lydamorehouse: (more renji art)
Remember when I had to take my car into the shop and I spent the day at Ramsey County Library? Well, Mason was wildly jealous, and has been bugging me to give him a "library day." Today, is library day for us. Mason is off for the month on Intersession, so we're going to head out as soon as the library opens around 10 am and make a full day of it. Should be fun, I think.

...Or he'll be bored after a couple of hours, which will be fine too. It's a lovely day. It's supposed to his 78 degrees (F). If he feels like bailing, maybe I'll talk him into a walk around Como Zoo and Conservatory or a hike through Hidden Falls or something.

In other news, I had an epiphany yesterday. Not as exciting as it may sound. I'm actually fairly prone to epiphanies, and when I articulate it, you'll probably be all, "whatever. *I* knew _that_." This is why I'm prone to ephiphanies, and why no one should alert the national media when I announce I've had one. Things that are obvious to other people will suddenly hit me like a sack of bricks. Just ask my dad about Montreal. (We both felt stupid about that one!)

At any rate, here is it: writing is hard.

See, I said you'd be disappointed.

But, specifically, the thing I learned yesterday regarding the hardness of writing is that it's hard for both the writer AND THE READER.

I should say that I'm talking about original fiction here, and that by comparing fan fiction critque to to original fiction critique is how I learned this startling fact. At a fan fiction writing party I went to last Friday, I was hanging out with my fan fiction writing friends and the conversation turned to original fiction. Both myself and one of the other women there are trying to write original fiction for sale (she's sold some coloring books, I've, of course, sold novels and am trying to break back into that gig.) Anyway, we agreed that what was missing from original fiction writing was the cheerleading. She agreed to cheerlead my original fiction projects, so I posted the very rough beginning of my Deep Space Lawyer up on Google Docs for her.

If my novel start had been a peice of my fanfic, I have no doubt I would have gotten the "whoosh" of excitement as she ran off to read it.

Instead, I got crickets.

In fact, I gave up waiting for critique from her and revised it based on some things that my writers' group said about an unrelated novel start, the one that takes place on Mars (because I thought that their thoughts applied to this one as well.)

Maybe I should be annoyed or disappointed by this reaction, but instead I asked myself, why I am I so much more excited to read the lastest from my friend [livejournal.com profile] empty_mirrors's amazing alternate universe Bleach epic, and yet I have to drag my feet through reading a submission from Wyrdsmiths? (A phenomenon so common we all jokingly refer to having "read our homework on the bus" sometimes, because, despite having these manuscripts often for TWO WHOLE WEEKS in advance, we _all_ have times when wait until the very last moment to sit down and read them and then RL conspires to make it impossible to read before the group meeting. So, sometimes I'll arrive at the coffee shop early and everyone is quickly reading the last of the handouts....)

I think this happens partly because, ultimately, original fiction is work for the READER, too. Particulary in critique, but perhaps all the time. I was also having a lovely email chat with Kyell Gold, my fellow GoH from Gaylaxicon, and we were talking about the sense a lot of science fiction fans (and pros) have of being woefully under-read in our field. This feeling sometimes causes us to sit down with a particular IMPORTANT author's work and plow through the MEANINGFUL NOVEL, like it's the biggest chore on the f*cking planet.

To be fair to Kyell, he didn't actually suggest that the book he'd read was a chore, but the discussion in general made me remember the times *I'd* done that and felt that way.

Fanfiction gets a different response, I think, because the reader knows s/he's already invested in the story and the characters. I like Renji so much, I'll pretty much try ANY story where he's a character. But I also tend to be picky. I'll try, but I'm very likely to bounce off, so when you finally meet a writer whose writing you actually like, but perhaps even ADMIRE, it's NOT a chore to read their beta-drafts, it's a F*CKING PLEASURE.

I've been known to have the same experience with original ficition, of course. There are authors whose work I'm so in love with that I rush off to buy/borrow their latest INSTANTLY and, if they asked, I would drop EVERYTHING to be their beta/critique reader. But, when a friend, even a friend whose work you know you like, asks you to read their original fiction (especially if it's NOT a continuation of a favorite story with characters you already know you like) it's a lot harder to get motivated to dig in. Perhaps, too, because original fiction has to be read in a different way and -SOMETIMES- the critique is more intense, more in-depth.... or at least it's a different kind of critique in that there are different expectations for original fiction than there are of fanfiction.

So, writing is hard for the reader too.

I think this is why it's important for me to have a group like Wyrdsmiths, who are basically beholden to read my original fiction and try to help me fix it (because I have promised to do the same for them). I wonder, too, if this is an especially painful problem for people trying to make the switch to writing original fiction after growing up/being immersed in the fanfic community? I think it could be potenetially very disheartening to get crickets if you're expecting whooshes. It would probably be very tempting to imagine that the crickets come from the fact that 'my writing is NO GOOD!' thoughts, rather than what is probably the truth--that reading original fiction is a chore, no matter how good the writing and the story.

Thoughts?
lydamorehouse: (Default)
Right, so I started the Monday after a long weekend WITH NO COFFEE. Then, half-way to school, Mason calmly informs me that we've forgotten his backpack.

Argh.

