Check-in Connection

I really haven't done well with the posting lately. It's not that I don't have anything to say, just that I'm less and less confident that what I do have to say will be either informative or entertaining to anyone else. This is because lately I've been getting into my head about writing processes, and posting about that might be interesting to some writers but probably not a whole lot even then. Or I've been ruminating over various hot topics in the writing and publishing worlds that have been hashed out much better by others with more experience and/or knowledge. And all the while I'm craving community, so chances are my posts would be either over-reaching to try and place myself within certain internet communities or very clipped links to the voices in those communities. No one wants to read a strong undercurrent of my need for validation in the writing world or my increasing sense of disconnect from the world in general. In fact, I'm rather sick of listening to those threads in my own mind.

So, what does this mean? It means that I'm on a personal crusade to see if I can kick this addiction to external validation and various and sundry other evils associated with requiring the respect and attention of others for feelings of self-worth. This may mean I'll post more often about whatever happens to cross my mind. This may mean I'll post only weekly on the fun Drewbie tidbit of the moment. I dunno. I'm not even sure how this crusade will manifest itself in my need for community. All I do know is that, starting now, I'm embracing wholeheartedly my recent endeavor to examine my writing process.

Let's talk some more about that last one. I set aside Shadow of Zehth last year in favor of short fiction so I could keep writing without the pressure of a novel during the move to AZ and into our house. I set aside SoZ again this year when I realized that I had some serious plot issues to unsnarl before I could get back to draft creation. So since September of 2006, I haven't written more than 2000 words in a novel and instead have written around 30,000 words of short fiction (including revisions). In writing the short fiction, I managed to take a closer look at craft and how I approach it. I've also examined my career goals when Mark's job was threatened, looking at ways I could increase my chances of bringing in money faster with my writing (I might talk more about that in a later post, but the examination is not quite finished, so the post might be delayed a while yet).

Basically, I've refined a decent amount of my thinking on writing and my identification as a writer. Part of that refinement is a desire to pay more attention to how I go about creating a story from the first whiff of an idea to the last revision. That desire stems from a serious aversion to reaching 82,000 words in SoZ and realizing I needed to start from the top again, maybe keeping some of those words. Maybe. I'd rather not go through that again. The desire also has roots in a growing frustration at the length of time it takes me to write anything. I know I am capable of being more productive, and I want to be more productive so I can increase the chances of ditching the DDJ that much sooner. Place this desire against the general Sage Advice of writing personages that I respect, and I found myself in a bit of a dilemma.

The standard recommendation to budding authors is to keep at a draft until you reach "The End," then worry about fixing things. The reasoning behind this is valid and sound: finishing a book is hard, starting a project is easy. Most would-be novelists get caught up in an idea for a while, tinker with it until the fun runs out, then move onto to the next Shiny New Thing and repeat. I don't want to be that sort of amateur (a hobbyist, really), and I think the fact that I did see my first novel through to "The End" and through two substantial revisions beyond that is a mark in my favor. I have, however, started three novels since then (and gotten to the 30K mark in the first one, 40K mark in the 2nd, and 80K mark in the 3rd). But I've also completed three novelettes and three short stories.

(All told, I've written around 300,000 - 400,000 words so far in my writing endeavors; the figure could be as high as 500,000 as I haven't accurately tracked the new content word count of my revisions. Add in my blog post word counts, and I'm well on my way to writing the million words one author recommends to new writers. He also recommends then burning said words; he may be on to something.)

So while I've been futzing around with short fiction, I've been trying to find a way to get back to SoZ and complete a draft by year's end so I don't become That Amateur. It hasn't been working. I thought I had hit the breakthrough I needed the other weekend when I was chatting about SoZ with my father-in-law, and I realized how I could tweak the plot so the conflict didn't just fizzle away into nothing right about half-way through the book. I was excited, I was energized. I had Plot! Viable Plot! To get me to "The End!" So I sat down to do my fuzzy, organic writer-style outline and realized that I actually had two plots going on. This wasn't a new realization, but after all the craft realizations I had during my short fiction endeavors, my two plots realization suddenly showed me the complexity of what I was trying to do.

And I realized I wasn't quite ready to do it yet.

That is, looking at writing through the lens of short fiction, I came to realize just how little I understood about writing. Sure, I know a lot about writing, and I've read a lot of books and examined all manner of writing styles and elements, and I've become a rather accomplished critiquer, but somehow I had kept all of that knowledge in one area of my brain and never actively digested it and applied it to my own writing process. This is not to say that my writing hasn't improved, that none of the knowledge I picked up worked its way into my writing. But there's so much more to be transferred.

Enter the project THUMB. No, I'm not going to explain this project, other than to say that the "U" in the acronym is variable depending on my mood and the status of the project. Today, I think the U stands for "undeniable." By the time I'm finished with this project, I hope that the U will stand for "ultramundane" (a rather cool word that doesn't mean what you think it means). Anyway, this is an idea that's been gestating for about a year and a half, the product of a writing prompt that collided with another idea that I had thought would be in a different book but didn't fit. I'm going to use this project as a means to examining my writing process and seeing if I can better comprehend and utilize all the fine writing knowledge I've been dumping into my skull over the past five years.

After more than a decade focused on science and math and going to great lenghts to be aware of my thinking process in those areas, it was an undeniable relief to just cut loose and write and let the story and words flow where they would, trusting in my muse and my subconscious mind to keep me on track. It worked more than not, but it's not how I want to spend the rest of my writing life. I've moved beyond that. I want to feel more engaged with my writing, more connected with that part of myself.

Now we're back to the whole point of this post: connection. I'm hoping that, in writing THUMB and taking an active role in my writing process, I'll divorce myself from the need for external validation as a means to self-worth in writing. And I'm further optimistic that by doing so, I'll trigger ways to connect with the world around me that isn't writing as well.

It's strange. I used writing to heal myself in a number of ways for the past five years. It anchored me when the identity I had invested in for more than a decade unraveled. But I think I managed to use it more as a crutch than as an integral part of myself. Now rather than use writing to heal myself, I'm not going to "use" it at all. I'm going to make it my own.

Victory!

The Drew Monster actually fell asleep in his Big Boy bed tonight! The real victory, though, will be if this is a repeatable event or not. But any night that doesn't involve him falling asleep against the door is a good thing. And here's hoping that he doesn't fall out of bed like he did last night (wasn't hurt, of course, just startled).

And let's really hope that he becomes so old hat at this that he can start napping in his bed too. And then maybe, just maybe, by sometime next week, he'll be comfortable enough with this transition (with some occasional reversions) that he doesn't cling to me throughout the day. Poor guy. All this growing up stuff can be pretty scary.

Andrew Thomas: Escape Artist

A week ago, we discovered that, given enough stuffed animals shoved against the edge of his crib, Drew could climb out of the crib and onto the attached dresser and from there let himself down onto the changing table. We removed said stuffies from the crib, and Drew did not repeat the antics, so we figured we were safe for a little while yet.

Then Friday night, I'm out for some me time and Mark is keeping an eye on the boy, who is supposed to be asleep. All of a sudden, Mark here's a door open and shut and assumes it's me, returning from my time out. Then he here's the pitter-patter of little feet on the tile and Drew comes into the living room. El Boyo Diablo managed to climb out of the crib using the iron tightness of his grip on the side rails and the brute strength of his calve muscles. And this time the height of the changing table didn't bother him as he eased himself over the side and used the shelves to climb down to the ground.

We dismantled the crib that night and brought in the play pen for a quick substitute. Then we took a trip to Ikea and scouted out beds (or a replacement for the twin bed serving as a sofa in my office, thus giving Drew a real big boy bed that wouldn't need to be replaced again in a couple of years). We found a new couch for my office and a new dresser for Drew (since the old one was a part of his crib) and then gathered the necessary accoutremonts (waterproof mattress pad, etc), so that Drew was all set to sleep in his very own Big Boy Bed for the first time last night. (Yes, this is a couple of months ahead of the 2-year-old mark during which this transition usually occurs. Thank Mark and his knack for climbing that he has passed down to our son.)

Drew liked the novelty of being able to roam after we put him down for the night. He also like the novelty of the bed, just not for falling asleep in just yet. After a few re-entries into the room to put him back in the bed and get him calmed down in the bed, we finally just let him do what made him comfortable. A half hour or so later, we went back in and found him asleep in the rocking chair, contorted in a position that, as his legs stretched out, made his head ease over the edge of the chair. Needless to say, we moved him over to the bed. He didn't stir.

This morning was nice, though, having Drew able to wake up on his own and play quietly in his room for a good thirty minutes before he decided to wander into our room and wake us up. Napping, however, is another battle entirely, and one that will be fought in interesting ways this week and next.

I didn't like the new layout of his room initially, and I think it's because having that normal bed in there is more a shock to my system than how the new furniture fits together. Drew's not the only one who needs to adjust to this.

Back Too Soon

We had a great visit with Mark's parents and a fabulous trip to the Grand Canyon. Drew did very well with his first long-distance car drive and was quite the trooper exploring while attached to his Elmo tether/harness. He was definitely not too amused by the time we were about halfway home and spent much of the last hour or so of the trip fussing to get out of the damn car and be home already. Even with that, though, he did extremely well. Mark and I are already getting excited about future trips with El Boyo Diablo--thinking a bit too far ahead and banking on a continuation of this same temperament, I'm sure.

Vacay

The in-laws will be arriving tonight and leaving Tuesday morning. After that, Mark, Drew, and I are taking our first family trip to the Grand Canyon (there will be many more over the years). I won't be back until Thursday, so ya'll have fun without me.

Feeling the Weight

I finished typing in my revisions to Pinewood Fog, formerly Ghost Story, and now recently changed to Something Apart from Nature. Having title problems there, obviously.

