In a Locked Room

Sometimes I feel overwhelmed with reading, like its become more of an addiction than a hobby. I mean my TBR pile could take out my kitten with one well aimed topple (45 and counting). And sometimes it feels like I am going through the motions, just letting the words filter pass, and not really letting myself fall into the story like I used to be able to do. You know the sensation, that moment where you are in the author's created world. All the other concerns slip away, and the only thing that matters is the story pattern unfolding before you. 

This year, though, I have read many wonderful books (Their Eyes Were Watching God, The Sorrows of Young Wether) that swept me away. And one has even been moved into my  pantheon of top five (The Garden Party and Other Stories by Katherine Mansfield, I still can't write about that yet).

But sometimes its the story that catches you off guard is the one you love the most. 

( Read more... )
It is the reconciliation, the AND instead of the OR, that I find so uplifting and true. And that is why I continue to read.  

And decide to write a lj post instead.

This is going to be a rant. Full on rage, I cannot breathe but for to spew these words out on the page, can you not see what blazes in front of us all, type of rant.

Yes, I know, strong words. And what has merited this wrath? CSI: New York.

If you love this show, or merely enjoy it as cotton candy for the mind (ooh pretty color, why are fingers sticky, where did it go, now I feel sick) please stop reading. My father used to love to watch this show, not for the plot or any other reason then all the cool gadgets and whatnot, but after I exploded one day watching it last week with him, he says he can't watch it the same way.
 

( The thing that is CSI ) 

I guess I run into this mentality too much in everyday life, that to see it propagated in entertainment is too much. It needs to stop. Otherwise we will get more of these damaged idiots making life hell for everyone else and justifying it because they see themselves as the hero in these shows. Do Not Want.
 

 

So right now I'm sick. Not sick in the sense of curled up on a bed wishing the nyquil would kick in so I can forget this painful mortal coil, but more like everything feels heavy, lifting my foot, lifting my hand, lifting my head. Even trying to string together sentences feels like swimming through jello.

Its a very weird experience, a dream while awake, you know?

And while its a drag to feel this way, it is giving me a chance to stop and think about things. About where my life is, where I want it to go, and what is most important for me. 

In some ways, I have felt stuck for years in a place that just wasn't quite right for me. Of course being an adult means that you shoulder on, and being alive means that you try to find ways to make it bearable, and being human means you wonder if there isn't something better, and being mule stubborn obstinate means that you just don't give up on finding out if its better somewhere else.

I was just talking last night to a dear person about life and whatnot, and how for the first time in a long time I feel like I'm no longer in an untenable position. That things are working, that I am able to become the person I want to be. This was in direct relation to my job. And I do feel blessed. After five years of fighting through the Goldilocks dilemma of all the possible combinations (too much work but interesting, too little work but oh soo dull, and oh crap Bears are standing over me and their teeth are way too sharp) I've finally landed in a place that gives me space.

I think thats all people like me need. Yes, recognition is great, and challenging work is wonderful, but simple respect for the fact that I am more than what I can produce for you to use, that I have things I want to do that nothing to do with a bottom line or timesheets or productivity, and most certainly not efficiency, well thats a wonderful feeling. 

Some days I wake up and wonder if this is really my life. Am I the one who is getting on the train, not having to drive through horrible traffic?Am I the one who works with wonderful (weird but wonderful) people who actually believe in work life balance? Am I the one who now has energy to do things on the weekend? 

I just hope I don't wake up if it is. I don't think I could back. I have been strong but I need time, time to let the cracks heal from the past five years from all the things that crashed against me. 

That said, I have found one of the most beautiful songs in the world and I want to share it with you. It starts slow but wait for the 1:12 mark. Then feel it. That space of about 45 seconds in the song where it just lifts off from the earth, the power and the majesty and the sorrow and the hope and longing, always the longing for the better. This is what I want, my life to be the swoop and rise of the beat in this song. I hope you are having a wonderful night wherever you are.

*clears throat* So yes, its been a little bit again. Sorry, my work has entered into the one busy season, so thats pretty much where I have been. That and laying on the couch in my pjs, munching cereal and watching some pointless and pointed television (I know, its rotting my brain, it will make it more tasty for the zombies).

But enough about that. Lets talk writing shall we? So, as you know I have the new novel that I have been working on, the bfghbb. While I adore that nickname, the time has come for this project to have a grown-up name (so that it can be put on cover letters and resumes and future employers will not raise an eyebrow). Anyhoo, titles and me are not the best of friends. For a while I was going to call it "The Ones with No Names" which while nice and semi-accurate, I'm not sure anyone else would get as all the characters do have names, even if they are assumed.

