Friday pint

Every Friday I transfer posts here from the Virtual Pint archives.

  • Random Solitaire (March 2004) — I just keep coming back to the story.
  • Public transit tears (March 2004) — This is one of the coolest compliments I’ve ever had as a writer. I’d be curious to hear what books have made you cry?

    Oh, and guess how that 4:15 thing turned out when I started screenwriting? Sorry, honey (blows kiss to Nicola through the internet).

  • Escape (March 2004) — As if that’s a bad thing…

Enjoy your day.

Prop 8 — The Musical

Here’s the latest zooming-around-the-interweb Cool Thing. (I’m sorry to say there’s nothing I can do about the ads…sometimes life is just like that.)

Many thanks to all the folks who gave their time and energy to this! You rock (or I guess you “musical,” if you want to get technical.)

And if anyone you know actually believes that the right to get married will somehow result in schools teaching first-graders about sodomy, please educate them, okay?

 

Decidedly queer

Nicola and I have posted our latest essay, “War Machine, Time Machine,” in which we discuss speculative fiction, tell a few outrageous true stories about writing and publishing, ponder a new definition of “queer writing,” introduce our household term “quiltbag” and have some fun with footnotes.

The essay is published in Queer Universes. and reprinted here because we put it in our contract that way, which detail I share because there are so many writers out there who don’t seem to realize that you can do that if you want. Well, you can!

Let us know what you think.

Shooing the plot

Just wanted to say I enjoyed reading Solitaire. It kept me entertained with an intriguing plotline that led to a satisfying ending. The writing style really drew me into the story. I appreciate a book that gives elaborate yet consistent descriptions of its imaginary locales, and Solitaire delivered beautifully with its portrayals of Ko Island and NNA Zone 17.

I especially liked the subtle humor sprinkled throughout the novel. I got a kick out of the map-dispensing pillar that mixed courtesy with dire warnings about failure to recycle. The rejection e-mail from the art gallery was a scream. My favorite character (after Frankenbear of course) was Crichton. She really had a way with words (“He’s not talking to me”).

I winced at this depiction of the Garbo team: “All of them except the designer were typical R&D types — blindingly smart, highly verbal, suspicious of non-technical language, critical of new ideas, desperate for credit, and terminally rude.” Ouch! Does that describe the R&D staff at Wizards of the Coast?

Just a few criticisms. First, the basic premise was really hard to believe: that a world government would choose its future leaders based on the second they were born. Civilizations have been known to choose their chiefs in some pretty bizarre ways, but that way takes the prize for sheer irrelevance and lack of enforceability. Perhaps some further background on the history of EarthGov’s formation would help.

Why is Ko Island so cold in the winter that people put on a hundred layers of clothes and drink hot soup all the time? It’s close to Hong Kong, so it should have the same subtropical climate.

I didn’t quite understand Tiger’s behavior on Halloween and afterward. Presumably he knew about Jackal and Snow, and he was their web mate, so his actions seemed rather odd. Maybe a little more development of Tiger’s character would help.

The events at Mirabile really strained credibility, even allowing for the numerous coincidences involved. Why would the elevator control console have a “disengage backup system” command that instantly lets all three elevators drop? Backup brakes for an elevator ought to remain engaged until manually disengaged. Why did the second attendant leave the room? What eventually happened to the two attendants? “One … had been found dead; the other, not at all.” Did Ko executives have them iced or something?

Despite these issues, I enjoyed the book a lot. I look forward to your next novel. In the meantime, maybe I’ll check out some of Nicola’s writings. Do you have a favorite work of hers that you’d recommend?

Steve


Hi, Steve, and I apologize about 400 times, one for every day your email went unread (aside to the rest of the internet — yep, Steve’s message found its way into a corner of my computer and I only just discovered it a couple weeks ago. And we went to high school together, so it’s not like I’m just any old rude person, I’m a rude person he actually knows. Color me embarrassed.)

I’m glad you liked Solitaire overall, although I do get a chuckle from the idea that the plotline works at any point. Plot is not my strength; really I just want to wave my hands at it in a particular cliched Southern girl fashion, as if shooing it off into a corner. But I have learned that readers expect it.

Endings, however, are important to me, and I’ve certainly gotten enough grief from people about the “neatly wrapped up ending” that it’s nice to have someone find it satisfying. It satisfies me too, but I’ve never thought of it as neatly wrapped up. Mostly, I think of it as one part of Jackal’s life being irrevocably over… and that’s bittersweet for me, and (I’ve always imagined) for her as well.

