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gurdonark"No more pencils,
No more books,
No more teachers' dirty looks"
---A. Cooper
It's such an immense relief to have completed that novel. No more hitting the word count function. No more using the talking whales as a deux ex machina to solve any loose plot problem (although, frankly, it is rather a comfort to be able to have brainy cetaceans at hand--if only life were that way. I love that in the Tolkien novels, the tide turns when one character looks up and says "The Eagles! The Eagles!". I can think of two or three things on my to do list that some intellectual orca, or perhaps a less flighty eagle, could help me solve). No more authorial awe at how dysfunctional the narrator/protagonist has proven to be, even though the narrator speaks in a voice not that dissimilar to that of the author. No more eyestrain, no more Saturdays split between law briefs and aliens, and no more random ruminations on the problems of faith and loneliness. Well, scratch that. This journal remains a hazard zone on the problems of faith, loneliness, and, who knows? Maybe whales.
I have been intoxicated once in my life, after a set of law school friends assured me that this was an essential experience I should not forego. What did I learn from this?
I learned that under the influence of alcohol my natural penchant for over-analysis and wordy exposition is attuned to a very fine art. A 50,000 word fine art. It is little wonder that I have not been intoxicated since that time. This first novel has taught me that given free rein, I will ramble around on questions of faith, colors and whales for tens of thousands of words at a time, sans plot, sans dialogue and sans point. But I needed to know that about myself. Writing is like alcohol for me--given enough of it, I can get particularly wordy.
I did take some time yesterday to read a critique of this nanowrimo.org thing by professional writer Alma Hromik in some on line mag called Swann's Commentary. In moderately strident tones, she expressed the sentiment that nanowrimo was a slap in the face to serious writers. It was an interesting think piece, but I get a little bored of people who think that others' consensual, non-invasive silly conduct is a "slap" at their way of life. I suppose on some level, I'd want to say to Ms. Hromik: "interesting point. But I'm still going to sign up for next year's competition".
I see the holly trees on the median strip on Alma Drive are in full, red berry. This is a real holiday harbinger. The weather, by contrast, is entirely warm and pleasant. I love that Texas November alternates between cold and warm.
Tonight my wife is attending a meeting of a club she has joined, so I must eat alone. I had some insidious Chinese buffet for lunch, because I was in a rush, after yesterday's lunch was also an insidious Chinese buffet because I was in a rush. I suppose the buffet itself was not insidious, it was just largely fried, and I nearly have eaten my life's quota of fried food; at least, the remaining portions of my life's quota I'd like to spend on catfish and perhaps some really charming tempura. Of course, yesterday, just after I observed to someone how hard it is to find healthy eating in Dallas as contrasted with California, I ordered the hot fudge brownie sundae. Watch the bouncing ball, please--don't watch me.
I did see a new place on Jupiter Road on my commute to work lately with those magic words: "BBQ" on it.
Maybe that's my Monday destination.
I feel very energetic right now. I'm going home now, but tomorrow--watch out!
No more books,
No more teachers' dirty looks"
---A. Cooper
It's such an immense relief to have completed that novel. No more hitting the word count function. No more using the talking whales as a deux ex machina to solve any loose plot problem (although, frankly, it is rather a comfort to be able to have brainy cetaceans at hand--if only life were that way. I love that in the Tolkien novels, the tide turns when one character looks up and says "The Eagles! The Eagles!". I can think of two or three things on my to do list that some intellectual orca, or perhaps a less flighty eagle, could help me solve). No more authorial awe at how dysfunctional the narrator/protagonist has proven to be, even though the narrator speaks in a voice not that dissimilar to that of the author. No more eyestrain, no more Saturdays split between law briefs and aliens, and no more random ruminations on the problems of faith and loneliness. Well, scratch that. This journal remains a hazard zone on the problems of faith, loneliness, and, who knows? Maybe whales.
I have been intoxicated once in my life, after a set of law school friends assured me that this was an essential experience I should not forego. What did I learn from this?
