Lillian Cohen-Moore

I started out as an activist.

It didn’t matter that news was ‘in the blood,’ that my Great-Grandfather was a typesetter who climbed the ranks to reporter, then editor. That my Grandfather taught me fundamental copy editing lessons by handing me a red crayon and a newspaper in grade school. I wanted to get out there and fight. It started with a grade school fascination with recycling, which in the early 90′s wasn’t nearly as ubiquitous as it is now.  By twelve my camp favorite counselor, an EPA agent, said I had what it took, and that I’d serve my country well if I worked for an agency like the EPA, or the FDA. They needed people who believed.

I was the first person in my junior high to stand up in class and call bullshit when a classmate called being gay ‘gross.’ I wrote letters. I called Congressional offices. I rolled up my sleeves because I wanted healthcare for kids and domestic violence survivors to have free counseling and rape survivors to get justice, for anyone who was LGBT to have housing and employment rights and AIDS research to get funding and pandemics to die and vaccinations to be accessible and girls to get equal science education and poor kids to have a chance and damn it, if it was unjust or wrong it needed to be dragged into the light, exposed, and defeated. I got to high school, elected to start college at 16 instead, and started protesting. I came out of the closet. I wore my experiences publicly and would not hide them away. I went to Take Back The Night marches and I held my friends at police stations and I went to the women’s clinic with them for their pregnancy tests and STD tests and I spent my nights on-call, always on-call, for the friends too scared to confide in anyone else.

I went to peace vigils and anti-war marches and DV vigils and AIDS Days, and I kept writing politicians and training people my age and people much, much older than me in how to fight. I worked voter drives and encourage vote vote vote like some sort of magic chant. I walked into an AIDS summit and sight unseen, lobbyists knew my name. They shook my hand. And I was blown away because over and over again words mattered. They really mattered. Sharing my story and my pain and calling attention to other people and their stories worked. Blogging worked. Talking to the paper worked. Agreeing to join a county-wide editorial board and let them run a file photo of me next to my answers worked. I had less than 100 words to make my point.

I started talking to other protesters and blogging their stories. And somewhere in there using words on a page was doing more than carrying placard, I saw that  it was making more of a difference to me. Pulling myself out of it and telling a story that wasn’t mine was what I wanted, needed, had to do.

It was never “This is wrong and it has to be fixed.” That was just one part.

“This is wrong and people have to know why.” That was the other part of it.

I’d been raised on the news by my parents. Radio, television, print. I watched the Berlin Wall fall from my mother’s lap. Oklahoma City happened when I was in still too young to drive. Wars came and went. Tragedies, big and small. Scientific progress. Watched all of it that I could. Studied it, took it apart, argued it, read more, argued more, kept taking it apart. They told me about the assassination of Kennedy and Martin Luther King Jr.  and Vietnam and they gave me their stories, and my Grandparents gave me theirs, and I listened and asked questions and drove them crazy and I never, ever stopped thinking about it.

People and their stories are the news. When I get excited and dizzy every time I interview someone, whether or not they’re famous or Jane Q Public, it’s because I get to bring someone else’s story to a bigger audience. I get to put them out there, and their words, and you get to read that. I get to show someone compassion and respect because they are telling me their story. And I get to open their world up to all these readers, and open all these readers to their world.

When I shake hands at the end of an interview, with rabbis, cancer survivors, school administrators, artists, musicians, activists, partners, doctors, authors, survivors, children, I get to thank them for what they’ve done. For agreeing to share their story and trusting me not to fuck it up.

I’m here to tell someone else’s story. And that list of people grows bigger every year.

I just sent a book back to the publisher for layout.

This is my first time solo editing an anthology. I’ve been a proofer, a copy editor, an editorial intern [assistant editor] on anthologies before this. But this one was my first maiden voyage.  I didn’t think I’d cry about it, at all, but I’m definitely a little misty-eyed today. It’s been this flat out run so far, and…well, I’ve already said some to that. It’s been hard work, and a lot of it has been things I’ve never been the one to make calls on. Lots of sudden decisions. Lots of decisions that were suddenly mine.

I just sent an entire book to layout. An entire book I have agonized over, edited, loved, cursed, praised. One step closer to publication.

I will never run out of firsts. Sometimes I forget that, but when one of those firsts happens and it just is, I get to savor that.

On less emotional but still very keen firsts, I believe my first blog interview with me in the hot seat is up today, over at the site of the wonderful Lynda Williams. She’s the mastermind over at the Clarion Writer’s Craft Blog.

This week I was also asked to talk about my interview process for the first time. It’s not full of all the minutiae, but it’s a good overview of how I work on the newsie side.

Other than that, it’s the end of the month, so I’m toiling away on a sundry collection of deadlines. Time to return to coffee and the crunch.

Yet again, that bit of advice from someone I love dearly keeps me going.

