If you are at all interested in good writing or genre fiction, check out Stupefying Stories’ “The 2013 Campbellian Pre-Reading Anthology.” The name is a bit of a mouthful but get past that and you are in for a treat. This collection contains 80 short stories by authors eligible for this year’s John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer award, and all free free free.
** This happened in November but it fits so perfectly with my current mood that I decided to post it today.**
It was a fine day, although just before I started work on my novel the cat got out of the yard and I ended up with sixteen bandages and a lot of bleeding. Nothing too horrific, just lots of scratches and some annoying flaps of skin, but I am now pleased to know that I am the sort of person who can have four bandaids on one hand and still write almost 3,000 words. It was actually really satisfying, I must say.
That brings to mind a Neil Gaiman quote that I hope serves you as well as it has me:
“When writing a novel, that’s pretty much entirely what life turns into: House burned down. Car stolen. Cat exploded. Did 1500 easy words, so all in all it was a pretty good day.”
I’m writing. How’s it going? Not bad, considering. Ann Patchett has a terrific essay called The Getaway Car. One particularly telling passage details her view of writing. While the work is in her head it is perfect, she says, a beautiful, multi-dimensional butterfly in the most magical and vibrant colors. The problem with bringing the story into being is that she has to take that gorgeous creature and smash it onto a black and white page, a two-dimensional and wholly inadequate representation of the original.
It made me laugh and want to cry because I know exactly what she means.
I know, in internet years Kid President is past retirement age by now. I don’t care. I tried to ignore this video for a whole week but finally broke down, and I’m glad I did. This kid is great, and his message is even better. Watch it. And be awesome.
I am relatively new to fiction writing. I submitted my first story in 2011 and have been fortunate enough to have some success publishing since. That said, I have also had an awful lot of rejections. Here’s the thing: I’m an academic. Ok, not anymore, but once upon a time. Getting a Ph.D. was terrific but did a number on my writing. What was I left with? Verbiage. Semi-colons. Colons. And commas, lots and lots of commas. Ever heard of a tale titled “An In-Depth Analysis of One Woman’s Experience with Conflict, Work, and Marriage: A Speculative Analysis of Gender Roles, Cross-Generational Attitudes, and Female-Centered Power Struggles in Medieval Europe”? No, because it’s a lot easier to just say “Cinderella.”
No matter what your background, writing for others is awash with rejection. I dare say that even writers like Ken Liu and John Scalzi have been rejected a time or two. The good news is that it’s not all bad. I’ve got a piece on blazing your own trail, and the potential usefulness of rejection in that process, over at the Clarion Foundation today. If you’re interested in ways to make even this potentially unpleasant experience work for you, check it out.
2012 started well but ended with a bit of a fizzle. And by fizzle I mean a wave of illness, death, and generally unpleasant travel schedules. So apologies for not being around here since the holidays. The good news is that there are still people to care about, there is still useful work to be done, still delicious food to make. Here’s to 2013, eh?
And on that note…
I pride myself on not making resolutions, not at New Year’s, anyway. But here’s the thing: I’m starting to think that maybe I should.
Why? It’s simple, really. Raised by a couple of nontraditional types (they eschewed the “hippie” label but certainly shared some defining characteristics) I generally scoff at traditions. Well, not Christmas and Easter and watching Star Wars with giant bowls of popcorn, obviously, but the other stuff. The traditions that seem designed to weigh you down rather than buoy you up, that help you feel like crap when you realize you’ve fallen short.
Honestly, that’s what New Year’s resolutions always seemed like to me: an opportunity to fail and then have to spend the rest of the year wandering around in a haze of guilt, regret, and inadequacy. Like a minor but well-established branch of several major religions I can think of, actually. No thanks, right? True enough, as far as that goes. But if you look at it as a convenient time to check in, to catch up, to re-evaluate or just to ask yourself the questions that generally get lost in all the frantic day-to-day, well. That seems to be something else entirely.
So. I’m still not going to vow to lose ten pounds a week or exercise constantly or only think thoughts worthy of a nun, because that’s never going to happen. I reject the tyranny of “should” and “must.” But I will spend at least a few belated moments checking in, to see if what I wanted last year is the same thing I want now. And if not, then what? Then I have a whole new year to figure out what comes next.
Here’s to mid-course corrections, and to staying on track!
They don’t know who or why, exactly, but someone sent a near-exact replica of Abner Ravenwood’s journal to “Henry Walton Jones, Jr.” This is where I admit I did not know or never remembered his middle name. It is also where I say that this is absolutely awesome. Perhaps only a movie/word/maker geek would appreciate such a thing, but I am one and I most certainly do.
In honor of the wickedly dubious achievement of the three volumes of Clockwork Phoenix having sold a total of 666 copies in e-book form as of today, I am making my three strange short stories on Kindle (“She Who Runs,” “Sleepless, Burning Life,” “Stolen Souls“) available free for any and all to download on Amazon, starting today and continuing through Tuesday. Consider it an Evil Friday gift.
You may not know, gentle reader, that yours truly spent some time in Tucson, but they had nothing as out and out awesome as this back then. Ok, the Sonoran Desert is pretty spectacular, but we’re talking human crafted for the nonce.
This machine reminds me of a fair in Somerville, Massachusetts. It was the sort of festival where people in bright colors and face paint close down streets and act happily silly, with art! art! art! everywhere. Most of that art was framed or in plastic sleeves or in display cases. It was a beautiful day, full of cotton candy and bright sun and interesting people. But what I remember most was the truly clever Art-O-Matic* at the Somerville Red Line exit. For a dollar this repurposed soda machine would pop out a random cardboard tube containing art. In my case I got a three-inch tall roll of archival paper with an abstract hand-drawn sketch of feathers. Beautiful. I stood in the subway station with people streaming by and wondered how anyone could pass up an opportunity as effervescent as this.
That’s how art should be, I think. Not up on a distant pedestal, isolated behind velvet ropes. (Ok, obvious exceptions for the Mona Lisa, etc. because people can be jerks. But still.) Easy as buying a Coke.
* Oh look, it’s a thing! Different form factor and a slightly less appealing association (cigarettes and all) but same idea.
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