Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
Category Archives: Writer’s Life
Life with Fred
In my library of books on writing, none is more idiosyncratic than Damon Knight’s Creating Short Fiction. (My favorite book on writing, in case you’re wondering, is John Gardner’s The Art of Fiction. That’s where I go whenever I need reassurance that it’s all worthwhile.)
You may remember Knight as the author of To Serve Man (“It’s . . . a cookbook!”) Creating Short Fiction is his first person/intensely personal compendium of advice for novice writers. He gives the reader lots of snarkworthy passages, not least of which his annotated story “Semper Fi.” I don’t want to indulge my snark glands, however. I give Knight a hell of a lot of credit for throwing himself into this book so wholeheartedly. (more…)
Nada
Here’s what I have so far for Smart Bitches Day:
Compared to film, literature is not jam-packed with hookers. Wikipedia has an incomplete list; they’ve left out Stephen Crane’s Maggie, and William T. Vollmann’s Butterfly Stories, too. There are probably other omissions, but the fact remains: damn, that’s one short list.
I had wanted to say something insightful about the prostitute as a literary archetype, partly because today is Smart Bitches Day*, partly because my NaNoWriMo protag is an alien who falls for a synthetic human hooker.
But now I’m looking at the clock. It’s 9:22 and I haven’t written word one towards NaNoWriMo. Sure, I’m far enough ahead I could take a day off, but I’m worried I’ll lose momentum. If I don’t start writing RIGHT NOW, I’m going to plotz. You should picture a very literary way of plotzing.
As it is, I fear I will write a 1,666 word dream sequence for today’s NaNoWriMo quota. To use another Yiddishism, I ain’t got bupkes.
9:27 . . .
D.
*Note added at 11:34. That came out all wrong. See, I wanted to look at the prostitute-john relationship as it presents in literature. That makes it SBD-worthy. I think it’s a fascinating relationship (in literary terms — I’m willing to bet the ‘relationship’ in real life is depressing, or boring, or both) because the power play is so very different from your standard romance.
Second note: 1600 words tonight. Not bad . . . and no dream sequence, either.
D.
NaNoWriMania Day 5
On the North Coast, the storms begin in earnest after Halloween. I’ve been cooling my heels all afternoon waiting for this one to blow over. From a NaNoWriMo point of view, this is a good thing: I’m home writing rather than out shopping. 2,163 words today — go me!
Of course, we’re all snails compared to Paperback Writer (see Go Cheetahs). Sheila’s November word count sits at 34,052 — as of yesterday. AND she finds time to blog.
SO . . . I’m looking at the monitor, thinking, are these good words? As I understand, the point of the exercise is to tear down a few internal writing barriers, and give the muse a few hits of crack (oops! here on the North Coast, crank is the drug of choice) or perhaps an enema (is that the better metaphor, considering what I’m putting down on the page?)
Is it all crap? Sadly, while you can upload a text file of your novel to the NaNoWriMo site, all they give you is a word count. They need to install a crap-o-meter. Then again, if they did that, folks who pegged the meter might get discouraged and drop out of the contest.
It’s nearly impossible for me to figure out if my novel is kaka or not. I haven’t reread any of it, since That Way Lies Disaster. I’m delighted to report that I have a plot, characters who are not boring, conflict, complications, and an overall plan which includes an ending. I guess I should be happy that I have that much.
My problem is, I’m playing with hardboiled conventions, so I’m wondering whether each character or plot element is (A) trite, or (B) necessary to fit the genre. The dead bodies have to start piling up . . . don’t they?
D.
Technorati tag: NaNoWriMo
PS: So far, I have Maureen, Invisible Lizard, and Jona on my NaNoWriMo friends list. You folks who are WriMing, can you tell me your usernames so I can add you to my list?
My username is dshoffman, by the way ;o)
Blogging question
Blogspert Jakob Nielsen has written a list of the 10 most common blog design problems (thanks to Dave Munger for posting on this). I’m curious what you folks think about his Don’t #8: “Mixing Topics”:
If you publish on many different topics, you’re less likely to attract a loyal audience of high-value users. Busy people might visit a blog to read an entry about a topic that interests them. They’re unlikely to return, however, if their target topic appears only sporadically among a massive range of postings on other topics. The only people who read everything are those with too much time on their hands (a low-value demographic).
I’d rather not think of my loyal readers as a “low-value demographic” but I’m definitely guilty of this sin.
