Checking In?

I think Spaceballs will be a great movie for Mark and I to watch very soon. We need some brainless yet clever comedy right about now. Sigh. The marathon of crunchtime has begun, and we both struggled with it. I think, though, that this stumble will help us better deal with all the fast-moving events that the summer has in store. After all, if you figured out where you've failed, your less likely to fail again--at least in that particular way. At any rate, we know our warning signs better in this heightened stress mode. I think we're going to institute weekly check-ins similar to this post so we can make sure that each of us as individuals are doing OK with the craziness and that we're doing OK as a couple and parents. We actually did this very well during my maternity leave, especially the first few weeks of Drew's life. We'll get back in the habit quickly.

As for the writing, see above. It was so caught up in my stress that each second I couldn't spend on my projects was a blow, and the time I did have for writing never seemed like enough. But this is an old frustration of mine, trying to juggle the necessary DDJ with the drive to write.

As for the blogging, I'm very happy with this week of posting. I even managed to schedule some posts for several weeks out. Once I get comfortable with this routine, I'll have to figure out a way to direct more traffic here. Well, the best way to do that would be to publish a book and put this blog under a domain with my full name in it. I'm going to assume that's not going to happen any time soon, though, and see what I can do to increase my readership in the meantime. The more readers of my blog I have before I get published translates into more readers I have after I get published. That's the plan at least. See, you are all a part of my grand scheme! Muahahahaha!

Ahem.

Ooo, Shiny! New Items at HollyShop!

As you saw by my previous post and my updated sidebar, the HollyShop has a few new items up for your reading pleasure. I haven't had a chance to write up reviews for all the items as yet, but I did want to make a special mention about Holly Lisle's Create a Character Clinic and her worldbuilding series.



The CCC is a fab book. I have breezed through it without doing the exercises, more to get a feel for technique, advice, and general characterization trends. It's a great book for helping you get to the heart of your characters (which is what I was using it for), and it looks to be an excellent way to create characters from scratch should you need that first inspirational push with an idea or to just break past a block. There's also a great section at the end that discusses the traditional gaffes of writing characters (looking in a mirror to describe your MC, etc.) and how they can be spun into something unique and valuable to your story. An excellent writing tool.



This is the first installment of Holly's worldbuilding series, and I must say that I am eager to get my hands on this gem. Putting together a language for Velorin wasn't very easy. I had pulled together info from a couple of sites that seemed authoritative, but it just didn't click well for me. I like the basics of what I developed, but I really wanted a step-by-step process for generating a believable language. As soon as this whole thesis insanity is gone, I will be picking this up for use with SoZ. You can look here and here for an inside peak at this book. (Keep in mind that those are draft snippets, but the heart of the content will still be in the final product.) I will be posting a more intense review as soon as I can.

By the way, if you'd like to make a buck or two in support of some great writing resources and excellent e-fiction, read this. Sure, I'd like you to join up for the affiliate program by following the "KHazell" link, but I'm willing to share the love and give you a choice of Holly's list there.

Zette Gifford's Two-Year Novel Course

I highly recommend this book. I've been taking this course in its on-line format via Forward Motion. Zette is a very gifted teacher and writer, and using her course has helped me better organize my own writing process. This is a bit of an odd review as I haven't actually read the book, but I know its content from the course. I started the course just a couple of weeks before I found out I was pregnant, and I chose Soz as the novel I was going to write in the course. Well, then Drew came along and made it very difficult to actually write the novel during the course, but this course prodded the Muse into high-gear regarding Velorin and the novel ideas I have for that world. Keep in mind that this is an idea that I had been trying to coax into bloom for two years without luck.

The first part of the course is geared toward intensive worldbuilding. I still haven't addressed all the factors she mentions, but they're there in the back of my mind, percolating and simmering and gathering juice for a richer world. One of the best things about the course is that Zette is adamant about her students finding their own best process. She provides several different approaches to writing a novel, focusing of course on the one that works best for her but offering ways it can be adjusted to suit individual writing needs. The exercises for the worldbuilding part of the course were very helpful in solidifying the ideas I had for Velorin and in making my world even richer.

In short, the course has helped me break 60K, think ahead enough so I'm not writing completely in the dark, develop a rich background, tease out characters, and generate a more cohesive and coherent approach to writing a novel. And that was just in the first year, which is the material on which this book is based. Stay tuned for the second year's material in a second book.

The Final Countdown

OK, I'm going to have that song stuck in my head. And, really, I suppose that it's not the most appropriate title. Oh, well. It'll suffice.

My alert readers will have noticed that the countdown at the top of my website has skipped ahead a day. That's because Mark's set the date for his thesis defense: July 13. Now, while this will be a glorious day for Mark and his stress level, it isn't quite the miraculous date we had thought it would be. He won't start earning a postdoc salary until Aug 15. And then there's that teeny, tiny matter of, you know, getting a job using that bad-ass degree he'll officially have in his hands as of Aug 15. As soon as we get some dates on that front, I'll be putting up another countdown, more for my own pratical use than for any uplifting effect. As soon as we get a date for a new job and start putting the move into the works (even if we stay here, we'll be moving into a house), I'll need to keep close track of the days so I know how much time I've got left to get us packed up and shipped out.

Did I mention my daycare provider has been hinting at retiring in August?

There's insanity lurking right around the corner, I can feel it.

Still, July 13 will bring a great relief to all of us. Any bets as to whether or not Mark will be coherent for any appreciable amount of time after we put Drew to bed that night? To help educate those bets, we have half a bottle of tequila in our liquor cabinet. Call Vegas for the odds!

Writing as Art or Business

Every now and then, I'll see an Internet debate about whether or not writing should be treated as an art or a business. The answer to me seems obvious: if you're going to make writing your career, it should be both an art and a business. However, that's my answer, and I think every writer should decide for themselves if it makes more sense to treat writing as an art or as a business or as something else.

I think this is something not particular to writing. In every job you have to balance passion and the cold, hard facts of whatever field you're in. I couldn't tolerate the business aspects of academic research and public school teaching without losing the passion for either job, so I'm not in those careers. With the DDJ, I've found something that I can handle in both the business and art (passion) sense, I just don't overly enjoy it, so I'm considering this as a "fall-back" career should my number one choice not pan out.

With writing, I've found a career in which I can create a piece of art and then handle it as a product to sell without flinching. Perhaps this is because I don't see writing as merely art. Writing is just another interaction with the world and its inhabitants, a participation in the collective consciousness. If you want that world to see your interaction (i.e. get published), then you need to have at least some appreciation for the business of writing. However, it is possible to get so wrapped up in the business that you can't find the art, the passion anymore.

How to say this right? I knew I wanted to be a writer not after I had started my first novel, but after I had gone to my first critique group session. To take something I had created and discuss its merits and flaws in terms of things like plot arcs, character motivation, theme, sentence structure, etc., made something click inside me. It was such a joy to hear others get what I was trying to say, and it was a fun challenge to puzzle out how to improve something when they clearly didn't get what I was trying to say. I'll never forget the natural high I felt driving home after that first crit group session. It was pretty overwhelming. It confirmed everything I had felt as I was writing on my own, and provided a big, flashing neon sign that said, simply, "HOME."

I guess that's why I don't have a hard time thinking of anything I write both as art and as a product to sell. To me, the selling aspect is a part of the art. Or, rather, I don't see any huge distinction between writing as art and business. That being said, I can see how others make the distinction toward both extremes. It's gotta be hard to write in either case.

Blogging the Commute (Not Live), Part 2

This is a continuation of last Tuesday's post.

My current drive home isn't nearly as engaging as my drive to work. That's not to say that the views aren't spectacular, and that I don't see pretty much the same things on my way back. It's just that my brain is so full from the day that my surroundings don't register as much. There are a few exceptions.

During the winter months, the sun has pretty much set by the time I'm trekking it back home. In December, this is great as it gives me a chance to see all the elaborate yet tasteful Christmas lights of those swanky homes I get to drive by. Also, I can see the large lit star that the town of Boulder rigs up on one of the lower foothill peaks. It looks fairly small from ten miles away, but it's still a comfort.

In the summertime, I can sneak peeks at the storms building over the front range or purpling the sky over the eastern plains. If it weren't for the bright sun heading to bed in the west, I'd stare at the front range and the higher, more impressive peaks of the Rockies behind it. Longs Peak is especially intriguing with its strange tapered yet blocky summit, and the jagged spikes of the Indian Peaks usually have stubborn snow and glaciers dotting their gray tops. I do love all the sun we get here, but sometimes I wish it wasn't shining right in my eyes as I admire the Rockies.

