The other night I was officially in Stage 5 Critique Burnout.  All critiquing and no writing makes me... someone people don't want to hang out with. I needed some me-writing time, but I didn't feel sufficiently creative enough to pull a whole new story from between my ears. Revising, though--that combines critiquing and writing powers.  I dug into my school writing class files.  I haven't touched 98% of these; I went to Odyssey one semester shy of my degree, and we all know Odyssey changes the way you think about your projects. Especially the crap you wrote to get a grade.

Thankfully I discovered at least one of the plays I wrote really wasn't crap.  It's a project I'm still proud of and one I think has plenty of potential--a little 10-minute spot about the lives of librarians.  (I swear we're really not boring.)  I miss the people I used to work with.  It's rare when you go into a library and the librarians are louder than the the library users.  :) Usually we had people coming up to the ref desk to tell us to be quieter.  Or they'd go to circulation and an aide would pass on the complaint.

I'm looking forward to TNEO next week.  After it's over, we've planned a mini-vacation with my sister's family and our friends from Virginia. So I'll be depriving the Midwest of my presence until August, although I have left overseers to rule my province in my absence.  When I return, hopefully the spousal unit and I will be able to close on this house and get moved in.  Then I can set about ignoring unpacking in favor of polishing up projects, finishing up the YA novel & the apocalyptic novel, and start sending stuff off--like this 10-minute play-thingy.  I'll probably work on some stuff at TNEO, but I'm not what you would call a multi-tasker or task-switcher.  Nay, not by a long shot.  So any marketing will have to take place at home base.

That's the news, and since I leave on Monday for wild, weird New England... I am outta here.

Getting critiques done for TNEO has meant getting back into the swing of critiquing, Odyssey-style.  I haven't had a lot of practice these days; we just started up a writer's group in The City, though, so that will change.  TNEO crits are definitely more detailed than the Odyssey 1-3 pagers.  More like 5-6 pages.  When I started critting this time around, I couldn't nail down a format.

I finally got the rhythm down, though, and figured out a format.  I finished a couple of "new" crits, then went back and took the time to retrofit the other crits I'd already done.  Consistency is a good thing, right?  And so are details. 

I took time off from critting yesterday and today and scrolled through my files-in-progress.  Of which I have quite a few.  I tooled through a feature-length screenplay I completed about nine years ago and before I knew it, bam.  I was editing and rewriting it.  And it made me so happy to revisit it.  I've jotted down notes about it here and there, what should happen, what should get cut, and to find myself actually intuitively doing that the other night was awesome.  There's nothing like writing at night at 2 am with music plugged into your ears and what needs to get on paper is actually showing up on paper.  Or screen, whatever. 

With everything that's been happening this summer, I'll be too late to enter it in the Austin Film Festival--my original goal back in 2000-01--but I'm going to shoot for next year.  The screenplay has been my baby for a long time, but kids have to grow up sometime. 

Still no word from a certain magazine about "Automatic Pilot."  Keeping my fingers crossed.

My car is where I most often listen to the radio--at home it's atunes playlists, CDs, and myspace music pages (about the only thing myspace seems to be actually good for...)  I heard the below-mentioned Foo Fighters song and cringed.  I like Foo Fighters, I like the song, except for one line.  One word.  It's so bad I have to turn the radio down at the song's bridge. 

Without further ado, the beginnings of a list:

Madonna--"I Like New York" (Confessions from the Dance Floor, 2006).  "I don't like cities/But I like New York/Other places/Make me feel like a dork"...Besides the poor rhyme, it's difficult to imagine the Material Girl ever feels like a dork.  It also makes me feel like when Madonna comes to my city, I'm personally responsible for making her feel like a dork. ;)  Okay, you caught me, just kidding, I don't care.

Foo Fighters--"The Pretender" (Echoes, Silence, Patience and Grace, 2007).  In the bridge:  "I'm the face that you have to face..."  I'm issuing an official word repetition citation.  When I'm reading a story, I can read it once and be done with it, but songs play on forever, over and over and over... otherwise Third Eye Blind wouldn't still be getting airplay... C'mon, Dave Grohl, couldn't you have said something a little cooler and saved some... face?

Steve Miller Band--"Take the Money and Run" (Fly Like an Eagle, 1973).  Grammatical error, very first line:  "Bobbie Sue took the money & run".  Then there's the "Texas/taxes" rhyme in the verse describing Billie Mack.  But the facts that a) I can write all those lines from memory (which I will demonstrate if you ask) and that b) I sing along with the song speaks volumes... about 70 decibels.