April has been one of those weird, frustrating months for me; I’ve spent 11 days of the month so far absent from where I’m holed up these days. I’m trying to honestly evaluate some push goals for the end of the month and if it’s possible to travel one last time this month around them. One of those is the anthology I signed on with, which has been clipping along like a three alarm fire. All the stories are in, and the last bit of text I need to drop in (everyone’s bios) comes in this week, Heaven willing. For every weird wrench we’ve hit, we’ve taken a few deep breaths and continued going forward, fixing issues along the way. Jennifer is one of the only reasons I’ve survived this project without caving in from stress. She’s probably the best anthology crash course I could have ever asked for, and it’s been keeping me on the ball and asking questions, usually the right ones, to get through this as an editor.

There’s the invisible support network cabal as well—Ryan, Minerva, Rich, Nate, Logan—who have supplied a lot of advice, love, support, and problem solving. They also all uniformly call me on my shit, which I think is one of the most valuable things a friend can do.

There’s the normal, monthly deadlines that had to get satisfied this month— an interview with the band The Mongrel Jews, a shop talk with Daniel Solis about his work with layout— that got handled. The band interview was my first with a musical act, and I’m really proud of the photos. It was freezing and I spent a lot of time standing on bar furniture or kneeling in mud to get them. I’m still wading through an avalanche of interested professionals who responded to my call looking for women to interview for an article series on women in the games industry.

Everything this month, the travel, seeing people, working, has all been exhausting and lovely.

The thing I’m excited and terrified of is that even with my normal monthly work, a number of projects are reaching completition. I’ll still a see a lot of stuff cross my desk, but the things I’m co-writing, the things I’m doing solo, I’ve been sneaking them in bits and bites.  And when they’re done, I have to show them to the world. Fiction’s not the same as journalism, for me, it is probably twice as terrifying but just as much of a rush. So while I’m finishing up this anthology and tying up loose ends on other things, there’s a lot of writing for me to do. And there’s things that have made me struggle with that.

J, my friend who took of to work the summer in Alaska, has been working through the same ‘behind the scenes’ issues in her art as I have been. College turned out to be a wash for us in terms of full time prospects after. We’ve both been under-employed and struggling, and all we can do is continue walking forward, because that’s how we’re going to make progress, and come out on the other side. We can’t say yes to opportunities if we don’t keep going on to meet them. So she’s in Alaska this summer, looking for her opportunities. And I’m here in the village, making mine.

I attended Norwescon 35 April 5th-8th, and my articles on the convention are here and here. I had a fantastic if exhausting time, saw locals I don’t get to see much, and met locals I hadn’t previously (hi, Scott Gable!) and a whole pack of delightful people from out-of-town.

I received a very nice hat tip from Richard Dansky on my interview with him, Among the Ferrymen.

I was interviewed by Charisma Bonus, which you can find here. You should keep an eye on them, they are very nice folks. Lillian approved. Or something.

And as mentioned previously, Booklife Now is live, and I could not be more overjoyed.

Other than that, I’m closing in on announcing one of the Projects That Shall Not Be Named, with a few more coming up soon. Which makes me overjoyed, but also keeps me from stopping in to contribute blog posts of any appreciable length as regularly as I’d like. Tomorrow I’m wheels up and back to Seattle for a week or so. I’m largely there to help a friend out with their house and child, but if you have a way to track me down to say hi (e-mail, twitter, phone, carrier pigeon) I can still answer most of those avenues. In theory, being housebound in a different city means I’ll still be working and as over-caffeinated as ever, but I will have a small child trying to consume my pink sea monster pendant while I work. C’est la vie.

I’ve been moonlighting for years as a model. It’s fun, and I’ve met fantastic photographers, makeup artists, stylists, and assorted crew while I’ve been climbing trees or attempting to make Serious Faces While Staring Into The Distance. They’ve all given me advice on how to look my best in front of a camera. When one of my friends calls me and explains being anxious about getting their picture taken for a con schedule or a dust jacket, I have some basic advice to give.

Sleep before the shoot.

Seriously. It’s incredibly helpful to sleep an adequate amount beforehand. You’ll feel and look better, be more responsive to direction, and have better energy in front of the camera.

Eat!

I’ve had long shoots that made me deeply regret  not eating before they started. I have since learned my woozy lessons, and eat before my shoots, as well as bring an energy bar along in case I get droopy halfway through. Bone deep exhaustion shows. You’re just not as physically prepared to be in front of the camera, whether it’s for ten minutes or eight hours.

Don’t wear uncomfortable clothes or shoes.

