I'm finally consolidating my blogging efforts and folding my aquafortis web presence into my official author page, right here. Henceforth, you can read both my personal blog entries and my Finding Wonderland posts on that page, or you can visit Finding Wonderland directly, too.
It's kind of the end of an era, except that I was posting here so rarely anyway...
Monday, January 15, 2018
Tuesday, May 16, 2017
Travel (Mis)adventures Pt. 1: The Great Rental Car Debacle
Right, so that was fun.
Yesterday we rented a car in Bath in order to drive around to various more remote locations: Stonehenge, Avebury, etc., ending in Salisbury, where we planned to drop off the car and then take a train back to London.
We successfully (more or less) navigated insanely narrow country village streets and an unholy number of roundabouts in this Nissan SUV which we were surprised to get considering I thought we were getting a compact car. We didn't get lost, thanks to Google Maps. We managed to visit most of the sites we wanted to see (with a few exceptions due to time constraints) and congratulated ourselves on getting to the car rental office in Salisbury 15 minutes before our scheduled dropoff time.
Of all the various things that could go awry with this plan, we never guessed it would be the part where we DROP OFF THE CAR.
But then, it all started just a little off. The night before picking up the car, we noticed that the reservation paperwork we'd printed said that we were picking it up at 5 pm in Bath and dropping it off at 6 pm in Salisbury. (It's entirely due to their crap website which likes to reset the time of your reservation any time you make any minor change while trying to set it up.) This was NOT what we had intended for our all-day trip, but I managed to change it online to an 8:30 am pickup. Okay. Not too bad. They had a car for us when we showed up the next morning, though it wasn't the one we expected. Fine.
BUT THEN!!! Upon arriving at the Salisbury rental office at 5:45, we found the facility gates locked with a giant padlock, the whole place apparently shut (despite their posted closing time of 6:00), and no key dropbox anywhere. We searched in vain for a way in, to no avail. We spent about 10 minutes wandering around in utter confusion, going WHAT IS HAPPENING THIS IS CRAZY AARRGGGHHH.
Then came the phone calls. I called their office number and nobody answered. I called the office where we rented the car in Bath and nobody answered. I called the Customer Service main number and got a recording that said their customer service line closed at 5:30.
We all know how much I love making phone calls, so of course I made yet another call in a last-ditch attempt to speak to a human, and called the next closest car rental office, 20 miles away at the Southampton airport. The very nice lovely woman I spoke to was calm with my flustered self, waited on the phone while we searched one more time for a dropbox or a way in, and finally suggested that we leave the car parked in front and HIDE THE KEYS SOMEWHERE. Oh god. There seemed to be nowhere good to hide the keys that we could actually reach from OUTSIDE.
Here's the really fun part: Rob finally decided to jump the fence. There was a high iron fence all the way around the place except on one short side where the car rental facility abutted the neighboring auto shop business. (BTW we did ask them what the heck was up with the Hertz people and they were like, uh, we don't know them.) On that side was a rickety wooden fence about 6 feet high. Braving CCTV cameras and who knew what other possible alarms and things, Rob climbed over, hid the keys underneath their rental office portable structure, and climbed back to our side. The kind Southampton office lady agreed to send them an email on our behalf so there was external evidence we attempted to make the dropoff. Rob took pictures to document where we left the car and keys, and later on, when we'd actually made it back to our lodgings in London at around 10:30 pm, I followed up by filling in the web contact form (since Hertz apparently doesn't have a direct way to email anyone), explaining what happened, and sending them a picture showing where we left the keys.
As positive as our experiences with Hertz have been the last few times we used them, including in Australia, this time was TOTALLY INSANE.
GOLD MEMBERSHIP MY ASS.
Yesterday we rented a car in Bath in order to drive around to various more remote locations: Stonehenge, Avebury, etc., ending in Salisbury, where we planned to drop off the car and then take a train back to London.
We successfully (more or less) navigated insanely narrow country village streets and an unholy number of roundabouts in this Nissan SUV which we were surprised to get considering I thought we were getting a compact car. We didn't get lost, thanks to Google Maps. We managed to visit most of the sites we wanted to see (with a few exceptions due to time constraints) and congratulated ourselves on getting to the car rental office in Salisbury 15 minutes before our scheduled dropoff time.
Of all the various things that could go awry with this plan, we never guessed it would be the part where we DROP OFF THE CAR.
But then, it all started just a little off. The night before picking up the car, we noticed that the reservation paperwork we'd printed said that we were picking it up at 5 pm in Bath and dropping it off at 6 pm in Salisbury. (It's entirely due to their crap website which likes to reset the time of your reservation any time you make any minor change while trying to set it up.) This was NOT what we had intended for our all-day trip, but I managed to change it online to an 8:30 am pickup. Okay. Not too bad. They had a car for us when we showed up the next morning, though it wasn't the one we expected. Fine.
BUT THEN!!! Upon arriving at the Salisbury rental office at 5:45, we found the facility gates locked with a giant padlock, the whole place apparently shut (despite their posted closing time of 6:00), and no key dropbox anywhere. We searched in vain for a way in, to no avail. We spent about 10 minutes wandering around in utter confusion, going WHAT IS HAPPENING THIS IS CRAZY AARRGGGHHH.
Then came the phone calls. I called their office number and nobody answered. I called the office where we rented the car in Bath and nobody answered. I called the Customer Service main number and got a recording that said their customer service line closed at 5:30.
We all know how much I love making phone calls, so of course I made yet another call in a last-ditch attempt to speak to a human, and called the next closest car rental office, 20 miles away at the Southampton airport. The very nice lovely woman I spoke to was calm with my flustered self, waited on the phone while we searched one more time for a dropbox or a way in, and finally suggested that we leave the car parked in front and HIDE THE KEYS SOMEWHERE. Oh god. There seemed to be nowhere good to hide the keys that we could actually reach from OUTSIDE.
Here's the really fun part: Rob finally decided to jump the fence. There was a high iron fence all the way around the place except on one short side where the car rental facility abutted the neighboring auto shop business. (BTW we did ask them what the heck was up with the Hertz people and they were like, uh, we don't know them.) On that side was a rickety wooden fence about 6 feet high. Braving CCTV cameras and who knew what other possible alarms and things, Rob climbed over, hid the keys underneath their rental office portable structure, and climbed back to our side. The kind Southampton office lady agreed to send them an email on our behalf so there was external evidence we attempted to make the dropoff. Rob took pictures to document where we left the car and keys, and later on, when we'd actually made it back to our lodgings in London at around 10:30 pm, I followed up by filling in the web contact form (since Hertz apparently doesn't have a direct way to email anyone), explaining what happened, and sending them a picture showing where we left the keys.
As positive as our experiences with Hertz have been the last few times we used them, including in Australia, this time was TOTALLY INSANE.
GOLD MEMBERSHIP MY ASS.
Thursday, January 05, 2017
Why I Write: Finding Joy in the New Year
The following was also cross-posted on the writing blog, Finding Wonderland.
We've been talking about writing goals in our WritingYA critique group this month, and I've been thinking a lot about that over the past few weeks. One of the ideas I keep coming back to is reconnecting with what brings me joy in writing.
It's a tough question, and one I find particularly difficult to consider during times when ongoing anxiety and depression issues rear their ugly Cerberus-like heads and distract me from seeing an answer. In part, I think I keep obsessing over this particular question BECAUSE it has been so hard to answer. The easy, pat response is, of course, that the writing itself, the act of crafting words and bringing stories to life is a joy in itself. That's what everyone wants to hear, right?
There's more to it. It isn't solely about the joy of putting words to page. That particular joy is something I've felt ever since I was a child, but here's an admission: it was not sufficient to tip me over the edge into wanting to make writing my life's work.
If you know me IRL or have been reading my blog and other social media for a while, you'll know that I was focused on a visual art career from about middle school onward. If anything has ever been a calling for me, that felt like it. I liked writing, but art owned my soul.
It turns out that maybe woo-woo soul searching questions—am I still an artist? Is writing my new calling? Can they both be my calling?—are sly distractions from the question of what brings me joy in writing. And once I've been distracted by those questions, I end up sliding down a rabbit hole of uncertainty, anxiety, and fear.
But, as I started really focusing on the idea of what brings me joy in writing, it was much more concrete and real-world than I expected. I looked back on what caused me to make that initial decision to try writing freelance articles on the side for my then-employer, which is what led me to take that first writing class through the UCLA Extension Writers' Program. What was it that made me so happy, so elated, so motivated to write those arguably quite ridiculous pieces of writing?
Besides the fact that I got to visit weird websites and make jokes about them, got to humorously explicate pithy quotations, and got paid a teeny bonus for doing so, this was my first experience of the sense of connection that writing for a public audience can create. Not just a SENSE of connection: an actual connection, because people would email me with suggestions; they'd send me comments. I was basically blogging before there were blogging platforms, because this was 1999-ish. I was lucky to have an insta-audience (albeit a small one) because I took over someone else's columns on an already-established site, and it was an incredible feeling to get those responses to what I wrote—sometimes from the very websites I was writing about. (And I learned a lot about the fine line between jokes and gratuitous hurtfulness, because I was a very sarcastic twentysomething.)
This is interesting, because I have mixed feelings about the IDEA of connection—my social anxiety and introversion comes into play more and more the harder I think about it. I start thinking about all the blogging and writing I've done that does NOT make me feel like I've managed to connect. And the stakes feel higher, too, because I've accepted the decision to make writing a major part of my career, not just something I'm doing on the side.
