Let Me Digress

Kathryn Hore - Writer

Category: Culture (page 1 of 5)

And there I thought I’d seen every genre distinction possible…

Well, obviously, not every genre distinction possible, because genre is a mutating beast that shifts and shapes and becomes something else again at a moment’s notice. But when it comes to the SFF genres and how they’re broken down into ever more minuscule sub-sub-sub genres, I thought I was across the commonly accepted terminology.

Apparently not. For there I was, scrolling through Facebook, when an article from a good half-decade ago was thrown up in my face which made the distinction between “Science Fiction” (i.e. good, intelligent, thoughtful, hard-science) and “Sci-Fi” (i.e. ostensibly crap, mass-market populist space opera bullshit based on dodgy science). Yeah, it’s that kind of article. Full of hierarchical dichotomies positing the author’s passions at the top and everything they’re not down the bottom.

Look, I only clicked because the person posting it said it was funny.*

I’ve not seen that particular distinction made between Science Fiction and Sci-Fi before, and considering the amount of reading I do on genre theory, I’d have expected to have come across it. If it really were a thing, I mean. Which it’s not. It was just one guy’s not-so-subtle argument that what he liked = good, and what he didn’t like = bad. He was wrong in just about every way, because mass-market or populist or space opera can be as high quality as any other type of fiction, and hard-science science fiction can be as dull and boring and awful as… well, any other type of fiction.

Human beings do like to categorise the things they love into boxes of ever diminishing size. I write Speculative Fiction myself and if that’s not an umbrella term for every fantastic and fantastical genre, up to and including the ones claiming Science with a capital Sci, then gothic-urban-bodyhorror-posthumanism is not the classic field of literature we all know it is.

It’s a patterns thing. We’re undoubtedly hard-wired for it because, I don’t know, primitive man needed to see patterns to escape tigers in the jungle or something. I’m sure the evolutionary biologists could tell me. That ain’t my field. But one thing writing and reading over the years has taught me, it’s human beings like to break the universe around them into ever smaller bits and fit those bits into easily classifiable categories and then argue about them with a passion that defies religion.

Believe me. I’m a librarian and information manager by training. I know about classification.

And the one thing I do know very well, after a long career in taxonomy creation and information organisation in any number of forms, is that such classifications and taxonomies are never, ever, neutral. They’re simply loaded-up with meaning and bias.

Anybody who studies genre knows this already, of course. Most casual readers of genre are pretty well aware of it too, at least the self-aware ones. And certainly librarians, information managers and anyone even vaguely acquainted with taxonomy creation is well aware of the human bias that comes with any classification system.

Just look at good old Dewey Decimal Classification, probably used by more libraries worldwide than any other system. Christianity and its related subjects get practically the entire class of ‘religion’ to itself, 200 right through to 289, while “all other religions” get clumped together under class 290-99. Meanwhile the parapsychology and the occult is shoved in under psychology, because yeah, it makes sense to shelf clairvoyance next to clinical psychology, sure.

But it made sense to Melvil Dewey, a man who reduced his own name to the most minimal letters possible, who was stringently Christian and who also, interestingly enough, had quite a thing for the ladies. In particular for harassing them. Not one of nature’s advocates for human equality and diversity, was our Melvil.

From the vitally important fight to remove homosexuality from the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders back in 1973 to the less-important arguments floating around my social media feeds recently inspired by an article on Cyberpunk arguing modern incarnations of the genre just don’t match its former mainstream hold (hint: original cyberpunk was never a mainstream blast, it was always on the fringe and a niche genre.) Human beings likes to classify, and classifications have consequences. Sometimes big weighty consequences.

In the book industry, genre is a marketing category. It’s a shelf-location so booksellers can sell books and publishers can market them. Personally, I prefer the view of genre as a shifting context, suggesting different meanings depending on its historical and cultural point of reference. Genre is not fixed. And the meanings of genre, of the classifications placed on a work of fiction, are not immutable.

Something to remember next time you’re tempted to put those Sci-Fi books on a different shelf to the LitFic ones.

Anyway, enough from me. I’m off to go write some edgy post-cyberpunk urban decay, deal with literary themes and references, and full of ultra-violence and failing technology.

Or, as I like to think of it, a romance.

‘Till next….

K.

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* It wasn’t.

