Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Uh-Oh
Neil Gaiman observes that SF seems to be most spot-on with predictions when the work in question is not regarded as SF. Seeing as how Human Dignity was accused of not being SF by several a few years ago, I'm worried. Granted, I wrote the damn thing because I thought we were heading that way, and I wanted to do the young, naive, maybe the world will listen to this, warning thing. Maybe if HD never gets published, I'll never have to sit through the "this isn't SF" discussions that will keep me awake at night, wondering just how often Neil Gaiman's observation comes about.
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Photo Phun
Mark's updated our web site. Here's the nursery pics page. There's other fun stuff up there. We still haven't done all the backgrounds and captions, and, of course, there are still some missing items from the nursery--notably a baby and a crib--but this gives a neat look at what Drew's getting himself into. Also, it's nice to have photographic evidence that at some point in 2005, I was thin and fit into pants without elastic waists or big, cotton panels.
Monday, September 12, 2005
Relationships = Best Conflict
I've done a lot of thinking this year about the place of romance and relationships in my writing, the books I enjoy reading, and the shows I enjoy watching. A few more observations hit home this weekend. Whaveter the big, cataclysmic Problem, I don't care nearly as much about it if there's no romantic tension anywhere to be found in the story, probably because it's easier to relate to the bigger problem through the romantic tension than it is to relate to the bigger problem by itself. The romantic tension gives me the best access to the fictional world/problem created, which makes sense because I tend to look at the world as a matter of how I relate and interact with others, not so much as what happens in it. Not sure that made a whole lot of sense, but moving on.
This is why I don't write romance. The romantic tension isn't everything to me but a portal to What Matters, an expression of it, an extension of it, an tangible and understandable way to experience it and all its repurcussions. So I could never write a novel where the romantic tension is the focus. But neither can I write a novel without romantic tension as a major plot point.
I finally understood this by reading Janny Wurts's Curse of the Mistwraith and watching the latest Stargate Atlantis episode. Curse is the first of a supposedly nine-volume saga. I'm really having a hard time reading it because of Janny's writing style. She writes in an odd omniscient voice that's heavy on telling rather than showing. It drives me batty because I feel like I can never get into any of the characters' heads and get to know them. There is one exception, though, and this is the reason I keep at the novel. I like the story, and I can access it through one character Janny always seems to write in standard 3rd person, stationery point-of-view. It's a sorceress who, in addition to having a role to play in the Bigger Issues facing the world, is developing an attraction for one of the major characters. I keep reading just to get to this woman's scenes. The story flows for me when I read from her POV, and everything that was hazy and confusing before makes sense. The tension is there, not just the romantic tension, but the conflict of the dilemma her world is facing as well. I've started skim-reading the rest of the book, mainly because I know the big points will be told to me in rather obvious language so I won't get lost. I don't know if I'll continue reading this series, as nine books of this style may be impossible to wade through. But I will finish this book, regardless of the frustrations I have.
Similarly, Atlantis ain't doing a whole lot, and last week's episode wasn't all that grand from a plot or writing perspective. But it nailed something: romantic tension. I kept watching because they wrote that part right and the performers nailed the execution. Sheppard and Tayla had an awkward moment that didn't really get resolved to anyone's satisfaction other than that they were both relieved it was over and handled in a way that they could ignore--at least in theory--that it ever happened. How perfectly human, and how engaging for watching their future interactions. Wier and Skinner (can't remember his Atlantis character's name, nor can I reliably spell the actor's last name, so I'm going to mix shows here) have had a few moments of a vague something this season. Nothing too impressive, just something that made me pay closer attention every now and then. But this past episode, they really hit some pay dirt. Nice and subtle, something is there, but they have a lot of other conflict and tension to deal with between them that you get the sense that there might be a really big explosion between them. These two bits of romantic tension didn't really get me caring about the episode itself, but it did make me eager to see the next one. It got me caring more about the Bigger Issues the characters in Atlantis are facing and how they were going to deal with them.
That's the key to romantic tension in novels and shows and movies. It has to be done in such a way that the reader or viewer cares not just about the characters' relationship, but how that will impact how they deal with the problems they're facing. As great as Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings trilogy is, it fails horribly in the romantic tension department. The Aragorn-Arwen relationship never really had much of an impact on the story. If the two of them never resolved their conflict, no biggie. We never got the sense that a failed relationship between them would negatively impact how they dealt with Sauron and the end of the age of elves. It was still a nice little story, and it was sweet that they love each other and got to be together, but it really didn't enhance the overall story all that much, at least not in my opinion. But we had enough character conflict elsewhere to give us much the same sort of access that romantic tension affords. Sam and Frodo's friendship, the Boromir-Faramir-Denethor familial affection triangle, Eowyn's infatuation with Aragorn, and Merry and Pippin's friendship. These character interactions were so well done that the Aragorn-Arwen relationship could stand as something separate without detracting from the story.
I feel like I should have some sort of conclusion to all this rambling. I really don't, other than to expound on why I write romantic tension in all of my novels but won't write a romance novel. It's neat to uncover the bits and pieces of my writing and how it came to be.
This is why I don't write romance. The romantic tension isn't everything to me but a portal to What Matters, an expression of it, an extension of it, an tangible and understandable way to experience it and all its repurcussions. So I could never write a novel where the romantic tension is the focus. But neither can I write a novel without romantic tension as a major plot point.
I finally understood this by reading Janny Wurts's Curse of the Mistwraith and watching the latest Stargate Atlantis episode. Curse is the first of a supposedly nine-volume saga. I'm really having a hard time reading it because of Janny's writing style. She writes in an odd omniscient voice that's heavy on telling rather than showing. It drives me batty because I feel like I can never get into any of the characters' heads and get to know them. There is one exception, though, and this is the reason I keep at the novel. I like the story, and I can access it through one character Janny always seems to write in standard 3rd person, stationery point-of-view. It's a sorceress who, in addition to having a role to play in the Bigger Issues facing the world, is developing an attraction for one of the major characters. I keep reading just to get to this woman's scenes. The story flows for me when I read from her POV, and everything that was hazy and confusing before makes sense. The tension is there, not just the romantic tension, but the conflict of the dilemma her world is facing as well. I've started skim-reading the rest of the book, mainly because I know the big points will be told to me in rather obvious language so I won't get lost. I don't know if I'll continue reading this series, as nine books of this style may be impossible to wade through. But I will finish this book, regardless of the frustrations I have.
Similarly, Atlantis ain't doing a whole lot, and last week's episode wasn't all that grand from a plot or writing perspective. But it nailed something: romantic tension. I kept watching because they wrote that part right and the performers nailed the execution. Sheppard and Tayla had an awkward moment that didn't really get resolved to anyone's satisfaction other than that they were both relieved it was over and handled in a way that they could ignore--at least in theory--that it ever happened. How perfectly human, and how engaging for watching their future interactions. Wier and Skinner (can't remember his Atlantis character's name, nor can I reliably spell the actor's last name, so I'm going to mix shows here) have had a few moments of a vague something this season. Nothing too impressive, just something that made me pay closer attention every now and then. But this past episode, they really hit some pay dirt. Nice and subtle, something is there, but they have a lot of other conflict and tension to deal with between them that you get the sense that there might be a really big explosion between them. These two bits of romantic tension didn't really get me caring about the episode itself, but it did make me eager to see the next one. It got me caring more about the Bigger Issues the characters in Atlantis are facing and how they were going to deal with them.
