Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Just looking for a nice, friendly werewolf site
Because my book has werewolves in it, I thought that I might do some web research. But it was scary out there... There were fangy drawings and artwork that was very dark and murky and full-moony. Very atmospheric, and, not to take anything away from it, not so much what I'm interested in. And, of course, there were communities and discussion boards where people took things very seriously indeed. I think the web site that I'm looking for is quite normal, pleasant, and possibly just a tiny bit eccentric. Going a couple pages in, you might forget how much time has passed because you're so charmed. And then - a flicker - did you really just read that? You saw a passage of text that absolutely chilled you. But wait, it's gone. Will you go back? Will you bookmark it? Do you dare? That is the werewolf web site I still haven't found.
So I have been thinking about werewolves. They were part of the story from the beginning, so in many ways I haven't really thought too hard about them. It was like, protagonist - check. Antagonist - check. Werewolves - check. And I've just read Shannon Hale's Book of a Thousand Days (which was great and I should write something about that) and that had - well, not to give too much away - it had something.
Anyway, I might like werewolves because I think it's very reasonable to be frightened of animals. Animals - even though I live with a very sweet one - can do things that are sudden and instinctual and seeing that in action can be startling. Werner Herzog's Grizzly Man is astounding and heartrending in this regard (and the plot keywords, on IMDB are really tops: Plane, Obsession, Man Eaten). Also, my dog, when I once tried to take a pork chop from her, gave me quite a lesson on this topic.
This time of year we have deer in the yard all the time, and they are big. They're also quite jaded. I'll come in from working in the office and they can barely bestir themselves to get up and go through the motions of, like, oh no, a human. Seriously, I feel like they're doing it for my benefit sometimes. I am disappointed - in fact - when they look at me with their big eyes, pink tongues hanging out of their mouths, and basically give me a big, fat, "so what?" Then I feel powerless in my yard. Of course, I'm already powerless in my yard - the trees need pruning, we have mud-encrusted toys mining every square foot of the thing. To step into the yard is to see a testament to the powerlessness of the adults who live here. But then to get it from deer!
Although, really, aren't deer just a teensy bit frightening? They are, for instance, almost the size of cows - small, stilt-legged cows, maybe. When they get up on their legs and they get skittish they do feel like wild animals, and they could run me down, I think. And that's when I worry about my dog with deer, because my dog is so elderly and so self-righteous, I could see her barking at these creatures and then getting run down and basically chopped up by their hard tiny hooves. I love deer, goes without saying, but I do love my dog and I don't want deer hooves all over her arthritic back, so on sunny days like we're having now when I know my dog wants to nap outside and the deer are also napping outside and chewing the ivy, then I'll go out with a spoon or something and rattle it along the deck railing and yell, "Deer! Deer!" like a fool until finally they find me enough of an annoyance to stiffly get up and then somehow effortlessly hop the fence.
Maybe that is why I'm writing about werewolves. So deer will finally show me some respect.
So I have been thinking about werewolves. They were part of the story from the beginning, so in many ways I haven't really thought too hard about them. It was like, protagonist - check. Antagonist - check. Werewolves - check. And I've just read Shannon Hale's Book of a Thousand Days (which was great and I should write something about that) and that had - well, not to give too much away - it had something.
Anyway, I might like werewolves because I think it's very reasonable to be frightened of animals. Animals - even though I live with a very sweet one - can do things that are sudden and instinctual and seeing that in action can be startling. Werner Herzog's Grizzly Man is astounding and heartrending in this regard (and the plot keywords, on IMDB are really tops: Plane, Obsession, Man Eaten). Also, my dog, when I once tried to take a pork chop from her, gave me quite a lesson on this topic.
This time of year we have deer in the yard all the time, and they are big. They're also quite jaded. I'll come in from working in the office and they can barely bestir themselves to get up and go through the motions of, like, oh no, a human. Seriously, I feel like they're doing it for my benefit sometimes. I am disappointed - in fact - when they look at me with their big eyes, pink tongues hanging out of their mouths, and basically give me a big, fat, "so what?" Then I feel powerless in my yard. Of course, I'm already powerless in my yard - the trees need pruning, we have mud-encrusted toys mining every square foot of the thing. To step into the yard is to see a testament to the powerlessness of the adults who live here. But then to get it from deer!
