Man, I'm writing every day but I don't feel like I'm saying anything. I mean, I could get political, but that's a little too easy right now, and I need some time to get that post together.
The book's going well, but right now I'm staying up too late and writing far too little in it each time. But a little bit of writing is getting done, which is more than I can say for before I started this thing. I wish I had a long time ago. I guess I just didn't think about it, and I figured "oh well, I love to write, it'll just come automatically."
It doesn't.
Even when you enjoy something creative, it's never automatic. You'll want to put things off, and you'll get things wrong, and suddenly it's a week later and you haven't done anything.
I think this is why people get stressed over weddings.
Well, that clicked.
Showing posts with label novels. Show all posts
Showing posts with label novels. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Saturday, September 15, 2012
This is Awesome
So I had this one character I wanted to show up at some point, and I wasn't sure where to put him in.
He showed up last night, right where I didn't know I wanted him.
Like I literally wasn't sure where he was going to pop up, and now that he's there, I also have more of a direction for a part I was getting increasingly nervous about approaching. And now it's working out.
I love this.
In other news, there's some more (non-fiction) writing work opening up for me, which will hopefully allow me to make some changes. I'm excited. It's a little stressful to think about, but hey. At least working for myself means I spend little to nothing on gas.
I really hope I'm as inspired as I feel, because I seriously have some wedding stuff to do.
Also Doctor Who is on tonight.
He showed up last night, right where I didn't know I wanted him.
Like I literally wasn't sure where he was going to pop up, and now that he's there, I also have more of a direction for a part I was getting increasingly nervous about approaching. And now it's working out.
I love this.
In other news, there's some more (non-fiction) writing work opening up for me, which will hopefully allow me to make some changes. I'm excited. It's a little stressful to think about, but hey. At least working for myself means I spend little to nothing on gas.
I really hope I'm as inspired as I feel, because I seriously have some wedding stuff to do.
Also Doctor Who is on tonight.
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Novels Are Like Little Businesses
I was a little mad at myself last night. Through no fault of my own (and I won't elaborate...) I barely got a couple of paragraphs written yesterday, in the novel. Before I went to bed, I made sure to write something, just so it was done, even though I had to work this morning.
I read Rework this week. Yes, it's about business, but I felt like it applied a lot to me as a writer, especially in the context of writing a novel. I've gotten a nice little chunk of the story done, and I've cut things here and there.
I guess a novel is like a business, sort of.
I think a lot of small businesses fail because they dont understand their customers. Case in point, there's a small restaurant where I live, in two locations, one downtown. It's been there for years. We got the cake for my brother's Eagle Scout reception from there. They do cakes and such, but a huge seller is their lunch box. This consists of an entree (sandwich, chicken, chicken pie, etc.) chips, another side, and a dessert. They are literally two doors down from a bank that employs hundreds of people. This place doesn't even have a dining area, but the food is awesome, quick, and affordable.
We've also had a French cafe, a fancy Mexican restaurant, and a bed & breakfast try their hand at success in the same area.
They all failed.
Where I live, no one goes downtown for the experience. Most of the people there are working. After dark, people go home to the other side of town or wherever they live in the county. The Mexican place failed despite the attraction of live music. The bed & breakfast closed because a) this isn't New England and b) it had a great view of an old hotel that probably has hourly rates. I'm willing to bet that the French place didn't quite understand its customer base or possibly priced itself out of the running. It may have been that rent was too high and the food was too special (because for real, my town will stiff you on downtown rent.)
Know who you're targeting for your writing. Mostly it's subconscious, but readers like to have that "they get me!" moment when they read. No, they won't say it out loud, but they also probably won't put your book down after five pages.
Anyway. I highly recommend Rework.
I read Rework this week. Yes, it's about business, but I felt like it applied a lot to me as a writer, especially in the context of writing a novel. I've gotten a nice little chunk of the story done, and I've cut things here and there.
I guess a novel is like a business, sort of.
I think a lot of small businesses fail because they dont understand their customers. Case in point, there's a small restaurant where I live, in two locations, one downtown. It's been there for years. We got the cake for my brother's Eagle Scout reception from there. They do cakes and such, but a huge seller is their lunch box. This consists of an entree (sandwich, chicken, chicken pie, etc.) chips, another side, and a dessert. They are literally two doors down from a bank that employs hundreds of people. This place doesn't even have a dining area, but the food is awesome, quick, and affordable.
We've also had a French cafe, a fancy Mexican restaurant, and a bed & breakfast try their hand at success in the same area.
They all failed.
Where I live, no one goes downtown for the experience. Most of the people there are working. After dark, people go home to the other side of town or wherever they live in the county. The Mexican place failed despite the attraction of live music. The bed & breakfast closed because a) this isn't New England and b) it had a great view of an old hotel that probably has hourly rates. I'm willing to bet that the French place didn't quite understand its customer base or possibly priced itself out of the running. It may have been that rent was too high and the food was too special (because for real, my town will stiff you on downtown rent.)
Know who you're targeting for your writing. Mostly it's subconscious, but readers like to have that "they get me!" moment when they read. No, they won't say it out loud, but they also probably won't put your book down after five pages.
Anyway. I highly recommend Rework.
Friday, September 7, 2012
Bothering
Alright, so more excerpts and snark are coming this weekend.
This 30 days thing is actually working out okay for now. I have gotten loads more done than if I hadn't set this thing up. That said, I really would love to write full time.
I've also been reading Rework the past couple days, and it's been pretty inspiring. My brain feels like it's going overtime. I definitely haven't found any contentment with daytime TV lately, which does signal a personal change. I did try to bounce some ideas off my fiance last night. I was basically too tired to attempt a toss, but it's nice to know my brain wants to do stuff that late at night.
Yesterday I actually cut out this disgusting part of the book where the characters find that they have to go through an animal carcass that's roughly the size of an elephant. When I wrote the scene, quite a while back, the squelching and crunching just seemed like a great fit.
When I went to type it up, it just grossed me out. It was also tedious and boring, and relied on something gruesome to make it interesting. As that's the reason I don't like slasher flicks that much, that scene had to go.