That's the key to romantic tension in novels and shows and movies. It has to be done in such a way that the reader or viewer cares not just about the characters' relationship, but how that will impact how they deal with the problems they're facing. As great as Peter Jackson's Lord of the Rings trilogy is, it fails horribly in the romantic tension department. The Aragorn-Arwen relationship never really had much of an impact on the story. If the two of them never resolved their conflict, no biggie. We never got the sense that a failed relationship between them would negatively impact how they dealt with Sauron and the end of the age of elves. It was still a nice little story, and it was sweet that they love each other and got to be together, but it really didn't enhance the overall story all that much, at least not in my opinion. But we had enough character conflict elsewhere to give us much the same sort of access that romantic tension affords. Sam and Frodo's friendship, the Boromir-Faramir-Denethor familial affection triangle, Eowyn's infatuation with Aragorn, and Merry and Pippin's friendship. These character interactions were so well done that the Aragorn-Arwen relationship could stand as something separate without detracting from the story.
I feel like I should have some sort of conclusion to all this rambling. I really don't, other than to expound on why I write romantic tension in all of my novels but won't write a romance novel. It's neat to uncover the bits and pieces of my writing and how it came to be.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Good Job, Drew
Had my Week 36 check-up yesterday. (Holy cow, where in the world has the time gone? And why won't the next four weeks go faster? :)) Andrew is head down, facing my back, just like he's supposed to be. And it turns out that my cervix is 50-80% effaced and I'm about a centimeter dilated. Granted, I can stay like this for weeks without any further changes, but it's still a good sign for an early delivery--especially since I've worked to that centimeter in the ten days since I was in the hospital for the stomach stuff. And I was only 30-50% effaced then. If labor starts now, they won't stop it. We're in the home stretch. The little suitcase for the hospital is mostly packed (there's a few small things we need to purchase yet and toss in there), the nursery is fairly well set up (pictures are being developed and should be posted in the next week or two), we've got a coupon for diapers at Costco that's valid as of this weekend (yeah for bulk buying), all the paperwork is filled out, our car seat will be OK'd by the fire department next week, and there's a big used baby gear sale in a couple weeks to help us snag some more stuff we need at low, low prices. It's all up to Drew and my bod now. My son seems to know what he's doing, at least. Hopefully my bod will catch on.
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Meme Time
Joel tagged me again. Time for the Seven Things Meme.
Seven Things I Plan to Do Before I Die
Visit Alaska & Hawaii
Take Mark to see where I grew up in Europe
Raft the Colorado River, particularly the Grand Canyon segment
Visit Greece & Egypt & Australia
RV with Mark around North America, seeing the sights and annoying Andrew and Baby the Second in their adulthood, spoiling their children
Write all the books and stories sitting in my head
Get at least one of said books or stories published
Seven Things I Can Do
Write and revise a novel
Sing without making dogs howl
Dance without killing myself or innocent bystanders
Explain my master's thesis ("Purification and Analysis of DCHQ Dioxygenase") and many other complicated scientific concepts in terms anyone can understand
Sing the jingles for all the service announcements I grew up watching instead of commercials on the Armed Forces Network
Understand, write, and speak German--to various degrees of success
Describe what the former East Germany and East Berlin were like and what it was like to live in Germany when the Wall came down
Seven Things I Can't Do
Read Tolkien (love his stories, can't get through a page of his storytelling style in less than ten minutes)
Understand Reality TV (nor do I think I want to)
Draw anything more complicated than a stick figure
See a spider without squirming
Understand electromagnetics (I hope to try a community college course at some point and see if I can't remedy this one day)
Live in the Midwest
Successfully make a French Silk Chocolate Pie without my mother or one of my grandmother's watching
Seven Things that Attract Me
Real smiles
Real laughter
Great arms
Brains
Sense of humor
Empathy
Integrity
Seven Things that I Say Most Often
Make exaggerations involving the number 5 (I've got about 500 hundred things to do today, etc)
Get up, lazy butt (Mark is not much of a morning person)
Yes'm (I'm not sure why, but people have started calling me Miss Kellie at work, and "Yes'm" became my reply)
October 3rd (Gee, wonder why)
Gotta love it (said in response to some of the more endearing things that happen at the DDJ)
Hmmm...I can't come up with any more than five at the moment.
Seven Celebrity Crushes
Gah, I'm so sick of celebrities right now. The few I find attractive, I end up putting in my stories. Jamie Bamber from Battlestar Gallactica and the guy who plays Helo on the show (need to get his name) are my hotties of the moment. I appreciate a lot of the pretty faces, but it's been a while since I've done the gushing, girly sigh thing for any particular celebrity.
Seven People I Want to Do This Meme
Not into the tagging thing. If you see this and want to take a stab at it, consider yourself tagged.
Seven Things I Plan to Do Before I Die
Seven Things I Can Do
Seven Things I Can't Do
Seven Things that Attract Me
Seven Things that I Say Most Often
Hmmm...I can't come up with any more than five at the moment.
Seven Celebrity Crushes
Gah, I'm so sick of celebrities right now. The few I find attractive, I end up putting in my stories. Jamie Bamber from Battlestar Gallactica and the guy who plays Helo on the show (need to get his name) are my hotties of the moment. I appreciate a lot of the pretty faces, but it's been a while since I've done the gushing, girly sigh thing for any particular celebrity.
Seven People I Want to Do This Meme
Not into the tagging thing. If you see this and want to take a stab at it, consider yourself tagged.
Friday, September 02, 2005
Rough Week
Last weekend's lovely stay at the hospital shook me up more than I realized. I was so uncomfortable, so miserable, so weak, and so very, very afraid that my icky health was going to make Drew show up earlier than he was supposed to. All the confidence that the childbirth classes had built up got swatted away in 24 short hours. I spent most of this week unable to build up the energy or desire to do much of anything. Spent a lot of time staring off into space. All the horrid news from New Orleans didn't help matters, either. Everytime I got a glimmer of life going back into me, I'd see the latest headline and go crashing. Especially when they mentioned the pregnant women or those who had just given birth struggling to get out of the city.
So I spent today clearing the gunk out of my head, catching up on some rest and relaxation, finally getting a hair cut after nearly a year without, trying out a new body wash scent (hmmm....cherry blossom). Taking care of me without a whole lot of references to the outside world or Andrew's impending arrival. In fact, the only pregnancy sort of thing I did today was rub my belly as the little runt within squirmed and shuffled and stretched. It was a good recharging day, something I needed.
Now I've still got a three-day weekend to do some work in the nursery, clean the house up a bit, do the laundry, and buckle down into some writing. I'm not going to let myself start spinning with worry about going into labor or tragedies beyond my control elsewhere in the world. I'm going to focus on the things I can do right now. Go back to that whole "day-by-day" living thing I was trying to do better as a New Year's Resolution to begin with.
So I spent today clearing the gunk out of my head, catching up on some rest and relaxation, finally getting a hair cut after nearly a year without, trying out a new body wash scent (hmmm....cherry blossom). Taking care of me without a whole lot of references to the outside world or Andrew's impending arrival. In fact, the only pregnancy sort of thing I did today was rub my belly as the little runt within squirmed and shuffled and stretched. It was a good recharging day, something I needed.
