Come ‘ere, people!

The problem is we let it into our homes. “The call’s coming from inside the house.” Seriously, could that be why comments on almost every internet article are so heinous? So offensive? Why twitter can go from hilarious to soul-crushing in one simple string of 140 characters? Because if I overheard almost outlandishly racist comments in the public ladies bathroom, I’d forget about it for like six hours and then right before bed suddenly remember and tell Josh about it and then forget again.

I may well become the recluse I always intended to be. Well. I mean, I may – with the help of sweet Jesus – actually disallow myself to log onto the internet in the comfort of my own home. Eventually. Because, seriously, it’s my home. And there’s a bunch of crazy strangers popping up all the time. Strangers I had no intention of engaging or hearing or anything. And then I’m upset and it lingers because home is where you go to find refuge but it *happened* here! Does that make sense? (Of course it does.)

And then also: I am nursing a three day old Antonio Pinto addiction. Have you ever watched a movie based on hearing the score? Then you and I can’t be friends. (I assumed you said no, which is crazy because who *hasn’t* done that!?) And also, I’m sort of lying because I’ve been addicted to Antonio Pinto’s “Requiem” piece in Collateral since I saw the film in the theatre. But I was looking him up the other day and came across a number of songs from Lord of War and then this happened:

Le Pass. Out. I was rereading – in prep for possible revision – one of my manuscripts and Lord have mercy. I seriously bought a defibrillator for all the times my heart stopped. O_O (I hate talking about writing and music sometimes because then I’m like, what if this isn’t the end all be all to the person reading this and a piece of me dies.)

::disappears::

 

This Is No Ordinary Love

I couldn’t blog about The Civil Wars when I was over the moon because you only get that feeling once. I can remember several instances of “I want to die with this song”, when I could listen to it a dozen times and feel the tingles shooting up through my chest every time. If I’m lucky, there’s a part of a song that can do that forever (e.g. the climax of the prelude to Bach’s cello suite no.1) – but more likely, you have to love hard because the locking-myself-in-a-room-with-you stage can’t last forever. Sigh. Lament.

But something is still gorgeous about them. It’s almost heart-stopping the way they look at each other while they sing. Even with the sound off – which I take to mean, even if they didn’t sing like the single soul of an ANGEL – I almost cry when I watch this.

It also didn’t help the way they sang “home” while performing in my redwoods. ::waves to college years::

Yeah. My husband and I watched about five videos in a row. It was a cuddle fest and I’m not sorry.

I waited to blog about this not just because sometimes I have to enjoy something rather than write about it (I know, it’s a scary concept for me) – but also because I didn’t want to bombard you with a jillion videos. (Seriously, who knew their Michael Jackson covers would be so freakin’awesome!?) But I can’t not post this next one. And you can beg and then I’ll post seventeen more videos later. >.>

::Rushing before we fade to black:: Oh! And also -

 

 

The Most Thoughtful Way I Can Think

Guess what *I* feel like doing today? (Turning up the mattress heater…aaaand DONE.) Anyway, so there’s a part of the writing process that I’m not sure gets discussed as much as it should. Which is to say, equal to the degree of its importance. It doesn’t have a particular place in the process, though, which may be why it goes undiscussed. It’s sort of like mentioning oxygen when asked about your environment. (Right? Maybe not.)

Anyway, I meant to just mention it quickly and move on to doing it but then I was sort of sucked into making visual aids. (It’s been awhile since I had an excuse a reason to make one!) The first one, I think, may be what a non-writer imagines the process to be.

Which I think would be a pretty knowledgeable assumption, for many reasons. The problem of course is that it seems pretty straightforward and streamlined. Which maybe it is. For somebody. Whom I don’t know. I almost wonder how well I could possibly enjoy a story written in this sort of Henry Ford fashion. Hmm.

Here’s something a bit closer to reality (for me):

Okay.