Question: should I relegate political posts (like the one below) to a separate blog, or do you think Nielsen’s Don’t #8 is hooey?
My suspicion: those of you who read me for the humor skip over the politics. I doubt the political posts hurt the blog overall. What do you think?
D.
Pain!
YES, I managed to write my NaNoWriMo quota today. NO, it wasn’t fun. In yesterday’s comments, Suisan wrote,
I can definitely see that the first week will be exciting, but I anticipate problems keeping up the pace next week and the next. Hmmmmm.
Next week? Next week? It’s only Day 2, and I’m already chafing. I don’t like this. I want to finish reading Things Fall Apart before I forget all those similar-sounding tribal names. I want to waste time playing computer games. I want to read someone’s blog besides my own (or the evil Sarah, who tempts me with her condom rants and tales of sex with pregnant women — and, may I say it? That is the best).
I’m reminded of a hideously ugly female I met when I was a kid. She was wider than she was tall and had all sorts of hideous crusties all over her body. Oh, hell. A picture is worth etc. Meet Mrs. Horta:
That’s her on the right, next to a few silicon balls, which are in fact her children! Since she was the last of her kind, Captain Kirk wanted to kill her, but Spock mind-melded with her and learned that she was in PAIN! PAIN! and was killing the miners only because they were stealing her eggs, or crushing them, or bowling with them. I can’t remember.
Right now I feel just like Mrs. Horta. I have to plop out so-many silicon balls a day or my species will die. Ugh, this metaphor dies an early death. Who is Spock? Spock would be Suisan and Jona and all y’all who are feeling the same pain. Who is Kirk? That would have to be Maureen, cuz she got me into this and that’s how mean I’m feeling right now.
Question: What denizen of hell thought up NaNoWriMo?
Question: I think I can do this, but will I be better for it, come December 1st? Or will my muse rebel to the point that I will no longer be able to sign prescriptions?
More serious question for my UK pals (and any history wonks in the audience): Can anyone recommend a good book on the English Civil Wars? Karen thought that would be a good place to start Jake’s education on revolutions.
If you haven’t already done so, give me your vote on the “Hot or Not” gizmo on the right side bar. Hint: 10 is better than 1.
Does it matter? Heck no. I don’t get a single referral through those guys, so I don’t know why I bother. But, you know something? It’s the principle of the thing.
D.
Technorati tag: NaNoWriMo
NaNoWriMo: opening gate casualties
Here I am at the end of Day 1 with 1810 words completed. 1810 good words, I might add. Here’s the opening:
All across the Silk Road, sentient beings share a similar curse. May your eyes never converge, say the Amanu of hidden S’dep, while on the cold stone world of Vora, the hideous Elkalept chant the couplet, Twelve points his claws / Warm prey on each. That rhymes in Bebili, if you can believe my Exotic Studies professor.
My personal favorite is the Roon Vissar expression, It is the wild tail that wags the weary dog, but the Dobolu High-tusks oink it differently: To snuffle up a smorgasbord. Here on Sylvanon, we Benevolents say, Your TiVo runneth over; yet no one puts it as plainly as the Chinamen of Earth: You should live in interesting times.
I used to think I lived in interesting times. Looking back on it, I see now that my life in Gollywood reveled in boring sameness. My days and nights enjoyed a glorious predictability. Invariably, Cooter would stab me in the back, Ari would scoop me on my squats, and Mr. Trump would side with Ari. At day’s end I’d drink my sorrows away, then bury my woes, and my face, in mounds of warm, synthetic human flesh.
Then I met Cassandra.
Not a bad day at all. But I ask you: what are the NaNoWriMo-inflicted casualties?
1. Blogging time. I’m dashing this off at 10:47 PM (and counting) and I still need to type up Jake’s homework for tomorrow AND take a shower. Have I had time to visit my friends’ blogs today? Grrrrrr.
2. Politics time. I’m dying to read up on Rule 21, Harry Reid, and the evil Dr. Scalito Loveless — oh, crud. That makes three casualties.
3. My sense of humor. That Scalito Loveless crack verged on the autistic. Do any of you get that joke, or am I stroking myself here? Aw, hell. It has come to this: I’m explaining my jokes.
4. Blog traffic. Oh, well; it’s not like I sell advertisement here.
You’ll notice that I did not put “family time” on the list. I cooked dinner, did the dishes, and played chess with Jake for an hour this evening. So far, so good.