Regardless of the season, one of the first things I see on my drive home is the teeny tiny lot that has been developed into teeny tiny townhomes in the year and a half I've been making this commute. When they first started clearing the land, I figured a couple of stores or a strip mall would be going up in that area. Then I saw advertisements for townhome lots and just about fainted. I thought at best they'd be able to fit a whopping three units in the space. But, true to the cram-it-in attitude of new housing developments in this area, they shoved a good fifteen or so units in there. It actually looks pretty quaint--as quaint as a can of sardines can look. The color scheme is the trendy darker jewel tones that seem to be everywhere around here. I often shake my head as I pass by this development, but the other day my jaw sagged as I passed it. The sign advertising the available lots happened to catch my eye. In fancy, schmancy script was the word "Townhomes," and beneath that, "From the $230s." That wasn't what shocked me, though. Just underneath that price tag is another word in equally flowing script, "Affordable Townhomes," and before you can recover from that comes the price tag, "From the $190s." I wonder what the difference is between the two. And why would you want to make that sort of distinction? Are people actually in the market for real estate they can't afford? Was the qualifier for the first category of townhomes something like "Aw, hell, we know you'd love to live in one of these things, but you'd have to sell your soul to Satan, auction off your first born, and prostitute yourself in order to live here"? That bend of the road, though, affords a good view of Longs Peak and is at an angle at which the sun doesn't blind me, so I've taken to admiring the view and ignoring the strange world of real estate and advertising in that little chunk of land.

Dipping into the valley that's so impressive on my way into work isn't nearly as stunning coming from the south because the elevation difference isn't as stark. Still, it feels like home in that valley. There's just something so comforting about the presence of ponds and farms and horses. The best part about the valley on the drive home, though, is to watch the poor saps driving home from Boulder, trying to make their way to the interstate or the state highway to the east of my humble little two-lane road home. The traffic snarls up as drivers wait to take their left turn off my road, and it stays snarled up just a little bit north where all that Boulder traffic turns on to my little road. I always feel the urge to shout a Nelson-like "Ha-ha!" at all those cars. They're trying to beat the traffic on the other major eastern-bound routes out of Boulder, and the little road that could just can't accommodate them.

There's one particular piece of property that always catches my eye on the way home. It's not a grand house by any means, it's merely comfortable. But that house always has a particular decoration at the fence's gate: a small scale knight in armor. I've seen nothing else of the people who live on there except for this little figure. It's charming and intriguing. Do the owners have a Ren Faire fetish? Was it a child's school project done superbly well? Is it a statement? Once or twice it seems like the little knight has been holding a sign, but it's always a cardboard affair, hard to read as I drive by.

As I approach the home stretch into town, I pass by the last grouping of expensive homes before we get into the more affordable houses that border the main road. At the juncture of the loop road for that development and the street I'm on, there's a small shrine. I'm pretty sure I know the story of the life that ended there. A teenager was backing out into the road at that spot, and a semi hit him. At least, I think that's the right intersection. My boss at IBM lost a neighbor in such an accident, and I think that was the neighborhood in which she lived. I've always wondered, though, every time I pass by that bunch of flowers and small cross. I'm not sure if my boss had enough money to live in such a neighborhood, and the idea of someone, even an inexperienced driver, needlessly backing out from a good-sized street onto a rather busy road seems a bit of a stretch. Still, even as my mind dithers with such pointless musings, I always still my thoughts for a moment and hope for peace for that soul and those who mourn it.

By the time I'm in the town itself, though, all my thoughts are focused on Andrew as I'm only five minutes away from seeing his amazing smile and kissing his cubby cheeks. This can often be the longest part of my drive. The moment the two-lane road turns into the four-lane town street, I veer into the right-hand lane. It's a conscious effort, one that makes my heart sing. Up until this year, I never had to move out of the lane that carried me all the way from my job. We live on the west side of this street, but Drew's day care is on the east side. Every evening, I tell myself with a smile to move into the right-hand lane as a sort of ritual reminder of the new life I'm living. It's the same drive, same scenery, and yet everything's different. I pass by the road onto which I had previously turned, remembering the times I took that path both before Drew and when I was pregnant with Drew. On one occasion at that very turn, I experienced my first Braxton-Hicks contraction. Now I take different turns to get me to the same place. Familiar roads, but a brand new perspective with my son in the backseat. I don't always think in these terms as I babble with Andrew, waiting for a break in traffic to turn left into our apartment complex, but such ideas are usually there in the back of my mind, giving me a strange sense of sadness for the comfortable routine lost, joy for the amazing new patterns and surprises, and anticipation for what future regular drives will be like.

Up Next: From Northwest Tucson to the UofA and back!

Caution: Ankles May Get Moist

Another Drew post without a picture. I know, I know. I think Mark might have some time this weekend to download some pictures and post them on the web. Too bad we can't post video because the Drew Monster has mastered crawling and pulling himself up to stand. As soon as he gets his teeth, ankles will be in danger of some nibbling. Right now there just in danger of getting gummed and soaked with drool.

Drew's not really interested in crawling unless it means he can get he diapered butt into something fun, such as the coffee table that has lots of papers on top of it (not to mention the remotes) or the TV cabinet that has all sorts of things to grab in it. Also, he seems most interested in crawling over to something that will let him pull himself up into a standing position. He loves to stand and walk along the furniture.

But the best part about these new tricks is the sound he makes while he does them. He blows constant raspberries, so he sounds like a little moist engine motoring around on the floor.

He's already earned a few war wounds. He hasn't quite figured out that opening the TV cabinet can also result in getting his fingers pinched if he can't keep the cabinet doors opened. He hasn't fallen down from standing too much, and that surprises him more than anything else.

He's also started clapping--softly for the time being--and he's getting interested in high-fives and paddy-cake. Now, if only those darn teeth would come in....

Fun with Names

Keep this punchline in mind as you do this exercise, although it might work better if you use this generator instead.

Cranky Momma

The theme of this week on the homefront was "No Sleep for Teething." It probably wouldn't have been so bad if I had gotten a nap last weekend, but between Mark finishing up his research and writing his thesis and me scrambling to squeeze writing in and around that and a suddenly very crazy DDJ, no nap for Momma. Bad time management didn't help either. Hey, at least I had a great birthday.

On the blogging front, I'm very happy with my "pro blogging" effort this week. That time management thing will help in the coming weeks to make sure I've got good posts ready to go each day. But the biggest focus of the time management issue will be to squeeze in more writing time for me while life goes bonkers for the next few weeks.

As a treat for me that had the benefit of being 100% free, I went to a spa "happy hour" and got a makeover and massage (the quickie versions) while I nibbled on munchies and sipped wine. The wife of one of my coworkers owns a spa and had an open house last night. As a marketing tool, it was very effective: I'm already mentally shifting my budget to allow for a couple of massages before we move instead of buying more books to add to my crazy To Be Read pile (although that was exactly what I did with all of my birthday money: buy more books!).

All in all, not the best of weeks, but it had a lot of bright moments despite the constant Sleep Deprivation Shuffle.

The Bliss of Good Vocals

A couple of years ago, I received some training to be a director of a barbershop harmony chorus. Most of this training was "on-the-job" and resulted in me actually directing a song during a concert and at several more informal performances. In addition to bobbing my hands in the right rhythm and such to get the chorus from the beginning to the end of the song in the manner I wanted, I also had to listen for bad vowel sounds, slurred words, non-blended notes, bad notes, tempo issues, etc. The experience instilled in me a tendency to wince when I hear such issues on the radio. This is why I love bands that have a great sound without sacrificing vocal quality.

Blue October is one such band. I cannot express the utter glee I feel when I hear the song "What If We Could" and can bask in the amazing ability of a singer to use the words "meet you" without it sounding like "me chew." Justin Furstenfeld has an amazing voice, and the man can enunciate and have good round vowels and perfect dipthongs without sounding pretentious, without sounding like he's working at it. When he does flatten a vowel or otherwise wander away from good vocals, it's because there's something going on with the song that requires a harsh or dissonant sound. For example, during one of my absolute favorite tracks on Foiled, "Congratulations," at one point the words come out as if through clenched teeth, which makes perfect sense because the lyrics indicate he's sad he missed his chance to say how he really felt about a person, and now he's trying to tell this person he's happy for her in her new relationship.

There are many great things about Blue October's vocals, but it makes me beyond happy to hear words that are clear. In fact, the words are so clear in what they are that you actually get a chance to ponder what they mean. The lyrics are often like poetry: images and phrasings and combinations of words that describe something beyond their literal expression. This makes listening to them both a pleasure and a challenge, for me at least. Poetry has never been one of my strong suits. However, I can take cues for understanding the lyrics in the way the vocals are presented and in the music itself. And let me tell you how much fun that is. The music in and of itself is great, but if you want to go deeper, you can. Plus, you don't have silly things like random, superfluous notes or wince-inducing vowels and consonant combos to distract you.

Now, if only other great bands would follow this example. I'm thinking in particular of Depeche Mode and Garbage. They've got such a great sound, but then they do the standard "me chew" instead of "meet you" crap that throws me right out their music. I've tried to ignore it, honestly, but after those few months of directing barbershop, it's impossible. I can't shut down that part of my hearing. Unfortunately.

Happy Birthday to Me!

Twenty-eight years on this Earth, and I still feel like an infant in many ways. Hey, at least that will let me relate to Andrew better! :)

The other big milestone today: Mark and I have been together for five and a half years. We call it our Half-a-versary.

We'll be celebrating both occasions with some special dinners at home this weekend, although one of those dinners will be doubling as a Happy Father's Day treat. Too many celebrations for one little weekend!

Intersections

Before I figured out that I was a writer, I loved places like airports and train terminals and hospitals and doctor's offices and any other place that gathers people from disparate situations into a common cause. Each location presented a unique opportunity to witness the comings and goings of humanity or to take a snapshot of the human condition. I would often stop and look around me, wondering at all the stories, all the series of events that brought those people to that one location at that particular time. As a writer, I pay even more attention to the way those people carry themselves and the expressions they wear and see if I can move a step beyond wondering into creating.

