Franz and Marta: True Love Always
4 CommentsBy Lostcheerio on Wednesday, November 28, 2007 at 9:57 AM.
Goodbye to Franz the Bookbeast. Congratulations to his new owner, Marta. Her blog is Writing in the Water. She is a Nanowrimo winner this year. *applause* Now she has a Bookbeast that will unlock her inner surrealist. One has to ask, what might December bring?
Labels: bookbeasts
When I first saw this poster, browsing Blockbuster Online, I thought maybe John Cusack and Samuel Jackson had been teamed up in a historical drama about the year 1408. Maybe John Cusack would put on a corset, and Samuel L. Jackson would stare into middle distance and contemplate oppression. As it turns out, not.
I sometimes feel hesitant about movies based on Steven King stories. After all, Lawnmowerman. You know? But I have never been disappointed in either John Cusack or Samuel L. Jackson, so I trusted these actors. And 1408 was fantastic.
Here's the premise: John Cusack is a writer who goes around debunking hauntings. He publishes books about the "Most Haunted Country Houses" and "Most Haunted Mansions" etc. but he does not believe in ghosts, he has only eye-rolling for wide-eyed proprietors and their warnings of locking your door against spooks. In the first scene we see him investigating a bed and breakfast that's supposed to be haunted but turns out to be about as spooky as a mushroom omelet. Then he gets an anonymous tip: Don't stay in room 1408 of the Dolphin Hotel in NYC.
After this point, all the other actors and actresses in the movie fade into the background, and it's John Cusack's stage. Whenever I see a great performance like this, I think, "Who else could have pulled this off? Nobody!" This may or may not be true, but Cusack's natural sneer, his indifferent posture, and his cool factor really made this character work. Totally, totally amazing. It was so creepy, so ghastly, so horrifying that I almost crawled into my husband's armpit for safety.
There was no gore. No decapitation. No severed leg flying through the air. This was not Saw or Hostel or Grindhouse or any of those bloodbaths. This was pure, tight, excrutiating psychological thrill, and it was perfectly, perfectly executed. Okay, well, the ending was a little loose, but... I'm glad of that. I needed a little breathing room by the end of the movie.
I wholeheartedly recommend this. It's the best kind of horror movie. No disgusting tearing apart of flesh, nobody burned alive, no goofy monsters, and you can go to bed and sleep well, because the situation is so specific (just in room 1408!) that you don't have to worry subconsciously that the horror is going to get into your house.
Five pumped fists for 1408.
Labels: 1408, john cusack, movie review, movies
Categorize this under "Excuses, Excuses, Whatever."
I made a few changes this year which hurt my output:
1. Going to Disney World in the middle of November. Not only did this throw off my writing during the trip, but it also threw off my children's schedules, which made them more needy after the trip, and my husband's work schedule, which made him less available to help me all month. It's critical to Nano-ing that he take the children away out of the house for hours at a time during the weekend, and while this happened multiple times last year, it did not happen at all this year.
2. I did not ask for help. Last year and the year before, Ahno took the children during the week at least one afternoon per week so I could be alone in the house and pound out some words. I didn't ask her to do that this year.
3. I decided to write literary fiction instead of a children's book or genre piece. I knew it would be harder to get volume on a piece of writing that I actually care about and want to be perfect. I should have known I was in trouble when I threw out so much of the first chapter and started over. This was in week 1, before Disney World, before whatever else happened.
For these reasons, and more importantly my belligerent unwillingness to just overcome everything and write anyway, I am not going to reach 50K this year. I am, however, going to set myself a new goal of 25K and see if I can do that. I have already written the hardest part of the book, and I have also edited as I go along so that I'm very happy with what I have. If I can end the month with 25K that I'm proud of, I will call that a personal victory.
I made a few changes this year which hurt my output:
1. Going to Disney World in the middle of November. Not only did this throw off my writing during the trip, but it also threw off my children's schedules, which made them more needy after the trip, and my husband's work schedule, which made him less available to help me all month. It's critical to Nano-ing that he take the children away out of the house for hours at a time during the weekend, and while this happened multiple times last year, it did not happen at all this year.
2. I did not ask for help. Last year and the year before, Ahno took the children during the week at least one afternoon per week so I could be alone in the house and pound out some words. I didn't ask her to do that this year.
3. I decided to write literary fiction instead of a children's book or genre piece. I knew it would be harder to get volume on a piece of writing that I actually care about and want to be perfect. I should have known I was in trouble when I threw out so much of the first chapter and started over. This was in week 1, before Disney World, before whatever else happened.
For these reasons, and more importantly my belligerent unwillingness to just overcome everything and write anyway, I am not going to reach 50K this year. I am, however, going to set myself a new goal of 25K and see if I can do that. I have already written the hardest part of the book, and I have also edited as I go along so that I'm very happy with what I have. If I can end the month with 25K that I'm proud of, I will call that a personal victory.
Labels: nanowrimo
It's hard to write about death. I didn't realize how hard it was until I tried to really do it myself. There was a professor at my college who did it well: Richard Messer. When I had him as a writing teacher, I was 19 and 20, and writing saucy, trouble-making things. He responded positively to something about my writing, which gave me confidence to keep doing it. Here is an excerpt from his book Murder in the Family.
*****
I kept her old leather coat--but she had that brand new beautiful yellow one,
why was she wearing this, her father's castoff, shabby and too big? I put it
on and feel the hairs on my neck rise. Something has fallen out of the
sleeve and under the table, then under the bed, as if it were alive. Down on
my knees, I feel into the darkness under the box springs. The soft whorls of
lint dust. It is at this moment I know again that someone else is in the
room. At the table by the window in the other room. Someone who sits writing
down everything I do with a black pen on white paper. And if the leaden pen
stops its slow-motion scrawl, the wall of language will dissolve, and there
will be nothing between me and the writer, between the writer and the
terror.
Together we watch a name appear on the white surface: Bruno.
The one on his knees rears up as though struck. And so he has been
struck--by the thought of his children dying. Where are they? They have to go to
school, tell curious playmates what has happened. They don't want to stay home.
He explains this to himself and it is to Bruno he speaks, the one who sits
like a bear, the one who records, the one who listens. All week he has only
been going through the motions; he knows it now. People around
him try to act as though nothing has happened; so does he. But Bruno knows
better. From the moment he recoiled in the hospital morgue after seeing her
body, he has been split in two. The part of his life he lived through her
began to recede into the past, calling out to the rest of him like someone
buried alive. That it will always be this way is what he fears most. That he
will never feel wholly involved, wholly there in the world again. That,
diminished, preoccupied, he will drift on in the prison of an unreal
present-past, always reaching back inside himself, trying to save her.
*****
At the time I knew him, I thought, wow, what a dark, kind of melancholy person, what a grey and haunted person. He was kind of scary and cool. Now that I'm older and I'm trying, myself, to write about death, I respect the writing he was doing. Death is really physical and low, and the awfulness is grinding and slow. The part right after the death is so breathless, how mundane, but your legs keep moving forward. I am not entirely sure what made me dig out this book and look at his work, but I'm glad I did.
Another one of his line that I have never forgotten is about how he wondered if he had spent his life trying to wake up, or trying to go to sleep. And in another, he says the dawn came through the window searching for survivors. Pretty amazing stuff, and it sticks with me after lo these long fifteen years.
*****
I kept her old leather coat--but she had that brand new beautiful yellow one,
why was she wearing this, her father's castoff, shabby and too big? I put it
on and feel the hairs on my neck rise. Something has fallen out of the
sleeve and under the table, then under the bed, as if it were alive. Down on
my knees, I feel into the darkness under the box springs. The soft whorls of
lint dust. It is at this moment I know again that someone else is in the
room. At the table by the window in the other room. Someone who sits writing
down everything I do with a black pen on white paper. And if the leaden pen
stops its slow-motion scrawl, the wall of language will dissolve, and there
will be nothing between me and the writer, between the writer and the
terror.
Together we watch a name appear on the white surface: Bruno.
The one on his knees rears up as though struck. And so he has been
struck--by the thought of his children dying. Where are they? They have to go to
school, tell curious playmates what has happened. They don't want to stay home.
He explains this to himself and it is to Bruno he speaks, the one who sits
like a bear, the one who records, the one who listens. All week he has only
been going through the motions; he knows it now. People around
him try to act as though nothing has happened; so does he. But Bruno knows
better. From the moment he recoiled in the hospital morgue after seeing her
body, he has been split in two. The part of his life he lived through her
began to recede into the past, calling out to the rest of him like someone
buried alive. That it will always be this way is what he fears most. That he
will never feel wholly involved, wholly there in the world again. That,
diminished, preoccupied, he will drift on in the prison of an unreal
present-past, always reaching back inside himself, trying to save her.
*****
Another one of his line that I have never forgotten is about how he wondered if he had spent his life trying to wake up, or trying to go to sleep. And in another, he says the dawn came through the window searching for survivors. Pretty amazing stuff, and it sticks with me after lo these long fifteen years.
