August 2009 Archives

Last year I signed up for Red Room, an online community for writers launched in January of 2008 from the San Francisco Bay Area. That's about the time I signed up, hoping for a fun, writerly community online to augment my writing habit. Unfortunately, January 2008 turned out to be a bit soon for the Red Room folks on the technical side, and after much frustration and inability to post even the simplest items to my member profile, I gave up.

Well, it's been a year and a half, so I thought I'd try again. Red Room is a great idea, after all, and they've had some time to work these things out.  Still called a "beta" effort (a cheat in my view - a site that is open to the public for over a year should never be called beta) My hope was that beta or not, the site had become more functional.

The basic organization of Red Room is two-tiered. "Authors" are defined as people who have published via traditional means, which is still a very difficult and selective process (unless you're a right-wing pundit). "Members" are people who haven't yet published a traditional book.  At first I forgave this obvious caste system as a necessary filter mechanism, but after some consideration, I've changed my mind. It's insulting, and because self-published authors and established bloggers and performance poets who have no chapbook are not considered "authors", it perpetuates some of the walls of the print publishing world that may not be truly useful for an online audience. It all smells a bit dusty for an online community.

Red Room looked at first like a place where writers could gather and form community, sharing literary interests, and providing as a secondary feature a directory of writers and their works.  Instead I found a very fragmented online community which reminded me of early blog groups in which you'd have a simple directory and then hop from isolated blog to isolated blog.  There are a few index pages where you can find author's works listed under specific genres, the pages are oddly laid out (if you don't scroll down, you don't know you've found your list of results) and as far as I can tell these pages do not include "member" works.

My own attempt to set up a member page has been an exercise in futility. Though I have been able to put up a blog post, the rest has been a struggle. Menu items are not intuitive, the purpose of some pages isn't clear, and Red Room requires a human to approve all content - something that I never received any notification about. This caused me to think my work had gone into a black hole. With some help from one of their staff (or volunteer? Hard to know) some of it got published, but after several tries I was unable to post photographs in a gallery, one of the features of the site. Despite relatively responsive technical support, I eventually had to give up.

Another problem is that the approval stage is not properly disclosed to content submitters. I never received a message informing me of this step, though I was told I should have, and it is not part of the faq. The support staff member explained it in very general terms in an email, which is not sufficient. The lack of transparency for this step was odd, and combined with the very traditional publishing bent of the entire site left a bad feeling about the place. It's fine to edit - but in a community site, it's important that some guidelines be made known, and that the activity of editing is disclosed clearly. Is it just pornography they object to? Or criticisms of authors the staff likes? We don't know.  

The best way to use Red Room at this time is to simply use the blog feature, which is the most technically competent at this time. If you do this regularly, you may be able to slowly join the community and attract some readers, and it does appear that some folks are having a good time in there. It's also the only place I found that one can actually upload a picture. Ignore most of the rest of the advanced features of the site until they are improved. "Conversations" looks promising, but does not function for me. Creating prominent, front-page linked discussion areas seems like the most important piece of community that is missing. If you are a traditionally published author, apply for the author status. But if you're not - frankly, you're better off doing what I have, and creating and hosting your own blog. 

I hope Red Room improves, and I'll check back in another year and see what's happened - that is, if I don't find that someone else has done this better by then.

This short short is inspired by one of the originating myths of Northern Irish culture, the boat race and the red hand. My grandmother came from Belfast, as did most of the rest of my family at some point in the last hundred and fifty years, so I find the history of the place fascinating.

But retelling a Northern Irish myth has a bit more baggage than many European cultural tales. My goal was to retell it in a form that feels less distant than a standard "myth", and to put the reader right in the moment. And to do so without straying into political territory. There is no reference to right or left hand, for instance, as one or the other indicates a different "side" in the modern Irish conflict. There is no use of the color orange. Even so, I may have inadvertently stepped on a cultural toe, and that is always the risk when writing of Ulster.

The tale of the Red Hand and the various uses of the Red Hand symbol are sometimes associated with Unionists, but the tale long predates the modern Troubles. In fact, some Irish Catholic societies use the symbol too, though some also complain the Unionists have taken it over for themselves. It is in fact one of the few universal Northern Irish symbols. In addition, this story has competition from biblical myths and tales of giants as the origin of the Red Hand, depending on the source.

Enjoy this brief story about the founding moment of Ulster (cross posted at Red Room.) I find it works well when read loudly to a crowd with a pint of beer.

The Red Hand

One captain, the dark-haired captain with blue eyes, wants to win this race more than the other. The prize is this low, treeless land before them, dominion over it, the right to populate it with their children and grandchildren and to leave their mark upon it forever. Their boats will anchor here. Their men will hunt the giant elk. They will build castles and hold feasts and found clans and defend their claims with daggers and swords.

The boats are close together, so close their wakes intermingle and the oarsman can shout to each other across a narrow strip of water. The prows of the boats are almost even. On the shore, the elders who will judge the contest stand waiting, and the stakes are high for them, too. The winner will be their Chief and he will rule them all.

The dark-haired captain sees his oarsmen begin to fade. He sees the prow of his boat fall behind. His future life as a powerful man wavers as the other captain's boat pulls ahead and the carved yellow serpent which marks its prow reaches its ribbon tongue toward the shore. The dark-haired captain grips the rail of the boat and watches the land rush toward him, and he watches the other boat creep ahead, and with the soft summer wind in his face he makes his choice. He will win.

He removes his sword from its sheath. The scalloped blade catches the shifting sunlight. He kneels and braces his arm against the deck of the boat and raises the sword. Behind him, his young son stands by, watching his father, the future chief. The dark-haired captain, the future chief, the father of this boy lowers the sword with such force as to sever his own hand from its wrist, and the bloody hand falls to the deck, palm up, fingers open. The boy shudders. The father, the captain, the future chief, turns the stump of his arm into his stomach and holds it there to slow the bleeding. He uses his good hand to pick up the severed flesh, which is now red with blood, a bloody hand, a red hand. He rises to his feet and holds the red hand high in the air, and then he reaches back, and just as the boat reaches the sandy beach - just as the other captain begins to climb down from his own boat to reach the sand - the dark-haired captain, the father, the chief throws the red hand to the sand below and claims his chiefdom.

The five elders stare at the bloodied hand in shock, and look up to see the dark-haired captain raise his arm, blood trailing down his cloak, and they know that he is the new chief. This land is his. This land is real. The son watches his father, his chief, in awe. This is the first day of history in this place.