So when I went to my final urologist appointment today and nearly walked right into a couple of deputies escorting a man in handcuffs and shackles off the elevator, my writer mind went nuts. It's my own damn fault for nearly plowing into the three men. The first deputy to get off the elevator looked right at me and said, "Wait one moment." But mentally I was already halfway to my car, so my body sort of tried to get on the elevator (the other deputy and convict were blocked from my line of site, and two other people had already gotten out, so I figured I was in the clear). I pulled myself up short just in time and managed an apology as I got into the elevator.

Oddly, my first thought as I traveled down to the ground floor was, "He wasn't wearing an orange jumpsuit." My second thought was, "Handcuffs and shackles are much shinier than I thought they would be. Really catch the eye." And then I was just confused as to why the sheriff's office would be escorting anyone in shackles around in an HMO when there was a perfectly functioning general hopsital not twenty feet away, and there aren't any prisons nearby that I can think of to begin with.

I wish I had been paying more attention as I waited to get on the elevator, though. I had just experienced one of the strangest and most notable intersections in one of the locations I note for such possibilities, and my most overwhelming concern was for how stupid I felt for not being aware enough to heed the deputy's request. Still, those few seconds of my day will be ample fuel for the creative fires even if I could've garnered more fuel by not having a Blonde Moment at the time.

Blogging the Commute (Not Live), Part 1

About this feature: I've been lucky enough to have primarily beautiful and traffic-free drives to work and bus rides to school, and that's given me a remarkable chance to spin stories and marvel at nature daily for a big chunk of my life. Maybe these posts will have you looking at your own commute a bit differently. Maybe they'll just be entertaining. At any rate, here's a peak at how I've handled that "down time" between getting from home to work and back.

My current commute is a straight shot down one road that takes me through three towns, through suburbanish centers, across a broad plain of farmed fields, through farmed valleys, past a couple of very ritzy neighborhoods, past upper middle class house farms, past well-to-do farming establishments, past mom-and-pop farms, and, of course, alongside the Rockies. Most of the time, I'll listen to a selection of music that provides inspiration for whatever writing project I'm working on at the moment, but sometimes I just take in the sights.

It starts with dropping off Andrew at daycare. Not exactly a positive start, but he usually gives me a huge smile as I wave good-bye, so I leave smiling all the same. Then it's a trek down a major town artery through urban accoutrements such as grocery stores and Starbucks and McDonalds. But the majority of the business has come up in the six years I've lived here, so I often find myself marveling at the engine of our economy. It may not be perfect, there may be better ways, but there's something extraordinarily comforting that, no matter what hell I have to deal with at the DDJ or what crisis is rearing its head in my life or in the country or in the world, that restaurant will be busy at lunch and packed at dinner, and there will always be people coming and going from this grocery store, and the stores in the mall will be having a sale, and there will be several movies showing that night.

Then I cross over the tracks, pass by one last housing bastion of the primary township, and the fields start with some mighty expensive houses in the distance. One of said houses had the largest "Bush/Cheney 04" sign I've ever seen proudly displayed from the balcony. I think there were even lights directed at it for those early morning & late night drivers in the winter months. I probably would've spared several thoughts for what it was like to live in that neighborhood, but once I saw that sign…suddenly the neighborhood had that much more personality. It's one thing to put an average political sign in your lawn, lots of people do that. But this guy might as well have put a neon square around that puppy. It made me wonder what sort of person could be that enamored of any party or politician.

Next up is the intersection that will forever be etched in my memory for the moment when, as we were rushing to the hospital because we thought I was in premature labor, I had Mark pull over so I could hurl into the grass. I remember the way the sun was striking that particular field through some trees. I remember the refreshing breeze as I shoved open my door. And I remember hoping I could last long enough to lean out just as far as necessary to avoid hitting myself or the car. Gotta love food poisoning at 35 weeks pregnant.

Then it's up a slight hill with a few expensive houses dotted in such a way that you can see one without seeing the other from the road. The first time I noticed that, I got a great idea of a satirical romantic comedy in which some poor motorist has a breakdown and goes to the first house she can see, but it's the house just beyond that's the home of her One True Love. The house she stops at, though, is the house of her next Asshole Loser Boyfriend. Ah, the difference of a few feet. I always chuckle at that one point of the road, thinking about the ways to spin that story.

I cross over a major state road, and suddenly I’m driving through a large open plain that seems to stretch from the Rockies to the sunrise. On a clear day (of which there are many here), I can see the faint dark bump on the horizon that could be Pike's Peak (some 100-150 miles away). I haven't actually researched whether the distant peak I'm seeing is Colorado's most famous one because to find out it isn't would detract from the power and mystery of that particular stretch of my commute. On this plain, in sharp contrast to the comfort of commerce, I get to wrap myself up in the comfort of people doing what has been done since humanity tacked on "gathering" to their list of activities. I don't mind the smell of manure. I don't mind the blow of dust or tumbleweeds. I love to watch that land through the seasons.

But my favorite part of the commute occurs just when the seemingly endless plain takes on a boundary. You can tell you're about to crest the lip of a valley. At this point, the next batch of expensive houses garner almost no notice from me. I'm too excited to see the valley. And it's beautiful. Lush, green, dotted with a few ponds, and some islands of interesting trees. In the mornings, there's often an ethereal swath of mist and fog covering the valley floor, and starting the descent down makes me feel like I'm driving into a cloud.

Strangely enough, politics intrudes into the commute again as I pass a house with a "Kerry/Edwards 04" sign just as big as the opposing sign at the other house. This house isn't as grand, and the sign is tacked onto a big fence. While the other fellow's sign was down within a week of the election, this guy kept his sign up well into my pregnancy, and perhaps afterward (I wasn't making the commute for several months then). At first I just felt sorry for the man. To have such faith and passion and belief so proudly displayed after it was no longer an issue. But when someone went and obscured the sign with layer upon layer of graffiti (I never could make it out), that sign stayed up still. That's when I wondered what sort of attention that man paid to his property. Political fervor or no, a graffiti-laced "Kerry/Edwards" sign clinging to your fence a year after the election is just sad.

The next stage of my commute takes me into a more congested urban area, and it gets a little boring. A few stores to note, one or two neat houses, the occasional golfer to study. The road dog legs a bit, and then I take my turn into the DDJ. Even in bad weather, that commute keeps my chin up. There's usually something interesting to look at and ponder, there's usually no snarled traffic or beyond stupid drivers (although there was the time that a carpool of five guys in front of me caught my attention with their in-car behavior; one guy puts his arm around another one, not a big deal except that arm stays there for the next fifteen minutes and I'm getting very curious; just as my interest is starting to wane, the be-armed fellow stands up as best you can in a Jetta, and the friendly guy next to him does something below my line of sight to the standing guy's legs; I nearly followed them when they turned off the road, I felt like I was watching a soap opera on mute).

Stay tuned for Part 2, when I blog the return home.

Locomotin'

I have an absolutely perfect picture for this post. Unfortunately, I took it yesterday and haven't been able to transfer it from the camera, Photoshop it, and transfer it to my flash drive to pub here. That's a Mark thing, anyway, and he's very busy writing his thesis, so we're not going to bother him.

Andrew has developed a strange mishmash of flopping, sitting, rolling, and crabwalking in order to get him from point A to point B. He'll get himself onto hands and knees, but when he tries to move one knee forward, he doesn't move his hands. This translates into pulling his knee up far enough that he can swivel from a crawling stance into a sitting position. If he doesn't pull himself into a sit from the crawl position, he'll flop forward onto his chest and inch his way along the floor.

He's very adept at pulling himself up to a stand. I think this is in part because he enjoys to stand so much and when he decides to move into a crawl-like stance from sitting, he often locks his knees so he's tottering on hands and feet. All it takes is a convenient ledge (such as, I don't know, his crib railing), and he'll leverage himself up to be standing tall. I discovered this when I went to check on him when he was supposed to be napping. He was standing in his crib, gripping the top of the rail, staring proudly at the pacifier he had spit into the center of his room. And he was very quietly proud of this.

Our boy doesn't make much noise when he's doing his strange moving thing in his crib. Unless he's unhappy he's awake, then we'll walk in to find him sitting in the middle of his crib (because he's learned how to sit up from being on his tummy--a position he often doesn't appreciate waking up from).

All this translates into having to lower his crib to its lowest setting already, not even a month after setting it to the middle height.

That Drew Monster's going to skip that whole ankle-biting phase and go straight for knee-biting. That is, only if there's not a paper product within reach instead.

The Private School Stereotype Rears Its Head...Again

I did have a long rant about a thread over at Making Light in which both Patrick Nielsen Hayden and Teresa Nielsen Hayden take a young political blogger to task for sloppy language in a post. But why waste my time and my readers' time? The short of it is that making assumptions about a person based solely on their alma mater (or appearance, as comes out in the comments) is very silly, but effective for the person being stereotyped. That is, if someone wants to dismiss me because I'm a young, blonde Notre Dame alumna who grew up overseas as the daughter of an Air Force officer, they can do so with my thanks and appreciation for effectively removing themselves from the group of people with which I should concern myself.