Lenny Kravitz--"Fly Away"--I'm with the song until he repeats the ending chorus 500 times:  "I want to get away, I want to get away... I want to fly away.. Yeah, yeah, yeah..."  Jeanne would censor him for using chorus verses like exclamation points.  "You used up your lifetime quota.  You need to say something meaningful and wrap it up."

Gerardo Mejia--"Rico... Suave"--This song is kinda like "Ice Ice Baby." We know who sang it, we can recall the lyrics, it's fun to make fun of.  And I will continue to make fun of it.  And anyone who rolls in a 5.0 with the backtop down so his hair can blow.

Okay, done.  Add your own...

Last night I took the laptop and headed away from home base to get some critiquing done.  Since we fixed up the Linux machine (for lack of a better name) I've used my laptop sparingly.  I need it to last through TNEO, but it still has screen-flicker issues ("to annoy or not to annoy?"). 

So here I was in the middle of a nice QUIET EMPTY library, music playing and earbuds in, stories to critique, initial impressions to type up from notebook pages, and although I managed to get 1.5 critiques done in the space of 2+ hours, I kept wondering at the crap stuck in my keyboard. I turned the laptop upside down a couple of times and shook it out.  Among the items stuck under my keys: some dog fur (beagles shed no matter what the dog encyclopedia tells you), a few teeny scraps of paper from said notebook where I'd ripped out pages, some crumbs, including a piece of walnut (or pecan, I can't really be sure since I decided against a taste test), part of a mangled plastic paper clip, a piece of pencil lead and the chipped corner of a well-worn book.

No money though.  I assume that comes later. 

This morning, in the middle of running errands, I pulled off the road and went for a hike in a little conservation area in the middle of the city.  The trail was packed solid from yesterday's rain; honeysuckle and wildflowers lent a sweet-but-not-cloying scent; and even though various bugs landed on me I managed to ignore them (more or less).  Once I followed the trail down the other side of the first hill and into the woods, I couldn't hear traffic anymore.  A little way down the bluff, in the middle of the woods, I sat down on a bench and just let myself be. 

I watched an ant crawl up a tree.  Listened to a woodpecker knock itself silly trying to get elevensies.  Off to the left water tumbled down the bluff on its way to the Missouri River, which I could barely see for the trees.  And even though I could hear other people on the trails, there was a wonderful sense of isolation that had nothing to do with glass, brick, wood or cement; no radio, no TV, no computer, no video games.  No cell phones.

As a kid, I was outside All. The. Time.  We had cable TV but anything Nintendo-ish was an unaffordable luxury.  I rode my bike, explored the creek, went to the park, climbed trees, splashed in rain puddles, played Laser Tag.  I came in to eat, do (or pretend to do) homework and watch my favorite TV shows (back before we had a VCR-thingy).  Most nights Mom and I would go for a drive or hang out in the back forty looking at stars or watching meteor showers.

And now I go from the house to the car to work back to the car to the store and back home again without stopping to admire the way birch bark curls and peels away from the trunk, or the way a bumblebee selects just the right flower, or how soft ferns or leaves feel.  I don't quite know when I became Inside Girl.  And now I'm not sure why I don't spend more time outside (except, of course, for the occasional 100% humidity...). 

The scenic route is just... better.

Automatic Pilot is back home, albeit accompanied by a nice rejection notice.  Unfortunately the one thing the editors didn't like is the one thing  the story hinges on.  I'm not ready to change the overall message just yet.  I guess I'll base that decision on a few more rejections, because to change the POV would change all of it. 

So, now that Weird Tales has reopened to subs, I'm going to kick AP back out the door tomorrow--in traditional dress this time;  no electronic SUBMIT button required.  Just a plain ole comforting properly stamped manila envelope.  

I'm not quite a technophobe, I swear.  One of these days I'll prove it and buy an iPod--most likely at precisely the point where people get chip implants and download music directly into their brains.

Chewey, I've kept you through 3 LJ overhauls.  I don't want to have to do this, but I might have to fire you.  I've seen live goats look more hopeful than that.  Usually when food is in front of them, but there ya go.  Shape up or ship out kid.