I'm still a little afraid of this venture. I'm scared to fail, because why bother if most self-published (and even house-published) novels aren't wildly successful?
I bother because I have a story to tell, and I intend to do just that.
This story's been cooking for over ten years. I think it's funny when there are YA book trends, because you know only one or two of the probably twenty on the shelf are honest. Sometimes there are reprints (like the Vampire Diaries, which was first published in the early 90s, and reprinted because, well, Twilight.)
The most honest stories are the ones that you must tell. Not the ones that the market says are hot, but the story you cannot get your mind away from. Tell the story that's chasing you down.
In other words, bother.
This 30 days thing is actually working out okay for now. I have gotten loads more done than if I hadn't set this thing up. That said, I really would love to write full time.
I've also been reading Rework the past couple days, and it's been pretty inspiring. My brain feels like it's going overtime. I definitely haven't found any contentment with daytime TV lately, which does signal a personal change. I did try to bounce some ideas off my fiance last night. I was basically too tired to attempt a toss, but it's nice to know my brain wants to do stuff that late at night.
Yesterday I actually cut out this disgusting part of the book where the characters find that they have to go through an animal carcass that's roughly the size of an elephant. When I wrote the scene, quite a while back, the squelching and crunching just seemed like a great fit.
When I went to type it up, it just grossed me out. It was also tedious and boring, and relied on something gruesome to make it interesting. As that's the reason I don't like slasher flicks that much, that scene had to go.
I'm still a little afraid of this venture. I'm scared to fail, because why bother if most self-published (and even house-published) novels aren't wildly successful?
I bother because I have a story to tell, and I intend to do just that.
This story's been cooking for over ten years. I think it's funny when there are YA book trends, because you know only one or two of the probably twenty on the shelf are honest. Sometimes there are reprints (like the Vampire Diaries, which was first published in the early 90s, and reprinted because, well, Twilight.)
The most honest stories are the ones that you must tell. Not the ones that the market says are hot, but the story you cannot get your mind away from. Tell the story that's chasing you down.
In other words, bother.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
Believability
Just kidding on the bad excerpts thing. I didn't bring my old manuscript to work with me, so I think I will save that for tomorrow or the weekend. Not entirely sure...
So anyway.
I'm pretty good at dialogue between characters. In fact, I had that noted at least once in a creative writing class I took for my minor. In writing, it is the thing that comes most natural for me. That's the part that ends up the most believable, and that is helpful because dialogue reveals a lot about characters whose heads you can't get into.
My four characters have helped loads in making my story more believable. When a character is lifelike, it's easier to see their world as real.
I started thinking of this the other day when my brother was watching the Lord of the Rings movies. I seriously have seen the first one no less than twelve times.
Personally, I blame the work that went into the making of the movies.
Those three films weren't slapped together hastily in front of a green screen. The filmmakers took their time to make Middle-Earth as real as it could possibly be. Tolkien did them a favor when he made up an insane history for Middle-Earth.
I had never thought about that before my brother said it.
And I realized it applies very heavily to writing.
I wonder if I lost that for a little bit. Did I believe my story? Am I trying to copy anything? I mean, the book has in no way lost its roots. I worry a little that I tried to put too much grittiness in it and lost...something. I've sometimes described the story as "this, plus this, with a little of that."
I tried to make it too small. Problem is, we live in a very big universe.
I believe my stories now. I believe the world in which they're set.
That doesn't mean the story's perfect yet. But it's really close to being good enough for me.
I think now I've recaptured what I lost, the honesty of wonder.
So anyway.
I'm pretty good at dialogue between characters. In fact, I had that noted at least once in a creative writing class I took for my minor. In writing, it is the thing that comes most natural for me. That's the part that ends up the most believable, and that is helpful because dialogue reveals a lot about characters whose heads you can't get into.
My four characters have helped loads in making my story more believable. When a character is lifelike, it's easier to see their world as real.
I started thinking of this the other day when my brother was watching the Lord of the Rings movies. I seriously have seen the first one no less than twelve times.
Personally, I blame the work that went into the making of the movies.
Those three films weren't slapped together hastily in front of a green screen. The filmmakers took their time to make Middle-Earth as real as it could possibly be. Tolkien did them a favor when he made up an insane history for Middle-Earth.
I had never thought about that before my brother said it.
And I realized it applies very heavily to writing.
I wonder if I lost that for a little bit. Did I believe my story? Am I trying to copy anything? I mean, the book has in no way lost its roots. I worry a little that I tried to put too much grittiness in it and lost...something. I've sometimes described the story as "this, plus this, with a little of that."
I tried to make it too small. Problem is, we live in a very big universe.
I believe my stories now. I believe the world in which they're set.
That doesn't mean the story's perfect yet. But it's really close to being good enough for me.
I think now I've recaptured what I lost, the honesty of wonder.
Monday, September 3, 2012
30 Days, 30 Posts, 30 Chapters
So.
I've decided to make September (roughly) my own month for getting the book done. I am promising myself that the book will be done, finished, completely, by my birthday, as a present to myself. Yeah, I'm nicely busy. With my part-time job and the attempt to go into writing full-time, this should be interesting. Especially the next time my puppy climbs on my chest in an attempt to eat my chapstick while I'm wearing it.
For 30 days, I will post here about stuff, mostly my book or other fictional outlets. I'll also write a chapter of my novel, either on my computer or by hand, the latter of which I prefer.
So here y'all go. First post of this little thing. Chapter coming later today. :)
I'll be more interesting tomorrow. For example, this past weekend I uploaded Doctor Who, Sherlock Holmes, and one very tense 80s movie into my head.
My brain had a field day that night.
Enjoy!
I've decided to make September (roughly) my own month for getting the book done. I am promising myself that the book will be done, finished, completely, by my birthday, as a present to myself. Yeah, I'm nicely busy. With my part-time job and the attempt to go into writing full-time, this should be interesting. Especially the next time my puppy climbs on my chest in an attempt to eat my chapstick while I'm wearing it.
