This week, I have been working on my list of accomplishments for the 2006-2007 fiscal year at dayjob. I managed two pages before deciding that if I hadn't thought of it, it just shouldn't count. In the meantime, I managed to clean out about 150 messages from my work email--I was using the messages to remind myself of projects completed and that sort of thing, but found a lot of debris at the same time.
I have come across several emails that begin "As you know..." They were cc'd to me, as they were emails sent more or less at my instigation to the department head, requesting permission to buy equipment or reform processes. They begin with "as you know" because the department head does know. They launch into lengthy exposition because:
a) the email may get passed on to people who don't know
b) the email may be used for the cover-your-ass file
c) the department head may know the broad strokes, but not the details
And you can imagine other scenarios in which this would be done, but they aren't applicable to my office.
This is one of those disappointing moments where it turns out that, maybe, just maybe, "as you know, Bob" may not be an unrealistic way of dumping exposition. If I were going to use it in a story, of course I'd add in some reaction.
"Of course I know," Bob sniped. "Just get on with it."
or
Bob rolled his eyes, but didn't stop Martha. The CFO was listening to the whole explanation, growing angrier with each passing moment. At the end, the CFO leaned forward. "Bob, you knew about that?"
or
Martha hated the diligent recounting of details that everyone in the department already knew, but she wrote out the pedantic email anyway, explaining each excruciating step of lost-book processing before explaining about why they needed a new policy. She had no desire for Jim to come over and point out that she'd overlooked a step.
(I know those aren't particularly exciting scenelets.)
But I also know--and I'm sure you do, too--that even this seemingly ironclad rule doesn't reflect real life, and can be broken creatively.
In the past week, I've had a cold, a yard sale and jury duty, and then a guinea pig joined the household, and while these are not excuses, they are reasons. I have neglected the blog and the writing. Both.
For shame. Tsk, tsk. Move along.
I have been rereading bits of Nancy Kress's Beginnings, Middles and Endings. Talk about the right book at the right time! I've certainly become jaded about writing books--seems that after you've read a couple, you're only going to be gleaning one or two insights from the rest. But this one helped immensely; now the question is, will I be able to apply what I've learned?
In the meantime, I think I'll be posting the fruits of some of the exercises in Kress's book. Not today--I'm still coughing and now the dayjob is calling for creativity above and beyond my usual--but tomorrow, for sure.
Why, I asked myself, do I keep doing wonderful work at figuring out plot-turns and such in the car on the way home--even managing to record this information, so it's not lost--and then, when I get home, I can't seem to write it all down?
Because I'm not a transcriptionist. Apparently, the part of writing that I like best is the part where I figure out what happens next. And if I do that, and have the story all set, I am reluctant to simply transcribe it from my brain to the Word document.
Oh.
I write to figure out what happens next.
Coupled with a recent revelation that I kinda sorta enjoy rewriting, I have come up with this order of preference for writing process events:
1) figuring out what happens next
this is clearly the most fun. Except when it's not
2) working out major revisions
because it means we're done soon. And somehow it makes me feel clever
3) writing itself--the physical act
surprisingly unsatisfying when not coupled with number 1. I think that there may be a way around this, though
4) just about everything else, except number 5
5) diagnosing the story for revision
figuring out what is wrong is so much harder than figuring out how to fix what's wrong
So. Yeah. I guess knowing this helps me. Somehow.
Today, rejection from F&SF. My husband says it's my fault for not including, "I sold to Asimov's, bitches!" in the cover letter. I pointed out that I basically said that, minus the "bitches," but he thinks that's where I went wrong.
Onward.
It looks like there is a Summer Feral Writers' Retreat in the offing. Assuming I can bring any Feral Writers on board. (You can go read the retreat quotes, but you must realize that I actually rarely drink and am also incoherent and crazy like that only amongst loved ones.) Ahem. This is to replace the fizzled workshop Dave and I didn't end up running this year. Sorta.