Murphy, Thy Name is Mud

Of course, the week I decide to turn over a new leaf in blogging is the week that Blogger goes wonky, the DDJ sprouts a raging fire garden, and the homefront has a hiccup. But, this is why I'm making an effort to be a blogging pro now. I'm learning how Real Life can snarl up the works and demonstrate how I need a great deal more posts ready-to-go and a better schedule so the blog is maintained despite the sort of insanity mentioned above.

Still, my plan for the blog is gelling a bit better in my mind. Drewbie Mondays is a keeper as I'm never at a loss of words or pictures about him, and Monday is a good day to have as an "easy" posting day. Even fifteen minutes at the DDJ can garner me a good Monday post this way. Wednesday is going to be a writing post day, either about my writing in particular, or about the industry. Friday is going to be pop culture day, and all posts on that day will be reserved for movie, TV show, book discussions/reviews/observations. Chances are those will be evening posts more often than not. Saturday will become my check-in days, quick posts in which I can analyze what worked and what didn't with the blog, the writing, life in general, etc, and formulate a plan for the coming week. I want these to be quick posts so I don't get bogged down with over analyzing the week. Sunday is going to be the odd grab bag day. Sometimes it'll be random links, sometimes it will be ruminations on recent blogosphere happenings, sometimes it'll be fun exercises. Tuesdays and Thursdays will be my semi-regular feature days.

This, of course, is subject to change.

While the execution of the Pro Blogging effort faltered this week, the spirit was still there. I think this is a good idea, and I look forward to better implementation this week.

Slicin' and Dicin' a Classic

One thing I've noticed as a parent: I'm way behind on the new movie releases. I consider myself doing well to even have some clue as to what films are on the big screen at any moment. Thus it may seem strange that I finally got around to watching the 2005 release of Pride and Prejudice this week. That being said, I didn't make an effort to see it earlier because the five-hour BBC version is sacrosanct in my eyes, and I rather doubted that any two-hour version could do the story or the characters justice.

I'll get what I liked out of the way quickly: the soundtrack is beautiful and I will be getting my hands on it shortly, Mr. Collins was cast very well, and the Darcy proposal scene had a sexy love/hate thing going on that I thoroughly enjoyed (though I can't quite decide if it fit the characters; but the rain and the anger and the attraction worked just so damn well...sigh).

I'm on the fence about how they portrayed the Bennett household as a clutered, shabby affair, though I understand the reasoning behind it--when you've only got two hours to tell this story, you need far more visual cues to distinguish class and social standing in place of the character-driven ones the BBC version developed. I'm similarly torn on the tweaks they made to Charlotte Lucas, Mr. Bingley, and Jane. They didn't have time to develop Charlotte's personality and thus her reasoning for marrying Mr. Collins, so they made her an ugly spinster who was desperate to be settled in order to secure her future and ease the burden on her parents. The ugly old maid is a nasty cliche that could stand to be shelved for eternity, and I think the BBC (and, IIRC, book) spin of a non-romantic view of marriage provided much greater social depth. But, again, I understand why it was done, and it didn't take much away from the movie as a whole. Flattening Bingley from a happy-go-lucky man into a vacuous idiot made me wince a decent amount, but he was still charming and very much in love with Jane, so it worked out in the end (and it provided a great scene in which Bingley practices his proposal on Darcy). Jane's character was adjusted so severely at times that she came across as vapid rather than reserved, but this provided a great moment during said phenomenal proposal scene in which Elizabeth could explain that even she can't read her sister at times, and thus what right did Darcy have to assume Jane's indifference?

As for the things that nearly had us turning the movie off without finishing it, no excuse of time contraints can make them palatable. Darcy became merely a misunderstood shy guy who is never brought to task for his horrid manners toward Elizabeth at the first ball (slightly forgiveable, given the movie's limits and the fact that Elizabeth manages to zing him back in this version) or for his insulting proposal (unforgiveable!). Elizabeth loses all personality after this proposal and turns into an angsty, lost, forlorn woman in love. It's like her spine oozes out of her with the rain in that above-mentioned perfect scene. Mr. Bennett is a clumsy, absent-minded drunk who can't speak clearly and seems to be only slightly more witty than his wife. Wickham is a cad by proxy in that he flirts with Elizabeth and then is off-screen until Lydia returns to Longborne a married and suddenly self-aware and devious woman. Darcy's motivations for paying for that arrangement are baffling with these plot and character tweaks. The Lady Katharine de Burgh is such a non-entity that her intrusion at the end of the movie is just that--an intrusion into the viewing experience. It's only used to provide a reason for Darcy to be wandering around that morning, hoping to find Elizabeth so he can propose again--which is a non-issue, given the way they've handled both characters and all the plot issues. If the Darcy in this version of the story needs his aunt's shenanigans and Elizbeth's response to them in order to galvanize him, then he's not that great a catch.

Overall, in trying to tell this story in two hours, they kept too much in that they should've cut, thus making the entire experience feel rushed and dizzy. The things they did cut and change butchered the story more than a drastic adaptation for the time frame would have. Still, I love the soundtrack and that one scene is so blissfully perfect that I'm tempted to purchase a copy of the movie for it alone. But as for a film experience of a classic book, stick to the BBC version. It may be five hours, but it's a fabulous five hours.

Andrew Thomas: Literary Critic?

Here's Drew mulling over a recent James Patterson novel, Maximum Ride. I wish I knew how to interpret his opinion. Does chewing on the cover mean that it's a delicious read or that it's good...< best Triumph the Insult Comic Dog impression > for him to drool on? < / impression > Of course, given Drew's penchant for putting any sort of paper product into his mouth, it probably means nothing. Maybe I'll restrict his future novel reviews to a test as to whether he grabs for the book or not.

The Shadow of Zehth: Bonsai Style

In trying to find this week's writing prompt/grab bag o'links/something interesting, I stumbled across the Bonsai Story Generator. I dumped in about 3000 or so words from the first four chapters of The Shadow of Zehth and got back a very odd mix of gibberish, strange imagery, and the ocassional deep thought. I don't think I can link to the full text, so here's a sampling.

Gibberish

The light from previous cleaning.

Those days, at her chronometer, startled Rayn out to the stable.

Today you're the local wells.

Strange Imagery

She pushed away from the horse's blanket, wanting her reaction to his lips and tried to wait.

The silence was sick and protection for control of the sunset struck the burnished brass dome of paper.

Soft laughter bubbled out of the daunting stack of paper.

She walked over her shoulder. Then she fought for control of her mouth.

Deep Thoughts

Airen had no desire for Velorin.

He moved back to the flaws and destruction.

Suppressing a powerful race that controlled the world.

These story generators and such can be a blast. The one thing I found most interesting about this exercise is that generator managed to harp on two lines that are very important to the story. Variations of those two lines are used over and over. That was interesting to see and reminded me of some thematic elements, as did the surprising Deep Thoughts I found above. A fun way to look at a piece through different eyes and find the craziness and beauty within it. That's probably far too deep a reaction for the original intent of the generator, though.

Pro Blogging

No, I'm not a professional writer yet, but it certainly doesn't hurt to start blogging as if I am. That is, treating this blog as a tool to reach readers and establish an audience. What exactly does this mean? I'm going to start having regular features and other such things to help get me into certain habits (such as, I don't know, posting every day). No, this does not mean my blog is going to become a dry writing rag with no personal vignettes or Drew Monster pics. I've been blogging for over three years. I'm familiar with the terrain, I'm comfortable with the medium, I'm ready to use this as the tool it can be for my writing and career. Er, at least that's the hope. Basically, when I get published, I want to be able to go live with this blog to a pro website without having to worry about how I'm going to handle the blog as a pro writer. There's enough a newbie pro has to mess with, and having a solid self-promotional tool already up and functioning as a well-oiled machine seems that it would diminish the insanity. Plus, it'll be fun for me now, and should be just as much fun for my readers, even the family members eager for those cute baby pics.

What exactly do I have planned in the way of features? I'm going to do a weekly something or other, either fun links or writing links or writing prompts or…something. Still thinking there, and I'll probably try out a couple of different ideas to get a sense of what's fun for me and my readers. I can make another weekly feature by always putting Drew posts on a particular day, probably Monday. And then there will be the themed semi-regular features. For example, I have several posts in the works about my various commutes over the years. I've been lucky enough to have primarily beautiful and traffic-free drives to work and bus rides to school, and that's given me a remarkable chance to spin stories and marvel at nature daily for a big chunk of my life. I might even include some of my walks to my primary buildings on Notre Dame's campus. Those are posts that I'll write as an exercise at the beginning of my writing nights to get the fingers and mind moving together.

The goal is to have interesting content as often as possible and to develop a routine/habit for the blog as to that content. That way, when I have my first contract in my hot little hands, I'll have a working blog ready to roll out. Something that's professional, comfortable, and me.

Attitude Adjustment

I think I can trace my current difficult attitude back to the day after we came back from Grand Forks when I found out that someone--no, an entire department--at work had neglected to do an involved, rather important job for seven weeks, and I was told to take over and get it back up to speed in four days. Then I got into a car accident that night.

Yeah, I'm pretty sure that was the day when some internal balance got skewed.

