Goodness. Are we back at another Waning Crescent already? I have some excuses for not posting lately, but none of them are very interesting, so I'll spare you. It's been a fun couple of weeks. In fact, it's fair to say that most of my excuses fall into the overall category of The Fun Not Stopping.
Anyway, my old friend Meep flew in today to spend a week. Yay! But this means I probably won't be posting much for the next little while either. So be good while I'm out. And Happy New Year.
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Thursday, December 15, 2005
In Which I Answer Your Questions About Music and Portland.
[And by "your," I mean "my."]
Q: What on earth is that new, ominous-looking green building on Burnside that bears no slogan but AFSCME?
A: Why, it's the American Federation of State, County and Municipal Employees. Which I think is a labor union for civil servants... but may just be a cover for a robot manufacturer, who knows.
Q: Is the first-ever They Might Be Giants podcast worth the download?
A: If you are really a TMBG fan, yes. Otherwise, not so much.
Q: With all the mp3 blogs out there these days, isn't there one that features really good writing?
A: There is.
Q: What if popular musicians wrote songs which were anagrams of their names?
A: They might sound like the Holy Tango Basement Tapes.
Q: Say I want to take public transportation from my mansion in the West Hills to the AFSCME building, so I can see the robots... er, government employees. What's the easiest way to do that?
A: Use Google's Transit Trip Planner, which is currently in beta, with Portland as a guinea pig. It's keen!
Q: What on earth is that new, ominous-looking green building on Burnside that bears no slogan but AFSCME?
A: Why, it's the American Federation of State, County and Municipal Employees. Which I think is a labor union for civil servants... but may just be a cover for a robot manufacturer, who knows.
Q: Is the first-ever They Might Be Giants podcast worth the download?
A: If you are really a TMBG fan, yes. Otherwise, not so much.
Q: With all the mp3 blogs out there these days, isn't there one that features really good writing?
A: There is.
Q: What if popular musicians wrote songs which were anagrams of their names?
A: They might sound like the Holy Tango Basement Tapes.
Q: Say I want to take public transportation from my mansion in the West Hills to the AFSCME building, so I can see the robots... er, government employees. What's the easiest way to do that?
A: Use Google's Transit Trip Planner, which is currently in beta, with Portland as a guinea pig. It's keen!
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
In Which I Don't Say Much About Narnia.
I feel like I should write something about the first Narnia movie, some sort of evaluative remarks, but I'm not ready to yet. I'm still processing it. There's so much there for me to consider... maybe not necessarily inherent in the film, but so many layers of meaning built up over years of reading and re-reading. So I'll just tell you that I watched it with my brother, and that we both really enjoyed it.
I used to read the Chronicles out loud to my siblings long ago -- four of us in all, just like the Pevenseys. My sisters tolerated the reading, that being the best entertainment available in the absence of television, but my brother was the one who really loved it. In a sense he has become part of the story for me, and I for him. So it was most fitting for us to stumble back through the wardrobe together, after all these years.
Ebert's review of the movie ended with the following rhetorical question:
I used to read the Chronicles out loud to my siblings long ago -- four of us in all, just like the Pevenseys. My sisters tolerated the reading, that being the best entertainment available in the absence of television, but my brother was the one who really loved it. In a sense he has become part of the story for me, and I for him. So it was most fitting for us to stumble back through the wardrobe together, after all these years.
Ebert's review of the movie ended with the following rhetorical question:
But it's remarkable, isn't it, that the Brits have produced Narnia, the Ring, Hogwarts, Gormenghast, James Bond, Alice and Pooh, and what have we produced for them in return?To this I can only answer: Earthsea. I know, I know, it was just subjected to a horrible TV adaptation; but now it's in the hands of Studio Ghibli, the people who brought you My Neighbor Totoro and Spirited Away. Yes, you read that right: anime! It's a weird idea, but I kinda like it. Even though Ged looks suspiciously Caucasian in the movie poster.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
In Which I Tidy Up a Bit.
This weekend I've been obsessed with organization. This is not at all normal for me. By nature I'm a piler, not a filer. If only I had these fits of orderliness more regularly, my life would be... well, much more orderly.
This particular fit began yesterday, when I discovered the Noguchi filing system (thanks to Sanguinity). It seems to have been designed expressly for pilers, by encouraging organization without classification. Though it can't replace all my files, it immediately looked like a better option than my current system (which involves periodically sweeping everything off the kitchen table into a box, which is subsequently ignored). So I spent a couple hours today snipping the tops off 9x12 envelopes and stuffing things into them. There are still several piles/boxes left to deal with, but you know what they say about journeys of a thousand miles.
The other thing I've started organizing is my links, or "bookmarks," or "favorites," or whatever you want to call them. I've never really made use of that feature in any browser, because it was limited to a single computer, and, well, I'm not. Instead, I would e-mail them to myself, or to someone else. Finding the link again usually wasn't too difficult... so long as I actually remembered I had it.
Turns out there is a better system, and it's been around for quite a while. You've probably already heard of it; in fact, you may even already use it (I know Allan does!). del.icio.us is, much like the Noguchi system, brilliant in its simplicity. When you see a web page you want to bookmark, you just click a button and del.icio.us remembers it for you. You can also annotate and tag the link for easy reference. Nice, huh? But it gets better. You can send links to other users. You can see how many other people have bookmarked a given page, and how they tagged and annotated it. You can look at what links are popular today, and what's been most recently bookmarked. You can use it to set up a wishlist (one that isn't limited to Amazon!). The list goes on. If you haven't tried it yet, you really should.
I've decided not to post my del.icio.us page to this blog, because it will eventually paint a more detailed portrait of myself than I'm prepared to share with the world at large. No, I'm not hiding anything sensational; I'm just weird like that. However, I'm more than happy to share with anyone who knows me in real life, so if you're curious, drop me a line and I'll send you the URL.
What makes both of these organizing tools so appealing to me is their flexibility. A fixed system of files (whether paper or virtual) requires constant revision in order to keep up with the flow of incoming information -- particularly for anyone whose interests are continually evolving. But the Noguchi system, by avoiding classification altogether, allows for a purely intuitive means of storage and retrieval. And the tags used in del.icio.us (and gmail, and flickr, and an increasing number of web-based resources) provide a highly flexible system of classification that doesn't limit an item to a single primary descriptor. Someday we'll be able to organize files on our hard drives this way! There's an exciting thought.
This particular fit began yesterday, when I discovered the Noguchi filing system (thanks to Sanguinity). It seems to have been designed expressly for pilers, by encouraging organization without classification. Though it can't replace all my files, it immediately looked like a better option than my current system (which involves periodically sweeping everything off the kitchen table into a box, which is subsequently ignored). So I spent a couple hours today snipping the tops off 9x12 envelopes and stuffing things into them. There are still several piles/boxes left to deal with, but you know what they say about journeys of a thousand miles.
The other thing I've started organizing is my links, or "bookmarks," or "favorites," or whatever you want to call them. I've never really made use of that feature in any browser, because it was limited to a single computer, and, well, I'm not. Instead, I would e-mail them to myself, or to someone else. Finding the link again usually wasn't too difficult... so long as I actually remembered I had it.
Turns out there is a better system, and it's been around for quite a while. You've probably already heard of it; in fact, you may even already use it (I know Allan does!). del.icio.us is, much like the Noguchi system, brilliant in its simplicity. When you see a web page you want to bookmark, you just click a button and del.icio.us remembers it for you. You can also annotate and tag the link for easy reference. Nice, huh? But it gets better. You can send links to other users. You can see how many other people have bookmarked a given page, and how they tagged and annotated it. You can look at what links are popular today, and what's been most recently bookmarked. You can use it to set up a wishlist (one that isn't limited to Amazon!). The list goes on. If you haven't tried it yet, you really should.
I've decided not to post my del.icio.us page to this blog, because it will eventually paint a more detailed portrait of myself than I'm prepared to share with the world at large. No, I'm not hiding anything sensational; I'm just weird like that. However, I'm more than happy to share with anyone who knows me in real life, so if you're curious, drop me a line and I'll send you the URL.
What makes both of these organizing tools so appealing to me is their flexibility. A fixed system of files (whether paper or virtual) requires constant revision in order to keep up with the flow of incoming information -- particularly for anyone whose interests are continually evolving. But the Noguchi system, by avoiding classification altogether, allows for a purely intuitive means of storage and retrieval. And the tags used in del.icio.us (and gmail, and flickr, and an increasing number of web-based resources) provide a highly flexible system of classification that doesn't limit an item to a single primary descriptor. Someday we'll be able to organize files on our hard drives this way! There's an exciting thought.
Friday, December 09, 2005
In Which It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Ear.
I have a confession to make: I hate Christmas music.
How can this be? I love music, and I love Christmas. Something has clearly gone terribly wrong.
It wasn't always this way. I used to love Christmas music unreservedly. Then I only loved some of it. Then I became alarmed by its tendency to spill over into November, when I wasn't ready to hear it yet. Then I vaguely resented all of it, unless I was singing it with other people, which has happened less and less in recent years. This year, as I was gritting my teeth at the grocery store while some canned singer repeatedly reminded me he was simp-ly hav-ing a won-derful Christ-mas-time, I realized that my distaste has finally bloomed into genuine hatred.
I have some theories about how this may have happened. One is that Christmas songs, since we only hear them for a short time, don't have to undergo the same Darwinian struggle for survival that everyday songs do. Bad Christmas music gets recycled year after year, simply by virtue of being holiday-appropriate. Another reason is that Christmas music tends to involve a lot of choirs and big bands, which I generally tend to avoid. A yet more significant factor is commercialization: a little bit of my heart dies every time something I once held sacred is cheapened by mass-media overexposure, in a blatant attempt to separate as many people from their money as possible. (See also: Lord of the Rings.)
In a further ironic twist, my first response to this realization was to listen to a lot of Christmas music, in search of some that doesn't make me cringe. After some thought, I decided my primary criterion for Good Christmas Music was that it had to be good enough to listen to all year round without getting sick of it. (Anything I listened to as a child is disqualified, as I can't address it with any objectivity.)