Okay, I now swear to hang up the internet and write for the next hour. Possibly two. If I can stay awake that long.
Sometime between mid-April and now I read four books. The list is here, and the chatting about each book is in the extended entry (not seeable by LJ users, so you gotta click through if you wanna know).
You'll notice that once again this is a romance-heavy list. Initially, I could only plead escapism and a general lack of desire to read, well, anything else, when bouts like this came upon me. The most recent one? I went so far as to find books about why I've been having this keen psychological need to read romances. (I mean, we could argue that I might need to back away from science fiction and fantasy while writing it, but you know, it just doesn't seem that way at all.)
The most interesting theory I've run across thus far about romance novels is that many of them are retellings of the Hades-Persephone myth. Yeppers! I've adored that myth--and its fairy tale version, "East of the Sun, West of the Moon" forever. Edit: As Steve pointed out, "ESWM" is not a Hades-Persephone retelling--it's a Psyche-Eros retelling. OOPS! /End Edit Add to this that I love retellings independent of their romantic aspects, and you've got a two for one sale in my subconscious. Okay! Mystery solved (I thought), and in just the first three chapters!
Then I met the other theory--this one, I think, is Jayne Ann Krentz's very own theory: that in the romance novel hero, women aren't reading/writing their ideal mate, they are writing about the person they were never allowed to be as girls growing up--brash, sardonic, rude, powerful, egotistical, etc.--and then taking those fearsome and repressed aspects of their personalities and taming them with the feminine traits of compassion, accommodation and love (the traditional romance heroine). Every time one reads a book like this, one could be working through some deep-seated psychological need for being a more assertive woman.
Okay! (I thought) There's some of that, too.
Anyway, with me or against me on all of this, I have finally figured enough of my romance reading habit out that I can now be totally comfortable with it. Or at least mostly comfortable with it.
18) Taming Rafe by Suzanne Enoch [romance]
19) Dangerous Men and Adventurous Women: Romance Writers on the Appeal of the Romance edited by Jayne Ann Krentz [lit crit]
20) Dark Champion by Jo Beverley [romance]
21) Beginnings, Middles & Ends by Nancy Kress [non-ficiton]
Taming Rafe was very Enochy, but an earlier effort, I should think. I enjoy her as she grows and matures as a writer, so I probably will stop sifting through her backlog and just wait eagerly for the new stuff. Not that this was notably less mature than current works, but I feel like before she was writing more to formula, and now maybe she's writing to please herself.
Dangerous Men... was the book that gave me all the groovy new theories about romance. As a whole, it was great; individually, some of the essays seemed light or repetetive. Reading it about 15 years later was also a bit of a challenge. Some of the trends in romance noted at that point are already out of fashion, so. Yeah.
Dark Champion was great. So much more enjoyable than the last Beverley medieval romance I read. The plotline veers into the ridiculous at points, but the character moments made up for it.
Beginings, Middles & Ends probably deserves its very own entry. I am going to be doing many exercises from this book at some point, and I'll probably do a few of them here on the blog.
So, how much have I written? Not that much. I was making good progress... right up until I went outside to garden. Not a highly strenuous activity, necessarily, but I must have bent just right for just long enough... because after I went back inside and sat on the couch for a bit (at an admittedly odd angle, but it's my usual angle, so how odd can it be?), and then dared to try to get up--I was seized by sudden, breath-taking, curse-making pain just under my left shoulder blade.
Ow.
OW.
So. I spent the next few hours rolling around on the miracle balls and using the massage thingie until it made my skin itch, and then I spent the hours after that trying to lie as still as possible. I'm really caught up on House, M.D., which will not stand me in good stead with my husband, since we were supposed to watch that together, all 13 episodes that we hadn't seen yet. (Well, I still have like 8 to go.)
Every plan has been totally derailed by the not-sitting, not-bending, not-moving too quickly. Thai peanut chicken dinner became leftover pizza dinner, for example. I'm really grateful that I managed the biggest chores before this happened--the cat litter, mainly, but also cleaning up the total disaster of the kitchen. Currently, we have several rooms in minor disaster stages that will remain so. I don't think I'll risk bending down to retrieve laundry any time soon, or to carry it downstairs...