So then I get lost in the thought-hole of "I'm doing this for my job, so I can't afford to think about FUN anymore." The very idea of joy seems irrelevant. This is the mire I get caught in, over and over.
Where that train of thought has gone off the rails, I believe, is that I've created a false dichotomy between work ENJOYMENT and work EFFECTIVENESS. The truth is that I'm NOT as effective a writer when I am not in touch with my reasons for doing it. When I'm distracted by extraneous worries that fool me into thinking they are the real problem.
And so that brings me back to what my intrinsic rewards are, and besides satisfaction in a piece I enjoyed writing and worked hard on, and laughing at my own jokes, I keep coming back to writing as an act of connection. Some corollary truths here: When I am more fully engaged in a piece, I think it is ultimately more effective in making me feel connected. I am engaged in this because I feel like I am talking to YOU, right now. The writing itself makes me feel connected, if I engage in it fully.
That feeling has little to do with any comments or responses the writing might generate later, but I wonder: is there a sense of disengagement in some of the posts I write that actually somehow discourages connection and leads to fewer comments? By disengagement, I don't mean a lack of honesty or an unwillingness to spill my guts (though I am definitely guilty of the latter; I'm not a person who is forward with my opinions)—rather, I wonder if I'm inadvertently creating a feeling of distance. In my magazine writing course, in graduate school, I was repeatedly pegged as sounding too academic, and I wonder if that plays into it.
So I have been thinking of ways to connect, to engage. Different ways to approach my writing on a more day-to-day level.
I'm still thinking. More on that later…
It's a tough question, and one I find particularly difficult to consider during times when ongoing anxiety and depression issues rear their ugly Cerberus-like heads and distract me from seeing an answer. In part, I think I keep obsessing over this particular question BECAUSE it has been so hard to answer. The easy, pat response is, of course, that the writing itself, the act of crafting words and bringing stories to life is a joy in itself. That's what everyone wants to hear, right?
There's more to it. It isn't solely about the joy of putting words to page. That particular joy is something I've felt ever since I was a child, but here's an admission: it was not sufficient to tip me over the edge into wanting to make writing my life's work.
If you know me IRL or have been reading my blog and other social media for a while, you'll know that I was focused on a visual art career from about middle school onward. If anything has ever been a calling for me, that felt like it. I liked writing, but art owned my soul.
It turns out that maybe woo-woo soul searching questions—am I still an artist? Is writing my new calling? Can they both be my calling?—are sly distractions from the question of what brings me joy in writing. And once I've been distracted by those questions, I end up sliding down a rabbit hole of uncertainty, anxiety, and fear.
But, as I started really focusing on the idea of what brings me joy in writing, it was much more concrete and real-world than I expected. I looked back on what caused me to make that initial decision to try writing freelance articles on the side for my then-employer, which is what led me to take that first writing class through the UCLA Extension Writers' Program. What was it that made me so happy, so elated, so motivated to write those arguably quite ridiculous pieces of writing?
Besides the fact that I got to visit weird websites and make jokes about them, got to humorously explicate pithy quotations, and got paid a teeny bonus for doing so, this was my first experience of the sense of connection that writing for a public audience can create. Not just a SENSE of connection: an actual connection, because people would email me with suggestions; they'd send me comments. I was basically blogging before there were blogging platforms, because this was 1999-ish. I was lucky to have an insta-audience (albeit a small one) because I took over someone else's columns on an already-established site, and it was an incredible feeling to get those responses to what I wrote—sometimes from the very websites I was writing about. (And I learned a lot about the fine line between jokes and gratuitous hurtfulness, because I was a very sarcastic twentysomething.)
This is interesting, because I have mixed feelings about the IDEA of connection—my social anxiety and introversion comes into play more and more the harder I think about it. I start thinking about all the blogging and writing I've done that does NOT make me feel like I've managed to connect. And the stakes feel higher, too, because I've accepted the decision to make writing a major part of my career, not just something I'm doing on the side.
So then I get lost in the thought-hole of "I'm doing this for my job, so I can't afford to think about FUN anymore." The very idea of joy seems irrelevant. This is the mire I get caught in, over and over.
Where that train of thought has gone off the rails, I believe, is that I've created a false dichotomy between work ENJOYMENT and work EFFECTIVENESS. The truth is that I'm NOT as effective a writer when I am not in touch with my reasons for doing it. When I'm distracted by extraneous worries that fool me into thinking they are the real problem.
And so that brings me back to what my intrinsic rewards are, and besides satisfaction in a piece I enjoyed writing and worked hard on, and laughing at my own jokes, I keep coming back to writing as an act of connection. Some corollary truths here: When I am more fully engaged in a piece, I think it is ultimately more effective in making me feel connected. I am engaged in this because I feel like I am talking to YOU, right now. The writing itself makes me feel connected, if I engage in it fully.
That feeling has little to do with any comments or responses the writing might generate later, but I wonder: is there a sense of disengagement in some of the posts I write that actually somehow discourages connection and leads to fewer comments? By disengagement, I don't mean a lack of honesty or an unwillingness to spill my guts (though I am definitely guilty of the latter; I'm not a person who is forward with my opinions)—rather, I wonder if I'm inadvertently creating a feeling of distance. In my magazine writing course, in graduate school, I was repeatedly pegged as sounding too academic, and I wonder if that plays into it.
So I have been thinking of ways to connect, to engage. Different ways to approach my writing on a more day-to-day level.
I'm still thinking. More on that later…
Tuesday, September 20, 2016
Canned Goods I Can't Live Without
 |
| I find this somewhat disturbing. |
Hey, that almost sounded like clickbait. Oh, you clicked it? Read and weep, suckers.
Why the random topic? Who knows? Why not? I'm posting this for no real reason at all other than, if I don't, this blog will languish quietly into sweet oblivion. So, basically, no reason whatsoever. Just like 99% of all blog posts ever written. Whoops, did I say that out loud??
Actually, I feel like I am somewhat of an expert on the topic of pointless daily web content, having been an early provider of such in the prehistoric stone age of the internet. (I mean PREHISTORIC. You have to look on the Internet Wayback Machine to find it.) So maybe I DID say that out loud.
Okay, so yeah: I decided to make a list of the canned goods I like to have in my pantry (and by "pantry" I mean a cabinet of inadequate size and an ancillary shelving unit in my office) at all times, thus providing you with an unsolicited and thoroughly pointless glimpse into my daily life vis-à-vis my cooking tastes.
- Canned, diced tomatoes. Totally indispensable for chili, pasta sauces, curries, stews, soups, whatever.
- Chicken broth (technically in a carton, but I'm listing it here anyway). See above. Rob likes to cook it with ramen noodles.
- Two, if not three, of the following kinds of canned beans: kidney, black, pinto, garbanzo. Chili! Tostada salads! Minestrone soup! Bean dips of a multitude of varieties!
- Tomato sauce. We really do make a lot of pasta.
- Tuna. Which is actually for the cats, mostly.
- Beer. I guess that's not really a food. Nor is the extensive amount of diet soda in a can.
- Canned goods I occasionally stock: corn (in the off season), Ortega chiles, tomato paste, pineapple chunks, water chestnuts, coconut milk.
I'm sure there are a few others I'm missing, and I didn't include rarer purchases like beef broth or bamboo shoots, or weird shit that is on our shelves for reasons I can't remember like conch meat and a can of chipotles, but that's the majority of it right there. Bully for you!
I suppose if you want you can weigh in on your favorite indispensable canned goods in the comments, if you are one of the select* (*possibly tiny) group of people reading this. I know some of you probably have different and exciting canned goods. Go nuts. (Oh. I do also stock cans of nuts. Almonds, usually...)
Sunday, October 11, 2015
The Heartbreak of...Chronic Hives
I just have to vent about this. You can read it, or not.
I always wondered what the heck people meant when they referred to "the heartbreak of psoriasis." Now that I know what it's like to have a mysteriously recurring autoimmune skin condition that is essentially an enigma to modern medicine, and apparently continues to be so in the 13 years I've had to live with it off and on, it IS a little heartbreaking.
Okay, I'll correct myself: there have been two new things since the last time I obsessively researched this online (during my last bout, maybe three years ago). Firstly, some people respond to the asthma medication Xolair, although so far in the small number of studies conducted, the hives slowly return after medication is stopped, so...yeah. Secondly, there's been a name change! Oh, yay. Now "chronic idiopathic urticaria" is "chronic spontaneous urticaria."
It still means the same thing, though: recurring mystery hives, cause unknown.
And it's more than just hives, at least in my experience. The hives might itch furiously, or a little, or not at all. They might go away throughout the day. Or not. Antihistamines might help, or not. A course of steroids usually ultimately kicks it in the butt, except when it doesn't, like this time. (A new and unwelcome development.) My personal least favorite is getting a hive on my lip or eyelid so it looks like I got smacked in a barfight, although having welts up and down my legs is no picnic either.
And then there are the vague non-hive symptoms. Feeling like I've swallowed air and it's causing pressure in my chest, like heartburn or gas pain, moving around in there for hours, sometimes during the night so it's hard to sleep deeply for long periods of time. Zantac: it might help, or it might not. (Bet you didn't know it was a histamine blocker. The things you find out when you have hives.) The fatigue and general malaise that make me feel just kind of tired and yucky. The anxiety that some unlucky day I might get swelling in my tongue or throat and have to get rushed to the hospital, though that hasn't happened yet, knock on wood.
