Draco Sings!

Yes, that's Tom Felton who plays Draco Malfoy in the Harry Potter movies. He ain't bad.

Rumor Has It I'm A Hoopy Frood Who Really Knows Where His Towel Is

Remember when I mentioned that I was on a Douglas Adams kick lately? I've been going through and listening to the BBC radio shows and enjoying them quite a bit. I may be enjoying them too much as they're now entering my dreams. Here's what I dreamt last night:


I had a meeting with an editor to pitch book ideas. The one I was most excited about was an idea to re-launch the HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY franchise with a series of new novels set in the same universe but with new main characters (kind of a 'next generation' type thing). The initial plot device revolved around a maverick new publishing company based on Mars that wanted to revitalize the long-since-out-of-print HHGTTG. As they had relatively little start-up money, making it difficult to hire staff, they hit upon a low-cost solution to find new field researchers to travel across the galaxy and submit reports: the publisher bought up the outstanding student loans of MFA graduates from several star systems and forced them to become researchers in order to pay off the debt. So our main characters would be a couple of struggling writers from Earth, freshly graduated from their respective MFA programs, who are hijacked into the future just moment's before the Earth's destruction at the hands of the Vogon construction fleet. They get sent through a field researcher boot camp, are given sub-etha transmitters, and then they're dropped off at the outer spiral arm and told to hitchhike their way back to the publisher (submitting updated reports for the Guide along the way), whereby their loans will be forgiven.

The editor liked the idea but wanted to make it into a weekly TV show instead. I kept insisting it would make a better book series and then maybe, MAYBE, we could consider doing TV. That's when I woke up. Admittedly, this is one of the most vivid, detailed dreams I've had in a while. It was kinda fun because I remember being genuinely frustrated at the editor for wanting to forego the books and go right to TV.

What do you think? Was I stupid for wanting to do books first?

My Boyfriend Is Going To Be Pissed

Apparently, I won the Outstanding Fiction Thesis thingy at school. I'll receive the award at a banquet tomorrow night.

I told my boyfriend, when I became a finalist, that there was no way in hell I was going to win so he shouldn't bother trying to find someone to work for him the night of the banquet. He's going to be mad that he can't be there. I'm in trouble.

I'm a little stunned and numb right now. I didn't say I couldn't win out of modesty. I said it because I couldn't conceive of a way that this weird little book of mine could be considered outstanding by anyone who wasn't my friend. I probably shouldn't refer to this as a thingy either.

I need to go process this.

My Imagined Conversation With The Evil Forces Of The Internet

Me: Y’know, from time to time, I’m going to say things on this blog that other people disagree with. I’m going to express an opinion or two and, from time to time, they may even be informed opinions. And I am perfectly OK with people disagreeing with me. I’m even OK with people bringing their own opinions, usually informed, to the table and giving me their viewpoints. I’m a fairly reasonable person and a lousy debater. My thoughts can be swayed by a well-reasoned argument and sometimes I’ll change my opinion. You know what won’t change my opinion? Cowardly assholes who leave anonymous cheap shots in the comments section and then run away like the pissy little halfwit they are, leaving me with no way to respond intelligently to their “criticism” or opinion. Yes, that’s my face to the right. Yes, my name is Brian. Yes, I have an attainable e-mail address where I can be reached. I’m putting myself out there and whether or not you agree with my opinion, I’m at least owning it. Unlike the putrid excrescence who, Buddha knows how they found my blog in the first place, feel they need to drop off their little poisoned barbs from behind the veil of anonymity and feel like they’ve one-upped me. It’s like the morons who loosen the tops of the salt shakers in restaurants and then leave. What the hell good is it to play the prank and then not even stick around for the pay-off, let alone claim that you were the genius who instigated the plan?

EVIL FORCES OF THE INTERNET: BLARGH, SNARGH, FARGH!!!

Me: Yeah, I thought you might say that. Anyway, here’s the deal. I don’t need to put up with that shit. I seriously don’t. I have enough to contend with on a daily basis from people I actually know that I don’t feel I should need to put up with the scum of the earth dropping by to counter my thoughts with their own stupidity and then they don’t even have the decency to have a blog I can visit (not to retaliate but to at least get a sense of who this person is) or an e-mail where I can carry on a discourse. Screw that. So I’m not allowing anonymous comments anymore. Not that I get a plethora of comments anyway (well, I do when I post things people disagree with and then it tends to be the aforementioned mental midgets so what’s the point?) My apologies if you leave inoffensive comments anonymously. You won’t be able to anymore. But I really need to do this to somewhat shield myself from these assholes. Short version: if you’re gonna call me out, have the guts to identify yourself, you yellow-bellied pricks. Any comments that don’t lead me to a blog or other viable means of communication will be deleted and I’ll say a small prayer to whatever deity will listen that you be consigned to a hitherto undiscovered circle of hell fashioned just for you.

The Power And The Glory Are There At Your Command

As a theatre geek, I visit Playbill.com daily. I've been following a story about a musical called GLORY DAYS with some interest, largely because it came out of nowhere, featured a writing team fresh out of college and, after a hugely successful run in Washington D.C., was taken to Broadway. The show opened this past Tuesday night and received "kind but dismissive reviews that largely sought to protect and encourage its 24-year-old librettist James Gardiner and 23-year-old songwriter Nick Blaemire."

However, any efforts the reviewers may have taken to "protect and encourage" the writing team were blown to smithereens on Wednesday as the producers of the show closed it after a single performance. Hell, even CARRIE: THE MUSICAL, often cited as the most notorious Broadway flop ever, ran for five shows. (Granted, the monetary investment in GLORY DAYS probably didn't match what they stuck into CARRIE...but still.) Trust me when I say there is no show so bad that it deserves to close after a single night. (OK, at least no show that makes it to Broadway with legit producers.)

