we never knew we needed before. And a bottle of Lysol, which I'm sure was never ever never needed for its advertised purpose. Why we need feminism, indeed (well, that and in order to round up all the men for breeding chattel. I read it in a paperback, it must be true).

We popped out of the auction long enough to see Lauren Jankowski read from her first novel, Sere from the Green, at the Broad Universe reading, but then we came back because we were having just too much fun. We left once the auction started winding down.

Sunday
No farmer's market, but I did have to jog across the Madison Memorial Day Marathon to get to the Concourse. Not quite certain what to do, I stood on the curb and applauded runners approaching the finish line until I saw a clear space.

Another early morning panel for me, this one on "Intimate vs Remote Gods". Panelists ran the gamut from a Lutheran minister to a content atheist, so lots of interesting discussion made it worthwhile. Also one of the panelists recommended C.S. Friedman's Coldfire Trilogy, and I savor the proof that I am not the only human being to read and enjoy it (logically the fansites and fanfiction suggest I'm not, but I never run into fellow fans in-person). I also need to check out the Dark Faith anthologies, which kept providing intriguing examples.

Race and Class in Urban Planning--though the topic has some applicability to science fiction and fantasy, this panel was mostly about real life: school closures in Chicago, "affordable housing" in San Francisco, gentrification everywhere and enough hipster artists and "urban pioneers" to make you want to call pest control. By which I mean hipster urban pioneers were discussed; if any actually attended the panel they kept it well hidden (wisely). Audible dismay passed through the room when we learned that classrooms in Chicago public schools are considered "underutilized" if they contain less than 32 students. My parochial school class was treated as unmanageable in the second grade for having 31 kids. Which wasn't inaccurate. Developers still only pay lip service to consulting communities before going ahead with projects that can destroy neighborhoods--except when they run into committed citizens ("granny power" as one panelist described what happens when the retired and unemployed in a community go to work lobbying for its interests) who can command media attention. This is the sort of fascinating conflict that should be appearing more in fiction.

Megan and I compared notes and realized we each technically meet the threshold for the Mid-Career Writers lunch roundtable: we've both been publishing short fiction since 2008 or earlier. In any event, we didn't get thrown out. New writers have a lot of resources to draw on, which is great, but what happens for the rest of your professional life? A group of eight or nine of us introduced ourselves, described what was going on and particular challenges faced at this point in our careers, and brainstormed solutions. This is the sort of meeting I'd like to attend more often, although still being on the very new end of the mid-career I spent most of the time listening.

My last event of the day was the Outer Alliance Reading, with Megan along with 6 other writers reading excerpts, short stories, and poetry. I don't usually read Megan's fiction for some reason, maybe lack of time or the feeling that I'll be asked to beta for her again one day (I don't think I'm afraid of being influenced by her; our styles have gone in very different directions), but ohh boy, I had goosebumps at her reading. Other stories were more lighthearted. Especially fun were Cliff Winnig's "The Call of the Sky" (in When the Hero Comes Home 2), with clone families and ensuing identity crises that were just complicated enough to be refreshing rather than confusing, and Sunny Moraine's snappy, elderly seer confronting the wastrel playboy of her space-nomadic tribe in Line and Orbit. In my post on using bookmarks for promotion I mentioned that they are useful more as a reference for individual readers than as a sales tool, but Moraine made good use of them for both--I grabbed one after her reading convinced me her story is something I'd really enjoy.

I drove home after the OA reading, to finish packing and get some rest before setting out tomorrow. This is my last blog post from Wisconsin in who knows how long. At least you can be a fantasy fan & writer from anywhere!

The Plants of Middle-Earth: Botany and Sub-Creation by Dinah Hazell

What a charming book!

Like The Unimaginable Mathematics of Borges' Library of Babel, this was a find made in the American University library shelves. It stood out not only for the title (of all things it was sub-creation I was drawn to; the concept is Tolkien's gift to the fantasy genre far more than any number of medieval worlds and elves) but also its soothingly soft green cloth binding with gold letters. Inside, it is gorgeously illustrated with drawings and watercolors of the planets, flowers, and trees discussed. The Unimaginable Mathematics of Borges... is a book you can put on your bookshelf to look intimidatingly smart; The Plants of Middle-Earth belongs on a coffee table or anywhere you'd like a guest to see it, pick it up, and feel welcome.

