Day in the Life of an Idiot

 I feel like I've forgotten how to write. 

Which is weird, since I wrote about 2,000+ words of fan fiction yesterday.  So, it's not the actual act of putting words to page that I've forgotten how to do, but something else.  I've got a deadline fast approaching for an author guest slot in an invite-only magazine called Boundary Shock Quarterly, my issue will be about apocalypses that I was invited to contribute to, and I've been doing a LOT of thinking about stories that feature after the fall/the end of the world and what appeals to me about them.  Shawn and I even re-watched "Logan's Run," which surprised me by mostly standing the test of time. But, Mason challenged me to put some words to paper today and I have started numerous times only to be frustrated with the results.

I've gotten some good advice about how-to write short stories from the people in my writers' group, so I'm not necessarily looking for that right now. But, you know, if you really want to point me to writing blogs or whatnot, I'll definitely read anything you link to. I'm not so proud that I'd turn away a good resource.

What I'm really stymied about right now is something different, however. I was counseled to consider writing a story within a story, where there's something else going on and the end of the world is kind of more of a backdrop. Something like what naomikritzer did with "So Much Cooking."  (An amazing story, if you haven't already read it, you should.) This is excellent advice because a good short story is always operating on a number of different levels, but... okay, here's the thing that's really been hitting me _today_ as I sit down to write. I'm not sure that's me, the writer who writes brilliantly about the human condition clothed in science fiction. Think it's absolutely what most people are writing write now--most successful short story writers, anyway, given what I've been reading in prep for the Nebula Award nominations. I am a gigantic fan of slice-of-life manga, butI was re-reading some of the stuff I wrote to promote the launch of Resurrection Code, which very much is my "after the fall" novel, and it's all apocalypse travelogue with action.

And I'm wondering if I'm doing a disservice to myself by not just writing an adventure?

Eh, I should just write SOMETHING and stop overthinking the whole process.

Mason's right about me. I can talk myself OUT of any idea I have... and end up with nothing.

Well, I'm picking him up at 5:15 pm tonight (unless robotics gets cancelled due to the snow), so I have time to get something down. Probably I should just start writing ANYTHING and see where that takes me.

Or... I could do the dishes... or vacuum.

See, I'm a writer. I know how to avoid writing!

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UPDATE: 325 words written. Ha! It's not a lot, but I'm exceedingly happy that words made it onto page. Go me!

Last night, I typed my two favorite words in the English language: "The END." Of course, at this stage, the book is really not done in the least. My MVBR (most valuable beta reader), naomikritzer, has yet to read and comment on all the stuff I skimmed over, my embarassingly stupid misspellings, the plot holes, and the bits I blatently left out. Naomi is also wicked awesome at uncovering emotional themes that I didn't entirely realize I had going and giving me ways to bring them more to the surface. So, when she's done, I'll have some work to do.

BUT I can haz a working draft. A book what has a beginning, middle and end. For me, the hardest part is over, as I'm one of those writers who really prefers revision to writing (in some ways. It's at least a place I feel a lot less PRESSURE.)

To be fair to this WiP, however,I actually really enjoyed putting words to the page this time around, thanks, in large part, to my mother's advice to simply "embrace the cheese."

I will have to say, however, that I am never again naming any project with a title that includes the number 13. This book has been totally cursed. This morning, I got frantic email from Naomi telling me that the version I emailed her seemed to end in the middle of a scene. I went back to my computer and it looked like I didn't save all the words I'd written that took the story from that scene to "The END." I started to FREAK. Then, I realized that through some really weird accident, the final version of the book got renamed (of all things) "Maybe." (Explain THAT one, Dr. Freud.)

This was not the first computer weirdness I've had since starting the book. I'm seriously looking on-line for an "uninstal gremlins" button for the Toshiba.

Anyway, that's a big YAY. Shawn looked at me this morning and asked, "So what are you going to do with all your free time?"

For one, I need to start writing up ideas for more book proposals. I also have a short story percoloating in the back of my mind that I'd like to get down on paper for an anthology I was considering submitting to.

So... write, I guess. :-)

Shawn is off visiting some other out-of-work state employees for a commiseration session and coffee, and Mason and I are getting ready to head off to the public library. He absolutely adores the WARRIORS series by Erin Hunter, and a couple of the *new* books that we ordered/interlibrary loaned came in, so we're going to hike up there to pick them up.

Last night I made it back to kuk sool wan, and that was fun.

What I really need is for Mason to be back at school (that starts Monday) so I can focus on the "new" novel, which is due in a matter of weeks.

I've been really absent lately, but this time I think I have a pretty good excuse. First, as you know, Bob, I've been frantically working to make deadline for Tate's young adult novel ALMOST TO DIE FOR. I'm happy to report that as of ten o'clock last night, I did (electronically. Now I have to send mss. via post.)

