Category: blog

CW 2: The Pre-Brunch Special

I wrote this today as part of my commitment to the Clarion West Write-a-thon. A dedication means that person sponsored it by donating to CW, and then provided me a writing prompt that sparked the piece. If you would like something written especially for you, please consider sponsoring me.

Here’s all the work of the 41 days. You’ll also find these pieces cross-posted at Sterling Editing as incentive for writers to practice their editing and story-building skills.

Enjoy.

The Pre-Brunch Special

for Jennifer Durham. Thank you for your friendship and support.

Sandy Gustafson lost his faith the day he met Jesus.

It happened during the 10 AM service, which Sandy laughingly advertised as the Pre-Brunch Special: get right with God and still make your 11:30 reservation. Episcopalians liked to have their needs respected.

He was winding up his sermon on Surrendering to God’s Higher Purpose, right on time and with his usual flair. Sandy had gone to the circus every summer as a boy and spent his childhood yearning to be a ringmaster: 35 years later, looking out at the restive crowd, knowing that if their group-mind could talk it would be saying I believe in God and I believe he wants me to eat Eggs Benedict now, he raised his hand; their hungry gazes turned as one to the blue-and-green leaded glass windows, and he knew their imaginations turned to heaven. In these moments every week, Sandy made his childhood dream come true; he had just needed to learn that the Christians were the lions.

And having learned that, he trained them well. Souls were saved by the dozen in Monroe Corners. He was saving a few more right now, including, he hoped, whoever had just come so late into the back of the church.

“Surrender!” Sandy said, his finger pointing toward God, his voice like a bright brass horn.

“You first,” someone answered in a voice that was not loud or bright, a quiet voice that thundered through his bones and flashed like lightning along every nerve from his scalp to his toes. The voice made him hungry for a never-ending breath of fresh air, for a hug that no one stepped away from first, for time to listen to every word of everyone’s story in the room. You first, the voice said again, like a breeze so light it would not stir a grain of sand.

Sandy realized that no one else had heard it. The congregation were waiting blank-faced for him to get to the point.

The point stood at the back of the church. The point walked up the aisle. She was a 10-year-old Vietnamese girl in purple jeans and a Violent Femmes t-shirt. The shirt was adult-sized, and hung like a sack to her knees. She carried a Barbie doll.

She stopped in front of the steps leading to the altar and looked up at him. She gave him a brilliant smile. “Anytime you’re ready,” Jesus said.

CW 1: The Far West

I wrote this today as part of my commitment to the Clarion West Write-a-thon. A dedication means that person sponsored it by donating to CW, and then provided me a writing prompt that sparked the piece. If you would like something written especially for you, please consider sponsoring me.

Here’s all the work of the 41 days. You’ll also find these pieces cross-posted at Sterling Editing as incentive for writers to practice their editing and story-building skills.

Enjoy.

The Far West

for Sharon Woodbury. I love you, Mum.

Great and terrible things come from the Far West; great and terrible things flock to it. The road through the desert brings them all past the Last Chance for Whatever, where Beth Harvey sells gasoline and milk, men’s ties, dog whistles, a selection of stuffed animals, sometimes herself. “The sign says Whatever, Lucas,” she told me once. “People need what they need.”

There’s a snow shovel in the hardware section. “It’s the desert,” I said once, a long time ago. “What does anyone need that for?”

She shrugged. “Works on sand, too,” was all she said. I didn’t get it at the time. Now, of course, I know the point of a snow shovel. It is not made sharp for digging down into a thing; it is made flat to push aside whatever’s in your way. The snow shovel is a tool to keep things moving.

Most every day, I sit at one of the three small cafe tables near the picture window. I drink a bottle of Bud and maybe eat one of Beth’s egg salad sandwiches, and I watch the road and what goes by on it. Sometimes I see things that make me want another bottle, that make me want to count my dead soldiers by sixes rather than singles; but after what happened that one time, I have never opened the cooler more than once on any given day. I won’t tell you what happened that day, not yet, but I will say that most great and terrible things are not obvious monsters or demons or gods. They are people who are trying to move something out of their way so they can get to another place, and will do whatever they must to make that happen. That is when people become great and terrible; when they know exactly what they need.

