Nattering

Friday Five

Randomness!

1. As usual, am juggling all the things. While keeping fingers crossed for other things. It's hard, though, with the weather changing from Hotter Than The Sun to Oh, Summer, You're So Nice, Come Here to not just go walkabout and ride in canoes and walk the dogs a million times in the woods and sit in the backyard drinking a nice Mulderbosch rosé and reading obsessively. Just having these impulses mostly turns out to be enough to satisfy them, and instead I've been meeting deadlines and getting back into the morning word count routine with the circus book, which has stopped being mad at me for setting it aside for a couple of months to work on something else–at least, I think it has. This weekend: some proofing to do, some interview q's to send, and a Sunday meeting of the YA Books Adult Beverages Book Club (Graceling this time around). Fun.

2. Another truly fantastic piece from Alexander Chee at the Morning News, this time on Tarot. I defy you to resist this essay after reading the first paragraph: "Like many children, I wanted to be more powerful than the world around me, and so I became interested in magic. I read novels of wizards and sorceresses, dragon-riding heroes and lost kings hidden from their enemies, raised as commoners to protect them. I went to the library and read first into the mythology section and soon found myself coming home with The Golden Bough by Sir James George Frazer. This, I did not know until I got it home, was a famous anthropological work on magic. I’d hoped it was a spell book. All I knew was that I wanted to whistle up a wind."

3. Another fabulous essay, this time at Serious Eats and about the origins of Cookies n' Cream ice cream, by local star and pastry chef of the gods Stella Parks, aka the Brave Tart. She even comes around to the infamous Baskin Robbins Clown Cone, which I'd forgotten existed (!): "Love for Clown Cones related to their rarity. Like diamonds, they existed in abundance, but tightfisted parents controlled the market. Their unwillingness to shell out four times the cost of a single scoop turned the Clown Cone (in all frankness a cheap conglomeration of icing squiggles and horror) into the most desirable of treats." Seriously, go read this. I love excellent food writing and this is. Bonus: Scary Clown Cone photos.

4. Survey says we like spoilers. I don't find this surprising at all, actually. Many of my favorite TV shows are ones I picked up in the fourth, third, or second seasons (Buffy, Gilmore Girls, Veronica Mars, respectively), and one of the unexpected benefits of this was making up the imaginary narrative that explained the things from the past the characters referenced. The actual causes always turned out to be slightly different (sometimes majorly so), but that wasn't disappointing; it was fascinating. It's a good way to learn about stories, reverse engineering them, or even just looking at the engineering as it goes if you're starting at the beginning. A good story should withstand foreknowledge. All that said: sometimes I do like a narrative surprise, but it doesn't have to be a big one, the type that spoilers reference. Often the little surprises are the best.

5. Finally, from Stephany Aulenback, a photograph of a face emerging from a storm cloud. Magic.

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The Secrets We Keep From Ourselves

I already tumbled this fabulous quote from Terri Windling's blog, but I'm putting it up here too (not least because, um, cleanliness wasn't meant to stay at the top of ye old Shaken & Stirred for a whole week–oops):

"What you need to know about [your next piece of art] is contained in the last piece. The place to learn about your materials is in the last use of your materials. The place to learn about your execution is in your execution. The best information about what you love is in your last contact with what you love. Put simply, your work is your guide: a complete, comprehensive, limitless reference book on your work. There is no other such book, and it is yours alone. It functions this way for no one else. Your fingerprints are all over your work, and you alone know how they got there. Your work tells you about your working methods, your discipline, your strengths and weaknesses, your habitual gestures, your willingness to embrace.

"The lessons you are meant to learn are in your work. To see them, you need only look at the work clearly — without judgement, without need or fear, without wishes or hopes. Without emotional expectations. Ask your work what it needs, not what you need. Then set aside your fears and listen, the way a good parent listens to a child."    — David Bayles & Ted Orland, Art & Fear: Observations on the Perils (and Rewards) of Artmaking

First off, I'll definitely be seeking out Art & Fear, just based on this snippet.

Anyway, this quote immediately made me think of one of the wisest things anyone ever said to me about writing, one of those lessons that I come back to often. The advice, because I think it does qualify as advice, came from Tim Wynne-Jones (recent Horn Book award winner–yay!) in an early packet response my first semester of grad school. What he said was essentially that we give ourselves the solutions to the problems we encounter in our work. That when really and truly stumped, the answer is often to be found hidden, obscured, embedded somewhere on the page. The subconscious is a tricksy beast. I have found that this is a great and powerful truth.