Can you imagine if this was how all art was evaluated? If a couple bad reviews in Publishers Weekly or Kirkus Reviews prompted a publisher to recall all copies of a book? If an art critic's scathing commentary on a new opening at the local gallery forced the gallery owner to lock the doors until a new installation was in place?

Yes, the stakes are different. Broadway shows are expensive to maintain on a daily basis. The danger of monetary loss is more immediate than, say, in the book world where, once the book is printed, the daily maintenance is found in the form of marketing, publicity, and shipping (and, depending on the publishing house, those costs can't really match what it costs to keep a Broadway show open). Booksellers might argue that the longer a dud book takes up prime real estate on a bookshelf without being purchased, the longer it takes to replace it with something people will read. So there IS a daily expense to them in leaving the art to languish about with mercifully stripping it cover and consigning the empty husk of a book to the trash.

But an evaluation of the costs aside, it's still staggering that the opinions of a handful of reviewers can have these sorts of consequences. WICKED received mixed reviews when it premiered but it found an audience and is consistently selling to near capacity week to week. And, of course, there's the famous story of CHEERS which finished dead last in the ratings its freshman year but when on to be a huge, huge hit. I understand our need to be critical of art but I think it's quickly supplanting a greater need: for each individual to make their own evaluations.

I really don't read reviews. About the only time I'll give them a look is when I'm on the fence about a movie that I might want to see or a TV show that has an interesting premise but do I really want to invest another hour a week into watching it. I enjoy a well-written book review and that might occasionally influence me to check a new title out. But there are some artists where I'll see whatever they do, no matter what the reviews say (Tim Burton, for instance). I wish reviews and critiquing were more about placing a piece of art in context and evaluating the contribution it makes, rather than relegating it to a black and white choice of thumbs up or down. Some trash heaps (such as ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY) are more interested in who can come up with the snarkiest put-down than they are in actually providing thoughtful critique. But I guess they know their audience and what they want.

For Nick Blaemire, the composer/lyricist of GLORY DAYS, it must have been a phenomenal year. He made his Broadway acting debut in CRY BABY and his debut as a Broadway composer/lyricist all within a few months. And if you missed the important part, he's 23. I want to say I feel bad for him but I have a feeling he'll be OK with it. Back to back firsts like that must have been a rush. Plus, I think there's something about knowing you both got a shot and didn't get a shot that gives you a bit of righteous indignation you can take to the bank.

There will no doubt be life for GLORY DAYS in regional and amateur productions (SEUSSICAL, another show that was considered a failure on Broadway, has seen enormous success in these "afterlife' venues). But I, for one, will be left wondering what might have happened if the producers had had even a single testicle between them to defy a handful of lukewarm reviews and see what might have been.

Just Because They Can't Write A Good One Sadly Doesn't Mean They Can't Sell One

"Deliver me from writers who say the way they live doesn't matter. I'm not
sure a bad person can write a good book, If art doesn't make us better, then
what on earth is it for." --Alice Walker

Through The Dark Of Future's Past The Magician Longs To See

"Be careful how quickly you give away your fire."
--Robert Bly

Why Starting A New Novel Can Be Akin To Volunteering For Experimental Brain Surgery

"Writing first drafts is the experience of not knowing how to do something
and persisting at it until it begins to feel right."--Charles Baxter

So Say We All

"Everywhere I go I'm asked if I think the university stifles writers. My
opinion is that they don't stifle enough of them. There's many a best-seller
that could have been prevented by a good teacher." --Flannery O'Connor

Is This Haiku An Eternal Flame?

I don't know how to tell my writing group that I don't need them anymore.

That's not entirely true. I still look forward to our (mostly) monthly meetings and I do want their feedback on my new projects. But I'm pretty much done getting feedback on CHASERS. In the early days and drafts the book, the feedback I got from various sources was fairly consistent, pointing out rough areas that needed rethinking and reshaping. But as I get closer to a manuscript I'm happy with, I find that the feedback has become more disparate. I've come to the conclusion that when no one can agree on what needs to be fixed, it may just now be a matter of personal taste and I can't write to please everyone's tastes. A few others are reading the latest draft and I think once they're done, I'll take their thoughts into advisement and give it one more crack. But I'm done soliciting thoughts.

The hard part is that the group has asked to see it again and I've hemmed and hawed, trying to avoid giving it to them. I don't know if it sounds arrogant to say, "I'm really not looking for critical feedback at this point." Just as I'll never fully be happy with anything I write and need to learn to get it as good as I can before I move on, I know no one else will ever be fully happy with it either. There's a very real danger of workshopping something to death and I'm reluctant to do that. I've considered trying to divert their attention by offering up something new but the next thing I'm working on isn't anywhere near being ready for human consumption at this point. And there's only so long I can divert them by saying, "Look! Shiny! Pretty!"

"Just tell them, Brian," you're saying. "Just be honest and say you appreciate the feedback they've given but you need to work out the rest on your own."

I could do that, yeah. But is there any chance you'd be willing to do it for me? I'd be ever so appreciative. Anyway, on to Haiku Saturday:

Debby G left us with the topic: American Idol. (groan) I grudgingly offer:

Singer showdown or
Popularity contest?
High school never dies.

Next topic:

The Jetsons in family therapy

I Never Could Get The Hang Of Thursdays.

I've been in a Douglas Adams mood recently. It may be because I've been revisiting the original BBC Radio broadcasts of HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY and enjoying a good laugh or two... or three...