Now I've still got a three-day weekend to do some work in the nursery, clean the house up a bit, do the laundry, and buckle down into some writing. I'm not going to let myself start spinning with worry about going into labor or tragedies beyond my control elsewhere in the world. I'm going to focus on the things I can do right now. Go back to that whole "day-by-day" living thing I was trying to do better as a New Year's Resolution to begin with.
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Spoonful of Sugar?
There was a picnic at the DDJ today. I didn't go because Drew isn't all that interested in generic hotdogs and hamburgers, nor did he care to let me schlep the ten minutes to the other location where it was held. So I got to hear all the fun second-hand. Anytime coworkers come back in saying both "company holiday" and "bad news" loudly, you gotta wonder if you're being had. But no. At noon today, the company president just up and announced that tomorrow would be a company holiday. So yay four-day weekend! But he also pointed at my side of the company as not bringing in a profit and mentioned that he had some bad news, but that he wasn't going to give it to us today. So contemplate the bad news over your generous gift of a four-day weekend.
Have I mentioned lately how much I love Corporate America? Being a self-employed writer is appealing in SO many ways.
Have I mentioned lately how much I love Corporate America? Being a self-employed writer is appealing in SO many ways.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
And There Was Much Rejoicing
Seems the idiots at PublishAmerica, the most notorious of the vanity presses trying to masquerade as a valid alternative to traditional publishers, didn't understand that whole trademark thing. They're getting sued by Encyclopedia Britannica over the use of "PublishBritannica" as the name for their UK branch. For more info, scroll down on this page to see a very exhaustive web analysis of how PA tried to cover the gaff by doing a mad search-and-replace for "Britannica" with "Britannia" that didn't quite work. Also, be sure to pay attention to the nice diatribe against PA's reputation and status as a publisher that EB includes in their filing.
While I'm happy to see a valid suit with a good chance of sticking go up against PA, I can't help but wonder what's going to happen to authors who are already trying to fight against their PA contracts. This may not help them.
While I'm happy to see a valid suit with a good chance of sticking go up against PA, I can't help but wonder what's going to happen to authors who are already trying to fight against their PA contracts. This may not help them.
Monday, August 29, 2005
One Day I'll Laugh at This, I'm Sure
Spent 24 hours in the hospital this weekend. I was having some nasty contractions and stomach cramping Friday afternoon and evening, and they hauled my butt in to make sure Andrew wasn't trying to show up a couple weeks early. On the way into the hospital, we had to pull over so I could toss my cookies in a spectacular fashion not seen since February. Andrew looked to be OK, heartbeat a little fast, and my cervix wasn't dilated, but it was starting to efface. But, there was the problem of my rising temperature and inability to keep anything in my tummy. So in the hospital I stayed. And the weaker I got, the more pissy Drew got. Everytime I had to get up to use the bathroom, Andrew's heartrate would plummet down to 70. As soon as I was settled back in bed, it would got back up to the slightly elevated 170 that was the product of my hight temp (never broke 100.4, but that's pretty high for me).
So Mark and I got to experience what it's like to have an extended stay in Labor & Delivery. He got to experience the couch-bed, and I got to appreciate why the beds in L&D aren't designed for resting sick folks but for women in active labor. The only time I've been on a more uncomfortable surface was when I was stuck on that friggin' backboard in the emergency room after my accident in April.
I'm still feeling icky, running at 50% at best, but I have no more vacation days or paid leave to draw from. So I'm at work, trying to force myself through four hours at least so I can chip away at the other four during the rest of the week and hopefully not have to come in on the weekend to make up the rest of the time. One day, I'm sure I'll be able to look back at this non-complicated pregnancy during which my baby has shown nothing but the best of health and laugh at all the silly minor things I've had to suffer through that are in no way connected to me being pregnant but that have managed to all hit during these nine months. I can't think of another year when I've had to deal with so many random illness and health issues. To give you some hint of how Murphy is running amok in my life, the last time I had a stomach virus like this weekend was over ten years ago. I'm now at 35 weeks, and I'm really hoping that I'll stay in the clear of all this random stuff until Andrew's ready to come on out.
So Mark and I got to experience what it's like to have an extended stay in Labor & Delivery. He got to experience the couch-bed, and I got to appreciate why the beds in L&D aren't designed for resting sick folks but for women in active labor. The only time I've been on a more uncomfortable surface was when I was stuck on that friggin' backboard in the emergency room after my accident in April.
I'm still feeling icky, running at 50% at best, but I have no more vacation days or paid leave to draw from. So I'm at work, trying to force myself through four hours at least so I can chip away at the other four during the rest of the week and hopefully not have to come in on the weekend to make up the rest of the time. One day, I'm sure I'll be able to look back at this non-complicated pregnancy during which my baby has shown nothing but the best of health and laugh at all the silly minor things I've had to suffer through that are in no way connected to me being pregnant but that have managed to all hit during these nine months. I can't think of another year when I've had to deal with so many random illness and health issues. To give you some hint of how Murphy is running amok in my life, the last time I had a stomach virus like this weekend was over ten years ago. I'm now at 35 weeks, and I'm really hoping that I'll stay in the clear of all this random stuff until Andrew's ready to come on out.
Friday, August 26, 2005
Tomayto, Tomahto
Every morning, I read Making Light and then I read Paperback Writer. So I did a bit of a double-take when the posts I read this morning back to back referred to the same article about writers and found two rather different takes on it. Of course, Making Light is the blog of the Nielsen Haydens, Tor's big shot editors, and Paperback Writer is the blog of Sheila Kelly, multi-genre novelist (and check out her latest S.L. Viehl titles!). This will naturally give you two different points of view on the matter of writers and the publishing industry. But while the editors cheered the author on--though admitting that he had just been proven wrong by their own company--and seemed to think it a great idea to beat would-be writers with the idea that their "novel within" does not an immediate classic make, Sheila found much to snark at. Reading both POVs, I found myself nodding in agreement with both.
I agreed with the editors' POV because of that phenomenon that doesn't seem to want to go away: vanity publishers. This is where amateur writers crank out their novels, maybe run it through spellcheck, know it will be a multi-million bestseller because it poured forth from his very fingertips and it's his amazing life story and how hard is it to write anyway cuz I been done speekin and rightin since I been yung, get one form letter rejection, decide the traditional publishers are just morons in a cartel slaving away to the Grishams and Clancys, and find that for a few measly dollars they can get their masterwork in print and on the shelves where it will take off in seconds and earn out the money put in. So I'm thinking that this Clare guy is talking about a much-needed shout-out to that lot and the folks who run vanity presses. And I can get behind that. Definitely.
Then I read Sheila's comments and realize that the author could have been--and most likely was?--being snooty and condescending to all those whom he's just beaten out in the publishing race and deciding he can now Tell It Like It Is and get some of his former competitors to give up so he has a better shot of making it to Book 2. He derides the notion that publishing is a game of "who do you know", yet also blames the problems of the industry for taking chances on the unknown (or maybe just taking expensive chances on the unknown, instead of offering reasonable advances). So does this mean he kinda knew someone and got a modest advance as a quasi-unknown and THAT'S the way to get published? Or is he telling publishers to stop accepting any work from unknowns and become much more cartel-like in the hopes that the writers of bad, bad slush will slink off into oblivion?