** No, I’m not linking to the article. It’s a work I’m critical of. If someone asks me to critique their writing or other creative output, or if I’m writing a formal review, then I will give my full opinion, positive and negative, in appropriately considered terminology. But in all other cases I live by the simple rule: if you don’t have something nice to say, glue you’re damn lips shut, because no-one is going to be helped by you pulling apart someone else’s work entirely unasked. Seriously. Critique, feedback and constructive criticism is a very necessary thing for any creator, but there are ways and means, and anonymous hate for the purposes of jaded humour on the internet isn’t going to help anybody.

Endings. (In which I enjoy arguing over bad horror flicks while drinking too much wine.)

I’ve thinking about endings. Story endings. 

See, a horror loving friend had a movie night the other night and, as one does, decided to stick on an “old” and “classic” movie. Did she pick something like, oh, James Whale’s Frankenstein? What about Invasion of the Body Snatchers? Perhaps The Shining or The Exorcist, those 70s classics? But no. She didn’t even go Hammer Horror from that period, which I would’ve loved. Look, I’m not picky. I’d consider the original Freddy Krueger Nightmare on Elm St a classic. 

But my friend is significantly younger than me, so what she picked was… The Mist. From 2007. Hmmm.

Anyway, after having some severe words with her about what constitutes a ‘classic’, or even ‘old’, and after said friend mocked me in return for being middle-aged and out of touch – all undoubtedly true – we all sat down with several bottles of wine (necessary for this film) to watch it. Then we all got into semi-drunken arguments about the ending. As a bunch of horror readers, writers and pop culture consumers are wont to do. 

Oh, and before I forget: spoilers ahead. I don’t know if it’s possible to spoil a move that’s a dozen years old, especially in a blog post titled “Endings”, but I did see someone put a spoiler warning on an online forum discussion of Alexandre Dumas’s The Count of Monte Cristo once, and that book’s well over 170 years old, so what do I know about modern spoiler culture?

Um… where was I headed, before I paused to roll my eyes at spoiler warnings?

That’s right. The Mist, circa 2007. If you don’t know the ending by now, here’s my rendition of it: after surviving the endless horrors that usually occur in a Stephen King tale, the protagonist and his plucky band of survivors (read: a nice older couple, a love interest, and his 8yo son, the protection of whom has hitherto been his entire character motivation), give up and he shoots them all dead. This is instead of letting the monsters get to them, or something. Even though they’ve risked far more multiple times than stepping outside of the car into the mist and seeing if they maybe can walk it. Anyway, thirty seconds after he literally kills his own child, the army rolls in and he finds they were all saved after all. Oh, the horror.

People hated this ending. 

I hated this ending. 

But my movie-night-hosting-friend *loved* this ending, and knows just how controversial that stance is, hence her desire to ply everyone with wine and stick this particular film on. She loves the ending because it’s grim and brutal and horror. She also loves a good argument. Her argument to those of us who hated the ending was we’re just not tough enough to cope with a downer ending and wanted some kind of happy fairytale finale. 

Let me tell you, in horror writing circles, thems fighting words. 

So I’m here to tell you why I hated the ending and it’s nothing to do with not being able to deal with grim, brutal, horror movie endings. It’s because that particular ending is entirely unearned in a storytelling sense. It makes no narrative sense. It is plonked on purely for shock value.

In a story, your ending has to be earned. That version of The Mist is a damn fine movie which I absolutely loved… right up until the end, which destroyed it. Because the ending was unearned and unrelated to the actual story. If the protagonist had been struggling throughout the film with a dark part of himself that didn’t want to protect or care for his kid, while still loving him, then having to shoot the child dead right when he’d finally embraced a protector’s role would have been a truly tragic, gut-wrenching end. 

That’s not what happened. There was no fatal flaw in the protagonist that he finally gave in to which provided our tragedy. It’s one thing for the external end goal to be survival, but they fail and all die. But story endings are wrapped up in the protagonist’s internal journey, their character arc, and this ending made zero sense to any character’s arc in the film.

Which is a shame, because otherwise it’s a note-perfect flick which shows that no matter what external monster horrors threaten on the outside, the worst horror will always come from inside human beings. 

Maybe that’s why I hated the ending so much. It destroys a film I otherwise loved. Anyway, I haven’t seen the more recent Netflix remake, nor have I read the original King novella it’s based on. I’m not likely to watch/read either after the scarring left by version 2007.

