Brittany Maresh

writer

Infinitus 2010 was a bit like walking on a white, sandy beach that just happens to have a thriving knife population–overall fantastic, but not the sort of place you want to walk without some thick shoes.

I’m not going to talk about the programming or the structure anyone’s ability to cope or communicate- – they’re all knife blades, left scattered about at random.

But the other people, strolling along on that same sunny beach? To quote Bartok, the Magnificent: “Wow! I tell you what, wow!”
Before the convention, I’d befriended a hodgepodge of interesting characters. We’d banded together to form a group, calling ourselves “The Lemniscates.” Pretty much fulfilled my life-long urge to join a secret club, without having to actually join one. We even have a hand sign greeting and matching t-shirts, and in-jokes, like a real secret society.
Of the characters, the most notable was Cee, from Spain, with her silent partner, Debbie. Cee’s a musician, of the broken heart string variety. Beautiful, slightly exotic, and absolutely self-depreciating. Debbie was a dark-haired enigma, someone talked of but less real. I had no concept of her. Together, they were exotic, beautiful, and a bit distant, not just in miles but in feeling.

In reality, they are much as they were online, only more inclined towards kissing and hugging people. Still, I can now snap my fan open, all sharp and feminine.

Which is how I’d describe Cee, knowing her better.

She’s also got this spark. Think Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium, Molly Mahoney—that little prickling of talent, that interior light that alerts you that there’s something more there, and even if all it ever becomes is a sad girl playing her harp alone in her room, it’s there, and you can see it, waiting for a chance to really come to life.

And then there’s Chel. A pink-haired theater kid with a thing for Wrock. She’s a flittering sort, and so much more brave than I’ve ever been. She was there with her family (who I adore) and within five minutes seemed to know everyone, and every thing, but not in a bragging sort of way. So casual, as though she absorbed things from the air and just happened to come upon ideas like that.

I can’t not mention Bree. She was a strange sort, with an inclination towards “creeping.” I’m not sure it was appropriate at all, and probably borderline stalker behavior, actually, but she had guts. She wasn’t afraid to walk up to people she liked and say “hey, take a picture with me,” or “hi, I love your CD!” Which, well, I am. Way too shy. Like, really.

There’s Bonnie, who was my co-conspirator for AVPS in Ann Arbor, for Infinitus, and especially for organizing the Lemniscates. I wish I’d seen more of her, because I miss her like mad and feel that my having four roommates to schedule around really impacted our ability to hang out. On the other hand, she brought Vernor’s and Michigan chips, and she made me smile when we WERE together.

There are so many others. Ashley, who had a Deathly Hallows tattoo and works an awful lot. Joe, who is Sonic, whose team won the Quidditch match. Agostina from Argentina, Beverly who was so excited over the HPA winning $250,000, Zach from Florida, Megan, Sarah, Lindsey-with-a-sonic-screwdriver.

That’s them. The Lemniscates. And I really hope it is “To Infinitus, and Beyond!” with them, because they’re that beach party that welcomes any random passerby, and sometimes I do feel a bit like that’s me, some sort of drifter.
And there were many a non-Lemniscate passerby worth noting, too–Marina, and Gretchen, and dozens of others that didn’t stick around nearly as long. They were just out having fun, and knowing each of them made the trip happier for me. Christina, Volunteer coordinator, was so sweet. I was alone a lot, and she always stopped to exchange kind words. It was a relief, since I was really actually a little bit afraid to BE in Florida.

Team StarKid gets mad points for being there, too. They’re always fun to watch (and with A Very Potter Sequel recently online, I recommend doing just that: http://www.teamstarkid.com ). Major props to them for being that amazing treat that just makes everything better, like snow cones on the beach. And especially to their costume guy, Corey L-not-even-going-to-try-to-spell-it, because $5.00 hasn’t brought me that much amusement since the days of play dough, glow-in-the-dark army men, those foam “grow your own dinosaur” pills, and bouncy balls (alternatively: pogs, warheads, and pokemon cards).