Exercise is always supposed to be a cure-all. Exercise helps reduce the stress hormone cortisol, etc. etc. If I'm feeling okay enough to exercise, it might help--sometimes it seems to help me metabolize whatever medication I've taken, and the hives will start to go down. Sometimes my own sweat seems to irritate my skin and bring out new hives. Sometimes I just don't feel well enough to exercise, or I have hives on my feet that make it really uncomfortable to wear running shoes. Or run.
This might be the worst, though: knowing that stress and anxiety is a major component, perhaps even the long-term ultimate cause--and still being unable to control the fact that the condition itself causes me additional stress.
Like anxiety and depression, issues I'm also far too familiar with, it isn't something that will "just go away." Seems like there's about a five-month minimum, in fact. So...it's been almost a month now. Four more to go? We'll see.
I always wondered what the heck people meant when they referred to "the heartbreak of psoriasis." Now that I know what it's like to have a mysteriously recurring autoimmune skin condition that is essentially an enigma to modern medicine, and apparently continues to be so in the 13 years I've had to live with it off and on, it IS a little heartbreaking.
Okay, I'll correct myself: there have been two new things since the last time I obsessively researched this online (during my last bout, maybe three years ago). Firstly, some people respond to the asthma medication Xolair, although so far in the small number of studies conducted, the hives slowly return after medication is stopped, so...yeah. Secondly, there's been a name change! Oh, yay. Now "chronic idiopathic urticaria" is "chronic spontaneous urticaria."
It still means the same thing, though: recurring mystery hives, cause unknown.
And it's more than just hives, at least in my experience. The hives might itch furiously, or a little, or not at all. They might go away throughout the day. Or not. Antihistamines might help, or not. A course of steroids usually ultimately kicks it in the butt, except when it doesn't, like this time. (A new and unwelcome development.) My personal least favorite is getting a hive on my lip or eyelid so it looks like I got smacked in a barfight, although having welts up and down my legs is no picnic either.
And then there are the vague non-hive symptoms. Feeling like I've swallowed air and it's causing pressure in my chest, like heartburn or gas pain, moving around in there for hours, sometimes during the night so it's hard to sleep deeply for long periods of time. Zantac: it might help, or it might not. (Bet you didn't know it was a histamine blocker. The things you find out when you have hives.) The fatigue and general malaise that make me feel just kind of tired and yucky. The anxiety that some unlucky day I might get swelling in my tongue or throat and have to get rushed to the hospital, though that hasn't happened yet, knock on wood.
Exercise is always supposed to be a cure-all. Exercise helps reduce the stress hormone cortisol, etc. etc. If I'm feeling okay enough to exercise, it might help--sometimes it seems to help me metabolize whatever medication I've taken, and the hives will start to go down. Sometimes my own sweat seems to irritate my skin and bring out new hives. Sometimes I just don't feel well enough to exercise, or I have hives on my feet that make it really uncomfortable to wear running shoes. Or run.
This might be the worst, though: knowing that stress and anxiety is a major component, perhaps even the long-term ultimate cause--and still being unable to control the fact that the condition itself causes me additional stress.
Like anxiety and depression, issues I'm also far too familiar with, it isn't something that will "just go away." Seems like there's about a five-month minimum, in fact. So...it's been almost a month now. Four more to go? We'll see.
Monday, June 22, 2015
On Plot Structuring
Cross-posted to Finding Wonderland.
I'm finally back to having time to devote to my WIP--or I should perhaps say, I have seized time back from the ravening bitch-goddess that is unexpected work. Not to mention the slightly less ravening bitch-goddess that is EXPECTED work. And what I realized was that my WIP has the extreme need for some attention devoted to structure. (And also that I wanted to change the title again.)
I've been spending a lot of productive time lately looking at screenwriting books, or at least books written with screenwriters in mind but which are also quite helpful for us novel writers. I've gotten a huge amount of thoughtful and practical advice from Story by Robert McKee and The Writer's Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers by Christopher Vogler, even though I haven't finished reading them yet. But possibly the most directly useful book has been Save the Cat by Blake Snyder, which was recommended by fellow author and member of our writing group Sara Lewis Holmes (of the lovely and poetic blog Read Write Believe). Snyder uses a method called the "beat sheet" to lay out plot structure in chunks--or maybe a better word than structure is "dynamics," because it isn't so much a matter of specific THINGS that have to happen at certain times, it's the rhythm of the thing.
I had done a beat sheet for this project last year, but that was before I decided to split it into two books, so it was long overdue for me to try to revisit my "outline" (or what passes for one) instead of just working on individual chapters and going into denial about major stuff like the book as a whole. I kind of like the beat sheet because it gives some structure to the story beyond just outlining the scenes or chapters. But I was starting to feel overwhelmed because what I have is this old, bloated beat sheet from before; a partially-rewritten manuscript with a bunch of scenes and changes not included in the old beat sheet; and a stack of index cards with plot points on them that I'd been attempting to shuffle around. What I decided to do, with the help of the Save the Cat Beat Sheet for Novels Spreadsheet that I found on Jami Gold's website, was create a set of Beat Sheet Cards, one for each beat listing the name of the beat and a short description (cut and pasted from the spreadsheet) and an approximate page count goal.
I did this by printing them onto big Avery shipping labels and slapping those onto the index cards. (I love office supplies.) Then I spread those out on my living room floor and aligned my plot points underneath them--reshuffling in a couple of cases, and inserting a couple of new ones as I found out there was kind of a gaping hole in the plot. Once I had it all laid out, I then went in and rewrote the beat sheet.
And changed the title again. *Shakes fist* TITLES!!!
Anyway, this was a helpful exercise. I was having trouble visualizing everything because of the fact that there are two POV characters that alternate, and because a third character is taking on a bit more of a role in this rewrite. This made it easy for me to pinpoint where I still needed to add in that third character's arc. It also made me realize I really need to do something about the ending....
I'm finally back to having time to devote to my WIP--or I should perhaps say, I have seized time back from the ravening bitch-goddess that is unexpected work. Not to mention the slightly less ravening bitch-goddess that is EXPECTED work. And what I realized was that my WIP has the extreme need for some attention devoted to structure. (And also that I wanted to change the title again.)
I've been spending a lot of productive time lately looking at screenwriting books, or at least books written with screenwriters in mind but which are also quite helpful for us novel writers. I've gotten a huge amount of thoughtful and practical advice from Story by Robert McKee and The Writer's Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers by Christopher Vogler, even though I haven't finished reading them yet. But possibly the most directly useful book has been Save the Cat by Blake Snyder, which was recommended by fellow author and member of our writing group Sara Lewis Holmes (of the lovely and poetic blog Read Write Believe). Snyder uses a method called the "beat sheet" to lay out plot structure in chunks--or maybe a better word than structure is "dynamics," because it isn't so much a matter of specific THINGS that have to happen at certain times, it's the rhythm of the thing.
I had done a beat sheet for this project last year, but that was before I decided to split it into two books, so it was long overdue for me to try to revisit my "outline" (or what passes for one) instead of just working on individual chapters and going into denial about major stuff like the book as a whole. I kind of like the beat sheet because it gives some structure to the story beyond just outlining the scenes or chapters. But I was starting to feel overwhelmed because what I have is this old, bloated beat sheet from before; a partially-rewritten manuscript with a bunch of scenes and changes not included in the old beat sheet; and a stack of index cards with plot points on them that I'd been attempting to shuffle around. What I decided to do, with the help of the Save the Cat Beat Sheet for Novels Spreadsheet that I found on Jami Gold's website, was create a set of Beat Sheet Cards, one for each beat listing the name of the beat and a short description (cut and pasted from the spreadsheet) and an approximate page count goal.
I did this by printing them onto big Avery shipping labels and slapping those onto the index cards. (I love office supplies.) Then I spread those out on my living room floor and aligned my plot points underneath them--reshuffling in a couple of cases, and inserting a couple of new ones as I found out there was kind of a gaping hole in the plot. Once I had it all laid out, I then went in and rewrote the beat sheet.
And changed the title again. *Shakes fist* TITLES!!!
Anyway, this was a helpful exercise. I was having trouble visualizing everything because of the fact that there are two POV characters that alternate, and because a third character is taking on a bit more of a role in this rewrite. This made it easy for me to pinpoint where I still needed to add in that third character's arc. It also made me realize I really need to do something about the ending....
Sunday, April 26, 2015
Three Breaths
I've spent more time than I care to admit reading inspirational articles on sites like Zen Habits and Tiny Buddha; neurotically perusing stress reduction techniques and "how to know if you're burned out" checklists on WebMD and HelpGuide and Psychology Today. I've read books on mindfulness and wistfully wished I could go to UMass for the mindfulness-based stress reduction program. I've read and re-read books by Jon Kabat-Zinn.
I haven't always been great at implementing the techniques in any sort of regular fashion, though I know I would be healthier if I did. The excuses are increasingly ridiculous: "Who has time to lie down for a 30-minute body scan?" turns into the ludicrous "Who's got time for the Three-Minute Breathing Space?"
Evidently there is a very persuasive part of me that thinks I can't simply sit there for three minutes, never mind the fact that I may spend thirty or forty minutes reading internet articles about sitting meditation or stress or whatever. This makes no sense.
BUT. I came up with a nearly foolproof (the fool being me) method of centering myself and slowing myself down, of stopping the mean mental voice that likes to castigate me for every little thing. I can't really take credit for this, since it's basically distilled from all that reading I just talked about. But here it is.
