Otherwise, not much to report. Relaxing weekend. David headed home this morning. Wandered around Tilden Park with Sherman this afternoon, and watched Dead Men Don't Wear Plaid just now, which was a hilarious homage to the old detective films (Big Sleep style), and highly recommended, though I know I got less than half the jokes.
Too tired to write more. Sleep now. Write in the morning...
Today I'm reading a book for class, Carol Maso's Ghost Dance. Since I'm only about 40 pages into it, I'll just quote to you from the back cover. 'Like the poet-mother in this debut novel, Maso works to ensure her readers understand and come to accept sorrow as a knowable and tactile presence. Narrating a family story through the voice of a young writer whose mother has recently been killed, Maso invites readers to experience firsthand both womens' love and courage, capabilities of imagination, their persistence of memory, and generosity of spirit.' Sounds good so far, yes? Reads pretty well too...we'll see how it goes. My teacher really loved it.
Not much else to report, except that I bought an idli maker yesterday, and made idli and sambar for breakfast this morning. Yum! (David was less impressed. Spicy food for breakfast is a bit much for him. :-) I'm trying to think how to explain idli. If they taste like anything, it's a little bit like Ethiopian injera; they're slightly sour. I *think* they're made from ground rice, but I honestly don't know -- I used a packet. Add water, let sit for fifteen minutes, stir. Spoon into idle stand, place in pot with 3-4 cups water, steam until done. They come out like slightly sticky little white round cakes, almost. Very hard to describe. Serve with sambar (a sauce with onion and tomato and spices) and hot chutney.
I didn't have a very good time on my last trip to Sri Lanka, for rather complicated personal reasons. I did, however, love the mornings. I never really switched over entirely to the time zone, and tended to wake around 4 a.m. We were staying in a 5 star hotel (easier if you're in a country with an exchange rate of 30:1), and so the very nice restaurant was open 24 hours. I'd come down with a book or pen and paper, sit down by the window overlooking the garden, and drink a cup of milked and sugared coffee (the only coffee I've ever enjoyed was in Sri Lanka, though I can drink Thai iced coffee (I prefer Thai iced tea)). Work for a couple of hours, and then have idli and sambar for breakfast, or perhaps some naan and curry. They had American breakfasts too, but they just weren't very tempting compared to spicy fish curry, passionfruit juice, fresh pineapple slices and fresh-baked naan. I highly recommend Sri Lanka for a holiday -- just don't go north to the war zone, and you'll be fine.
1:30 - Revamped a chunk of the home page. Moved the Amusing section so the top page is tighter. Added 15 Worst Opening Lines of Romance Novels.
Woke up at 5 by Roshani's phone call exhausted and coughing. Stumbled back to bed, where I coughed my way back to sleep. Slept myself out until 8:30, and now I am no longer exhausted, but still have a very sore throat and pounding head (which I will soon go take some ibuprofen for). If I'm going to run myself ragged this semester, I clearly need to take care of myself in other ways. Lots of soup and vitamins and juice. That sort of thing.
So this morning, I think I start revising "Deep with Sea". Got to get through a bit of e-mail first, do some household things and so on. It's nice that I have no classes on Thursdays...I can shift the writing schedule down some without too much trouble. (To give you some idea on the crits so far: one really liked the characterization in the new revisions and had few line edits, one pointed out some minor but important thematic concerns which can probably be easily fixed, and one really preferred the earlier version. Meep. The earlier version did, in some sense, have more interesting characterization -- but they were characters that I didn't really understand, and I don't think I could write them properly, believably. I think I'm going to stick with this version. The great usefulness of crits is that they challenge your preconceptions about your work -- they make you look at a part and say, 'do I really want that there?' and if you do, then you get to figure out why. And if there's any way to fix all the ugly stuff around it. :-)
In any case. Off to work, my darlings. Have a lovely Thursday...
11:43 - David has not yet had a chance to read and crit "Deep", so I think I'll wait to do the second revision until I have his coments. In the meantime, I've cleaned my room, wrapped my sister's birthday present, cooked (if you can call it cooking to open a can and add a ton of pepper) some cream of chicken soup and a quarter turkey sandwich, written a three-word story for the Clarion group (no, it's not a story that's only three words long, it's a story using the three words that Ceej's random word generator came up with. Took about 20 minutes. Fun! Will send a copy to my list of e-mail readers; again, if you're not on that list and want to be, drop me a note) called "Leek Soup" (no, it's not erotica :-), and generally puttered around.
David is off dropping Cliff at the airport (Cliff is going to WorldCon in Texas, lucky dog). When David gets back, I'm going to drag him off to do some specialty food shopping; I want my Twinings Ceylon Breakfast tea (in the dark blue box) and some Indian groceries (Cliff informs us that there's good stuff at University and Tenth, so we'll try there).
Will take the rest of the day easy, I think. Reading, mostly. Eating more soup. I haven't even started tutoring yet...we'll see if I fall over at the end of next week. I think it's a damn good thing I'll have Thursdays off.
Plan for this morning: critique Nancy's story, write a new story to hand in to Fiction class today, write a 500 word short short for class, revise "Deep with Sea" again (polish), make 15 copies of each thing for class. But before that, brush my teeth, make my bed, light a candle, make some tea. :-)
6:55 - Did a pile of paperwork and household stuff. About to start in on the actual work, but wanted to share with you something Kate sent to the Clarion list (she wasn't sure if this was the whole thing):
I have a feeling that my boat
has struck, down there in the depths,
against a great thing.
And nothing
happens! Nothing...Silence...Waves...
--Nothing happens? Or has everything happened,
and are we standing now, quietly, in the new life?
-- Juan Roman Jimenez
Got a nice e-mail from an Indian woman thanking me for writing my book. :-) A nice change from the vituperative stuff I generally get from Indians who think I'm betraying their country or some such.
In other news, I ironed out the little rights issues with Sex Toy Tales, and I am cheerfully looking forward to seeing my two stories in the anthology. (In case you're curious, they wanted to buy exclusive rights and pay me royalties on whatever they did with it, which is reasonable for most of their writers, who won't be actively trying to sell the story elsewhere or doing much else with it. I, on the other hand, already have an offer to reprint one of the pieces (paying about three times what Down There Press can afford for the initial payment). They were very reasonable about amending the contract accordingly, considering all the extra marketing etc. work I do, and I look forward to working with them again.)
Normally I would have Writing Center work at this time in the afternoon (my schedule is insane. Flat out insane. Booked solid from 5 a.m. to 5 p.m. four days a week and that doesn't even include the net time. Or lunch most days.) but that doesn't start 'til next week. So I'm going to futz around a bit with the web page a bit, maybe clean some stuff up and add some things until 2:30, when I go off to class again.
2:28 - Added "A Jewel of a Woman", "Mistress Molly" and "Girl Behind the Fantasy" to stories page. Cleaned up broken links at end of stories.
6:45 -- Good news! (No, I didn't do the revisions yet. I did read the crits, though. A step.) The good news is that two of my stories, "Just Reading News" and "A Jewel of a Woman" have been accepted for the Good Vibrations Sex Toy Anthology. :-) :-) :-) Even better, got my first royalty check for _Torn Shapes_! Not a huge amount of money, but still very very exciting. I want more! Tell your friends to buy my book! Tell your local bookstore they must order 50 copies! :-)
I shall now enjoy the temporary high and leave off my worries until tomorrow. (If any of you want to read Jewel, just let me know).