I dunno, maybe Brit publishing houses are really stupid and routinely crank out $50,000+ advances to first-time writers who then never amount to anything. Maybe Brit editors also have no sense of how to hone a writer into "ripeness" and so books that needed more work get out on the market all to feed the publisher's need to pass something on to posterity. Maybe Brit editors are so starry-eyed and idealistic that they ignore good business principles and throw good money after the merest hint of a potential Next Big Thing. But it doesn't seem to translate to this side of the pond, not from my experience with publishing houses and agents.
And, really, do we need another article deriding both authors AND publishing houses? Wouldn't an article talking about how to revise that novel "stirring within loins" into a decent book be better? Or something otherwise useful?
I agreed with the editors' POV because of that phenomenon that doesn't seem to want to go away: vanity publishers. This is where amateur writers crank out their novels, maybe run it through spellcheck, know it will be a multi-million bestseller because it poured forth from his very fingertips and it's his amazing life story and how hard is it to write anyway cuz I been done speekin and rightin since I been yung, get one form letter rejection, decide the traditional publishers are just morons in a cartel slaving away to the Grishams and Clancys, and find that for a few measly dollars they can get their masterwork in print and on the shelves where it will take off in seconds and earn out the money put in. So I'm thinking that this Clare guy is talking about a much-needed shout-out to that lot and the folks who run vanity presses. And I can get behind that. Definitely.
Then I read Sheila's comments and realize that the author could have been--and most likely was?--being snooty and condescending to all those whom he's just beaten out in the publishing race and deciding he can now Tell It Like It Is and get some of his former competitors to give up so he has a better shot of making it to Book 2. He derides the notion that publishing is a game of "who do you know", yet also blames the problems of the industry for taking chances on the unknown (or maybe just taking expensive chances on the unknown, instead of offering reasonable advances). So does this mean he kinda knew someone and got a modest advance as a quasi-unknown and THAT'S the way to get published? Or is he telling publishers to stop accepting any work from unknowns and become much more cartel-like in the hopes that the writers of bad, bad slush will slink off into oblivion?
I dunno, maybe Brit publishing houses are really stupid and routinely crank out $50,000+ advances to first-time writers who then never amount to anything. Maybe Brit editors also have no sense of how to hone a writer into "ripeness" and so books that needed more work get out on the market all to feed the publisher's need to pass something on to posterity. Maybe Brit editors are so starry-eyed and idealistic that they ignore good business principles and throw good money after the merest hint of a potential Next Big Thing. But it doesn't seem to translate to this side of the pond, not from my experience with publishing houses and agents.
And, really, do we need another article deriding both authors AND publishing houses? Wouldn't an article talking about how to revise that novel "stirring within loins" into a decent book be better? Or something otherwise useful?
Thursday, August 25, 2005
The Offical Tour
Mark and I filled out the various bits of paperwork and toured, officially, the Labor & Delivery area where Drew will be making his first appearance in this world. We felt a little disappointed when they used the room I hung out in a couple weeks ago on the tour instead of a different one. And while we absolutely love their "rooming in" policy for new babies (staying in Mom's Postpartum room instead of lining up in cribs in a glassed-in nursery), we missed oohing and aahing over all the newborns. Thankfully I wasn't having a horomonal swing, otherwise I might've started banging on postpartum room doors, demanding to see a cute, scrunchy-faced baby. And the L&D area has a computer with internet access, so I'll be able to post the news of Drew's birth myself on this blog when it happens. Tres exciting.
Mark and I put together a birth plan of sorts as part of the paperwork we had to fill out. For medication: wait and see. I've got a lot more options for pain management than I realized, and I'd like to experience what my labor is going to be like and try out a decent amount of those options before I decide on narcotics and epidurals. Of course, I may get the full force of labor beating me over the head right away and start screaming for DRUGS NOW. So, "wait and see". Also, we're going to pick up a few fun aromatherapy lotions and oils to have on hand. And we'll pack a nice goodie bag of suckers and such in case I want to keep my mouth moist with something other than ice chips. We also noted in out birth plan that we're scientists and don't mind and even prefer to have the details of what's going on given to us.
But we're most excited about the music we're going to bring. Given my drama queen tendancies and Mark's sense of humor, we're laying down odds that Andrew will choose some sort of climactic music sequence as the moment of his birth. We're going to help him out by bringing a decent selection that's soothing for me, gets my muse juices flowing (I figure what better way to distract myself from painful contraction than to run through plot and outline ideas with Mark--especially when I'll be ready to start putting my characters through serious hell and map out the horrid demise of the villains), and also provides Drew with several appropriate crescendos and finales for his first big moment.
It's getting down to the wire, and Mark and I are pretty excited as we face this big, huge, gaping unknown. We're both pretty stoic about things, knowing that at some point, Drew's gotta get outside of me. We don't know when and how exactly and we're not entirely sure what we're going to do once he's out except wing it with a lot of love, but we've got our A-game with us and we'll be ready to accept whatever the details will turn out to be. Setting up the birth plan has allowed us to furnish the process with a few personal touches that will bring a sense of the family we've built already to the moment when Andrew shows up to bring his own personality to the mix. Feels good.
Mark and I put together a birth plan of sorts as part of the paperwork we had to fill out. For medication: wait and see. I've got a lot more options for pain management than I realized, and I'd like to experience what my labor is going to be like and try out a decent amount of those options before I decide on narcotics and epidurals. Of course, I may get the full force of labor beating me over the head right away and start screaming for DRUGS NOW. So, "wait and see". Also, we're going to pick up a few fun aromatherapy lotions and oils to have on hand. And we'll pack a nice goodie bag of suckers and such in case I want to keep my mouth moist with something other than ice chips. We also noted in out birth plan that we're scientists and don't mind and even prefer to have the details of what's going on given to us.
But we're most excited about the music we're going to bring. Given my drama queen tendancies and Mark's sense of humor, we're laying down odds that Andrew will choose some sort of climactic music sequence as the moment of his birth. We're going to help him out by bringing a decent selection that's soothing for me, gets my muse juices flowing (I figure what better way to distract myself from painful contraction than to run through plot and outline ideas with Mark--especially when I'll be ready to start putting my characters through serious hell and map out the horrid demise of the villains), and also provides Drew with several appropriate crescendos and finales for his first big moment.
It's getting down to the wire, and Mark and I are pretty excited as we face this big, huge, gaping unknown. We're both pretty stoic about things, knowing that at some point, Drew's gotta get outside of me. We don't know when and how exactly and we're not entirely sure what we're going to do once he's out except wing it with a lot of love, but we've got our A-game with us and we'll be ready to accept whatever the details will turn out to be. Setting up the birth plan has allowed us to furnish the process with a few personal touches that will bring a sense of the family we've built already to the moment when Andrew shows up to bring his own personality to the mix. Feels good.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Hey, He's Local!
Read a great interview with Dan Simmons, a local writer who I haven't managed to read yet. In fact, he's so local that his daughter works at the Borders Cafe where my critique group meets. (Well, until they uprooted the damn thing to make way for a new Seattle's Best Coffee shop/stand/cafe/what-the-heck-ever. The staff is a bit exasperated that many customers managed to miss the small signs they had around the Cafe area the last couple weeks. I could quibble with them as the signs, small with small print, seemed to indicate only that Seattle's Best would be coming to the Cafe. As they had a very serviceable Cafe setup, I figured it would be a simple product change, not a renovation.) He's so local, that I've heard rumors he regularly donates signed copies of his novels to the local used book store, which I used to frequent but never remembered to see if this rumor was true. He's so local that I think I drive by his house on a regular basis. I say this not to sound like a stalker, but just to revel in the fact that I have an incredible writing resource really, really close. (Actually, I have several. This particular area of Colorado seems to be a stomping ground for some kick-ass writers.)