The headache saga is about to come to a close--at least until I become immune to Claritin, or this year's allergy season ends mid-June, whichever comes first. I've joined the ranks of those citizens who inhale Claritin-D as a second job. Last night the spousal unit found an urgent care center and we got some help for my headaches. Or shall we say, sinusitis-induced migraines that make me feel like half my face is going to slide off (ala that scene in Resident Evil--you know the one).  The doc sent me off with prescriptions for antibiotics and Claritin-D.

Drugs have earned me some much-needed productivity. Today I've been able to move forward on my third and last TNEO story. Why is comedy so easy to write until you introduce a plotline? The challenge has been trying to keep the main character funny even as he introduces the reason for the main conflict and urges the secondary main character to aid him in his semi-serious mission.  Personality, baby, personality.

I'll also be able to enjoy the three-day weekend coming up. And that's a total plus. Bring on the killer robots, the live-action museum exhibits, and the Renaissance Faire. 

Your results:
You are Uhura

Uhura 70% Geordi LaForge 55% Mr. Sulu 50% Jean-Luc Picard 50% Worf 50% Deanna Troi 50% Chekov 45% James T. Kirk (Captain) 40% Mr. Scott 40% Data 36% Leonard McCoy (Bones) 35% Beverly Crusher 35% Will Riker 35% An Expendable Character (Redshirt) 35% Spock 27%

You are a good communicator with a pleasant soft-spoken voice. Also a talented singer.

Click here to take the Star Trek Personality Test

Time's slipping away... the next TNEO story drop is almost here. I'm trying not to pay too much attention to reality at the moment. Not that I normally pay a lot of attention to it, but I've got about 14 pages left to write on Story #2. I was waylaid by a) freakish sinus headaches (grrr) b) lack of knowledge on my subject matter c) the inability to properly research my subject matter due to certain sensitivities d) horrible weather that makes Daisy cower and pee on the couch & e) ...reality, in the form of vast amounts of paperwork. Read this, sign here, read that, sign here, here and here. I think even Echo's Dollhouse contract amounts to one page. Why can't /I/ get the simple version? Oh wait... Hollywood (even if it is in the Jossverse).

But I'm confident my homework's not going to be late, and neither will it be fulla holes. At least, not any big enough to allow a semi through. So there. Maybe a coupla pinpricks though.

Plus, I really like procrastination. It's a challenge. Most people know I hardly ever plan ahead. Maybe it's a miracle I got through college. Eh, I dunno, and it's too late now--the diploma's on my wall. suckaz.

I think this story is pretty cool; I got the idea from a dream of all places, following on the heels of a certain Codex thread, and I decided to tweak it. And lo and behold, I got a story. From my own subconscious. It's shaping up rather nicely, too.

But I know people who know people who know people, and they'll be the judge of that in a coupla months.

Chin up, Chewey.

see more Funny Graphs

There's just something weird about electronic submission v. paper submission. Is it weird that the first method of story submission seems too easy? I have more of a problem doing that than shoving a story in a manila envelope and letting it slide down the throat of a blue USPS box. I can let it go and not worry about it...

It's that SUBMIT button. I don't like it. Not just for punny reasons either.

Yeah. See. For once my mood icon agrees with me.

Been giving myself a refresher course to try to figure out what math my protagonish might have been learning in eighth grade (there's no way I remember that). And for the most part, I was doing really well--better than I did the first hundred times I had math in school. I was even having a good time--until I got to fractions. Mixed numbers, multiplying, adding, reducing, GCDs, LCDs, doubling or halving recipes--whatever. As far as I know "LCD" refers to wristwatches, computer monitors or TV screens.

Fractions are really just ancient torture devices the Babylonians or the Egyptians invented as a subtle weapon of revenge that would span thousands of years, knowing there would come a time when those frustrating fractions would be freely disseminated throughout society, nay, taught to every public-school and home-school kid, chemist and would-be cook! I know some scholar/warrior is back there somewhere looking at me in his scrying pool and cackling his head off. Look out, here comes Chewey.

While I have worked part of this into the novel itself, I'm going to exercise Author Ownership and say my character can move on to something else. Sigh.

Usually I abhor Mondays, and the feeling is mutual. Historically speaking, Mondays and I haven't got along since my parents forced me into kindergarten. Yet the last two have been quite the exception. Totally productive.