Three breaths.
You really can't rationalize away the time it takes to breathe in, breathe out; breathe in, breathe out; breathe in, breathe out. Because look! It's already done. Sometimes it actually IS challenging to sit in mindfulness and serenity for three minutes. Or there's some external situational reason that makes it difficult to do. But surely I can do it for three breaths. Surely I can stop that inner mean voice for the space of three breaths. Surely I can follow my breath in and out, slowly, without criticism, three measly times.
Sometimes that's enough.
I haven't always been great at implementing the techniques in any sort of regular fashion, though I know I would be healthier if I did. The excuses are increasingly ridiculous: "Who has time to lie down for a 30-minute body scan?" turns into the ludicrous "Who's got time for the Three-Minute Breathing Space?"
Evidently there is a very persuasive part of me that thinks I can't simply sit there for three minutes, never mind the fact that I may spend thirty or forty minutes reading internet articles about sitting meditation or stress or whatever. This makes no sense.
BUT. I came up with a nearly foolproof (the fool being me) method of centering myself and slowing myself down, of stopping the mean mental voice that likes to castigate me for every little thing. I can't really take credit for this, since it's basically distilled from all that reading I just talked about. But here it is.
Three breaths.
You really can't rationalize away the time it takes to breathe in, breathe out; breathe in, breathe out; breathe in, breathe out. Because look! It's already done. Sometimes it actually IS challenging to sit in mindfulness and serenity for three minutes. Or there's some external situational reason that makes it difficult to do. But surely I can do it for three breaths. Surely I can stop that inner mean voice for the space of three breaths. Surely I can follow my breath in and out, slowly, without criticism, three measly times.
Sometimes that's enough.
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
Writing Process Blog Tour – a Self-Interview
I was invited to do this writing process blog tour by a couple of different people over the past few weeks, but because I was traveling, I was only able to say yes just recently. I was invited by Paula Treick DeBoard (see her process post here), a fellow writer living here in Modesto, and author of The Mourning Hours (a thoughtful, gripping mystery, non-YA but with a young protagonist) and the upcoming The Fragile World.
I'm always interested in other writers' processes and their day-to-day coping mechanisms, because writing is often an isolated, isolating activity, and that tends to make us writers feel like we're weirdos alone in our self-imposed struggles—but when I read about others' writing processes, I'm reminded that we all share many of the same struggles, regardless of genre, audience, or subjectively perceived weirdness. So here's hoping I can contribute to that sense of sharing in the joys and tribulations of this whole writing endeavor—and maybe lessen someone else's feelings of uncertainty and disconnectedness. Warning: wordy...
1. WHAT AM I WORKING ON?
Now that I have already-published novels out there in the world, I've realized that being a writer entails some serious multitasking: revision on one book while you're drafting another; publicizing your new book while trying to rewrite the next project. That's where I'm at now. With Underneath feeling like it just came out, even though it was a year ago, and with The Truth Against the World literally having just come out a week ago, a lot of my attention is focused on trying to spread the word about my books that are already out there.
You probably want to know what I'm actually WRITING, though, right? Well, having been informed by reliable sources that Dystopia Is Dead, I'm planning a major recasting of my work-in-progress, which isn't really all that dystopian but does have some pseudo-dystopian elements. Essentially, this entails changing the story from a supposedly real-world, hundreds-of-years-in-the-future post-post-apocalyptic setting to a fantasy/imaginary world. So…now it's a fantasy! But without magic.
Currently titled Fuel to the Fire, it's the story of what happens when a seemingly innocuous piece of new technology falls into the hands of uncompromising social revolutionaries—and what happens to the unsuspecting inventor of that technology. It's also a story of socioeconomic class turmoil, from the alternating perspectives of a girl who "has it all" but is still stuck in her predetermined role, and a boy from the wrong side of the tracks who ends up mired in the heart of the social revolution. Something like that, anyway...
2. HOW DOES MY WORK DIFFER FROM OTHERS OF ITS GENRE?
One thing I've heard from others here and there is the observation that all three of my published books have been distinctly different from one another. Though they're all YA, none of them fall neatly within a genre, and they aren't similar to each other, either. In a publishing world that seems to deal more effectively with writers whose books tend to occupy the same genre, I'm not sure if this is good or bad. Reviewers have noted, accurately, that all three books (despite their differences) have strong themes of identity and family, and I guess that's the thread that ties my work together thus far.
Two of my books specifically have mixed-race/multicultural protagonists, and all three talk about themes of cultural identity as well, and how to reconcile various aspects of identity. Books about kids of mixed ethnicity are just now becoming more visible and accessible, and I like to think that The Latte Rebellion, my first novel, published in 2011, was an early example. And I do plan to write more novels that feature mixed-race characters, because that is, quite simply, the world I live in.
3. WHY DO I WRITE WHAT I DO?
This ties in rather neatly with my answer to the previous question! I write lots of mixed-race characters because that is the world I live in—a diverse one in which very few people are truly "just one thing." And to claim otherwise is to deny the whole fascinating world that lies within and behind each individual. I don't sit there and consciously decide to "write what I know," but the world I live in and grew up in insinuates itself into my writing no matter what. Is the answer as simple as "I write what I do because of who I am?" I don't know. Maybe.
As far as why I write YA novels, there are a number of reasons. I never completely stopped reading YA books even as I grew into adulthood. (If you know me, you know I have never lost touch with my inner teenager, either.) Also, the YA genre really started to blossom in the mid-late 80s/early 90s when I was a tween/teen and had a profound effect on my reading habits. Beyond that, I think that the teen years are a time when many people either stop reading or are cemented for life as readers, and it feels like a privilege and a mission to try to engage readers and keep them reading. And there is a truly exciting range and quality of stories being produced for a YA audience, stories that sometimes take more risks, written for an audience that clamors for honesty and a lack of bullshit yet is still willing to believe in just a little magic. And do coming-of-age stories ever go out of style? I don't think they do, because I don't think we ever stop learning and growing as humans, and that's what coming of age is about.
4. HOW DOES MY WRITING PROCESS WORK?
Somewhat inefficiently. The fickle nature of inspiration constantly reminds me that at the heart of successful writing is the ability to plonk your behind down in your desk chair and just WORK. That's why NaNoWriMo has been so helpful for me, because I'm really good at overthinking everything to the point where I paralyze myself.
One process tool I find really helpful is drawing a chart of my storyline(s). I don't work all that well with a straight outline, but being able to visualize what is happening helps me out a lot. Often it looks a bit like a flow chart that I fill in as I write, with parallel tracks for subplots, lines connecting events that happen simultaneously, blobs for critical themes or character emotions, and so forth. As an artist I tend to be a visual thinker, so being able to look at the plot helps me write.
I do have written notes, though. I usually have a general summary of the plot arc written out (what I've figured out so far, anyway) and those notes get more detailed as I write along and things get clarified in my mind. Usually when I'm writing, when I get to that day's stopping point, I jot down notes for any upcoming scenes that I've figured out. I put these directly into the Word document, right after that day's writing, so all I have to do the next time I sit down is read over the scenes I last wrote and then refer to my notes to get going. Big-picture notes get added to the flow chart, or sometimes a master document I use for the purpose of general notes.
5. AND THE OTHER PART OF THIS QUESTION, HOW DOES MY WRITING PROCESS NOT WORK?
Explicit chapter/scene outlines don't really work well for me. They just don't. Even though I like the idea in theory, in actual fact they make me twitchy.
When my brain is too packed with other things, my writing process really does not work. Writing, like any other art, does require time and attention, even if it doesn't necessarily demand constant light-bulb inspiration. I need head space in order to do effective writing. I'm still trying to figure that one out—how to allow myself time for my creative work.
As I mentioned before, overthinking myself to the point of paralysis is a huge problem for me. "Just write the damn book and fix it later," I try to tell myself. Perfectionism is a surefire road to writer's block, but lifelong habits are hard to break. So I try to remind myself of what my college Ceramics professor, Richard Shaw, used to say when our projects got to a certain point of doneness, but we beginning students were still fussing over them—"It's close enough for art."
PASSING THE TORCH, OR WHO’S NEXT:
Rachel Leibrock is a good friend from the Mills College MFA program—she is an impressively multitalented writer who, as a journalist, has worked for the Sacramento Bee and the Sacramento News & Review. Oh, and she writes poetry, prose, and YA too.
Colleen Mondor blogs at Chasing Ray, and is a longtime blogging friend both online and offline. She's a reviewer for Booklist, head honcho at Guys Lit Wire (a group blog focusing on literature for teen guys) and an aviation journalist, as well as the author of a fascinating memoir about flying in Alaska, The Map of My Dead Pilots.
Annie Choi, who blogs at Annietown, is a friend from the wayback days of undergrad yore at UC Berkeley, at which time I'm pretty sure neither of us guessed we'd BOTH end up writers umpteen years later. She is the author of two hilarious collections of personal essays, Happy Birthday or Whatever and Shut Up, You're Welcome.
Can't wait to read what you guys post!
I'm always interested in other writers' processes and their day-to-day coping mechanisms, because writing is often an isolated, isolating activity, and that tends to make us writers feel like we're weirdos alone in our self-imposed struggles—but when I read about others' writing processes, I'm reminded that we all share many of the same struggles, regardless of genre, audience, or subjectively perceived weirdness. So here's hoping I can contribute to that sense of sharing in the joys and tribulations of this whole writing endeavor—and maybe lessen someone else's feelings of uncertainty and disconnectedness. Warning: wordy...
