Stuff and Things

Out of Time: In which I time travel, and feel a little weird

A few weeks ago, my family went to the Bristol Renaissance Faire, and I traveled back in time.  Not to the Renaissance, but to my own youth.

For those who don't know me, I worked at Bristol from ages fifteen to thirty, taking a summer off here and there.  I was always a performer: I did Shakespeare in the streets, did swordfights (usually as a cute ragamuffin), played a mad fishmonger, and--my favorite--directed and performed in Kids' Kingdom, the children's area of the Faire. 

I met my husband there (he put in about fifteen years, too, although not exactly the same ones - he started later and stayed longer), met many of my dearest friends there, and consider it big part of who I am as a person.

I stopped performing when I became pregnant with my first son.  For one thing, I was due in August and there was no way I was doing the show while I was that pregnant.  But I was also getting a little worn out.  In my final season, although I still adored directing, I was counting down the number of performances I had.  It was time to move on.  My husband left when our second son was born, and our ties with Bristol faded significantly.

We went to the show a few times with the kids, but didn't stay long.  The oldest boy found the site--with the oddly dressed people, loud sounds, and strange smells--a bit overwhelming.  (It didn't help that we came in the back door, past the dumpsters.) Plus, they were usually really bored while we stood around and chatted with our friends.

But this summer, with the kids 7 and 4 (and a half), we figured it was time to try.  Some friends wanted to meet up there, so we called one of the few people we knew who still worked there and asked them to help us with some tickets. 

The day was glorious.  We went through the front gates this time (I think the the first time either of us had done that).  Oldest Boy was a little timid at first.  Youngest Boy had, as usual, no reservations, and started running off.  But after a while, Oldest Boy got comfortable.

And then we were patrons.

We went to Kids' Kingdom, of course.  My baby. I'd largely stayed away since I left,  out of respect for the new director.  Directing Kids' Kingdom (or KK as we called it) remains one of my proudest acheivements.  I had a fabulous cast and I feel like we put together a really good show. 

So it was hard to be back there, now as a patron, and see things done in a way that I wouldn't, or seeing them struggling with problems that we had solved. I don't mean this as any criticism of the current  director--she was doing her show, her way.  And my kids had a wonderful time, so mission accomplished.  But it was just hard to see such concrete proof that it wasn't mine anymore.

We met two other families there, one of whom had never been to Bristol before.  They got terribly lost, and we wound up spending almost no time with them.  The hardest thing was orienting them.  We kept asking them where they were, and they would answer "I don't know."   "Well, what stage are you by?"  "I don't know.  We're by the turkey legs."  It had been so long since we'd looked at the site through the eyes of newcomers (and the site had changed so much since we were new) that we didn't have the vocabulary to explain. 

We saw a show by our good friends The Swordsmen.  It was weird to be in the audience.  When I was a performer, I could sometimes stand in the back for a few minutes, but would usually move on before the show was over.  How delightful to experience this with fresh eyes, and see that it was still delightful.  They've been performing for twenty years, I think they said, and I was really impressed by how tight and funny the show was.  We all had a great time.

At the end of the day, we went back to Kids Kingdom to eat and relax. This was always my favorite time of day when I worked at the Faire.  About 4:30 or so, there was a knighting ceremony for the kids.  Once the Queen got there, it was pretty mellow for us.  Most of the audience had gone, the weather was cooler, and I always felt like I could enjoy myself a little bit more.  And that evening with the kids was the same way.  We were the only patrons left.  My husband and I relaxed on a bench and just talked about how it used to be, while the kids played on the ship and talked to the cast members.

And then, perfectly, my good friend Genessee Spridco walked up (of the wonderful Suitcase Shakespeare Company).  Gen had been in my cast at KK, and had taken over as director after I left.  I was able to share how I felt with her, and she completely understood.  We indulged in some "remember-whens," idly discussed a reunion, and were both thrilled to discover that the current cast still does a morning cheer that we initiated.  