Yesterday I finished the final version of Automatic Pilot and identified at least 2 markets for it, although the market itself was slightly depressing. I couldn't decide whether or not to wait for Weird Tales, or kick it out the door. I kicked it out the door. Time will tell. An editor surely will. I slogged through emails, worked on an essay and finished ALL the laundry down to the floor rugs. This means no more laundry for all of five seconds, but I'll take it. I finished 1 TNEO crit, came up with a story-tracking database, partially outlined the codex novel, and...

...woke up today feeling totally drained.

I critiqued a couple more TNEO stories. Which makes me really excited about going--as if I wasn't already, but it's nice to have a decision reinforced. I'm sure I'll have a good time, and look forward to seeing everyone & working hard (yeah, you know I just threw in that last bit...) I wish more fellow bok-keerkers were going to be there too.

I rounded out this afternoon finding new music and researching math. This meant checking out a math book from the library and refreshing my memory of eighth-grade algebra. Actual problems will most likely lend some credibility to the beginning of the YA novel rather than yours truly making up something. Doing the math and getting it right left me with a nice feeling. I think I got a glimmer of what math majors feel when they do problems and everything comes out the way it's supposed to. It's nice to know something works.

I finished my TNEO story.  Now I get to wait until July to have it picked apart.  Yeah, baby, yeah.  And the rest of this week I've been running errands, very important errands... the meaning of which will hopefully be revealed... soon.  But know that I feel like a headless, stressed-out bok-keeerk.  Only one thing could be worse in terms of errands and that's applying for clearance for a government job. 

The weather's been one of the few saving graces of the last few days.  At least I get to enjoy the sunshine while I'm out and about.  Good driving weather counts for a lot.

I decided to give my body a bit of a rest, and I'm kissing the sodas goodbye, which started after I had my last soda with dinner tonight.  So I'm devoting the next 3 days to a little R & R.   A little reading, a little research, with some TV thrown in for spice--or vanilla, depending on one's point of view.  I finished the rewrites to Automatic Pilot and plan on kicking it out the door tomorrow afternoon.

Minus caffeine, I'm willing to bet that by this time tomorrow, I'll look and act pretty much like Venger up there.  Woohoo!

It might be 2nd or 3rd, but it feels good to write again and get things done.  I discovered my characters were stuck because I was stuck.  So I took the laptop to a couple of different places this week and the change in scenery helped a lot.

Monday & Tuesday were very productive as far as the mainstream novel.  I ended up revising chapters 1-8 and wrote a fresh new chapter 9 this morning.  I am however abandoning the novel for the next few days in order to fix up a short story for the first TNEO deadline next week. 

I received a critique on the fourth revision of "Automatic Pilot," aka the alien kidnapping story.  A few little things to fix.  I am going to wipe that one up over the weekend & finally kick it out the door to Weird Tales.  Because it's totally time to let this one go.

Been finding my way around a new computer/OS.  What's cool about the Linux machine is that a) all the software is free, b) Open Office opens any 2007/XP/2000/97 Word/Excel/Powerpoint document, no questions asked, and c) the monitor is huuuuuge.  We've lived without a TV for 6 months and watch our (6) shows online, so we wanted something large enough that would double as TV & computer monitor.  Last week I discovered another benefit:  in Open Office, I can see 2 pages at once, or the bottom half of 2 and the top half of the next 2.  This is totally radically awesome in terms of editing stories and projects. 

What's not cool about the Linux machine (must come up with cool name for that!) is, it's not portable.  :(

Although its screen still flickers a *lot*, the laptop never officially died, which is a plus because I still need to transfer the bulk of my files to the Linux machine, and I'm hoping it'll last through TNEO. Then maybe I can take it to Manchester-By-The-Sea and give it an ocean burial.  Which is, incidentally, something I'd also like to do to my cell phone, but I have too much of a love/hate relationship with it.

Thanks to Matt et al for simultaneously kicking me in the pants & bringing me down a notch or two.  You can't just talk about writing, you have to do it.  

of steam.  Maybe a few chapters left to finish "Approaching Critical Math"... a few chapters left to a full working 1st draft... and I am horribly & completely unmotivated.

This sucks.

Any ideas, let me have em.  Or a kick in the seat of the pants would proly do just as well.

Maybe.

I'm a firm believer in housekeeping as distraction.  This isn't to say I don't do it, but you'll never hear me make an excuse not to do something in favor of housecleaning.  More or less.  I'm also too cynical to get a "clean start" on any New Year because I know productivity will eventually fall off.  I don't want to make my bed because I do lie in it.

