Gender Equality and the Nuclear Option

So, Paul Cornell has done an interesting thing.

A little bit of background: I've met Paul at several conventions, and we've been on several panels together. That men and women are and should be treated as equal, and that in today's society (both in general and in the particular subculture of SF Fandom) they are not yet always treated as such, is not anything that we disagree on.

So in brief, here's what Paul has said:

If he finds himself on a convention panel which does not have a 50/50 balance of men and women (rounding is fine in the case of odd-numbered panels), he will immediately step down from that panel and invite a qualified (ie knowledgeable about the subject) female volunteer from the floor to take his place.

If no qualified female volunteers are available on the floor, he will replace himself with an unqualified female volunteer.

My basic problem with this approach isn't Paul stepping down from a panel. Each of us has things up with which we will not put. Those points of ethics and morality are different for each of us. Withdrawal of labour when all other options have failed has a long and glorious history and is an action which I fully support.

My problem with this strategy is not in Paul stepping down from a panel, which he is perfectly justified in doing; rather it's in his intention to replace himself on the panel.

I don't believe that he has the right to make that call.

If I've shown up as an audience member to a panel, I know (pending sickness or other unforeseeable circumstances) who will be on that panel. I know, hopefully, why they will bring something useful to the panel, or at the least am confident that the convention committee (oft abbreviated to concom, language fans!) have filled that panel with people who will have something interesting to say about the subject.

Now, if I've gone to a panel with this in mind, and instead of the person I've come to see speak I get someone that they have unilaterally imposed on the panel, and then especially if that replacement does not have anything useful or interesting to say, I would take this amiss. If they actually bring the quality of the panel down, I'd be even more annoyed.

And if I was on the panel myself, I'd be livid.

If the replacement has been OKd by the panel, or the moderator thereof, then I don't necessarily have a problem with that. But the current option on the table is a unilateral I-will-replace-myself. Which I feel is unacceptable, and I rather suspect many other people will too.

And were I a panellist on a panel where such a thing happened, I think it likely that I would have to withdraw from the panel myself in protest. Especially if it was a panel in which Paul was more competent than I to speak.

While I feel that Paul, as does anyone, has the right to withdraw from a panel for whatever reason he chooses, I do not feel he has the right to choose his replacement.

So. Given that he plans to do just this, effectively what we have here is a nuclear option with a defined trigger point. You do this, and I'll do this. Your move.

Now, we've had nuclear weapons for, what, 65-odd years now, and they've only been used twice. So it's perfectly possible to come to an arrangement with someone with a nuclear capability without anyone blowing anyone into a cloud of radioactive dust.

What is likely to happen here is that concoms ensure that either Paul's panels are gender-balanced, or he isn't on them. Because every concom will want to avoid the nightmare that I expect to happen if he does go ahead and invite people from the audience to replace him.

So if I know that I'm going to be on a panel with Paul again at any convention in the future, then I'm going to have to ensure it's gender-balanced. Given that I know what he'll do if it isn't, and then what I'll do if he does that, and then there's a whole smoking mess to clear up, which is what exactly none of us want.

And I'm sure many other people will do the same. And this process will result in more gender-balanced panels. Which I think is a good thing.

But I have a problem with the means.

Rocket Science (Fiction)

Well, if you haven't seen me for the last four or five months, it wasn't because I don't love you any more. It's because I've been working on a magazine called "Spaceships of Science Fiction".

My copies arrived on Thursday.

(Technically speaking it's a bookazine, yes. Hush there at the back.)

It costs £7.95, is published by Ian Allan and is available in shops exclusively at WHSmith in the UK. It's also going to be on sale in the United States soon, but I don't yet know exactly when.

Since my copies have arrived, I think we can safely say it's in the distribution chain now, so should be showing up at some point in the next few weeks on shelves in a bookstore near you.

So: Yay! Spaceships!

Happy Birthday, Chuck

This year is the 200th anniversary of the birth of Charles Dickens.

Now I've got a bit of a soft spot for Charles. As well as being an absolutely brilliant writer, he helped me to get my start in the business.

The first theatre play I wrote that was professionally performed was an adaptation of A Christmas Carol at the Lion & Unicorn theatre in Kentish Town, directed by the wonderful Mr Ray Shell.

It did well. Lots of lovely reviews, including a four-star in Time Out. So. Not too shabby then.

The year after, I adapted Oliver Twist, which Ray also directed. (And while I'm on the subject of Oliver Twist: Nancy is not a prostitute.) Again, great reviews, an extended run.

