The Big Desk

I took the day off work on Thursday so that I could get the house straightened up, wrap presents, and do what remained of the grocery shopping. The folks from the CSA dropped off my holiday order Tuesday night, so I had plenty of fruits & veggies, but there were still things like meat and bread and other odds and ends to get. Stacey got here shortly before six o'clock, and I fixed spaghetti with mushrooms and bell peppers and black olives and capers, plus a salad, for dinner. Then we hung out until it was time to go to the airport to get Cathy, whose plane, wonder of wonders! was actually nearly a half-hour early.

On Christmas morning, we had breakfast and then exchanged gifts. Cathy gave me the exhibition catalogue from the Guild of Book Workers show, Marking Time, as well as some lovely bath oils and a little ceramic bell in the shape of a tiger (because 2010 is the year of the tiger). From Stacey, yummy artisanal chocolates, a brooch made by a local (Cleveland) artist who uses bits of broken crockery, a letterpress calendar and a couple of small blank books.

Cathy and I gave Stacey the same book! It's Zydeco!, by Ben Sandmel. It was pretty funny, because she opened a gift and Cathy immediately started describing how she'd been to the Library Bookshop and seen the book and knew right away it was perfect for Stacey, and I said, "Wait a minute! You got her that, too?" because I thought S. had opened my present. Which she had, because I got her the paperback and C. got her the hardback. We were in stitches for quite a while over that one. I guess it goes to show that we are well attuned to each other's tastes, perhaps too well!

We had latkes and green beans and pork chops for dinner, and chocolate cake for dessert. Then lazing around reading books and listening to holiday music the rest of the day. (Cathy got a CD of baroque Christmas music, so between that and WFMT's broadcast of Amahl and the Night Visitors, we were fixed.)

Today we did a few errands and went to the local used bookstores, where I acquired Stendahl's Three Italian Chronicles as well as Nelle Carceri di G.B. Piranesi. Browsing Powell's, I also came across a gorgeous book from a exhibition at the Museo Salvatore Ferragamo, which I didn't buy, but might in the future. But it did reveal to me the existence of the Museo Salvatore Ferragamo, which is now high on my list of "must see" places in Florence.

We lunched at a local Thai noodle restaurant, so had a light dinner of salad, carrots and a rice dish with onions and bell peppers. Grapes and pomegranate seeds for dessert.

I managed to smash a glass water pitcher when I was clearing the table. Not a valuable one, but a nice one, so it's a pity. On the bright side, it was empty except for a few drops of water.

I'm thinking that this will be my last year for a Christmas tree. It's too much of a hassle to haul it up three flights of stairs and try to get it straight in the stand by myself. I'm rather hoping some bright person decides to set up a "rent a tree" outfit like they have in a couple of other cities. Otherwise, I'll stick to a wreath and some pine boughs.

I might post tomorrow, I might not. In any case, all the social stuff is done. I miss my sisters already. I’ve had a full house for two days and find myself wondering what I have to cook next and then realizing that it’s back to the normal schedule.

The kids have settled down to watching Marx Brothers movies and I’m considering getting back on the treadmill. A couple days off is a nice, but I need to get back in the swing of things. An odd thing has happened, though, I’m getting wordcount just falling out of my head in dribs and drabbles. Something about cooking just makes the words come faster, no matter if I have to squeeze them in between stirring and roasting. Fortunately all the dinners have gone off smoothly. I won’t be sure how smoothly the writing has gone until I finish this draft.

So, if I don’t see you here on Christmas Eve, have a happy holiday. Regular blogging will definitely resume Monday the 28th. See you ’round, guys.

Posted from A Fire of Reason. You can also comment there.

So I went to see the new film, Sherlock Holmes, last night, with Robert Downey, Jr. as Holmes and Jude Law as Watson. Don't. Just don't. Not if you are a Holmes afficionado. How was it bad? Let me count the ways. (SPOILERS AHEAD.)

