Ad of the Week

Old Spice is riding that farcical, satirical, strange wave as long as they can.

Tales of Woe, Part 9

I thought that with the procurement of the half curtain that I wouldn't see any more of my neighbor's stupidity. I was wrong.

With my protective curtain up I couldn't see my neighbors but I could smell cigarette smoke. This was annoying because I have several fans pulling air into my apartment so that I can run the AC only when it gets over 85F. Annoying, yes, but not worth dropping water balloons on their heads or anything as the smoke smell usually lasts only a couple of minutes.

Then I started to smell charcoal grill smell. Which was really odd because the complex doesn't let us grill at all since the rash of apartment fires in town that happened a couple years ago. At first it was no gas grills within X feet of the building, then no grills at all.

Next, a large vehicle is idling in my street. This causes me to get up and look over my half curtain. I've been towed once from in front of my own damn apartment so I'm kinda nervous about getting towed again.

Is it the tow truck? Nope. Firetruck.

What the @^%&!

So I do the nosy neighbor thing, going from one window to the next to try and get a better view of what's going on and/or see if my building is burning. Seriously, right. That's when I see that the hose has been turned on the construction dumpster that's taking up four parking spaces.

Inside the construction dumpster is a guy in full fireman gear digging around while the other guy hoses down all the material that is and/or could be burning.

Great. Thanks neighbors! I really appreciate it when you start fires in really large dumpsters!

Somehow this is more unnerving than finding the charred skeleton of what could only have been a sleeper sofa at the end of my street. At least with the sofa skeleton, I got the impression that it was lit on fire so that someone could watch it burn; the dumpster, however, just happened.

For the love of slush

I am in love with Slush Pile Hell.  The blog is subtitled: A grumpy literary agent wades through query fails. 

The blog itself is full of the awesomely bad from query letters and the awesomely awesome one line responses.

Particularly, see July 26 regarding Oprah and authors.  And there's more recent brilliance if you make it through the contest entries to previous days posts.  Actually, they're all brilliant, so keep reading until reality intrudes and threatens to chop off your mousing hand.

Am I a morning person?

I honestly can't figure it out.  Am I a morning person or am I not?

For the six weeks at Odyssey I had to be out the door by 8:00 am at the latest to take care of my work responsibilities.  So I set my alarm for 7:00 am and happily went about my mornings for a week or so.  By the next week, I'd decided that things would be better if I got up at 6:00 am and did some work in that extra hour.

It was great.  I was doing fine.  And if I could have regularly slept 6-8 hours a night, I think I would have loved that schedule.

Yesterday, I couldn't drag my ass out of bed until 10:00 am, and even then it was more the cats' idea than my own.  They had hoped for a 9:00 am feeding and, graciously, gave me the extra hour, though they did not give over without snuffling, batting and attempted cleaning of my person.

So here I am again, wondering if I'm a morning person, and if I can make myself become one. 

I honestly love mornings.  And on days when I'm up early--seemingly before the rest of the world is up and about--I feel like anything is possible.  I could accomplish anything and accomplish it on schedule.

On the other hand, I hate waking up and getting out of bed.  This is not related specifically to mornings. I hate waking up from afternoon naps.  I hate getting out of bed at noon. 

It just so happens that at 6:00 a.m. I am, usually, in bed and asleep, thus inciting my hatred of waking and getting up before I can meet all that wonder and promise of the early day.

I know I'm not coherent between my pillow and my shower followed by a mug of coffee, but that (in my opinion) has little to do with whether or not I am a morning person.
And so I can't figure it out.  Am I a morning person?  Am I not? 

Anyone know a way to convince myself that getting out of bed is the best thing for me even though I love my bed and, other than a job, don't see the reason for getting out of it?

From where you write

The title, btw, is a play on Robert Olen Butler's From Where You Dream, a slightly pretentious guide to writing that, in spite of its pretentiousness, possesses the ability to stretch the way you think about your process of writing.

I've made a significant change to my writing space and, hopefully, to my productivity as well.

When I set up my desk, I purposefully placed it so that it faced out a window.  Multiple different set ups in many different rooms over the years had proved to me that I am happiest when closest to a source of daylight and when I can let my eyes focus on something far away instead of a big ol wall 18-24" from my nose.  Thus, the original set up.

If you'll notice, out that window is another apartment building.  Between it and my window is a street with some parking (you can't see it from this angle, but trust me, it's there).  It is from this perch that I watch the bizarre and stupid antics of my neighbors.  They are often entertaining, and just as often scary and repulsive (see Tales of Woe).  And, while stories of grown men running from invisible bees are fun to blog about, they are very, very distracting when trying to get thedamnwriting done.

In my final private meeting at Odyssey, it was suggested to me that, perhaps, in front of a window was not the best place to do my writing.

I balked, then panicked.

Take away the light? No!  The ability to focus off in the distance? No! Don't wanna. Can't make me. Gonna throw a fit!

Then two weeks later, returning to my apartment, I thought, what the hell? Why not have it both ways?