The interview's great. It's got some tone that remind me of my undergrad genetics professor who basically stood up in front of the class at the beginning of the semester and said, "Hey, I've got a great big ego, but I'm aware of it, so now that it's out of the way, let's do some learning." Not saying Dan Simmons has a big ego, just saying that his tone reminded me of that prof, whom I really, really liked. He was my favorite in the biology department because he wasn't the usual patronizing jerk who lorded himself over everybody while expecting you to fall down in abject workship. Anyway, Mr. Simmons has some really cool things to say about story structure that are in-line with the way I visualize my plots. I'm still not at the point where I have the tools and the broad vision to see my structure in all it's 3-D glory (and as much as I love the double-helix, I doubt I'll be able to pull off a structure that sophisticated anytime soon), but it was neat to see another writer who thinks in 3-D terms. We're really rare, as I've found out from the strange reactions I get when I ask fellow writers about software that lets me plot and outline in 3-D.
I guess I better pick up one of his books.
The interview's great. It's got some tone that remind me of my undergrad genetics professor who basically stood up in front of the class at the beginning of the semester and said, "Hey, I've got a great big ego, but I'm aware of it, so now that it's out of the way, let's do some learning." Not saying Dan Simmons has a big ego, just saying that his tone reminded me of that prof, whom I really, really liked. He was my favorite in the biology department because he wasn't the usual patronizing jerk who lorded himself over everybody while expecting you to fall down in abject workship. Anyway, Mr. Simmons has some really cool things to say about story structure that are in-line with the way I visualize my plots. I'm still not at the point where I have the tools and the broad vision to see my structure in all it's 3-D glory (and as much as I love the double-helix, I doubt I'll be able to pull off a structure that sophisticated anytime soon), but it was neat to see another writer who thinks in 3-D terms. We're really rare, as I've found out from the strange reactions I get when I ask fellow writers about software that lets me plot and outline in 3-D.
I guess I better pick up one of his books.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Almost Went There
This blog's been around for 2.5 years. When I first started posting, I often went off on rants that were the products of highly held opinions with some substance to back them up, but not really enough to make my rant much more than hot air. After shoving my foot in my mouth by flying off half-cocked in similar fashion at other places on the internet, I realized that internet debates and rants were pretty much a waste of time. Except to blow off steam, but I found other ways to do that. You're not going to convince anybody you're right and they're wrong in an internet debate. If you do, it's going to be the exception to the rule. More often than not, rants and internet debates turn into a villification of what you're railing against and not any sort of coherent argument for what you believe. So somewhere in the past 2.5 years, I stopped getting into internet debates. I stopped even really making comments on blogs and posts on message boards. It all seemed like a waste of time and energy and did nothing more than get my blood pressure going. It helped that I was laid off last year. I used to have all sorts of time at my previous job to surf the net and let those little pits of the internet swallow me whole and consume so much of my life. When I got laid off, I stopped having direct, easy access to the net, and I found I didn't have a need for it beyond emailing, the occasional blog post, research, and reading what my internet buddies were up to on their blogs. I'm glad that happened.
Yesterday's post brought back a little of that old ranting. Part of me needed to say that, and liked blowing off the steam that had built. Part of me really regretted the throwback to what I feel was a bad habit. Today, I almost jumped into the fray in the discussion that sparked yesterday's post, but I chose not to. And I'm glad I did. While I feel I have a valid point, I also feel fairly confident that the person I was trying to get to see that point wouldn't. And I'd be right back in the thick of a pointless, time-wasting debate where the language kept getting hotter and hotter until tempers made rational discussion impossible.
I'm not going to link to anything, and I'm not going to carry on a one-sided debate to get my points made here as opposed to where they'd be a direct response. I said my piece yesterday, and it was against an amalgam of attitudes and assumptions that I've encountered in a lot of places over a lot of years, not just one thing. It bothers me that people will always assume way too much about me just because I'm middle class (and have basically always been so) and because I went to Notre Dame (and it bothers me even more that people automatically assume that my parents had to have paid for that education just because it's an "uppity" private school) and because I have a graduate degree. Does it bother me because it's unfair to me? Sure. But I think the greater injustice here is to the person making the assumption. The assumer is writing off a whole big chunk of good people for no good reason, and I think that makes the assumer's world all the poorer for it. But hey, we're sitting on a stuffed-to-the-gills world and we've gotta keep it manageable. So assume away if it helps make things a little less overwhelming.
And look at that, I still managed to carry-on a bit of a one-sided debate just then. Sheesh. OK, now I'm done. No more.
Yesterday's post brought back a little of that old ranting. Part of me needed to say that, and liked blowing off the steam that had built. Part of me really regretted the throwback to what I feel was a bad habit. Today, I almost jumped into the fray in the discussion that sparked yesterday's post, but I chose not to. And I'm glad I did. While I feel I have a valid point, I also feel fairly confident that the person I was trying to get to see that point wouldn't. And I'd be right back in the thick of a pointless, time-wasting debate where the language kept getting hotter and hotter until tempers made rational discussion impossible.
I'm not going to link to anything, and I'm not going to carry on a one-sided debate to get my points made here as opposed to where they'd be a direct response. I said my piece yesterday, and it was against an amalgam of attitudes and assumptions that I've encountered in a lot of places over a lot of years, not just one thing. It bothers me that people will always assume way too much about me just because I'm middle class (and have basically always been so) and because I went to Notre Dame (and it bothers me even more that people automatically assume that my parents had to have paid for that education just because it's an "uppity" private school) and because I have a graduate degree. Does it bother me because it's unfair to me? Sure. But I think the greater injustice here is to the person making the assumption. The assumer is writing off a whole big chunk of good people for no good reason, and I think that makes the assumer's world all the poorer for it. But hey, we're sitting on a stuffed-to-the-gills world and we've gotta keep it manageable. So assume away if it helps make things a little less overwhelming.
And look at that, I still managed to carry-on a bit of a one-sided debate just then. Sheesh. OK, now I'm done. No more.
Monday, August 22, 2005
College Degree = No Right to Complain?
I've encountered an attitude in several places and blogged about it before that because I went to a swank private college that I'm not allowed to be upset with my life or that I must have had some excessive life of privelege.
Bullshit.
I truly don't understand this attitude. Yes, I am the daughter of an Air Force officer (well, after the age of six, that is; he was enlisted before that, and do I really have to give my parents' story of the time before I was six to somehow validate myself in anyway?). Yes, I went to Notre Dame and the University of Colorado at Boulder. Yes, my parents took out some loans to help with ND's tuition. Yes, I am currently living a middle-class life. Yes, I also have the ability and freedom to indulge in a hobby that may one day allow me to work at home and raise my children. I fail to see how any of these facts (and I could present the other side of them that clearly shows that I fought my way, tooth and nail to earn every single one of them--well, beyond being the daugher of an Air Force officer; didn't have a whole lot of choice there, but I could go on about the negative impacts that had on my life) somehow negates any complaint I may have about the current status of my life.