In the course of my changing reading tastes and writing wishes, I've developed an ear for prose that "sounds" wrong. But I haven't quite developed a way to diagnose and correct the problem. Sometimes the problem is obvious but the solution is not. Sometimes I can't even figure out the problem. It seems remedial, but I may need to sit down and diagram all the things various elements of writing should accomplish ("should" being subjective, but I seem to be gathering an understanding of what I think writing should accomplish and whether or not that's in line with various editors and agents; unfortunately, I have a hard time keeping the "shoulds" in mind when writing draft and doing revisions). I have to keep better track of this in my mind, maintain a better awareness at least when I sit down to improve a draft.

But then I read something like this. Look at all the things that are supposed to be in a paragraph or two in a query letter. That essay just kept going on. And on. And on. Yet there's really nothing to disagree with. In order to garner interest from an agent, a query letter really does have to accomplish a ton with very little. This is just a recent example of a lot of writing advice I'm reading lately that is good but also serves to make me aware of how much one word is supposed to do.

In short, I'm getting a bit tripped up, like the centipede who suddenly wondered exactly how he's supposed to make walking work with all those damn legs.

In this sense, it's a very good thing I'm focused on short fiction at the moment. While one might argue that my words have even more to do in the smaller scale, I can at least keep better track of the suckers. I'm also taking the small scale to teach myself ways to fix the wrong-sounding parts. I could tell as I did the type-in that there were words and sentences and paragraphs and, in one case, a whole chunk of a scene that didn't quite belong or didn't serve enough of the story, but mostly I was unable to fix that on the fly. So I'll have to do a second revision and really get into some nitty gritty examinations of those 11,293 words. I want to learn what I'm doing wrong and see how the things I got right worked. But I don't want to over analyze.

Here's the really wacky thing: I'm looking forward to this. But I still feel the weight of all I have yet to learn even as I take in the weight of all I have already learned.

Rejected Novel Dedication #5

To my muse:

I saw you smile and had to write a lengthy scene to describe the beauty of that expression. (See pg. 4)

I saw you laugh and had to write witty dialog worthy of such a marvelous sound. (See pg. 10)

I saw you cry and had to write a tragic moment to explain away your tears. (See pg. 75)

I saw you with Henry and had to write a damsel-in-distress scene to rescue you from his foul grip. (See pg. 148)

I saw you with Henry again and had to write a twist-ending. (See pg. 342)

I saw you move into Henry's apartment and had to write a proposal for a gritty thriller, which my agent sold to a major publishing house in a six-book deal.

Thanks for all the inspiration.

Mister Independent

The Drew Man is trying to prove he's all grown up--or at least demonstrate that "anything you can do I can do better." I've already talked about how he helps us throw away and take out the trash. Mark's got great video of Drewbie all but disappearing into the washing machine (we have a front loader) and dryer as he helps out with the laundry. The Drewbinator has started trying to open the car door when we get ready to go out and happily crawls into the car and into his car seat all on his own. He tries to buckle himself in but can't quite it the mechanics down. (His booster chair, on the other hand, poses no such buckling problems.)

The independent streak carries over into his night-time rituals. He decides when he takes a bath (usually every night) by patting his chest with his hands. We're not sure how that symbol came to mean "bath," but it's quite clear that it does. Once in the tub, Drew has figured out how the faucet and drain works and will get the water filling the tub. This is a bit detrimental when it's time to end the bath. Lately he knows the whole lotion routine and will present an arm or a leg as the limb to lotionify first or next.

His sense of independence has been causing problems lately when we go to the grocery store. Drew refuses to sit in the cart and be content to help us cross off items from our list as he had before. Now he wants to be out and about, helping us by selecting items to put into the cart. This wouldn't be so bad if he detested holding one of our hands so much. We may have to make grocery shopping an evening outing by only one of the parental units if El Boyo Diablo continues to resist control in the supermarket. But it's still very cute to see him running down an aisle and stopping to select something (usually random and never something we would put on our list) and then trying to toss it into the cart. The times we can guide and direct him in his assistance, it makes for great entertainment.

I'm sure a desire to be independent is normal at this age (well, hell; it's normal from now until the kids actually achieve independence, isn't it?), but watching him take on the world at not even three feet makes my heart twist. It's not going to get an easier, is it?

Random Thoughts Check-in

I just finished the revisions to Pinewood Fog (I always love it when I can write over a thousand words in an hour; wish that would happen more often). I'll do the type-in tomorrow (or start it, as I think I've re-written about 75% of the story and most of it is still in hand-written form). I'll probably have to do another revision as a few thoughts hit me during this last revision. My goal is to have this thing done and submitted to WotF by the end of next week.

Ever had an encounter with someone that makes you wonder if you've completely missed part of a conversation or lost the thread of subtext or run into this person in a previous life that she remembers and you don't? I went out for sushi with a friend on Wednesday night and we had a server that called to mind that sort of feeling. She was so disconnected with us and strange with our orders. We did the all-you-can-eat sushi special, and you have to fill out these little sheets with the food you want for that round of the special. (For each one of four rounds of dinner, you could have so many appetizers, so many sushi rolls, etc.) My friend and I marked what we wanted and got something close to that over the course of the next fifteen minutes or so, but it wasn't quite right. So we looked at the sheet, and scratched our heads when we saw that the sheet had markings reflecting what she brought. Meanwhile, she practically rips my friend's water glass right out of his hand to refill it (she came up behind the two of us, so neither of us saw her and she didn't announce herself; nor did she fill my glass first, which I wasn't touching at the time). When we fill in the sheet for the second round of food, we both made a point to remember our orders. Sure enough, we start getting food we didn't order, but our sheet miraculously has everything marked the way she brings it--even to the point of one request being scratched out. Very strange.

Casa Grande is pretty darn far away from a lot of stuff. On my way up to Scottsdale for John Scalzi's reading and signing, I somewhat perversely looked at the odometer. By the time I got back home, I had driven 100 miles. 100 miles for an author signing, people. But here's the real kicker: I'm so used to driving at least a half hour on the interstate to do anything that I didn't even think much about it.

Speaking of the signing, I'm happy to have two signed books in the Old Man's War trilogy. The first one and the third one. I had hoped to support the Poisoned Pen bookstore by buying both the second and third books there and then having Scalzi sign them. I assumed the store would have stocked up on all the books of the trilogy. I neglected to revise my assumption by remembering that the bookstore specializes in mysteries (though they are wanting to expand into spec fic). So I have a spiffy signed copy of The Last Colony that I can't read until I swing into Borders and pick up The Ghost Brigades. Live and learn, Kellie. Live and learn.

Honing my skills as a writer has opened my eyes to a world of subtext and social commentary (both intentional and frighteningly unintentional). I was reading a book lately where I saw a dreadful undercurrent of misogyny and sexism. I'm pretty sure it was unintentional and not subtle social commentary due to the reliance of telling character motivations through internal thoughts (even when that character's actions and dialog with others made the thougths quite clear enough).

Back to fanfiction, again. Did I miss out on a kink? In the discussions of fanfiction I've read lately, someone inevitably asks why is that the bulk of fanfic focuses on male/male sexual relationships. And someone else inevitably responds, "Well, duh! The majority of fanfic is written by straight women!" Everyone knows that straight men find female homosexual acts erotic, but I haven't heard before about the opposite situation. Is it commonly accepted that straight women find male homosexual acts and relationships a turn-on? How could I have missed this assumption?

Inadvertent Advertising

I've been remiss in my blogging lately, mostly due to lack of time between working full-time, keeping the Drew Monster from getting too irked at my working full-time, and trying to keep my writing on track. I do have lots of posts in the works, though, so hopefully the silence will be over soon. It's not going to be over until the weekend, though, as I'm back at the DDJ until tomorrow evening.

But when I heard this on the radio this morning, I just had to share:

Looking for something fresh? Like the outdoor breeze up your shorts fresh?

This was for an advertisement for an outdoor mall, and why shouldn't it be? I mean, don't you always think about the fresh air blowing up your crotch when you see an outdoor mall?

This isn't quite as bad as the "Kiss your creams good-bye" slogan for a yeast infection treatment pill, but it's in the same ballpark. Where have all the beta readers gone in advertising?

Feminism and Writing

I read this first thing this morning and have been letting it percolate, trying to come up with coherent thoughts. Actually, I had coherent thoughts immediately upon reading it. I spent the day trying to string them together into a coherent response. It seems I'm not up to the task. So here are the thoughts:

I'm very grateful that, when I decided to take reading seriously (more than just as fluffy break from all that Serious Stuff I had to read for school), I started with Anne McCaffery and Melanie Rawn.

I'm very grateful that, when I decided to take writing seriously, I was taking a non-fiction writing course taught by a woman who directed me to a writer's organization and encouraged me.

I'm very grateful that my first interactions with professionally published authors involved Holly Lisle, S.L. Viehl, and Carol Berg.

I'm very grateful that my first experience with a professional editor was with Teresa Nielsen Hayden.

I'm very grateful that my first experience with an agent was with Kristen Nelson.

I'm very grateful that it wasn't until I was four years into my journey of taking writing seriously that I first comprehended negative gender issues in my genre when Harlan Ellison groped Connie Willis at the Hugos.

I'm very grateful that I was raised in a family and an environment that I more often felt I was treated differently because I was smart, not because I was female and that it never occurred to me that my gender alone might cause issues.

I'm very grateful that it wasn't until I was a sophomore in college that I began to understand the more insidious ways our society perceives and enforces gender differences; it means I'm less likely to unconsciously enable the perceptions and enforcements, and that becoming aware of it when I did I felt more empowered to Do Something.

That being said, I probably wasn't nearly as removed from sexism as the above indicates seeing as how I am an Air Force brat (and the military ain't exactly known as a feminist beacon) and, out of a class of 24 biochemistry majors, I was one of five women. Mostly, I never quite processed myself as Other (not Other because I'm a girl; I processed myself as Other because I was a military brat, or because I spent nine years in a foreign country) or allowed society's labeling of me as such to stick or get in my way. The times it reared its head, I would more often than not personalize the encounter to make it more about my personality vs the personality causing the problem and found a way around it.

