Eugie Foster is still full of wide-eyed ooo after seeing the 60 Minutes “Reading Your Mind” story from last night (http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2008/12/31/60minutes/main4694713.shtml).
Hope everyone had a Happy New Year! Welcome 2009!
Recovering still from the holidays. Not sure I want to analyze too deeply what it says about me that I find it relaxing being back at my desk after returning from Illinois. I remember growing up that I found my mother’s work-a-holic nature perplexing and irksome, and now I seem to have acquired it. Hmph.
Anyhoo, had a wonderful Xmas with the in-laws and birthday with the hubby—acquiring many new prezzies thereof, both practical and whimsical, including a rice maker, kitchen knives (thank Jeebus, real knives to replace the blunt, knife-shaped metal bits we’ve been trying to cut with), new clothes for work and play, an elephant teapot (!), and many, many books and DVDs.
But I always get overwhelmed by the chaos of the holiday season and fall behind on my various obligations. Fording through the backlog now.
2008 was an interesting year for me. My overall productivity improved over last year’s, but most of that was from wordage on The Stupid Novel, which isn’t at zero draft yet. So my number of completed works this year is quite small. But I also sold a short story collection. I’ve been hungry to finally have a book of all Eugie, only Eugie works for a while now, and it’s a huge milestone for me.
Looking over 2008’s Writing Resolutions, I determined to:
• Finish the ^#$!@# novel.
Sigh. Getting there.
• Write 500 words a day, every day, barring weekends, holidays, and the legislative session.
Well, that didn’t pan out again. I think I averaged something like 250 words a day, which trended towards bouts of productivity—several weeks of 1000+ words/day—intermingled with huge stretches of nada. I’m wondering if I’m just not geared to writing every day, and if expecting myself to do so is just setting myself up for failure. Writing has become ingrained as a behavioral reality of my life by now; if I don’t write, it starts eating away at me until I have to sit down and get words on the page. So I don’t think I’m risking my writerly chops by allowing myself to accept that it’s okay not to write every day. Going to try that this year and see how it works out.
• Be more willing to say “no” when new hamsters come a’beggin’.
This I managed to do, actually turning down a couple invitations to submit to projects, but I suspect I’ve still got too many hamsters in the air. Not sure what to do about it, as I want to keep all the hamsters remaining.
2008’s highlights and accomplishments, I:
• Saw the one-year anniversary of TTA Press’s The Fix.
• Survived another year as The Daily Dragon‘s Editor/Director.
• Made 15 sales (and received 25 rejections), including the sale of my short story collection, Returning My Sister’s Face to Norilana Books.
• Saw 17 works published, including stories in Cricket and Baen’s Universe.
• Wrote 42.2K words on The Stupid Novel, the most words I’ve set down on a single work and the closest I’ve come to completing a novel. Continuing to work on it and hope to finish it this year.
And herein my Writing Resolutions for 2009:
• Finish The Stupid Novel. I’m so @^$!#* close!
And that’s it. Guess that should’ve been “resolution” not “resolutions.”
And finally, New Words (the last tally from 2008):
• 1.6K on The Stupid Novel.
Thanks for all the slaps on the back re: the Ursula K. Le Guin cover blurb for Returning My Sister’s Face, everyone! I am still in a squeeful daze ’bout it.
The balmy autumnal weather we’ve been having in Georgia has come to an end, and now we’re feeling the wintry pain of everyone else in the country. And I am reminded—not that I needed it—that I really, really don’t like the cold. But I’m glad the freeze snap hit yesterday rather than earlier in the weekend ’cause we had to spend a couple hours outside on Friday afternoon.
fosteronfilm and I were heading out to finish up our Christmas shopping. Ahead of me in the garage, Matthew suddenly turns, his hand in his pocket.
“Wait, do you have your—”
*Click*
“—keys?”
Yep, that “*click*” was the sound of the house-to-garage door shutting…and locking. And, no, I didn’t have my keys.
We debated whether it would be cheaper to break a window or call a locksmith, but in the end decided that a locksmith was the way to go. Especially as we weren’t sure whether fixing a window could be done in a timely fashion, and having a broken window during winter seemed like a particularly bad idea.
There was an old phone book in the garage—slated for recycling, but because we are less-than-conscientious about such things, it hadn’t been hauled to the curb yet—which we used to look up a locksmith. We picked one with a big ad that promised “15-minute emergency response.”
We called, talked to the dispatcher who told us to expect a callback from the locksmith shortly, and settled down to wait. Twenty minutes later, we called then again. This time, the locksmith called right back and told us he was on the way. “‘Bout 20 minutes.” Forty-five minutes later, we called again. “Caught in traffic,” he said.