In other exciting news, soc.sexuality.general passed! If nothing untoward happens, the newsgroup will be created in 3 days and available to you all. (If I haven't mentioned this before, s.s.g. is the new, moderated version of alt.sex, which drowned in spam. Yours truly is one of the five initial moderators, along with a robomoderator. We won't be moderating for content -- simply appropriateness. If a post is appropriate to discussions of sexuality, it goes through. If it's pure spam, an ad, overly cross-posted, a story (which belongs in alt.sex.stories.moderated), etc., then it doesn't. Should be interesting -- I've never been a newsgroup moderator before.)
I have, of course, moderated other forums. Workshops at conventions, my mailing list...ah, my mailing list. The erotica list had another minor hubbub recently, a list member using rather coarse language in conversation (as opposed to in a story), which some members objected to. It's hopefully settled now. (If you're curious, I came down pretty much on his side, and reminded others that they could delete his posts if they chose.)
I have not repeated my 5-ish feat. Perhaps when I have money again I will buy an alarm clock. Nonetheless, there's a lot of work I want to do today, though I will take it slow -- I hope this will be a mellow, working weekend.
What, you ask, does she need to do? Well, very top of the list is revise "Deep with Sea". Remember that one? Yes, I don't get to put it off any longer. I've practically forgotten what the story is about...
So off to work, my darlings. Have a lovely weekend!
9 a.m. - No revisions yet, but my room is clean! :-) A little more leftover paperwork to get through and then I really do have to start working. Before that, though, I wanted to let y'all know what I'd been reading lately.
Star Trek. Lots and lots of old classic Trek novels. I'm thinking of writing a short story for a contest they're having -- that's my excuse, but in truth, it's pure indulgence reading these again. Here's a list of my favorite classic Trek novels -- these are the ones I recommend highly if you're going to read Star Trek. Many of the authors of these also write excellent non-Trek novels
Well, I'm concerned. One of my readers sent me mail about "Temptation", fairly distressed. I'm wondering if I should take it down. In fact, I'm wondering if I should take down all three of the Puritan novellettes -- they're not really what I consider art, after all. They were written on contract, to fulfill very specific needs of the magazine (along with "Making the Sale"). Should they really be up there with my other work? Are they representative? Are they likely to turn people off, or send them away? Kevin's always thought I shouldn't have those up there at all, since they're basically purely commercial, even if I do have fun with some of them. Maybe I should just announce in the journal when I have one of them done, and send copies to those who want it. It's not as if I publish them in print with my name on them. Ick. I'm taking them down today, I think, and then I'll think about it. I may put them back. Please let me know what you think.
If you haven't read "Temptation" yet and want to, e-mail me.
In other news, yesterday's meetings and proctoring of placement exams went well, as did today's. I've been thinking about the ethics of discussing being a TA here in the journal, and I think after Monday, I will be trying not to mention it. There are multiple reasons for this, but the most important is that even if I don't mention a student's name, sie may still be able to figure out that it was hir I was discussing when I complained about what a rough session it had been. Heck, even if it wasn't hir, sie may well assume it was. That seems a breach of professional ethics, so I'm going to refrain from discussing it at all. At the end of the year, I may post a reflection on the process, and I may at times discuss teaching if I can sufficiently distance it from my specifics.
For now, I will just leave you with a short free write we did in training yesterday, a contemplation of what we were looking forward to in the next year.
I'm curious about the way different people's minds work -- about what paths I can help my students walk to achieve their goals. I want to learn specifics, many different teaching methods.
Eventually, I want to teach both literature and writing. Lit so I can share books I love, and the reasons I love them, and find out what my students think of them. Creative writing so they can better share what is within them.
I want to help people, most of all. Writing is where I have the most expertise -- this is what I know. I hope to enjoy sharing it.
This morning I read through the TA handbook and critique one of Rob's stories that he e-mailed to the Clarion group. I'm looking forward to it. But first -- time to make some tea.
7:20. Read and critiqued Rob's story. Added "Temptation" to the stories page. Added reviews of "Jinsong" and "Japanese Garden". Feeling virtuous.
Also feeling nervous about "Temptation". The story is harsh. It's horror, it's nasty, it's blasphemous, it gave me nightmares when I was writing it and makes me feel guilty every time I look at it. Sister Agnes (one of my 5th grade Catholic nun schoolteachers) would definitely not approve. I hope it wouldn't upset her. I didn't mean to upset anyone with that story...I honestly do think it is at heart a *good* story, a parable even. But I think you have to read the story generously to get that. I'm a little afraid of what unsympathetic or careless readers will think of it.
Tell me I'm being silly -- tell me to stop worrying.
1:30. Mary Anne Triumphant! Okay, I'm being silly, but I'm on a bit of a high -- just read the comments of Tom (my Modern Fiction professor from last spring) on my Faulkner paper. Good, good, good. Re-reading the paper, I pretty much agree with his small points of criticism -- there was an area concerning Benjy that I didn't really analyze in as much depth as I should have (relying on the critics' interpretation, which was pretty silly considering my secondary focus was on the subjectivity of critical interpretation. :-) But on the whole, he really liked it, and I'm really happy because I thought Tom was just brilliant. One of the best classes I've ever had. *bounce!* If anyone wants to read the paper, e-mail me, and I'll put it up. It's a solid 20 pages of academics, be warned.
Okay, time to calm down. The morning went well -- lots of organizational stuff for TA'ing. It turns out that actual work doesn't start until Monday after next, which gives me plenty of time to get nervous.
This fall is going to be a bit odd -- there are two teaching classes I really want to take, and I want to do a workshop, which means that I'll have to take two academic classes and do my thesis in the spring. Not impossible, but not entirely easy either. Eh. I'm tough. I can handle it...
Gods, I'm *so* much happier with this paper than I was with the one I wrote for Stephen. Ick. Feh. What a terrible piece of writing. Goes to show what being out of school for 3 years will do to you...you forget how to think.
Got e-mail from Bob, Clarionite. Heart-twisting -- talking to these people is wonderful but only makes me miss them more. He was talking about that day we went hiking -- you remember my talking about it? Reminded me of details I'd forgotten: Rick's wry comments on Alex's poetry, an Indian couple we passed on the trail (which led to a conversation about my family, if I remember right), my sneakers, which were totally not up to the hike. Almost twisted my ankle more than once. Memory is so very weird. And fragile. I want to write it all down -- all of it. What the sun feels like today after three days of unseasonal cold.
The slight twisting at the pit of my stomach at the thought of teaching soon. (Actually, tutoring, this fall. Teaching isn't until the spring. But tutoring in the Writing Center is just as scary. Well, almost as scary.) The relief of getting this paper back from Tom -- makes me think that maybe they knew what they were doing when they hired me to teach composition after all. Maybe. The loneliness at Mills. While the other students in the program are all nice and friendly and good people, I haven't really clicked with any of them. Partly because my life outside is so busy, I suspect -- I haven't made it to a lot of group activities. Understandable, but difficult. Not to worry -- it's not nearly so bad as high school started out. :-)
Well, pick and choose, right? If I put down all the details of my life, you'd never have time to read them all. Hopefully, I'm making good choices. Maybe someday soon I'll run a survey -- ask you all to write me with your favorite journal entry, and tell me why you liked it. Hmm...I'll think about it. Don't send it to me yet -- this week is a little too full of stuff already.