No matter how I managed to get through life without really letting gender issues bug me, it's not helping me deal with how I'm categorized now that I'm a mother who works from home part-time. My professional life is hidden compared to when I worked full-time out of the home. No one asks me "So what do you do?" anymore when I meet new people. They ask about Andrew. They ask about domestic things. They may ask if I still work or perhaps they'll ask what I do in my free time or what my hobbies are. I wasn't quite prepared for this subtle shift in how I'm perceived. (Nor was I prepared to deal with interacting with other mothers only in context of being mothers; one of the most uncomfortable conversations I had was at the mall's play area with a mother who had sat down next to me and whose child was interacting with Drew in some way; I could feel her hunger for adult conversation, and her absolute frustration that, when presented with the opportunity, she could only talk about her child; I could feel that hunger and frustration because it mirrored my own.)

I get fanfiction in that it's a response to art. It's the context of that response where I falter. For me, I get a response from art and I almost immediately remove it from the context that generated the response and put it in my own creative context. I may have to think on this further.

Rejected Novel Dedication #4

To the upstanding citizens of Springfield:

Thanks for not pressing charges. As you can clearly see in the following pages, the time travel agency I set up on Main Street was purely for research purposes. I apologize for any misunderstandings, but my work ethic required me to keep the agency seeming as genuine as possible. Please accept my gift of personalized, signed editions of this novel as tokens of my appreciation and as a symbol of my sincere regrets that so many skeletons were tossed out of closets during the affair.

By opening the box of books, you waive all rights to sue me.

Hugging Drew a Little Tighter

Things came to a head today with Mark's company. He's now one of only seven people left, two of those being basic administrative functions and another two being the folks who, yanno, run the company. That's right, Mark is one of three, count 'em, three scientists left. Granted, the company wasn't too big to begin with, but wow. Mark is also their most recent hire. Suffice to say, they are mighty impressed with his work and skills.

That being said, there are a lot of people who weren't so lucky. And having been there just eight weeks ago, we're feeling the bittersweetness of all of this. Yes, Mark has significant job security, gets a promotion, and a raise. Yes, I can go back to working part-time (but that'll probably take two or three weeks while I wrap up projects I took on to bring me to full-time). But Mark and I can't quite get into a celebratory spirit. The folks that Mark has worked with for the past six months are in tight spots now (including one coworker whose wife will have labor induced tomorrow for their second child; thankfully the company was able to arrange things so they have health care for another seven weeks yet, then I think her employer's bennies are able to kick in). We were not the only young couple with a young kid and a new mortgage at the company.

So we'll breathe a sigh of relief, and I'm cooking a special dinner tonight. But we're also going to hug each other and Andrew a little tighter tonight, a little longer. Our great fortune is tied into the misfortune of others. Not quite the way we envisioned Mark getting job security and his first "real world" promotion and raise.

Driven to Watch at Least a Few More Episodes

Ah, the power of a single actor. It was the prospect of watching Nathan Fillion more than anything else that lured me to TiVo the first three episodes of Drive. And while I think it strange that in an entire hotel function room full of people, not one person is sane enough/not comprised enough to go to the cops, the premise isn't boring me and the characters aren't annoying me. Though it's got a problem in series continuity, I guess. Not sure I'd want this one iteration of the race dragged out for more than twenty episodes, and I don't know how they can spin the reveals at the end to be able to "reset" things so we'd want to watch another race with new characters for the next season. But for right now, I'm enjoying the show. And it's fun watching Nathan Fillion play basically the reverse of Captain Mal Reynolds (this time he's a reformed bad guy having to reach back into his past to do the right thing instead of a reformed good guy running from his past to do his own thing, which was often the right thing but just as often an illegal thing).

As for Painkiller Jane, though, I'm a little less optimistic. Here, the premise is fascinating, and they nabbed one helluva leading lady. But the execution of the premise is fairly flat and at times not quite believable. Granted, this is only one episode in. I'll watch at least two more episodes (barring something unforgiveable to the extreme in tonight's episode) and then figure out if we want to use up DVR space on the show.

I'm the same boat with Stargate Atlantis. This show can't make up its mind what it's about. I thought it was supposed to be all about the ancients, yet we've seen precious little of the exploration of Atlantis itself and precious little of the ancient aspects of it (beyond the "cool setting" aspects). In fact, it was an episode of SG-1 that focused completely on the ancient side of an Atlantis piece of technology. WTF? And the big cliffhanger that the ancients were back was given all of two lines in the season's return, and it's noted that basically the ancients were all destroyed by the replicators, who in turn were all destroyed by McKay, for all intents and purposes. Add to this that wraith either haven't done much or have been ignored or have been written off when things were getting interesting, and I don't know what I'm supposed to be watching this show for. Other than to see Shepperd "kirk" out, and that really doesn't interest me. Here's hoping that bringing Carter in from SG-1 after that show ends will make Atlantis about something again.

Changing Writing Skills Creates Changing Reading Tastes (and Vice Versa)

Recently I've realized that I've been demanding more from the books I choose to read. I don't want them to "merely" entertain (though if they can't do that, it's a non-starter, obviously). I want them to leave me thinking, but not in a "uh, wha?" way. At the same time, I'm demanding more from my writing. I've got to get the story down in an entertaining fashion, but I want more depth of thought than I asked of myself before. Well, that's not saying it quite right. I want more depth of thought without being painfully obvious about it than before. In short: I want more subtlety mixed in with my vastly entertaining reads and writes.

It's hard to say what came first: the desire for greater depth in reading material or the quest to create greater depth in my writing. I don't suppose it matters all that much; reading and writing should go so hand-in-hand for authors that the distinction of what is influencing what should be blurred. And, actually, when I think harder about it, it is a blurring of the two that prompted all of this. Within the past two years, I have been wanting to find author blogs that talked about the craft in different ways than what I had been hearing for a few years already. "Different" in this case meaning to go beyond the basics of character, plot, manuscript formation, query letters, etc. I felt I had learned and extrapolated and advanced my knowledge about as far as I could go with the folks I had been reading at that point. (This is in no way a criticism of them; in fact, it's because of them that I developed to the point that I knew enough to know what I wanted beyond what they offered, if that makes any sense.)

So I started tracking down the blogs of authors who had won genre awards or garnered critical acclaim or industry buzz. I read a bit to see if I enjoyed what they had to say, and then I read a bit more to see if I could learn anything from it. In some cases the answers were yes, in some cases no. The ones that "stuck," I started to look for their books as well. And both my reading and writing tastes and preferences began to change.

I've noticed it predominantly in my revisions for Pinewood Fog. I'm doing different things with research and incorporating my research in different ways. I'm revealing less in direct ways and more in subtle ways, but without resorting to odd sentence configurations, obscure word choices, or other literary language entanglements. That is, I've figured out that you can maintain transparency of prose without producing a transparent narrative. (Whether or not I can apply said knowledge is another matter entirely, but at least now I understand the concept and can start working toward achieving it.)

As for my reading taste changes, it reminds me of the time I stopped reading mysteries in college because I could only see the formula, not the story. Now I'm starting to recognize the difference between character-driven and plot-driven stories, and I'm realizing that I really don't like plot-driven stories. The story doesn't live for me anymore. It becomes a long, drawn-out calculation. Sure, the numbers and variables may be dressed up in fancy fonts and colors, but they're not really doing anything. They're just holding a place, serving a purpose, getting you closer to the equals sign so you can see the solution. This is different from recognizing a formula, because there the calculation is always the same, just the numbers are different. In the plot-driven stories that are starting to bother me now, the calculation and the numbers are different, but it's still just plug and chug. In a character-driven story, the numbers and functions come and go as suits their own purposes (just had a vision of a + sign thinking, "you know, I'd really like to add a 4 and a 5 today; that would be fun," and then running off and doing it), and it feels more like the writer has captured a snapshot of when all those numbers and functions collided in a very interesting, unpredicatable fashion.

OK, backing away from the strange math metaphor now.

In short: In reading about new ways to approach writing, I applied those approaches to my writing and my reading. This means that, while I can appreicate what a formulaic or plot-driven writer is doing and see the skill and challenge in it, I no longer connect with it. It's kind of like watching previews for Grindhouse. As soon as I saw the shot of Rose McGowan arcing through the air and firing a rocket or something out of her prosthetic leg, I thought two things: 1) I can see why someone thought that would be neat and challenging to accomplish and I tip my hat to the effort and creativity, and 2) I can see clearly that this is not a movie I would enjoy watching.

Kerfuffles 'R Us

Over the weekend, there were a couple of "internet slapfights" (nabbed from one of Elizabeth Bear's journal tags). One involved science fiction & fantasy, the other involved romance.

The romance one is about the rape romance subgenre, and Jenny Crusie's excellent response to the debate is the only link I can drum up at the moment. (That doesn't mean it's not being slugged out on the internet, it just means that romance isn't my genre and I have no idea where to go to get the good genre dirt. I tried a few likely suspects, but didn't get far. Plus, I wasn't invested in it. While I've never read a rape romance [nor do I have any wish to at the moment; that sort of character redemption isn't my thing], my first novel did involve a rape scene, though the perp was a villain and not the hero.)

So I approached the debate as summarized by Jenny more from a censoring is bad/write what the story requires perspective. In fact, I think the only genre where you should really be concerned about content influencing your audience is in YA, and that doesn't mean that certain things should be off-limits. Rather it means that the content better be handled very well and be very appropriate to the story and it probably isn't a bad idea to have a discussion about said content as an author's note at the end of the novel or on the author's blog or something.