For 30 days, I will post here about stuff, mostly my book or other fictional outlets. I'll also write a chapter of my novel, either on my computer or by hand, the latter of which I prefer.
So here y'all go. First post of this little thing. Chapter coming later today. :)
I'll be more interesting tomorrow. For example, this past weekend I uploaded Doctor Who, Sherlock Holmes, and one very tense 80s movie into my head.
My brain had a field day that night.
Enjoy!
Monday, November 14, 2011
Edward Cullen, Man-Child
Upon a mental analysis of the Twilight novels, it has become apparent to me that Edward Cullen, one of the male leads, is an 80 year old man-child.*
I have a few facts to back up this observation.
1. Edward has no job, only hobbies. He spends most of his time playing piano and hunting. Now, true, his adopted father is a doctor, which in any family is a well-paying occupation that sometimes does allow one's offspring to live a life of comparable leisure. But, uh, Ed? You still don't have a job 'cause your dad's rich. That's just as bad.
2. If the book and the movie are to be believed, at the time of his marriage to Bella, Edward has lived an honorable life and kept his virtue intact. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but it does make him the 80 year old virgin. Steve Carell will be playing him in the sequel to Breaking Dawn, which I understand has a working title of The Cullens Take Manhattan.
3. Edward stares. And I don't mean that he stares at Bella while's she's sleeping. (The horse is dead. Put the whip down, step away, and go on with your life.) I mean he stares at people in general. Now, he is a vampire, but you sorta get the feeling that he did this as a human. Since he was 17 at the time of his transformation, this plants Edward firmly in the realm of awkward guy. If he had lived to head over to Europe with the rest of the dough-boys (because his "death" was during the first World War, and from Spanish flu), he probably would have been "that guy."
4. He demands to be taken seriously, at all times. No joking. It's mean. Stop it now. (Sorta like how little kids react when you laugh at their indignation.)
One consolation is that, given his love of hunting things that involve blood, he'd probably be fun to play Halo with. Or maybe Left 4 Dead.**
*This is not a Twi-hate post, and if you don't get in touch with the real world and realize that the Twilight series is not going to result in severe damage to the world as we know it, then I'll have to accuse you of being a secret fan.
**Hurr hurr. Get it?
I have a few facts to back up this observation.
1. Edward has no job, only hobbies. He spends most of his time playing piano and hunting. Now, true, his adopted father is a doctor, which in any family is a well-paying occupation that sometimes does allow one's offspring to live a life of comparable leisure. But, uh, Ed? You still don't have a job 'cause your dad's rich. That's just as bad.
2. If the book and the movie are to be believed, at the time of his marriage to Bella, Edward has lived an honorable life and kept his virtue intact. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but it does make him the 80 year old virgin. Steve Carell will be playing him in the sequel to Breaking Dawn, which I understand has a working title of The Cullens Take Manhattan.
3. Edward stares. And I don't mean that he stares at Bella while's she's sleeping. (The horse is dead. Put the whip down, step away, and go on with your life.) I mean he stares at people in general. Now, he is a vampire, but you sorta get the feeling that he did this as a human. Since he was 17 at the time of his transformation, this plants Edward firmly in the realm of awkward guy. If he had lived to head over to Europe with the rest of the dough-boys (because his "death" was during the first World War, and from Spanish flu), he probably would have been "that guy."
4. He demands to be taken seriously, at all times. No joking. It's mean. Stop it now. (Sorta like how little kids react when you laugh at their indignation.)
One consolation is that, given his love of hunting things that involve blood, he'd probably be fun to play Halo with. Or maybe Left 4 Dead.**
*This is not a Twi-hate post, and if you don't get in touch with the real world and realize that the Twilight series is not going to result in severe damage to the world as we know it, then I'll have to accuse you of being a secret fan.
**Hurr hurr. Get it?
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Rare Sunday Post!
So yeah, it's Sunday. I don't often have time on the weekends to post, usually because I end up chillin' in our living room, looking in the general direction of the television and snarking about whatever the heck I feel like. But I feel a little inspired. I think.
And really, I'm thinking it to myself "Okay, Amanda, it's Sunday. You're not working today. You've got a novel to finish, maybe some other posts to do ahead of time because of your weird work schedule and superhero-compromised attention span. How about some productive stuff, okay?"
And I'm all "NO I MUST BE AWESOME TODAY."
Really, I don't know where it comes from. My body works backwards or something. Friday night, I got 8 hours of sleep. I usually average about 6-7, and function. Heck, I functioned through most of college on 5 hours of sleep a night. But 8 hours should make me feel like...okay, I'm out of analogies since I don't know many un-stupid female Marvel characters and most DC characters bother me. Bottom line is, I should feel ready to run a freaking marathon, but all I felt Saturday was sorta tired. Like "oh, that 8 hours...that was nice. Let's do that again." If I get a normal amount of sleep, I have this weird hangoverish feeling (and I don't drink, so...yeah) and I just end up sleeping more. So basically I've wired my body to actually run better on less sleep.
Case in point. I had to open last weekend. I work at a museum, and my only full days are Fridays and every other Saturday. I have to leave my house about 8:20 to get downtown. I usually get up at 7:15 to give myself enough time. So last Thursday night, I was winding down, about to prepare for bed, when my brother, innocently enough, said "Let's watch Ironman 2."
I had not seen this movie yet, and I wanted to, but I had to get up early. So my brain took half a second to be all "Eh, I better no-YES WE WILL WATCH IRONMAN 2."
I rolled into bed at 2 AM and got up at 7 ish.
Now most people would feel sorta gross and just not good after 5 hours of sleep. Me? All I could think of was seeing how high in the air I would be if I stood on the lobby desk at work to clean off the mysterious smudge 12 feet up. Actually, the smudge was a bonus, I just wanted to feel really tall. Then the thought entered my brain that "I wonder what would happen if I jumped off the counter onto the floor." This continued for quite some time.*
Last night, I got to bed sometime after three and got up at like 9:35 to get ready for church. I don't want a nap. I want to be awesome. I should be writing away, but I am far too ADD to not want to be doing something like knitting upside down above lava. And this is how I normally am, mentally anyway, because most nights I go on Cracked.com and get into the "open seven tabs at once" trap.
