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Just blogged some thoughts about autosomal (all branches) DNA testing, and how those results have compared with my conventional paper-based research. Very much genealogical focused, but interesting from a wider perspective, viewed through the lens of general historical research, which frequently has to piece together stories from incomplete paper records, but can’t usually fall back on science to confirm things 100%.

Viv's Ancestry Blog

Some months ago I blogged about a major DNA breakthrough, confirming that I’d traced my Irish great granny properly. DNA testing was needed to be sure of the line, because we lack certain conventional key paperwork, and so it was enormously difficult to trace back.

That testing was with FamilyTreeDNA, using their FamilyFinder test, which finds chunks of DNA from all branches of the ancestral tree. This is called autosomal DNA testing.

I’ve since tested with AncestryDNA as well, which is a purely autosomal test, and have found that very useful too. It’s confirmed numerous ancestral lines, that I traced the conventional way through paperwork. So I thought it might be worth reflecting on that.

My ancestry is 1/2 Scottish (mainly Scottish Borders), 3/8 English (West Yorkshire and West Midlands) and 1/8 Irish (Dublin and County Cork). And I trace every single line, and have been doing so for 35…

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Mainly as a prompt for myself, to encourage me to get it all done, I thought I’d blog about some writing projects I want to finish off in the next year.

First up is a rewrite of a conference talk, which I want to submit in print to a new academic journal. It’s almost finished. I just need to tidy up the last few bits. And some sections are time, or more pertinently date, critical. So I need to get on with it. That should be done soon.

Secondly I have a brand new journal paper combining urban history and book history, the topics of my PG Masters and PhD. It needs more work, but I’m really pleased with it as it stands. I think it’s one of the strongest pieces I’ve written, and it’s a topic that probably only I could do, given my combined background. The trickiest bits are sorting out illustrations for two case studies. For the first, a town, I can probably work from a published town plan, if I can pick a suitable one, and get permission to use it. The other case study, a regional case study, is possibly going to need a new map. I’m not good at drawing maps! So I’m still pondering what to do re that. It definitely needs some kind of cartographic illustration, to explain unfamiliar geography to the reader. But if I can crack the mapping issues I ought to be able to submit this journal paper in the first quarter of 2018.

Slightly more straightforward is developing an already accepted manuscript publishing proposal for the Scottish History Society. This concerns a poem from the 17th century, which I have transcribed, and will be published in annotated form. The key work to do is to add numerous annotations and expand the introductory essay. Annotations will be added for people’s names, places, events, anything else needing explaining. This should be largely straightforward, but will be somewhat time consuming, and may hit tricky patches. The introductory essay needs more on the possible provenance of the poem and its mystery writer. I may need to consult an academic specialist on poetry of this period for that. I expect that I can finish this by summer 2018, but have a much longer deadline option available if need be.

I also have a short journal paper in progress, concerning a 16th century poet ancestor of mine, a royal courtier, whose family history as published eg in DNB is very wrong. I thought I might write a note putting on record a corrected version, based on my research. This is in progress, in Scrivener on my iPad, but isn’t urgent to finish. It can wait until all the more important and heftier items are out of the way. So while it might be nice to submit it in 2018, in practice it may be done later. Not least because of how ill I am, with a severely disabling MS-like illness.

I have other academic writing projects in the air, but for most I need to do more research in primary source materials, i.e. documents, first.

As well as the academic writing projects I have two fun recreational things that I hope to submit in 2018. I am writing a number of interactive fiction (IF) or text adventure games in Inform 7. And I may be ready to submit two of them to IF competitions in 2018. One of my games, a 15th century set game about the Border Reivers, is about 80% finished at the moment. I need to add further refinements, and improve interactivity, and it still needs thoroughly playtesting. But that could easily be completed well in advance of the 2018 IFComp, the main annual competition for interactive fiction games that takes place each autumn. The other historical game I’m writing, about mathematician John Napier and a treasure hunt he was employed on for my ancestor Sir Robert Logan of Restalrig, around 1590 or so, is much earlier in development. But I expect I should be able to get an opening portion ready to submit for IntroComp, for the opening sections of games, if that competition runs again in 2018, most likely in the summer.