As for the science fiction & fantasy thing, man. Where to begin? To summarize, the upcoming Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA) election has sparked an at times rather heated series of debates among those who are concerned with that org and the future of the genre in general. Needless to say, I've been following a lot of the discussion with interest since this is my genre. Things turned decidedly, well, ironic when the outgoing SFWA VP, in an explanation as to why he didn't run for Prez and thus may have inadvertantly created the previously uncontested ballot situation, went on a rant about how the internet (or, rather, the results of the internet's popularity and constant presence) is "pernicious" and that people who publish their work on-line for free are "rotting the organization from within." He calls these folks "webscabs" and "pixel-stained technopeasant wretch[es]."

This provoked many responses, mostly outraged. The best, though, is from Scalzi, and he tackles the issue based on the meager argument the outgoing VP provided and cited some excellent examples. In the volume of comments and posts (not going to link them all; mostly you can read the comments from the couple I linked to get a good cross-section), a few folks are trying to bring things back 'round to a debate on the future of electronic publishing and digital media and what, if anything, we should Do about it. But they are so few and far between that I think the VP may have realized some of his error and has since rescinded the term "webscabs." The rest, however, I believe stays.

It is unfortunate that a writer, someone who works with words for a living, chose to express himself in a way designed to insult those with whom he disagrees and to demonize that which he doesn't like/fears with no substance to backup his rhetoric. It is especially unfortunate because a debate as to whether or not the internet effectively "sublimat[es] the private space of consciousness into public netspace" and, if so, whether or not that is pernicious, is a great debate to have, particularly within the genre. But then again, maybe that debate has already been waged and the matter concluded--though not, apparently, unanimously.

(Indeed, even discounting the verbiage, the VP doesn't really seem interested in having the debate--on The Internets is Bad or on Free eBooks are Bad. His only real example about the perils of modern web-based tech is this: "A problem with the whole wikicliki, sick-o-fancy, jerque-du-cercle of a networking and connection-based order is that, if you "go along to get along" for too long, there's a danger you'll no longer remember how to go it alone when the ethics of the situation demand it." Seeing as how there's an entire generation who basically grew up on the 'net yet has an acronym for "going it alone"--IRL--as a distinction from the internet, I'm not buying his argument before he even gets started. And regarding the e-pub stuff, he asserts his opinion as fact that free e-books are taking away his business/money/bargaining ground with traditional publishers, and offers no evidence of such.)

And in true, modern fashion, the offended folks decided to bite their thumbs at the VP. They've created T-shirts and icons with "webscab" and "pixel-stained technopeasant wretch" in unapologetic fonts. They've even created a day to celebrate their wretchedness. While I can understand after seeing all the response why the VP may feel the internet is pernicious, I don't think it's a substantive argument for his cause. After all, the power of the internet is only reminding him that he feasted on his own foot in this case. He didn't have to email someone else and ask that person to post the rant.

Rejected Novel Dedication #3

To God:

Thank you for giving me the ability to fulfill my dream of writing this novel.

Next time, do you think you could make it happen a little faster, with cover art that's a little less chartreuse, and with cover copy that doesn't give away the ending?

Andrew's Blue Period

The Drew Monster has a favorite color. It is blue. Not light blue. Not sky blue. Just straight primary color blue. He loves to color with his blue crayon. Unfortunately, Momma was so happy to see her little boy excited about coloring that she let him color while she was working and thus not able to monitor him. This led to Drew deciding that the walls were blank canvases. Then Mark painted over them with the right color paint but the wrong bin, so we have these great matte walls with random patches of glossy finish. It's not as noticeable as the blue crayon, which is why Mark hasn't gotten around to repainting the patches with the flat paint.

Meanwhile, I learned my lesson and have had to take a hard line on where Drew can and can't bring his crayons. If he's coloring, he has to do so on the coffee table in the living room. He can't bring his crayons when he goes running off to play somewhere else. He's usually very good at putting down his crayons when he's ready to do something other than color. We'll see how long that lasts. And, of course, he doesn't get to color unless I'm right there to watch. This means he can't indulge in his artistic urges while I'm working.

That's OK, though, as he tends to want me to color with him. And he'll keep giving me new crayons to use so that I get about five or ten strokes in with one color when I have to switch to a different one.

However, he has found an alternative to coloring. One of his books has become a new favorite. It's Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See? and the artwork is in bright colors with brushstrokes that are clearly visible and thus look a little like Drew's own coloring. He asks us to read that book to him repeatedly.

Our little Drewbie's quite the well-rounded guy. He has an innate sense of order when it comes to how things should be done, where things should go, but he has no problem dumping his toy basket out all over the floor and sitting in the middle of it. He climbs over anything that gets in his way, but he's also at times content just to sit in my lap and watch me work or sit next to me on the couch when I'm drained from chasing him all over the house. He loves his puzzles and figuring out how things work, but he also enjoys randomly opening up a coloring book and scribbling all over it in blue crayon. He also cuts a mean rug whenever a show with music comes on the TV.

This kid is having a great time exploring his world and figuring out this thing called Life. I hope that, no matter how he changes or what he decides to do, that he keeps that enjoyment. Because then, no matter what obstacles get tossed his way, no matter what I screw up as a parent, no matter what, he'll be OK.

Revision Slog

Ugh. So the last two major additions I did for Ghost Story/Pinewood Fog have been very heavy on exposition. But one of those chunks is actually a good bit of storyshowing for some of my characters, so I might not be as bad off as it feels. We'll see what happens when I start typing things in.

One thing that's really helped me in this revision is a concerted effort to think about what the scene is in its draft form, what I want it to be in its finished form, and then jot down notes on how I think I can get it there. Then dive into the revisions for that scene. And when I think about where I want the scene to be, I'm getting very theme and character focused. This is all to the good.

This hasn't been an easy revision, but I definitely don't feel lost like I have during other revisions. I feel like I've really grown as a writer here. Of course, applying these concepts to something bigger than 10K might prove a stumbling point. We'll see when I start going over SoZ's +80K. That ought to be fun.

Redemption

No, not for me. For the contest I griped about for using scamtastic verbiage and tone in a newsletter. Actually, this post is long overdue, and thanks to author Steven Savile for leaving a comment on the above-linked post and thus reminding me the internet is a small place. At any rate, it's time to give credit where it's due.

Back in November when I received the newsletter that got me fired up, I forwarded my complaints to the folks who run the contest. I got a prompt reply thanking me for my email and telling me that my concerns were passed along to the folks who control the newsletter. That was the last I heard of it.

When I received the next newsletter, I was very impressed with the improvements. The sales pitch element was toned down and the content focused on the contest and how it has helped other writers. There was even a direct call for feedback about the newsletter content and such. Of course, there was no way for me to know if it was my email that triggered the change or something else. Still, I felt all warm and fuzzy. Even when some of the more recent newsletters went back to a stronger sales pitch tone, they at least didn't use the smarmy scam-type set up that got me angry before.

So for anyone who read my original post about the Writers of the Future Contest's questionable newsletter and was swayed to think less of the contest, please consider it redeemed. And if you're considering submitting to the contest, here's a quote from Steven:

I can definitely chart a turn around in my sales and upturn in career since the win back in 2002, and have no trouble being their poster boy for the contest. I went full time as a writer two years ago and am contracted up for a good two or three more.

If you'd like to get more specifics on Steven's experience, you can submit a question to him via his website. He responded to me (I was responding to his comment on my blog...ah the joys of tech) very quickly and candidly.

As for me, I will be submitting Ghost Story/Pinemeadow Fog to the Writers of the Future contest probably by the end of the month once I've finished revising it.

Rejected Novel Dedication #2

For an upcoming erotic fiction book:

To You.

No, Cedric. Not you.

Not you either, Jeff.

Dennis? Are you kidding me? Never you.

And, George, you may think you're all that and a bag of chips, but, let me tell you, that was the most boring two minutes of my life. Puh-lease.

Drewbie See, Drewbie Do

Andrew has been quite the copy cat lately. It really started three or four months ago when he learned that trash goes in the trash can by watching Momma and Daddy throw things away. So he thought he'd help keep things clean. Now he even helps by throwing stuff away in our garbage bin, taking an item such as a small bag of dirty diapers and carrying it from his room, to the garage door, through the garage to the garbage bin. Even this morning taking it to the curb before the garbage truck came by.

Yes, it's very cute, and quite helpful. Most of the time. Drew now refuses to eat unless he's sitting in a big boy chair at the table. This wouldn't be too much of a problem except our kitchen table is a tight fit for just Mark and me and we have no booster seat. Hopefully this weekend we can fix this, assuming all continues to go well with Mark's job.

One way in which the mimicry will be beneficial in the future is in the bathroom. Drew got a training potty when a friend's kid nixed the concept. Everytime Momma goes to the bathroom in the boy's bathroom, Drew sits on his training potty. He even lifts the potty's lid. He even bends over a little, imitating the way Momma has to contort herself so as to empty her bladder.

Drew the Impersonator is also wildly entertaining when it comes to sitting on the couch. He'll pull the afghan into his lap (shunning his own blanket for this occasion) and fold his hands and sigh. Not sure if Momma or Daddy does this often enough for him to pick up on it, but it just seems so adult that he has to have learned it from us. Same way with resting his chin or cheek in his hand.

But the most frustrating aspect of this toddler trait is when we cook. Drew can't stand that he isn't able to do what we do when it comes to making dinner. He has to be held by one of us, usually the one who's cooking. We'll probably buy one of those stepping stools so he can get up to our level (well away from the knives and the stove), see if that helps.

It's a bittersweet thing to watch Drew learn by imitating. On the one hand, I'm proud of his abilities to understand our actions and replicate them discriminately. On the other, I never know what he's going to pick up on next and what sort of headache it might cause.

Full-time Check-in

This week I worked full-time from home. It wasn't a pleasant experience. Hopefully everything will work out with Mark's job by next weekend, and I can go back to my regular part-time schedule. Or, at least, if Mark is again unemployed come next weekend, he'll be home to take care of the Drewbinator while I work. 'Cuz working and managing Drew all by myself for eight hours everyday...let's just say both Drew and I get cranky real fast.