Sitting isn't so bad this morning, so maybe I can do a little writing, but... c'mon. Me and physical pain? Have never been stoic companions. I usually manage to deal with pain by just not having it.
Okay. I'm not whining, I promise. I'm just expressing my dismay.
The funny part in all of this? Was waking up at 4AM this morning because I heard a sound. And realizing that in my delicate ass-dragging to bed last night, I didn't manage to lock the back door or close the garage. So, I tentatively slid from bed, grabbed up the hammer that hasn't been put away since hanging my stepdaughter's calendar, and sneaked downstairs. Moving slowly is easy when you have physical cause. It's not that I really thought someone had broken in--after all, our neighborhood is very quiet--but there is a prison not too far away, and (independent of this) there are the occasional crimes of opportunity (things stolen from unlocked cars). But I had to check. Because I almost certainly could have done nothing with my hammer, but by gum, I'm not smart enough to just ignore sounds.
Well, it almost certainly was a small cat skirmish that woke me, I concluded; but I did lock/close all available doors before going back to bed.
Blurgh.
This week at dayjob was insane. Let's just say, my boss suggested maybe I take on a lot. To which I said, "But it never seems like a lot until everything comes due all at once." What can I say? I hate being bored.
I am trying out a new lifestyle in which I go to bed before midnight, get up when I'm supposed to, and stay up. It is very strange. I'm either getting too much sleep or just the right amount. How do you know if you're getting too much sleep? No clue. But I think it might have something to do with why I'm waking up at odd times in the early morning going, "Do I get up now or what? Oh. No. Okay." And then I go back to sleep. So, either it's too much sleep or I'm just adjusting to the bizarre land of getting 1-2 hours of sleep nightly before 12 and my body is going "but usually, you have to get up now after six hours, hey, wait, oh, okay."
I absolutely have to start taking my laptop to work again. I need my lunch hours for writing. Three hours a day is my optimal amount of writing time (while working). One hour before work is all I can manage. One hour after work also seems to be all that is manageable. So, the next place to find time is that hour in the middle of work. Only thing is, the laptop is heavy and my shoulder objects, so I'm beginning to consider alternative methods for doing this. I could: leave my laptop at work except on weekends (not likely); write at a computer center on campus and use my thumbdrive for insta-transport (meh); write at my desk (hahaha, no one would respect that).
Husband and stepling are out of town right now--not together, interestingly enough--and I've been on my own since Thursday morning at 4:30. (Now, there is a story about not enough sleep to counteract the too much.) Last night I made paneer masala and naan for myself. I ate the leftovers tonight. I have also purchased some havarti with dill and some smoked turkey, so there will be grilled sandwiches tomorrow (plus asparagus-white cheddar soup). Heavens. But, the point of mentioning my abandonment is not to revel in the culinary glee that is mine, but rather to inform you all of Mad Writing Experiment #384: The Three-Story Weekend.
Oh, yes.
I'm crazy.
Today at lunch I outlined a simple weekend schedule in which I will finish three short stories.
(pauses to let the laughter die down)
It helps to have the house to myself, and no obligations but the ones I choose. I'm planning to work in the herb garden a bit, and maybe to put away some laundry, but otherwise, I am going to write and it will rock.
I have not fully decided on my three stories, but I know which one I'm working on tonight: "The Girl-Prince."
Here's the first line:
Once upon a future time, in a spindle-tower held high by antigravity and the will of engineers, a woman slept, a poisoned trap for the princes of the galaxy.
I'm trying my damnedest to keep this one under 5,000 words. So, not only is it a race against time, but it's a race of concept against word-paste. Which probably only makes sense in my head, but you know. Sometimes you start writing, and suddenly, it's taken a thousand words to say what really should have only taken a hundred.