Some places are small. Some places are green and smell of springwater and secrets. Some places are a whirl of neon and human noise. The Far West is none of those things. The Far West is every dream you ever had of sky and ancient stone and silence, of possibility, of finally, finally finding someplace big enough for all the things you ever want to be. The Far West is the place of greatest pain you can imagine, where people dash each other down to the bedrock and wet their cereal with their children’s blood. People crawl across burning sand to reach it. People chew their own hearts out to escape it, and then they spend years finding their way back; because the Far West is never the same place twice. And that’s the power and the pull: once you get these notions into your heart or head, they muscle all your sensible self out of the way. And then things might get great, or terrible.

On the day I won’t tell you about yet, Beth was in the storeroom and I was drinking my beer. The road and the desert and the sky were empty of everything except sun and the sense of waiting that sometimes comes upon the land. Something is coming. Then I heard a small engine, and saw a motorscooter buzzing in from the West. A man drove; a woman held on behind him, her hair streaming hot and dusty, her eyes bright with sun. She was beautiful. One of the great ones.

U2 in Seattle

Here’s an essay I published last week on @U2, the best U2 website on the planet, where I am proud to be a staff writer.

For those of you who aren’t stone U2 fans, the essay title is a lyric from the song “A Sort of Homecoming.”

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I’m also here to remind you that I’ll be starting the Clarion West Write-a-thon on Sunday, and I hope you’ll consider supporting me. The day sponsor slots are filling up, but there are still slots available, and I’d love to write something just for you…

And if you’re a writer, please consider participating! We’ve nearly reached our goal of 100 participating writers, and we have a challenge grant in progress — if we make 100 participants, we’ll receive $15 for every writer. Help us make that goal!

Enjoy your day.

Tonight, At Last, I Am Coming Home: U2 in Seattle

I spent Saturday afternoon, June 4, in the company of some of my warm, funny, smart colleagues from @U2. I spent Saturday evening inside U2’s music; inside myself.

It was a phenomenal day. The music was magic as only experts can make it: so fresh and new that it’s easy to forget it comes from years of practice and the utter willingness of the artists to surrender to the moment. I saw in the band, and felt in myself, intimacy and trust and passion and personal connection under the clear night sky in a stadium of 65,000 people. Pretty amazing.

And a sort of homecoming for me.

Here’s why: I’ve been a U2 fan for 30 years. I love these guys. A lot of their music is identity music for me, songs that speak to me so much of myself that I can hear them and remember who I am even when the fog is thick around me, even when I’m standing on the wrong side of one of my own internal canyons. Even when I’m scared. But most especially when I am not scared. Most especially when I am full of joy and confidence, when I love both myself and the world, the music of U2 has been my music too.

But the last few years, I’ve not been finding so much power in the new music. I like it, it’s good, I can listen to it for an hour and then move on. It’s smart, it’s political, it’s full of allusion, there are love songs … but it’s not intimate (for me) and it hasn’t brought me those moments of Oh!, that frisson of finding myself inside a song. And that’s what I want from U2. I want the intimacy that only music creates between artist and audience: I sing you.

And so here’s the thing: I’ve had tickets to this show for 2 1/2 years, and I almost didn’t go. I’m tired and I have a lot on my plate right now, and I was frightened of being on my feet for hours, crushed against people who would go get a beer because they didn’t recognize the song and were only there to video the hits on their iPhone. I was frightened of being unable to see or hear the music, unable to feel it. Unable to find myself there. I just wasn’t sure I could bear it.

But I went. Because I love these guys, and part of love is trusting that someday we will understand each other again. I also went because @U2 — the site, the team, the work we do — is important to me, and we rarely get to see each other.

I’m so glad I went. My @U2 compadres are savvy about concert logistics, so we ended up in what I am convinced was the best place in the stadium — perfect sound, great view of the entire set, no one at our backs, and plenty of space for me to dance or to lift up my arms in exultation. A place like an open door into a room big enough for 65,000 people, and small enough for just me and my band. I’m forever grateful to my @U2 friends. I never would have found that open door without them.

And then U2 walked in and played.

It was magnificent.

On Saturday, June 4, U2 and I came home to each other. It turns out we have just as much to talk about as we ever did. Through the music, we still speak of love and yearning, the complexity of life, the power of the human spirit, and the smack-you-in-the-heart simplicity of joy.

