 |
I just read an article about nine companies who have never had layoffs. Lately, it seems like every time I turn on the news, they are talking gloo and doomand irresponsible CEOs driving their businesses into the ground and screwing over their workforce so they can throw enormous parties for their wives on the company dime with dancing midgets and champagne waterfalls. So it’s nice to read about companies that are fiscally conservative, who care about their employees. A pattern that emerged in the article is that most of this companies are family or privately-owned. That makes a lot of sense to me. Too often the people who are in charge of making financial decisions for the company don’t know or care more about it than its stock price.
As the sole employee of my own company, I’m free of the layoff conern, but not of the “going out of business” one. I’ve been reading lots about how to survive in bad economic times, and it’s nice to read something that doesn’t scare the pants off me about the impending apocalypse. 
Speaking of saving the world, does anyone else (other than me and Julie) love the animated show AVATAR: THE LAST AIRBENDER? I just discovered this (sadly, due the to the controversy over M. Night Shyamalan casting the live-action version entirely with white people, depsite the fact that all the characters on the show are recognizably Asian and come from distinct and recognizable Asian cultures) and I LOVE IT. It’s funny and exciting and creative and the world it builds is such a beautiful blend of fantasy and borrowing from legend and culture. (Those of you who know more about the unicorn series are already aware that I’m a huge fan of that sort of fantasy creation.) For example, one character, Aang, is the “Avatar” of the title. According to the legend, the Avatar is the one person in all the world who can learn to “bend” all four elements (earth, air, fire, and water). When the Avatar dies, he is born into the next of the four tribes of the world in a particular pattern. They recognize the avatar because, as a child, he will pick up the belongings of the previous avatar, which is a tradition of Tibetan Buddhist lamas as well. (Aang has the appearance of a Buddhist monk — he wears saffron robes and shaves his head). I’m about halfway through the first season now, and the other two main characters are from the “water” tribe, who seem similar to the Inuit people. (By the way, they cast “Jasper” from Twilight as the Inuit boy, which, ::goggle::). The coolest part so far is that all the different “bending” styles are based on different types of martial arts. I’m no martial arts expert, and I woudn’t think you’d be able to do this in cartoons, but you can totally see how different the fighting styles are. It’s amazing.
Anyway, I’m totally loving it. It’s available on DVD if anyone is interested.
I really enjoyed the discussion about movies on the last post. Like Julie, I find myself less and less interested in the type of movies that win awards. I think there’s a noticeable difference between these “award bait” films and the movies that the vast majority of the movie-going public goes to see. And I think that’s wrong. You can have films that are wonderful and also worthy of awards. I think it’s similar to literary snobbery — if it’s not a limited-release art house film, fuggetaboutit? I am lucky in that I have an art house cinema a few blocks from my house, so I can easily go see Rachel Getting Married and Slumdog Millionaire (both of which actually seem really interesting to me) — but I find it ironic that I’ve actually seen more of the nominated documentaries this year than I’ve seen the nominated “pictures.” I read a lot of reviews of the Revolutionary Roads and the Readers of the world (I believe it was the Slate film critic who decided the Reader should be more appropriately titled Boo Hoo I Boinked A Nazi) and I can honestly say that neither of them seem the slightest bit interesting to me. Not even in the DVD renting realm. More like, if I did have cable, and they were on cable, and I was flipping stations, I may give them a whirl. Instead of watching those, I rented Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind again, which is a great film, and in which Kate Winslet is phenomenal. And as for this year’s Oscar-nom darling, Benjamin Button, well, aside from the fact that I hope they are giving Audrey Niffenegger some kind of money for stealing her plot (it’s certainly not Fitzgeralds!)*, a short film (now, unfortunately, unavailable) comparing it shot-for-shot with Forest Gump was all I needed to see to convince me to skip it (and Brad Pitt’s bad southern accent. He should join a club with Nicole Kidman).
So yeah. Movies.