And one or the other of them has been performed in London every year since I started writing professionally.

So anyhow, I got to thinking. And what I thought was this:

It's the 200th anniversary of Charles Dickens' birth this year. A centenary, no less. Some of you out there might want to do something to celebrate that and not have the wherewithal to pay for a script, or know anyone local who wants to write one.

Mr Dickens has done well for me over the last few years. I'd like to return the favour. So firstly, here are the scripts.

Oliver Twist
A Christmas Carol

Have a read.

If you like them, and you'd like to put them on in the centenary year, then I'll waive my fees. So any performances in 2012 will be completely free, no matter how large or small the production. (Well, apart from the cost of putting on the show. But that's your own problem, and one that I'm certain that you'll be able to cope with magnificently.)

You'll still need to obtain a licence to perform the play (email me for more details about this) but if you put one of these two plays on in 2012 there'll be no writer's fee.

And I'd love the chance to see it if I can.

Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose...

So I'm just after reading the introduction to the complete Works of Shakespeare (published 1623), and what's this I find in the front?

An introduction written by the editors asking people to please stop reading it in the bookshop and just buy the damn thing already.

Nanna

I said goodbye to my Nanna this evening.

For a significant part of the evening she thought I was called Bill, but that's neither here nor there. Bill, I told her, was a perfectly good name, and would be just fine for tonight.

Mostly, though, we just sat companionably watching the Christmas television. She was a bit concerned for a while about EastEnders, but after we'd confirmed in response to her questioning that it was definitely fiction, she was just fine with that.

Most of the time I just sat down by the side of her wheelchair and held her hand.

Mum and Dad were there too. We ate leftovers from yesterday's dinner in front of the television, and watched the soaps, and had a drink or two. A pretty standard Christmas all told.

Occasionally Nanna would look down, and be surprised that I was there. Because there you are, sitting in your wheelchair, dozing off mostly and occasionally seeing something interesting on the telly, and you'd suddenly realise that there was someone holding your hand and who was it?

But it was all right. Because she'd look down at me, and I'd smile up at her and say "I love you, Nanna," and she'd smile back at me, a huge great smile that meant more to me than anything and say "Love you," and that would be fine.

Because that's all you need, really. To know that someone in this world loves you, even if you're not really sure who they are any more.

She's not eating much. A couple of pieces of cheese, each smaller than a die. A quarter of a slice of bread, with a little bit of butter on it. Tried a little bit of Southern Comfort, which was her favourite Christmas tipple once upon a time, but didn't fancy that much - too sweet - so we settled on a brandy and ginger ale, perhaps a shot glass's worth. And that was mostly ginger ale.

But it was nice to have a Christmas drink with her again.

I don't think Nanna and I will be able to spend another Christmas together, and that makes me sad. But all things have their end, and we sat together today and watched Morecambe and Wise. "I like them," she told me. And so do I. So we had a lovely Boxing Day, the four of us, and I can't think of a better way to have spent it.

I love you, Nanna.

Our First Broadsheet Review

And it's a good'un, too.

Today's Times has a short review in the Arts section for Hans Christian Andersen's Fairy Tales.

"My three-year-old [...] also enjoyed the low-theatre approach of Red Table Theatre's retelling of some of Hans Christian Andersen's Fairy Tales (three stars, at the Pleasance, N1 - and strictly speaking for ages four and over). With some changes in costume, the odd bit of puppetry and a few bursts into Danish song, the cast of four make these tales come to life."

If you have a subscription you can read the review on the Times website - or failing that you could, you know, go out and buy a paper. That would work too.

The show runs until New Year's Eve, and you can buy tickets from the Pleasance website.

A Christmas that's Just So

And the last theatrical Christmas announcement this year (unless someone is putting on a production of mine in secret somewhere and hasn't told me about it) is that Red Table's production of The Just So Stories, as seen at this year's Edinburgh Festival, is going to be touring to St Albans this Christmas.

Here are some reviews of the production from Edinburgh.

The show is playing at the Trestle Arts Base in St Albans from Sunday 18 December to Tuesday 20 December, and tickets are £10 for adults, £8 for children, and £32 for a family ticket.

Find out more and book tickets at the Trestle Theatre website.

A Dickens of a Christmas

I'm pleased to be able to say that my adaptation of A Christmas Carol will be on again this year, this time in a production by the City Lit Rep Company.

This is the third production of A Christmas Carol in four years, so I must've done something right. Oh, and you can buy the script from the sidebar to the right, should you be so inclined.

