We went to Avignon yesterday -- impoverish, neglected, often disgusting Avignon. The one place in France where I actually said to myself, "You couldn't pay me to live here," even though they have a world-famous theater festival there for three weeks in July. We saw The Palace of the Popes, which was largely a collection of ugly stone rooms. The audio guide narration frequently intoned with some variation of: "Do you see the great, ugly, boring walls? Well...imagine...them full of tapestries, paintings and other artwork." Imagine. I really couldn't. Not over and over. But I did love when a cat got into the palace. She ran about eagerly after something in the ceilings. As I petted her, her bright green eyes trailed upwards and I discovered she was chasing a bird fluttering about in the beams. I pointed this out and everyone around us found this highly entertaining. Kitty didn't have to imagine a damned thing to enjoy the palace.
I managed to take some interesting shots from the palace turrets of Avignon the city that must languish on the hard drive until I have time to upload them to Flickr.
We had friends over on Saturday and went on an incredible hike in the Tholonet. I somehow misunderstood where we were going and forgot to bring my camera, which was a really terrible shame. Hopefully we'll go back soon for a romantic climb.
The best reading this weekend were two excerpts from Christopher Hitchens book, God is Not Great. "Was Muhammad Epileptic?" and "Mormonism: A Racket Becomes a Religion." I recommend reading the Mormonism excerpt first. The parallels he draws between Islam and Mormonism are really something.
Meanwhile, I have a huge amount of writing to do. I must run now and do it.
You guys have no idea how insanely excited I am about this film version of The Golden Compass, a novel about a world where people wear their souls on the outside for everyone to see. The casting of Nicole Kidman as Marisa Coulter is genius. I wrote to the author Phillip Pullman after I read the trilogy and told him about how Trog was my daemon. He wrote back a truly lovely postcard. He's truly one of the most brilliant fantasists of the last century. This film will surely generate a great deal of controversy, as well, since Pullman's universe can be read as a criticism of organized religion, particularly the Catholic Church.
Okay, enough with the phlegm already! How much fluid can one chick's head produce? Geesh!
I haven't been writing as much as editing the last couple of days. Hence, the word count has only advanced to 66,412 in the last two days. I felt like I had to go back now and fix some things that were bugging me. Less is definitely more in some places. But from here on out, it's a race to the finish line.
I'm getting closer to decision time about my next project. I sent a critical email and received a positive response (although, some issues will no doubt have to be worked out later). I guess the only issue I'm considering is that I worry some crazy asshole will decide to locate and harass my poor parents. But then, Haven Kimmell wrote two memoirs about her family and used absolutely no pseudonyms or relocations.
Meanwhile, as soon as I wrap this up, I'm going into town regularly with my camera and filming every single fountain that strikes my fancy. I already know the main fountain fey in my story for the MELUSINE book, but I want to make sure I don't lose the details of Aix as a city -- how it feels, how it sounds. The Frenchman recommends that I start interviewing the locals about fountain lore. In French. Oy! But that, too, is becoming less troublesome. Last night, I was watching the news with The Frenchman and suddenly I understood. Can you imagine? After many months of staring at people's lips and trying to get some notion of what the hell they're saying, to sit down one night in front of the television and simply comprehend for the first time? Maybe it was a fluke. I'm not sure. Maybe the phlegm is acting as some kind of translating agent, like a Babel Fish in my ear rather than mere congestion in my Eustachian tubes. Who knows?
Le rhume continues to plague me, but I'm carrying on. I started writing again yesterday.
Total number of words since March 23: 60,770.
Not bad for having missed four days in the month, eh?
I briefly reconnected yesterday with an old friend, the author and playwright Christina Hamlett. We met working for the California State government up in Sacramento back in 1989. I went to one of her first book signings. In addition to a writing and directing a bizillion plays, Christina has now published a ton of books, optioned four scripts and runs a script consulting business in Pasadena. I'm really looking forward to seeing her when I get back home. Way back then, she read my undergrad short stories and urged me to write books. Sage advice I ignored until just recently, unfortunately.
Back to the speeding train...