An unusual mixture of herb lore and literary criticism, Hazell's book traces the significance of the plants featured throughout The Lord of the Rings and Tolkien's related works. The history and myth surrounding plants can guide reader interpretation of the fictional events and cultures they appear in. The brief chapters were a pleasure to browse through on quiet evenings, studying the illustrations and learning the old names, uses, and superstitions of the herbs, flowers, and trees. The prose is simple but has a certain whimsical poetry that shares observations and the occasional new insight (I jotted down the line "roses escape commonality" to share with a friend who I associate with roses yet who is anything but common). I did not find the book particularly challenging or groundbreaking, although it had more texture than an ordinary book on botany and more real-world connections than most literary criticism.

I chose to say 'real-world' in the above paragraph advisedly; The Plants of Middle-Earth is less about the botany unique to Tolkien's creation (though Hazell briefly discusses the possible inspirations of athelas and other fictional plants, including the Ents) and more about those shared with Earth and its own rich botanical traditions. This relates to the point Hazell wants to make about sub-creation: because the herbs, flowers, and trees which inhabit and form Middle Earth are familiar to us, we are willing to accept the otherwise unbelievable things that happen with them as a background. However, this potentially runs the risk of erasing an author's work in creating his (or her) setting by over-reliance on what we know of the primary world. The folk magic that offers insight into the significance of Hobbit women's names is based on the beliefs of medieval England, rather than anything Tolkien writes his Hobbits as believing. What if their superstitions about the Sweet Briar Rose are different? Does that matter, given real-world readers will form their impressions of a character named Eglantine based first and foremost on our own experiences and half-remembered knowledge? On a subject different from botany, Saruman the White's choice of colors may be deceptive or ironic to Western readers familiar with white as the color of purity and goodness and black as the shade for corruption and evil, but I wonder if the turn his character takes would be less shocking to readers from cultures where white is the color of death and funerals.

As with The Unimaginable Mathematics, the target audiences for this work make up a Venn diagram: gardeners, folklorists, and Tolkien fans. Of course, there's quite a bit of overlap (as there is, I suspect, between lovers of vast numbers, arcane mathematics fans, and Borges aficionados). I learned more about botany than Tolkien in reading it, and though it prompted some thinking about the role of environment in fiction and in the real world as well it is not by any means rigorous literary criticism; yet it sticks in my mind as a singularly unusual and enjoyable read.

Find It At: Goodreads   Amazon  Barnes and Noble   Better World Books

Challenge Accepted: The RPG-style To-Do List

A few weeks ago, a friend pointed me to GetYeDone.com, an interactive, fantasy game style online to-do list. You start by signing up and preparing a character sheet, complete with race, class, and skills/attributes. Then you launch your quest: whether it's schoolwork, housekeeping, finding a job or managing the workload you already have, now you can get your daily dose of accomplishment!

In each quest you can list a gathering of tasks (quests themselves can be grouped in meta 'odysseys'), and as you check off a task you receive XP based on the difficulty. Since I joined Challenge Accepted about a week ago, I've gotten to level 2 and am nearly at 3. The most XP I got for a single task was 50 points, from a 'mini-boss' setting manuscript edit. Smaller tasks, like submitting a short story or sending an email, earn me 5 points each.

Challenge Accepted is useful for a number of reasons. First, it takes advantage of the effect that makes RPGs so addictive: the buzz of accomplishment you get as you check of boxes and watch numbers rack up, whether those numbers symbolize imaginary gold coins or XP. So far, it's only XP you can earn through Challenge Accepted, which brings up some aspects of it I'll critique in a minute. In its favor, it's fun, the website is easily accessible whenever you go online (I log into it first thing in a tab beside my email and check off what I've finished since last time) and is much more fun than a list in a Google Doc. By keeping a record of completed quests, it also enables you to look back on what you've accomplished--which can be useful when, say, adding an internship experience to one's resume. The hierarchy of odysseys, quests, and tasks makes for easy organization. You can keep track of long-term goals ("Therese's Writing Career" is one of my Odysseys) while breaking them up into small, simple steps ("One Hundred Days" is a quest, and "complete red-ink comments on the paper manuscript" is a particular task).

For some (*ahem*) this may lead to the temptation to tinker, and to waste potentially productive time  in giving cutesey names to Quests and adding or deleting tasks. Probably less time is wasted than would be with an actual role-playing-game, however, as there's not all that much to do in Challenge Accepted except create tasks and tick them off when they're finished. I've had some random encounters of sorts, but they're just flavor text that haven't affected my...gameplay, I suppose it's called. One of the options to tinker with is the abilities and attributes used to perform each task. I'm not sure what selecting these does for me. Am I gaining ranks in skills? Are these meant to reflect my real-life progress? Perhaps when I hit level 10 in the game I'll start to feel like a level 10 in real life, too, whatever that means. The fact that I usually choose 'persevering' as my ability may say something about me.

