I write for young adults, so take that.

I haven't vanished into the void yet.

2011-12-07T14:07:00.000-08:00

Everybody in the whole WORLD is probably going, "Where the heck is Melinda? We are sweating bullets waiting for her next blog o' wisdom!" Well, shucks, y'all, I'm trying to write a story which means "let's try and stay off the internet ... oh crap she's on Twitter again."

This is me, writing. I am actually a beagle.

Actually, I wanted to post some chicken pics but then realized that all the chicken pics I have on this computer are old.

This Wyandotte, for example, is full-grown and is now laying nice brown eggs.

This has been a random post, brought to you by Procrastination: For when you should be looking up agent info but want to write a bunch of random stuff instead.

In the interest of family history....

2011-10-13T07:50:00.000-07:00

I was astonished to learn that my great-great grandfather (Casper Salmen of Sutton, Nebraska) got into an altercation with a man armed with a knife! Grandma never mentioned this.

This might be boring to those of you not related to me. If you would like to see some more exciting posts, esp. those relating to chickens, scroll down.

However, if you would like to see my great-great grandpa trounce this little troublemaker, scroll down to the third selection; that's where all the action is.

P.S. This happened in 1893, and Casper, born in 1835, was 58 years old when he was trouncing this fellow. Not bad!

It's Manifesto Wednesday!

2011-06-22T14:14:00.001-07:00

I want to write strong novels that are exciting and fun and sell a million copies. Just like everybody else in the world. Scary thought, ain’t it? Not to mention that it will never happen.

Then I thought, Remember back when I was a kid? I wrote because it was exciting and I loved to make things happen. I loved writing just as fast as Emily the raccoon ran as she fled the coon hounds, my pencil barely keeping up with her flight. I was a kid who wrote adventure because she WANTED adventure. In my stories, I ran like crazy everywhere I went. It was great.

Then I read So You Want to Be a Wizard when I was in junior high. Holy crap. This exciting, complex world of magic captivated me. The dark world that Nita and Kit fell into was this incredible intense place that they had to fight their way through. Talking stars and predator sports cars and everybody running like hell all the time. I’ve been reading it again and it’s still crazy awesome great.

I want to write stuff that calls up this same quivery excitement I had back then.

The nice thing is that I’ve been writing in earnest since 1995, so I have this huge warehouse full of experience, plus years of writing stories and articles and beating deadlines. I’ve written 50 million novels, resulting in four finished, salable novels. Since I started at Hamline, I’ve been accelerating, becoming more wily, learning more tricks of the trade.

The problem for me … is trust. Even with my skill, I don’t trust myself to succeed. Why? Because that bossy old-woman brain of mine keeps barging in and saying, Don’t do it like that, this is wrong, this is boring, this’ll never work. You’ll never write strong novels that are exciting and fun and sell a million copies.

Let’s quash that voice. I’m going to start a new partnership, right now. Where’s that kid I once was? Get her in here. Kid, I have a crazy idea for you. You write the stories with me. Give me stuff you’re crazy about, stuff that you’ve always wanted to do. Put it in a story. Make sure there’s lots of running and drama and maybe a few explosions. Mix in some scary stuff. Then you and I will pitch in together and fix those puppies up. You and me, we’ll make these stories the coolest dang thing that anybody’s ever seen.

The way to win is to not be boring.

The way to not be boring is to have a ton of fun.

Not so much fun that the neighbors call the cops, but you know what I mean.

So let’s do it.

Starting a new story!

2011-06-06T14:28:00.000-07:00

Sometimes when you go walking in the woods, you're ducking under pawpaw trees and dodging gooseberry tangles, which is normal, but then you came to a big fallen limb all overgrown in a thorny tangle and it's blocking your way. So you have to backtrack, or go off to the side until you find a way around it, and then you move forward again. And then you come to a place where the hill is too steep and you don't want to slide down the thing on your butt, so you backtrack and go off to the side until you find a way to go forward again.

That's what writing the beginning of this new story is like. I write for a little bit, but then I come to a halt and the story is just not going anywhere, okay, so what would happen if I backed up a few paragraphs and changed this? And then I go forward a little way, and then errk! Stop! This is not working. And then I'm like, well, instead of Eyestar standing next to the door fighting the grasshopper army, why not have the main character there instead? So I back up and rewrite that bit, and it is cool, and then I'm going forward again.

And just like walking in the woods, I know the direction I'm going, but I don't know what I'm going to see along the way so I keep my eyes open for birds and mushrooms and animal tracks and wildflowers and look for surprises. And despite the little trailblocks, or the occasional tick crawling up the inside of my jeans DIE EVIL TICK, I know I'm going to have fun while I'm out and about.

Aren't you supposed to be working?

2011-06-06T07:17:00.000-07:00

I'm still on the internet after an hour of looking around at websites and basically screwing around. I'm getting ready to write a whole new story and I hate jumping in.

It's like when I was at the pool yesterday with the kid and her buddy. I'd stand on the edge of the pool, hot, wanting to jump in, but hating the shock of the cold water, so I would stand around for about five minutes, watching people, until I got out of my own way enough to hold my nose and just step in.

So much fuss over something so easy. And yet I'd do it every time.

As I am now.

All the same, I hate wasting my own time. I think about President Truman working those 18-hour days in the early days of his Presidency, and what am I doing here but screwing around because I'm scared to start. "Imperfect action is better than perfect inaction," as Truman used to say.

So let's do it.

Interesting times afoot.

2011-05-31T06:36:00.000-07:00

I have finally hit some luck. (Though technically I worked pretty hard for it!) I sent out my novel, What You Can't Take Back, and right after that, six agents requested the full MS. Crazy!

That pretty much knocked my socks off. With my previous novel, I had 68 or 74 agents pass on it and nobody even requested two pages.

But I have been in a tizzy all last week because BEA was going on and there was just nothing but radio silence from these agents. I keep having to distract myself so I don't have to obsess over this, because obsessing at this time is unhealthy. Even though my brain keeps going THEN I WILL JUST BE UNHEALTHY, THANK YOU VERY MUCH.

Bad brain, go lay down.

I'm just going to have to make myself play it cool. Good things are going to happen, either now or later, though it might be later. But I think I'm going to get an agent this time around. *deep breath* I hope so, anyway.

Okay, back to work.

General life update.

2011-02-23T08:14:00.000-08:00

work! work work work worrrrrkkk! workety-work work! also chickens.

That's about all that's going on here. If somebody could come over and clean my house for me, that would be dandy.

Waiting for spring ....

2011-02-21T22:22:00.000-08:00

Because that means that I'll get new chicks!

I have only three chickens right now -- two of them are young hens and good layers (they're Black Sex Links) and one is an older hen who is STILL molting, a Buff Orpington. I had two Red Sex Links, but both of them were killed by dogs. Naturally the ones that get killed are always my favorites. At any rate, when the feed store stocks chicks again, I want to pick up two Red Sex Link chicks and see if the Buff Orpington will foster them.

Here's the Buff Orpington:

Here's one of the Black Sex Links. You know why these are "sex links?" It's really cool. With the reds, when you cross a female Leghorn with a male Rhode Island Red, the male chicks are white and the female chicks are red. They're color-coded when they hatch! The same goes for the blacks, except the males are black with a little white patch on their forehead, while the females are all black. So if you want to buy layers only (fearing that a little rooster would probably disturb the neighbors!), that's a good way to go.

"How dare you take a picture of MOI?"

Hee! I'm pretty crazy about chickens. Bet you couldn't tell.

Mopy dog.

2010-11-27T07:54:00.000-08:00

Here's my mopy Boston terrier giving me the mopy look.

This is what my life has been like lately:

2009-10-22T13:05:00.000-07:00

Any questions?

Obviously this needs a quick update!!!!

2007-11-07T09:53:00.001-08:00

I haven't been over here at this blog for a while because I seem to be doing all my blogging at rosefiend.livejournal.com. I used to double-post on both blogs, but when the last Apocalypse hit I fell out of the habit and haven't gotten back to it since.

Anyway, if anyone's looking for me acting silly, or getting all crazy about writing, that's where I've been doing it at. And you can even friend me. :)

What! Another blog post!

2007-06-27T17:28:00.000-07:00

Yeah, actually.

So this afternoon I disgruntledly (?!) went back to my Symphonians MS to start whipping it into shape. I had to shut off the computer that had internet access because I kept messing around on the internet instead of writing. Cripes.

And I'm looking at the first chapter, thinking, "You know, those two stories -- that is, the Kay story and the Symphonians bit -- actually went together pretty well right there." And so I took a bit of the Symph story from the other document I'd saved, and I dropped it into the first chapter. It nestled in all nice and tidy. I said, "Hm!"

So I went looking around in the book for another place where I could put a chunk of story, and what do you know, Wyatt and Kay were playing the same part in band (they play tuba and bass clarinet, respectively), and hey, in this Symph bit, Roderick and Violet were playing a song together on tuba and regular clarinet, so I dropped that chunk in right about there. And it looked nice there, too.

So NOW I have figured out how to fix the problem!

The Symph bits are big enough to give the reader a good idea of what's going on in their narrative, and they're right in Kay's text so she can comment on them. But their narrative is being kept to a bare minimum at this time so Kay can take center stage. But hey, I'm fine with that.

So I guess that sometimes you have to bring the world to an end to make something work. Though in the end it's actually a beginning.

Typical!

2007-06-27T12:38:00.001-07:00

Just this afternoon I got an e-mail from an agent who wants to see Symphonians.

Is my timing great, or what! I'd say "or what."

I told her I cut the story-within-the-story, so she had two options:

1) I put the whole story-within-a-story back and send it to herimmediately with a smile.

2) I take a month to revise the novel and then send it to her with a belated smile.

So we'll see how that goes.

So ... maybe I should get off here and start fixing the novelistic hash so it's, like, readable and stuff? Yeah, I guess I will.

People, I've reached a decision.

2007-06-26T13:27:00.000-07:00

To do the dishes!

As if. No, the other day I got a very nice personal rejection from an agent. She liked the Symphonians, but the Symphonians' novel and Kay's novel seemed, to the agent, to be at odds with each other.

I keep telling myself that I'm going to make these two novels live harmoniously within the same book, but then every time I prepare to sit down and work on this, I end up springing from my chair and running into the street.

This is not a good use of my time and energy.

So last night I made a copy of my Symphonians document. Then I went through and took the whole Symphonians novel and COMPLETELY CUT IT OUT.

Alas, I loved that novel. But those days are gone.

Then I went back and started reading through the MS. It seems to flow better, the pacing's better. And of course the whole document is about 75 pages lighter.

I'm planning on going back and inserting bits of the novel and have Kay actually dealing with her text, instead of setting out these two texts side-by-side and hoping the reader will catch on.

I had such high hopes for intertextuality! But alas, I was not pulling it off. So I'm a little bummed. But not as much as I thought I'd be, because now I feel like I can work with the novel again. I got rid of the brick wall, or radioactive force field, that kept me running away, and now I'm like, "Well, okay, I can manage this."

Not the end of the world after all. Not today, anyway.

Done! For the moment.

2007-05-18T14:07:00.001-07:00

Got all the cuts I'd made in the Symphonians novel incorporated in the computer. I busted 327 pages down to 243. 84 pages altogether. Took a whole week to do it. Gaah.

My work's not done yet. Next I need to figure out what's at the heart of this novel. And then I need to rewrite everything toward that. If something doesn't contribute to that overall motion, out it comes.

After that, I have several new scenes to write, too, which will jack up the word count again. Can't win.

I'm actually a little disappointed that I didn't end up cutting more words. I was hoping to cut 100. I'm just 15 pages shy of that goal. I could surely find 15 more pages to cut!

Symphonians update!

2007-05-17T08:55:00.000-07:00

I went through the returned MS and cut every word I could. I did a document-wide search for then and just, which are two words I overuse. I cut most adverbs and even some adverbial phrases. And if there were only a few lines on a page at a chapter's end, I'd go back and find other stuff to cut until I lost that extra page.

Also cut the two chapters that deal with the State Band plot, since that seems more like a tangent. I'll replace those later with more of an exploration of Kay's relationship with Mom and Wyatt "Gatlin Gun" McStudmeister.

I'm on page 200 in the MS and have cut 50 pages thus far.

So little cuts all through the MS will get you a long way.

Both agents that requested the MS said no. I've sent out eight more queries. Nothing yet. Sometimes you catch a fish, sometimes you don't.

I'd like someone to take me on who can help me with this novel-within-a-novel conceit. That's the thing that's kicking my tail right now.

Back to work, since I have to incorporate 127 more pages of corrections. I'm getting there! But man, I wish I could go faster.

Symphonians update!

2007-05-09T07:45:00.000-07:00

Ever since Monday morning, I've been marking up the pages of the Symphonians MS. I'm up to p. 196; I have 131 pages to go. So far I'm mainly looking for stuff to cut, though I've also marked up stuff that needs fixed and have made notes about random things I've noticed about the MS that I need to work on later.

I've noticed that the main story and the story-within-a-story finally start working together at page 199. So I have that working for me. It's just all the previous pages that will give me fits.

I also did a document-wide change: I switched Noel's name to Wyatt. Changed it back. Changed it again.

I did that because I keep mispronouncing Noel. That would look bad on the book tour. Also my husband tells me that Noel is not manly enough. He wanted the MC to be named Wyatt "Gatlin Gun" McStudmeister. I told him that one out of three ain't bad.

I need to set some goals for myself:

1) Extensive character work for Wyatt (Noel) and Justine (Kay's mom)

2) This includes writing several scenes in which Kay discovers Noel's, I mean Wyatt's, blog. Now I have to peruse blogs written by high-school guys without looking like some weirdo stalker.

3) Reading those books that have been recommended to me to apply them to my story-within-a-story.

4) Put more funnies in the first part. In rereading it the other night, I found out that I have a lot more funny stuff in the second part. Gotta fix.

5) What the hell is the focus of this story? There is none! Maybe finding a focus would help me shrink it down a bit!

Okay, that's plenty.

Egad! More revision!

2007-05-07T07:04:00.000-07:00

First, a weather report: KNIM reports we've had six inches of rain since it started on Saturday.

When I opened the mailbox yesterday (we just got back from Omaha), I said, "Aww!" There was a big ol' envelope in there the exact same width as my Symphonians novel.

But, a very nice letter on top from the boss:

Dear Ms. Cordell:

First off, you have done a wonderful job revising THE SYMPHONIANS. It is an incredibly honest and moving protrayal of adolescence. You have turned Kathy into a believable and relatable heroine. It is easy to see in her facets of millions of teenage girls -- her hesitant speech, her constant internal monologue of self-correction, her daydreams of having the right words to correct any problem. Her painful awkwardness is clear in the narration -- bringing the reader to not only sympathize with Kathy's frustration with her inability to get her words out but also to root and hope for her happiness.

(Hooray! I'm getting there.)

Nevertheless, I still have reservations about the manuscript. It still feels overlong, and I can't help but think it might be nice if it were about 75 to 100 pages shorter.

(She's right about that ... I got nervous printing it because I was using so much paper!)

The Symphonians trouble me. I liked and cared for them very much as characters, but I wish there was a clearer transition between Kathy's life and their story. A disconnect of some sort exists -- I felt like I was reading two separate stories that were thrown together simply because they both deal with domestic abuse. Granted, there are points in Kathy's narrative where she wishes she could be like one of her characters -- but she wishes to possess aspects of their personalities in situations that don't have anything to do with domestic abuse until the end of the manuscript. As a reader, I desperately wanted some tangible connection between the two stories that I could hold on to -- I wanted to know the events that triggered the manuscript to transition from Kathy's narrative to the Symphonians and back.

(I've had other people say the same thing, too. I thought I had finally dovetailed the small novel into the larger one -- apparently I haven't yet.)

There are problematic areas of connection in the manuscript ... and several nagging questions left unanswered (Do Noel and Kathy get together? Does Kathy finish the Symphonians's story because she no longer needs to fill the emotional space in her life with their presence now that she has friends like Yvonne?). Important characters like Noel and Kathy's mother are not developed enough. I wanted to see some sort of positive interaction between Kathy and her mother (I couldn't see any sort of connection between them -- highly unrealistic for a mother-daughter pair who appear to be trying to figure one another out) and Kathy's father is relatively non-existent (odd for a man who is said to have spent an entire morning helping out his parents next door repair a shower rod).

(She's right about that too.)

Then the letter details some smaller issues that need work -- a couple of places in the MS that seemed author-engineered, not organic; a soap-opera-like moment; some odd quirks in Kay's character that seem too odd. And then the final sentence, "If you do choose to revise again, please know that I'd be happy to reconsider this."

So I have that going for me.

Anyway, here's where you-all can help. Does anybody know of any books that feature a novel-within-a-novel? I need some models. Also, if you know of any writing books that address the narrative-within-a-narrative issue, point them out to me. I could really use some guidance on that front.

I'll go over the Symphonians today and tomorrow (it is a big tome) to try and see the story through fresh eyes. Then back to work on the raccoon story until the end of the month, just to keep my momentum up on it. I'm not tired of working on it yet, so I'm reluctant to put it aside. And that'll give my unconscious mind time to mull over the Symphonians and work up some ideas.

So ... not good news, but not bad news either. I can deal, though I'll moan and groan under my breath when I start figuring out how much work is really in store for me!

Poetry corner!

2007-04-29T19:06:00.000-07:00

That Time of Year

by William Trowbridge

Leave marvel at how light they've grown, discover flight,
learn the barrel roll, the Immelmann. Grizzlies doze
over their morning salmon.
In Algebra I, it's time for the hard stuff already.
Hurricane Darleen and Hurricane Randy try the Swim,
the Tighten-Up, the Mashed Potato.
In the face of thirty-seven straight defeats, the Plattsmouth Eagles
Booster Club decrees a two-story homecoming bonfire,
which spreads through downtown.
The new moon's back at it, trading colors with the pumpkins.
In Halloween XXXII, Michael Meyers thins out another group
of tiresome though basically good kids, slashing every girl
too big for an A cup. Hitler is played by Frankie Avalon.
Rain-soaked patios and lawns just stand around, forlorn
as abandoned pets. A water gun settles under forsythia.
The 700 Club and the NRA lobby for a bill banning Halloween
as a Satanic feminist holiday and allowing gun owners
to shoot trick-or-treaters out after 9 p.m. The President will veto
unless a warning shot's required.
Dark as ever, our lost hour returns from daylight savings time,
tasting like icicles used to.
Inside the Mall of America, now petitioning for statehood,
it might as well be spring.
Opened once more, the steam pipes clank out their ghostly signals.

From The Four Seasons, published by Red Dragonfly Press. Reprinted with permission.

A squirrley story.

2007-04-23T10:36:00.000-07:00

During my daily lunchtime walk, I saw a squirrel with a closed dandelion blossom in his paws. I immediately stopped to see what his deal was. The squirrel went to a nearby Norway spruce and sat by the trunk and looked at me, getting a little curious about what I was up to, the way squirrels do. And then he took the flower and placed it crossways in his mouth, like a dog carrying a bone, and climbed up the back of the tree. I couldn't see him, but the closed dandelion ascended the tree under its own power.

Then he reached a branch and took the dandelion out of his mouth and shook his tail and gave me the once-over. He picked up the dandelion and stripped some of the outer layer of the stem off, holding the dandelion much as you would hold a flute. I was enchanted.

Then he turned the bottom of the dandelion stem up and started to eat it with little crunches. I watched him for a while, then moved on.

I began to eye the dandelions. Did dandelions taste good to a squirrel? I have seen them eating maple blossoms off trees. Was a dandelion a spring tonic to a squirrel? I picked one of my own, and the white sap oozed out of the stem. Put a teeny bit between my teeth. The bitter went straight to the back of my tongue. whoo! Glad I'm not a squirrel.

Story update!

2007-04-12T21:26:00.000-07:00

Deadline time is approaching for the raccoon story. I said I'd get it done by May and by God I'm going to do it.

I have 100 pages to go, most of which will have to be torn up and totally rewritten. I need to do 4 pages/day to get 'er done by Mother's Day. After which I want to go back and start rewriting it from the beginning. Lord willing.

I have told myself to stay off the damn computer. This means I can' t go trolling the blogosphere if I want to get out of doing work. Or procrastinate. There's this little issue I've been having about developing bad work habits and that's one of them.

The internet is the debbil.