It's very violent. Lots of graphic fisticuffs. It privileges fighting over ratiocination. While Sherlock Holmes was never above a fight when necessary, it certainly wasn't his preferred mode of action. In this film, he's getting into it with some huge villain every five minutes.

It's got a lot of "perils of Pauline". Sherlock knocked out in a slipway with a ship about to run him over, Irene Adler trussed up and headed for the slaughterhouse knives, etc., etc.

Then there's character. Irene should sue. She may have been an adventuress, but she was never a strumpet or a temptress, and the idea that she would ever be in the employ of Moriarty is simply ridiculous.

The whole film reads as though they just decided to use the names and some minor characteristics, and ignore what Doyle wrote. (Why would Holmes have to be introduced to Mary Morstan by Watson, when they met her at the same moment, according to Doyle?)

Then there's the so-called plot. It's "Conan Doyle meets Dan Brown" and Doyle loses. Occult practices, a mysterious secret Order plotting to rule the world, oh, please. There are gaping holes in the plot, and it's one of those movies so dependent on action that they have to have someone explain everything at the end.

I suppose that if you'd never read, or cared about, Doyle's Sherlock Holmes, and all you want is an action movie, it's okay. There's lots of action, a few decent special effects and some nice cinematography. But if you have read and cared about the real Holmes, you'll spend the whole film cringing, muttering under your breath, or laughing at inappropriate moments because it's so silly.

January:



February:



March:



April:



May:



June:



July:



August:



September:



October:



November:



December:

( One of Chicago's unique characters has passed on )

( Party! )


( Do Nothing But Read Day )

My sister’s here and I’m about to engage in preparations for Cookiepalooza. It’s very simple: I invited a bunch of people and will be making sugar cookies. There will be wine, laughing, and a spaghetti feed for whoever wants to stay and eat. That way I get all the fun of making cookies and I don’t have to overeat OR throw them away. Plus, my friends get cookies. Everyone wins!

Of course, I would be still fighting off the flu while I do this, but that’s academic. I’ve only got a mild case and I’m dosing it with cranberry juice, orange juice, and a whole lot of water. I’m going to drown this nasty bug. Thank God I didn’t get the stomach-ill portion of it–no, the Little Prince came down with that. There’s an amusing story in there that will mortify him when he’s a teenager, so I think I’ll keep that in reserve.

The holidays are upon us like ravening hounds. You think if I throw enough cookies behind me it’ll slow them down so I can escape?

Yeah, me neither.

Over and out…

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The following is EXCITING to me:

SISTERS RED has sold Italian, Spanish, and Arabic rights. ARABIC! How crazy is that? That means my book will be printed in a language I don't have even the tiniest, smallest clue how to read.

I keep waiting for this feeling to fade or become normal, but every time I hear about a new foreign rights sale I want to jump and cheer and act like a total loser/way unprofessional (since I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to smile and nod and eat a croissant and act like this is totally normal and stuff). There's just something REALLY exciting about knowing that this story that was once 100% in my head, and I wasn't even sure would be published, that at one point no one had even read, is going to be read by people I've never met in a country I've never been to in a language I can't speak.

I used to think that once you sold a book, that was kind of the big deal. That you eventually stopped getting excited about all the little things and even the big things. But no, at least, not for me. I'm still excited about everything. And thus I will do the Happy If Unprofessional Loser Dance now.

*dance*

Just finished shooting for the first of a series of short webisodes for what might become something akin to a sci-fi Sesame Street

Some shots of my set/ space module we threw together on the fly.

( Read more... )

I actually stayed home Wednesday.

Tuesday night was the Teatro Vista board meeting. It went pretty well, and Betty had made an absolutely delicious vegetable stew (she generally provides food when we meet at her place). I brought some Turtles® that I got in an office gift exchange, because I desperately needed to get them out of my office so they'd stop tempting me!