In other news, it’s beginning to thaw out there. I even took Rio for a walk yesterday. She went nuts. Horrific leash manners, really, for about half the walk. I had to lay down the law, which, naturally, she didn’t appreciate at the time, but she loves me plenty now. Snuggled with me last night and everything. It’s a truth universally acknowledged by dog trainers that puppies like it when you’re the boss of them. Pack dynamics and all.
Okay, I’m off. Today is a big writing day for me. I am in one of those instances where I have to go back into my manuscript and fudge with stuff and add chapters because I realized I got the order somewhat muddled and things have to happen before the things I’ve already written about happen. Joy.
__________________________________
* Seriously, does it strike anyone else as being the same deal where George Lucas tried to get the rights toThe Hobbit and couldn’t, so he made Willow instead?
Fabu YA blogger The Story Siren explains why she reads YA and brings the lot of us to tears.
Scalzi argues that characters who are generally put together are not necessarily Mary Sues. I found this post very interesting because of a conversation I had on Fangs, Fur, Fey a while back (nope, can’t find it, I looked) where someone more versed in the SFF world than I told me that the accusation of “Mary Sue!” is so ubiquitous that it has almost lost all meaning.
***For those who are curious, “Mary Sue” is a term used to describe idealized, often-authorial-self-insertion wish fulfillment characters, usually in fanfiction, but occasionally in original stories. For instance, fan-fiction is rife with the perfect, young (often teenaged) new ensign on the Enterprise/Student at Hogwarts/vampire slayer who shows up, is beautiful and beloved by all thecharacters — but especially all the male characters–on the show, is especially talented and perfect in every way, is above the temptations/concerns/weaknesses/faults that plague the others, saves the day and then, often, dies in the arms of the cutest guy. There are even “Mary Sue Litmus Tests” available online, which are rife with the most hilarious questions (especially if you’ve read a lot of fanfic), such as “is the character’s name a name you really like? Extra points if it’s Raven” and “Are the character’s eyes a color which is found in nature?”***
Anyway, apparently it’s gotten to the point in SFF land to call “Mary Sue” on a character who has any kind of special power (dude, isn’t that why we’re writing stories about them in the first place?) or who isn’t phenomenally screwed up, or who is liked by anyone in the book at all. Which, unfortunate. Anyway, read the piece.
Watched two movies in the last two days. Both sucked. One was Code 46, which seemed right up my alley, but ended up making no sense whatsoever. It’s the near future, and everyone needs these very specific time-sensitive documents to travel anywhere and the cities all have massive border control and everyone else lives outside the city. Oh, also, cloning and in vitro fertilization had previously been such a problem that there was a widespread “inbreeding” panic and now there’s a law called “Code 46″ which says that you can’t have sex anyone who may be genetically related to you. Which I suppose means you’re supposed to get screened before you get busy. Also, there are these viruses you can take which give you special powers or limit your behavior. Oh, and if that isn’t enough, they also have supercool new technology that regrows fingers and alters memory.
Anyhoo, Tom Robbins travels from Seattle to Shanghai to investigate someone who is smuggling out these time-sensitive documents that you seriously need for every single aspect of your existence. But that’s just a MacGuffin. Really, he’s there to meet and have a whirwind affair (depsite the fact that he’s married and has a kid) with Samantha Morton, improbably playing someone named “Maria Gonzalez”, who, although she never does her (practically shaved) hair or puts on makeup or wears anything other than shapeless factory-worker clothes, is apparently the type of girl who goes in for a full on Brazilian bikini wax (yes, I know this, becuase we get to see all of her lady bits). And there are all these ENDLESS shots of her walking in slow motion through subway stations and airports, and long lingering shots on some random dude singing karaoke in a bar. The movie was 90 minutes long. Felt like 200.