Tonight I got some plotting issues lined out because the plot lines converged all at once and got into a hairy tangle. Part of the problem was that the novel's pacing has gone right out the window. The other part of the problem is that I'm just now figuring out what the heck is going on in this story. In this version, anyway. (You know it's going to change in future versions.)

Haven't heard back from any agents since my last post. I might send out a few more queries. But otherwise I'm just going to sit tight and write. And not check the Gmail every five minutes.

Thought you-all should know.

Poetry corner!

2007-04-08T17:23:00.000-07:00

I forgot that April was National Poetry Month. Here's some Gerard Manley Hopkins, just for that Easter spirit.

God's Grandeur

The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;
It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil
Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod?
Generations have trod, have trod, have trod;
And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil;
And wears man's smudge and shares man's smell: the soil
Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod.

And for all this, nature is never spent;
There lives the dearest freshness deep down things;
And though the last lights off the black West went
Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs --
Because the Holy Ghost over the bent
World broods with warm breast and ah! bright wings.

Update on the raccoon story!

2007-03-27T12:18:00.000-07:00

I've been working on the raccoon story today. (I'm up to chapter 19.) I just discovered something about my MC, Thorn, which I'd kind of suspected. Except this secret was the tipping point that caused my story to change audiences, from MG to YA. But I was like, for Pete's sake, if the story needs it, put it in, and let it be a YA. So what if animal stories are supposed to be MG. Just do the Watership Down thing and be done with it.

The story had already been scooching into YA territory because Silverlady, the other MC, wanted to get married and start a family, which is more a YA concern. I was trying to keep it MG by saying, "Well, what she really wants is a family, since she never had one." Well, so much for that!

But I'm happy that the story has decided to be a YA. It's strange, but I always felt a little constrained by the MG label everyone kept putting on my story. It's not that MG is less good. It's just that I kept thinking, "Well, I can't say that, I can't do that" -- like I had to censor myself because of the audience. And that I didn't love the novel as much because I couldn't let it be itself.

Anyway, Thorn's secret is awesome. Oh, the ending, you're going to love it! I changed it in light of this new knowledge, and now it's just so wonderful! I am so happeeeeeee! Okay, enough exclamation points.

Only problem is, I just finished writing the cool scene where he admits this secret, but just as soon as I finished that scene, the following scene seemed so utterly trite and pointless that I immediately felt stuck. I'm a wimp.

Sending stuff out.

2007-03-22T11:03:00.001-07:00

I've sent out only two things in the last eight months: a query to an agent and a full MS to FSG. And that's it. Everything else I've been sitting on.

Editors' slush piles are overflowing because we're too busy sending out stuff, seeking stardom and fame and everything publishing promises. And a lot of stuff that's going out is premature. Or unfinished.

I have one finished novel. I thought my other projects were finished, but I looked at them again after my growth spurt and discovered they aren't.

I thought I knew that it took a long time to write a book. But then I discovered I really didn't know. That you gotta dig in and work on one book for months at a time, instead of flitting from project to project.

Granted, it is nice to have an extra project to work on if the main project keeps running you into that brick wall. But some days you have to keep slamming into that brick wall to make progress. Which doesn't make sense. But it works. It's one of those creative things that Maslov likes to talk about. (That Maslov! He's really a lot of fun, and super-helpful in teaching me all this useful psychological stuff.)

Today I'm going to hunt down some agents to send my Symphonians novel to. I should have started marketing it to agents when I sent it to FSG, but that was about the time the apocalyspe hit. Dang it. I'm such a slowpoke. That's my other failing.

(The apocalypse is over at work, btw! And it's so nice.)

It pays to be mean to your MC.

2007-02-13T08:51:00.000-08:00

Cruising along, or close enough, on the raccoon story. A couple of calamities befall the main character at once, pretty bad ones, actually.

MEMBERS OF MY CRITIQUE GROUP: SPOILERS AHEAD.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

Thorn, my main character, loses an eye in a big fight. And then the same raccoon he loses his eye to goes off and kills Thorn's closest friend. Who also happens to be the raccoon that is helping to prop up Thorn's authority in the tribe. And Thorn's authority's going to be questioned soon.

It's a bad wound. It affects him in small ways, such as drinking (when he's trying to lap the water, he keeps misjudging the water's surface and keeps getting water in his nose) and walking (keeps crashing into folk, or startles when someone comes up on his blind side). He's leery about getting back in a tree, since he's not sure how this is going to affect his climbing skills. Which is bad when you live half your life in trees.

But there are some bad things looming up. Because Thorn's trying to move his tribe out of that area, but because of his bad wound he's sick and dizzy. The area around the eye is hot, it's constantly hurting, not just an owie but hot-wire-through-your-skull pain. He pushes himself too hard and blacks out while telling his successor that they need to have a council meeting right away.

But at that point where he blacks out, the narrative demands that I change the pov to his successor, who's sharing the story, so she can go make some mistakes that she's going to pay for later.

Except I don't want to mess with that chapter. I want to stay in Thorn's pov. Because now I have to admit I'm suddenly more interested in Thorn. (I was having trouble with that earlier.)

I know he's up to the challenge. I've always known that he was a strong one. But now he can show his strength. He's become much more sympathetic. For all his guff and bluff ways, now he is going to show that he is truly a good leader, even when the rest of his tribe start questioning his decisions.

I'm kind of glad this happened, even though it's going to be very bad for him for a while. Now I have a MC I can really be proud of. He's getting a bigger reward at the end, though at this point I'm not sure what it is.

Have you ever considered underwear in the abstract?

2007-02-09T10:10:00.000-08:00

Here's a poem by my (right now) favorite beat poet, Lawrence Ferlinghetti. I have a copy of him reading the poem aloud. You can listen to a snippet of that reading here. I love his voice. And he's the boss of City Lights, which is a bookstore and also the publishing house that published Allen Ginsburg's Howl.

Underwear
by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

I didn’t get much sleep last night
thinking about underwear
Have you ever stopped to consider
underwear in the abstract
When you really dig into it
some shocking problems are raised
Underwear is something
we all have to deal with
Everyone wears
some kind of underwear
The Pope wears underwear I hope
The Governor of Louisiana
wears underwear
I saw him on TV
He must have had tight underwear
He squirmed a lot
Underwear can really get you in a bind
You have seen the underwear ads
for men and women
so alike but so different
Women’s underwear holds things up
Men’s underwear holds things down
Underwear is one thing
men and women have in common
Underwear is all we have between us
You have seen the three-color pictures
with crotches encircled
to show the areas of extra strength
and three-way stretch
promising full freedom of action
Don’t be deceived
It’s all based on the two-party system
which doesn’t allow much freedom of choice
the way things are set up
America in its Underwear
struggles thru the night
Underwear controls everything in the end
Take foundation garments for instance
They are really fascist forms
of underground government
making people believe
something but the truth
telling you what you can or can’t do
Did you ever try to get around a girdle
Perhaps Non-Violent Action
is the only answer
Did Gandhi wear a girdle?
Did Lady Macbeth wear a girdle?
Was that why Macbeth murdered sleep?
And that spot she was always rubbing—
Was it really in her underwear?
Modern anglosaxon ladies
must have huge guilt complexes
always washing and washing and washing
Out damned spot
Underwear with spots very suspicious
Underwear with bulges very shocking
Underwear on clothesline a great flag of freedom
Someone has escaped his Underwear
May be naked somewhere
Help!
But don’t worry
Everybody’s still hung up in it
There won’t be no real revolution
And poetry still the underwear of the soul
And underwear still covering
a multitude of faults
in the geological sense—
strange sedimentary stones, inscrutable cracks!
If I were you I’d keep aside
an oversize pair of winter underwear
Do not go naked into that good night
And in the meantime
keep calm and warm and dry
No use stirring ourselves up prematurely
‘over Nothing’
Move forward with dignity
hand in vest
Don’t get emotional
And death shall have no dominion
There’s plenty of time my darling
Are we not still young and easy
Don’t shout.

Despite Armageddon, we're making progress.

2007-02-06T19:58:00.000-08:00

Right after I blithely said, "See? The Armageddon isn't so bad," a sale book with 916 cows hit my desk and I got buried in the detritus.

Which meant I spent a lot of time staring at the sale book and longing, yearning, to get to a computer or notebook and work on my story.

Though if I'd had actual hours or even days to work on this story, I'd be devising all sorts of nefarious schemes to get out of any form of writing.

I seem to get more done when I have less time to do it in.

So lately I've taken to walking around the basement track during lunch time, thinking about story. I do a kind of walking meditation, working my way down into a trance state as I walk, and then I can come up with a few things to write about. Sometimes I come back with two or three useful story things, sometimes I come back with nothing. Sometimes you catch a fish and sometimes you don't. That's just how it goes.

A lot of it is just trying to visualize the characters, trying to see exactly what's going on. I like it best when I get an image. But usually everything's so blurry.

Sometimes I'll do a little typing during lunch, usually when other people show up in the basement to do some walking, and then I can't think and I go to my computer.

But in this way, over the last two weeks I've pulled together two chapters, and there's a lot of interesting stuff going on in them. I really think that walking, and giving myself time to visualize, and giving my unconscious mind time to pull goodies out of its metaphorical hat, has really helped get these chapters going.

Another thing that helped was finding (at last!) a song to listen to while writing. Last Saturday KKFI played Eric Clapton's "River of Tears" from his One Car, One Rider album. I bought it today (no time yesterday) off i-Tunes for 99 cents and during lunch I played it while I was writing. With the music, I finally got the emotion, the feeling, I was looking for from my main character. That was worth the price of admission.

And earlier tonight I finished up the sale book and came home. Did some storywork and finished this week's chapter and I'm ready to move on to the next.

So I'm feeling good.

Busy times.

2007-01-18T19:34:00.000-08:00

The Apocalypse has hit at work. So far it hasn't been as awful as I imagined it (except when we get sale books with lots of cows that are not Angus, and then I must check each number and each name in each lot, individually, and that gets old quick). However, not a lot of computer time available, so I won't be able to check in as often as I used to for a while.

Just so you all know.

Oh, yes, I got my Cui Jian CD's yesterday, both at once! The Hong Kong disc is copy-protected, but the hits disc, which has 7 of 9 songs off the HK disc, is not. Oh I was happy. Playing the CD and hopping around the kitchen and singing stuff I didn't realize I remembered. It was fun.

Yes, 15 years is a long time.

2007-01-07T20:24:00.001-08:00

I am a happy girl today. Last night we were at a Chinese restaurant. Behind us, the employees were eating, speaking to each other in their own language, when one of them mentioned Hong Kong. And out of the blue I sat up and remembered something I'd been trying to seek out for a long time.

When I was in college, about 15 years ago, my friend Xia gave me a tape to listen to that she'd brought up from Hong Kong. On the cover, a man had a red scarf over his eyes. She said that his music had been banned in China, and that the album was called "I See Nothing."

The music was awesome, a mix of Chinese folk music and instrumentation with Western music. I listened to the tape over and over, after we graduated and moved on, but soon the tape was in danger of breaking, it was so old and listened-to. I would take it out seldom and play it occasionally, always watching the reels to be sure that I could stop the tape if it started to jam, as it had a few times. But Oh! Where on earth could I get a CD of this excellent music that I could blast everywhere?

So after we ate I asked the people who worked there about the tape. They couldn't give me any information on the singer, though I sang part of "I See Nothing" to them (had to fudge the words of course).

"That sounds like he's Cantonese," the guy said.

Ah! A clue.

So, filled with determination, I went home and started googling. I'd googled this before, with no success. But this time I ended up on Wikipedia looking at Chinese rock. Cantonese pop definitely wasn't this guy's style -- he was loud and fast. But this Northwest Wind style sounded more like what I'd heard on the tape, with its fast tempo, strong bass, and aggressive singing.

And I finally found my man. He's the godfather of Chinese rock, Cui Jian! Except he says that "godfather" makes him feel too old. But still! But I found him on MySpace, and when the window opened one of his latest songs started playing, and I was like, "OMG! That's him! That's the voice!"

I went running down the hall to tell my husband, I was so excited. And then I went cruising all over the internet and finally found the album that Xia had lent to me ages ago, only now it's a CD, and it's actually called "I Have Nothing," and it's on its way here from Hong Kong right now! Or at least in a week!

And then I'll order all the rest of his albums, one at a time.

I LOVE the internet! Love it! Oh, I do.

Here's Cui Jian singing "Fake Monk," which is off that album. Oh, and my husband went on MySpace and totally friended him.

Let the raccoons be themselves.

2007-01-05T11:17:00.000-08:00

I've finally figured out why I keep imagining my raccoons acting like little people.

As people, our way of life is based on our using our hands. We use them to touch, pick up things, eat, communicate -- everything.

Raccoons use their mouths. They'll use their hands in order to help them eat, of course, but most of their touching is done with the face, and they primarily fight with their teeth, not their claws.

I've noticed I've had a hard time when a raccoon has to point at something. My first impulse is to have them point with a finger instead of pointing with their head. The same thing happens when touch is shared. I keep imagining one raccoon patting another on the shoulder. No, all four feet would be on the ground.

I've been having a hard time visualizing my characters lately and I think this is part of the problem.

Not sure what the other part of the problem is. Though I did look at my MC's character sketch today and wasn't satisfied with it. I'm missing something that's pretty big. I wish I knew what it was.

New Year Revelations.

2007-01-02T09:54:00.000-08:00

1) Get Symphonians accepted.

Because it's in halfway decent shape, due to all those revisions I've made for FSG.

I do need to send queries to other agents and editors, just to be on the safe side. Because it could get rejected.

2) Get Leavetaking (the raccoon story) "finished."

"Finished" gets parentheses because no story is ever finished, for real. But I can work on revising Leavetaking until I run screaming into the street from it, the way I did with Symphonians. Then repeat.

I do want to get a good draft by May, since I believe I should have news from FSG regarding Symphonians by then. (That's how it worked out last year -- because I sent the story to them last December, too, and they replied in May, sending me back to work.)

3) Teach my kid how to speak Spanish.

By hook or by crook, since I don't speak Spanish myself. So I get to learn the language, too!

4) Fix up the short story collection and send it to Dutton.

I got a nice letter from Dutton a couple of years back saying that they'd decided against making an offer for it due to the collection seeming not all of a piece. I've been piecing it together more securely ever since. I sent a few of the stories to Eileen Robinson of FirstPages for a critique, which should be back by the middle of this month. After that, I need to pull those stories together, tighten up the collection overall, and give it to 'em.

It would be nice if I sent some of the stories to fiction magazines. Or maybe not, depending on what shape the stories are in. Short fiction is so much harder to sell, since there's so much of it out there, and so much good fiction, and so few venues that pay worth a darn. I don't want to send out lousy material, even if I could make a buck off it.

*******

That's probably plenty for me to handle right there. More than enough, really. But the reach has got to exceed the grasp.

Finally.

2006-12-29T09:12:00.000-08:00

I'm going to get the Symphonians novel sent off to FSG this afternoon. At last! I've been working on the novel's second part since early May, and finished it up last month, except for some nitpicking and tweaks.

Got the whole thing printed off and was astonished. It's at 325 pages and it looks like I have a whole ream of paper sitting there. That's a chunk of paper that could really hurt someone! Well, let's not go throwing it or anything.

I guess I should be all teary-eyed and wistful. But I'm not. It's more like, get out the door, you, I have other stories that I gotta fix up.

I feel like I have a good chance with FSG. I sent it to them last December (it was a requested MS) and got a reader's report back in May and the editor asked to see revisions. And now she's getting them. But if she doesn't accept the book, it won't be the end of the world.

Maybe I should submit a query for the book to other editors and agents. With the new, improved synop, of course. I shouldn't pin all my hopes on one publisher. I should have backup.

(P.S. The agent I sent the query to earlier said no. So it goes.)

Poetry corner.

2006-12-28T12:17:00.000-08:00

I just found this poem last night and now I can't get enough of it.

Permanently

Kenneth Koch

One day the Nouns were clustered in the street.
An Adjective walked by, with her dark beauty.
The Nouns were struck, moved, changed.
The next day a Verb drove up, and created the Sentence.

Each Sentence says one thing—for example, "Although it was a dark
rainy day when the Adjective walked by, I shall remember the pure and
sweet expression on her face until the day I perish from the green,
effective earth."
Or, "Will you please close the window, Andrew?"
Or, for example, "Thank you, the pink pot of flowers on the window
sill has changed color recently to a light yellow, due to the heat from
the boiler factory which exists nearby."

In the springtime the Sentences and the Nouns lay silently on the grass.
A lonely Conjunction here and there would call, "And! But!"
But the Adjective did not emerge.

As the Adjective is lost in the sentence,
So I am lost in your eyes, ears, nose, and throat—
You have enchanted me with a single kiss
Which can never be undone
Until the destruction of language.

I got Snarked!

2006-12-22T11:34:00.001-08:00

I put my hook for The Symphonians into the Crapometer that Miss Snark is running (submissions are closed). My number (293) came up today, and it got a critique.

Unfortunately, the critique went, "WTF?"

Whoo-whee! Last May an agent read the hook for this novel and said, "Girl, your synopsis is confusing as heck!" So I went and read through a previous Crapometer and revised the hook accordingly, which took a while. But even with the revised version I still managed to confuse the heck out of everybody, everywhere!

Oh well, back to the drawing board.

Here's the Charlotte review.

2006-12-20T09:27:00.001-08:00

Catch the review here.

And Roger's blog here.

Charlotte's review outtakes!

2006-12-19T11:54:00.000-08:00

Spoilers all over the place! So shut your eyes when you read this post for …

Charlotte’s Travesty!

Or, Babe III.

Before the movie started, they showed the preview to Bridge to Terbithina. Omg. And I thought this movie was so totally not in the book! Giants and odd creatures everywhere? Has it been that long since I read the book? Because I don’t remember that kind of fantasy aspect to it.

Pretty opening in the Garth Williams style.

No “Where’s Papa going with that ax”? What happened?

In the book, Fern talked Pa out of killing Wilbur. Because of her strong words, he gave her the pig. In the movie, Dakota pulled the pig out of her dad’s arms. What a pushover dad she has.

Nice cut to frying bacon after the farrowing scene, tho.

What on earth is that pig doing in Fern’s bed? It’s nice that she sang him a lullaby, but that’s so totally not a farm girl thing. Not to mention I don’t know what kind of parents would have this little backbone to say “No pigs in bed!”

Bucolic narrator: It was just a big red barn full of typical stuff.

You know, if Andy wrote about barns like that, he would have won the Newbery.

Bucolic narrator: Just because it was a barn didn’t mean it was full of life.

That really threw me for a loop. Anybody remember the beginning of chapter three, the lovely essay about the barn being a lovely place, full of interesting things and full of life? The barn as, let us say, a microcosm of the world, where so many beautiful things happen? But this film is so determined to turn that on its head. That’s part of the reason I’m so down on this film, because Andy created this beautiful world and they just deny it, except for the bravery and nobility of Charlotte and Wilbur and Fern.

My word, these farm animals are rude and condescending, calling Wilbur and each other names. So much of this movie follows that formula that you must have tension in every scene, even if the tension is nonsensical.

There’s the first fart joke. And then all the animals call each other names again. This is to show the viewer that the animals do not get along. I don’t think Charlotte could help this; I think they need therapy.

I do like that view of Templeton’s underground nest. That’s really cool. I wish they had viewed the barn with the same interest and fascination.

Now we have these crows and the old joke about the scarecrow, “When’s that guy going to look away?” which of course was not in the book. And do they not think that we have seen this corny joke before?

Horse: Spider! (faints)

--But why on earth would any farm animal worth his salt be scared by a spider?

And then the animals do their general disparagement of spiders. I can’t get over how rude these guys are.

Bucolic narrator: Ignorance is bliss.
Me: And I’m starting to believe it’s true. This guy is actually making a case for ignorance, like it’s a good thing.

The gander made a proper speech when the goslings hatched, right from the text. That rotten egg that Templeton rolled away was right up the filmmaker’s alley. At last, Andy’s text made a concession for them!

Fart joke #2 came up when the egg was broken.

They did actually stick to the Dr. Dorian scene. It was nice to hear actual text. Oh, thank you, thank you!

They did do justice to Charlotte acting like a spider, focusing on the legs with their flair for balletic movement. I liked that they did pay attention to some spider details, like when a spider lands anywhere, she always fastens her line to the ground next to her. And the scenes where Charlotte was building her web were awesome. I was pleased by that. Thank dog for special effects, or else I would have been griping all through this review.

