Category: Uncategorized

Musing on Mortality



In the pandemic, I’m thinking of my own mortality.

I’m 57 years old with a spate of minor health problems. I’m of the age where I start to fit into higher risk categories. Given my age, I’m closer to the thing that’s going to kill me than I used to be. If it’s not coronavirus, it will be something else.

I’m trying to come to terms with this. It doesn’t help that 70s music reaches deep into my soul and connects with my childhood, and it’s almost 50 years old, or that I actually find myself saying “I don’t like today’s music.” (That’s not totally true; I love ambient and electronica, Beirut, and modern singer-songwriter types.)

I’m going to die someday. I’ve honestly never looked at it that way before. I’m going to die sooner or later. Coronavirus, cancer, heart disease, old age. I’m hoping for the latter, because I have books to edit and write. I’m hoping my death isn’t painful, that it’s merciful, and that I’ve done what I’ve wanted to do before then. I hope I’m ready for it, or that it catches me so much by surprise I don’t have time for regret.

I don’t know if there’s a heaven, honestly; most conceptions of heaven seem very — well, exclusive, like Heaven is a country club where only certain Christians can enter. (This goes with the attitude of “love everyone, even if you’re certain they’re going to Hell). I have fantasies about the afterlife, that it’s the extended family I never knew how to have when I was younger, and we’re having a big banquet in harmony. I know this is a fantasy and that the only way I will live on is in people’s memories of me, unless (as I sometimes hope) my consciousness mingles with the stardust.

I try not to dwell upon this too much — after all, I have things to accomplish and depression won’t get me anywhere. Still, musing on mortality is a sign of the times.

Hubris



I am re-editing Prodigies again, this time for character development of the secondary characters. This whole discovery process has been humbling. I am hoping that, when I tear everything down like this, that what’s left of my work is worth publishing.

That’s the thing — I don’t mind being wrong. I don’t mind not doing things right — who am I fooling? I hate making mistakes and I grovel to the universe every time I do it. But I’m seeing new things every time I do, and I’m fixing new things. (And I have other novels that need the same treatment, damn it). 

Maybe this note is my groveling to the universe. Dear Universe, I’m sorry I made you read my mediocre books. I’m sorry I thought I was a big thing when I was making big mistakes. I’m sorry I ever thought I didn’t need dev editors and beta readers. I am making amends, and I hope they’re good enough.

Now I need to go and write.

What if (COVID-19 version)



What if things will be okay?

What if we emotionally recover from our losses — always remembering, but still living for the future?

What if we find out that money wasn’t what we were looking for?

What if more of us grew gardens as a result of the shortages?

What if we noticed the air was cleaner after quarantine? What if we decided we wanted to keep it that way?

What if we came out of this enjoying our simple outings more?

What if we will bounce back after this — in a new normal, perhaps, but nonetheless?

What if we find something good out of this — if our lives get a bit smaller, a little more precious?

Experiencing Very Little



Not much to say today. I’m in quarantine as usual. I desperately need coffee as usual. Classical music is playing in the background as usual. I’m beginning not to be able to tell the days apart, except Richard is home all day on Saturday and Sunday. The cats are being bad as usual. The view outside my window is quiet as usual. 

 Although onism is the realization that one will not experience all there is to offer, it’s doubly poignant now with all the ordinary things we’re missing: funerals, weddings, high school graduations. Regular schedules. Daily rituals at the coffeehouse. Extended peer groups. 

It’s okay to mourn or even resent the strictures put on us at the moment. But stay safe. There’s so much we don’t know about the virus yet, and what we know is sobering. We need these quarantines to control the number of sick who need extraordinary measures so that hospitals don’t get overwhelmed. But have your feelings, and go on practicing safe existence with social isolation, wearing masks outdoors, and handwashing.

I will never be able to experience all things in this world. But I’m making a list of what I want to experience when this is over.

Workarounds




I’m late to writing today because we have intermittent Internet outages here. I’m keeping my fingers crossed because I have two video meetings today — one with one of my colleagues about internships for the summer (which are pretty rocky right now) and one to congratulate some of my interns for a good semester. (This is part of their celebration with a local placement who treats their interns well). 

My home computer is malfunctioning again. Same problem as before (no cursor), except that I haven’t been able to shame it into working again. It apparently has to do with a Windows update. Why is Windows Update killing my computer?

I have become frighteningly tied to my computer during this pandemic. I interact with students and faculty, grade assignments, look up things, surf occasionally for fun, make social contact, write/revise my novels, submit queries … Right now the computer is the only contact I really have with the outside world. Because my files are on Dropbox, I can’t even access them without my fiber connection when the fiber connection goes out.