I learned that under the influence of alcohol my natural penchant for over-analysis and wordy exposition is attuned to a very fine art. A 50,000 word fine art. It is little wonder that I have not been intoxicated since that time. This first novel has taught me that given free rein, I will ramble around on questions of faith, colors and whales for tens of thousands of words at a time, sans plot, sans dialogue and sans point. But I needed to know that about myself. Writing is like alcohol for me--given enough of it, I can get particularly wordy.
I did take some time yesterday to read a critique of this nanowrimo.org thing by professional writer Alma Hromik in some on line mag called Swann's Commentary. In moderately strident tones, she expressed the sentiment that nanowrimo was a slap in the face to serious writers. It was an interesting think piece, but I get a little bored of people who think that others' consensual, non-invasive silly conduct is a "slap" at their way of life. I suppose on some level, I'd want to say to Ms. Hromik: "interesting point. But I'm still going to sign up for next year's competition".
I see the holly trees on the median strip on Alma Drive are in full, red berry. This is a real holiday harbinger. The weather, by contrast, is entirely warm and pleasant. I love that Texas November alternates between cold and warm.
Tonight my wife is attending a meeting of a club she has joined, so I must eat alone. I had some insidious Chinese buffet for lunch, because I was in a rush, after yesterday's lunch was also an insidious Chinese buffet because I was in a rush. I suppose the buffet itself was not insidious, it was just largely fried, and I nearly have eaten my life's quota of fried food; at least, the remaining portions of my life's quota I'd like to spend on catfish and perhaps some really charming tempura. Of course, yesterday, just after I observed to someone how hard it is to find healthy eating in Dallas as contrasted with California, I ordered the hot fudge brownie sundae. Watch the bouncing ball, please--don't watch me.
I did see a new place on Jupiter Road on my commute to work lately with those magic words: "BBQ" on it.
Maybe that's my Monday destination.
I feel very energetic right now. I'm going home now, but tomorrow--watch out!
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no subject
Date: 2002-11-11 06:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-11-11 07:16 pm (UTC)I got the idea for my whales by chance, but it would be fun if I'd gotten the idea from listening to an old Chiffons song called "He's So Fine", because I am rather a fan of the late George Harrison.
no subject
Date: 2002-11-11 09:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-11-12 03:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-11-12 05:18 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2002-11-12 04:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-11-12 04:40 am (UTC)Re:
Date: 2002-11-12 04:58 am (UTC)Whales stay!
Re: Whales stay!
Date: 2002-11-12 07:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-11-12 12:06 am (UTC)Meanwhile, I slowly creep into being behind on my word count. CANNOT wait til it's over!
no subject
Date: 2002-11-12 03:35 am (UTC)Part of why I finished so quickly was that I felt if I didn't strike while the iron was hot, it would wear me out.
But it's not so important if one finishes, I think as it is to stretch one's writing muscles a bit and have fun. I'll bet your book will be a much better read than mine.
no subject
Date: 2002-11-12 04:45 am (UTC)Once, my favorite writer, Pat Conroy, called me at work. I was floored. He had previously sent me a postcard, after I sent a letter general delivery to the post office of his town. (I carry the postcard around in my daytimer with me). Anyway, he offered me advice and general talk about writing, and what he said was so important and so OPPOSITE of what you read from the writer in the online mag. He said, "Kim, I never think what I write is any good. But I write it because I have to, and that's what I do."
Can you believe someone like him thinking his writing is no good? If you haven't, read, "The Lords of Discipline."How can he think that is no good?
However, It made me realize that he is just a regular human, doing his job- even though writing is a job that wraps you up emotionally more than, let's say, widget production. It made me idolize him less, and pay attention to his craft more. I don't think I'm better because I write, I just think I am a writer.
BTW, did you get barbecue? I love it- only with the red pepper vinegar sauce though. Big fight here in NC- red pepper vinegar or tomato based.... and the world turns on and on.
Kim
no subject
Date: 2002-11-12 05:11 am (UTC)I wish I had gotten the BBQ, but I did not. Here we're more tomato based than vinegar, but chilis become a big part of the equation. Also, we tend to be more beef oriented as well. I love that BBQ has such discernible regional differences.