ETA: As for Bayrou's "Finger of God," the newspapers all proclaimed that the incredible showing of 18% for his Centrist candidacy marked an historic shift in French politics. When he eventually spoke, he kindly and enthusiastically thanked his voters for their support and desire to build a new France and break into new political territory. Right now, Francois Bayrou is arguably the most powerful man in France because he can influence at least part of that 18% of the voting population to crush either Sarkozy or Royal on May 6.
A whole lot of people gave a crap about their country today.
As for the results, I called it. Le Pen the Nazi got fewer votes than even the polls had predicted, making him a washout. Bayrou did well, but not well enough. He still hasn't spoken publicly so there might yet be some insight into his bizarre planetary rendez-vous.
But Nicholas Sarkozy and Segolene Royal won. They will go on to the final election on May 6.
I checked their charts for that date, too. Segolene has the power transits. I think she's going to win, which is bad news for the U.S. However, my data is shitty. I hope I'm wrong...
Astrological Predictions for the French Election
I have shitty data -- that being only birthdays and birth places, and no birth times at all -- but my predictions for the French election are that Segolene and Sarkozy will win this first run-off. They have incredibly eerie, matching happy transits today. That is damned spooky stuff. Of course, maybe they'll be together in delirious denial. Who knows? Segolene has the strongest of all the transits. This is scary shit indeed.
Le Pen: The Nazi has almost nothing to speak of, which mostly means I really, really need better data for him because the very fact that he's running for the damned Presidency ought to be showing up.
Bayrou: Now, this guy has something amazing happening called "The Finger of God." Since I don't have real data for him, I can't say where this "finger" is pointing (heh heh, she said "finger"). This is by far the most exciting transit of the bunch, but if I can't see where it's pointing, it's almost worthless information. Will there be an upset of some sort unrelated to the election? Will a loss at this point be a fateful occurrence like it was for Gore? Will Sego and Sarko actually be in denial while Bayrou and Le Pen take over the world? (Uh, probably not.)
Anyway, there you have it. Let's see how shitty data holds out.
When Other Countries Have Elections
I'm getting a chafed nose from all the mouchoirs blancs I've been using. Bleh again. Am I the only person who gets ravenously hungry when they get a cold?
Meanwhile, the French are voting today in the first round of the election, narrowing the 12 candidates to just 2. America cares about this (or ought to) because we have a lot more business interests here than most people realize, and vice versa. (Right, ?) Also, the ultimate winner (who will be determined in a couple of weeks) will influence future political alliances with America. I'm just sayin'.
Unfortunately, this is a sad election. As of yesterday, 30% of the French were undecided. From what I'm told, the platforms are so flimsy, no one has any real confidence in any one candidate. They really need someone strong who can get the economy out of the rut it's in and also deal with the discrimination problems. Alas, here are the serious front runners:
Segolene Royal: a Socialist spouting old leftist, anti-American rhetoric who wants to load a bunch more welfare programs on a country that already can't afford them. But she's hot, so that's good, right? She talks about ending discrimination via anonymous resumes. She is, in a word, high.
Nicholas Sarkozy: the used car salesman for the right-wing party, but the one who is most pro-American and the only one who wants to kick-start the economy with some American economic strategies. He's short and ambitious. Many people refer to him as Napoleon. Or "Mini Bush."
Jean-Marie Le Pen: a Nazi. Excuse me, a "patriotic" Nazi. This racist, fascist bastard suggested that Sarkozy wasn't French enough to be president because his mother was Hungarian. He's not entirely unlike this raving British Neocon/lunatic, Melonie Phillips.
Francois Bayrou: a centrist with tons of experience who is entirely too sensible to be elected. The French don't trust Centrism because it's been somewhat disastrous in the past. This might be changing, however, as it appears the country needs to ditch their painfully restrictive two-party system.
Racism and discrimination are rampant here. In les cités where the rioting happened in 2005, there is 40% unemployment. If you have a foreign name, especially something that suggests you have brown skin, you can't get a job, even if you're a 3rd generation French citizen. The vast majority of these folk go to Great Britain and find jobs easily. People like Le Pen want to shuttle people with dark skin out of France entirely. He claims that "Muslim extremists" and "terrorists" caused the rioting -- which is completely untrue. The rioting was sparked by social problems and fueled by local drug mafia (keep 'em poor and addicted, fellas, to keep the cash flowing). France is just as worried about terrorism as we are. (The Taleban just kidnapped two French people in Afghanistan.) In response, Sarkozy, who was until recently Minister of the Interior, smartly broke down the staunch wall between church and state to enact a law to allow mosques to be erected, hoping to stave off the very real possibility of "Muslim extremism" developing in the country. But now people worry he'll rupture that wall between church and state even further. France is deeply Catholic but they expect their politicians to govern in a humanistic fashion.