(Before I forget, two interesting things happened yesterday. I had a big fight with one of my housemates (swiftly resolved, since neither of us is the type to hold grudges). This is notable because it's the first time I've really lost my temper and said things I didn't mean in at least three years. Undoubtedly I'm under more stress than I thought. The other thing that happened was very good -- my files are back! What is the first thing I'm going to do? Make a backup! Make several, in fact, because now I'm not just paranoid, I'm really paranoid. (I thought it was good enough to have two on-line copies of all my stories and one copy on my hard drive. I was wrong. On to today...)
A fairly mellow day. I finally finished the work that I had planned to finish by Friday. I love having houseguests, but even really unobtrusive ones like David somehow tend to throw off my schedule. Ah well. Most of the fault is undoubtedly mine. Spent a couple of hours playing Warcraft again, working through a level that David was having problems with. Great fun. Required intense concentration and precision. I'm having to fight the urge to open up the program again and do the next level. Keep in mind that I've done all these once already, some months ago. Really good game.
Also a good game is Scrabble -- while I haven't played today, I've been playing a lot lately. Mostly with David, a little with Ian. It was perhaps a little extravagant of me to buy the game since I now have roughly $20 to feed me 'til mid-September...but it was worth it. And don't worry -- I'm sure my housemates won't actually let me starve. If I'm lucky, either the student loan check or the Puritan check will arrive soon. I need to learn to balance my cash flow better.
Should I be doing an anniversary entry? Contemplating what this year in California has done for me? I'm not sure I can, really...but here are a few notes, in no particular order.
It's currently 4:22 a.m., and I've been up since 3 a.m. Why, you ask? Obnoxious mosquito bites that woke me up. I'm mildly allergic, and can't sleep if I have bad bites. Took some Benadryl and am getting very sleepy. I'll write as long as I can before I fall over.
What have I been doing since 3? Well, I added some more commentary on "Diana" to the stories page. It's fasciating, getting these in-depth responses. More are definitely welcome -- "Chantal", for example, is ethically somewhat problematic.
I also dealt with some e-mail, but I'm a bit far behind. Haven't done much work this weekend -- just logged on to deal with emergencies and flagged the rest.
What *did* I do this weekend? Well, let's start with Friday. Friday I did not finish all my work before David arrived. I haven't finished it yet, in fact. (Not that it's ever really finished). (random thought -- I'm currently drinking tea with caffeine. How will this interact with the Benadryl? Will I be tired? Tired and wired? Will the Benadryl win?)
David did arrive, very exhausted from travelling and a bit irritable. (He's doing much better now). I honestly can't remember what we did that day. Talked until way too late, but it was very good to catch up with him. I mentioned he's planning on moving to the area, right? I think the Lake Merritt area is appealing to him -- reasonable rents, a pretty lake, not too grungy a neighborhood, near the awesome Grand Lake theatre and some nice cafes.
Saturday we spent part of the day in Berkeley, picking up Indian groceries (if anyone knows a *cheap* place to get this stuff around here, please let me know. The place I've been going to is exorbitant, IMHO. $11 for a 10-pound bag of basmati? $3.50 for 10 naan? Maybe I got spoiled by Philly -- they have such excellent Indian stuff).
That evening was Gaskell's again (it's every six weeks, I've been recently informed). Me in my long wine gown, Sherman in his rather eclectic vest and ruffled shirt, etc. El in a cream ball gown, extremely fragile and held together by safety pins, Ian in his dress blues. I borrowed Sherman's black top hat, and I must say, we all looked spiffy. :-) I love having an excuse to play dress up. I want a real ball gown -- one with hoops or crinolines. Also good dancing shoes -- my poor feet! Well worth it, though -- I danced two waltzes and two country dances and had much fun. El and I made Ian and Sherman learn the country dances. Sherman was okay with Sir Roger, but both of them much preferred Stripping the Willow. It's more whirly. :-) I wish I'd had enough energy to dance more. Next time, I'd like to come early and get a refresher course on shattisches (sp?) and polkas. Also relearn Congress of Vienna, which is one of the more gorgeous dances I've ever seen. Gods, I love dancing.
Sunday, Sherman drove me down to spend the day in Santa Cruz with Kate and Becca and their friends. They knew a gorgeous little private beach, and we spent the afternoon lounging, talking, reading, and eating. With occasional dips into very cold water. At one point I got totally bowled over in the water (you know how you sort of jump up when a wave is coming at your chest, so you don't get knocked over? Well, I missed.) Gorgeous afternoon, and it turns out that Kate writes! She may apply to Clarion next year! It's always nice to find another kindred soul (she loves Enid Blyton too :-).
Was exhausted by the time we got home, but very satisfied. Sometimes I think there's very little wrong in my world that some sun and wind and water can't fix. Or at least make bearable.
Yesterday was very cool. Spent much of the day puttering about clearing the house, rewarding myself with Scrabble games with David (5 games so far; I've won one, and our last game was a perfect tie (at 303, I think). He's really good at getting multiple little words at once. I'm slowly learning strategy -- no more give away Triple Word Scores for David!). Made yet another batch of Kevin's mom's spinach lasagne -- it's so good and so popular that I must stop now and give the recipe.
Layer: 1/4 sauce, noodles spread with ricotta cheese (one flat layer covering pan - don't overlap noodles), moz. cheese, spinach (maybe 1/3? - 1/2 is too much), 1/3 sauce, noodles with rocotta, moz., spinach, rest of sauce.
Cover with tin foil and bake in pre-heated 375 oven for 1 hour. Let stand (uncovered) for 15 minutes before serving.
The lasagne was for a small dinner party with Clarionites, etc. Dinner went well, though I must admit that seeing Ceej and Leah again brought back all sorts of memories. Ceej and I indulged in a good bout of missing people fiercely. Ouch. Dinner was Ceej and Lance, Leah and Mike, two of Mike's fellow Clarionites whose names I can't remember, Sherman, Ian, David. I'm afraid Leah and Ceej and I rather bored the rest of them at time -- laughing and gossiping about Us, y'know? The others were very patient with us, though. Some of them understand 'cause they've been through similar Clarions, others are just sympathetic, nice people.
Eventually guests all went away and I went to bed, at which point Kevin called. Sigh. What timing. An odd conversation, in which I tried and failed once again to explain what happens at Clarion. When Kevin writes, he writes for himself, which is I think an extremely utterly different experience from what we were doing at Clarion. If you're just writing for yourself, you don't *need* to write well -- your brain pretty much fills in the gaps. If you're writing for others, you have to communicate. And to do that, you have to learn the language of writing. In any case, a rather odd and frustrating conversation. Though I was glad that he had called, nonetheless.
Which takes us back to this morning, now at the lovely hour of 4:54. I think I will attempt sleep once more, as the itching and pain appear to have faded. 'Til morning, my dears.
A good morning, otherwise. Woke up rather tired and groggy after somewhat disturbing Clarion dreams (it was the last day, and I was saying goodbye to everyone again. Weeping buckets). Called Roshani for a boost to my morning, drank some tea, and am feeling better. Trying to get through a backlog of mail before attacking Sizzle assignment (which is taking two stories that I had sent them before and putting in more sex :-). I had tried to write them while at Clarion, and I think my mind was just running in different channels...