Also, Gaylaxicon was this weekend, and I was in attendance on both Saturday and Sunday. (I actually brought along my laptop and was working on the novel in between panels and, rudely, in the corner at Eric Heideman's party. But I wanted to be there and Shawn had said I'd better only come home when the novel was finished. :-)

Otherwise, I had a great time at Gaylaxicon. I have to admit I'd never been to one before. My big problem is that I often don't feel gay enough. I don't write about gay or queer issues, I just happen to be a lesbian who writes SF/F (and straight romance, talk about not feeling Q!) It's sort of like that feeling of "being a fraud" that some writers go through when they're held up as experts on panels when they've done only "x" (written short stories, published one novel, not broken out into best-seller-ness, or fill in insecurity here.) It's been a long running joke of mine that I don't "do" the professonal lesbian potluck scene because I'm really just a nerd that happens to be lesbian. I have way more in common with people who get wound up about Battlestar Galatica than I do with women who sleep with women on a semi-regular basis, you know? So I felt a bit out of my element.

I will say I was surprised (and impressed) by how much of a READER oriented (if you will) con this was. I only saw a couple of people in costume, and then, only briefly. There weren't a whole ton of media panels that I noticed (although our BSG panel rocked!), but most of the literary track was peopled with people who also intimidated me by the sheer volume of gay/queer SF/F they'd read.

On the flip side, I met some truly impressive people and am harboring a deep intellectual crush on a queer fellow-Wiccan I met there. And the con has inspired me on a number of levels. The first of which is a desire to check out the Spectrum Awards page for a reading list to take to my local library, and to pick up my pen and get queering the genre!

In mundane life, I've been not only frantically finishing Tate's novel (and the next proposal which I have to also turn in on the 15th, aka Thursday,) but we're getting ready to head off to Indiana to visit the relatives on Thursday as well. So I have to do the usual house cleaning and car mantainence bits on top of all this book-related excitement.

Whee.

We have an appointment with Mason's teacher when we get back from the break, which I think will go fine. I'll be curious to hear the general plan for his reading stuff (he's clearly enjoying his pull-out time with the second graders, he keeps pointing them out to me in the halls as I take him into to school in the mornings,) and figure out the whole library privledges thing.

I think that's all the news fit to print, though I feel like a lot more has been going on in my life. Perhaps you heard that it snowed here? I like it. Most Minnesotans are complaining about it, but it's pretty and I doubt it will last. We'll have a few more warm days before winter settles in, and Mason was so excited to see it he burst into Christmas songs and almost cried when I told him we couldn't check out the sleding hill until a little later.

Okay, I'm off to get new tires for the car and FedEx Tate's book.

For our last night of mischief before mama comes home, Mason and I splurged. We bought THREE Star Wars novels at HalfPrice Books. Insanity!

We also stopped off at Mirriam Park Library because the #15 HIKARU NO GO that I'd requested came in. Mason checked out the Goosebumps, but was underwhelmed. We did end up checking one of them out to read together called "One Night in Horrorland!"

I also had a funny experience writing my young adult novel yesterday, which I report on over at Wyrdsmiths. For the brevity of the post, I neglected the step in there where I also called naomikritzer on the phone to ask her opinion, and the very funny conversation we had about it all.

Ever since then I've been thinking about what's wrong with this situation. News flash: I know very little about young adult novels or the young adult market. I can name several local authors who haven't yet broken in to the YA market who know a whole hell of a lot more about it than I do. I've read only a handful of books that would be considered teen YA and I haven't been a teenager since the Cambrian period. Why am I the one writing a young adult novel? Don't get me wrong, universe. I'm extremely grateful for this opportunity (especially since Penguin has rejected further Garnet), but...

... in the end, it really is all about who you know and being in the right place at the right time with a chipper attitude and a willing smile on your face. I always suspected that much of the success in this business came down to luck and being willing to write anything, any time for anyone.

And I hope to keep banking on it.

But, I don't know. I hope my friends will continue to be my friends through it all.

Anyway, no time to think about all that. 22 days and counting....

It's cold and gray here in Saint Paul and I'm feeling far too exhausted from my work out to feel like doing anything other than staring at the computer screen while my brain goes, "zzzzzzzzzzzzz." Alas, I have about 30,000 words to write in 29 days. Actually, best if I got that done sooner since I need to find a Wyrdsmith or two to read it and critique it before I send it off to my publisher.

Bleah.

I think I shall fuel up with tea and a sandwich.

Mason is now starting to get homework. Personally, I find this rather atrocious since I don't remember getting homework until 3rd grade or so, and, worse, I have a feeling Mason is going to be wicked bored by it. He needs to work on his handwriting/penmanship, it's true, but Shawn and I worked out a good system for encouraging that, I think. But some of the other stuff is like, "count the number of letters in the month of September. Now count the number of letters in your name. Which one is bigger?" Mason was counting the number of letters in things in Pre-K. In fact, he surprised both me and his Pre-K teacher when they were doing a stickering project where you put three stickers on a page next to the number three and you know, four next to the number four, etc. He hadn't finished it at school, so he brought it home. At home here we have some letter stickers for Shawn's scrapbooking and spontaneously, he spelled out the word: "octopus" and put it under the number seven. Because, you know, octopus has seven letters. And he just had that floating around in his head. At four years old.

Still, it's a requirement, so we'll find a way to do it and hopefully expand it and play with it in a way that makes it fun instead of rote. Wish us luck.

Speaking of homework, I'd better get to mine.