See, this all came about because I wanted to talk about one of those little purple circles. Thinking about writing! This is where I am today, right this minute. (I could complicate it more by talking about how I’m actually doing it for two different projects, but whatevs.) Now what thinking about writing isn’t: outlining, drafting, planning, et cetera. So what is it? It’s…literally thinking. About writing. It usually happens once I’ve started writing because it’s not part of the planning process, it’s part of what becomes necessary once something sort of organically develops in the story. Or once I come to a conclusion about what elements need to be introduced/addressed. Again, this isn’t part of the working out the plot points for the first time thing. Sometimes this is more motif/theme … marination. I know something needs to be demonstrated and I’m letting that sink aaaaalll the way in until it’s completely integrated into the next step of the story. So that my brain can sort of do it without having to think about it. Sort of like meditating on the scope of the project so that the many scenes that trickle out will steadily approach the desired destination, no matter how they do so. (Is this making sense?)

This is when I’m looking at pictures, creating images, musing to music, or you know. Sitting in the dark. Holding a pen. And then somebody comes and starts talking and I go, “Do you not see me working?!”

So as you may have guessed – or you know, been told up there – I’m thinking about writing right now. Yes for the wip that I haven’t really spoken about. I did show you that image that one time!

‘Member! My sister Jen is the main character…for the purpose of this image. Because I had a lovely picture of her in a cloche hat. So I’d written an unofficial query synopsis for the purpose of [read about that here] and the other day I wrote my first – which means possibly useless – logline. And here it is.

In an alternate 1920s, Elsie – aka Dolores Extract No. 1 – struggles to define her identity beyond being a Mem, a clone born of a memory. 

It’s a little tumbly (that makes sense in my head). And I’m also trying to decide whether it’s an appropriate indicator of how the story reads. Which is a whole ‘nother discussion. (Actually, we’ve talked about that before, too.) Basically, this is much more likely to happen because the category/style is literary but the concept is speculative. And after writing loglines for YA novels that were much more plot-driven (*refusing to go down the rabbit-hole*), I’m concerned that this one is too similar and is therefore misleading.

I know nothing.

 

Hey, I’m No Geographer!

I know, I know – I don’t do writing advice. So this isn’t advice, it’s a suggestion. (See how I can split hairs? It’s a minor passion of mine.)

In two scenarios (I can think of off the top of my head), it’s really useful/fun/interesting/workcrastination to write a (as in, not THE) query synopsis for your novel. I say “a” because I’m not actually telling you to stop what you’re doing and work on perfecting something that arguably uses a different hemisphere of your brain. But when (a) you’re writing from the hip but want a clean first draft or when (b) you’ve written a first draft or are far enough along to realize your story began in the wrong place – writing the blurb can rid the clutter of minutia from your mind and let you see the straight line as far as where your story *must* go. Maintaining logic flow sometimes requires taking the straight shot, as opposed to the scenic route.

This is also particularly eye-opening if you’re not sure precisely what genre you’re writing. Seeing where the story *must* go can be the difference between … well, any two genres. You might find that it’s a character story, as opposed to one driven by plot.

I realize I’m making it seem simpler than it might be by saying “where the story *must* go”, but I can only speak from experience (which is why writing advice isn’t altogether useful, at least not broadly). When I think about situation/prompt a, my muse responds with an obligatory b. No matter whether I’ve tried steering it another direction or not, I think you can hear when the characters aren’t responding. (Yes, I’m kinda dryheaving over that phrase – or rather what it *sounds* like I’m saying. But once again. I’m not pretending to have aural hallucinations. I mean that I can identify that this is not how this character would reply.)

And who wants more visual inspiration from/for my current wip?! You do?! Well then!

(See my model?! She’s Jen-the-twin!! Go congratulate her on giving birth to my newest nephew-son!!)

And, finally, if you can tell me where I got the title, you win!

Note: Winning is a state of being and so does not entail the receiving of anything exterior or temporal. I respect you far too much for that.

