Oh I DO love this post!

Alma Alexander: Are You Enjoying the Journey?

"If you pick a book you love, and you pick a book you loathe, and you put them both into a pot and boil their bones clean... don’t be surprised to find that you’ve got two remarkably similar sets of skeletons on your hands."

(This goes with that "Anything that can be done can be done poorly or wonderfully" thing I keep saying.)

Oh, and

Mar. 4th, 2010 11:09 am
Any writing-group session where I get to quote Diana Trent is a GOOD writing-group session:

“Cynicism is merely the romantic’s condom.”
How to Kill Your Imaginary Friends, on: High Stakes Hippie Love Fests. Hee. Not what I expected when I clicked. (The blog is about how to kill off your characters without making real live doctors tear their hair out at your tomfoolery, JOSS WHEDON.)

This struck a chord with me. (It's also kind of standing in my WAY just now, when I'm trying to craft an antecedent-action family conflict and so don't have much leeway to really elaborate, but am, at the same time, unwilling to make anyone a bona fide villain in said conflict.)

The shows I've liked best are the ones full of "nakama," where family is something you don't just get, you have to create it, and for that it's all the stronger.
Words generated/revised/semipolished in first ten-week group session: 21,086. (now if I could just get myself in front of the laptop on weekDAYS, too...)
Yesterday was the last day of writer’s group for 2009, which sorrow and pain was muted by liberal application of sweet Connecticut wines, coquitos (MMMM), and a viewing of Zardoz, starring Charlotte Rampling, Sean Connery, and

(not Pauline Collins/Queen Victoria from Doctor Who! Reader, she married him)
(him today)

in a blond Apollo wig, culottes, and an adorable coral crocheted sweater-vest, which I envy dreadfully and want to recreate tout suite. I would wear it with a black tank top, however, as me exposing my nipples would be an entirely different sort of political/fashion statement than the one he made.

I highly recommend this film. I think you should all go out immediately and rent or Netflix this gem, watch it this weekend, take lots of notes and then come back Monday and explain it to me please because by God I am confused, I am confused and disturbed in a way that will linger for some time.

(It’s odd, but yes, it is John Alderton, not Sean Connery in his bright red panties and butt-length braid or Charlotte Rampling in her unadulterated gorgeous-ity, who had the most profound impact on me, as I am actually more familiar with Alderton’s work and am used to seeing him as either a Wodehousian bumbler or a vaguely Machiavellian Edwardian chauffeur with jet-black hair and a Welsh accent, not a Logan’s-Run-esque sex kitten with a ludicrous "evil" laugh who talks like Queen Liz)

It might be best if you were thoroughly stoned before embarking on this venture. I am not sure, because I’ve never actually been thoroughly stoned, but I don’t think wine did the job properly.

But nah, man, this experience absolutely MUST be paid forward — how can you go on living a full life knowing that you’ve missed the spectacle of the opening sequence, the strange and majestic slow progression of what is apparently the daddy of the Big Giant Head from 3rd Rock floating through the air over the vasty Scottish plains of the 23rd century, vomiting a rain of shotguns down upon a horde of red-bediapered horsemen just after intoning “The Gun Is Good. The Penis Is Bad” in a voice suspiciously close to James Earl Jones’s (and providing EXAMPLES — and also, later, there are diagrams of the mystery that is erection in 3-D slideshow), then sending them off in a wave of pillage and rapine** through the rolling emerald-green countryside? You CAN’T, that’s what.

Here is the narrator of this tale. Note the jaunty beard drawn on in marker pen.

"I am Arthur Frayn, and I am Zardoz. I have lived three hundred years, and I long to die. But death is no longer possible. I am immortal. I present now my story, full of mystery and intrigue -- rich in irony, and most satirical. It is set deep in a possible future, so none of these events have yet occurred, but they *may.* Be warned, lest you end as I. In this tale, I am a fake god by occupation -- and a magician, by inclination. Merlin is *my* hero! I am the puppet master. I manipulate many of the characters and events you will see. But *I* am invented, too, for your entertainment -- and amusement. And you, poor creatures, who conjured *you* out of the clay? Is God in show business too? "

BWAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH. Mine is an evil opening monologue!

Oh and the GREEN BREAD. The stunningly original recurring motif of the green, mass-marketed bread!!

I feel I am not adequately describing this masterpiece to you, and am thus doing you a grave disservice. I apologize.

Surely this MUST rival Manos and the Hands of Fate as an example of sublime mastery of the narrative form? How can this have gone so long unacknowledged? I can only guess that U.S.-centric chauvinism has kept this filmic work from finding similar success amongst the mass audience it deserves.

Sadly the DVD got stuck about halfway through, and it was nearly midnight on a Wednesday anyway, and raining torrentially, so we all effed off home.

Gonna miss this group.

Also gonna need to make a concerted effort to write for the next month even without Sunday-by-midnight deadlines...

Recommencing in January. ^_____^

**All joking aside, that was bloody disturbing. Of course, this was from the director of "Deliverance" and "Excalibur," therefore I should maybe not be surprised at that...
Thirty famous authors whose books were rejected

I love this. The problem is, if I do this, that's very likely all I will do.

Similar condensing-type stuff. Seems to me it would help immensely with a query letter.