So totally not the farm: slopping the pig at high noon, and the farmer struggling to get out of bed at 6 a.m., and the way they pen a bunch of high-manure-producing animals on the barn’s ground floor.

And then that damn narrator comes in with his clunky cornpone prose. Do they really think rural folks talk like that? Don’t they know that many farmers have a college degree in agribusiness?

I’m surprised they wouldn’t think that Fern knows about the fair. She’d surely know how to show her own livestock. She’s probably in the junior FFA already.

Third fart joke. But the audience laughed.

There’s those crows again being scared by a scarecrow. So they go chase Templeton instead. Doesn’t this rat know to stay out of sight? Oh, look, a toilet joke. Oh, well, it’s just cheap entertainment.

A second neat web-building scene. Aah, thank goodness.

Fern wants to take Wilbur to the fair. “Fern, what’s gotten into you?” says her mom. But people who own livestock generally show it at the fair and various contests, so their winning livestock or their progeny can be sold for higher prices.

Homer is complaining that if he enters Wilbur, that he’ll be out the entrance fee. Chill, dude. Entrance fee is pretty cheap. Why are you worried about the entrance fee anyway when, as a farmer, you’re about $10,000 in debt to the bank?

Nice father-daughter bonding. Nice that Fern got her Uncle Homer to go to the Fair after all, despite the fact that he doesn’t seem to know the first thing about farming or fairs. And there’s a nice bit with Fern and Henry Fussy. Fern runs off with Henry when Wilbur’s getting his prize, which is also right.

But what the hell is that speech that Homer’s giving. You have full access to Andy’s words and you wrote this!

Damn that’s a disgustingly big egg sac, bigger’n Charlotte even. No wonder she’s dying.

As usual I cried when Charlotte died. Even though I was totally aghast that they did not use Andy’s words. “She never moved again. Next day, as the Ferris wheel was being taken apart and the race horses were being loaded into vans and the entertainers were packing up their belongings and driving away in their trailers, Charlotte died. The Fair Grounds were soon deserted. The sheds and buildings were empty and forlorn. The infield was littered with bottles and trash. Nobody, of the hundreds of people that had visited the Fair, knew that a grey spider had played the most important part of all. Nobody was with her when she died.” No words at all.

But at least that damn narrator didn’t jump in with his own bit of trite prose.

Except in the next scene, he says, “Now that isn’t to say that Charlotte was gone forever.” Um, actually, she was. But see, in the book, it’s part of the grand course of life and death that goes on forever. In the movie, it’s like we have to gloss over it. Barely a glimpse of the ax in the first scene. No deathly fear and crying from Wilbur when he’s told of his impeding death.

It was lovely to see Wilbur standing in the snow until the narrator said, “It was as if Charlotte had shaken it out of the sky.” Come again?

When the baby spiders hatched, it started moving into horror movie territory. The wee spiders started crawling around on the farm animals’ faces, looking remarkably like little ticks. Ick!

But when Wilbur met the three daughters, that was so right, and they actually took that from the text, as well as the speech he made.

The audience liked fat Templeton.

“An ordinary barn and a pig that welcomed his second spring. Followed by many more. Because someone stopped to see the beauty blah blah.” You write for an advertising company or something?

At least they quoted the last sentence. Though to have quoted the last paragraph would have been better: “Wilbur never forgot Charlotte. Although he loved her children and grandchildren dearly, none of the new spiders ever quite took her place in his heart. She was in a class by herself. It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer. Charlotte was both.”

Ah, well, people, let's go read some books!

Jesus Christ Plays for the Royals

2006-12-18T14:27:00.000-08:00

I got my edits back for the Charlotte's Web review. I wrote about 5 pages of notes on the movie and had to boil it down to 500 words. I plan to get the edits sent off by tomorrow morning. I'll post the stuff that didn't make it to the blog later. Not all of it, or course.

In the meantime, here's some silly stuff for your amusement. I don't think it's funny enough. Any suggestions would be appreciated.

Jesus Christ Plays for the Royals

Denny: It’s the bottom of the ninth. Three on, no outs, here comes Jesus Christ to the plate. Well, folks, we know how this is going to end.
(Crowd noise: Son of God! Redeemer King!)
PA Announcer: Now batting for the Royals, #3 in one, the one in three, Jeeeeeeeesus Chrrrrrist!
Ryan: Sounds almost blasphemous when he says that.
(PA plays “The Devil Went Down To Georgia.”)
Denny: The pitch … Jesus swings … strike one, a called strike. And the crowd is letting the umpire know what they think about that.
Ryan: Can you believe the offer that Christ turned down from the Yankees?
Denny: Yeah. The Christ told Steinbrenner to his face to give away all he had and follow Him. Half of the Yankees followed Christ out.
Ryan: All these years Steinbrenner thought he was God, and now here comes Christ to prove him wrong.
Denny: The pitch. Low and inside. That almost got Him. Now the pitcher is kneeling on the mound and looking upset, and here comes Steinbrenner for yet another conference on the mound. The crowd’s going crazy.
(PA plays “Jesus is Just All Right With Me.”)
Ryan: That’s the sixth conference tonight. They’re having a bad time trying to walk the Lord of Lords.
Denny: Anybody would have a hard time with a batter with a 1.0 batting average. The pitcher stretches … Christ swings … a long fly ball … it’s gone! Over the top of the stadium again! The Royals win, 29 to 3! Christ hits fists with Sweeney, the dugout empties, they’re pretty jubilant. That was another thrilling game, though the ending wasn’t much in doubt.
Ryan: What the Royals saved in hiring Christ, has to go to the budget for baseballs.
Denny: You know, they found one of them in Gladstone. They built a shrine for it and everything. It’s amazing … blind people seeing, people throwing their crutches away …
Ryan: Look, Denny, my psoriasis! It’s gone!
Denny: Like I really want to see that.
Ryan: Word from the Vatican is that the Pope was going to step down, since he’s supposed to be the embodiment of Christ on earth. And obviously the chairman of the board is playing for us. Christ told the pope to stay where he was until the season was over. Then he and the Church are going to have a little talk about what happened over the last 2,000 years.
Denny: Ooh, I think I could skip that one.
Ryan: And now for the Friday night fireworks, provided by none other than Christ himself.
Denny: He’s giving Wal-Mart a run for their money. Tonight, tiny flames are flickering over the heads of the entire audience. What a sight.
Ryan: Why, Denny, you have a flame over your head, too.
Denny: Hallelujah! Abi doo zarbaza fooi! The Lord has preached unto his hosts!
Ryan: Amen, brother.
Denny: Whoo, that was all right. I’m over it now. I’m ready for a beer.
Ryan: Sounds good.
Denny: Though not with you. That’s all from Royals Stadium tonight, folks. Ryan will give you the stats. I’m the veteran and I’m outta here.
Ryan: It’s time for “Now Ask the Royals,” and here’s Jesus Christ to answer your questions.
Christ: Hello, Ryan, good to be here.
Ryan: Here’s the first letter. “Dear Ask the Royals: Does God exist? If so, could He create a boulder that He couldn’t move? Signed, Taylor in Prairie Village.”
Christ: Why in the name of me do they ask these questions when they could be doing good works for those in need? Aquinas was completely off base with his theory that God is all-powerful and all-knowing. But the church fathers were all over that. Other than that, I’m not at liberty to say.
Ryan: Thank you, Christ. And for speaking on Ask the Royals today, you will receive a $50 gift certificate for the Hoof and Horn.
Christ: Give it to the poor!
Ryan: And that’s it for this broadcast. Remember, baptisms will be held after every game in the fountain at the back of Royals stadium. And for the Royals, this is Ryan Lefebvre, saying good night.
Christ: And God bless, of course.

Villainy DeLuxe! But not really.

2006-12-14T09:52:00.000-08:00

I'm creeping along on the story. Of the three chapters I'm working on, one chapter is maybe decent. The other two involve one of the bad guys (though for our sake I should just call him the antagonist, because truly, he doesn't believe he's doing anything wrong). I can't write these other two chapters yet because the only thing I know about Almon is that he is so evil. Maybe they should name a drink after him, he's so evil. One of those drinks that could kill you.

But that ain't the way you write about a character. Villains in all the stories and TV shows are evil. So what, big deal. Trite! I can't create a guy whose only reason for existing is to trip up the MC. Almon needs his own damn purpose. So maybe my MC is actually the bad guy, because he comes between Almon and what he wants. What does Almon want, anyway?

So today I worked on Almon's point of view. That chapter that I can't write because he's in it? I wrote up a scene from Almon's pov leading up to that chapter. Once that scene was done, I went back and looked for things that defined his character a little and brought those out. What he looks like, how he walks low to the ground, his voice. And I also kept asking, why does he do that? What makes him act that way?

And I looked for things that would make him human. Though technically Almon's a raccoon. Looked for things that showed that he had feelings like all the rest of us, that he wasn't just running around looking for evil stuff to do. And I paid more attention to those feelings and thoughts and deeds, kicked them up a notch. Even squeezed in the usual stuff about his cubhood. Though I could certainly do better than the 'usual stuff,' that nobody loved him, etc.

Next I'm going to take that lousy chapter and write it from Almon's pov. Get into Almon's mind, really look at my MC and his cronies through his eyes. This is also enlightening because I get all this extra stuff about my MC that I didn't see because I was looking at him from the inside instead of the outside. And also I get a truer picture of what's going on here.

What other things do you guys do to make your villain, or antagonist, whatever, more real?

Wicked wicked wicked.

2006-12-10T14:24:00.000-08:00

I've been all over Roger Sutton's blog (he's the editor of the Horn Book), whining a little about the Charlotte's Web movie there, too.

Today he e-mailed me and asked if I'd like to drag myself to the movie and review it for the Horn Book website.

What a wicked guy.

He said he'd pay me.

So I'm going.

I plan to read nothing but Charlotte's Web all week to my kid, so that she'll be well and truly vaccinated by the time we hit the theatre on Friday (or Saturday if the lines are too long).

And may the Lord have mercy on my soul.

More complaining about that Charlotte movie.

2006-12-08T06:37:00.000-08:00

I got out Charlotte's Web for my girl last night so I could read it to her. She informed me that she has *already* seen the trailer for that Charlotte movie at daycare. She said the book was scary because in the trailer, the horse fainted when he saw the spider.

*head::keyboard*

I'm trying to raise her right! But some Hollywood dweeb has to mess it all up.

Fix-ups for slowpokes (but better than speedy fixes)

2006-12-06T12:15:00.000-08:00

I was striving to get a rough (new) draft of the raccoon novel written by the end of December, but then to my dismay I started thinking. As it turned out, it was good 'n useful thinking.

I remembered how, when I worked on the Symphonians novel, that my scenes came out better when I focused on one at a time. If I try to write a whole book at once, I freak out, not knowing where to start, and then I get nothing done at all. (That's the same reason I have trouble reading through a Norton anthology -- I end up skipping because I want to read the whole thing. And in the end read nothing.)

And I'm so dissatisfied when I rush on and leave a scene undone because omg there's more work to be done up ahead.

So: instead of having a trail of unfinished scenes and half-baked notions I'm going to do one thing at a time. No pretty word count pileup. Just a bunch of one-step-forward-and-two-steps-back work in a small space.

And I'm going to do these two things to make each scene as strong as possible.

1) I'm going to write the scene from the other character's pov -- best of all is if I can write it from the pov of the antagonist. Half the time I'm going in there with no idea about what the heck is going on in that guy's head. Then he just comes out evil, instead of a nuanced character who has feelings, too. The antagonist also wants to get something out of the transaction. What is it? Then I'll take that info and incorporate what I can of it into the original pov.

2) I'm going to do what I did with the other raccoon story: I'm going to visualize, as clearly as possible, the setting around the characters.

So many fantasy novels feel like they're happening in this sort of cloudy void. Once in a while something the character needs will pop out of the void -- say, a tree, or a road to walk on, or an open-air market -- but most of the time, there's very little around the character that's very clear.

When I did this exercise for the other raccoon story, I was astonished by how grounded I felt in the world after the revisions went in. It really felt a lot more real, and I wanted more to be a part of that world. I think that's part of the wonder, that if you work hard to make your world real, you just want to walk right in there and stay a while.

So that's my big goal. And then when it's time for a crit from my critique group I'll also have three halfway decent chapters to submit, too.

Query send-off

2006-12-04T11:45:00.000-08:00

Sent a query for Symphonians to Jennie Dunham, an agent who was recommended to me ages ago. My stories didn't work for her two years ago, but I'm going to try Symphonians on her again, since I've revised the heck out of it.

We'll see how that goes.

General whining.

2006-11-28T19:36:00.000-08:00

Why do I keep running from my novel? Why do I keep messing around on this damn blog! I am a wimp! Wimpity wimp wimp wimp! Egad! Self-flagellation and stuff!

Okay I'm done.

Really, I didn't do too badly today. I got a pretty good run through part of chapter whatever. I probably would have gotten farther except I kept messing around with blogs and i-Tunes.

Then I crashed into the next scene, crashed and burned. I got up and started picking through the wreckage, but by then my work day was over and it was time to fetch the kid.

I do wish that I could turn off the internet on my work machine. 'Course, I'd just turn it back on again.

Reality trips up the fantasy novel.

2006-11-27T08:40:00.000-08:00

I was wanting to chase my tribe of raccoons out of the forest where they've lived for ages. Initially I had loggers coming in and clearing out the white oaks, but that made the raccoon's leaving too slow. Then I thought, a big fire would get them right out of the forest and I won't have all these slow chapters. But how many class C fires do we have in the local forests? None. If there's a fire, it just creeps along the leaves on the forest floor and smolders a lot.

Also, when I take a cursory look at literature online about Missouri forest fires, even the larger fires won't kill off most mature white oaks (which is what I need to do to chase the raccoons out). Not to mention that most of the forest fire literature pertains to the forests in the Ozarks, which are massive and also have more pines, which burn better than your decidious hardwoods.

I could just whip up a fire like the ones they have in the west, but then that wouldn't be true to what I'm trying to do -- write a book that uses natural history responsibly. If I put the fire in, then I'd have to mess up the whole ecosystem by adding plants that are more fire-prone but simply don't exist in the area, then adjust the ecosystem accordingly .... That's just a headache I don't need.

Even when writing fantasy, I have to keep it true to life.

I'll just have to figure out a different way to keep those early chapters moving.

What fresh hell is this!

2006-11-24T20:18:00.000-08:00

Just saw the trailer for the live-action Charlotte's Web movie that's coming out next month.

Hell's bells! The trailer manages to squeeze in a fart joke. Yep, that's what Andy always did for a laugh in his books! He was the Captain Underpants of his day. His editor, Harold Ross of the New Yorker, was also enamored of his scatalogical humor. "We need more goddammed fart jokes!" he'd often bellow into Andy's office as he rushed past.

Andy resisted a movie version of Charlotte's Web for years, though he finally gave in in 1976. Not bad for a book published in 1953.

Says Andy:

"It is the fixed purpose of television and motion pictures to scrap the author, sink him without a trace, on the theory that he is incompetent, has never read his own stuff, is not reponsible for anything he ever wrote, and wouldn't know what to do about it even if he were. I belive this has something to do with the urge to create, and the only way a TV person or movie person can become a creator is to sink the guy who did it to begin with."

And on the Hanna-Barbera version:

"And I am also at work trying to get the bugs out of the screenplay of 'Charlotte's Web,' which was written by a Hollywood character whose knowledge of life on a New England farm is sub-marginal."

(And naturally after he sent in his changes they ignored them.)

To his lawyer:

"I want the chance to edit the script wherever anything turns up that is a gross departure or a gross violation. I also would like to be protected against the insertion of wholly new material -- songs, jokes, capers, episodes."

The man did his damndest. But money talks and the author walks.

You've probably seen the trailers for Stuart Little and Trumpet of the Swan. Lord. I'm standing there watching the trailers with my kid, going, "That wasn't in the book! And that wasn't in the book. And that totally wasn't in the book." It just floors me that you can lift a couple of characters out of somebody else's book, and write a screenplay loosely based on one or two of the events in the story, and then make a movie of it and get a big pile of money out of it.

Just so you know, I am trying my damndest to be sure my kid never sees those movies. Andy deserved better.

Here, go read this instead. It's an essay entitled "Andy," written by Roger Angell, his stepson, former editor of the New Yorker (just like his mom) and no slouch at the keyboard himself. Check out the parts where Andy's writing. That's what I most admire about him. That's what I want to be like.

How I spent Black Friday!

2006-11-24T15:23:00.000-08:00

My daughter and I got up at the crack of dawn -- well, actually, about 7 a.m. -- and ate our cerial, and then ran out the door and jumped in the car.

And ended up at Squaw Creek National Wildlife Refuge.

It was a great morning. I picked up seven new checkmarks in my Birds of Missouri book: Green-Winged Teal, Buffleheads, a Northern Harrier (a juvenile because its belly was chestnut -- scroll down the link to see a pic of a juvenile), Pintails, Canvasbacks, a Golden-Crowned Kinglet, and Pelicans! Also saw the usual Shovelers and Mallards and assorted geese and two juvenile bald eagles -- we'll see more at Eagle Daze next week. (Actually it's Eagle Days but I used to work the event as an MDC volunteer.)

Also saw a bunch of coots and a couple of grebes! Coots are actually not ducks but relatives of the Sandhill Crane. Coots look like a little black duck with a tiny white bill. But big old chicken feet. They're my favorite. Grebes are cute too. I'm really starting to like them, too.

And Miss Thing scored a little sticky frog and a wood duck that, when you squeeze it, sings its song. And we went for a walk on the bluffs where you see the whole refuge all laid out below you, and once in a while the snow geese rise into the air like a little white cloud and settle back down on the water again.

So we made out like bandits.

They're at it again!

2006-11-17T07:10:00.000-08:00

This time the book "And Tango Makes Three" is being challenged in Shiloh, Ill.

Sorry that my source is Fox News. "Fair and balanced" so far to the right it's going to fall over. So naturally the headline screams "Gay penguin book!"

They made a little reference to my local library at the end of the article. Actually, this library has branches in both Savannah and St. Joseph. When I'm in there, I pull the book from nonfiction and put it on top of the stacks with the other books on display. Just doing my part.

Higher education let me down.

2006-11-17T06:43:00.001-08:00

So I said, "I'm going to do it. I'm going to enroll over at Hamline for their MFA program and get smart."

But first I talked to my boss. Which was good, because I found out that I can't do it. Hamline has their residencies in January and August, which are super-busy times here at the Journal. "We wouldn't be able to let you go for a whole week," said my boss. "I'm sorry."

Bummer. I sent an e-mail to Hamline: "Is there any way that I could at least study with some of these faculty without the residencies?"

They wrote back, "Nope! Maybe the job situation will lighten up."

Sorry, guys, not in a million years. (The Angus breed is getting popular and profitable, which is good for my job, but not good for making things less busy.)

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. I really like this job, because of slow times (like right now), and they're super-generous regarding everything else. But they do expect you to be here during busy times and pull your weight -- fair enough.

It just bugs me that this program can't loosen up to help folks like me out. I need to stay in this job to support the family when my husband heads over to Waddell and Reed to work as a financial advisor. Also, it's nice to have money. Freelancing was cool, except I was working on everything else EXCEPT my novel because novels don't pay the bills. So it's like I keep my job so I can work on my novel!

I really need education and guidance, though, because I miss school and I want to move to the next level. The University of Iowa has correspondence courses for writers, though it's more for literary short stories. I'll be signing up for those.

I just hope I get a good teacher this time. I've taken a U of I correspondence class in the past. For the first half of the class, I had a great teacher; I wrote him letters and he'd answer every question in them and talk to me about the craft. Then the semester changed and I got a new teacher, one who disregarded my letters, and he'd mark up only the first few pages of my MS and say, "Okay, these are the problems, I don't need to mark up any more pages." In short, he was a dick.

Of course I could always tell the bosses if this happens again and get a different teacher, I hope.

Big ol' book list!

2006-11-14T06:17:00.000-08:00

Every time I see these big lists of books that tend to pop up on the blogs of various book fiends -- the 100 greatest books! 1001 great books to read before you die! -- I tend to get a little hacked, because my favorites aren't on there. Also, these lists never include poetry or nonfiction or children's books. Well, those days are over.