I'm hoping to be very efficient today and finish all my work before David arrives at 1-ish. Shouldn't be too hard if I don't flake out. This is really the last of the easy work -- once this is done, I have to start revisions and new, real stories. Meep.
I'm considering buying a sun lamp. Even though the Bay Area has a very mild climate, I'm finding that in the summer the morning are rather grey; bright without sunlight (and my room doesn't get sun until late afternoon at this time of year). It makes it hard to wake up properly -- I've been dragging myself out of bed at 6:30, while at Clarion I was generally up and cheerful by 5:30. I think a lot of it has to do with the light. Not sure how expensive those things are...we'll see.
A nice review in the erotica section of Jane's Reviewed Adult Links.
Ditto similarly at MOUTHORGAN, a rather interesting little column/magazine/thingie. They definitely have read my stories.
Spending the morning catching up on e-mail and keeping in touch with various people. Clearing my desk, etc. Getting ready to do some serious work.
Yesterday was a nice day -- ran around in the morning like a crazy woman doing errands (Fed Ex story to Jeff, return library books, sign financial aid form, buy groceries, make potato curry to take to potluck) and then spent the afternoon at a local misc.writing potluck. Finally met some of personalities of the group - Jack Mingo, Bill Quick (sf writer), Dorothy Heydt, etc. Nice people, if a little too given to puns. (I admit it, I'm pun-phobic. My *father* used to pun, and I'm afraid I've been scarred for life. :-)
Leah from Clarion went with me, and while it was wonderful to see her and talk to her, it brought up a huge wave of missing people again. I came home and called Alex; talked to him for over an hour I think. Made all sorts of ridiculous plans to see each other again, which will probably never happen. I'll probably call Kate tonight. My poor phone bill.
Overslept by a couple hours today, and am feeling a bit tired and irritable as a result. Work is helping, though...
3:17 - A quiet day. My desk is finally pretty much clear, the important things to be done are sitting and staring at me. Tomorrow morning -- either revise Deep with Sea or write two stories for Sizzle. One or the other, Mary Anne.
In the meantime, I've been cleaning up the house a bit in preparation for David's arrival Friday. He'll be staying here for a week or two while he apartment hunts out here. He's tired of Philly, and besides, sooner or later everyone comes to the Bay Area. :-) So the guest room is swept, the bed is made, fresh towels wait in the linen cupboard. I admit that while I don't generally approve of women's magazines, I do rather want a home like the ones you see in them. Where the guest room is bright and welcoming, the house is cozy, fresh cookies and fruit are sitting ready...ah well. I do my best. The house is never quite as clean as I'd like it to be (as I mentioned earlier, I never dust), the curtains in my bedroom are too long, some of the furniture is a bit ragged -- but it is comfortable and comforting, I think. It's a place where one can work, which is the important thing.
I just watered the plants again (twice today, since I forgot yesterday :-). There's a tomato almost ready for picking and a new chili pepper growing. More exciting, the bell pepper plant has its first little bell pepper. There's a real thrill to cooking with vegetables and herbs (the basil is doing splendidly) from your own garden. I wish I'd planted more. Next year.
It's been a domestic afternoon. I made Cliff Cookies. What, you ask, are Cliff Cookies? They're cookies that my roommate, Cliff, (who is allergic to chocolate and nuts) can eat. Recipe follows.
1. Heat oven to 375 degrees F.
2. Beat together margarine and sugars until creamy.
3. Add eggs, milk and vanilla; beat well.
4. Add combined flour, baking soda and salt; mix well.
5. Stir in chips and berries; mix well.
6. Drop by rounded tablespoonfuls onto ungreased cookie sheet. Bake 9 to
10 minutes. Cool 1 minute on cookie sheet; remove to wire rack. About 2
dozen large cookies.
Not very healthy, but oh so yummy...
Not sure what I'll do next. I'd read, but the book I'm reading now is a bit dense. I almost wish I had another book like the one I read yesterday...oh, but that's weak of me. Yesterday I read...a trashy romance novel. I did. I'll even tell you which one -- Nora Roberts's Finding the Dream. Now, Ms. Roberts is not quite at the height of the genre -- Amanda Quick, for example, has a wicked wit. But it almost doesn't matter. Roberts writes well enough. Well enough for what? For whatever it is that romance novels do -- somehow they tap into something pretty basic. They have to, to capture what I've recently heard is 40% of the book market. I want to know what it is. I want to do what they do and do it better. I have no clue how. I'd love to be able to dismiss romance novels, but a) they have great sex scenes, often much steamier than anything you'll find in a magazine like Yellow Silk that claims to be erotica and b) they tug at my heartstrings. They really do. This silly book I read yesterday made me cry at one point. Dangerous books, romance novels...
Also need to work on the Sizzle stories this week, as cash flow will soon become a serious issue otherwise.
It's Monday. It's that time at which I sit around figuring out what I need to get done this week. Revisions on "Deep with Sea". Misc.writing party tomorrow. Stop by campus and fill out a form. Make food for potluck. Breakfast with Candace Thursday. Lydia comes by Tuesday night. I'm undoubtedly going to forget something. Call Kevin and find out if he'll be here for Kira's wedding.
7 a.m. and my brain appears functional. This shouldn't actually be that hard, right? Right. Make some tea, Mary Anne. And then get to work. Talk to these lovely people later.
9:30 a.m. 8200 words. 800 to go minimum, but I suspect it'll take another 2000 to wrap up the story properly. That's okay, because there's about a 1000 words earlier that I can probably cut, integrating the gangplank scene into the dinner scene. Cleaning up some files and I discovered this, that John had sent me when I was stressed. Y'all are so darn cute...
[Sudden Stan Freberg interlude:
Mam? What's that?
Well, like, it's her initials, man.
Her initials?
Well, yeah. We were gonna do Mohanraj but like, the guys with the letter cards got confused. In rehearsal we kept ketting Jarnahom.
End interlude.]
10:50 a.m. Had breakfast, cleaned up some. Puttered. About to start work again, but wanted to procrastinate with one last thing. While the specifics don't quite match, this following list is something I can utterly emphathize with. Sent to me by Sherman, found somewhere on the net.
TOP TEN SIGNS YOU'RE SUFFERING FROM BURNOUT:
10. You're so tired you now answer the phone, "Hell"
9. Your friends call to ask how you've been and you immediately
scream, "Get off my back!"
8. Your garbage can IS your "in" box.
7. You wake up to discover your bed is on fire, but go back to sleep
because you don't care.
6. You have so much on your mind, you've forgotten how to pee.
5. Visions of the upcoming weekend help you make it through Monday.
4. You sleep more at work than at home.
3. You leave for a party and instinctively bring your briefcase.
2. Your Day-timer exploded a week ago.
1. You think about how relaxing it would be if you were in jail right
now.
12:45. Done! Now here's hoping that Jeff likes it (I would really like our agreement to be clearer. I'm not sure whether once I'm contracted for a novella if he's definitely going to take it, or if he'll only take the ones he likes. He's bought 4 so far, without even any requests for changes, but each one still makes me nervous, since it's an investment of many hours. Ah well. I should probably be more aggressive in nailing this down, but I'm just not very good at business-related things.) and that it's in time for this issue. Once he says it's okay, that'll be a big load off my mind. One thing I do love about the business side of writing is filling out invoices. :-) Though contracts are better. :-)
Roshani and I have an agreement this week (she's studying for the MCAT to try and pump up her score). We're each going to harass each other to work hard. The phone calls are a fairly small investment, I think, in the larger goal of getting work done. Lots of work.
