Progress, no matter how slow

I was checking the WotF blog yesterday (which is not operational today, for some reason, so the link doesn't actually work right now). After a couple of "huh-wha?" moments, I realized that I've been counting quarters using the calendar year, whereas the WotF contest starts their contest year on October 1. So what I've been calling my Q3 story here is technically a Q4 story.

Except it's not, because I read through it a couple of days ago and was not suitably impressed with its current state. Furthermore, I'm not sure what exactly it needs to make me more happy with it. And since I really don't need any more abstract walls to bang my head against right now, I tucked it right back into the drawer from whence it came. Maybe it can become the Q1 story sometime in the last quarter of this year.

In the meantime, I have begun the research phase of more extreme worldbuilding for Crowmaker. I scribbled down every question/topic I could think of that I want to know more about, and have begun reading up on them, starting with the general and very broad topic of the wild west portion of U.S. history. My usual approach is to start with the basics and work up to more in-depth treatment of the subject, at which point the children's section of the library and kid-oriented web sites come in real handy. I'm starting with Joey's 5th grade U.S. history textbook which I kept instead of selling for just such a reason--so I can refresh my aging memory on things I learned way too many years ago. In the interest of giving the wild west years a solid context, I started at the beginning of the book and am working my way forward. I also came across a cool book about the exploration of N. America and took a break from the textbook to read it. It doesn't feel a lot like work, since I kinda enjoy the reading at this point. But I'm counting it anyhow.

Side note: Given a choice of all kinds of shows on TV, both of my boys will almost always settle on the History Channel--World War II planes, the lives of presidents, Hitler's supposed connection to the occult... I'm willing to bet they know more about a lot of things at 12 and 10 than I do even now. And I'm not making them watch it! They choose it! Unless Mythbusters is on, of course. I mean, obviously, exploding pig carcasses trump all else.

A million lives

From Robert R. McCammon's Boy's Life:

"I'd like to be everybody in the world," I said. "I'd like to live a
million times."

At its heart, I think that's what draws me to things like writing and roleplaying and reading--maybe that's what it is that calls all of us. Life is like a pick-your-path book, but you only get to play through it once. There's no going back and re-choosing and seeing how it ends if you go left instead of right back there at the fork. But when we tap into our imaginations and read about other lives, real or fictional, or create characters of our own, either alike or different from us, we get to explore those unchosen paths. And more, because we get to explore roads that were never offered to us--or inflicted upon us--in our lifetime.

I did no writing whatsoever over the weekend or yesterday, but I'm feeling much less fuzzy and have managed to get almost 1,000 words so far today. Back to Crowmaker this week, then shift focus back to "Wings" and get it finalized and mailed out next week.

Summer lesson #1: The kids are no longer eating school hot lunch every day. Buy twice as much of everything as you did during the school year. At least.

Summer reading

There's a girl in Joey's sixth-grade (now seventh-grade) class who is only seldom seen without a book clutched in one hand. Her friends have to say everything to her at least twice before she looks up, blinking, from her current read and says "Huh?" About the only trouble she ever gets into in class is when she's got a not-a-textbook hidden on her lap and is reading instead of paying attention.

I can relate--that was me. Growing up, one of my very favorite places in the whole world (maybe THE favorite) was the library. To this day, I find the air conditioned hush and the scent of old and new pages inspires a deep sense of comfort that you only find in familiar places--even if the library is one I've never set foot in before. And yet beneath that comfort is the anticipatory tingle of maybe discovering your next favorite story each time you lift a book from the shelf.

I stopped being such an avid reader for a number of years. I could blame raising kids or home schooling or even writing, but the biggest consumer of the time and interest I'd previously devoted to books was an assortment of MMORPG's. I don't necessarily view the time I've spent/spend gaming as lost time--there are friendships I've cultivated and things I've learned about myself and writing and creativity in general that I wouldn't have if not for those games and the communities that grow up around them. But I've recently renewed my interest in reading, and discovered two things:

1. I really missed it.

2. SO MANY BOOKS ON MY TO-READ LIST. I WILL NEVER GET TO THEM ALL!

And in the meantime, a conversation with friends about books last night culminated in a Robert R. McCammon lovefest. And then this. My McCammon-senses were tingling after the conversation, but the blog entry put the nails in the coffin. I will be at the library over the weekend, stocking up on books I haven't re-read in way too many years. They will all have Mr. McCammon's picture on the jacket.