It's disappointing that the rewards of Challenge Accepted aren't more solid. Then again, compared to a traditional to-do list, at least there are the bells and whistles and happy gaming/winning associations. And of course, the real reward in completing tasks is the real-life productivity and accomplishments you enjoy.

If you want to check out the site, do note that the game is called "Challenge Accepted" but the URL is GetYeDone.com. Happy questing!

Edit: Challenge Accepted is a work in development, but you can keep track of new additions and further improvements at their Coming Soon page. I'm looking forward to the email due date alerts!

Another edit: As of July 2013, I am still using GetYeDone, which says something for its usefulness. A few more updates to the site have been done as well.

Currently Reading: William Goldbloom Bloch, The Unimaginable Mathematics of Borges' Library of Babel

This is a book that, fittingly perhaps, I am reading because I discovered it in the library. The library at American University, that is. Not the Library of Babel.

 Although this book could, conceivably, be discovered in the Library of Babel. I wouldn't give much for your chances of finding it, but it's possible.

The central challenge Jorge Luis Borges poses to any writer is that he has, at least on a meta level, surpassed and completed us. Any story we can ever write has already been written about by him. Every conceivable combination of letters, punctuation, and spaces is contained in one of the 410-page volumes that fill his Library of Babel.

As I struggle to revise the second draft of One Hundred Days, I take comfort in the fact that the final version could be found somewhere amid those shelves. That is to say, it is logically possible, therefore it should be only a matter of work and dedication for me to bring it into existence. But then, there on those shelves, librarians could also find a of it abandoned...the opening chapter, with every page thereafter filled with empty lines...or the eye-gougingly horrible first draft, or perhaps worse, the perfect Form of my novel, each word perfect and vivid and pure, in sentences I could not string though I tried a thousand million years. There are versions of my works out there written in a far better way than I could ever write them. And there are all the stories I want to write but can never find the time to (there are also, and this is only somewhat a separate issue, the concluding volumes of Frank Herbert's Dune series but written by Herbert himself as he would have wanted them written. And the Wheel of Time as finished by Robert Jordan. And the novelizations and scripts of the Doctor Who series that ran through the 1990s.) Short stories may exist in collections or on their own, twenty seven pages of text surrounded by emptiness (actually, logically, there are hundreds if not thousands of copies of these, with the spacing of each differing just slightly), or may be continued in multiple largely-empty 410 page volumes. Any work of more than 410 pages would of course come in those separate volumes, which delights connoisseurs of the 18th century. Think of a story, and essay, and expose, a religious text. It's there. It's all there.

The part where this poses a challenge to the writer is that, if we aren't careful when thinking of this, we'll realize that all our work is really just a matter of sorting the same few shapes onto sheets of paper. Nothing a relatively simple algorithm couldn't do, given world enough and time.

I read the short story as a sophomore and it blew my mind. Now William Goldbloom Bloch is blowing my mind all over again--among other things, elaborating upon that 'world enough and time' I suggested in the previous paragraph. Bloch says in his introduction that he originally wanted to be a creative writer, and it shows in his lively, vivid text; text so lively, vivid, and clear that it makes manageable--mostly--the brain-bending topology, graph theory, and combinatorics of these 9 chapters. But it didn't even have to hit the part explaining Klein bottles, 3-manifolds, and the necessities of mirror-reflected forms to dizzy me to the point of exaltation. That comes in the first chapter, where Bloch calculates, relatively simply, the actual number of books in the Library, all possible combinations of 25 symbols onto 410 pages. Each page has 40 lines of 80 letters, so there's room for 1,312,000 symbols in each book. Each symbol slot fits 1 of the 25 options (I should note here the Library of Babel does not contain, so far as we know, Arabic numerals)--
so the total number of books is

[spoilers]

25 to the power of 1,312,000.

All well and good, right? But how big is that?

With some more mathematical jiggery-pokery that would have had him burned at the stake in earlier, more cautious ages, Bloch demonstrates that the known universe of 10^27 cubic meters could only hold, if it consisted of nothing but 410-page books, about 10^84 of them.

I'll leave it to people with calculators handy to figure out how many times the known universe would fit onto the Library of Babel's shelves, then.

And that's only part of chapter one!

In short, if you have the slightest interest in mathematics, Borges, or glimpsing infinity, I'd suggest you track this one down through a library system at once. I don't think there's another book like it in the world. It's such a select taste that I can't in good conscience run about accosting strangers and shouting "BUY IT!!", but it would look excellent on a shelf in your office, den, or waiting room.

(My other favorite revelation comes on page 110, where it turns out that even trained mathematicians can't help reading factorials--such as 12!--as a very excited voice gleefully exclaiming the number. TWELVE!..factorial!)

Relevant Links:
Amazon
Goodreads
LibraryThing