1. WHAT AM I WORKING ON?
Now that I have already-published novels out there in the world, I've realized that being a writer entails some serious multitasking: revision on one book while you're drafting another; publicizing your new book while trying to rewrite the next project. That's where I'm at now. With Underneath feeling like it just came out, even though it was a year ago, and with The Truth Against the World literally having just come out a week ago, a lot of my attention is focused on trying to spread the word about my books that are already out there.
You probably want to know what I'm actually WRITING, though, right? Well, having been informed by reliable sources that Dystopia Is Dead, I'm planning a major recasting of my work-in-progress, which isn't really all that dystopian but does have some pseudo-dystopian elements. Essentially, this entails changing the story from a supposedly real-world, hundreds-of-years-in-the-future post-post-apocalyptic setting to a fantasy/imaginary world. So…now it's a fantasy! But without magic.
Currently titled Fuel to the Fire, it's the story of what happens when a seemingly innocuous piece of new technology falls into the hands of uncompromising social revolutionaries—and what happens to the unsuspecting inventor of that technology. It's also a story of socioeconomic class turmoil, from the alternating perspectives of a girl who "has it all" but is still stuck in her predetermined role, and a boy from the wrong side of the tracks who ends up mired in the heart of the social revolution. Something like that, anyway...
2. HOW DOES MY WORK DIFFER FROM OTHERS OF ITS GENRE?
One thing I've heard from others here and there is the observation that all three of my published books have been distinctly different from one another. Though they're all YA, none of them fall neatly within a genre, and they aren't similar to each other, either. In a publishing world that seems to deal more effectively with writers whose books tend to occupy the same genre, I'm not sure if this is good or bad. Reviewers have noted, accurately, that all three books (despite their differences) have strong themes of identity and family, and I guess that's the thread that ties my work together thus far.
Two of my books specifically have mixed-race/multicultural protagonists, and all three talk about themes of cultural identity as well, and how to reconcile various aspects of identity. Books about kids of mixed ethnicity are just now becoming more visible and accessible, and I like to think that The Latte Rebellion, my first novel, published in 2011, was an early example. And I do plan to write more novels that feature mixed-race characters, because that is, quite simply, the world I live in.
3. WHY DO I WRITE WHAT I DO?
This ties in rather neatly with my answer to the previous question! I write lots of mixed-race characters because that is the world I live in—a diverse one in which very few people are truly "just one thing." And to claim otherwise is to deny the whole fascinating world that lies within and behind each individual. I don't sit there and consciously decide to "write what I know," but the world I live in and grew up in insinuates itself into my writing no matter what. Is the answer as simple as "I write what I do because of who I am?" I don't know. Maybe.
As far as why I write YA novels, there are a number of reasons. I never completely stopped reading YA books even as I grew into adulthood. (If you know me, you know I have never lost touch with my inner teenager, either.) Also, the YA genre really started to blossom in the mid-late 80s/early 90s when I was a tween/teen and had a profound effect on my reading habits. Beyond that, I think that the teen years are a time when many people either stop reading or are cemented for life as readers, and it feels like a privilege and a mission to try to engage readers and keep them reading. And there is a truly exciting range and quality of stories being produced for a YA audience, stories that sometimes take more risks, written for an audience that clamors for honesty and a lack of bullshit yet is still willing to believe in just a little magic. And do coming-of-age stories ever go out of style? I don't think they do, because I don't think we ever stop learning and growing as humans, and that's what coming of age is about.
4. HOW DOES MY WRITING PROCESS WORK?
Somewhat inefficiently. The fickle nature of inspiration constantly reminds me that at the heart of successful writing is the ability to plonk your behind down in your desk chair and just WORK. That's why NaNoWriMo has been so helpful for me, because I'm really good at overthinking everything to the point where I paralyze myself.
One process tool I find really helpful is drawing a chart of my storyline(s). I don't work all that well with a straight outline, but being able to visualize what is happening helps me out a lot. Often it looks a bit like a flow chart that I fill in as I write, with parallel tracks for subplots, lines connecting events that happen simultaneously, blobs for critical themes or character emotions, and so forth. As an artist I tend to be a visual thinker, so being able to look at the plot helps me write.
I do have written notes, though. I usually have a general summary of the plot arc written out (what I've figured out so far, anyway) and those notes get more detailed as I write along and things get clarified in my mind. Usually when I'm writing, when I get to that day's stopping point, I jot down notes for any upcoming scenes that I've figured out. I put these directly into the Word document, right after that day's writing, so all I have to do the next time I sit down is read over the scenes I last wrote and then refer to my notes to get going. Big-picture notes get added to the flow chart, or sometimes a master document I use for the purpose of general notes.
5. AND THE OTHER PART OF THIS QUESTION, HOW DOES MY WRITING PROCESS NOT WORK?
Explicit chapter/scene outlines don't really work well for me. They just don't. Even though I like the idea in theory, in actual fact they make me twitchy.
When my brain is too packed with other things, my writing process really does not work. Writing, like any other art, does require time and attention, even if it doesn't necessarily demand constant light-bulb inspiration. I need head space in order to do effective writing. I'm still trying to figure that one out—how to allow myself time for my creative work.
As I mentioned before, overthinking myself to the point of paralysis is a huge problem for me. "Just write the damn book and fix it later," I try to tell myself. Perfectionism is a surefire road to writer's block, but lifelong habits are hard to break. So I try to remind myself of what my college Ceramics professor, Richard Shaw, used to say when our projects got to a certain point of doneness, but we beginning students were still fussing over them—"It's close enough for art."
PASSING THE TORCH, OR WHO’S NEXT:
Rachel Leibrock is a good friend from the Mills College MFA program—she is an impressively multitalented writer who, as a journalist, has worked for the Sacramento Bee and the Sacramento News & Review. Oh, and she writes poetry, prose, and YA too.
Colleen Mondor blogs at Chasing Ray, and is a longtime blogging friend both online and offline. She's a reviewer for Booklist, head honcho at Guys Lit Wire (a group blog focusing on literature for teen guys) and an aviation journalist, as well as the author of a fascinating memoir about flying in Alaska, The Map of My Dead Pilots.
Annie Choi, who blogs at Annietown, is a friend from the wayback days of undergrad yore at UC Berkeley, at which time I'm pretty sure neither of us guessed we'd BOTH end up writers umpteen years later. She is the author of two hilarious collections of personal essays, Happy Birthday or Whatever and Shut Up, You're Welcome.
Can't wait to read what you guys post!
Sunday, May 25, 2014
Fun Facts About Vienna
* This city is shockingly clean.
* Topfelstrudel with vanilla sauce is the pastry of heaven.
* Egon Schiele was just as amazing a painter of houses as he was of people (see above). Also, he died tragically young (which I knew) of Spanish flu (which I didn't).
* There is great food everywhere in Vienna. So far, anyway. Breakfast was a slab of toast slathered in butter, a layer of chives, and a sunny-side-up egg, plus coffee.
* It is surprisingly hot here and I brought far too few short-sleeved shirts.
* Gustav Klimt was kind of a man-ho. Womanizer. Whatever. The ladies, he liked 'em.
* Mmm...schnitzel.
* Nothing--NOTHING--is open before 9 am on a Sunday.
* The Venus of Willendorf is AMAZING. Photos don't do her justice.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
On Meaning and Goals
As I mentioned in my latest post on Finding Wonderland, I'm reading The Van Gogh Blues by Eric Maisel. One of the things the book encourages the reader to do is think about what creates meaning in one's life, and so I tried to be game and did a bit of writing/thinking about it. I discovered that I make some interesting assumptions about meaning that I don't always examine closely enough:
I zeroed in on a few ideas that I feel are important to me: Learning. Process. Progress. And I started to think about how being goal-oriented is sometimes an obstacle to appreciating process.
I seem to associate meaning with things happening outside of myself. If that were true, I'd have no control over making anything meaningful. And maybe that is my big fear, the fear that making meaning is not under my control. Or maybe I'm afraid that if I acknowledge making meaning IS under my control, I will have to admit that I'm bad at it. That I've been doing a poor job.
I'm getting hung up again on the idea that others are the arbiters of what is ultimately meaningful, whether my accomplishments are meaningful. Deconstructing that, I notice there's an implicit assumption that I need to have accomplished things in order for meaning to be a consideration.
If there's anything I should have learned from being in the arts, it's the importance of process, just as much as product. Perhaps in some cases more so than product, because we learn from process.
I zeroed in on a few ideas that I feel are important to me: Learning. Process. Progress. And I started to think about how being goal-oriented is sometimes an obstacle to appreciating process.
A goal, an end result, should be an image that inspires, encourages, invigorates. It should spur more joy in the process and the act. It should not discourage, dishearten, inspire fear or anxiety, cause despair. I constantly confuse goals with chores.I'm starting to think the mistake is in thinking of "goal" and "process" as two separate, separable things. Anyway, some Points to Ponder.
If a goal does that, then perhaps it is not a goal as I want to define it. What is it, then? And how can I reformulate it so it's the "right" kind of goal?
I have too many chores and not enough goals.
Maybe goal is the wrong word. Dream. Objective. Aim. Wish. Inspiration. Goal is too simple. It is a source as well as a goal, a beginning and an end point. It's the motivational starting point as well as the dream at the end. It gives meaning to the process.
