sometimes Jon Stewart is all that keeps me patriotic

Remember Jon Stewart's first show after 9/11?

I still cry when I watch the clip.  I'm trying to sum up why I am so affected by his speech and I can't.  But that night, Jon Stewart made the pain a little more ok.

And now, via a blurb on www.nymag.com (because I can't figure out how to embed this video), his latest proof that dissent and anger can be patriotic.  That there are people in the media, if not the government, who love this country in a way that makes me love it, too.  

Jon Stewart's response to Republican's fillibustering the Zadroga Bill.

I don't intend this blog to be political.  So if you don't agree with my politics, read this as a post about one writer/artist/comedian/journalist's abilities to touch others with his voice.

Special Topics in Reader Alchemy

I just finished Marisha Pessl’s Special Topics in Calamity Physics this weekend.  It took me two months to read.  This is not common for me.  I read quickly and I read books to their ends.  Setting a novel down for days at a time, closing the covers with a huff after only having read 10 pages, it’s just not me.  And it is not Ms. Pessl either.  Rather, there was a strange alchemy: Special Topics in Calamity Physics + me = disgust.

When I was only a few pages in, I turned to a dear friend and beta, who is quite the literary kindred spirit, and said, “You have to read this book.  I think you will love it.” 

Said Literary Kindred Spirit, “I read it and I can’t put my finger on why but it annoyed the shit out of me.”

As I, too, began to get annoyed, I wondered what it was about this book that had so irked us both.  The characters are great, the plot fun and well laid out, the relationships bore the hallmark of reality, and the writing was clever.  So, why did we both have trouble with this book?

The answer, when it dawned on me, was intriguing.

The protagonist and narrator, Blue Van Meer (we’ll get into her name in a future post), is a precocious young woman.  That should not annoy either Kindred Spirit or me, as we could both relate.  

Blue is incredibly well read and clever, citing sources through the novel.  In the first pages, it is charming but after a while, not so much.  Blue suffered a characteristic that a clutch of Kindred Spirit and my college friends (did I mention we developed our similar literary palates at college together?) shared.  This group all went to a prestigious private high school where they were taught that the height of education was proven by the ability to hold erudite cocktail party conversation about anything.  They were raised to quote Rumi and Janis Joplin and Euclid with equal ease.  But only one quote per source; cocktail party clever is a mile wide and an inch deep.  I am not friends with anyone from this clutch anymore as their friendships, like polite banter, ran shallow.

Hence, my disgust with Blue Van Meer.

I am writing about this, not because of my dislike for the character, and not because I genuinely think Ms. Pessl wrote a great book that you should read (and you should!), but because this reading experience reminded me that writing is a dialogue.  As a writer, I try to think about my reader, try to imagine a pace that will keep them interested and characters that are dimensional and true to themselves while likeable enough to read.  But I forget that readers are each individuals that bring their own thoughts.  No reader is a target demographic, they are people who went to college with hurtful clever people and who cry easily at depictions of father-daughter relationships and dislike Westerns solely because the simple and innocent always gets tortured just to hurt the harder protagonist.

I’m not sure how this reminder will affect my writing but I sincerely hope it will.

i'm baffled by fan fiction

Deep breath.  This might be the most embarrassing admission I’ve ever made on this blog.  Really, no “might” about it.  Deep breath.  Sometimes, I read fan fiction.  You have no idea how much I want to delete that last sentence.

I read fan fiction because I’m an addict.  There are characters and worlds that I love spending time with so much that the authors’ creations simply aren’t enough for me.  It’s no excuse, but it’s my explanation.  Pushing past my utter horror at the fact that I engage in this behavior, I want to talk about fan fiction for a moment, because I find its existence and boundaries strange.

Before I read any myself, I would read interviews with favorite authors that responded to inquiries about fan fiction by saying it was sad that such talented people didn’t go out and write their own stories.  I always brushed this answer off as a way for authors to say, “Paws off my intellectual property!” without alienating card core fans.  But now that I’ve read some, I find myself agreeing with their sentiments.