On a side note, when I was younger I often heard it said that the oldest child was normally the heavy reader and the younger one(s) were often not interested in reading at all. My own siblings and I certainly followed that pattern, as does my husband's family. I am delighted to prove us all wrong and break the pattern--Joey is definitely a reader, but Michael is, too. Yes, I enforce a summer daily reading time, but of the two of them, I find Michael complains less and reads more during those times. In the two weeks since they've been out for summer, Joey has worked his way through most of The Once and Future King, while I was reading part two of To Green Angel Tower. Michael?

Victory (Cooper), The Alchemyst (Michael Scott), The Mouse and the Motorcycle (Cleary), and a retelling of The Odyssey (McCaughrean). Two weeks, four books, over 800 pages. He's ten.

I'm not complaining.

Bear says...

As part of my daily routine, I browse several blogs and sites and so forth. (As we all do.) In my recent browsing, I discovered Coyote Wild, which I'd heard of but had yet to actually lay eyes on at that time. So I opened the most recent issue and saw a story called "Abjure the Realm" by Elizabeth Bear. This author's name was also familiar to me, although I was pretty sure I hadn't actually read anything of hers. Yet. So I read the story. And it was cool. And so very well-written. And I was intimidated and yet also intrigued, because I had it in my mind that at the time I'd first heard her name, she was yet a fledgling writer. So as I often do, I followed the link to her web site, out of both readerly and writerly curiosity. (And I will be adding her to my to-read list, stuffed to the gills as it already is.)

I was more intimidated. This woman is prolific. And from everything I've read thus far by and about her, very intelligent. But I found her blog and I've been following it, and I've discovered something. She IS very intelligent. And talented. And published. But I read things she says in her blog and smile or laugh because I know just what she means. She struggles. She works. She is alternately frustrated by and delighted with her writing.

She's, you know, a person. Who writes. And I find something very comforting about reading her day to day stuff and realizing that in many ways, she's not so very different from me.

Maybe someday someone will read my blog and feel the same way. That would be so very cool.

Let the real summer begin

The wayward fishermen have returned, along with several pounds of leftover junk snacks and roughly a half ton of dirty laundry. Michael finished the entire book he'd taken with him and informed me I should read it, too--ever since we read Ender's Game together he has been very proud to recommend reading to me. I already have at least a half dozen books on my summer reading list that came from him. I'm thrilled that both boys are so big on reading, especially after hearing so much anecdotal evidence that it's often just the oldest child who catches the reading bug. Joey is currently working through The Once and Future King, after which I have set aside the first book of Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn for him. One of my giddiest delights is in picking out books for people that turn out to be perfect matches for them--especially kids, my own as well as my nieces and nephews.

I haven't gotten in quite as much writing time today as usual, but I've still done 200 words plus some revising. I also (finally) got around to picking through the formatting on my bibliograpy web site's posting of my short story Disappearing. The italics had vanished on me a while back and I've kept putting off the necessary fixing-up. I re-read the story itself as I was working on it--I hadn't done so with that particular story in a while. It was published over five years ago, and there are things I'd have done differently with it now, but it holds up reasonably well, I think.

That story also had a song that figured very prominently in its flowering. I'd started fiddling with the basic premise of the story shortly before we moved from Illinois to South Carolina. I knew what emotional statement I was looking to make--a choice between selfishness and selflessness that turns out to be not quite what it first appears to be, framed in the eternal but everyday search to find happiness in a world that sometimes seems dead set against allowing such a frivolous thing. I even had the main characters in mind (more or less). The personalities of Ven and Bertam were based on those of a couple of my favorite gaming companions. The usual pattern of our EQ adventures usually involved Tim (Ven's inspiration) hollering with glee and enthusiasm as he led us headfirst into trouble, with me giggling helplessly, and Eugene (Bertam's inspiration) following stalwartly behind, shaking his head and preparing to pick up whatever pieces of us remained once the damage was done. (No priest class has ever worked harder or endured more. Tim was a warrior and I was a bard--so we could get into trouble FASTER.) I even had a vague idea of setting--a dreary reality and a place of magical escape. (I'm sure there was some gaming-related influence at work there, too.)

What I was still missing was the SOMETHING that tied everything together, the element of magic that explained how Elspeth moved between worlds. So one afternoon, as the movers were loading the truck under the supervision of my husband, and baby Michael was napping at my mother-in-law's house, I took cranky todder Joey out for a ride in hopes that he'd fall asleep in his car seat and feel better when he woke up. It was a gloomy day, kind of raining off and on, and I played a Pat Benatar CD very softly for some background noise. (Yes, I kinda like Pat Benatar. Just a little.) Enter "Run Between the Raindrops," and I found not only the little piece of magic I was looking for, but an angle involving mothers and children that had not previously existed. (My computer is being all wonky with music and videos today, but in theory you should be able to get a preview listen to the song here.)