***SPOILER WARNING*** (mouse over to read)
Well, with a name like Code 46, I bet you know what happens. Turns out these two are related. As a Code 46 violator (not sure how the gov’t found this out), Morton is forced to have an abortion, has her memory altered to erase Robbins, and gets this handy dandy little “virus” that makes her dread the touch of anyone she shares genetic material with (see, because they now think she’s an incestophile) and, what’s more, makes her slip into a trance and report it if she does manage to commit another Code 46 violation. Which means there’s a really weird “rape” scene in which Robbins has to strap her downa nd hold her while she alternately screams in pain and insists she loves him. (Why she loves him, I don’t know, because she’s had her memory of him erased.)Then she reports it. How she manages to report it I don’t know, becuase it was previously established that after he came and rescued her from the government, they were kind of on the run and had to go live on the “Outside” in the shanty towns where the government couldn’t get them. Indeed, at the end of the movie, Morton chooses to stay on the outside, where she won’t be punished or have her memory erased, while Robbins chooses to have his memory erased and goes back to his wife. She even says “they don’t care what happens ‘outside.’” So why do they come after them once they leave? It’s a mystery.
***End Spoiler Warning***
So that was the first movie. The other one was Rumor Has It, which I probably should have just listened to my friend Anna, who swore I’d hate it. It started out pretty good — it’s about the family that were supposedly the inspiration for the book and movie, The Graduate. And I have to say that I really believed Shireley MacLaine as the grown-up Mrs. Robinson, and I actually like Kevin Costner quite a bit as the grown up Benjamin Braddock. I even liked Richard Jenkins as the much-maligned man that “Elaine” actually marries. It was especially cool because it sort of recast the story so that the characters all had slightly different motivations than seen through the lens of the Graduate fiction,a dn they got to give their own version of events, and you could see how some of it was “true” and some wasn’t.
But the movie was baffling. I guess to make the ages work, they had to set it in the early 90s (because they didn’t want “Elaine’s” daughter to be more than 30), though aside from a few references to Clinton and dot-coms, there was literally nothing in there that was remotely 90s. The fashions weren’t, the hair and makeup wasn’t, the cars and decor and wedding clothes really weren’t! Don’t even get me started on the cell phones! And then there’s this scene where Jennifer Aniston wakes up in Kevin Costner’s bedroom and on his bedside table, he has a picture of himself with Clinton, and a picture of himself with FIDEL CASTRO. On his bedside table.
And Jennifer Aniston’s character bugged the hell out of me. Is it a requirement now that the “job” they give romantic comedy characters is “writing obituaries for a newspaper?” How many romantic comedy characters is that now? I can count three off the top of my head. And then there was the romance. I guess there was supposed to set up this pattern — “Elaine” left her husband and ran off with Kevin Costner before returning and settling down, so they had this whole thing with Jennifer Aniston doing it too (this is not a spoiler, it’s the point of the movie), but I’m sorry, if I’m cutey-patootie Mark Ruffalo, and a rich lawyer in New York, and, to top it off, very sweet and loving and supportive and ready for commitment, and my so-called fiance refuses to tell her family that we’re engaged, treats me like crap, steals my anachronistically small cell phone to run off to San Francisco and have a very public affair with a man twice her age who also slept with her mom and grandma, and then she comes crawling home with the oh-so-romantic apology of “I can live without you,” (especially after he overheard her grovelling to her lover for a far lesser offense for like ten minutes about how handsome and fabulous and what a great lay he was) — yeah. Plenty more fish in the sea, Mark. PLENTY.
Gah.
Anyone see any good movies recently?
My driveay looks like a bobsled course at the moment. Rio is slip-sliding her way across the glacier in our backyard. I am reminded why I liked living in Florida.
Anyhoo, some cool stuff going on ’round the web:
Megan Crewe discusses how to create tension in your writing, using examples from classic literature and a bunch of newer YA novels. It’s quite a lengthy essay, but worth reading, if you’re looking to inject a little extra tension into your writing. I’m a fan of the Hitchcock approach myself: you put a bomb under the table where the protags are having lunch, and then you show the audience the bomb.
