One delicious outcome of our Italy trip ten months ago was my espresso intake went up–how could it not?–and I’d started having trouble limiting myself to one latte a day. There are all sorts of good reasons why one should be enough, but you know how it is: no amount of commonsense can always outweigh the desire for a treat.
So, for this and other reasons, Kelly and I bought the world’s most adorable milk-whipper a couple weeks ago. It makes hot foamy milk, cold foamy milk, and hot unfoamy milk. (Also hot unsweetened chocolate almond milk, which: mmmm!) And it’s damn near silent, which is deeply wonderful. I could whip milk at the crack of dawn pretty much right beside Kelly’s ear and she wouldn’t wake up.
But the real selling point, in the end, the reason we couldn’t leave it at the Bay, was the red fireplug cuteness of the thing. Sometimes you just have to give in to the OMG squee, how fantastic!!
Comments Off on Telewitterings: Sean Bean is not in World Without End (yet)
Two episodes in, World Without End seems to be Game of Thrones, with twice the rape, some okay medieval history, and none of the magic. That doesn’t mean it’s terrible: really, this is just a listing of ingredients.
The story is based on a Ken Follet book, World Without End, and it’s set in England during the reign of Edward the II. There are a few familiar faces within the cast, most notably Miranda Richardson. The story hums along: this is not one of those tales that morsels out plot in tiny teaspoons–we’ve seen three episodes, and already months have passed and there’s been a significant bodycount. And, in fact, one of the characters who’s already died was played by an actor who’s been horribly killed in every single thing we’ve seen them appear in.
Anyway, similar thing: whenever I see this other actor onscreen, or see their name in a list of credits, it’s ironclad: Okay! We all know what’s going to happen to them! Gruesome death ahoy!
It’s an interesting thing, isn’t it? What qualities would you need, as a performer, to so reliably get you typecast as doomed?
Comments Off on Off My Lawn! Cat Rambo vs. Writer’s Block
Cat Rambo and I met doing Broad Universe Rapidfire Readings at a bunch of conventions through the zero years, mostly Pacific Northwest events like Orycon and Norwescon. I’ve thus heard her read fantasy, horror and science fiction, and one of the things I admire most about her, besides her multi-genre range, is her ability to tell a story quickly that will cut right through all defenses and into the hearts of her audience.
Cat has a new collection of SF stories out… really, it’s more properly two collections. It’s called Near + Far and here’s the NEAR half of the cover:
Today on Off My Lawn, Cat’s tackling the difference between writer’s block and waiting for your Muse to come.
Ah, writer’s block. Writers in films certainly seem to suffer from it, whether it’s Emma Thompson in Stranger than Fiction or Billy Crystal in Throw Momma From the Train.
They can’t get started, the words don’t come. The muse is out to lunch, and has left no forwarding address.
I’ve got mixed feelings about such portrayals, because they make me feel guilty. Sure, I acknowledge there are valid sources of writer’s block: illness, mental trauma, general life upheaval. But the truth of the matter has always been that even when I’m languishing at the keyboard playing Bejeweled Blitz in an attempt to get my creative juices stirring, I still know: I could be writing, and should be.
Yes, writing that comes easily, breathlessly, spilling onto the page as though you were channeling Calliope herself, is sometimes wonderful. And the writing that comes with difficulty, as though you were scraping the words out of the top of your skull with a melon spoon, may not be great. But there are always words to write, even if they’re “I don’t know what to write,” over and over again.
Part of the my philosophy of writing grows out of Natalie Goldberg’s book, Writing Down the Bone. For Goldberg, writing is the most important thing. It is the act of having written that matters, not what you’ve produced. And I agree, because the day after I’ve forced to write, it’s easier to do so, while the day I spent conquering the world in Civ 3 made me, if anything, less fit to write.
The blank page is scary. It’s a large and unguessable territory. It’s easier if you go in with a plan of action, a list of sights and scenes and senses you want to hit. But sometimes you have to trust yourself just to write and see what comes out. Because the brain gets bored with saying “I don’t know what to write” over and over again. It starts tossing out wild and entertaining notions, comes up with odd and unscripted moments. That’s often when you’re best in touch with that unknown side of you, that side that will never face you directly but will manifest best and most brightly in your writing. Learn to trust that hidden side to supply you with details you can excavate in rewriting. Learn to collaborate with yourself.