Meanwhile, Chirac -- who is a crook facing a kaboodle of criminal charges once he steps down -- did one good thing by opposing the Iraq war, but he did nothing to move France into the 21st Century. Also, there's all sorts of weird shit going on in Algeria to this day because of shadowy French influences. I don't know the background, but I suspect some of it will crumble when Chirac leaves. But certainly not all.
Today, the Corsicans are blowing shit up as everyone bites their nails. The media isn't allowed to reveal poll results of any sort until the polls close so as not to influence voters. For once, I'm happy we live out in the countryside.
But I had a lot of fun. We had a big dinner last night with all of The Frenchman's friends and their kids. We numbered something scary like 43 altogether. I made friends with some of his friends. The kids are still unbelievably well behaved. When adults enter a room for the first time, the kids all stand and say, "Bonjour Madame!" or "Bonjour Monsieur!" and do the "bises" thing. It kills me every time they do it. The Frenchman explained that it's because French schools kick the kid's butts and tell them repeatedly that, despite what they think, they are not God's greatest gift to the world, whereas American schools tend to try and make everyone feel special. I'm beginning to understand why celebrities like Depp take their kids to France.
The Frenchman and I had a romantic dinner together the night before. Unfortunately, the restaurant was a little strange. After everything we said, the servers replied "Bravo!" Like, "Smoking or non-smoking?" "Non-smoking, please." "Bravo!" Then later... "Would you like to order an appetizer?" "No, thank you." "Bravo!"
Weird.
Anyway, pictures aren't up yet but I have uploaded two very brief films I took with the camera:
A nutty thing I did from our terrace. My brain was totally over-oxygenated and I said a bunch of really ridiculous stuff. I was high. That's all I can say. And the range is called "Dents Blanches." (Not sure how I screwed that one up. More altitude silliness, no doubt.)
And a short piece during our horse and cart ride through the ski resort. I goofed and said "conduire" when I meant "conducteur." So sue me!
We've intermittently had a stray connection here in our little vacation room here in Avoriaz. As I type this, the hulking, snowy peaks of the Alps close in on us from every window. Yesterday, we did three hours of "rackets," otherwise known as snow shoe hiking. I didn't think I'd make it. It was far more physically challenging than I had imagined. I'm practically a snow virgin, too. But the view of our group trudging in our snow shoes with our poles across the midsection of one particularly dramatic slope must have been something because if I spent too much time looking down, my head spun ever so slightly. I'll post photos of the trek and of our breathtaking valley views when we get home.
In other news, I'm frustrated by how limited universities are these days regarding what they can do with mentally ill and disruptive students. I know university profs who discovered they were powerless, even when they reported that a schizophrenic student threatened to blow up a classroom. Universities are so afraid of lawsuits these days that they don't investigate and deal with mental health issues for fear that they'll be sued for discrimination.
But two things are really bothering me about what happened at Virginia Tech. One, the psycho ought to have been expelled for stalking. Although I have no specific information on this, I suspect from talking to the profs I know that the school's hands were bound by what I just mentioned. Two, although I'm not against gun possession by sane adults, I'm now convinced that we need tight controls. If people had to go through what they do in France to get a gun, far fewer whack jobs could obtain guns and carry out this kind of violence because they wouldn't have the ability or wherewithal to complete the necessary regulatory programs. "Gun control" has been sullied by hysterical conservatives as being some kind of outlawing of weaponry when in actuality it's merely acknowledging that guns too easily fall into the hands of people who will most certainly misuse them. Creating a stiff acquisition and licensing program can go a long way towards reducing the more dangerous possessions. Until the States acknowledge this, tragedies will continue at this alarming rate.