Major projects for the rest of the week: Write several pieces for Sizzle, if they want them (waiting to hear from Jason now). Revise "Deep with Sea" and send it off with "Beneath the Lemon Tree" to the Windling/Datlow anthologies. Re-read Midsummer Night's Dream and write something for the anthology.
Lots of little projects, of course...but those big ones should keep me occupied until Friday. :-)
I feel very virtuous right now. I wish this feeling would last.
5:50. Apologies to those of you on the notify list -- 4 e-mails in one day is a bit much, I know. Will try to make it worth your while.
I just finished reading Terri Windling's The Wood Wife. A beautiful de Lint-ish sort of tale; the kind of thing that makes me put it down sighing and wishing I'd written it. Of course, I wish that often, but this is the sort of tale I almost feel I *can* write...it's a genre, urban fantasy, that I adore. The place where myth and magic merge seamlessly in the 'real world'. The sort of book with clear moments of beauty. The sort of book in which you can put poetry, without it feeling out of place. (A poem in the book by Rilke has made it's way onto my main poets section, Evening.
The book is very firmly grounded in a place. Two places, really, though one is far more pervasive -- the Sonoran desert. The other place is the British wood. Now, I've always been happy among trees. My parents' house in Connecticut has trees behind it, which used to lead to a fairly dense patch of forest (much of which is now houses, sigh). I would cheerfully walk barefoot through those trees (until the day I found a baby rattler and was dumb enough to mention it to my mother -- no more barefoot woods-wandering for me! (well, not as much, anyway :-)), walk down to the stream, wade across, getting my jeans wet no matter how high I tried to roll up the legs. I'd climb a tree and watch the sunlight shafting through and the dust dancing. I built a ground-based tree fort there with my little sister and some neighborhood kids -- three plywood walls firmly braced against young saplings and the fourth open to the world. We hammered nails along the two long sides and strung twine in a web across the top. Then we layered green leaves through the twine, so we had a roof that wouldn't keep out rain but did change the sun to a very mottled, shifting creature. Painted clouds and blue sky on the walls. We played in it for about two days before it got destroyed by some neighborhood bullies -- oh, I can't tell you how angry we were. It was beautiful, just like the woods.
So now you understand that I've always thought of myself as a woods person. I even played a dryad in a role-playing game once. Yet when I read this Windling book, a book drenched in sunlight and saguaro and coyote and heat (and oh, I hate heat)...I found myself longing for deserts. I was remembering conversations with Alex or Susan at Clarion, when they were talking about Moab, Utah -- what a beautiful, isolated place it is. About vast expanses of sky and light. The clarity of the air. I found myself almost understanding why all those artists and poets moved out there -- and I've never even been in a desert. That's one thing I want to do with my writing, what Windling did for me with this book.
I will go to one someday. Maybe even someday soon. Susan has said her home is open to all of Us, the Clarion contingent. But of course, it's not just deserts. It's mountains too, where the air is thin and clear and cold. Where the world falls away from you. Or ocean. Someday I'll try to write about the ocean, really write. But I think I need to go live near it first.
There's so much to do, so many places to go. I've been so lucky to go as many places as I have, I know -- England and Scotland and India and Canada, with little tastes of Mexico and Abu Dhabi and Amsterdam. But I want more. I'm hoping to scrape together the money for Melbourne in 1999, for WorldCon and to visit Karina. I'd like to see a lot more of the U.S. I wish I'd gotten out to the rainforest in Seattle. I want to see Louisiana swamps and New Mexico desert. I want to drive through Iowa again (you laugh? I *loved* driving for hours through the corn. Call me weird.) I miss New England in the fall.
I'm not really complaining. This is more of a statement of desire. There are days when I'm tired and happy to rest in this home, in this pleasant climate, among friends. And there are other times when I want to pack up my life into a backpack and wander the world for a year or three. I think all the intensity of learning at Clarion and being so with those 16 other people has triggered an intense desire to be alone, wandering in an isolated place. Unfortunately, that's not an option, as classes start next week. It would be nice to be so isolated for a time, though. Would be difficult to maintain the diary, though. Maybe I'll wait until I can get a cheap wireless modem. :-)
Ah, you've found me out. I can take hardship, near poverty, strange food and dirt floors instead of beds. I can be perfectly happy alone in the rain in Edinburgh near Christmas. But take away my net connection, and I wither, I pine. I went to Sri Lanka for three weeks two years ago, and almost went mad, I tell you...:-)
Seriously, I want to get more of a sense of place in my writing. I want to give you my Edinburgh, with the staircases between the streets, and King Arthur's Seat by moonlight, and excellent Indian restaurants, and Freddy, who plays at the Ceilidh House pub, with his friends who sang at least 9 different Mary Anne songs for the crazy American writer who haunted their pub, scribbling and nursing a pint of Strongbow (just one, because as usual I was on a shoestring budget. Y'know how I paid for that trip? My parents had paid for my airfare to London for my cousin's wedding, so I went a week early, stayed with the ex-lover of a friend I'd met on my last trip to England, and lived on pub food. The British idea of a sandwich is ick, but I must admit to loving pub pies. And I even like haggis. Silly digression).
I was only there for a week, and so I can attempt to give you a taste in a paragraph. I don't know how to do Sri Lanka, or Chicago or Philly, or even New Britain. Slowly, I suspect. With great care.
My memory is terrible. I must write write and write it all so I can catch it and pin it to the page before it is gone and forgotten.
Sunday, day for peace and reflection. Though I left the Catholic church almost 14 years ago, some habits linger. Sundays tend to be quiet days for me, even when it's as physically active a day as the rest of the week. My mind is quieter.
I'm listening to a CD I really love. It's "Comon Ground: Voices of Modern Irish Music". I bought it on a bit of a whim, since I don't know most of the aritsts on here. It moves beautifully from joyous to sad, from cheerful to bitter. Even if I can't understand many of the songs, I love this music. I don't own many CD's -- just never got into the habit of buying music. In high school I tended to tape a lot of albums from friends; in college I listened to the same things over and over. Now I own about 40 CD's. Some musicals, some classical. The rest I will now list here, by artist, for the curious:
Some collections of world music and Irish music, the musicals and classical mentioned above. Favorite musical: Camelot for the story, with Chess and Les Mis close behind. Favorite classical: varies wildly, depending on mood. I loved playing Rachmaninoff best, when I played classical piano, probably because he had such fun variation in dynamics and tempo. Vivaldi similarly. Yet Alex played so much Bach at Clarion that I was reminded how much I did like it, when I didn't have to practice it. I have a lot of Beethoven and Debussy, though I think that's fairly random. Much of the above is random, I'm afraid -- gifts from friends or whims. I tend to play the same CD over and over again, especially while I'm working. The infinte repeat button the CD player is my friend (though not my roommates'. God, Kevin hates it when I do that).
I wish I knew more about jazz. Ditto world music. Generally, modern rock music doesn't do much for me. Not enough sense in the lyrics. There are exceptions.
I'm not sure what all this tells you about me.