There's a small theater run by the Department of Cultural Affairs in Chicago, called the Storefront Theater, even though it's not really a storefront. They have been running a play called "Carnival Nocturne", performed by the Silent Theatre Company. I went on Thursday and thoroughly enjoyed it. It's told in music and mime and a bit of voiceover. In the story, the Ringmaster's wife is accidentally killed during a trick, and he and the rest of the company make a deal with the devil to a) bring her back to life, and b) get eternal life. But they have to sacrifice someone once a month, and it happens in the form of a young woman who is tricked into repeating the circumstances of the wife's death. The costumes and music were quite beautiful. The play was described as "combin[ing] the styles of Tim Burton and Edward Gorey" and I'd say that's not far off.

Earlier that day, I'd gotten an announcement from the Gene Siskel Film Center that they had passes to a screening of the new film version of Sherlock Holmes, so I stopped by and got the very last one! I should be seeing it on Monday evening (the pass has a "get there early, we overbook to make sure the place is filled" warning).

Last night we saw The Merry Widow at Lyric. Lovely set and costumes, a couple of good voices, but a lot of the performers didn't have strong enough voices for the house. But Lehar is always enjoyable. We had dinner first in the new bistro that's in the building, and I expect we'll go back. The food is good, there's enough but not too much, and it's reasonably priced.

Today I bought a Christmas tree, and put it up. I now also have little red spots all over my inside forearms! So I will wear something with long sleeves to the party I'm going to tonight (and also when I decorate it).

Tomorrow is Do Nothing But Read Day, so I plan to do nothing but read (well, I'll eat, too).

# of queries read this week: 56
# of partials/manuscripts requested: 0

As I mentioned last week, I am currently closed to new queries until January 15th.

However, I am still continuing to review, albeit somewhat slowly with my sprained wrist and reduced typing speed, those that were already in the queue. I've appreciated people's support and will, no doubt, continue to be thankful for their patience.

I'm seeing many of my colleagues mention that today is their last day officially at work until the New Year. Our agency is closed from December 24th until January 4th to celebrate the holidays (and probably get in some reading). In January there will be the now-annual query stats of the year, among other things.

Happy holidays.... And in the spirit of the season.....

First, the links! An octopus who loves his Mr. Potato Head. Lauren Leto’s screamingly funny Readers By Author. And Bitten By Books is discussing the Jill Kismet series today.

And now, for the Friday post.

Not everything in my life centres around writing. It just looks that way.

I’ve lost a considerable amount of weight lately. Part of that is stress, another part of it is exercising six days a week. Also, a couple weeks ago, I picked up a book about using cognitive therapy to help normalize your relationship with food and weight. Yes, it has the word “diet” in the title. I believe it’s a fact that DIET’s first three letters are a warning. But it’s equally true that I have a messed-up relationship with food. I know cognitive therapy works for me, so I’m willing to give it a go.

Several of the exercises in this book centre around “answering sabotaging thoughts”, especially when it comes to the “it’s not fair” portion of life’s program. Yes, it’s not fair that our bodies are built to store extra against famine, and it’s not fair that during times and societies of plenty we get obese and shorten our lifespans. It’s not fair that I can’t eat the way I want, be sedentary, and be as physically fit as I want to. It’s not fair that I have to drag myself to the treadmill and that I have to write down the calorie counts of what I’m eating. It really, truly, is not fair.^[1]

But that is the way it is.

One of the strategies for answering these sabotaging thoughts–because that’s what they are, they’re little saboteurs–is an index card with the words NO CHOICE printed on it. Every day, when I read my reasons for putting myself through calorie restriction and exercise, the NO CHOICE card is also there, and I read it too. If I want to become as physically fit as the goal I’ve set for myself, I don’t have a choice.

Which brings me to writing. My Friday posts are about making a living writing for publication. To me, this involves the discipline of writing every day (something I’ve caught quite a bit of flak for saying) and acting professionally and reasonably even in the face of rejection and bad reviews. It involves putting up with shifting deadlines and making the effort each day, every day. Sure, I’d rather sit up in an ivory tower and be a Speshul Snowflake, but that won’t feed the kids OR get me invited back to be published again.

There are several times during the day when that little NO CHOICE card flashes through my mind. As Dr. Beck points out, there are rules in everyone’s life. You don’t struggle or agonize over brushing your teeth, do you? (At least, I don’t. And neither do my wee ones.) It’s just the way it is.