Unfortunately, I was not able to compile an entire mix CD's worth of songs that met this standard. However, I present to you some highlights of my search.
Here is the best Christmas song I've heard this year. I don't know anything about the artist, other than that she's from Canada, and that she makes this old German melody sound prettier than I would have thought possible:
Feist - Lo, How A Rose E'er Blooming
Several years ago, Sufjan Stevens recorded three Christmas EPs for friends. All of them are now available for free online. I wholeheartedly recommend them; they are gentle acoustic arrangements of carols, hymns, and original songs, with Sufjan's hushed tenor at the forefront. They're reverent without being arrogant, and sweet without being precious. You can download all three (zipped files) here:
http://www.chattablogs.com/quintus/archives/019581.html
Finally, if you're going to record obnoxious Christmas songs, you might as well be as obnoxious about it as possible. Last year on MetaFilter, one gentleman noted:
http://quasistoic.org/PinkStainlessTail - jinglerockbell.mp3
How can this be? I love music, and I love Christmas. Something has clearly gone terribly wrong.
It wasn't always this way. I used to love Christmas music unreservedly. Then I only loved some of it. Then I became alarmed by its tendency to spill over into November, when I wasn't ready to hear it yet. Then I vaguely resented all of it, unless I was singing it with other people, which has happened less and less in recent years. This year, as I was gritting my teeth at the grocery store while some canned singer repeatedly reminded me he was simp-ly hav-ing a won-derful Christ-mas-time, I realized that my distaste has finally bloomed into genuine hatred.
I have some theories about how this may have happened. One is that Christmas songs, since we only hear them for a short time, don't have to undergo the same Darwinian struggle for survival that everyday songs do. Bad Christmas music gets recycled year after year, simply by virtue of being holiday-appropriate. Another reason is that Christmas music tends to involve a lot of choirs and big bands, which I generally tend to avoid. A yet more significant factor is commercialization: a little bit of my heart dies every time something I once held sacred is cheapened by mass-media overexposure, in a blatant attempt to separate as many people from their money as possible. (See also: Lord of the Rings.)
In a further ironic twist, my first response to this realization was to listen to a lot of Christmas music, in search of some that doesn't make me cringe. After some thought, I decided my primary criterion for Good Christmas Music was that it had to be good enough to listen to all year round without getting sick of it. (Anything I listened to as a child is disqualified, as I can't address it with any objectivity.)
Unfortunately, I was not able to compile an entire mix CD's worth of songs that met this standard. However, I present to you some highlights of my search.
Here is the best Christmas song I've heard this year. I don't know anything about the artist, other than that she's from Canada, and that she makes this old German melody sound prettier than I would have thought possible:
Feist - Lo, How A Rose E'er Blooming
Several years ago, Sufjan Stevens recorded three Christmas EPs for friends. All of them are now available for free online. I wholeheartedly recommend them; they are gentle acoustic arrangements of carols, hymns, and original songs, with Sufjan's hushed tenor at the forefront. They're reverent without being arrogant, and sweet without being precious. You can download all three (zipped files) here:
http://www.chattablogs.com
Finally, if you're going to record obnoxious Christmas songs, you might as well be as obnoxious about it as possible. Last year on MetaFilter, one gentleman noted:
I like to sing Jingle Bell Rock, but using only the words "bell", "rock", and "jingle".... Drives my wife nuts. I'd record an MP3 of me doing it if someone could find me a karaoke track.Someone could, and he did. As far as I'm concerned, this is now the definitive version of Jingle Bell Rock:
http://quasistoic.org/PinkStainlessTail - jinglerockbell.mp3
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Which Is Largely Hit And Miss.
Last night was the first time I picked up a bow in about two months. Turns out it was actually the last open shoot night of the year at the community center, too, so I'm glad I braved the cold. It was good to catch up with my friend the archery gnome, whom I can't resist referring to here as Fletcher (not his real name, but his real occupation). It was good to use those muscles and those parts of my brain that I've been neglecting. It was good to look the target in the eye and say: Oh son. You're goin' down.
Actually, the target got the last laugh; I am totally out of shape. I tried to just focus on form without worrying too much about where the arrows ended up. So if you were an unfortunate beetle wandering around the target, you would have been quite safe on that center X.
Also, I was glad that the other people were shooting compound bows. A recurve archer like myself will typically fire off 3 arrows within a minute or less. But it's a lot easier to hold a compound bow at full draw, so compound archers take their time aiming. Lots and lots of time. I normally get impatient waiting for them to just fire the darn thing already so I can go pull my arrows, but this time I was grateful for the interval to stretch and breathe.
So that brings me up to 7 out of 10 fun things on my post-November rewards list. Still to come are 7) the broadband internet connection (for reasons already described), 8) the visit to the comic book store (because I just haven't got around to it yet), and 10) the blogging. Which I suspect will pick up after #7 straightens itself out.
Oh, hey, you know what? I'm not going to that Andrew Bird/Nickel Creek show after all. It's all Karen's fault. She gave me a 30% off GAP coupon that was good through last weekend. So I took a shopping buddy to the GAP outlet, and we both left with armloads of incredible deals! Whee! But, um, we sort of spent a lot of money in the process. So when I was buying my ticket for the show, and I realized there were going to be more (dis)service charges than I anticipated, and I thought about all the Christmas shopping I have yet to do, my enthusiasm faded before I could enter my credit card number.
I would normally consider excellent music to be more essential than new clothes. But every time I put on my new coat and go out in that biting wind, I think I have chosen wisely.
Actually, the target got the last laugh; I am totally out of shape. I tried to just focus on form without worrying too much about where the arrows ended up. So if you were an unfortunate beetle wandering around the target, you would have been quite safe on that center X.
Also, I was glad that the other people were shooting compound bows. A recurve archer like myself will typically fire off 3 arrows within a minute or less. But it's a lot easier to hold a compound bow at full draw, so compound archers take their time aiming. Lots and lots of time. I normally get impatient waiting for them to just fire the darn thing already so I can go pull my arrows, but this time I was grateful for the interval to stretch and breathe.
So that brings me up to 7 out of 10 fun things on my post-November rewards list. Still to come are 7) the broadband internet connection (for reasons already described), 8) the visit to the comic book store (because I just haven't got around to it yet), and 10) the blogging. Which I suspect will pick up after #7 straightens itself out.
Oh, hey, you know what? I'm not going to that Andrew Bird/Nickel Creek show after all. It's all Karen's fault. She gave me a 30% off GAP coupon that was good through last weekend. So I took a shopping buddy to the GAP outlet, and we both left with armloads of incredible deals! Whee! But, um, we sort of spent a lot of money in the process. So when I was buying my ticket for the show, and I realized there were going to be more (dis)service charges than I anticipated, and I thought about all the Christmas shopping I have yet to do, my enthusiasm faded before I could enter my credit card number.
I would normally consider excellent music to be more essential than new clothes. But every time I put on my new coat and go out in that biting wind, I think I have chosen wisely.
Saturday, December 03, 2005
In Which We Party Like Writers.
This year, regional word counts were one of the features added to the NaNoWriMo website. Portland ranked 11th in the world, ahead of NYC, Boston, and San Francisco, with a collective total of 3,756,412 words.
Last night was Portland's TGIO, the party celebrating the end of NaNo. There were heaps of things to eat, oodles of interesting people, and lively conversations in every corner. We had shared a remarkable experience, even if we hadn't actually all been together or even met before, and now we shared the buzz of triumph. It was pretty great.
But the best part of the evening was when people took turns reading excerpts from their novels. What an incredible diversity of imagination, tone, style, and personality! They covered the gamut from hilarity to heartbreak, with narratives of bad dates, battlefields, bandits, road trips, drug trips, dockside brawls, people with wings and people with tentacles. It was hugely entertaining. And there was something so satisfying, on such a primal level, about a group of people just sitting around telling each other stories.
Thinking of that now, I also recall that phone conversation I had with my songwriter friend the other week (he needs an alias; let's call him Bombadil). I was giving Bombadil an overview of my novel, and he interrupted me to exclaim, "You're telling me a story! This is so cool! ...And we're adults!"
What is wrong with us, that this sort of experience is so unusual? Because I have a strong sense that it is something we were meant to be doing.
Last night was Portland's TGIO, the party celebrating the end of NaNo. There were heaps of things to eat, oodles of interesting people, and lively conversations in every corner. We had shared a remarkable experience, even if we hadn't actually all been together or even met before, and now we shared the buzz of triumph. It was pretty great.
But the best part of the evening was when people took turns reading excerpts from their novels. What an incredible diversity of imagination, tone, style, and personality! They covered the gamut from hilarity to heartbreak, with narratives of bad dates, battlefields, bandits, road trips, drug trips, dockside brawls, people with wings and people with tentacles. It was hugely entertaining. And there was something so satisfying, on such a primal level, about a group of people just sitting around telling each other stories.
Thinking of that now, I also recall that phone conversation I had with my songwriter friend the other week (he needs an alias; let's call him Bombadil). I was giving Bombadil an overview of my novel, and he interrupted me to exclaim, "You're telling me a story! This is so cool! ...And we're adults!"
What is wrong with us, that this sort of experience is so unusual? Because I have a strong sense that it is something we were meant to be doing.
Friday, December 02, 2005
In Which A Herring... Doesn't.... Whistle!
Last night I saw a movie for the first time in ages and ages (okay, a month). I thought I'd long since missed my chance to see Mirrormask, but I caught it on what I think was really its last night in town.
I'm generally interested in anything Mr. Gaiman (the screenwriter) is involved in, partly because he's done some remarkable things, and partly because he's just such a nice guy. Considering the mixed reviews it got, though, I wasn't expecting to be impressed by this one. Oh, but I was.
Sure, it was uneven, parts were boring and/or confusing, and it could have been cut a lot shorter without losing much. But it also offered a fascinating metaphorical examination of what it's like to be a girl at the edge of adolescence.