Back to the stalking: Were these cases reported to the authorities? Not just the school authorities, but to the police? If not, why? Is it because women have their hands patted -- there-there -- when men behave in frightening ways? I've always thought stalking has been one of those problems that's under-policed (that and animal torture). When will we finally acknowledge that it's a sign of a much deeper, more sinister form of mental illness? One that stalkers themselves admit in courtrooms they are unable to control?
And that's all I have for today. There's too much snow and too many mountainous wonders to marvel at for now.
Last night I had honest to goodness insomnia, in part due to a nasty post-nasal drip. I didn't want to get up and get the antihistamines because it would wake The Frenchman, who was sleeping soundly. Finally just after 3:00am I decided that was, like, dumb, and managed to get the medication without too much disruption.
It looks like, as I'm up on 53,546 words, I might reach my 60K word count by the time we go to the spa on Tuesday (we go to Avoriaz the next day). However, it also looks like the book is actually going to end up closer to 90,000 words (by Word, not publishing count). This should not surprise me, but it does for some reason. This thing has eaten up my entire head. I can barely pull my skull from its iron jaws sometimes.
The last 1/3 of Girls of Tender Age is not typical memoir, but rather devoted to the investigation into what happened in the trials and appeals of the pedophile who murdered the author's friend. Pretty riveting stuff. A perfect window into 1950s politics and culture. I find it particularly amusing that in the 50s, environmentalists were called "bird watchers" and considered Republicans. Oh, my aching sides! That's funny, how the world changes.
The Frenchman wanted to see The Breakup last night, with Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Anniston, so we rented it. Pretty watery porridge compared to a classic like War of the Roses. Some parts didn't make any sense whatsoever and were even downright unbelievable. Commercial flicks -- bah! I chose the first season of Six Feet Under to start watching tonight. I suspect that's going to be more our speed. At least mine, anyway.
Incidentally, via a link to a random author blog from Google, I discovered that Amazon has taken down the blogs to make major changes. Hurrah! I know the design team has gotten at least a couple of my emails. I hope enough people chimed in with the same concerns. My geek dreams continue...if more in the daylight, than the night...
I didn't run around damning too many people yesterday, although it was tempting.
I couldn't resist damning BF. And he seemed to like it.
Just under 3000 words yesterday, bringing the total to 53,017 words. However, I'm not too enamored of half of what I wrote yesterday. There are some lines that felt funnier than others, but I want it to be more consistent.
Girls of Tender Age is yet proving to be pretty amazing. Tirone Smith weaves stories of her strange childhood growing up with her older, at times hilariously autistic brother, with the back story of a serial killer who comes to her town and eventually murders one of her best friends. The chapters following the serial killer's history are in past tense while her life story -- past and future -- remains in present tense. Very clever and memorable writing.
I've also discovered, as I browse Amazon, that they've completely taken away the Author Blogs. I'm hoping it's for the overhaul they badly need in design. A geeky girl can dream, can't she?
We watched Arthur et les Minimoys last night. In French. I've discovered I hate dubbing in live action films. It's just too weird. The thing that really bothered me, though, was that according to the dialog, the Princess was supposed to be only 10 years old in human terms (1000 years in Minimoy terms), yet she had breasts and booty to rival Salma Hayek. It might have been a mistranslation, but that's all effed up, my friends.
I didn't write nearly as much yesterday. 2172 words. Bringing the total to 50,241 since March 23. I think that's three weeks, eh? I sent the agent a snippet and she's very excited. I don't think I've seen an email with that many exclamation points before.
I am so looking forward to next week's vacation. You have no idea.
I started Girls of Tender Age. It's very unusual, written in present tense. She somehow collars the future and pulls it, too, into the present very casually. "When I am older, I am at a party and someone says..." Her style is amazing. What I don't like is so far in both memoirs is the use of photos to represent the passage of time. I would prefer Gorey-esque drawings personally. But that's my life, not theirs. Also, I'm liking the Zippy memoir more as I think about it.
Yesterday, I sent an email to TOR withdrawing my manuscript that they've had for two effing years. Today is the 2 year anniversary on the nose, in fact. No response. Not even, "Ugh! Sorry about that!" I guess we're all just here for their abuse and amusement, eh? (Obviously I used it to help land an agent, but I've not done much else with it. Which bothers me a great deal.)