 

In Which I Labor

I know what you’re doing, by the way. This game you’re playing where you pretend I haven’t been ridiculously lazy about blogging – not the content, mind you, because let’s be real, candy woulda been involved one way or the other – and pretending to be entertained so I feel like a giant loser and have to commit to doing actual work here? You win this round.

First things first: My seven year old – who just turned seven, don’tcha know – is making up the guest list for his next birthday party. (Apparently, taking a trip every summer to celebrate the month of Morrow is lost on him and he’s wondering why he can’t have a crappy, four hour party like all the other cool kids.) Needless to say, he’s listed about a dozen people thus far – people I’m sure would love to celebrate him, btw – and nobody’s under the age of 21. Yet. Thankfully, there’s about four kids I know he likes.

Not good enough.

I wanna point out that today’s Labor Day (even in Montreal) and I’m blogging. Please double the amount of points I already deserve for awesomeness.

When there is an issue with my laptop that affects the way in which I interact with it, I realize how attached we are. The laptop and I. My son decided to bring his foot down on the left side of my computer and the audio promptly stopped working. I had to replace some drivers (some of which had no effect), it doesn’t hibernate like it’s supposed to, and until I disabled some start-up applications, it wouldn’t even let me move the mouse once the OS was open. So. Basically, I’m now able to do everything but listen to music and watch my stories – which is like having a child break your television, since I watch my shows online. And also, did I mention I can’t listen to music? Because I’m not sure I’ve ever mentioned how much music means to me. And also, that I listen to music when I write. And prepare to write. And develop a storyline prior to writing it.

(My son has offered – since music is so important to me – to make up songs. O_O)

EDIT: Sorry, I failed to mention that my USBs no longer work, either. And that I feel like an amputee.

 

My Bonny Cait

I am so undecided as to whether or not I want to post the book trailer for my newest book, Cait After Exile. Don’t get me wrong, I FUH-LURVE it, but of course that’s not the only consideration. (1) I used all real people this time – as opposed to animation or at least relatively extensive masking techniques, (2) I’m bored with this list already so abort. For now, settle for some info about it. The short version, at least:

In an America divided by remarkable gifts, pubescent children live in exile – separated from the region that empowers them – to avoid being poached.

And yes, the line is entirely concept. I rather like it, but I’m starting to wonder about the use of the word “poached” (which was first questioned by Mumzy – who is coming tomorrow yaaaaaaaaaay!). It’s a word that is used frequently in the book itself, but I wonder if “dismembered and their body parts  sold on the black market for the purposes of witchcraft” isn’t more vivid.

Okay, I can’t help it, if not the book trailer, I DO wanna show you a poster, at least!

(Photo credits include Alvin Ailey dance photography)

Okay, so! First things first, the cast is multicultural. Or as I like to call it, realistic. I’m Black. I don’t think I should have to point out that my protagonist is Black. Probably assume that unless I indicate otherwise…which I’m not sure how I will because the plot probably won’t depend on or reflect it. The other characters are equally something-other-than-default except for Lynd, but the important thing is they’re American. Sigh. Such a sad conversation.

Anyway, second thing I feel the need to clarify, this book is not about ballet. I actually wasn’t sure how I wanted to represent this book, especially since when I was making pictures for The Last Life of Avrilis, it was focusing a lot on the world itself. The world in Cait resembles ours, except for the fact that she’s from what could be call the UnUnited States, of which only the continental landmass remains. So I turned to their costumes, which are pretty prominent. For all intents and purposes, they’re leotards, each region represented by a color and style. (I HATE not telling the whole truth here but whatever.) So, black girl wearing blue leotard proffered almost entirely ballet photographs. And I kind of loved it, since the mantra by which the children get through the frightening years of exile is “Life Begins After Exile”. It sounded like movement to me – at long last. Bursting out of some cocoon. So the images I found actually got me pretty excited.

I’d planned to doctor the picture of Cait to be head to toe coverage as it is in the book (and darker blue) but I sort of fell in love with the picture, inaccurate as it is. Lynd’s outfit is the closest to reality; Macy actually wears that dress at some point in the book though it isn’t technically her uniform; Petras’ bottom half fits the story, the top not at all. So it’s true and false, at once.