I've been in a writing funk lately (not at all helped by my recent HAMLET woes, exacerbated today to learn that tickets to the show, which normally sell for about $40, are going for $500 on eBay...so much for hoping to score tix another way...). The Surge I enjoyed about a month ago is long gone and I've been totally dry. It's so bad that I can't muster the energy to write a funny little blog post I've in mind. The idea's hilarious (well, y'know, to me...). But when I try to commit it to paper... Meh. Can't do it. Not feeling creative at all.

I think that may be why I'm turning to HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY. Plotless, silly fun. I think there's something to be said for silliness in terms of what it can do to stimulate a flaccid mind. What that is I'm not quite sure because my mind is currently flaccid. But when I figure out what that is, I'll say it here. In the meantime, Happy LOST Day and I leave you with this thought from HHGTTG:

Vogon poetry is of course, the third worst in the universe. The second
worst is that of the Azgoths of Kria. During a recitation by their poet master
Grunthos the Flatulent of his poem "Ode to a Small Lump of Green Putty I Found
in My Armpit One Midsummer Morning" four of his audience died of internal
haemorrhaging and the president of the Mid-Galactic Arts Nobbling Council
survived by gnawing one of his own legs off. Grunthos was reported to have been
"disappointed" by the poem's reception, and was about to embark on a reading of
his 12-book epic entitled "My Favourite Bathtime Gurgles" when his own major
intestine, in a desperate attempt to save humanity, leapt straight up through
his neck and throttled his brain.

I'll Never Know If Hamlet Can Regenerate

Well, I'm bummed. Very, very bummed.

One of the cornerstones (can you have more than one cornerstone?) of my upcoming UK trip with MyGuy^TM was going to see David Tennant play Hamlet at Stratford-on-Avon. I found out today that the entire run is sold out. The entire run. (Did I mention I hadn't booked tickets yet? That that's what I was trying to do today when the news hit me?) And it's quite a lengthy run. I was very much looking forward to this. We're doing a few shows in London while we're there so I won't be bereft of theatre but this was to be a treat. Well, poop.

So, now we have an extra day to play with. Possibilities: A day trip to the white cliffs of Dover? A day trip to Cardiff to see where TORCHWOOD is shot? An extra day in Edinburgh (possible day trip to Stirling)? Keep current plan of going to Stratford-on-Avon and hope someone is selling tickets outside the theater? (Or perhaps jump an old widow with tickets?) A day trip to Oxford? I dunno. MG and I must talk.

But meanwhile, I'm sad. Very sad.

Too Many Notes

A few years ago, when I taught a class on how to publicize your book, one of the first things I did to get my students' attention was write the number 200,000 on the board. "That," I explained, "is the number of book published in the US every year. That is what you're up against." Granted, a relatively small number of those books would actually be considered competition for the individual books of my students but still, that's 199,999 other titles fighting for rarefied press mentions, increasingly limited shelf space, and recognition of any kind.

That's all changed.

A recent article in the New York Times offers some startling new numbers that shed more light on the writing glut that, in my opinion, could be on its way to achieving critical mass before long. Among the interesting facts:

• 400,000 books were published or distributed in the United States in 2007, up from 300,000 in 2006
• 175,000 new blogs are created worldwide each day
• 53 percent of Americans surveyed hadn’t read a book in the previous year (information cribbed from a NEA report)

The proliferation of print-on-demand publishers is mostly responsible for this considerable hike in reading material. The article also notes a flourishing of writing programs as contributing to the wealth of available material, with one academic noting ironically that "given the manifold distractions of modern life, we now have more great writers working in the United States than anyone has the time or inclination to read.”

Setting aside the cynicism that being in a writing program does not a great writer make, and eschewing the highly subjective definition of "great writer," it does make for an interesting set of circumstances. If we're reading less but producing more reading material, will there be a bursting of the bubble, not unlike what happened with the dot coms in the late 20th century or maybe even the current housing crisis? This isn't to say that there will be disastrous consequences, as there were with the dot com crash or as many are predicting with housing issues. But could self-publishing, on the scale it's currently enjoying (the article notes that many self-publishers, like iUniverse, have enjoyed much growth lately), collapse in on itself when supply grossly exceeds demand? Or, because it is so cheap to do (you could up money to have your book printed but they only get printed when someone requests it), is it a means of flooding the marketplace that won't be going away any time soon?

With huge publishers pouring obscene amounts of money into the marketing of their alpha titles, it would seem that there will always be cream rising to the top (even though sometimes that cream is bitter and distasteful and often sporting the name Dan Brown). But the fact remains that there are 400,000 new titles being introduced a year.

Almost half a million.

As a publicist, it scares the bejeezus out of me. (Getting inundated with review copies of poorly edited, self-published dreck is only going to make the mainstream reviewers turn even more to established writers and "name brand" publishers.)

As a writer, it depresses me. (It would thrill me if that niggling NEA stat wasn't boring into my brain.)

We seem to be experiencing the embodiment of the ancient Chinese proverb and curse: may you live in interesting times.

(ADDENDUM: I forgot to mention perhaps my favorite stat from the article: "175,000 new blogs are created worldwide each day." Is that not inconceivable? Granted, there is a colossal graveyard of dead blogs out there--most of which were started on a whim and contain one entry along the lines of "I think I'll give this blogging thing a try." But 175,000 new ones a day?! And people at work think I'm weird for cracking down on the number of review copies we're sending to blogs.)

Haiku Girl, She's Been Living In Her Uptown World

A fairly relaxed weekend in store. Lots of reading and maybe some writing today. Tomorrow will involve some UK planning with MyGuyTM, maybe a show, and dinner with MyGuyTM's extended family.