Although, really, aren't deer just a teensy bit frightening? They are, for instance, almost the size of cows - small, stilt-legged cows, maybe. When they get up on their legs and they get skittish they do feel like wild animals, and they could run me down, I think. And that's when I worry about my dog with deer, because my dog is so elderly and so self-righteous, I could see her barking at these creatures and then getting run down and basically chopped up by their hard tiny hooves. I love deer, goes without saying, but I do love my dog and I don't want deer hooves all over her arthritic back, so on sunny days like we're having now when I know my dog wants to nap outside and the deer are also napping outside and chewing the ivy, then I'll go out with a spoon or something and rattle it along the deck railing and yell, "Deer! Deer!" like a fool until finally they find me enough of an annoyance to stiffly get up and then somehow effortlessly hop the fence.
Maybe that is why I'm writing about werewolves. So deer will finally show me some respect.
Monday, January 7, 2008
Juno
I saw it a week ago, but I am still experiencing "Juno" afterglow. I'd been prepared for letdown and overhype, but really it's exactly as advertised: witty, wisecracking, sweet - this year's "Little Miss Sunshine." Now we are listening to the soundtrack constantly, and I am humming that "I am a Vampire" song that sounds like a fourteen-year-old and her friends are singing it in her bedroom.
And I've gotten over my brief spate of envy/fascination with the screenwriter Diablo Cody. She did write a great script. It was nice to go to the movie and feel like, hats off, Diablo! Because I simply hate feeling envious of anyone.
So, not at all envious, I have been reading now about Stephenie Meyer because I am just about to start "Eclipse" and for the procrasintation-inclined there are interviews with her everywhere. ("Eclipse"? Stephenie Meyer - surely these references to the gazillion-selling author of the "Twilight" series do not need to be explained.) And, if I were to be envious, the reasons would be that she has three kids, managed to write three great big satisfying books that are somehow not tired vampire re-treads, and seemed to do it without breaking a sweat. And, as I'm trying to finish revising "The Wolves and the Wood," the sweat, unfortunately, is pouring off me in gallons. In rivers. If I updated my photo it would show me in, like, head-to-toe sweatbands. And that would be very gross, so I won't.
And I've gotten over my brief spate of envy/fascination with the screenwriter Diablo Cody. She did write a great script. It was nice to go to the movie and feel like, hats off, Diablo! Because I simply hate feeling envious of anyone.
So, not at all envious, I have been reading now about Stephenie Meyer because I am just about to start "Eclipse" and for the procrasintation-inclined there are interviews with her everywhere. ("Eclipse"? Stephenie Meyer - surely these references to the gazillion-selling author of the "Twilight" series do not need to be explained.) And, if I were to be envious, the reasons would be that she has three kids, managed to write three great big satisfying books that are somehow not tired vampire re-treads, and seemed to do it without breaking a sweat. And, as I'm trying to finish revising "The Wolves and the Wood," the sweat, unfortunately, is pouring off me in gallons. In rivers. If I updated my photo it would show me in, like, head-to-toe sweatbands. And that would be very gross, so I won't.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
El Ocho
Here it is 2008 - el ocho - as my brother is referring to it - and I realize I haven't blogged for a while. I've been working. Working working working. Working on the revision of "Wolves" and occasionally and probably ill-advisedly working on "Albertine" aka "My Old Ghost" aka "Everybody Hates Proust." (And, as I crack myself up over crap titles, I do want to remember I'm resolving to finish it this year.)
"Wolves" is shaping up, thankfully, and I'm hoping to hand that off soon. Very soon. Then I'd like to write more about Lucy Darrington, my "Wolves" character. But we shall see.
So I may submerge again. But I'm going to try a little harder on the blogging front. I think my mom deserves more frequent postings in 2008, and I think I'll go out on a limb and even try to include photos now and then.
"Wolves" is shaping up, thankfully, and I'm hoping to hand that off soon. Very soon. Then I'd like to write more about Lucy Darrington, my "Wolves" character. But we shall see.
So I may submerge again. But I'm going to try a little harder on the blogging front. I think my mom deserves more frequent postings in 2008, and I think I'll go out on a limb and even try to include photos now and then.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Aerating
The problem I have with composting right now is that it's not enough simply to put in the vegetables that have gone bad in the refrigerator, or to be dutiful about collecting the remains on the cutting board - like the broccoli stalks that I really should eat but toss because I always have what feels like an abundance of broccoli around and I'm just disgustingly profligate with it, or to scoop up the melon rinds that suddenly are everywhere once the kids feel like devouring half a watermelon. No, the problem is you can be conscientious - even saintly - about making the trip out to the compost bin and depositing all this stuff. But that's only half the battle. You then have to aerate it. You have to deal with all that half rotten slimy stuff and mix it around. This is the step I avoid, and it's why I'll probably never be a really first-rate composter.