Here's my list of the books and poems on my bookshelves, the ones that I'd push on you or any innocent bystander that looks as if she could use a good read. Then you guys can copy the list and then complain about the books I should have been reading.

Poetry!
The Odyssey -- Homer
The Iliad, though I tend to skim the extended battle scenes.
Parts of Beowulf. Though the other day I was reading the Seamus Heaney translation and kept falling asleep. My fault, not his.
Dante's Commedia -- all of it. I seem to prefer the Mandlebaum translation, though I like what Sayers did with the tetra rima thing.
Bits and parts of the Canterbury Tales, though not enough bits to say that I have actually finished it. But Chaucer's cool.
Right now a big stack of Elizabeth Bishop poems, esp. "Sandpiper," "The Armadillo," "The Fish," and "The Moose." But I have "The Great Poet Returns" by Mark Strand stuck to the wall right now.
Four Quartets – T.S. Eliot
American Indian Poetry
Living on Fire – Virginia Hamilton Adair. She was about 83 when they published this. I saw some of her poems in the New Yorker and just had to have this book.
No! It was Ants on the Melon I had to have. But where the hell is my copy? Ai!
Gang of Poets anthology. This book isn’t not available anywhere; it’s just a small book the local Gang of Poets fixed up from our readings at Paper Moone Books, back in the day. All my buddies are in it, and me too. I miss those days!
Vita Nuova – Dante. This is the skeleton for the novel I want to write someday.
Complete Works of the Gawain-Poet – John Gardner. I like The Pearl best.
Also he did Gilgamesh.
I read Piers Plowman. And I don’t intend to make that same mistake twice. Sweet Jesus! I’m sorry, Dr. Slater, but this book is narcolepsy between two covers!
Media – Euripides.
The 1919 edition of the Oxford Book of English Verse. I found this in one of the boxes that Grandpa Vance brought home from an auction. It got left in the rain, though. I set it out in the sun to dry, and it got me through high school. I later got an updated edition so I could turn the pages without fear of crumbling. The paper’s like onionskin now.
Poetry of the Victorian Period. In high school, I turned to this book often, loving the flowery diction of the Victorians, but also trying to seek out bits of unannotated poetry quoted in St. Elmo (below).

Children's books
Dominic -- William Steig. I read it to my five-year-old daughter, editing on the fly, and she loves it. That dog is so filled with adventure and life.
Charlotte's Web -- EBW. Obviously.
His Dark Materials trilogy -- Philip Pullman. Especially love the world-building he does in Compass. I want to do that!
Sabriel, Lirael, and Abhorsen – Garth Nix.
The Apple Stone – Nicholas Stuart Gray. Also The Seventh Swan. I never hear anything about this guy, but he was pretty good.
Speak – Laurie Halse Anderson. I got to tell Laurie, in person, that her books kick literary ass. She seemed to appreciate that.
A Girl Named Disaster – Nancy Farmer.
The Last Unicorn – Peter Beagle.
How the Mouse Deer Became King – Margueritte Harmon Bro.
Lyra’s Oxford – Philip Pullman. Stay tuned for The Book of Dust.
The Green Knowle books – L.M. Boston.
Any of the Magic books – Edward Eager. These books had me burning a low fever, yearning for magic, in my junior high years.
Homecoming – Cynthia Voigt.
Also, If She Hollers – Voigt.
Watership Down – Richard Adams.
The Darkangel trilogy – Meredith Ann Pierce. Awesome. Based on a dream recorded by Carl Jung.
The Babymouse books! Jennifer and Matt Holm. My girl and I like these a lot.

Essays and other stuff
Pretty much anything by E.B. White. During college I just devoured White essays by the bushelload. It did me good.
One Man’s Meat – E.B. White
The Points of My Compass – EBW
Those two are my favorite books of his essays, though technically I love ‘em all. Hey, if anybody has a copy of The Lady is Cold lying around that they don’t want, send it to me.
Anything by Thurber except for the stuff he wrote close to his death. My favorite collection is My World and Welcome To It.
Walden -- Thoreau. I like when he's in the canoe, playing the flute, and the fish swim to the top of the lake. This was EBW's favorite book.
Pygmalion – G.B. Shaw.
Best American Short Stories 1982 – collected by John Gardner. These stories illustrate what he thought good stories needed to do.
Maus – Art Spiegelman.
I like the Norton anthologies, except that I get so overwhelmed with the sheer number of stories in them that I can’t decide what to read and then I don’t read anything at all.

Novels
The Brothers Karamozov -- Dostky. I had such a crush on Alyosha, the first time (beyond my own Symphonians) that I'd developed a crush on a character from a book. But he's such a sweetheart!
Beloved -- Toni Morrison. Though I couldn't figure out that one stream-of-consciousness chapter.
The Lord of the Rings trilogy. I've read this one several times. After my semi-miscarriage (just a blighted ovum, said the docs, but I took it seriously), I read the whole trilogy straight through, over about four or five days. It helped.
St. Elmo -- Augusta Jane Evans. Sue me. This is the most flowery, antebellum Victorian novel you will ever lay eyes on. But this book was my big high school favorite. Oh, that romance just grabbed me.
The First Violin -- Jessie Fothergill. Another Victorian romance, this time about a young English singer and the noble first violinist.
Jane Eyre – Charlotte Bronte. Read it outside of class.
Back When We Were Grownups – Anne Tyler. This woman can make these incredible characters, and I envy her skill. But not enough to actually write over 250 pages on my own characters, the way she does. Wimp.
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time – Mark Haddon.
Earthsea trilogy PLUS Tehanu, Tales of Earthsea, and The Other Wind – LeGuin. Would that make it a hexology?
Also LeGuin's short-story collection, Unlocking the Air.
To the Lighthouse – Virginia Woolf. I keep not finishing it, but I keep starting it again, because something in me needs this book.
Lake Wobegon Days – Garrison Keillor.
The Dubliners – James Joyce.
Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man – JJ.
Kissing in Manhattan – David Schickler. Especially his story “The Smoker,” which appeared in maybe the O. Henry collection.
“Catface” – Arthur Bradford. It’s in one of the O. Henry story collections, early ‘90’s, I think. For God’s sake, go read it. Craziest damn story you'll see anywhere.

Nonfiction
Truman -- David McCullough. I have read this big hunk of book through several times, and it is so worthwhile, both for the portrait of the man and for the writing. After I read this, I became a certified Trumanophile.
Birds of Missouri. I checkmark the birds I’ve spotted.
The Manual of Woody Landscape Plants – Michael Dirr. This is a horticultural bible. And the man really knows his stuff.
Missouri Wildflowers – Studied this since I was in fifth grade.
How to Grow Vegetables and Fruits by the Organic Method – J.I. Rodale. It’s old, but the information here is still very good.
The Rose Bible – Rayford Clayton Reddell. Luscious pics of roses (aka “garden porn”) as well as excellent care instructions and extensive rose history.
The New Organic Grower – Eliot Coleman. Even if you are not a small-acreage farmer, this is an excellent look at working with the soil and nature through good management and plant positive (as opposed to pest-negative) behaviors. Also info about raising greens and root vegetables through winter.
Mammals of Missouri – Charles Schwartz.
Steyermark’s Flora of Missouri – for the hardcore botanist. The MDC is coming out with a new, three-volume edition, but each volume takes about 15 years to compile.
Natural History of Raccoons – Doris MacClintock. I have to say I like her book better than Sterling North’s books.
The Well-Tempered Listener – Deems Taylor. A series of essays from his talks on music. Short and fun.
Score to Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concertos 1, 2, and 3. Because you really don’t appreciate all the work the pianist has put into these performances until you are racing through the score to keep up with the piano, flipping pages so fast that all those black notes become a blur.
Assorted essays by humanist psychologists Abraham Maslow and Carl Rogers. Really interesting stuff.
The Discarded Image – C.S. Lewis. Great scholarship on the medieval way of thinking.
“Beat Zen, Square Zen, and Zen” – Alan Watts. That essay (published here as a pamphlet) put me on a Zen kick for a while in college.
The Power of Myth – Bill Moyers and Joseph Campbell. Never saw the actual show this was based on, but what the hey, I have the book.
I wish that I could say that I love Santayana’s Life of Reason, but I can’t wrap my brain around it. I love Santayana, though, is that good enough?
Seven Roads to Hell – Donald Burgett. About Bastogne, where Grandpa Mike may have been stuck during WWII. Also wrote The Road to Arnhem, about Operation Market Garden and the Dutch Resistance (and Grandpa did for sure jump there).
Memories, Dreams, Reflections – Carl Jung. The man’s autobiography, parts of which are really … interesting.

Writing books
Elements of Style by Bill Strunk and EBW. I used to have this memorized.
The Art of Fiction – John Gardner. Yes, this book really changed my life!
On Becoming a Novelist – John Gardner.
On Writers and Writing – Gardner again.
Writing Fiction – Janet Burroway. Though many of the stories she included are real downers.
Writing Poetry – Robert Wallace. One of Dr. Trowbridge’s poems are in here.
(I wish that I could say that I read Fowler’s Modern English Usage, but no. Though I'll give it a shot occasionally.)
Bird by Bird – Anne Lamott. Of course!
The Writing of Fiction – Edith Wharton.
Steering the Craft -- Ursula K. LeGuin. I like best her chapter on crowding and leaping.

Did I miss anything?

Word diet!

2006-11-13T17:07:00.000-08:00

I had the Symphonians up to 97,126 words. So I started paring.

Today I got it down to 89,570.

I was really elated until I realized that I'd cut only 7,556 words. Which sounds pretty wimpy compared to the word dump my novel has become. Seven thousand words is one of my shorter short stories.

Now you see why I have a hell of a time writing poetry.

So I'm thinking, okay, then let's cut 10,000 words altogether, because that sounds like a big number and a worthy goal. Also I don't have much farther to go if that's my goal.

And then I have to strengthen the Kay/Noel relationship in the book, which means I get to add them all back.

So it goes.

Elizabeth Bishop vs. Me: who would win?

2006-11-10T08:50:00.000-08:00

I pinned the latest Bishop poem over my desk, "The Sandpiper," then sat at my computer, where I was working on my story, and read through the poem a few times.

The roaring alongside he takes for granted,
and that every so often the world is bound to shake.
He runs, he runs to the south, finical, awkward,
in a state of controlled panic, a student of Blake.

And then I turned back to my story.

Though Silverlady knew the news was necessary for gossip-crazy raccoons to hear, she also knew that most raccoons looked at it as a chance to get together and blab. It was often said that more news was exchanged between the gossipmongers than the newsmonger actually provided.

"Damn," I said.

Musing on race.

2006-11-07T13:17:00.000-08:00

I was in the office lunchroom, making hot chocolate, when a co-worker came in to fill her water cup and look at the paper and gasped. "They shot at her SUV?" she said, reading an article I'd read earlier. (The SUV belonged to the lady who's running for state auditor.)

"Yeah," I said. "They did apprehend the shooter. A Hispanic man. Allegedly."

I carried my hot chocolate into the office, but then wondered: why did I say he was Hispanic? Did it matter in the case? Not at all. It was a man with a gun who did it; did the color of his skin make him shoot more accurately? No. If a white man had shot the gun, would I have told her "A white man shot the gun"?

So I guess I'm not as color-blind as what I'd hoped. Keep working on it.

A bit on the raccoons' worldview setup.

2006-11-06T07:06:00.000-08:00

Been talking to Eileen Robinson from the critique service F1rstpages.com -- she used to be an editor at Scholastic, among other things. Also I spilled chocolate milk on her, but obviously she was very nice about it. She's going to critique a couple of my stories from my short story collection. Yay! Of course I'm going to pay her. But I'm looking forward to it.

In the meantime, I've been working on the mythology of the raccoon tribes. Right now I'm reading through American Indian Myths and Legends, compiled by Richard Erdoes and Alfonso Ortiz. (Just discovered that it was banned in Anchorage schools -- somebody didn't read through all the stories, obviously.) I'm just picking up bits and pieces instead of using stories straight out of there, and I'm finding some cool details.

Also working on thinking about a raccoon's creation myth. How would a raccoon look at the world? What's most important to them and their way of life? Also pulling details out of my own way of life. These are Missouri small-town raccoons, so you're going to have some rednecks and some nice church ladies and stoic farmer types and some hellraisers and a lot of nice folk and two-three folk who thinks there's always a conspiracy somewhere.

And then we have the outcast caste, the outlanders, the raccoons who (so they say) are only wild raccoons who have lost all power of speech, uncivilized as any bird or dog or human. A lot of prejudice against these. Unfortunately for Thorn, he has to tell everybody that his successor was born from an outlander mother. Actually Thorn's successor, Silverlady, is a member of the tribe, but the spirit of death came and killed her litter just after it was born. Thorn managed to save Silverlady, but he has to keep her identity secret so the spirit of death doesn't find her again.

Also, to make things more interesting, the gods here are not all-knowing or all-powerful. (And actually, I don't think that our God is all-knowing and all-powerful, either. St. Thomas came up with that theory, and the church fathers were probably all over that. What better way to say, "Our god is best?")

I better get to work on the story or else I'm going to have 30 sale books show up on my desk today.

Explicating at work!

2006-11-03T06:27:00.000-08:00

While I was noodling on my story, I remembered a quote from "Death of a Hired Man" by Robert Frost pertaining to home, so, since I was at work, I went online and found the poem and got the quote. And then I started thinking about Elizabeth Bishop, one of the poets I studied while in grad school. I really loved her stuff, and I missed reading poetry.

So I went online and found "The Moose" at Poets.org (note: be sure to get a proper website when looking up poems -- some websites might mess up the formatting, or the spacing, or some dang thing). I printed it off, trimmed it to size, and tacked it up over my workstation.

I have been very happy with this arrangement. When I read poetry out of a book, I tend to skim along because I have this urge to read as many pages as possible within a short time span. I don't linger over the text, make connections. But with Bishop's poem on my wall, laid completely out, I can move around in the text and find those connections so easily (no page-flipping!), think about the poem as I work, take short glances, or long glances. So I can think about the dogs that keep appearing in the poem, or the use of the colors red and pink, try to figure out that "twin" thing she has going on at the beginning, and the thing with the houses and churches and the moose.

In other words, I wish I'd thought to do this long ago!

Jennifer's list and what it means for me.

2006-11-02T10:46:00.000-08:00

Actually remembered to turn my calendar over today.

In working on the raccoon story, I remembered an article by Jennifer Armstrong from the Horn Book which talks about how she likes to set up her stories. In revising Symphonians, I was really disappointed in how few images I had and how there seemed to be nothing behind them. I'm going to try and change that in the raccoon story, since I'm rebuilding it.

But here is a short list of questions Jennifer asks herself in writing her books.

What is this book about?
What ideas will be in it?
What images will I use to reinforce these ideas?
What metaphors will I use to reinforce these ideas?
What’s the tone?
What’s the voice?
What characters will I use? And, why did I choose these characters for the purposes of the book?
A list of important words.
Write a list of scenes, and a list of images that appear in each scene.

More on this later, because a brand-new sale book just landed on my desk.
******
A day later, as it turns out. (I wrote the above yesterday.)

I haven't started answering Jennifer's questions yet, because when I started trying to, I discovered that there's a lot of information I need about the story to answer them. (The shameful thing is that I've already rewritten the story a million times over the years -- I actually started on it in 1995.)

So I'm exploring what the story's about. One of the things it's about is the idea of "home." So I started riffing off that, writing down the definition of "home," etc. Then I got bamboozled by looking at the big picture. Then I thought, why don't I start building from the images I already have, such as the Psyches with their butterfly wing headdresses and the Outcast, the black hound that burns with an oily light?

And then I thought, let's work on it from both ends, and that way I can find out where they meet in the middle. How zen is zat?

On to the next story!

2006-10-29T01:28:00.000-08:00

Well, I sent Symphonians off to my buddy Kat for a critique, and now I'm like, "You know, it's time to move on for a bit." So I've started working on Leavetaking, which is *my raccoon story.*

Ha ha! That always clears the room!

Yeah, it's anthopomorphic animals. You want to take this outside? But I'm an outdoorsy kind of gal, volunteered with the Missouri Department of Conservation for years and years, and worked outdoors for years and years, so I mix in plenty of natural history. Try to stay true to the facts about how raccoons act, except for the teensy fact that they don't live in large communal groups and that they do not talk, generally, or not in the way I have them talking.

But I'm so frustrated by the fact that I hardly ever see raccoons any more. In St. Joseph, they live in the sewers, and sometimes at night I would see them come out of one sewer and cross over into another one. In the small town I live now, we don't have those kinds of sewers, so I haven't seen a single one. The nearest wildlife rehabilitation station is in Kansas City, a long way to drive. But why would I want to drive clear out to KC to observe wildlife when I know I'm surrounded by raccoons here?

There are some at the Henry Doorly Zoo in Omaha -- long way to drive, but a worthwhile trip.

But anyway, my dandy critique group just got finished critiquing the beginning of the book, and so I've started putting their thoughts into action. I'm going to have to tear out big chunks of text and write lots of new stuff. So it goes.

But the other thing I was going to do was use the Writing the Breakout Novel workbook and go through the story and really get it going. I can use all the help I can get.

The Last 30 Pages.

2006-10-25T06:30:00.000-07:00

I love this job right now because things are really slow right now and I've been able to work on Symphonians daily! And get paid! Of course the payback will come in a few months, when it sounds like I'll have to sleep at my desk and proofread in my sleep. So I'll take what I can get.

Discovered that I have 30 pages left to mark up, and then I'll type in corrections. yay! Except ... I'm getting discontented by everything I've written, and I mean everything. I'm going, why do all the changes have to be imposed on Kay from outside? Except for that winter camping trip that she takes to get away from Carter; what the hell was she thinking? And what does this trip do for the novel's structure and Kay's conflict overall? The final confrontation sucks of course. And is there enough motivation for Carter to suddenly go off the deep end and try to drag her to Omaha? And on and on.

I'm going, stop already, let's just write the damn thing first before we go tearing it up. But my brain has some kind of Action Agenda of its own, and apparently "nitpicking" is at the top of the page.

I'm hoping breathing exercises and B.B. King will help. Also slouching in my chair with my chin on my folded hands, my face in a frowny pout, seems to help. Or that's how I usually find myself when I get thinky.

Finished! (Kinda.)

2006-10-18T19:10:00.000-07:00

Oh fraboujous day, callouh, callay, and she chortled in her glee. Today I worked on the last chapter of Symphonians and finally straightened out the LAST SCENE in the book, and it was great to get that done. A resolution! And everything fit! And some thematic stuff from earlier popped up in there just to be nice! Which doesn't usually happen, not to me anyway.

I'm going to work on that last chapter some more tomorrow (it's been really slow at work -- today I just did a few corrections and that was it) and then I'll print it out. Then I'm going to mark it up, along with the last 60 pages. But I'm starting to feel a lot better, mainly because I've been whining about revising the second part of the novel since May. Geez Louise, that's been five months! But I'm still going to send it out to two critique buddies to get some comments. I'm hoping to get this novel finished off and sent back to FSG by December, because in January my workload's going to pick up big time and it sounds like I'm going to be unavailable for two months because of overtime and other fun stuff. So that's my goal. Let's see if I can reach it.

Damn these music memes.

2006-10-13T20:28:00.000-07:00

Blame Melissa for this one.

IF YOUR LIFE WAS A MOVIE, WHAT WOULD THE SOUNDTRACK BE?

THE RULES:
1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that's playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
6. Don't lie and try to pretend you're cool...

I did move some of the scenes around for the sake of continuity. And then I gave up and went with the flow instead of trying to be so anal. And I cut several scenes, like the "Waking Up" scene, because everybody knows those scenes are boring.

Opening Credits:
"Man on the Moon" -- REM
Okay, so the movie's out there, or it's about Andy what's-his-name.

First Day At School:
"A Riverboat's Gone/Bumblebee in a Jig" -- April Verch
It's taken a folksy turn with a fiddle. Country girl going to school, tra la!

Falling In Love:
"The Tide is High" -- Blondie
Ha ha! And now she sees a hot man at her school and she's going to chase him all over town! And then she gets her hands on him. Hey handsome, the tide is high. So let's go to the prom. And he says okay, of course.

Prom:
"Nobody" -- Sylvia. That old country song about a gal whose husband is cheating on her. Let's try a different one.
"No One Like You" -- Scorpions. Okay, an 80's prom and they're playing the metal ballads. I can dig. Except he spikes her punch and they end up in a hotel room. And when she wakes up, she's so pissed.