So those are my writing goals. Submit two journal papers, complete another already accepted publishing piece, and submit two interactive fiction games to competitions in 2018, all going well. Let’s see what happens!

This year the annual Interactive Fiction competition has been running again, now into its 23rd year. I’ve played and judged the games in every year, and this year was no exception.

A major challenge this year was the sheer number of entries. 79 different games to play. Fortunately judges don’t have to play them all! Just 5 need to be rated for your scores to count towards the final ratings, and there is a month and a half to do this in. I aimed for more, and ultimately managed to judge 40 of the games, so just over half the entrants.

The games are a mix of more traditional parser-based text adventures (like Infocom etc. in the past) and web-based clickable interactive stories. The latter is a fairly recent addition to the interactive fiction scene, but growing in popularity, and fun to play. But parser games are still being written, and were present in sizeable numbers this year.

A wide variety of genres of game were present, ranging from ones set in the real world, through fantasy, sci-fi, horror and even more. There’s a particularly entertaining classification scheme online, which I recommend reading.

The games are also widely varied in terms of length. Some were very short, less than 15 minutes or so. But many were an hour or two, posing challenges for how to pick which games to play in the time available.

Fortunately the IF Comp website provided some help, generating an individual randomised list for each judge, as well as full random each time, and alphabetical. I used my personal random list to start working through the games. I started with the shorter games, quickly playing a dozen or so of these. Then I moved to longer ones. I played a mix of parser and clicky, and generally alternated between these. Over the nearly seven weeks of judging I probably put in about 30 hours of play. But it was spread over many weeks, and many play sessions. The key thing for me was to keep nibbling at the task, week after week.

The scoring scheme we are asked to use is to score between 1 and 10, but each judge can devise their own criteria. My ratings are grouped in pairs, e.g. rubbish; poor, some merit; good; promising; excellent. And for each of those I have 2 votes to choose from e.g. 7 or 8 for promising etc. Each judge uses their own scoring system, all entered as 1-10 in the site.

My votes in this year's IF Comp

My votes in this year’s IF Comp

My spread of votes from 1-10

My spread of votes from 1-10

My overall impressions of the competition this year, based on 40 out of 79 games that I played, are generally positive. There was a wide variety of games to play, to suit all tastes, and a lot of creative works, in terms of writing, experiments with user interface, and implementation. Generally the games worked well. Though as a tablet user I found the Quest ones (a mix of parser and clicky interface) lost lots of the vital user interface on my iPad, in particular directions and object listings. But that wasn’t a fault of the entrants, and I worked around it.

I noticed a number of trends this year. There were several stat-based computer role playing games, especially fantasy ones, with randomised combat. Actually there were a lot of fantasy games generally, in particular involving magic. There seemed to be fewer sci-fi games than usual, but that may just be based on those I played. And there was nothing particularly Lovecraftian this year [correction: Measureless to Man, that I didn’t play during the judging period, is Lovecraftian]. Though Chandler Groover’s Eat Me was a dark Gormenghastian horror.

Four games particularly stood out for me, that I want to discuss in some detail. I expect that they will all do well in the final rankings when they are announced in a few days time.

Firstly Buster Hudson’s The Wizard Sniffer. This was a real hoot, a Monty Python esque parser game, with some of the most memorable characters I can remember seeing in IF for a long time (e.g. the clown!). Superb writing throughout combined with complex but flawless coding. Also a game that is very newbie friendly, in terms of a well-implemented in-game hints system. And just ridiculously good fun. I can’t recommend this highly enough.

As a complete contrast in terms of user interface the only other game I scored 10 was Stephen Granade’s Will Not Let Me Go. This was a Twine-based web game, where you clicked on links to move things forward and make choices. The central character has dementia, and it was a devastatingly well-observed piece. One sequence in particular stood out for me, but I won’t say more here, for risk of spoilers. Interestingly the author is a long-time parser IF writer, and former organiser of IF Comp. I don’t know if this is the first Twine game he’s written, trying a very different form of IF. But it is superbly done.

