These days, everyone's been all up in arms about the controversy, if you can call it that, of finding out that James Frey fabricated or exaggerated parts of his best-selling memoir, A Million Little Pieces. People like Oprah and the people involved in the ridiculous lawsuits against him have accused him of betraying his readers.
This really gets me - on Oprah, while she was apologizing for defending James Frey and making his book a part of her Book Club, she says she let the fact that so many people called and wrote in to say how much that book inspired them cloud her judgement. This was, of course, before she said James betrayed his readers. How, exactly, did he do that?
I mean, people enjoyed this book. Entertainment Weekly gave it a B+ grade and named it one of the best nonfiction books of the year. Millions of readers bought this book and let it change their lives. Does learning that he exaggerated parts of that negate those changes? People can be just as inspired and uplifted by fiction books (which are entirely fabricated, just so you don't get the wrong idea ^_^) than by nonfiction. True or false, this book was well-written enough to give millions of people a unique reading pleasure.
What bums me out are the lawsuits against him. One of the class-action lawsuits is sueing for damages for the money spent on the book and the time it took to read it. Excuse me? Why don't you just return the book to Chapters and get your $30 back? It's thirty dollars. And now they want compensation for the time they spent reading the book? What the hell? Why didn't they just put the book down in the middle of reading it? Could it be, because they enjoyed it? I don't see how learning a book is fabricated can turn that pleasurable reading experience into something bad. These are just people eager for a quick buck.
The second (of many) lawsuits against Frey says that if they'd known the book was fictional, they never would have bought it and read it in the first place. I don't see why this has to be fought about it court - just take the stupid book back, or give it away second-hand, or something. Greedy greedy greedy.
I dunno, as I writer (of fiction), I'm repulsed by the actions of these people who are sueing Frey.
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Friday, January 27, 2006
Bright Yellow Postcard
A writer should never give up hope. After all, that's what's supposed to keep a writer going during the interminable waits between handing our precious babies wrapped in manila envelopes to indifferent postal workers and receiving a slim envelope (usually a rejection) in return.
I'm forced to admit, however, that I was just about to give up on that copy of "My Brother's Own Words" that I'd sent out to CICADA magazine. I'd sent it out, when? In September? Yes, in September! After more than four months of silence, I assumed it must have gotten lost in the mail, and was lining some lucky canary's birdcage, or giving a drunken hobo some semblance of a blanket for the cold winter night.
But no! It arrived safely, and was squished beneath a giant pile of other (hopefully lesser, or at least lesser than mine - they pay up to 25 cents a word!) stories sent by other hopeful writers. Today I received a yellow postcard in the mail from CICADA, and while my first thought was, They rejected me with a postcard (!), it was actually a notice saying they've received it (meaning, they know it exists now after clearing away the rubbish, er, other stories, lying on top of it. So they're going to be reading it soon, and that means they'll be giving me a response.
Please please please plllllllllleeeeeeease be an acceptance!
By the way, once I get off my lazy butt, I'm going to send "Desert Muse" to Realms of Fantasy. I finally received a free copy from them, and I think the magazine is right for "Muse".
I'm forced to admit, however, that I was just about to give up on that copy of "My Brother's Own Words" that I'd sent out to CICADA magazine. I'd sent it out, when? In September? Yes, in September! After more than four months of silence, I assumed it must have gotten lost in the mail, and was lining some lucky canary's birdcage, or giving a drunken hobo some semblance of a blanket for the cold winter night.
But no! It arrived safely, and was squished beneath a giant pile of other (hopefully lesser, or at least lesser than mine - they pay up to 25 cents a word!) stories sent by other hopeful writers. Today I received a yellow postcard in the mail from CICADA, and while my first thought was, They rejected me with a postcard (!), it was actually a notice saying they've received it (meaning, they know it exists now after clearing away the rubbish, er, other stories, lying on top of it. So they're going to be reading it soon, and that means they'll be giving me a response.
Please please please plllllllllleeeeeeease be an acceptance!
By the way, once I get off my lazy butt, I'm going to send "Desert Muse" to Realms of Fantasy. I finally received a free copy from them, and I think the magazine is right for "Muse".
Monday, January 23, 2006
Interesting Readings
I'm ahead on all of my school readings, although sometimes that can become a disadvantage, especially when classes give reading quizzes, because by that time the book is long past read and you can't remember all the details.
For my Shakespeare class, I'm still in the middle of Henry V. It doesn't really inspire much interest in me, and his depictions of Welsh, Irish, and Scottish accents is irritating. However, strangely enough, in a scene where people are speaking actual French (like when Katherine wishes to learn certain English words), the French is quite straightforward and simple. I was expecting it to be more difficult, considering it's old French, like Moliere, but it was actually easier to understand than some of the English.
I came off of reading Richard III, and while my professor thinks he's a compelling villain and it's one of her favourite plays, I really can't see the appeal. First of all, I haven't read all of the Henry plays that have come (historically speaking) before this one, and so with all of the different Henrys and Edwards and Richards, things can become quite confusing. Secondly, I didn't see Richard as a compelling villain at all - he was completely evil from head to toe. I understand why he had to be so, Shakespeare would not have earned the Tudor Queen's approval by portraying the King who was overthrown by her ancestor Richmond as sympathetic, but that doesn't make him any more compelling.
Black-hearted villains are boring, it's the grey ones who are more fun, at least in my mind. Give him a heart, give him hopes, dreams, wishes, give him love, give him a motive, for God's Sake, something other than "I'm going to be evil, just for the hell of it, because I hate everybody! Ha ha!" Dull, dull, dull. Shakespeare could have made him a tormented anti-hero, a man seeking to prove himself strong and capable after years of being teased for his physical deformaties. I heard someone say once, "Evil is just using evil means to achieve good ends." No one sets out to be evil - they all have a good goal in mind. Terrorists believe they're liberating their people, their beliefs. Thieves believe they're putting clothes on their backs, food in their mouths, roofs over their heads. Richmond believes he would be better for England than Richard - that's certainly a good intention, isn't it?
Moving on - I'm just at the tail end of Margaret Atwood's Alias Grace. I've enjoyed it. At first it's a little disconcerting how she often writes without quotation marks, in rambling run-on sentences, but it sets a certain rhythm that's not hard to follow, once one gets used to it. I found it much better than Sheila Watson's The Double Hook, which also used no quotation marks, but was so pared down that it was hard to tell who was who's sister, wife, mother, victim, etc. I had to read both for Canadian Literature.
Next up - Philip K. Dick's Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? I've heard people saying that while Dick came up with fabulous ideas, his writing was sadly subpar. I guess I'll just have to find out for myself. I know that this book laid out the plot for the film Blade Runner, but what I recently found out was that they actually purchased the film rights to a different story called Blade Runner, just so that they could use the title. I find myself feeling rather sorry for the author of Blade Runner, because now everyone will get the wrong idea of his or her book whenever they pick it up, and the film adaptation of the same name has nothing to do with the story he or she wrote
Currently reading: The Author's Afterward to Margaret Atwood's Alias Grace. Next Up: Philip K. Dick's Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?.
For my Shakespeare class, I'm still in the middle of Henry V. It doesn't really inspire much interest in me, and his depictions of Welsh, Irish, and Scottish accents is irritating. However, strangely enough, in a scene where people are speaking actual French (like when Katherine wishes to learn certain English words), the French is quite straightforward and simple. I was expecting it to be more difficult, considering it's old French, like Moliere, but it was actually easier to understand than some of the English.
I came off of reading Richard III, and while my professor thinks he's a compelling villain and it's one of her favourite plays, I really can't see the appeal. First of all, I haven't read all of the Henry plays that have come (historically speaking) before this one, and so with all of the different Henrys and Edwards and Richards, things can become quite confusing. Secondly, I didn't see Richard as a compelling villain at all - he was completely evil from head to toe. I understand why he had to be so, Shakespeare would not have earned the Tudor Queen's approval by portraying the King who was overthrown by her ancestor Richmond as sympathetic, but that doesn't make him any more compelling.
Black-hearted villains are boring, it's the grey ones who are more fun, at least in my mind. Give him a heart, give him hopes, dreams, wishes, give him love, give him a motive, for God's Sake, something other than "I'm going to be evil, just for the hell of it, because I hate everybody! Ha ha!" Dull, dull, dull. Shakespeare could have made him a tormented anti-hero, a man seeking to prove himself strong and capable after years of being teased for his physical deformaties. I heard someone say once, "Evil is just using evil means to achieve good ends." No one sets out to be evil - they all have a good goal in mind. Terrorists believe they're liberating their people, their beliefs. Thieves believe they're putting clothes on their backs, food in their mouths, roofs over their heads. Richmond believes he would be better for England than Richard - that's certainly a good intention, isn't it?
Moving on - I'm just at the tail end of Margaret Atwood's Alias Grace. I've enjoyed it. At first it's a little disconcerting how she often writes without quotation marks, in rambling run-on sentences, but it sets a certain rhythm that's not hard to follow, once one gets used to it. I found it much better than Sheila Watson's The Double Hook, which also used no quotation marks, but was so pared down that it was hard to tell who was who's sister, wife, mother, victim, etc. I had to read both for Canadian Literature.
Next up - Philip K. Dick's Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? I've heard people saying that while Dick came up with fabulous ideas, his writing was sadly subpar. I guess I'll just have to find out for myself. I know that this book laid out the plot for the film Blade Runner, but what I recently found out was that they actually purchased the film rights to a different story called Blade Runner, just so that they could use the title. I find myself feeling rather sorry for the author of Blade Runner, because now everyone will get the wrong idea of his or her book whenever they pick it up, and the film adaptation of the same name has nothing to do with the story he or she wrote
Currently reading: The Author's Afterward to Margaret Atwood's Alias Grace. Next Up: Philip K. Dick's Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Gah!
I have been getting behind on my blogging, I know, and I'm sorry.
I've been actually very happily busy, although I am just as happy writing in my blog. The thing is, the battery on my laptop was shot - it can hold, at maximum, about 45 minutes worth of juice. Thankfully, the classes I'm in do not require my laptop, and it's probably better that I don't bring it. Bringing my laptop to class is very productive for my novel, but not for paying attention in the actual classes. That being said, without me brining my laptop to class, there has been less occasion for me to use my laptop, for instance, to go onto the internet. And so I find less occasion for me to write in my blog.