Helena, the pre-adolescent heroine, gets lost in a dream-city that seems to have been inspired by her own drawings. The windows of the buildings in this city look into her own bedroom, from the walls where her drawings hang. Peering through these windows, Helena sees a dark doppelganger of herself taking over her world: wearing punk clothes and heavy makeup, acting hateful toward her father, kissing a boy (gross!), and gleefully destroying things that are precious to Helena. When the child-Helena shouted in vain from a drawing, "Dad, don't listen to her! That's not me!" I got that weird déjà vu feeling.
When we left the theater, we discovered a huge old mobile stairway-thing right in the middle of the walkway. It was unmanned; apparently whoever was changing the marquee had decided it was time for a break. So, of course, I climbed it. The marquee letters were brittle and hard to move, so I didn't actually get to help out with the sign-changing. But the view sure was nice from up there.
I'm generally interested in anything Mr. Gaiman (the screenwriter) is involved in, partly because he's done some remarkable things, and partly because he's just such a nice guy. Considering the mixed reviews it got, though, I wasn't expecting to be impressed by this one. Oh, but I was.
Sure, it was uneven, parts were boring and/or confusing, and it could have been cut a lot shorter without losing much. But it also offered a fascinating metaphorical examination of what it's like to be a girl at the edge of adolescence.
Helena, the pre-adolescent heroine, gets lost in a dream-city that seems to have been inspired by her own drawings. The windows of the buildings in this city look into her own bedroom, from the walls where her drawings hang. Peering through these windows, Helena sees a dark doppelganger of herself taking over her world: wearing punk clothes and heavy makeup, acting hateful toward her father, kissing a boy (gross!), and gleefully destroying things that are precious to Helena. When the child-Helena shouted in vain from a drawing, "Dad, don't listen to her! That's not me!" I got that weird déjà vu feeling.
When we left the theater, we discovered a huge old mobile stairway-thing right in the middle of the walkway. It was unmanned; apparently whoever was changing the marquee had decided it was time for a break. So, of course, I climbed it. The marquee letters were brittle and hard to move, so I didn't actually get to help out with the sign-changing. But the view sure was nice from up there.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
In Which I Am So Glad To Have Finished Way Before Deadline.
My site was down today, wasn't it? It totally was. Man, I hate that. There's not even anything important on my site yet, and it still bugs me.
In other non-connectivity news, I talked to the DSL people, and they said they couldn't possibly help me until December 9 at least. This is because of how many other people in my area are using the same service. Just so you know I'm not putting it off....
Speaking of Andrew Bird, he is opening for Nickel Creek on December 6 and December 7 at the Roseland. If anyone else is as excited by this news as I am, you should probably come and hear them with me.
Unless you live in Japan. Then you're not invited.
In other non-connectivity news, I talked to the DSL people, and they said they couldn't possibly help me until December 9 at least. This is because of how many other people in my area are using the same service. Just so you know I'm not putting it off....
Speaking of Andrew Bird, he is opening for Nickel Creek on December 6 and December 7 at the Roseland. If anyone else is as excited by this news as I am, you should probably come and hear them with me.
Unless you live in Japan. Then you're not invited.
Tuesday, November 29, 2005
In Which The News Is Only Good.
Yes. I finished Monday night, just before midnight. Thank you, thank you.
It's funny how, once the ol' wordcount passes 50K, everywhere looks like a good place to stop. I think my novel would have benefited from being ended a little more conclusively. But I did finish the story arc, so I'm content. There's always the rewrite for things like that.
And yeah, throughout most of this month I thought this wouldn't even be something I would want to rewrite... but as it all started wrapping up, I realized (to my very great astonishment) that parts of the story actually work pretty well, and that I really like several of my characters, enough to already be wondering about future stories for them to do things in.
It needs a heap of reworking, though. I still don't know exactly what I'll rework it into, since it didn't really turn out like I meant for it to, and I have no idea what it wants to be or how to help it be that. But I can figure that out some other month. In the meantime: No! You can't read it.
But! Many thanks to everyone who heartened me this month with enthusiasm and interest, sympathy and competition, food and companionship, and all other forms of encouragment. It wouldn't have been any fun without you.
Also! I tested negative for strep throat, and am feeling well enough today that I will probably actually have to go back to work tomorrow. I guess a full week of Thanksgiving vacation is probably about as much as anybody can expect to get away with.
And! Since a blog post wouldn't be complete without some kind of link, I leave you with the promise of snacks:
Andrew Bird - Tables and Chairs
Sunday, November 27, 2005
In Which I Have Good News And Bad News.
The bad news: I'm sick.
The good news: I'm sick.
As long as I don't get so sick I can't wiggle my fingers, I should finish my novel sometime tomorrow.
The good news: I'm sick.
As long as I don't get so sick I can't wiggle my fingers, I should finish my novel sometime tomorrow.
Friday, November 25, 2005
In Which Even a Sith Lord Needs a Tray.
I got to talk with an old friend last night, a musician and songwriter who takes his craft very seriously. When I told him about all this noveling stuff, the struggles, lessons, rewards, etc., he could totally relate. One of several wise things he told me was that nothing you create is a waste of time; even if it doesn't come out right, it's still practice, which is valuable in itself.
I knew that, but I think I needed to hear it again. I sort of had the idea that last November's novel was Practice and that this year I would write a Really Awesome Book, but the novel that is emerging from this month looks, again, very much like Practice. Which only means that practice is exactly what I needed.
I'm sitting here next to my sister, who is surfing on a separate computer (we call this "quality time"). She's at comedian Eddie Izzard's site, and she keeps clicking on things with little sound clips attached. So Eddie is saying things like, "This is the home page: Mom, Dad, all that kind of thing," and "If you have broadband, download things now!" She is really, really amused by this, which in turn amuses me.
Oh, now he's doing his Darth Vader bit, and it's making me laugh too hard to write.
[Note: contains vocabulary unsuitable for small children.]
[Edit: corrected italics tags. Again.]
I knew that, but I think I needed to hear it again. I sort of had the idea that last November's novel was Practice and that this year I would write a Really Awesome Book, but the novel that is emerging from this month looks, again, very much like Practice. Which only means that practice is exactly what I needed.
I'm sitting here next to my sister, who is surfing on a separate computer (we call this "quality time"). She's at comedian Eddie Izzard's site, and she keeps clicking on things with little sound clips attached. So Eddie is saying things like, "This is the home page: Mom, Dad, all that kind of thing," and "If you have broadband, download things now!" She is really, really amused by this, which in turn amuses me.
Oh, now he's doing his Darth Vader bit, and it's making me laugh too hard to write.
[Note: contains vocabulary unsuitable for small children.]
[Edit: corrected italics tags. Again.]
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
In Which I've Got Will And A Little Time.
Last night I wrote about 1500 words of dream sequence. I like writing dreams; the symbolic and the surreal are familiar territory for me, whereas reality all too often feels like a foreign country.
I sometimes listen to music while I write, but mostly not, because there is always, always music going on in my head. For instance, when I have exceeded my word count goal for the day, but am still bent on pounding my way through the rest of an interesting passage, this is often what I'm hearing.
The New Pornographers - Use It
I sometimes listen to music while I write, but mostly not, because there is always, always music going on in my head. For instance, when I have exceeded my word count goal for the day, but am still bent on pounding my way through the rest of an interesting passage, this is often what I'm hearing.
The New Pornographers - Use It
Monday, November 21, 2005
In Which I Think Happy Thoughts.
I did, in fact, write over 8000 words this weekend, landing me at a count of 31,459 (63%). Now I am almost back on track. However, I am feeling a little blah today. In order to keep my eyes on the prize, I find it helpful to think about exactly what that prize entails. Here are some fun things that wait for me on the other side of November:
1. Being able to say that I've completed a second novel (which has taken me to new depths of awful prose, clumsy characterization, and tedious passages of interior monologue written blatantly for the purpose of increasing wordcount without having to decide what happens next).
2. Attending the local TGIO (Thank God It's Over!) party, where exhausted and exuberant Wrimos will congratulate one another on their verbosity.
3. Catching up with a number of people I haven't spoken to in the past month.
4. Dusting off my bow and getting back to the archery range.
5. Recreational reading. There's a heap of half-finished books next to my bed. Also, Chesterton's Orthodoxy has been sitting on my coffee table for weeks now. It has a sketch of the author on the cover, and sometimes I could swear the old codger is winking at me.
6. Going out in the evenings... to places that are not coffeeshops or food courts.
7. Finally actually getting a broadband connection at home. My mama will be so proud!
8. A visit to Cosmic Monkey Comics, where I hope to acquire the final collected volume of Y: The Last Man, as well as the first MOME anthology and an odd little book titled Will You Still Love Me If I Wet the Bed? However, frequently when I go to the comic book store intending to buy something, I come back with something very different, so you never know.
9. Resuming my habit of absurdly long phone conversations with Ah.
10. More time for blogging?
[Edit: Blogger won't let me do an ordered list, so I redid it manually.]
1. Being able to say that I've completed a second novel (which has taken me to new depths of awful prose, clumsy characterization, and tedious passages of interior monologue written blatantly for the purpose of increasing wordcount without having to decide what happens next).
2. Attending the local TGIO (Thank God It's Over!) party, where exhausted and exuberant Wrimos will congratulate one another on their verbosity.
3. Catching up with a number of people I haven't spoken to in the past month.
4. Dusting off my bow and getting back to the archery range.
5. Recreational reading. There's a heap of half-finished books next to my bed. Also, Chesterton's Orthodoxy has been sitting on my coffee table for weeks now. It has a sketch of the author on the cover, and sometimes I could swear the old codger is winking at me.
6. Going out in the evenings... to places that are not coffeeshops or food courts.
7. Finally actually getting a broadband connection at home. My mama will be so proud!
8. A visit to Cosmic Monkey Comics, where I hope to acquire the final collected volume of Y: The Last Man, as well as the first MOME anthology and an odd little book titled Will You Still Love Me If I Wet the Bed? However, frequently when I go to the comic book store intending to buy something, I come back with something very different, so you never know.
9. Resuming my habit of absurdly long phone conversations with Ah.
10. More time for blogging?
[Edit: Blogger won't let me do an ordered list, so I redid it manually.]
