I’m not tired of Christmas carols yet.
Given that it’s only Cyber Monday, a designation that seems odd given the online stores have been offering sales since Thanksgiving, I haven’t had too much exposure to Christmas carols this season.
But I have my favorite Christmas albums, Harry Simeone Chorale and Sinatra and Johnny Mathis, and — OMG, my husband just put Mantovani on (ok, Boomer)!
I have my new favorites, Pentatonix and Take Six, and — not “All I Want for Christmas is You”, which I’m tired of even though I haven’t heard it yet this season.
Throw in Benjamin Britton’s Ceremony of Carols and a bit of Handel’s Messiah, and my Christmas slate is filled with much music to listen to.
If you have Christmas favorites, please let me know in the comments!
Unusual Dreams of Christmas.
It would be a nice time to get obsessed with a story, while I’m waiting to hear back from potential developmental editors for Whose Hearts are Mountains, while I’m waiting for responses for things I’ve sent, while my last two weeks of school are easy and the festive season gives me ideas to play with.
I’m not getting any of those inspirations at the moment. “Silent Night” in Gaelic is playing on the stereo. The artificial fireplace is crackling and I can smell fake pine scent, and I wonder why these artificial remnants of a vital, pagan culture give me comfort. Would the real things give me more inspiration? I don’t know.
I admit that I have fantasies about Victorian-style Christmas Eves (note that in Victorian Christmas, decorations were put up Christmas eve and remained till January 6, the twelfth night of Christmas.) Of course, my fantasy soon takes me off into a decidedly pagan adventure with Father Christmas, finding a way to slip largesse and joy into people’s lives in the countryside. This might involve some invisible smuggling hunting of wild game for the table in a Robin Hood turn. Or modern ones, following an elusive busker through Chicago decorated for the holidays, a search for the treasure of knowing a talented soul.
For not being inspired, I sure feel inspired today.
Watching Black Friday
So we went to Black Friday at two of the commerce centers of the Kansas City area — Oak Park Mall in Olathe, KS, and the Plaza in Kansas City. People were shopping pretty civilly; Christmas music was not nearly in the air as much as I expected. There were lots of people to watch; we bought some clothes and an obnoxious jingle bell necklace for myself. It flashes red and green as well.
Our mini-vacation is ending today; we’ll drive home and put up our Christmas decorations tomorrow. A lot of people I know put up their decorations pre-Thanksgiving because a well-publicized study said that people who put up their Christmas decorations earlier were happier. We decided that after Thanksgiving was early enough.
I didn’t come up with any new writing ideas over the break. I think I’m too tired to right now and should stick to my classes and grading till I get there.
Let me be the first to wish you a happy holiday, no matter what holiday you celebrate this season.
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.
Words Like Me 