There are four performances - three evening shows on the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd December 2011 at 7:30pm, together with a 2:30pm matinee on December 3rd - and tickets cost £8, a pound of which goes towards the student scholarship fund.

Book tickets here.

A Fairy Tale Christmas

After taking The Just So Stories to the Edinburgh Festival this year, where we made a profit...

(I'll just let you take a moment to let that sink in. We made a profit. At Edinburgh. Yes, our shows really are that good.)

...I'm pleased to be able to say that tickets are now on sale for the Red Table Christmas show.

We're working once more with our friends at Pleasance Theatre, and this Christmas we're bringing the magical fairy tales of Hans Christian Andersen to the theatre.

The show runs from 6 December 2011 to 31 December 2011, and tickets cost £9 for adults and £7 for children.

You can book your tickets online or by calling the Pleasance Box Office on 020 7609 1800.

A hundred little things

I'm typing this on a MacBook Pro. It used to belong to my housemate, and now it's mine.

It makes my life better.

My previous desktop computer was my first Mac - one of the early Mac minis - and is so old that it can't play video from YouTube any more, and hasn't been able to for some time. Occasionally over the years I've had enough money to replace it with a PC, but held out for a new Mac instead.

I've had a few conversations now with PC-using friends who've asked: Why a Mac? It's just a computer. It does exactly the same things as a PC, but it's twice the price.

Up till now, I've never been able to answer that, other than with "Well, it's just better." Which is no answer at all when you come to think about it.

Until I realised that it's not just one thing.

The power cord on the computer has a tiny little magnet in it. When I need to plug the computer in, it guides the power cord into the slot. A tiny, insignificant detail, that adds to the cost, makes it more expensive.

But every time I plug in my computer, it's just a little bit easier for me. A little bit nicer. Saves me a second or two hunting for the plug.

Every day that I use this machine, my life is improved.

It's not by much. But it doesn't have to be much.

Another example.

I work at a window, looking out across the city. Except, traditionally, when there's been bright sunlight outside, at which point I've had to close the curtains and work in the dark because of all the reflections on my screen.

Not with the new computer. It automatically changes the brightness of the screen so I can always see what I'm doing. I didn't need to ask it to do this. It just does. Making my life a little bit better on a sunny day.

Or there's the accent keys. If I need to type an é on the MacBook, I just hold down the e key, and it gives me all the accent options. In Windows, that's ALT-130. Not much, unless you have to remember or look it up every time you need to type an accent.

Or the migration. When I switched it on for the very first time, it asked me if I had a Mac already, told me to plug the two together, and copied everything across for me. All my settings, all my programs, all my shortcuts. The lot. An hour later, I could start working again, with everything set up the way I like it and where I expected it to be.

Or the trackpad. When I was using it, I swiped with two fingers instead of one, and found that it scrolled the page. Within minutes, I was able to move through documents more quickly and easily.

And, sure, all of these things are small individually. But they add up.

A few years ago I got my first iPhone. I opened the box and looked for the operator's manual.

There wasn't one.

And the amazing thing was, I never needed one. A couple of minutes with the iPhone and you can tell what to do. It just works.

(My brother is currently berating himself for not being able to work his new HTC phone, which does come with a manual. Claiming that it must be his fault for not understanding it properly. A telephone should not make you feel stupid. A telephone should make you feel smart.)

One more story.

Previous to the iPhone I had used Nokias for many many years. I bought a new Nokia to replace one which had broken. Shiny, touchscreen. I also got the insurance that came with it.

Within a month the screen cracked. In my pocket.

I hadn't dropped it, or done anything unusual to the poor thing. And all of my phones before and since have been able to travel in a pocket without shattering.

So I got in contact with Nokia who said that they could replace everything except the screen. Wasn't covered by the guarantee. Couldn't do anything.

So I called the insurance. Who said that because this had happened more than a month ago and I hadn't told them immediately, they wouldn't replace it. (And, no, talking to Nokia rather than them didn't count.) Should've read the terms and conditions.

I changed networks and bought an iPhone.

More than a year later, some pixels had gone on the display. I booked an appointment in the Apple store on Regent street and took it in to see someone at the Genius Bar to see what was up, pay to get it fixed. They took a look at it, consulted with their computer, and told me that the guarantee had expired last week.

And then they turned to me with a big smile and said: Tell you what, I'll just replace the screen anyway.

It's not just one thing. It takes a hundred little things to make something beautiful.

Steve Jobs RIP
1955-2011