And thank you for loving Crichton. I just adore her — all those years of being in and out of her head when I was wrestling with the novel, and when I read Solitaire she still makes me laugh out loud. I’d love to have her as a friend, not just for her charm — it would get old if that was all there was to her — but for her vast intelligence and her absolutely realistic take on things. I think she’s the smartest person in the book, except for maybe Neill. Or maybe it’s just that Crichton doesn’t quite have his experience yet, and one day she will give him a run for his money.

Hah. If there were ever going to be a “sequel” to Solitaire, maybe that would have to be it.

So, you are the first person in all these years who has asked me directly if that sentence about R&D was based on my experience at Wizards. Why, yes, it was, and is as precise a description as I could create of the folks I knew there (I didn’t know them all, so the rest may have been as sweet as pie). The exception was always Richard, the original designer of Magic, who was very nice to deal with, and was so smart that he never had to prove a thing to anyone.

I don’t blame you for arguing with the Hopes premise (shoo, plot, shoo!), although perhaps it wasn’t clear that the Hope was an honorary/PR designation — none of them were growing up to be the presidents of their nations. Jackal was being groomed for behind-the-scenes work in EarthGov, an actual position of power and influence, but still not leadership. The primary purposes of the Hopes was to take up highly visible “feel good” roles on the world stage, to be someone that a citizen of a participating nation could point to as a role model. As the Hopes are successful, so EarthGov takes on a certain credibility and “success” by association. It’s essentially celebrity politics turned about 30 degrees on its head. As carefree as I may be with plot sometimes, even I would not see the actual leaders of the near future world chosen quite so randomly.

The climate of Hong Kong: you’re right, of course, but they do have outlier days in the winter months where temperatures can get down into the 40’s or even 30’s. This may not seem particularly arduous to you, but I gave Jackal my response to cold — and I grew up in Florida, fer gosh sakes. There’s always a few days in Florida where the temperature gets into the 30’s or 40’s, and when I was growing up, whap, the mercury hit the magic number of 49 or below and women would pull out their fur coats and wear them to the gas station, the grocery store, wherever they could, just to get some use out of them.

As you may imagine, the weather at St. Paul’s was a revelation to me. I was cold all the time there.

As for Tiger, we can agree that mileage varies. I don’t need him to be reasonable or rational: young people in love so rarely are, in my experience.

You’re right about the elevator mechanics in Mirabile, that’s an example of me scratching my head and trying to plot. I needed a way for Jackal to directly interact with the crash — a way for her to have some responsibility for what happened. That’s the best I could come up with at the time. One of my writing teachers used to say that the best thing a writer can do when she finds herself on thin ice is move fast and point in the other direction (grin).

If you’re interested, there’s a very long and thoughtful conversation in the comments here about both Tiger and the intersection of accident and responsibility in the Mirabile scene.

As for Nicola’s books, well, read them all (another grin). Try Slow River — it’s an elegant book in both structure and in sheer writing, and there’s a reason it won the Nebula (beams with pride at Nicola through the internet).

Steve, thanks so much for hanging in there! And thanks for the thoughtful response to Solitaire.

Enjoy your day.

Friday pint

Every Friday I transfer posts here from the Virtual Pint archives.

I know, I know, it’s Sunday. I got so fired up on Friday that I was compelled to rant rather than pint.

So here you go. Back on Friday as usual with the next round.

  • Web (February 2004) — Short post about the web in Solitaire. I should have answered this one better — there’s a bit more about it here, but even that’s not really an answer. I’ll have to think more about this.
  • Inspiration (February 2004) — Where does this stuff come from?
  • Ambiguity (February 2004) — It’s the one-word-title week… this one’s about, well, ambiguity in Solitaire (grin).

Happy Friday-on-a-Sunday. Hah, that would mean that tomorrow was the weekend again, wouldn’t that be great?

Big screen women

The screenwriting life continues to have a storybook-quality wackiness that fascinates, frustrates, amuses, and occasionally depresses me, although really it’s mostly fun as long as I stop attaching to the outcome. I am learning huge lessons in loving what I’m doing in the moment, because tomorrow may never come…

But that’s a story for another time. I find I am reluctant to talk about my particular experience of this screenplay while it’s still ongoing. Not out of superstition, but because it’s too close to me. I wrote a while back about boundaries: well, this is private for me right now.

But I can tell you that there a couple of great roles for women in the script, and that I’m intensely interested in and frustrated by the absolute terror that studios have of movies with women. Who knew girls were so scary? Oh, sorry, girls aren’t scary, they just can’t open movies!