So today,  I had a realization of one of the main themes in this story and now I have about two or three takes on it. Which one do you like:

In the Shadow of Ruin
In Ruin's Shadow
That Which Grows in the Shadows of Ruin
That Which Grows in Ruin's Shadow

Feeling like a sheep today so I shall follow the meme Its that time again for the first line, or in my case first paragraph, of open stories I'd love to finish. So without further adieu:

( The stories are calling )


Now they're laid out there for everyone to see. Not sure how many of these will get done before the next work monsoon hits in about 13 days (not that anyone is counting or anything) but its a start.

This is going to be another post about my process. As you know Bob, these post go way into depth about the minutia of my brain, which some people enjoy and other people would rather have toothpicks shoved into their eyes than be forced to read it. Its below the cut for the interested parties.

( And down the rabbit hole we go )
Its weird too, because I know by the time I reach the middle, I will probably have to come back and do this exercise all over again, honing the beginning even more to support the story that will come after.

So if you hear me over here complaining about specificity, or the necessity of placeholders, now you'll know. Its just me, trying to weave gold from the straw in my head.

Labor Day weekend was wonderful and I actually feel ready to go back to work tomorrow. I know, weird. Anyways while my mind is getting ready for the awesomeness that is going to be Glee's premiere this week (insert fannish yelp of joy here) I figured it's time to share five random things:

1) I found the easiest receipe of my life this weekend and the meal it makes is yummy. Here is the link, because a recipe isn't real until its shared:
http://www.recipezaar.com/Crock-Pot-Chicken-W-Black-Beans-and-Cream-Cheeseyum-89204

I made some rolls to go with it, and I would even suggest a bed of rice too. Walking through the house today and smelling this was wonderful. Which brings me to point #2

2) Yay its fall!!! It feels like forever since last year's fall, and I for one can't tell you how excited I am about the weather change. I love crisp mornings and cool evenings and those rainy days when you can just throw something in the crock pot and curl up with your laptop and a cup of tea and enjoy the grey and green world outside. Perfection.

3) I am absolutely addicted to Katy Perry's song "Waking up in Vegas". I have no idea why, I mean her other singles were decent but never pushed my earworm button like this song. I catch myself singing it in the shower, on the elevator and even on the streets of Chinatown as I'm rushing to the office building. Sharing is caring:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t7YFAP4myMw&feature=fvw

4) I think (500) days of Summer might be my favorite movie of the year so far. Have seen it twice and have to say it is still made of amazing. The only other contender I can see taking that crown is Whip It (trailer here:http://www.apple.com/trailers/fox_searchlight/whipit/) which comes out in October. What can I say, I have a weak spot for spunky smart girls and Ellen Page is all that and some mac and cheese;)

5) Wow that was a lot of linkage going on above. So I will keep this one clean. I am still working on Chapter 2 of bfghbb (or for those of you just tuning in, Big Fat Giant Heavy Baby Book (yes, BFG was my favorite Roald Dahl book growing up)) but I think its almost done. Or at least to a spot where I can move on.

And that's pretty much that. Have a great week everybody:D

And the subtitle to this post: How my brain wants to drive me absolutely crazy.

For those of you keeping score at home, I am currently at work on my fourth novel. Novel one being the classic amalgam of every fantasy novel I read and loved, novel two being the "I'm so clever look at how many plot threads I have" and yet still had no plot, and novel three being the good but just not good enough novel. (still slightly bitter about novel three), I have moved onto novel four.

( Read more... )
But I know, oh how I know that I have to get this right. That this painful process of going through and embedding all this depth in the first few chapters is what enables me to soar through the middle chapters and nail the ending. Hell in the first thousand words of this chapter I already know the exact arc of this character, the fate of a minor character, two major plot points that will come later and their impact on her, and backstory of the City that had no idea how I was going to get across. 

All this to say, the revision is going nice. But brain, could you please send me the middle soon. Kthxbai!
 

Stephen Sondheim is a genius.

I mean it.
 
I know I am like four decades behind the rest of the world on this one, but seriously people, Stephen Sondheim is a genius and I will tell you why.

( Someone to hold me too close )This has become part of my cultural heart, taking up on the shelf next to Herbert's Dune, Woolf's The Waves, and Kay's Tigana as a touchstone of what art is capable of doing for crazy people like me. I think thats one of the most important functions of art (if it can have function at all) to show you are not alone, and others have walked this path before you and survived. You can live. There is a place for you in this fucked up beautiful world.