I know, I shouldn't need motivation, but I do. When I'm bored at school, I used to power up my laptop and use the wireless internet, and then I'm inspired to go onto blogger. Not so much now, now that I don't use my laptop all the time. Also, I have been writing my novel, but in a wire scribbler notebook, and I can type way faster than I can handwrite, so progress is slow.
I'm enjoying most of my classes. The projects (essays where you DON'T need outside sources, just to go on and on about how you feel) are cake, the homework (reading novels) is fun, and I have lots of free time thanks to the fact that my Tuesdays and Thursday classes start at 12:30 and end at 2:00.
Creative Writing is interesting, to say the least. I signed up to be in the first group to present their stories, and we were supposed to write a short-short (400 words). I finished mine rather quickly, and got positive reviews from both Mum and Sister #1, so I can't wait to show it off and receive lots of compliments. I'm sure there'll be some criticism, but I'm also sure there will be lots of compliments as well.
Also, I celebrated a birthday a few days ago. I got an Indigo Gift Card from Granny (which I used to buy Prep, by Curtis Sittenfeld) along with some fancy earrings, a cat sculpture from Nana; Veronica Mars, The Essential Billy Joel, Brian Setzer Orchestra's Greatest Hits from Mum and Dad, and an angel pin and cash from my godmother. Good stuff.
I've been actually very happily busy, although I am just as happy writing in my blog. The thing is, the battery on my laptop was shot - it can hold, at maximum, about 45 minutes worth of juice. Thankfully, the classes I'm in do not require my laptop, and it's probably better that I don't bring it. Bringing my laptop to class is very productive for my novel, but not for paying attention in the actual classes. That being said, without me brining my laptop to class, there has been less occasion for me to use my laptop, for instance, to go onto the internet. And so I find less occasion for me to write in my blog.
I know, I shouldn't need motivation, but I do. When I'm bored at school, I used to power up my laptop and use the wireless internet, and then I'm inspired to go onto blogger. Not so much now, now that I don't use my laptop all the time. Also, I have been writing my novel, but in a wire scribbler notebook, and I can type way faster than I can handwrite, so progress is slow.
I'm enjoying most of my classes. The projects (essays where you DON'T need outside sources, just to go on and on about how you feel) are cake, the homework (reading novels) is fun, and I have lots of free time thanks to the fact that my Tuesdays and Thursday classes start at 12:30 and end at 2:00.
Creative Writing is interesting, to say the least. I signed up to be in the first group to present their stories, and we were supposed to write a short-short (400 words). I finished mine rather quickly, and got positive reviews from both Mum and Sister #1, so I can't wait to show it off and receive lots of compliments. I'm sure there'll be some criticism, but I'm also sure there will be lots of compliments as well.
Also, I celebrated a birthday a few days ago. I got an Indigo Gift Card from Granny (which I used to buy Prep, by Curtis Sittenfeld) along with some fancy earrings, a cat sculpture from Nana; Veronica Mars, The Essential Billy Joel, Brian Setzer Orchestra's Greatest Hits from Mum and Dad, and an angel pin and cash from my godmother. Good stuff.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
"Thanks For the Review - All Best Wishes"
I met him, dear readers.
I went to the bookstore where George R. R. Martin was holding a booksigning on his Canadian Book Tour. I arrived 45 minutes earlier, and there was already a substantial lineup. No matter. The line-up got a lot longer as time went by, and one of my friends from The Gateway managed to wrangle me a spot further up the line. Anyway, finally George R. R. Martin appeared, and I found myself reduced to childhood, as I had to stand on tip-toe and jump up and down and shift every which way so that I could see him better. His Darwinian beard was longer, and whiter, than it appeared in the photo on the dust jacket of A Feast For Crows, but he was wearing the exact same hat. Maybe it's his lucky writing hat, I don't know.
He had a very amusing talk at the beginning about how his first book signings for Game of Thrones were very unsuccessful, and how pleased he was that so many people showed up to see him here. "Lots of writers complain about book signings where nobody showed up," he said, "But I had a booksigning where -4 people showed up." Meaning, four people, upon hearing the announcement that science fiction/fantasy writer George R. R. Martin was ready to sign books and talk about his work, got up and left.
He also had a book signing that was upstaged by Clifford the Big Red Dog. 100 people showed up to have a junior employee of the bookstore in a ratty red dog costume smear inky pawprints onto their children's books, while 2 people showed up for him.
After his talk, he answered a few questions. His favourite character? Tyrion - this statement was met with whistles and cheers. His least favourite character? Bran - because he was the youngest of everyone else and still had to view things through a child's eyes. I got to ask a question - so I asked about why the chapter headings in A Feast For Crows were titled "The Drowned Man", "The Prophet", "The Soiled Knight", instead of just plain names. He went on to explain that he'd written certain scenes as a type of prologue - but the events became so long and intricate he couldn't put them all into a lump couple of chapters - it came up to 250 pages. So he spread it out throughout the whole book, but with the changing chapter titles to show the progress.
Then came the book signing. I told him how I'd reviewed his books for The Green Man Review. It was a brave move of me - my review for A Feast For Crows isn't entirely positive (feel free to go to greenmanreview.com to read it), but George R. R. Martin gave no indication that he recognized the my name, the review, or Green Man at all. I did get to tell him that I found out he'd written "The Pear-Shaped Man", the only horror story I've ever read that truly creeped him out. He laughed (he had a very good, earnest laugh - he sounded like he was really enjoying the whole booksigning experience to the utmost), and said he'd based it on a real pear-shaped man who had creeped out one of his acquaintances. He did hope that the real Pear-Shaped Man hadn't read the story and recognized himself. I made the tentative joke that maybe he (the Pear-shaped Man) identified himself more as a Banana-Shaped Man. George R. R. Martin laughed at that, and then I was off and the person behind me got his lucky chance.
Inside my copy of A Feast For Crows was written: "Thanks For the Review - All Best Wishes", followed by a long, unidentifiable squiggle, two loopy deformed Rs, and another squiggle. Hurrah!
I went to the bookstore where George R. R. Martin was holding a booksigning on his Canadian Book Tour. I arrived 45 minutes earlier, and there was already a substantial lineup. No matter. The line-up got a lot longer as time went by, and one of my friends from The Gateway managed to wrangle me a spot further up the line. Anyway, finally George R. R. Martin appeared, and I found myself reduced to childhood, as I had to stand on tip-toe and jump up and down and shift every which way so that I could see him better. His Darwinian beard was longer, and whiter, than it appeared in the photo on the dust jacket of A Feast For Crows, but he was wearing the exact same hat. Maybe it's his lucky writing hat, I don't know.
He had a very amusing talk at the beginning about how his first book signings for Game of Thrones were very unsuccessful, and how pleased he was that so many people showed up to see him here. "Lots of writers complain about book signings where nobody showed up," he said, "But I had a booksigning where -4 people showed up." Meaning, four people, upon hearing the announcement that science fiction/fantasy writer George R. R. Martin was ready to sign books and talk about his work, got up and left.
He also had a book signing that was upstaged by Clifford the Big Red Dog. 100 people showed up to have a junior employee of the bookstore in a ratty red dog costume smear inky pawprints onto their children's books, while 2 people showed up for him.
After his talk, he answered a few questions. His favourite character? Tyrion - this statement was met with whistles and cheers. His least favourite character? Bran - because he was the youngest of everyone else and still had to view things through a child's eyes. I got to ask a question - so I asked about why the chapter headings in A Feast For Crows were titled "The Drowned Man", "The Prophet", "The Soiled Knight", instead of just plain names. He went on to explain that he'd written certain scenes as a type of prologue - but the events became so long and intricate he couldn't put them all into a lump couple of chapters - it came up to 250 pages. So he spread it out throughout the whole book, but with the changing chapter titles to show the progress.
Then came the book signing. I told him how I'd reviewed his books for The Green Man Review. It was a brave move of me - my review for A Feast For Crows isn't entirely positive (feel free to go to greenmanreview.com to read it), but George R. R. Martin gave no indication that he recognized the my name, the review, or Green Man at all. I did get to tell him that I found out he'd written "The Pear-Shaped Man", the only horror story I've ever read that truly creeped him out. He laughed (he had a very good, earnest laugh - he sounded like he was really enjoying the whole booksigning experience to the utmost), and said he'd based it on a real pear-shaped man who had creeped out one of his acquaintances. He did hope that the real Pear-Shaped Man hadn't read the story and recognized himself. I made the tentative joke that maybe he (the Pear-shaped Man) identified himself more as a Banana-Shaped Man. George R. R. Martin laughed at that, and then I was off and the person behind me got his lucky chance.
Inside my copy of A Feast For Crows was written: "Thanks For the Review - All Best Wishes", followed by a long, unidentifiable squiggle, two loopy deformed Rs, and another squiggle. Hurrah!
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Books!
Huzzah!
I went to buy my January Buspass at the University the other day, and I thought I would check the bookstore to see what kinds of books I'd have to pick up later for my winter semester courses. I checked for Comparative Literature Science Fiction, and I had so many books in that class, I picked them all up at once and lugged them home. It's easier that way - I broke one of the zippers on my knapsack last semester trying to carry all my books at once.
I have so many good science fiction books to read now! I read primarily fantasy, but I wanted to start into Science Fiction, and what better way to do that then to sign up in Comp Lit Sci-Fi, where they'll doubtless have me read the best? For the first time, I've read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and the sequel The Restaurant at the End of the Universe. I enjoyed them both very much - they were quick reads but entertaining. I like Douglas Adams' writing style.
Right now, I'm reading Flash Forward by Robert J. Sawyer (Canadian sci-fi writer!). So far, the concept is freakin' brilliant. An experiment gone awry makes every person on the planet (or most of them, anyway) black out for two minutes, only to experience a vision of their future 21 years from now. One guy sees himself as an old man happily married to a woman who is decidedly not his current fiancee, and another doesn't have a vision, and then gets a phonecall from a stranger whose vision included reading about his murder in a future newspaper. Cool!