But, things are better now. I decided since Monday decided to SUCK LIKE A HOOVER, I would treat myself to a stop into my favorite coffee place, Claddaugh, and order a five dollar latte, which I almost never do any more. Claddaugh is a lovely place on 7th Street in the sort of outskirts of downtown St. Paul where you get the occasional crazy person who likes to sit in the warm coffeeshop. Today, as I waited for my to-go order, the crazy person in question shouted at random intervals nonsense about California. I couldn't tell what exactly he was talking about, but he didn't seem happy with that particular state of the union. My favorite part? Everyone ignoring him. I asked Mary, the coffee shop owner about him, and she shrugged and say, "Ah, he's harmless," and the guy sitting at the bar and I got into a discussion about how it's kind of nice the way coffee shops deal with the ocassional crazy. This guy was a regular, and people just sort of tuned out the outbursts. If anything, there was almost an air of protectiveness. "Him? Oh, he's OUR crazy." I told the guy at the bar about the time I was at Madison for WisCON and I was up early, as usual, and hanging out at the coffeeshop, Michelangelo's. A crazy guy there liked to randomly stand up and expound on how communists were in charge of the Interstate system and probably we were all going to hell because of it. Same as at Claddaugh. He was clearly enough of a regular that most people glanced up briefly when he started his speech, but then went back to reading their Saturday newspapers or playing Angry Birds on the iPhones.

After leaving Claddaugh, I came home to discover a request for an interview in my in-box. So I took a few minutes to answer the dozen or so questions and send it back. I got asked that ubiquitous question, "If they ever made a movie of your books, who would you cast...?" Normally, I hate that question because I don't watch enough TV or movies to even have a clue who's the new hottie superstar. But, I now have a defaut answer! J. Michael Tatum. He is, in fact, the only actor I know. True, he's currently best known as the voice of Sebastian in "Black Butler" and for his work in "Ouran Host Club," but, having met him, I can tell you, he'd make a fine Valentine or Sebastian in live-action. So, ta dah! I finally have a decent answer to that question. Granted, it makes me look perhaps a bit like a super-geek to name an Anime voice actor, but to which I say, "And your point...?"

The fun part of this story was that I was feeling brave so I texted J. Michael himself and told him this (through reasons that still somewhat baffle me, we exchanged phone numbers at the end of Gaylaxicon--apparently I didn't give him the impression I thought I did, which was, "Idiot Squeeing Fan Grrl"), and, anyway, instead of getting back, "And you are...?" He wrote back something very sweet which implied that he remembered me, but also made him seem like possibly the NICEST GUY ON EARTH. It's possible that he stared at his phone and thought, "Who the fuck is this?" but then shrugged and decided, "Well, you know, it never hurts to be nice," and then later went to the Googles to try to remember what possessed him to give his real phone number to someone in Minnesota who wasn't Anton... but, hey, it kind of made my day, regardless.

Thus cheered, I was able to make the return run to Mason's school to deliver the all-important backpack with "big mouth" (their planner thingie into which EVERYTHING OF SIGNIFICANCE goes,) and make a trip to the Ramsey County Public Library to begin to return the six thousand books that Mason took out at the beginning of Thanksgiving break. I also had to pay a nearly six dollar fine, because, well, for us, the break started at the beginning of the month and Ramsey County is evil and actually charges their juvenille patrons for overdue books.

In other exciting news, today is also going to be the day that I do something with all the leftover potatoes. You will be happy to know that I've started some potato bread. I'm a big fan of potato bread myself, even though I suspect my family will think much less of it than I do. It still only uses a cup of the stuff, so I will also be making knefla (a German potato/noodle-thing) for diner. That should take care of most of them. Perhaps I will also have to have one last gravy-slathered pile for a late lunch, too.

Whoot. Well, that's probably all the news that's fit to print. I will have to, at some point, write a recap of our Thanksgiving adventures. Suffice to say there was turkey (24 pounds of it), stuffing, gravy, mashed potatoes, yams, green beans, brussel sprouts, and freshly baked French bread. Our friends the Jackson came so there was Boggle and puzzling and amazingly awesome company for several days. It's been a much quieter, sadder house without them. Thanksgiving might be my favorite holiday because we actually have this lovely tradition of celebrating with the family we chose rather than the family we came from. I have no issues with my family of origin, mind, but it's really quite wonderful to gather people you've known and loved for years... people you picked, your friends... and hang out with them for a giant meal.
lydamorehouse: (Default)
There's a banner ad above this post right now for The Letter Q, in which, apparently, queer writers share the notes they would write to their younger selves. I think mine would be pretty strange. How could I explain to that boy-crazy girl that, not too much later, she'd be a girl-crazy girl? Oh, yeah, and you're NOT going to run off to Japan to be an animator or to New York to draw for Marvel Comics, you're going to drift around in a few stupid jobs for a while and then become a published writer.

Honestly, the second one probably would have shocked me even more. Not draw? Unthinkable!

If there is a multiverse, I wonder how my life is going in Japan. If I'd have left when I wanted to it would have been an interesting time to try to break into Anime -- 1989. Who knows, maybe I would have colored some cells for Bleach. More likely as a foreigner, I would have never broken in, become destitute and bitter, and would be working as a cashier.

Of course, there's also a universe where I'm driving long-haul truck.

Wow, I just had a flash back to the TV show "Sliders", which dispite its cheesiness, I really liked. It was a clever idea and kind of before its time, in which our heros are sucked through a vortex into various universes in the multiverse.

Where would you be in an alternate universe?

Also, I am overwhelmed by an urge to DANCE this morning. At nine o'clock a-f**king-m. What is wrong with me? (Or, perhaps, what's wrong with the rest of y'all that we don't just turn this coffee shop into a jammin' club!?)

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