Another web-based game I particularly liked was Liza Daly’s Harmonia. In this one you are a teaching assistant at a university, and uncover strange goings on. It is a gorgeous design: presented as if you uncover scraps of information, and are scribbling your own notes on the text. The illustrations are also great. My one quibble, and it was a big one, is that it didn’t feel quite interactive enough for me. In particular I didn’t feel as though I had as much agency as a player as I need to feel properly invested in an interactive experience, and always use as one of my essential judging criteria in IF Comp. But in every other respect it was superb.

The fourth game that I want to highlight is Victor Ojuel’s 1958: Dancing With Fear. Another parser game, this was a heady mix of 50s Caribbean setting, plots and intrigue, and, yes, dancing! I loved the writing here, written in an episodic way, and thoroughly immersive. However there were areas where it needed more polish, or slips that should be picked up on before release. A little more time developing may have made the difference for me between scoring 9 and 10. But another strong game from an author who is now a regular IF Comp participant.

Against these good examples there were some bad things that stood out. I’m not going to name specific games here, but do want to comment on recurring issues that I encountered.

I’ve already mentioned the key issue of interactivity. A small number of the web-based clicky games were too much like “next”, “next” etc. without me making any significant choices. I also didn’t like games that were under implemented, e.g. those with objects mentioned in room descriptions not coded, or too sparse a sense of world building. This leads to a poor experience for the player. More playtesting should have helped correct these issues. I really did feel that quite a lot of games were under tested. More playtesting would also have identified the large number of typos that slipped through in some games. I certainly felt that some games were overly rushed, and a little bit more time, and particularly in testing, would have been beneficial.

But generally it was a good crop of games that I enjoyed playing. I’m also keen to play others that I didn’t get to, like The Owl Consults – I expect from other reviews that it will rate highly in the final rankings announced in a few days.

Playing the competition games was also inspiring for me as someone writing my own Inform 7 games. There were obviously lessons for what to avoid e.g. implement scenery properly, make sure you test enough, and prioritise player agency. But the competition also gave me more positive ideas, in particular ways to incorporate non player characters more, and how a limited set of locations can be used very effectively. I was also encouraged by games successfully employing a number of separate scenes, because that’s the approach I’m taking in a couple of the games I’m writing now. And as someone who may enter a game into a future competition it’s great to see what a dynamic context the IF Comp is again, with a real buzz on social media and the intfiction forum.

In closing, IF Comp is great, yet again! Huge thanks to all the authors, playtesters, judges, and not least the organisers. I very much enjoyed taking part as a judge. Having more games than usual is a good thing, even if most people can’t play them all. And I’m still hugely impressed by the variety of games present, e.g. in genre, user interface and length. Thank you!

20 years ago I was undergoing a battery of tests to try to establish which neurological disease I had. I’d fallen ill 3 years earlier, aged just 22, and was initially misdiagnosed with ME. My symptoms changed over the next few years, and looked increasingly like MS. A MRI brain scan showed multiple lesions, suggesting some form of inflammatory disease process. More tests were needed to find out what.

I had those tests on November 5th 1997, 20 years ago this weekend coming up. Scans of organs of the body, visual evoked potential test, a lumbar puncture, and many blood tests. I remember driving home to the sound and smell of fireworks. The new diagnosis came a few weeks later: cerebral vasculitis, inflammation of blood vessels of the brain, cutting off the oxygen, causing brain damage, and symptoms similar to MS.

For a long time the future looked bleak, especially after a relapse in 2004. Vasculitis is an incurable disease, but with luck – and appropriate treatment – it can go into remission. Treatment is often lifelong steroids and immunosuppression, to reduce the inflammation in the blood vessels. I’ve had a very tough time over the years, though have been more stable since I demanded high dose chemotherapy infusions in hospital throughout summer 2012. Those turned things around.