Well over an hour after we first called, he pulls up. At that point, I didn’t care about the wait. I was just gladdened by the prospect of being able to get into our house again.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to pick the lock.
It seems we had a really good lock on our garage door. And it wasn’t even the deadbolt (since we didn’t have keys to finish locking the door), just the knob lock. And yes, “had” past tense, as in, since he couldn’t pick it, he had to drill it. I guess technically we still have the lock, but it’s in pieces and sitting on our washing machine in a little metal pile.
And for the final “wah!” in our afternoon of wah-ness, the bottom line ended up being $230.00—which we really don’t have to spare—for getting us into our house as well as replacing the sad little pile of metal on our washing machine with a shiny, new lock. (Which now gives us three house keys to juggle: the two that we had before that still fit our other doors, and this new one.)
Sigh.
New Words:
• 900 on The Stupid Novel.
Came home to an email from Ursula K. Le Guin—yes, the Hugo, Nebula, Pushcart, and Newbury (and many more) Award-winning author of The Left Hand of Darkness and the Earthsea series, that Ursula K. Le Guin!—with an awesome cover blurb for Returning My Sister’s Face:
“Whimsy and malice—yes—also mystery, a very female sensuality, and wit. An elegant and entertaining book.”
Is it possible to die from too much squee?
And sleep issues still plaguing me. Too much or too little, can’t seem to find a happy medium. At this rate, I’d be glad for a so-so medium. Yesterday I was in such a daze that I left the gingerbread muffins I baked for the office potluck at home.
Remembered to bake them the night before and remembered to get them out of the ‘fridge and stick them in a carry bag that morning. But between putting on my coat and walking out the door, the static in my head wiped out the all-important “bring muffins to work” step. Urg.
Fortunately, I have a forbearing and magnanimous hubby. fosteronfilm drove into town to deliver them for me. Isn’t he a sweetie?
New Words on The Stupid Novel:
• Tuesday: 150 – They kept wanting me to edit bills instead of write fiction at my day job, the nerve 
• Yesterday: 800 – Realized I need to split Part III into Parts III and IV as it has sprawled to a greater length than anticipated.
Been wrestling with mood issues which I’m pretty sure are due to a formulary switch in my HMO which stopped including Adderall XR (extended release) in the list of covered meds, forcing me to switch to Adderall IR (instant release). The IR isn’t as effective at combating my lupus/MCTD related fatigue, and it’s also harder on my stomach. Been trying to offset the difference with caffeine with limited success. Slept for 12 hours on Saturday, which is very, very bad.
So logy, cranky, and melancholy is me—or else I’m entertaining three dwarves in my brain.
Apologies to folks who I’ve neglected and/or who are waiting on me for something. One of the coping mechanisms I’ve established when I’m drained and scraping bottom on the energy/motivation bucket is to withdraw and triage to-do items into “essential, life and death, red alert now!”—like paying bills and going to my day job—and “meh, what’s another hamster on my toe?” categories. Most things end up as the latter. Sigh.
Received:
• 54-day “lively and interesting but…” rejection from Strange Horizons with invite to submit again (!@%#%^ I’m never going to break into them, am I?)
New Words, uh, lessee, since last entry:
• Wednesday: 1,300
• Thursday: 600
• Friday+Weekend: 500
• Yesterday: 1,700
Total: 4.1K.
Racing to hit zero draft by the end of the year.
At least getting words on the page is great therapy. A productive day of writing makes the world brighter and shinier. Of course, the correlary is that a day of no writing just piles on the suckitude.
New Words:
• Net gain of 600, but that includes cutting about 1100, so closer to around 1.7K words on the page yesterday. Cresting 40K appears to have galvanized my muse. A world of hurray.
Spreading the word:
Vera Nazarian (norilana) of Norilana Books is facing foreclosure due to a series of truly unfortunate events (a fraudulent lawsuit, mother’s illness, father’s death, and sub-prime mortgage fallout).
Vera is an amazing member of our little SF community, hard working, dedicated, and supportive—a true inspiration. So if you can help out, please visit the helpvera fundraiser and charity auction LJ community. Thus far, enough has been raised through helpvera to cover Vera’s back mortgage and late fees, but her house still needs costly sewer system repairs and her and her mother’s health are in bad straits.
New Words:
• 750 on The Stupid Novel, and I’m over 40K! Although it’s still a ways from zero draft, it’s a relief to pass that little milestone.
Had a weekend of Chinese culture exploration and examination. fosteronfilm and I went to see the High Museum of Art’s “The First Emperor: China’s Terracotta Army” exhibit on Saturday. It was awe inspiringly impressive, and it makes me want to write a terracotta warrior story now.