And that's the best thing I can say about Sondheim.

P.S. Sorry about not lj cutting this. Explorer is being a pain and I will try again home, sorry f-listers.

Wow so right. It has been two months since I last posted. Life has gotten, to say the very least, a little crazy. But this time its in a good way. The new job is doing something interesting and challenging with cool people. Sorry about the vagueness, they made it clear that we should be careful what we say in print and I am just being careful.

But really something has bugged me all day and I just have to share. Why do stores make button fly pants look so tempting on the rack? Every time I see them, my brain goes "Awesome!", even though the small Polish grandmother voice in the back of my head is screaming what a gigantic pain in the kisser they are to wear.  

"Oh no", I say back. "It can't be that bad." 

Then the next week at work I am stuck in a bathroom stall, cursing under my breath while I try to get the damn thing to close. Yeah. Button fly, beautiful concept, horrible execution.

I have so many blog post ideas jostling around in my head right now. About what it means that someone is a bestseller, the economy of plot movements, why I need to do more than just write.

But first an update. So the first part of the last week was a nightmare as it was the final three days on the job. You would think that having put my two week notice in and knowing that it was almost over this would have made things easier but you would be wrong. Because I am crazy and part masochistic, I was determined not to leave things open, so I stayed late and worked. And my boss basically treated me like a used kleenex on my last day. Which again, not unexpected, but after staying till 7:30 the night before working on a project for him, I had thought (foolish me) that at least we would part amicably.

The second half of the week, however, made up for the first in a major way. I got an invitation to go up to Nova Scotia to visit with friends, and before you could blink, I was out traversing the Canadian countryside. The entire time I was there it was beautifully overcast, that shade of grey that just makes you want to wear warm sweaters and sip at soups and cradle hot cocoa mugs in your hands. And man is Nova Scotia beautiful. Here are some of the pictures I took while I was up there.





I took this because I just couldn't believe how clear the water was. This was a tidal pool right outside a traditional fishing town called Peggy's Cove


And one more shot along the Ovens trail. This was actually one side of a cave opening where miners used to dock when the Gold Rush hit back in the 1800s.


Right now it feels as if things are finally starting to settle in. I have the start date for my new job and time to catch up on a thousand things I have been meaning to do. Its just so nice to have space to breath. Its been nearly five years since the last time I could honestly say that I wasn't overwhelmed with everything. Now I know in a month that will get thrown out the window again with the learning curve of the new job, but for right now, it feels greats.

I have been writing this post in my mind all this week. It started Monday when I put in my two weeks notice. And every day since then I have wanted to share the good news here. But it never seemed the right moment.

But today, today it finally sunk in. I am done with this job. This hell job that had made the last six months of my life nothing more than gritted teeth and clenched hands and whispered "not one more day"s is in the past tense. After next Wednesday I will never have to see my ex-boss again (ex-boss, ex, ex, ex, ex). 

Of course there is always that sense of melancholy that comes with leaving. I made friends there, and I feel sorry for the people I leave behind. I've told them to get out; the warning signs are all there but I don't know if they will. Change is hard, and its so easy to get up in the morning and do what you did the day before and not even stop and think about how much this is killing you on the inside. Yeah.

The overall feeling that rushes through me is relief. Its like I have been holding my breath for six months, praying that this is not what my life would be, and now I can see more than just the tunnel in front of me. So much more. I know its seems silly to be this worked up about leaving a job, but its been hard couple of years. There haven't been a lot of breaks since '05, and sometimes I forgot that things can work out all right, that I don't have to break myself just to maintain normal. Tonight I'm exhaling, deep long exhalations that remind me of why I smiled, why I wanted to write and travel and be places and live, just live and enjoy this beautiful world.

I know the new job will not be perfect. But cutting two hours out of my commute a day, and removing a verbally abusive boss is a step in the right direction. And me being me, of course I have a song that I have been playing nonstop since I found out that I had the new job offer:

We are wordsmiths and we know the power of patterns, the power of words repeated in ways that form something more than just themselves. So you might have heard that Catherynne Valente, yuki_onna , is in trouble. You might have figured that it was due to this shit economy and you'd be right. But let me repeat it, here, now, if you can help, please do.

Her words are rare and wondrous. I can't, no, I won't think about a world in which those words go silent. I could go on about how her stories have convinced me that there is a place for me in this world, that there are stories beyond the ones I felt burying my soul, ones that could be about the word and what it meant at the same time. And how emotion and sound and being alive could connect in one glorious story arc. But that doesn't change the fact that she needs our help. So if you were ever curious about Valente, click the link below. And thank you, even if you just read this and pass it along, thank you. Because its all about signal boosting.