I don’t have the time or patience for writer’s block. Writing is what I do and unless I do it every day, I’m not happy with myself. Sure, some words are crap. But some are good, and the more I write, the better they are.
When I was at Hopkins, one of my teachers was Stephen Dixon, who had something like 14 or 15 books at the time. Whenever you talked to him in the hall, you knew what was going on in his head: “We could both be writing.” It was sobering how devoted to producing the text he was – in those pre-computer days, he just typed his manuscripts over and over, refining them with each pass, until he was done. Think of how much easier we have it now.
So yeah. Writer’s block? Maybe. I don’t want to offend anyone with categorical denunciations. Let’s just say sometimes it might be real – but sometimes it’s an excuse. And I just don’t have a lot of patience with that, anymore.
Near + Far is full of stories. I could have had twice as many in it. They’re stories that could have stayed in my head, much more perfect, elegant and beautifully realized than their actuality. Or I could do what I did: write them and get them out of the way, making room for more to come.
Comments Off on Novel Writing III begins October 3rd
Starting in a couple weeks, I will once again be teaching Novel Writing 3, which is an all-genres class that follows up on, naturally, N1 & N2. The syllabus is here: the gist is you write fifty pages and provide workshop feedback to your classmates on their novels-in-progress as you go.
Novel 3 has a somewhat lighter workshop load than N2–in the latter class, we’re putting the books under a microscope to see that they’re well begun. In this one, the workshop looks at things that are more a matter of nuance than necessity. (This is an oversimplification, but the upshot is fewer workshop weeks and more focus on your own book.)
Can you take this course if you haven’t had N1 and N2? The answer is a qualified yes. If you are fifty or more pages into a novel, and want a little structure in which to work on the next fifty–in many cases, the middle of your book–it might be for you. Check out the syllabus and talk to me. That said, The UCLA Extension Writers’ Program is also running N1 and N2 this quarter, with Dan Fante and Leslie Lehr, respectively: you can jump into that stream at the beginning. Or take the NanoWrimo course.
Finally, here’s a heads-up: I will be teaching Writing the Fantastic, my intermediate SF/F/H course, in January. This one is offered rarely and fills fast, so if you’ve been waiting do mark your calendars.
My beloved, shadow-colored Rumble is going through one of those phases where his favorite place to be is underfoot, preferably at three in the morning. This is troublesome, naturally, because at three I’m a lumbering, nearsighted beast with a wobbly ankle, bound on autopilot for the bathroom. He’s gotten stepped on twice and punted once, and I think it’s sinking in. (If it doesn’t, I’ll start slowly and carefully stepping on him whenever I see he’s in my way. Otherwise an ugly trip to the human or kitteh emergency room is an inevitability).
There’s been a fair amount of kitty acting out lately, what with my having torn up the office and, as of last Wednesday, mostly closed it to feline traffic. It’s all less traumatic than actually moving them to a new home would be, but they can’t appreciate that. I did manage to open the door for part of yesterday while I was rearranging for the next stage of painting. Minnow was visibly happier after she’d had a chance to see that the room still existed.
After the painting, the next stage for this little project is to move the office stuff into the bedroom, and the bedroom stuff into the office. The former will be quite the tight squeeze, but that will hopefully motivate K and I to continue getting rid of some of our not-so-needed crap.
The office is as close as Minnow gets to having her own territory in the house, so I am expecting there will be another explosion of cat unhappiness and maneuvering once that’s all accomplished. Rumble will not cede the bed or bedroom to anyone. He barely tolerates me sleeping in there. (What? I am enslaved by cats. This is news?)
I’ll have to build Minnow an exceptionally nice nest in the ‘new’ office.
seems to be 
, with twice the rape, some okay medieval history, and none of the magic. That doesn’t mean it’s terrible: really, this is just a listing of ingredients.
and here’s the NEAR half of the cover:
