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Another live Marty Cam drawing party today at Ustream!

A tidbit from before last night’s festivities:

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Last night we did the rockinest thing: We put Marty up on Ustream with a bunch of rabid art fans and he did commissioned work, live, in front of the Big Bad Internet. It was way more exciting than we even expected. If you’re reading this and you’re one of the people who showed up to support him, dude, thank you. It was thrilling to be broadcasting live with a mob of people in the room, instead of sitting there with no audience feeling like dumbasses. Whew!

We now have a basic plan for what we’re going to do next (i.e., more of THAT!) and when, so if you want to see what we did and plan to join us for the next one, check out Marty’s recap here.

My favorite part was the jury-rigged iSight, taped to a ruler taped to the arm of a tripod. You should see this crazy shit. Who needs technical know-how when you have bright red duct tape?

In September I had the pleasure of designing the very exciting, very poignant Freak Revolution Manifesto, which was released today on the Freak Revolution website. You’ll notice that in addition to the manifesto, Pace and Kyeli also have some free desktop wallpaper on that page—a gorgeous digital painting put together by the fantabulous Martin Whitmore for the purpose of adorning world-changing computer screens everywhere. He also illustrated the whole manifesto with adorable ink doodles. I am madly in love with this picture, and now that you’ve seen it, I understand that you (obviously) are too. Stay tuned: There will be posters.

In the meantime, here’s a copy of the brilliant aforementioned Freak Revolution Manifesto. Cop a download and give it a read. It’s highly likely to brighten up your day—and give you some great ideas for the future.

Today, I am killing What-Ifs.

I started the week picking them of at a distance. Ping. Pyew. Pzam. Way off on the horizon I could see their little heads exploding. It took almost no effort. Zing. Zow. Their tiny silhouettes crumpled, silent, too far away to see clearly.

Today, they’re closer. They crawl up my shoe and I have to shake them off, kick them away so that I can get a good shot. They’re harder to hit now. Somehow, they move faster. Like zombies, you don’t want them to get too close. Each kill seems to require more effort, because they’re so close.

What if I can’t do it?

What if I’m not as good as I thought?

I take down three of them in a row, bam, bam, bam, and reload. I’m not carrying a gun. My best defense against What-Ifs is far more effective than any firearm, but it means better concentration and quick thinking. My weapon is action.

The fourth What-If is hanging onto my left ankle, rearing back and opening its ugly little mouth wide, getting ready to chow down. Its face is a hole in the universe. I can see its sharp, shiny little teeth. I aim. I fire.

Pow.

The mob drops away front of me, cut down like chaff. I erect new armor and protective barriers, those who have gone before me, reminding me that action is the course I must take. Johnny Truant. Charlie Gilkey. Tim Brownson. Eckhart Tolle. Seth Godin, and my Triiibe. Pages of compassionate accounts, ass-kicking enthusiasm, exploration of meaning, affectionate anecdotes, powerful inspirational passages like battle cries. I wash words across my face like war paint. Another What-If explodes in the distance, splattering darkness and despair like wet black dust.

I will destroy them all.

I’ve noticed that Seth gives one piece of advice in many different situations (though probably not exclusively). When he offers it for group projects, it goes a little bit like this: Set an imminent deadline. Shoot for a month or so—but don’t set it too far out, because the energy might lull.

I agree with him in most cases, most especially because I’m living it. I’ll put off this or that forever but when I set that deadline (or find that the deadline’s been set for me) a sudden three weeks away, everything shifts. I bust my ass into gear. I know I have to move to keep it on the rails, so I do.

If I were choosing a certain level of challenge for myself, I’d almost certainly choose the level just beneath that which creates great change in me. I always want it to be hard, but not too hard. And that, my friends, is the fatal flaw in my default settings, because the great change is what I’m craving. It’s only a matter of being brave enough and strong enough to face it head-on, instead of finding ways to mellow it out (just a little).

If I was not preparing for a vocal competition in Pittsburgh in three weeks, I would be under the gun. You may or may not have noticed, but somehow it’s been almost a year since Marty quit his day job, and things are moving faster around here than ever. Charlie Gilkey worked some productivity magic on my cashflow tracking system and suddenly everything is much clearer: What I want, what I need to do to get what I want, and how quickly I’d better do it. This is wonderful and terrifying and wonderful all in the same gulp. And without any singing at all, it would be incredibly challenging. Incredibly. Challenging.

But, well, I am competing in September and the days in front of me are dwindling. There is music to memorize (memorization! O, wicked task) and Welsh diction to refine, traveling to plan, clothes to buy, and maybe (if I’m lucky) seats to upgrade. And of course, the rest of my life doesn’t stop because I’m singing. My bills don’t have a pause button. My forward momentum in all of my projects doesn’t freeze-frame while I get my shit together. And there is no more safety net. The only thing between me and any month’s eviction notice is me. Either of these situations would be a challenge. Adding them together means that I’m enduring a true trial by fire (probably squared, or published in triplicate, or recited by quadruplets nine times a day for the rest of the year).