Cultural difference? Come to think of it -- although I haven't seen enough of the Midwest to judge, I think this is quite true (swap out "Minnesota" for "DC" or something).


Mar. 30th, 2009 01:25 pm
I hate prophecies in fiction. Hate. Despise.

See, the thing is, if you (the character) know the prophecy beforehand? It's not a PROPHECY. It's a set of INSTRUCTIONS.

And if you find out the prophecy after you've fulfilled it? It takes talent of massive proportions not to make this a big damn deus ex machina.

Addendum: Amnesty granted if no one understands the prophecy. Or if they get it wrong. Or if they fight against it (Oedipus!) and it comes to pass anyway. I'd still rather not, though.

Addendum 2: My first rule, as always, remains that anything that can be (fictionally) done can be done well. Er... by someone. Difficulty level is something else again.
Neil Gaiman makes me happy I speak and have access to the English language.

Terry Pratchett makes me happy to be a human being, among human beings.
Hee. Part 2 of the writer's life (as an RPG) by Jim Hines.


Fascinatingly (in a BAD way), you can't edit posts you post remotely! Booo. (Or perhaps I am just spoiled.)
I wrote a ballad!

I actually sat down for two hours and finished something! (After Avatar, of course. I could watch "The Firebending Masters" a thousand more times and still keep grinning at the grinny bits. Tams, you still rock.)

It is a very stupid ballad, but it's meant to make the characters listening to it laugh, so that's not dreadful.

Now if I could keep doing things like that, I might actually finish a project...

(EDIT: very mild Avatar spoilers in comments ^__^)
One more reason I think [livejournal.com profile] jimbutcher is rather fantastic. Besides Thomas. (Thomaaaaaaaaaaaas!!! *swoon*)

(He's prolific enough, and consistent enough in quality, that I take him seriously.)
Author Jim Hines speaks out for the Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network: http://www.rainn.org/

It is so cool, so, so frightfully cool, when an author I decide to like on a complete and total whim turns out to be F*CKING AMAZING as a person to boot.
It's okay! It's just theoretical schadenfreude.

Part the first: I am feeling SO much better about myself right about now... )

Part the second: Best poem in the world. Well, of this year at any rate... )

It's mean, but it's funny. *cackle diabolique*

(Hey, I'm innocent, HE'S the dude who went and invented an entire Schadenfreude Pie RECIPE.)
The Financial Genius of John Scalzi

Unasked-for Advice to New Writers About Money

It's actually nothing new... BUT it's all in one place, and Scalzi is deliciously bitchy about it. (Sigh. I need to read Old Man's War already; I bought it over three months ago...)

Out There

Dec. 10th, 2007 01:33 pm
Has anybody got any idea of the upper wordcount limit for an LJ entry? (I have Googled and Googled...)

Nemmine. Found it.
10:10 pm, Nov 30.


90 pgs. single-spaced

I'm outie. ^________^ *GOES TO GET DINNER OMG*
tsubaki_ny: (camellia (tsubakinohana))


And... I find that I seem to be writing sci-fi and not fantasy. I am not equipped to write sci fi. But "magic" is becoming the explanation for less and less. Actually, it's becoming the explanation for little to nothing. And when I find myself writing three single-spaced pages of trying to explain Mendel's genetic square theory to a medieval teenager...in medieval teenage language... I don't know.

This is not to say I'm not enjoying it -- I am -- but geeze, is anybody else going to want to read about Mendel's square??

Not sure how I feel about this genre shift.

Looking forward to the long weekend. Happy Thanksgiving everybody! (If you are reading this and not in the U.S. I'll just be thankful for you. In both senses of the phrase.)

Bear with me, I am finally finished at work -- have been alone all day doing the work of three and SHOULD have been liberated 2.5 hours ago -- and am a bit euphoric.

HOME! Crispy dead birds! JOY.

All my best to everybody. *falls unconscious*
tsubaki_ny: (camellia (tsubakinohana))
Odd dreams, odd dreams -- I actually dreamt I was Seiji Date, which has never, ever happened before. I was 12 years old, very very extremely pale and skinny and blonde (so possibly I was really Artemis Fowl, which I am okay with), and trying my damndest to get out of gym class. (I walked into the gym and then snuck out directly with the class before, which had gotten a little delayed -- the coach, in a maroon basketball uniform, was very apologetic -- and were upperclassmen, so they were very tall and hid my hair. This was less cartoonish than it sounds -- I'm pretty sure I snuck off to have hot monkey nookie with my 17 year old boyfriend. Not entirely sure, because I woke up before I got there.)

16,017 words, plus notes I didn't get to type up on Sunday. As far as the actual "competition" goes, blah. As far as I thought I would be doing, squee! I like being forced to write down everything that pops into my head. (Also, thinking in terms of words instead of pages makes it seem like less of a pittance. Although thinking in terms of pages -- 44 -- makes it seem more doable. I'm wishy washy that way.)

This whole entry is SUCH an avoidance tactic. I'm going. ~__^
After a whole day of nuthin', I just wrote 768 words in 1/2 hour. WHY COULD I NOT DO THIS BEFORE! I really should not have to stay at work until midnight-thirty to accomplish this.

I must go home to bed... ^___^
(I feel so much better now.)



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