When I really can't find the answer, no matter how much long dog walking and listening to playlists and banging head against desk and vacuuming I've done, I go back to what I have and I look at it and I think about it and I usually do find the answer in hiding there, right in front of me. Occasionally it's the absence of something that's the answer, or that something feels wrong, but often enough it's a grace note, an image or a line that appeared and that I didn't understand the importance of yet. When I give notes to someone else or talk out my own plots (Christopher is very patient on the dog walks where this happens, and sometimes we talk out his too), often that's what I come around to. It's that "OH! It's already in there! I just didn't RECOGNIZE it!" moment.

We give ourselves the answers we need, we only have to be willing to look for them.* Every piece is its own secret decoder ring.

Unrelated, but amazing, a feature slide show of photographs of aging dogs from Nancy LeVine's Senior Dogs Across America.

*Of course, for this to work you have to make pages where the answers can hide first. That is the Greatest Secret of All: Everything is possible once you make the pages.

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On Cleanliness

No, I'm not about to go biblical on y'all, but when I was fishing for a topic over on twitter, Paolo suggested: "How often should the average writer shower?"

This isn't going to go Dear Aunt G, though it certainly could. There are strong opinions.

First off, we're going to have to leave this whole "average" business out of things. Let's just get that out of the way now. Writers are too neurotic to get cozy with that word. "Me? I'm not *average*?" Or, ten minutes later, "I'm not even average. I'm below average. I can't even see average from here." And that leaves aside if we're talking about some mean of age/sex/race/etc. Which we aren't.

So, then we're left with just: How often should a writer shower? Scalzi proposed that if Paolo had to ask, he probably ought to go ahead and do it. This is true. If you're wondering, Do I need a shower?* The answer is almost certainly yes.

But, in my experience, it's the writers who don't wonder about this that truly need the guidance. In our house: I'm saying every one to two days. In your house: I don't care so much.

At any rate, Mr. Rowe (and Paolo and Catherine) can pretend it's about conservation all they want, but I know the truth of the freelance cave. It's the same impulse that leads people to grow beards until they finish a book, or to build elaborate sink pyramids. To order wingzone when the missus is out of town.

On a more serious note: Not completely losing touch with reality, even when you work at home, is important. Bathing regularly is part of that.

Hey, I made an entry. Now I'll just go hug my Lush bath products.

*I, personally, shower daily. At least.

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All The (Well, Some Of The) Things

Yes, MIA, I know. I know. May, you are the Enemy of Sanity. But you're almost over now, so ha. If I survive, I win.

At any rate, here are some things:

  • My latest Heroes & Heartbreakers post was about how much I love reading scenes in romances: "Readerly Kinks: A Closer Look at Characters, Well, Reading." (I'm surprised at the lack of examples of this in contemporaries, but there must be some out there, right?)
  • I reviewed Erin Morgenstern's (wonderful) The Night Circus for Publishers Marketplace's BEA Buzz Books coverage (account required). All the buzz books reviews were excerpted in the free daily lunch newsletter (which you should subscribe to, if you don't already). And I'm told that non-PM subscribers can access all the BEA content through their handy, dandy app. Go forth and appreciate the amazing Sarah Weinman's hard work (and her colleagues' too, of course).
  • Speaking of which, if you're attending BEA, I did many, many pieces for the Show Daily. I had some really fun assignments this year, including interviews with Anne Enright, Dava Sobel, Alma Katsu, and Charlaine Harris–all lovely to talk to. Whenever I have time during an interview , I ask what people have been reading. Charlaine Harris had just finished Pat Rothfuss's The Wise Man's Fear and Kate Atkinson's When Will There Be Good News? So she obviously has great taste. Looks like the Show Daily content will be on the PW site this year.
  • There are still plenty of stories to come in the Subterranean issue; the schedule is more or less weekly, but with breaks so it's not over too quickly. There's a review posted this week. And catch up on any stories you've missed thus far.
  • Wiscon! Yes, it's here. Now I remember why I tend to skip actually attending BEA. Here's my Schedule of Things:
    • Reading: …And Other Circuses (Sat, 4:00–5:15 pm Conference 2) Richard Butner, Christopher Rowe, Genevieve Valentine, and moi. I will be the nervous one with the ink-barely-dry first pages of the circus book. (Unless I chicken out and read from the creepy island book instead. But the tradition is to read something new, and our reading has circus in the title, so I'll endeavor to be brave.)  
    • Panel: The Trials, Joys and Tribulations of Tiptree Jury Duty (Sat, 10:30–11:45 pm Senate A) Alexis Lothian, Gwenda Bond, Karen Joy Fowler, Geoff Ryman, Sheree Renée Thomas. (No, I actually can't explain what I was thinking when I agreed to a 10:30 PM panel, but it should be fun given the other participants.)
    • Panel: Fringe: How Is Olivia Dunham So Awesome? (Sun, 2:30–3:45 pm Senate B) Joanna Lowenstein, Gwenda Bond, Mely, Xakara, Amy Thompson.