And so it begins again, my love affair with U2. Bono said that night, “If there is one idea that underpins our band, it’s the idea that you can start again. And today we are starting again.”

Then they played me. Then they sang me. I’m so glad I was there to hear it.

Nicola says…

… that if I can raise $2,000 for Clarion West in the Write-a-thon, she just might do some naked writing too! (No, not that kind of naked, office chairs are not that comfortable…)

She is fabulous. And so is everyone who has pledged so far to support Clarion West by sponsoring me. You all rock, and I appreciate you. I hope lots of other folks will join in the fun these next few weeks.

Enjoy your day.

41 days of writing. Want a piece of that?

The Clarion West Writers Workshop Write-a-thon is about to begin! Please consider sponsoring me as I commit to write — and post — something new every day for 41 days.

What’s a Write-a-thon? Imagine a combination of NaNoWriMo and a walk-a-thon. Writers sign up to participate; we set a writing goal; we recruit sponsors to donate to Clarion West; and then we write for six weeks, from June 19 to July 29. It’s a great way to get some work done and help raise money for a great organization. (There’s more information on Clarion West at the end of this post, for those of you who aren’t familiar with it.)

This year, instead of working on a Sacred Precious No You Can’t Look Because It’s A Work In Progress And It Will Melt, Melt! project, I’ve decided to write something I can share every day.

Here’s the deal: Before I turn to my current writing project or my editing work for the day, I will write something short and brand new. I think of it as “priming the pump,” and as my chance to throw out ideas and see what sticks. These pieces will not be stories: they will be conversations, scenes, moments, ideas. Perhaps they’ll be seeds for new work down the road, perhaps they’ll simply be what comes out of my writing brain that day. Some of them will probably suck (grin). I think some will probably be pretty good. Whatever comes up, it’s my goal to stretch with these pieces, and perhaps explore new territory in my work.

I’ll post my writing here every day, and will be cross-posting to Sterling Editing, where I’ll be encouraging people to practice their editing skills on me.

And you can get in on the game! If you’re willing to pledge $35 or more to Clarion West, you can provide a prompt for a day’s writing: an object, an idea, a thought. I’ll write something based on that, and dedicate it to you. (Please note, I’m not accepting Tuckerization requests because these won’t be complete stories.)

I hope you’ll consider sponsoring me in the Write-a-thon for any amount that feels good to you — every single dollar counts, and no donation is too small. I am grateful for any support you care to give.

And if you’re a writer, please also consider participating! You can set any goal you want: start a project, finish one, or simply recommit to writing for 10 minutes every day. It’s a chance for all of us to write together, and to keep each other strong. That’s worth a million bucks, in my opinion.

And this just in: Nicola has said that if I can raise $2,000 for Clarion West, she just might do some naked writing too. Now wouldn’t that be fun? (You over there, go get some soap and wash out your mind!)

Thank you. Enjoy your day.

(Edited to clarify that although I’ve set the bar at $35 for the custom prompt, I am grateful for any support at any level from $1 up. Every single dollar makes a difference!)

——
About the Clarion West Writers Workshop

For nearly 30 years, Clarion West has helped emerging writers of speculative fiction kickstart their professional lives. Every year, we select 18 writers to attend our six-week intensive residential writing workshop. Each week, a different professional writer or editor leads daily workshopping, offers additional lectures and private conferences, and gives a public reading of their own work. We encourage students to write a new story every week, and to stretch as far as they possibly can.

It’s a transformative experience for many writers.

CW graduates have gone on to great careers and have won every major award in speculative fiction. CW is committed to expanding the field of SF to include women writers, writers of color, and LGBT writers. Our instructors are the best writers and editors in the field, and have included Chuck Palahniuk, Octavia Butler, Ursula K. Le Guin, George R. R. Martin, Karen Joy Fowler, Samuel R. Delany, Cory Doctorow, Joanna Russ, Greg Bear, Nancy Kress, and many more.

I’m the Board Chair of Clarion West, and both Nicola and I have taught at the workshop.

The Write-a-thon is CW’s biggest fundraising activity of the year. Last year, 75 writers signed up. This year, CW has set a stretch goal of 100 writers participating. If you’re a writer, we hope you’ll consider being one of them. If you’re a reader of speculative fiction, we hope you’ll consider sponsoring one of the fine writers who are participating. Do you know a writer? Persuade him or her to sign up, and then support their work with a donation to Clarion West!