Roxanne St. Claire brings up the condum conundrum. I am very pro-condom when it comes to depictions of contemporary sex scenes. Amy uses condoms, as she mentions on page 47 of Secret Society Girl. When I was in college, there were condoms everywhere — giant bowls of candy-colored ones in the women’s center, dispensers in the bathrooms, people handing them out at every campus event — there was really no excuse for finding yourself without one in a situation where you might need it. However, I understand Roxanne’s conundrum — sometimes there’s no good place to mention that the characters are practicing safer sex, even if you have made it perfectly clear in the past that they are the type of characters that do. (Roxanne’s argument, via her teenaged son, is that you don’t necessarily mention that someone puts on a seatbelt every time they get into the car, which just goes to show you that the next generation is growing up feeling that condoms are a must-have item as well.) There is, in fact, no overt mention of condoms in the scene in the tomb with George in Under the Rose, but rest assured, they use them. George, I believe, is the type of guy who buys in bulk. Amy would never dream of having sex with someone without using a condom, and I sometimes wonder if I adequately established that fact before she sleeps with George. There’s also plenty of condom talk in Tap & Gown, but that’s all I’m going to say about that for the moment. Interestingly enough, the topic of condoms rears its head quite early in Rampant: page 8, though it involves a discussion in a sex-ed class. Astrid is a virgin, perforce.
Carrie Vaughn presents one of the best “Big Idea” pieces to date at John Scalzi’s blog, in discussing the idea behind a supernatural radio talk show. You can also read the first “Kitty” story for free online. I think the reason this “Big Idea” was so interesting to me is that it truly is big. Vaughn took a short story and parlayed it into a long running, bestselling series. Good for her!
I think my neighbors are sledding in my driveway. Must investigate.
I’ve decided I might like it here after all.
Originally, I was a bit skeptical. When Daddy let me out this morning, I stood on the porch and whined, then crawled underneatht he porch to do my business. (Yeah, that’s going to be fun times next spring.)
But then Mackie, the lab next door, was playing outside. so I realized that this strange, cold white stuff on the ground probably wouldn’t kill me if I stepped on it.
Mackie introduces me to the wonders of snow.
Soon after, I discovered I could eat it! Mommy was muchly amused.
Stay away from the yellow stuff. Right, got it.
So anyway, now I’m wet all over, and a little sleepy. Not that it’s gonna keep me from lying on the couch for my morning nap.
Mmmm…. naptime. Mommy’s Yale blanket. Perfect!
To Whom It May Concern, Especially If You Have Peanut Butter,
I may be in the market for a new situation. My current living arrangements are… acceptable. I suppose. I mean, I’m fed two square meals a day (even if I rarely eat more than one of them, even with cheese sprinkled on top) and I’m almost always lavished with more attention than I can handle (there comes a point when a girl just doesn’t want any more massages, you know?). My — let us politely call them “roommates” shall we? — are sweet individuals, and I know I could probably have it way worse. And yet, I find myself overcome with this inescapable sense of… ennui.
Le sigh.
I am no longer overjoyed when my — well, let’s just call her the female roommate, as the name she has chosen for her relationship to me is utterly embarrassing — takes me on our daily walks, and I’m not afraid to express my disappointment by, upon returning to the house, immediately scratching at the door to be let outside again. I even do it after our long, supposedly draining hikes we take several times a week through the park and along the creek. Scratching at the door, indeed, is my new favorite past time, and one I engage in with such frequency that one might initially suspect I am suffering from a UTI.
This is not the case.
Speaking of the hikes, you cannot imagine the indignities I’ve been forced to suffer of late. Last week, while on our hike, we passed a playset. Now, I am usually allowed free reign of said playset, and I take great delight in running up the steps and leaping down the slides. However, at the park on this particular day there was a pair of teenagers making out on the playset, and my — female roommate — was under the impression that their unorthodox occupation somehow should take precedence over my desire to actually, you know, play on the playset. can you believe it? They can kiss where ever they want. I, however, can not run around on ladders and slides anywhere else other than on a ladder or slide. Doesn’t that make sense to her? I swear, she’s so dumb sometimes.