Here’s why this is valuable: if sitting down to write every day is a rule, you don’t struggle with it. You make time to do it because it’s a priority. You have no choice. Getting into the mindset that this is important and you don’t have a choice about doing it increases your chances of getting published exponentially. Because you’re treating it seriously. If you can make time to catch that TV episode, you can make time to write every day. If you can make sure you have a latte every morning, you can make sure to write every day. Getting into the habit of considering daily writing a fait accompli is your first step.

Once you have a good solid discipline of writing every day, you can do what a lot of professionals do and take the occasional day off. Your busy little brain, in the habit of working through stories, will still be working all through your “day off”. Plus, once you have a good solid disciplined habit, it’s easier to get back into it after a holiday. But discipline is like a muscle, it must be used or it atrophies, and I have not met a single professional writer who doesn’t need to exercise that muscle and spend effort to start it back up again after a holiday.

Viewing this as a “no choice” thing frees up a lot of energy I would otherwise use bitching and moaning about it. It gives me a lot more energy to just concentrate on what I’m doing. It’s the same reason I find rollercoasters relaxing–from the moment I’m strapped in and the car jolts forward, I’m in the hands of the gods. I can’t do a single thing. It’s a submission to the inevitable, and it works for me.

So here’s my advice if you want to write for publication: get yourself an index card and write NO CHOICE on it in the biggest blackest letters you can. Read it twice a day, and really think about the things you make time for, the priorities you have. If writing is not on that list and you want it to be, do it. Just say “it’s not fair, oh well, I have no choice, I HAVE to write today.” Set your kitchen timer for ten, fifteen, twenty minutes, and go to.

You’d be amazed at how those two little words–both the “oh well” and the “NO CHOICE”–open up time where you thought you had none. It’s not fair, you’re right.

But that’s the way it is, and it’s the best advice I can offer.

Keep writing.

^[1]Somewhere David Bowie is snarling, “You say that so often, I wonder what your basis for comparison is.”

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I had a hard time choosing, but I picked this one because I really liked the way the image of Corey and the image of the painting echoed each other - the colors, the shapes, the movement, etc.

First, the links: I did the Page 69 Test for Flesh Circus. Here’s James Scott Bell on What, Writers Worry? and Nathan Bransford on how to respond to an editorial letter. The inimitable Gillian Spraggs has more on the Google Books Settlement and Monica Valentinelli on Plagiarism and Too Much Free. I’ve been saving some of those links for a bit, things are crazy.

I was on the treadmill this morning (big surprise, I’m up to six days a week on that damn thing and wishing I could do more) and Van Morrison came on in my headphones. Singing The Philosopher’s Stone.

Even my best friends, even my best friends they don’t know
That my job is turning lead into gold
When you hear that engine, when you hear that engine drone
I’m on the road again and I’m searching for the Philosopher’s Stone.

This particular version is from the Wonder Boys soundtrack, which I happen to like a great deal. (The Bob Dylan track that opens the album is Rose’s theme song in smoke, as a matter of fact.) The movie itself, based on a Chabon book, is about a writer who’s kept hammering at a manuscript to follow up his award-winning first novel…but that’s like saying Seven Samurai is about loyalty. There’s a lot more involved.

Anyway. So there I am on the treadmill, and I realize why I like this song so much.

It’s because it’s damn right I’m looking for the philosopher’s stone. My job is to write, yes. But an artist’s job–even a hack like myself–is to transform the world. I write because I must. The world demands it. Pain and joy both demand it. I take the things that could fester and destroy me, the things I scream against, and I write to perform one of the oldest magics known. I name a thing, and that name alters the essence of the thing. I write because it’s the magic I was made to work.

Lead and gold are different things for each traveler, and the method of transmutation is different too. It’s different for each bloody pebble and chunk of lead you find. It is a most personal magic, arrived at through trial and error. One size definitely does not fit all. My lead isn’t yours. The stones I drop in the water to make soup are different from the stones you’ll use. It’s cold out on the road, and fellow travelers may not even see you–because they’re searching for their own method of transformation.