When I'm in a really really really really really really really good mood, and I'm feeling all "OMG I WOULD BE AMAZING CREW MEMBER ON A SPACE FREIGHTER" then I don't get much done. Seriously, when I'm feeling that awesome, I have weird daydreams. The apocalypse version of me is an engineer that fixes stuff UPSIDE DOWN and saves the day.
And then I usually end up tripping up the stairs.
*Pesky customers never let me get time to do it. Dang.
And really, I'm thinking it to myself "Okay, Amanda, it's Sunday. You're not working today. You've got a novel to finish, maybe some other posts to do ahead of time because of your weird work schedule and superhero-compromised attention span. How about some productive stuff, okay?"
And I'm all "NO I MUST BE AWESOME TODAY."
Really, I don't know where it comes from. My body works backwards or something. Friday night, I got 8 hours of sleep. I usually average about 6-7, and function. Heck, I functioned through most of college on 5 hours of sleep a night. But 8 hours should make me feel like...okay, I'm out of analogies since I don't know many un-stupid female Marvel characters and most DC characters bother me. Bottom line is, I should feel ready to run a freaking marathon, but all I felt Saturday was sorta tired. Like "oh, that 8 hours...that was nice. Let's do that again." If I get a normal amount of sleep, I have this weird hangoverish feeling (and I don't drink, so...yeah) and I just end up sleeping more. So basically I've wired my body to actually run better on less sleep.
Case in point. I had to open last weekend. I work at a museum, and my only full days are Fridays and every other Saturday. I have to leave my house about 8:20 to get downtown. I usually get up at 7:15 to give myself enough time. So last Thursday night, I was winding down, about to prepare for bed, when my brother, innocently enough, said "Let's watch Ironman 2."
I had not seen this movie yet, and I wanted to, but I had to get up early. So my brain took half a second to be all "Eh, I better no-YES WE WILL WATCH IRONMAN 2."
I rolled into bed at 2 AM and got up at 7 ish.
Now most people would feel sorta gross and just not good after 5 hours of sleep. Me? All I could think of was seeing how high in the air I would be if I stood on the lobby desk at work to clean off the mysterious smudge 12 feet up. Actually, the smudge was a bonus, I just wanted to feel really tall. Then the thought entered my brain that "I wonder what would happen if I jumped off the counter onto the floor." This continued for quite some time.*
Last night, I got to bed sometime after three and got up at like 9:35 to get ready for church. I don't want a nap. I want to be awesome. I should be writing away, but I am far too ADD to not want to be doing something like knitting upside down above lava. And this is how I normally am, mentally anyway, because most nights I go on Cracked.com and get into the "open seven tabs at once" trap.
When I'm in a really really really really really really really good mood, and I'm feeling all "OMG I WOULD BE AMAZING CREW MEMBER ON A SPACE FREIGHTER" then I don't get much done. Seriously, when I'm feeling that awesome, I have weird daydreams. The apocalypse version of me is an engineer that fixes stuff UPSIDE DOWN and saves the day.
And then I usually end up tripping up the stairs.
*Pesky customers never let me get time to do it. Dang.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
We're Doin' It Right (or just...you know...funner.)
My senior year of college was one where many a great thing was accomplished, such as my car actually making it to Greenville, South Carolina. And speaking of college.
Bob Jones University is a very interesting school. It's a fundamentalist (for all purposes very conservatively dressed Baptist) university with lots of rules and regulations and the occasional interesting happening, like Artist Series (which isn't the name anymore but whatever. Look it up.) During Artist Series, if the university doesn't put on an opera or a play (I saw a lot of Shakespeare...), they invite performers from outside the university to come and put on a show.
Since this post is partly about my senior year, I'll narrow in and focus on the two outside performers that I happened to see those two semesters: the Dallas Brass and the King's Singers.
I'm not crazy about brass music or choral music, at least not initially. I am not one to just sit and listen to classical music or barbershop quartets. That said, I was most unenthusiastic about seeing these dudes from Dallas who I thought had picked the most uncool instrument group (myself being a violinist). I looked forward to an evening of sheer boredom. But you know what? They came and they put on a show. They weren't just performers; they were showmen. They had fun and played some good stuff. Ever heard of Gabriel's Oboe? Look it up. It's from a movie called The Mission (which I have not seen) and shoot, I'm gonna use it in place of Wagner's Wedding March thing at my wedding. They played that. They brought brass music to life in a way that no one in or outside of Bob Jones University (brass heavy as they are) ever did. I laughed, I enjoyed music and the show that went along with it.
It being Bob Jones University, a true show just isn't enough. It has to be exotic. Which I think might be the reason for everyone at the school getting all excited and junk about The King's Singers, a group of men who, well, sing and were apparently god-like simply because they were British. So I was all "Eh, they might not be so bad, I'll give 'em a chance. Probably will be cool." After all, I am fairly certain that some of my fellow students would have gladly sold their first-born child for lunch and a private performance with these guys. They must be good, right?
Eh.
Yeah, they were good. Heck, they were very good. They had a high level of skill and didn't slip once on the notes or the timing or the pitch...Yeah, that's how exciting it was. They stood on stage and sang American folk songs and old spirituals and one thing I actually liked that was about South Africa and Dutch people. Or something. They stood. And sang.
That's about it.
All this to back up my oh so humble opinion...
Here we go, it'll blow yalls minds...
America is not Britain.
BaGOOSH. Am I right?
This is not an anti-Britain rant. Heck, I love Britain. My favorite show right now is Doctor Who* and could you even imagine an American version of Harry Potter?
Harry Potter and the Jersey Devil?