Or maybe that just happens to me.
OH! Also, Deb Coates has a blog. Check it out.
Peg is a sort of luminary to me. I love what she writes, I love how she thinks, I love the coincidences that mean I knew her when I was but a brazen lass of 18, and then later got to share tables of contents and lists of honorable mentions with her. Here's to many future sharings of such honors, or better!
And today is her birthday. In honor of the occasion, you should go give yourself a Pegsday gift by reading something off of Peg's lengthy bibliography--or you can read one of my faves:
The Party Dress of Pomegranate Seeds
Enjoy, and
Quickly... as I have only ten minutes to write this entry before the timer goes off and tells me to start writing.
Some time back, Elizabeth posted a report on a panel called "Common neo-pro mistakes" at Wiscon. It was, evidently, time to read that again, because I just now stumbled across the first time I mentioned it. (Elizabeth, if I can use your whole name and link to your LJ, just let me know, 'cause I'll do what you prefer).
I read the report when she posted it, feeling all neopro-ish at the time because I was just a few months off of the publication of my first pro sale. You'll note that it's now two years later, and I just made my second SFWA-eligible sale, so you could say that I've been living in neopro limbo for a while now. I am still just a neopro, sales-wise. I feel like I've been slogging around for so long, I should have a different name, but it's like being a sixth-year senior, not like becoming a grad student, so any name-change would just be an annoying reminder that I'm not actually any further along. I'm still a neopro, and God only knows when the transition to full-on pro will show up. (I figure it's the first time I'm invited to be on a panel at a con, instead of having to beg. Or at least it's long past the point where SFWA membership isn't yet an option.)
Of course, the other option is that I jumped the gun on believing myself to be a neopro, and I really was still a beginner.
There really should be some rules, or something.
One way I've changed since the beginning: I used to think that a cool idea was enough for a story. Then I thought, "No, you have to have two cool ideas." And then I decided, "You know, I'm going to have something cool on every page." And right now I'm working on having something cool in every paragraph.
For me, that's been a real and tangible piece of my transition.
Time's up.
Thoughts?
I should get a new category: "what I've been doing other than updating this blog."
Today that stuff consisted of going to see John Scalzi's reading in Novi, gardening, dining with my in-laws for my husband's birthday, and writing.
For the past few days, it's been a lot of work (day job work) and a little bit of writing. Also, about seven episodes of House. Somehow that happened, too. All in a row. But that was nominally time spent with my husband.
What an odious, odious time-suck life is.
Anyway, I have a potential new way of focusing my energy that doesn't involve an ice-chip.
(I read a little bit of How to Stay Alive in the Woods every day. Today, I learned that you can start a fire by polishing and smoothing an ice-chip to act as a sort of magnifying glass. YEAH, RIGHT.)
I'll discuss that tomorrow. The day after that, I'll talk about frustration again.
In the meantime, no editorial rumblings from any which way. According to my Duotrope response tracker, I should have heard something from Nowa Fantastyka, Forgotten Worlds and Baen's Universe some time ago. I think my IRCs expired with Nowa; I've heard that Forgotten Worlds has forgotten they exist (sort of. Rumors are flying on the Rumor Mill); and we all know that Baen's has been in good communication with me, much to my nail-chewed delight.
So. There.
Well, if my husband takes pity on me and writes me a script, I might not have to hand transfer all my entries to WordPress. As is, I have far exceeded Movable Type's piddly export script's memory limitations with my verbosity--and my undeleted spam-pings from back in the day.
Only 868 more to go. Or 869, once I post this.
I've been thinking about frustration a lot lately. Writing frustration in particular (though last night, after failing at three separate computerly tasks in a row, I was frustrated with everything). I was going down a pretty frustrated road here before the whole Asimov's thing. I don't think it would be hard to get back to that road, either.
Some day, I may even get my thoughts together enough to write something meaningful about that. But in the meantime--what techniques would y'all offer the frustrated among us, to stay focused and persistent in the face of rejection?