Labels: death, richard messer, writing
Nanowrimo Day 19: The Sentence that Could Not Be Written
1 CommentsBy Lostcheerio on Monday, November 19, 2007 at 7:56 PM.
Yesterday I did it.
Maybe it was Marta's comment that pushed me over the block. She said, and I paraphrase, that if there seems to be a chapter that cannot be written, then maybe there is really just a sentence that cannot be written, and if I could identify that sentence that could not be written, then I could get over myself and just write it. After all, *identifying* the sentence is practically writing it. I would have to write it in my head in order to identify it.
So I thought of the sentence that could not be written, and by thinking of it, I wrote it. And then I wrote the whole rest of the chapter. It was nightmarish to write. At one point I leaned over to Dan and said, "I can't write any more of this chapter. It's too awful. You have to help" And Dan's response was, "Would you like to hear some dead baby jokes?"
I did punch him. But I also put it in the novel. Hehehe. I have now accomplished what I really needed to accomplish with Nanowrimo, which was to force myself to write that chapter/scene/sentence, which has been hovering over me for years. I feel better.
Thank you, Marta! For your inspired comment, you will receive one Bookbeast. You may choose which one you like, and tell me, and I will mail it to you, with my effusive thanks.
Maybe it was Marta's comment that pushed me over the block. She said, and I paraphrase, that if there seems to be a chapter that cannot be written, then maybe there is really just a sentence that cannot be written, and if I could identify that sentence that could not be written, then I could get over myself and just write it. After all, *identifying* the sentence is practically writing it. I would have to write it in my head in order to identify it.
So I thought of the sentence that could not be written, and by thinking of it, I wrote it. And then I wrote the whole rest of the chapter. It was nightmarish to write. At one point I leaned over to Dan and said, "I can't write any more of this chapter. It's too awful. You have to help" And Dan's response was, "Would you like to hear some dead baby jokes?"
I did punch him. But I also put it in the novel. Hehehe. I have now accomplished what I really needed to accomplish with Nanowrimo, which was to force myself to write that chapter/scene/sentence, which has been hovering over me for years. I feel better.
Thank you, Marta! For your inspired comment, you will receive one Bookbeast. You may choose which one you like, and tell me, and I will mail it to you, with my effusive thanks.
This game will keep you awake when it's two o'clock in the morning, and you've already been across four state lines, and another latte will make you vomit, and another mile will see you in the ditch, because you've been hitting those wake-up strips, and you can smell death. It is a good game that can last for 100 miles or maybe even all the way home. You do need a partner to play. A living partner who is also awake.
Here's how you do it.
The first person says a book title or song title or something... like:
Hard Day's Night
Then the next person takes one of those words and says another title with that word in it, like:
The Night We Never Met
Then the next person takes one of *those* words and says *another* title with that word in it, like:
I Met You
The next person says:
Crazy for You
Like that. Sounds easy, but it gets hard. There are certain titles that seem like a dead end, but there are of course really very few. If there's a way in, there's a way out. You may find yourself cycling past "Baby Love" by the Supremes or "One" by U2 a couple more times than you'd think.
There are three levels of play:
Level 1: Competitive. Limit your play to only movie titles, or only book titles, or only song titles, or some other tight category. Try to stick your opponent with a hard one, like "Layla" or something. Try to win by putting them in a spot they can't think their way out of. Another way to make it harder is to decide that you can't play out on the word you played in on. Like you can't follow "She Loves You" with "All you Need is Love" and then "Love Actually." You have to go to "All of Me" or "Need you Tonight" or whatever. A super-hard way to play is to go for two word titles, play in on the first word, play out on the second word.
Level 2: Casual. Song titles and movie titles and book titles and even tv shows. Still try to win, but don't be as vicious.
Level 3: Ridiculous. Song titles, movie titles, book titles, tv shows, idiomatic phrases, stuff you heard on the radio an hour ago, etc. The point of playing at this level is not to win, but to keep the volley going as long as possible. More collaborative than competitive.
The next time you're going from one end of the country to the other and you need a way to make the miles fly by, turn off the show tunes and try "In and Out."
This game was invented over a decade a go by me and Joshilyn Jackson while we were on a car trip from Chicago to Atlanta. I feel compelled to disclose that other games we invented on that trip included impersonating NPR nuns, and turning Madonna songs into FAQs.
Here's how you do it.
The first person says a book title or song title or something... like:
Hard Day's Night
Then the next person takes one of those words and says another title with that word in it, like:
The Night We Never Met
Then the next person takes one of *those* words and says *another* title with that word in it, like:
I Met You
The next person says:
Crazy for You
Like that. Sounds easy, but it gets hard. There are certain titles that seem like a dead end, but there are of course really very few. If there's a way in, there's a way out. You may find yourself cycling past "Baby Love" by the Supremes or "One" by U2 a couple more times than you'd think.
There are three levels of play:
Level 1: Competitive. Limit your play to only movie titles, or only book titles, or only song titles, or some other tight category. Try to stick your opponent with a hard one, like "Layla" or something. Try to win by putting them in a spot they can't think their way out of. Another way to make it harder is to decide that you can't play out on the word you played in on. Like you can't follow "She Loves You" with "All you Need is Love" and then "Love Actually." You have to go to "All of Me" or "Need you Tonight" or whatever. A super-hard way to play is to go for two word titles, play in on the first word, play out on the second word.
Level 2: Casual. Song titles and movie titles and book titles and even tv shows. Still try to win, but don't be as vicious.
Level 3: Ridiculous. Song titles, movie titles, book titles, tv shows, idiomatic phrases, stuff you heard on the radio an hour ago, etc. The point of playing at this level is not to win, but to keep the volley going as long as possible. More collaborative than competitive.
The next time you're going from one end of the country to the other and you need a way to make the miles fly by, turn off the show tunes and try "In and Out."
This game was invented over a decade a go by me and Joshilyn Jackson while we were on a car trip from Chicago to Atlanta. I feel compelled to disclose that other games we invented on that trip included impersonating NPR nuns, and turning Madonna songs into FAQs.
Labels: games
Take the Books to Disney World: The Transformative Power of Spinning Teacups
4 CommentsBy Lostcheerio on Sunday, November 18, 2007 at 12:00 AM.
Today, We the Living by Ayn Rand and A Room of One's Own by Virgnia Woolf were escorted through the Magic Kingdom by me, and also by Anxious Pleasures by Lance Olsen.
I recently read A Room of One's Own for the first time. Oh, I "read" it as an undergraduate, but I didn't really pay any attention. I was not interested in reading about feminism because I was too busy rolling by eyes at it. What I found, when I finally got to it, was that the book was surprisingly funny, and not just some stuffy crank about how rough women have it. In fact, even way back then, Virginia Woolf was telling women to get on with life -- make something, do something, say something, discover something -- and quit howling about men and how awful everything is.
The Magic Kingdom is all about girls having rooms of their own. Minnie Mouse even has an entire house of her own:
Ariel has that nice grotto:
And we all know who lives here:
A Room of One's Own had no trouble getting into the party spirit. We the Living, however, which is about the Russian Revolution, and, you know, the human spirit and stuff, had more difficulty relaxing.
She didn't see the point of riding a flying elephant.
She didn't think it was, after all, a small world. Then there was the part where she almost got into a duel with Woody the Dancing Cowboy.
The Country Bear Jamboree is just pap for the masses.
Not even cool chillin' in a rocking chair by Tom Sawyer's Island worked.
When a book is so deeply into nobly self-sacrificing itself strictly for its own individual gain, sometimes you just have to ditch it by the turkey leg stand and run off. So, Anxious Pleasures and A Room of One's Own snuck off on their own to the Haunted Mansion.
Here's Anxious Pleasures on Goofy's Barnstormer:
The front row seat was taken by someone's crazy little children:
Trying on Christmas headgear:
How about a horse of one's own?
I'm not surprised that Ayn Rand's book was able to resist the seduction of the Magic Kingdom. She's a grim sort, and determined. If spinning teacups won't change your mind, then nothing will. Still, can you not imagine Kira and Leo on the teacups, spinning the winter away? Instead of dying in the snow, so close to the border, so close. At least they had their day at Disney, with no tuberculosis in sight, no snow, and a small world after all.
That's it for this trip. I appreciate those who have linked to this project. Tomorrow we are on our way back to Virginia.
See ya real soon!
I recently read A Room of One's Own for the first time. Oh, I "read" it as an undergraduate, but I didn't really pay any attention. I was not interested in reading about feminism because I was too busy rolling by eyes at it. What I found, when I finally got to it, was that the book was surprisingly funny, and not just some stuffy crank about how rough women have it. In fact, even way back then, Virginia Woolf was telling women to get on with life -- make something, do something, say something, discover something -- and quit howling about men and how awful everything is.