Sunday, November 20, 2005
In Which I Am, As Usual, Easily Amused.
Remember when I said I really wanted to add some more water to the Mystical Tree to see if it would grow so top-heavy it would collapse? Well, I was saving this experiment for the 25,000 word mark. But the other night, in a fit of absent-mindedness, I tried to blow some invisible dust off of it. It immediately lost about 1/3 its foliage. When I tried to move it to clean up, it continued dropping greenery at an alarming rate. The stuff was like cotton candy, dissolving at a touch, only into dust instead of stickiness. Oh, well. I shook off the loose bits, which was pretty much all of it, and put more water into the base.
The effect, two days later, is somewhat disappointing. Before, it looked like I'd stolen it from a model train layout (N gauge). Now it looks like a cardboard cutout with some yellowy-green mold on it. Which, I guess, is all it really ever was. But still.
I know this is supposed to be an educational toy, but since it didn't come with any informative material about substances that turn into fuzz as they evaporate, I'm not sure what a kid like me is supposed to learn from the experience. Perhaps one of the following:
1. Mysterious chemicals have mysterious properties.
2. It's November. Trees are getting naked. Peer pressure?
3. I can kill any houseplant if I put my mind to it -- even the ones that aren't alive.
4. Little distractions go a long way when you're supposed to be writing.
Speaking of #4: the box of Christmas decor is still lurking in the bathroom at the coffeeshop.
The effect, two days later, is somewhat disappointing. Before, it looked like I'd stolen it from a model train layout (N gauge). Now it looks like a cardboard cutout with some yellowy-green mold on it. Which, I guess, is all it really ever was. But still.
I know this is supposed to be an educational toy, but since it didn't come with any informative material about substances that turn into fuzz as they evaporate, I'm not sure what a kid like me is supposed to learn from the experience. Perhaps one of the following:
1. Mysterious chemicals have mysterious properties.
2. It's November. Trees are getting naked. Peer pressure?
3. I can kill any houseplant if I put my mind to it -- even the ones that aren't alive.
4. Little distractions go a long way when you're supposed to be writing.
Speaking of #4: the box of Christmas decor is still lurking in the bathroom at the coffeeshop.
Saturday, November 19, 2005
In Which My Chances of Victory Seem a Little Less Remote.
Last night I figured out that if I could get 2000 words written before bed, and then write 4000 on each remaining day of the month that I don't have to work and 1200 on each day that I do, I'd finish on time, with two whole days free to dedicate to family Thanksgiving activities.
I then proceeded to fall asleep on the couch after only writing about 800 words.
Still! Hope springs eternal in the blah blah blah. Today I already have 3000 words under my belt, I'm about to launch into a scene that could wind up just about anywhere, and it's only 10:30! And I've already had a nap and some caffeine! I am unstoppable.
Besides, I have this lovely, lovely quote from grrlpup to spur me on:
She has totally pegged the NaNo experience. It does seem like a stupid way to run, but all those people really do get you across the field, as long as you don't let go. (I suspect her observation has wider implications as well. Maybe I'll figure that out, someday, when I have time to think again.)
The other encouraging thing I've discovered is that it's a lot easier to move the plot along if, instead of trying to come up with really cool things for your characters to do, you encourage them to do things that are really stupid. Why didn't someone tell me this a long time ago?
I then proceeded to fall asleep on the couch after only writing about 800 words.
Still! Hope springs eternal in the blah blah blah. Today I already have 3000 words under my belt, I'm about to launch into a scene that could wind up just about anywhere, and it's only 10:30! And I've already had a nap and some caffeine! I am unstoppable.
Besides, I have this lovely, lovely quote from grrlpup to spur me on:
And I will emerge, because there are people ahead of me and people just behind me, and in my mind NaNo is a group of people running pell-mell across the field holding hands. It seems like a stupid way to run, because why would you need to hold hands to run? and some people are ahead and others are lagging behind you, but if you don't let go, you'll get pulled along, and even if your foot lands in a rabbit hole, the others will yank you up and along.
She has totally pegged the NaNo experience. It does seem like a stupid way to run, but all those people really do get you across the field, as long as you don't let go. (I suspect her observation has wider implications as well. Maybe I'll figure that out, someday, when I have time to think again.)
The other encouraging thing I've discovered is that it's a lot easier to move the plot along if, instead of trying to come up with really cool things for your characters to do, you encourage them to do things that are really stupid. Why didn't someone tell me this a long time ago?
Friday, November 18, 2005
In Which I Disclose My Writing Progress Thus Far.
My word count currently stands at 22199: 44% complete. I'm significantly behind schedule, and have been for the past ten days. This bothers me a lot.
The nightly struggle is writing vs. sleep. The tricky part is that the less sleep I get, the slower I write. But the more sleep I get, the less time I have to write. So if I go to bed early (read: before midnight), my wordcount falls behind, but if I write an amount I'm satisfied with (read: 2000 words), I don't get enough sleep, and everything starts falling apart.
This wasn't as much of a problem last year because of differences in my schedule. Also, last year I had a roommate who would fix me dinner, chat with me while I ate it, and then say, "Well, I'd better let you get to writing" and pretty much leave me alone for the rest of the evening. That was AWESOME. But this year she's writing her own NaNo in faraway Chicagoland, so I have to fend for myself with the food and the washing-up and the telling myself it's time to write.
One thing that would definitely help is if I were more interested in my story. I love the concept, and my characters have tons of potential, but I can't figure out what to do with them. I just know I want it to be something really cool.
But that's part of my problem, I'm telling myself. It's really more important, in an endeavor like this, just to have them doing something, just to get things moving. Fellow Wrimo Sanguinity aptly described the work of the middle part of a novel as "racking up the tension and racking up the price." I keep repeating this to myself when I wonder what the heck to write next.
Last night, in the interest of said tension- and price-racking, I determined to write a scene in which things actually happen, dramatic things, things that neither I nor my characters had planned on. So I wrote a few lines in which my main character is woken in the middle of the night by someone else. Then I had to figure out why. Various scenarios came skulking into my head, and I picked the one that seemed most promising. I looked at my list of things that need to happen in this general part of the book, and picked a couple to work into the scene. I wrote what happened next, and tried to figure out what happened after that, and whether it would be more interesting for things to go wrong at point A or point B. I wrote a little more. I rearranged events in my head, envisioned some possible scenes, and kept going.
It was slow going, what with all the figuring-out parts. But by allowing my characters to make a mess, and then letting them decide how best to clean it up again, I did manage to get over 2000 action-packed words out of the evening. And yeah, it was after midnight when I quit, and yeah, I am tired today. But it's Friday, so that's okay.
Whew, so that was a lot of writing about writing. Hey, did you know that male mice court their mates with ultrasonic songs? It's true. You can read the story here. Even if you aren't interested in the research involved, you may want to listen to mp3 clips of a mouse love song shifted down four octaves or slowed down sixteen times. I especially like the latter. It's no Marvin Gaye, but it wouldn't sound out of place on a birdsong recording.
[Edit: corrected sloppy italics tags.]
The nightly struggle is writing vs. sleep. The tricky part is that the less sleep I get, the slower I write. But the more sleep I get, the less time I have to write. So if I go to bed early (read: before midnight), my wordcount falls behind, but if I write an amount I'm satisfied with (read: 2000 words), I don't get enough sleep, and everything starts falling apart.
This wasn't as much of a problem last year because of differences in my schedule. Also, last year I had a roommate who would fix me dinner, chat with me while I ate it, and then say, "Well, I'd better let you get to writing" and pretty much leave me alone for the rest of the evening. That was AWESOME. But this year she's writing her own NaNo in faraway Chicagoland, so I have to fend for myself with the food and the washing-up and the telling myself it's time to write.
One thing that would definitely help is if I were more interested in my story. I love the concept, and my characters have tons of potential, but I can't figure out what to do with them. I just know I want it to be something really cool.
But that's part of my problem, I'm telling myself. It's really more important, in an endeavor like this, just to have them doing something, just to get things moving. Fellow Wrimo Sanguinity aptly described the work of the middle part of a novel as "racking up the tension and racking up the price." I keep repeating this to myself when I wonder what the heck to write next.
Last night, in the interest of said tension- and price-racking, I determined to write a scene in which things actually happen, dramatic things, things that neither I nor my characters had planned on. So I wrote a few lines in which my main character is woken in the middle of the night by someone else. Then I had to figure out why. Various scenarios came skulking into my head, and I picked the one that seemed most promising. I looked at my list of things that need to happen in this general part of the book, and picked a couple to work into the scene. I wrote what happened next, and tried to figure out what happened after that, and whether it would be more interesting for things to go wrong at point A or point B. I wrote a little more. I rearranged events in my head, envisioned some possible scenes, and kept going.
It was slow going, what with all the figuring-out parts. But by allowing my characters to make a mess, and then letting them decide how best to clean it up again, I did manage to get over 2000 action-packed words out of the evening. And yeah, it was after midnight when I quit, and yeah, I am tired today. But it's Friday, so that's okay.
Whew, so that was a lot of writing about writing. Hey, did you know that male mice court their mates with ultrasonic songs? It's true. You can read the story here. Even if you aren't interested in the research involved, you may want to listen to mp3 clips of a mouse love song shifted down four octaves or slowed down sixteen times. I especially like the latter. It's no Marvin Gaye, but it wouldn't sound out of place on a birdsong recording.
[Edit: corrected sloppy italics tags.]
Thursday, November 17, 2005
In Which We Discuss Fame and Anonymity.
Way back in Post the First, I established the following guideline for my blog:
The blogosphere is a funny place. Different people interact with it in different ways. Some confide in it, some perform for it, some write only the facts of their own existence, and some invent characters and write about their fictional experiences. However you handle it, the fact remains that when you post something on the internet, you're addressing the entire world. Granted, most of the world isn't listening. But anybody could be (and often is).
I'm a very private person. This blog is, among other things, an attempt to become a little less private, to get used to the idea of sharing my thoughts with the world - both in order to remind myself that my thoughts are worth sharing, and also because it's good practice for publication.