I'm saddened to hear of Vonnegut's death. In high school, I read maybe four of his books. They stretched my head in so many strange ways that I didn't know what to make of them, but they were brilliant, which is why I kept reading them. Science fiction has long been our most powerful genre for political messages. Who has taken his place? I can't tell.
I feel vaguely ill this morning. I think it was the coffee, or maybe the vitamins I took with the coffee, but I slept badly and had crap dreams this morning. Too much tea, too late in the afternoon was the culprit, I suspect.
Yesterday I wrote 3,008 words. The last thousand were written last evening while The Frenchman was at the Worst Choir in the World. (He says it's getting a little better but I'm skeptical.) There's a stretch of about 500 words that are distinctly not funny. Everything goes pitch black. And, incidentally, thanks to everyone who helped me figure out what's happening to my poor brain. I'm less troubled by it.
I finished Caitlin Kiernan's Daughter of Hounds last night, which was a beautiful book. I enjoyed it even more than Murder of Angels, I think because the pacing was different. MoA felt a bit elastic in a darkly dreaming way for the first 100 pages, while DoH loped along swiftly and low to the ground like a wolf tracking its prey. I was pleased to discover at the end of the book the answers as to why I felt that Soldier, for all her growling and anger, was just a scared little girl with a gun. What I enjoyed most about this Lovecraftian drama -- besides Caitlin's rich prose, which weaves of starlight and black holes like threads in a dazzling tapestry -- were the very personal agonies positioned against the more cosmic conflicts. Very real pain in a fantastic world. The character Esmeribetheda has something startling in common with Mr. Wicker, which painted that character for me an extra shade of sympathetic. I absolutely loved Caitlin's use of present tense, as I myself abhor using the pluperfect tense. The present tense brings an immediacy to the writing that's refreshing and engaging. In all, a fabulous story. I'm so disappointed with how little attention her work gets in the HWA. I'm recommending DoH for a Stoker, anyway.
I just received in the mail Girls of Tender Age. I'm going to read that (it should be swift), send an important email, and make some decisions.
I started taking magnesium supplements this morning. I'm still in my 30s and I'm dropping words. They're like blank spots that float in my mind when I reach for certain words or names. It used to be names exclusively and it drove me crazy. But now words, to my horror. Eventually the word comes, but it takes a few moments. It's better if I don't freak out and pressure myself. Since I started this mammoth daily word-drive, my memory has improved vastly in some ways but become miserable in others. My leafy green vegetable intake is pretty dismal, so that too will improve, as will my exercise level. I'm positive that has something to do with it, as well.
Maybe writing over 3000 words a day is taking its toll. 3264 words yesterday, bringing the overall word count to 45,061. (That's over 54K by publishing count.) I'm feeling confident that Draft 1 will be done by the time we go to Avoriaz next week. Thank goodness for Amazon's text stats. It's helping me compare the length to other books like it so that I can ensure I'm in the ballpark. This was also immensely helpful for G3.
Night before last, we watched Princess Mononoke in French. The French version is seamless. If it weren't for the fact that it's obviously Miyazaki, you couldn't have told me those characters weren't speaking French. And even if I didn't understand everything, I remembered the story and it still moved me.
Now, more writing.
Oh, but first, Segolene Royal, the French Socialist presidential candidate weighed in on her foreign policy regarding Iran: "The Iranians had better wizen up."
Wow! She set those Iranians straight!
Incensed
Word count: 41,797
I managed almost exactly 4,000 words yesterday. They're not particularly good words in places, but they came out in a gush as if the damn broke. Some of them were words I needed earlier on that I remembered over the weekend. I expect a lot today, as well.
This morning I went outside to start some laundry and was once again overcome by the incense of the forest from the smoke of nearby chimneys mingling with the perfume of budding Provence spring. The great lavender bulb flowers have opened outside on our terrace and the chestnut tree branches are brimming with small rusty brown pods.
I might not write as much today. The countryside is ripe for a long walk.
Um...wasn't too impressed with St. Tropez, home of the rich and tourist trap of the Côte d'Azure. Cassis was far more photogenic. The only thing I wanted to photograph but decided not to were the enormous yachts with servants and silk-lined sun beds parked in the marina. As some were undoubtedly mafia-owned, I figured I'd let the digital camera cool for a bit.