So I’m now managing on a lower cocktail of daily immunosuppression drugs. But I’m still getting worse. I recently renewed my Blue Badge and my mobility was significantly worse than when I’d last renewed 3 years ago. And I’m very disabled in other ways, including sleeping up to 18 hours a day due to the brain inflammation. I can’t work with this, and am very lucky to be alive.

But I’m happy! And still here. So thankful for that. But it’s frustrating having this condition, that I will never be rid of. It’s also difficult for people to understand what’s wrong. Even though I use mobility aids – usually 2 sticks, if not my wheelchair – most of my problems are inside, invisible.

For more on my vasculitis story see my page on the Vasculitis UK charity website.

Followers of this blog may know that I completed a history PhD. But perhaps many won’t know that I did this while battling a severely disabling neurological illness. And even less known is how badly this affects my reading. Ironic since I was researching historic reading habits for my PhD.

Reading has been a problem for me since the late 1990s. I struggle with ordinary print, finding it swims constantly, and I can’t read it for long at all. Even managing to read a single page can be too much. So there’s no way I can read for a long time, or any extended book like a novel. The only print I can read now is either diving in to specific sections (very short sections!) of an academic book, or reading graphic novels (comics),

When I was retraining as a historian my postgraduate Masters degree had hefty reading lists for each week’s lecture and round-table discussion. Obviously I couldn’t read all those. So I’d try to see which books were most relevant, and narrow down what was needed. Really brutally, to specific sections, or abstracting drastically. Most of the reading list wasn’t discussed each week anyway, so I coped. And my lecturers, including my PhD supervisors, little knew how badly my reading was affected. Even now I battle to read academic books, and rarely can. Academic journal papers also pose a significant challenge. Note many of these humanities academic books are not available in e-format, especially older ones.

But though I could work around things to a large extent in my academic life I couldn’t avoid the problems the reading difficulties caused for my recreational reading. For much of the late 1990s and 2000s I stopped reading for fun completely. It was devastating, for an eager reader like me. I tried audiobooks, for a while having a very bulky tape player on loan from a national listening library, and receiving bulky tapes in the post. But this didn’t work well, because of my memory problems, which meant that I constantly need to go back to reread sections, to remember plot and/or characters. Easy in print, or ebook; much more impractical in an audiobook, especially a manual tape player.

What turned things around for me was ebooks, firstly on my iPod touch, and then in Kindle format. I adjust the font and spacing to be huge – more like a Ladybird book size, for little children. And then I find I can read, and read, and read. Still in fairly short bursts, and I still contend with major memory problems affecting my reading. But I was reading again, for fun. Woot!

That was several years ago, and my reading enjoyment continues. As an ebook reader for a long time my local library didn’t provide any ebooks, and I couldn’t read their print format books, even large print. More recently they added ebooks, but an extremely limited selection, with little that I wanted to read. Vastly less than the range of books provided in print format to the library’s users.

So I usually have to buy ebooks. Often I’ll pick up bargains, e.g. in Amazon’s special Kindle sales for 99p. Or relatives will buy me ebooks for my birthday or Christmas. Often I pay full price for an ebook, for something I really want. But it is quite an expensive habit, since I can’t borrow free books from the library.

On the plus side many out of copyright ebooks are freely available through Project Gutenberg, and can be downloaded to load onto e-reading devices like Kindles, iPads etc. I’m currently working my way through Charles Dickens, and have also read and reread all the Sherlock Holmes books. But I’m more likely to read new books, even if I must be careful how I buy them.

But I am reading! So it is more than worth it. Each year I set myself a reading challenge in Goodreads, where I record the books I’m reading. Given there can be extended periods (weeks or even months) where I’m too ill to read at all I’m modest in my challenges. But this year, based on past successes, I set myself the goal of finishing 50 books in 2017. So far the running total is 67. For example this October has been full of spooky reads. I’ve just started Ray Bradbury’s The Halloween Tree, which I’ve never read.