Help Catherynne M. Valente
adoptingcat

for how I feel about So You Think You Can Dance. I love this show, love it with a deep, abiding passion that bypasses the rational part of my brain and flows straight to the center where I end up jumping up and down and shouting, Yes, Yes, Yes!!!

I endured watching the stupid try-outs and the always outrageous and unpredictable Las Vegas week, all for the awesome of performance nights.

Because that's what the show about. Its two dancers, a genius choreographer, a song, a stage, and an audience making art. Motherfucking, goddamn, in your face, mind-blowing, soul-altering, spirit-moving, smile-making, tears-flowing, groovetastic art. No apologies for beauty brought to you.

So many times art has to stop and say, "Hey, I'm important, please pay attention." But on this show its unfettered. Why be timid when with a swipe of an arm you can shatter someone's breath, with a twirl of cloth you can evoke a memory, an emotion, an experience, and pull them into a story. Their story.

I love writing. I love the art form of writing. But I do not think for one moment we have the market cornered on art. Oh no, all I have to do is watch this show, and it makes my body ache in longing to do what they are doing, to be that something more, to reach down inside of me and rip up my soul through my body out my arms, my legs, my hands, my fingers, my feet, my toes, my eyes, to make you feel what I feel. Hope, sorrow, whimsy, precision. All of this is captured in the quality of movement. The ripple of muscle against bone, against the tension of gravity against the need for the human soul to soar.

These dancers set flight. And this is the best season yet. Honestly, out of the ten couples only two failed to capture my attention. Out of the other eight, two just made me want to leap off the sofa and embrace what they held out to me, shining.

The first was a jazz piece by Tyce Di'Oria (who I normally find not so enthralling). It was a composition that on the surface was this smooth sheen. But man, what the dancers brought to this forward slick roll and stop and tumble rent my heart. That openness that comes with the first look (his face sliding slack and wide and open), that captured knowing between two souls that this could be something (her leaning into him for the first time and he standing there for her), something fantastic as they reach across the stage and over the emotional boundaries that we put up and around ourselves. It brought back so much to me, and overlaid those memories with this sepia of a 1960s feel, early 1960s when button up shirts were still around, and gee-whiz, and one foot up kissing, and there was hope in the air under street lights that made full leaved trees glow. Man.

The second is so far from the first on the spectrum of dance conversation, its almost laughable. The cheeky post-modern with a heart-rending center dance was choreographed by my second favorite Wade Robson, who shall we say is Genius! (Okay time for truth. Mia Michaels is and shall always be my fave, and I know that makes me predictable butt I do not even care, because you know what? When Mia choreographs something she squeezes blood out of every fucking step. I respect that level of craft and perfection. Always will.) Anyhoo, back to Wade. He did a contemporary piece tonight based on two crash test dummies. One who has been through hundreds of car crashes, and one who has just been introduced to the plant.

But underneath, underneath in the subtext where all the true things lie, was the message of how to live through the pain, how to live like you don't hurt, that this is the only way to really make it through life. And sometimes you just need someone else to show you how, and there is no shame in hoping that this time, this time its going to be different. That all those times when you stapled yourself back together, ignoring the limp, made it possible to find the person you could be broken with. Wow.

That's why I love this show. That's why I will rewind and rewatch a performance once, twice, three times. Its why I still go back and watch this piece by Mia Michaels from two years ago.




Because its art. Its breathing, its living. No excuses. No fear. Feel it and soar.

I had hoped that in reading "About Writing" by Samuel Delany, I would be able to unlock his fiction. Which of course begs the question where and how I have failed before, and why I feel the need to continue to overcome this failing. But that is not what this post is about.

No, I just finished reading Empire Star, and now I am quietly trying to piece my brain back together. Because, and this is a thing that is still gel inside my mind, Delany is a master of structure. Well, he is a master of a heck of a lot more than just structure. But its the structure of this piece that just takes my breath away.

I love circularity, and I love it when plots dip in upon themselves to draw out their deeper resonances. And I am just beginning to get an understanding of patterns and rhythms and the things that you cannot put your finger on but make the story just so much more than the words on the page. And then I read this perfect nugget of story. Empire Star.