Sherman's coming by again today, trading lunch for another driving lesson. I spent a quiet morning reading Jane Lindskold's When the Gods Are Silent (a nice fantasy, but without the punch of Brother to Dragons, Companion to Owls which had such great characterization that I ignored the plot holes that Cliff informs me are there). I should have been working. I must work at some point today. After the driving lesson, perhaps. Still feeling very lethargic. I have all these bills hanging over my head that I know I *will* be able to pay if I just do the damn work, but their mere presence is paralyzing. I hate worrying about money.
Join the crowd, right? :-)
Seriously, I don't particularly want to be rich. Oh, if I had the money, I could do great things with it -- build a beautiful house (I'll tell you about my dream house some day), endow a library, start a school. All sorts of possibilities. But for my day-to-day life? Well, until I have kids to think about, I get along quite well on $15-20K a year. Another couple thousand for travelling and I'm very happy. My parents don't understand this at all.
I think it's perhaps part of being an immigrant. The push and drive it takes to come here, melded with the over-riding messages of this society tend to tell people that they need to get all they can to feel secure -- and then they don't feel secure even when they have it. There's always more to want. There's an odd contrast between my British friends (Thida/Alex) and my American ones. The British ones save. They live on what they need, and put the rest away in bank accounts. This is how Thida was able to buy at house at age 25. Whereas I know other people who have 50K jobs who often are late with the rent or have rotten credit ratings. America encourages us to spend to our limit...and a little beyond. There's always another credit card, right? This isn't a culture that says 'live within your means'. The folk wisdom of 'A penny saved is a penny earned' is long lost. You can't hear it in the advertising shout.
I am so very glad I didn't go into advertising. At one point it seemed a logical place for an English major without many other skills. I now have serious ethical issues with the way advertising is practiced in this country. (Probably other countries too, but it's so blatant here that I can't help thinking about it). I would have gone into it cheerfully, probably have been pretty good at it, and it would have sucked out my soul. I hope I'm never so in need of a job that I go back there.
For now I'll scramble along on my student loans and writing contracts. Hopefully when I graduate I can teach somewhere part-time. (I start teaching in two weeks. I'm excited, and scared.) I'll never be rich, unless by some miracle one of my books becomes a best-seller. That's okay with me...I just want enough money that I don't have to worry every month over whether I can make the rent and utilities and food. And a little for travel.
That's just for me, of course. I imagine once I have kids, my need for cash will sharply increase. We'll see.
Then Sherman wanted to go see the 1945 version of The Big Sleep at the Paramount last night, which was very good (though I must admit I *hate* that style of theater, and that appalling organ...), much better than the revised version in my opinion (subtler and clearer at once). If you haven't seen this movie, I highly recommend it. Screenplay by William Faulkner, and the damn thing is *complicated*. The first time I saw it was on videotape with Kevin (he owns it 'cause he loves it so) and I gotta admit to being confused and tired enough that I fell asleep partway through. Don't feel bad if you're totally confused -- especially if you see the 1946 regular release, 'cause a really important clarifying scene in the D.A.'s office was cut from that version. Lauren Bacall is a babe and a half.
It was fun, but I stayed out much too late to see it, got very cranky, and was just truly exhausted. Have felt so all day today, and so gave myself permission to take it easy. Instead of trying to do the last 3K words on the mystery today, I'm going to attempt 2K tomorrow and finish it up Monday, e-mailing it to Jeff by lunchtime and Fed Ex'ing the next day if he likes it. That's the plan, at any rate. Today I read Ethan of Athos by Bujold, which was pure pleasure (fast-paced sf espionage with fun and wicked humor and sympathetic characters) and played Talisman with Sherman and Ian (which I won handily playing the Swashbuckler :-). Not sure what I'll do this evening -- trying to get through some backlogged e-mail, I suspect.
You may have noticed the new logos at the bottom of my main diary page -- I've joined the Open Pages and A Room of Her Own journal web rings. If you're looking for other journals to follow, they're the places to go. I've also heard the Archipelago is good (not enough graphic design on my pages to please them, though they liked the text content) and Often (I definitely don't update this often enough for them).
I wanted to talk a little about something a reader said in an e-mail to me yesterday. He was saying that he enjoyed my poems, and commented on the mixture of sweet vulnerability and cynicism, as if I were looking for something that I wasn't sure was there (I wish I had saved the exact words to quote them to you, 'cause I'm probably mangling them a bit). I can see how people can read my writing that way, but I don't think that's quite what's going on. If there's sometimes a cynical, bitter edge to the romance, it's not because I haven't found true love myself, or because I don't think that it's out there. It's more of a protective device, a way of handling it. Using lead-lined gloves to handle radioactive materials.
The beauty is so sharp, so strong...and so important. It seems the only way to approach it, to capture a part of it in words and reflect it back at the world is to layer a bit of distance into the treatment. Somehow it comes out *more* true that way, rather than less. Without the edge, it would be simply sentimental mush; it would be Hallmark. It's a constant danger when writing about love, or truth, or beauty -- when writing about anything that has a lot of 'trigger' words associated with it. How do you filter it so it can be seen more clearly? How do you avoid the mush factor? A pretty problem, at least. I imagine I'll be working on approaches to it for a long long time.
Dale recently sent me word of a new nice review of my book - Ed's Internet Book Review. I'm not sure what Ed means by saying that 'normal' adults will enjoy it, but I'm sure he meant well.
I'm relieved that Ceej has decided to keep her journal up. There was some interesting stuff going on over there recently. She had made a comment about Chip Delany in one of the Clarion entries that was fairly negative (although read in context, far less so). The Clarion East people had been following her journal, and two of the instructors felt that the comment could potentially hurt Ceej's career (which would be a shame, as she is a damn fine writer). She considered taking it down. She considered taking the whole journal down. I'm very glad that she decided not to do either.
There are a lot of interesting questions you run into as a journaler on-line -- things you never thought of before you started. If any of you are considering keeping on-line journals, I strongly encourage you to visit Open Pages and read some of the advice they have there. They cover everything from formatting issues to questions of ethics and openness.
How much do I tell you? How much can I tell you, without invading the privacy of my friends/partners/family? How much can I tell you without putting my safety at risk? My reputation? My career?
I feel like I'm walking a very fine line sometimes. Some of the late night entries are more open, and I worry that I will say something too exposed, or even something hurtful. I'm a pretty nice person, I think, but I have my bad days, like anyone else. Times when I'm not fair to the people around me. Times when I'm tempted to lash out. So far I think I've done a pretty good job of keeping this journal honest, open, and yet appropriately contained. My parents would undoubtedly disagree...yet you can honestly learn far more about me from my poems and stories than you ever will from this journal.
In the journal the truths are edited over and over, as I check for those questions asked above before sending this out into the world. In the fiction -- well, it's fiction. I can tell the whole truth, unvarnished, or I can make stuff up. I'm safe, in a sense, because you can't tell which is which. Oh, people will guess, and assume, and be right some of the time...but as long as I write stories like "Morningsong" and "Diana", I'm probably pretty safe. I doubt any of you think I'm a gay male, or that I've met any Greek gods.
Even the poetry, which has less of the fictional cloak around it, is utterly true and not true at the same time. With it I can take a moment's shred of emotion, even one that isn't mine, and blow it up, examine it, dissect it and illuminate it. Somewhere in there is me, if only in the choice I made to write that poem. In the question of why I wrote that particular poem. That's where you find the core.