Wednesday, December 04, 2013
About Online Personas: Do I Have One? Do I Need One? Does Anyone Care?
You'd think, for an introvert like myself, interacting online and blogging and whatnot would be easy, seeing as I can do such things from the comfort of my non-people-filled home.
But no. And here's why.
1. It turns out, for me, interacting is interacting, at some level. Yes, in-person interaction is much more exhausting and often high-stress and occasionally bitterly disappointing (that's where my introversion starts to veer into misogynistic, self-critical melancholy). But online interaction takes a certain amount of energy, too. So I'll kind of disappear for days at a time, just as—if you know me IRL—I sort of do in actuality. I need periods of hermitude so I can be a fun-filled bundle of nonstop cheer when you do see me. Or, at least, so I can recharge my energy reserves and be ready to act like a normal person when I see you. And online, I seem to also function in bursts, and then need downtime in between. The two types of interaction also synergize, in the sense that if I'm feeling overwhelmed by real-life stuff, I also tend to be too exhausted to be present online, either.
2. I don't know how much of my actual self I want to put out there. Again, as an introvert, I'm used to sharing only certain things with certain people. So I often get paralyzed into doing nothing when I start thinking about posting X or Y to Facebook or this blog. It's not that I'm secretive. I am sort of private, I guess. But mostly, I wonder things like: Who actually cares if I post this? What if I post something that makes someone weirdly confrontational? What if I post about myself and then regret it and feel stupid about it later? What if my blog post doesn't pass some imaginary "coolness test" that I've totally built up in my mind? And so on.
3. Persona management is something that concerns me now that I have actual published books and articles and stuff out there. And frankly, it feels like an overwhelming Sisyphean task. Should I be doing certain types of posts now that I'm "an author"? Is it bad if I don't do what author X or author Y are doing? (Obviously the answer is no, but the question still bothers me.) What if by doing X or Y I totally screw it up? What if by doing NOTHING I screw it up? And then there's the feeling that whatever bits and pieces of myself are already floating around out there have a life of their own already—a thought that makes me feel incrementally better simply because it's out of my hands.
Ultimately, though, I guess I do at some level crave interaction, or I wouldn't be writing things and posting things in the first place. But just as I feel a bit out of sync with the way "most normal people" (who are these people??) in the world function socially, I also feel a bit out of sync with how I'm supposed to be or expected to behave online. I guess that's because now there IS such a thing as "normal" behavior online, now that most* people are online and doing things. So the normative mores for online behavior now follow what those "normal people" do, and we're back to fundamentally the same situation in the online world as the physical one.
Of course, that is a vast generalization. And I want to live in a world—real or online—where there is room for variety in the socialization spectrum. It's not actually something we're taught very well (or at all), in our society: to tolerate different types of social behavior and patterns of interaction. I make a conscious, conscientious effort to respect the needs of the people in my life when it comes to them needing more or less interaction. But I need to respect my own needs, too. And I guess, right now, I'm not sure what my needs actually are as far as my online presence is concerned.
But no. And here's why.
1. It turns out, for me, interacting is interacting, at some level. Yes, in-person interaction is much more exhausting and often high-stress and occasionally bitterly disappointing (that's where my introversion starts to veer into misogynistic, self-critical melancholy). But online interaction takes a certain amount of energy, too. So I'll kind of disappear for days at a time, just as—if you know me IRL—I sort of do in actuality. I need periods of hermitude so I can be a fun-filled bundle of nonstop cheer when you do see me. Or, at least, so I can recharge my energy reserves and be ready to act like a normal person when I see you. And online, I seem to also function in bursts, and then need downtime in between. The two types of interaction also synergize, in the sense that if I'm feeling overwhelmed by real-life stuff, I also tend to be too exhausted to be present online, either.
2. I don't know how much of my actual self I want to put out there. Again, as an introvert, I'm used to sharing only certain things with certain people. So I often get paralyzed into doing nothing when I start thinking about posting X or Y to Facebook or this blog. It's not that I'm secretive. I am sort of private, I guess. But mostly, I wonder things like: Who actually cares if I post this? What if I post something that makes someone weirdly confrontational? What if I post about myself and then regret it and feel stupid about it later? What if my blog post doesn't pass some imaginary "coolness test" that I've totally built up in my mind? And so on.
3. Persona management is something that concerns me now that I have actual published books and articles and stuff out there. And frankly, it feels like an overwhelming Sisyphean task. Should I be doing certain types of posts now that I'm "an author"? Is it bad if I don't do what author X or author Y are doing? (Obviously the answer is no, but the question still bothers me.) What if by doing X or Y I totally screw it up? What if by doing NOTHING I screw it up? And then there's the feeling that whatever bits and pieces of myself are already floating around out there have a life of their own already—a thought that makes me feel incrementally better simply because it's out of my hands.
Ultimately, though, I guess I do at some level crave interaction, or I wouldn't be writing things and posting things in the first place. But just as I feel a bit out of sync with the way "most normal people" (who are these people??) in the world function socially, I also feel a bit out of sync with how I'm supposed to be or expected to behave online. I guess that's because now there IS such a thing as "normal" behavior online, now that most* people are online and doing things. So the normative mores for online behavior now follow what those "normal people" do, and we're back to fundamentally the same situation in the online world as the physical one.
Of course, that is a vast generalization. And I want to live in a world—real or online—where there is room for variety in the socialization spectrum. It's not actually something we're taught very well (or at all), in our society: to tolerate different types of social behavior and patterns of interaction. I make a conscious, conscientious effort to respect the needs of the people in my life when it comes to them needing more or less interaction. But I need to respect my own needs, too. And I guess, right now, I'm not sure what my needs actually are as far as my online presence is concerned.
Sunday, October 20, 2013
Drum Roll...Contest Winners!
I'm grateful to everyone who cruised by to leave a comment in honor of my cover reveal for my next book, The Truth Against the World--the favorite sayings you shared were all fabulous, and I've compiled them into a list below. FIRST, though: the moment you've all been waiting for. The drawing of winners, who will be selected via Random.org, a random number generator, and picked simply by counting down through the eligible comments (a method I stole--er, borrowed--from the smartypants Greg Pincus and his Pi/Pie contest).
I'll be picking not one, but three winners (heh. pick a winner. HAHAHA! sorry, apparently I am 12 years old).
So, here we go: the winner of a signed copy of Underneath, my newest book, is--
Heidi
The winner of a signed copy of The Latte Rebellion, my first book, is--
RM1(SS) (ret), aka James
The winner of a Latte Rebellion coffee mug is--
Charlotte
Yay, everyone!! Congratulations! Winners please email me your mailing address and I will pop these in the mail this week. If you want the book signed to a particular person (i.e. yourself, a loved one, a sworn enemy), or not, please let me know.
Thank you all so much, too, for all of your support over these past few busy years--I've known nearly all of you commenters for quite a number of years, either in person and/or online, so you probably know far more about my ups and downs than you really WANT to. I'm thankful for your friendship and kindness--and your collective, collected wisdom:
I'll be picking not one, but three winners (heh. pick a winner. HAHAHA! sorry, apparently I am 12 years old).
So, here we go: the winner of a signed copy of Underneath, my newest book, is--
Heidi
The winner of a signed copy of The Latte Rebellion, my first book, is--
RM1(SS) (ret), aka James
The winner of a Latte Rebellion coffee mug is--
Charlotte
Yay, everyone!! Congratulations! Winners please email me your mailing address and I will pop these in the mail this week. If you want the book signed to a particular person (i.e. yourself, a loved one, a sworn enemy), or not, please let me know.
Thank you all so much, too, for all of your support over these past few busy years--I've known nearly all of you commenters for quite a number of years, either in person and/or online, so you probably know far more about my ups and downs than you really WANT to. I'm thankful for your friendship and kindness--and your collective, collected wisdom:
- "-- life exists -- and identity -- the powerful play goes on -- and you may contribute a verse" -- Walt Whitman
- "dyfal donc a dyr y garreg" - "It's a steady tapping that breaks the stone."
- "There are more things in heaven and earth, {Horatio,}
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy." -- Hamlet (1.5.166-7) - "Gwlad heb iaith, gwlad heb genedl." - "A country without a language is a country without a nation."
- "If you truly want your 'ship to come in,' don't wait on shore expecting it to steam in past the breakwater and onto the beach. Risk everything, jump in the water and swim out to meet it."
- "There are two types of ships - submarines and targets."
- "Creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. Art is knowing which ones to keep."
— Scott Adams - "If you love something, set it free.
If it comes back to you, it's yours.
If it doesn't, it never was."
Friday, October 04, 2013
THE TRUTH AGAINST THE WORLD Cover Reveal Giveaway
Goooood morning, and welcome to the official cover reveal for The Truth Against the World, my next YA novel, due out in June of 2014! Whee! Raise your glass or coffee mug or whatever you happen to be imbibing at this hour, and take a gander at this:
I honestly could not be more excited, considering I had no preconceived notions about the cover design this time around. ALL three of my covers have been awesome. I'm thrilled. I keep looking at that fake old-crinkly-paper look around the edges and ooh-ing and aah-ing. In fact, I've learned a lot about graphic design just from my own book covers.
Anyway, because I'm all excited and jumping up and down about it, I am holding a giveaway so I can share the love. The details:
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| (C) Flux Books, 2013. Don't steal it! |
I honestly could not be more excited, considering I had no preconceived notions about the cover design this time around. ALL three of my covers have been awesome. I'm thrilled. I keep looking at that fake old-crinkly-paper look around the edges and ooh-ing and aah-ing. In fact, I've learned a lot about graphic design just from my own book covers.