Gah. It makes the structure of my novel look like crayon scribblings on the back of a postcard. But now I've read it and its ringing in my brain. Here's hoping something comes out of that clanging;)

I really wanted another day to dig around in my thoughts and try to find the bigger patterns of the weekend. But the memories are starting to fade, and nothing is perfect, so here's my Wiscon experience:

The thing I kept saying to enggirl all weekend was how overwhelming it was to be there. The things I value: words, writing, reading, thinking about things, taking time to understand, listening to others, aren't applauded in every day life for me (I so wish). Out of my department at work I am the only one who has read a novel in the past year. Yes. That. Sometimes I just feel so strange, and alone, and tiny, because no one else seems to understand how important these things are, these things that pull me in and won't let me go.

Going to Wiscon was looking up and seeing that I was not the only one. I will never forget the look of joy on enggirl 's face at Valente/Tucker concert Friday night, when the sheer power of the words hit us both. I will admit when Cathrynne Valente read the Gaselli prose poem I teared up. The words, those beautiful words, being shared in that space, it was like breathing, drinking, hearing. I could have sat there all night.

Or going to the dealer's room with julia_reynolds and watching her pick up three more books even though she had bought some earlier that weekend. Because I do that, and I thought I was the only one who couldn't stop with just one more book, even if my tbr pile is teetering. Or just watching hermetic work a room like only he can, discussing issues far and wide with a sensitivity and depth that takes my breath away. Or ljgeoff stopping me in mid-thought with the way she melds science and story and psychology into this unified vision. Or therinth with her warmth, inviting and wise and giving the newbies the best con advice ever (get sleep!). Or Margaret Ronald hugging me and giving me the courage to go back to writing the novel of my heart.

Realizing that these are my tribe, these are my people and not only that, but that they want to spend time with me . . . it was and still is overwhelming for me. Who am I that these people made of win would even bother to talk to?

There are many more things I wanted to capture in this blog post, like the hilarious one liners from julia_reynolds , Madge's hair (The Hair, as it was referred to all weekend long), Anthony's way of appearing to say the exact right thing at the right time, the discussion I had about being allies and what I learned there, or how fear kept me in check from reaching out to the hundreds of awesome people that had come to Wiscon. Or even how my tribe helped me overcome it twice (I was hugged by Valente and Tucker, LA!).

But really, here is the most important thing I learned. I need other people; I can't survive alone. I have been out in the cold for years, and walking into Wiscon was like walking into home. Warm, open, and comforting. Was it perfect? No, but it was more than enough. I am recharged and ready to face the mess that is my professional life, and start setting priorities for the things that really matter. Like words, writing, reading, thinking about things, taking time to understand, and listening to others.

All I have to say is: Wiscon 34!

Still ruminanting on Wiscon. I can feel the blog post forming in the back of my brain, but its not done yet.

Yet, I have a shiny thing to share. Query letters are not my thing (oh so not my thing), and I usually wait until I finish a novel before I try to write one. But my new novel, yes the bfghbb, just coaslesced in my brain last night. Its not traditional, and I'm not sure I'll use it, but it does capture some of the feel of the piece.

( Cut for the mercy of the f-list )


Not sure if I'll use it but it's something, right?

Wow, and wow. So I just attended my first ever sff con, and so glad I did. There's a lot that went down, and I wish I could make my brain work and slap it all down here, but apparently I am still processing (I know, mr. overthinky is overthinking). Suffice it to say, I am happy I went, I am happy to be home, and I miss everyone already.  

 I just read something that just completely changed the way I look at poetry. I find with writing books that its like this. There can be whole chapters that don't effect you at all, and then you run across one sentence that just unlocks this part of your brain that you never knew existed.

Said book is called "The Triggering Town" by Richard Hugo, and its about writing poetry (thanks julia_reynolds  for loaning it to me!!!). The line, and I'm paraphrasing, you don't have to follow the subject you introduce first in the poem. And yes, I know, its simple and a nice sound byte. But man, you don't know how many times I have abandoned poems because the excitement in my brain about the subject peetered out after the first three lines. Go team epiphany!

(And one day till Wiscon madness!!!!)

This post is going to be a rambling thing. I'm just stating it for the record.

( To spare my f-list )

*Part of what sparked this whole post was a discussion I had with julia_reynolds about a book recently. She pointed out that the book felt long and that maybe parts should have been cut. Part of me agrees, said book is a monster, but like Grey's, this book places emotional structure first. If something was cut, the pattern wouldn't work and then bam we wouldn't have the payoff at the end that makes the entire novel work. I know what Julia means, and I know what happened to the author, I'm just wondering if there are better ways to build the emotional patterns that still have the payoff at the end. I don't know.