Another lightweight post

"Gonna take two weeks, gonna have a vacation"--Summertime Blues, Eddie Cochran, Jerry Capehart

Last night, in the final hour or so before I went to bed, I was writing today's post in my head, a non-review review of Sleeping Beauties, a 700-plus page doorstopper from Stephen and Owen King. The super condensed review: I liked it. But. It's that 'but' that causes the problem, makes me want to write about it. It's also that 'but' that's going to stop me from writing about it today, because it's 6:36 in the morning, I'm not really awake, and I want to try to be in the office by 8. Rather than leave a half-assed 'review' that doesn't say what I want to say, I'm going to punt, and not just for this week. Next week's post (if there is one at all) will probably be nothing more than a 'Merry Christmas' message. The week after that will almost certainly be my last reading list for 2017, and then? Hopefully then I will have actually written the post about Sleeping Beauties that I want to write.

The quickie weekend update: The gang's all here, all the birds are again in the nest, and most of our Christmas shopping (at least for the wife and me) is done! Sweet!

There's a tree in the stand, but it's completely undecorated. If my children are nice (and they are), they will string the lights today while I'm at work, a job that I have grown to loathe over the years.

Had a good conversation with Agent Carrie over the weekend to talk 2018. We've got a plan in place, and we're both feeling optimistic.

I've been  busting a nut on the WiP. I have so far trimmed 5000(!) words and 30(!!) pages. A lot of the pages (well, a few) have been eliminated simply by killing the extra 1.15 pt space at the end of paragraphs that Word insists on putting in; I've got to change my default settings. The monster is still north of 130,000 words and I'm not quite halfway through. My goal was to be done with this pass by Christmas, but that may not be realistic. The end of the year is, however.

That's it for me, what's going on with all of you?

Weekend Update: Post-travel edition

This past weekend saw us travel for a funeral. On our return trip, we got hung up in the snow that came up the coast, which added an extra two hours--and an untold level of stress--to the drive. The weather reports gave no indication that the storm was going to impact as far as it did,  thanks, weather service models!

I need this today

As a result, yesterday was kind of a do-nothing day. Rather, it was a 'Write Like Hell' day, as I was able to put in a full day plus on my WiP, which helped offset the couple of days at the end of the week where I couldn't work on it. I'm roughly a quarter of the way through now, and, after a few days where my massive word count didn't seem to be going down at all, I have now chopped nearly 3000 words away. And a lot of these are from the front half (heck, quarter!) of the manuscript. I have a tendency to build too slowly, I think, and not leave enough room at the resolution end. I'm still excited about this project; whether or not I can get this draft completed in time for Christmas remains to be seen. If I do, then I'll be faced with a conundrum: let it sit, or go right back to the start and take another pass through? If I let it sit, then what do I work on? There's nothing really in the back room right now (as far as I know), and I hate to be not writing at all.

Not much else to report. I'm back on submission, so trying not to think about that, enjoying the Bruins' current surge that has seen them go 8-2 in their last ten, and trying to come to grips with the fact that we are just two weeks away from Christmas. And no, my shopping isn't done. Or started. But we do have lists going, so that's good.

Anyway, that's it for me, what's up with you all?
 

The struggle to keep current

In the Netflix comedy series, Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt, Ellie Kemper plays Kimmy, a 29-year-old woman who spent literally half of her life imprisoned in an underground bunker with three other women, and the doomsday cultist who kidnapped her when she was 15. Upon being freed, Kimmy decides to move to New York and start fresh, hoping to avoid having to forever be one of the "Indiana Mole Women."

Part of the show's humor (and, despite what is Kimmy's horrific background, the show manages to be laugh out loud funny, which can be a little uncomfortable when you consider how many women have lived--and died--in such circumstances, and when you try not to wonder how many women might actually be living in similar circumstances right now) is how much of a "fish out of water" Kimmy is: small town girl trying to make it in the big city, which is compounded by the fact that a) though Kimmy turns 30 in season one, she really has the emotional development of a teenager (and a naive one at that), and b) the world has changed substantially in the fifteen years she was captive in the bunker. Kimmy dresses like a kid and often acts like a kid, and her speech is filled with references to people and things of the nineties, when she was a teenager and free, such as when she uses "Psych!" (does anyone do that anymore?), or describes brunch as being "Frasierfancy," or when she asks aspiring Broadway star Titus if he'll "...sing at the Grammys with Whitney Houston and Michael Jackson?"

Her optimism is endearing

I like to tell my kids that I'm an incredibly hip, incredibly with it guy, that I have my finger on the pulse of society, that I know what's hot and what's not, and what all the cool kids like. They see right through it. The truth is, I'm a fifty-plus year-old man who grew up in the suburbs of Long Island and went to high school and college in the 80s. I hear music on the radio and I have no idea who the singer/band is; I see pictures of supposedly A-list actors and actresses and have no idea who they are, and on the rare occasions I move myself to find out, I tend to forget and have to ask again the next time I see/hear them. But I can still quote from Caddyshack, or Animal House, or The Terminator. When NBC hockey analyst, Ed Olczyk referred to a player getting caught in "a Malacchi Crunch," I knew exactly what he was talking about (and was then surprised to realize he and I are pretty much the same age).

The pop culture of my youth had a big impact on me, and does to this day. As a writer, this can create some interesting problems. In my first two manuscripts, my protagonists were man suspiciously close to my own age, who grew up in similar places to me. Easy enough to represent their similarities. In my now back-on-submission third attempt, two of the three POV characters are close to my age, while the third is a bit younger. In my WiP, my protagonist and her peers are squarely in the Millennial category. What's a borderline boomer/Gen Xer to do?

"Pond would be good for you."

Way back in 1999, Bill Murray guest-hosted Saturday Night Live and appeared in a sketch called that opened with this voiceover: "You're a white male between the ages of 15 and 41, chances are you love quote lines from Caddyshack." Later in the sketch, Murray says, "the secret language of American business is peppered with quotes from this classic 1980 comedy."

Saturday Night Live (original cast); Caddyshack. Animal House. National Lampoon's Vacation. Stripes. For better or worse, these films and TV shows are part of the lens that my world view is filtered through. So, it's no surprise that one of my characters, when faced with a difficult choice, might say "Sometimes, you gotta say 'What the fuck.'" And while that might be right for a fifty-year-old, is it right for a thirty-year-old? Or a twenty-two year-old?

Maybe it is. After all, it's entirely possible that my twenty-something character has seen--and loved--the old movies and TV shows, just as I watched I Love Lucy and could complete this run of dialogue that was old before I was born: "Who's on first?" "I don't know." "________"* While my twenty-something character might know "See the ball, Danny. Be the ball" would that be her 'go to' quote in the appropriate situation, or would she come up with something from, I don't know, Happy Gilmore or...or...I don't know. (I could write about hockey players. Hockey players all quote from Slap Shot.)

So, there's my question to you: if you are writing characters that are younger than you--a generation or two younger, in particular--how do you keep them from sounding like they just came out of a bunker after fifteen years?

*"Third base"

 

Back to normal...for now

We have a saying around my office to describe those draggy, low-energy days that happen from time to time: "Feels like the day after a board meeting." That's because our board meetings take place in the evening, they run typically two, two-and-a-half hours long, and there's a certain degree of stress in preparing for and participating in them. The day after a board meeting tends to be a little hazy, hard to get started on things, hard to concentrate on any one thing (especially if we're distracted by talking about things that got done--or not--at the meeting the night before).