It was probably building for a good month. I could give a long sequence of reasons why I never regained that balance, but it's pretty much a long list of excuses as to why I didn't sit myself down and go, "Yeah, there are things that suck right now, but you have no control over it, and ranting about this in various ways is just making you more and more angry and frustrated. End this." Well, I'm doing it now.

It's hard to say if it was something at the DDJ that triggered this, or if it was something about writing, or something of both. All I know is that I snapped about something at work, bitched about it to a colleague, then tried to get the matter addressed (yes, professionally; I know when to bitch and when to play diplomatic businessperson). When I got the usual pushback, something clicked. I did not like letting others have power over my own attitude.

So it's stopping today. Or, at least, I'm making a concerted effort to get it to stop. Baby steps, Kellie. Baby steps. Can't quite undo two months of damage in a day. Maybe two days. :)

On the work front, I can only control my own job performance. If someone isn't doing their job in a way that reflects poorly on the company or prevents me from doing my job, then I tell my manager and move forward with the things I can do. That's all I have the power to do. And I'm going to do my best to not fall into all manner of dramatics when I get frustrated with what other people aren't doing, even if that makes my job impossible. No more whiny outbursts over an unprofessional email or interaction. No more immediately calling a colleague to bitch. No more. I've likely only got two to three months here, and then I'm gone (perhaps maintaining a remote contractual position, perhaps not; but boy would that be a different dynamic). I'm not going to make those months horrible for me and those who have to hear me whine (even if they're whining themselves).

On the writing front, the drama surrounding Carson's Learning made me realize that I'm far too reliant on external validation for my own view of my writing (at least with this one piece). No more. I'm still very happy to have others read my work and get their feedback, but that's not always going to be possible for every single thing I write. If I gave the piece my best, then that's good enough. Maybe not enough to get published, but enough to let me put the story aside and move on without all this angst.

And that's the strategy, the method, the grand scheme to wipe the scowl off my face. I'm fully capable of a better attitude. I had it for the first three months of this year, and at various times since then. I'll get it back, and I'll be much happier, as will everyone who has to interact with me.

And I Had Such Grand Plans

This past weekend wasn't just a three-day weekend for me. It was a monster six-day weekend. And, boy, did I ever have ideas on how to use all that time away from work.

Drew's daycare provider is on a well-deserved vacation, and I took the first half of it off to stay home with Drew while Mark is taking the second half of it off. My eyes got huge at the thought of six straight days without the DDJ. I still drool about it now. I was going to work out every morning, walk with Drew every day, spend tons of time making my little boy laugh, and when he was more amused with a piece of paper than my smiling face, I would hang out next to him and do plotting and research for SoZ. It was going to be a blast.

Last Thrusday, the first of the six days, I did work out and walk with Drew, but I spent the rest of the day playing with him or watching him play. I figured I had earned a day to just be a mom. Friday was going to be different. I was all set to do some research in the afternoon during Drew's solo playtime, but it turns out Drew is teething in a bad way and "fussy" was putting it mildly that afternoon. Saturday went much the same way. And then Drew woke up Sunday at 3AM crying for a bottle--and I woke up with him, moaning for a bucket and clear path to the toilet. I spent all day Sunday sicker than a dog, Monday recovering, and Tuesday suffering a relapse. And then it was back to work.

Still, it was very nice to be away from work and spend a lot of time with Drew, even if he was fussy. He does love his walks, and I love watching him just take everything in. Plus, I got to be there when he figured out how to stand up in his bassinet. (That prompted the lowering of his crib and the removal of the bassinet in favor of the much higher-walled playpen.) So I didn't have the amazing productive, relaxed, fun weekend I had planned, but it was certainly enough to just be Momma again.

More Drew Pics

The latest installment is up.

A Case Against Artificial Intelligence

Again, I give you The Onion. I must remember to give my laptop kudos for suffering through all my various and sundry crappy drafts. :)

Hopefully Resuming Normal Psychological Programming

It's gone. It's really gone. Carson's Learning is in the mail, and I can't change another thing on it for this submission.

Praise all that is good and holy in this world.

I have swung through so many emotions with CL. I've been deliriously, nothing-can-stop-me, look-out-world happy about the story and it's prospects. I've also been so thoroughly disgusted with it that I actually tried to rip a printed copy in half. (I was marginally successful and felt really stupid as I taped the torn sections back together so I could use the copy to revise). I've analyzed and angsted over a teeny tiny plot niggle that I've changed one paragraph of text over and over and over. I didn't go through all this with Human Dignity, mainly because of one big factor.

No one has seen this but Mark and me.

Andi's beta-read fell through, and I didn't have the time or the courage to ask anyone else for the favor. I'm not even going to get into my frame of mind while writing the original draft and making the subsequent revisions, suffice to say that sending this out with only my husband's feedback is not helping my already see-sawing confidence about this piece. Nothing wrong with Mark's critiques, except for the fact that he's about as close as to CL as I am and can't see the big picture anymore just like I can't.

The last week and a half have seen me alternating between thinking CL is so wonderful that big name editors will want me to write a proposal for a three-book deal and thinking it's so bad that the anthology staff will take the time to write a scathing rejection letter. All statistical improbabilities to both extremes aside, this translates to the fact that I no longer have any perspective or objectivity on this story.

I wish I could blame someone or a string of events for how seriously out-of-whack I've gotten over this, but I can't. I'm not so far gone as to puff up my chest and declare myself a true artist because I've sufficiently suffered for this novelette. I'm also not so deluded to pretend that my attitude right now is anyone's fault but my own.

Hopefully within a couple of days, I'll have the distance from this story to smile at my dreams of getting a book deal out of it and to roll my eyes at the silly notion that a busy anthology staff would take the time to lambaste me. And while I wait for their response, I'm going to keep working on other projects as if I didn't have a submission out. That's really all I can do.

I do have one concrete piece of good news about Carson's Learning, though. Final word count: 14,875, down from 18,606. Go me and my mad revisioning skillz.

You Had Me Until the Credits

Mark's graduation present from his parents wasn't your standard gift fare for the occasion. My fabulous in-laws got Mark a generous gift certificate to the restaurant where we had our rehearsal dinner and then offered to watch Drew so we could partake of said gift and also go see a movie. A night out as a married couple instead of parents: best grad gift ever! :)

The food was delish, and the restaurant comped a fab dessert as we were celebrating Mark's graduation. We were hoping to catch a showing of Ice Age 2: The Meltdown, but, alas, there was nothing at a reasonable time. So we were "forced" to see Mission: Impossible 3.
I'm still a little shocked, but I actually really like M:I 3. There were a few "ewwww, Tom Cruise" moments at the beginning because his gal in the movie bears a rather close resemblance to Katie Holmes, but that was about it. I think the movie was saved from the Cruise factor because of fabulous writing, great co-stars, and a cool focus on the character and workings of the IMF as a whole. M:I 1 had some of the first two ingredients, and M:I 2 had none of the above (and instead forced handful after handful of bad bad bad bad science on the viewer, and did so while making Ethan Hunt some sort of bad-ass that turned my stomach; even hottie Dougray Scott couldn't save that piece of crap).

The movie starts out with the device of showing a snippet toward the end of the movie and then flashing back to the beginning of the trouble and running in normal time through to the end. I was a bit leery of this tactic as it is so hard to do right.

Damn, they did it right. They did it so right that, even when I knew the characters had to fail in some task in order to get us back to the opening scene, I still sat on the edge of my seat, mentally cheering for success. And the opening scene was so gripping that I was glued to the opening credits, wondering how the hell Ethan Hunt had gotten himself into that mess and how the hell he would get himself out of it.

Did I mention the writing? It was smart, efficient, and still kept me hooked despite my writer mind being able to see the various connections that set up certain plot points. I like a movie that I can appreciate as a writer and enjoy as a viewer at the same time. There's also a fabulous spin on the damsel-in-distress cliché that more than made up for Hunt's "I Am God" role in M:I 2.

By the way, this movie also rocked because it introduced me to the face of Rayn (I've been waiting so long to figure out what this character looks like; none of my previous ideas worked).

The ending was kinda hammy and left a gaping opening for more movies (not in the "badguy-got-away" sense), but it was OK as it focused on Hunt/IMF interactions, something that I thought really made this movie great and reminded me of the 90s remake of the TV show.

But then the credits rolled, and the worst hiphop song I have ever heard starts up. The beat and lyrics were so out of place for the movie. I mean, I felt I needed a Hawaiian shirt and a drink with a paper umbrella to listen to that song. And then I caught the line "getting sick in the hospital" and absolutely lost it. I goofed on this song--apparently one that Tom Cruise asked Kanye West to do--the entire way home.

Unfortunate soundtrack and Katie Holmes-ish look-a-like aside, this was a very good movie and one that I recommend. Definitely rent it, if nothing else.

Disappointing

I've been watching CSI:NY for the latter half of this season, maybe longer. I prefer the original CSI, but the Thursday night time slot is right smack dab in the middle of one of my best writing times. So I get my CSI kicks with CSI:NY on Wednesday night, and it suited me just fine. Until last night.

The episode seemed like it was intended to be a two-parter and someone nixed that idea a bit late in the process and went at the script with a machete. The original murder that started the episode was never resolved. Evidence just sort of showed up with the information they needed but without any clear indication of where it had been found. It reminded me of the first Harry Potter movie in that so much could've been cut to make for a more connected, even experience.

