I finally wrote for a bit yesterday. It didn’t really flow, but I got about 400 words in, better than I have done in a while. I’m writing on a novella that is going to tell a different sort of origin story.
How did it feel? It felt good; it felt productive. I am getting a feel for the characters, including InterSpaceNet. All the characters have been regulars in the Hidden in Plain Sight series, but we’re seeing more of Simon, the sysop for the collective. Simon’s hacker tendencies have been tapped with Luke’s goal of finding an answer to a pressing question. By the end of the story, Luke and Simon will know more than they’re comfortable with.
I’m largely pantsing this story (‘Pantsing’ = ‘flying by the seat of my pants’) — I just got the idea to insert the short story that spawned this into the body of the novella, and now I don’t know if the shape of the novella is correct. My gut tells me it’s correct enough. I can fine-tune it later.
I won’t write today because I need some rest this weekend. But maybe I’m moving forward.
The other day, I figured out that the genre I’m writing is magical realism. It had never occurred to me that writing about a theoretically real place (Barn Swallows’ Dance, an ecocollective) with preternatural guests and a resident demi-god would be magical realism. Especially as the stories feature allegories for all-too-human situations.
I thought my works were just some very subdued contemporary fantasy, some bastard children that would never sell because they’re just not … enough. I wrote the books because of something within me that said they had to be written.
I’ve always wanted to write magical realism. Maybe knowing this will entice me to write.
I didn’t own a computer until I graduated with my Ph.D.. The University of Illinois had an abundance of computer labs, and I didn’t have money for a computer, being a student. I should talk about the computers I used then, of course. I was a student before Windows came out, and that meant I used DOS operating system with its glowing green cursor on a black background. Soon after, I took a class with Apple IIes, and decided I liked Apple computers better.
I was also active on the PLATO system. PLATO was an educational system at several universities and other sites; its hub was at University of Illinois. In addition to educational lessons, PLATO offered several features that are part of today’s Internet: messaging, email, discussion forums, and group chats. PLATO became a social network for the people who had access to it, including things like online dating and group meets. It was a haven for a geek girl like me.
The first computer I had access to at home was a classic Mac. It was not mine; I borrowed it when I was laid up at home with a broken leg. Those machines were cute, almost portable.
The first computer I bought myself was an Apple IIvx, a desktop computer that cost me $2300. That is in 1993 dollars; the computer would cost $4,992.97 today. It was an exorbitant price, however PC machines had not started running Windows yet and I preferred the WYSIWYG operating system. Not long after I bought this computer, Apple came out with a cheaper and faster computer called Quadra. I was one of the people angry that we had paid so much for an inferior computer, but I had my computer for several years.
Computers today are so much faster, so much more powerful, so much more graphically inclined, that talking about a 1993 computer seems quaint. My computer today (A Samsung Galaxy Ultra 4) is so far beyond what I had back then.
I am not a complainer, or at least I hope I’m not. I make an exception for my aching bones.
I’m over sixty, and that means my body has seen a lot of wear and tear. My knees are misaligned, causing a lifetime of wear on my cartilage. A car hit me when I was in my late twenties, and I have a bar and screws in my left leg; this has also caused some lasting problems in my hip.
I ache. I can’t take any of the NSAID drugs because of kidney disease, which leaves me treating all the pain for this with acetaminophen (paracetamol). It is only slightly effective, leaving me with the rest of the pain as part of my daily routine.
This is my life now. I’m told it’s part of getting older, but I don’t feel that old. Sixty is not that old, is it?
(I assume the question above presumes a big jackpot win rather than $2. The type of win that changes one’s life rather than just settles a bit of money on one.)
We (my husband and I) would proceed cautiously. First, we would get a lawyer and an accountant, and let the lawyer take over on the receipt of the funds, avoiding publicity, and the like. We would mark out a bit of money to spend in the first year so that we didn’t go wild with spending. We would spend that money on a mortgage, renovating the house and yard, which would benefit us in the short run and help us sell the house in the long run.
Then we would retire. There’s no conceivable way we could continue working under all the notoriety that a lottery win would cause.
We would work with a financial planner to set up our money in a way where we could live off the interest (not richly) and set up trusts for family members. I think we would also set up a trust for charitable purposes.
We would move to a bigger, more interesting town. Nothing too fancy and nothing too big. A college town would be nice, or an artsy town. We talk about this now as a thought exercise. We haven’t agreed on where yet.