A lot of fan fic is bad.  There are far fewer good writers out there than people realize.  And even with betas, the lack of a filter (like publishing) makes for an astounding reservoir of crap.  That is to be expected.  It is uninteresting.

What I find more remarkable are writers who write “alternate universe” stories.  Edward is an injured WWII marine and Bella is his nurse.  Sookie meets Eric first and is less of a whiney idiot.  Hermoine and Ron have a crazy threesome with Neville in Minneapolis.  Dream and Death open an all-night diner in Detroit.  Between the alternate settings, the changes in the universe, the leeway with character, these stories have nothing in common with the source material but names.  It makes me groan because I if I wanted to read a beautiful WWII love story, I would read Atonement, not Bella/Edward fan fic with lemons.

I don’t understand this type of fan fiction.  I do, however, understand authors’ comments about how sad fan fic can be.  Some of the writers are genuinely talented.  They write plots that compel me and turn a phrase that makes me laugh aloud or ache.  But what they write isn’t theirs.  The ones who write stories that fit with cannon make me happy and I hope they can write stories of their own.  The ones whose stories in no way resemble the source make me want to say, “change the names and go get published!”  Some of these stories are 130,000 words!

I’ve read all of one fan fic author’s work and then emailed her to say that I enjoyed the stories and I sincerely hoped she was working on something of her own because she is too good to not.  The woman plays with narrative structure and writes stunningly beautiful, powerful sentences.   I was glad to hear that she is working on her first novel.  I would read anything this woman writes.  Even alternate universe stories wherein the characters are fighting in Vietnam.

I understand that most fan fic writers create their stories for the same reason I read them. Because I don’t want to let beloved series end.  I am grateful, saddened by their time and effort, and embarrassed for myself.

just because it made me smile

I liked Nathan Bransford's post today about the fallacies about authors who have made it.  But more than the post in general, I loved the end and feel the need to quote it for you now:

"We keep striving no matter how high we've climbed, even those who have climbed the highest. Pressure can cut into satisfaction, and the spotlight can be uncomfortable.

It all reminds me of the speed of light (or at least my own understanding of the speed of light, which is likely wildly flawed). The way my understanding of the physics of light works is that no matter how fast you personally are traveling, from your perspective a beam of light will still look like it's traveling at the speed of light. You can't travel alongside a beam of light. There's no catching up.

And I think there's actually something great about that. There will always be something to chase, always something to strive for, always another horizon to pursue. Who wants to be perfectly contented? Where's the excitement in that? There will always be something great to chase around the bend."

on beauty

Two nights ago, I saw Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake at City Center.  The first time I saw the piece was eleven years ago, when the production first came to Broadway.  I was entranced and have since watched my DVD a number of times.  But Tuesday night was the first time I watched the show in its entirety in a long time.

I love the music.  I love every aspect of this production.  I can no longer imagine a version with a female dancing the part of the Swan because, really, female swans don’t make sense.  Swans are powerful, majestic, and cruel.  There is something inherently masculine about their physical strength.

I missed Adam Cooper.  His portrayal of the Swan was unimaginably layered.  Tuesday’s performance was good, better than good, even.  But something was missing.  With a flick of the wrist or a curve of his shoulder, Adam Cooper could evoke the movements of a bird, but also cruelty, love, lust, and aloofness.  There are no words to describe how many contrary emotions he could call with his wrist.

And that is what I want to write about.  The best dance I’ve ever seen hits me in the gut.  The emotions are so intense that it almost hurts to feel the loss or joy or anger or love.  Just being witness to the beauty and grace makes me ache.  When watching Swan Lake or my friend’s old brilliant dance company in college, tides of emotion start in the space between my solar plexus and my stomach and just radiate outward.

I don’t understand.

When I returned home Tuesday night, I tried to explain the production to my husband.  But in putting the relationship between the Prince and the Swan into words, I flattened it, deadened it.  The beauty of Swan Lake is that, without words, they dance simultaneous, contradictory, non-narrative relationships.