Breaking Up:
"I'm Still Crazy" -- Vern Gosdin
OMG, this is so appropriate! "Well, I woke up one mornin with a note up on my chest. Said I'm gone for good, you're no longer the best. Never dreamed there'd be another man for you, so I just went crazy. There was nothing left to do." That'll teach him to spike her punch. Note: she affixed the note to his chest hairs with duct tape.

Mental Breakdown:
"Dancing in the Street" -- The Mamas and the Papas.
Well, "Dancing on the Ceiling" would have been more appropriate, esp. if the MC had been partaking of the magic mushrooms to get over her breakup.

Life is Good:
"Bubble Toes" -- Jack Johnson
Apparently the mushrooms have kicked in and she's now remembering when she was three years old. Wait, is that a flashback? Well, she's taken the hallucininatory drugs, she's entitled to at least two. Which brings us to the next scene:

Flashback:
"That Ain't Love" -- REO Speedwagon.
And it's the mid-80's, and our MC has gotten over the magic mushrooms, and she's kicking the ass of the man she was chasing at the beginning of this flick down the school hallway. Ah, memories.

Fight Song:
(as she's kicking his ass nine ways to Sunday)
"The Way It Is" -- Mark Strand
Hell of a fight, this is actually a poem, and a deathly depressing one at that. "He cannot be heard as he moves behind trees and hedges, always at the frayed edges of town, pulling a gun on someone like me. I crouch under the kitchen table, telling myself, I am a dog. Who would kill a dog?" Let's try a song.
"Rock of Ages" -- Def Leppard
That's more like it! "It's better to burn out than fade away!"

Getting Back Together:
"Roll With the Changes" -- REO again
But what a hell of a set of changes she's rolling with. Why has she stopped kicking this man's ass? Because he's going to be here when she's ready to roll with the changes. Oh, okay, handsome. So let's get married. Okay!

Wedding:
"Cymbeline" -- Loreena McKinnitt
And then he dies.

Paying the Dues:
"Mamma Mia" -- ABBA
"Just one look and I can hear the bells ring. One more look and I forget everything." So I guess she's fallen in love with another guy. Which means she's going to pay and pay.

The Night Before The War:
"Hold On Loosely" -- .38 Special
This story's gone all to hell now. Let's try another song.
"Candle in the Wind" -- Elton John (the Live in Australia one you'd hear in the late '80's.)
That's more like it. General musing on mortality and looking at soldiers' pictures here.

Final Battle:
"Circle in the Sand" -- Belinda Carlisle
Can't we get something a little more, I don't know, monumental?
"On the Shoreline" -- Genesis
"Well, there's a place where two world collide, something something against the pull of the tide. You can stay with your feet on the ground. Or step into the water, leave the dry behind on the shoreline. Where you can only swim if you try!" So she's grappling with the bad guy at the ocean's edge for offing her man at her own wedding!

Moment of Triumph:
"White Lightning" -- George Jones
Which is a song about drinking moonshine. Try again!
"Oh Death" -- Ralph Stanley
So they all get killed, including the MC. The moonshine still at the ocean's edge apparently blew up. And death triumphs once again!

Death Scene:
Um ... Already handled that.

Funeral Song:
"Hells Bells" -- AC/DC
OMG! I swear to God that's what came up!

End Credits:
"Delia's Gone" -- Johnny Cash
"Delia, oh Delia, Delia all my life. If I hadn't shot poor Deila, I'd a-had her for my wife. Delia's gone, one more round, Delia's gone."

Well, that movie went all to hell!

This 'n that.

2006-10-13T19:49:00.000-07:00

My work day was done, technically, and I was putting on my coat and about to race out the door when one of the artists said, stick around a minute, I'm printing out some corrections. So here I am, writing a few lines in the blog while I wait for him to get them to me. Well, at least they'll be done. Though I'm sure I'll see these pages again on Monday with totally new corrections to make.

The other day I actually had some time to write at work, and boy, what a relief it was. (They'll let you do whatever you like if there's no work sitting on your desk -- real nice workplace I got here.) Like I've been saying (or complaining), with Symphonians it's one step forward and two steps back. I had been working on the second-to-last scene, but then I ended up jumping back 40 pages from the end to fix up Kay's attitude. Carter had just attempted suicide -- a cry for help? A bid for attention? A way to trap her? -- and her actions directly afterward were bothering me. A guy takes pills in front of you -- that's going to detonate a depth charge in your soul. But at the same time it really drives home the realization that she's got to get out of the relationship. So I was able to work on Kay's turning point, and now I feel a little better. I'm not totally satisfied with it, but I'll just keep working on it.

Remind me to tell you about that Anthony Gomes concert we went to last weekend, it was a blast.

Ninety years ago next week....

2006-10-06T10:37:00.000-07:00

It was about this time, ninety years ago, that my great-grandparents eloped. I never knew they eloped until one of their friends' daughters told me the story. They lived in Holt County; I found their marriage certificate two counties to the south. Her brother didn't know, their son didn't know, nobody knew they did this!

What was really interesting was that my great-grandfather, who was a good Christian and really walked the line, said on the sheet that he was 21 years old. Actually he was 16 and Grandma was 17.

I ended up writing part of a story about it, and I'll post a bit of it here.

October 1916

Rose walked out of the hot kitchen of the boarding house for a moment, rubbing flour off her fingers, shaking it out of her hubbard. It was a misty, drizzly day. The mist caused the wood smoke smell to hang low over the small river town. Down the street, clanging like a distant bell came from the blacksmith’s, then stopped. So quiet out. An old yellow tom, his winter coat thick as an old coon’s, meowed as he stepped toward her. A slight cool breeze touched her face, but it wasn’t cold enough to freeze the rain or turn her breath into vapor.

A loud cardinal at the top of a walnut tree ran through all its songs. Sourdough bread scent leaked out of the screen door behind her. Though rainy Saturday afternoons are dreary, written in a minor key, it’s still beautiful, despite the yellow October grass and skeletal back trees and white sky. A steam train bellowed several miles away, probably at Marti’s crossing. That meant it was about 11:45. Back to work, Jonas is on his way. She smiled.

Inside the kitchen, lit by oil lamps, Grandma was placing some wood on the fire, arranging the logs to keep the heat as even as possible around the oven, where the bread was baking. Noodles in red sauce bubbled on top of the stove. Grandma shut the fire door and wiped her face with a man’s handkerchief.

Grandma had run the boarding house for several years, ever since Grandpa had died of a stroke out in the fields. Rose had been helping for the last year, receiving a measly payment for her efforts. “About time you got back in here,” Grandma said, stirring the red noodles, scraping the bottom of the pot to keep the noodles from burning. “Now get those dishes washed.”

Rose got the tin dishpan, put it in the sink under the small pump, and began pumping. Freezing well water splashed down. Rose sighed. The whole world outside was so beautiful, but she had to stay in this cramped, hot kitchen and listen to Grandma’s complaints. She could not understand how her mother could stay so patient with Grandma. Mother had faith in God and the sweetest temperament she’d ever seen. But Rose wanted to lash out against Grandma – indeed, against this small world that kept her locked in. She didn’t want to plod along like Ma did, like cattle in harness.

At least there was Jonas, and their secret.

Jonas rode up on his sorrel horse with the white face. Her heart fluttered to see him. He was a stocky young man with curly blonde hair, and wore droopy work overalls as all the men did. He slid off the horse and tied it up as the horse tugged at the rope with short jerks of his head. His sorrel was one that, if he didn’t like what he was tied to, would look around and take off.

Rose smiled, giddy, and brought the hot rolls to the table just as Jonas walked in, hanging his hat on the hooks by the door. Several other men from the fields or the businesses around town were also coming in. Jonas’s cool blue eyes met her and he gave her a secret smile. She blushed, smiled in return, then, abashed, hurried into the kitchen as the men, talking in their loud voices, began to seat themselves at table.

End! (for the moment)

Symphonians part 3!

2006-10-02T10:40:00.002-07:00

"What are you writing?"

I awoke to the real world to find Noel looking with curiosity at the Symphonians’ notebook.

"Oh, this and that," I stammered, trying to sound nonchalant as I quickly covered the scene with my arm. "I don't know. Sometimes I write any old thing in here. It's nice." I clutched my skull. I'm smart! Yet I talk like a cheerleader!

"You know, Kathy, I see you with that notebook, and more and more I think you ought to try out for Brain Bowl. I’m graduating next month, so I won’t be able to play any more. But you'd be perfect for the team. You obviously know how to concentrate, and you’re always hanging out in the library, so you’re not afraid of a little knowledge." Noel, holding his black fedora by its crown, lifted it a few inches and dropped it, lifted it and dropped it.

I squawked, "Really?" I cleared my throat. "I don’t know. It's obvious I can't talk."
"You're talking now."

"Yeah ... but talking's hard." Wow, did that ever sound dumb!

Noel put both arms on the table and leaned toward me, and I caught a whiff of spearmint gum. He chopped the table with the side of his hand as he spoke. "You have to learn some things to make talking easier. It's not easy for everyone. I learned because I had to." He leaned back in his chair. "Kathy, when I moved down here from Parnell in junior high, I didn't know anyone. So I made myself stand out from the crowd. I spoke to everybody, I remembered names, I complimented people. They paid attention. Now I'm beginning to reap the dividends. It was tough, though. I can't believe how cliquish these people are."

I nodded. "You got that right."

"Personally, I think you'd do well in Brain Bowl because you like research and you're smart. You've always got a book or a bass clarinet. Anyone who plays bass has got to have brains." There was a little wink in his voice.

I shrugged, though I was flattered. It would never be possible, though. It was too easy to look like an idiot in front of everybody. "Oh, I don't know," I said, being polite. "I'm doing all kinds of music stuff...." I glanced up and found his brown eyes full on mine, saw the little crinkles at their edges where he smiled. An electric current ran through me. Confused, I pushed up the sleeves of my cardigan. The library was warm as a strange tide rose in my chest, turbulent, wonderful, frightening. “I’m pretty busy,” I stammered, looking at my green notebook like some doofus.

“Have it your way,” Noel said, friendly.

He went back to his test. His brows lowered in thought as he frowned at his paper, his dark face intense, unguarded. Could he see how defenseless, how alone I am?

Yeah, maybe he'll pick you up and carry you away.

At once my imagination kicked into overdrive: Noel carried me out of burning houses, through war zones, rescued me from the mall during Christmas season.

The bell jangled: my lunch break was over. Reluctantly, I stood. Noel gave my arm a gentle squeeze, and I felt the warmth of his dark hand.

"See you later." Noel smiled at me. I longed to put my arms around him and AIEE don't think about that! And with one last confused smile in return I fled. I ran down the hall to Chorus, dodging students, my heart pounding, propelled by a giddy sense of doom. This is going to kill me! But I love it!

Yet I wanted to run down the hall with my arms open singing “Musetta’s Waltz” in a ringing operatic soprano, though my pipes would not have cooperated.

"It's just an infatuation," I told myself, knocking over students too slow to get out of my way, as my thoughts spun around Noel like a whirlpool. "Ignore it." Because my other infatuations had faded out after a year or two. This one would too. Simple as that.

Another part of me rebelled. Look, why are you so scared? Why can’t you be like a normal girl and go out with normal guys?

I didn’t have a good answer. So I squashed the voice like a bug. “That’s just the way I am,” I muttered, heading up the stairs back into the bandroom where the other Chorus students were gathering. “Deal with it.”

That’s not a valid reason any more, said the other voice, crawling out from under my metaphorical shoe. Why not change? Why not act like the rest of the world?

Shut up. I dropped a two-ton boulder on it and got out my choir music. I can't even take a hug, though I'd love a hug. They felt like an intrusion.

But that kind of love – sex – scared me even more. It wasn’t like I was going to have sex before I got married, anyway. Well, okay, not that I was even interested in getting married, either! So I’d be a virgin. I was curious, of course, and I mean really curious, but still, there’s nobody out there that I’d show myself naked to. Someone would see me with nothing on! Oh, God, that would be awful!

Besides, Noel’s a senior, and he’s going to graduate next month, so why bother? He has plenty of girlfriends to pick from. And I'm not good enough for him anyway.

That, I figured, was that.

Except I suddenly had an image of Jeremy, one of my Symphonians, tearing down the ice after the hockey puck, his blonde hair streaming out from under his helmet like Jagr’s. His blue eyes shone with the thrill of the chase. With a single slap shot – goal! And he did a double axle to celebrate.

Jeremy wasn’t afraid. So why was I?

(End chapter one.)

Symphonians part 2!

2006-09-28T12:40:00.000-07:00

After my usual two-second lunch, I hurried to the library to get some work done.

In my notebook my Symphonians waited for me. Through them I plunged into another world: something like the show “Friends,” only with instruments.

See, I’d always been pathologically shy, where it just scares me to speak to people. I had a horrible time my freshman year. I was so depressed and isolated that some days I didn’t wash my hair. I wore the same sweatshirt until the cuffs got all worn at the edges, and I could not approach people for anything. I had problems with bullies that year, too, and because people ignored it when the bullies heckled me. So, I created my own friends. The Symphonians were everything that friends should be – fiercely loyal, generous to a fault, always loving.

And now I was a junior. I’d found my feet – washed my hair, wore cotton tops and comfy jeans and white tennies, so I wasn’t a total wreck. I liked to think I look nice, no need to be a supermodel, but nice, and I smiled a lot at people. It was just the talking part that gave me fits.

I headed to my little table in the reference section. When I rounded the corner of the stacks, I stopped. Noel was sitting there, working on what looked like a makeup exam, black hair rumpled, his black fedora sitting next to his arm. Before I could look around for another table, he looked up with those dark brown eyes. "Hey, Kathy. Did you want to sit here?"

“Um, sure,” I said. “Thanks.” When I sat down, I scooted my chair a few inches away, hoping Noel didn't notice. I wanted to scoot over farther, but despite my discomfort I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. I pulled down the sleeves of my big cardigan (the library was freezing) and opened my green notebook, chewing my lip, and escaped into my work. Revisions, revisions, endless revisions. I loved ‘em, because I loved my people.

*

It was late. The concert was over, and most of the Symphony had gone home. Backstage, Roderick leaned on the piano, stuffing his tie into the pocket of his dress shirt while Jeremy and Penelope demolished another sonata. All three were still dressed in their black suits or dress, their regular concert attire. Penelope had black, curly hair that she wore loose around her shoulders, though she had it tied it back when she played her viola. Jeremy, who’d thrown his tie over his shoulder, his wavy blonde hair rumpled, was complaining about the way Penelope played her sonata, but the trumpeter wasn’t doing a very good job himself of showing her how it should be done. Jeremy gave up and began pounding out some Van Halen songs. Penelope covered her ears and rolled her eyes, but jokingly.

Roderick alone saw Violet heading toward the backstage door. Though Violet was about 25, about the same age as the three friends, tonight she walked like an old lady, with careful, small steps. Roderick thought, what does she do to herself to walk like that?

The three Symphonians were loitering around the piano, enjoying each other’s company and making a racket. It had been a while since Violet had loitered with them. That bothered Roderick. Has she stopped hanging around with us because I’m … interested in her? Violet was married. He’d never approached her. He had his reasons.

But to see Violet heading toward the back entrance in that dress like a black tulip, limping as if she hurt, stirred him. Now Penelope and Jeremy saw Violet, and he saw they all missed each other from the regretful, lingering looks they exchanged.

“Violet,” Roderick said. Saying her name made his blood leap in his veins. His dark hands tightened on the piano’s case. She turned, the dress flaring slightly around her ankles, and regarded him like a stray cat, ready to run.

Roderick waved her over. “Come here and hang out with us.”

“Yeah.” Jeremy eagerly leaned forward, arms crossed on the piano’s sill, to look around Penelope. Everything he did was with that boyish, wide-eyed enthusiasm, as if all his life was a variation of flying down the ice after a hockey puck. “We hardly ever see you any more. Where’ve you been?”

Violet, her clarinet case at her side, shrugged one shoulder so it touched her wavy brown hair. “I’ve been busy.” But Roderick thought that her face changed while she said it, as if she did not like being busy, whatever that entailed. Yet she took a step toward them. “Then again, it’s no fun being a hermit.”

“Play an upside-down etude for us,” Penelope pleaded, her brown eyes concerned as always. “It’s obvious that Jeremy and I can’t handle this instrument.”

“Yes, and it shows,” Violet said briskly. As if rising to the challenge, she came to the bench, her black dress swishing around her ankles. It had a fine, wide skirt to it that belled out as she walked: Roderick’s favorite. “Move aside, people.” And there was a spark of that ferocious Violet he’d always known. Roderick smiled.

Violet attacked the piano with grace, her fingers everywhere at once, something from Czerny’s School of Velocity. She fell into the music, her fingers flashing across the keyboard. Roderick loved to listen to her, as if the music was speaking to him. Then Violet played “Old MacDonald Had a Farm” in the style of Chopin, grinning. She messed around with Chopin etudes. First it was “Paradise City” by Guns ‘N Roses in Chopin’s style, then some Green Day, then “The Thrill is Gone” by B.B. King. The Symphonians cheered and made jokes, and Violet bantered back. She caught Roderick’s eye and grinned, which made him feel like he could lift a car off the ground. Something passed between them, a spark that he saw leap in her eyes.

(Today I could feel the emotions leaping between Roderick and Violet like living things, intense. Why was my heart pounding as I revised this scene? Why was I feeling so self-conscious as I scribbled more notes in the margins?)

As if abashed, Violet ducked her head to the keyboard. Her music suddenly turned terrible, jarring, filled with what sounded like wrong notes, except there were no right notes.

“What in the world is that?” Penelope raised her head like a displeased queen.

Roderick watched Violet frowning over the keyboard. From where he stood, he could not see her hands at work, only the sweet movement of Violet’s body as she chased down the notes. “It’s from the opera Wozzeck,” Roderick said. “It’s the final so-called aria after Wozzeck kills his cheating wife and the man she was with.” Roderick’s stepfather used to play in an opera orchestra.

Violet spared him a sidelong glance, then turned her eyes back to the keyboard before anything else could pass between them. “So-called aria, my foot. It’s good music, so deal with it. Besides, that’s how the world is.”

“Not necessarily,” Roderick said lightly, wishing she’d look at him like that again. “Maybe there is such a thing as a happy ending.”

“Ha!” Jeremy cried, leaning on the piano. “Cooper, when have you ever thought that?”

“Don’t want to hear it, Richardson,” Roderick muttered.

But just then Violet glanced at the clock – and stood bolt upright, so fast that the piano bench tipped slightly. The piano fell silent. “He’s right,” Violet said, grabbing her purse. Was that fear in her face? And what brought that on? She’d been there for only a half-hour. “I can’t stay,” Violet said. “I gotta go. I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to miss my ride.” Violet raced out the door, her black dress flaring behind her.

Everyone stared after her. Roderick was floored.

Penelope said, “Did we offend her?”

Jeremy shook his head. “I don’t think so. She’s probably just late.”

But Roderick stared at the door, which was still slowly closing, was nearly closed, after her swift exit. That fear on Violet’s face was way out of proportion to missing a ride.

The first installment of The Symphonians!

2006-09-26T18:40:00.000-07:00

Hey guys!

On a lark, I thought I'd start serially posting my novel The Symphonians, bit by bit. I figure that by the time I've posted the whole thing, I will have achieved publication. It's 338 pages long, so settle in.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1 – JUST ANOTHER HEART IN NEED OF RESCUE

Concert band finished early, so there was time to talk before the next class began. As I headed to the instrument room with my bass clarinet, I saw three girls crowded together reading the same romance novel. They’d wait until everyone had finished the same pages before turning to the next page. Romance! I rolled my eyes. Just look at that cover, I thought. The man had conveniently lost his shirt, so he was able to show off his firm six-pack abs. And he had absolutely no chest hair. Maybe he had his chest waxed. I wondered if he’d screamed like a baby when they ripped the wax off. And the woman’s dress looked ready to fall off at the slightest touch. Man and woman strained toward each other, lips parted expectantly, their long locks (his black, hers blonde) rippling in some kind of gale-force wind. Tangle city. Ha!

And then I realized three pairs of eyes glared at me over the top of the romance novel. Whoops. I stopped chortling and slunk away to the instrument room.