I went out and purchased a pressure rod and hung a half curtain in the window.  At first I had delusions of grandeur about sewing a curtain -- I have fabric and a sewing machine, and a curtain requires skills only one step above zero -- but then I got lazy (a.k.a. practical) and realized that I could have a curtain immediately without unearthing the sewing machine in an already messy apartment (thank you unpacking for making that mess) if I just draped a pretty sarong over the pressure rod.

Blocking out 18" of window and neighbors has drastically changed my writing space.

Even just taking the before and after pictures was crazy-different.  Previously my camera wanted to auto-focus outside, no flash, causing everything to be backlit.  Now it wants to focus on the desk space, and use a flash.  Yes, there's (slightly) less light to work by, but like my camera, my focus has changed.

The difference when I sat down at the computer was immediately noticeable.   Things felt more grounded.  It mentally puts me in a workspace that's all my own.  In fact, when the window is open and I can hear people talking below it now makes me jump because I had no concept of them until they made noise; I'm completely in my own zone doing my own thing -- a much more productive thing.

And I no longer feel creepy because I am watching all that goes on on the street below me.  Creepy creepy writer person.  The cats will be pissed that they can no longer sit in the window -- in fact they've already attempted to chew and claw their way through the barrier -- but they'll either figure out how to get behind it or they will learn to cope as is.  I am heartless.

This is already the best under-$5 writing investment I've ever made.

I can still see the roofs, trees and sky.  On Sunday afternoon I watched two hawks circling high up on currents of hot air. Two became three, circling without flapping. They they glided away, and I went back to typing. The occasional hawk in the distance, or song bird close-up, is a welcome distraction. A rather un-distracting distraction considering the alternative.

I've been thinking about doing this for two years, but I had to spend six weeks in New Hampshire to finally act on it.

What about you -- what's your ideal writing space? Do you have your ideal working space now, or is there something about it you'd like to change? And (forgive me for goading) why not change it now?

Returning to your regularly scheduled programming ...

As of Monday, July 26, this blog will return to more regular, and more content-driven posting. Now that I'm no longer at Odyssey Workshop, and I've recovered from the mind-meld that is the Odyssey experience, I will buck up and blog like a girl really ought ta.

So if I haven't driven you away just yet, stick around; things'll get better.  Promise.

Coffee, out.

Sleep Recovery

In the past 72 hours, I've slept at least 34.

My body still keels over at Midnight and, for the past few days at least, wakes up before 8:00am.  On Sunday, I got up at 7:30, showered, dressed, and made coffee that I never got to drink.  I was asleep on the couch before the pot had finished brewing.  I woke up five hours later nose to nose with the fluffy cat who was stretched out -- also sleeping -- along the back of the sofa.  The coffee was cold.

Monday was a repeat -- except I made it until about 1:30 pm before the nap took over, thus allowing coffee consumption.  This past night I managed to sleep for ten hours, so I'm hopeful that there will be no nap involved.  But I am, for the first time in days, feeling like I'm capable of complicated cognitive procedures. 

In my stupor, I've been reading Tanya Huff's The Enchantment Emporium, which I just finished this morning.  It's fun and witty, and -- once you get over the giant tangle that is the absolutely enormous Gale family, and their slightly incestuous but somehow not-gross relationships -- quite fast paced.  If I hadn't read other stuff by Huff and trusted her to get to the good parts eventually (and to drench the story in witty pop culture references and snappy dialog), then I probably wouldn't have gotten through the first sixty pages of confusing.  Huff, however, delivers.

Huff loves setting her novels in Canada, and this one is no exception.  Set in Calgary, Alberta, the Enchantment Emporium (aka junk antique shop) is a "staple in the community" -- a statement which takes on many meanings as the novel unfolds.

The whole novel was quite fun and precisely what more poor brain needed to unwind and recover.

Tanya Huff also wrote Summon the Keeper, set in Toronto, which I really loved, and the Blood Books which they made into the TV show Blood Ties, which I somehow never realized they made a season two of.  Must go Netflix, now!

I've managed to catch up on two episodes of Top Chef which I've missed while away at Odyssey, but all in all , my attempt to reconnect with television has been disappointing.  Summer TV programming appears to be ... really bad.  I did watch 13 innings of the Tigers-Rangers game on Monday before giving up and yelling, no! no more innings for you! And switching off the TV with much fanfare.  It was probably a good thing as the Rangers scored two runs in the next inning.  Bummer.

Ad of the Week

Graduation Day

As of today, I'm a graduate of Odyssey Writing Workshop, class of 2010!

I've made it through the heat and the cold, and the grueling pace, and the early mornings spent in front of a copier. I've made it through the crazy people and those who inspire, through the whiners and the die hards, through loving and hating it, through banging my head against the wall and seeing the light.

I'm an Odfellow now, and a possessor of a crazy little thing called plot.

Elements

"I never think in terms of metaphor nor do I think in terms of what the image is going to look like beforehand. What concerns me is the relationship of the elements that I happen to find interesting at the time."

The above quote is from artist Richard Serra, who does giant sculpture installations like the one pictured below.  Quoted from the PBS show Art:21

I found the above quote quite striking this spring when watching Art:21 because it seemed to speak to my own creative process.  Do I still find it true and striking?  Yes and no.