The Magic Kingdom is all about girls having rooms of their own. Minnie Mouse even has an entire house of her own:
Ariel has that nice grotto:
And we all know who lives here:
A Room of One's Own had no trouble getting into the party spirit. We the Living, however, which is about the Russian Revolution, and, you know, the human spirit and stuff, had more difficulty relaxing.
She didn't see the point of riding a flying elephant.
She didn't think it was, after all, a small world. Then there was the part where she almost got into a duel with Woody the Dancing Cowboy.
The Country Bear Jamboree is just pap for the masses.
Not even cool chillin' in a rocking chair by Tom Sawyer's Island worked.
When a book is so deeply into nobly self-sacrificing itself strictly for its own individual gain, sometimes you just have to ditch it by the turkey leg stand and run off. So, Anxious Pleasures and A Room of One's Own snuck off on their own to the Haunted Mansion.
Here's Anxious Pleasures on Goofy's Barnstormer:
The front row seat was taken by someone's crazy little children:
Trying on Christmas headgear:
How about a horse of one's own?
I'm not surprised that Ayn Rand's book was able to resist the seduction of the Magic Kingdom. She's a grim sort, and determined. If spinning teacups won't change your mind, then nothing will. Still, can you not imagine Kira and Leo on the teacups, spinning the winter away? Instead of dying in the snow, so close to the border, so close. At least they had their day at Disney, with no tuberculosis in sight, no snow, and a small world after all.
That's it for this trip. I appreciate those who have linked to this project. Tomorrow we are on our way back to Virginia.
See ya real soon!
Labels: ayn rand, take the books to disney world
Take the Books to Disney World: Even Kierkegaard Gets the Muppets
0 CommentsBy Lostcheerio on Friday, November 16, 2007 at 10:29 PM.
Today three books accompanied me to Disney MGM Studios: The House of Sand and Fog by Andre Dubus, Fear and Trembling by Soren Kierkegaard, and As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner.
There are two "thrill rides" at Disney MGM Studios: Tower of Terror, where an elevator car gets yanked up and down, and up and down, and up and down again, causing the contents (book and human) to freefall periodically, and the Rock and Roll Roller Coaster, where you get shot around in the dark, including upside down. The House of Sand and Fog rode both these rides, even the freefalling one, even though I was actually crying at one point, crying for my life to return to me.
Here's The House of Sand and Fog blending into the decor inside the Hollywood Tower Hotel (where the aforementioned elevator is located):
Here he's posing with a fellow fan of freefall:
This guy said, "What's the book about?"
And I said, "Well, it's pretty depressing. So I brought it to Disney World to cheer it up."
And the guy said, "Fair enough."
Brits don't demand too much explanation when it comes to odd projects.
The House of Sand and Fog and As I Lay Dying both really loved the Beauty and the Beast live show. Here they are watching a foggy scene, and the scene where the beast lies dying:
They further bonded over some pin trading:
And at the "Honey I Shrunk The Kids" playground. Here's The House of Sand and Fog playing hide and seek:
Look on the rocks behind the giant tub of Play-doh, As I Lay Dying! I think that's where he's hiding!
Oh, wait, it's only Fear and Trembling, having another pout.
Don't get pizza sauce on your Oprah's Book Club badge, The House of Sand and Fog. And sit up straight in your high chair.
It wasn't until we got to the Muppets in 3D Movie that Fear and Trembling began to appreciate the outing. Kierkegaard said he liked the muppet community because each member maintained his own uniqueness and character, and there was no assimilation or group mentality. He also said it was difficult to understand, and therefore inspiring. It may have been made more difficult by his refusal to wear the 3D glasses, but... I didn't want to press him. He kept leaping into a fake props box marked "2D Fruities."
One final literal interpretation. The House of Sand and Fog in Tattoine:
Tomorrow is our last adventure in the Magic Kingdom. A Room of One's Own has been clamoring for a seat on the tour bus. We the Living too. So it'll be girls' day out, with Anxious Pleasures to chaperone, naturally.
There are two "thrill rides" at Disney MGM Studios: Tower of Terror, where an elevator car gets yanked up and down, and up and down, and up and down again, causing the contents (book and human) to freefall periodically, and the Rock and Roll Roller Coaster, where you get shot around in the dark, including upside down. The House of Sand and Fog rode both these rides, even the freefalling one, even though I was actually crying at one point, crying for my life to return to me.
Here's The House of Sand and Fog blending into the decor inside the Hollywood Tower Hotel (where the aforementioned elevator is located):
Here he's posing with a fellow fan of freefall:
This guy said, "What's the book about?"
And I said, "Well, it's pretty depressing. So I brought it to Disney World to cheer it up."
And the guy said, "Fair enough."
Brits don't demand too much explanation when it comes to odd projects.
The House of Sand and Fog and As I Lay Dying both really loved the Beauty and the Beast live show. Here they are watching a foggy scene, and the scene where the beast lies dying:
They further bonded over some pin trading:
And at the "Honey I Shrunk The Kids" playground. Here's The House of Sand and Fog playing hide and seek:
Look on the rocks behind the giant tub of Play-doh, As I Lay Dying! I think that's where he's hiding!
Oh, wait, it's only Fear and Trembling, having another pout.
Don't get pizza sauce on your Oprah's Book Club badge, The House of Sand and Fog. And sit up straight in your high chair.
It wasn't until we got to the Muppets in 3D Movie that Fear and Trembling began to appreciate the outing. Kierkegaard said he liked the muppet community because each member maintained his own uniqueness and character, and there was no assimilation or group mentality. He also said it was difficult to understand, and therefore inspiring. It may have been made more difficult by his refusal to wear the 3D glasses, but... I didn't want to press him. He kept leaping into a fake props box marked "2D Fruities."
One final literal interpretation. The House of Sand and Fog in Tattoine:
Tomorrow is our last adventure in the Magic Kingdom. A Room of One's Own has been clamoring for a seat on the tour bus. We the Living too. So it'll be girls' day out, with Anxious Pleasures to chaperone, naturally.
Labels: books, disney world, kierkegaard, mgm studios, take the books to disney world, the house of sand and fog
I have not been writing, at Disney World. I had lunatic visions of me coming home from riding roller coasters with the kids all day to sit here on the intensely floral sofa and tippy-tap my way into full fat word count quotas. That has not been the case. I'm too tired, not just physically, but inside my skull. I'm self-aware enough to know that the "I'm really tired" thing may be a cover for the unwillingness I feel to write that chapter I can't write.
I am not, however, sad. My fingers are not typing but my brain is working. My book is growing in the dark. I have only got 10,000 words, which is fairly disastrous, considering I have exactly two weeks to get done, and I'm not home yet. I may not finish Nanowrimo this year. I'm going to keep writing, to get as far as I can. If I get to 25,000 then I still wrote about a third of a novel. I think I will keep writing after Nano is over. I don't think this book is tied to this month.
If I can get over that chapter that must not be written, and just write it, then I think this book will launch into the book I have been trying to write for almost eight years now, since the day I put the last sentence onto my first novel, and conceived my first child. And if it takes me until Spring to finish it, well hey, I think I can find something to be happy about there.
I just have to write that chapter.
I am not, however, sad. My fingers are not typing but my brain is working. My book is growing in the dark. I have only got 10,000 words, which is fairly disastrous, considering I have exactly two weeks to get done, and I'm not home yet. I may not finish Nanowrimo this year. I'm going to keep writing, to get as far as I can. If I get to 25,000 then I still wrote about a third of a novel. I think I will keep writing after Nano is over. I don't think this book is tied to this month.
If I can get over that chapter that must not be written, and just write it, then I think this book will launch into the book I have been trying to write for almost eight years now, since the day I put the last sentence onto my first novel, and conceived my first child. And if it takes me until Spring to finish it, well hey, I think I can find something to be happy about there.
I just have to write that chapter.
Take the Books to Disney World: Moby and the Magazine
0 CommentsBy Lostcheerio on Wednesday, November 14, 2007 at 11:20 PM.
Moby Dick and One Dimensional Man have been having arguments. Apparently Herbert Marcuse had a grammar school literature teacher who told him that Moby Dick was all about good vs. evil. And you know we can't tolerate good vs. evil here in Dialectia. I have found I can't leave them alone together. Moby Dick came with us to Epcot this morning, but he was only allowed out of the bag for one exhibit: The Living Seas.
He fidgeted through the Nemo ride, but enjoyed the aquariums:
Here he is touching the real shark skin. Reminding himself that it's not good vs. evil, it's shark vs. shark. The whale is the man is the whale. He can relate to the story of Finding Nemo. The plot about "fish are friends, not food" could have been lifted from the text of Moby Dick, when the cook talks about sharks governing themselves. I can't be bothered to look it up right now. I don't even know if my legs still work, after all the walking we did today. But whatever. It is eerily similar.
Here, Moby Dick watches Turtle Talk with Crush. A whale makes a joke appearance. Moby Dick is stonily silent.