I've got so many other books to read though - Snowcrash by Neal Stephenson (I just bought the first book in his Baroque Cycle with my Christmas money), The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin, Canticle for Liebowitz, Pattern Recognition, Solaris (with a big picture of George Clooney kissing a pretty lady on the cover), and so many others! This semester, I have no boring, needless history, math, or logic courses - only English, Japanese, Comparative Literature, and Creative Writing. So pretty much, my entire homework this semester is going to consist of reading and writing, which is like being assigned to eat cookies for marks. Good stuff.
And on the last weekend of the holidays, I watched Coupe de Ville, which I got at the library. As you can probably guess, it has Patrick Dempsey in it. I would rather have watched or Some Girls or Happy Together, but I couldn't score a ride to the Good Old Movie Rental Place That's Inconveniently Far Away, and the Bad Old Movie Rental Place That's Close By lost its copies of Mobsters and With Honors, or sold them, or something. The mouthbreathing clerk wasn't too clear on that point.
In Coupe de Ville, Patrick Dempsey is the baby bad-boy brother Bobby (say that three times fast!) to nerdy Buddy and Air-Force man Marvin. They're all called together to deliver a power-blue, mint condition car (the one of the title) from Detroit to Florida for their dying father. Supposedly, bonding ensues. Dempsey's quite good in it - for a reform school student who sneezes "suck me off!" to his professor (did he invent the "insult sneeze"?) but cries when someone messes with his coin collection. Enjoyable, but he didn't get enough screentime.
Oh, and for some bad news - I got another rejection letter from Challenging Destiny. No note this time, he didn't read the entire story ("Most of the story" was checked off), and the reason for the rejection was still "didn't quite 'do it' for me". Good news - this usually means I'm not a terrible writer. Bad news - this usually means there's not a lot I can do to improve.
I went to buy my January Buspass at the University the other day, and I thought I would check the bookstore to see what kinds of books I'd have to pick up later for my winter semester courses. I checked for Comparative Literature Science Fiction, and I had so many books in that class, I picked them all up at once and lugged them home. It's easier that way - I broke one of the zippers on my knapsack last semester trying to carry all my books at once.
I have so many good science fiction books to read now! I read primarily fantasy, but I wanted to start into Science Fiction, and what better way to do that then to sign up in Comp Lit Sci-Fi, where they'll doubtless have me read the best? For the first time, I've read The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and the sequel The Restaurant at the End of the Universe. I enjoyed them both very much - they were quick reads but entertaining. I like Douglas Adams' writing style.
Right now, I'm reading Flash Forward by Robert J. Sawyer (Canadian sci-fi writer!). So far, the concept is freakin' brilliant. An experiment gone awry makes every person on the planet (or most of them, anyway) black out for two minutes, only to experience a vision of their future 21 years from now. One guy sees himself as an old man happily married to a woman who is decidedly not his current fiancee, and another doesn't have a vision, and then gets a phonecall from a stranger whose vision included reading about his murder in a future newspaper. Cool!
I've got so many other books to read though - Snowcrash by Neal Stephenson (I just bought the first book in his Baroque Cycle with my Christmas money), The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin, Canticle for Liebowitz, Pattern Recognition, Solaris (with a big picture of George Clooney kissing a pretty lady on the cover), and so many others! This semester, I have no boring, needless history, math, or logic courses - only English, Japanese, Comparative Literature, and Creative Writing. So pretty much, my entire homework this semester is going to consist of reading and writing, which is like being assigned to eat cookies for marks. Good stuff.
And on the last weekend of the holidays, I watched Coupe de Ville, which I got at the library. As you can probably guess, it has Patrick Dempsey in it. I would rather have watched or Some Girls or Happy Together, but I couldn't score a ride to the Good Old Movie Rental Place That's Inconveniently Far Away, and the Bad Old Movie Rental Place That's Close By lost its copies of Mobsters and With Honors, or sold them, or something. The mouthbreathing clerk wasn't too clear on that point.
In Coupe de Ville, Patrick Dempsey is the baby bad-boy brother Bobby (say that three times fast!) to nerdy Buddy and Air-Force man Marvin. They're all called together to deliver a power-blue, mint condition car (the one of the title) from Detroit to Florida for their dying father. Supposedly, bonding ensues. Dempsey's quite good in it - for a reform school student who sneezes "suck me off!" to his professor (did he invent the "insult sneeze"?) but cries when someone messes with his coin collection. Enjoyable, but he didn't get enough screentime.
Oh, and for some bad news - I got another rejection letter from Challenging Destiny. No note this time, he didn't read the entire story ("Most of the story" was checked off), and the reason for the rejection was still "didn't quite 'do it' for me". Good news - this usually means I'm not a terrible writer. Bad news - this usually means there's not a lot I can do to improve.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Happy New Year!
I have two resolutions:
1. Do more writing.
2. Do more reading.
That's about it. I got a LOT of books for Christmas - a LOT - especially after I spent all my Christmas money and gift certificates and such. I've finished three books so far, so that's good, but once semester starts I'm not gonna have a lot of time - I have two English classes and a comparative literature course. Lots of school reading. At least I have no crappy science or math or symbolic logic or some shit.
I haven't been writing at ALL the past few days, either. I've been really lazy, which is the result of a Christmas Diet. The Christmas Diet is an annual period of one to two weeks where I only eat things that begin with the letter "c", like Christmas. So cookies, crackers, chocolate, candy, cola, chicken, chips - it's gotten to the point where I'm always feeling slightly over-full.
And I'm in a bit of a depressed slump these last few days. I dunno - maybe it comes out of watching Firefly on DVD - it's a great show, but I can't help but watch it and know that there's only 14 episodes, and there will only ever be 14 episodes, and no more. Damn it! Maybe it comes out of the fact that there is no Grey's Anatomy on this week. I did watch 2 Dempsey movies, though, Loverboy and Run. Loverboy was funny, and I forgot how much of a physical actor Patrick Dempsey was in his youth. As Doctor McDreamy, there is less occation for dramatic double-takes, jumping over tables, and strutting. Loverboy had an icky scene where Dempsey (playing a young man who becomes a gigolo to pay for college tuition, so that he can make up with his girlfriend!!) plays out a bored Japanese housewife's fantasy (lots of suggestive rolling around behind a gauzy curtain), but he more than makes up for that because he dances! He dances in the movie! He's very good at it.
Run was pure silliness. Pure unadulterated silliness. He plays a law student who's delivering a car from Boston to Georgia who gets in a fight with a mobster's son (who looks like Christopher Walken, only 100 pounds heavier). When the son dies (by accident), Dempsey is forced to flee (or more accurately, run in circles with his arms waving in the air). Again, he's very physical in this film, but it really doesn't go over well because a thriller about a man on the run from the mob and crooked cops on the take does not need to be funny. There are several scenes where Dempsey's character makes inappropriately funny remarks after significant deaths. After he watches a police car topple off of a parking garage, killing the two crooked cops in it, he says "Just one of those days!" Or when he's blamed for the shooting death of a cop, he says "My reputation [as a lawyer] is ruined! I'll have to teach!" What the hell? Plus, Kelly Preston should have a word with her hairdresser in this movie - those bangs are truly unfortunate.
Still, both were enjoyable.
Anyhoo, I'm going to have to back to writing, and reading, and whining about how Firefly has no more than 14 episodes.
1. Do more writing.
2. Do more reading.
That's about it. I got a LOT of books for Christmas - a LOT - especially after I spent all my Christmas money and gift certificates and such. I've finished three books so far, so that's good, but once semester starts I'm not gonna have a lot of time - I have two English classes and a comparative literature course. Lots of school reading. At least I have no crappy science or math or symbolic logic or some shit.
I haven't been writing at ALL the past few days, either. I've been really lazy, which is the result of a Christmas Diet. The Christmas Diet is an annual period of one to two weeks where I only eat things that begin with the letter "c", like Christmas. So cookies, crackers, chocolate, candy, cola, chicken, chips - it's gotten to the point where I'm always feeling slightly over-full.
And I'm in a bit of a depressed slump these last few days. I dunno - maybe it comes out of watching Firefly on DVD - it's a great show, but I can't help but watch it and know that there's only 14 episodes, and there will only ever be 14 episodes, and no more. Damn it! Maybe it comes out of the fact that there is no Grey's Anatomy on this week. I did watch 2 Dempsey movies, though, Loverboy and Run. Loverboy was funny, and I forgot how much of a physical actor Patrick Dempsey was in his youth. As Doctor McDreamy, there is less occation for dramatic double-takes, jumping over tables, and strutting. Loverboy had an icky scene where Dempsey (playing a young man who becomes a gigolo to pay for college tuition, so that he can make up with his girlfriend!!) plays out a bored Japanese housewife's fantasy (lots of suggestive rolling around behind a gauzy curtain), but he more than makes up for that because he dances! He dances in the movie! He's very good at it.
Run was pure silliness. Pure unadulterated silliness. He plays a law student who's delivering a car from Boston to Georgia who gets in a fight with a mobster's son (who looks like Christopher Walken, only 100 pounds heavier). When the son dies (by accident), Dempsey is forced to flee (or more accurately, run in circles with his arms waving in the air). Again, he's very physical in this film, but it really doesn't go over well because a thriller about a man on the run from the mob and crooked cops on the take does not need to be funny. There are several scenes where Dempsey's character makes inappropriately funny remarks after significant deaths. After he watches a police car topple off of a parking garage, killing the two crooked cops in it, he says "Just one of those days!" Or when he's blamed for the shooting death of a cop, he says "My reputation [as a lawyer] is ruined! I'll have to teach!" What the hell? Plus, Kelly Preston should have a word with her hairdresser in this movie - those bangs are truly unfortunate.
Still, both were enjoyable.
Anyhoo, I'm going to have to back to writing, and reading, and whining about how Firefly has no more than 14 episodes.
Monday, December 26, 2005
Merry Post-Christmas!