Naw, I'm good with Britain. I think our version of Top Gear is way better. I've been disagreed with, of course. But the British Top Gear? Yeah, old dudes driving. American? They drive and break stuff. Aw yeah.**
Somehow, somewhere, sometime, there was a mass movement of denying who you are and of graciously (ahem) informing others of how wrong they were. Possibly that's why we have hipsters. Liking tea doesn't make you globally minded or more polite or more intelligent. Please understand me, I like tea. It's great. It's delicious. What I don't like are the pretentious little tea shops here in the States that pretend they can steep low-quality paper-bagged tea better than I can.*** Maybe, instead of bragging of our love of tea and all the bands "no one's ever heard of" (even though they probably have), we could just chill. Like tea and like coffee. But just stop pretending.
Maybe we could finally realize that we gained independence from Britain years ago, like it that way ('cause they probably do too), and realize the potential of learning from something instead of trying to be it.
'Cause writers, if you try to be Jane Austen or Charles Dickens and try to squeeze their genius into your stuff and create a disastrous mash-up of the two with a 21st century half-reasoned message about "society and stuff" that cannot and will never belong in that world, your readers will spot it a mile away. But you go ahead and do what you want and write what you want. So guess what? You're not them, so prepare for your baby to be slid back on the shelf and given a remainder mark sometime in the very near future.
More on that tomorrow.
*Did not River Song's identity raise more questions than it answered? And how 'bout that beginning for a season? American conspiracy theory folklore as a plot? Brilliant. Really. Great stuff. I did not see that coming. The Silence are pretty much They, Them, and the Men in Black. Love it.
**Don't even play; you know it's fun.
***It's true. The lowest quality leaves end up in bags. It is easier, and I found that Lipton Spiced Chai was really good to my sore throat yesterday. It's also great iced.
Bob Jones University is a very interesting school. It's a fundamentalist (for all purposes very conservatively dressed Baptist) university with lots of rules and regulations and the occasional interesting happening, like Artist Series (which isn't the name anymore but whatever. Look it up.) During Artist Series, if the university doesn't put on an opera or a play (I saw a lot of Shakespeare...), they invite performers from outside the university to come and put on a show.
Since this post is partly about my senior year, I'll narrow in and focus on the two outside performers that I happened to see those two semesters: the Dallas Brass and the King's Singers.
I'm not crazy about brass music or choral music, at least not initially. I am not one to just sit and listen to classical music or barbershop quartets. That said, I was most unenthusiastic about seeing these dudes from Dallas who I thought had picked the most uncool instrument group (myself being a violinist). I looked forward to an evening of sheer boredom. But you know what? They came and they put on a show. They weren't just performers; they were showmen. They had fun and played some good stuff. Ever heard of Gabriel's Oboe? Look it up. It's from a movie called The Mission (which I have not seen) and shoot, I'm gonna use it in place of Wagner's Wedding March thing at my wedding. They played that. They brought brass music to life in a way that no one in or outside of Bob Jones University (brass heavy as they are) ever did. I laughed, I enjoyed music and the show that went along with it.
It being Bob Jones University, a true show just isn't enough. It has to be exotic. Which I think might be the reason for everyone at the school getting all excited and junk about The King's Singers, a group of men who, well, sing and were apparently god-like simply because they were British. So I was all "Eh, they might not be so bad, I'll give 'em a chance. Probably will be cool." After all, I am fairly certain that some of my fellow students would have gladly sold their first-born child for lunch and a private performance with these guys. They must be good, right?
Eh.
Yeah, they were good. Heck, they were very good. They had a high level of skill and didn't slip once on the notes or the timing or the pitch...Yeah, that's how exciting it was. They stood on stage and sang American folk songs and old spirituals and one thing I actually liked that was about South Africa and Dutch people. Or something. They stood. And sang.
That's about it.
All this to back up my oh so humble opinion...
Here we go, it'll blow yalls minds...
America is not Britain.
BaGOOSH. Am I right?
This is not an anti-Britain rant. Heck, I love Britain. My favorite show right now is Doctor Who* and could you even imagine an American version of Harry Potter?
Harry Potter and the Jersey Devil?
Naw, I'm good with Britain. I think our version of Top Gear is way better. I've been disagreed with, of course. But the British Top Gear? Yeah, old dudes driving. American? They drive and break stuff. Aw yeah.**
Somehow, somewhere, sometime, there was a mass movement of denying who you are and of graciously (ahem) informing others of how wrong they were. Possibly that's why we have hipsters. Liking tea doesn't make you globally minded or more polite or more intelligent. Please understand me, I like tea. It's great. It's delicious. What I don't like are the pretentious little tea shops here in the States that pretend they can steep low-quality paper-bagged tea better than I can.*** Maybe, instead of bragging of our love of tea and all the bands "no one's ever heard of" (even though they probably have), we could just chill. Like tea and like coffee. But just stop pretending.
Maybe we could finally realize that we gained independence from Britain years ago, like it that way ('cause they probably do too), and realize the potential of learning from something instead of trying to be it.
'Cause writers, if you try to be Jane Austen or Charles Dickens and try to squeeze their genius into your stuff and create a disastrous mash-up of the two with a 21st century half-reasoned message about "society and stuff" that cannot and will never belong in that world, your readers will spot it a mile away. But you go ahead and do what you want and write what you want. So guess what? You're not them, so prepare for your baby to be slid back on the shelf and given a remainder mark sometime in the very near future.
More on that tomorrow.
*Did not River Song's identity raise more questions than it answered? And how 'bout that beginning for a season? American conspiracy theory folklore as a plot? Brilliant. Really. Great stuff. I did not see that coming. The Silence are pretty much They, Them, and the Men in Black. Love it.
**Don't even play; you know it's fun.
***It's true. The lowest quality leaves end up in bags. It is easier, and I found that Lipton Spiced Chai was really good to my sore throat yesterday. It's also great iced.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Drapes and Other Trials of Patience
So it's officially summer here in the South. Officially. Most days it's been in the 90s anyway, so we're all practiced for summer. Or warmed up, I should say.* To keep the costs of utilities down, I had to put up drapes in my room, because my corner of the house takes the brunt of the sun every day, mostly in the morning between 9 and 11. (You can actually feel the temperature rise. It's a little scary.) We bought them one at a time, just to see if they work before committing. I had help with the first window the evening we bought it. It worked well, so we got another one, and it stayed on the floor until today, when I decided to put it up.