I'm rambling, I know. Just thinking tonight about truth and fiction, honesty and boundaries. Someday I may say something here that I will truly regret, but I doubt it. Words have power, but they have the power we give them. I used to lie a lot, as a teenager -- I largely gave that up in college, and I'm glad of it. While I may sometimes choose not to speak, the true things I say I hope to always stand behind. We'll see. I am a raving idealist, after all. Maybe someday someone will make me eat these words.
You already know the plan for today. Mills's computer dial-in pool is supposedly going to be down from the next two hours, so no net access. Hopefully that'll help me concentrate on the writing. I won't log in again until late tonight, so have a good day, everyone.
The pangs of post-Clarion are somewhat assuaged by the coalescing e-mail group. Soon we will have a Clarion web page too, hooray! The group lives...
Life still proceeds moderately quiet. I find myself cooking whatever random things I find in the fridge (last night I fried some onions, added chopped chicken, basil and a red chili. Don't ask me why. It wasn't bad over pasta) rather than planning enough to go to the grocery store. Maybe tomorrow. (I will have probably run out of fridge things by then.) I'm running out of ways to procrastinate -- soon I will have to actually work.
They told us at Clarion not to be surprised if we couldn't write for weeks or months after Clarion. They said that was common, as our brains attempted to integrate everything we'd learned. Fair enough, but unfortunately I have deadlines. Not just the Puritan and Sizzle ones, which don't thankfully require my best writing, but I'd like to get Deep in Sea revised (majorly so) and send it out for the last Windling/Datlow Fairy Tales anthology (must remember to get the address from Leah, and the deadline). I have a definite love/hate relationship with deadlines. On the one hand, I generally feel as if I could have done a better job with a piece if I'd had more time -- on the other, undoubtedly many pieces wouldn't get finished without a looming deadline.
Especially now. I feel paralyzed, almost scared to write. I want my work to be different, better -- and of course, it won't be yet. I know that in my head, but still...
It's not writer's block. I know I can sit down and write. It's simply insecurity, fear. I'm a person who likes immediate small goals and rewards -- and I like them clear-cut. Why did I pick a life where that just doesn't happen, where both goals and rewards and even process are rather vague and ill-defined? Eh. No need to answer that -- I do know the answers. I'm just whinging (did I spell that right, Brits?), don't mind me. I'll feel a lot better once I get up off my ass and actually write something.
12:45 - Well, I did go to the grocery store. Picked up a lot of fruit, to hopefully help me lose the 5 pounds I put on at Clarion (sitting and writing and only walking to and from class is not conducive to a fit body). Procrastinated further by starting an old Phyllis Ann Karr novel and by putting together a list of important people mentioned in this journal for your amusement and edification. Hopefully none of them will mind. Am rapidly running out of things to procrastinate on. Down to less than 15 old mail messages to deal with. Clothes almost all put away. Dishes done. Have figured out how to keep the house cool with curtains closed so that while the place is dimly lit, it is no longer painfully warm so I don't have that excuse anymore. Meep. (Have I explained meep to you? It is the sound a small animal makes when it is run over by something very big. General pathetic distress.) Maybe I can dust.
Who am I kidding? I never dust. (Truly, the rest of my housekeeping is generally quite good, even compulsive. Somehow I never got into dusting.) I could procrastinate simply by writing exceedingly long journal entries, thereby enlisting all of you unwittingly in aiding my writing avoidance behavior. Enablers is the term, I believe.
But no. Sadly, I cannot be quite that self-deceptive. I will not write more in this journal today. So there.
8:50 -- All right. I lied. I'm back again when I said I wouldn't be today. It was this or the television, and considering that we don't even have a television, that I would have to figure out exactly how it is that Ian hooked up his speakers to the vcr to the computer monitor (and where is he, you ask? he's off with his SO, who's been gone for a week, and I'm sure they're being delightfully mushy together (what, is that a hint of annoyance in your virtual voice? Oh, maybe. Dammit, I wouldn't mind spending this evening being mushy myself, except for this little problem of thousands of miles....okay, okay. Enough self pity. I should know better than to write in here this late at night. I did decide to go away to grad school, right? My choice. Argh.)) -- I'm not going to watch tv. I've spent the last hour reading newsgroups which has reminded me mostly why I stopped reading newsgroups several months ago. What an amazing time sink. Not that this is necessarily much better, but at least I'm writing instead of reading -- especially instead of reading amazingly inane arguments (on misc.writing even! I expected better. And that damn To Angi thread is still going and going and going on alt.poly...) that I really have no interest in. It's sad and frustrating to watch intelligent people trying really really hard to get through to people who have no interest in being got through to. Especially frustrating when your own fingers are just itching to leap into the fray. Which has gotten me in much trouble in the past, let me tell you.
Here, let me break up my little rant with a paragraph break before I dissolve into utter incoherence and illegibility. *deep breath*
I'm not going to tell you exactly where I got into such trouble because it's really bad enough that my teenage idiocies are permanently archived without my going around telling people exactly where.
Tomorrow will be a sane day. Tomorrow I will get up and write. I damn well have to, 'cause I have 9000 words due for Puritan that I have to ship by Saturday and the 2400 words I have thus far are just not going to cut it on their ownsome. I will write from 6:30 until 9:30, and then, having calmly and professionally finished 3000 words (hah!), I will get a ride from my kind roommate Cliff over into the city to meet my friend Elissa who is in town visiting her in-laws. I will take her away for lunch and a nice walk through around the de Young or possibly the Asian Arts Museum. Then we will come back to my place, visually and spiritually refreshed. We will consider whether will join Brian (not her Bryan. Another Brian. With an I.) at a pub for conversation and relaxation. Eventually we will sleep, having spent much time in catching up and friendly gossiping. Doesn't that sound nice?
*sigh* The plans always sound so nice. So orderly. So efficient. If only life actually worked that way.
I started writing a poem called "Inertia Blues" -- but it was too much work. You think I'm kidding. I had a whole verse before I gave up.
I ought to read. Or put away the laundry. I could call someone, but almost everyone's in the wrong damn time zone. I am *not* going to go turn on the tv. Y'all can just listen to me whine instead.
Okay, no whining. Surely there's something interesting I can tell you? Something interesting I can do? How 'bout a writing exercise, hot off the presses, just for you. No editing, I promise. Limited timeframe. Maybe that'll turn up something worthwhile, and the no editing adds a certain frisson, a slice of danger to the work.
Paging through the idea generation Clarion sheets, I find one that I ought to be good at by now. We'll see. The assignment: describe a character through the eyes of a point of view character (any person) who lusts after that character. No cliches.)
Go.
She would come to me at dusk, her brown eyes wide and simple. I would lift that ugly smock from her body, her vibrant, aging mortal body. In the darkness of the woods, our limbs entwined amidst the death and decay of the forest floor, musty mushrooms and tattered autumn leaves -- ah, but it is summer now. The leaves are green, green as her body in this blush of youth, in this blinding temporary mortal beauty that my Lady pales beside. The stars are always there, but the sun outshines them all, for a little while. Only a little while. Until then, let the ripe rutting scent rise through the woods; let me join my body with this wide-hipped, cow-breasted girl; let me plunge into her dark and steaming depths and forget that I am ever immortal, ever lost.