In the past, the fact that I was going to ND has been used as the sole reason why I shouldn't be upset about my parents' divorce. It was inferred that my college experience was less because, since I went to ND, I obviously hadn't earned my degree as compared to someone who went to a state school and, just as obviously, had to work their way through it and fight every day for that degree. And it's also been implied that somehow I am less worthy as a human being just because I had successful parents who provided me with shelter, food, love, and material things beyond the basic necessities in life. Or rather, I am less worthy if I dare to complain about anything in my life because my parents gave me those things and I can provide myself with those things now.
Why should I have to explain myself? I'm very tempted to defend my fight to get where I am today. It wasn't easy. Sure, it could've been harder. Sure, it had nothing of the stress of wanting for basic necessities. But I'm not going to sit here and apologize because it wasn't. And I'm not going to detail my own little "sob story" to try and get other assholes to stop assuming shit about people because of a few random facts that in no way make the shape of any person. People who wear their lack of privelege or their sorrows as a badge of superiority over those who have the privelege and don't have the sorrows (at least based on those damned assumptions) just don't seem to get what it means to be human. Life is not a contest.
Bullshit.
I truly don't understand this attitude. Yes, I am the daughter of an Air Force officer (well, after the age of six, that is; he was enlisted before that, and do I really have to give my parents' story of the time before I was six to somehow validate myself in anyway?). Yes, I went to Notre Dame and the University of Colorado at Boulder. Yes, my parents took out some loans to help with ND's tuition. Yes, I am currently living a middle-class life. Yes, I also have the ability and freedom to indulge in a hobby that may one day allow me to work at home and raise my children. I fail to see how any of these facts (and I could present the other side of them that clearly shows that I fought my way, tooth and nail to earn every single one of them--well, beyond being the daugher of an Air Force officer; didn't have a whole lot of choice there, but I could go on about the negative impacts that had on my life) somehow negates any complaint I may have about the current status of my life.
In the past, the fact that I was going to ND has been used as the sole reason why I shouldn't be upset about my parents' divorce. It was inferred that my college experience was less because, since I went to ND, I obviously hadn't earned my degree as compared to someone who went to a state school and, just as obviously, had to work their way through it and fight every day for that degree. And it's also been implied that somehow I am less worthy as a human being just because I had successful parents who provided me with shelter, food, love, and material things beyond the basic necessities in life. Or rather, I am less worthy if I dare to complain about anything in my life because my parents gave me those things and I can provide myself with those things now.
Why should I have to explain myself? I'm very tempted to defend my fight to get where I am today. It wasn't easy. Sure, it could've been harder. Sure, it had nothing of the stress of wanting for basic necessities. But I'm not going to sit here and apologize because it wasn't. And I'm not going to detail my own little "sob story" to try and get other assholes to stop assuming shit about people because of a few random facts that in no way make the shape of any person. People who wear their lack of privelege or their sorrows as a badge of superiority over those who have the privelege and don't have the sorrows (at least based on those damned assumptions) just don't seem to get what it means to be human. Life is not a contest.
Friday, August 19, 2005
Delivery Wants
After reading this post about what one woman wants for her delivery, I got to thinking about what I want. All I really want is everything to have a safe and healthy resolution. Andrew's OK, I'm OK, Mark's OK. Beyond that, I'm fairly open to whatever happens, happens. Whether I have a quick and easy labor, or if I'm in agony for hours even with the epidural (which, I've learned, freaks me out more than the pain of delivering my son; something about seeing exactly where that catheter is going to go just gives me the heebie-jeebies; I don't like the idea of anything being that close to my spinal column, I don't care how safe and tried-and-true the damn thing is; of course, I'm sure I'll get over my ick-factor in a heartbeat if the pain becomes unbearable), or whether Something Happens and I have to have a C-section, as long as everyone's safe and healthy, I'm good. Sure, I've got a few preferred scenarios, but there's this innate sense of "however it happens, it's gonna get Andrew out of me and tangibly into our family and we'll go from there."
Actually, I do have a big want. To deliver before my due date. I was extraordinarily jealous of the women in the breastfeeding class last night who had August due dates. I love Drew, and while it's been fun having him wriggle and squirm and kick and punch my innards, I'm ready to have him in my arms.
By the way, of all the oh-so-pleasant terms used to describe baby's diapers (we learned what we need to expect and see to make sure Drew's getting all the breastmilk he needs last night), "explosive" is by far the most disturbing.
Actually, I do have a big want. To deliver before my due date. I was extraordinarily jealous of the women in the breastfeeding class last night who had August due dates. I love Drew, and while it's been fun having him wriggle and squirm and kick and punch my innards, I'm ready to have him in my arms.
By the way, of all the oh-so-pleasant terms used to describe baby's diapers (we learned what we need to expect and see to make sure Drew's getting all the breastmilk he needs last night), "explosive" is by far the most disturbing.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Having a Day
Really, that has to be about the most useless bit of modern slang. By virtue of being on this planet as it rotates on its axis, you're having a day. Everyone else is having one too. Even the plants and bugs are having a day. And talk about a lazy bit of slang too. Now we can't even be bothered to describe the day we're having when asked. But I love this phrase still because it gives the drama queen in me a chance to take center stage and inject that extra bit required to make the phrase even remotely understandable. A heavy sigh. A super sarcastic, cheesy, ear-to-ear, painful smile. A 'round the world eye-roll. A perfectly executed, despairing downward droop to the chin and shoulders. It's a phrase I can own in any way I want depending on the mood I'm in and the reaction I want others to have. It's me being a writer in the flesh.
So I'm having a day, she said with a heavy sigh. A very heavy sigh. I need a nice, long nap, but we have a class about breastfeeding tonight, so I'm stuck at work later than usual since the hospital's only five minutes from here and twenty-five minutes from home. It means I can leave early tomorrow, but today is the day I'm having. Work's slowed down a decent amount this week, but they've had bugs up their butts here about at least looking like we're insanely busy, so I've been finding inventive ways to look productive while I sketch out ideas for SoD, plot other ideas, research child care providers, or simply stare into space. But today I wanted to go home, take that nap, and wake up with the energy I needed to dive into the writing that's damn near bursting to get out of me.
I've found myself thinking of crazy, yet consequence-free, ways of getting my hands on the equivalent of one year's salary so I can chuck the DDJ for about the length of time it's going to take Mark to finish up. Needless to say, the list is rather short on anything useful. Except wasting time until we have to go to that class, of course.
Days like this are really rough. I've got the ideas, I've got the determination, I've got the energy (well, I will once I take that nap), but I'm stuck at the DDJ with a limited ability to take advantage of anything. Days like these, it often frustrates me even more to do the few, paltry things I can about my writing without getting my ass fired. Especially because I know this intense drive to write will most likely not stick around until I can make use of it on Saturday. Don't get me wrong: I'll still make Saturday damn productive. But it's not going to be what writing at home for hours could've been like if I'd had the chance to do it today.
Plus, it'd be really nice to go home and put my feet up so I can see about reducing the god-awful swelling. I don't think my ankles have reached the frightening puffiness experienced in Chicago, but they're getting really, really close. Makes walking difficult. Makes sitting even with my feet slightly propped up difficult. And it's just really disgusting to look at. Once I'm at 37 weeks, Andrew and I are going to have nightly pow-wows about starting the whole labor & delivery process a bit earlier than the docs have me down for. September 15 sounds a whole lot better than October 3.