After the show, he goes straight for the sauce:
I love this book. This is the actual copy that I first read, at 15, when I first fell in love with it. It still has my purple underlining in it, kind of faded on the page. Maybe taking the book out in public was a bad idea, but in spite of all its stumbling bravado, in spite of all its raucous and embarrassing energy, I'm glad I showed it a good time.
For the rest of the day, my new friend Zyzzyva (The San Francisco Literary Magazine)was the guest of honor.
Zyzzyva wanted to ride Mission: Space and Test Track. I somehow sublimated my motion sickness and loathing of confined spaces to indulge this cute desire.
In the cockpit of Mission: Space, Zyzzyva was in the "engineer" slot, which means he was responsible for pushing the button to put the crew into hypersleep. There was one other button he was supposed to push that I can't remember, but let's not strain ourselves. After all, he is a magazine, not an engineer. As my seven-year-old says, "Oh mother, don't be crazy. It is all pretend." Here's Z in the cockpit:
Here's Zyzzyva waiting in line for Test Track:
After the ride, Zyzzyva displayed a perfunctory interest in the ethanol fuel display, but then I caught him getting information on "the most enormous SUV's made anywhere on earth" from the guy at the GM booth.
Later, Zyzzyva rode "Soarin'" which is all about handgliding over his native California. He did not exhibit much emotion, but I'm sure he was moved.
Here's Zyzzyva at "Innoventions" learning how to make paper. Very relevant information, for a book:
And here he is learning to make a robot. A cast member is teaching him. Moments before, the cast member said, "I don't know how to teach a book anything." Yet below, he is posing with his finished product. Plastics are the future, did you know?
Literary magazines are not the future, though. Nope, still not.
Tomorrow, The House of Sand and Fog attends "Mickey's Very Merry Christmas Party" and poops a candy cane, then disputes ownership of that candy cane, then kills itself spectacularly in Mickey's Country Cottage.
He fidgeted through the Nemo ride, but enjoyed the aquariums:
Here he is touching the real shark skin. Reminding himself that it's not good vs. evil, it's shark vs. shark. The whale is the man is the whale. He can relate to the story of Finding Nemo. The plot about "fish are friends, not food" could have been lifted from the text of Moby Dick, when the cook talks about sharks governing themselves. I can't be bothered to look it up right now. I don't even know if my legs still work, after all the walking we did today. But whatever. It is eerily similar.
Here, Moby Dick watches Turtle Talk with Crush. A whale makes a joke appearance. Moby Dick is stonily silent.
After the show, he goes straight for the sauce:
I love this book. This is the actual copy that I first read, at 15, when I first fell in love with it. It still has my purple underlining in it, kind of faded on the page. Maybe taking the book out in public was a bad idea, but in spite of all its stumbling bravado, in spite of all its raucous and embarrassing energy, I'm glad I showed it a good time.
For the rest of the day, my new friend Zyzzyva (The San Francisco Literary Magazine)was the guest of honor.
Zyzzyva wanted to ride Mission: Space and Test Track. I somehow sublimated my motion sickness and loathing of confined spaces to indulge this cute desire.
In the cockpit of Mission: Space, Zyzzyva was in the "engineer" slot, which means he was responsible for pushing the button to put the crew into hypersleep. There was one other button he was supposed to push that I can't remember, but let's not strain ourselves. After all, he is a magazine, not an engineer. As my seven-year-old says, "Oh mother, don't be crazy. It is all pretend." Here's Z in the cockpit:
Here's Zyzzyva waiting in line for Test Track:
After the ride, Zyzzyva displayed a perfunctory interest in the ethanol fuel display, but then I caught him getting information on "the most enormous SUV's made anywhere on earth" from the guy at the GM booth.
Later, Zyzzyva rode "Soarin'" which is all about handgliding over his native California. He did not exhibit much emotion, but I'm sure he was moved.
Here's Zyzzyva at "Innoventions" learning how to make paper. Very relevant information, for a book:
And here he is learning to make a robot. A cast member is teaching him. Moments before, the cast member said, "I don't know how to teach a book anything." Yet below, he is posing with his finished product. Plastics are the future, did you know?
Literary magazines are not the future, though. Nope, still not.
Tomorrow, The House of Sand and Fog attends "Mickey's Very Merry Christmas Party" and poops a candy cane, then disputes ownership of that candy cane, then kills itself spectacularly in Mickey's Country Cottage.
Labels: epcot, melville, moby dick, take the books to disney world, the living seas
Take the Books to Disney World: An Interruption
1 CommentsBy Lostcheerio on Tuesday, November 13, 2007 at 11:40 PM.
I regret leaving my mobile phone on the counter this morning, when I should have packed it into my bag. There are no pictures to post. You cannot see Moby Dick having a rage episode on an unsuspeting tourist. You cannot see him getting thown out by security. You cannot see Anxious Pleasures (a Kafka rewrite) posing with the movie poster for the "A Bug's Life" show. These are pictures I will have to get off my other camera when I am back in Virginia. I will post them here, on this post, after I do that.
Tomorrow it's Epcot. I will pack my phone.
Tomorrow it's Epcot. I will pack my phone.
Labels: take the books to disney world
Take the Books to Disney World: On the Way to the Magic Kingdom
1 CommentsBy Lostcheerio on Monday, November 12, 2007 at 10:16 PM.
We're going to the Magic Kingdom, and Heidegger is wearing mouse ears.
On the Way to Language is on the way to Space Mountain. So, Martin Heidegger, what is your relationship to the words, "Space" and "Mountain"? Have you ever considered your relationship to these words before? Do they touch the innermost nexus of your existence? Or what?
Heidegger:
To undergo an experience with something -- be it a thing, a person, or a god [or a mechanical roller coaster all in the dark with whooshing and screaming] -- means that this something befalls us, strikes us, comes over us, overwhelms us, and transforms us.
I don't have any good pictures of me helping Heidegger ride Space Mountain, because it is dark in there. I do hereby swear on my own becoming that I held him up high, and he was probably really transformed.
Here is One-Dimensional Man by Herbert Marcuse, watching the comedy show "The Laughing Floor," based on the movie, "Monsters Inc." If you're not familiar with Marcuse's classic critique of moden society, here's the gist: we're all a bunch of happy, fat, complacent conformists, who just accept everything comfortable and normal, because individuality and freedom is too hard for our enormous middle-class asses. He also believes that waste and destruction are bad. This book was big in the 60's, yes? Are we together now?
He thought the monsters were really two-dimensional and that the jokes were repressive.
He didn't feel right about the dualism of Buzz Lightyear's battle with the Evil Emperor Zurg, either. Good vs. Evil. So reductive. So farcical.
Marcuse went on to say:
"In the most advanced areas of this civilization, the social controls have been introjected to the point where even individual protest is affected at its roots. The intellectual and emotional refusal to 'go along' appears neurotic and impotent. [Curse you, Star Command!!!]"
It's just what I've always privately felt about Disney: Not dialectical enough. They should work on that.
Here's Marcuse glowering at the guy who sings in the Carnival of Progress:
Great big beautiful tomorrow, forsooth!
At the Swiss Family Robinson's Tree House, he yearned for a return to simpler times, when people rebelled against the hulls of their ships, got themselves properly shipwrecked, and then lived in trees. When revolution was really possible. And simple machines could change your whole plumbing situation.
On the Way to Language was down with the treehouse life, but I have to say it was a real drag how he wanted to read, read, read every single sign in the whole park. Enough with the words, buddy. We get it.
After one last attempt to cheer up One-Dimensional Man, we stowed him in the stroller and let Dr. Zhivago join the party. Here's Marcuse on Aladdin's Magic Carpet, griping about how pretending to be a prince just plays into the existing imperialist norms. Whatever. Go get spit on by a camel.
Does anyone need to go look up dialectic? No? Alright.
The good Dr. Zhivago was a bundle of energy, right out of the book bag. He fell in love with Cinderella at first sight during the afternoon parade. Then, at Splash Mountain, he had to be pulled down off the roof of The Laughing Place. Here's the angry parent of a child he was taunting, revoking his playtime privileges. Time out, Dr. Zhivago, if you're going to act the fool at Disney World.
Here's Dr. Z on the Thunder Mountain Railroad. Not the five o'clock express through the steppes by any stretch of the imagination, but of course, he still wanted to sit in the front. I can't totally grasp the significance of railroads to the Russian Revolution, but that's probably because at that point in the text I was so beset by eight syllable surnames that I was crying on my sleeve.
Tomorrow, it's a trip to Animal Kingdom for Moby Dick and Anxious Pleasures. Rowr!
On the Way to Language is on the way to Space Mountain. So, Martin Heidegger, what is your relationship to the words, "Space" and "Mountain"? Have you ever considered your relationship to these words before? Do they touch the innermost nexus of your existence? Or what?
Heidegger:
To undergo an experience with something -- be it a thing, a person, or a god [or a mechanical roller coaster all in the dark with whooshing and screaming] -- means that this something befalls us, strikes us, comes over us, overwhelms us, and transforms us.
