Gwenda

Monday Hangovers

Your Klutziness (aka me) managed to fall like the proverbial ton of bricks in an alley last night, right after a random encounter with a guy who was peeing in someone’s yard and whose date was toothless and giggling into her plastic cup (ah, spring in the city). Let this be a lesson about laughing at those who didn’t notice peeing guy or drunk lady. You will not see big hole in street. You will go boom. I emerged with road rash on my palms, a gashed knee (my favorite jeans survived intact, though, which I’m counting in the Wins column), and an extremely achy left shoulder, arm and knee. AND I have a packet due Wednesday night. All by way of saying, expect sporadic sketchiness here for the next day or so at best.

On Wednesday, Jon Armstrong of the lovely debut novel Grey (complete with a blurb by Michael Chabon) will be here to class up the joint and entertain you. In the meantime:

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Nini Mo Says HURRAH

The New York Times engages in full-page gushery about my favorite novel of the year thus far: Ysabeau‘s Flora Segunda: Being the Magickal Mishaps of a Girl of Spirit, Her Glass-Gazing Sidekick, Two Ominous Butlers (One Blue), a House with Eleven Thousand Rooms, and a Red Dog:

Ysabeau S. Wilce’s name already sounds like something the infinitely inventive Terry Pratchett might have concocted — he has an Ysabell, Death’s adopted daughter, in his Discworld series, though he’s been known to lampoon middle initials (in “Maskerade,” a character gives herself an “X” — which stands for “someone who has a cool and exciting middle initial”).

But the test of course is in the tale and its telling. “You think things have to be possible?” Will Parry cried in Pullman’s “Subtle Knife.” “Things have to be true!” A fitting motto for the writer of fantasy, who must create a believable young hero or heroine in a memorable alternate world. Otherwise readers, especially young ones, will eject right out of it.

Not to worry: Wilce has matters well in hand in this, her first novel. Thirteen-year-old Flora Segunda is a charming narrator, and her domain — the city of Califa — is an intriguing mix of the preindustrial and the post-multicultural, with a bracing dose of magic, martial life, time travel and family drama mixed in.

Yay! Read it!

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P. 123

The vacationing Carrie has a work in progress meme:

Turn to page 123 in your work-in-progress. (If you haven’t gotten to page 123 yet, then turn to page 23. If you haven’t gotten there yet, then get busy and write page 23.) Count down four sentences and then instead of just the fifth sentence, give us the whole paragraph.

So, here’s page 123, paragraph with sentence five in it:

She issues the cyborg an order. "You. You drive us home."

You’ll note it’s still in present tense because I haven’t gotten that far in the revision yet. (The cyborg is a Secret Service agent, by the way.)

And, since that was so teeny, here’s the paragraph in question from page 23, which has been revised (for now):

It wasn’t like I’d fainted or run a marathon or anything hard, only lost everything I thought I knew about the world. Except that it was falling apart–I was apparently right about that.

Now you.

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Friday Hangovers

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Dirty Stories for Children

Paul Rudnick serves up the best take on the scrotum controversy that I’ve seen in this week’s New Yorker. Or at least the funniest. An excerpt:

"Betsy Barstow, Colonial Girl"

One fine morning, as Betsy went to the village well in the Olde Massachusetts Baye colony, she ran into her best friend, feisty Katey Karmody.

"Oh, Katey," said Betsy, "I have such news! My father and my brothers are joining up with the militia to fight the British, so that we may all be free!"

"Oh, Betsy, that is news!" cried Katey. "My nipples are like muskets!"

There’s more.

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Burn!

Okay, so no points for me in today’s Tourney of Books pool. (Sorry to Catherine Schneider of Austin, TX, who I’m playing for!) I feared I might blow this one, but I just couldn’t go against Absurdistan. Max and Condalmo take an early lead with 1 point each, but we ladies and Brockman are still in this. I’m feeling good about the next round.

(I should totally have asked Dan Chaon who he was picking for the round he’s judging when I met him last weekend. Not that it would have mattered at this point, but I’d KNOW.)

::cue Rocky theme music::

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Wednesday Hangovers

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Probably… (Updated)

against my better judgment I dipped a toe* into the current wave of MFA-bashing. I’m done, and will not even be rubbernecking this one any longer, because I’ve got a NOVEL TO WRITE.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: When writers try to tell other writers what they should or shouldn’t be doing, it really pisses me off.

*I pretty much agree with Callie, and she brings a welcome straightforwardness to the discussion.

Updated: Carolyn nails it. Word.

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