Time to type up homework. I’m teaching him grammar from The Deluxe Transitive Vampire (he likes it a lot better than Strunk and White), and he has moved on from TKAM to Animal Farm. I’m thinking about focusing on revolutions this year. How about George Bernard Shaw’s The Revolutionist’s Handbook? Should be mandatory reading for every ten-year-old boy.
I’m outa here.
D.
Technorati tag: NaNoWriMo
NaNoWriMo approacheth
We’re moving tomorrow, in case you missed my poem, so I doubt I’ll have time to blog until the evening. Only then will you learn what body part I accidentally crushed/flayed/pierced in the act of unpacking.
(Yeah, right — like I’m gonna finish unpacking tomorrow. Dream on.)
Three days left to plan for NaNoWriMo. My muse is attacking this task with all the fervor of two Mormon boys on bicycles being told, “Park those bikes, boys, come in, and set a spell.” Note that my muse is so taxed by NaNoWriMo that she has no energy left over to craft humorous metaphors.
Here’s a glimpse.
Working title: Get Well Soon
Blurb: An ambitious young alien plots to make his fortune by abducting Earth’s finest greeting card writer.
Main character: Pip, a Benevolent*.
Highlights: Hollywood snark, clever digs at cyberpunk, surprising plot twists, a hard-as-nails love interest, lots of action, kinky extraterrestrial sex, and more!
D.
*For everyone out there who is not Debi or Maureen, the Benevolents are Whitley Strieber-style aliens (you know — Communion?) who have an obsessive fondness for human culture and Earth contraband.
Review of City Slab 2(3)
My review of City Slab Volume 2, Issue 3 is posted at Tangent Online. Check it out.
D.
A lack of perspective
While Jake and I waited in the restaurant foyer for the tow truck to arrive, a young woman bitched to the hostess about the lack of a fire.
“We came all this way for the fireplace. A nice fire on a Saturday night, that’s why we’re here. And you’re telling me you can’t light a match?”
The hostess smiled at her like she was six — an accurate assessment. “Like I told you, Ma’am, there’s a problem. The restaurant fills up with smoke. I can’t help you.”
“But that’s the only reason we came here. This is our special evening, we have all our friends together, and we want a fire.”
Our hostess shrugged and smiled, which seemed to tweak the young woman even more.
“You could call the owners. They could give you permission. Why can’t you call the owners?”
I don’t know how many times the hostess had gone over this, but it was obvious she’d decided not to waste any more breath on this nitwit. No matter how many times this woman rearranged “owner,” “special evening,” and “just a match,” all she got for her troubles was a smiling, head-shaking hostess. Finally, she stalked off in a huff.
“That woman lacks perspective,” I told the hostess.
Maybe I found this especially silly because Mother Nature had nearly smeared me and my son a half an hour earlier. Or, perhaps it’s because I’m a doctor and it takes more than a faulty fireplace to upset me.
I’ve been known to tell my patients, “Yes, it’s cancer, but it’s a good cancer. I was afraid of much worse.” And I often tell them, “It’s my job to worry about the really horrible things so you don’t have to.” It only occurs to me now that some folks might go home and worry, “What the HELL is he worrying about? Now I’m really worried.”
Sitting there listening to that dingbat whining about the lack of a fire, I found myself wishing for superpowers. Remember the end of The Crow, when Eric Draven inflicts all of his dead wife’s suffering on the bad guy, compressing weeks of horror into a few excruciating seconds? Yeah, something like that. I wanted to give that woman a brief taste of horror.
Nothing damaging, mind you, just eye-opening. As in: Look, you. This is what’s really important.
Right now, I don’t have bupkes for Beth’s Smart Bitches Day or Michelle’s Trick or Treat Halloween Contest. My muse is holding out on me, the wench. What do you want? Tell me. Tell me!
By the way, I really really want to spend some serious kitchen time with Beth. Tonight, she’s making pie crust. Check it out. I suspect she’s filling that crust with something, but you never do know with Beth.
On a more positive note, I made a sizable dent into my next Tangent assignment, Issue #7 of City Slab. Delighted to report that the lead story, David Niall Wilson’s “The Milk of Paradise”, is a hit. Editor Dave Lindschmidt sets up some pretty darned high expectations in his opening comments, but Wilson’s story delivers.
Just a teaser: the story is based on Coleridge’s poem, Kubla Khan. Yee-haw, what a tale.
D.
A joyous blog meme; Jake & Doug’s near death experience
Gabriele has tagged me. Now we’re even.
This one looks kinda fun . . .