I don't have any good pictures of me helping Heidegger ride Space Mountain, because it is dark in there. I do hereby swear on my own becoming that I held him up high, and he was probably really transformed.
Here is One-Dimensional Man by Herbert Marcuse, watching the comedy show "The Laughing Floor," based on the movie, "Monsters Inc." If you're not familiar with Marcuse's classic critique of moden society, here's the gist: we're all a bunch of happy, fat, complacent conformists, who just accept everything comfortable and normal, because individuality and freedom is too hard for our enormous middle-class asses. He also believes that waste and destruction are bad. This book was big in the 60's, yes? Are we together now?
He thought the monsters were really two-dimensional and that the jokes were repressive.
He didn't feel right about the dualism of Buzz Lightyear's battle with the Evil Emperor Zurg, either. Good vs. Evil. So reductive. So farcical.
Marcuse went on to say:
"In the most advanced areas of this civilization, the social controls have been introjected to the point where even individual protest is affected at its roots. The intellectual and emotional refusal to 'go along' appears neurotic and impotent. [Curse you, Star Command!!!]"
It's just what I've always privately felt about Disney: Not dialectical enough. They should work on that.
Here's Marcuse glowering at the guy who sings in the Carnival of Progress:
Great big beautiful tomorrow, forsooth!
At the Swiss Family Robinson's Tree House, he yearned for a return to simpler times, when people rebelled against the hulls of their ships, got themselves properly shipwrecked, and then lived in trees. When revolution was really possible. And simple machines could change your whole plumbing situation.
On the Way to Language was down with the treehouse life, but I have to say it was a real drag how he wanted to read, read, read every single sign in the whole park. Enough with the words, buddy. We get it.
After one last attempt to cheer up One-Dimensional Man, we stowed him in the stroller and let Dr. Zhivago join the party. Here's Marcuse on Aladdin's Magic Carpet, griping about how pretending to be a prince just plays into the existing imperialist norms. Whatever. Go get spit on by a camel.
Does anyone need to go look up dialectic? No? Alright.
The good Dr. Zhivago was a bundle of energy, right out of the book bag. He fell in love with Cinderella at first sight during the afternoon parade. Then, at Splash Mountain, he had to be pulled down off the roof of The Laughing Place. Here's the angry parent of a child he was taunting, revoking his playtime privileges. Time out, Dr. Zhivago, if you're going to act the fool at Disney World.
Here's Dr. Z on the Thunder Mountain Railroad. Not the five o'clock express through the steppes by any stretch of the imagination, but of course, he still wanted to sit in the front. I can't totally grasp the significance of railroads to the Russian Revolution, but that's probably because at that point in the text I was so beset by eight syllable surnames that I was crying on my sleeve.
Tomorrow, it's a trip to Animal Kingdom for Moby Dick and Anxious Pleasures. Rowr!
Labels: books, disney world, dr. zhivago, heidegger, magic kingdom, marcuse, take the books to disney world
After our night of rocketry on Cocoa Beach, we were enthusiastic about going to Kennedy Space Center today. Except, that is, for that dismal damned Kierkegaard book, who stayed home to pout. He said he doesn't like being taken out of context. Well.
At Kennedy Space Center, a non-NASA company has been contracted to make the visitor complex into an amusement-park-like experience. When Benny said, "This is just like Disney World!" I knew that either they had succeeded, or else Benny is getting his nerd on very young.
At first We the Living was a little giddy on all the iconography:
But she took a seat with a friend:
To watch The House of the Seven Gables ride the Space Shuttle simulator:
Speaking of our quiet, colonial friend, The House of the Seven Gables was shy around the living astronauts:
But was chillingly comfortable with astronauts of the past:
So I said, "Let go of that suffocating history, The House of the Seven Gables. You can be free." Free in a Mercury rocket crew capsule. C'mon, everyone climb aboard!
As I Lay Dying kept sidling up to the robots. This one quipped, "How about As I Lay Rusting?" Ha ha!
All three of the books enjoyed the IMAX 3D movies:
However, We the Living just had to point out that the lock on the bathroom stall was very ineffeciently put together, the screw holes skewed, the whole mechanism crooked. Well, NASA? Is this your idea of the pinnacle of man's technological achievement? His hand reaching like a rocket into the void? This crappy bathroom stall lock? Sickeningly unRoarkian. Tsk tsk.
So full of eye-rolling and scorn was she after her trip to the potty that she wouldn't even join the other books on the lunar rover.
I think my guests all learned something, and they definitely all made friends. When even a musty and tremulous book like The House of the Seven Gables can get its spine around an astronaut, certainly Faulkner would have no trouble charming my kids:
At Kennedy Space Center, a non-NASA company has been contracted to make the visitor complex into an amusement-park-like experience. When Benny said, "This is just like Disney World!" I knew that either they had succeeded, or else Benny is getting his nerd on very young.
At first We the Living was a little giddy on all the iconography:
But she took a seat with a friend:
To watch The House of the Seven Gables ride the Space Shuttle simulator:
Speaking of our quiet, colonial friend, The House of the Seven Gables was shy around the living astronauts:
But was chillingly comfortable with astronauts of the past:
So I said, "Let go of that suffocating history, The House of the Seven Gables. You can be free." Free in a Mercury rocket crew capsule. C'mon, everyone climb aboard!
As I Lay Dying kept sidling up to the robots. This one quipped, "How about As I Lay Rusting?" Ha ha!
All three of the books enjoyed the IMAX 3D movies:
However, We the Living just had to point out that the lock on the bathroom stall was very ineffeciently put together, the screw holes skewed, the whole mechanism crooked. Well, NASA? Is this your idea of the pinnacle of man's technological achievement? His hand reaching like a rocket into the void? This crappy bathroom stall lock? Sickeningly unRoarkian. Tsk tsk.
So full of eye-rolling and scorn was she after her trip to the potty that she wouldn't even join the other books on the lunar rover.
I think my guests all learned something, and they definitely all made friends. When even a musty and tremulous book like The House of the Seven Gables can get its spine around an astronaut, certainly Faulkner would have no trouble charming my kids:
Labels: kennedy space center, nasa, take the books to disney world
Take the Books to Disney World: Fear and Trembling at Cocoa Beach
1 CommentsBy Lostcheerio on Saturday, November 10, 2007 at 11:37 PM.
We are still on our way to Disney World. No one should panic.
Tonight we went to see the Delta IV Rocket launch from the Kennedy Space Center at Cape Canaveral. We stood on the edge of the ocean at Cocoa Beach to watch it go up. I took along Fear and Trembling by Soren Kierkegaard, and We the Living by Ayn Rand. I thought that Fear and Trembling would really appreciate the way the rocket was subverting the universal for the individual, and of course, the trembling beach beneath us. I knew that We the Living would deeply respect the simultaneous frailty and power of that rocket climbing into space, an expression of human achievement, and another mad swipe at the firmament.
(terrible video uploaded from mobile phone!)
Unfortunately I got excited watching the rocket, and forgot to take either book out of my bag so that they could experience the sublime rumbling, the flash of orange that lit up the ocean, and the cries of fellow rocket nerds: "Happy Birthday, NASA!"
There was a bit of grumbling and a "What's that, a piece of apple core?"
To make up to the books for my gross neglect of their entertainment, I took them instead to the world famous "Ron Jon Surf Shop." It was on our way back to the car, and I thought they might enjoy it?
Here are the books:
And again:
See how the blonde loves literature? We the Living is the short one. Fear and Trembling is taller.
About this surf shop experience, Kierkegaard had the following to say:
I chose that quote for him because I see that as an undergraduate I wrote the word, "HAH!" next to that paragraph in the margin. I must have been anticipating the culminating moment of this particular book, outside the Ron Jon Surf Shop, and Kierkegaard suffering in knightly silence.
Tonight we went to see the Delta IV Rocket launch from the Kennedy Space Center at Cape Canaveral. We stood on the edge of the ocean at Cocoa Beach to watch it go up. I took along Fear and Trembling by Soren Kierkegaard, and We the Living by Ayn Rand. I thought that Fear and Trembling would really appreciate the way the rocket was subverting the universal for the individual, and of course, the trembling beach beneath us. I knew that We the Living would deeply respect the simultaneous frailty and power of that rocket climbing into space, an expression of human achievement, and another mad swipe at the firmament.
(terrible video uploaded from mobile phone!)
Unfortunately I got excited watching the rocket, and forgot to take either book out of my bag so that they could experience the sublime rumbling, the flash of orange that lit up the ocean, and the cries of fellow rocket nerds: "Happy Birthday, NASA!"
There was a bit of grumbling and a "What's that, a piece of apple core?"
To make up to the books for my gross neglect of their entertainment, I took them instead to the world famous "Ron Jon Surf Shop." It was on our way back to the car, and I thought they might enjoy it?
Here are the books:
And again:
See how the blonde loves literature? We the Living is the short one. Fear and Trembling is taller.