However, as a private person, I respect other people's privacy. Many people, for many reasons, prefer anonymity online. Thus the use of aliases. If you have an anonymous web presence, or no web presence to speak of, it's not my job to change that for you; so you get a Code Name by default. Which is, like I said, Fun.
On the other hand, aliases become sort of pointless if you already blog publicly under your real name, and if your weblog is obviously for public consumption. (I had no idea, when I started this, just how many of these people there were in my circle of acquaintances.) See, in that case, you're already Famous, by my definition. Anybody can google you up and read about your life. Anonymity is obviously not important to you, so I'm not gonna protect you.
Unless, of course, you do or say something I want to blog about, but suspect you would prefer I didn't. Then I'll call you something else.
Probably.
4. I will neutralize any potential negative side effects of blogging by ... avoiding the use of real names, except when discussing Famous People, such as myself. Note: this last part will be extra fun, like writing in code or something.At this point I would like to clarify my intent in making such a resolution.
The blogosphere is a funny place. Different people interact with it in different ways. Some confide in it, some perform for it, some write only the facts of their own existence, and some invent characters and write about their fictional experiences. However you handle it, the fact remains that when you post something on the internet, you're addressing the entire world. Granted, most of the world isn't listening. But anybody could be (and often is).
I'm a very private person. This blog is, among other things, an attempt to become a little less private, to get used to the idea of sharing my thoughts with the world - both in order to remind myself that my thoughts are worth sharing, and also because it's good practice for publication.
However, as a private person, I respect other people's privacy. Many people, for many reasons, prefer anonymity online. Thus the use of aliases. If you have an anonymous web presence, or no web presence to speak of, it's not my job to change that for you; so you get a Code Name by default. Which is, like I said, Fun.
On the other hand, aliases become sort of pointless if you already blog publicly under your real name, and if your weblog is obviously for public consumption. (I had no idea, when I started this, just how many of these people there were in my circle of acquaintances.) See, in that case, you're already Famous, by my definition. Anybody can google you up and read about your life. Anonymity is obviously not important to you, so I'm not gonna protect you.
Unless, of course, you do or say something I want to blog about, but suspect you would prefer I didn't. Then I'll call you something else.
Probably.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
In Which Someone Else Says "In Which" Too.
I've been keeping an eye on Paul Ford's blog of late. Ford caught my attention after admitting to being the inventor of rock-star-wannabe Gary Benchley, under whose name he had written a series of articles for the Morning News. Benchley's "autobiographical" adventures ranged from the hysterically funny to the really, really disturbing, with ample cleverness in between. Sadly, they eventually tapered down into tedium. Then Benchley announced he was discontinuing the articles because he'd been offered a book contract, and Ford announced he was Benchley.
I find Ford, like Benchley, to be hit and miss. His writing is sometimes outrageously clever, sometimes inspiring, sometimes disgusting, and sometimes it just makes me sad for him. Aside from a refreshing neo-Luddite essay (in which he admitted to using WordPerfect for DOS, which I find oddly endearing), I wasn't all that impressed with his recent output.
But then some low-end business blog (the kind that essentially runs on stolen content) stole one of his images, and his response just about made tea shoot out of my nose.
Note: If you see a word you don't recognize in one of the images, replace it with "much, much worse." It will then communicate the intended message.
More Important Note: I really don't recommend clicking through to see what he did the other time this happened to him (in his final paragraph). Just take his word for it: he's matured since then.
I find Ford, like Benchley, to be hit and miss. His writing is sometimes outrageously clever, sometimes inspiring, sometimes disgusting, and sometimes it just makes me sad for him. Aside from a refreshing neo-Luddite essay (in which he admitted to using WordPerfect for DOS, which I find oddly endearing), I wasn't all that impressed with his recent output.
But then some low-end business blog (the kind that essentially runs on stolen content) stole one of his images, and his response just about made tea shoot out of my nose.
Note: If you see a word you don't recognize in one of the images, replace it with "much, much worse." It will then communicate the intended message.
More Important Note: I really don't recommend clicking through to see what he did the other time this happened to him (in his final paragraph). Just take his word for it: he's matured since then.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
In Which I Receive The Proverbial Mad Props.
I passed an old and dear friend in the parking lot yesterday. He pulled his vehicle over next to mine, waving frantically. "Do you have a blog?" he asked.
Why, yes. Yes, I do. Seriously, is there a more flattering question one could ask of a fledgling blogger, given the obvious implication that he really, really wanted to read it? And that he also has a blog which I read regularly? Of course I gave him my URL with all good speed. He even went so far as to say that if I didn't have a blog, he was going to tell me that I should.
I was going to blog about this yesterday, because it was pretty much the nicest thing that happened to me all day (except for the part where I went to bed at 7 p.m.; that was pretty sweet too). But somehow I didn't get around to it.
This morning my RSS feed notified me that his blog had a new post. I clicked through, wondering if I'd get a mention.
Goodness. If I ever need quotes for a book jacket, now I know who to call. Not only did he bestow copious compliments on my blog (after reading all my posts in one sitting), he also, if I understand correctly, now intends to write a series of posts inspired by stuff I wrote. Really! I'm not making this up! You can read it for yourself.
So thanks for reading, Ike.* It's an honor. Please accept this reciprocal shoutout. Here's to many more years of interaction, parasocial and otherwise.
*Yeah, I'm using his real name. He's one of those Famous People.
Why, yes. Yes, I do. Seriously, is there a more flattering question one could ask of a fledgling blogger, given the obvious implication that he really, really wanted to read it? And that he also has a blog which I read regularly? Of course I gave him my URL with all good speed. He even went so far as to say that if I didn't have a blog, he was going to tell me that I should.
I was going to blog about this yesterday, because it was pretty much the nicest thing that happened to me all day (except for the part where I went to bed at 7 p.m.; that was pretty sweet too). But somehow I didn't get around to it.
This morning my RSS feed notified me that his blog had a new post. I clicked through, wondering if I'd get a mention.
Goodness. If I ever need quotes for a book jacket, now I know who to call. Not only did he bestow copious compliments on my blog (after reading all my posts in one sitting), he also, if I understand correctly, now intends to write a series of posts inspired by stuff I wrote. Really! I'm not making this up! You can read it for yourself.
So thanks for reading, Ike.* It's an honor. Please accept this reciprocal shoutout. Here's to many more years of interaction, parasocial and otherwise.
*Yeah, I'm using his real name. He's one of those Famous People.
Monday, November 14, 2005
In Which Time Passes.
I wrote some this weekend. I also took some naps. I am still behind on both the writing and the sleeping, but at least I made a little headway. I'm doing my best to be optimistic about the week ahead.
This helps a lot:
Elliott Smith - See You in Heaven (Instrumental #1)
This helps a lot:
Elliott Smith - See You in Heaven (Instrumental #1)
Friday, November 11, 2005
In Which... uh... zzzzzzzzz.
My wordcount is in sad, sad shape. I haven't had the energy to get much written this week. When I finally get a chance to sit down with the laptop, my eyes glaze over. My immune system has been fighting off a cold (so far successfully, with assistance from the good people at Plum Blossom), and various other factors, ranging from the mundane to the bizarre, have interfered with my sleep.
It's weird, because I feel like I've been really disciplined, despite having very little to show for it. Yesterday I turned down an invitation to dinner and two invitations to movies I wanted to see. I was tremendously proud of my iron will. Then I ended up staying late at work, grocery shopping took longer than expected, and my sister called. My NaNo chart now says, "At this rate, you'll be done on December 11, 2005."
I am so glad it's Friday.
(Justin Hawkins is, too.)
It's weird, because I feel like I've been really disciplined, despite having very little to show for it. Yesterday I turned down an invitation to dinner and two invitations to movies I wanted to see. I was tremendously proud of my iron will. Then I ended up staying late at work, grocery shopping took longer than expected, and my sister called. My NaNo chart now says, "At this rate, you'll be done on December 11, 2005."
I am so glad it's Friday.
(Justin Hawkins is, too.)
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
In Which I Go Astray.
After last night's writing meet-up downtown (at which I wrote a stunning total of 186 words), I hopped the next MAX train east as usual. A couple of teenage boys sat down near me, and I began listening to their conversation, which was lively, humorous, and wide-ranging. I couldn't pick up everything they said, but I do recall that one of them was complaining about how Li'l Jon's crunk was disrespectful to women. "What kinda girl want that?" he kept saying.
A couple of stops later, a ragged, unshaven middle-aged man got on, smelling strongly of booze and cigarettes. He listened for a little while, then began talking with the boys. The subject was local high school sports teams. Despite obvious differences in age, race, income level, and sobriety, the conversation was respectful and warmly friendly. Before long, others sitting around began to throw in their two cents. In my limited MAX experience, this was unusual; generally everybody just seems to want to be left alone.
At some point my attention was drawn to a sign outside the window: Albina/Mississippi. Waaaait a second... isn't that in NoPo? Part of my brain had been tallying up things that weren't quite "right" about the ride all along, and now it reminded me none too gently that I was on a "Yellow Line MAX" and that I didn't actually know what that meant. Now you're outside Fareless Square with no ticket, already well into a strange neighborhood with a shady reputation, and it's late and you're so tired that you're stupid and you may be in danger once you get off the train and what are you going to do whatareyougoingtodo?!?
The other part of my brain said, Ooh. I'm having an Adventure!
I got off at Prescott, and there was a train going the opposite way right there waiting for me. As I sat down, still smiling at my own mistake, the disheveled man opposite me smiled back and waved. I nodded, wondering if he was the source of that awful smell, and began to study the diagram of MAX routes on the wall. If only there had been one of these on the last train, I thought. Well, if I get off at the Rose Quarter, I should be able to get on the Red Line, or the Blue Line. Either one will take me back to my car.
"You okay?" asked my neighbor. His shaggy hair curled out from beneath an old baseball cap, and he had a blanket over his lap.
"Yep," I said. "I'm okay." I gave him the thumbs-up.
