Science - writing about what I know

I thought I'd post the link to the Genetics Otago blog that has been recently activated. I'm a contributor, so rather than copy my work from the GO blog you can read it there. My piece is about the Neandertal genome - it starts off with a little fiction to get you warmed up :)

http://sciblogs.co.nz/southern-genes/

Feel free to leave comments and let me know if there is anything genetics you want to know more about. :)

Poem

This poem is probably a bit ambitious for it to work perfectly, but I'd love to see what people think of it, please give me any feedback! It doesn't have a title at this stage.


Last night I dreamed of Lebanon.
Blonde beach at Beirut,
Bright lights at Gaza
Gasping in the distance
Dying next to an anarchist’s canvas
Over Bashir’s blood.
Like I could ever live there,
Godless pacifist, posing as a friend,
Bombastic, gone
When chaos comes calling.
Indeed, I am the tyrant
They feed as they fight for consciousness-
I might as well wish that I die
In my sleep.

Last night I dreamed of Copenhagen.
City-slicker, with a flag in my hand
Hoping for a failure inside
Those locked blocked doors
So I can justify blowing them down.
Snow-cold days, a sceptic’s snigger
We chant slogans
To keep us warm, because
We light no fires
- we wouldn’t want the snow to melt.

Last night I dreamed of Manhattan.
Complete skyline,
Days before I knew how far
The skyscrapers had to fall,
And years before
I learnt how far the empire had to go.
New York’s not panicking,
But still hurrying from one block
To the next, not looking
Up
From its two feet.

Last night I dreamed of Big Sur,
Dead sixties dreaming,
Trying to stop good ‘ol life
Marching on and out
And arm in arm
With no-one.
Especially not a stranger
Like freedom.

Last night I dreamed of a woman.
River-flow hair forever,
Nightlight eyes and who-knows-what body
Hidden from the senses
So that I follow her, nothing else,
But her lips shining in
All the world’s colours
Slipping into unconsciousness
Like the last kiss
Of a long, long night.

Publishing Resource

I won't be at the meeting tonight, but I'd like to offer this resource for any of you who are interested in submitting your work for publication: Duotrope.com

You can search for markets via a number of useful filters, and the individual market pages usually have good feedback info - acceptance rates, response times, and so on.

I've got experience on both sides of the submissions process, so if anyone's interested (and if I'm able to come, but I probably should be) I could do a Q&A next week about this sort of thing.

Here goes nothing.

Something I wrote a while back. Hasn't got much of a title. Enjoy.

The atmosphere in the Gavel is quiet, tinged with smoke as the Wednesday afternoon regulars sit in isolated pockets of thought. The door creaks open, grumbles under its breath, goes back to sleep. 'People these days...' Dan settles himself into an unwilling bar stool, orders a pint.
'How's it going Dave? he enquirers of his neighbor, 'You look kinda lost. Bar keep! Another of whatever Dave's drinking.'
Dean emerges from the shadows at the far end of the bar, knotting up his pants, sits down on Dave's other side.
'Dave ain't feeling himself today' he says.
'Who is he feeling then?' asks Dan, casually backing off a little.
'That's what we're trying to figure out. Hey barkeep!'
The barman lets out a sigh, sets out bottles, glasses, ashtrays. 'Every Wednesday' he mutters, head shaking.
'If I'm not me,' ventures Dave 'then the me I'm talking about would be someone else, yeah? and in that case, I would be, right?'
'Then who would they be?' asks Dean.
'Be up to them I guess' says Dan, lighting up cigarette number 34 for the evening.
There used to be a chess board, a fine ebony and ivory number, taken as collateral from some immigrant with two black eyes and not enough teeth, but the barman had had to remove it amidst complaints that there weren't enough kings for all the checkers and a bar room brawl or two over how many pieces the little horse shaped ones could jump.
'I was almost certain about who I was this morning. Looked like me in the mirror.'
'Unless you were standing over your shoulder of course.' replys Dean 'Whose house was it?'
Dave shrugged miserably. He had woken up on the floorboards across from a dieing fire in a strange room across town. Booze sick and shaky and with blood crusting round the hole in his arm, he had gone about his morning routeen as quietly as he could, which isn't very first thing in the morning at 3 in the afternoon. Although the day had started off normal enough, things had taken a turn for the existential when, on his departure, the door man had asked him politely who the fuck he was. With a mouthful of sawdust and his mind having a quiet nap on the other side of a locked door, he hadn't known what to say.
'How would you feel if you were in my shoes?' he asked the barman, miserably.
'Uncomfortable. Your feet are fucking tiny.'
'Well if Dave isn't who he claims to be,' sad Dan decisively 'how about we find the person who is? If Dave's them, they should be him. Fair trade.'
'Bloody is not.' snorted Dean 'I can't think of anyone I'd less like to be than Dave. And anyways, how do we find this hypothetical person?'
'I guess we look in all the places Dave usually goes.'
'But we're already in all the places I usually go' he whined. 'Aren't we?'
'Well prove you're you then' said Dean, 'Show us some ID'.
The barman shook his head and wiped some dirt of his shirt and onto a glass. Every week it was something different. Last week they were in well past closing discussing the fact that it was imposable to drink the same beer twice and had had to throw them out once or twice when they got to heated. They never did find out who the real Slim hady was.
From his threadbare and failing leather wallet, Dave produces his ID for Dean to inspect.
'This can't be you,' he said critically 'this guys got a moustache!'
Dave hunched even lower over the bar. The Mo had been a terrible experiment and had taken on a life of its own, dragging Dave around behind it as an awkward burden through swanky bars and fancy restaurants. It had also gotten him beaten up once or twice when it had gotten to lippy.
'But it's me I swear! I've just changed a bit is all. If anything it's the photo that's at fault.'
'Then you shouldn't clame to be him then' says Dean. 'Just because you have the same name and birthday doesn't give you the right to take over his life. We could have avoided this whole mess.'
'Well at least we know who he used to be. I'll forgive him' decided Dan.
Dave cheers up, finished his drink. The barman takes his chance, lays his knuckles in the spilt beer and ash.
'Alright then boys, who's paying for this lot then?'
Dan adjusts his face into a look of innocence.
'That' he replys, trying not to smile, 'sounds like a philosophical question to me.'