Despite the crankiness, though, I did get a lot of good work done, and Drew could flip a switch from being upset to being run-around-the-house giddy as soon as my work day ended. Clearly this is doable, just not preferable.

As for the writing, I got back into revising this week and really enjoyed myself. Hopefully by next weekend, I'll have done some first draft creation (though not for Shadow of Zehth as I'm still trying to diagnose my problems there). It would really be nice if, by the end of May, I could get myself back on a regular schedule for my writing and get myself back on track with SoZ. That would be very nice. Here's hoping Life stops getting in the way.

Why Revision's Important

This is old news, I'm sure, but I'mfinally getting around to posting my thoughts on the Battlestar Gallactica season finale.

In a word: bleh. It didn't really follow from the previous season's (and previous episodes) build up and references. If anything, it made the Cylon world even more complex than it was before, but not in a good way. It only served to highlight the failings of this season and the direction the show's taken. I'd be more interested to see where they were going to go with this were it not for the disappointmenting revelations behind past last-minute shocks, such as the New Caprica jump at the end of Season 2. And Starbuck's destiny (I'll grant that the episode in which she died may not have been intended to reveal that--though it really should have because the episode sucked without it--and, given that she's suddenly alive again, it's possible that we'll learn of the Import of her Fate in the next season, since she's talkin' more Earth biz).

One thing I found very enlightening for my own skills as a writer was how the entire two-parter finale felt like one of my first drafts. Lots of plot twists for no reason, lots of character conflict that comes out of nowhere, lots of vaguely hinted at backstory that doesn't really make sense in context. This is why you gotta revise. Need to step back, look at the whole, remind yourself of who your characters are and why they are doing the things they are doing, and then start cutting the stuff that doesn't fit.

For example, Lee's sudden fixation with the law didn't strike me as something true to Lee Adama. Rather, it seemed like an obvious writerly manipulation to get the characters into a better position for plot purposes, to invent tension for tension's sake. And then, as soon as the plot and conflict no longer require Lee's passion for the law, off Lee goes back to being a Viper pilot without anyone really batting an eye. I'm betting that the whole "but you turned in your wings" discussion will be handled in five minutes of dialog that really doesn't own up to how they got into that situation, and then everything will be A-OK.

BSG doesn't need to stoop to such tactics. They've already got enough unresolved tension and conflict among the characters--and enough plot twists, too. The fact that the show goes to such lengths to force the plot into another twist and force the characters into even more contentious relationship makes me feel like I'm reading an organically plotted novel in which the author has no idea what the end point is so he keeps going, "Hey, that sounds cool!" and writing the shiny new stuff in so he doesn't have to look at the old mess he's left behind and work his way out of it. Not to mention the inability to research the shiny new stuff appropriately. (Let's summarize, shall we? Baltar's trial was led by a tribunal of five judges, the prosecution's case the weakest the evidence allowed, the defense co-chaired by a Viper pilot with absolutely no legal training never mind passing a bar exam, and said co-chair was inexplicably put on the stand as the defense's entire case in order to reveal the Admiral's prejudice and turned into an impromptu closing argument that went on forever that everyone's cool with? Clearly a society that has FTL tech but 20th century medicine is also going to have 19th century law.)

In short: I'll be watching Season 4 (which is supposedly the last) just so I can further diagnose the failings and learn from them.

When Sciences Collide...

I'm having fun with the revisions to Ghost Story, which I think I may be renaming to Pinewood Fog (maybe). It involves taking basic physics and chemistry, which I recently reviewed while trying to nail down the magic specifics for Velorin, and melding it into a very broad and probably misunderstood concept of neurology. Add in a smattering of philosophy, and we have the first scene of the story. I have no idea if it works. In a perfect world, I would be a recognized expert in chemistry, physics, neurology, and philosophy and would know if I was talking out of my ass. In an ideal world, I would be able to send the scene to such experts and have them tell me if I'm talking out of my ass. In the real world, I have to submit this story (after more reviews and one or two beta-reads) and hope I don't get heckled too badly by fans (assuming it gets pubbed).

Regardless, I'm having fun with it, and I like the ways I've used the science and philosophy. It does serve to remind me, though, that reading more non-fiction would be a good idea.

Initiation to Motherhood Complete

I am now officially a mother. I have called Poison Control over something Drew put into his mouth. Rest assured: he's fine. He had managed to get his grubby little hands on a tube of diaper rash cream, which he then opened and squeezed some of the cream out. When next I saw him, he had cream on his hands and face and all around his mouth, but very little seemed to have actually gotten inside his mouth.

I got him cleaned up and consulted the back of the tube for what to do if the stuff was ingested. It said to call Poison Control. So I did, and they said that the worst that could happen was he would vomit, and then only if he had eaten a lot. For the next hour, they told me to make sure he never laid down on his back (so he wouldn't choke on any vomit) and to give him some water.

Check and check. No vomitting, no strange behavior. Our first and hopefully only brush with Poison Control turned out to be completely preventative.

I feel like I've passed some sort of milestone.

Home at Last

Got in late Friday night. Our flight was delayed two and a half hours due to a mechanical problem. (The cockpit door wouldn't seal. I've put up with 9/11-induced security measures that have made my life rather inconvenient without batting an eye. But waiting an extra 2.5 hours with an 18mo old after we've been separated from Mark for nearly three weeks made me more than a little pissed.

No matter, though. We are back at home with Mark. Now to get him through this project so he can stop working nights and weekends.

Best Friday Ever!

I go home today. Despite the damn snow storm that's predicted for this evening. I was so excited about leaving today that my special treat to myself last night was to pack. I'm not kidding. Now I just have to contain my excitement until 1:30 when I leave to pick up Drew and then head over to the airport. T'ain't gonna be easy.

This week has been very difficult to get through. Early on, I was waiting on pins and needles to find out about the resolution of the matter I blogged about last Friday (see below). Then, I realized just how much more really needs to be done at the DDJ and that I was going to be leaving things dangling and working hard to accomplish them remotely next week. And finally, by yesterday, I was just plain sick of this whole mess and stopped being able to function at times, staring mindlessly at essay after essay on the rise and fall of Battlestar Gallactica.

The good news about this week, though, is that Mark's company got an extension on their project, allowing them the time they needed to optimize the last experiment for the project. And, in a late dose of the serendipity I called for a week ago, they discovered on Wednesday that the reaction they thought wasn't working that triggered them to ask for the extension (which, actually, getting the extension put the entire situation into a much more positive aspect for the company's future)...turns out it actually did work, they just had, basically, an ingredient past its expiration date or from a bad batch that tanked the results. There's still work to be done to make sure they slam dunk this project and leave no doubts to the future of everyone's job security. But things are looking very, very good that we won't have to worry about unemployment next month. Also, the crazy work hours may start to revert to normal, though Mark had to request Saturday off so he could spend it with me and Drew. Still has to work Sunday.

So it seems like our own version of March Madness will pay off quite well for us in the long run (did I mention the DDJ gave me a significant raise this week? and that all of a sudden there's tons of work to bring me back to full-time?). I don't ever want to go through this again, though.

The Word of the Day is Serendipity

If you've done any sort of study of the history of major scientific breakthrough of the past few centuries, you'll know that most of them have come from serendipity, pure luck, accident, etc. Mark and his insane project-to-save-the-company has hit a snag at the last step, the zero hour. It's the sort of setback that, given a couple of weeks, wouldn't be too big a deal. But they've got less than two days to figure out what the snag is, how to work around it, and how to optimize the step. And if they can't get things working in this very limited timeframe, then the big push will have failed after three weeks of very hard, remarkable work.

Please think happy thoughts. Please pray. Please concentrate on getting the universe to do its trippy science serendipity thing to make things work.

Rejected Novel Dedication #1

For _______, who vowed to do everything in her power to keep my books from being published.

Hope you enjoy this, my tenth novel!

Updated

By the time yesterday hit, it had sunk in as to just how universally stupid I was to volunteer to do this. Got reinforced today when my family's monumental sacrifice during a difficult time was (unintentionally) belittled so that someone else wouldn't feel bad or be held accountable. Got pounded into my brain when I was handed a MEGA EFFIN HUGE project in addition to all the other junk I have to accomplish in two weeks.

I *heart* the DDJ.

I'm taking a nice long vacation next month.

On the plus side, everyone is really doing what they can to be accommodating of my unique situation. I got to indulge myself at my coworker's wife's spa on Saturday while my coworker and his daughter watched Drew. I now have tastefully painted fingernails and shockingly painted toenails, which is how it should be. Also on the plus side, I found a swimsuit that manages to somewhat flatter my post-Drew figure (most of this is accomplished in hiding the nasty stretch marks on my tummy and hips). It's too bad the hotel pool is too cool for Drew's liking; I only bought the damn thing so I could take him swimming while we were here (you should have heard the screams when his little legs touched the water).

Thankfully technology has improved so that I could find the time to quickly enhance my blog with an RSS feed and a subscription service. That's the new-fangled stuff on the sidebar over there. If you want to spare yourself the time of checking my blog for updates (particularly right now when they certainly won't be daily), you can sign up to get an email every time I post. The internet is way cool.

The posts I will be doing will be quick and fun posts. I think I'm going to start a new series of posts called "Rejected Novel Dedications." Tune in tomorrow for the first (or just wait until your email pings you).

To Do: Purchase Straightjacket, Commit Self to Nut House

The name's Sane. In Sane.

What was supposed to be a quick three-day trip to the DDJ to take care of my usual monthly face-to-face meetings turned into something a bit more extended. Sixteen days more extended, to be precise. Before you go railing against my DDJ and telling me what I should tell my company, I will note that I actually suggested the extended stay. See above post title.

Seriously, I have been kicking around the concept of a two-week or longer visit since I realized over the past couple of weeks just how unorganized things have gotten with the day-to-day aspects of the project that I am no longer responsible for as I am remote and part-time. Blame can get passed around to a lot of places for this, including to me. I don't think I trained my replacement in the manner she required, nor did I follow up with her and our manager as extensively as was clearly necessary. Of course, that's all hindsight. (And also couched in careful language.)