Got a bit of nice news today. CHASERS was named one of three finalists for my MFA program's "Outstanding Thesis in Fiction" award. Yay me! That will look nice on my CV, I hope. I suppose that means I should make a CV. I wonder if it's something I should mention in an agent query. Dunno. I would think actually winning might be worth mentioning...maybe. Agents are a fickle lot.

Krafty Bitch left us with the topic of "an ideal mate for Dame Krafty of Bitch." I offer:

A reniassance man.
Smart, funny, worldly, and kind.
Nothing but the best.

Next topic:

It's snowing in Minnesota--AGAIN--and Brian is pissed.

The MFA's Lament: When Is Critical Too Critical?

(I promised a series of posts reflecting on my time in the MFA program. Consider this one of them.)

There's an episode of BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER (now, you KNOW anything starting with a Buffy reference is going to be good) where Buffy and her friends are watching kung fu movies and while everyone else is getting into the cheesy fun, Buffy is being highly critical of the fighters, pointing out flaws in their technique and implausible combat scenarios. She's approaching the hand-to-hand as an expert, someone who's spent a lot of time studying and practicing martial arts and has an amount of authority when it comes to the finer points of butt kicking. She has a hard time just suspending her disbelief and going with the flow.

Getting an MFA can do that too.

I'm reading a middle grade book right now called THE CANDY SHOP WARS. It's one of those very rare books where whoever wrote the marketing copy should be given a raise because the described premise grabbed me and forced me to buy the book immediately and begin reading (when I have other things that I SHOULD be reading....). I've been getting burned lately on a lot of YA books. High concept/imaginative premise has always--ALWAYS--given way to bad writing. Really, I've been reading some stinkers lately. On Leila's blog, I've referred to them as movie books, just because you can tell as you read it that the prose is something that's getting in the way of the eventual screenplay for the movie the author has planned out. And right now, they're stinking up the marketplace.

And then there's CANDY SHOP WARS. The writing isn't bad. In fact, there are places it's quite good. There's a decent sense of pacing, the premise is intriguing, and the conflicts are fun. The story, concerning a maker of magical candies who enlists the aid of four young kids in finding a treasure before other magical candy makers in town can get to it, is brimming with potential and energy (I'm only halfway through the book at this point so I can't say that it completely delivers yet but, so far, it's going well.) There seems to be a conscious effort on the part of the author to not skip over human details and character traits just to get to the next action scene (a major problem I have with the stinky YA I've been reading). For instance, the characters begin to question and debate the implications of their actions when the magical candy maker begins sending them on ethically dubious assignments in exchange for the magic candy. There are so many good things going on in this book.

So why am I experiencing mixed emotions with every page turn? My MFA brain is kicking in and saying things like, "I'm questioning the author's attempt to make this a multi-POV story; it's not working for me." And, "Wow, I hope this segment pays off in a big way later in the story because I don't think the last four pages were needed." (To be fair, I said that a lot reading Rowling's last three books....and I was right. There's a lot of stuff that, while good, could have been edited out and no one would have missed it.) Overall, I get whiffs and impressions that this needed just one more round of editing. Or perhaps just a stronger editing hand. Some elements make me uncomfortable: one of the magical candies is a Melting Pot Mixer which, like Harry Potter's polyjuice, will allow the kids to change their appearance but, unlike polyjuice, instead of choosing who they'll look like, they're given a random new race or ethnicity...some of which come off a little stereotypical. (Also, the four white kid protagonists only use these when they're committing illegal acts on the candy maker's behalf....which means, if they get caught, it looks like the acts are being perpetrated by a black kid, an Asian kid, an Indian kid, and a Native American kid...Ouch. Racial profiling, anyone?) And it contains a GLARING historical error that, as of page 186, still has not been corrected. (I've been hoping that at some point later in the book, a character will say, "You were wrong earlier when you told us...." But I'm starting to lose hope of that happening. Again: where was the editor?)

Every now and then, when I come across a passage where I go, "I think this bit needed more editing," I stop and also think, "Am I missing out of the fun?" The reviews have been pretty good. (I'm smart enough to know that reviews are not a good indicator of quality but nonetheless, the book is being enjoyed.) Should I really be nitpicking over details many people might not notice (although, the Melting Pot Mixers really do make my skin crawl every time they're whipped out)? The counter argument, of course, is that being a more critical reader is a good thing. It's forced me to stop reading books where I can tell, just a few chapters in, that the writer is offering nothing I want. That means I'm spending more time reading books where I can learn from the writer or can just plain be entertained.

But how do you strike that balance between reading critically and still being able to enjoy a book, enjoying it for what it gets right while not dwelling on the areas where you feel it fails? Some would suggest the writer is at fault, that an accomplished writer is so honed in their craft that a reader can't be taken out of the world by things like historical inaccuracies, POV problems, and candy that could inadvertantly propagate racial myths. As a writer myself, I know it's damned near impossible to craft a perfect book (although I think KIT'S WILDERNESS comes the closest I've ever seen). Is there a tipping point where the perceived flaws outnumber/outweigh what's working?

I don't know. I wish there was a support group for former MFAers that I could join where we could talk about some of these lingering side effects. I had this same experience during my undergrad years when I was studying television production. My advisor warned me: "You'll never look at TV the same way again." He was right. Similarly, I can't read the same way anymore. What I may need to discover, just as I've learned a new way to read, is a new way to enjoy what's presented. I'll let you know if I figure that out. (Unless you have suggestions...?)