Today is going to be one of those days.

Yesterday, the Magpie and I drove the Catbird back to college, which meant leaving around 8 in the morning and getting back just before 8 last night. I did all the driving (not out of any sort of chauvinistic "I'm the man, so I drive" attitude, but because neither of my girls has a license at this point, which is...odd, but is what it is right now), and while there was no snow and mostly little traffic, I'm finding that the older I get, the more I feel it. I'll probably be having a little of that "Isn't this day over yet?" feeling around two o'clock.

Thanksgiving was good, it was nice to have everyone home, nice to stuff ourselves on turkey and all the works, nice to hear my girls doing their silly things together. Writing was also good for me: I managed to do a full read-through and note-making on my massively-bloated WiP, and I'm hoping to start working on the second draft of it starting tonight (and I still really like it !!!). The previous project is with Agent Carrie and will hopefully be ready for submission by January. Seems like a pretty good place to start the final leg of 2017.

That's it for me; how's things with you?

 

Semi-random thoughts in advance of Thanksgiving

I'm in vacation mode, so if my thoughts are more scattered than normal, you'll know why! Having found myself needing to use approximately 8 days of vacation time before the end of the year, I decided to take the first half of the week off (we get Thursday and Friday for Thanksgiving). I don't know if I've ever done that before, which is part of why I've got over 200 vacation hours piled up. This being Thanksgiving, here are some things I'm thankful for...

...loving the WiP! I spent a good part of the weekend reading and making notes, and while I'm only about a quarter of the way through, I'm loving the WiP! It's overly-bloated at 478 pages (!!!) and the writing is really uneven, but I really like the main character and the story. At the risk of setting unreasonable goals, I'm going to try to have the next draft done by Christmas. Possible? Ye-e-e-s. Probable? I guess we'll see once I start really rewriting it. Sellable? Not yet, but we'll see...

...the Catbird coming home! Yes, it means driving nine hours round-trip to get her, and another nine hours to bring her back on Sunday, but she'll be home, my little birds will be in the nest again and it will be very nice for a few days.

...the Magpie. I'm amazed at what a fine young woman she's become.

...the RiP is out of my hands! For real this time! I hope the next time I have to rewrite it, it will be under contract. We'll see. More on this (not a contract, it's not back out on sub yet) another time.

...good coffee.

...the dog is still with us. She's thirteen and increasingly neurotic. She can't hear when the oil man pumps a hundred and fifty gallons of #2 heating oil in our tank. She has to stick her nose in. Every. Single. Footprint. In the snow when it's cold and blustery and all I want to do is get back inside (that's not new, anyway). But she's a good dog and she's still here and I'm thankful for that.

...my wife. She's amazing.

...all of you. I know how many follow this blog, but I have no real idea how many read it. I do know how many of you comment and I thank you and am glad you stop by. I hope you get some value out of this, at least once in a while. Thanks for dropping in and sharing your thoughts and time.

That's all for me this week. Happy Thanksgiving!

Delayed Reaction

On the afternoon of Sunday, May 4, 1974 the Boston Bruins and the Philadelphia Flyers squared off for game six of the Stanley Cup Final. For the Bruins, a win was needed to send the series back to Boston for one more, winner-take-all game. A Flyers victory would give them the Cup right there. Eight-year-old me sat on the edge of my couch, urging my beloved Bruins on. This was the Big Bad Bruins, the team of legends that included Esposito and Bucyk, Hodge and Cashman. And, most of all, Bobby Orr, my sports hero.

Late in the first period, Philadelphia's Rick MacLeish got his stick in the way of a shot and redirected it past Boston goalie, Gilles Gilbert. It would be the only goal in an entertaining, fast-paced game. The game ended in a 1-0 victory for the Flyers, and Flyers' captain Bobby Clarke lifted the Stanley Cup at center ice.

Is it too late to get this play reviewed?
Looks like goalie interference to me!

Eight-year-old me had been known to flip over a board game or two in response to losing (True Confession time: adult me has also flipped over a board game or two, as my friends who played Strat-O-Matic hockey and baseball can attest), but there were no tears. Disappointment, yes, but tears? No. Instead, I went out into a fine May afternoon and played hockey at the top of the driveway, where I fired tennis balls at the side of the shed, body-checked the house, and waged pitched 'puck battles' with the coiled up garden hose. I also suspect I altered history and scored a couple of goals for the Bruins, turning a 1-0 loss into a 2-1, sudden death overtime victory, followed by a game 7 win, but I can't say for sure. My memory is not quite that clear.

On the outside, not much had changed. I didn't swear off hockey like my father did on a regular basis (I think swearing off hockey was something common to New York Rangers fans back in the 70s and 80s). Yet, as I look back on it now, something definitely changed, because for the next three years, hockey was an insignificant blip, mere background noise in my life. I was aware of the biggest news of the day--the Bruins and Rangers pulling off an unthinkable, monster trade; Bobby Orr going to Chicago; the Islanders shocking the Rangers in the first round of the playoffs and setting the stage for the last great dynasty of the NHL--but it meant little. I still played hockey, quite passionately; but I stopped consuming the professional game for about three years. It's almost as if I suffered some sort of delayed action, sports-related post-traumatic stress disorder.*

I bring all this up because I've sent my RiP off to Carrie (True Confession time #2: I haven't. Yet. But by the time you read this, it will be in her inbox). Last year, this project actually gathered interest from an editor. It had me on pins and needles for two months or so while it worked it's way through the publishing house acquisitions project before it got rejected. Despite the rejection, I felt good about it. Really good. Someone had liked my manuscript enough to champion it in their publishing house! When Carrie and I conferred afterwards, she emphasized this fact and I assured her that I was disappointed, yes, but positive. I'd tinker with the manuscript and we'd try to get it back to this editor, hope that they would bite the second time around.

It didn't quite work out that way. What I submitted to Carrie last fall was, honestly, kind of rushed. We discussed it again around Christmas, and I received more notes from her and vowed to get to work on it immediately in 2017--and didn't. My excuse? Well, there was the lure of the shiny, but it was more than that. When I finished my first rough draft on the WiP and turned my attention back to the RiP, I dillied. And dallied. And dragged my feet. It's only now that I look back that I see the parallels between this fifty-something year-old writer and that eight-year-old hockey fan. Instead of sports-related PTSD, I think I have rejection-related PTSD. Both intellectually and in my heart there's no doubt this rejection was a positive thing, but deep down in my gut there's a defensive reaction to it, an involuntary hardening of the mental muscle to protect against another blow.

There is good news here, however. By 1977 I was back to watching hockey and passionately rooting for my Bruins, and I haven't stopped despite years of frustration: too many men on the ice, Steve Penney, Patrick Roy, Joel Ward, seventeen seconds. The Bruins have broken my sports heart many, many times over the last forty years, yet I still sit down to watch them. Last year's rejection at the editorial stage was my first. It hurt, more than I was willing to acknowledge at the time. But just as I kept playing hockey then, I kept writing. And just as I got past that 1-0 loss, I'm past the first rejection now. I may never get a rejection again. I may never even get a sniff from an editor again. But I'm going to be in the game.