So apparently, the window frame is made of steel-infused oak. I really think it's just a special kind of tree that the builders grow using secret knowledge. After eventually getting the brackets mounted, I put up the drape, and my room is cooler and a little darker. I really think that marriage counseling should include the couple trying to put up a pair of drapes in an un-air-conditioned room, just to see how fun it gets (and mind you, I put this one up myself.)
Moving on to the books. I'm making huge progress through the first book, but sometimes key characters just don't know when to be quiet. Okay, really, it's just me. I think I'm feeling like I need to explain stuff or provide this huge convoluted catalyst for certain actions. Eventually I get frustrated, make it simple, and then have the information dump marked for movement to another place, occurring later in the narrative, where it fits better.
I try my own patience sometimes. But working through it is really the only remedy. Are you having the same problem? Keep writing, and a better option will present itself, I promise.
So starting tomorrow, I'll be posting some snatches from the original copy of what I'm working on. It's delightfully atrocious. Stay tuned!
*I'm terrible, I know, but I really couldn't resist.
So apparently, the window frame is made of steel-infused oak. I really think it's just a special kind of tree that the builders grow using secret knowledge. After eventually getting the brackets mounted, I put up the drape, and my room is cooler and a little darker. I really think that marriage counseling should include the couple trying to put up a pair of drapes in an un-air-conditioned room, just to see how fun it gets (and mind you, I put this one up myself.)
Moving on to the books. I'm making huge progress through the first book, but sometimes key characters just don't know when to be quiet. Okay, really, it's just me. I think I'm feeling like I need to explain stuff or provide this huge convoluted catalyst for certain actions. Eventually I get frustrated, make it simple, and then have the information dump marked for movement to another place, occurring later in the narrative, where it fits better.
I try my own patience sometimes. But working through it is really the only remedy. Are you having the same problem? Keep writing, and a better option will present itself, I promise.
So starting tomorrow, I'll be posting some snatches from the original copy of what I'm working on. It's delightfully atrocious. Stay tuned!
*I'm terrible, I know, but I really couldn't resist.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
The Friday Night Death Slot
Once upon a time, there was a hit television show that was moved to Friday night.
The end.
No, really.
The original Star Trek's cancellation had a lot to do with being moved to Friday night. Why is Friday night so fatal for television shows? That one's easy. Most people have a lot more exciting things to do on Friday nights than sit at home and stare at a screen, no matter how good the show is. Today, things like DVR and Tivo are close to making the death slot a non-issue (but not quite.) The concept is still true, though. Watching a good show at home is good; dinner and a movie or a party or whatever is better. Want an alternative to shows? Movies on cable. Aw yeah.
The best way to slip into obscurity is to be just good enough to have readers. Not readers who are particularly interested or pulled in, but readers. They picked up your book because Books-a-Million or Barnes & Noble slapped a label on it claiming that it's "for fans of [insert famous book series with tons of subsidiaries]" and stuck it in a special bay for two weeks. They want their fix of something and their paperback version of whatever has either been lent out to a friend, read too many times, or come apart at its dry, gluey seams. They buy your book, they read it for a taste of their obsession, and possibly never pick it up again. You've given them exactly what they want, and unless you were memorable about it, they're not going to bother when the next installment hits the shelves.
So what got me thinking about this? Well, it was actually Abra Ebner's blog. (You remember I've reviewed three of her books in the past.) On the right side of the landing page of her blog is a little picture that says "Books Like Twilight" and leads to a website that I believe is no longer working. But really, all I needed to see was the name of that link. Apparently, there are people who are looking for some lovely, good enough fiction that will give them their Twilight fix. And there are also authors who will provide that, just to get readers. Just to be good enough, in terms of sheer concept.
So what would you rather be? Good enough? Riding on the coattails of a swiftly passing fad and fading into obscurity before you ever had any notoriety? Having young reviewers on Amazon ranting that your book, your baby, wasn't as good as Twilight/The Hunger Games/Percy Jackson?
Be the best, always.
The end.
No, really.
The original Star Trek's cancellation had a lot to do with being moved to Friday night. Why is Friday night so fatal for television shows? That one's easy. Most people have a lot more exciting things to do on Friday nights than sit at home and stare at a screen, no matter how good the show is. Today, things like DVR and Tivo are close to making the death slot a non-issue (but not quite.) The concept is still true, though. Watching a good show at home is good; dinner and a movie or a party or whatever is better. Want an alternative to shows? Movies on cable. Aw yeah.
The best way to slip into obscurity is to be just good enough to have readers. Not readers who are particularly interested or pulled in, but readers. They picked up your book because Books-a-Million or Barnes & Noble slapped a label on it claiming that it's "for fans of [insert famous book series with tons of subsidiaries]" and stuck it in a special bay for two weeks. They want their fix of something and their paperback version of whatever has either been lent out to a friend, read too many times, or come apart at its dry, gluey seams. They buy your book, they read it for a taste of their obsession, and possibly never pick it up again. You've given them exactly what they want, and unless you were memorable about it, they're not going to bother when the next installment hits the shelves.
So what got me thinking about this? Well, it was actually Abra Ebner's blog. (You remember I've reviewed three of her books in the past.) On the right side of the landing page of her blog is a little picture that says "Books Like Twilight" and leads to a website that I believe is no longer working. But really, all I needed to see was the name of that link. Apparently, there are people who are looking for some lovely, good enough fiction that will give them their Twilight fix. And there are also authors who will provide that, just to get readers. Just to be good enough, in terms of sheer concept.
So what would you rather be? Good enough? Riding on the coattails of a swiftly passing fad and fading into obscurity before you ever had any notoriety? Having young reviewers on Amazon ranting that your book, your baby, wasn't as good as Twilight/The Hunger Games/Percy Jackson?
Be the best, always.
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
The Viewpoint
When I took the picture of this tucked away little piece of Americana pie, I think my brain exploded with the sheer potential. Seriously, I can only think of one other thing to do with this image, and that's classified information.