Does the Swan love the Prince?

Does the Swan torture the Prince?

Does the Swan protect the Prince?

Does the Swan feel remorse?

Does he hate the Prince?

Is he a perpetrator or a victim?

Is the Stranger actually the Swan?

Does the Swan want the Queen?

Does the Swan only dance with the women to hurt the Prince?

Is the Swan real or a figment of the Prince’s insanity?

Is the Swan capable of love?

Is the Swan capable of anything but cruelty?

Is this a story of requited or unrequited love?

Is this a story about insanity?

The answer is yes.

Try telling that relationship in narrative.  Try using words.  I dare you.  It doesn’t work.

After spending a number of years studying linguistics, cognitive science, literature, and art—and after spending even more years as a human being—I have come to the conclusion that people do not think in words.  Words come later.  Thoughts, emotions, happen on a pre-linguistic level.  Sure, our language affects how we think in the same way that picture frames affect what we see.  Thank you, Sapir Wharf.  But that’s it; words focus, but do not define, thought.  Haven’t you ever felt an emotion that you couldn’t put into words—not because you couldn’t remember the right one but because none existed for it? 

That’s what makes dance so profound for me.  It can tap into my emotions—into who I am—on a pre-linguistic level. Not sure what the lesson or conclusion I should draw from this is, as a writer.  I’m sure there is one.  Today, I am still just reeling from the raw experience.

community of loners

I've started to query agents and really, the idea of it is just making me queasy.  So instead of focusing desperately on my inbox, I am going to blog about a bit of writing common wisdom that I disagree with.

Writing is a lonely practice.

Writers, industry professionals, commentators all agree.  But I don't.

Sure, when I am writing, I do so alone.  I have all of these characters and visions swirling around my head.  I type at breakneck pace in fear that I will lose a morsel before I have time to commit it to the page.  In these moments, I like my solitude.  It is necessary.  I don't feel lonely, I feel invigorated.  In truth, the aspects of my life that intrude on that solitude--work, family, friends, husband, cats--only make me angry at those times.

But what about when the frenzy is over?  Nearly a year of editing, rewriting, beta's critiques, researching agents, query writing, and (cringe) the synopsis.

During this year, it was the community of writers and industry professionals that kept me sane.  Reading the many agent blogs taught me a great deal about the process of finding an agent, what a good query letter is, the do's and don'ts.  Comments on that blog let me know that my fears and misunderstandings were not my own.  A whole community of writers shared them with me.  Beta readers made me feel better in my blue days and kicked my ass into gear on my tired ones.  Forums helped me refine my work and support others'.

Perhaps this says more about my social life in the real world than anything else.  I am not a partier.  I do not have a large group of friends.  I do not attend a religious group or a book club.  So this community of writers and readers and publishing industry good Samaritans has made me feel... well... a part of something.

So, thank you for sharing your manuscripts, your critiques and your wisdom.  I am humbled to be part of this crowd.

put a fork in it

Huh.  I think I finished FLIGHT.  This is weird.

Thirteen months after I began writing the first scenes--eleven of which have been spent on editing--I think I am ready to begin querying agents.  I've gotten the incredible input of 3.5 beta readers (I'll let you speculate about what that .5 means) and now feel like I've gotten it to a high plateau.

I've written my query letter template and have research agents, even begun personalizing the queries to them.  The synopsis, much as it makes me cringe, is as close to uncringeworthy as it might ever be.

So, what is stopping me from querying?

I'm petrified.  Literally paralyzed with fear.

Is FLIGHT really done?  It's not the grand work that it is in my head.  But according to this elegant article by Michael Cunningham, that is to be expected.  I'm happy with FLIGHT.  I like what I have done with it.  It is imperfect but it is my offering.  (Three points to whoever picks up on that reference.)  But am I querying to early?  Is FLIGHT really finished?  Is the query the best it can be?  The synopsis?  All I can say is that I am happy with what they are.

I am sincerely hoping that by this time next week I will have worked past the nausea sufficiently to start putting it out there.

Keep breathing.