Still, it’s nice to know there are fellow travelers. And it’s good to feel a piercing joy, so sweet it makes the tears start, when you realize a fellow traveler is putting words on your own journey.

Up in the morning, up in the morning out on the road
And my head is aching and my hands are cold
And I’m looking for the silver lining, silver lining in the clouds
And I’m searching for and
I’m searching for the philosophers stone

Yeah, Van. Me too.

Me too.

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Yesterday I met Anni, a librarian who interviewed me for the Gwinnett County Public Library blog! Sadly, before I met Anni I forgot to warn her about two things:
1) I hug like it's going out of style.
2) I am founder of The Awkward Club for Awkward People

Hopefully, Anni will not write up weird things about me as a result of that.

So anyhow, on my last video someone commented on my bookshelves. I kind of collect books. Even if I read a book and don't like it, I usually keep it. I like having this little paper map of all the things I've read. Anyhow, that means I have quite a few books, especially since I had a friend build me these massive bookshelves to fill...and I mean, I can't just let a bookshelf go unfilled, right? (Side note: This mentality plus turning on Amazon's One Click ordering has been the death of my bank account.)

Here are pictures of them-- tell me if we have books in common! :)

Case one, top to bottom: Antique childrens' readers that my grandparents and neighbors gave my parents for me to have when I was young; yearbooks; poetry; adult fiction; non-fiction; classics; childhood favorites I've kept (Indian In The Cupboard FTW); comics/graphic novels (Calvin and Hobbes also FTW). PAY NO ATTENTION TO THAT WILTING HOUSEPLANT ON THE LEFT! NO ATTENTION WHATSOEVER! *waters houseplant hopefully*


Case two, top to bottom: Big fat classics/collections/anthologies; Harry Potter (that's right, I have a Harry Potter SHELF ppl *HPlove*); YA paranormals (two shelves); graphic novels (BLANKETS, on the far right, is one of my favorite books ever).


Case three, top to bottom: Non-fiction; writing; YA paranormal; YA historical and Contemporary; YA contemporary and AS YOU WISH/SISTERS RED copies; YA contemporary.


Case four, top to bottom: Cookbooks; manuscripts/journals; my old Boxcar Children books (my favorite-ist series ever-- my mom had to dole them out to me like candy); my mom's old Trixie Belden series.

1) Either there is a dinosaur outside, someone is blasting dinosaur sounds through a speaker system, or that construction crew has found the perfect tool to use in the next Jurassic Park movie.

2) I keep organizing my book shelf. Then reorganizing it. This must end.

3) THIS DAMN HISTORICAL NOVEL WITHOUT A TITLE has been officially picked up again, and it is just as hard to write as it was before. Isn't practice supposed to make writing EASIER? Because wow. This is hard. *Powers through*

4) It is almost CHRISTMAS! Do you know how much I love Christmas!?!?

5) Yeah, I'm gonna need to cuddle this right now. Who can make that happen for me?

/end random post

I'm currently in the concept stages for a theater peace called 'the Persians'.

Background of the piece is that it is the oldest surviving play in the history of theater. It details an account of the Persian total defeat lead by Xerxies against the much weaker Greek nation.

It's an odd piece, written by Aeschylus for a Greek audience, who was a Greek soldier in the actual battle, yet written from the Persian perspective in an oddly sympathetic point of view.

...

I've been sort of wrestling with a notion, and I'm curious to hear if anyone had some input on the subject.

How do you feel/ relate to war? I don't mean this in the conventional rhetoric sort of 'stance' way. I mean, as a public, specifically a public who isn't actually directly involved in the fighting, how do you relate to it, understand it? And how does that conflict with the viewpoint of someone who's really seen war... how does the real experience of war change someone's view of society?

War is there, it's in the news, we hear about it, but if we're not directly fighting in the conflict, how do we relate? It's like this abstract thing, that we're cerebrally aware of... but there's also something unreal about it... especially here in the US, so far from the actual carnage.