Then with all of the chaos regarding Mark's job, I kept coming back to this idea, particularly when we thought he would be at home full-time right about now. So when I got to the DDJ this week and actually saw the extent of the difficulties, I knew I wouldn't be able to help get things back on track in just three days. I also knew that if things continued in the same fashion (and it was clear that my efforts would be needed to prevent that) that all of our jobs would get exponentially more painful in the near future, and I would more than likely have to come back for a longer trip then.

Yes. More Careful Language.

So, since Mark is working insane hours anyway at the moment and it's unclear what our situation will be like in April, I ran my crazy "How 'bout I don't come back 'til the end of the month" idea past Mark. He wasn't thrilled, but, seeing as how we had just weighed similar pros and cons when he was asked to go back to work nearly 24/7, he was willing to make the sacrifice as well.

The good news is that I still have all my connections up here from before our move and can call in favors for home-cooked meals and playdates for Drew on the weekends. The Drewbinator will be hanging out with the daycare provider he was with just prior to our move. We're staying in a suite-like hotel, which means I can write this comfortably on a bed while the Boy sleeps in the sitting area (the two areas are separated by 3/4ths of a wall). This is a vast improvement over hanging out in the bathroom as I've had to do in other hotels during previous trips with the Drew Monster.

The bad news is that, of course, Mark won't see his wife or his son for nearly three weeks, and me and Drew will be living out of suitcases and in cobbled together living situations for three weeks. Not exactly ideal. But things will be vastly improved at the DDJ, we'll have some extra money to work with (I'm full-time while I'm up here), Drew will be able to socialize quite a bit more than he gets to at home (as will I!), and Mark won't have to feel as guilty about working so much.

Here's to hoping April will be smoother for us than the past six months have been. I find myself sometimes wandering through the day, wondering if it's 2008 yet.

Promote Your Book on TV...For FREE!

For years, now, only the Big Shots in the publishing industry have been able to use TV time to advertise their books. They're the ones who do the talk-show circuit. They're the ones with the thirty-second ad with impressive background music and famous voice-over guys intoning some logline. You have to be a mega New York Times #1 Bestseller to get this sort of treatment.

Or, you did until this week.

Take a lesson from author and self-proclaimed deity and Asian Supremecist, Kenneth Eng, who dodges the important questions about his recent ass-hatery in order to promote his book.

That's right, you too can get that coveted air time by making raging bigoted comments in a somewhat obscure local paper. You just need to develop a key sense of narcissim and build a thick hide and adjust your auditory awareness (or at least refuse to be bothered by silly questions about your racist screeds in favor of babbling incoherently about your latest book).

I predict Kenneth Eng's next book is going to be a how-to for writers RE self-promotion. Or something else non-fiction about how evolution can be more logical, because that's totally the sort of thing I want to read about from an Out and Proud Bigot.

Update: Nevermind. This wasn't a good example of free publicity. The author in question was flogging a book that was released two years ago, when he has a book that just came out this month. Clearly, there's something else going on. Clearly.

A Whale of a Sale!

Holly wanted to change her luck, so she decided to put her writing clinic books (and a fiction book) on sale. This means you can get your mitts on the Create a Character Clinic, or the Create a Language Clinic, or the Create a Culture Clinic, or Hunting for the Corrigan's Blood, or any combination of the four, or ALL FOUR for cheaper than you could last week!

Seriously, gentle readers, the clinics are great. The Language and Culture clinics are excellent for not only helping you create a believable fictional world, but also for keeping your thoughts on that world organized for reference and future use. The Character clinic (which I haven't played around with as much) still struck me as an excellent way to develop character motivations and backstories, something which can be difficult if you have a character who enjoys playing mute.

As for the fiction novel, I haven't read it fully yet, but it starts out with our heroine in close quarters with a corpse! What's not to like?

Go. Buy. Enjoy.

Pardon the Shifting Soil. We're in Transition.

It's rather amazing how things can change in the space of fifteen minutes. As my work day wound down, Mark and Drew arrived home from changing the oil. Mark was on his cell phone, and Drew was covered in vomit. I extricated the boy while I overheard Mark saying things that sounded job offer-ish from his nearly-former job. Mark managed to sign off the call as soon as he could (wonder how many times he'll have to say, "I'll call you back shortly, my son just threw up"?) and start cleaning up the car while I cleaned up El Boyo. After the immediate mess was gone, Mark checked his email (the phone call was to mention that there was an email waiting for him), and Drew did his usual huddle close to Momma cuz I'm sick thing.

Turns out there's a project that got an extension and some funding wiggle room to meet an imminent deadline. If the science works out by the deadline, then the funding flows like wine, and Mark's got himself a job again. If it doesn't work out, then we'll have another few weeks of money from his job and even more glowing recommendations for the job hunt. The downside: the deadline is so imminent and the resources so tight that I pretty much won't see Mark for the next two to three weeks. Which means the Drew Monster is coming with me to Colorado next week. Still, a few temporary inconveniences are nothing if it helps Mark land a job in the long run.

As Mark gets on his cell phone to accept the offer, my work cell phone rings. Come to find out that someone's taking an unexpected vacay and spread the word (to one person, and that person was not me) that I would be picking up the slack for her next week. Um, yeah, OK, because they fly me back once a month so I can do other people's jobs. Makes total sense.

As I got off the phone and Mark went back to a more instense cleaning of the carseat, I looked at Drew, knowing this was his cue to barf again. But he didn't. Instead, he pushed himself off of my lap and picked up a toy to play with half-heartedly.

Sigh. Remember Saturday when I said that I wondered where we'd be by this weekend? Didn't expect to get so much answered by Monday.

Stressful Check-in

Who knew that in handling very well the insanity of the lay-off this week that Mark and I would have steam to vent? They should make echo points or neat sound-proofed rooms where you can go for a few minutes and just scream and cuss and bellow invective at the top of your lungs. I think we would have been willing to pay a few bucks for a few minutes of that today.

Mark's last day was actually yesterday. The company arranged to pay for the laid-off employees pay all of next week so they could start the job hunt without having to worry about money for a bit. This is good in that Mark will have a full week of me being here to adjust to the at-home-during-the-day thing. I'll be going back to Colorado for three days the week after.

And, no, I'm not quite able to go back to full-time at the DDJ. There's apparently no other tasks within my department that are suitable for a remote employee. We're begging to other departments now. And, of course, I'm looking for opportunities in the area and have applied to two. I'm a very good match for one and a good match for another. I'm hoping I'll hear back on the first soon.

I've got one story ready to mail out, and should have another one good to go tonight or tomorrow. Early this week, I'll kick them out the door and see what comes from it. By next weekend, I should have another story or two ready for submission, but I don't want to get too much of my stuff out there at once. I might wait to submit anything else until next month. We'll see.

I'm curious to see what the next week brings us. I think, in that sense, I'll be looking forward to the Saturday check-in posts every week.

A Happy Accident and an Unfortunate Reality

Last night, I printed out the story I had submitted a couple of times late last year. I thought I had printed the final version I sent out. I ripped into it, merrily cutting and revising per my thoughts on the feedback it received from one editor. As I got to the last line, something buzzed in my brain, asking me where a particular exchange was that I thought I had put into the story. I went through and looked for it, but couldn't find it. I did a mental shrug and assumed it had been in an earlier draft.

Then, today, I was printing out two other stories that I want to revise and kick out the door when I noticed a later draft of the story I worked on yesterday. Opened it up and, sure enough, there was the half-remembered dialog. I quickly read through the draft, making sure there was no other major changes that I needed. There weren't. Looking back at the draft I worked with yesterday and the one I found today, I like the earlier draft better. Much better. In fact, the stuff I added in to that later draft just clunked horribly and raised more questions than it answered.

After one last look through of the story with the revisions I made yesterday, I'll send that sucker out and feel much better about its quality.

While it was nice to have a mistake turn out to be a blessing in disguise, I wasn't so lucky earlier this week with regard to Carson's Learning, that novelette that made me more than a little nuts last year. It's been nine months since I looked at this thing, and boy-oh-boy did the distance do me good.

CL is absolute and utter crap. I'm embarrassed that I sent it out in the state it's in. Don't get me wrong, the nuts and bolts of the words aren't too bad, and the overall story is still there and good. But I've thrown eveything but the kitchen sink at my protagonist in less than 15,000 words, and I have next to no transitions to speak of. Between those two flaws, I have created a protagonist that seems disconnected from everything I shoved at him, heartless in the face of his backstory, and overall rather inconsistent. Also, I have jerked the reader around continuously by having them ask one story question in one scene, only to force them to ask another in the next scene.

Bad, bad, Kellie.

I went back to the basics with this story, getting to the heart of the conflict, looking at turning points, etc. I've got all of the elements of that sort mapped out in a clear way, but now that I'm crystal on who my protagonist is, what he wants, who my antagonist is, and how what that character wants drives the tension, I'm looking at a rough outline that in no way resembles the story as it stands now. In fact, I have an outline of turning points that I simply can't translate into an actual plot at the moment. I keep hoping that my subconcious or my muse will mull over the problem and spit out the answer any midnight now. But nothing yet. If anything, I'm getting more excited about the novel that I want to write with these characters later on in the timeline than I am about revising CL. Sigh.

That's the state of my writing today. Hopefully by the end of next week, I'll have revised all of the other short pieces and identified the markets where I can submit them. Then I'll be ready to get back into Shadow of Zehth, knowing that I've done all I can to bring in money with my writing at the moment.

When Life Hands You Lemons... Gonna Need Sugar. Lotsa Sugar.

Mark turned twenty-nine yesterday. His job gave him the most unusual birthday present: his two-week's notice. Yup, Mark's been laid off. (If you had told me five years ago that both my husband and myself would lose our jobs due to down-sizing before the age of thirty, I would have laughed myself silly.)