*NOTE: Though I'm using a PTSD analogy here, let's be clear: a Stanley Cup loss or an editorial rejection is nowhere near equivalent to what so many people face as a result of traumatic experiences.

Extra Time!

I'm a little toasted around the edges this morning, due to the bending of space and time that is otherwise known as 'Daylight Saving Time ends.' It's funny, everyone always talks about how you get an extra hour of sleep, but I alwasy finds myself with an extra hour of day. And yesterday, it felt like I ended up with even more than that. I got up at about ten to five, which felt like ten to six (and at least one clock in the house said it was ten to six). Within an hour--which is pretty fast for me--I was working on the RiP.

I spent almost all morning working on the RiP, and then in the late morning/early afternoon (or maybe it was both at the same time), I got to work in our pantry, trying to reclaim it from mice. I recognize that we have to coexist with 'wildlife,' and that in old, leaky Victorian homes like mine, it's awfully tough to keep them out, but lines have been crossed. Either there's too many or they'd gotten too comfortable. And maybe our cats did more to keep them at bay than I ever thought, but as much as the Magpie wants (a) new cat(s), we're not going there now. Somehow, when I got done* it was only three o'clock, and this after an endless amount of time spent empying, sweeping, vacuuming and washing down with Mr. Clean. I showered, we ate an early dinner (though it felt like dinner at a normal time) and I had the whole evening to work on the RiP again.

I'm not a fan of the disruption that Daylight Saving Time causes, to be honest. I'll spend the next three days feeling out of sorts and like Henry in The Time Traveler's Wife. But at least for one day, it felt like I had plenty of time to do everything I wanted--and needed--to do. The pantry is one step closer to being done, and the RiP is now in the 'final tweaking' stage. It should be on its way to Carrie by week's end.

How was your weekend? Do anything fun?

*done as in "Stick a fork in me, I can't do anymore today" as opposed to "Finished"

Stranger Things 2: That's a Relief!

Last week saw the much-hyped and long-awaited return of last year's surprise Netflix hit, Stranger Things. A critical success that was also insanely popular, the show is a sci-fi thriller centered on three nerdy, on-the-cusp-of-adolescence boys who are searching for their missing friend, and the mysterious girl with strange powers who appears in town one day. When we watched the show last year, we loved it, even my kids, who didn't get all the 80s references the way my wife and I did (and why would they? They didn't live through it!). The show was fun, provided some genuinely scary, tension-filled moments, and, most of all, had those kids. They were cute. They were sweet--and sassy. They had great chemistry and believable dialogue. Even where some of the characters ventured into the realm of cliché (the rich, pretty boy jock; the indifferent parents; the nerdy science teacher), you could mostly roll your eyes and let it go. It was a fun ride.

I approached the second season with trepidation. My experience with series, whether it's television, books, or movies, is that they eventually fail. Sequels--and with the title Stranger Things 2, the show's creators branded this like a sequel instead of a continuation--rarely live up to the quality of the original. Happy Days jumped the shark. Twin Peaks lost its way for much of its second season before David Lynch pulled it out of the fire late in its original run. The X-Files collapsed beneath the weight of its ever-expanding mythology, and Orphan Black, which I admittedly have not seen since early in its third season, was threatening to do the same. So I was a little worried about what might happen.

My worries were magnified after the first episode. It started with high action, introducing new characters, then seemed to lapse into too much scene setting, too much catching up. I understand the need to do that; even in this age of always-available shows and binge-watching, showrunners can't assume everyone's going to do this. Still, it seemed a little slow and pokey, a little unfinished. As the end credits rolled and the Netflix counter ticked down to the next episode, I wasn't really sure I wanted to go on. But I did, and I'm glad.

We watched another episode that night, then a couple more the next day, and a couple more the day after that. We will possibly finish the season tonight or tomorrow. And despite the obligatory romantic entanglements that seems like an industry standard, one episode where it seemed a character figured something out way too easily, and one episode that really felt like filler to me, my fears were misplaced. The show quickly found its groove. It felt like the first season in tone, it's provided plenty of thrills and humor, and it's allowing the characters most central to the show--the kids--to grow. And it's done it all without feeling like a straight-up rehash of season one. Stranger Things has not jumped the shark.

Do you watch Stranger Things? How are you liking this new season?

[EDIT: 10/31]: Jemi's comment makes me realize I asked the wrong question. Consider this also: How do you feel about the continuation of some well-loved series/franchise? Have you ever been pleasantly surprised? Deeply disappointed? Thanks!
 

The Lure of the Shiny

The good news? This isn't a post about politics, or Harvey Weinstein, or anything really unpleasant. The bad news? I don't know. Maybe it's not bad news at all. In fact, there really isn't much news at all.

Saturday was a good day for writing. I am now heading into the final hundred pages of the RiP. I'd love to have this back in Agent Carrie's hands on November 1, but that may be a bit of a tall order. I'm not the fastest writer in the world, and there's still some rejiggering to do, but progress!

While I was getting myself organized Saturday morning I had myself briefly tempted by the lure of the shiny--appropriate, since one of the chapters I was working on involved a father-daughter fishing expedition. Whilst searching through my papers trying to find a section I had rewritten (as much as it's a waste of paper and a consumption of rather expensive printer ink, I really like to have a hard copy for rereading/editing; it's much more fun to mark up), I found a printout of an outline I had sent to Carrie for the WiP last year--and gazed upon it with all the longing an eighth grade boy feels for his first crush. I wanted nothing more than to dive back into that manuscript, which is going to need one hell of a lot of work before I can even consider sending it to Carrie. It must be time to start working on it, those characters have been creeping back into my brain.

What is it about the new that is so attractive? I really like the RiP--again. And it had a nibble last year, which means someone at a publishing house really liked it, too. That glimpse of words with my main character's name on the WiP, though, was almost enough to make me say, "I can work on both of these at the same time; go for it!" I'm not sure I can, however, and it may not be wise to try it, though in truth, rewriting one thing and reading/making editorial notes on another are not the same thing, and require different parts of the brain muscle.

I've often said that the way I keep motivated is that I want my stories published, want someone to read them, and that the only chance of that happening is to finish what I start. Now, I can add this to the Kick-in-the-Pants toolbox: Want to work on that new shiny? Finish that thing you've been working on for weeks/months/years.

How do you resist the lure of the shiny new thing?

Music! I think I've posted this one before, but maybe not. It's on my mind lately, for reasons I can't explain. It never made it onto an official studio record, but if it had, it probably wouldn't have sounded as alive as it does on this rehearsal. Enjoy!

And Here We Are Again

Stop me if you've heard this one before. A man holds a position of great power and influence. He's at the top of his field, the top of his company. He rubs shoulders with the rich and famous and influential. He is rich and famous and influential. With a word, he can make or break careers.

And he is a sexual predator.

This week, it's Harvey Weinstein's turn in the spotlight. Last year, it was Donald Trump's. Before that, it was Bill Cosby's. The list is long and it stretches back forever, and I can tell you this: in the coming weeks, Hollywood will almost certainly be rocked by reveals of other predators amongst their ranks. Producers, directors, stars, casting directors: I expect we're going to be hearing a lot about men who have been using their power to make women miserable (yes, there are tales of men being harassed, too, and that is terrible, but the board is tilted far the other way).