Yes, I don't think there's much merit in starting with metaphor.  Metaphor slips in accidentally, like the alley cat you throw scraps to one night, who returns the next morning.  Then one day, months later, she's your house cat and you're not even sure when that happened.  Metaphor is the thing best left for the critiquer to find and see.  Once they see it, it's there: accept it.  Before they see it, it doesn't exist.

No, I now believe that there is great value in visualizing what the work will look like at the end beforehand.  This is the true value of my Odyssey education coming into play: wandering blindly makes for one hell of a bumpy, convoluted ride. If you have an idea of where you're going you can get there more smoothly. Might you take a detour? Yes. Might you never arrive at your destination because, on the road, you decided that Chinese food sounded better than Mexican tonight? Yes. But that's still much more efficient than walking into a car without a thought in your head about where you might want to dine.

One Should Not Facebook One's Ex

Don't go there. Leave it be. Let sleeping dogs lie.

One should not attempt to friend one's ex on Facebook no matter how nostalgic (i.e. pathetic) one is feeling. Neither should one attempt to Facebook one's ex in order to gloat about your current life (it's really not a healthy impulse and it makes it seem like you're not actually happy with whatever it is you're gloating about). One should particularly not attempt such things if the last meaningful communication one had with one's ex was her palm connecting with one's face because one was lying to her, lying by omission to her and sleeping with her roommate.

Chances are, if she hasn't had any contact with one in the past eight years then she doesn't want to make contact now.

Now, to stop talking obliquely about myself, I give you NPR.  And an interesting article about the digital "drive by" -- once upon a time people would roll down their ex's street to maybe catch a glimpse of the ex and/or just think about how the ex was doing.  Now people "drive by" their ex's facebook page to get a glimpse of what's changed there.  I suppose this makes more sense if you and your ex were facebook friends while you were actually dating.  However, if you were the kind of guy who referred to social networking software as the pretentious drivel of the masses, and swore up and down that you'd never pander to such an innane level (to which she rolled rolled her eyes when you were dating), then this does not make sense.  She will probably snicker when she finds out that you're "pandering" and attempting to facebook her.

Which brings me to the interesting question of whether or not to "unfriend" one's ex.  Thoughts?  Comments?  I've never "unfriended" one.  Do thoughts of the digital drive by creep you out? Do you drive by yourself?  Do you have different feelings about different exes, for example, those you didn't slap as part of the break up process?

Getting ready for the sixth, and final week of Odyssey workshop

I slept twelve hours last night. Twelve. On a very uncomfortable bed. And I could do it all again tonight. I desperately need the sleep in order to cope with the stress and sleep deprivation of the past five weeks.

As any athlete or body builder will tell you, rest is as important as training because it is only then that your body can rebuild and strengthen itself to take the punishment all over again.

What I'm really saying is that I went to bed at 8:45 PM last night, woke up at 9:00 AM, and I could probably be asleep by 8:30 tonight if I wanted to.

My karma is dry clean only

This website glossary is priceless.  A must read for your Friday feel-good-moment.

Popcorn Shrimp

Absolutely fabulous new Muppet video! There's some great comedic throwbacks to Monty Python and the Holy Grail in this video, as well as one of the better Waldorf and Statler interludes I've seen in the online vids.



I'm also extremely excited to see that the Swedish Chef's TV kitchen has gotten a 21st century makeover.

Battle Over the Bottle

From the New York Times

In Concord, Mass., 82-year-old Jean Hill has taken a shot at plastic bottle waste by campaigning to ban bottled water. While some residents are pleased, others question the effect of the new law.

See the video here.

Other thoughts: use bottles as building materials.

Then there's the thought that bottled water is just plain expensive and our tap water is cleaner than we think. Our perception that bottled water is better has been carefully engineered by advertising companies hired by bottled water producers.

Are we there yet?

I think one of the biggest reasons all writers want to publish is that publication is a sign of progress.  For some people it's the arrival of the outside validation that they need.  For others it's the moment when they feel like they've arrived ... or at least the moment they can tell their friends and acquaintances that they're writers because they can finally answer that follow up question "oh, what do you write?" without blushing and saying they're working on something. 

Perhaps writers would be less neurotic about the prospect of publishing if it weren't for the fact that in the wilds between starting to write and publication, there are almost no other mile markets to use to note your progress.  I found this great article by David H. Hendricks appearing here about how to (or whether you even can) measure your progress as a writer before you publish.

I'd heard both the 10,000 hour rule and the first million words rule, but Hendricks attributes these theories to Malcolm Gladwell's book Outliers and John D. MacDonald respectively.

10,000 hours, coincidentally, is the amount of time most people spend on the Ph.D.s. 

Hendricks' penny method might work for me.  Of course, I have to want an indicator of progress enough to remember to put the penny in the bowl.  Any other thoughts on how to reply to your inner child when it starts kicking the back of your seat and asking Are we there yet?

Working ... slowly

I'm trying to write a short story ... it keeps flourishing into a novel ...

Bionic Kitty

Have you seen this yet? It's the bionic kitty ... and proof that tape has a place in fixing EVERYTHING, even cats.