So here’s the lesson of the tale, folks… make your ending count for the characters, not merely for the external plotline. That’s where it’ll hit your readers with a real emotional punch. 

And for the love of the old gods, do not stick on this flick when having a semi-drunken movie night with a bunch of horror movie fans. Please.  

Spoiler Alert

It’ll come as no surprise to anyone that my social media feeds include a lot of nerdy geeky types. You know, considering I’m one of that particular SFF loving, comic-book reading, pop-culture enjoying, fandom participating, fanfiction obsessing, book nerd crew.

And in case you didn’t notice, the world of geeky fandom has kind of blown up over the last week with the release of the latest Marvel superhero flick which kind of, well –

SPOILER ALERT

– kills everyone in the entire history of the MCU, as last as far as I can tell.

Or not. I haven’t actually seen it as yet. With two kids under 6, a full time info governance career, my own writing pursuits and the usual domestic/life/family things to be done, I don’t get to the movies so much anymore. I’m the type of person who has to schedule in downtime – I’m serious here, 3-4 nights a week between 9.45-10.30pm I have literally calendared “do nothing but stare at a screen playing mindless entertainment”. It’s probably not a good sign when you start scheduling relaxation into your calendar. It’s undoubtedly worse when you regularly skip it to get work done.

Personal life-choices aside, I will eventually get to see the latest Avengers flick in which everyone dies – spoiler alert? – but it won’t be until it turns up on a streaming or download service of some kind, so we’re talking some while away yet.

In the meantime, my social media feeds are filled with friends and acquaintances and those weird randoms I must’ve followed for some reason once, but can’t remember now who they are or why I wanted their trivia in my feed, and who are all currently posting exactly the same thing:

Just seen the Avengers – OMG! NO SPOILERS! DON’T READ ANY SPOILERS!

Because apparently it’s no longer merely a sin to spoil plot twists in pop cultural products for other people, but it’s now some kind of geek-fandom sin to just spoil it for yourself.

Hmmm.

So for all you MCU lovers, and for all you lovers of cinema in general – and books and any other story-telling medium – who like to go in fresh and unspoiled, I wanted to tell you something. Know what I did? Deliberately did within barely a few hours of the latest Avengers flick hitting the worldwide cinemas?

I googled “Infinity War spoilers” and ventured out to the internet to read every damn spoiler for the movie I could lay my hands on.

See, I love a good spoiler. I often enjoy a movie more if I go in prepared for what I’m about to see. Perhaps that’s because I like to think about the pop culture I’m consuming within its broader cultural context – blame that old cultural studies honours year of mine back in the “yay postmodernism!” 90s – or maybe it’s just because I don’t have time to waste on something that doesn’t pay out, so I want to know in advance it’s worth it. But I certainly like to go in knowing what’s going to happen.

It can be a useful thing to be happy with spoilers. I’m one of those Australians who loves Game of Thrones but who’s not prepared to give Bad Old Uncle Murdoch a single red-cent, so I won’t subscribe to his pay TV channel to see it fresh. Instead, I wait until the season ends and buy it to download, after everyone else has already watched it. But as the season plays for the first time I do read all the recaps of each episode and follow what’s happening as it happens. I’m full up with spoilers by the time I get to actually watching it for myself.

And I’ll let you into a wee secret: not once in my entire history of seeking out spoilers have I ever experienced a moment of consuming pop culture where I felt I had a lesser viewing, reading or entertainment experience for knowing what was going to happen. I enjoy it all as equally as if I’d gone in blind. Every second of it. Indeed, I’d argue I enjoy it more.

Maybe it’s just me. Going by the reams of internet “no spoilers!” obsessives cluttering up my feeds at the moment, I’m pretty certain I’m in a minority on this.

As I’m of a generation which grew up without the internet – I didn’t get my first email address until I was a post-graduate student, that’s how old I am – there are movies I have seen where I went in entirely unspoiled, and I’ve tried to recall if it made a difference. I guessed the twist to The Sixth Sense while watching it (I’m a huge fan of ghost stories and the “he’s actually dead the whole time” twist appears in several major ghost tales, so I was actively on the lookout for it), but I loved that film regardless. I grew up watching The Sting, so can’t remember a time when I didn’t know all the twists and turns of that one.