     See you in Madison!

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Friday Five

1. Yeah, I know I said things were normalizing and that I'd be here more. That was tempting fate. Especially since I knowwww that pre-BEA season is always the slammedest-crazytown of my year. So, yeah, probably thin on the ground for a couple more weeks. But I'll continue to pop in when I can, and to point to new Subterranean issue stories.

2. Am feeling slightly less overwhelmed after taking all the deadlines I know I have (with awareness there are a couple of floating ones, and some that will likely still pop up) and making a detailed plan for the rest of the month. This weekend turns out to be all about reading (and visiting mom, of course, for Mother's Day), which doesn't seem stressful at all, really. And then I can get a couple of later-in-the-month deadlines out of the way, so as to focus on more pressing things. Voila. I had to take a week and a half off from working on the circus book, which is in a very fragile infancy, to juggle various freelance projects. Getting back into it was harrrrrd. That can not happen again. Thus, the planning. Which will allow me to do my morning writing time (by preventing the overtiredness that leads to oversleeping) and possibly even slip in some extra sessions during the week. One of the lessons we all have to learn is protecting the writing time and how hard that really can be sometimes.

3. Said circus book is terrifying me. See this Libba Bray post, which is brilliant, as usual. I finally printed out the first 30 pagesish and passed them off to Mr. Rowe so he can tell me if I'm just acting insane or if the book is insane. If it is something I should ever allow other people's eyeballs to see, or whether said pages would burn out people's eyeballs in one fell swoop of first-draft awful, and I should really abandon this project and learn the banjo instead. I could get a fancy hat, and perhaps people would toss in shiny coins. I have to have something new to read at Wiscon, though, and I get grumpy when I don't do the writing so*… Sometimes you just have to keep showing up.

4. My inbox. It's a little out of control. But I think I've whined enough.

5. The Vampire Diaries! Spoilery discussion welcome in the comments. I wasn't surprised by any of this week's penultimate episode of the season (SPOILER BUT ONLY IF YOU'VE NEVER SEEN THE SHOW, SINCE THIS HAPPENS BASICALLY WEEKLY) deadings, and thought it was a nicely done, emotional episode. But I want to TALK about it, and I will do so in the comments. I definitely think TVD has managed to avoid the sophomore slump I feared early on in the season. Whew. And tonight FRINGE finale. Eek. Bites nails. Maybe spoilery comments section talk about that one too, after.

In the meantime: Happy weekend. Wherever you are, may there be sunny skies overhead.

*Okay, sometimes there is grumpiness at other times too, but only when strictly warranted.

**There is a lot of sometimesing in this post.

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The Fantastics

Swamplandia-200x200

The alligator at the Orlando Airport Marriott's own private Swamplandia is not quite as impressive as the one on the cover of Karen Russell's book. Still, much time was spent looking for the tell-tale shiny black head drifting along the edge of the waterhole, though mostly what got spotted were various long-legged birds striding around the shoreline and–my personal favorite–birds with necks like periscopes, miniature Nessies, or tiny dragons extending out of the water. Said birds could later be seen sunning themselves to dry their wings. Said alligator never bothered to exit the water. How rude.

I'd post pictures of these things, but, as usual, I forgot-slash-decided-not-to-bring our camera. I never end up using it, though I always think longingly of having photos later. Anyway, yes, we had a grand time at our first International Conference on the Fantastic in the Arts (aka ICFA) in ages, and give a big thumbs up to the new hotel. As you can probably tell from the paragraph above, I spent a good deal of the weekend hanging out in the gazebo that overlooked the water. This was an excellent place to set up shop, since lots of people wandered out periodically to do their own alligator/snapping turtle/carp check. Among the wildlife present but not frequently spotted were mosquitoes; my ankles and the sole of my right foot are the proof.