The reason I'm asking this is the main energy of the piece seems to be in a collision between the Persian public waiting at home, for news... and the few surviving warriors who've managed to retreat on a death march back to Iran...

Today is a day for clothes shopping. No, not for me. I’d rather have my skin peeled off in strips than go clothes shopping for me. But I do like going shopping for the kids. We’re doing the midyear school clothes basics tour today–jeans, T-shirts and solid sweaters, because they keep growing and this will provide a base for them when they Go To School. It’s going to be fun.

Sadly, it must be a banzai run rather than an all-day safari, because I’ve line edits to keep whaling at. Editing makes me cranky. I’m glad someone else has done most of the markup for me and I can just approve it or insert my own changes. This is the last big push before copyedits, so it will set me up for writing Dru 4–which is taking shape quite nicely, to the tune of 2K a day or thereabouts.

So, don’t expect to hear from me a lot for the rest of the week. Unless it’s a moderate amount of bitching on Twitter. That’s about all I have energy for.

Cover me. I’m going in…

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The last one EVER! Can you believe it!?

On Saturday, I went to my AAUW meeting. We had invited some young women who have been recipients of AAUW fellowships, some from other countries, some from the U.S., and asked them to talk about their research. What an interesting, intelligent group the were, and such interesting and valuable projects! One is working on islet cell transplants, another is doing research into Alzheimer's, one is involved in environmental projects, one is studying a nurse-midwife studying maternal health. And, oh dear, they all look so young! (Of course, they're not, all being in doctoral or post-doc programs, but still . . .)

That evening, I went to the home of the lovely tzurriz to eat latkes. Lots of other good things, too, but the point was the latkes. (And, of course, to admire her two adorable children.)

Sunday was my monthly get-together with friends up north, and our annual holiday party. Usually, the guys join us, but between people being sick and a retirement party, it was just us women. We had a lovely dinner, and, as usual, I came home with leftovers.

Tonight, I went to the Poetry Café program at my branch library. I can't usually go, because my Italian class is on Monday nights, but as we are on winter break now, I could. We read poetry, our own or other people's, and played some poetry games. For instance, the facilitator chose a random line of poetry, and then we each dashed off a poem using that line. It was rather fun! As expected, there was quite a range of talent, a bit of pretentiousness, but mostly just people having a good time. I know I did.

It is my firm opinion that every major life change deserves a major hair change. Therefore, I have gone back to my natural color.

This comes as a shock to anyone who’s seen me, but I am actually blonde. Born that way. I got so tired of blonde jokes and the like that as soon as I could, I started dyeing my hair. The dyes grew progressively darker and darker until I was consistently black-haired. You know, most people want to bleach their hair out to blonde, but not me. I wanted to get as far away from platinum as possible.

But that requires some upkeep, and I’m in a transition phase right now. So, I’m going back to blonde. I can now handle the next person who makes a blonde joke with an icy stare or an application of violence. (Verbal only, I don’t have time for fistfights. Not anymore.)

It’s weird to see my natural haircolor again. It’s even weirder to apply eyeliner and put on mascara and look like a blonde in mascara. I’m just not used to seeing anything other than dark hair. Which is kind of how I feel about a lot of things nowadays–I look at them, and they seem different because I’m different. I’ve come out the other side, and am now standing bloody but bandaged, not to mention unbowed, and looking at the battlefield behind me.

I don’t yet know if I’m ready for the armistice and the work of peace. But I do know I’m tired of the explosions.

Wow, I just ran that metaphor right into the ground, didn’t I. I keep touching my hair in disbelief, and looking at a stranger’s face in the mirror. She’s usually wearing a pained half-smile, as if she can’t believe it either. She’s changing even more quickly than I am. Or at least, it looks like it.

Anyway, no more hair dye for a while. I’ll see how it shakes out. Now I’ve got copyedits, line edits, and wordcount to get done today. *cracks knuckles* At least that doesn’t change.

Thank God.

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