The question is, "What causes this?" What causes a man to decide that it's okay to greet a woman in a hotel room while wearing nothing but a bathrobe, or demanding she watch him shower, or masturbate in front of her? What makes a man think it's okay to make what is essentially a job interview into a quid pro quo, I'll give you this job if you give me that job kind of thing? Are these men--the Harvey Weinsteins and Donald Trumps and Bill Clintons and Cosbys and Louis Mayers of the world time bombs of predation that will go off sooner or later, regardless of where they are and what they do, or are they products of power, corrupted by knowing they have so much control over another person's destiny?

The good news--in as much as there can be good news in all of this--is that women are becoming emboldened, are starting to speak out. Now we have to figure out a way to stop this from happening in the first place.

Sorry to see you go, Tom

I don't remember exactly when I first heard Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers. I do remember back in junior high school, having an acquaintance who was fast on the way to becoming one of my closest friends talking Petty up enthusiastically--along with other bands I had not yet heard of, like Elvis Costello, The Pretenders, and Rockpile. Shortly thereafter, I was walking around with the organ riff from "Don't Do Me Like That" on auto-play in my head.

I was not a fan the way my friend was--is, but I certainly liked what I heard. I saw Petty for the first time at Madison Square Garden in the mid-80s, backing Bob Dylan. The Petty & the Heartbreakers segment of the show was miles above the Dylan segment. (though Petty had certain vocal stylings similar to Dylan--hello, singing through the nose--the key difference was that Petty sang so you could understand him. Dylan almost seemed to go out of his way to be incomprehensible.) I didn't see him in concert again for more than twenty years, by which time the band was (incredibly) past thirty. And while the show never felt like some tired, "We're in it for the money here's a bunch of oldies for ya" thing (the band was promoting a new album at the time and played four songs from it during the set), you knew every song. And they were all good.

After forty years, Petty was apparently planning to call it quits on the major touring and was looking forward to spending more time with the family and doing...well, whatever it is rock stars do when they 'retire'. This usually involves a quiet period followed by an unexpected album and tour. Sadly, we'll never get to see that. Thanks for the memories and music (and those goofy appearances on It's Garry Shandling's Show).



In Other News...

Yes, I'm going to get political. The Trump administration continues using "religious freedom" as cover for its assault  on "others." Last week saw the announcement of new rules allowing employers to not offer contraceptives/birth control as part of health insurance based on religious or moral objections. Never mind that this impacts some 55 million women, and will likely result in a huge uptick in unplanned pregnancies and abortions (at least until the GOP finds a way to overturn Roe v. Wade and brings us one step closer to the Christian Sharia they seem to crave). Meanwhile, last week the Department of Justice has taken the position that civil rights laws don't apply to transgender people from discrimination at work.Now, this would be fine if  the DOJ's position was that Congress should take action to extend that protection, but what's the likelihood of that? And what's the likelihood that this Congress would do such a thing? Yeah, that's what I thought.

And, still sticking with politics--in the wake of the horror in Las Vegas this week, I have come up with a way to actually get something done on gun control: convince Trump that the second amendment was written by Obama. You'd see an instantaneous shift in the meaning of "Repeal and Replace."

Happier News...

Louie DeBrusk was a high energy, low-skill player in the NHL whose best season saw him score eight goals for the Edmonton Oilers in 1992-93. What endeared him to fans wasn't the 24 goals he scored in 401 games, it was his willingness to fight. DeBrusk racked up 1161 penalty minutes in his career, fighting 214 times.

Jake DeBrusk is Louie's son. He is not his father. A highly skilled player taken in the first round of the 2015 draft, Jake made his NHL debut with Boston on Thursday night, and provides a feel-good moment in a week that desperately needed feel-good moments (stick with the video):


A priceless moment.

One last bit of hockey news for my Australian reader(s): On Saturday night, Nathan Walker became the first Australian to play in the National Hockey League--and soon thereafter he became the first Australian to score a goal in the National Hockey League! Congratulations to Nathan! [EDIT] I meant to include this, but forgot: the Australian Ambassador to the United States is...Joe Hockey. No kidding!

That's all I got. Let's hope this is a better week. How are you all?

The Reading List, 2017 (Part III)

Amazing that we're into October already, isn't it? Here's the list of books read and completed between July and now--have you read any of them?

The Good Life (2006), Jay McInerney. Unintentional re-read. I did not like it nearly as much as I thought, and I can't remember what I thought of it the first time.

The Returned (2013), Jason Mott. A TV show was based on this, but apparently not the one I watched, which was French and based on a movie that had no relation to this except the title and the broad concept. It seems there's a bunch of films/TV shows/movies called "The Returned" that all have dead people coming back, not in a Walking Dead kind of way. I really liked this one.

Cancer Ward (1969 edition), Alexander Solzhenitsyn. The toughest part of reading Russian writers? The patronymic! Thus, everyone is Oleg Filimonovich and Pavel Nikolayevich and Ludmila Afanasyevna. Good book, though.

Into the Water (2017), Paula Hawkins. Strong follow-up from the author of The Girl on the Train.

Dream Hoarders (2017), Richard Reeves. Non-fiction work looking at the growing separation between the top 20% of Americans and the rest of us.

The Wild Palms (1939), William Faulkner. I reached the end and said, "WTF???"

Amagansett (2004), Mark Mills. Murder in the Hamptons, post-WWII. Ultimately disappointing.

The Winter People (2014), Jennifer McMahon. Promising start that kind of fell apart in the last third.

The Shock of the Fall (2013), Nathan Filer. Schizophrenia makes for unsettling but effective narrator.

There it is. Nine books read, one a re-read. I note that, aside from Cancer Ward, which was a monster, most of these books were pretty thin in terms of page count.

In other news

... I had a good weekend of working on the RiP (huzzah! This revision has been difficult)

...On Wednesday last week, our high temperature was 85. On Thursday, it was 65. Fall has arrived (though we've effectively had no rain for three solid weeks now).

...Hockey season starts this week, yay!

...Though the Bruins could be a disaster this year. Boo!

Finally, the song of the week. Neil Young's After the Gold Rush. What have you been reading lately?

 

Goldenrod and cross-promotion

I'm going soft today.

I'm been working up to something bigger,something more outraged, as the result of yet another maddening meme I saw on Facebook this weekend, but I'm not quite ready to go there and I don't want to start my week off with aggravation. Instead, we'll go with something a little more "feel good."

Locust borer on goldenrod

As you may or may not know, I write a monthly column for a local newspaper. It (the paper) publishes once a week; my column once a month. While I enjoy the work, it often causes me stress, as I regularly find myself scrambling to beat deadline. And, much as I do with this blog, I will frequently spend several days banging my head against the wall on a column, only to change topics at the last possible minute. This month's column was one of those. After struggling for the better part of a week with...well, I don't even remember what I was trying to write about now...I switched gears at the last minute and wrote about my favorite fall wildflower, goldenrod. You can read that here. (Quick note: local papers tend not to do much editing, except for the headlines. All errors, grammar mangling, and leaps of logic are my responsibility)

In the week or so since this column was published, I've had several people tell me they loved it. Four of them were people I know (though I did not walk up to them and say, "Did you read my column, huh, huh? What'd ya think?" These were unsolicited comments.); one of them was a random lady in the bank who must have recognized me from the picture that goes with the column. Seems I am not the only person who appreciates goldenrod. And, I have to admit, it's nice to hear these kinds of comments. The ego needs boosting once in a while.