He grinned, showing his yellow teeth and the gaps between them. "Me too," he said, and launched into a mumbled narrative involving getting shot in the back of the head at a Rolling Stones concert, and surviving a really nasty car crash. I could only make out about 2/3 of what he was saying, but I tried to make the right noises at the right times. "I know it must be God lookin' out for me 'cause ain't no other way I could still be here," he said.
I told him I hoped God would keep it up, and then I switched trains. Back on the right route this time, I heaved a sigh of relief and looked around me.
Everyone in the car was clean and tastefully dressed. Everyone was white. They were all sitting very quietly, as far as possible from one another, carefully avoiding eye contact. No one was smiling.
A couple of stops later, a ragged, unshaven middle-aged man got on, smelling strongly of booze and cigarettes. He listened for a little while, then began talking with the boys. The subject was local high school sports teams. Despite obvious differences in age, race, income level, and sobriety, the conversation was respectful and warmly friendly. Before long, others sitting around began to throw in their two cents. In my limited MAX experience, this was unusual; generally everybody just seems to want to be left alone.
At some point my attention was drawn to a sign outside the window: Albina/Mississippi. Waaaait a second... isn't that in NoPo? Part of my brain had been tallying up things that weren't quite "right" about the ride all along, and now it reminded me none too gently that I was on a "Yellow Line MAX" and that I didn't actually know what that meant. Now you're outside Fareless Square with no ticket, already well into a strange neighborhood with a shady reputation, and it's late and you're so tired that you're stupid and you may be in danger once you get off the train and what are you going to do whatareyougoingtodo?!?
The other part of my brain said, Ooh. I'm having an Adventure!
I got off at Prescott, and there was a train going the opposite way right there waiting for me. As I sat down, still smiling at my own mistake, the disheveled man opposite me smiled back and waved. I nodded, wondering if he was the source of that awful smell, and began to study the diagram of MAX routes on the wall. If only there had been one of these on the last train, I thought. Well, if I get off at the Rose Quarter, I should be able to get on the Red Line, or the Blue Line. Either one will take me back to my car.
"You okay?" asked my neighbor. His shaggy hair curled out from beneath an old baseball cap, and he had a blanket over his lap.
"Yep," I said. "I'm okay." I gave him the thumbs-up.
He grinned, showing his yellow teeth and the gaps between them. "Me too," he said, and launched into a mumbled narrative involving getting shot in the back of the head at a Rolling Stones concert, and surviving a really nasty car crash. I could only make out about 2/3 of what he was saying, but I tried to make the right noises at the right times. "I know it must be God lookin' out for me 'cause ain't no other way I could still be here," he said.
I told him I hoped God would keep it up, and then I switched trains. Back on the right route this time, I heaved a sigh of relief and looked around me.
Everyone in the car was clean and tastefully dressed. Everyone was white. They were all sitting very quietly, as far as possible from one another, carefully avoiding eye contact. No one was smiling.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Which Contains An Unexpected Plot Twist.
Sunday night I fell asleep trying to figure out the history of a couple of minor characters, and when I woke Monday morning, my brain was still working on it. It (i.e, my brain) did other things when I required it to, but anytime its assistance wasn't absolutely essential it kept defaulting back to this side story, trying to work out "...and then what happened? And then what happened?" Eventually I thought I'd better jot down some notes so that I could revisit these characters when I had time for them.
Nothing doing. The "notes" came out as a tide of narrative and dialogue. I couldn't help myself; it just went on and on. I was obsessed, I was infatuated, I floated around in a sparkly cloud of story-fluff. And the words kept coming. Shortly after midnight, when the tide finally went out again, I had over 5500 words of character history, in the form of something vaguely resembling a short story.
The problem is, I can't incorporate any of this into my NaNo novel. It gives too much away. I was painfully aware of this the entire time I was writing -- but I also remembered Annie Dillard's advice never to save ideas for later, to spend it all now, now, because that is how to keep the creative pump primed. And so I can't find it in myself to regret going an entire day without adding to my wordcount. Maybe it will pay off; maybe the novel will flow more easily now that I have a better idea of who I'm writing about, and I'll catch up in no time. Or maybe not...
...but it will still have been worth it.
Nothing doing. The "notes" came out as a tide of narrative and dialogue. I couldn't help myself; it just went on and on. I was obsessed, I was infatuated, I floated around in a sparkly cloud of story-fluff. And the words kept coming. Shortly after midnight, when the tide finally went out again, I had over 5500 words of character history, in the form of something vaguely resembling a short story.
The problem is, I can't incorporate any of this into my NaNo novel. It gives too much away. I was painfully aware of this the entire time I was writing -- but I also remembered Annie Dillard's advice never to save ideas for later, to spend it all now, now, because that is how to keep the creative pump primed. And so I can't find it in myself to regret going an entire day without adding to my wordcount. Maybe it will pay off; maybe the novel will flow more easily now that I have a better idea of who I'm writing about, and I'll catch up in no time. Or maybe not...
...but it will still have been worth it.
Sunday, November 06, 2005
In Which Curious George Finds the Tinsel.
I haven't written as much today as yesterday, but I wrote more in less time. Something about writing in the presence of other writers keeps me focused on moving my fingers instead of spacing out or nitpicking. Result: 750 words per hour, a marked improvement over 600.
I definitely need a break every hour, though. On this gray and drizzly afternoon at the coffeeshop, there wasn't much to do for a break besides get up and go to the bathroom. So I did that. There was a very large, battered box propped against the wall opposite the toilet, and I briefly contemplated what it could contain. Old clothes? A body? Many, many rolls of toilet paper?
The answer, friends, was Christmas decorations.
I definitely need a break every hour, though. On this gray and drizzly afternoon at the coffeeshop, there wasn't much to do for a break besides get up and go to the bathroom. So I did that. There was a very large, battered box propped against the wall opposite the toilet, and I briefly contemplated what it could contain. Old clothes? A body? Many, many rolls of toilet paper?
The answer, friends, was Christmas decorations.
In Which I Grouse.
I'm only averaging about 600 words per hour. Also, I am so incredibly eager to be distracted that I didn't even quite get 2500 words down today. And this after a week of mostly not making my word count goals.
Maybe I'd better relinquish my secret plans to finish before Thanksgiving. Poo.
Maybe I'd better relinquish my secret plans to finish before Thanksgiving. Poo.
Friday, November 04, 2005
Thursday, November 03, 2005
In Which The Man Gets Us Down.
Jared in Japan points out some good reasons to stop buying Sony products. Particularly interesting is the bit about DRM:
Sound bad yet? Well, that’s not even the tip of the iceberg. Because a new story out yesterday revealed that Sony has surreptiously laced music CDs distributed through their Sony EMI Label with a “rootkit” or a series of files that will install on a users PC without their knowledge, and which will lock the CD to that one player, will not allow the CD to be ripped to a universal MP3 format, will not allow the music to be transferred among the different devices a user might own, and will definitely not cooperate with Apple’s iPod. And if you try to disable or uninstall the software without instruction from the Sony or the company responsible for creating the software, then you run the risk of causing irreversible and irrepairable harm to your PC.
He's got a couple of interesting links for your further enlightenment.
A word to the wise music consumer: If you find yourself in possession of a CD that asks you to agree to some fine print the first time you put it into your computer, take it back to the store.
Labels distributed by Sony include: (BMG) Arista Records, BMG Classics, BMG Heritage, BMG International Companies, Columbia Records, Epic Records, J Records, Jive Records, LaFace Records, Legacy Recordings, Provident Music Group, RCA Records, RCA Victor Group, RLG - Nashville, Sony Classical, Sony Music International, Sony Music Nashville, Sony Wonder, Sony Urban Music, So So Def Records, Verity Records; (EMI) Angel Records, Astralwerks, Back Porch Records, Blue Note Records, Caroline Records, Caroline Distribution, Capitol Records US, Capitol Records Nashville, Chordant Distribution Group, CyberOctave Music, EMI Latin, EMI Christian Music Group, EMI Music Publishing Nashville, Forefront Records, Higher Octave Music, Manhattan Records, Narada, OmTown Music, Priority Records, Real World US, Shakti Records, Sparrow Records, Virgin Records America.
Sound bad yet? Well, that’s not even the tip of the iceberg. Because a new story out yesterday revealed that Sony has surreptiously laced music CDs distributed through their Sony EMI Label with a “rootkit” or a series of files that will install on a users PC without their knowledge, and which will lock the CD to that one player, will not allow the CD to be ripped to a universal MP3 format, will not allow the music to be transferred among the different devices a user might own, and will definitely not cooperate with Apple’s iPod. And if you try to disable or uninstall the software without instruction from the Sony or the company responsible for creating the software, then you run the risk of causing irreversible and irrepairable harm to your PC.
He's got a couple of interesting links for your further enlightenment.
A word to the wise music consumer: If you find yourself in possession of a CD that asks you to agree to some fine print the first time you put it into your computer, take it back to the store.
Labels distributed by Sony include: (BMG) Arista Records, BMG Classics, BMG Heritage, BMG International Companies, Columbia Records, Epic Records, J Records, Jive Records, LaFace Records, Legacy Recordings, Provident Music Group, RCA Records, RCA Victor Group, RLG - Nashville, Sony Classical, Sony Music International, Sony Music Nashville, Sony Wonder, Sony Urban Music, So So Def Records, Verity Records; (EMI) Angel Records, Astralwerks, Back Porch Records, Blue Note Records, Caroline Records, Caroline Distribution, Capitol Records US, Capitol Records Nashville, Chordant Distribution Group, CyberOctave Music, EMI Latin, EMI Christian Music Group, EMI Music Publishing Nashville, Forefront Records, Higher Octave Music, Manhattan Records, Narada, OmTown Music, Priority Records, Real World US, Shakti Records, Sparrow Records, Virgin Records America.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
In Which I Reveal My True Identity.
Now you know. (This fleeting internet fad brought to you by H.O.L.L.Y.)
"Sunless Enchanted Yonder" (Yunder?) sounds suspiciously like a reference to my novel. A couple of other local Wrimos are calling their novels "Portland Underground" and "The World Beneath". Hmm. For the present, I'm just calling mine C.H.U.D.