We're both holding up fairly well under this. The DDJ is investigating whether they can afford to take me back full-time. Mark's working the network he's developed in his few months at this company (with the full support of all the higher-ups; I think they might feel even worse than we do about this). We're both scrying all job opps in Phoenix and in Tucson (one bonus to living in Casa Grande is that the north side of Tucson is about as far as downtown Phoenix, once you count traffic). We're poised to start calling in favors and/or flipping burgers, whichever's going to make sure we don't default on our very first mortgage. Mark's got some unexpected, unbudgeted poker winnings that he'll try to increase. I've got a couple of short stories that need some revision and might be able to bring in a check and a pub credit eventually.

In short, we're stressed but committed and able to keep this roof over our heads and food in our mouths. My big fear is that, in the quest to keep the cash flowing, we'll both have to start sacrificing our dreams (poker and writing) or twisting them into things we never wanted them to be (desperately needed income sources instead of fun, fulfilling hobbies/vocations). So my goal in all of this mess (other than adjusting my work situation to get us more money ASAP) is to keep our dreams as pristine as we can.

Also heavy on my mind is making sure we don't sacrifice too much family time in the Search for More Money. What good is providing for Drew if we become strangers to him? So I'll be focusing on keeping quality time with the Boy a high priority as well.

I suggested a magic wand for a problem at the DDJ the other day. I could think of a few other applications at the moment.

Effective Viral Marketing

YouTube is a marketing gold mine. Case in point: this spoof music video from the movie Music & Lyrics. It's far more effective than any of the trailers I've seen for the movie, particularly in that it clearly indicates the movie is going to have lots of fun at the expense of 80s cheese pop, and that is the only thing that makes me interested in this movie beyond "Oh, look, another romantic comedy with familiar leading folks. Maybe I'll catch it on DVD or look for it on TV. Maybe."

One thing the video shows is how Wham! and Tears for Fears were basically the same deal, but with slightly different hair. And that the 80s cheese pop will be missed solely for nostalgia's sake, not for any great artistic value. Still, good times.

Deciding the Check-in

I went to Tucson's RWA chatper meeting today. It's a bit of a drive, but it's a pleasant drive through some of my old haunts, and it made for a nice day of me time. Had a lot of fun, really enjoyed the group's attitude toward writing and encouraging others. Liked the way they manage the money they took from me a lot better than the money RMFW took from me. But while these folks would be taking less money from me for annual membership, they will be taking more money from me any time I wanted to attend a workshop. Granted, the workshops are of better overall quality than RMFW's (not speaker-wise; the local pros in RMFW are fantabulous), but still it's more money.

All that being said, I was going to become a member of this writing group tonight when I read the details of membership and realized I had to become a member of the RWA national organization (which is a bit more money in annual dues, and I'm not entirely sure I want to spend that much more money on an organization in which my preferred genres are treated as secondary novel elements). So I've delayed my decision.

It's not going to be easy. I don't have a comparable group to what I was used to in Colorado (meaning good quality critique group that meets regularly not too far from where I live), and I'm not sure that Tucson RWA (or even one of the two Phoenix RWAs) could provide that for me. So that's a decent bit of money for something that's not my primary genre and that won't give me an opportunity for the steady feedback I had before. But I can't seem to find any other writer's orgs that are even remotely close to me, and part of the reason RMFW worked so well for me was that it was a weekly gathering of like-minded folks whose company I enjoyed while we gabbed about the business and art of writing.

I can't ignore the fact that this may be one of only a few chances I get to find some local writing buddies without running a personal ad or holding out for serendipity in the bookstores. And I can't ignore how connected I felt today, similar to how I felt at my first ever critique group meeting. How much is that worth to me?

Always the Main Character, Never the Secondary

In trying to get back into a regular writing schedule for SoZ, I've been digging my way into the heart of the conflict of the story and re-assessing the arcs and act structures of the book. And somewhere in all of this I'm trying to assimilate some sort of writing process so I don't have to entirely reinvent the wheel the next book around--I mean, if I start out knowing that the basic shape has to be round, surely I won't get mired in this again, right?

Last week I did the facepalm/headdesk thing as I realized that I've become a much more visual thinker and learner than I was in the past (or maybe I've always been so visual, I just never realized it and/or managed to play to that strength without a fuss), and that nothing in my writing process was as visual as I needed it to be. So I got the great idea of putting together a timeline that I could then printout and keep on very large posterboard on the wall by my writing desk. Excellent. Issue addressed.

Only I didn't have a timeline.

So back to the drawing board I went, trying to piece together a timeline. That's when I realized that four-act structures are great, but they're only for the protagonist's story/arc. And here I am with a protagonist for the overall Velorin series, a (different) protagonist for the initial trilogy, and yet another protagonist or two in the nebulous two to three books beyond the initial trilogy. Now, I have arcs and broad outlines for most if not all of these folks (and I'm including "Book 5 or 6: Think Final Fantasy X but with more science fiction and less fantasy, but they're trying to get back to the fantasy" as a broad outline and arc), but what about all of the other characters running around in these stories?

For my own sanity, I stuck with the POV characters from the first book (which are, incidentally, the POV characters from the next two books as well, excluding those who die in the course of the first book, of course). At first, I tried to weave what all the characters were doing in and around my protag's four-act structure. Then I did another facepalm and got to the heart of the "everyone's the star in their own show" saying. I was never going to believably write from a POV of a non-protag unless I got into their stories as if they were the protagonists. Said another way, I went back to each of my POV characters and looked at their stories as if I were going to write their stories for the book. I gave them all their own four-act structures. I'm going to give them all their own conflict boxes, too, I think.

Writing up all of those four-act structures made a few things clear to me: Ayren is definitely the antagonist, she has the most compelling view with which to tell this story as effectively (and efficiently) as possible, considering both the story itself and its salability. For example, I could write the first bit of the Velorin saga from Rayn's point of view, but then I would have to squish the first two books into one and shift my antagonist from Arzakel to Corla. Oh, and that act of squishing the first two books into one would make for either a very hefty first book (on the order of 150 to 200k) or a very superficial book on the order of 100k. Losing Arzakel as the antagonist in Book One also destroys the connection with the overall series antagonist, thus giving Loria's POV nothing to push against until I can re-introduce the series' antagonist much later in that two-into-one squish in Rayn's story. So Ayren is the protagonist, and I now can stop feeling guilty for giving her POV more time in the book than Rayn's. That fixes a lot of problems right there.

Also, looking at those four-acts for the antag and his "goons" made me solidify their backstory much better. In fact, the backstory is so much clearer, that I'm going to write snippets of it as standalone stories that will help me keep focus on character voices and conflicts. Because once the story is written, the image in my mind is solidified in a different way. It has concrete connections to something outside of my mind, and not just in a nebulous, I wrote my notes out or mapped them kind of way. But in an actual "I have translated my mental image into a complete story" kind of way. That really cements things for me, because once the story is complete, I can remember it as a movie, not just random images.

But I do have enough from all of these four-act structures to piece together a timeline and put that sucker up in lights next to my writing desk. I've got a few other things to put up there, too (such, I dunno, how 'bout the map, one of the most visual things I've had for this book since the beginning). Maybe by the end of the month I'll have put myself back on track for writing SoZ again. I really hope so.

Following in His Father's Footholds (While Wearing His Mother's Shoes)

Drew loves to climb. It's been a favorite sport of his for quite some time. We first noticed this hobby when he climbed up into the walker, hoisted himself onto the walker's tray and started reaching for the top of the swing next to the walker. Then there were the stairs at my mother's house. There's every bed and chair in this house. The coffee table (which he then likes to stand on in a King of the Mountain fashion--we're trying to break this habit). Any sort of ladder or jungle gym at the neighborhood playground. Every fence and railing at the zoo. And so on.

He definitely gets it from his father. I told Mark he better get back into climbing shape and soon--his son is going to need a partner when he decides he wants to start grappling up the big rocks, which will probably be the first time he sets eyes on any such thing. I am now reconsidering our vague notion of taking the Boy up to the Grand Canyon in the next few months.

Luckily, the Drewbinator doesn't seem to have inherited his mother's fear of falling. That's the reason I can't help Mark get back into climbing shape. I can scramble up any rock wall you put in front of me. I just can't get down without a therapist.

But there is a problem with the Drew Monster's choice of shoes for his climbing adventures. Andrew loves to put on my slip-on house shoes and go clomping around in them. Doesn't care for Daddy's shoes at all (can't really blame him, the things are seconds away from collapsing into a pile of unassociated shoe cells). In fact, Drew will often wander away from his toys in one area of the house, run to get my shoes, and either stuff himself into them and shuffle his way back, or drage them back to me so I can help him into them.

Hmmm. I suppose I better keep all of my strappy heels and such out of sight in our closet for a few years.

Metameme

Saw this running around a couple of blogs lately and thought I'd give it a go again.

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open it to page 161.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal along with these instructions.
5. Don't search around and look for the coolest book you can find. Do what's actually next to you.

"It varies, but in the end it doesn't matter."
from an uncorrected proof of Elizabeth Lowell's The Color of Death (there's a price tag right next to the "NOT FOR SALE" notice; I picked it up as part of the "everything must go" sale at a closing Book Warehouse)

It's a Beautiful Check-in

Today has been absolutely gorgeous. Temps in the high 70s, low 80s. Bright blue sky with whispy clouds. Not a speck of dust or haze cluttering up the skyline, allowing a view all the way to the Catalinas in Tucson. Amazing. Days like these I wonder how I lived outside of this area for so long.

We took Drew up to the Phoenix Zoo today. He had a blast, though he was more impressed with all of the fences and railings he could climb than the animals. He did enjoy the giraffes and the tortoises and the monkeys. And, of course, nothing was more fun than running free on the walkways. He passed out in the car, and we drove around a bit to give him a long nap.