During the day, I considered coming back and performing for a day, but I know I won't.  I saw some good friends still doing great stuff, and truly enjoyed it.  Do I miss it?  Somewhat.  I definitely miss the camaraderie and the adventure, but I'm not willing to give up the family time--every weekend in the summer--to get it. 

No, I've moved on, and so has the Faire.  But it was fun to pretend for a while, which, in truth, is what the Faire is all about.

Plus, that ice cream crepe was really yummy.

Win 7 Just Cheesed Me Off Again

You know what drives me nuts?

I'll be in one window, say my chat software, and I tell it to do something, say open a chat with my boss.

Then I go to another window, say Outlook, and start typing an obnoxious email to my friend.

But when chat is ready, it pops in front of me, takes control, and suddenly that obnoxious email is now being typed in the chat window to my boss.

It's the equivalent of asking a waiter to please bring me salt, and then start drinking my wine. And then the waiter runs up, takes the wine glass out of my hand and sticks the salt shaker in there instead.

Both scenarios leave me feeling similarly irked.

Computers (well, actually, the applications and systems that run on them) should be a hybrid of Jeeves and Radar. Well mannered, giving things to me just as I need them, and otherwise, they're politely waiting outside or cuddling their teddy bear in their bunk.

Teaching myself to write: Outlines and Storyboards

I honestly have no idea how people can write a novel without an outline.  It's like saying "I built a house just by stacking up some bricks and off you go."  I know plenty of excellent writers who can do it.  I am not one of them.

The biggest reason for this is that I write fast.  Now, don't hate me--I didn't say I write good stuff fast.  I just spew out words quickly.  The downside is that, if I don't know where I'm going, one of two things happens.  I either write a very unfocused piece that drifts off to nowhere*, or I myself drift off, daunted by determining where to go next. 

So I use outlines and storyboards to figure out what I'm going to write before I write it.  I suspect that people who "pants" it (meaning they write by the seat of their pants) do a lot of this prework, too, but somehow synthesize it into their brains when they sit down to write.  (at least I hope so. If not, I don't want to know about them.)

So here's what I've used:

1.  Sketchbook

I love using my sketchbook to think things through and figure out ideas. Sometimes I use this on a macro level, creating storyboards or just big messes to determine big story arcs, and sometimes on a micro level, scribbling to brainstorm how a scene or element will work.

Here are two pictures of my sketchbook.  The left one is a storyboard.  I like the feel of writing on paper when I'm thinking.  It's something concrete to keep my thoughts from drifting away.  But then it's hard to make changes. 

On the right is me plotting out a short story.  I drew pictures (I'm not a great artist, but it works) and  just sort of worked out some of the details.  I've tried going to writing straight from this, but for a novel, I don't think it's enough.  I still don't have everything fleshed out enough.  But this is very energizing for me.  I feel like I'm really creating something. 

 

 

2.  MindMap

I like MindMaps for organizing my thoughts, which can be a little...disarrayed sometimes.  I actually started using them in my day job for web sites and presentations, but after a wonderful course at Midwest Writers Conference by the brilliant Cathy Day, I pulled out the MindMap for outlining.

I use a program called Xmind.  The free version works just fine.  I like that I have control over the layout, can add notes, and it's easy to move things around.  I usually change the layout to an org chart with tree layout underneath each node. 

So I tried it for my current project, a novel called (for now) Planet/Moon. I set up the map like this, with a chart for characters and some of the background info (I also have lots of other, detailed research and stuff in Scrivener, but this is the key stuff for now).  Then I set up the following nodes:

• Setup
• Inciting Incident
• Rising Action
• Turning Point
• Falling Action
• Climax
• Denouement

 It looks like this:

(click for a larger version)

And then I start sticking scene ideas under each node.  There's only going to be one or two things under Inciding Incident, Turning Point, and Climax, usually, and lots of stuff under Rising Action and Falling Action.  Setup and Denouement should be pretty short.