To kill the beach analogy, since I’ve never actually GONE to the beach, I’m back home and settling back into the whole camp/archery thing.

One week until I’m cut free from that, and then who knows?

Semester starts soon enough, but if things go according to plan, it’ll be my last. The novel’s in pieces, my focus is shot, and NaNoWriMo is creeping up on us, slowly but deliberately. The people I care about are thousands of miles away, and before I know it, snow is going to be choking out all the sun and green and color. And I think I need to find a real job. You know, the sort that pays regular wages and sucks out your soul, or something.

But really, who knows? At this point, the future is a blank piece of paper, waiting to be filled with words. And even if I don’t know where my story’s going, right now at least, it’s going.

Long nights and late mornings to you,

Brittany Maresh,

As an archery instructor, I see kids with all sorts of range of abilities. One of the things I’ve learned is that size is no indicator of strength, and it’s impossible to judge gross motor skills just by looking. Sometimes the shortest, fattest kid is the strongest and best able to manipulate their bow. Sometimes It’s the skinny tall kid who doesn’t look like they could pick up a piece of paper.

This summer I had the same strange mix I have every year—kids with serious disabilities, kids who don’t want to try, kids who try their best and fail, kids who just have a natural talent for it.

The best kid I ever saw was a boy whose hair was candy apple red. He grew up in Milan, and apparently all they do in Milan is shoot (and not in the sun, judging by how pale he was). Jimmy shot 300 arrows before he missed the bull’s-eye. Shot my target to pieces and left my confidence as an archer in tatters, too. He’s a troublemaker, looks like it, but always listened on the range. Liked archery enough that he never gave me any trouble, even if the rest of the staff thought he was a nightmare. For me, he was a quiet kid who wanted other people to like archery, too. He didn’t brag, didn’t even realize he was fantastic.

This year, I met the second best shot I’ve ever seen, a petite girl named Jaelynn. She’d never shot before in her life. We did a girl’s camp and she hit all four in the bull’s-eye, no problem. Then she did six more. And then nine the next time, with one miss. She’s the sort of girl who dots each “i” with a little heart and has perfectly clean pink khakis. Her hair is light and curled, and she has light brown skin. Her cheeks were chubby, but she had a pretty smile. She, too, was quiet and refrained from bragging. I think she was surprised by how good she was at archery, just as much as I was to hear that it was her first go at it.

In fiction the archers are almost always of a certain sort—the sort who aren’t good at much else, or the sort who are braggarts and show-offs, typically leaning towards the second. I’m sure there are people like that in real life. There are show-offs everywhere.

Still, in real life, there really are people who pick up a bow and are breathtakingly good, and people who practice until they are perfect, and that all they really share is a sort of quiet affection for shooting, typically a sort of passive fondness that comes from having the skill, not from the thrill of shooting itself.

I think kids learn like that, no matter the skill. Some are fantastic right away, and some gain skills over time, and saying which is better is nearly impossible. I expect that whether it’s magic or swordsmanship, children fall into the same sorts of groups.

-Brittany Maresh

Note: Names modified to protect the guilt!

I’ve been meaning to update this for a while and I’m really sorry about that. No princesses this time—camp talk, instead.

It’s camp time. That means that Monday to Friday I’m off in the woods being snacked on by mosquitoes and helping little kiddos make pincushions out of archery targets. It’s hard work, up and down the range, being loud, corralling children. In fact, it’s exhausting.

It keeps me from writing, but not from reading. I’m devouring every book I can get my hands on (next up: Green by Jay Lake, as per recommendation by Shannon Page)

Being surrounded by kids is always interesting. They’re a lot smarter than people think. A three year old was out last week and they’re hitting bulls-eyes consistently. Then I get pre-teens who can’t hit the target to save their life. It’s something some kids have a knack for, others suck at but can learn, and some people just don’t bother with. I’m from that second group. I was really bad, and now I’m not.

And that’s my random musing for the day.

-Brittany Maresh