Thus we took the very scenic route home, a two-hour trek through the extreme southeast Phoenix valley (where the suburbs Queen Creek and Johnson Ranch are). The far east of the valley is quite beautiful, though I wouldn't want to live there with Mark having to drive into downtown. There's little to no infrastructure set up out there to handle all of the population boom. We drove for a good twenty minutes without seeing a gas station or a supermarket, just lots and lots of houses. (Of course, there could have been such things tucked away from the road, but that's not usually how the 'burbs are set up.)

We doglegged around the San Tan mountains and into Pinal County, through even more brand, spankin' new housing developments. If Mark worked in Mesa or Chandler or Gilbert, I could see us living there. The market is about the same in that area as it is in Casa Grande, and the views are great. The only downside is that you're awfully close to Florence and the State Pen, and I haven't heard a lot of reassuring things about that facility.

We cut through the reservation at that point (and I'd have to go to my map to remind myself which tribe owned that land) and had to further detour through the reservation and some open desert to avoid a bike race running a circuit using the two roads we needs to take to get back across I-10 and home. We were disappointed because those two roads both looked like neat drives through some craggy hills. As that loop is just five minutes or so from our house, we'll check is out next weekend.

As for the actual "what have I been doing this week" content of this check-in post, I managed to salvage an otherwise bummer of a week with the DDJ, but I didn't get around to writing after my awe-inspiring 5.4K last Sunday. I did, though, do some more mapping for SoZ, and should be able to do more tonight and/or tomorrow night.

The Wonders of the Dollar Store

It's amazing where you can find inspiration. I went into a local dollar store just to see about picking up some posterboard for mapping out SoZ in purty colors. I decided to wander around a bit and see if I could find anything else that might help me visualize my story better. I didn't find much for SoZ, but I did find something so intriguing that I'll have to set aside time to write a different story in the near future.

I was browsing the knick knack section when I saw it. In among some other colorfully painted Victorian hat stands (with attached hats, of course), I found one that was entirely painted in silver. I saw it, and my first thought, I kid you not, was, "Victorians...in...SPAAAAAAACE!!!!" And then I thought, "Damn, now I have to write that."

Why I Can't Head Hop

Sure, I could've posted about Valentine's day, but I figure ya'll are probably getting tired of the "my husband is the most awesome man eva" posts. Suffice to say, love is grand, Mark is amazing.

I finally figured out exactly why I struggle to read and enjoy books with an omniscient POV. I always imagine myself as the POV character. Woman, man, good guy, bad guy, whatever. So when I'm reading along, happily creating a movie in my head in which I'm the POV character, getting all the good lines, doing all the cool stunts, and then suddenly the POV switches to another character. And I have to stop, adjust the mental image, and start the movie back up from a different set of eyes (and, often, gender or moral outlook). Then in the next paragraph, the switch happens again. Repeat the stop and go. Finally I get so frustrated with all of this "hang on a sec" mental adjusting that I pull back to the surface and just read the words instead of living them vicariously. I read faster this way, sure, but it's not nearly as much fun as watching the book as a movie in my head.

And, in addition to preventing my preferred method of enjoying a book, omniscient POV often gets annoying with mirroring internal thoughts, particularly in a romance subplot. Hero thinks something about the sexy clothing the heroine is wearing and hopes his physical reaction to the ensemble isn't obvious. Next paragraph: heroine is flustered herself, wondering what hero thinks, and then spies the erection. I think the tension is better with the hero, trying to hide the obvious, wanting to do something about the state of affairs, but there's usually some Problem in the way (this is what's known as the primary plot), and generally feeling aroused and frustrated while trying not to get distracted from solving the Problem. That's good conflict, because everyone goes through that. Having the heroine's thoughts immediately respond to the hero's thoughts (rather than in dialog) seems like a cheat and really makes the snap and crackle of the scene fizzle out.

I like the suspense of not knowing what another character is thinking until it is revealed by that character's actions or words to the POV character. That's the way life goes, right? There are other contrivances in fiction that I don't have a problem with (consistent characters, complete plot resolution, etc), but head-hopping isn't one of them.

Happy Birthday, Blog!

My little corner of the vast and mighty internet turns four years old today. I feel like I should commemorate this occasion with a profound and deep post about how reading the four years of this blog can demonstrate how I have been shaped and changed. But it's been a long day, the DDJ has diminished my ability to think to a meager pilot light, and I'm hungry and want dinner pronto.

So. Here's to another four year. It's been great. Can't believe there's actual, digital evidence of how young and stoopid I was in chatting about myself and the world around me. I'm sure I'll have the same thought in another four years. Yadda, yadda, yadda.

The Drewbinator

Drew is so physical, so kinetic. I don't know if all kids this age are, but he always has to be moving, doing. He'll slow down and settle for a book or a puzzle, but usually he's all about spatial exploration and frenetic energy. The downside to this is that he's discovering the world of throwing things, hitting things, and using his head as a blunt weapon. We're trying to give him more appropriate things to throw than blocks and other toys, and that does seem to have curbed the need to throw other things that don't bounce as well because, well, they weren't meant to be thrown. As for the hitting things and head-ramming...we're working on variations of the "time out" strategy because it seems very odd to spank a kid while you saying, "No hitting!"

Honestly, with the head-ramming, we're figuring one day he'll clock himself good by ramming something he shouldn't and that will take care of that. But that boy's head has proved particularly hard.

And I'm Spent

I finished a novelette today. My word count for the day (accumulated over six hours) is a whopping 5,402. How's that for an emphatic return to writing after a month away?

Excuse me while I go see about stopping my eyes from seeing Courier New appear in a dizzying left to right fashion.

Home at Last

Drew and I returned home late last night. We're both fighting the requisite traveler's head cold and dealing with mild general irritation from all of the hustle and bustle of the last ten days without Daddy. And I'm trying to dig myself out of a bad mood after dealing with the DDJ for the past three days in Colorado (yeah, not sure if I made that clear: Drew and I went from Chicago to Denver on Sunday for my monthly trip back to the DDJ, which was bumped up to this week within an hour of my planning my bereavement leave for last week).

So, here's hoping that next week will bring the much-needed return of normalcy so we can actually get on with settling into our new house.

Good-bye, Grandpa. I Love You.

I've spent a lot of time this past week starting posts about my grandfather in my mind and stopping, rejecting each beginning as not good enough for his memory. This is one of those things that you're so desperate to get right because it's so important that everyone know about a special person that they won't have a chance to meet themselves. Each word has to fit just so, each image clear, each emotion strong and touching without being overpowering or gooey with sentiment.

I don't think I'm up to the task.

Instead, I'll sketch out the few things that come quickest to my mind when I think about my grandfather. I have a feeling I'll always look back at this post and wish I had been a better writer at the time to do his life justice. But, as I finally realized tonight, no memorial is worse than a flawed one.

My grandfather was a three-pack a day smoker for a long time until one of his lungs collapsed. The docs told him that if he wanted to keep the other one from doing the same thing, he needed to kick the habit. So he did. One thing that helped keep the cravings at bay was hard candy, specifically root beer barrels. He always had a stash handy, and he usually didn't mind sharing (though he shared more of the candy as more time passed from his last cigarette). While I liked root beer well enough, I never did catch onto the taste of the candy, and I remember thinking a couple of times that I wished Grandpa preferred Sour Warheads (very popular at the time) so I could bum some off him.

Grandpa was an engineer, and thus he approached a lot of things with cool logic and heavy use of the "if it ain't broke, don't fix it" axiom. This is why I remember him typing away at a very old model computer for a loooooooong time for games, car mileage/performance, family genealogy and addresses, and most likely a ton of other things that I never witnessed or heard of during my visits and phone calls. The computer was so ancient that it had a black background with green text and was accompanied by a dot matrix printer. But he still dove into new technology when a case was made for it (email, digital photography, TiVo, etc), and he would puzzle everything out so that he could sit you down and explain to you how each new-fangled device worked.

Of course, his sense of logic wasn't without a sense of humor. When we sent along Drew's first ultrasound pictures (way back when he was simply referred to as Junior), Grandpa started a file for the pictures on the computer. The file was named "great1" because it was for the first great grandchild.

Nor was his sense of logic without a resulting sense of frustration on the recipient. When my mom and I were visiting from Germany one summer, I took a driver's ed course so I could get my license. That's a blog post in and of itself, but it's enough for this post to say that my first attempt was unsuccessful. I came back to my grandparents' house feeling the humongous sting of failure, sure I was going to get ribbed endlessly. Upon hearing the official reason the witch of a driving instructor gave for failing me (at the first stop sign, I didn't come to a complete stop at the stop line but rolled forward a bit then stopped so I could actually see oncoming traffic), Grandpa got me right back into the car and took me around to each stop sign in the neighborhood for practice and technique refinement. At the time, I think this only made me feel even more humiliated, but now I understand it as a clear sign of Grandpa's sense of logic and love.

Now that I think about it more, the entire episode connects back to the very first memory I have of my grandfather. It was during my strange patchwork year of kindergarten, when I attended three different schools in two different states due to my father undergoing officer training school and transitioning from an enlisted servicemember to an officer. It was winter, and my mother, brother, and I were living with my grandparents. My grandfather, decked out in his camel-colored winter coat and black hat, walked me to the school just down the street from their house. I don't know if he walked me every day, or if it was just the once. But the sky was that deep blue only seen on a clear, cold winter day in the Midwest. The air bit every exposed patch of my skin and then some. My breath blurred and fogged the view of the sidewalk in front of me every now and then. And my grandfather walked right next to me, holding my hand to cross the street.

Those are the clear memories of my grandfather. All the others are either hazy with time or so wrapped up in memories of my grandmother, the home they created together, my aunts and uncles and cousins, and their neighborhood that it's hard to know where his smile ends and the rest begins.

Actually, I think that's exactly the way Grandpa would have me remember him.