Anyway, because I'm all excited and jumping up and down about it, I am holding a giveaway so I can share the love. The details:
- The entry period is NOW, today, Friday, October 4th, through two weeks from now, Friday, October 18th.
- The requirements: leave me a comment (A REAL ONE, PLEASE) on this post, letting me know one of your favorite slogans or sayings. (Why a saying? The title of my book comes from the slogan of Wales' Gorsedd of Bards, and there are some cool Welsh proverbs scattered throughout the book.) One entry per person, please. I reserve the right to deem any entries ineligible: e.g. if they are not real actual people, if they are duplicates, or if they are evil trolls. Like Google says: Don't be evil.
- There will be Three Prizes, awarded by random drawing at the end of the contest period: one signed copy of The Latte Rebellion, one signed copy of Underneath, and one Latte Rebellion coffee mug.
- OK: go!
Thursday, October 03, 2013
Tune in Tomorrow, Kids
...for the long-awaited (or, at least, awaited) unveiling of my next book's awesome cover! I love, love, love it, just like I've loved my other two covers, and I feel incredibly lucky about that.
Another teaser about my next book, The Truth Against the World: some of you might remember it as my "Welsh novel," because part of it's set in South Wales. You might also remember it as my World War II novel, although the wartime bits are mostly memories and such, and most of the story's in the present day.
This one is also going to have a heinously long list of thank-yous, because I consulted a ridiculously large number of people when I wrote the first draft, and it will also have a bibliography, because I'm nerdy and looked up books about WWII Britain. I BOUGHT books about WWII Britain. They are cool. No, really. Where else could I find recipes for Trench Cake, Wood-Pigeons, and Mock Oysters?
Those aren't in my book, though.
Check back tomorrow! There will also be a giveaway, so come with your commenting hat on!
Another teaser about my next book, The Truth Against the World: some of you might remember it as my "Welsh novel," because part of it's set in South Wales. You might also remember it as my World War II novel, although the wartime bits are mostly memories and such, and most of the story's in the present day.
This one is also going to have a heinously long list of thank-yous, because I consulted a ridiculously large number of people when I wrote the first draft, and it will also have a bibliography, because I'm nerdy and looked up books about WWII Britain. I BOUGHT books about WWII Britain. They are cool. No, really. Where else could I find recipes for Trench Cake, Wood-Pigeons, and Mock Oysters?
Those aren't in my book, though.
Check back tomorrow! There will also be a giveaway, so come with your commenting hat on!
Wednesday, October 02, 2013
Cover Reveal Countdown!
Okay, so this is an unforgivably short post, but I just wanted to alert you all that I will be doing the OFFICIAL COVER REVEAL for my next YA novel, The Truth Against the World, this Friday, October 4th, right here! Watch this space!
Some of you may remember The Truth Against the World in its earlier form, The Other Olwen, a ghostly mystery about a family secret. It was my MFA thesis (and therefore exists in a rather embarrassingly early draft bound in the Mills College library) and the first book I ever tried submitting to publishers and agents. It has undergone some serious changes (damn you, cell phones! damn you, inevitable passage of time!) but, I hope, is much better for it.
I will also be having Some Sort of Contest to celebrate the cover reveal. Details to be determined, but there will be prizes. Prizes, I say!
Some of you may remember The Truth Against the World in its earlier form, The Other Olwen, a ghostly mystery about a family secret. It was my MFA thesis (and therefore exists in a rather embarrassingly early draft bound in the Mills College library) and the first book I ever tried submitting to publishers and agents. It has undergone some serious changes (damn you, cell phones! damn you, inevitable passage of time!) but, I hope, is much better for it.
I will also be having Some Sort of Contest to celebrate the cover reveal. Details to be determined, but there will be prizes. Prizes, I say!
Thursday, August 29, 2013
Affirmations
I'm trying to fight one of those funks where I keep thinking to myself, "Geez, I'm not really that great at anything." Part of the rumination that keeps bothering me has to do with the role of difficulty of a task, or perceived subjective difficulty, and whether and how that relates to ability, aptitude, potential, success, etc. That is: if I feel like something is difficult, does that mean I'm not really that good at it--that I don't have a noteworthy ability or aptitude for it? Or does it mean that I am actually good at it because I'm trying to struggle through problems that others aren't willing or able to tackle? Or are the two completely independent, nothing to do with one another at all? [Something is difficult] AND/OR [I'm good at it or not good at it] but there is no causal relationship.
Mostly, though, instead of tackling the why and the self-analysis, I end up going through this list of things I like to do (or even things I don't like, just things I have to do or could do) and sort of checking them off, like, "Nope, I'm not all that great at that; oh, playing the ukulele? not so good at that; singing is fun but I'm really not that great at it; I could go back to working in a corporate environment but I'm not so great at stuff like meetings and getting to work on time and grown-up shit like that; I used to be pretty good at picking up languages but I don't think I am any more and hardly ever have time to practice;" and on and on.
So I decided to try to list a few things I am good at, to make myself feel a little better.
Mostly, though, instead of tackling the why and the self-analysis, I end up going through this list of things I like to do (or even things I don't like, just things I have to do or could do) and sort of checking them off, like, "Nope, I'm not all that great at that; oh, playing the ukulele? not so good at that; singing is fun but I'm really not that great at it; I could go back to working in a corporate environment but I'm not so great at stuff like meetings and getting to work on time and grown-up shit like that; I used to be pretty good at picking up languages but I don't think I am any more and hardly ever have time to practice;" and on and on.
So I decided to try to list a few things I am good at, to make myself feel a little better.
- I'm really amazingly good at sitting on the couch with a purring cat on my lap. Making the cats happy is something I can do.
- I can kick ass at cleaning out the refrigerator. In fact, I did that just yesterday. Now it's cleaner than it's been in many moons. (Of course, I don't know if this counts, since I was also at least partly responsible for failing to clean it for many moons...)
- I'm generally pretty good at things related to our household food management: grocery shopping, putting the shopping away, cooking or otherwise assembling the food into yummy form.
- I am amazing at filing. You wouldn't really know this from the current state of *my* office, but while working as a temp, I once reorganized an entire file system for the City of Modesto Wastewater Treatment Facility--at least a half dozen large filing cabinets that had last been sorted sometime in the 1980s. In fact, that's how I met Joe Barretta, although he probably doesn't remember me. We had a long conversation about how he was taking his son to a Green Day concert.
- I am good at consuming mass quantities.
- I am good at fading into the background (except in India, where I apparently stick out like a sore thumb--hence the many photo-ops people insisted on having with us).
- I am good at being quiet. Too good, sometimes. In fact, sometimes that quietness extends to this blog, for which I apologize, because I do go through vast epochs of silence from time to time.
Thursday, August 01, 2013
Observations on India So Far
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| A monkey-cow traffic jam. This was out on a country road, to be fair, not in the city. |
Also, lane lines are mere suggestions, like in Mexico, and honking the horn is polite and expected road etiquette, not a sign of impending road rage. That one was hard to get used to. (I spent at least the first few days thinking OHMYGOD EVERYBODY IS HONKING AND ANGRY THIS IS VERY VERY BAD.) They are not angry. In fact, most trucks have "Honk Please" painted on the back.
Something I have learned about myself so far while in India: I really dislike haggling over prices, and being constantly pestered to buy stuff. Okay, so I knew that about myself, but I have had the near-daily opportunity to refresh that knowledge.
Over the past 6 days I have sweated more than I ever thought possible.
Delhi is an awe-inspiring city. Agra is kind of an unimpressive city (and our hotel had bugs in the bathroom, because basically it was a very buggy locale) but its monuments--the Taj Mahal, the Old Fort, Fatehpur Sikri--are incredible. Jaipur was a gem and may have been my favorite overall experience so far. Last night we arrived back in Delhi after our 3 days or so exploring the Golden Triangle, and today was a museum day. Tomorrow is our last full day in Delhi before flying to Khajuraho.
And now I need to conclude this digital postcard and write a few actual postcards...
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Abort, Retry, Fail
This morning I was interviewed for the local Capital Public Radio NPR program Insight, with Beth Ruyak. Since they had me drive into the studio this time for an in-person talk, that meant I had ample time on the 90-minute drive back home to reflect upon the many ways in which I sounded like a complete dork.
Instead of (or in addition to) thinking about how awesome it was that they invited me back, or how much less nervous I sounded than the last time I was on the radio, or even how cool it was that I just had 15 minutes MORE of fame, thus totaling approximately an hour of radio time in total, I spent most of the drive dissecting what I could have done better. Because THAT'S JUST ME! A barrel of laughs!
So, problem #1: the sound of my voice. In the green room beforehand, chatting with the guest who was to appear before me; talking to the producer of the show, Ellen; even meeting Beth Ruyak before the show for a few minutes--I sounded PERFECTLY NORMAL. Professional, even. Then, the minute I was sitting in front of the mic and had to talk--my first words, I believe, were "Hi, Beth!"--suddenly a frog appeared in my throat out of nowhere, as if by magic, and I was talking around a mucus impediment. LOVELY.