But here's a little exercise for you. Make a short story or a scene about the Viewpoint restaurant. Even if it has nothing whatsoever to do with your book, write a short piece with a few people.
In reality, the Viewpoint is located up near Fontana Lake and Fontana Dam in Western North Carolina. It's old. It's a little forgotten. Sometime recently, it was still open, because the colors are still incredibly bright. But at some point, a small piece of the world changed and travelers began to turn the other cheek as they passed, hurrying on up the road to a landmark or an attraction or something else much more important, somewhere generic enough to make it on Facebook. The real, raw, forgotten beauty in the world takes its time, always waiting for you to come back to it, infinitely patient until wind and rain and time gently pulls it back into the earth, leaving only an imprint behind to make you wonder what could possibly make you feel so at home when you've never been there before.
When you write a novel, one of the best things to do is latch on to that feeling, however you can. Novels are our own little universes. When you feel at home with your novel, that's when you're on to something. It won't be perfect in the first go, but that's okay. It's still coming from you, and no one else. Without that, it's really completely nothing.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Never Enough
Dang, that's one emo post title...Sorry about that.
Anyway, it has a point, I swear, so just hold on tight and we'll get there.
Some my readers may already know that I am engaged to an amazing, wonderful man. I'm not being sentimental or gushy because we're engaged; I've known him for 4.5 years and we've been a couple for just under that time. He is really a great guy who is both loving and willing to put up with a lot. That and he's been mistaken for Prince William (who is not as good looking as my man. Sorry Kate.)
Okay, so I'm engaged. Ever since a) some good friends of ours got engaged and b) I went to Disney World at Christmas time, I've pretty much been planning my wedding, mostly for fun. I've had a hundred different ideas for food, venues, my dress, my friends' dresses, whether my dog should walk down the aisle with me, and other such things. Now that I'm seriously planning a wedding for approximately a year from now, I'm getting serious about the little details such as food and locations. What I do know: I'm getting married to an amazing man, the cake will be chocolate, and Chick-fil-a food trays are great for any party. I'm happy to get married at my church, or a church in town, and I have picked three options in my hometown for the reception venue. But for a while there I caught it.
Yes, the wedding bug. No, this is no cutesy animal that makes you excited about centerpieces and favors and such. This particular species of wedding bug injects an otherwise safe neurotoxin that leads women to think things such as "I must get married at Cinderella's castle" (that was me y'all...totally was gonna rent the coach and everything) and "$9,000 isn't that outrageous for a gown...." Suddenly, it becomes necessary to have live circus acrobats at the reception (gee thanks, David Tutera) and fine caviar for every guest, just as a wedding favor. The wedding must culminate in an all-night blowout lasting until two in the morning. $70,000 is a potential price, though $100,000 weddings for normal, non-famous people, are not unheard of. Inviting everyone in your zip code, whether you know them or not, or like them or not, is the thing to do.
Suddenly, a simple dress with a simple church wedding, where just your family and friends are there and where you dance and eat delicious cake is not enough. It seems painfully inadequate to have a simple, old-fashioned wedding with good food and great music and just plain fun. Wedding magazines inform you that the sub tray at your reception is cheap instead of nice. You feel shamed into spending far too much to impress people who a) already know you or b) don't really know you well at all.
Yeah, for a while I bought into this. I was going to have a reception at an outrageously expensive location, the North Carolina Museum of Natural Sciences in Raleigh (great place, though. Gorgeous.) The ceremony, in order to cut down on traveling time so that people would come to the reception, would be held at the All Saints Chapel, a block away from the museum. The total would have come to $3,000, only for the venue. Not terrible, but then you have to use the approved caterers, and they're expensive, because they're good. And let's just be honest, photographers charge way too much for a service in which they keep the pictures and all rights to said pictures.
Recently, I've decided that I don't want all that extra stuff. I just want to get married. I want it to be special and elegant, not over the top and stupidly elaborate. Namely, I want to be able to pay cash for it. It's mine and my fiance's wedding, not anyone else's.
You'll run into the exact same thing with your writing, but usually it's not even as intentional as it is with weddings. Most writers inflict that feeling of inadequate awesomeness on themselves.
It starts this way. You pick up a good novel and start reading. Maybe it can even be a guilty pleasure book with good elements (Twilight, for example, has some solid dialogue between various characters. It flows naturally, and I appreciate that in any book. Harry Potter and Elantris both also are forefront in my mind and have examples of natural flowing dialogue.) You're going to see something you like in a book that you feel you lack in your own fiction. Rules of magic, cool dialogue, an air of suspense, or a fantastical setting are only a few examples. So you start tweaking what you don't like, only you tweak it according to someone else's work. This is not plagiarizing by any means. You just tend to lose your unique voice by trying to live up to whatever author you've picked. Eventually, your book becomes unwieldy and brimming with main characters who suddenly develop a natural ability with swords, or the always popular nation of Pseudo-Germa-France. Chosen Ones who aren't chosen by anyone in particular drop in from nowhere, or from a tiny village, or from a sketchy intergalactic neighborhood, and dangit, I've never seen an ugly elf. (Someone please invent one. Please.) Eventually, your book becomes little more than a copy of something else. A real life example? Eragon, by Christopher Paolini. It's been criticized as being very much like Star Wars, and as much as I like the series, I agree. Turn the elf forest from the second book into a swamp, and you've got Dagobah with a taller mentor and metal swords. There were enough differences to keep my attention, and I do enjoy the books. The fourth one, called Inheritance (really? Inheritance: Inheritance?) debuts November 8th. I'll be buying it, because Paolini's writing has matured with him, and that's nice to read. But for anyone who's seen Star Wars, the first book generates a voice in the back of your mind going "THIS IS STAR WARS FOR THE DARK AGES." It means that somewhere, the author's voice was drowned out just a tad. Letting that happen too much will hand you the big fat stamp of "RIPOFF." (I'm not yelling at you, I swear. But can't you just picture that word, stamped in big red letters on a book cover?)