Introduction Post #5

Hullo. I'm Michael and I write short story's of questionable value about the dumb things me and my mates get up to when we probably shouldn't be.
I am a little under two meters tall, enjoy long walks on the beach and smell faintly of moth balls. I do not own a car but I do like the occasional pat on the head. I hope we can be friends some day.
Thank you.

(P.S. where do we go about posting our writings? I have on on my desktop eyeballing me. Should I just drop it in here with the intro posts?)

Introduction Post #4

Hi, I'm Holly Meyer, a keen writer who is in her final year at Otago University with Bachelor of Arts in History (and minors in Theatre and Education). I mainly write historical stories centering around one particular historical character. I have written a few short stories and a poem or two, but I find stories much more enjoyable to write.

Introductions #3

Hi! I'm Alec and if you don't know me already, I'm a second year law student and a very keen writer! I don't write nearly enough but every now and then I sit down and write some poetry, I've also written short stories and articles and had a crack at some longer fiction but haven't got very far with any of it, unfortunately! Hopefully the society will get me writing a bit more!

Introductions Post #2

Hey I'm Mary and I'm currently into my second year of a PhD in Medicine. As you can probably imagine I haven't had much time for fiction writing for a few years (!) now but I'll post some of my older works and force some time to post new writing. I mostly write sci-fi/fantasy and the odd bit of poetry when I'm feeling lazy. I'm also working on creating some material for the future Genetics Otago blog - explaining scientific discoveries to non-science folk, so I may see if I can get permission to post my work here. I'm sure you guys will let me know if the article is boring or too technical! Hopefully I can come to a meeting next semester.

:D

Introductions Post

Since we won't be having another proper face-to-face meeting until next semester, it might be a good idea to introduce ourselves, so that hopefully by the time July rolls around we'l have a good idea of who everyone is and what sort of writing interests them.

I'm Marie Hodgkinson, currently mid-way through my Honours year for a combined English and Classics degree. I write short stories and the odd abortive novel in the fantasy genre, and have had several stories published in various places - but they're pretty rubbish, so I'm not telling you where. In what spare time I have I run the e-zine Semaphore, which publishes fantasy and sci-fi short stories, and poetry of most genres except the depressing ones. Working on Semaphore often cuts into my writing time, of which I've had very little recently, but that's just the way things go, and being able to provide a forum for great work by New Zealand and international authors pretty much makes up for it.

So ... who are you lot?

The Beginning!

Hi everyone, here's the humble beginnings of the Otago Writing Society Blog. I hope you've all been writing! Please post any of your writing, and comment on other writing as well!

Here's a piece of writing I've done on the theme from a couple of weeks ago (something you've never thought about before), it's a dramatic take on vuvuzelas, the instruments used by the crowds at the Soccer World Cup that basically sound like angry swarms of bees.

Vuvuzela Lessons

Use those lungs you used to cheer with
back home where the games stop the rain.
Instead play our cacpohony,
drowning out the cries of elephants outside.

Point the poor man's trombone to the sky,
block your ears
and make the crazy continent a little more wild.

More fun than war-horns for war-torn nations,
there's dancing in the streets
and drum-beats
to ward off angry ghosts
and bring you, the rest of the world, to the party.