About this surf shop experience, Kierkegaard had the following to say:
"It goes without saying that the tragic hero, like any other man who is not
bereft of speech, can say a few words in his culminating moment, perhaps a few
appropriate words, but the question is how appropriate is it for him to say
them. If the meaning of his life is in an external act, then he has nothing to
say, then everything he says is essentially chatter, by which he only diminishes
his impact, whereas the tragic conventions enjoin him to complete his task in
silence, whether it consists in action or suffering."
I chose that quote for him because I see that as an undergraduate I wrote the word, "HAH!" next to that paragraph in the margin. I must have been anticipating the culminating moment of this particular book, outside the Ron Jon Surf Shop, and Kierkegaard suffering in knightly silence.
Labels: books, disney world, kierkegaard, take the books to disney world
Take the Books to Disney World: On the Road without Jack Kerouac
0 CommentsBy Lostcheerio on at 8:11 PM.
The books had to be up early. We left at 6:30.
Here is The House of the Seven Gables sticking his head out the window, getting some air, letting his jowls go flapping:
It's been years since he felt the wind ruffling his pages.
Here are Anxious Pleasures and The House of Sand and Fog checking out the space coast, from our hotel room in Cocoa Beach:
Zzyzzyva made itself useful making coffee. Bustling around, all purposeful:
All in all the books behaved well on the trip. The Heidegger kept its comments to itself, for now, and Moby Dick gave Hawthorne his space. Now we're going to watch the Delta IV rocket launch. Taking a few books with me. Hope they like it.
Here is The House of the Seven Gables sticking his head out the window, getting some air, letting his jowls go flapping:
It's been years since he felt the wind ruffling his pages.
Here are Anxious Pleasures and The House of Sand and Fog checking out the space coast, from our hotel room in Cocoa Beach:
Zzyzzyva made itself useful making coffee. Bustling around, all purposeful:
All in all the books behaved well on the trip. The Heidegger kept its comments to itself, for now, and Moby Dick gave Hawthorne his space. Now we're going to watch the Delta IV rocket launch. Taking a few books with me. Hope they like it.
Labels: books, disney world, take the books to disney world
Look, I wrote something!
In the laptop, in the car, with the laptop plugged into the little converted thingy, and the headphones firmly on.
I managed to generate two new chapters, and for those of you keeping track, these were two chapters of completely separate material, not connected at all to the Scene That Must Not Be Written. So, the Scene That Must Not Be Written has to be written NEXT. There is no other detour to be taken. It's just next and that's it.
I'm going to try and hit 10,000 by the end of tonight, after we go see this rocket launch that NASA has cooked up solely for our family entertainment. Nice of them. I am not goign to write that scene tonight though. I'm going to go back and beef up what I wrote today. Because, obviously, that scene must not be written so how can I write it?
In the laptop, in the car, with the laptop plugged into the little converted thingy, and the headphones firmly on.
I managed to generate two new chapters, and for those of you keeping track, these were two chapters of completely separate material, not connected at all to the Scene That Must Not Be Written. So, the Scene That Must Not Be Written has to be written NEXT. There is no other detour to be taken. It's just next and that's it.
I'm going to try and hit 10,000 by the end of tonight, after we go see this rocket launch that NASA has cooked up solely for our family entertainment. Nice of them. I am not goign to write that scene tonight though. I'm going to go back and beef up what I wrote today. Because, obviously, that scene must not be written so how can I write it?
Labels: nanowrimo
Take the Books to Disney World: Disney Eve!
3 CommentsBy Lostcheerio on Friday, November 9, 2007 at 10:44 PM.
Some time ago, I decided to take some books to Disney World. I asked for help in narrowing down my guest list, and now I've made my final selections. I've narrowed it down to twelve, and here they are:
1. A Room of One's Own by Virginia Woolf (Wanted specially to go, to see Cinderella's castle.)
2. Doctor Zhivago by Boris Pasternak (Look! Already wearing mouse ears!)
3. Anxious Pleasures by Lance Olsen (To make up for not reviewing it sooner.)
4. Fear and Trembling by Soren Kierkegaard (Because he deserves it.)
5. As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner (Must see Flying Dumbos.)
6. We the Living by Ayn Rand (A smile means friendship for everyone!)
7. Zzyzzyva (This is a literary magazine, sent to me by the publisher, to thank me, or scold me, or inform me after I wrote my screech about how literary magazines are dead.)
8. House of Sand and Fog by Andre Dubus (A reader suggestion, thank you.)
9. One Dimensional Man by Herbert Marcuse (For help in staging protests at gift shops.)
10. On the Way to Language by Martin Heidegger (For interpreting words like "Imagineers.")
11. Moby Dick by Herman Melville (Because it is my favorite book ever.)
12. House of the Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne (Because Moby Dick wanted him along.)
If you aren't on the list and you expected to be, it was because I didn't have a paperback copy of your book (Joshilyn Jackson, looking at you) or because I couldn't find my copy of your book (Sylvia Plath, hello). There you are. Tomorrow we start our trip. May we all have a damn good time. If you can't wait to see where we are and what we're doing, you can follow us on our mobile blog. I will try to write while I am away, but if the internet doesn't smile on our timeshare, I will see you when I get back.
1. A Room of One's Own by Virginia Woolf (Wanted specially to go, to see Cinderella's castle.)
2. Doctor Zhivago by Boris Pasternak (Look! Already wearing mouse ears!)
3. Anxious Pleasures by Lance Olsen (To make up for not reviewing it sooner.)
4. Fear and Trembling by Soren Kierkegaard (Because he deserves it.)
5. As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner (Must see Flying Dumbos.)
6. We the Living by Ayn Rand (A smile means friendship for everyone!)
7. Zzyzzyva (This is a literary magazine, sent to me by the publisher, to thank me, or scold me, or inform me after I wrote my screech about how literary magazines are dead.)
8. House of Sand and Fog by Andre Dubus (A reader suggestion, thank you.)
9. One Dimensional Man by Herbert Marcuse (For help in staging protests at gift shops.)
10. On the Way to Language by Martin Heidegger (For interpreting words like "Imagineers.")
11. Moby Dick by Herman Melville (Because it is my favorite book ever.)
12. House of the Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne (Because Moby Dick wanted him along.)
If you aren't on the list and you expected to be, it was because I didn't have a paperback copy of your book (Joshilyn Jackson, looking at you) or because I couldn't find my copy of your book (Sylvia Plath, hello). There you are. Tomorrow we start our trip. May we all have a damn good time. If you can't wait to see where we are and what we're doing, you can follow us on our mobile blog. I will try to write while I am away, but if the internet doesn't smile on our timeshare, I will see you when I get back.
Labels: books, disney world, take the books to disney world, trips
Nanowrimo Day 8: An Important List
1 CommentsBy Lostcheerio on Thursday, November 8, 2007 at 10:02 PM.
1. NBC's Thursday night comedy treatment of the green theme has been very, very satisfying. Self-referential, flippant, morbid, and delightful. Applause. It is also totally funny that the PSAs are paid for by Walmart.
2. Tonight I am going to write the next chapter of my novel.
3. Tomorrow I am packing my gay little bag with ten lucky books to accompany me and my family to Disney World. There's still time to get yours in the bag! Well, really no. Not really. I will announce lucky travellers tomorrow.
4. I have a very strong feeling that I am going to get to 10,000 words tonight. You heard me. Tonight.
5. There are really lots of things to do tomorrow. Apparently I need to pack more things than just books I plan to photograph in surprising locations. Like ears, different shoes for my children, my phone charger, and peanuts.
6. This is the time to write that difficult chapter. Right before a big long trip. Because after I write that difficult chapter, I'm going go bangass on the laptop in the car on Saturday.
7. Last year on the way to Disney World I knit a whole sweater. It was an ill-fitting sweater for a two-year-old who hates sweaters, and while it looked white-and-blue on the skein it actually looked urine-and-blue on the garment. But.
8. I am going to give away my first Bookbeast soon. Scroll down for Bookbeasts.
9. And yet, my children are not yet asleep. It is after 10:00. What can they possibly be doing.
10. I appreciate NBC trying to change my mind, but I am happy to report that I'm able to resist it. And drive a minivan a zillion miles to prove it.
2. Tonight I am going to write the next chapter of my novel.
3. Tomorrow I am packing my gay little bag with ten lucky books to accompany me and my family to Disney World. There's still time to get yours in the bag! Well, really no. Not really. I will announce lucky travellers tomorrow.
4. I have a very strong feeling that I am going to get to 10,000 words tonight. You heard me. Tonight.
5. There are really lots of things to do tomorrow. Apparently I need to pack more things than just books I plan to photograph in surprising locations. Like ears, different shoes for my children, my phone charger, and peanuts.
6. This is the time to write that difficult chapter. Right before a big long trip. Because after I write that difficult chapter, I'm going go bangass on the laptop in the car on Saturday.