I'm glad knowing that this book has been selling quite well. It deserves to. I think that, ultimately, the target audience will enjoy it tremendously. And while I'm not done yet and despite those elements that give me pause, I am enjoying it. I don't hate it and want to stop reading. (I have NO PROBLEM quitting books I'm not liking.) I look forward each night to being able to pick it up and continue with the story. I'll try to post a full review when I'm done and give you my impressions once I've read the whole thing.

Bits And Bobs

• I turned in the final two drafts of CHASERS to the main office at school. All that's left is to attend the graduate banquet on May 13. Huzzah!
• MyGuy^TM and I booked our plane tickets for the UK. We fly out July 30 and return August 14. We're spending roughly five days in London to see lots of theatre, a day trip to Stonehenge and Bath, a day in Stratford-on-Avon (to see David Tennant and Patrick Stewart in HAMLET), a day in Yorkshire, a few days in Edinburgh (to see my dear Roy and Ian), some time around Loch Ness, a ride on the Harry Potter steam train over the viaduct, a day on the Isle of Skye, and anything else we can cram into the trip. Huzzah!
• I'm enjoying not stressing out daily about homework. Huzzah!
• The next novel is coming along at a nice clip. Huzzah!
• I received a happy bit of news that I can't share right now but I will soon. Huzzah!
• The weather is getting warmer and warmer and this makes for a happy Brian. Soon it will be biking weather. HUZZAH!

You Have To Believe We Are Haiku, Nothing Can Stand In Our Way

Welcome to Haiku... Sunday? Sorry, I've been remiss in my haikuistic duties. Lotsa changes going on, lotsa big decisions to be made...

I've spent the last two days shopping for a birthday present for my roommate. In the course of this quest, one truth sounds back to me with the clarity of a gentle blue sky in June: *I* am very easy to buy for.

I scan the racks of DVDs at Borders, trying to find something to appease Roomie. Nada. Oh, there's tons of stuff *I* want and would be very happy to own. They seem to fall into three categories: things I'm trying to remember to get next time I have money, things that I'll ask for when people want a birthday wish list, and things that I would never buy for myself and probably not ask for but if someone who knew me well were to spontaneously get it for me on a whim, I would be very happy.

I wend my way around the displays at Williams-Sonoma, praying for a windfall from all those lottery tickets I never buy, so I can build THE ULTIMATE KITCHEN. I poke through the racks at Old Navy/Kohl's/ Target and find five outfits that would be great. I stumble around Borders in an ink-on-paper induced stupor. For two days, I visited store after store and found many things that I would like to have. None of them, incidentally, would be appreciated by Roomie.

This must make me sound incredibly materialistic. I hope it makes me sound easy to please. I have lived with Roomie for seven years. We're fairly close and I do know him well. I know him well enough that I know almost anything I'll get him will get a polite smile, thanks, and then relegated to the darkest recesses of his closet. I could chicken out and get him a gift certificate. But I won't. GCs are the absolute last resort which I usually only use on people I don't know very well.

I wish other people were as easy to buy for as I am.

New haiku topic: The Swedish Chef takes up Swedish massage.

Black Thursday

Today is full of sadness.

My boss is leaving. Today is her last day. I've known this was coming for several weeks now and I've just been too sad to talk about it. Those of you who've been around here for a while know that I adore my boss. It's not an exaggeration to say she's the best boss I've ever her. She is a leader in every sense of the word who trusts her staff to do their jobs, provides guidance when needed, and isn't afraid to get things done. She is fiercely protective of her department and the people who work for her, standing between us and the constant onslaught of crazy that sometimes threatens to engulf all our lives. She's not afraid to speak her mind and when she does, people listen and respect what she has to say. It's also not an exaggeration to say that ours was not the only department to seek her counsel. She's incredibly knowledgable about the publishing industry and has served as a mentor to me on many levels (most notably, her enviable diplomatic skills).

She's been a neverending source of great conversation and has the power to really make me laugh, even when she's evil. The entire publicity department has been in a funk since learning of her imminent departure because it really is more like a friend moving far away than just another supervisor moving on to bigger and better things. I've been in the enviable position for the last two and a half years that every single day, I've gotten up, excited to go to work in an environment that can get a bit sticky, a bit combative, but was always a great place to be, knowing my boss had my back. This has not always been the case. I've worked under some real fuckers. Here, I've always felt nurtured, supported, and understood. And it's all thanks to her.

So this is my salute to the Crazy Purple Lady. I really do wish her the very best with her new position. I'd say she has big shoes to fill but 1) it's a cliche and 2) her successor can only hope to continue her work, for they will never replace her.

An Open Letter to Spring

Dear Spring,

Rock me Amadeus.

Much love,

Brian

An Open Letter To Winter

Dear Winter,

Get bent.

Sincerely,

Brian

If Men Read Books As Women Do

Disclaimer: I'm about to open myself up to charges of sexism and possibly horrible name calling. All I'm asking is that you bear with me, hear me out, and follow my train of thought.

One of the points that being in the MFA program has driven home for me is the inescapable idea that no two readers will walk away from your work with the same thoughts/impressions/feelings. Everyone brings their own set of prejudices, acknowledged or otherwise, to a text. For instance, remember my former classmate Gene who, everytime he read dialogue by a gay character in CHASERS, instantly endowed them with a high-pitched, effeminate voice? Gene has been programmed to believe that this is the expected behavior of a gay man. (How he was able to reconcile that with the fact that I don't sound that way I'll never know.) Our experiences, for better or worse, color our reading and sometimes this can lead to reading more into the text than is actually there.

In workshops, writers are often expected to sit quietly while their classmates give feedback on the presented work. You're not supposed to say, "Well, what I was trying to do is..." because your intent doesn't matter, what's on the page does. If your classmates aren't seeing it on the page, the execution of your intent (may have) failed. But the problem comes when people are looking at the page and, often without realizing it, see it through their unique lens, informed by their pasts, their knowledge and even, dare I say, their sex.