At this point I'd like to be able say, "Except my underground dwellers aren't really cannibals, Mom." But to be honest, I'm still not quite sure about one of them.
In Which I Offer Some Updates.
When I got home last night, before I had written a word, I checked my voice mail and found two messages from fellow Wrimos, both proudly announcing they had made their word count for the day.
I did not call them back.
Gene Wolfe once asserted that "You never learn how to write a novel. You only learn how to write the novel you're on." But I think that, to a limited extent, there are things about novel-writing that you can learn once and be done with: things that have to do with trusting your gut and valuing your work and writing through the rough spots.
I hate to jinx my success so far by projecting it into the future, but the solid, gleaming fact remains: despite my fears, I managed to write 2154 words in about three hours last night. It felt good.
The amazing Mystical Tree has grown far more foliage than the packaging would lead one to expect. Best $2.25 plus tax I've spent in a long time. It sits in my kitchen, lumpy and improbably green, like fairy broccoli. I don't dare touch the boughs; one clump has already fallen under its own weight, and others are sagging. The trunk is ridged with frost-white fuzz. The instructions say that if its foliage gets broken, it will grow back if more water is added. I am tempted to add more anyway, just to see how overgrown it can get before it collapses.
Yesterday I added a yousendit link for "Clumsy Dance" into Sunday's post. Here it is in case you missed it. (Warning: I named it that for a reason.)
I also replaced the written sound effects in my first post with an illustration.
I did not call them back.
Gene Wolfe once asserted that "You never learn how to write a novel. You only learn how to write the novel you're on." But I think that, to a limited extent, there are things about novel-writing that you can learn once and be done with: things that have to do with trusting your gut and valuing your work and writing through the rough spots.
I hate to jinx my success so far by projecting it into the future, but the solid, gleaming fact remains: despite my fears, I managed to write 2154 words in about three hours last night. It felt good.
The amazing Mystical Tree has grown far more foliage than the packaging would lead one to expect. Best $2.25 plus tax I've spent in a long time. It sits in my kitchen, lumpy and improbably green, like fairy broccoli. I don't dare touch the boughs; one clump has already fallen under its own weight, and others are sagging. The trunk is ridged with frost-white fuzz. The instructions say that if its foliage gets broken, it will grow back if more water is added. I am tempted to add more anyway, just to see how overgrown it can get before it collapses.
Yesterday I added a yousendit link for "Clumsy Dance" into Sunday's post. Here it is in case you missed it. (Warning: I named it that for a reason.)
I also replaced the written sound effects in my first post with an illustration.
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
In Which We Wish You A Merry NaNo.
It's the first of November, All Saints' Day, Rick Allen's birthday, 12th anniversary of the EU, and Day One of National Novel Writing Month.
At this moment, I'm ambivalent. I wanted to have a concrete story outline by now, a roadmap of sorts, so I wouldn't get lost en route to 50,000 words. Instead, I have only the vaguest idea of how to begin my story, I can't settle on a flavor for it, and I really don't know where it's going, beyond a single climactic scene.
But I know that tonight, I'll sit down with my laptop and my notes and some deli fried chicken, and start in a-typing. I probably won't make it to my daily goal of 2000 words (though I'll try my darnedest), and I probably won't write anything terrific -- but I'll be writing, and that's what matters.
I hereby renounce my intentions to draft a potentially publishable story this November. I grant myself permission to write utter garbage, complete with inconsistencies, useless descriptive passages, and dialogue that leads nowhere. Because what I need as a writer, more than anything else, is practice.
Here we go.
At this moment, I'm ambivalent. I wanted to have a concrete story outline by now, a roadmap of sorts, so I wouldn't get lost en route to 50,000 words. Instead, I have only the vaguest idea of how to begin my story, I can't settle on a flavor for it, and I really don't know where it's going, beyond a single climactic scene.
But I know that tonight, I'll sit down with my laptop and my notes and some deli fried chicken, and start in a-typing. I probably won't make it to my daily goal of 2000 words (though I'll try my darnedest), and I probably won't write anything terrific -- but I'll be writing, and that's what matters.
I hereby renounce my intentions to draft a potentially publishable story this November. I grant myself permission to write utter garbage, complete with inconsistencies, useless descriptive passages, and dialogue that leads nowhere. Because what I need as a writer, more than anything else, is practice.
Here we go.
Monday, October 31, 2005
In Which I Stand Up To Be Counted.
To: games.comments@vugames.com
Subject: Of dogs and mangers.
Dear Vivendi Universal Games,
Are you familiar with the story of the dog in the manger? Wikipedia describes it thusly:
The Dog in the Manger is a fable attributed to Aesop, concerning a dog who ferociously kept the cattle in the farm from eating the stored grains and vegetables, even though he was unable to eat them himself, leading an ox to mutter the moral of the fable: People often grudge others what they cannot enjoy themselves.
By putting the kibosh on the free fan production of King's Quest IX, your company is playing the role of dog in the manger. You aren't using the property, but you are nonetheless preventing others from using it. This benefits no one, least of all you.
As I see it, there are two ways you can bail yourself out of this PR disaster: a) retract your demands and allow the fans to release their little free fan-game, or b) incorporate it into the official game franchise, as its makers are willing to allow you to do.
In other words, get out of the manger, or start selling the ox chow.
Otherwise, you're going to have an awful lot of avid gamers avoiding any product that says "VU Games" on the box.
Sincerely,
L.
Subject: Of dogs and mangers.
Dear Vivendi Universal Games,
Are you familiar with the story of the dog in the manger? Wikipedia describes it thusly:
The Dog in the Manger is a fable attributed to Aesop, concerning a dog who ferociously kept the cattle in the farm from eating the stored grains and vegetables, even though he was unable to eat them himself, leading an ox to mutter the moral of the fable: People often grudge others what they cannot enjoy themselves.
By putting the kibosh on the free fan production of King's Quest IX, your company is playing the role of dog in the manger. You aren't using the property, but you are nonetheless preventing others from using it. This benefits no one, least of all you.
As I see it, there are two ways you can bail yourself out of this PR disaster: a) retract your demands and allow the fans to release their little free fan-game, or b) incorporate it into the official game franchise, as its makers are willing to allow you to do.
In other words, get out of the manger, or start selling the ox chow.
Otherwise, you're going to have an awful lot of avid gamers avoiding any product that says "VU Games" on the box.
Sincerely,
L.
In Which Pale Is The New Black.
The guitars in this song are so infectious.... whatever metaphorical disease they may be, I am totally down with it.
It comes from an otherwise fairly bad compilation I got a while back. I listened to it once, decided I'd been charged too much for it [Note: it was free], and didn't play it again until I decided to get rid of it recently. Of course, I couldn't do that without first checking to see if I missed anything listenable. Good thing I did.
The band was known as The Pale at the time the compilation was released, but has since changed its name to The Pale Pacific. Rolling Stone describes them as emo. Whatever, dude. If you dig it too, there are more tracks to download at sidecho.com.
It comes from an otherwise fairly bad compilation I got a while back. I listened to it once, decided I'd been charged too much for it [Note: it was free], and didn't play it again until I decided to get rid of it recently. Of course, I couldn't do that without first checking to see if I missed anything listenable. Good thing I did.
The band was known as The Pale at the time the compilation was released, but has since changed its name to The Pale Pacific. Rolling Stone describes them as emo. Whatever, dude. If you dig it too, there are more tracks to download at sidecho.com.
Sunday, October 30, 2005
In Which I Elaborate Further (And Further) Upon My Weekend.
The Underground Tour was a bust. I called ahead to reserve tickets, was informed that no reservations were allowed, and then arrived on time -- but they were sold out.
Fine! I didn't want to go on your stupid tour anyway! ...Piri and I wandered through an adjacent antique mall, bought some discounted silverware, and visited an incredible toy store which sold a lot of things we remembered fondly from our far-off youth, as well as many new toys nobody has ever heard of before. One toy, a softball-sized plastic sphere with a random motor inside, was allowed to run wild about the room, and kept startling me by banging up against my heels. For auld lang syne, I picked up one of these. It is sprouting in my kitchen at this moment. In fact, I feel the sudden urge to go check on it....
Hmm, no foliage yet. Anyway, our next destination was the Globe Cafe, where In Gowan Ring was performing. But first, Seattle had to have its way with us. Neither of us have any real sense of direction, and both were already weary, and we therefore spent the next couple of hours taking wrong turns, driving for miles looking for a place to turn around, and trying to remember why we ever wanted to return to this city which was apparently designed by a kitten with a ball of yarn. No trip to Seattle would be complete without such an episode. (Okay, actually it would. But if I pretend I enjoy it hard enough, maybe someday this wretched city will not allow me to get lost, just to spite me.)
In Gowan Ring is some guy with a name nobody knows how to pronounce, who plays acoustic songs about fallen leaves and the way moonlight reflects on the sea. His music is folk in the old British sense (folke?). His lyrics feature antique grammar and arcane wordplay, and are poetic in the Wordsworthian tradition. His following is apparently small (there were less than 30 people in attendance) but fervent. He played quite a long set, most of which would make nice napping music. I refrained from napping, though my mind wandered quite a bit. The highlight of the evening, for me, had already happened: throat singing.
The opening band, Novemthree, featured a friend of Piri's named Pythagumus Toadstool. (No, really.) Two guys accompanied him, one with hand drums and a cute scarf, the other with piano/recorder/vocals. On their last song, the latter, an unremarkable-looking white chap, started emitting this buzzing harmonic drone. He was able to modulate each of the pitches independently (I could only hear two, but there might have been more). Now, I've seen Genghis Blues, I've heard recordings by Yat-Kha and Huun-Huur-Tu, but I'd never actually witnessed live throat singing before. It was wiggidy-wack. I am putting it on my list of things to learn how to do (right between tai chi and reefing a sail).
And it could come in handy. After my semi-successful recording experiments today, Piri invited me to join her new band, Arrowwood. I am in a band! Awesome. Never mind that we live two hours apart and are unlikely to ever get up the courage to perform live. We have a band. Move over, Gary Benchley. Fame and fortune are surely just around the corner.
