Thanksgiving on the Plaza

It’s (American) Thanksgiving morning and I am at a Starbucks on Country Club Plaza. Given the number of people here, I have to think that not everyone spends their holiday in the oft-touted multigenerational blowout meal followed by a gender-segregated tradition where men watch football and women do all the cleanup.

If I’d gone the childbearing route, I would likely be expected to host, as expressed in the song “Over the river and through the woods/to grandmother’s house we go”. The song also mentions a sleigh, a rather outmoded form of transportation involving a semi-sentient horse that knows the way. Trust me, if I were Grandma, we’d be going out to eat.

Richard and I are those kind of adults who live far away from their relatives and who will neither host nor journey to those traditional Thanksgiving feasts, so we go someplace nearby that’s determined to have Thanksgiving dinners for people like us. This year it’s Kansas City, where we’re staying in a bed and breakfast just off the Plaza and watching the Plaza lighting from the balcony. And watching people go crazy for Black Friday.

What am I thankful for? My quirky, unconventional life.

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Because our families are so far away and it’s no fun to cook for two and our house is too chaotic for guests (with now four cats, as Buddy has been shunning our house for brighter prospects with his buddy the black-and-white cat), my husband and I go somewhere fun and eat turkey there.

This year, we’re off for a couple days to a mini-holiday in Kansas City: Staying at a bed and breakfast on the Plaza, eating turkey at a restaurant in Waldo (all together: where’s Waldo?), knocking around and watching shoppers on Black Friday. The bed and breakfast — Southmoreland on the Plaza — promises to be a treat, with afternoon sherry and turndown chocolates.

I started dating my now-husband on Thanksgiving break in 2005. He got acquainted to my ritual of watching Black Friday shoppers rather than shopping (much cheaper, fewer hassles). I think that’s why we got married: he liked my quirk.

So this should be a pleasant break before going back to work (I’m a professor of human services) on Monday. But there’s only one week of work, then finals, then I’m off for Winter Break. That’s just strange.

Practicing my query synopsis for Whose Hearts are Mountains

Anna Schmidt, a shell-shocked anthropologist, searches cross-country for the origin of an elusive folk tale in the wilds of the former United States. She holds her own secrets as the daughter of the premier cryptologist of the era, on the run by her deceased stepfather’s urging. She finds tantalizing hints of the tale, threats to her life, and unlikely connections — and a threat against humanity that only she, with her knowledge of cryptology, can solve.

Writing and the Art of Concealment

Writing is like performing magic in a way —

Writing utilizes misdirection — sometimes a misinterpretation of facts, or an unreliable witness, or an ambiguity can draw the reader’s mind away from an early conclusion.

Sometimes the omission of one sentence can conceal the plot twist from the reader. Agatha Christie does this well in The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, where the narrator leaves out important actions he has performed.

A hint should not be too obvious, too direct, too revealing. In effect, they’re like the baffling prophecy in Oedipus Rex, where we can’t see how Oedipus is going to kill his father and wed his mother until it unfolds.

At the same time, the misdirection can’t be an outright falsehood, unless that falsehood is in the hands of an unreliable narrator or witness. The writer cannot lie; the characters can lie, or misinterpret, or make mistakes.

I was reminded of this yesterday when editing Whose Hearts are Mountains, because my developmental editor noted that I made something too obvious to readers who would have read my other work. How to make it less obvious? At one place, keeping silent. At another, misdirecting. Making things less obvious at another.

I feel like a magician when I can do this, knowing that words are as concrete or wispy as I need them to be.

Writing for Myself

I think I’ve passed through the other side of my dejection about not getting published. I’ve received enough rejections (for novels and poems and short stories, by publishers and agents and Pitch Wars). What does that leave?

Writing and improving for myself, primarily. Not letting my self-esteem be at the mercy of publishers and agents. Of course, I would like to be published (I have a couple little things published, and it’s fun). I’d like to have a novel published. I’d like to be published somewhere that people actually read.

I’m willing to keep trying, because the rejections aren’t really that painful anymore. I can take more until my writing hits the right person, whoever that is.

Wish me luck.

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I took off yesterday from writing the blog because I’M ON VACATION FOR A WHOLE WEEK!

Ok, I got that out of my system.

I’m a writer, though. I have things to do over vacation:

Edit one short story for a short story contest.
Edit a couple poems (minor edit)
Edit Whose Hearts are Mountains, which seriously needs a developmental editor because I don’t know if I’m going in the right direction
Rethink this whole writing thing (which I do once a week).