So I'm having a day, she said with a heavy sigh. A very heavy sigh. I need a nice, long nap, but we have a class about breastfeeding tonight, so I'm stuck at work later than usual since the hospital's only five minutes from here and twenty-five minutes from home. It means I can leave early tomorrow, but today is the day I'm having. Work's slowed down a decent amount this week, but they've had bugs up their butts here about at least looking like we're insanely busy, so I've been finding inventive ways to look productive while I sketch out ideas for SoD, plot other ideas, research child care providers, or simply stare into space. But today I wanted to go home, take that nap, and wake up with the energy I needed to dive into the writing that's damn near bursting to get out of me.
I've found myself thinking of crazy, yet consequence-free, ways of getting my hands on the equivalent of one year's salary so I can chuck the DDJ for about the length of time it's going to take Mark to finish up. Needless to say, the list is rather short on anything useful. Except wasting time until we have to go to that class, of course.
Days like this are really rough. I've got the ideas, I've got the determination, I've got the energy (well, I will once I take that nap), but I'm stuck at the DDJ with a limited ability to take advantage of anything. Days like these, it often frustrates me even more to do the few, paltry things I can about my writing without getting my ass fired. Especially because I know this intense drive to write will most likely not stick around until I can make use of it on Saturday. Don't get me wrong: I'll still make Saturday damn productive. But it's not going to be what writing at home for hours could've been like if I'd had the chance to do it today.
Plus, it'd be really nice to go home and put my feet up so I can see about reducing the god-awful swelling. I don't think my ankles have reached the frightening puffiness experienced in Chicago, but they're getting really, really close. Makes walking difficult. Makes sitting even with my feet slightly propped up difficult. And it's just really disgusting to look at. Once I'm at 37 weeks, Andrew and I are going to have nightly pow-wows about starting the whole labor & delivery process a bit earlier than the docs have me down for. September 15 sounds a whole lot better than October 3.
Friday, August 12, 2005
Cool Stuff for Drew and His Room
Andrew's going to be one very smartly dressed little guy. My in-laws have done it again, sending me a baby shower in a box--well, three boxes, really. They did this for a wedding shower three years ago. Seeing as I don't really have family up here, and my local friends are for the most part starving writers in their forties and beyond, a true "surprise her with a party" shower just hasn't been in the cards. So the Buffalo relatives all congregate somewhere over there, have a little party, wrap up gifts and make cards, and send everything my way.
This time, Mark was kept in the dark also, as the shower was also for him as the Daddy-to-be. So we had a good time last night, opening the gifts and taking pictures of our reactions to Andrew's loot with the disposable camera they sent. Now we just need to finish setting up the nursery so we can put all the cool new stuff away instead of stacking it in boxes in the closet. (If we left everything just sitting out in the nursery, Addy would cover the homemade quilts with cat hair because she loves to lounge on soft stuff, and Nosey would introduce the monkey stuffie to every corner of the apartment, most likely trying to be friendly.)
Drew's got lots of cute outfits for the first year, which shatters Mark's original notion of just having the boy wander around in the buff, or maybe only in a diaper. (But knowing both of his parents, Drew is probably going to do a lot of fleeing from our hands after a bath to run around nekkid.) We also got the complete crib bedding set, now we just need the crib to put it in. And Drew also snagged his first play gym as well as assorted toys, stuffies, and books. He will be a well-entertained baby.
So a nice, big, family thank you to the in-laws for thinking of Mark, Andrew, and me all the way out here in Colorado. We had a great time with the baby shower in the box, the handmade cards were all adorable, and we'll send pictures of the nursery as soon as it's looking a bit more functional to show you how we've put your generous gifts to use.
This time, Mark was kept in the dark also, as the shower was also for him as the Daddy-to-be. So we had a good time last night, opening the gifts and taking pictures of our reactions to Andrew's loot with the disposable camera they sent. Now we just need to finish setting up the nursery so we can put all the cool new stuff away instead of stacking it in boxes in the closet. (If we left everything just sitting out in the nursery, Addy would cover the homemade quilts with cat hair because she loves to lounge on soft stuff, and Nosey would introduce the monkey stuffie to every corner of the apartment, most likely trying to be friendly.)
Drew's got lots of cute outfits for the first year, which shatters Mark's original notion of just having the boy wander around in the buff, or maybe only in a diaper. (But knowing both of his parents, Drew is probably going to do a lot of fleeing from our hands after a bath to run around nekkid.) We also got the complete crib bedding set, now we just need the crib to put it in. And Drew also snagged his first play gym as well as assorted toys, stuffies, and books. He will be a well-entertained baby.
So a nice, big, family thank you to the in-laws for thinking of Mark, Andrew, and me all the way out here in Colorado. We had a great time with the baby shower in the box, the handmade cards were all adorable, and we'll send pictures of the nursery as soon as it's looking a bit more functional to show you how we've put your generous gifts to use.
Wednesday, August 10, 2005
Potential Threshold Crossing--Or Maybe Just More Amateur Writer Nonsense
I'm still reeling. I had an excellent critique of the first 9 pages of Strings of Discord last night. A challenging critique, one that indicates I'm already moving to a new stage of development as a writer. And I'm absolutely freaked. Deer-in-headlights, am I ready for this, can I really do this, what the hell do I do now, freaked. And just to make things even more confusing, I'm also buzzing from the compliment to my writing.
It's made for a confusing evening and morning.
I guess I should explain. We had a new member at our critique group last night. After the group regulars all gave their feedback (three very enthusiastic thumbs up with only minor quibbles), he then took it to the next level. Basically, he said that what I had written was a stock epic fantasy beginning. Something that could be published if it landed on the right desk at the right time, but it wasn't going to turn any heads, and it would likely launch me, at best, into a mid-list career. Assuming I could find someone looking for stock epic fantasy. But I have a great hook for the entire series, which I already knew, and he wanted that played up a bit more in order to vault my book above the stock epic fantasy out there.
Here's why I'm freaking out.
In just nine pages of rough draft and a brief verbalized logline/synopsis of sorts, he not only saw my hook and was eager to read it, but he also indicated that I was capable of doing it well enough to talk about how I could transcend the genre. If only he were an editor. That's why I'm buzzing. It's also why I'm freaking. Because SoD has only been my little project for three years. Something I believed in and knew could go places. I knew it would be a good shot at a breakout novel. But now someone else knows that too. There's a pressure in that. A sense of "I can do this and do it big, but someone else in the biz knows it too and expects it now". Yipes.
The whole critique made me realize that it's time to move on to the next development stage as a writer. And I've been in this current one only since May, basically. I'm about to leave the comforting level of good, solid writing that has a decent chance of getting published but--if it does make it--it's not going to turn a whole lot of heads, it's going to go through a lot of rejection before it finds that magic combo of time/person to buy it, and it's going to launch a mid-list at best career. And there's really nothing wrong with that level. It would give me the chance to write for a living. It would get my stories in print. It would give me an audience. It would give me a chance to work up to other levels of writing and maybe eventually break out of mid-list. It would also be frustrating and long. It would make publishing that much more of a challenge.
This next level is the break-out level. That ability to take an idea and make it pop beyond what the genre is doing at the moment. This level makes the career I described above a definite possibility, but the least of what I would experience in publishing. This level makes it more likely that I would launch above a mid-list career. This level puts a helluva lot more pressure on me and this would-be career. Starting at this level means it becomes my baseline. That makes leaving the comfort of my current level really, really scary.