There's something that has cropped up a few times in discussions of CHASERS. It's something that has been mentioned--and I'm only being frank here--solely by women. In fact, only one woman who's read the manuscript has NOT mentioned this something.

Here's the situation: the protagonist in CHASERS, Evan, is eighteen. He's just graduated high school. For the past year, he's been dating a guy, Erik, four years older than he is. I've taken great pains to illustrate that this is a healthy relationship. I feel, in fact, that it's important to the story that it's a healthy relationship with good give and take.

There is something about this age difference between the two guys that women are finding unsettling. I've scanned the text, I've asked other readers, and it just doesn't seem to be on the page. But when women read this, their minds go instantly to one word: control.

The first two women to mention this are in my writing group. It came up after they'd read about the first quarter of the book. "There are control issues," one of them said. They felt that Erik was manipulating Evan, playing him, taking advantage of his inexperience. I was totally floored and spent a good two weeks freaking out, reading and re-reading every single page that they'd read, looking for signs that this control was going on. I couldn't see it. Even then, I started re-writing, doing everything I could to emphasize the fact that Erik is a good guy and not taking advantage of Evan at all. If anything (and this was in place long before the word 'control' entered the picture), Erik lets Evan call the shots in the relationship.

As they read more of the manuscript, these initial readers, through subsequent discussions, indicated that they didn't think Erik was trying to control Evan. If anything, that impression seemed to have sprung from where they thought the book was going, based on what they'd read so far. They thought it was going to be a book about someone trying to control their lover, taking advantage of their greater experience and their lover's innocence. (That is not what my book is about. But maybe I should write that.) I felt better but I was still intrigued that they had reached that conclusion.

Then, subsequent women readers made similar comments, that they thought I was headed in that direction: Erik controlling Evan. This has, I should point out, never once entered the mind of any male reader, gay or straight. (Or if it has, no one's mentioned it to me.) The trigger is always the revelation of the age difference. I began to wonder why it was that women seemed particularly sensitive to this. Is it something cultural? Are women taught from a young age to beware of men who will seek out younger partners just because they know they can exert a certain amount of control?

This came up again during my defense. The sole female member of my thesis committee suggested that in my next revision, I need to expound on the reasons why Erik is with Evan. What attracts him? "Do they bond over their love of art? Is Erik looking to control Evan?" I immediately tensed up when she said this. She wasn't even saying she thought that was a motivation; she was simply offering a laundry list of reasons why Erik might love Evan. But there it was again: control. Again, it was a woman that this thought occurred to. And I don't know how to interpret that.

It should be obvious by now that if readers can bring their own prejudices to a work, so can writers. I think this was why I freaked out that my female readers were picking up on something that I just couldn't see in my own words. Was I, unconsciouly perhaps, laying seeds to indicate there was a problem with this age gap? In the book, the issue is barely addressed. I don't want it to be an issue or central in any way. (There are those who think I *must* draw attention to it. I'm not so sure.) The age issue doesn't mean anything to me. Four years? Pshaw. MyGuy^TM is four years younger than me and (I hope he agrees) there are no "control issues" between us. I've been told "But at that tender age--eighteen--four years is a big deal." Maybe. Maybe not. This could be the problem. I could be the only person who doesn't think the age issue is a big deal. (Now, if you're talking much more than four years, there might be an issue. But again, that's MY take.)

Now, before the Incredibly Stupid People of the Internet start lambasting me (oh, yes, they're out there and they always find my blog) and saying, "How dare you say women always read bad things in to books?" or any of the other Stupid Things they are wont to say, I'd like to point out that I mentioned we ALL have different reads on material and bring our experiences to the table when we read. I'm merely asking--because I am not a woman and won't claim to have the experiences unique to women--if there are women who read this blog who can relate and say, "Why, yes, I'm very cognizant of age disparity because I know that control issues are a big problem." There may very well be men out there who would read the first quarter of CHASERS and think that's where it's going (if there are, they either haven't read it yet or haven't expressed these thoughts). I acknowledge that, yes, there are those people who seek out a younger partner simply so they can manipulate them. But I'm concerned over what I see as an assumption that that's what will occur as soon as theirs a difference in age. I have to wonder: what is an acceptable age difference, if four years is terrible?

If our experiences can shape how we read, certainly our sex can as well, because so many of our experiences, again for better or worse, are influenced by our sex. Do you recognize ways in which your sex, or orientation, or nationality, or other bits of background have influenced your read on a piece of work? How do you let it affect your opinion of the piece?

The Defense Rests

It's over. I defended.

Now what?

The defense went very well. My committee was very complimentary and had many great notes for me to consider for the next revision. But they also felt that the next revision would be very minimal. They told me not to be concerned about the length. Oh, and they're not convinced it's a YA novel. (Which, frankly, I've been thinking for quite some time. Even though I couldn't give you a definitive definition of a YA novel, I don't know that I should be calling CHASERS that.) My thesis chair told me that until Mary, the second person on my committee, mentioned that I was wondering if it was YA, he'd never even considered it.

The YA label has been a sticking point only from the standpoint of me trying to decide which is the best route to getting an agent and the book published.

Why it could be a YA novel:

• Teenage protagonist (except CATCHER IN THE RYE has a teen protag and is not considered YA)


• Coming of age issues

Why it might not be YA:

• The protagonist is 18 and no longer in high school. (There are many people, including our sales force at work, who would tell you that 18 is too old for YA.)


• He's in a mature relationship with a man four years his senior.