Fangirling over TwoSet Violin

Ok. I’m fangirling over TwoSet Violin.

For the people who don’t know, TwoSet Violin is a darling pair of twenty-somethings classically trained in violin, who demystify violin for a non-technical audience (of which I’m one) and entertain in a thoroughly modern zaniness.

They (Brett Yang and Eddie Chen) post videos on YouTube where they highlight virtuoso violinists, roast obviously fake movie footage, throw jokes around about practicing and overly strict Asian moms, explain musical memes, and serenade unappreciative kangaroos.

Their videos are like potato chips — once you’ve had a handful, you crave more of them. Eddy plays straight man to Brett’s mobile expressions and fidgety energy. Their narration is augmented with popular culture in the form of video game noises, memes, and captions.

In a perfect world, I would get to meet the two of them, just to say hi. But that’s what all the fangirls, even the ones thirty years older, say.

Better get over this burnout quick.

My brain needs a rest.

I think I burned myself out doing 50 hours of editing Gaia’s Hands in ten days. My brain definitely needed a break. Then I’m in the busy part of my semester, and have graded 45 final projects and 25 papers in the last two weeks. And put together my classes for next semester.

I think maybe I’m a little burned out on everything. I tend to want to sleep a lot, even though I’m not depressed. It’s a good thing that I have a week off for Thanksgiving next week, then a week of finals, and then Christmas.

I’m not going to let the burnout last long. I need to think of a project — maybe editing Whose Hearts are Mountains before a dev edit. Maybe editing a story or two for submission, or even writing a new story. Someone suggested I turn the short story Hands into a novel, but I think that would require a research trip to Poland, where I don’t know the language nor what I’m looking for.

I’m trying to find my direction forward, and it’s harder now that I’ve calmed down about getting published. I should go back to my goals and see if I need to revise or add or just get cracking on them.

Hope and the writer

An acquaintance told me the other day that every single last one of you are bots.

It may be true — for some reason my readership is down to ten most days. (Probably the fact that I was doing short NaNo updates, which aren’t all that interesting, I guess).

I’m still writing in my blog, and I will keep writing in it for one reason: Hope. Hope is the conviction that there will be better outcomes. It’s what helps us through those things we have no power over — after I have done all the corrections, the dev edits, the query letter improvements, I hope that I will get published. If I keep publishing blog entries and advertising them on social media, I hope I will have readers.

Hope is what keeps me going in the absence of progress.

Dreams vs goals

I’ve been pretty mellow lately about my writing, getting my enjoyment from editors telling me how to improve. This is my most noble self, but my sanguinity even in the face of rejections doesn’t motivate me to push myself — for example, I haven’t sent queries lately. I haven’t finished editing Whose Hearts are Mountains (although that may need a developmental editor).

I still daydream about getting a novel published, even though I understand how hard it is, and I know I’m not a literary writer but a genre writer, and my stuff seems like it needs an endless amount of improvement …

I need to set some goals again. I’ll make them SMART goals — specific, measurable, attainable, relevant, time-bound.

Write/submit 5 short stories/poems/flash fiction by December 31, 2020
Get Whose Hearts are Mountains into developmental edit by March 1, 2020
Send 50 queries for Gaia’s Hands by February 1, 2020
Send 50 queries for Apocalypse by August 1, 2020

Note that my goals are in terms of what I will do (submit) rather than what might happen (publication). It’s not realistic for me to determine someone else’s actions.

I suspect I will be successful in fulfilling these goals — in general I’m very goal oriented. What I don’t know is if they’ll yield dreams come true.

I don’t know where I’m going

I know I’ve been writing very boring posts lately, and for that I apologize. My justification (not excuse) is NaNo and projects.

What have I been thinking about lately? NaNo and projects. Ok, that’s not a good start to a blog.

I’ve also been thinking about my relationship with writing. On one hand, I’ve hit some very positive rejections that have 1) given me ideas of how to improve, and 2) have said positive things about my writing.

I might actually be taking my writing more seriously than I have before, and with that I wonder more if I can get my writing to the point where it deserves being published. I don’t know if I’ve gotten there with my stories, and I wonder what it would take to get to that point.

I still have some big things out there — I have Prodigies at DAW, Apocalypse at Tor, Voyageurs in a novella contest, a submission to Pitch Wars, and — well, I don’t think I will win any of these. And I don’t know what to think about this.