Yes, the title threw me off track!

Further to this (remind me to at some point tell you why I say that) – because of the two days I spent being completely wrapped up in the visual representation of this book (pictures then book trailer), I’m having a hard time getting my brain back to words. It shall pass, yes, but sigh.

Final thought – apply as you like and maybe I’ll revisit this: Literature came before the study of literature. Execution came before the dichotomizing of genres, methods, themes and the like. Just something to keep in mind, particularly if you’re the writer.

 

Content Me In My Discontent

(1) People like Pauline something-or-other write ridiculous things about Accountability, International Baccalaureate and drizzle Foucault verbage over it in a manner that suggests she’s made some rather specious inferences and now I feel the need to reread all of the literature from senior year of university. You know, to … write an article… on her wrongness? Yep. Thanks.

(2) Mmmm, Quebec. I know I’m just a silly, modest American – that…doesn’t even read correctly. Are we really seen as modest? I mean, I personally consider myself as such but… Apparently, it is said modesty and not common sense and indignation that made me wonder why OH WHY I was caught sitting between my six year old son and a strange man while sitting in the waiting room of a dentist’s office and OH YES witnessing frontal nudity in the movie being played.

For serious?! This isn’t completely unacceptable to anyone else? Apparently not, because no one even seemed uncomfortable! Meanwhile, I looked at my son who somehow wasn’t looking at the television (mercy of mercies) and then politely asked him to take the New Testament + Psalms out of my bag and get started on Psalm 119. Now’s as good a time as any to work on memorization. O_O And before you Americans ask why I didn’t say something, let me chortle to myself and point out: We’re not in Kansas anymore.

(3) This. This is all there was or ever shall be. (If you don’t watch this, don’t bother coming back.) (Just kidding.) (Not really.)

Fin

 

Pick A Title, Any Title

Before we even begin.

::low gurgling sounds:: Best two minutes of my life.

And now! (Said like Jon Lovitz. – I feel like I’ve told you that before…) So this month we’re going on our Morrowpalooza trip. Yes, it’s early this year because the hubby’s ‘Sconsin reunion is somehow NOT observant of the holy month of July and wants to be in June. Whatevs. Just means I get to eat Chipotle and Panda Express and Target Popcorn earlier.

Hilariously, these are exactly the things to which my 6-for-now year old is looking forward. Last night AND this morning he was repeating “I can’t wait to go to Panda”. This is hilarious for several reasons. 1) Because he didn’t know what a fortune cookie was called so he made a lengthy explanation. “It’s in a bag and it’s a goodie and crunchy and there’s paper inside. It’s awesome.” That’s where we ended. 2) He hasn’t had Panda for going on 2 years which, for his age, should mean he has no earthly recollection, right? 3) We used to order (for him) steamed rice and orange chicken. *That’s* the amazing meal he’s salivating over. O_o Both of which we’ve had here and the rice, quite often. So. Not understanding his obsession.

And lastly, my brain is a jerk. I was so determined to have the bestest vacation EVER from writing ANYTHING after I finished Cait After Exile a few days ago. And then, 1:30 am rolled around and – for the second night in a row – I started working on the query synopsis. O_O Keep in mind, I have materials out on The Last Life of Avrilis and am QUITE hopeful that I won’t be querying, but. I cannot see the future. So apparently my brain is like, Yep, we’re doing this. So we did. Sad. But also, I really like writing queries? And a huge thanks to Rachel for sticking it out with me until like 4:30 my time. O_O Crazy.

And then I had two super specific and lengthy dreams. One about a guy who helped around the house and was Of Mice And Men. I was telling someone not to be so rude to him and then while helping him do something, he attacked me. Good times. Aaaand another about confiscating weapons from gang members and taking my sister JenJen’s place in a hostage situation. That’s how my brain unwinds?