The issue becomes: what happens if I send it to a bunch of YA agents who say "this isn't YA" or a bunch of literary/general fiction agents who say "this is YA." Leave it to me and my advanced state of paranoia to think of things like this. You call it paranoia but, honestly, this is the sort of stuff that happens to me.

So, the new strategy: work on one more draft and have it ready to go out by the end of summer. Send it out to agents as a "coming of age" novel (nice, slightly vague, could be YA, might not be) and see who bites.

But I'm getting away from the main point: I'm done. I turn in two copies of the "final" draft to the office and it's all over. I'll have my Master's degree.

Excuse me, I'm going to go have a cookie.

I'm On The Top Of The Haiku Lookin' Down On Creation...

In forty-eight hours, I defend my thesis. I'm supposed to start with a fifteen minute presentation. For those who've been paying attention, that means I have forty-eight hours to decide what I'm going to say for those fifteen minutes.

Right now? Buggered if I know.

There's no need to explain what the book is about; they've read it. There's no need to explain my process or how the idea for the book came about; it's all in the artist statement I submitted. I have a feeling I'm going to end up writing "I am a fish" four hundred times, do a funny little dance, and pass out. (Yes, that's a clever reference to a TV show I enjoy very much. Anyone? Anyone?)

Perhaps if I dangle something shiny before the eyes of my committee, they won't notice that I don't know what to say.

MyGuy^TM and I are headed out of town this weekend to see a production of THE FANTASTIKS as directed by a friend. Then I have much catching up to do on e-mails and the like. Much catching up. Oh, and I should settle on a presentation.

Last week, the omnipresent Lex Ham Rand left us with the haiku topic of: Which cartoon should be re-made as a Coen Brothers movie? I respond:

Danger Mouse as cop
"Crikey, DM! It's Fargo."
Avoid wood chipper.

Next topic:

Unusual symptoms of spring fever

New Who! New Who! New Who!

Season Four of DOCTOR WHO starts this weekend. After having my innards eviscerated by the dreadful season three finale and not enjoying the VOYAGE OF THE DAMNED Christmas special very much, you'd probably think I'm approaching this season with dread and wariness.

But I'm not. I can't wait for Donna to have her turn in the TARDIS. I'm giddy at the thought of the Sontarans back in action. Having Martha back (after her fun stint on TORCHWOOD) will be lovely. Steven Moffat has written a two parter. Euros Lyn is back directing. And if the rumors about the season four finale are true... well, it'll certainly be a spectacle to say the least. I'm just genetically inclined to love DOCTOR WHO, even when it's at its worst. But my gut tells me this season will be awesome. (Season three was awesome...until the end.)

That is all.

Stereotypes Vs. Cultural Shorthand

Saturday, I went to see the national touring company of JERSEY BOYS. To be brief, it was kind of awesome. A really tight narrative and book that kept it from falling into the pit where the dreaded "jukebox musicals" live. There are a couple scenes involving a character named Gyp, an older Italian man whom the Jersey Boys occasionally consult to "make problems go away." Now, at no point do any of the show's narrators step forward and say to the audience, "Gyp has strong mob connections and is a Godfather-like character whose underworld influence affords him the ability to solve any problem in any way he sees fit, legal or otherwise." But everyone in the audience knew from the minute this character showed up in a darkened night club and asked Frankie Valli to sing "My Mother's Eyes" as "a favor" that that's what we were dealing with.

As a writer, I'm intrigued by this device. No lengthy explanations as to who this person was and what power he wielded. The actor had a certain look, he had a certain costume, he spoke with a certain syntax. The writers of the show knew that, especially with a play/musical, they have very little time to get to the gist of this character. So they relied on what we, the public, think we know about these types of people. Be it from repeated viewings of Francis Ford Coppola movies or weekly screenings of THE SOPRANOS, we have, whether we like it or not, an idea of what to expect from characters like this (and let's face it: how many of us have any true experience with the mafia?).

I tend to think of this as cultural shorthand, shared generalizations that take the form of collective knowledge. For better or worse, writers employ these often as a time saver. Of course, the question becomes: when is it just a stereotype? When is it a perception influenced by a consistent portrayal (accurate or otherwise) in the media? Is it possible to use a stereotype as a spring board to convey a character's world but then go beyond the stereotype by broadening who the character actually is? (I've never seen a single episode of THE SOPRANOS--I really don't like mob movies/TV--but from what I've heard, the show attempts to do just this: show us the people outside the stereotype.)

9/11 is a sort of cultural shorthand for overwhelming loss and shock. (And if the Bush administration keeps up, it'll soon be synonymous with blatant emotional manipulation for political gain which will eventually leech all meaning from the event.) Can you think of any other bits of cultural shorthand that are clearly not steeped in stereotype?

I Don't Know Much, But I Know I Haiku. And That May Be All I Need To Know.

Leila over at Bookshelves of Doom is kind of like my own personal poison taster. You know, the wormy little peasant who eats samples of my food to see if it will kill me or not. Only instead of wormy, she's ultra-cool and instead of poison, she ferrets out really neat articles and links that make me happy. Often, they deal with Doctor Who but not today. This one is a Guardian article with Markus Zusak, author of THE BOOK THIEF (one of my very favorite books). This answer came so stunningly close to how I would answer the question, I had to share:

What preparation do you do before writing?
I procrastinate in spades. In my defence, I also try to have all other
distractions solved before I can concentrate on writing. My small
theory is that to write for three hours, you need to feel like you have three days. To write for three days, you need to feel like you've got three weeks, and so on. Ultimately, though, it's the feeling in my stomach that's similar to the night before the school assignment is due...and you haven't started yet. That's my preparation.