I mention this not to toot my own horn, because I hate tooting my own horn, but because it's important to know that, even in this digital age, people still do read things like newspapers. And they listen to the radio. When my organization has a big event coming up, we make a point of going to the local radio station and going on air for a few minutes. The number of people who call or register for programs as a result is impressing. In fact, two days after the goldenrod column ran, I was representing the organization at a local timbersports event and was interviewed live on air. Literally five minutes, someone looked at me and said, "Didn't I just hear you on the radio?"

Maybe it's a function of where I live--a predominantly rural, media-starved county with spotty cell/wifi and cable service that still doesn't reach all areas. The point, however, is that if you are an author (or any kind of  business person), you shouldn't be sitting around waiting around for Terry Gross or The New York Times to call you. Start local. There are people listening, and reading.

 (Photo by me. The locust borer is a harmless beetle (harmless unless you are a black locust tree, that is; then it could be a problem) commonly found feeding on goldenrod in fall)

An Interview with Nick Wilford

Good morning, all. Today is an auspicious day. Not only is it my wedding anniversary (yay!), it's also the launch day for Nick Wilford's newest novel, Black & White. Nick has been a long-time friend of the blog, and his comments are always welcome. I'm pleased to have Nick here today to answer a few questions. Welcome, Nick!

Hi, Jeff! Thanks for offering to interview me on the release day of my book. It’s great to be here.

First, let's have the Nick Wilford biography as it will appear on Black & White.

"Nick Wilford is a writer and stay-at-home dad. Once a journalist, he now makes use of those early morning times when the house is quiet to explore the realms of fiction, with a little freelance editing and formatting thrown in. When not working he can usually be found spending time with his family or cleaning something. He is the author of A Change of Mind and Other Stories, a collection featuring a novella and five short stories, four of which were previously published in Writer’s Muse magazine. Nick is also the editor of Overcoming Adversity: An Anthology for Andrew."

Okay, now tell me something about you that doesn’t appear as part of your official biography.

Well, I really don’t do much in my day-to-day life that doesn't appear in that biography, but I once went to a party dressed as a woman in a youth hostel in a far-flung part of New Zealand. It was de rigueur though – all the men were required to do the same, while the women were asked to fashion an outfit out of bin liners. Now that I recall, the owner was a bit odd...

Tell us a little about Black & White and how you came to write it. Was there a particular moment of inspiration or was it a series that came together over time (or something else entirely)?

I never planned to write a series, I actually started writing the draft of Book 1 as part of NaNo 2012 (so it’s been a long time coming together!) It’s actually quite hard to recall that initial spark of inspiration, but it probably came from being a househusband and taking care of the cleaning at home (which is managed quite haphazardly in any case). I was thinking how much more time I would have if the cleaning took care of itself, or if there was no dirt at all. But dirt is probably quite necessary. I think the series shows that cleanliness isn’t next to godliness – it takes more than that to make a perfect society. And once I’d finished the initial story there were many things that had to be addressed, so the series grew from there.

I think in the best utopia/dystopias, while the societies are distinctly different from our own, they also reflect current society and culture. In what ways does the society of Whitopolis reflect our own world?

In probably quite scary ways, and I think some of the issues addressed may be becoming more timely by the day. There’s the insular attitude of Trump and his supporters, the mistrust of outsiders. In my story, the government has created a fictitious idea of the outside world to cover up its crimes. It’s taken to extremes, but if things carry on like this, I don’t know...

It certainly seems more plausible by the day. Some authors very deliberately choose names for their characters, either as a way to pay homage to certain people, or as a symbol of what that character represents. Is there particular significance to the names of your characters (Wellebury Noon, Ezmerelda Dontible, others)?

There is no major significance, I just wanted names that sounded intriguing and memorable. I mention him a lot, but Terry Pratchett was great at making up outlandish names that seemed to suit the particular character perfectly. Esmerelda is the first name of one of my favourite characters of his, Granny Weatherwax (a witch), so there is a nod there, I suppose.

Stephen King has suggested that it’s not until we go back and re-read our first draft that we discover what our story is really about. Did you have a strong vision for what Black & White was about from the beginning, or did it change? Did you discover anything about the story at any point in writing that made you have to rewrite or rethink or substantially edit?

Well, I started writing the first book during NaNo 2012, as I mentioned – nearly five years ago, so it’s becoming a little bit lost in the mists of time! But overall, I did have a pretty good idea of the basic premise, although many of the details came as I was writing. I didn’t know about the various predicaments the characters get into, so had to deal with those as I came up. The substantial rewrites actually came in with books 2 and 3, but I’m keeping those under wraps at this point!

 
I’m always curious about how other writers write. Do you have a set schedule for writing? A routine? Any particular writing idiosyncracies or superstitions or rituals you have to follow? AND, of course, are you a plotter or a wingman?

Yes, I do have a schedule that I try to stick to. I’m a dawn writer, or pre-dawn really, getting up at 4am – or 4.30 if I fancy a lie-in! It’s quite a magical time, with peace reigning all around, and once I get going, I can normally get into the zone. I work at home, but currently have set hours starting at 6am, so I like to get my writing done first. No particular rituals, but I do check social media first (five minutes max) and will invariably be found with a cup of tea to hand. I'm a wingman, for the most part, although I usually have a basic outline for at least the beginning of the story. It’s fun seeing where events take me.

Black & White is part one of a planned trilogy. When you started out, did you know it would be a trilogy? How much has the story changed since you started it? What are the challenges of writing when you’re somewhat restricted by what you’ve already written?

I didn’t know it would be a trilogy to start, but as I was getting to the end of the story it became clear there were many more questions to be answered than could be dealt with in a single book. It’s hard to say how the story’s changed since I started, because it became clear in the process of writing... but I always had the sense of an underdog taking on a big machine, and I guess that’s always been there. For the last part of your question, yeah, that can be tricky – especially for an imagined society with all these specific quirks and traits. I’ve taken to keeping a file with details of various things, including simply keeping track of the various names. Not everything stays the same, however, so there is still invention going on in books 2 and 3.

Q. When does Black & White come out? Where can we find it?

 It’s out today – huzzah! And can be found at all the usual locations:

Amazon US / Amazon UK / Smashwords / Barnes & Noble / Kobo / iBooks

Add on Goodreads

Thanks for dropping in, Nick. Enjoy your launch day and best of luck!

Thanks, Jeff! This was a lot of fun.

Title: Black & White

Author: Nick Wilford

Genre: YA dystopian Series #: 1 of 3

Release date: 18th September 2017

Publisher: Superstar Peanut Publishing

Blurb:

What is the price paid for the creation of a perfect society?

In Whitopolis, a gleamingly white city of the future where illness has been eradicated, shock waves run through the populace when a bedraggled, dirt-stricken boy materialises in the main street. Led by government propaganda, most citizens shun him as a demon, except for Wellesbury Noon – a high school student the same age as the boy.

Upon befriending the boy, Wellesbury feels a connection that he can’t explain – as well as discovering that his new friend comes from a land that is stricken by disease and only has two weeks to live. Why do he and a girl named Ezmerelda Dontible appear to be the only ones who want to help?