 

Need To Breathe

Couldn’t sleep last night, at least not as soon as I’d like to have. I thought, “I haven’t listened to NeedToBreathe in a little while.” I’ve been playing a lot of Florence + the Machine, Atticus Ross and Daft Punk’s Tron Legacy as these are the soundtracks for my Avrilis sequel and the new wip. (Did have Rolfe Kent on that list, which then led back to a short story which you’ll be happy to know found its ending.)

So I clicked on an acoustic version of “Stones Under Rushing Water”. And a couple appeared in my mind. No, thankfully not a new couple. An estranged couple from my series for the screen. Haven’t thought of them in a little while since I left them at the end of the completed second episode (though I outlined the next four). Then I started the whole Avrilis process and they went dormant. The options available to them suck – not that they’d identify them as options at the moment. But I’m realizing there’d only be one course of events that would make them happy. Eventually. Anyone who knows the series I’m talking about knows it isn’t even *about* them. But that song totally brought their subplot to mind like it was the most. important. thing. evar.

So the point of this post is I don’t understand people who write in silence. Sounds *make* my stories progress. Which is me pretty much admitting that Hans Zimmer writes most of my books. (Why did I immediately need to add a note that James Horner is in no way inferior to Senor Zimmer?! Because James Horner is my fanboy and that is not just something I just made up because I wish it were true.)

Enfin:

So remind me to tell you about THIS.

 

An Island In Time

Disclaimer/Spasm: I am not as big and charming of a dork as the following might suggest. In general, I’m too lazy to be a dork or a nerd or anything similarly awesome. The exceptions to this involve Foucault, Max Weber and the typology of legitimation, biological bases of psychological disorders and performing in homemade vaudeville. All of which result in snorts and possibly gurgling noises of Homer-level satisfaction. (Okay, also the fourth book of The Aeneid, which I’ve never truly gotten over. And the piece of jewelry I own with the inscription: 3 May 1905. Which was a gift of the most epic proportions. Shout out to my siamese, Jordan.)

I am so off topic right now.

::snortsnort:: So I will love you forever if you know the relevance. And let me be clear: nothing else in the picture is a clue or hint. If you’re insisting that the hat must be: No. I’m really that big an idiot.

Point of blog post: Or inspiration/reason, at least. (I like to edit my sentences in real life conversation, too. But everyone in my family does that! We also will NEVER let a typo go unmentioned, even on facebook. It’s…sad, really.)

No, serious, here’s the point:  I have been daydreaming the line. Really. I have, all morning, been rolling it around in my head and the poignancy just has not subsided, despite the fact that I have read whole books written in poetry (not “real” poetry, because I’m not really a fan, but Toni Morrison, which, yes, is written in silk). Um. It just. I honestly think it is the best line in all of literature. (If you feel the need to debate me on this, allow me to introduce myself: Get. Out.)

Wait for it.

Ships at a distance have every man’s wish on board.

Guh.

Does that not *knock* you over?! ::spasms:: Even though I routinely and unintentionally edit Ms. Hurston to “hold” instead of “have”, I cannot get over the perfection of beginning that book with that line, although I honestly think it summarizes something so transcendental and universal. Okay, duh. “Every man”. Universal. In my lightheaded whimsy, I am losing my cool.

I’m sure it has something to do with me, with wanderlust, with lofty expectations that don’t seem lofty to me, with the imagery of merchant ships and the richness that might have so many permutations (silk, spice, gold, jewels, fur). The ship – perhaps because of the distance – is a million different things to as many different people. The sentence is what the sentence refers to. ::choking sounds::

DOUBLE. RAINBOW. YOU GUYS. DOUBLERAINBOW.

Are you going to seriously tell me I’m the only one who got caught in her own mind for this long over a single sentence?

***

And you know I never blog about my submission process, but because you guys were such a part of this particular pitch, I will update: Suzie Townsend, judge of the twitter pitch contest in which I (we) was (were) an honorable mention, requested the full! Frabjousness.