You know, this probably sounds like a lot of arrogant, self-indulgent bullshit. Maybe it is. Really, it was only one other writer's opinion, and, though he's been around the block with professional authors, he's still an unpublished writer. And I'm by no means an expert able to make the sort of predictions and career distinctions I just did with any sort of rationale other than my own observations and opinions and intuition. Regardless of whatever "level" I reach as I writer, I may never get published. I may only ever be a struggling mid-list author, never quite sure if my last round of sales was good enough to get me the next contract. I may write the 30 books or so that are in my head at the moment (this is the problem with epic series ideas), and they may only delight my family and friends. And that's OK, because I know I'll at least be doing what I love.
But if this critique is right, and my intuition is right, then I think I just crossed a threshold in to a world of amazing publishing responsibilities. Exciting, terrifying, and something I can't ignore.
It's made for a confusing evening and morning.
I guess I should explain. We had a new member at our critique group last night. After the group regulars all gave their feedback (three very enthusiastic thumbs up with only minor quibbles), he then took it to the next level. Basically, he said that what I had written was a stock epic fantasy beginning. Something that could be published if it landed on the right desk at the right time, but it wasn't going to turn any heads, and it would likely launch me, at best, into a mid-list career. Assuming I could find someone looking for stock epic fantasy. But I have a great hook for the entire series, which I already knew, and he wanted that played up a bit more in order to vault my book above the stock epic fantasy out there.
Here's why I'm freaking out.
In just nine pages of rough draft and a brief verbalized logline/synopsis of sorts, he not only saw my hook and was eager to read it, but he also indicated that I was capable of doing it well enough to talk about how I could transcend the genre. If only he were an editor. That's why I'm buzzing. It's also why I'm freaking. Because SoD has only been my little project for three years. Something I believed in and knew could go places. I knew it would be a good shot at a breakout novel. But now someone else knows that too. There's a pressure in that. A sense of "I can do this and do it big, but someone else in the biz knows it too and expects it now". Yipes.
The whole critique made me realize that it's time to move on to the next development stage as a writer. And I've been in this current one only since May, basically. I'm about to leave the comforting level of good, solid writing that has a decent chance of getting published but--if it does make it--it's not going to turn a whole lot of heads, it's going to go through a lot of rejection before it finds that magic combo of time/person to buy it, and it's going to launch a mid-list at best career. And there's really nothing wrong with that level. It would give me the chance to write for a living. It would get my stories in print. It would give me an audience. It would give me a chance to work up to other levels of writing and maybe eventually break out of mid-list. It would also be frustrating and long. It would make publishing that much more of a challenge.
This next level is the break-out level. That ability to take an idea and make it pop beyond what the genre is doing at the moment. This level makes the career I described above a definite possibility, but the least of what I would experience in publishing. This level makes it more likely that I would launch above a mid-list career. This level puts a helluva lot more pressure on me and this would-be career. Starting at this level means it becomes my baseline. That makes leaving the comfort of my current level really, really scary.
You know, this probably sounds like a lot of arrogant, self-indulgent bullshit. Maybe it is. Really, it was only one other writer's opinion, and, though he's been around the block with professional authors, he's still an unpublished writer. And I'm by no means an expert able to make the sort of predictions and career distinctions I just did with any sort of rationale other than my own observations and opinions and intuition. Regardless of whatever "level" I reach as I writer, I may never get published. I may only ever be a struggling mid-list author, never quite sure if my last round of sales was good enough to get me the next contract. I may write the 30 books or so that are in my head at the moment (this is the problem with epic series ideas), and they may only delight my family and friends. And that's OK, because I know I'll at least be doing what I love.
But if this critique is right, and my intuition is right, then I think I just crossed a threshold in to a world of amazing publishing responsibilities. Exciting, terrifying, and something I can't ignore.
Monday, August 08, 2005
Sneak Preview
I woke up Sunday at 5:30 feeling absolutely icky. Nausea, cramping, Braxton-Hicks, the works--hell, my bod even through in the potential of a bit of a fluid leak that may or may not have been amniotic (I never thought that would be something ambiguous, but circumstances can arise that make it so; trust me, you don't want the details). I shuffled around for an hour, trying various and sundry things to make me feel better. No dice. So I figured I'd call the after-hours care line and see what they suggested. Hauled my butt into the hospital for an unexpected, fully-functioning peek at the Labor & Delivery ward where Andrew's going to spend his first days.
The labor rooms are very large, gorgeous, and have amazing views of the front range. Private bathrooms with big tubs. Nice cabinets to conceal all that fun equipment they need for the actual birthing process. Somewhat comfortable couch for the exhausted father-to-be, rocking chair, radio/CD clock. TV. Really nifty.
We were there for about 2.5 hours, with me hooked up to a fetal monitor. They did the oh-so-fun cervix check and a quickie ultrasound. Andrew's fine, he knows what he's doing, and he seems to be keeping my cervix in line, too. My uterus just has that twitchiness whenever something goes remotely differently than what it's expecting. And absolutely no membrane rupture to be found.
So they sent me home. As happy as I am that Drew's healthy and not trying to arrive early, I'm really getting sick of these piddly, annoying things that keep adding up to give me worrisome symptoms that make the nurses drag my butt in for urgent checkups. They're not enough to warrant any sort of bed rest discussion, but it's just enough to make getting through 40 hours of work each week a chore, and then I have next to no energy for writing. I can feel my sanity fraying a little more with each unplanned trip to the doctor.
The labor rooms are very large, gorgeous, and have amazing views of the front range. Private bathrooms with big tubs. Nice cabinets to conceal all that fun equipment they need for the actual birthing process. Somewhat comfortable couch for the exhausted father-to-be, rocking chair, radio/CD clock. TV. Really nifty.
We were there for about 2.5 hours, with me hooked up to a fetal monitor. They did the oh-so-fun cervix check and a quickie ultrasound. Andrew's fine, he knows what he's doing, and he seems to be keeping my cervix in line, too. My uterus just has that twitchiness whenever something goes remotely differently than what it's expecting. And absolutely no membrane rupture to be found.
So they sent me home. As happy as I am that Drew's healthy and not trying to arrive early, I'm really getting sick of these piddly, annoying things that keep adding up to give me worrisome symptoms that make the nurses drag my butt in for urgent checkups. They're not enough to warrant any sort of bed rest discussion, but it's just enough to make getting through 40 hours of work each week a chore, and then I have next to no energy for writing. I can feel my sanity fraying a little more with each unplanned trip to the doctor.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
This Posting Lapse Brought to You By...
...the DDJ and More Fun With Braxton-Hicks. Our major client just finished up a three-day audit an hour ago. My life has been hell both last week and this week preparing and kowtowing to the auditors' every whim. I think we passed, so at least that should be some consolation. And the Braxton-Hicks I was experiencing last week developed the extra fun symptom of an interesting downward pressure on Monday. OB pulled my butt in ASAP again, and delighted me with the news that while the urinary tract infection has cleared out, the antibiotics used to treat it gave me a yeast infection that is making my uterus "irritable." I prefer "twitchy" because the twitchy uterus is making ME irritable. :) Hopefully once this latest infection clears up and the stress from the audit goes away, my uterus will be less irritable. More on the life lately this weekend when I have time to breathe again.
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