I know many people are anti ebooks. That’s their choice. But my story isn’t unique. I’ve heard of other people with similar medical conditions – e.g. multiple sclerosis, ME or stroke survivors – who also struggle with print, but with ebooks can adjust the font and spacing so they can read. I think this aspect of ebooks and reading is little understood and little recognised, but for me it’s been life-changing, and remarkably positive.

Before I retrained as a historian I was a computer science undergraduate and postgraduate student at St Andrews. I only left that after developing a MS-like illness, aged just 22. I couldn’t carry on with the full-time PhD. I doubt with the brain damage I could even have completed it part-time.

It was very difficult, leaving that PhD. It took me years to come to terms with it. But I’ve kept in touch with people, and have good friends there. My husband completed his PhD there, a few years after I left, so we have retained strong ties with St Andrews Computer Science, even if it’s been difficult for me.

I was approached a few days ago by one of my St Andrews PhD supervisory team to write a profile for the CS alumni page. I’m guessing a call went out to the staff to try to get more profiles from past students. I didn’t expect to be asked, given the circumstances in which I left. But I think it was a positive thing.

Writing the profile brought back lovely memories, especially of my undergraduate days. It’s now been posted on the website. Click the “read more” link to see more of it, including my favourite undergraduate modules, and other memories.

Inspired by a very thorough piece in the Guardian newspaper today by Kate Sang I wanted to reflect a bit on my own problems attending academic conferences.

Decades ago I was a young and healthy academic, about to start a computer science PhD. I could attend conferences in their full form: going to all sessions, all days, including meals and socialising.

Shortly after that I fell ill, at just age 22, with a neurological illness very similar to multiple sclerosis. It took some years for me to be diagnosed with cerebral vasculitis, but by then I’d had to drop out of that science PhD. Fortunately I retrained part-time as a historian, picking up three more degrees, including PhD. My disease is incurable, progressive in my case, and is treated lifelong with chemotherapy drugs and steroids to reduce brain inflammation and slow damage.

I can’t work in a paid form due to my illness. It is severely disabling. I sleep for much of the time, sometimes up to 18 hours a day, every day, due to the brain damage and inflammation. And even when awake I am often very confused and can only work for short periods. Near the end of my history PhD I could only work for five hours total a week, in one hour chunks maximum, spread over many days. But I finished the PhD. And I am now active as an academic. I publish academic journal papers, undertake new research projects, and speak at conferences and attend as an audience member. I have an honorary research fellowship from my university, though costs of attending events etc. are paid by myself.

Whereas 25 years ago I could attend a conference in its entirety, now I have to pick at most one or two days, with a day of rest in between. I will also usually have to be modest in my expectations re the number of panels to attend.

Firstly there are the practical issues of getting to the conference. I’m typically travelling with a wheelchair, which usually makes connections by train etc. difficult. Normally if I am flying to a venue it is far easier to get a taxi – albeit costly – from the airport to the hotel. But this only works if it’s within reasonable and affordable travelling distance. A few years ago I was invited to speak at a book history conference in Germany, which would have been very good for my research interests and academic networking. But the venue was far away from the airport I’d be using, and a taxi trip would be quite impractical in journey time and cost terms. Nor could I rely on being able to access trains. So reluctantly I declined the invitation. Fortunately I was asked years later if I would like to contribute a piece to the conference’s collection of essays. I submitted my piece, and the book is due to be published in a month.

Even on the spot physical accessibility is a major concern. I normally now use two sticks, but when at a lengthy academic event I need to use my manual wheelchair – with husband along to help push – to manage to last the day. And getting into and around academic venues can be highly problematic.

One thing I should praise is I’ve found conference organisers usually very helpful in helping my husband attend as my carer. He shouldn’t have to pay, since he is just there to push me around and help me navigate obstacles like doors etc. He is also an academic, but in a very different field from me. So he’s not there to listen to the talks. Most conferences allow him to attend for free. That is enormously helpful, and not something I expected. We still have double travelling costs, but not paying double conference fees does ease the cost for us to a certain extent.