Stupid teenagers. Out of my way!
It only got worse as we continued our hike and reached the next playset, where there were children playing. Now, here’s where I have the sad duty of informing you that my mommy female roommate is actually a speciesist. She decided that these children were somehow more worthy than I was of being on the playset. Apparently, I’m only allowed on unused playsets. It’s this disgusting bias that makes me unable to associate with her any longer, and I showed my distaste for her prejudiced views by refusing to obey her condescending commands for the rest of the hike.
I was not allowed to do this.
Which brings me to the next indignity. As many of you already know, I have started sleeping in bed with my, er, roommates. But they seem to think their feet take precedence of place over my entire body. And they are always telling me I can’t sleep on their precious pillows, You’d think they were made of gold or something. Plus, my roommates are warm, and, given the luxuriousness of my gorgeous winter coat, I really need a cooler spot to sleep. I would prefer if they moved away, and I express my displeasure through loud sighs and moans at every juncture in which I am forced to shift. I have even heard my — ahem, female roommate — wonder, aloud, how such a small creature can make such a big noise.
Sometimes, I’m even forced to leave the bed altogether and go find someplace of my own to sleep.
Fine, keep your stupid bed. I like it in here better anyway. Hmph.
Ah, my crate, At times, I find it a meditative spot, filled with solitude and chew toys, while at others, it is a humiliating experience. I have tried expressing this to my roommates. At times, when they pat the top of the crate and tell me to “kennel up” I settle myself down on the corner of the bed and attempt to communicate to them that I will just lie here, very quiet and very still, and there is really no need for all of this locking me up and leaving stuff they mysteriously insist upon.
But they don’t believe me. I don’t get it.
So I eat the occasional sock. Is that any cause for harsh imprisonment?
Just add it to the list of thing they won’t let me do. They won’t let me dig in the garden, they won’t let me root around inside the bathroom wastebasket, and they won’t let me eat nachos when they are having them. It’s more than a girl can handle. And really, haven’t I been good? Haven’t I sat when they told me to “sit”? Haven’t I stayed when they told me to “stay”? (Usually. Sometimes. If I felt like it?) Haven’t I worn their stupid costumes when I was so very obedient that I graduated with flying colors from puppy school?
Le sigh. The indignity.
And thus it is that I now realize I cannot suffer in silence any longer. I need to get out of here. To this end, I petition every stranger I meet on the street, every deliveryman who comes to the door, every friend of my roommates who visits the house. Take me with you, please! These two like to pet me and snuggle me and won’t let me eat socks. You’ll let me eat socks, I know you will! Pretty please!
Save me!
Sincerely,
Rio
Yay, birthday presents! There appears to be a theme. My mother bought me this gorgeous teacup and saucer with little cherry blossoms all over it, and then this morning there was a package from theteatable.com sitting on our doorstep:
Sailor Boy: Hmmm, let me guess. Another teacup?
(We’re seriously going to need to get some sort of cabinet/display case for all of them.)
But it was actually my first shipment in the tea-of-the-month club that my brother got me for my birthday. Yay! Now I have something to put in my collection of tea cups!
Also, this is not a birthday present (I got it for Christmas) but my dad got me this beautiful crystal killer unicorn that I keep on my desk now when I write. It really is a killer unicorn, even if the artist didn’t think of that while designing it. Seriously, though, the eyes glow red. I find it quite inspiring.
A cup of tea, a killer unicorn, and Pan. That’s all I need in my office. (Puppy sleeping on my feet is a bonus.)
In other news, I’ve been rolling my eyes a bit at a discussion on one of my lists about vocabulary in YA novels. The prevailing opinion goes that one should not use “unusual” or “big” words in YA books, because teens don’t know them.