I'm a bit terrified to do the list thing, because there were entirely too many fabulous old friends and fast new ones and people I got to say hi to but not spend nearly as much time talking with as I wanted… in the usual conference way.* It was a pure delight to watch Terry Bisson get feted, and to see/meet/chatter with–for various snippets of time–Richard Butner and Barb Gilly, Ted Chiang, Jeff Ford, John Kessel, Andy and Sydney Duncan, Brett Cox and Jeanne Beckwith, Paul Park, Veronica Schanoes, Peter Straub (aka the best-dressed man in SFF), Brian Evenson, Jim Kelly, Ellen Klages, Liza Groen Trombi, Dora Goss, Karen Lord (met by happy accident in the magic gazebo), Deanna Hoak, and Nalo Hopkinson. Oh, and the extra gift of seeing local pals Jackie Dolamore and Larissa Hardesty again. I already know I've forgotten people. Please to forgive and forget.

That's the main reasons I go to these things. To have fascinating discussions with wonderful types (many of whom are like members of an enormous second family). And try to spot alligators.

Unusually, I also went to a number of programming items (and sat on a panel with people far wiser than me–Nisi Shawl, Graham Sleight, Liza, and Gary Wolfe) including: a panel on the fantastic in Shakespeare; one on taxonomies and genre (good stuff, though it got the fun sort of weird); a fab reading by Jeff, Richard and Connie Willis (!); and the world premiere of Andy's harmonica-playing raccoon as part of a panel on the ridiculous. I was sad to have missed the romantic comedy panel that started the conference, but then managed to bend a gracious Connie Willis's ear on the topic before the banquet.** Can you beat that? I sure can't.

*I felt like I had to do at least a cursory con report, because Jeff Ford cheerfully guilted me about all those long stretches where I just post teensy entries about being busy.

**I was both gratified and relieved to discover we are in total agreement about the true nature of good romantic comedy.

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Travel Day

We are off to the International Conference for the Fantastic in the Arts* (ICFA, aka science fiction spring break), where the sun shines brighter. I'm on a panel tomorrow, I believe, but don't have the schedule handy to nab the title and other participants at the moment. It's at 10:30 tomorrow morning; this happens to be opposite Christopher's reading–with Mike Allen and co-guest of honor Terry Bisson. If I were you, and not me, I'd go to the reading. But I'm sure the panel will be fun too.

Other than that, I will be by the pool or pool bar, as it were.

Airplane reading: Finishing up a book for review and then The Tiger's Wife.

p.s. I participated in the latest Mind Meld, posted today, about ideal SF television shows. I clearly decided to interpret SF as spec fic instead of science fiction, in this context, but only so I could give out some fantasy show love too.

*Where C and I were introduced by Kelly Link, lo ten years or so ago.

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Friday Five

1. Well, whew, yesterday was interesting, wasn't it? I do a love a good multi-faceted discussion, and I really hope that it was a corrective for people worrying too much for no good reason. As I said to someone in the comments of my last post: God knows if you want to be in this business, there are plenty of actual things to be anxious about. (That aren't these.)

2. And, I suppose I should say, maybe I'm biased, because my blog has been nothing but good for me. I've always thought of myself as a writer, first and foremost, and the blog as one venue where I do it in an informal way. I started doing this to be part of a conversation with my far-flung writer friends, and quickly discovered an even larger conversation that we're all in now, and that's constantly evolving to new places (like twitter) and in unexpected ways (again, like twitter). Almost every professional opportunity I've gotten can be traced back to my blog, at least indirectly. People who recommended me for various things knew me from here, or saw a piece of writing I did here, or I met someone at a conference who had read the blog, and so on. Best of all, I've made a whole bunch of real friends through blogging (and through just being lucky enough to be a part of so many intersecting and non-intersecting communities–science fiction and fantasy, YA and kidlit, lit fic, more lately a toe in romance, and etc.; many of them largely keep in touch online). Basically, blogging has been a great pleasure for me, and only an occasional annoyance. I know we've all been hearing lots of speculation about how blogging (or doing other types of writing like reviewing) can hurt your career or propositions or reputation. But it can also be good for your career and propositions and reputation*. And it's important to remember, as people wiser than me have said, that getting to the place where you can knock on the right doors is the easy part–nothing will get you through except the work. And that is true For All Doors. (Don't tell me if this blog has actually ruined everything for me, okay? And the world is filled with my secret enemies? I would rather not know.)

3. So, enough about all that.

4. Let's talk about kissing instead! Or, at least, let's talk about Kelly Fineman's fabulous analysis of several kisses that worked for her in prep for writing one herself. This is precisely the kind of thing people did in my grad program when they were struggling with a certain issue in their own work. She even identifies a flexible formula for same. Definitely go check it out.