As they dig deeper, everything they know is turned on its head – and a race to save one boy becomes a struggle to redeem humanity.

Giveaway:

Enter the giveaway for a chance to win a copy of my collection A Change of Mind and Other Stories or a $10 giftcard! a Rafflecopter giveaway

Anyone have any questions for Nick? 
  

No Post Monday!

Take the week off. Enjoy it!

Swapped!

Some time in the middle of last week, while tooling around the Internet, I came across an interesting tidbit. Lord of the Flies was getting a remake.

William Golding's classic 1954 novel about schoolboys marooned on a Pacific island had been adapted for the screen three times, most recently in 1990, so I suppose it was due, and with society seemingly in a death spiral, maybe it even seems timely. But here's the new wrinkle: this time, it will have an all female cast.

Hollywood has gotten fully on board with gender-swapping. In addition to last year's Lady Ghostbusters and the aforementioned Lady Lord of the Flies, we're also slated to see Lady Ocean's Eleven (i.e., Ocean's Eight), Lady Dirty Rotten Scoundrels (Nasty Women), and Lady Splash--yes, Splash. All these films have two things in common: they are remakes or based on previous films, and they are getting the gender-swap treatment.

But what will the girls wear?

Hollywood should be commended for finally realizing that women, who make up slightly more than half the population and have considerable economic power, might actually like to see themselves with leading roles in films that aren't just romantic comedies. Even after the box office disaster that was Ghostbusters, women are getting more opportunities to carry films. As Kelly Konda noted, "Progress for women in Hollywood apparently means being allowed to fail financially."  Of course, Wonder Woman's status as smash hit should help even more.

So, it's nice to see women getting more starring vehicles. The problem, though, is that we're apparently seeing remake upon remake upon remake (and in the case of Lord of the Flies, said remake is being written by two men). In a post last week on Writer Unboxed, Jo Eberhardt wondered why we can't see more original stories with women. Says Eberhardt: "Imagine, if you will, a world in which movie executives actually think female protagonists can be authentic characters in their own right, and not merely gender-swapped versions of popular male characters." Eberhardt suggests that, rather than a remake, Ghostbusters should have conceived of as a sequel. "...it's thirty years later, and the ghosts are back. New York needs a new team of paranormal investigators. Somebody call Melissa McCarthy." What fun! And if the film had been called Ghostbusters III, it might have avoided some of the "They're killing my childhood" hand-wringing.

Gender-swapping is a tricky business. I have done it twice now, both times after discussion with Agent Carrie. One of the projects was very early, say a dozen pages and a broad concept; the other was further along, though still in extremely rough form. What I found was that gender-swapping was no simple business. It wasn't just a matter of changing names and pronouns, and maybe throwing in a reference to a skirt or bra. Changing the character from a man to a woman changed everything about that character, which in turn resulted in far-reaching changes in the story. Whether I did it well or not remains to be seen, though none of the rejections on the RiP said anything bad about my female point of view characters.

I'm hoping the two men working on Lord of the Flies will not sink to lazy writing and stereotypes, that they will not merely change names (Ralph to Renata, Jack to Jackie, Piggy to Miss Piggy), pronouns, and costumes--and on that front, let's hope they also choose not to overly-sexualize with palm frond bikinis; these are supposed to be pre-adolescent kids here. Some have gone so far to suggest that a planeload of girls crash-landing on a Pacific island would never turn into Lord of the Flies, that they would find a way to cooperate and live peacefully and build a utopia. I don't buy that. In any society, there's going to be some degree of inequality, and where there's inequality, there's strife. The question is, how is it handled? With rocks and clubs and sticks sharpened at both ends, or some other way? A gender-swapped Lord of the Flies presents us with some interesting questions. Let's hope, if the film gets made, we see those questions explored.

What do you think about the Lord of the Flies remake? Have you ever gender-swapped your characters? How did that work out?

 UPDATE: Not related to this post, exactly, but maybe of interest to some of you: Agent Carrie is looking for entries in her monthly Query Critique. Check here for how to enter! Good luck!

Weekend Update: Summer's (near) end edition

Well, we've hit the penultimate weekend of 'official' summer and already we're seeing the signs of the winding down of the season: one of the big baseball camps in the area is already empty, already moving in the bulldozers and heavy equipment for what will almost certainly be another expansion. The big camp is still open, still fielding teams, but at this point, the big crush of traffic 'in town' should start easing off, at least during the week. I have a village parking pass that allows me to park almost anywhere without having to feed the meters, but what good does it do when there's nowhere to actually park? Well, that headache is about to go away for about nine months or so.

THE BIG EVENT last week was the eclipse. Did you see it where you were? I'm happy to say, the eclipse glasses worked. I got to see the eclipse (partial only, alas), and I got to keep my vision! It was not a productive afternoon. Round here, we saw a slight 'dimming' of the day, a slight change in the color, but it didn't get dark.

SOMETHING I FOUND AMUSING If you read my newspaper column I linked last week, I recalled how, as a child, I was terrified of going out on a day we had an eclipse, lest I accidentally look at the sun and go blind. There's a family that lives on the property where I work, with two small children. The kids' mother also babysits other children from time to time (including my bosses' kids). It was a hot day, and they were all going swimming, but the kids wanted to swim at the gym instead of the lake because they wanted to be inside. At one point, they came over to the office after the eclipse started: all of them with their eyes glued to the ground, all of them making sun visors out of their hands. I guess it's good to know that kids do listen! We did let them use the eclipse glasses, and they were blown away.

THE CATBIRD flew back to school this weekend (actually, we drove her). The house goes a little quieter.

ACTUAL REWRITING has now officially commenced on the RiP which means, naturally, I had a moment of inspiration on the WiP yesterday. I may have to put an actual door on that back room.

CHESTNUT It's been a while since I posted a picture of my favorite little tree, so I ran out across the desperately-needs-to-get-cut front lawn and took a picture. I need new glasses--can't see close up well enough to take a decent photo most times (I've always had horrendously bad distance vision; now I can't see up close, either). This is what it looks like today:

It's not the greatest photo. On the left is the chestnut today. On the right is how it looked at the beginning of June. Hard to tell from this image, but it is definitely bigger, and while the new main stem is leaning a little, it has actually grown to the point where it is taller than that original main stem (seen on the left side of the leftern picture).

FINALLY some music. What made me look up this song late last week? I'm really not sure. It is a rather disturbing piece, but what the heck. Ladies and gentlemen, Ballad of a Thin Man, by Bob Dylan. Enjoy the day, enjoy your week, let me know what's going on!

Bob Dylan - The Ballad of a Thin Man from Vasco Cavalcante on Vimeo.

Celestial Events and other things

Semi-random postings for this ecliptic day.

* As you may or may not know, I write a monthly column for one of our local papers. This month's column is on eclipses. Take a read!

* That column is not exactly a "How to" guide for safe eclipse viewing. If you want that, go here!

* A friend of mine gave me a pair of eclipse glasses last week. I checked them out, they meet the safety standards set forth by the American Astronomical Society (AAS), but I have to say I'm a bit nervous about using them anyway. Personally, if I were the leader of a terrorist network who really wanted to screw with United States, I'd get a bunch of people working in the factories where they make these things and have them damage the glasses. It's all about the long game!