Gigawhat now? I don’t know about you, but I think it’s a safe bet that my vocabulary was actually better when I was a teen than it is now. To start with, I was learning vocabulary words for school every week. And then there were SAT flashcards. And if that weren’t enough, I was in Latin class five days a week and my etymological skills were at peak performance. In addition, I was spending five days a week reading Shakespeare and Chaucer and lots of other writers who used plenty of words I didn’t know. I had a ton of practice figuring stuff out from context and, you know, looking stuff up.
And you know what else? That’s not even the point.
Please, please, please, please aspiring YA authors: do not dumb your books down because you think teens can’t handle it. They can handle it. They are handling Faulkner and Hemingway in their English classes. They can handle anything you want to throw at them. And they know when you are treating them like idiots. And they do not like it. I see a lot of complaints online from teen readers who resent authors who think they all sound like valley girls circa 1985: “Oh totally, like wow, gag me with a spoon!”
Please.
I recently read the Lemony Snicket books, in which there is a running gag about Snicket using big (or often, not so big) words and then defining them, humorously, for the reader. There is also a running gag wherein the adult characters explain words to the Baudelaires — words that they, without exception, already know. I can’t help but think this is a commentary on exactly this sort of behavior. Children (even the young readers of the Snicket books) know a lot more words than you give them credit for, and if you hide these words from them, they won’t learn.
This is not to say that you should cram every twenty-five-cent word you can think of into your book, but if a word is right, do not be afraid of it, and certainly do not go combing through your manuscript looking for words you think are “too big” for the dim intelligence of your readership. That way lies condescension.
The Secret Society Girl books are probably more likely to contain “big words” because the characters are more likely to use them, especially in dialogue, and most especially when debating each other. Take, for example, this exchange between Poe and Amy in the first book:
“Ah, Miss Haskell,” Poe said, snapping his book shut. “Lovely afternoon, isn’t it?”
“Exquisite. I’m looking for a straight answer on what’s going on here.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “You sound like a member of the fourth estate. Interesting. And here I thought Carey was prevaricating.”
Dude, the SATs were four years ago. Get a life.
So here I’m using the formalized debate-speak for laughs. But the fact of the matter is that it would be counter to their characters to dumb down their vocabulary, as I’m writing about smart kids at a top school.
In Rampant, while the characters are also intelligent, they aren’t all as academically-minded as Amy and her friends, and Astrid’s interests, particularly, lay more in the area of science than literature. Most of her “big words” come from medical books — anaphylactic, tachycardia, etc. There are also characters whose first language isn’t English, so their vocabulary is even more limited:
“Signorina,” Lino said wearily, “This is to be talked about with Signores Bartoli and Jaeger, yes? I do not choose.”
“No, no, Lino,” Phil said. “I understand that. But we’re here now. With you. So you could say that we are currently under your direction. Neil doesn’t have the same knowledge of animal husbandry as you do. And Mr. Jaeger has his own…agenda.”
“Signorina, if there is anything I learn after these weeks it is I do not know many things about licornos.”
I also got to use some bad Italian, which was fun, and which I’m half expecting to be criticized for, but again, I made that choice due to character. There are several different ways to say “I love you” in Italian, and it matters who you are talking to — a family member, a romantic interest, etc. However, I have an American character with an Italian mother, and what he’s heard his whole life, what has emotional resonance to him, is the “family” way. So that’s what he uses. I went back and forth on this one for a really long time, and there are a bunch of reasons I chose it in the end, which are kind of spoilers, so…
What I’m trying to say is that vocabulary should be a facet of character, not of audience. If you are writing one of those “simple vocabulary” books with specific requirements — well, that’s different. That’s a very particular market, similar to the “use this vocab word in a sentence” assignments we had in high school. But for the regular trade market, it’s the story that should define the words, not the author’s (probably off-base) opinion of the reader’s comprehension. (Some of the words I’ve been hearing that “teens don’t know” are just — ugh. I’m offended, and I haven’t been a teen in eleven years!) I have never been told to take a particular vocabulary word out of my books.