I don’t always have a choice on this one (runway shoes) but you as an author usually have wardrobe control. Wear something appropriate to who you are, and what kind of public persona you have. If you turn up to a reading in cowboy boots, pants, a smarmy shirt and jacket, you can usually rock that in your author photo. Part of the photo is not conflicting with the image you present to the public the predominant amount of the time. The rest is wearing clothes that don’t make you look like you’ve recently made out with lemons. Uncomfortable shoes and clothes make most people cranky. Cranky shows.

Not all angles are flattering.

Just a fact of life. Something you can do to help with making a fabulous photo is really basic: be aware of your posture. A lot of people get in front of a camera and tense up. It’s one of the surefire ways to get a bad photo. Tense necks, stiff shoulders—or shoulders slumped in—don’t help us look our best. It took me a lot of practice to be aware of where I’m tense and then relax, and I did some of that learning in front of a mirror. Shoulders back but not tense, neck loose, and as weird as it sounds, face loose, does worlds for your photos. Ever lock your jaw or get so stressed out that your face feel tight, similar to tension in your shoulders? I’ve had to actually stroke my face to get the tension out. Don’t feel weird about it if you have to.

The photographer is not your enemy.

Photographers are a lot like editors. They do not want you to feel bad about how you look, or look bad on camera. Be frank about any concerns about your looks, and don’t expect divine level miracles. But! Some clever angles—both how you hold yourself and how they shoot—will help a lot, so following their directions is often very, very helpful. When they tell you to tilt just so, or look that way, they’re doing what they can to make you look your best.

Ask questions.

Most photographers I know have arsenals of tips to make sure the person in front of their camera looks good, and is able to finish up a shoot in a timely manner. They’re often very happy to share them. The classic I hear the most is about dark colors. Wearing all black—generally, though not always—washes plenty of folks out, especially once flash and strong lighting gets involved. The use of color in your clothes is something to keep in mind.

Some photographers may ask you to pick other color palettes; others some may ask in advance to discuss outfit choices or have you bring more than one with you. I get the request to bring multiple outfits the most with photographers who have a background in fashion. If you have questions about how you can use your photos, how long it might take, don’t be afraid to ask. I’ve had amazing photographers who only took fifteen to twenty minutes, and others who might spend hours trying to make sure they got at least One Great Photo.

There’s dozens of little factors that can make for great photo shoots, but these are some broad basics that get you a lot closer to being comfortable in front of a camera, and that comfort can lead to being much happier with your pictures.

I was at NWC this year as a member of the press. I’m happy to report that despite being on the clock, I had a lot of fun. I left absolutely exhausted, and wishing I could have covered more events/panels/conversations, but I already have enough material to deal with. I saw friends, chatted with people I’m working with, and was reminded of an adage I heard last year; if your picture sucks, you’re not close enough.

According to most of my photos, I was not close enough. Lesson learned, people.

I learned all new packing lessons, which leads me to believe that I will never be a pro at travel, as much as a lifelong student. Till the next foray on the road (next week) I’m working on crawling out of the work grave created by four days away from the desk. There were some things that I found extraordinary, and the only way those fantastic panels and moments will happen again is if I talk about them; expect some articles on NWC to surface soon.

Well, I can finally tell you about one of those projects that was under wraps.

Jeff VanderMeer wrote a great book called Booklife. It has things to ponder, little and big picture, about life as a writer. There’s a website, Booklife Now, which is a growing continuation of things that come up in his book. Morgan Dempsey has stepped up as the new editor of BLN, and I said yes when she asked me to be her assistant editor.  You can read her introduction to the newest incarnation of the site here, check out our staff, and follow us on twitter @booklifenow.

April is going to be a busy month. Working projects like this, with so many bright, wonderful people, makes it worth it.

I am in the grips of projects nearing a) completion or b) going public. It’s made for a sort of carnival-of-the-damned atmosphere in my inbox. Thankfully, there are still things I can talk about.

• I interviewed Dungeon Bastard Bill Cavalier, who is one part of comedy, one part old school gaming advice. If you can’t tell, he loves dungeons. Also, dragons. Ladies, Gents, I do not know if he is single. You would have to address such things to Mr. Cavalier.

• I also interviewed the fabulous Jennifer of Jennisodes, which is a podcast you should swing by and check out if you haven’t before.

• I have found that the age of micro-cassettes may have some relationship to whether they essentially melt down and break in your tape recorder. In other, related  news, I need to buy new micro-cassettes.

• I will be at Norwescon 35 next month, though I will be working at the convention. If I’m brandishing a notebook or a recorder, I might not be at my best to talk to.  In theory, there will be moments I’m not.

• I have new content going live at two different sites while I’m at NWC; since I’ll be away from my laptop a lot, watch twitter for links. They were some amazing interviews I was able to do during March, and I’m excited to see them out in the wild soon.

• Broad Universe Broadsheet Summer Submissions open in April! You can investigate the details, including when submissions open and close here.