7. Last year on the way to Disney World I knit a whole sweater. It was an ill-fitting sweater for a two-year-old who hates sweaters, and while it looked white-and-blue on the skein it actually looked urine-and-blue on the garment. But.
8. I am going to give away my first Bookbeast soon. Scroll down for Bookbeasts.
9. And yet, my children are not yet asleep. It is after 10:00. What can they possibly be doing.
10. I appreciate NBC trying to change my mind, but I am happy to report that I'm able to resist it. And drive a minivan a zillion miles to prove it.
Labels: nanowrimo
Nanowrimo Day 7: Let's Work on a Completely Unrelated Novel!
1 CommentsBy Lostcheerio on Wednesday, November 7, 2007 at 9:26 PM.
Today my writing group met and discussed my Nanonovel from 2005. It has been revised somewhat, and it now has an ending, but mostly it's the same as it was when I banged through it two Novembers ago. The meeting was helpful. I got a lot of feedback as to what needed beefing up, what was unclear, what scenes were working as I had hoped.
I had a massive plot hole, just a giant gaping chasm of a plot hole, which they did identify, and I was able to work out what to do, to fix it, right there in the meeting. Someone made a suggestion, someone else added a thought, and I had an idea, and then the problem was solved. This was amazing. I'm so relieved.
Am I supposed to be writing some sort of other novel, right now? Or something?
I had a massive plot hole, just a giant gaping chasm of a plot hole, which they did identify, and I was able to work out what to do, to fix it, right there in the meeting. Someone made a suggestion, someone else added a thought, and I had an idea, and then the problem was solved. This was amazing. I'm so relieved.
Am I supposed to be writing some sort of other novel, right now? Or something?
Labels: nanowrimo, writing group
Nanowrimo Day 6: I Did Not Vote for Steve Heretick
2 CommentsBy Lostcheerio on Tuesday, November 6, 2007 at 8:23 PM.
This bus was driving around Norfolk when I took the kids to dance class this afternoon. It was empty. There were STEVE HERETICK! signs taped all over it. And after all of this bus marketing, he lost the election anyway. I'm glad I didn't vote for Steve Heretick today. It's not that I begrudge him that vote, or revel in the possibility that my one small vote could have been the one vote to put Steve Heretick into the state senate (or whatever). It's just this: voting for a man named Steve Heretick and then having him lose the pissant little invisible election anyway would just too deeply epitomize my general feelings of despair and absurdity today. At least I can say I did not vote for Steve Heretick. There is always that one brittle rod to which my failing fingers can cling.
Labels: nanowrimo
Nanowrimo Day 5: New Glasses Will Definitely Help
3 CommentsBy Lostcheerio on Monday, November 5, 2007 at 10:36 PM.
I got new glasses today. I'm going to not write until I get them tomorrow. I am pretty sure that all of my difficulties are located in these old glasses:
I tried on some new glasses with my seven-year-old son helping me:
At the moment that picture was taken, he was helping me by quietly playing Crash Bandicoot on his Nintendo DS. I decided I am over the black plastic. Like totally done. So, bronze or silver?
When I put the silver on, Benny said, "Mother! You look like an angel! Well, you look like you just got done being an angel and you still have your glasses on!"
I got the bronze. As soon as I pick them up from the glasses store, I will recommence writing the novel. I don't think an angel who forgot to take off her glasses could possibly grapple with my ugly crank of a novel. So. Tomorrow I totally promise to bring you more self-indulgent pictures to go along with my self-indulgent skylarking on my novel. All self-portraits! All the time! The new Harpoonist is sensitive to her own angles.
I tried on some new glasses with my seven-year-old son helping me:
At the moment that picture was taken, he was helping me by quietly playing Crash Bandicoot on his Nintendo DS. I decided I am over the black plastic. Like totally done. So, bronze or silver?
When I put the silver on, Benny said, "Mother! You look like an angel! Well, you look like you just got done being an angel and you still have your glasses on!"
I got the bronze. As soon as I pick them up from the glasses store, I will recommence writing the novel. I don't think an angel who forgot to take off her glasses could possibly grapple with my ugly crank of a novel. So. Tomorrow I totally promise to bring you more self-indulgent pictures to go along with my self-indulgent skylarking on my novel. All self-portraits! All the time! The new Harpoonist is sensitive to her own angles.
Labels: nanowrimo
Nanowrimo Day 4: Who's a Hateful Cynic? Who? Who?
3 CommentsBy Lostcheerio on Sunday, November 4, 2007 at 5:53 PM.
I took my children to the park yesterday so they could, as my blind great grandmother used to say, "Blow the stink off," and also so I could get away from the computer for a while and think. I took my gay little notebook with me so I could write down all my gay little thoughts. Yes, it's possible to stop two children from dying on the monkeybars while having a completely unrelated idea playing out in your own head. I have learned this by necessity. Main character, take a hint.
There was a couple there with a two-year-old girl, and the man was clearly not her father. Among other clues, she and her mother were calling him "Jim." Jim was carrying on like nobody's business -- climbing trees, playing hide-and-seek, in general being that awesome guy that really cares about the child that's not his, really tries to be a good simulation of an actual father, cavorts and gambols and capers to please that cute little girl. The mother was a tall drink of water in a tight hippie cardigan and skinny jeans. Buckle boots. You know what I mean. Not entirely sleazy but standing right across the street from it.
So, I am there thinking about my miserable train wreck nightmare horrorshow of a novel, and these people are tittering and clapping and distracting me, and the only thought in my head is that that disingenuous asstard is making so nice with that kid just because he wants to get into the pants of that grinning mother. And then I think, "WHAT KIND OF MONSTER AM I?" Maybe he's just trying hard, maybe he really likes the kid, maybe he is perfectly excellent person with not a plotting thought in his virtuous mind.
I realized I am still a hateful cynic. In spite of all the ways I have tried to revise my view of the world to reflect the fact that I've brought two children here to live in it and it better not be as bad as I think it is, I still think it is bad. As much as I try to locate all of my negative thoughts about people in Dan's brain, thereby making him the misanthrope and me the good person, it is still me assuming the worst and judging, judging, judging.
In the spirit of this new/old cynicism, I will now predict that I will not finish Nanowrimo this year. Last year I finished, the year before I finished, but this year I will not finish. I am already chokingly behind. What's to be done? I'm at 5000 words. I may as well give up now and just play Civilization IV like I want to. Because you know that guy was just trying to land himself a date. You know he was.
There was a couple there with a two-year-old girl, and the man was clearly not her father. Among other clues, she and her mother were calling him "Jim." Jim was carrying on like nobody's business -- climbing trees, playing hide-and-seek, in general being that awesome guy that really cares about the child that's not his, really tries to be a good simulation of an actual father, cavorts and gambols and capers to please that cute little girl. The mother was a tall drink of water in a tight hippie cardigan and skinny jeans. Buckle boots. You know what I mean. Not entirely sleazy but standing right across the street from it.
So, I am there thinking about my miserable train wreck nightmare horrorshow of a novel, and these people are tittering and clapping and distracting me, and the only thought in my head is that that disingenuous asstard is making so nice with that kid just because he wants to get into the pants of that grinning mother. And then I think, "WHAT KIND OF MONSTER AM I?" Maybe he's just trying hard, maybe he really likes the kid, maybe he is perfectly excellent person with not a plotting thought in his virtuous mind.
I realized I am still a hateful cynic. In spite of all the ways I have tried to revise my view of the world to reflect the fact that I've brought two children here to live in it and it better not be as bad as I think it is, I still think it is bad. As much as I try to locate all of my negative thoughts about people in Dan's brain, thereby making him the misanthrope and me the good person, it is still me assuming the worst and judging, judging, judging.
In the spirit of this new/old cynicism, I will now predict that I will not finish Nanowrimo this year. Last year I finished, the year before I finished, but this year I will not finish. I am already chokingly behind. What's to be done? I'm at 5000 words. I may as well give up now and just play Civilization IV like I want to. Because you know that guy was just trying to land himself a date. You know he was.
Labels: nanowrimo
Bookbeasts are charming phylacteries for writers. Deep inside the stuffing of each handcrafted patchwork stuffed animal is a picture and a quote from a well known writer. Different Bookbeasts impart different benefits, depending on the image and words that rest next to their earnest, fluffy hearts. Each Bookbeast is one of a kind, made by my hands with care and concern for the state of your writing. A perfect gift for the novelist in your life.
It's like a smoothie you can hold in your lap, full of nutritious supplements for your writing. It's like one of those things that people wear on their heads to pray, except instead of bringing you closer to a deity, it brings you closer to the end of your novel. It's a pillow, it's a muse, it's a toy, it's an inspiration, it's a Bookbeast.
The "Isaac" Bookbeast is patchwork on the front, solid space-themed cotton fabric on the back, about 12" high and 10" wide. He is embellished with wild space earrings, necklaces, and sparkly eyes and nose. "Isaac" in your lap will improve your writing by expanding the depth of your world-building prowess. Especially effective for sci-fi and fantasy writers, but will work for anyone who appreciates the three laws of robotics.