So while I'm seeing that the other girl over there has a full orchestra booked for her ceremony and serves gold-leafed cake on china plates, I have to remind myself that I don't really care. It may be beautiful, and wonderfully done, but it's hers and her fiance's wedding. So-and-so may have an amazingly detailed world where the sky is green and purple and fairies fart magic and it may be awesome...but it's not mine. I'm happy with two teenagers, best friends, discovering something they'd never suspect and dealing with all the changes that come.
I've said it many times before: be you. Find your voice and project it in your own work, and you won't be disappointed.
And if anyone's wondering, my wedding favors will be homemade chocolate chip cookies, because the ones I make are awesome. Just saying.
Anyway, it has a point, I swear, so just hold on tight and we'll get there.
Some my readers may already know that I am engaged to an amazing, wonderful man. I'm not being sentimental or gushy because we're engaged; I've known him for 4.5 years and we've been a couple for just under that time. He is really a great guy who is both loving and willing to put up with a lot. That and he's been mistaken for Prince William (who is not as good looking as my man. Sorry Kate.)
Okay, so I'm engaged. Ever since a) some good friends of ours got engaged and b) I went to Disney World at Christmas time, I've pretty much been planning my wedding, mostly for fun. I've had a hundred different ideas for food, venues, my dress, my friends' dresses, whether my dog should walk down the aisle with me, and other such things. Now that I'm seriously planning a wedding for approximately a year from now, I'm getting serious about the little details such as food and locations. What I do know: I'm getting married to an amazing man, the cake will be chocolate, and Chick-fil-a food trays are great for any party. I'm happy to get married at my church, or a church in town, and I have picked three options in my hometown for the reception venue. But for a while there I caught it.
Yes, the wedding bug. No, this is no cutesy animal that makes you excited about centerpieces and favors and such. This particular species of wedding bug injects an otherwise safe neurotoxin that leads women to think things such as "I must get married at Cinderella's castle" (that was me y'all...totally was gonna rent the coach and everything) and "$9,000 isn't that outrageous for a gown...." Suddenly, it becomes necessary to have live circus acrobats at the reception (gee thanks, David Tutera) and fine caviar for every guest, just as a wedding favor. The wedding must culminate in an all-night blowout lasting until two in the morning. $70,000 is a potential price, though $100,000 weddings for normal, non-famous people, are not unheard of. Inviting everyone in your zip code, whether you know them or not, or like them or not, is the thing to do.
Suddenly, a simple dress with a simple church wedding, where just your family and friends are there and where you dance and eat delicious cake is not enough. It seems painfully inadequate to have a simple, old-fashioned wedding with good food and great music and just plain fun. Wedding magazines inform you that the sub tray at your reception is cheap instead of nice. You feel shamed into spending far too much to impress people who a) already know you or b) don't really know you well at all.
Yeah, for a while I bought into this. I was going to have a reception at an outrageously expensive location, the North Carolina Museum of Natural Sciences in Raleigh (great place, though. Gorgeous.) The ceremony, in order to cut down on traveling time so that people would come to the reception, would be held at the All Saints Chapel, a block away from the museum. The total would have come to $3,000, only for the venue. Not terrible, but then you have to use the approved caterers, and they're expensive, because they're good. And let's just be honest, photographers charge way too much for a service in which they keep the pictures and all rights to said pictures.
Recently, I've decided that I don't want all that extra stuff. I just want to get married. I want it to be special and elegant, not over the top and stupidly elaborate. Namely, I want to be able to pay cash for it. It's mine and my fiance's wedding, not anyone else's.
You'll run into the exact same thing with your writing, but usually it's not even as intentional as it is with weddings. Most writers inflict that feeling of inadequate awesomeness on themselves.
It starts this way. You pick up a good novel and start reading. Maybe it can even be a guilty pleasure book with good elements (Twilight, for example, has some solid dialogue between various characters. It flows naturally, and I appreciate that in any book. Harry Potter and Elantris both also are forefront in my mind and have examples of natural flowing dialogue.) You're going to see something you like in a book that you feel you lack in your own fiction. Rules of magic, cool dialogue, an air of suspense, or a fantastical setting are only a few examples. So you start tweaking what you don't like, only you tweak it according to someone else's work. This is not plagiarizing by any means. You just tend to lose your unique voice by trying to live up to whatever author you've picked. Eventually, your book becomes unwieldy and brimming with main characters who suddenly develop a natural ability with swords, or the always popular nation of Pseudo-Germa-France. Chosen Ones who aren't chosen by anyone in particular drop in from nowhere, or from a tiny village, or from a sketchy intergalactic neighborhood, and dangit, I've never seen an ugly elf. (Someone please invent one. Please.) Eventually, your book becomes little more than a copy of something else. A real life example? Eragon, by Christopher Paolini. It's been criticized as being very much like Star Wars, and as much as I like the series, I agree. Turn the elf forest from the second book into a swamp, and you've got Dagobah with a taller mentor and metal swords. There were enough differences to keep my attention, and I do enjoy the books. The fourth one, called Inheritance (really? Inheritance: Inheritance?) debuts November 8th. I'll be buying it, because Paolini's writing has matured with him, and that's nice to read. But for anyone who's seen Star Wars, the first book generates a voice in the back of your mind going "THIS IS STAR WARS FOR THE DARK AGES." It means that somewhere, the author's voice was drowned out just a tad. Letting that happen too much will hand you the big fat stamp of "RIPOFF." (I'm not yelling at you, I swear. But can't you just picture that word, stamped in big red letters on a book cover?)
So while I'm seeing that the other girl over there has a full orchestra booked for her ceremony and serves gold-leafed cake on china plates, I have to remind myself that I don't really care. It may be beautiful, and wonderfully done, but it's hers and her fiance's wedding. So-and-so may have an amazingly detailed world where the sky is green and purple and fairies fart magic and it may be awesome...but it's not mine. I'm happy with two teenagers, best friends, discovering something they'd never suspect and dealing with all the changes that come.
I've said it many times before: be you. Find your voice and project it in your own work, and you won't be disappointed.
And if anyone's wondering, my wedding favors will be homemade chocolate chip cookies, because the ones I make are awesome. Just saying.
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