The instrument room was crowded and warm, and it smelled like one of the freshmen went too heavy on the perfume, but I pulled in my elbows as I swabbed out my bass clarinet, singing quietly. I watched the adjoining tuba room from the corner of my eye. When Noel set his tuba, bell-down, in its place, I smiled at him, then ducked my head like some goofball.

“Morning, Kathy.” Noel came over to the partition dividing us and set his dimpled chin on it. His bodiless head looked like a serving of John the Baptist. I liked that comparison -- until I thought of dancing to him like Salome. I had to duck my head again. Hi! I’m a fire engine!

Jo, putting up her trumpet, saw Noel’s head sitting there without its body. She shrieked, "Don't do that!" and ran out.

"You look seriously spooky like that," I ventured shyly. It was suddenly getting warm. I pushed up the sleeves of my cardigan.

Noel's disembodied head gave me a Cheshire cat grin, his dark-brown eyes crinkling. "I know. That’s why I do it … hey, Kathy, has anyone told you you're kind of sexy?"

More blushing! Lots of it! "I am not!" I made as if I would bop him with the neck of the bass. Noel ducked, bonking his chin against the partition. He said stuff like that to girls all over school and put his arms around their shoulders. As far as I could tell, though, he wasn’t a player, just a nice guy. Noel had even given me a friendly hug a few days ago, which I liked, but at the same time made me shrink into myself. Still, never in a million years would I be . . . oh, even the word made me blush! "Besides, I'm a hermit. I mean a Kermit. No, I do mean hermit. Don't I?" I put my hand over my face and giggled insanely.

"You’re kind of cute when you get flustered. Come on, let’s get together and ‘do the things that lovers do.’"

“Er … read books, right?” I squeaked.

“Naw. Fight.”

I laughed, embarrassing myself more when I snorted like a pig. Noel gave me a “bye y’all” wave and left. I snorted some more just to make fun of myself. Oh, it would be so nice to have my brain attached to my mouth!

Me? Sexy? Ha! I closed the bass case.

Still, a few months ago Noel had taken off his fedora, leaving his black hair all rumpled, and asked me to the Christmas dance. It wasn’t a big deal, just a small-town school dance, but I’d had a few random daydreams about going. When he asked me, I thought, here’s my chance! Except I lowered my eyes to hide my standard four-alarm blush and stammered, “I’m not the type to go out with guys.”

Noel tried to smile and be a good sport. “You don’t go out with any guys? Or just guys like me?”

"I'm sorry! Just any guys! Or gals," I added, even more flustered, realizing how I’d sounded with my declaration. That kind of talk around here can get you walloped upside the head with a Bible. “I mean, it’s nothing against you, really. You’re nice.”

"I’m nice.” Noel melodramatically clutched his heart as he headed up the hall. "Thanks, Kathy. Just rub that salt into the wound."

Cringe.

That took place four months ago and I was still vexed at myself. I really didn’t want to hurt Noel’s feelings. Social occasions made me feel awkward. Also, I’d never been out with anybody, ever, so I don’t know what the heck I would do with myself. They need to have manuals for high-school juniors who have never been on a date, never kissed a guy, so when they do go on a date, they won’t look totally stupid. Though I would be embarrassed to buy a book that says, “I’ve never gone out with actual men!"

I closed my bass case and clicked the latches shut. A strange, suffocating feeling descended like a cloud over my heart. I went to the door of the instrument room. Noel had gone to the percussion section to join several students in a game of Speed. They had turned the big bass drum sideways and were slapping cards down on it, fwip fwip fwip, then lunging to grab the stack. “Welcome to Fiasco High School, home of the Debacles!” one of them shouted, and the others laughed. I loved to watch them. I wished I could join them, but I never knew what to say.

Why this unhappy feeling? It felt hard to breathe.

I shook my head and left the instrument room. I must be coming down with something; I would take a zinc lozenge just to be safe.

The morning sky was dark with a thundercloud. The windows were open, letting the humid April wind whistle in and cool the heat of so many bodies crowded in the bandroom. Northwest Missouri was always humid. Rain sprinkled the new spears of grass that pushed through last year's dead blades. Lightning flashed as maples lashed under steel-grey clouds.

Just then the lunch bell rang. Students buzzed around the bandroom, gathering books, putting away nail polish and CD players. Noel picked up his backpack, chatting with his friends. A black fleck bit my heart like a bit of sub-zero emptiness.

I dug my Symphonians notebook out of my backpack and impulsively hugged it to my chest, but this time it didn’t seem to do the trick.

Where were you when the world stopped turning?

2006-09-11T15:52:00.000-07:00

I was working as the horticulturist for Parks. I'd just stopped by one of the baseball fields and checked on some trees that needed work. I was heading out to City Hall and tuned in NPR. They were doing a several-part series on what George W. had been doing for education. "Ha!" I said. "This'll be interesting." Just then they broke in with news that a plane had flown into the WTC. I was like, That pilot must have been blindfolded. How the hell do you crash into a building like that?

Got down to City Hall, turned up the radio, left the truck door open, started weeding geraniums. And then they reported that the second plane had crashed into the second tower. And I just went really still and thought, oh. They did that on purpose. And I wondered what the heck we were in for. And I thought, Well, I guess I'm not going to hear the rest of that education report.

Switched stations on the radio all morning, finally settled on an ABC affiliate with Peter Jennings, who I like, and heard about the tower coming down, something that I could not imagine until I went home for lunch to cuddle my little girl, who was three months old, and saw the footage on TV, and it was awful. My dad was a war baby, I was a war baby, and now my girl was born into a war.

The two-way radio at work was silent all day. Some folks came outside from City Hall to pray. All the blinds in the windows were closed. I was wondering what kind of plane would be able to clear Museum Hill and hit a three-story building. But all day I pulled weeds as best I could and listened to the radio. There was no place on the dial that was playing any music: just dire news pouring out of the speakers. Blue sky, lovely weather, little sparrows hopping around under the truck. So weird. Then after work, horrendous lines at the gas pumps, and I sat in them.

But several days later, when the Daily Show came back on, Jon Stewart said, "No, humor is not dead," and my husband and I cheered.

So where were you?

Checking in!

2006-09-07T19:07:00.000-07:00

I'm not dropping out or anything. I've just been doing a lot of overtime over at the Angus Journal. I saw that my name is already on the masthead of the most recent issue. How about that!

So far it's been proofing sale books all day. But I really like proofreading. It's nice and quiet, I do my best to be sure all the info is accurate, and sometimes you have to do a little detective work. Also they give you breaks and quite a few folks will go outside and walk for 15 minutes and I go with them, and I've noticed that the little pooch in my tummy seems to have shrunk a little bit, though the scale says I'm still the same weight. But I do like walking.

The main drawback is that I'm stuck in a chair all day. Sometimes I stand up while I'm proofing just to get out of the chair. I wish there were a way I could proof while jumping up and down, but I doubt that my cubicle-mate would care for that. Also it would look weird.

BUT if I find myself falling asleep at the desk, I go make hot tea (yum!). And if that doesn't work, I'll go to the basement and run a few wind sprints, and that usually does the trick.

Music! Sweet music! Music everywhere!

2006-09-02T19:17:00.000-07:00

Current music:

O Holy Night -- John Berry

A meme I found over at That Girlie Girl's page. And though I need to be working on the story I gave in because it's about MUSIC.

**********

Open iTunes/iPod or Windows Media Player to answer the following. Go to your library. Answer, no matter how embarrassing it is.

How many songs? 864 on my playlist, 3188 songs when I include my husband's list.

Sort by artist:
First artist: ABBA
Last artist: ZZ Top

Sort by song title:
First: 'Deed I Do -- Jay McShann
'Round Midnight -- Theolonious Monk

Last: Zimmer Imagines Heaven -- Paul Zimmer
Youth of the Nation -- POD

Sort by time:
Shortest Song: Let Me Be Your Hog -- Weird Al Yankovic (:16)
How Poetry Comes to Me -- Gary Snyder (:17)

Longest Song: Le Boeuf Sur le Toit (The Ox is on the Roof) -- Darius Milhaus (18:45)
Macarthur Park Suite -- Donna Summer (17:36) whoo!

First Album: '80's Soft Sides with "Hold Me Now" (Thompson Twins)
Last Album: Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow (Kenny Loggins)

First song that comes up on Shuffle: "Sweet Dreams" by Air Supply
Then "She Still Thinks I Care" -- George Jones

Top songs played on the computer --
29 plays for "A Song for You" -- Ray Charles
29 for "Let Me Be Your Hog" -- Weird Al Yankovic
26 for "Brick by Brick" -- Kelley Hunt (my daughter likes that one and me too)
26 for "Simon Smith and His Amazing Dancing Bear" -- the Muppets (I play it for me; my girl's ambivalent about it; she prefers "Manah Manah")
26 for "Shining Star" -- Earth Wind and Fire

How many songs come up when you search for "sex?"
1 -- "All My Pretty Ones" -- Anne Sexton

How many songs come up when you search for "death?"
1-- "O Death" -- Ralph Stanley

How many songs come up when you search for "love?"
66, including "That's the Way Love Goes" by Merle Haggard, "We Live for Love" by Pat Benetar, "Never my Love" by Kurt Elling, and "Sailing" by Christopher Cross (??)

How many songs come up when you search for "you?" 86
Including "If You Could Read My Mind" -- Gordon Lightfoot

How many songs come up when you search for "why?" 6
Including "Don't Ask Me Why" by Asleep at the Wheel and "Why Do I Love You?" by Kelley Hunt

How many songs come up when you search for "God?" 4
Including "Thank God and Greyhound You're Gone!" by Roy Clark

How many songs come up when you search for "crazy?" 2
"I Go Crazy" by Paul Davis and "Crazy Love" by Poco

How many songs come up when you search for "Certified Angus Beef!"
I just stuck that in there.

How many songs come up when you search for "f***?" 0, duh.

High school meme!

2006-08-17T20:46:00.000-07:00

Sheesh, I can't believe I'm doing this meme. Oh well, first time for everything.

HIGH SCHOOL
1. Who was your best friend?
Probably Kelly Neel. We didn't talk a whole lot but I really liked her and she was so nice to me. I didn't really have a best best friend since I was so self-conscious and afraid of rejection.

2. What sports did you play?
Ha ha! Jumping to conclusions.

3. What kind of car did you drive?
A 1976 Toyota Corolla station wagon, but being a Toyota it was a short one.

4. It's Friday night, where were you?
At home trying to write something, or listening to the radio. I never went out. Or practicing hymns at church, or figuring out new registrations for the organ and figuring out how to play it.

5. Were you a party animal?
Ha ha! No.

6. Were you considered a flirt?
Like I talked to people!

7. Ever skip school?
Nope. I was scared that something terrible would happen if I did and I would be banned for life, or some damn thing.

9. Were you a nerd?
I was too shy and quiet to be a nerd. But I was a band geek, playing bass clarinet, piano, tenor sax (briefly), and singing alto. Does that count?

10. Ever get suspended/expelled?
No. I did get into a fight with a girl in the library once, though. She was saying mean things to me, and I think I was leaving, but then this troublemaker kid threw gum in my hair, and I thought she did it, so I rushed her and the next thing I knew I was in a headlock. But I didn't get suspended, probably because I had no record.

11. Can you sing the Alma mater?
Yes, all of it.

12. Who was your favorite teacher?
Mrs. Tucker, my English teacher. She'd read my stories and share Tennyson and other good writers with me. She always had time to talk. So maybe she was my best friend.

13. Favorite class?
Band. Also English Lit was fun. I could recite the beginning of Canterbury Tales in Middle English (I'd recorded Garrison Keillor reciting it on "A Prairie Home Companion" during one of his monologues and got the text and learned how to do it.). And lit was just my thing.

14. What was your school's full name?
Savannah High School

15. School mascot?
A Savage. (Sorry.)

16. Did you go to Prom?
No. Like I'd go to a dance, or go out with boys. And paying MONEY to go to a dance? Are you kidding? What's the big deal about prom, anyway? I didn't miss it. I was like a nun or something.

17. If you could go back and do it over, would you?
You know, I say no, but then again, I want to, because I'd like to know how much I'm getting right about myself as a high schooler in my stories and where I'm off the mark. I feel like there's so much I'm forgetting about being a high schooler, and I wish I could go back and relive it. But then I'd be violating the Prime Directive and changing everything based on what I've learned since then. Shoot, I could go back and shout down those girls who used to give me hell in gym class, and I'd go to the people who wanted friends and befriend them and start a writer's group, and I'd come right out and tell my man that I was really interested in him, but I'd still write him letters. So hell yeah I'd go back!

18. What do you remember most about graduation?
When the class went to their seats, my friend and I got in the wrong row, but while everybody had their heads bowed for the prayer, we ran over to the right spots.

19. Favorite memory of your Senior Year?
Running around with the crazy guys in the school play. That was fun. Everybody would tickle Dexter behind the knees until he fell down laughing and I'd wade into the crowd to protect him. Making songlists and sound effects for the play. The pizza party we had afterward.

20. Were you ever posted up on the senior wall?
What's that?

21. Did you have a job?
I delivered the newspaper every morning to the residents of Nodaway. About 16 people. I did that since 1983-4. Senior year I got a job at the greenhouse, planting marigolds, tomatoes, and petunias and watering stuff.

22. Whom did you date?
I didn't date anybody, not until I started college. But I did fall in love with a few people. But I fell in love with this one guy on 31 March 1988, just before he graduated, so I visited him at Wal-Mart and wrote him letters. Finally he got a clue. We got married in 1995, so that worked out.

23. Where did you go most often for lunch?
I'd eat real fast in the cafeteria, then run over to the library and read.

24. Have you gained weight since then?
Duh! About 20 or 30 pounds!

25. What did you do after graduation?
Went to NWMSU, pined away for my sweetie, got into a relationship with the wrong guy, he flunked out of college, I started going out with my sweetie, got a house to rent in Nodaway, got a cat.

26. Who was your crush?
I had a crush on several guys over the years. One was a exchange student from Sweden, one was a nice ag student, one was my man, one was a nice dark-haired guy.

27. When did you graduate?
1989! Fool.

Current Music: "The Promise" -- Wind in Rome

Working woman!

2006-08-17T02:31:00.000-07:00

Well, I'm now a working stiff. I took the proofreading job, though I regretted turning down the school jobs. The paycheck won me over: all three jobs paid approximately the same, but with the school jobs, I wouldn't be paid over the summer, and that freaked me out.

So now I look over sales listings for Angus cattle all day, which actually is kind of peaceful and quiet work, though I have to be careful not to strain my eyes. There are one or two few freaky things about the cattle industry, the freakiest being this constant mention of scrotal measurements and, um, semen. But keep in mind that if I were writing something directed toward rose breeders, they'd be talking about pollen constantly. These guys are just really into increasing their live stock. REALLY into it.

In other news, Symphonians has increased its characters of color -- including the main love interest, Noel. And Yvonne's Asian, and Roderick is part Spanish. It ain't much, but it's a start.

I have 36 pages left to revise before I send it off to one of my critique partners to critique. The way things have been going, that 36 pages is probably going to stretch out to close to 50 by the time I get done with them. The novel's already 336 pages long, and it's got me a little worried.

I'm getting off the computer before my eyeballs fall out.

Maybe too good.

2006-08-10T13:40:00.000-07:00

So me and the kid are heading down the aisles at Wal-Mart, picking up some mandarin oranges when my cell starts singing its song. I answer: It's the lady at the staffing agency. I'd been passed over for a proofreading job just a few days ago. Now they've decided to hire two people instead of one; could I start tomorrow or Monday? It's full time.

I chose Monday so I can get things ("things" being the kid) lined out tomorrow. But I'm a little torn. I'd like the HS paraprofessional job except this "you don't get paid all summer" thing is scary, and the HS job pays less than the proofreading job.

But I love to work with HS kids -- I get good story ideas from them. Proofreading would not be as good for my story -- stare at a computer all day and see how thrilled you are about sitting down at a computer when you get home.

And another worry ... this is a temp position. What if, after 90 days, they say, "Okay, things have leveled out now, we don't need two people filling this position" and then they let me go. School will have started by then, so no para position to fall into. Aiee!

I'll be asking a lot of questions and keeping the radar up, but I'll take the proofreading job. Fingers crossed.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch ... it looks like those storms they're having around Topeka are heading this way. We could use the rain! But gaah, you need gills to breathe outside, humidity feels like it's almost 100 percent. God bless air conditioning.

MUCH better now.

2006-08-09T20:40:00.000-07:00

Finally got hired for a paraprofessional position over at Lafayette HS. And the very same day I got an e-mail from somebody asking if I'd be interested in writing some articles for a horticultural business. So now I'm breathing more easily. I'm still a little on edge -- I still can't quite shake the feeling that I'm going to somehow get the rug pulled out from under my feet again -- but I'm hoping that as I get details ironed out that the feeling will subside.

In the meantime, I'm making good progress with Symphonians. I'm on the second-to-last chapter, which is somewhere around the 300-word mark (the novel at this time is 320 words long -- I'm going to need to cut stuff).

It just struck me that I've sped up the pacing in this last bit. Like I'm getting close to the end, and the closer I get, the more I go, "Hurry up, let's finish it!" and the scenes move faster than they should because of that.

I was also wondering if I should drop a lot of money and have Eileen at Firstpages give me an overview of the MS. To have her expertise would help. But I keep telling myself, "Why spend all that money if I can do it myself?" Or I could send it back to FSG and get another reader's report for free, though it would take a while. And I want so badly to move on to another novel. I'm sitting on so many stories I'd like to work on. And there' s one story I want to get started on.

I want to retell Dante's Vita Nuova from a different framework -- not the usual medieval European fantasy backdrop, but from a different worldview, like from a Native American view. Ages ago, there was a huge Mississippian city near where St. Louis is today. Why not set up a fantasy on this side of the ocean? But I'm going to mix up the mythological backgrounds somewhat, so I can play around with stuff more. And I'm going to make all the characters black or tan. I want to bust up all the fantasy cliches I can.

But boy, it's hard to write up a fantasy when you move outside the template. My mind keeps wanting brick buildings and narrow cobblestone streets like they have in Europe. And I'm like, No, I want to do it differently!

So we'll see how that goes.

Not so good today, though.

2006-08-04T11:02:00.000-07:00

The interesting thing about this depression is that my Symphonians novel is dealing with depression as well as symphony musicians, lovestruck shy people, responsibility, ethics, etc. And I'm seeing that the way I'm handling my depression now is different than the way I would have handled it back in high school and college.

Mainly it's the fact that I have my kid here. I must bestir myself and be sure she's fed, control my snappishness and irritablility, and not turn into a lump the way I'd like to. In the old days, I would have just given in to my sad mood and laid around and been mopy. But I also recognize, though virtue of past experience (!! should have been a college prof), that to be a lump all day is not getting anything done, is not good for me. But the kid's really been a motivating factor to get over this depression.

I can't hide it from her that I'm depressed; that would be stupid. It's kind of hard to miss that I'm depressed: I lay myhead on the table during suppertime and mumble a lot and I don't smile constantly as I usually do. So if I told my kid, "I'm fine!" that would not be keeping it real, as Carl Rogers says. Relationships must be honest, feelings must be acknowledged. I tell her I'm not feeling well, that I'm depressed, and that means I'm sad and mopy a lot, but I've seen the doctor and I'm doing the things she told me to do because I want to get better and get zany and smiley again.

Not to mention that depression is a general pain in the ass.

But I've been writing down how I feel in hopes that these feelings will be useful in the novel. Might as well get some good out of it.

Getting better.

2006-08-03T20:20:00.000-07:00

Got that Genesis song playing, "It's Gonna Get Better," and finally. Went to the doc today to get this depression taken care of, and now I'm starting to feel better. Also ran around with my husband today and we got some stuff done, and now I'm feeling like I want to run errands and get things done again. It's nice how something so simple can have such a big effect. But boy, I don't want to crash like that again, it's been ages since I felt that low.

Also on the bright side, I've been able to work a lot on the Symphonians story because of this depression. Concentrating on getting the words written, trying to visualize scenes, and making word choices has really helped me when my brain just wouldn't leave off. I have moved ahead so fast. I have left behind the omnipresent Chapter 16 (at last I realized that I needed to cut the last five pages and replaced them with a half-page of strong text and I was DONE with that) and now I'm working on Chapter, I don't know, 25 (I keep adding in chapters and switching chapters around so I don't know where the heck I am). Anyway, it's the third chapter from the end. Yay!