I hope you're all enjoying the wonder of the holidays. I know I am, so much so, apparently, that I've neglected to post for a few days. Heh, heh...hmmm..yeah.
Anyhoo, Christmas was excellent. I got my first MP3 Player ever! I was pretty late in my decision to hop on the MP3 bandwagon, and when I did a little research I decided that I wanted a Creative Zen Micro - and that's exactly what my parents got me! Whoohoo!
They also got me lots of biographies of famous writers (Jane Austen, Ernest Hemingway, Amy Tan, etc - crap, now that I means I have to go out and read Austen, Hemingway, and Tan!) Also, I got cute little bath kits, bubblegum, bubble bath, and of course - lots of money and gift certificates, most of which I spent today when Sisters #1 and 2 dragged me and Dad off to the mall to cash in on the crazy Boxing Day deals.
I did pretty well - I got Madonna's new CD, the Black Eyed Peas' and Kanye West's old CDs, Weezer, Fullmetal Alchemist #2, the soundtrack to 13 Going On 30 (because it had that Billy Joel song I was dying to hear - "Vienna"), and Robin Hobb's Shaman's Crossing, Christopher Moore's The Stupidest Angel, and two pairs of earrings. Of the Christmas money, all I really have left is the 25$ Chapters Gift Certificate from Uncle #1, and I'll soon use that when the whole family goes out on the Official Post-Christmas Insanity Book Run. Excellent!
Anyhoo, Christmas was excellent. I got my first MP3 Player ever! I was pretty late in my decision to hop on the MP3 bandwagon, and when I did a little research I decided that I wanted a Creative Zen Micro - and that's exactly what my parents got me! Whoohoo!
They also got me lots of biographies of famous writers (Jane Austen, Ernest Hemingway, Amy Tan, etc - crap, now that I means I have to go out and read Austen, Hemingway, and Tan!) Also, I got cute little bath kits, bubblegum, bubble bath, and of course - lots of money and gift certificates, most of which I spent today when Sisters #1 and 2 dragged me and Dad off to the mall to cash in on the crazy Boxing Day deals.
I did pretty well - I got Madonna's new CD, the Black Eyed Peas' and Kanye West's old CDs, Weezer, Fullmetal Alchemist #2, the soundtrack to 13 Going On 30 (because it had that Billy Joel song I was dying to hear - "Vienna"), and Robin Hobb's Shaman's Crossing, Christopher Moore's The Stupidest Angel, and two pairs of earrings. Of the Christmas money, all I really have left is the 25$ Chapters Gift Certificate from Uncle #1, and I'll soon use that when the whole family goes out on the Official Post-Christmas Insanity Book Run. Excellent!
Friday, December 23, 2005
I have links now!
I've mentioned in a few of my posts that I've been reading authors' (or writers') blogs, and so I finally defeated my laziness and put them up on the site.
True, Brokthor Goreflinger's blog is not technically that of a writer (specifically, he is an "Illegal Acquisitions Engineer" - a professional pillager), but it looks like it might be fun to read, and may follow an interesting storyline, once he publishes more than one post.
Christmas holidays are going excellently - I finished all my exams, and have been spending the free days reading through the Entertainment Weeklies and Locus issues that I've allowed to pile up due to my studying, so that I can hurry up and get cracking on my booklist already! Read read READ! Write, write WRITE!
I've finally started writing the first draft for "Aunt Tansy's Alma Mater". It's not going to well, but I'm going to fight through it to the end and see what comes out of it.
True, Brokthor Goreflinger's blog is not technically that of a writer (specifically, he is an "Illegal Acquisitions Engineer" - a professional pillager), but it looks like it might be fun to read, and may follow an interesting storyline, once he publishes more than one post.
Christmas holidays are going excellently - I finished all my exams, and have been spending the free days reading through the Entertainment Weeklies and Locus issues that I've allowed to pile up due to my studying, so that I can hurry up and get cracking on my booklist already! Read read READ! Write, write WRITE!
I've finally started writing the first draft for "Aunt Tansy's Alma Mater". It's not going to well, but I'm going to fight through it to the end and see what comes out of it.
Monday, December 19, 2005
A Very Different Christmas
I guess once the snowball starts rolling, it's not going to stop until it reaches the bottom of the hill. More things are changing this Christmas, in order to make these holidays easier for the members of our family. We got a new tree, for instance. Our last one (we've never had a real tree in our house for Christmas, it's messy and stinky and probably not very environmentally sound), well, I can't remember not having that tree.
Every year, the family would put it together, than fumble and swear and grouch in tune to Bing Crosby holiday songs as they carefully arranged the lights - they were small, pastel-coloured fairy lights on strings, and we were always rearranging them to make sure the lights were distributed evenly, and one string always blinked no matter what we did, so we always had to arrange it so that it was on the back of the tree where we wouldn't notice it so much. Then came the gold-and-silver tinsel garland, and then came the ornaments.
The ornaments were much more fun to put on than the garlands and the lights, and everyone cheered up at that point.
Not this year. This year, Mum got us a lighted tree - one with the lights already on it and already evenly distributed. And we completely abandoned the garland. It's narrower than our old one, and the lights are different. I've spent my whole life accustomed to the fairy lights, to waking up in expectation to go down and see those fairy lights, and right now I can't help but distrust the new look, at least for a while. The bulbs that have come already-wrapped on the tree are larger, and come in bright, sharp primary colours. I can't account for why I feel so different just because there is a different set of lights, but I just do. I'm sure I'll grow out of it, or move out of the house - whichever comes first.
Also, I handed in my essay today, and had a surprisingly helpful tutoring session with my Philosophy professor. Tutoring usually doesn't help me, it's just my way of lessening my guilt at getting bad grades by telling myself "that I did everything I could", but I think I actually got the message this time. I guess we'll see. The waiting for the last exam is killing me though - to hell with time to study, I want the exam to be right now, so that I can get over it and can stop worrying for the rest of the Christmas Holidays.
Every year, the family would put it together, than fumble and swear and grouch in tune to Bing Crosby holiday songs as they carefully arranged the lights - they were small, pastel-coloured fairy lights on strings, and we were always rearranging them to make sure the lights were distributed evenly, and one string always blinked no matter what we did, so we always had to arrange it so that it was on the back of the tree where we wouldn't notice it so much. Then came the gold-and-silver tinsel garland, and then came the ornaments.
The ornaments were much more fun to put on than the garlands and the lights, and everyone cheered up at that point.
Not this year. This year, Mum got us a lighted tree - one with the lights already on it and already evenly distributed. And we completely abandoned the garland. It's narrower than our old one, and the lights are different. I've spent my whole life accustomed to the fairy lights, to waking up in expectation to go down and see those fairy lights, and right now I can't help but distrust the new look, at least for a while. The bulbs that have come already-wrapped on the tree are larger, and come in bright, sharp primary colours. I can't account for why I feel so different just because there is a different set of lights, but I just do. I'm sure I'll grow out of it, or move out of the house - whichever comes first.
Also, I handed in my essay today, and had a surprisingly helpful tutoring session with my Philosophy professor. Tutoring usually doesn't help me, it's just my way of lessening my guilt at getting bad grades by telling myself "that I did everything I could", but I think I actually got the message this time. I guess we'll see. The waiting for the last exam is killing me though - to hell with time to study, I want the exam to be right now, so that I can get over it and can stop worrying for the rest of the Christmas Holidays.
Friday, December 16, 2005
Christmas, Yay! Finals, Boo! Parties, m'eh...
Seasons' Greetings!
I've just had two exams, and I fearfully await the completion of two more, plus a take-home essay exam that I have planned but haven't written yet. I only thank God that the professer who asked for the essay is this cynical bohemian type who considers himself above caring about the rules of MLA citations, and doesn't give a fig for the amount of research you do. Yay for me.
I took my Classics exam - I expected it to be hard (I had to leave a disquieting number of questions unanswered on the midterm, and crawled out of there with a 75%), but this time I managed to study the right areas so I finished off the 3-hour exam in 30 minutes feeling relatively proud of myself.
Japanese was this morning - it was that delicious mixture of easy/difficult that comes from a subject that takes a great deal of work to master, but it so very entertaining to study that remembering everything is far from an impossible task.
In an hour and a half I proceed to my English final - a tricky piece of work that requires me to remember the names of Victorian poets and essayists (like WB Greg and his loathsome "Why are Women Redundant?" paper along with F. P. Cobbe and her intelligent rebuttal: "What Shall We Do With Our Old Maids?"), and what they were supposed to symbolize, and then write about them. I'm a little nervous about this one - I had no trouble remembering the novels I read, but for the papers and poems (as well as some of the discussions that took place regarding such fickle pieces) I admit that I drifted in and out of paying attention to them.
After that, however, the weekend is free for me to write that essay for Film Studies and read up on Symbolic Logic. Symbolic Logic is another sticky whicket - I got 97% on the Midterm, but the later half of the course was a shade more difficult, but thankfully the exam is cumulative.
More good news - it's cold again! How I have longed for a white Christmas! For the last few years, our winters have been unseasonably warm and brown. People used to blame it on El Nino, but El Nino is supposed to stop after a few years. In November, the temperature dropped drastically and we got layers of snow, but then in the earlier weeks of December these horrible warm winds came in and ate it all up. It's very hard to get into the spirit of Christmas when outside it looks like it's mid-March. Now its back to a lovely -19 degrees Celsius, and there is snow, but not a great deal of it. It's settled in fits and starts, coating everything in a delicate, thin layer like a sprinking of icing sugar. One day of -5 and all of that will be gone, and we'll be back to mud and puddles again, so I'm hoping that more snow comes down soon.
I may have mentioned that we are not having Christmas dinner at our house this year - instead it has been decided that we are going to Uncle #3's house (Uncle #1 being Dad's brother, and #2 being Mother's brother who is younger than her, but older than #3). Mum had been the pillar our family has relied on for the Christmas Feast since Nana and Papa's self-imposed exile to Condoland, and her wish to relinquish the duties this year has jabbed a sharp stick into the anthill, so to speak, with all the relatives flailing about to come up with some sort of alternative, and saying many things they didn't really mean that have placed a shadow over our anticipation of the festivities.