It's like a smoothie you can hold in your lap, full of nutritious supplements for your writing. It's like one of those things that people wear on their heads to pray, except instead of bringing you closer to a deity, it brings you closer to the end of your novel. It's a pillow, it's a muse, it's a toy, it's an inspiration, it's a Bookbeast.
This is Charles:
The "Charles" Bookbeast is patchwork on the front, one solid piece of cotton fabric on the back. Embellished with gold and colored beads and embroidered with perle cotton, it is 12" long and 10" high. "Charles" in your lap will infuse your social criticism with wit and humor. If your novel is bogged down with political ranting and your friends are complaining, let Charles give you some ideas for fun, quirky characters to dull the pain of all your sermonizing.
Here is Isaac:
The "Isaac" Bookbeast is patchwork on the front, solid space-themed cotton fabric on the back, about 12" high and 10" wide. He is embellished with wild space earrings, necklaces, and sparkly eyes and nose. "Isaac" in your lap will improve your writing by expanding the depth of your world-building prowess. Especially effective for sci-fi and fantasy writers, but will work for anyone who appreciates the three laws of robotics.
More Bookbeasts are waiting to be met in my Etsy store, and more are on the way:
Jo (J.K. Rowling) delivers commercial success.
Herman (Melville) helps you grapple with complex themes.
Franz (Kafka) frees your mind to explore surrealism.
Lewis (Carroll) unlocks your ability to generate nonsense.
William (Faulkner) boosts your regional sensitivities and brightens your local color.
Charles (Dickens) infuses your social criticism with wit and humor.
Henry (James) helps you write longer, more complicated sentences.
Jane (Austen) reveals happy endings.
Fyodor (Dostoevsky) enhances your grasp of tragic situations.
Isaac (Asimov) expands your world-building to new depths and heights.
James (Joyce) enables you to tap into your stream of consciousness.
Emily (Dickinson) allows you to see the profound in the mundane.
Here is a little bit of Bookbeast news: I am going to be giving away several Bookbeasts during the month of November, to celebrate National Novel Writing Month. To qualify for your own free Bookbeast, mailed to you with my blessing and best wishes, send an email to editor at theharpoonist dot com, telling me why you need one.
Note: While some non-embellished Bookbeasts are safe for children, none should be used by washing machines or the elderly. Remember: there is paper inside. Magic paper.
Labels: bookbeasts
Today I had my first big AHA moment. AHA moments are so juicy, so ecstatic, so indescribably satisfying -- they may be the only reason writing is at all pleasurable for some of us. Today a neighbor character, who was to be just a generic manly-man, appearing in only one scene to act bemused and shocked and then go away forever, turned out to be a local newscaster with a very interesting backstory, including the fact that he sleeps upside down.
Last year, Dan and I put a bid in on a house that we thought we'd like to renovate, owned by a local newscaster. What Susannah and I saw when we walked through the house was so shocking, so paralytically fictional, that we just knew that it had to be used in a novel. And now it will be. Because when Carl the neighbor turned up at the scene of the accident, it was actually Carl the anchorman. That was a big deal, today, especially when the words are coming so slowly, and I keep having to rip out paragraph after paragraph because it just doesn't work.
Good for me.
Last year, Dan and I put a bid in on a house that we thought we'd like to renovate, owned by a local newscaster. What Susannah and I saw when we walked through the house was so shocking, so paralytically fictional, that we just knew that it had to be used in a novel. And now it will be. Because when Carl the neighbor turned up at the scene of the accident, it was actually Carl the anchorman. That was a big deal, today, especially when the words are coming so slowly, and I keep having to rip out paragraph after paragraph because it just doesn't work.
Good for me.
Labels: nanowrimo
Nanowrimo Day 2: Violating Nanowrimo Rule #1
1 CommentsBy Lostcheerio on Friday, November 2, 2007 at 7:32 PM.
I edited. I threw out about 1500 words from last night, boiled my first three paragraphs down to one, and redid what I had of chapter 1. I know it's wrong, and I hate myself for it (not really) but there was no way I could continue my adorable novel with that steaming pile of excrement sitting at the beginning of it. If I end up on November 30 with 48,500 words, I'll feel a pang or two. Or maybe I'll just dump those 1500 words back in, I wrote them in November after all, and celebrate with everyone else.
I don't know what it is about writing female main characters. Last year's novel had a female MC that I just loved so much I could have eaten her in a flauta. She failed to translate that on the page. Nobody liked her but me. I thought she was resolute, fragile, militant, tense, knock-kneed, and great. Apparently I wrote something that made her seem like a grey robot. There may be some kind of personal lack, here, with my inability to inhabit female characters. Let's see, would that be self-loathing? Stifling self-awareness? Or... not enough self-awareness to determine what my problem could be.
Dan is putting the children to bed so I can word-war my way back up to par. It's my sincere hope that I can avoid any more dumps of that nature, but it's a possibility. It may wreck my Nano, but because of the subject matter and what I've chosen to get myself into, I can't just power through this one. Great choices, me!
I don't know what it is about writing female main characters. Last year's novel had a female MC that I just loved so much I could have eaten her in a flauta. She failed to translate that on the page. Nobody liked her but me. I thought she was resolute, fragile, militant, tense, knock-kneed, and great. Apparently I wrote something that made her seem like a grey robot. There may be some kind of personal lack, here, with my inability to inhabit female characters. Let's see, would that be self-loathing? Stifling self-awareness? Or... not enough self-awareness to determine what my problem could be.
Dan is putting the children to bed so I can word-war my way back up to par. It's my sincere hope that I can avoid any more dumps of that nature, but it's a possibility. It may wreck my Nano, but because of the subject matter and what I've chosen to get myself into, I can't just power through this one. Great choices, me!
Labels: nanowrimo
I am all about the joining. I am a joiner.
Labels: bookbeasts
There's a book I've been trying to write for a long time. It's a lunatic book to write because it has a lot of elements that are close to my insanity. I've been trying to write this book, in various forms, since I got pregnant with my son, let's see, that was in 1999. What a wild, untrammeled success this book has been so far! Inspiring.
The first time I finished Nanowrimo, I chose a plot/idea/genre I thought I could handle easily in a month, that I could plan meticulously and then mechanically execute. I succeeded at the 50K, so that was maybe me figuring out that I could do it. Last year for Nanowrimo, I wrote a hard, huge story I'd been tossing around for a long time, and in writing it, I extirpated it, and now it's gone. I mean, it's still here, but it's no longer in my skull. Then, for Script Frenzy, I did that very same thing. And now that thing is out of my skull. So, Nanowrimo and Script Frenzy have proven to be valuable in getting rid of those stories that keep clunking around in my brain, wanting to be written.
Why not apply this magical benefit to the mother of all clunkers, which has been known through the years as "the cul de sac story" and "the sister story" and "baldy goes to burma" and "the mother story." If I can get this one out of my system, I might just achieve enlightenment. I might just solve all the world's problems, or at least my own problems, which as so few and so unobtrusive that I have to fictionalize them to make them viable enough to affect me.
So, that's what I started writing at midnight last night. For better or for worse, I have cannonballed into the deep end of the pool, where the ghouls keep drowning, and now I have to fight my way up. I guess I'm only 500 words in, so I can't say yet that my head has gone underwater. Maybe later today though! Wee!
What would I be wearing, in this extended metaphor? I think I would be wearing a little girl one-piece, with a frill in rows along the butt.
The first time I finished Nanowrimo, I chose a plot/idea/genre I thought I could handle easily in a month, that I could plan meticulously and then mechanically execute. I succeeded at the 50K, so that was maybe me figuring out that I could do it. Last year for Nanowrimo, I wrote a hard, huge story I'd been tossing around for a long time, and in writing it, I extirpated it, and now it's gone. I mean, it's still here, but it's no longer in my skull. Then, for Script Frenzy, I did that very same thing. And now that thing is out of my skull. So, Nanowrimo and Script Frenzy have proven to be valuable in getting rid of those stories that keep clunking around in my brain, wanting to be written.
Why not apply this magical benefit to the mother of all clunkers, which has been known through the years as "the cul de sac story" and "the sister story" and "baldy goes to burma" and "the mother story." If I can get this one out of my system, I might just achieve enlightenment. I might just solve all the world's problems, or at least my own problems, which as so few and so unobtrusive that I have to fictionalize them to make them viable enough to affect me.
So, that's what I started writing at midnight last night. For better or for worse, I have cannonballed into the deep end of the pool, where the ghouls keep drowning, and now I have to fight my way up. I guess I'm only 500 words in, so I can't say yet that my head has gone underwater. Maybe later today though! Wee!
What would I be wearing, in this extended metaphor? I think I would be wearing a little girl one-piece, with a frill in rows along the butt.
Labels: nanowrimo