I hate feeling like I've only got two or three hours to write. I like to think that I've got all of Saturday to work. I may, in reality, only get two to three hours of quality stuff done but I accomplish that knowing I've got the day at my disposable. I've often thought it's probably a "bad writer habit" and I should be able to poop out material standing in line for five minutes at the grocery store. So when a writer whose skill I admire (such as Zusak) professes to the same habits I have, I naturally need to smile. Go procrastination!! Go subjective imaginary time limits!! (All this from the guy who STILL isn't done with his frakkin' artist statement.)

Last week, Sven left us with the topic of "ice breakers at conferences." I offer:

I read your novel.
Amazing. Just amazing.
Will you please read mine? *

Next topic:
The ache of spring fever

*=I didn't say it was a GOOD ice breaker.

The Caveman Diaries: Adventures Of Krog, Prehistoric MFA Student--Part Two

(A recent archaeological dig in Mesopotamia unearthed a series of stone tablets with ancient drawings that translators believe to be the personal reflections of the world's first MFA candidate. Selected excerpts appear below.)

Krog no have good day.

Krog submit short story to peer workshop. Lug four stone tablets down to lower swamp. Classmates read and give feedback.

Mulag spit on tablet, smear with sabretooth blood, dismiss as genre writing. Jun-jun turn up large forehead, say he looking for metaphor but he no see one. Agga say protagonist do nothing, just passively wait for things to happen. Then Agga hold tablet over head and shatter on rock.

Krog wonder if Krog cut out to be writer. Do Krog need to develop thicker skin for critique? Or do Krog need to murder classmates in middle of night to assert authority? Krog no sure. Krog go back to drawing board, eliminate genre elements, highlight metaphor, give protagonist something to do. Krog not give up.

Or Krog write new story. Great storm come, fire from sky kill MFA students... Has potential.

(Krog's dispatches started here.)

Haiku, All Alone In The Moonlight

Today is all about the artist statement. Tomorrow is all about the artist statement. Hopefully, at some point over these days, I will heal. Or at least stop coughing. That would be grand.

FunSizeSnack left us with the eloquent topic: bodily functions. I have stories I could tell about this woman and said functions. But I won't. Instead, I offer:

Ode to George C. Scott:
"Precious bodily fluids!"
What the hell is that?

Next topic:

Muppet secrets revealed

You've Been Sick, But Now You're Well Again, And There's Work To Do

You know "Harrison Bergeron," the famous short story by Kurt Vonnegut? Set in a dystopian future, equality for the masses has finally been achieved when everyone is forced to adopt the limitations of the weakest member of society. To keep people from having thoughts above the lowest amount of intelligence, people wear headgear that transmits ear-splitting noise at regular intervals, thus negating the ability to concentrate.

This is how I've been feeling. Only instead of futuristic headgear, my thoughts have been scattered by invading squadrons of cold and flu medication. Oh, and by the need to cough until bits of lumpy scar tissue from the interior of my lungs comes out.



Today is the first day I've felt human in almost a week. Concentrating is still a chore. Stuff--thick, gunky stuff from the feel of it--still rattles around my lungs. But I'm not feverish anymore (oh, the hallucinations I had last weekend...). And I can walk without feeling as though I won't pass out. I'm enjoying popsicles for my sore throat. And Nyquil is my new bestest bud. It's good to feel human again.

Haven't touched my artist statement (due March 31) so I need to hit that hard the moment I've reclaimed free thinking. And then, a special collection of thoughts I've been having, re: the MFA experience.

You're on tenterhooks. I can tell.

Whenever I Haiku, All I Have To Do Is Dream

One of the most commonly held theories concerning why we dream is that dreaming provides a problem solver. When logic and rational during the waking hours fail to yield solutions to the problems that plague us, the abstraction of our unconscious mind gives it a go. Because so few of us think abstractly, many of the solutions may go untapped, dismissed as incongruent ciphers brought on my extra pepperoni on a Domino's two-for-one special.

I admit that I can't always make out the weird imagery of my dreams. Some people will tell you it's "the universe" or a high power speaking to you. I tend to stick to a random firing of neurons that offers its own special means of communication ("Darmok and Jalad at Tenagra.") But I do recognize the problem-solving capacity they represent and I have, from time to time, been able to work out quandaries as a result.

Like last night, for example. Now, maybe it was my slightly feverish state and the fact that I tossed and turned all night. But I dreamt of a young painter named Matt S. who was trying to recreate sections of the AIDS memorial quilt as paintings. That's really all there was to the dream. Matt S. looked a lot like Matthew Lewis, the actor who plays Neville Longbottom in the Harry Potter movies. And I was seeing him as though seeing a story about his work on CNN.

And I sat bolt upright around 3:00 this morning with complete comprehension as to what this meant. A metaphor, both subtle and obvious, had been staring at me but I was missing it. It's like the final piece to the puzzle that has been CHASERS was given to me. I repeated this connection over and over to myself as I fell back to sleep, a technique I've learned will make whatever I repeat the first thing I remember when I wake again. First thing I did upon waking was open up CHASERS and begin to tweak. The changes went in fairly painlessly. I only wish this had come to me before I turned in the draft to my thesis committee. But I'm quite happy today, despite fending off a bit of illness. I finally figured out something that's been nagging me about CHASERS for over a year now. I'm starting to understand why novels can take years to write.

Vinny left us with the topic: "Things I wish I hadn't posted on MySpace. " I offer:

Who needs measurements?
Just those guys after one thing.
Remove waist size now!

Next topic:

Sigourney Weaver for President!

Just Because I Needed A New Post

Here's some more Garfield Minus Garfield. God, this cracks me up. It's brilliant.