We would be more discerning with our purchases. We would think of quality, not quantity. I think this will be the hardest part for us, as we seem obsessed with gadgets.
My biggest worry is that money might change my mind about the haves and the have-nots. I would hope I would not fall into the trap of believing that I deserved the money while others do not. I would not want to begrudge my tax dollars going to support the poor. I would not want to become a right-winger, and would do anything in my power not to be one.
This is the longest I have gone without writing. I am concerned about this, because I’m afraid I’m losing the habit. I can think of some reasons I have had so much trouble writing.
First reason is that I am facing the fact that my books may never get enough readers. It takes a miracle to get attention. Or notoriety, but I’m reluctant to go that far to get readers. I usually combat this by reminding myself that my focus should be on writing for the sake of writing. That doesn’t always work.
4×4 or truck stuck in the mud at sunset on the Applegate Trail, Black Rock Desert, NW Nevada, US
Which brings me to crippling self-doubt. I compare myself to people who get published and selling books, and I feel that there’s something wrong with my writing that readers avoid it. This is contradictory with the first reason — if people aren’t buying my books, how do they know that they’re bad? My mind is not listening to reason, however.
Third, but just as important, is that I am not finding flow in my writing lately. I’m working on a novella based in the Hidden in Plain Sight universe, and it is bogging down before it’s even started because of my nagging feeling that I have not structured it right. The other, the latest Kringle book, is likewise bogging down because of structural issues. I’m using an outline but still struggling with this.
Part of this is that none of my ideas have captured my imagination. They all feel like contractual obligations, like that album the band had to make because the record company wanted them to.
Thus, I have fallen out of the habit of writing except for this blog. I write it every day, at this point for 170 days running. Maybe this is a good thing because I have a challenging spring semester with one of my classes. Maybe this helps me in the seed-starting season (we’re going to have a garden this year if it kills us, and that’s my responsibility).
I could give up writing — I have enough books to edit and release that I’ll be releasing books yearly for the next three years. I have written sufficient books to call myself an author. I would never have to release another book other than the ones I have already written. But I miss the flow of writing, something that helped my well-being and which defined me.
I need some reassurance, some encouragement, some breakthroughs in plotting or an idea that excites me. I need one of those factors to budge so I get motivated to write.
My family had a Christmas tradition — I guess one could call it a tradition. It involved a set of candle holders that spelled out ‘Noel’ that my mother had. These are common in the US. ‘Noel’ is an Old French word that means ‘Christmas’. One might wonder why the Old French is common; keep in mind that the German version is ‘Weihnachten’, which doesn’t lend itself to candleholders.
I should point out that my mother decorated for Christmas HARD, by which I mean she decked the halls until they got dizzy and tied ribbons around everything that didn’t run away fast enough. The Noel candleholders always sat on a piece of furniture that took up part of the living room.
My father, on the other hand, had a peculiar sense of humor. And dyslexia. And a colleague named Leon. All of these came together, and my dad would rearrange the letters NOEL to spell LEON. The trick was to see how long it took Mom to recognize that the letters now spelled Leon.
I adopted the practice of rearranging the letters. This made two generations of letter-swapping, and my mother had to be extra vigilant that her decoration was not declaring ‘Leon’ She was not vigilant enough; she never caught us.
One year for Christmas, I found a cute set of block candles that spelled out ‘Noel’. I unwrapped the packaging carefully and rearranged them, then had my niece smuggle them under the Christmas tree (wrapped, of course) to Mom from Leon. This niece got the joke, because she herself started rearranging the letters, making three generations to adopt the trick. My mother also got the joke and laughed hard. The next year I got a bottle of homemade wine for a Christmas present — named Vin Leon.
My parents are gone now, but my husband and I bought a set of letters spelling out NOEL, and we rearranged them for our tree. The Christmas tree proclaims LEON.
I think it’s the flu. I’m still sick. Wish me luck.
Right now, I think I have the worst cold I’ve ever had. I was up all night last night, and this morning, writing is not a flow activity.My cat is trying to write for me, and she’s further off than I am. Time to go back to bed.
I haven’t had my coffee yet this morning. I fell asleep upright (thank goodness this is a work-from-home day) and I’m not yet awake even though I’m writing this. I guess I am a coffee addict.
Words Like Me 