I was hoping to snap a few surreptitious pictures on my cell phone, but the museum security were vigilant-unto-fanatic in their monitoring. I saw them stop several people who had their cell phones/i-Phones and Blackberrys out, admonishing them that no electronic devices of any sort were allowed on the floor. So I figured I’d make do taking notes on paper. But I got no further than two short bullet points before a security guard “ahemed” me in order to inform me that no pens were allowed on the floor and gave me one of those stubby half-pencils with no eraser to take notes with.
To mollify my wing stub issues, I’m very picky about what writing implements I use. Ballpoint pens are out, for e.g., because they make my arms ache, and I never use regular wood pencils because of how much pressure it takes to write with them—not to mention the smudge factor. So Matthew was waiting for my apoplectic sputtering, but I ended up being more amused—in a grumpy way—than infuriated. So, yeah, the note-taking setup was less than ideal, and I took fewer notes than I might have otherwise, but the exhibit was pretty wow-some.
Still in a terracotta warrior mood, after we got home, we put on The Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor, which I wanted to see when it was in theaters, but the abysmal reviews ended up deterring me. I’m glad we waited.
It was shiny, with many ‘sploidy EFX, but the writing was cringingly bad. And the actress, Maria Bello, who was cast to replace Rachel Weisz, really wasn’t up to the task. Nearly every scene she was in, I found myself comparing her to Rachel Weisz, and she always came up short. But I like Michelle Yeoh in just about everything I’ve seen her in, and this was no exception. Also, Jet Li did a credible job as the big baddie.
I really wish they’d gotten someone better to write the screenplay, though. The family conflict and reconciliation scenes/subplot was utterly saccharine, trite, and gratuitous and should’ve been cut.
velourmane asked me to provide some pronunciation assistance to Diane Severson, who will be reading my story, “Daughter of Bótù,” for PodCastle. I was, of course, more than game, since I’m delighted that they want to get the pronunciation right*. But, as it turns out, Diane resides in Germany, I don’t have a Skype account, my cell phone doesn’t have an international calling plan (and I’m not sure it’s even capable of receiving overseas calls), and we no longer have a land line. So I suggested that I record an audio file of me reading the names/Mandarin terms in my story for Diane to upload.
‘Course, my audio setup is pretty primitive. The first time I tried recording, I got massive feedback through the mike and no sound otherwise recording. But fortunately, the second time, it worked. Still not sure how or why (hardware baffles me), but I was grateful for the spontaneous “healing.”
It took me a bit longer than I expected to put together a two-minute audio recording. But then I also ended up re-recording a number of times. I could hear as I was speaking them that I was pronouncing some of the words wrong, but it took me several trial-and-error attempts to figure out how to fix them since my mouth simply isn’t accustomed to shaping Mandarin—or anything else non-English for that matter.
*I did warn them that my Chinese is…bad, on par with a deaf howler monkey with a cold, and tends towards Shanghai dialect rather than Mandarin. I’m not a native speaker—certainly can’t hold a conversation in it—and my understanding of it is all back brain and restricted to extremely simple concepts, words, and sentences. But I still retain an ear for the tonal inflections from my childhood exposure to it—which we discovered, interestingly, that fosteronfilm doesn’t have. Matthew, who wasn’t exposed to any other language than English growing up, can’t hear some of the differences in pitch/tone in Chinese that I can. So I figured I could pull off the smattering of Mandarin terms in my story. But if there’s any grousing about the pronunciation, they should be directed at me.
I don’t do memes for the most part, but marshall-payne asked me about my writing stats and prodded me to do this one, so it’s all his fault. So for folks who wondered about the publishing industry and the ease of breaking into it (or lack thereoff), as seen through the lens of my experiences:
• Age when I decided I wanted to be a writer: 5ish, maybe 6.
• Age when I got my hands on a typewriter and taught myself to use it: 7, on my mom’s manual typewriter (although I didn’t learn how to touch type until I was 12).
• Age when I wrote my first short story: 9. It had something to do with magical horses and has been long lost in time’s passage.
• Age when I wrote my first novel: N/A (sigh)
• Age when I first submitted a short story to a magazine: 28
• Number of rejections prior to first story sale: 22 (but there were 68 rejections and a year between my first and second sale).
• Lifetime number of rejections: 700ish
• Age when I sold my first short story: 30
• Age now: 37
• Age when the money coming in exceeded my statutory employment: Hah. Not even close.
• Number of sales: 122 (which includes 30 stories in anthologies, 41 in print magazines, 38 reprints, 2 chapbooks, and 1 short story collection).
• Number of short stories sold: almost 100.
• Number of titles in print: Brain go ‘sploidy. Too much math and other variables to calculate.
• Number of titles in production or pre-production: 1 collection, 6 stories in anthologies, and 7 stories in magazines.
(Note: I deleted the questions in this meme which weren’t applicable.)