We went to a winsome little village afterward, climbed on the rocks and lounged on the beach. Pictures are to follow.
Meanwhile, I've been absolutely digging the new NIN album, Year Zero. You have to sacrifice an email addy to the spammer gods, but it's all good.
The writing stopped just a hair under 38,000 words Friday morning, which isn't bad for two weeks at all. It'll resume Monday if not sooner.
I hit a wall today; couldn't write another word. So I went on a walk, the one that The Frenchman and I took together last Sunday. I brought my scarf and gloves because the clouds were threatening to huddle together at any moment.
As I wound up the hillside, the birds chirped and the breezes gently fingered the leaves of great trees wrapped in thick vines of ivy. I passed big gated estates barring beautifully maintained gardens, gazebos, shiny cars and elegant statuary. At one point I sat on a cement light fixture shaped like a stool to just enjoy the nice weather and incredible light. I only got up because a guy at a nearby house decided it was time to start mowing his lawn. Poo! I continued walking to shrug off the noise. After a while, I hit a spot where there were so many forks, I wasn't sure I'd remember how to get back, so I turned around.
On my way back down the hill, I could see down into a guy's yard who was mowing his lawn...
Dude was buck naked! And old! Really old!
I blinked a couple times because I thought maybe I was seeing things, but then -- woo! -- did I ever see some things!
Man, I thought I was going to take in some nature but I had no idea.
I'm taking The Frenchman to dinner tonight. I told him to pick a nice restaurant and to make a reservation. Tomorrow we're going on an excursion to St. Tropez. I think it'll be just what the doctor ordered!
I Heart You Stephen Lynch!
Behold! The most offensive song ever from the Man who brings us "The Gerbil Song."
I'm losing steam. Only 4624 words since Wednesday morning. Of course, I've had some other stuff going on, but I'm letting it bog me down.
Still, I'm at 37,162 at the moment and hoping to hit 40,000 by tonight. My projected length by Word count is 60,000. I have 10 days to do that before we leave on a little vacation in Avoriaz with friends.
No, I don't ski. My big plan is to strap on snow shoes and bother wildlife. The truly bizarre thing about this resort is that it is about 5 miles away from the exact spot my characters in Mr. Wicker stop for the night and Drunos has a prophetic dream. When The Frenchman showed me where we were going on the map, my head whirred with disbelief and excitement. I'll be seeing things from just above where my characters "were" so many hundreds of years ago.
When I come back, I'm going to put aside this thing to stew and start SECRETS FOR MELUSINE. I know I'm supposed to be doing some research, too. My plate will be full.
I'm still trying to figure out when Salon became a jar for conservative trolls and watery-headed intellectuals. I don't see how anything half-way intelligent can live in there, what with the lack of holes poked in the lid to allow fresh thinking.
Go, Dan, go!
Letter to IMDB
Dear IMDB Staff,
I have experience in online virtual community design, having done so for Fujitsu and other major corporations. Although I'm no longer consulting, I just wanted to point out that the feature you've added that allows people to vote whether a review is "helpful" or not is not only redundant, it's counter productive. I know this feature is popular on Amazon, but people don't use it the way many designers think they do. Users more often use it to express agreement or disagreement with a review, rather than whether it helped them decide to see the movie or not. In terms of virtual design additions, message boards are far more helpful in that regard -- and you've added those, which is terrific design work. Studies have proven that virtual communities with persistent identity increase "stickiness" to a site, and message boards remain above and beyond one of the best features to this end.
Where this feature is counter productive is that it allows users to "punish" negative reviews of movies they like. If you analyze Amazon, you'll see that negative reviews (low number of stars) get a significantly higher percentage of "unhelpful" votes -- in some cases 90% higher -- even if they are well-developed and reasonably well written. This discourages honest reviewing and will in the long run drive users away from IMDB as a source of reviews. Consequently, IMDB will lose "stickiness" to other sites like Rotten Tomatoes. Users can already in a fraction of a second determine if a review is "helpful" or not if it's under written, contains spelling errors or contains too many negative words. A load of "unhelpful" votes discourages reading, which I assume IMDB doesn't want.