As amusing as it is to discover that Mum and her siblings can still engage in the verbal equivalent of hair-pulling and snowball-chucking and tattling to an extent that rivals the bitchfights I still hold with my sisters,I do hope they can mend everything by the time Christmas truly rolls around.
I've just had two exams, and I fearfully await the completion of two more, plus a take-home essay exam that I have planned but haven't written yet. I only thank God that the professer who asked for the essay is this cynical bohemian type who considers himself above caring about the rules of MLA citations, and doesn't give a fig for the amount of research you do. Yay for me.
I took my Classics exam - I expected it to be hard (I had to leave a disquieting number of questions unanswered on the midterm, and crawled out of there with a 75%), but this time I managed to study the right areas so I finished off the 3-hour exam in 30 minutes feeling relatively proud of myself.
Japanese was this morning - it was that delicious mixture of easy/difficult that comes from a subject that takes a great deal of work to master, but it so very entertaining to study that remembering everything is far from an impossible task.
In an hour and a half I proceed to my English final - a tricky piece of work that requires me to remember the names of Victorian poets and essayists (like WB Greg and his loathsome "Why are Women Redundant?" paper along with F. P. Cobbe and her intelligent rebuttal: "What Shall We Do With Our Old Maids?"), and what they were supposed to symbolize, and then write about them. I'm a little nervous about this one - I had no trouble remembering the novels I read, but for the papers and poems (as well as some of the discussions that took place regarding such fickle pieces) I admit that I drifted in and out of paying attention to them.
After that, however, the weekend is free for me to write that essay for Film Studies and read up on Symbolic Logic. Symbolic Logic is another sticky whicket - I got 97% on the Midterm, but the later half of the course was a shade more difficult, but thankfully the exam is cumulative.
More good news - it's cold again! How I have longed for a white Christmas! For the last few years, our winters have been unseasonably warm and brown. People used to blame it on El Nino, but El Nino is supposed to stop after a few years. In November, the temperature dropped drastically and we got layers of snow, but then in the earlier weeks of December these horrible warm winds came in and ate it all up. It's very hard to get into the spirit of Christmas when outside it looks like it's mid-March. Now its back to a lovely -19 degrees Celsius, and there is snow, but not a great deal of it. It's settled in fits and starts, coating everything in a delicate, thin layer like a sprinking of icing sugar. One day of -5 and all of that will be gone, and we'll be back to mud and puddles again, so I'm hoping that more snow comes down soon.
I may have mentioned that we are not having Christmas dinner at our house this year - instead it has been decided that we are going to Uncle #3's house (Uncle #1 being Dad's brother, and #2 being Mother's brother who is younger than her, but older than #3). Mum had been the pillar our family has relied on for the Christmas Feast since Nana and Papa's self-imposed exile to Condoland, and her wish to relinquish the duties this year has jabbed a sharp stick into the anthill, so to speak, with all the relatives flailing about to come up with some sort of alternative, and saying many things they didn't really mean that have placed a shadow over our anticipation of the festivities.
As amusing as it is to discover that Mum and her siblings can still engage in the verbal equivalent of hair-pulling and snowball-chucking and tattling to an extent that rivals the bitchfights I still hold with my sisters,I do hope they can mend everything by the time Christmas truly rolls around.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Nominations!
Patrick Dempsey's received a Golden Globe nod for Best Actor in a Television Series, Drama!
And both Jason Lee and Steve Carell have been nominated for Best Actor in a Television Series, Comedy!
I'll definitely be watching the Golden Globes this year.
And both Jason Lee and Steve Carell have been nominated for Best Actor in a Television Series, Comedy!
I'll definitely be watching the Golden Globes this year.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Another Story Takes Wing (and movies are reviewed!)
*sniff* They grow up so fast...Yes, I did it - I followed up on my declaration that I would do the final polishes to "Desert Muse" and sent it out on Friday.
Yes, it was at the very last minute, but that's the norm for me - most of what I've done has been performed at the last minute, including my birth (wouldn't you know it, the day before they were going to induce labour, I came out all on my own, ha ha ha). But now it's out, and I feel satisfied. There was a long line at the post office, though - so many people trying to beat the Christmas rush created a Pre-Christmas Rush Rush. Human nature at its finest, eh?
I've been studying over the weekend - exams are coming up. I've been re-reading my Victorian poetry for the English final, and once again I'm surprised at how much reading Tennyson's Idylls reminds me of George R. R. Martin's Song of Ice and Fire series. The descriptions of sword and shield, of battles in the lists, and especially the behaviour of Guinevere in Lancelot and Elaine - she could have been Cersei for how bitchy she was in that poem, what with her contemptuous disdain for Arthur and insane jealousy towards Lancelot for wearing Elaine's favour during the tournament. Whoo-boy.
Still, I did have some free time. Watched some good videos on the weekend - Fantastic Four and Lucky Seven, an ABC Original Movie starring Patrick Dempsey that I happened to find at the local video store (instead of the specialty Old Video store, which requires me to take a 40-minute bus ride there and back if I want to rent Mr. Dempsey's more classic films like Loverboy, Happy Together, and Run. Yes, Run. I want to see it. Stop looking at me like that! )
I'm a Marvel comics fan, and while my tastes tend to run more towards Spider-Man, I do have a working knowledge of the Fantastic Four. The film version was generally panned, and I can see why - the plot is silly, they never fight the Big Bad Guy until the very end (and then they defeat him by pouring cold water on him - I'm not kidding!), and it generally makes no sense whatsoever. However, I enjoyed it immensely. This film, unlike Hulk and DareDevil, tended to swing more towards humour, most of it based on the dynamics between the Four. Despite everything else in the film, this they did pitch-perfectly. The dialogue was sharp and funny, the interactions hilarious, and the characters spot on. Jessica Alba as the Invisible Woman didn't do very much, to be sure, but they didn't give her much to do other than look pretty and take off her clothes in public (!), which she does reasonably well.
Ioan Gruffold as Mr. Fantastic was better - he managed to portray a lot of Reed Richards' kooky, oblivious science-nerd charm, and they explained the creation of his superhero name with a hint of wit ("yes, yes, you're great, you're Mr. Fantastic!). Still, he couldn't hold a candle next to Chris Evans and Michael Chiklis as the Human Torch and the Thing, respectively. Chris Evans portrayed the Human Torch as a complete asshole - which is the Human Torch to a tee. It was great fun to see him square off against the Thing. Chiklis played the Thing with admirable charm, macho humour, and, yes, sadness - he was the most "human" of the characters, if you'll believe it, because, really, he's the one who got the short end of the Super-Power-inducing-Ion-Storm stick.
Lucky Seven was pure silliness. In an hour and a half, the movie contained a ridiculous, plot-starting life plan, a lawyer who hates her job and would rather paint, bagels and schmeer, a fake relationship (that ends in real sex!), two weddings, a man who quit his Wall Street job and gets dumped in the bargain, and a difficult choice between two gorgeous guys. Which should the motherless protagonist choose - the sexy, successful, loved-by-all-of-her-friends, blond venture capitalist? Or the sexy, somewhat less successful, had-his-tender-heart-broken-before, green-eyed Irish-American bagel shop owner? Money or bagels? Financial security or SCHMEER?
To put it in clearer terms, our Motherless Protagonist becomes motherless through cancer, but not before the soon-to-be-deceased matriarch plans a timeline of advice to help our Motherless Protagonist get over being Motherless. In the timeline, she plans for our Motherless Protagonist to go the Summer Camp, run for Class President, get a Law Degree, and settle down with her Seventh Boyfriend, He who is Prophesied to be The One For Her.
Fast-forward several years, our Motherless Protagonist has just broken up with Boyfriend #5: He Who Cheats, and runs into Blonde Venture Capitalist. Sparks and fireworks fly, but our Motherless Protagonist is frightened to take the relationship any further - after all, dating Blonde Venture Capitalist would make him #6: Almost Had Her, and she's destined to be with to #7: Wedded Bliss, and Blonde Venture Capitalist is just so perfect - he's rich, her dad likes him, and he buys her chocolate strawberries! She wants to have his Blonde Venture Capitalist Babies, but she can't defy the Dead Mother Prophesy!
So, she decides to make him #7 by a technicality - she takes up Bagel Boy (that would be Dempsey) on his offer of accompanying him to his brother's wedding and pretending to be his girlfriend in return for free bagels. She seeks to fool the Dead Mother, thinking that if she's publicly declared to have Bagel Boy as her boyfriend, that will make him #6: Close But No Cigar, thus pushing Blonde Venture Capitalist into the coveted #7 spot.
Yes, Poor Bagel Boy needs a Pretend Girlfriend - when his free-spirited bagel-loving nature inspired him to quit his Wall Street job for small business paradise, his gold-digging fiancee dumped him at the altar, and he needs the Fake Significant Other present at his brother's wedding to convince his clingy relatives that He's Over The Bitch. More chocolate strawberries, hands-on croquet lessons, and kayaking mishaps ensue, and pretty soon they're making the sweet, sweet, off-screen luuuuuurve (as the Smart Bitches Who Love Trashy Novels would say). However, Bagel Boys wants a Real Relationship now, but our Motherless Protagonist dumps him (at a Pancake House, no less!) because she's in a rush to have Blonde Venture Capitalist's Blonde Venture Capitalist Babies now that he's firmly seated upon the #7 Throne.
However, (surprise, surprise!) Free-Spirited-Bagel-Loving-itis is apparently a sexually-transmitted disease, and our Motherless Protagonist finds out that she's become far less enamoured of her Time-Wasting-Lawyer Job, and of her Not-Free-Spirited-Enough Blonde Venture Capitalist, and finds that she much prefers Free Bagels with Schmeer to Chocolate Strawberries. Cue realization that Dead Mom's Prophesy was to be taking Figuratively, Not Literally! Cue Money-Shot of Patrick Dempsey's Smile! Cue Wedding Bells! Cue Credits! Cue mad, guilty giggling!
Yes, I enjoyed it. Yes, Dempsey was very good looking. Was it better than Tales from the Whoop: Hot Rod Brown, Class Clown, starring a teenage Tobey Maguire, a film I watched during my recovery from Spider-Man withdrawal? God, yes. Was it worthy of an Oscar? Hell, no. Here's to guilty pleasures!