I didn’t know or foresee the twist at the end of The Usual Suspects, and I adore that film, but would I really have loved it any less for knowing? I’ve watched it, just as I have the others above, multiple times since first seeing it, and I love it the same on each repeated viewing.

So does it really spoil anything to know the twist, or plot points, or who dies in advance? I’d argue not.

Now, I’ve been talking mostly about movies here, with a bit of TV thrown in. But when it comes to books, I don’t seek out the spoilers so actively. Someone’s suggested to me in the past that perhaps I don’t invest as much in movies as I do in books, so I’m still going in unspoiled when my fiction is prose and written down on the page. But I’d argue it’s actually because I don’t read that many modern books, especially ones that rely on twists or unexpected plot points. It also takes me longer to commit to a novel than it does to a TV show or film, so I’m not as emotionally engaged when I start a novel and it’s not until I’m well into it that I’ll be interested in finding out spoilers. I also love to re-read novels, and read classic novels, that I already know intimately, so for much of my reading I’m long spoiled already.

So did I really enjoy The Count of Monte Cristo the less for knowing who was behind all those masks and schemes right up front, simply because the book is over 170 years old? (Though I did see a Spoiler Alert posted for it in an online forum once. Seriously people, I think a book dating to the 19th century is probably beyond the spoiler alert requirement.) Do I somehow have less of a reading experience as a twenty-first century reader for knowing ahead of time that Wickham is a cad in Pride and Prejudice, long before Lizzy realises? For knowing that dissolute Sydney Carton gives up his life in heroic sacrifice so Charles and Lucie can be together in A Tale of Two Cities? For knowing that Gatsby dies well before the end?

I’ve never gone into most books fresh and unspoiled. I go in knowing their plots well in advance and loving them for it. And I don’t see how that enjoyment changes just because I’m reading a modern works or watching new films, or TV, or other stories regardless of medium, where it’s technically possible to be unspoiled. I still like to know what I’m in for.

So I’ll say it, loud and proud – I love a good spoiler.

Still, one thoughtful anecdote, to end…

Many years ago, I was going out with a chap who’d grown up loathing Shakespeare. No, I don’t understand it either, and its probably unsurprising our relationship didn’t last the distance, but the fact is he’d actively avoided having anything to do with Shakespeare-related stuff all his life. Until he went out with me and I dragged him to the theatre on a regular basis. For his 30th birthday I took him to see a production of Hamlet. And because of the way he’d grown up, he had no idea what it was about. Not a single clue of any character, plot point or thematic emphasis at all. At the age of 30, this chap was watching Hamlet for the very first time and went in totally cold and unspoiled, if also cynical about the likelihood of enjoyment of it.

I have never in my life seen anyone grip the arms of their chair the way that chap did through the climax of Hamlet. He cried at the death of Ophelia. When Hamlet and Laetres are fighting, and Gertrude picks up the poisoned drink, he literally burst out loud to say “oh god, no, don’t”. This guy was the literal personification of “edge of the seat”. The sheer tension and terror he experienced watching it – and it probably helped it was a very fine production with excellent acting and direction – was amazing for me to witness sitting next to him, and the chance to watch something like Hamlet fresh, without any prior cultural knowledge, as an adult, is an experience I don’t think many in our society have.

So maybe there is something in avoiding spoilers after all.

It still won’t stop me seeking them out at every given opportunity….

My other career is all buzzwords

So it says on the front page of this site that, as well as being a writer, I’m also a GLAMR-slash-Information Governance professional. Because a girl’s got to pay the bills somehow and I happen to be a weird sort who gets off on the intricacies of managing and organising information. Look, someone’s got to do it. If phrases like “records management” make your eyes glaze over, just be glad there are freaks like me out there who are more than willing to head unto that breach for you.

Wait – do I need to explain the GLAMR thing? Like, nobody would bother continue to read a post that uses that acronym in the second sentence if they weren’t already interested in the field and therefore already knew what it meant, right?

Right?

Hmmm. Galleries, Libraries, Archives, Museums, Records. Just in case you’re not actually in the know.

Actually, like much about me, my career is just a little left-of-centre of this, with a big focus on data, information & knowledge management, and not so much Museums or Galleries. So it’s kind of ILARKDM. Or something. Look, acronyms, like metaphors, should never be examined too closely. They’ll only end up disappointing you.