While I understand the reasoning behind this feature change -- most likely to enhance user participation and increase self policing of reviews -- it does not, in fact, have the effect imagined, I'm sorry to say. I'm very disappointed to see that IMDB has adopted this feature, as I feel it will adversely affect IMDB's reputation the way it currently does Amazon.
Thanks for your consideration.
Best regards,
Maria Alexander
(I know I'm behind and that this feature has been around for a bit, but dammit someone had to write that letter.)
And really she doesn't say anything that isn't completely sensible.
Many years ago, I fell in love with a book by Zilpha Keatley Snyder called The Headless Cupid. For those who don't know who she is, she's written 43 books and won the Newbery Award three times. Her collective works have won more awards than God.
On her vastly understated website, I found a brief article on writing. Her methods are so simple, but the results are not. She produces incredibly imaginative stories for young adults that still manages to weave in real-life issues through believable characters. She is a magical writer if there ever was.
I'm just in awe.
Breakage
Words since March 23: 29,774
Only 3133 since yesterday, but then again I did a bit of reshuffling with the content. I'm never committed to my outlines. They're just there so I don't beat the monkey in my head too hard. And this word count isn't by official SFWA standards or anything. It's just what Word says.
I couldn't wait to begin Caitlin's Daughter of Hounds, as I was planning to pick it up after I finish this first draft. Last night I said, "Screw it" and just started reading. I'm so glad because it's a truly magickal, marvelous thing. I read until I dropped off, and then it infected my dreams. I was strutting half-drunk through a cemetery wearing a moth-eaten WWII bomber jacket, kicking down tombstones. I vaguely remember shooting at things. And then The Frenchman started talking in French in his sleep.
I am behind on email.
I'll live.
I broke a cup this morning. It's the third liquid holding thing I've broken in less than two weeks. In France, that's good luck. I'm not so sure about that. However, I did get three checks in the mail yesterday afternoon. Still, I think I'll stop breaking things now.
I had a moment of acute nostalgia yesterday, remembering when we had our first lessons in evolution in 7th grade. Our teacher simply said, "We're going to be learning about evolution" and began teaching it. No excuses for anyone's ideology. We kids made a comment or two and he replied, "I understand your concern. You'd best talk to your parents." And we did. That was as far as it got. And so we learned evolution. I clung to both ideologies for a long time but by college I had surrendered to a Deistic philosophy on those grounds. Please understand this was a generous position for a Fundamentalist, to admit evolution is real. The thing is, a sensible person can only study a hominid skull for so long before they say, "Okay, I've been an idiot."
I wrote 4309 words this weekend without meaning to. At this rate, I should be done in approximately 10 days.
But before I write another word, I want to congratulate all the Bram Stoker Award winners, especially Lisa Morton for her short story "Tested"! WOO!
I finished A Girl Called Zippy, which pretty much continued to run back and forth around her years through 4th grade. The last memory was the best, and certainly the one she should have ended with, but the book meandered terribly. By the end, I disliked this woman as a little girl, which was a shame, I think. And I seriously wanted to clobber people who wrote review blurbs -- like, oh, USA Today -- saying it was a memoir about a happy childhood. I'm not sure what exact combination of potent, mind-altering drugs these people were taking when they read the book and wrote those blurbs, but hey. That said, Kimmel did manage to capture the voice of the little girl -- as obnoxious as she was -- and tell each story well. The only places her writing became problematic were when the adult voice broke through unintentionally. The chapter about poetry was the most problematic this way.
And can I get a reality check from my female friends? How many of you actually fought with your friends? I don't mean shouted insults on the playground. I mean punched, tossed, bruised, and perhaps even broke bones. And how frequently? This little girl had an astonishingly violent set of friends with whom she seemed to always been physically fighting. I think I tussled with my younger sister from time to time, and I had childish feuds with kids who weren't my friends, but on the whole my friends themselves weren't remotely violent. Did I just grow up in some kind of odd bubble? Did I miss out on all the Ultimate Fighting Championship action or what? I was living in L.A. I don't understand it!
The Frenchman and I had a lovely walk yesterday that I think I'll try on my own. Maybe later today.