Though against that positive experience very few academic conferences offer daily registration fees. At least in my field – humanities – you typically have to pay for the full conference or nothing. And with me often only attending half or even a third of the conference this makes them particularly costly for the time and benefit that I’m going to get in return from the event. Sometimes I do get a reduced attendance fee though. I am particularly grateful to a recent conference organiser, who given how little I was going to be there, let me attend for free. And my husband as well of course. Thank you Drew!

Once there, if a venue has stairs to reach talks I cannot possibly attend. Sometimes organisers move rooms, which I am very grateful for when it happens. But it’s not just about the room where the talks take place, but also about getting into a toilet, and getting to meals. I have severe bladder incontinence from my brain damage, which in particular causes huge problems with urgency and frequency. I need to go to the toilet a *lot*. Having a wheelchair toilet beside the room is good, but if I have to go constantly during the talks – as has happened – it can be very awkward.

One conference that I regularly attend relocated to a ground floor room, with a toilet beside it, which is good. But the meals including lunch were elsewhere in the building, and I would not be able to get there, without major difficulty. It was far easier for me to stay trapped in the room during the lengthy lunch break, while my husband fetched food for me. This cut down the vital networking with fellow academics I could do, though thankfully some historian contacts specifically sought me out at these times, and had lengthy chats with me in the room on my own. Likewise the book stands of academic books to buy at this conference were upstairs. No way could I get there. So again husband was dispatched, with iPad, to take photos for me to browse, and also to bring any specific titles of interest down to me to look at. In this instance the Brill publishing rep actually came downstairs to take the order from me directly. He was keen to help, but it was still frustrating for me not to be able to browse through all the books in person.

Sometimes I attend conferences with multiple streams of talks on at once, in many rooms, even a dozen and more in one case. For these conferences I will always try to let the organisers know in advance which specific panels I want to attend, to make sure I can reach them ok on the day, and rooms can be swapped in advance if need be. But that only works if the messages are passed on correctly at the other end. At the SHARP 2016 book history conference in Paris, at the Bibliotheque Nationale, I’d checked all the talks in advance, and was assured by the organisers that I would be able to reach them. When I got there on the day I found a panel I very much wanted to go to was up many stairs, in a building without a lift …

But perhaps the worst aspect for conferences for me as a disabled academic is how intensive they are, and how crammed the days are. Often they start at 9am or even 8am, and continue until 6pm or 7pm, with a packed set of talks running throughout those periods. Very tiring in brain concentration terms, and much stamina needed to get through. I understand organisers are trying to fit as much in as possible for attendees. But it is exhausting, even for fit and healthy academics, who can find it wearing. For me it’s impossible to attend even a full day of this. So sometimes I’ll have to choose morning or afternoon, or if I am lucky afternoon and evening. Or I need to try to factor in some sort of rest time, which is difficult in a venue that I don’t know well, crammed with conference goers. I remember at an Ada Lovelace event in Oxford a few years ago that I went back into the main lecture theatre – then deserted – during lunch, to have a bit of a rest, and quiet time to myself, while everyone else socialised out in the lunch area. That quiet time refreshed me enough mentally to allow me to stay for some more talks in the afternoon.

I know that it’s unusual for someone to be as bad as me health-wise and still want to attend academic conferences. But the problems that I have described aren’t unique to me, and some of them – especially issues of fatigue and mobility issues – will be shared by other academics. Not all of these academics will be so obviously disabled. I remember that when one conference I mentioned above was moved to a ground floor venue this turned out to benefit quite a few other attendees, who would not have said anything before. So more accessible venues can benefit a wider academic population.

In practical terms I’m not sure how much longer I can keep attending academic conferences. And if I do it will have to always be done in a modest way, within my limitations. With travel costs, and logistical challenges, there is a trade off between costs and benefit. I will have to continue to decide if it is worth it for me. But for now it is. I just hope not to run into too many practical challenges in future conferences …