You may imagine my response to this (grin). And after you’ve had some fun with that, go read what Emma Thompson and Liane Balaban (who appear together in the upcoming film Last Chance Harvey) have to say about it.

And can I just say that Emma Thompson rocks?

Enjoy your Saturday.

Do the work

Do you want to be an artist? Do you want to be novelist, a screenwriter, a director, an actor, a musician? Then I urge you to read this magnificent rant by Karina Meléndez about her experience with wannabes in the prestigious UBC Creative Writing Program. And then please never, never, never do any of those things.

I’ve written before about why I think the professional creative game breaks artists, especially when it can take a long time for a person to come into her art. And I have seen what Karina describes a hundred times in workshops, at parties, on blogs — wannabes who have already bought into some version of Real Artists are Born, not Made. It’s hard, because there are just enough young geniuses out there that when we are learning our art, we almost always run into a couple. They shine early, they get attention and approval, they are special; and they make the rest of us feel inadequate and frightened and desperate to shine as well.

And here is what happens then: the goal for students in programs or workshops becomes not to learn, but to be validated. Because if one has something to learn, well, yeeps, that means you aren’t there, sister, you’re no genius, you’re not a Real Artist. Go drown your inadequacies at the Losers Pub: the rest of us will be here defending our Precious Genius to the death, explaining that people just don’t get how good we really are.

And resisting with all our might the essential qualities of real artists: self-honesty, vulnerability, and a hunger for learning so fierce and relentless that you’ll take a lesson wherever you find it — because real artists make themselves.

There’s a reason that a person’s art is commonly referred to as her work. It’s not coincidence or just a wacky way to use that crazy word. You want to be a real artist? Do the fucking work. Yes, it’s hard, and it can be the most please-just-shoot-me-now combination of frustration and despair and blazing hot I will do this somehow hope that you may ever feel about anything except possibly falling in love; and that’s when you finally learn that art is the way that real artists love themselves.

So what do you want? What’s more important, loving yourself and your art with such fierce passion that you’ll do whatever you must to make both of you better? Or being so frightened of the work and the life that you’ll spend all that energy instead on superstitious behavior, or complaining that no one gets your work, or refusing to be honest, or withholding your support from others. Spend all that precious never-get-it-back energy on trying to make everyone around you see you as a genius. Oh, baby, that’s like trying to make someone say they love you. Making them say it doesn’t make it true.

Thankful

No long lists from me today. Anyone who reads this blog knows how thankful I am for my life and my work and Nicola, for my family and friends, for wine and food and conversation, for music, for dancing, for all the joy I have in the beautiful world. So today I will just say thank you for stopping by sometimes, for sharing these moments with me, for the connections that we make here. They are important to me.

A lovely Thanksgiving to US citizens wherever you are in the world, and to everyone else, I wish you a happy day full of things that make you thankful.

Say yes

A few days ago, I read this review of a concert by the band Of Montreal in my morning newspaper. And I just had to share.

I don’t know the music. I fossicked about on YouTube and couldn’t find a good quality clip of a live show to share here, so I can’t even tell you if I would have the same experience of a concert as the reviewer. And it doesn’t matter. I am so taken by the giddiness and sheer geeky love of this review, especially coming as it does from Travis Nichols, an arts reviewer who always brings context and wide perspective and objectivity to his work. And enthusiasm — that’s one of the things I enjoy about his reviews, I always know when he likes something. But I’ve never seen him wiggle like this:

….they are at times so irritatingly goofy you just want to say no on principle.
 
But don’t be that way. Say yes.
 
Enjoy the glitter, the face paint, the pastel shorts, the tiger costumes, the dancing golden Buddhas, the confetti, the light show and the weird spectacle of frontman Kevin Barnes nearly naked, covered in shaving cream, doing some kind of New Wave strut on the Showbox SoDo stage. Say yes to songs like “Heimdalsgate Like a Promethean Curse” and “Disconnect the Dots” and “Id Engager,” songs that are such a muddle of riffs and disco stomps that the only sensible thing to do is shout along to a chorus like “C’mon chemicals! C’mon chemicaaaaals!” until you’re hoarse.
 
— from Travis Nichols’ review of Of Montreal, Seattle Post-Intelligencer, 20 Nov. 2008

It just gets better from there.

And it doesn’t matter if you like this particular music. Just that you like something enough to give yourself up to it sometimes. We should all have some stuff that makes us wiggle in joy, that makes us say yes.

Go read the review. Enjoy. I hope you get some yes in your day.