Fine! I didn't want to go on your stupid tour anyway! ...Piri and I wandered through an adjacent antique mall, bought some discounted silverware, and visited an incredible toy store which sold a lot of things we remembered fondly from our far-off youth, as well as many new toys nobody has ever heard of before. One toy, a softball-sized plastic sphere with a random motor inside, was allowed to run wild about the room, and kept startling me by banging up against my heels. For auld lang syne, I picked up one of these. It is sprouting in my kitchen at this moment. In fact, I feel the sudden urge to go check on it....
Hmm, no foliage yet. Anyway, our next destination was the Globe Cafe, where In Gowan Ring was performing. But first, Seattle had to have its way with us. Neither of us have any real sense of direction, and both were already weary, and we therefore spent the next couple of hours taking wrong turns, driving for miles looking for a place to turn around, and trying to remember why we ever wanted to return to this city which was apparently designed by a kitten with a ball of yarn. No trip to Seattle would be complete without such an episode. (Okay, actually it would. But if I pretend I enjoy it hard enough, maybe someday this wretched city will not allow me to get lost, just to spite me.)
In Gowan Ring is some guy with a name nobody knows how to pronounce, who plays acoustic songs about fallen leaves and the way moonlight reflects on the sea. His music is folk in the old British sense (folke?). His lyrics feature antique grammar and arcane wordplay, and are poetic in the Wordsworthian tradition. His following is apparently small (there were less than 30 people in attendance) but fervent. He played quite a long set, most of which would make nice napping music. I refrained from napping, though my mind wandered quite a bit. The highlight of the evening, for me, had already happened: throat singing.
The opening band, Novemthree, featured a friend of Piri's named Pythagumus Toadstool. (No, really.) Two guys accompanied him, one with hand drums and a cute scarf, the other with piano/recorder/vocals. On their last song, the latter, an unremarkable-looking white chap, started emitting this buzzing harmonic drone. He was able to modulate each of the pitches independently (I could only hear two, but there might have been more). Now, I've seen Genghis Blues, I've heard recordings by Yat-Kha and Huun-Huur-Tu, but I'd never actually witnessed live throat singing before. It was wiggidy-wack. I am putting it on my list of things to learn how to do (right between tai chi and reefing a sail).
And it could come in handy. After my semi-successful recording experiments today, Piri invited me to join her new band, Arrowwood. I am in a band! Awesome. Never mind that we live two hours apart and are unlikely to ever get up the courage to perform live. We have a band. Move over, Gary Benchley. Fame and fortune are surely just around the corner.
In Which I Desire Expensive Electronic Equipment.
Piri has been recording music and allowed (i.e, goaded) me to use her 4-track recorder. It is a BOSS BR-532, if that means anything to you. I had never really been forced (at gunpoint) to use one before, but it was a fascinating experience. I thought I was going to add some instrumentation or sound effects to something she was already working on, but no, she left me alone with it and said, "Okay, record a song!" Wow. Anyway, I recorded a brief experiment which I titled "Clumsy Dance," and then we collaborated on "Sub Umbra Alarum," a piece with lyrics pulled at random from the Latin Psalter.
I know, they're both pretty rough... but I could definitely get addicted to this.
I know, they're both pretty rough... but I could definitely get addicted to this.
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
In Which I Am a Comedy of Errors.
So last night my sister calls, and I discover that my new cordless phone isn't working. But the cordless is the only phone upstairs, and I'm working on a project up there involving lots of little pieces I don't want to move. So, leaving my sister waiting on the line, I bring up another phone from downstairs and plug it into the jack I normally use for the cordless.
The phone from downstairs is a beautiful old red rotary. I love it, but the cord isn't very long, and the heavy receiver keeps slipping out from between my ear and shoulder. This is not conducive to projects involving scissors, paper, and glue. After about a half-hour of chatting, I decide that the cordless was probably just seated wrong in the cradle and needed some time to recharge. Maybe it's even recharged by now. I pick it up and press TALK. The phone doesn't die immediately, so I give it a "Hello? Hello?"
Silence. "I guess it's still not working," I tell my sister, via the other receiver.
"No, I could hear you," she says.
"Uh, I think that's because I still had this phone kinda close to my face. Here, I'll cover up the mouthpiece." I cup my hand over it, then hit TALK again on the cordless. "Hello? Hello?" Returning to the red phone, I ask, "How about then? Could you hear me then?"
"Nope."
"See? Not working."
Hours later, when I take the red phone back downstairs, I realize that the cordless could possibly have failed the "Hello" tests because it wasn't plugged into the phone jack anymore.
The phone from downstairs is a beautiful old red rotary. I love it, but the cord isn't very long, and the heavy receiver keeps slipping out from between my ear and shoulder. This is not conducive to projects involving scissors, paper, and glue. After about a half-hour of chatting, I decide that the cordless was probably just seated wrong in the cradle and needed some time to recharge. Maybe it's even recharged by now. I pick it up and press TALK. The phone doesn't die immediately, so I give it a "Hello? Hello?"
Silence. "I guess it's still not working," I tell my sister, via the other receiver.
"No, I could hear you," she says.
"Uh, I think that's because I still had this phone kinda close to my face. Here, I'll cover up the mouthpiece." I cup my hand over it, then hit TALK again on the cordless. "Hello? Hello?" Returning to the red phone, I ask, "How about then? Could you hear me then?"
"Nope."
"See? Not working."
Hours later, when I take the red phone back downstairs, I realize that the cordless could possibly have failed the "Hello" tests because it wasn't plugged into the phone jack anymore.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
In Which Lazy Writers Everywhere Rejoice.
Defective Yeti spoofs NaNoWriMo and invents a new fiction fad all in one go: WriAShorStorWe.
As a bonus, he throws in a pointer on how to keep specified web pages from being indexed by search engines. Neat!
As a bonus, he throws in a pointer on how to keep specified web pages from being indexed by search engines. Neat!
Sunday, October 23, 2005
In Which I Consider the Virtues of Research.
There's no way I'll feel ready to start my NaNo novel on November 1st. But there are a few things I can do to get a little closer. One is the ever-elusive plot outline, which may or may not actually materialize (if I can pin down my major conflict by the end of this week, I'll be happy). The other is research.
Of course, the speed-novelist's best friend is Wikipedia, and I'll certainly be calling on it in the near future. My other online helpers this year include the Encyclopedia Mythica and undercity.org.
But there's another kind of research, and it involves collecting experience instead of data. To this end, I'm trying to work an Underground Tour into next weekend's Seattle road trip (after many people told me how cool it is). I also aim to somehow get onto the roof of the Wells Fargo Center, preferably at night.... Let's hope the magic phrase "I'm writing a novel" will be my "Open, Sesame!"
Of course, the speed-novelist's best friend is Wikipedia, and I'll certainly be calling on it in the near future. My other online helpers this year include the Encyclopedia Mythica and undercity.org.
But there's another kind of research, and it involves collecting experience instead of data. To this end, I'm trying to work an Underground Tour into next weekend's Seattle road trip (after many people told me how cool it is). I also aim to somehow get onto the roof of the Wells Fargo Center, preferably at night.... Let's hope the magic phrase "I'm writing a novel" will be my "Open, Sesame!"
Thursday, October 20, 2005
In Which I Appreciate the Little Things.
Man, tinkering with HTML is so fun. I get a buzz from figuring out the tiniest little thing, like how to remove that stupid blue border around a linked image. I know smart people use editing software, but I'm still infatuated with the nuts and bolts of it (even though I've forgotten most of the code I learned in the '90s, so I have to learn things like the above all over again).
Naturally, I'm tempted to mash up this prefab Blogger page so it doesn't look exactly like everyone else's. But now is not the time, I keep telling myself. Now is not the time. November looms.
In other news, I'm having second thoughts about my decision to wear purple herringbone tights with a green skirt today.
Naturally, I'm tempted to mash up this prefab Blogger page so it doesn't look exactly like everyone else's. But now is not the time, I keep telling myself. Now is not the time. November looms.
In other news, I'm having second thoughts about my decision to wear purple herringbone tights with a green skirt today.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Post the First: In Which I Enumerate the Ways This Blog Will Improve My Life
1. People who blog are cool. At least, all the ones I know are. I suspect that even bloggers who aren’t cool, if any such exist, are still cooler than they would be if they didn’t blog.
Little-known fact: I have always aspired to some degree of coolness.
2. As a writer who wants to be a published writer, I can develop my blog into something that provides me with a) creative outlet, b) an audience, and c) increased exposure. SWEET!
3. Blogs foster something known as “parasocial interaction”, which sounds a little like parasailing, which my aunt tried once and she said it was really fun.
4. I will neutralize any potential negative side effects of blogging by a) refraining from any discussion of my employer and b) avoiding the use of real names, except when discussing Famous People, such as myself. Note: this last part will be extra fun, like writing in code or something.
5. I never could keep up a journal (except once, when a course grade depended on it). But when I think about the past, I always wonder what cool things I did and said that I’ve forgotten about. Now the events of my life will be archived on the internet, neatly categorized and fully searchable. I AM KILLING SO MANY BIRDS WITH THIS STONE, IT’S RIDICULOUS.
Little-known fact: I have always aspired to some degree of coolness.
2. As a writer who wants to be a published writer, I can develop my blog into something that provides me with a) creative outlet, b) an audience, and c) increased exposure. SWEET!
3. Blogs foster something known as “parasocial interaction”, which sounds a little like parasailing, which my aunt tried once and she said it was really fun.
4. I will neutralize any potential negative side effects of blogging by a) refraining from any discussion of my employer and b) avoiding the use of real names, except when discussing Famous People, such as myself. Note: this last part will be extra fun, like writing in code or something.
5. I never could keep up a journal (except once, when a course grade depended on it). But when I think about the past, I always wonder what cool things I did and said that I’ve forgotten about. Now the events of my life will be archived on the internet, neatly categorized and fully searchable. I AM KILLING SO MANY BIRDS WITH THIS STONE, IT’S RIDICULOUS.
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