This means that I’m moving forward, and I’m in survival mode. There’s no time to think about whether I want to do the next thing on my list or not; there’s no time to argue with myself or speculate on the nature of the universe between to-do items. I’m just moving.

And in my customary bizarre fashion, I find I rather like it here.

Oh, I’d probably change it if I could (and you can argue that I can—of course I can, and I haven’t, and what does that say?). I’d probably adjust this piece and that piece and elongate the whole schedule and give myself more room to breathe. Maybe. But in all the great challenges I’ve come through, not one of them gave me that luxury. And I loved them for it.

Chances are, I’ll love this one too if I live through it. I do tend to live through it.

Stick around, and I’ll let you in on the ending. ;}

In the process of settling my profile page at Todd McCaffrey’s new BigEep world-changing community, I read over my personal information and realized that suddenly, after all this time, SF/Fantasy cons look out of place. Surrounded by so many pastimes that are more meaningful to me, it seems almost like I should take SF/Fantasy cons and put it somewhere else—maybe somewhere that includes the TV shows I like, or the board games I play with friends. But I knew after just a few moments of thinking about it that I wasn’t going to move it. And this past Aggiecon in College Station is why.

Ever since Marty and I altered the fundamental nature of our situation and he quit his day job, I have noticed a new effect that he has on people—especially people at cons. They take notice of him because when he’s sitting at a table piled high with his artwork, it’s very obvious that he’s doing what he loves. Passersby inevitably ask if this is what he does for a living—or if he has another job paying the bills. When he says yes, this is his full-time job, the wheels start turning in their heads. I can see it. Something starts to change them.

I never had this effect on people at conventions because it was never particularly apparent that I was supporting myself doing whatever the hell I wanted. Even if it had been, there is nothing so visual as sitting at a vendor table hawking your own gory, colorful, detail-rich creations. Having partnered with Marty, I suddenly had a way of affecting people that I hadn’t considered. I didn’t have to tell them anything. I only had to help Marty be who he was naturally, do what he was meant to do, and these people came to him, saw what he was doing, and it changed them.

Blew. My. Mind.

At Aggiecon this year, the effect was pronounced. Several of our new friends had that look on their faces when they came by to chat. These were people who craved something special for themselves and didn’t know how to get it. I found myself in a position to be encouraging, maybe even a little insistent. There is a way to make your life what you want it to be. There is a way to change things to make yourself happy. It’s hard and it’s work, but there is nothing in the world more worth it if only you can give it a chance. I didn’t have a plan at Aggiecon—I didn’t know that I would be faced with such incredible opportunities to help other people. I handed out a few of Naomi’s cards, thinking at the time, I think, about the SpeakEasy (before it had closed its doors). I wasn’t sure what else I could do but be positive, tell them it was possible, tell them people cared and they could get help making the changes they wanted to make.

Now, I think I might have a plan. I don’t intend to let any more of those opportunities pass me by.

But obviously SF/Fantasy cons needs to stay in my profile, along with all the other meaningful work I want to do. It’s amazing how the elements of our lives can stay the same, but somehow become completely different—and better all the time.

(I know I said I’d do this several days ago. Aggiecon was more time-intensive than I expected, and Austin has beseiged me with allergens. But aren’t you just bonkers excited that I’m here now?)

I’ve bought prints in the past, mostly when I was trying to make my 9-to-5 office an enjoyable place to work. Other than that, print buying isn’t really something I do. A print at an art show has to resonate with me powerfully for me to want it, and it needs a certain additional degree of excellence for me to actually buy it. (I’m sure a lot of people function the same way.)

What did I promise again? Intrique? Woe and introspection, right? Morose… princesses? I don’t remember. Tell the story, Megan.

When we arrived at Aggiecon 2008, last year, we found ourselves in the unique position of having to go through Marty’s display art and censoring nipples. No nipples were allowed in the art show, so they gave us a roll of blue tape and we, uh, taped ‘em up. Marty’s artwork had plenty of nipples to censor! We were a little peeved. We talked to the show staff about it, and they obviously weren’t happy with it either—they showed us some really beautiful mail-in work that they couldn’t even include in the show, and more that they bikinified so that they could still display it.

Don’t get me wrong; I think bikinification with blue tape is very funny as a general rule. But I don’t think it’s funny when it’s censoring and effectively destroying the effect of a really nice piece of artwork. The blue bikini’d artwork, in this case, was Sarah Clemens’ St. Labia trilogy: Three nude incarnations of “St. Labia, the patron saint of pornography.” Each piece was wrapped and matted and contained the same lewd gesture, and the effect was really striking: Beautiful technique, unorthodox theme. Even better, I thought they were funny, and poignant, and just plain neat. Worth seeing. (If you want to see them, here’s Sarah’s nude prints page. Buy stuff from her. She’s awesome.)

The blue tape bikinis covered up the usual suspects, but they didn’t cover up the titles (“St. Labia” is fairly straightforward) and they didn’t cover up the lewd gesture. I wasn’t offended by any part of it, but the fact that the censors were picking and choosing was particularly absurd. Even if we bypass the whole argument about natural bodies and sexual denial, this was a stupid situation, and it was probably going to affect the artists’ ability to sell their work. We had put tiny pieces of tape on Marty’s artwork, just barely covering the “offensive” parts—but the blue bikinis on St. Labia covered too much. Who would buy them now, I wondered? I walked around the entire con talking about how shameful it was, how unfair to the artist, and how insensitive it was to her hard work. This offended me—not the freaking nudity.

Aggiecon 2008 went on; Angel instituted blue tape censorship of all willing con-goers. I bummed around the dealers room and found nothing I wanted. I was disheartened and grumpy about it. Nothing called out; nothing spoke to me. Nothing said “BUY ME.”

And then I realized that wasn’t true.

St. Labia had to be protected from their censored fate, and I was going to protect them. I was going to rescue them from blue tape bikinis. And once I’d bought them, I could show them to whomever I wanted.

Take that, censorship!

Victoriously, I paid the art show people and we peeled the bikinis carefully off my new prints. A cheer went up as they reminded me that the prints were no longer under their purview, so I could wave them around like a pro-sex heathen if I wanted. (I won’t say I didn’t have the urge.) I heard a rumor that one of the staff had bought a piece called “Dragonplay” (on this page, and nsfw, obviously), having felt bad that they couldn’t display it and not wanting the artist to suffer for it. As for me, who cares whether I would have bought them in a different situation? I felt like we had triumphed over evil. Save St. Labia, save the world.

I took my prints home and gave them pride of place on my bedroom wall, feeling silly in some ways and brilliant in others. They resonated with me because I wanted to protect them, because they represented a not-always-welcome artistic and sexual expression that I think we all need more awareness of.

In 2009, Marty was christened “The Boobie Guy” for his part in all of this. (I guess if it sticks, at least it’s accurate—he draws enough of them.) “You’re the reason we have that room,” the art room attendant told him when he arrived, explaining that now the nudes were left uncensored and displayed in a separate area, requiring them to check IDs. Three of Marty’s canvas prints were displayed in the public area, and three more—sans censors—are displayed in what has apparently been dubbed the Dirty Old Man Room. (If this catches on, it’s Marty’s fault.) We still think it’s a little silly for the nude work to be separate (and I guess that’s really just the kind of folks we are), but it’s a hell of a lot better than taping it up or not displaying it at all. The staff members we spoke to were obviously happier with this solution.

Also in the quiet sanctity of the Dirty Old Man Room (you guys know by now that no link in this post is work-safe… right?) was a fourth incarnation of St. Labia, newly released this year.

At least, it was there until I bought it.

It seemed only appropriate!

My awesome green cephalopocalypse shirt didn’t go through the wash, so I’m not wearing it yet. I like to wash newly-printed shirts before I wear them. That makes them softer and nicer.

Marty struts in wearing his. I glower at him for forgetting to put mine in the wash, too. I am intensely jealous of his green biohazard-ness.

Marty: “I’m wearing my t-shirt. Why aren’t you wearing your t-shirt?” He plants his fists on his hips and juts out his chest, like Captain Hammer. And he promptly answers his own question: “Because you’re too fussy!”

I give out a righteous and indignant gasp.

Marty deflates, immediately conceding defeat. “Okay, because you have standards…”

Story of my life!

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Here are the links I promised to include:
Evil Web Valentine for you! (Pass it on!)

Add your evil Valentine’s quote on this page:
Valentines for Villains Squidoo page (with Twttrstrm, if you use Twitter)

I hope you have enough of a Monday left to have a GREAT one – this was meant to be posted earlier, but video editing takes me a damn long time. In any case, uh… Happy Early Valentine’s Day, too. ;}

I don’t think “Bunko” is pejorative anymore. ;}

(John made this video. Isn’t it fantastic!?)

When we started, we were in last place. Over the course of the last few days, we brought ourselves up 30+ percentage points—and we were leading by at least 1% before somebody special dropped a bomb. A good bomb. Now, well…

You never really know what’s going to happen (and hell, voting doesn’t close until tomorrow) but I’m pretty damn proud of us. I have had such a FUN week! Becky and Marty, who worked their asses off, and the folks who helped us out, and the Triiibe that got behind us. Man, you people are awesome.

Don’t even get me started on the freaking ebook...!

So if you haven’t voted yet… you might take a minute to go be a part of something. (And no matter what happens now, Stay Hungry!)