Yes, it was at the very last minute, but that's the norm for me - most of what I've done has been performed at the last minute, including my birth (wouldn't you know it, the day before they were going to induce labour, I came out all on my own, ha ha ha). But now it's out, and I feel satisfied. There was a long line at the post office, though - so many people trying to beat the Christmas rush created a Pre-Christmas Rush Rush. Human nature at its finest, eh?
I've been studying over the weekend - exams are coming up. I've been re-reading my Victorian poetry for the English final, and once again I'm surprised at how much reading Tennyson's Idylls reminds me of George R. R. Martin's Song of Ice and Fire series. The descriptions of sword and shield, of battles in the lists, and especially the behaviour of Guinevere in Lancelot and Elaine - she could have been Cersei for how bitchy she was in that poem, what with her contemptuous disdain for Arthur and insane jealousy towards Lancelot for wearing Elaine's favour during the tournament. Whoo-boy.
Still, I did have some free time. Watched some good videos on the weekend - Fantastic Four and Lucky Seven, an ABC Original Movie starring Patrick Dempsey that I happened to find at the local video store (instead of the specialty Old Video store, which requires me to take a 40-minute bus ride there and back if I want to rent Mr. Dempsey's more classic films like Loverboy, Happy Together, and Run. Yes, Run. I want to see it. Stop looking at me like that! )
I'm a Marvel comics fan, and while my tastes tend to run more towards Spider-Man, I do have a working knowledge of the Fantastic Four. The film version was generally panned, and I can see why - the plot is silly, they never fight the Big Bad Guy until the very end (and then they defeat him by pouring cold water on him - I'm not kidding!), and it generally makes no sense whatsoever. However, I enjoyed it immensely. This film, unlike Hulk and DareDevil, tended to swing more towards humour, most of it based on the dynamics between the Four. Despite everything else in the film, this they did pitch-perfectly. The dialogue was sharp and funny, the interactions hilarious, and the characters spot on. Jessica Alba as the Invisible Woman didn't do very much, to be sure, but they didn't give her much to do other than look pretty and take off her clothes in public (!), which she does reasonably well.
Ioan Gruffold as Mr. Fantastic was better - he managed to portray a lot of Reed Richards' kooky, oblivious science-nerd charm, and they explained the creation of his superhero name with a hint of wit ("yes, yes, you're great, you're Mr. Fantastic!). Still, he couldn't hold a candle next to Chris Evans and Michael Chiklis as the Human Torch and the Thing, respectively. Chris Evans portrayed the Human Torch as a complete asshole - which is the Human Torch to a tee. It was great fun to see him square off against the Thing. Chiklis played the Thing with admirable charm, macho humour, and, yes, sadness - he was the most "human" of the characters, if you'll believe it, because, really, he's the one who got the short end of the Super-Power-inducing-Ion-Storm stick.
Lucky Seven was pure silliness. In an hour and a half, the movie contained a ridiculous, plot-starting life plan, a lawyer who hates her job and would rather paint, bagels and schmeer, a fake relationship (that ends in real sex!), two weddings, a man who quit his Wall Street job and gets dumped in the bargain, and a difficult choice between two gorgeous guys. Which should the motherless protagonist choose - the sexy, successful, loved-by-all-of-her-friends, blond venture capitalist? Or the sexy, somewhat less successful, had-his-tender-heart-broken-before, green-eyed Irish-American bagel shop owner? Money or bagels? Financial security or SCHMEER?
To put it in clearer terms, our Motherless Protagonist becomes motherless through cancer, but not before the soon-to-be-deceased matriarch plans a timeline of advice to help our Motherless Protagonist get over being Motherless. In the timeline, she plans for our Motherless Protagonist to go the Summer Camp, run for Class President, get a Law Degree, and settle down with her Seventh Boyfriend, He who is Prophesied to be The One For Her.
Fast-forward several years, our Motherless Protagonist has just broken up with Boyfriend #5: He Who Cheats, and runs into Blonde Venture Capitalist. Sparks and fireworks fly, but our Motherless Protagonist is frightened to take the relationship any further - after all, dating Blonde Venture Capitalist would make him #6: Almost Had Her, and she's destined to be with to #7: Wedded Bliss, and Blonde Venture Capitalist is just so perfect - he's rich, her dad likes him, and he buys her chocolate strawberries! She wants to have his Blonde Venture Capitalist Babies, but she can't defy the Dead Mother Prophesy!
So, she decides to make him #7 by a technicality - she takes up Bagel Boy (that would be Dempsey) on his offer of accompanying him to his brother's wedding and pretending to be his girlfriend in return for free bagels. She seeks to fool the Dead Mother, thinking that if she's publicly declared to have Bagel Boy as her boyfriend, that will make him #6: Close But No Cigar, thus pushing Blonde Venture Capitalist into the coveted #7 spot.
Yes, Poor Bagel Boy needs a Pretend Girlfriend - when his free-spirited bagel-loving nature inspired him to quit his Wall Street job for small business paradise, his gold-digging fiancee dumped him at the altar, and he needs the Fake Significant Other present at his brother's wedding to convince his clingy relatives that He's Over The Bitch. More chocolate strawberries, hands-on croquet lessons, and kayaking mishaps ensue, and pretty soon they're making the sweet, sweet, off-screen luuuuuurve (as the Smart Bitches Who Love Trashy Novels would say). However, Bagel Boys wants a Real Relationship now, but our Motherless Protagonist dumps him (at a Pancake House, no less!) because she's in a rush to have Blonde Venture Capitalist's Blonde Venture Capitalist Babies now that he's firmly seated upon the #7 Throne.
However, (surprise, surprise!) Free-Spirited-Bagel-Loving-itis is apparently a sexually-transmitted disease, and our Motherless Protagonist finds out that she's become far less enamoured of her Time-Wasting-Lawyer Job, and of her Not-Free-Spirited-Enough Blonde Venture Capitalist, and finds that she much prefers Free Bagels with Schmeer to Chocolate Strawberries. Cue realization that Dead Mom's Prophesy was to be taking Figuratively, Not Literally! Cue Money-Shot of Patrick Dempsey's Smile! Cue Wedding Bells! Cue Credits! Cue mad, guilty giggling!
Yes, I enjoyed it. Yes, Dempsey was very good looking. Was it better than Tales from the Whoop: Hot Rod Brown, Class Clown, starring a teenage Tobey Maguire, a film I watched during my recovery from Spider-Man withdrawal? God, yes. Was it worthy of an Oscar? Hell, no. Here's to guilty pleasures!
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Blasphemy!
I've attributed my love of reading to my parents, who had exceptionally good taste in the choices of children's books they read to me, and let me read once I was old enough. The Mouse Who Wanted a Cookie, The Missing Piece, the entire collection of Beatix Potter's books, and A. A. Milne. Mum always used to read to us the stories of Winnie the Pooh, and I love Milne's poems, especially "King John Was Not a Good Man". I watched the Winnie the Pooh animated series when I was little, but I grew out of it quickly, and it was never a favourite. I never watched the movies, either.
However, I never really minded what Disney was doing with the stories - until now.
Reading Neil Gaiman's blog over at http://www.neilgaiman.com/journal/journal.asp, he brought to attention the fact that Disney, for it's next animated Winnie the Pooh series, has decided to replace the Christopher Robin character with a "six-year-old tomboyish girl", as yet unnamed, in order to "bring a breath of fresh air to the franchise". WTF?? You can read the article at http://www.usatoday.com/life/television/news/2005-12-06-winnie-the-pooh_x.htm.
That, my friends, is heresy! What were the folks at Disney thinking? I'm trying to imagine the nitwits in the boardroom going over why, exactly, they saw fit to dissect the childhood memories of millions of people to tear out the beating heart of the A. A. Milne story and replace it with an cold artificial thing of mechanical moving parts that pumps sugar and anti-depressants in place of blood.
Maybe they thought that since there is only one female character in the Pooh crew (that would be the Roo's mum), that they were alienating the toddler girl audience. Balls. BALLS, I tell you. Girls and boys alike loved the books and the cartoons. Christopher Robin and the Rabbit character are suitably androgynous, and really, three-to-six year-old girls do NOT care - they like the stories. Since when has a four-year-old darling, with chestnut curls and the money of her doting parents in equal abundance, ever said, "Gee mommy, I don't like Winnie the Pooh. I feel alienated because there is no female character with whom I can relate to, and so the story has no emotional relevance for me anymore."
ARGH! Dammit, Disney - go back to doing what you do best: which is making faithful adaptations of fairy ta...wait a minute...
Damn. I guess this is just a regular workday for the Mouse House, then.
However, I never really minded what Disney was doing with the stories - until now.
Reading Neil Gaiman's blog over at http://www.neilgaiman.com/journal/journal.asp, he brought to attention the fact that Disney, for it's next animated Winnie the Pooh series, has decided to replace the Christopher Robin character with a "six-year-old tomboyish girl", as yet unnamed, in order to "bring a breath of fresh air to the franchise". WTF?? You can read the article at http://www.usatoday.com/life/television/news/2005-12-06-winnie-the-pooh_x.htm.
That, my friends, is heresy! What were the folks at Disney thinking? I'm trying to imagine the nitwits in the boardroom going over why, exactly, they saw fit to dissect the childhood memories of millions of people to tear out the beating heart of the A. A. Milne story and replace it with an cold artificial thing of mechanical moving parts that pumps sugar and anti-depressants in place of blood.
Maybe they thought that since there is only one female character in the Pooh crew (that would be the Roo's mum), that they were alienating the toddler girl audience. Balls. BALLS, I tell you. Girls and boys alike loved the books and the cartoons. Christopher Robin and the Rabbit character are suitably androgynous, and really, three-to-six year-old girls do NOT care - they like the stories. Since when has a four-year-old darling, with chestnut curls and the money of her doting parents in equal abundance, ever said, "Gee mommy, I don't like Winnie the Pooh. I feel alienated because there is no female character with whom I can relate to, and so the story has no emotional relevance for me anymore."
