Okay, a little bemused by the amount of genderfuck going on the 1999 anniversary edition of "Hair," which I've had for a while but just managed to listen to. ("White Boys" appears to be sung in large part by men.)
My refrigerator magnets currently consist of the "Moscow Rules
" and a whole bunch of magnetic poetry. Featured are the Shakespeare, Genius, and Erotic editions. (The latter was a gift from stillnotbored
. Now you know how she got her username.)
On consideration, if I had room for the Dog and Cat ones, I suspect this pretty much sums up everything you need to know about me.
What's on your refrigerator?
You know, the better I get at this writing thing, the more I need to be told what I'm doing right. Which is a funny sort of thing.
Several of my friends were gracious enough to read the new novelette last night in rough draft, and let me know what they thought. And I agreed with the critique in every case--they identified what I had already thought needed shoring up--but I kept finding myself having to ask "did it work? does the ending work? does it make emotional sense?" and in pretty much every case the response I got was "Oh, yeah, I liked it fine, but I like these characters a lot." or "Yanno, it's not actually very smutty."
And yeah, there's a thing I need to fix (One of the two POVs is much stronger than the other one, so it's flapping with one wing, currently, and I need to find a way to get more spec element up front without abrogating the very, very understated magic that's the hallmark of the Promethean universe) but what nobody was telling me was, hey, is there an emotional arc? Are you rooting for these guys? Is there any thematic impact?
Or am I masturbating, here?
'Cause I can always slap it on a website as backstory for Blood & Iron
if it's not good enough to sell. And I was kind of suspecting that that was all it was, was backstory, and not a real, live story of its own.
I was actually kind of spiralling down into a pretty serious "Well, I'm totally out of love with this story--it's a piece of shit and nobody wants to tell me, guess I'll trunk it now and save myself the embarrassment of forcing editors to read about penile tattooing," (it's on page one; I mean, you can't miss it) when I realized I was getting depressed and unreasonable.
So I sent truepenny
a forlorn plaintive email asking "Is there anything you liked
about it?" And she came through with a list, and identified Actual Thematic Elements.
So I guess it's worth saving after all.
I used to be far more certain about the good things about my work--even certain about the good things that didn't exist. Now, I can spot what's wrong with it in a heartbeat, but I have no idea any more if the part that isn't obviously broken is of interest to anyone at all.
Isn't that funny?
Finally got that slush taken care of. Phew. My to-do list is appreciably shrinking.
There is this thing about novels, especially in the end stages of the first draft. They expand to fill every available niche of your life. Every cranny, every surface, every crack. Until the list of things that Haven't Got Done because first, you have to finish the novel, takes on a life of its own.
For me, a long list of Things That Aren't Done is a huge stressor. My primary motivator, in many ways, is Finishing Things. I like things that are Done. So last night I sat down and read a month's worth of neglected Ideomancer
slush. That felt pretty good.I wasn't the only one slushing last night....
(In case you thought editbeings were always coolly professional)
So, because I like lists (they make me feel in control of a situation), here are things I crossed off my to-do list this weekend.
First draft of "The Rest of your Life in a Day,"
which probably needs a new title because I stopped it in the thirty seconds where it still has a happy ending. (What kind of an ending you get is entirely a function where you stop telling the story.)
Work on "War Stories"
Carnival proofreader queries
Line edits for "Sonny Liston Takes the Fall"
Readover final version of "Sonny Liston Takes the Fall"
There. That feels better.
Things I still need to do before oh, August 15 or so:
Article for Broad Universe
Article for ASIM
Submission draft of Undertow
(I got my deadline pushed back a little, but I'm still going to try to make the original one)
Revisions to A Companion to Wolves.
Write either "Limerent" or "Chatoyant"
Write "War Stories"
Revise "The Rest of Your Life in a Day."
Fortunately, the day job should be dropping from a 40-hour-week to a 32-hour-week in here somewhere, if All Goes According To Plan.
One of the many gorgeous tattoos
created by the artist who is working on one of the people
who agreed to help me with the tattooing scene in that last story.
I really want to thank everybody who helped out with that. Y'all rock. The internets, they are powerful.
And a meme:( Collapse )
Somebody needs to explain to the Promethean Age crew that they don't get any more books written until at least 2009, and that they can stop supplying me with seductive soundtrack music.
That said. the Dorothy Wallace version of "Where to Now, St. Peter?" is a creepy little song. It's sort of Loreena McKennitt byt way of Fiona Apple, or something.I took myself a blue canoe
And I floated like a leaf
Dazzling, dancing, helf-enchanted
In my Merlin sleep--
Crazy was the feeling
Restless were my eyes
Insane they took the paddles
My arms they paralyzed.
So where to now, St. Peter?
If it's true I'm in your hands--
I may not be a Christian,
But I've done all one man can.
And having had a busy morning of accomplishing not a damned thing, I think it's time for my nap.