And then there were the gross factual errors. CSI would not be running the show after a bomb goes off, especially if Homeland Security AND the ATF are right there. A large group of folks would not be allowed back into a building unless they were wearing hard hats and some sort of engineering type of person declared the building structurally sound. Two CSI guys would not be allowed to defuse a bomb when a bomb squad had plenty of time and opportunity to get there first (and we know they had plenty of time because after finding the bomb, we cut to the two CSI guys all decked out in protective gear; if you've got the time to get that kind of gear, you've got the time to call in the pros). It seemed they were trying to do strange things with human anatomy when they did a close-up of the abdominal wound. And, cool as it may be, do we REALLY have the tech to turn on someone's cell phone remotely?

Ugh. I know that shows like CSI and Crossing Jordan tend to have some lines blurred when it comes to questioning witnesses, running investigations, etc, but c'mon. I can suspend disbelief only so far.

Writerisms, Onion-style

Leave it to The Onion. They have a great snippet about one budding writer's tendency to overuse a particular word. I could think of a few writerisms of my own, and I tend to keep a mental list going whenever I read a book (usually along the lines of "Damn, she really likes the word 'azure'").

Congratulations...in Advance

Mark got all spiffed up in a silly robe, a silly--and nonfunctional--hood, and a silly hat on Friday. He and our buddy PJ led in a group of 5,610 also strangely dressed folks to much cheering and playing of "Pomp and Circumstance." All the hard work of writing and defending his thesis may be ahead of him still, but Mark's hard work of the past six years was honored and celebrated in the CU commencement ceremonies, the majority of which occurred on a field of metal flooring under a very hot sun.

Drew lasted long enough to see Daddy process into the stadium and take a seat before letting it be known that the sun was not his friend and he wanted shade. He was still with Daddy in spirit because he kept the graduation program in his hands and mouth at all times. Except for the times when the strange texture of the fieldhouse attached to the stadium became too absorbing of his attention.

After the agony of all that time in the sun, we went under a big tent for the departmental program. Drew was very well behaved until the end, when he was just too tired. So right about the time that everything was done and everyone wanted to say hi to Mark's bouncing baby boy, said boy was passed out asleep on his Momma.

Despite all the sun (and the insanity of leaving the house to get to the stadium by 8:00, which resulted in Momma completely forgetting to eat or even drink some water; not good for all that sun), it was a great day, and it was very satisfying to see Mark get all that special notice and treatment for the years of coursework and research, even if he did get his degree conferred in advance of the official receipt of it. He's more than earned a day in the spotlight, a hearty "Huzzah!" and pat on the back, a special mention in a thick program and on a smaller stage.

Of course, after he actually writes his thesis and defends it in front of his department, he won't have a celebration on this kind of scale. But you can be sure that the jubilation will be just as hearty, and there will be far more alcohol involved. :)

Best Smile Ever

Drew gave me the best Mother's Day present yesterday: he slept in, woke up with the biggest grin, and laughed as often as possible. Minus the sleeping in part, this is his usual day, but it still made yesterday seem extra special.

Drew's giggles and grins have a way of doing that. There's just something about his obvious joy that can turn the grayest sky blue for a moment. And I'm not saying that because I'm his Momma. His smile brightened the morning of a young woman who had just missed her flight out of DIA. He drew a crowd of servers and busboys at The Melting Pot this weekend, and he entertained them all while they smiled and cooed and laughed. The power of Drew's little face all scrunched up in a grin is amazing.

I know that as he grows, he may not always smile and laugh as freely. He may turn his face away from strangers instead of staring at them with fascination as he takes in the world. But right now, I'm amazed at my happy little boy and his ability to infect others with his happiness.

More Fantasy Cliches

Via Tambo, put your heroes and villains to the cliche test. I went through the hero test, checking everything that bore even a hint of a resemblance to Rayn. Scored a 94. Ouch. Went back through and unchecked everything that I had a "yes, but" answer that put a decent spin on the cliche and scored a 27. My villains did the best at 13 and 18, but then my villains tend to be my best drawn characters. Wish I knew why. *halo*

Jivin'

Don't know where Mark found it, but here's my blog in jive.

FanFic Redux

Last week, I made mention of the infamous Marion Zimmer Bradley Darkover case. I'm proud to say that my quick recitation of the popular understanding of the facts didn't really come down on one side or the other. I'm also proud to say that I have since tried to delve deeper into the matter after seeing a few "um, that's not really relevant" comments elsewhere. And when I say "elsewhere", I mean in Anna Genoese's recent posting about fanfiction, which led me to the monstrous Making Light thread (!!!750+ comments!!!), and to various legal-type links from there.

In those many, many comments, after the MZB incident got bandied about and was met with less-than-universal acceptance, Mercedes Lackey (apparently as close to the cat's mouth as we can get now that MZB has passed) provided the details of the situation. Meanwhile, Teresa Nielsen Hayden was crafting this analysis of the MZB affair. So there you have it: what really happened in the MZB case, and a good analysis of why it's representative of other things for authors to watch for rather than of how fanfiction causes problems for authors.

Yes, but...

Via Denver-based agent Kristin Nelson, I've taken this Fantasy Novelist's Exam. And failed. But only on a couple of questions (which got my ire up, actually). Some of them are just plain funny.

9. Does your novel contain a character that is really a god in disguise?
She's only in disguise to specific groups of people in my story. The reader knows she's a "god" from page 1. Does this count as a failure?

10. Is the evil supreme badguy secretly the father of your main character?
No. Definitely no. Considering what I have in minde for Book 3, that would give everything a decidedly VC Andrews bent. No.

16. Do any of your female characters exist solely to be captured and rescued?
Actually, my male character is the one who gets captured and rescued, but that's Book 2.

28. Is this the first book in a planned trilogy?
D'oh! But this is where I started to get mad.

29. How about a quintet or a decalogue?
OK, so my Velorin series is sitting at a projected six books, the first three of which are a trilogy, the latter three being their own stories in the series. Now I'm irked. Just because a fantasy story is epic in its structure means that it must be a Tolkien derivative and therefore bad?

49. Could one of your main characters tell the other characters something that would really help them in their quest but refuses to do so just so it won't break the plot?
Ah, my pet peeve in all fiction, fantasy and every other genre. If your story goes on for pages only because folks who had good reason to talk about the matters at hand suddenly decide not to, I will Get Mad. I did read a good exception recently, but the characters all realized they weren't talking to each other and why, and it was actually a bit of a big plot point and thematic for different cultures coming together under difficult circumstances. (Really, go read Elizabeth Vaughan's Warprize.)
53. Heaven help you, do you ever use the term "hit points" in your novel?
*snerk*

56. Does anybody in your novel fight for two hours straight in full plate armor, then ride a horse for four hours, then delicately make love to a willing barmaid all in the same day?
I can't help myself: would it be more believable if he forced himself on an unwilling beerwench instead?

65. Do you not realize it takes hours to make a good stew, making it a poor choice for an "on the road" meal?
Obviously the examiner has never experienced one of Rachel Ray's 30-minute "stoops."

My mini-rant about trilogies and such aside, this was a fun little test that pokes at all the tired fantasy cliches. But many a wise editor and author has said that cliches are cliches because they work. The trick is to write them well.

Be Gone From Me

It meant staying up a bit later than I had intended, but I finished the revisions for Carson's Learning last night. It was a necessity. Over the weekend, I managed to reach that point in a story when you despise every word, every image, every plot point. I pushed myself to finish the revision, though, working mostly on blind faith that my subconscious (aka the Muse) knew what it was doing. Honestly, there are changes I made last night that I have no idea if they make sense for the story. Hell, I could've suddenly made the ending a big deus ex machina cliche and had the characters turn out to be robots in someone's futuristic version of The Sims, and I probably would've written that in with the same "gee, I hope I started threads for this stuff earlier in the story" attitude I had last night. After I collapsed in bed, I tried to summon up some positive thought for CL. I think I managed to tell myself that I had done very well with the last lines of the last two scenes before the negative tirade of what I hadn't done very well drowned it out. And then the jitters started: what if this does get published? Nevermind the fact that I'm submitting it to an anthology whose sole purpose is to seek out fiction that breaks genre rules and boundaries, I was suddenly worried that CL had BROKEN GENRE RULES AND BOUNDARIES! What had I done? If I can't put it into its niche, how can I sell it? And even if I can sell it, how will readers know what to do with it? And even if readers know what to do with it, it's going to get ridiculed by peers and industry pros because it has no niche. And...and...and....

So I have sent this bad boy far away from me, into Andi's capable hands for a critique. I'm trying hard not to say good riddance to bad rubbish because I know I love this story, and I know I can make it good enough to sell (that is, I can do so once I have Andi's far more objective comments to assist with the final revisions). But I also know that if I see so much as a page from this story right now, I will shred it gleefully into teeny, tiny pieces and sprinkle them into a toilet.

Drew's First Feaver

I arrived at Drew's day care on Friday to find my son just not himself. Not only did he just look tired, he also had to be held so he could rest his head on my shoulder. He had been that way for an hour or so, but didn't have a feaver and seemed to be teething hardcore. Within another hour, his temperature spiked up to 101.7. Tylenol brought it down overnight, and we spent almost all of Saturday keeping the feaver down and letting him lounge all over us. He perked up in the afternoon, acting more like himself. We thought we were out of the woods until he woke up early that night and hurled (mostly all over himself, but Momma got nailed with a few stray spits). He was fine after that, except for some lingering Momma-clinginess yesterday and a bit of an odd behavior with his right ear, which we'll be monitoring and will bring him in to the doc if he's still doing it this afternoon.