Because I was a bookish type growing up (bet that comes as a surprise, huh?), libraries seemed a good choice back when I was studying and choosing future career paths. So graduate degree library school it was. While there I also did a dual stream in records and archives, because it never hurts to diversify the skills a bit, and I’m one of nature’s jack-of-all-trades, really. (Which is a nicer way of saying I get bored easily and like to jump about into new things.)

So armed with all these new library skills, I came out of library school and went straight into…

Knowledge Management.

Look, it was the late 90s. Knowledge Management was just what we did then. Along with studying postmodernism, listening to Grunge and wearing Doc Martens. (Or was that just me? I’m still wearing Docs, by the way.) Anyway, there I was, building a network of databases, highlighting subject matter experts, sharing knowledge, creating communities of practice, and working in a field defined by the latest management buzzword. Seriously, Harvard Business Review did a whole book on it, that’s how management-speak it was.

Shift forward twenty years and now I’m heading up large-scale Digital Transformation projects. Yes, I’m still at the buzzword zeitgeist.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my career and I don’t stay in a job if I don’t believe its creating something of value or doing meaningful work. I’ve travelled from KM to Business Research and Analysis, through Information Management, through Archives and Records, to Research Data Management and now into Digital Transformation and Information Governance. I’ve even actually been a true-blue Librarian for a few years there, doing reference desk shifts and all.

(On which note, I’d like to apologise to everyone to whom I ever gave APA6 style referencing advice. Seriously, I was just as bamboozled as you.)

Still, valid jobs and meaningful work aside, there is no escaping the fact that, without meaning to, my entire career is really a string of management buzzwords. I mean, even when I was running an unambiguous, journals-and-books special library, my job title was “Knowledge Management Officer”. True story. And did you all catch that recent Digital Transformation episode of Utopia? You should, it’s hilarious, and I couldn’t stop laughing. All the while thinking, oh gods, but I’m *that* guy, aren’t I? I’m the one the sharp corporate satire is making fun of.

And I’m totally cool with it.

You see, despite all the fun and games, there’s something at the heart of what I do which I happen to believe is of genuine importance in this day and age.

We live in an era where buzzwords are used seriously by the powerful, and I’m not just talking bollocksy management speak that calls a Librarian a Knowledge Management Officer. I’m talking phrases like “fake news”, “alternative facts” and a whole string of disingenuous phrases that equate to outright science denial. So in an era like this one, the importance of having a solid, reliable, verifiable, authentic, reviewed and referenced information base is more important than ever.

Information Governance, records management, information management, digital information transformation, data management, it’s the concepts coming out of these fields that grapple with what to keep and how to keep it, how to ensure the sheer, provable validity of evidentiary records. You want to worry about world leaders with private email servers, go talk to your records managers, your information governance leaders, for solutions. You’re concerned about the meaning of large datasets and how to secure, access, or ensure their privacy, while also maximising the value for the public good. Go talk to your data managers, your digital information specialists, your information management people.

Information has both value and risk. Those working in Information Governance understand both and weigh up value against risk and advise accordingly.

So I never mind if someone’s eyes glaze over when I say “records management”, or if they snort when I say “digital transformation projects” or just look confused and blank when I say “knowledge management”, or maybe even respond with “is that still even a thing?” Because beyond the buzzwords, there’s actual stuff going on and some of it is essential to being able to keep the powerful to account.

Anyway, this is what I do when I’m not writing. It pays better than words. And it’s almost as fun.

Almost.

But not quite.

 

So. The female Dr Who thing.

I have opinions on the new Dr Who announcement, specifically on the Dr being a chick, and just because I haven’t watched the show for some years doesn’t mean I don’t have a right to shout my opinions into the cyber-void like the rest of the geek-minded world.

So, here goes. As a feminist and as a proud geek, I have only one thing to say: I don’t give a fuck whether the new Dr Who regenerates as a man or as a woman.

As a storyteller, however, I think Jodie Whittaker’s casting is just fab. 🙂

Let’s just stop and dissect that a little:

As a feminist, I don’t give a fuck

This might seem a little counter-intuitive, but the fact is, hiring a woman as the lead in a long-running television show is not actually going to advance the cause of feminism in any meaningful way. No, seriously. Nobody is going to earn equal pay, break through any glass ceilings, gain respect for unpaid, domestic or caring vocational callings, or suffer less from systematic, structural gendered inequalities, simply because Dr Who now possesses a vag.