ARGH! Dammit, Disney - go back to doing what you do best: which is making faithful adaptations of fairy ta...wait a minute...
Damn. I guess this is just a regular workday for the Mouse House, then.
Best Birthday Gift EVAR!
Guess who's coming to town two days before my birthday!
GEORGE R R MARTIN! For his Canadian Book Tour!
I'm SO THERE!
GEORGE R R MARTIN! For his Canadian Book Tour!
I'm SO THERE!
Home For The Holidays!
NO MORE CLASSES! Squeeeeee!
Sure, I have to study my butt off for exams, but still - I don't have to sit through the completely ridiculous and unnecessary subject Symbolic Logic anymore! Huzzah!
Yesterday, I celebrated by going to Karaoke with the Mixed Chorus afterwards. The place was packed, and as such I didn't get to sing more than one song before I felt it best to go home so that I could wake up at a reasonable time to start studying. It was very fun - the two DJs were really crude, but I grinned and beared it. The whole room would sing and dance to the more popular songs, to the point where some songs had to be sung from memory because the dancefloor in front of the screen projecting the words was too packed with dancers.
"Ra-Ra-Rasputin, Russia's Greatest Love Machine!"
"I've got friends, in loooooooow places...."
"Play us a song, you're the piano man...."
"It's now or never, I'm not gonna live forever, I just wanna live while I'm alive - IT'S - MY - LIFE!" This was especially popular.
The two social organizers of the choir had really good memories, it seems - after I sang, both of them sought me out to tell me how good it was that I came, and that they hoped I would come again. (I'd like to - but I'll either have to find a ride for next time, or save up for the $20 cab ride home) Their attention baffled me - it was just karaoke, but to them it seemed to be as if I'd passed some bizarre initiation ritual to be really "in" with the Mixed Chorus (despite the fact that I missed half of this year's Christmas concerts due to cold and cough).
Oh, and the song I sang?
"Can't Buy Me Love".
"Oh, so you like the Beatles?" *blush* "No, I like Patrick Dempsey." ^_^;;;
Sure, I have to study my butt off for exams, but still - I don't have to sit through the completely ridiculous and unnecessary subject Symbolic Logic anymore! Huzzah!
Yesterday, I celebrated by going to Karaoke with the Mixed Chorus afterwards. The place was packed, and as such I didn't get to sing more than one song before I felt it best to go home so that I could wake up at a reasonable time to start studying. It was very fun - the two DJs were really crude, but I grinned and beared it. The whole room would sing and dance to the more popular songs, to the point where some songs had to be sung from memory because the dancefloor in front of the screen projecting the words was too packed with dancers.
"Ra-Ra-Rasputin, Russia's Greatest Love Machine!"
"I've got friends, in loooooooow places...."
"Play us a song, you're the piano man...."
"It's now or never, I'm not gonna live forever, I just wanna live while I'm alive - IT'S - MY - LIFE!" This was especially popular.
The two social organizers of the choir had really good memories, it seems - after I sang, both of them sought me out to tell me how good it was that I came, and that they hoped I would come again. (I'd like to - but I'll either have to find a ride for next time, or save up for the $20 cab ride home) Their attention baffled me - it was just karaoke, but to them it seemed to be as if I'd passed some bizarre initiation ritual to be really "in" with the Mixed Chorus (despite the fact that I missed half of this year's Christmas concerts due to cold and cough).
Oh, and the song I sang?
"Can't Buy Me Love".
"Oh, so you like the Beatles?" *blush* "No, I like Patrick Dempsey." ^_^;;;
Monday, December 05, 2005
The Writing Track
I haven't been keeping up on reading my authors' blogs, and I probably should. Reading about other writer's progress makes me all frantic to keep up, and spurs me to write more. ^_^
I should probably think about setting up a list of all the links to the author's blogs I visit, because most are quite fun to read. Some, true, aren't really by authors, but by people connected one way or the other to books and writing. Those would be Ms Snark, Literary Agent (misssnark.blogspot.com) a very helpful agent from New York who answers dozens of questions on her blog every day - to the extent where many doubt her claim that she actually is a literary agent, seeing as she spends so much time answering writer's questions. Bollocks! If she wasn't an agent, then her answers wouldn't nearly be so well-informed as they obviously are.
The second exception would be Smart Bitches Who Love Trashy Novels (www.smartbitchestrashybooks.com), written by women who are unabashedly devoted to the Romance novel industry, but not afraid to call them on their shit, when they see fit to produce shit.
Still, moving on - I've been riding along with a fairly even pace through George R. R. Martin's Clash of Kings. A Feast For Crows appeared in the mail a few days ago, and I'm in a rush to catch up so I can start reading the new book.
I've noticed something about novels and writing style - depending on the style, I read books slower or faster. I use the metaphor of a track - reading George R R Martin and JK Rowling is like riding a rollercoaster on a neverending slope downward - I'm drawn in and in and keep reading faster and faster until I reach the end. They're that good. Other authors have a style that's read more awkardly - Ian. R. MacLeod, for instance. Reading Breathmoss and Other Exhalations was like driving a rickety stationwagon over an unpaved dirt path littered with giant rocks and gaping potholes. Bounce, bounce, jolt, bounce - very rough, very meandering, very slow to get through.
My style, well, I enjoy it, the way a child might enjoy a jostling cartride along a flowering forest path - it goes all over the place, and it's hardly smooth, but I have a sentimental attachment to it. I think it all goes back to adjectives. Speech tags, upon closer examination, don't really grab my attention unless they're grossly misused. Adjectives, though, and the tongue-twisting names and new concepts often introduced in science fiction and fantasy, can provide obstacles in a writer's style, a rock on the path, if you will. A good fantasy writer, something I'm desperately striving to be, should learn how to add all those touches in such a way so that the passage of reading is smooth and uninterrupted by confusion.
So, I'm trying to do that for The Boy Who Would Be Queen. It's working, but mostly because I tend to unwittingly copy style from the author I'm currently reading - George R R Martin. I'll have to polish it more into my own style (presuming I even have one yet...^_^;;) during re-writes and revision.
Now, I'm back to school and waiting at the mailbox - I'm expecting the last of my Christmas presents (I'm done all my shopping!), a rejection/acceptance letter from CICADA Magazine, books from Green Man Review, and Locus, the December issue with an interview with Robin Hobb!
I should probably think about setting up a list of all the links to the author's blogs I visit, because most are quite fun to read. Some, true, aren't really by authors, but by people connected one way or the other to books and writing. Those would be Ms Snark, Literary Agent (misssnark.blogspot.com) a very helpful agent from New York who answers dozens of questions on her blog every day - to the extent where many doubt her claim that she actually is a literary agent, seeing as she spends so much time answering writer's questions. Bollocks! If she wasn't an agent, then her answers wouldn't nearly be so well-informed as they obviously are.
The second exception would be Smart Bitches Who Love Trashy Novels (www.smartbitchestrashybooks.com), written by women who are unabashedly devoted to the Romance novel industry, but not afraid to call them on their shit, when they see fit to produce shit.
Still, moving on - I've been riding along with a fairly even pace through George R. R. Martin's Clash of Kings. A Feast For Crows appeared in the mail a few days ago, and I'm in a rush to catch up so I can start reading the new book.
I've noticed something about novels and writing style - depending on the style, I read books slower or faster. I use the metaphor of a track - reading George R R Martin and JK Rowling is like riding a rollercoaster on a neverending slope downward - I'm drawn in and in and keep reading faster and faster until I reach the end. They're that good. Other authors have a style that's read more awkardly - Ian. R. MacLeod, for instance. Reading Breathmoss and Other Exhalations was like driving a rickety stationwagon over an unpaved dirt path littered with giant rocks and gaping potholes. Bounce, bounce, jolt, bounce - very rough, very meandering, very slow to get through.
My style, well, I enjoy it, the way a child might enjoy a jostling cartride along a flowering forest path - it goes all over the place, and it's hardly smooth, but I have a sentimental attachment to it. I think it all goes back to adjectives. Speech tags, upon closer examination, don't really grab my attention unless they're grossly misused. Adjectives, though, and the tongue-twisting names and new concepts often introduced in science fiction and fantasy, can provide obstacles in a writer's style, a rock on the path, if you will. A good fantasy writer, something I'm desperately striving to be, should learn how to add all those touches in such a way so that the passage of reading is smooth and uninterrupted by confusion.
So, I'm trying to do that for The Boy Who Would Be Queen. It's working, but mostly because I tend to unwittingly copy style from the author I'm currently reading - George R R Martin. I'll have to polish it more into my own style (presuming I even have one yet...^_^;;) during re-writes and revision.
Now, I'm back to school and waiting at the mailbox - I'm expecting the last of my Christmas presents (I'm done all my shopping!), a rejection/acceptance letter from CICADA Magazine, books from Green Man Review, and Locus, the December issue with an interview with Robin Hobb!
Saturday, December 03, 2005
Cancel Christmas!
There were good things and bad things about today.
Bad things first - I'm still coughing up a storm, which meant no Choral Rehearsal for me today, which means I can't perform during the Choral Performance tomorrow. It's a tragedy, I know, but maybe I'll be in better health when I go to karaoke with the chorus on our last rehearsal this Wednesday.
Also, I made my first attempt to find a replacement sweetie for my Mum's snowballs. Snowballs and fudge used to be a Christmas baking tradition at our house, but with my development of a dangerous allergy to pecans, snowballs have become verboten and we've had to look for other baked delights to fill the sad-looking void next to the squares of chocolate fudge on the seasonally-decorated plate.
I found a recipe call Mocha Bites - which mixed instant coffee and cocoa and butter together into small, round coins that were rolled in sugar afterwards. Mum and I (mostly Mum, because of my cough) made them, but when they came out and were finished, the reaction was less than stellar. My mother said they were too bitter, my sisters said they weren't as good as I had hoped. My dad ate one, and said "They're not bad." I ate them, and while I thought they were nice, they were dry. They were the kind of dessert that I wouldn't hesitate to eat if they were being served at a stranger's house, but not the kind of cookie that I would want representing Casa AnimeJune.