Mark and I did very well with Drew's first illness. There was no panicing, no rushing to the emergency room, none of that stuff. There was confusion as to why he got sick this time when he's not in direct contact with anyone who's ill as compared to a month ago when Mark and I were sick as were several of the kids at day care. And, of course, there was a strong desire on both our parts to snap our fingers and make our little guy feel A-OK. Taking care of him this weekend made it very clear just how active and independent the Drew Monster is ordinarily. I guess it was something I took for granted.

The weekend was definitely more exhausting than usual. And it was significantly less chipper as we were lucky to get only a couple of Drew's smiles and missed out on his amazing belly laughs. I never take those for granted--I always seek those out as often as I can to carry with me--but I hadn't realized just how much missing those abundant laughs and grins would bring me down. I find myself staring at the picture of his whole-face smile more often than usual.

This does not bode well for my psyche during the gloomy teenage years.

More Drew Pictures Up

We've got more pics up. These include Drew in his high chair, Drew meeting his Uncle Dave, Drew standing, Drew smiling, and so on. My fave of this bunch is the one of him passed out on me, I just wish he had his head turned toward the camera. He looks downright angelic when he sleeps. Unless he's dreaming of bananas.

Speaking of Copyright Law...

Last week, I posted about a particular case of copyright shenanigans in which an author's estate's wishes weren't followed. Toward the end of last week, Lee Goldberg once again alerted me to a case of copyright infringement. That's right, ladies and gentlemen. Someone has written a piece of Star Wars fanfiction, published it without permission from the copyright holders, and is selling it on-line.

For those of you who don't know (*waves at family members reading the blog for Drew pics*), fanfiction is a genre of fiction in which a writer takes an established fictional universe or cast of characters or whatnot and writes their own story using those established entities. It's a fairly big underground thing that a lot of pubbed authors have spoken out against because they claim it violates their copyrights. The fanficcers have a broad spectrum of counter-arguments, none of which I know well enough to even summarize. In general, I don't have an opinion either way, though I'm sure that will change once I have a published fictional universe with copyrights to protect. I've seen a fair number of idiots and frothing at the mouth sorts on both sides of the aisle. There may be a body of case law to reference for fanfiction in particular, but the only case that comes to mind is the much-quoted Marion Zimmer Bradley Darkover incident, in which the fanficcer let MZB read her piece, and then sued MZB because a later Darkover novel (which never did get published) had similar elements to the fanfic piece. I can't remember if the suit was successful or MZB's publisher decided not to go through the legal mess and just pulled the novel from publication. Suffice to say, things got ugly there and they often get ugly in this debate.

Teresa Nielsen Hayden has a good summary of this particular FUBARed episode, including links to the cached views of the author's now-pulled website. Most of the blogging response if focusing on this author's insanely stupid reasoning as to why she's not violating copyright laws here (and for the best blow-by-blow smackdown of this, check out Scalzi's post). This rated a rolling of the eyes and a head shake from me last week when I read it (and was in the middle of much work at the DDJ), but I actually had time today to go to the now-cached website, and I found this amazing morsel in a review of Another Hope:

In the remarkable genre of apocryphal Star Wars mythology comes Lori Jareo’s Another Hope. Mixing familiar moments from Lucas’s first Star Wars film with a mass of new story material, Jareo gives us an alternative history of what happened on Tatooine, Alderaan and the Death Star based more soundly on the now-complete three prequel episodes.

My eyebrows shot up at genre of apoycryphal Star Wars mythology. Talk about niche. But my favorite was the sentiment that this piece of fanfiction is based more soundly [than the original SW film "A New Hope"] on the prequel trilogy. Until this point, I'd had to take anti-fanfic vocals' word that fanficcers actually believe they know the characters/stories/universe better than the actual creators, but now I see it for myself and just am absolutely stunned.

But, on the other hand, assuming this author doesn't get the pants that house her amazing cajones sued off of her, I can take this as precedent to publish my "Deal or No Deal" fanfic in which it is revealed that The Banker is really Howie Mandel's long-suffering alternate persona and NBC, having realized this after the first episode, is now working with several mental health programs to get Howie help, and the models are all robots that Howie built while working through a third personality break after "St. Elsewhere." (Well, if you were a part of a six-year long show that ended with a variant on the horrid "it was all a dream" cliche, wouldn't you have a schism too?) Really, this is the best work of fiction I've ever written and ever will write, but it won't be violating copyright laws when I publish it on Amazon because I won't be earning anything from it (all profits will be donated to the "Save Howie's Psyche Now" fund) and only ya'll will know about it anyway...so don't pass this link on or else I'll get in hella trouble with some lawyer types.

Heh.

Calculating Advances and Other Fun Facts

Anna Genoese, an editor at Tor, has been doing a lot to inform us aspiring and business-unsavvy writers about the ins and outs of getting a book from accepted manuscript to your local bookstore shelves. Her latest post gest into the nitty-gritty of the costs of such an endeavor, including how publishers figure an advance. Get your math hats on and bust out those calculators, this post is thick with number crunching. But it's a great post that sheds some light on the black box of the business of publishing. It also gave me some ideas about how the seemingly normal connections I've established via a few writing endeavors (my crit group, etc) may help boost my sales on that grand day when such a thing will be more than hypothetical. Or at least I think it will.

Drew's Cuisine

Ah, the joys of learning to eat. We've got some great video clips of Drew discovering that food comes in solid forms, too. His expression was less than enthusiastic at first. But after a day or so, rice cereal mixed with formula worked just fine for him, and proved to be a good transition step. Then we tried bananas. The Boy actually shuddered as his face screwed up in a "Ewwww, yuck!" expression--and then he ate them anyway. I suppose it makes us cruel, but we actually gave him a few more spoonfulls after he had made his distaste known. That shudder was just cute!

We thought we had found a hit with the green beans, which he really seemed to enjoy. And then we tried pears. Move over green beans. Drew ate so much of his pear mush that he was too full for a bottle afterward and also slept through the night without a bottle. He's also green-lighted applesauce, peas, and sweet potatoes. We're not sure about squash, though. Either he was overtired last night and fussed because of that or he fussed because the squash was that bad. We'll have to see. Tonight we're giving carrots a try.

It's been a blast watching Drew discover new tastes and smells and textures. What hasn't been as much fun is discovering what solids do to his diapers.

Burn, Baby, Burn

As an aspiring author, I'm always on the lookout for information about various viewpoints and actual cases on copyright law. Lee Goldberg's recent post about the matter is absolutely fascinating, as are the comments. Really, go read the post.

I'm going to have to make it a point in my will that all my journals and maybe even unpubbed work should be burned, my harddrives taken through an EM field, etc. By the time I die, there's probably going to be a damn good reason that stuff has remained my "private collection." I journal sometimes just to get thoughts out of my head that I really don't want there. If I didn't want them in my head, I certainly wouldn't want them making the rounds on the internet or whatever will pass for such in the time when my death may be something not statistically-speaking very far away. As I progress through my writing career, I may exempt specific manuscripts from this clause in my will because there may be a few books that I want to be pubbed but Death Calls before I am able to do so myself. And I'm going to get very particular about how such hypothetical MSs should be handled.

It's taken me a good three years to get comfortable with the concept of my more mature plot points and themes and such being out there associated with my name for all to see. Part of what made me comfortable with it is knowing that I have complete legal control over what the public will and will not see. This is not to say that I think all aspects of my words are perfect reflections of myself. No, quite the contrary. I've written characters that I would never want to meet in real life, worlds that make me shudder that they might ever come to exist beyond the page (or screen, or related merchandise, a woman's gotta dream, eh?). But there are places in my mind that I don't like to tread unless I am absolutely guaranteed that I'm going in alone or with a very trusted companion, where the words that live there strike too close to my own personal truths that are only my business to read. And my estate is going to damn well enforce that.

Of course, by the time I'm shuffling around in my 100s, I may be all about being a walking Freak Show and will have vanity-pubbed all my journals with purple glitter highlighting the really sordid bits and get them optioned for film and then do commentary on the DVD in which I reveal all the extra juicy stuff that rattled around in my head that I still managed to censor from even my private journals. And it will probably make for some very boring entertainment as I'm probably far less neurotic and racy even in my darkest mental nooks and cranies than I think I am. :)

Resolved: Academic Freedom and Catholic Character

A while ago, I posted my response to Notre Dame's presidential address regarding what academic freedom means at a Catholic university, specifically in whether or not such things as The Vagina Monologues or a queer film festival should be allowed in a broad campus setting. A bit ago, we finally got the president's final word. Here's what I consider the money quote, as it was much my point:

Catholic teaching has nothing to fear from engaging the wider culture, but we all have something to fear if the wider culture never engages Catholic teaching. That is why the Catholic tradition must not only inspire our worship and our service on campus; it should help shape the intellectual life of the university. Our goal is not to limit discussion or inquiry, but to enrich it; it is not to insulate that faith tradition from criticism, but to foster constructive engagement with critics.