And yes, I know, I know, “representation matters”. Sure. It’s nice. We all like it. I just don’t actually think it matters that much. I grew up watching Ripley, Sarah Conner, Buffy, even Leia held her own, despite being like the only woman in the entire damn galaxy.

I don’t think these fictional characters taught me women could kick-arse. I already knew women could kick arse. But I loved seeing it on the screen, I loved seeing me – or an idealised, wannabe, fantasy me, because let’s face it, I was never going to fight terminators or vampires or aliens in reality and if I did, I wouldn’t be the one still standing at the end of the night.

I am really happy there’s another awesome strong female lead on the tele for today’s young girls to watch and cheer for. Woohoo, cool, you go girls. I just don’t think that makes much of a difference when it comes to breaking down the systematic and structural gendered inequalities inherent in our culture, politics and economics.

As a proud geek, I don’t give a fuck

As a geek, all I want is to see someone awesome in the role of the Doctor. Peter Capaldi was perfect. And Jodi Whittaker looks like she’ll be awesome too. Excellent. I think they chose well. But as a geek, I didn’t care right, left or centre if they hired male or female or beyond the binary for the role. There were some excellent male possibilities who, as a geek, I would’ve been quite happy to see in the role of the Doctor. That’s all I have to say on that matter.

As a storyteller, the Dr being a woman is the Best. Thing. Ever.

But as a storyteller now, making Dr Who a woman is a wonderful, long-overdue, awesome move that I am cheering to see.

It’s like this: any fictional character who’s physical presence is not in any way inherent or permanent, does not need to be bound by binary gender concepts, and should absolutely not be tied down to a single gender type. And considering the Doctor’s personality has altered with every regeneration, so his character changes every time, there is absolutely no storytelling reason for the Doctor not to be a woman.

But more – not only does it make storytelling sense for the Doctor to be a woman in some regenerations, by not having a female Doctor at least once or twice in the show’s history, a huge storytelling opportunity is missed.

Why do we tell stories? Why do we consume (watch/read/listen) to them? One of the reasons must be to explore, who we are, individually, collectively, and what makes us so, internally, also externally, our broader context and our self. Subjectivity and objectivity. All that jazz. A character like the Doctor, who is not tied to a specific physical presence, who regenerates into someone new every few years, offers immense scope to explore and investigate such concepts. Indeed, every time the Doctor regenerated back when I watched it, there was always a sense of discovering who this new Doctor was, and him working this out through his interactions with others. It’ll be interesting to see how this is influenced by the change in gender.

It made me think of Richard Morgan‘s Takeshi Kovac’s series, of which I am a huge fan (far more so than I am a Dr Who fan, actually). In Kovac’s world, digitised personalities slip on and off ‘sleeves’ – physical bodies – with startling ease. Only once, in the first book, does he wear a female sleeve, and it’s a pretty brutal end to that physical presence, but I always thought Morgan did that switch in gender exceedingly well, and I always wished he’d have explored this more.

Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a criticism of that book series. I don’t think it was necessary for Morgan to go down that path and it wasn’t really the point of the books. He chose not to, no problemo. But for me personally, I would have found it interesting to explore Kovacs as a female. To explore, too, gender post the binary in a world where physical presence is fleeting and sexuality potentially fluid. It’s fleetingly touched on, when Kovacs pretends to be a hetero woman in a male sleeve, but he chooses not to go there in any major way. For me, that leaves a whole host of storytelling territory untouched that would have been fascinating.

Anyhoo, there’s no law that says an author must explore the storytelling territory I personally find interesting, and maybe that’s why I’m a writer, because I have interests and areas I want to explore in fiction, so I write the stuff myself. And I will always, *always* adore one of Morgan’s other books, Black Man, (Thirteen in the US) for it’s final few pages (well, for lots of reasons, but its ending too), when the hyper-masculine 13 meets a female 13 and is totally thrown to understand that his gender perhaps does not necessarily make much difference.

Anyway. I’ve digressed. Again.

In short, I love that the new Doctor is female, but not for the reasons you might think. Or maybe they are. Either way, I might just give it a watch again.

Or I might just go read Morgan’s books again.

Or maybe go write something of my own to explore issues of gender and sexuality when not tied to a single physical presence.

 

 

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