And I leave you with the immortal advice of Mark Twain, who may have written books about children, but they weren’t necessarily “childrens’ books”:
“The difference between the almost right word & the right word is really a large matter–it’s the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning.”
Use the right word, whether it’s the big one or the small one. Use the right one.
Spent a long time today detangling a sticky plot problem with the help of the ever-amazing Julie Leto. (Ever envious of her plotmonkey pals!) I had been wringing my hands over this issue for a few weeks now, which arose due to some majors changes that I’d made to Rampant in between me selling the manuscript and the final version. (Again, this goes back to the proposal being from three different POVs and then revising it to be merely from Astrid’s and to focus more firmly on Astrid’s story.) As characters developed and storylines changed and focus shifted, I lost track of a particular element that I had planned for this book, which I’m calling KU2 since we haven’t decided on a title yet. When I started writing it, I realized that this element now seemed a bit out of place, but I wasn’t sure how to fix it.
This is a common problem for writers of series. Rachel Vincent recently blogged about the rare luxury of being able to go back into earlier, as-of-yet unpublished books in a series and jimmy the worldbuilding so that later elements work. Most writers, whose books come out as they are writing future stories, are stuck either ignoring the worldbuilding (cf. every TV show ever made) or attempting to retrofit it to match the storytelling elements you are going with now. I’m usually of the retrofit mindset, but there hasn’t been a book I’ve written yet where I didn’t wish I could go into B&N and scribble margin notes so that I can call them back later.
On the flip side, sometimes my subconscious will leave me presents that only reveal themselves as I’m writing later books. There is a scene in Rites of Spring (Break) where a character is doing something mysterious, and his or her actions are not even remotely explained — until I decided on a reason for them while writing Tap & Gown. And it was awesome, and fitting, and I’d never even thought of it.
But back to my KU2 plot problem. As I’ve written about before, I am not the world’s best reviser. I’m very “measure twice, cut once” in my writing mindset, and I’ve also got an echo issue. Even when I change things, in my head, it’s still the original, like looking at erased pencil marks on a page. (It is important to note, however, that this can be overcome. After all, I completely rerote the entire first half of Rampant several times. Hardly a syllable remains of the original.) So I started writing KU2, and it occurred to me that I had a problem,and I had a really rough time seeing my way past it, because I was entirely stuck in “this is the way it is.” I spoke to Justine Larbalestier, who had an awesome solution, and I balked like my puppy being led into a bathtub (in passing, why will this dog sleep with her head in her water dish and jump into any puddle, creek, river, or slimy wet smear on the sidewalk, but hates bathtubs?). I liked it a lot, and it provided some very interesting avenues to explore, thematically and in terms of plot, and yet…that wasn’t what I’d been planning.
Fast forward another week, and I’m still shilly-shallying around, unwilling to give up my former mindset. But then some time passed, I got a little older (hee hee!), a little wiser (one hopes) and I talked to Julie, who not only loved Justine’s idea, but added some truly fascinating facets to the concept. I considered it some more. I realized that exploring these facets were so much more interesting and resonant than the one I’d planned on, and that it set up a pretty major conflict going forward. One that affected the main character, not just the secondary characters. In other words, I could take a minor story element that didn’t quite fit and turn it into a major one that fit very well.
Sold. Of course, it’s going to require a bit of rewriting, but it’s all in the name of the story!
This is one of the reasons I think critique groups and writing friends are so vital. In our jobs, we don’t have office mates we can turn to for advice on a difficult project. But we can cultivate virtual office mates.
Speaking of which, I have a work meeting at a local coffeeshop. Later!
Thank you all so much for the birthday wishes!