*I was heartened to see that the giant rally in Boston was peaceful, in that no one was killed or even severely injured. Not heartened to see that counter-protesters were apparently going after the police., or that they instigated some physical altercations with people who were there to attend the rally. Hands off, people. It may already be too late, but you do not want anyone to be able to legitimately lump you in with the other side.

*Writing! There is writing happening! It's still of the 'scribble notes and arrows and circles all over the printed page' but it is writing nonetheless! I'm a little excited about this.

* There can only be one piece (well, two actually, but you really can't play one without the other, if you ask me) of music for today. From Pink Floyd's landmark Dark Side of the Moon comes "Brain Damage" and "Eclipse."


How was your weekend? Any plans to view the eclipse today?

Short thoughts on Charlottesville

I had two uncles who served in the Navy in World War II. Another flew a P-38 with the 8th Air Force out of southern Italy. Three of my friends had fathers who helped liberate Europe. Two of them swept across France and fought in the Battle of the Bulge. The other landed at Anzio and was wounded in action. All of them are gone now. I can't imagine any of them would be especially happy with what transpired this weekend.

It sickens me to know that Hitler's ideals are alive and well and living in the United States. It sickens me that thousands of racists, under the pretense of "protecting our history and heritage," were chanting slogans right out of Nazi Germany (and if you are honestly upset about the removal of a General Robert E. Lee statue, and you claim you are not a racist, fine. But don't march with the KKK, and don't chant "Blood and soil" and don't Sieg Heil your way through Emancipation Park). It sickens me that so many people feel so sure of their beliefs, and so comfortable in our current climate, that they will gather and march in such numbers. It sickens me that our president will not condemn them, will not call them what they are. At this point, all calls on him to do so are pointless. He's made his statement with silence and vague words.

Heather Heyer is dead because of Nazis, because of hatred, because of racism and bigotry. She's just the latest in a long, long line that almost certainly stretches back to near the dawn of humanity. Sadly, she won't be the last. I don't know how we stop it, but I know we must.

From the Department of "NOW I've Seen Everything"

Okay, first off, I'm going to admit that this is a blatant 'filler post' that has nothing to do with writing. The fact is, once again I was unprepared this morning, then got home late, had a late dinner, so here we are, with me trying to maintain something of a schedule. Then again, maybe you'll find something inspiring.

On the way home from work this afternoon, I heard this story on the radio. My first thought was, "Are you effing kidding me?" And let me tell you, my inner voice was not saying this in that "Wow, how cool is that?" sort of tone, but in tones that were condescending, snide, and snarky.

But I'll also admit the "Are you effing kidding me?" was quickly followed by another thought: "I'm going to have to Youtube that." And so, I give you three words that have no business going together: Dog Surf Competition. Enjoy.



And, in a classic example of falling down the internet rabbit hole, here's Kama, the surfing pig.



Ever surfed? Ever surfed with a pig or a dog? Tell us about it!

Writing and...Cold Cuts?

Last week, we picked up some cold cuts at the deli counter at the supermarket. Ham. Turkey breast. A little Swiss cheese. Tasty stuff. The ham was perfect, thin sheets you could almost see through. The turkey, the same, at least when the clerk held up a slice for me to look at an approve. It looked pretty much just exactly perfect. But when we tried to use the turkey to build a sandwich the next day, a funny thing happened: the turkey turned out to be the perfect thickness on one end, and a thin, shreddy mess on the other. Instead of being able to peel up individual slices, you could easily peel up half a slice, and then had to pick through the bits at the other end.

Having run a deli slicer at one point, I think what happens is all in the motion used by the clerk. You can exert more downward at the start of the slice, when your arm is closest to your body. As you push and your arm gets further away from you, you lose downward pressure on the meat, so the back part of the slice is actually thinner than the front half: thus, shreddy meat. Or slices of salami that look like someone's nibbled a bit off the end.

I've noticed (and perhaps I've written about this before, I don't remember) that, in terms of description, my writing is often a lot like those slices of turkey. For whatever reason, I tend to make my writing thick with adjectives and description at the beginning,. I pile it on, descriptions of people with knobby-knuckled hands and hair growing out of their ears, rooms with ankle-deep carpet and pine-scented paneling, deep backyards lit with fireflies at twilight. Whatever. In my RiP, my opening paragraph is five sentences long. Those sentences have enough adjectives for a page. But as I go, the adjectives drop out. Description gets lost in action, dialogue, emotion. The turkey becomes shreddy and thin.

In the case of the RiP, it may be because the passage in question was something I started in my writers' group, not knowing it was going to be the opening of a 300 plus page manuscript. In general, I tend to 'slice thick' on my short stories, I don't know why. It's possible that I use description the way musicians will run through scales as a warm up, or that it's how I find my way into what I'm writing. A lot of the description came out when I ran the manuscript through the Excess Word Removal Machine (pat. pending), but there's still an awful lot there. I thought it was necessary, but on my latest re-read, it still seems a little overdone.

What I can't quite tell is if the pattern persists through the rest of it, i.e., if each writing session starts off with the same slavish devotion to description. I don't think it does. It seems to me that, once I get through that opener, the description become more evenly distributed, and it may well be that it's because I spend between work sessions thinking about the project, writing it in my head.

In the end, I'm not sure how much of a problem this is, whether it's real, or just the sort of thing we doubting writers use to torture ourselves. Front-loaded description may or may not be a problem, depending on how loaded it is (and, perhaps, how predictable: George R.R. Martin's insistence on describing the clothing of every new character in the Game of Thrones epic became annoyingly predictable for me), and how well it serves the story. Maybe there are times where it's best spread evenly, like uniform slices of cold cuts, and other times where it's okay to be lumpy and uneven. What do you think?

And now, some music.

Given that it's almost August, that summer is winding down into the Dog Days, it seems appropriate to throw this little number in from The Who. Amazing that it's forty years ago. Amazing that Roger and Pete are still on tour (and reportedly quite energetic and sounding well). Watching old Who clips is a reminder of how crazed and chaotic they were, and how powerful:

"The Doctor is a--"

In 1974, Mel Brooks released Blazing Saddles, which is at once a brilliant and intelligent satire of racism and a typical, infantile Brooks film. In the movie, the Attorney General of some unknown state tries to force the residents of a town to sell their land cheap in order to build a railroad through it. After intimidation fails to work, the Attorney General convinces the governor to appoint a black man as town sheriff, reasoning that that will be the final straw. In the scene below, the residents prepare a welcome ceremony for the arriving sheriff (NOTE: one obscured very bad word):


I thought of this scene a lot last week after the announcement came out from the BBC that the role of the Thirteenth* Doctor on the iconic British television show, Doctor Who would be played by...gasp!...Jodie Whittaker, a...gasp...a w-BONG!