Alas, of late there has been talk amongst my selves of holding the governing self to a higher standard.  My inner minions seem to have realized that, as far as writing is concerned, if I don't do something soon, I might  never be published.  To-wit: I keep several files pertaining to one story (usually pre-Odyssey), each file denoting the approach I took--narrator, tone, chronological v flashback, etc.  It's always hard to decide which version works best, so I save the file and tell myselff I'll decide later.

Later was a long time coming, but Later is here.  It has arrived in a long shiny black Hummer stretch limo with blue LCD runners and halogen headlights.  Since Sunday night I've paged through files, slashed bad stories, saved good material bits, merged text & dialog, sacrificed stories and essays to Recycle Bin Limbo, and synchronized my hard drive with my jump drive.

I can't say the poor laptop gained too much more gig space.  But I can say this housecleaning was no distraction.  I can't afford to display a lack of confidence in my work, even to myself, and that's why all those versions existed.  Knowing what story version works best and enhancing that one is a better method than saving four "just-so" stories and telling myself I'll make up my mind later.  I may have moods where I like one version over another, but I can't afford to indulge myself in my moods; I'm killing my career before it starts.

I suppose I didn't do any housecleaning; rather I traded one method for another, and I think it'll stick.

On another note, my apocalyptic novel has also languished in limbo (no apocalyptic pun intended.  Maybe.).  I met kristajhl for lunch last Monday and we talked about our writing, which helped me a lot and I hope helped her too.  And this Tuesday, the end of the line, what should happen in my novel, hit me.  It's brilliant, it'll work, it flows from the beginning.  On the flip side of that, it means I'm going to put myself through emotional hell--and, by proxy, the spousal unit will be joining me in a specially made handbasket.  I am not going to be easy to live with, as if I am really easy to live with anyway ("Get your paws off my cereal!!") 

But as Steve Miller once said, you've got to go through hell to get to heaven.

Here goes nothing!  /deep breath/

I'd told krista_jhl yesterday that I wasn't planning to watch the inauguration, but that was mostly based on my lack of television ownership.  That decision might also have been based on formerly living close to DC, where politics is a part of life, and it's just one election or another, and maybe also my ennui resulting from the last several inauguration speeches, which really promised more of the same, nothing has changed, yadda yadda yadda. 

My housemates were watching the inauguration this morning, and I pulled up a chair.  Inaugurations are historical by nature; they carry the promise of change, and as an American citizen, I'm supposed to be supportive of my government. 

That sounds bad. But let me say this: in the last eight years or so I've not wanted to be supportive of my government.  I could have cared less about inaugurations or politics in general except to say how cracked it all seems to be and as it is now it is *not* what the founding fathers had in mind.  I long ago ceased to be either Republican or Democrat because they lobbied for different ideals using the same methods.  Money was never supposed to triumph over intelligence or education, as far as Thomas Jefferson was concerned.  I'm a rather cynical person, in case none of y'all have noticed, and this year even the Libertarian candidate drove me nuts.  Because I believe freedom for Sudan's people is important.

During this entire race, I've seen politicians maneuver with bravado and struggle with charisma.  And Barack Obama never stood out to me before as a promising President.  I suppose few candidates actually do.  I never for one second doubted his sincerity, while I doubted the sincerity of other candidates.  I cringed when I envisioned McCain in the White House (although I'll be honest, I really liked Sarah Palin). 

Yet Barack seemed composed this morning.  Ready.  Confident.  I cringed in sympathy as he stumbled through his oath, but during his stunning, powerful and thank-God-for-being-direct address, I discovered a feeling I haven't had in a long time.

Pride. 

Any history major will tell you, humanity is always slow to any kind of change.   Not that we want it to be; it just is.  Look at the creation of the Amber Alert, as a weird example in this context; we had all the technology but not the bright idea.  Obama spoke of how not more than sixty years ago his father wouldn't have been served in a restaurant.  And those of us brought up to believe in equality marvel at how long it takes us to elect a woman or a person of color as our leader.

Obama, while stressed and nervous, looked good behind that podium.  It's easy to envision him in the White House without knowing we sold ourselves out on hope again.  He doesn't have a freaky personal agenda; he's here to get the country back on track.  And he believes that, which makes me believe that.  

And I like having something to believe in.