Yesterday was crazy. Sailor Boy and I went downtown to watch the festivities. Lucky, we were invited to a party inside a building on Penn Ave. I was amazed at the number of people who braved the freezing cold weather, including my best friend, who was volunteering on the parade route (she had hand and foot warmers and wore a ton of layers and she was still freezing). My friend told me she saw people who had to go to the hospital to treat their hypothermia. There were people nearby who did the electric slide for six hours straight to keep warm. It was truly a sight to behold! The streets were packed, and the rooftops were studded with countersnipers.
Me (to a friend): Ooh, take a picture of the snipers.
Friend (quite wisely): No, I think not.
Me: Come on. Look at all the people on the balcony of that building. The snipers won’t know you’re taking a picture of them. Besides, they’re countersnipers. They aren’t hiding or anything. They want you to know they are there.
Friend: Um, not going to take that chance.
Me: Fine. (Takes a picture of the snipers.)
Snipers: (pointing their binoculars in my direction en masse) Hiiiiiiiiiiiii.
Me: Gulp.
Yeah, that was probably a bad idea. Also, it didn’t really come out.
During the parade, the Obamas got out of the limo about three blocks from where we were, then got back into the limo for our block, then got out again two blocks later. Pretty disappointing, though I think it’s because of the way the street worked where we were — it was probably a security risk– also, crazy girls taking pictures of the snipers). We did, however, get to see V.P. Biden walk by.
After that, we headed up to my friend’s restaurant for a birthday dinner, then went home to get Rio, who had spent the day with my father-in-law. It was the first time she’d ever been in another house without us. Apparently she was fine for the first few hours, and then it dawned on her by late that evening that we were missing and she stood by the door and whined. Of course, when we did get there, she said hello, then went off to eat her dinner and ignored us. So much for her grand love.
 In other news, Alea of Pop Culture Junkie turns her hardcover vs. paperback series to the topic of Secret Society Girl. Of course, the comparison does not include the original hardcover cover (which appeared on the ARC). Ah, cover changes. They run rampant in this industry. When they changed the original cover for SSG, it was after I’d designed a website to match said cover. So then I had this gorgeous website with soft, muted blues and creams and a hot pink and maroon cover. On one hand, it looked like I had gorgeous artwork on my website. On the other, it kind of clashed. And only clashed worse when they changed the cover again to the bright, neon candy tones of the paperbacks. I don’t think I’d design a site around a cover again, though I can’t help but think that the designer was thinking of my current site when they designed the Tap & Gown cover.
Okay, enough random musings for the day. I have a lot on my plate, not least of which is to do something with the house, which is a bit on the disheveled side at present. Also, I need a new phone. One that can use Verizon (so no iPhone, sadly). I’ve had a razor for the last two years and I hate it. Any recommendations?
(Updated to add: Alea asked to see the original SSG cover design, pictured at left. I don’t actually know the details of why they changed it. I suppose it had something to do with this cover, while pretty, having a very retro look and perhaps not communicating “comedy” as well as bright colors might? Who knows? I did love the redesign — I thought it captured the irreverence and mystery of the story very well. I also liked the paperback, which I think captured Amy’s attitude perfectly, if not, necessarily, her wardrobe.)
Tuesday I am thirty,
And though the fact delights me plenty
It disturbs me somewhat to know
I’m half again past twenty.
I like my life, the things I have
My career, husband, and puppy
And yet I must admit that I’m
No more a little guppy.
I’ve achieved all kinds of major goals,
No marathons, though — not sporty
But perhaps it’s something I can revisit
In the ten years before I’m forty.
I’ve traveled lots, and published books,
And that is super nifty,
Still, it’s tough to believe in twenty years
I’ll find myself at fifty!
I hope that this foundation
Proves broad and strong and sturdy,
For the many things I plan to do
In this year when I am thirty.
(Inspired by one of my favorite poems from childhood, “Tuesday I was Ten,” which, sadly, I was not able to find online.)
|
|
|
|
 |