It's funny how I work much better with restraints. (Stop laughing, you.) Seriously -- whether it's poetic formalistm or anthology requests or deadlines, it seems like the more restraints on the story, the easier it is for me to write. Fewer decisions to be made, I suppose. There's such a universe of possibilities.
Ah, it is now 9:45, and I have sufficiently whiled away the time that I think I can safely brush my teeth and go to bed. I do believe I hear a roommate at the door as well.
Thank you for keeping me company, my invisible readers, my silent (mostly) horde. I do wonder again how many of you there are. Perhaps I will ask Dale to check the stats again for me. I hope I haven't annoyed you too much with the multiple updates today...you have certainly helped me, rescuing me from the evil tv spectre. Thank you and good night.
(Oh, will I regret this entry in the morning?)
Mornin', dears. Another beautiful morning; I can just hope that it doesn't get as painfully hot today as it did yesterday. I'm waffling between disappearing to campus or holing up in the basement, in Ian's room, today. We'll see.
Got some good news today -- a new Wizardry book by Duane, The Book of Night with Moon. She's possibly the only person I'd trust to tell an entire novel from the point of view of cats. The first chapter's on the web page, and the rest will be out in November in the States. I guess I can wait that long. Sigh.
No desire to write yet. Not sure what to do with the day, as a result. I really do need to go to campus sometime soon and talk to the financial aid people; maybe I'll take laptop, swimsuit and go do that today. The pool opens at 1:00...
My mood is finally calming down, though getting e-mail from Rob this morning made me briefly mopey again. Time to get back into the regular swing of things. Planning to do a lot of reading today, finishing the Pat Murphy and starting a book Lisette really liked and lent me, Chitra Divakaruni's The Mistress of Spices. I'll let you know how it is. The Murphy has been solidly good so far, though nothing yet as brilliant as I found her first novel. I've heard very good things about one of the last stories in the collection, though, "Rachel in Love".
2:35 - Well. I walked to campus, finishing the Murphy on the way. Good. I dealt with the financial aid stuff -- all's well, and I'll be able to go to school this fall. That's reassuring. I alternated swimming and reading the Divakaruni book, which was excellent. Really really good -- go read it. The sun and book and water all combined to make me feel pretty content, y'know? As if I'd been ill, but was now gently convalescent.
And then I stopped by the library and logged on and read Ceej's journal for the last four days and now I'm weeping again. In the damned library.
I guess you could say I'm not fully recovered yet.
Am doing somewhat better today. Woke up and hit the grocery store, made muffins, started unpacking. Have a lot of financial school stuff to get through and hopefully fix today. Things that should have been mailed out while I was at Clarion. Oops.
Nice music on, a beautiful day, Cliff and Naomi both here to keep me company (Cliff was at Clarion East this summer, which has given us a lot to talk about as we compare notes (they didn't have a kitchen! poor babies...). I'm generally feeling much better, though still struck with occasional bouts of pure misery missing people. Alex, if you're reading this, write me, dammit. I don't have accurate contact info for you.
5:25 - Quiet day. It's too damn hot here (okay, it's probably under 80, but it's still too damn hot). I think tomorrow I'll get up early and go somewhere air-conditioned to work. I've spent most of today napping (still tired!), reading with pleasure Pat Murphy's collection Points of Departure, and futzing around on the web page fixing bits and streamlining. Finally got around to adding credits to that lovely painting on my home page. Fixed some broken links (thanks, Shmuel!). Dealt with old e-mail.
I have piles of stories to revise, but I'm giving myself a week of recovery time before I start feeling guilty about those. I do have to finish the erotic mystery for Puritan by August 11 (actually, the 10th, so it can be in Jeff's hot little hands by the 11th). Also should write some stuff for Sizzle, as my bills are starting to look worrisome. Kev's loaning me money to tide me over until various checks arrive, but I *hate* borrowing money from people, and want to pay him back ASAP.
Listening to lots of CD's I've missed while gone, esp. Flash Girls. I think I told you guys about that one, right? Emma Bull's group? Also various Celtic music things. I must have been a Celt in a previous life. There is no other explanation for my obsession with these people
I have been difficult and moody and silent to my friends. Sherman has been very patient, but I think he is worried. Cliff, luckily, understands. I talked to Kevin for an hour and a half last night, which did a lot towards making me feel me sane. Helped remind me of all the good things in this part of my life. Still feel a bit battered though (there was a time when Bob was trying to come up with a metaphor for a type of teleportation where there was a moment of 'tearing'...I offered the idea of a huge band-aid all over your body, suddenly being ripped away. He didn't use it in the story (smart Bob), but it does rather describe how I feel these days).
Woke up a little late (6:30), but did get up and work. I'd really like to maintain my Clarion schedule -- we'll see how well it fits into my everyday life. Time for breakfast and then perhaps a hike through the woods. We'll see...it's a bit gloomy today. Reflects my mood.
3:45 - Well, a nice day so far. Breakfast with Cliff, Sherman, Ian. Nice to be home with my boys again. I was rather mopey still, but they tried diligently to cheer me up. Then grocery shopping and home again. Started lunch. Decided to stop and go have a driving lesson with Sherman. (I'm learning stick!) We stopped at his parents' house (near parking lot where we were to drive), and they pressed much old stuff of his on him. A friend of the family has moved into his old room. He doesn't seem too traumatized. :-)
In the driving lesson, I drove for over an hour, shifted successfully into 1st, 2nd and 3rd gears, stalled the car only infuriatingly often (as opposed to impossibly often), realized that the impulse to drive too fast when frustrated and tired and irritated is almost irresistable, and managed not to kill either Sherman or myself. Terror is a good antidote to depression. Felt moderately proud of myself when finished.
Home again for a late lunch, and now we're waffling over what to do next. I fear the trip to the woods will have to be placed second to cleaning the sadly neglected house. Ian tried, I'm sure...and it's not TOO awful. But Naomi arrives for a week's visit tonight, and I'd like the place to look its best. Sherman is not entirely in favor of this plan, but I think I will win. :-)
Wandering through the dorm this morning was hard. Woke up at five and packed. Breakfast by the fountain with Alex (and later Leah). Back to say more goodbyes. Goodbye goodbye goodbye. Rob looked shattered. He's going back to France -- so far away. If any of you are English-speaking writers living in France, let me know, okay? He's so isolated there. I was too stressed to cry. Just felt ill. Wound up so tight. I was envious of those (Ceej, Nancy, Leah...) who were crying. Tried to give Alex a copy of my book, and he insisted on buying it, supporting my work. Silly, stubborn Brit. A stranger moved into Barbara's room, an old man. How dared he? Almost broke down when Bob hugged me in the elevator, as we were seeing Leah out. Held together all the way to the airport, later. Read and slept on the plane, trying not to think. Have been alternating between glad to be back and desperately missing them ever since.
I'm going to try not to inundate you with weepiness over the next week or so, but bear with me. This will take some time to assimilate. I keep thinking I hear their voices -- in the airport, down the hall.
Two things I've learned from Nicola and the group and the experience:
When writing, you must:
1. Be faithful to the terrible truth, the deepest part of you, the
hardest things. And once you've found that, torn it out of you, dripped
and shoved and splashed it on the page...
2. Do the work. Don't take the easy paths -- take the hard ones. I
could fill this space with lovely metaphors, but it all comes down to
doing the work.