5. If you didn't pop in for the D&D roundtable, do. not. miss. (Note: This is where a lot of those elusive teen boys go to read when they jump from middle grade to adult books, then and now.) I was so, so pleased with how it came out. You'll discover how Jed learned to tell stories, why Paolo worried more about his DragonLance novels than the Playboys stashed in his room, how Shveta read every Faerûn book in the library, how Chris realized he could be creative with other people, and how my own Christopher fell in love with the books so much it's only fitting his first novel became one. Speaking of which, there's a great interview with Christopher at the Wizards of the Coast site today, in which he reveals such tidbits as why Holly Black is to blame for Sandstorm, and shares some good advice that he gives to aspiring writers when teaching:

The most important advice I give is related to the biggest trap I see my students fall into over and over again. And that is this: read, read, read, and read some more. Read especially in the genre or genres you’re working in, but never neglect other forms of fiction and nonfiction. Be aware of who the players are by reading contemporary works, and be aware of what the foundational texts are by reading classics. It astonishes me how resistant to this idea many new writers are—you must be an expert in your field, and that means reading widely and deeply in it.

And I think that's a good enough place to wish you a grand weekend. Mine will be spent on deadline for a PW piece. Bring on the lattes.

*No, I am not channeling Mae West. Not *those* kind of propositions. Although, Mae West sometimes wore extremely large hats, and I approve.

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Secret Cabals Are Overrated

So Holly has a great post about the supposed YA Mafia and the Ruination of Careers. Snippet:

But even if a bunch of writers got together and actually managed to fit scheming into their day, they still couldn’t ruin your career because no one can ruin anyone else’s career. Just like sometimes there is a really great book that doesn’t get the attention that it deserves or a book that you hate that everyone else loves, a lot of being a professional writer is luck. You find the agent that’s looking for the book like yours. Or you don’t. You find the editor who loves what you love. Or you don’t. You get a great cover. Or not. Your book is picked up by people who love it, who then tell their friends. Or it’s remaindered in piles.

There have been a few posts around the internet recently that talk about the value of being positive — and I do not in any way disagree. Of course someone isn’t going to blurb you if they know you hate their book. Of course an agent is not going to be thrilled if you negatively reviewed a book they represent. But that isn’t the ruination of anyone’s career.

Wholeheartedly agree with this, and the whole post, which you should definitely read (along with the comments). I’ve actually gotten a couple of emails lately from people who were curious if reviewing could ruin their careers. (Not even negative reviewing, just reviewing.) Many, MANY authors also write reviews. So, no*.

I was perhaps coming at it from the other direction, but that’s where no. 4 on my friday five last week was aimed:

Keep working. Behave with integrity. Be a professional, which means taking your work and your actions seriously. (Even before others do.) Something you do or say at some point will prickle someone’s skin the wrong way, but if you’re being thoughtful, professional, and acting with integrity, that’s all you can do. Help other people when you can. Do what feels right and meaningful. Keep learning. The rest will sort itself out. I promise.

Justine also has a great response to Holly’s post.

I think it can be really hard for people at the beginning of their careers (or just starting to interact with the community) to know what's true and what isn't. If they hear 'you'll never publish fiction if you write reviews' and etcetera*, they may take that as gospel. Which is where I think a lot of this YA mafia idea comes from. Hopefully, these posts and the resulting conversations will serve as a general corrective.

Just be generous to a fault. It’s better.

p.s. My mafia name is the Deadly Southern Belle. Belle for short.

*Solid, honest reviewers are good for books. We need them. And I endorse Emily St. John Mandel's views about dealing with bad reviews (the link). Reviewing can also make you a better writer. Doing a billion synopses for my bibliography in grad school was a tremendously helpful exercise in thinking about story shape in a condensed way. See also: John Green on reviewing for Booklist.

**Give advice, sure, but a lot of advice seems to be delivered like the One Truth these days. Everybody's career looks different. We all have to find our own way.

ETA: Another good post at JJ's: "Nobody can ruin your career but you, and the best way to go about it is to stew in bitterness. I mean stew–steeped in a concentrated brew of it’s-not-fair and nobody-understands-my-work and it’s-their-fault-I’m-not-published. I’m not saying you shouldn’t voice your opinions or your feelings because honesty is important; I’m saying you shouldn’t let your feelings cloud your rational mind–for too long anyway. It’s okay to have a blow-up, but try to minimize the fallout. In private, offline, with your friends is best."

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