I should note, however, that I sounded just fine (in my own head, anyway...) when I read a passage from the book. Having been complimented on my reading during the book launch last week, I felt relatively confident that that part, at least, I could manage. And I think I did. However:
Problem #2: As I mentioned above, I did sound less nervous this time--and I'm happy to say, I didn't have that problem I had before of suddenly blanking out on what the host asked me while in the middle of a long-winded answer, thus forcing me to babble on until I reached a conclusion of some sort. But I did experience a similar mind-blankening panic issue: several times, I would be in the middle of my long-winded answer and then forget what in tarnation *I* had been saying and what my point was supposed to be.
The way I see it, there are a few possible solutions to this problem, all of which I found myself using today, and which I have likened to 1980s-era computer lingo for your amusement:
Instead of (or in addition to) thinking about how awesome it was that they invited me back, or how much less nervous I sounded than the last time I was on the radio, or even how cool it was that I just had 15 minutes MORE of fame, thus totaling approximately an hour of radio time in total, I spent most of the drive dissecting what I could have done better. Because THAT'S JUST ME! A barrel of laughs!
So, problem #1: the sound of my voice. In the green room beforehand, chatting with the guest who was to appear before me; talking to the producer of the show, Ellen; even meeting Beth Ruyak before the show for a few minutes--I sounded PERFECTLY NORMAL. Professional, even. Then, the minute I was sitting in front of the mic and had to talk--my first words, I believe, were "Hi, Beth!"--suddenly a frog appeared in my throat out of nowhere, as if by magic, and I was talking around a mucus impediment. LOVELY.
I should note, however, that I sounded just fine (in my own head, anyway...) when I read a passage from the book. Having been complimented on my reading during the book launch last week, I felt relatively confident that that part, at least, I could manage. And I think I did. However:
Problem #2: As I mentioned above, I did sound less nervous this time--and I'm happy to say, I didn't have that problem I had before of suddenly blanking out on what the host asked me while in the middle of a long-winded answer, thus forcing me to babble on until I reached a conclusion of some sort. But I did experience a similar mind-blankening panic issue: several times, I would be in the middle of my long-winded answer and then forget what in tarnation *I* had been saying and what my point was supposed to be.
The way I see it, there are a few possible solutions to this problem, all of which I found myself using today, and which I have likened to 1980s-era computer lingo for your amusement:
- ABORT! ABORT! Finish my sentence and rely on the host to finesse the transition if I stopped making sense.
- RETRY! Keep on blathering in the hope that I will remember what my initial point was and be able to bring it around to a reasonably coherent conclusion.
- FAIL! Trail off mid-sentence and mid-thought and look pleadingly at the host, while mentally banging head against the desk.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
I Am Not Alone
I love it when I'm reading something and I have one of those "oh my god" moments, a moment where I recognize or identify with what I'm reading so strongly that I have to go back and read that sentence or paragraph again, and then again and maybe even yet again. I've been having a lot of those moments with my current read, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Can't Stop Talking, by Susan Cain.
I've been meaning to read this one for a while--ever since I heard the author in a radio interview--but now that I've finally gotten to it, I keep wishing I'd read it sooner. So much of what she writes about resonates with me in an incredibly deep way. I read her stories of real-life introverted individuals and feel like perhaps the way I am isn't weird or unusual or abnormal or pathological, and I feel amazed that there are other people out there who are like me.
Today's real oh-my-god moment came in the form of an almost toss-off, brief mention, but it hit me really hard. The author was talking about a respected professor who would get constantly get invited to speaking engagements, and sometimes they'd ask him to have lunch with bigwigs afterward. But in some of those instances, he also had an afternoon lecture, and he really, really needed the down time during lunch. One of the locations where this would happen did not offer any opportunities for escape, and so "After each lecture he would race to the restroom and hide inside a stall." A few lines later was a parenthetical aside: "(Taking shelter in bathrooms is a surprisingly common phenomenon, as you probably know if you're an introvert.)"
As a matter of fact, NO, I did NOT know it was "surprisingly common"--I actually thought I was sort of a freak for doing that, even though it's something I've done since I was a kid. Starting when I was about 9 or 10, I used to hide in the bathroom at parties my dad brought me to. These were usually vast South Asian weddings in giant hotel halls, or crowded parties at the house of some distant relative or friend or community member. Only sometimes would I even know the person who was getting married or who was throwing the event. I usually only really knew my dad, my stepmom, and my stepsister, and sometimes my uncle's family, if they happened to be there (and that usually helped A LOT). There were usually at least a dozen people I kinda-sorta-knew or had met before or was supposed to know but didn't remember--assorted step-relatives, family friends, people from the mosque community.
I found these events excruciatingly long and tedious, and had no desire to try to talk to random people--some of whom spoke very little English and so would address me in the Urdu they wrongly assumed I knew. The events were loud, and full of brightly-colored clothing and sparkling jewelry (admittedly, quite lovely), and there always seemed to be little kids screaming and running rampant everywhere. Sometimes my stepsister would be bugging me. (Sorry, Mimi...)
I had almost always been encouraged from a very young age to take a book with me whenever I had to wait around somewhere or thought I might get bored--it was a guaranteed way to keep me quiet, docile, and reasonably content. And so at these parties I would often have a paperback book stashed in my purse, or if I didn't have a bag, in my dad's car. From time to time, when I got overwhelmed, I would rush off to the bathroom with my book and hang out in there reading until some time passed and I could face the hubbub again, but hopefully not so long that people wondered where I was and what the heck I was doing. This was a particularly fun activity in hotel or event-facility bathrooms because they were often huge and cushy, and sometimes they had a front room with a chair or bench to sit on. I tried not to hang out in the stall. People wonder what you're doing in there. And at times, I still go hide in the bathroom if I'm feeling overwhelmed, and if I don't have somewhere else to conveniently escape to.
So when I read that sentence in the book, it really brought home the point that the way I am is not wrong, and it's not really even that unusual--and perhaps I should be more charitable and compassionate with myself when I think back on those times, instead of assuming I was the abnormal one at the party, the only one who didn't really want to be there or who preferred less chaotic types of get-togethers.
I've been meaning to read this one for a while--ever since I heard the author in a radio interview--but now that I've finally gotten to it, I keep wishing I'd read it sooner. So much of what she writes about resonates with me in an incredibly deep way. I read her stories of real-life introverted individuals and feel like perhaps the way I am isn't weird or unusual or abnormal or pathological, and I feel amazed that there are other people out there who are like me.
Today's real oh-my-god moment came in the form of an almost toss-off, brief mention, but it hit me really hard. The author was talking about a respected professor who would get constantly get invited to speaking engagements, and sometimes they'd ask him to have lunch with bigwigs afterward. But in some of those instances, he also had an afternoon lecture, and he really, really needed the down time during lunch. One of the locations where this would happen did not offer any opportunities for escape, and so "After each lecture he would race to the restroom and hide inside a stall." A few lines later was a parenthetical aside: "(Taking shelter in bathrooms is a surprisingly common phenomenon, as you probably know if you're an introvert.)"
As a matter of fact, NO, I did NOT know it was "surprisingly common"--I actually thought I was sort of a freak for doing that, even though it's something I've done since I was a kid. Starting when I was about 9 or 10, I used to hide in the bathroom at parties my dad brought me to. These were usually vast South Asian weddings in giant hotel halls, or crowded parties at the house of some distant relative or friend or community member. Only sometimes would I even know the person who was getting married or who was throwing the event. I usually only really knew my dad, my stepmom, and my stepsister, and sometimes my uncle's family, if they happened to be there (and that usually helped A LOT). There were usually at least a dozen people I kinda-sorta-knew or had met before or was supposed to know but didn't remember--assorted step-relatives, family friends, people from the mosque community.
I found these events excruciatingly long and tedious, and had no desire to try to talk to random people--some of whom spoke very little English and so would address me in the Urdu they wrongly assumed I knew. The events were loud, and full of brightly-colored clothing and sparkling jewelry (admittedly, quite lovely), and there always seemed to be little kids screaming and running rampant everywhere. Sometimes my stepsister would be bugging me. (Sorry, Mimi...)
I had almost always been encouraged from a very young age to take a book with me whenever I had to wait around somewhere or thought I might get bored--it was a guaranteed way to keep me quiet, docile, and reasonably content. And so at these parties I would often have a paperback book stashed in my purse, or if I didn't have a bag, in my dad's car. From time to time, when I got overwhelmed, I would rush off to the bathroom with my book and hang out in there reading until some time passed and I could face the hubbub again, but hopefully not so long that people wondered where I was and what the heck I was doing. This was a particularly fun activity in hotel or event-facility bathrooms because they were often huge and cushy, and sometimes they had a front room with a chair or bench to sit on. I tried not to hang out in the stall. People wonder what you're doing in there. And at times, I still go hide in the bathroom if I'm feeling overwhelmed, and if I don't have somewhere else to conveniently escape to.
So when I read that sentence in the book, it really brought home the point that the way I am is not wrong, and it's not really even that unusual--and perhaps I should be more charitable and compassionate with myself when I think back on those times, instead of assuming I was the abnormal one at the party, the only one who didn't really want to be there or who preferred less chaotic types of get-togethers.
Saturday, March 02, 2013
Munch's The Scream
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| Photo: Wikimedia Commons |
I was tired and ill--I stood looking out across the fjord--the sun was setting--the clouds were coloured red--like blood--I felt as though a scream went through nature--I thought I heard a scream--I painted this picture--painted the clouds like real blood. The colours were screaming.
(in The Shock of the New by Robert Hughes)
Amazing stuff. I also learned that the figure in The Scream bears a non-coincidental resemblance to an Incan mummy on display at the Parisian Expo of 1889.