I am going to have to find some workarounds. I have a wireless hot spot, but it needs some data added to it. We’re going to do that before Richard leaves for work today. I can draft using paper and fountain pen, or even better — I have a livescribe pen that does an pretty good job rendering my handwriting into digital (I bought it for $30 — I highly advise buying gently used high-tech items on ebay or amazon). 

This moment reminds me that there are always workarounds, but sometimes they take effort and money and time to find. Glasses are a workaround for those of us without perfect vision. Insulin is a workaround for people with pancreatic dysfunctions. Cars are a workaround for people who can’t walk 20 miles into work. I’m in a pretty good place for workarounds, although if my computer doesn’t start working properly, there might be an expensive workaround in my future. But one I likely can afford.

We can’t expect people with limited resources to make workarounds without help. This is why the response to quarantine has been so difficult for education. Some of our students don’t have access to computers at home. Some live in large families in apartments and don’t really have privacy. Some don’t have Internet. So we try the best we can to facilitate their education. 

We need workarounds. Because plans aren’t always perfect, because things (and people) break. Embrace the workaround.

Reflecting on six weeks of isolation

This is the view from my window”


Gloomy, isn’t it. The window is right by my downstairs workstation, however, where I do most of my writing. Sometimes it’s sunny. Sometimes I see people walking past and cars driving by.

This is my life under quarantine.

So are my experiments with sourdoughs. Today, a loaf of yeast water no-knead bread (Henrietta) sits on the stovetop, waiting for its time to bake. (Yeast water is different from sourdough in that you have what amounts to a weak wine working on the bread dough). 

So is my writing. I took a break from adding a stronger beginning to Prodigies yesterday; I should be able to finish that today and then go through the book to adapt things. 

So is coffee. Between my husband’s roasts brewed in a vacuum pot and the Nespresso machine for mid-afternoon cups, I’m covered.

So are the fountain pens I’m collecting — All under $25, mostly Japanese (Pilot Metropolitan, Platinum Plaisir) and German (Lamy Al-Star), and a really inexpensive Jinhao that looks like a Lamy made by Rubbermaid). This and ink is where my allowance has been going the past few months, as I like collecting practical things I can use.

So is my teaching online. And the Zoom faculty meetings. 

I don’t have it too bad, despite the view out my window being very limited. My husband and I still have jobs that allow social isolation. We have money for groceries. We have four cats. We have each other. We’re staying healthy.

This quarantine is so much harder for so many other people.

Unmotivated



I’m not feeling it today.

Some days, I don’t feel like writing, and today is that day. I need to write that next chapter to Prodigies (the revision adds four chapters, maybe 5). I need to write this blog (I am writing it, but it’s taking a lot of will to do it.) 

I’m tired (still). Maybe the coffee will help. 

A change of scenery would help, but I can’t go anywhere!

The best remedy for procrastination in my opinion: Write for five minutes. If you want to quit after that, do so. But chances are you’ll want to write more, once you’re in it.

Except today. I don’t think it’s going to work today.

Maybe the coffee will help.

The Incomplete Dev Edit

Right now I’m adding for chapters to the beginning of Prodigies, in order to reveal the character better and capture more of the spirit of Save the Cat (in other words, placing the character in her before life, setting a theme, introducing a debate).

What frustrates me is that this book went through a dev editor, and I in good faith thought that I had done what I needed to in the book, only to be tipped off by a thoughtful agent who rejected me: “I loved the beautiful description you started with, but I lost interest in the characters.” I had to figure out for myself, given what I recently learned about plotting from Save the Cat, what I needed to do. This is something I couldn’t have figured out myself, given my familiarity with the characters, and something I needed the dev editor to pick out for me.

I’m ashamed that I sent this out to query with this kind of flaw in it. I have found similar flaws in other books of mine — I start right into the action, and apparently this is bad. 

I wish someone had told me.

The beginning of a novel

I got an agent rejection for Prodigies the other day (that’s been out for a while; I guess it got backlogged) with a difference: The agent explained what she found wrong with the book.

She loved the setting and the beginning descriptions, but she couldn’t get into the characters.

I looked at the novel and realized the reason she couldn’t get into the characters was that I never gave her a chance to.

The beginning of a book, according to Save the Cat methodology, should accomplish a few things: The character in her original setting before the action begins. A theme to the book. The debate where she goes on her path — but perhaps it’s the wrong path.

My book starts with the action — no chance of getting to understand Grace, no way to see Grace in her original setting, In other words, no way to identify with Grace. 

My beta reader didn’t tell me about this, which is worrisome. On the other hand, I am learning enough about the structure of novels that I can fix this (I’m fixing this right now) and hopefully I will be able to incorporate this into new novels.