Horribly disappointed, I tossed all three batches into the sink (after eating fifteen). Afterwards, however, Dad and Sisters #1 and #2 wailed, tore at their hair, and demanded why, why, why had I been so heartless and wasteful as to dump those delicious cookies into the sink? They then proceeded to salvage as many of the cookies from the garbarator as was possible (about half a dozen). Well, excuuuuse me.
Good news now - we've cancelled Christmas!
By which I mean, we've refused to hold a Big Christmas Dinner at our house. We've done it almost every year since Nana and Papa moved to the condo, and while it's a pleasant affair for those who eat the food and retire to the cheapseats with coffee and fudge afterwards, it's a pain in the butt for those of us, and I mean the people who own the house, who have to clean it up afterwards. It's tiring and frustrating and has to be planned very meticulously in advance, and very often Mum and Dad are too exhausted to enjoy Christmas dinner as much as everyone else.
Relatives have suggested other alternatives, but none of them were appropriate, and would, if they didn't make it even harder than it already was, make the dinner more uncomfortable for the guests as well. So, we've decided to do just hold a Christmas dinner for us, Mum, Dad, me, and sisters #1 and #2 (#1 has volunteered to cook the turkey - she's in Food Sciences). And it's not a complete cancellation of Christmas, and nor are we isolating ourselves from our family members. We're still going to have a big Christmas Eve dinner at Nana and Papa's condo before going to Mass, a gettogether that is, allegedly, much more popular with the aunts and uncles and cousins than our dinners.
I think it's going to be a pleasant change - the work that went into the big Christmas Feasts had arisen to the point where we dreaded the approach of Christmas - and it should never go that far.
And, I've already bought all my Christmas presents. Huzzah!
Bad things first - I'm still coughing up a storm, which meant no Choral Rehearsal for me today, which means I can't perform during the Choral Performance tomorrow. It's a tragedy, I know, but maybe I'll be in better health when I go to karaoke with the chorus on our last rehearsal this Wednesday.
Also, I made my first attempt to find a replacement sweetie for my Mum's snowballs. Snowballs and fudge used to be a Christmas baking tradition at our house, but with my development of a dangerous allergy to pecans, snowballs have become verboten and we've had to look for other baked delights to fill the sad-looking void next to the squares of chocolate fudge on the seasonally-decorated plate.
I found a recipe call Mocha Bites - which mixed instant coffee and cocoa and butter together into small, round coins that were rolled in sugar afterwards. Mum and I (mostly Mum, because of my cough) made them, but when they came out and were finished, the reaction was less than stellar. My mother said they were too bitter, my sisters said they weren't as good as I had hoped. My dad ate one, and said "They're not bad." I ate them, and while I thought they were nice, they were dry. They were the kind of dessert that I wouldn't hesitate to eat if they were being served at a stranger's house, but not the kind of cookie that I would want representing Casa AnimeJune.
Horribly disappointed, I tossed all three batches into the sink (after eating fifteen). Afterwards, however, Dad and Sisters #1 and #2 wailed, tore at their hair, and demanded why, why, why had I been so heartless and wasteful as to dump those delicious cookies into the sink? They then proceeded to salvage as many of the cookies from the garbarator as was possible (about half a dozen). Well, excuuuuse me.
Good news now - we've cancelled Christmas!
By which I mean, we've refused to hold a Big Christmas Dinner at our house. We've done it almost every year since Nana and Papa moved to the condo, and while it's a pleasant affair for those who eat the food and retire to the cheapseats with coffee and fudge afterwards, it's a pain in the butt for those of us, and I mean the people who own the house, who have to clean it up afterwards. It's tiring and frustrating and has to be planned very meticulously in advance, and very often Mum and Dad are too exhausted to enjoy Christmas dinner as much as everyone else.
Relatives have suggested other alternatives, but none of them were appropriate, and would, if they didn't make it even harder than it already was, make the dinner more uncomfortable for the guests as well. So, we've decided to do just hold a Christmas dinner for us, Mum, Dad, me, and sisters #1 and #2 (#1 has volunteered to cook the turkey - she's in Food Sciences). And it's not a complete cancellation of Christmas, and nor are we isolating ourselves from our family members. We're still going to have a big Christmas Eve dinner at Nana and Papa's condo before going to Mass, a gettogether that is, allegedly, much more popular with the aunts and uncles and cousins than our dinners.
I think it's going to be a pleasant change - the work that went into the big Christmas Feasts had arisen to the point where we dreaded the approach of Christmas - and it should never go that far.
And, I've already bought all my Christmas presents. Huzzah!
Friday, December 02, 2005
Striking While the Iron is Hot
Yesterday, my cough worsened to the point where it felt like I was being uncomfortably squeezed around my mid-section everytime I hacked something up - the effort it took for coughing strained my diaphragm and the muscles of my back.
So I stayed home, drank soda, read George R R Martin, fiddled with my homework (it's dwindled due to the approach of exams, but I'm become horribly lazy concerning it all the same), and wrote some more pages for The Boy Who Would Be Queen. By the way, that's just a working title - my mother thought it was gimmicky, and I have to agree, but it was the only think I could come up with at the moment.
However, I haven't had any trouble writing down for that story. It's amazing - sometimes I have to force myself. Reading the Willow King is stillborn - I have no passion left for it. I think the reason is that I'm writing Boy right when I'm feeling passionate about the story - and the act of writing creates momentum for the passion that keeps me writing. If I plan a story (like I did for Willow King in August), but don't write it, it goes to seed. I have to keep writing if I want to keep involved with the story - that's what helped me finish The Shining Empress, because I kept writing at it regularly, and it keep the iron hot, so to speak.
Well, live and learn, I suppose. I can always come back to Willow King and try and ressurrect it someday, but for now, I'm going to focus on Boy.
Also, I've been dilly-dallying for Desert Muse. Next week - I will send the story into the Challenging Destiny. You all heard me. I'm going to do it - if Mum can't read over it in time, well then, too bad.
So I stayed home, drank soda, read George R R Martin, fiddled with my homework (it's dwindled due to the approach of exams, but I'm become horribly lazy concerning it all the same), and wrote some more pages for The Boy Who Would Be Queen. By the way, that's just a working title - my mother thought it was gimmicky, and I have to agree, but it was the only think I could come up with at the moment.
However, I haven't had any trouble writing down for that story. It's amazing - sometimes I have to force myself. Reading the Willow King is stillborn - I have no passion left for it. I think the reason is that I'm writing Boy right when I'm feeling passionate about the story - and the act of writing creates momentum for the passion that keeps me writing. If I plan a story (like I did for Willow King in August), but don't write it, it goes to seed. I have to keep writing if I want to keep involved with the story - that's what helped me finish The Shining Empress, because I kept writing at it regularly, and it keep the iron hot, so to speak.
Well, live and learn, I suppose. I can always come back to Willow King and try and ressurrect it someday, but for now, I'm going to focus on Boy.
Also, I've been dilly-dallying for Desert Muse. Next week - I will send the story into the Challenging Destiny. You all heard me. I'm going to do it - if Mum can't read over it in time, well then, too bad.
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Fa-la-la-la-la
On Monday, the Mixed Chorus and I performed for the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols. It took place in a giant theatre that glittered with lights and had acoustics so perfect that a man in the back row couldn't pass wind without the conductor on the stage hearing it.
My voice remained out of order right up the point where I was supposed to sing, and then, suddenly, I could. Not well, and probably not even on key, but I could sing, and so I did. It made me feel a whole lot better - I felt less like a fraud (like I did when we performed at the United Church before) by lipsyncing, and when I get the Christmas CD I'll know for sure that one of the two hundred voices is mine.
Mum, Dad, Nana and Papa loved the show. Mum wants to go next year, even if I'm no longer in the Chorus, although she's vowed to arrive earlier next time. She and Dad arrived fifteen minutes before the show, but since it's general admission, they were relegated to the fourth, and highest balcony. From the stage, it seems to high up it almost appears as if it's leaning forward, balanced only precariously on top of the third balcony. My mother was so terrified by the heights that she had to hold her program in front of her face to hide the gap but still look at the stage.
Still it was a wonderful show. The handbell ringer show was most entertaining. The sound of the bells is okay, but most of the fun comes from watching the male ringers, who have to ring the largest and most awkward of bells. Since the largest four are bigger than a man's head, ringing them is not a graceful affair - I mean it should be an Olympic sport. They can only ring them by lunging the arm right from the shoulder, and then they have to put it down quickly (and gently) and leap for another bell to ring it just in time. One man moved so frantically he tore his music book.
So, I had a good time, my parents had a good time, and I'm getting better. I can talk now, although I've developed a cough. But I don't really worry anymore, the Big Concert is over.
My voice remained out of order right up the point where I was supposed to sing, and then, suddenly, I could. Not well, and probably not even on key, but I could sing, and so I did. It made me feel a whole lot better - I felt less like a fraud (like I did when we performed at the United Church before) by lipsyncing, and when I get the Christmas CD I'll know for sure that one of the two hundred voices is mine.
Mum, Dad, Nana and Papa loved the show. Mum wants to go next year, even if I'm no longer in the Chorus, although she's vowed to arrive earlier next time. She and Dad arrived fifteen minutes before the show, but since it's general admission, they were relegated to the fourth, and highest balcony. From the stage, it seems to high up it almost appears as if it's leaning forward, balanced only precariously on top of the third balcony. My mother was so terrified by the heights that she had to hold her program in front of her face to hide the gap but still look at the stage.
Still it was a wonderful show. The handbell ringer show was most entertaining. The sound of the bells is okay, but most of the fun comes from watching the male ringers, who have to ring the largest and most awkward of bells. Since the largest four are bigger than a man's head, ringing them is not a graceful affair - I mean it should be an Olympic sport. They can only ring them by lunging the arm right from the shoulder, and then they have to put it down quickly (and gently) and leap for another bell to ring it just in time. One man moved so frantically he tore his music book.
So, I had a good time, my parents had a good time, and I'm getting better. I can talk now, although I've developed a cough. But I don't really worry anymore, the Big Concert is over.
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