Through the various bits and pieces of rhetoric and such in his response, my first impression was that the president knew exactly what decision he wanted to make (keep whatever secular media and non-Catholic viewpoints in the campus setting, but get just as loud and broad with a counter presentation that shows the Catholic doctrine) and took this opportunity to galvanize the campus into such an action on their own without a top-down "you will do this or else" approach. Maybe that's giving him too much credit or making him sound Machiavellian, I don't know.

It's just good to be proud of my alma mater and be reassured that it is a place where I would be happy to send Drew to not only get an excellent education but also to learn more about his faith. Not to assume he'll either want to go to Notre Dame or that he'll necessarily care a snit about Catholicism at that or any point in his life. I'm not ever going to be one of those "Momma was a Domer, and so you will be" alums, and I hope he actively questions his faith before he gets to college age. And this all assumes that Notre Dame would even want the son of a lowly genre writer whose novels contain, to use a Simpsons euphemism, "adult situations."

Move Me

Recently I've been looking for a book or a CD that will move me. Being entertained is all well and good, but every now and then, you want something to come along, slam into you, and leave you flat on your back on the floor going "Whoa." The last book that did this was Threads of Malice. I read one book recently that I thought would have the impact I was looking for, but instead it had quite the opposite. It was the first book I hurled across a room (thank God it was a paperback). I even threw it across the room TWICE because not only did it piss me off, but it did so in the last couple of pages. Yeah, note to self: a pleasant reading experience does not involve the author doing his best Dark Helmet "FOOLED YOU!" imitation. Is it too much to ask to find a book that both entertains and makes you think in a fashion that is easy to read and profound? And why do the arguments of "art vs success" always seem to fall into "us vs them" lines that indicate genre writers only entertain while literary writers only go for the deep thoughts? Dammit, I want something other than fun fluff to read, but I don't want reading it to be a chore!

I've been a bit luckier in the music department. Thanks to Jacquandor, I have discovered the bliss that is Rachmaninov. After oohing and aahing over "The Isle of the Dead," I picked up his Symphony No 2. Wow. And recently, I have found Blue October. Their recent single "Hate Me" has been bouncing around in my head, so I decided to check out the other tracks on Amazon. And damn if I didn't realize that the songs I had been attributing to Peter Gabriel for some reason were actually by Blue October (the lead singer's voice sounds somewhat similar, but it really took me too long to straighten this out; guess I'm just used to Peter Gabriel being very eclectic).

So at least my music needs have been met. And I know there's gotta be at least ONE book in my terrifying To Be Read pile that will give me the deep and entertaining experience I crave. Just gotta find it.

Getting Closer

In the midst of the insanity that was last week, my little countdown up top there dropped into the double-digits. Once we get the final date of Mark's defense, that number is going to shrink a bit more. I think he'll hack a good two weeks off it at least, but he who is doing all the writing and preparation isn't so sure. Also, he just had a review he co-wrote with his thesis adviser accepted, adding to his growing list of professional pubs. His resume is killer--he just needs to get it out there in the coming months. The insanity of the move is drawing nearer, we just don't know for sure where we're moving to yet. The goal is Arizona, of course, and things seem to be pretty hopeful for that possibility. Everyone keep their fingers crossed for a continued good forecast for the biotech economy in Arizona.

Sharing a Moment

Life is getting back to whatever passes for normal with an infant, and now I have time to process again. I finally have some time to reflect on the big event of the past month: the trip to North Dakota. We're advanced enough medically that five living generations of a family isn't as rare as it once was, but we're also changing society in a way that delays having children, so it may become rarer despite medical advances. At any rate, my family has been blessed to have five surviving generations, a linked bloodline of five people counting back to 1911. It was a great weekend of family memories and fun. And the side benefits were great: after spending all but the first month of Drew's life by ourselves, it meant a lot for so many of his relatives to be there to see Drew experience a pool for the first time, to watch as he first learned how to munch on his toes, to share in his amazing smiles. My grandfather worked the trip into his chemo schedule, and in a recent spate of news of bad weather across the country, it was a nice prayer answered that their drive back home didn't delay them and interrupt his very important regimen. My uncle who hasn't seen my great-grandmother in twenty-four years surprised us all by showing up for the weekend.

But all those great stories aside, I keep coming back to this picture. I know it will be the first image that comes to mind when I reflect on this trip over the years. The five generations picture is great--despite the fact that I've still got ten pounds of baby fat to lose--but it's posed, it's heritage. This picture here is a moment. Great-Great Grandma Arel is saying something to Drew, and he's listening intently. I'm not sure I heard what she said then, and I know Drew couldn't have understood it, but it seems to represent the entire point of the weekend. A sharing of wisdom, a serious encounter. Great-Great Grandma Arel is looking at Drew, fully aware of who he is and of who she is, the single point from which at least 50 people are connected by blood (and if I had a better grip on all my cousins, I'd know the exact number). And Drew is looking back, very serious, very attentive, with the mind of a beginner, full of curiosity, wondering who he is, who she is, and who those 50 people are and who else is to come.
I've never had much of a chance to get to know my great-grandmother well, and I'm not sure my mother had much of a chance either. Mom lived decently far away from North Dakota growing up--though not quite as far as I did--ensuring that any visit would be brief and usually a part of a "quick, we've got two weeks to visit everybody, gotta smush it all in" mindset. Plus, my great-grandmother hasn't been able to travel much herself for a while now. I do know that she lived on her own until a year ago when her circumstances no longer allowed her to do so. She's survived as a widow for thirty years (actually, longer than that, I think). And despite the fact that she hasn't been happy in the nursing home, she had lots of smiles for everyone that weekend. She keeps a rosary by her favorite chair and that chair doesn't face the TV in her room, it faces a bulletin board brimming with pictures of her family.

I hope Drew absorbed a lot in that moment, looking into his great-great grandmother's eyes. There's a lot of wisdom and love there, and even though I only had brief moments to encounter it myself, I feel truly blessed to have witnessed it at all. Yes, this picture will be the first image that comes to mind when I think of this special weekend.

Lemming Time

While I finish digging myself out of the hell that is the DDJ, here's a fun meme I found via Andi and Tambo.

Meme Instructions: Go to Wikipedia. Type in your birth date (but not year). List three events that happened on your birthday. List two important birthdays and one interesting death. Post this in your journal.

Events (Couldn't limit to 3)
763 BC - Assyrians record a solar eclipse that will be used to fix the chronology of Mesopotamian history.
1219 - Dannebrog - oldest national flag in the world - and flag of Denmark. According to legend, fell from the sky during the Battle of Lyndanisse (now Tallinn) in Estonia, and turned the Danes' luck.
1667 - The first human blood transfusion is administered by Dr. Jean Baptiste. He transfuses 12 fluid ounces (350 ml) of sheep blood to a 15-year-old boy. The boy later dies and Baptiste is accused of murder.
1752 - Benjamin Franklin proves that lightning is electricity.
1785 - Jean-François Pilâtre de Rozier, co-pilot of the first-ever manned flight (1783), and his companion, Pierre Romain, become the first-ever casualties of an air crash when their hot air balloon explodes during their attempt to cross the English Channel.
1924 - Native Americans are proclaimed United States citizens.

Births (No limits here either)
1330 - Edward the Black Prince, Prince of Wales (d. 1376)
1755 - Antoine François, comte de Fourcroy, French chemist (d. 1809
1915 - Thomas Huckle Weller, American virologist, recipient of the Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine
1917 - John Fenn, American chemist, Nobel Prize laureate
1939 - Brian Jacques, British author
1973 - Neil Patrick Harris, American actor

Deaths (I limited myself to only one extra)
1381 - John Cavendish, Lord Chief Justice of England
1849 - James Knox Polk, 11th President of the United States (b. 1795)

A quick, fun "circle of life" reminder. And some story ideas. I mean, a flag--one with a name, no less--falls on my birthday nearly 800 years ago and it's recorded? The chronology of Mesopotamian history started with an eclipse on good ol' June 15, 763BC? Groovy.

Another Draft Bites the Dust

I finished the first round of revisions to Carson's Learning last night. I think I kept only 20% of the original version. And all but 500 words of the 10,700 I wrote this past week (GO ME!!!) were brand new. I had planned to finish the new draft of this project last Monday when I was taking care of all the errands we missed while we were out of town, but I only got 5,500 words (yes, I know, "only") before I realized that I had no gas left and a decent amount of territory left to cover. So I put Soz aside so I could crank CL out, and I wrote the last word last night. Now I'm going to let that bad boy sit in the dark for at least two weeks before I head back in for revisions. And I have some decisions to make. Technically, the anthology for which I intended this piece didn't put a word limit on submissions, but they did say 4,000 to 10,000 words was the preferred range. Um, even with some stellar revisions and tightening of transitions and phrases and so on, I'll be hard-pressed to bring the word count down to 14,000, let alone 10,000. I'll still give it a try as I think CL would be a great fit for this project, but I'm not sure they're going to read my cover letter beyond the word count.

That's been the focus of my life in between handling major stress at work, getting sick (feaver and chills = fun!), getting Andrew all checked out and immunized, introducing him to solid foods (after three tries, he's a pro), and acting as a personal driving service for Mark and a colleague while the bus drivers are on strike. Wheeeeeeee.