I don't travel in the squicky corners of the internet where Breitbarters like Milo Yiannopoulos live, so I don't exactly know what the reaction has been from that end of things--no doubt, it's not all that different from the initial reactions of the residents of Rock Ridge to the black sheriff in Blazing Saddles. The fact is, there are always going to be misogynists out there who oppose it on principle, and there are going to be misogynists out there who cover up their misogyny with, "Yeah, but canon!" Here's the thing: we're not dealing with Batman, or Superman, or Tolkien. Canon is mutable, especially for a show like Doctor Who, which has been making it all up as it goes along. The fact that the Doctor can regenerate at all was due to the necessity of replacing the First Doctor, when the actor's health wouldn't allow him to continue in the role! And speaking of mutable canon, I seem to recall that it was established that Time Lords only had twelve regenerations, and here we are on the Thirteenth* Doctor. The showrunners invent and bend and dodge to serve both dramatic purpose and to keep the money flowing.

The identity of the Doctor in terms of race, religion or gender doesn't much matter to me. What's important--to me--is that the show tell good stories with quality actors portraying all the roles. But I also recognize that as a white man, I've had the luxury of never really having to worry about it, and that I've never been under-represented. And when I see reactions like the one from the little girl in the embedded tweet in this this article, I realize how important it is to other people. (sorry, I'm not on Twitter, so I don't know how to embed that stuff; Youtube is my limit). To the  good folks at Doctor Who, I say "Huzzah! The Doctor is a woman!" Maybe I'll even start watching again.

What about you? Do you watch Doctor Who? What do you think of the new casting choice?

*As far as I can tell, John Hurt's "War Doctor" from the 50th Anniversary special should count as one, and then I'm pretty sure either David Tennant's 10th Doctor or Matt Smith's 11th Doctor kinda, sorta regenerated as himself (maybe they both did it), so we might actually be on more like Doctor 14 or 15 now.

Put a Bow on it

Yesterday (Sunday, the 16th), at pretty much high noon, I pushed back from the computer, the final chords of the Grateful Dead's spirited-but-sloppy "Scarlet Begonias" first set closer from July 16, 1976 still ringing in my ears, and said, "Finished." The latest WiP had been completed.

Not finished finished, mind you. In early evening I sat with my cup of coffee and made some tweaks to the final scene in the manuscript, then searched back a ways to make a couple of changes to an earlier scene that had to reflect that ending. Part of me wanted to wait until Revision, Phase One to make those changes, but it was on my mind there and then, so I did it. Officially, I guess, I didn't actually put a bow on it until just about 8:30 last night.

This one is currently a monster, 471 bloated pages, almost 138,000 words--yeah, I guess Stephen King really is an influence--but I tend to write long and do a lot of cutting during the revision. I believe the RiP was just shy of 400 pages and in the neighborhood of 116,000 words when I called it a first draft. That manuscript went on a crash diet and went out on submission last year a svelte 98,000 words. This story may well be bigger, but I should be able to get it down much closer to the 100,000 mark. For now, it's time to let it stew, and then I'll read it in a few weeks and discover just how bad it is. In the meantime, there's a RiP that has been too-long neglected sitting on my hard drive...

What about you? Do you draft big, or draft small?

EDIT: Just saw that Agent Carrie has the doors open for another Query Critique! If you've got a query you need help with, send her an e-mail and maybe you'll get a critique. See here for full rules.

Thoughts on the MOOC (Part II)

Well, look at that, me delivering on a promised post! I even went to the extraordinary step of pre-writing a good portion of this post; still, it's just past six a.m. on a Monday and my coffee's not quite ready yet, so there's no guarantee of actual coherence here.

When I wrote about this previously, I gave some idea of how the course works. I'll try not to repeat myself as I give my overall impressions now that the course is over.

It was pretty intense. The course began officially on May 15, with the first assignments posted about two days later. The final assignment was posted on June 22, with all course materials due on July 3 (July 4, for those of us in the eastern time zone). Because I started late, I was playing catch up from the get go, and put in a lot of work. I eventually did catch up, though I admit I also fizzled toward the end--I submitted my final assignment about two hours before the deadline.

I enjoyed the course quite a bit, despite what's going to come in the critique section, which might make it look like I hated the course! Positives included a lot of reading, widely. Each week our required reading assignments typically included one or two pieces of fiction and one or two piece of nonfiction (there were usually three readings per week). The readings were high-quality works of fiction or journalism, no wild esoterica that leaves you scratching your head and saying, "WTF???" There was also a long list of optional reads, though I confess I did not quite have time for getting into all of those (I wish I had). Each week, guest authors provided a video mini-lecture (typically 20 minutes long, give or take). Guest lecturers came from all over the world and included scifi authors, journalists, memoirists. It was a nice balance. The instructors themselves provided interesting topics for discussion related to the weekly topics. Finally, there was the opportunity to meet and read authors at all levels of the writing journey from all across the world.

Holy non sequitur, Batman! One of the other things I really liked about this? In the video mini-lectures, when the authors wanted to illustrate a point about technique or weaving in social issues, they referenced...books! Not movies. Not TV shows. Actual books. This may seem like a small thing, but think about the number of times you read a blog post and the author says, "For a really great example of characterization, watch Forrest Gump" (or something like that). It was refreshing.

Back to the course. There were problems. Some of these, maybe most of them, stemmed from the technology the course was built on. It was hitchy. Jumpy. On several occasions, I started to type in a comment and found that the first five letters on line one disappeared. Or I'd actually hit the post button, and my response would be missing the last half a line. If I clicked 'edit,' Instead of having my entire post there, waiting for me to re-type the first five letters or last five words, I'd have...nothing. I resorted to typing comments out in a word document and pasting them in. I also tried switching to Chrome, and it seemed a little better, but I don't like Chrome and I don't want to have to switch to Chrome. Firefox is still used by a huge number of people, and if you say this program works well on Firefox, you better make sure it does.

The other problem, and this was a big one, as far as I'm concerned, is that there was little actual discussion that I could see. Each week, the instructors posted thoughts for discussion, and asked for our thoughts/comments/experiences. But the interface itself did not really promote discussion; it promoted individual commenting. For one thing, you could not see all the responses to the main discussion, you could only see the last five. You'd have to click 'show previous comments' to get more. Also, on the few occasions where someone replied directly to a comment on the main discussion thread, you had to click a tiny little icon at the bottom to see the reply. Instead of a discussion where people responded to each other and freely shared ideas back and forth, what you had was more of a 'stop and drop' situation, with people stopping in, dropping a comment, and moving on. This is partly a product of the fact that there were hundreds, if not thousands, of participants, along with the fact that you got credit for posting and commenting. I think sometimes people were just aiming to do the bare minimum to get credit.

Along these same lines, course participants were able to set up their own discussion groups. I mentioned joining one or two of these. But again, there seemed to be very little actual discussion. Instead, when people posted assignments, they'd share them to the discussion groups and ask for feedback. (True confession: I didn't actually start any discussions myself within these groups, so I guess I can't complain)

Would I do it again? Yes, yes I would. Despite my complaints, I was exposed to a lot of different writers of all backgrounds, as well as a lot of different ideas, and some lessons on craft. I was able to revisit old works and new (the opening to PARALLEL LIVES got a workout here, as did both the WiP and the RiP), and anytime you are forced to think about your writing is a good thing, I think. I also met a few people who could become good crit partners/sounding boards/beta readers, and have already critiqued a piece for one of them.


This post has already gotten kind of long, so I will say farewell for now, leaving you with this piece of music from Pete Yorn. Though I have not heard it for years, it worked its way into my thoughts yesterday when I was sketching out this post. Enjoy, and see you next time. Please share your thoughts below!