Anyway, more progress.

I need an antidepressant.

2006-08-01T14:37:00.000-07:00

Gloom, despair , and agony on me!
Deep, dark depression, excessive misery!
If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all.
Gloom, despair, and agony on me!

I hate when I don't win stuff. And I know it's the synopsis that got me. Remember how agent Regina Brooks told me, "Girl, your synopsis is confusing as heck!" I'm sure that's what happened here. Where's the bourbon!

And the job search sucks! And my old cat died and I still feel sad! And I can't figure out where $100 of my money went the other day! Not that I need it, ha ha! But on the bright side, my kid's over at her friend's house playing, and I can work. And my critique buddies Shevi and Angela won stuff. So that's nice. I'm really, really, really trying to be happy but I'm afraid that right now I'm in this Anne Lamott funk.

I just need to do a little primal scream therapy and then I'll feel better. And also find that $100.

Edit 10 minutes later -- The credit union just called -- they're going to fix it! They're going to credit my account! That's so nice of them!

So one thing is going right.

Progress!

2006-07-31T09:03:00.000-07:00

Finally, I’m getting somewhere. Remember that “let’s write a half-ream on my characters” thing, where I ran screaming into the street? Guess what, it’s starting to work! Even though I have only 39 pages so far.

I have also been think a lot about Kay’s motives in Carter’s character sketch, since I am still having a hard time understanding how she could be so generous to Carter while on some level realizing that this whole relationship was not working out.

Now that I have some momentum, I’m starting to enjoy this delving into character. And the Rogers quotes are really helping out by giving me a number of starting points.

What's even better is that this weekend, the inlaws ran off with my daughter, and since my husband was at work, I had the whole house to myself. Well, me and the mopy bulldog. And I was finally able to make progress on the novel itself. I am now done with chapter 16 for good (at the present time of course)! Got two new chapters arranged and written. Oh! Do you know how good that feels? I buzzed through a few chapters (I'm trying to get this out the door for a critiquer) and now I'm on chapter 25, "Vortex of Swans." So, yeah, I'm feeling better.

Here's a little excerpt, just for fun. It's a Carter and Kay scene today.

That night, he told me about his 'dark side.' Told me how much he needed me to help him fight his demons. He believed I could do it, because oh how he loved me, and he knew I loved him too.

I loved the nobility of my sacrifice. I would be an angel, wrapping my wings around him, though I wore the ashes of my old love on my forehead, invisible and pure. I would raise him up, I would make him a new man, I would save his life.

Except the next morning I woke up depressed. At breakfast I shunned people and glowered at my cereal alone. I kept going over last night, hoping to revive that sunshine-and-roses feeling I’d had, but my heart was too busy sinking through the ocean to help. Why had I nearly fainted when he told me that story? Out of pity? Why that excited laugh from Carter?

After breakfast, I came out of the Union. The sunlight slanted through the sycamores like light through a cathedral, and through dapples walked Carter, wearing his black overcoat because it was a little chilly. He smiled and changed his path to meet me. As I walked toward him, I opened my arms to honor his pain.

Except I suddenly felt that my show was fake. That I was lying with my whole body. I fought to ignore it, to keep smiling, to keep my arms open. He was going to see that I honored him, that I would sacrifice myself for him, whether I liked it or not.

More on (trying to) find books of color.

2006-07-28T11:56:00.000-07:00

I just ran into Wawa Moore's post about checking out the huge display of YA books at Borders and not seeing a whole lot for people of any color, and how glaringly obvious this need is.

Let's get to work, people!

One woman facing down a sea of red.

2006-07-23T18:45:00.000-07:00

Here's a blog post I'm linking to so I can be sure to check it out in more detail later. Paula over at Paula's JORT (Journal of Random Thoughts) is talking about having received her editorial letter and marked up MS! Man, what a ride.

I'm thinking, oh this would be so cool! But then I'd have to do all that work. Waaah! I'm such a wuss.

Stop taking Harry Truman's name in vain.

2006-07-21T18:38:00.000-07:00

What is it with this damn president Bush who has to invoke Truman at every whipstitch? Every time Bush compares himself to Truman, I feel a rumble in the ground which is My Man From Independence, two hours down the road, spinning in his grave.

I was just reading this article from the Washington Post called "Hijacking Harry Truman," and totally agree with it. And I found myself adding a few more reasons why this dolt we call a president should be violently restrained from saying he's following Truman's footsteps.

First: this little issue of a war record. In WWI, Truman served as captain of Battery D of the 2nd Battalian, 129th Field Artillery. Served with distinction, always in the front lines with his soldiers even when all hell was breaking loose. And when WWII began, the 57-year-old Truman went to then-General Marshall to re-enlist. General Marshall said Truman would be better off staying where he was.

What did Bush do during Vietnam? To dodge the draft, he went to the Texas Air National Guard. He tested in the 25th percentile out of 100, then leaped ahead of thousands of other Guardsmen (thank God for special privilege) and was given a pilot's post.

Now, hello, Truman would have scorned such use of influence. Back in Kansas City, during the 20's, he worked with Pendergast, the city Boss. Pendergast helped Truman get elected as judge; he wanted a little favoritism in return. "The Boss wanted me to give a lot of crooked contractors the inside and I couldn't," Truman wrote.

"Didn't I tell you boys," Pendergast spouted, "He's the contrariest cuss in Missouri." And then Pendergast never asked Harry to do anything illegal after that.

As far as Bush's record on using influence to his profit, cripes don't get me started.

Second, let's look at Truman's record as a senator. When WWII started and the big corporations started dogging the Department of Defense for contracts at insane prices, Truman started up the Truman Committee to make sure the nation's money was spent wisely. His committee inspected war plants, army posts, and strenuously investigated defense production. They found companies producing faulty airplane engines and ships that broke in two, and made them pay. The Truman Committee's work may have saved the country at least $15 million.

Of course Bush saved the country more money. Somewhere. I don't know where, actually, but that doesn't matter, does it?

Then there's this issue of fighting a pre-emptive war. Guys. The Korean War was not pre-emptive. Communist North Korea marched on U.S.-occupied South Korea. Truman didn't want to start this, which he felt could escalate into WWIII, especially with Russia just waiting for their chance. War was the last thing he wanted.

And then General MacArthur wanted to make the war bigger, wanted to take on the Chinese as well. He wanted to drop atomic bombs on China. So of course Truman did.

No he didn't! He kicked MacArthur's ass out of Korea and replaced him with General Ridgeway! Got a lot of flack for that, but Truman didn't want a war on two fronts, didn't want a war that would create enormous deficits and loss of lives.

Just like George.

The kicker: in the 1948 presidential election, whose side would Bush have been on, Dewey's or Truman's? Hell, he would have voted for Dewey, of course, that arrogant old automaton who was too full of his own ideas to even talk with the common people. Bush would not have voted for Truman, he would have been too busy denouncing him with the rest of the press and the Republicans and the Dixiecrats.

Well, the feeling was mutual. Truman on Dewey, 1948:

"This soft talk and double talk, this combination of crafty silence and resounding misrepresentation, is an insult to the intelligence of the American voter. It proceeds upon the assumption that you can fool all the people -- or enough of them -- all the time."

Or on the Republican doctrine:

"If you can't convince them, confuse them."

Or Republicans in general:

"They dare not answer me. They are afraid to get on the issues. They talk about home, and mother, what a nice country it is, 'you can trust us.'

"You can't trust 'em."

And that just about sums it up, people!

Current music: "Where Are You, Harry Truman" -- Chicago.

Them that don't ask don't get.

2006-07-19T17:37:00.000-07:00

Got my contract for my article today, saying "Sign this here and we'll send you your check." Which made me feel dumb, because just yesterday I hassled my poor editor, saying, "Give me that big fat money!" Hit me with a brick.

But when I read the contract, I said, "Uh-oh." The first thing I ran across was the dreaded "hold harmless" clause. That's a clause that basically says that the author agrees to hold the Publisher harmless if a smackdown takes place because of something she's written. If the author agrees to such a clause, then it's the author who has to pay all legal expenses.

I mean, I can't imagine anyone's going to sue over this article. "OMG I hate legumes! I'm going to sue!" But when the world has gone mad, cover your ass.

And secondly I saw that the contract said I was selling all rights. Might this lead to trouble when I'm writing my soilbuilding book? Because I was going to discuss using alfalfa in the garden, and it's hard to know where the demarcation is between what is their article and their information and what would be mine. I'd just as soon not even go there.

So I called up the assistant editor in charge of contracts and said, "Hello! I got a contract today and wondered if I could strike a clause or two."

She said, "You can change anything you like."

"I'd really like to strike the 'hold harmless' clause." And then I got silly and said, "And also let's raise the payment to a million dollars, stat!"

She went off in gales of laughter. "I'd like to see legal when I send this contract over!"

"Okay, let's do it!"

But then we settled down, and she said she'd send me a new contract with the changes I'd requested. I'd get first rights, which revert back to me upon publication. (Note to legal: rights listed here are not actual rights until I sign said contract.)

This is going to slow my big fat money down by a few days, but I'll just have to put up with that.

Ha ha! The i-Pod is playing the theme from "Wonder Woman!" "In her satin tights, fighting for your rights!" That's so me! Except you'd never see me wearing satin tights, of course.

A little housecleaning.

2006-07-15T14:20:00.000-07:00

Taking a break from the house for a moment to check my e-mail (there is none; nobody loves me) and post. Miss Thang's birthday party is tomorrow, and she's going to be five. "Mommy, I can't wait!" she told me with the intensity of a little kid that's about to explode. She has also been alerting total strangers to the upcoming festivities, probably so they can bring a present too.

Except she's stomping down the hall right now going "Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas!" in a Santa voice. "Here's your presents!" She's pretty fun.

Got the kitchen and the living room finished. Still need to clean out the refrigerator, the bathroom, and re-clean up Sophie's room. In the course of cleaning the other rooms, all this stuff moved back there.

Going to totally skip the office and our bedroom. I'll keep those doors closed so I can just shove stuff out of sight, if necessary, at the last minute. Also my husband has some of his piles (some??!) back here and I am not even going to bother.

Back to the old grind.

Finally!

2006-07-13T20:10:00.000-07:00

I've been wanting to print off the first 50 pages of Part 2 of Symphonians for ages. At first I was like, "Let's not print yet, let's do as much as we can on the computer only." But then I hit this wall. In my mind, the scenes involving Carter all glommed together and everything ran together, and everything seemed like the same old damned thing, over and over and over.

Okay, so it was time to print. Except ....

Our computer that's hooked up to the printer at home freezes up every time I open MS Word. So I can't print off here. So I take the flash drive to the library to print it off there.

The first time, there are no computers available.

The second time, all I had was a $20 and the machine wouldn't accept it and the librarians had no change. Then before I could run to the post office to get change, the machines shut down because it was 15 minutes before closing time.

The third time, the computers were all full.

The fourth time, I got change. But I was 30 cents short. So I had to run and get it. And when I got back, the change machine had spit out my $5, all in quarters, so I had to redeposit all the quarters. Then it wouldn't accept my 30 cents. So I had to Cntr X several pages, print off the first part, then Cntr V those pages into a new document, and print those.

But the dang thing was printed. Hallelujah. I have GOT to get a job so we can get a printer that hooks up to my laptop.

Anyway, tonight my family went to sleep early, so I spread all 53 pages on the floor and walked about and made notes on overall structure.

I set them out by chapter, since I didn't have floor space for 53 pages all together. Chapter 16 turned out to have 25 pages. Chapter 17 had 16 pages, and Chapter 18 had 11 pages.

It was nice to see everything laid out so neatly on the floor. I could see how many pages each scene got. I could see more clearly the overall impetus of each chapter (if it had one). I could see if a block of pages had lost focus. Or a chapter, for that matter.

I found out that Chapter 16 was pretty strong. Chapter 17 sucked. Chapter 18 went by way too fast, since Kay sees Noel again, and that is rather significant. Yet only three pages out of 11 was devoted to that scene. Hm, more work.

So I feel better now that I have an idea of what needs work and what's in pretty good shape. So that was worth the hassle. Or anyway that's what I keep telling myself!

Music: "Baby Let Your Light Shine Down" by Collective Soul

Kirk Franklin and Stevie Wonder!

2006-07-10T17:41:00.000-07:00

I'm in love ....

Check out their song "Why" off Kirk Franklin's Hero album. Oh MAN. (When you click the link, scroll up just a little so you can access the Hipcast thingie. For some reason the link takes you to the middle of the comments page instead of the top.)

Get up and dance, y'all!

Ban this!

2006-07-08T19:58:00.000-07:00

Tip of the pen to Bookshelves of Doom for bringing this to light.

Seems that the Wilsona, Ca., School District is banning 23 books and bringing up rules that the library collection must abide by.

Books now cannot depict drinking alcohol, smoking, drugs, sex, including "negative sexuality," implied or explicit nudity, cursing, violent crime or weapons, gambling, foul humor and "dark content."

Well, that pretty much wiped out the collection. What's negative sexuality, anyway? Is that a grumpy prostitute? Do they write picture books about grumpy prostitutes now? I seem to be missing out on all the fun trends.

"We realize there might be a story about police, but that's not violent crime, that's police doing good," Superintendent Ned McNabb said. "There's no way you can take the judgment out of it. You frame it better so it's easier to know what the guidelines are."

Whew! So Officer Buckle and Gloria are safe ... but wait! Isn't that Gloria on the endpapers, smoking a cigarette? And there she is, playing in the microwave oven! And setting her tail on fire! And rolling the police car down the hill! This book has got to go.

Trustees said one rejected book contained an unsavory hero who was a bad role model for children; another was about a warlock, which they said was inappropriate; and others were books with which they were unfamiliar and didn't know whether they promoted good character or conflicted with textbooks.

Ban first, read later, maybe. That's the way to do it.

In their haste to get books off the shelves, some Clifford and Disney books got swept into the stack. But they'll put those back later, school officials said. However, Clifford, being a naked dog, will have shorts drawn onto his lower body. And Donald Duck ... what's with him, wearing a shirt but no pants??

The new policy states that library materials must be age-appropriate, taking into consideration the different maturity levels of district students who range in age from 5 to 14.
"For example, most of our elementary students are not dealing with issues of puberty and we do not want to encourage them to try to identify with characters that are," the policy states.

I love how they're trying to protect them from puberty. Makes it all better when the early developers suddenly get hit with it and don't know what the hell to do. (And some kids will start experiencing it in fifth or sixth grade, if I remember correctly.)

"Middle school materials may have a somewhat broader range of information. However, even at the middle school level, there can be a wide range of maturity. Materials for the middle school level should therefore be selected with appropriate limits in mind. An example: romance stories are out - puppy love is okay."

Yep! Puppy love sounds just right for the middle school student with a wide range of maturity!

*scratches head* But don't these school board members have any idea what these middle-school kids are watching on TV at home? And that you can get better, more truthful information about the world from a book? No, wait, books are out to exploit readers, make sex glamorous, make drugs and smoking glamorous. It's like those books with Sarah Jessica Parker and all her friends talking about sex. And there are all these giant explosions and long car chases everywhere in books. You read a book and it makes you get all hopped up and want to go out and wreck stuff.

And that's what happened to me. I read books all the time, and I always got in trouble. From Mom. Because I ... um. Because I spent so much time reading subversive books that I didn't do my chores.

*dead silence*

Um, yeah. I was a bad, bad girl.

On the CD player -- "Ballad of Waterhole #3 (Code of the West)" -- Roger Miller

Symphonians songlist!

2006-07-06T13:24:00.000-07:00

Many have asked me about the songs that keep popping up through my Symphonians novel.

Actually, nobody has asked me a damn thing, but that's not going to stop me from making a fool playlist of a lot of the songs that have shown up through the novel. And it's odd that a novel with Symphonians in it has so many blues/rock songs in it. But that's the way it's turned out.

Load this up on your i-Pods, people!

"Brick by Brick" -- Kelley Hunt
"Hurt" -- Johnny Cash
"Take Me For a Little While" -- Coverdale/Page
"Ordinary People -- John Legend
"Musetta's Waltz" -- Puccini
The final so-called aria from Wozzeck -- Berg
"Confessing the Blues" -- Jay McShann
"Roll 'Em, Pete" -- Count Basie
Holst's First and Second Suites (especially the Dargason Fantasy, which gets explicated)
"Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini" -- Rachmaninoff (the supernatural pianist is Ashkenazy)
Bach's Goldberg Variations (I like to use Bach to represent order, clockwork, etc.)
"Walking the Dog" -- Gershwin
"Nessun Dorma" -- Puccini -- performed by Aretha Franklin, of course!
(Puccini seems to pop up when there's a passion in the air.)
Verdi's Requiem -- the "devil chasing you to hell" part, the Dies irae.
"I Don't Care Anymore" -- Phil Collins
"Hand on Heart" -- Queensryche
Der Winterreise -- Schubert
"I Don't Know How to Love Him" -- Helen Reddy
"On My Own" -- Les Miserables
"We Tell Ourselves" -- Clint Black
"Rivera Paradise" -- Stevie Ray Vaughn and Double Trouble
"In the End" --Linkin Park
"Love Bites" -- Def Leppard
"Right Now" -- Van Halen
"Sleepers Wake" -- Bach
"Love Never Dies" -- Kelley Hunt

Songlists are fun.

Mr. Rogers to the rescue!

2006-07-05T20:36:00.000-07:00

Actually, that's Carl Rogers, the humanist psychologist who wants people to keep it real. I had his book On Becoming a Person for ages, and only this weekend did I pick it up and start reading. What I found was immensely helpful. New ways to look at motives, ideas on undertaking the quest for self-knowledge, and ideas on how people work and hide things from themselves. (And that hiding thing keeps popping up in the Symphonians, too.)

I've been typing quotes from the book to give myself some ideas. And now I'm wanting to read more books by more psychologists. I have a lot of Jung, though he's kind of obtuse and flighty. But I do have a book of Maslov's, so I'll tackle that next. I have read parts of Maslov's book ages ago, and I remember that his writing is pretty straightforward. Rogers tries to be straightforward but I still find myself reading parts of it over and over. However, I keep getting interrupted every whipstitch, so it's hard to keep the myriad parts in my head as I go.

I loved psychology in high school and college, so I'm really digging this text. Not to mention that, as a writer, I've got to understand how humans work, especially as they're so cussedly contrary about every damn thing, and nobody wants to easily understood, though they say they do. How can others understand them when they can't understand themselves? All the defenses we put up against ourselves. No wonder we can't connect with others; we can't even connect with our own true selves. Who is that in there? How do I find you? How do I find me?

As an added bonus, I get to question my own behavior, and try to figure out what her deal is. She wants so badly to be a writer, yet there are times, like recently, that she fritters away so much time, then complains about how she never has time to write. Tsk!

Quick update.

2006-07-03T10:53:00.000-07:00

Haven't heard anything back from the agent on the Rose Saga proposal. Maybe she has experienced a dental emergency. Just my luck.

Got all snarled up in Symphonians. In trying to write new scenes, I've started writing repetitious scenes. I'm trying to plot the course of this relationship but it seems to me to be the same things over and over: attraction/repulsion, I love you/run away, alas if only Noel could, etc.

I have to wonder: Am I following too closely the original relationship? I am using it as a framework, but on the other hand I do have to make up a lot of stuff since I don't have a lot of documentation for the first part of the relationship. I wrote up several month's worth of calendars to show what happened on what day, to try to see how the original relationship went, and I have these huge gaps everywhere. I even traveled to the guy's hometown but never mentioned it in my journal. Probably because I mentioned it in the other journal, the one he has and I don't. Oh, egad!

Basically I'm trying to get this new narrative to cover the months of September, October, and November, at which point I can hook up with the old narrative pretty well.

Also I'm trying to figure out what to say about life, love, relationships, and the world over those three months, and what scenes would best do the job. But then I get these repetitious scenes, as I have mentioned before.

Cripes, why can't I just get a cushy job as a soil scientist instead?

(Because you got a D in Dr. Gille's Soils class, that's why.)

I need to get to work and try to sort this madness out before my little family comes home. Wish me luck, y'all.

Here's a quarter, call someone who cares.

2006-07-03T10:51:00.000-07:00

The Who (singing): I'm free!
BRC: He's free, but I cost a nickel.

River rat.

2006-06-30T19:37:00.000-07:00

River in the rain
Sometimes at night you look like a long white train
Winding your way away somewhere
River, I love you, don't you care?