But I'm thinking about aeration issues and why you really do need to get in and mix things up every now and then because I am - of course - rewriting. And it's night. And I'm not going to eat chocolate (which is how I got to the point of having written something that needs to be rewritten in the first place; sometimes people ask how I did it with kids, job, etc. etc. and the answer really is good dark chocolate.) When I'm stuck like this - going through the Word file for the umpteenth time, knowing the thing by heart - I end up doing tweaks. It gets down to word choice and punctuation. Useless. So tonight I'm going to move chunks around. I know I've needed to do it and I've been tweaking instead. But this seems exactly like the kind of pitchfork job I could do on a somewhat brain dead night like this. That is, not think about the language or anything tweakable, but just get stuff moved around and in place. Then I'll have done the kind of manual labor, like aerating, that always makes me forget everything else while I'm doing it, and I'll feel very virtuous afterward. Hopefully...
But I'm thinking about aeration issues and why you really do need to get in and mix things up every now and then because I am - of course - rewriting. And it's night. And I'm not going to eat chocolate (which is how I got to the point of having written something that needs to be rewritten in the first place; sometimes people ask how I did it with kids, job, etc. etc. and the answer really is good dark chocolate.) When I'm stuck like this - going through the Word file for the umpteenth time, knowing the thing by heart - I end up doing tweaks. It gets down to word choice and punctuation. Useless. So tonight I'm going to move chunks around. I know I've needed to do it and I've been tweaking instead. But this seems exactly like the kind of pitchfork job I could do on a somewhat brain dead night like this. That is, not think about the language or anything tweakable, but just get stuff moved around and in place. Then I'll have done the kind of manual labor, like aerating, that always makes me forget everything else while I'm doing it, and I'll feel very virtuous afterward. Hopefully...
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Making friends with plot
Earlier this summer I took a plot workshop with Martha Alderson that was really useful. It had shown up in a SCBWI announcement email, and it seemed like something that could help out as I tried to figure out some children's book stuff (since I love my character Lucy, I'm trying to see how I can stretch her into more books). But it turned out to pack all kinds of revelations about other projects I was working on, too. And it really was the key in moving forward on my other novel. Suddenly I understood whole new universes of information about Manzanita, the hapless wannabe academic I'm writing about. And it became totally clear how I needed to reshape the second half of her story.
Now, I hate to write from an outline. And I absolutely hate to look at the page count and from there consider which plot point I'm headed toward. To me that makes writing feel like screenwriter hell - and it gives me bad flashbacks of a time when I tied myself in knots after too much time spent with Robert McKee's Story and one particularly recalcitrant manuscript. But the strange truth is that stepping back and looking at plot at the right time in the process has totally changed things for me.
Now, I hate to write from an outline. And I absolutely hate to look at the page count and from there consider which plot point I'm headed toward. To me that makes writing feel like screenwriter hell - and it gives me bad flashbacks of a time when I tied myself in knots after too much time spent with Robert McKee's Story and one particularly recalcitrant manuscript. But the strange truth is that stepping back and looking at plot at the right time in the process has totally changed things for me.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Pleasure Writing?
Right now I'm struggling with something in my "grown up" novel that just really seems silly from the perspective of a children's writer, and that is, how much fun should this thing be to read? Should my character find romance, should the guy who seems like an obvious love interest actually be the love interest?! should there be an ending that wraps things up, how much should I balance the fun of reading with the seriousness of my Big Idea?
A previous draft ended with my dear protagonist bleeding to death, alone, in the back of a rental truck used for transporting illegal drugs and realizing that her brother has betrayed her. New ending? Dear protagonist is embraced in the bosom of her family, a wedding has everyone put aside their differences and realize how much they love each other, the love interest beckons.
I guess it's the enduring influence of my grad school writing program that still gives me these night terrors about writing something that's actually fun to write - and to read.
A previous draft ended with my dear protagonist bleeding to death, alone, in the back of a rental truck used for transporting illegal drugs and realizing that her brother has betrayed her. New ending? Dear protagonist is embraced in the bosom of her family, a wedding has everyone put aside their differences and realize how much they love each other, the love interest beckons.
I guess it's the enduring influence of my grad school writing program that still gives me these night terrors about writing something that's actually fun to write - and to read.
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