• The week of April 10th, there will be a big announcement here about a project I’m a part of, and very excited to finally be able to talk about.  There are other Big Projects in the background, but it’s the first one that’s going public, so I get to be all jazz hands and excited for it first. Universe willing, April will hold a lot of good news I can share during the month. Unless release dates get weird, and then I just mime being excited.  I wish I could say more right now, but March has really been a work that I can talk about later month. I can’t wait to fill you guys in.

I left for the weekend at a ridiculously early hour that involved terrible tea the morning of Saint Patrick’s Day. The view on the train was lovely, however.

For an early morning train ride, and in all honesty, my first train ride, it was wonderful. I was lucky enough to have a seating area to myself, and left to tweet, check my e-mail, and listen to music to my heart’s content.

The view about ten minutes before pulling into my destination’s Amtrak station, also pretty awesome. Grey and rainy, which the entirety of Western Washington has a rep for.

It was a work weekend. The trip including my travel time took about 33 hours flat. There was a lot of trains, taking multiple buses, a cab, and kneeling in mud and rain water to get that elusive Decent Shot for the photo-shoot accompanying an interview I did over the weekend. This week will be devoted to transcribing that interview, and a dozen other plates I have spinning. Life as a freelancer.

Still, I stole some time to have lunch today with one of my best friends in college, J. We haven’t seen each other in years.

We drove around in her Mustang, talked about her new dashboard bobble, and caught up over Thai food; we talked about what life was like for us now versus when we were younger. The parts of our lives nobody else understands but us, because they weren’t there for it. She stopped in mid-sip of her tea to look up at me during lunch, and said something I don’t think I’d ever registered before.

“We did a lot of stuff back then that didn’t work out. We tried a lot of things, and not all of them worked. Like, we failed at stuff. But we failed bravely.”

We were talking about the work we’d done as activists, but I think it works for more than memories of marches.

I’ve got a lot of work to do this week, but for the next stretch, I’m going to reach as high as we did then. I’m going to go see about failing bravely for awhile.

Tomorrow I’m packing up to take off again, this time by train for a whirlwind trip to go interview a band. I depart Saturday, return Sunday. Thank goodness for in-state travel! I’ve never interviewed an entire band before, so I’m hoping the experience is formative in a positive way, and not a cavalcade of calamity.  So, we’ll see.

Things that have seen the light of day this month include my thoughts on romance in RPGs, interviews with Jason L. Blair and Tiara Lynn Agresta, and over at the other outlet I do staff writing for, interviews with jewelry designer/silversmith Lyndsay Brown and artist Anita Arora. I survived the seasonal production grind of the Broadsheet, where I continue to be ridiculously blessed with a great staff to be Editor-in-Chief of. In May, I’ve been the Editor-in-Chief there for a year.

I signed on to edit two different projects. Don’t worry, I’ll be gleefully shouting to high Heaven when they come out. The romance in RPGs article will see translation later this year, into French, which will be my first foreign translation. I’m working on a number of articles and interviews (as always) and some pitches as well. Which is to say, doing what any good freelancer does and juggling as many projects as I can at once. I’ve been transcribing for one client and I just sent some edits off to another.

I’ll have a busy week in April when I cover Norwescon 35 as press. Like most years, the coming of NWC herald Pesach coming up. So, I’ve been more religiously thoughtful lately than I usually have time for. I’m in my fourth dedicated month of living  on the road with no lease to tie me to any city, squeaking by on freelance contracts and doing a lot of taking stock of my life on planes. And that travel tangles with religion tangles with familial history, tangles with the history of the tribe.

The longer the travel I’m doing goes on, the more I’ve become accepting of it. But it’s increased a very real want for a place to call home. I miss Seattle like crazy, and have a number of personal reasons for wanting to settle in the Emerald City permanently, or at least for the foreseeable future. Yet at the same time, I’m afraid the wish to not live out of a suitcase will cause me to depart the road too early, and damage the lessons I’m internalizing while I’m out here. This place in time is liminal, even if it’s lasted months already.  I’m doing things that terrified me when this time first started. That’s a silver lining to continuing a life where I have lived in 18 houses, 9 cities, and 2 states.

I have been learning to live consciously with a lack of surety; where I cannot be offered promises or assurance, and am aware of a bone-penetrating loneliness alleviated in bursts by the company of my colleagues. I have more in common with my refugee great-grandfather now more than ever; a traveling journalist who died with both feet firmly on the road, a resident of the Diaspora in permanence, dwelling only in liminal places, never for long in the concrete ones. His Eretz Yisrael was contained in the moment it took for him to cover his eyes and bless the candles.

His die goldene medina was contained in no physical place. I don’t think it was ever possible for it to be.

I am hoping, and working, towards a happier ending than he had. To words that will endure.

In the meantime, the poem I have read nearly daily since this all started: Maggid, by marge piercy.

Now, back to working, so I can make time to pack.