If you're on the run, winding someplace
Just trying to find the sun
Whether the sunshine, whether the rain,
River, I love you just the same.

But sometimes, in a time of trouble
When you're out of hand
And your muddy bubbles roll across my floor
Carrying away the things I treasure
Hell, there ain't no way to measure
Why I love you more than I did the day before ...

River in the rain
Sometimes at night you look like a long white train
Winding your way away from me
River, I've never seen the sea.

-- Roger Miller, "River in the Rain," from the musical Big River

Love that song. Been playing it a lot lately -- because this is flood season? Or because I'm such a river rat?

I list my hometown as Nodaway though I actually live in Savannah. Nodaway is located at the junction of the Nodaway and Missouri Rivers.

The river appears in every novel I write. I can't resist. It's come to symbolize the boundary of heaven, because all my life I've stood on the hills that surround my little town and look out across the floodplain to the hills of Kansas, blue with distance. I have never traveled to the Kansas hills to stand and look back at my home. It's a view I've never seen.

All through my childhood, the river's paid us visits. 1979, the year the ice floes backed up behind the railroad bridge, my first flood. We had just gone to Savannah to Grandma Ann's when the water came into Nodaway, so we ended up camping out there. Then I believe there was one in '81, and maybe a short one in'85. The river made it to the edge of the yard in '79, but no closer.

Then there were the floods of legend.

The great flood I always heard about was 1951. The river was five miles across. Dad, who was about five or six, made a raft and invited Uncle Harold, who was blind, to take a ride. Uncle Harold knew better. Great-grandpa Ben, who worked for the Corps of Engineers, drove a big boat right up the main street and hitched it to the front of the store, which was built about five feet off the ground.

1993 was my flood.

I was going to college and living in the house where I'd lived when a kid. Every few days, as the waters rose, the route out of town changed as yet another road went under. Every day I could smell the stagnant, brown water. I finally had to evacuate when the water, which had stayed at the edge of the yard before, now crept up to the front door, to the windows. My coneflowers and delphiums floated in the murk. I had to get my stuff and leave. I did it, though I hated to.

The waters never came into my house, which was fortunate. The main street, however, was devastated. Grandpa Vance floated by Uncle Harold's house in the canoe and cleaned the leaves out of the gutters. Aunt Olga's house had to be torn down. Nodaway's population dropped from 50 to about 36.

There's this point of pride a river rat has, this relationship with the river that fills their home with mud and silt and mildew. "Can't chase us out," they say affectionately, looking out at the water. "The river's our home. We ain't leaving."

But I left. Live in a nice town. I can walk to the library; doesn't that count for something?

But I still want to go back and live in Nodaway. Live within sight of that river, live at the edge of heaven.

I love small-market radio.

2006-06-24T20:08:00.000-07:00

See, in KC, just about all the radio stations are owned by corporations. It's either Entercom, Susquehanna, or Cumulous, all up and down the radio dial. We have three light-rock stations (two in KC, one in Topeka) that I've stopped listening to, because they all play the same stuff. Five songs by Rod Stewart, six by Billy Joel, ten by Elton John. I'm going, guys, these musicians have had a long and varied history in which they've created tons of good songs. It's not like you have to play "Captain Jack" by Billy Joel, but can you mix it up a little?

Though KYYS, which is owned by Entercom, will have shuffle weekends where they play all kinds of crazy stuff, and I do like that. However, I'm pissed off at Entercom because four years ago they mismanaged the classical station into the ground (fired the staff that I'd been listening to for years and got DJ's that didn't know how to pronounce Ralph Vaughn Williams, for example) and then banished it to the AM dial and replaced it with "The Buzz." I'll give them a buzz. Here are your Arbitron ratings right here, Jerky Breath!

But I digress.

Small-market stations -- radio stations that serve a small area -- are my solace. There was a great one out of Clinton, Mo., that I could sometimes pull in. One night they played "Madman on the Water" by Elton John, "Angry Young Man" by Billy Joel, and "Synchonicity II" by The Police. Damn, what a lineup! I heard they'd also mix up Beach Boy tunes with Motley Crue, which sounded fun. Alas they got bought out by a Christian satellite service, which pretty much put an end to Motley Crue.

My favorite is KNIM out of Maryville. They pretty much play whatever the hell they want. They'll play stuff from the Coverdale/Page album, "Driving the Last Spike" by Genesis, which is like this 9-minute song about a man who works to build a railroad. Once they played "In-a-Gadda-Da-Vida" by Iron Butterfly, all 20 minutes of it. It started when I got into my truck after work and it brought me into the driveway. Of course they'll play the latest from Three Doors Down and Billy Idol and the Cars. Love 'em.

I'll listen to KKFI from KC when it comes in, too. They're totally independant, I think 83% of their revenue comes from their fund drives, and the rest from grants. They'll hobble along with bad soundboards or malfunctioning CD changers, but they hit you with all kinds of great stuff. Blues, jazz, speed metal, news, and lots of stuff from local musicians. They introduced me to Kelley Hunt, Anthony Gomes, Kurt Elling, and all kinds of neat and fun stuff.

Oh, I keep forgetting -- this station now has streaming audio, so you can see what I'm raving about.

I'm just a radiohead, guys.

On the computer: Retro Red-Eye Express from KKFI (streaming audio)

And while we're on the subject ...

2006-06-23T20:51:00.000-07:00

Check out Don Tate's comments on the scarcity of black males in children's books. I've also noticed that guy MC's are totally underrepresented (in the short story collection I've been writing, I've added a couple of guy stories, including one with a black MC. Hope I do it justice).

Thanks, Don, for the backup!

On being black in fiction.

2006-06-23T09:11:00.000-07:00

Recently read some interesting articles from Ursula K. LeGuin's site, as well as a super reply by Pam Noles.

Ursula K. Le Guin said this:
"I have received letters that broke my heart, from adolescents of color in this country and in England, telling me that when they realized that Ged and the other Archipelagans in the Earthsea books are not white people, they felt included in the world of literary and movie fantasy for the first time."
— Speech to the Book Expo America children's literature breakfast, June, 4, 2004.

And Pam Noles wrote about this in her essay called "Shame." This sprung up after the Sci/Fi network did a movie based on Earthsea -- totally trashed it -- and they made Ged and all his buds white as the pure-driven snow. Cause I guess wizards of colors aren't good for ratings?

And Pam wrote about reaching that point in Earthsea when LeGuin mentions that while Ged and Jasper were red-brown, Vetch was black-brown.

And because Le Guin snuck up on it, let us thrill with Sparrowhawk as he made his way, the Revelation came as a shock. I do remember bursting out into tears on the living room couch when I understood what was going on. And the tears flowed again when Mom came home from work and I showed her the book while trying to explain. Sparrowhawk is brown. I think he's like an Indian from India. And Vetch is black like from Africa. There's a bunch more and they have real power. Not the girls, though. But still they are also the good guys. It's the white people who are evil. And Sparrowhawk is also Ged, and he's going to be the most powerful one of them all, ever.

And I look at all my lily-white characters in Symphonians. And cringe.

I mean, I look at the diversity of kids in elementary schools these days. Even my nephew and niece, who are part Portuguese, have cinnamon skin and that black hair and brown eyes I love so much. Why can't my characters reflect this reality?

I've been wanting for ages to write a fantasy novel with all-black characters. I mean the dark-black ones -- what did Toni Morrison call them? Coal-rock? (I can't remember and I can't find my copy of Paradise on my bookshelves.) I'd have all the dark colors, maybe have a token white, just to turn the whole race thing on its head. I really think we shouldn't assume that all our MC's are white just because we see a lot of whites. That's because whites seem to have a way of making other colors feel uncomfortable. And I've done my share of dumb things in the past, though I don't do them again, Lord willing.

But the thing that really got me was that one of the characters I've known longest -- Roderick, one of my wonderful Symphonians, and one of my favorites -- has always been part Spanish. His mom was Spanish. The man has black hair and brown eyes, and I've had an idea that he's dark-skinned, but it never showed up on the page. Many times I've thought, "Well, heavens, he's got to at least look like he has a tan," but it never shows on the page.

And Yvonne could easily be Asian; I can see her looking like some wild anime angel to try and freak out her parents. Not to mention the butterfly tattoo and the crazy earrings.

I'd like to bring myself next to have my main character be of a different color, race, or heritage. But I'm shy of this ... what if I offend somebody is the usual excuse. "You can't learn all about being black just by listening to the Tom Joyner Show on the radio," I tell myself. I need to do more research. I feel it's important for all to be included in my stories. I know, I know, I'm writing about the human condition, blah blah blah. But I think it's important that we acknowledge the human condition isn't only about being white.

The view from inside a literary magazine.

2006-06-21T15:46:00.000-07:00

I worked at the Laurel Review/Greentower Press, which is a literary magazine and a small press at NWMSU, ages ago, for a summer semester. I guess I was an editorial assistant, because I read slush and helped them get stuff mailed out, but mostly I was helping them adjust after their move to a different building (Colden Hall was being remodeled). So I was doing a lot of book-stacking and room organizing, too. But as a wide-eyed young writer I was fascinated.

This is how things worked at a literary magazine. The editors and the readers would read the MSS and, if a MS struck them as possibly being worthy, they'd scribble a comment on the envelopes the MS came in. "Take a look at this," or, "Not sure but maybe take a look," or, "What's with the screaming guy?"

The noteworthy submissions were set aside and given a second look. If the material was good but didn't fit in with the magazine's style, or if the ending didn't work, but they still liked the writing, they'd give it a "kiss," aka a form letter that said "try us again." All the rest of the MSS got form rejections.

Manuscripts that were accepted became proofs. On the original MSS, in red ink, one of the editors would specify margin width, page setup, font style and font size. Of course the MSS were proofread and made to conform to house style. Then a big sheaf of MSS would zip off to the printers.

After the magazine had been published these marked-up proofs would end up in the recycle bins. After asking Dr. Slater, I pounced on them and took 'em home. Among them was a couple of poems by Galway Kinsey, I believe. I kept those!

The last time I stopped by the LR offices, there were two recycle bins overflowing with rejected submissions, and a big pile of new submissions that needed to be read. Just so you know.

Most literary magazines have professors as their editors, and if they're good professors (and the guys I worked with were quite good), they're running all over the place taking care of their students, and in their spare time they run the magazine. This is why it takes a while for them to get back with you. Finals week is really bad. And don't send stuff in summer because often there's only a wide-eyed young writer running things.

Small literary magazines often send out requests for subscriptions with their rejection letters because they really could use the subscriptions! A lot of magazines survive on grants and magazine sales, not on advertising. Advertising is traded between magazines -- "I'll show an ad for your magazine if you show an ad for mine." Kind of interesting.

I think nearly all of the LR editors have retired -- I know Trowbridge and Slater have, though I'm not sure about Dr. Richards -- and there's a new generation in place. But I'm pretty sure things are still run the same way. And as far as I can tell, the new editors are pretty sharp, too, though I don't see them as much as the old-school guys.

If you live near a university, you might volunteer at a local lit magazine. It is a real eye-opener (and also you get to read real slush!). And any time an author can spend behind an editor's desk is time that pays back in understanding and patience, as well as a better sense of what a writer can get away with ... or can't.

I love alfalfa.

2006-06-21T07:13:00.000-07:00

Got the PDF file from Therese today that shows what my alfalfa article looks like for Organic Gardening. We're going to press! I still have to get a tiny bit of information on whether one of my sources has a Ph.D or not, but other than that it's done.

Now I gotta get some OG's from the library, look them over, and write them a query about micorrhyza and what conditions are necessary to make them work with your garden plants. Not that I'm a mycologist (one who studies fungi), but mycology is an interesting field, and it's all about plant symbiology, baby.

And that would tie in nicely with the soilbuilding book proposal.

Or an article about earthworms would also be nice.

Let's get on the stick, it's 9:30 already.

BTW, we went to the Royals game last night and they actually WON. Berroa stole two bases (BRC corrected me: he stole one base and the pitcher got an error ... whatever!) and DeJesus broke his bat in half for a double, I think. And we talked a little about the Bo Jackson days, when he was playing with the Royals in Seattle and he threw a ball clear from the wall at the back of the field to Bob Boone at home plate and it NEVER BOUNCED, to get an out on Harold Reynolds! It was great to have watched him in the good ol' days.

scribbles in dust Wash me!!

2006-06-19T19:30:00.000-07:00

Sophie to Grandma (hand on car): Just look for our white car.

(The car's actually silver.)

Grandma: *What* color is it?

(Sophie looks at the bug mess all over the front of the car.)

Sophie: I don't know. Maybe we should wash it.

Update.

2006-06-19T13:26:00.000-07:00

I'm up to 16 pages of character sketches and have written about three or four new pages of Symphonians scene, and moved around bits of Chapter 17 to make the chapter chronological. Now I need to figure what the impetus behind Ch. 17 is. Right now it feels like it's going all over the map -- no cohesion. But writing time is over, and now I gotta go get the kid. I feel good, though -- nice writing day, though part of it I was falling asleep at the desk and I had to sit outside and write longhand under the silver maple so I could stay awake. And then chai tea, which is also very good. I just wish I could work longer, now that I've found the groove, but, as they say on earth, C'est la vie!

On the i-Pod -- It *was* the Hollies with "The Air That I Breathe" (one of my songs) but BRC switched it "It's Only Love" by Byron Adams and Tina Turner (one of his songs). Oh well. Though Tina kicks ass.

At the library.

2006-06-19T08:26:00.000-07:00

We have this weird computer set-up at home where my laptop doesn't have internet and the computer that does have internet won't accept a memory stick, or flash drive, whatever that thingy is. So I have to walk out to the library to send my gardening column to Jess, since the computers here are like, you know, modern.

I got through interlibrary loan three big quartos -- two on roses and one on Empress Josephine. I will carry these home (about seven blocks) and take a look at them later.

I have 14 pages of character studies finished right now. However, each character averages about two pages, so we still have work to do. I'm doing them on the computer which actually does seem a little easier than doing them on paper. I've gotten pretty good about composing both on paper and on the keyboard -- gotten used to that.

Anne says she should get back with me sometime this week on the rose query. Fingers crossed, and let's hope she doesn't suddenly experience a dental emergency or some damn thing.

Okay! Let's get back home and get some work done! There are only so many hours the kid's gone for summer kindergarten, and every minute seems precious because I have only two glorious weeks left!

Some progress!

2006-06-16T07:57:00.000-07:00

I've written three pages on character sketches so far. Only 247 pages to go to make my half-ream. Ha ha! Oh I am such an idiot.

I was thinking about typing my character sketches into the computer so I could 1) read what I wrote and 2) move things around into different sections. Sounds good in theory. But will it work in practice?

Maybe I should get off the computer and do some actual work.

Remember, I did tell Janine at FSG that it might be a year before she sees the novel again. And I want to have amazing characters like Anne Tyler does. If I want the magic, I gotta do the work. Also, this will bring the characters closer to what the book wants of them. And I'll avoid libel suits!

(I keep thinking of all the other novels I need to work on ... I wonder if I'll ever get to them, especially after I go back to working full-time. This bothers me.)

Kicked it out the door!

2006-06-15T19:42:00.000-07:00

For now. The Rose Saga proposal, that is. I went ahead and sent it to Anne today, stating that I wasn't sure if I should write this for an adult audience or a MG/YA audience. I'm leaning toward the younger audience because that market has no rose history book while the adults have plenty of 'em, there's almost always a short rose history chapter in most rose books I've seen, even if the book's about planting or cultivation. But I'll see what the bosses think first.

So now I am getting back to Symphonians again. Alas I discovered I must do more work. Here, look at this Anne Tyler interview.

(And it's rare for her to give interviews, so read closely.)

But what I love about Anne's stories are her characters. "Grownups" is my favorite book of hers, mainly because the characters are so amazing. The first chapter is hard to get through because you're meeting them all at once, but after that it's much easier.

Look at what she says about the way she writes:

I spend about a year between novels. My decision to start a new one is just that, a decision, since I never get inspirations. I'll say, "It's time I stopped lolling about. I'd better think something up." Then for a month or so I'll jot down desperate possibilities. "Maybe I could write about a man who does such-and-such. Or wait: I think I already did that. Well, then maybe about that woman I saw in the grocery the other day. What was she up to, exactly? What might her story have been?"

Eventually, one of these possibilities will start flowering in my mind, and I'll manufacture what's initially a very trumped-up, artificial plot. I'll write maybe one long paragraph describing the events, then a page or two breaking the events into chapters, and then reams of pages delving into my characters. After that, I'm ready to begin.

And she also says this:

I do write long, long character notes—family background, history, details of appearance—much more than will ever appear in the novel. I think this is what lifts a book from that early calculated, artificial stage. One day, around chapter 2 or 3, I'll be slogging through some dialogue and all of a sudden a character says something that makes me laugh. Where did that come from? I'm not funny! Then another will flatly refuse the plot contrivance I've designed for him. I'll write a scene this way, write a scene that way; it slows to a crawl and stops. Finally, I say, "Oh, all right," and I drop the contrivance and the scene falls into place and I see a motive I'd never guessed and I understand where we're going. It's as if someone else is telling me the story. I don't want to say I hear voices; well, actually I do hear voices, but I don't think it's supernatural. I think it's just that when characters are given enough texture and backbone, then lo and behold, they stand on their own.

Reams of paper on her characters creates characters that live on the page, characters that drive the plot.

I have about six characters in Symphonians that I need to write character sketches about. So, my assignment is ... gulp ...

WRITE A FULL REAM ABOUT THE CHARACTERS IN SYMPHONIANS.

What! That's only 500 pages!

*faints*

*comes to*

...okay, maybe I could like write on one side of the page and do 250 pages.

*faints*

Oh, stop being such a wuss. You just want to write 10 pages on all the major characters and get out of the assignment. You want to write a kick-ass novel or not? You want to be like Anne Tyler? Then do the work. Over and out!

Roger that.

On the mental i-Pod: "Highway to Hell" by AC/DC

Back to the Rose Saga.

2006-06-10T19:46:00.000-07:00

Because the books that might possibly be competing with my book have mostly all arrived from Amazon.

One was too short and had the same historical info I've seen in many other rose books; one had a big slant toward interior decoration; one was too old but still a good source; and one ...

... well, one was published in March 2006 and does many of the same things I had planned to do. And he got his MS checked over by Graham Thomas, the rosarian god, before he (Thomas, not the author) died. And he got David Austin, rose hybridizer god, to write the foreword.

*throws self in river*

But on the bright side, this guy is dry as heck and he does cover a lot of stuff I'm not as interested in. And I cover some things he doesn't, including the search for a blue rose.

But I was really dissatisfied with this book, and wondered why. Then I got out Robert Reddell's Rose Bible, which I love love love, and I set these two books down side-by-side, and started thinking about why one book works and one doesn't (for me, that is).

Reddell's writing is lively. The text is broken up on the page with subheads. White space is used to good effect in this book. The pages are large and generous, while the others' pages seem small (and also illustrations had no margins whatsoever, making the other book feel chintzy -- not the author's fault, but just poor design). Also, Reddell's book has these huge, luscious pictures of roses in full bloom, and I keep finding myself wanting to kiss the page. I really love the pics. The pics make me want these roses bad (though I still don't want them bad enough to actually create a rose garden in my yard -- still jaded -- but this resistance to gardening has been fading lately).

So: what if I lean more toward Reddell's model? Let's get pics. And let's get lively text. I was thinking about including many sidebars in my book. Why not small articles? Talk to a rose breeder (I'd like to talk to Carruth about that!) about what rose breeding *really* entails, and tie it to the explosion of rose breeding in France after Josephine got things rolling. Talk to a plant archeologist, or whatever you call them, about roses in ancient cultures. Let's not just pull facts from a book, but let's talk to people, make the information come alive.

But I have my work cut out for me. I'm going to have to restructure my chapter setups. But the sample chapter about the search for the blue rose is something this guy didn't even touch, so that's good.

I'd like to get the danged thing out this week. I can't keep them waiting on me much longer.

On the i-Pod -- "Sentimental Lady" by Bob Welch
Then "Lebanese Blonde" by Thievery Corporation (thanks, Tracy)

Winner of the "Hell of a Segue" award for today.

2006-06-06T20:47:00.000-07:00

On the i-Pod:

"Long Cold Winter" -- Cinderella
Followed up by "Do-Wacka-Do" by Roger Miller.