So much for deadlines!

Deadlines? A thing of the past. Unless you are packing for the Rapture, in which case you had best get your skates on. Because apparently the Rapture is coming this Saturday!

Potential offense warning to readers: I support your right to worship any way you choose, but this is my little corner of the internet and I think the Rapture is a deeply silly concept.

For those of you who are still here: do go read the article and give a psychic hug through the ether to the Seattle Atheists who are collecting Rapture Relief Funds for those of us who will be left behind in the “horror and chaos” that will precede the official End of the World (on October 21). And look what they are going to do with the funds if the Rapture doesn’t happen…. is that the Best Idea Evah or what?

Sometimes I just love people.

Enjoy your day.

Queen of Kings

It’s a great feeling to bask in glory. And then there is the special thrill of basking in the joy and glory of a friend. So here is a great big internet hug to Maria Dahvana Headley whose novel Queen of Kings releases today!

Queen of Kings is the story of Cleopatra — from the moment of her death onward. Because what if Cleopatra didn’t die? What if instead she embarked on a new kind of existence that embraced magic and monsters, that led her into death and back for love and honor? What if she began as a queen and then became a woman whose destiny was to change the world?

I love books about strong, fierce women. I love stories of passion and love. I love high stakes and urgency, big choices and big consequences. I love ancient history, and I’ve always loved the story of Cleopatra. Queen of Kings took me on a dizzy, dangerous ride in the heart and soul of a queen as she struggles with kings and generals and gods, and with a monster inside herself.

This book is already getting So Much Buzz. Quotes from Neil Gaiman and Peter Straub, blogosphere and print reviews (and more on the way!), and this Cool Book Trailer….

Maria, I love you. You rock. Congratulations. Go forth and conquer.
 

 

Join me at Norwescon this weekend

I’ll be at Seattle’s Norwescon this coming weekend (April 21-24), doing panels and a reading. I’ll also be at the banquet on Thursday night.

My big hope for the weekend? The chance to meet Patricia McKillip and tell her how deeply I love her work and how much it means to me.

Here’s my schedule. If you’re planning to attend, please find me and say hello!

Thursday, April 21, 5pm
Banquet

Friday, April 22, 3pm
Editing the Novel
Editing a 5,000 word short story is one thing – how do you edit a 100,000 word novel? A panel of professional editors discuss their own experience in editing the novel – how to keep a work that long consistent, how to maintain energy and enthusiasm, how to liaise with the author over the long haul, and how to decide how long or short a novel should ultimately be.
Kelley Eskridge (moderator), Shannon Butcher, Lou Anders, Nick Mamatas, Jana Silverstein

Saturday, April 23, 1pm
Building Character Using Any Method You Can
How do writers make their characters seem real—what techniques work best? Do characters have to be complex, and how do you get them that way?
Mary Rosenblum, Ted Kosmatka, Nancy Kress, Jack Skillingstead, Kelley Eskridge

Saturday, April 23, 2pm
Kelley Eskridge reads Solitaire
A young woman convicted of a terrible crime is sentenced to eight years in solitary confinement — in a virtual prison cell within her own mind. Solitaire is a New York Times Notable novel and was a finalist for the Nebula, Spectrum and Endeavour awards. Rated PG
Kelley Eskridge

Sunday, April 24, 1pm
The 10% Solution: How to Edit Your Work
Stephen King said says that your final draft is your first draft minus 10%. We’ll discuss how to cut passive voice, unnecessary words, and anything that else slows your fiction down.
Patrick Swenson, Renee Stern, Ted Butler, Craig English, Kelley Eskridge

Mystery drive

A mystery drive is when I get in the car and follow my nose somewhere I haven’t been before. No particular plan, no final destination. I did this often when I was younger; now, not so much. But today Nicola and I did a mystery drive. We had a good time.

One feature of mystery drives is that I must balance an absolute disregard for getting lost with an absolute certainty that I can always find my way back. This is called “sense of direction.” I like having it in this way, and wish it were a blanket talent I brought to everything. Because so much of what’s good in life is a mystery drive.

It’s been too long since I shared music, so here are some songs to drive by.

Enjoy.

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