This follows the standard screenplay three act structure that I'm most familiar with.  Other pieces might be structured differently, but this is what I like.

So I did this for Planet/Moon and this is what it looks like:

3.  Synopsis

This is something new I'm trying for Planet/Moon.  After I did the MindMap, I wrote a detailed synopsis of each scene.  I put it all in one document in Scrivener.  This was really helpful, because it forced me to dramatize the little boxes and think scenes through.  I could start to write what was happening without worrying about dialog or nice words or anything.   I've only just started writing a proper draft, and so far it seems to have helped greatly.  More news as it happens.

 

2. Scrivener Outline

Scrivener lets me create a separate file for each scene, and write a synopsis of each scene.  I find I can't do this first. It's too hard to see the big picture and group things the way I like.  But it's a good last step before I start writing.  That way I have my work mapped out, and for each scene, I know what I need to do.

Here's the outline view.

And then when you go to write the scene, you see the synopsis on the side:

So that's cool.

I know some people use sticky notes, but I find they fall off too easily and I don't like cluttering up my office.  And they're hard to carry around.  I guess I'm a digital girl, or something.

 

Anyway, that's what I've been doing.  What do you do?  I'd love to learn new tricks. 

 

*Yes, I know that can be a great creative tool.  And I do sometimes do freewriting and morning pages, and have found them to be very valuable for generating ideas.  But at this point, I'm thinking that I'm more in Construction Mode than Dreaming Mode.

Top 6 things I learned at Midwest Writers Workshop

A few weeks ago, I drove 5 hours through the Indiana cornfields to the Midwest Writers Workshop in Muncie.  It was delightful, and I took many notes.  Here is a ginormously huge mindmap of said notes.  But if you don’t want to zoom and scan that, here are the top things I learned. 

1. Write with focus.

Over and over, I heard two pieces of advice.  The first was to cut the crap: remove all the words that don’t serve your purpose, and make sure that every word you do use is as powerful as it can be.  Every chapter, every scene, every letter in the manuscript has to be dense with purpose, to communicate what it is you want to say.  If it doesn’t do that 100%, cut it. 

Of course, the second part of that is to know what it is you want to say.  (actually that’s first, but I figured it out second).  If you don’t know what it is you’re trying to say, get that figured out right away.  The vision has to be crystal clear, and you have to believe in it strongly.  This goes for the work as a whole, as well as each chapter, scene, paragraph, character, and setting.  It also applies to the marketing materials, like the synopsis, query, and pitch. 

2. Hire professionals.

I was surprised to learn that many authors hired people to provide editing, legal, and publicity services.  I think most people assume the publisher will do that for them, but they don’t.  Or, if they do, it’s not always to the degree that you’d need.  Editors are overworked lately, since everything’s been cut to the bare bones.  So you can’t rely on them to do it for you, especially as a new author.  And when it comes to negotiating your contract, your agent will do a lot, but getting your own lawyer to look it over is smart, too.   

In other words, hire an editor to review your work before you submit it out.  Get a good one, which isn’t easy, but if you do, you’ll learn a lot and your work will be vastly improved. 

Hire an IP lawyer to read over the contract from the publisher before you sign it.  You probably don’t need one for the contract with your agent.

Hire your own publicist to promote your book once it’s published.  The publisher will have one, too, but it will be one person for several books.  Your publicist will focus on your book.  Spend your whole advance on this. 

3.  How to make my Query and Synopsis not suck.

I got a lot of practical advice on writing materials to sell my work, like pitches, queries, and synopses, mostly from 2 workshops presented by agent Kathleen Ortiz.  The focus concept from above applies here, too; make every single word count, and boil the work down to its absolute core.

I also got a fantastic idea from @keylocke to create marketing materials, like a one-sheet, a Facebook fan page, and a web page. 

For the pitch, Jane Friedman summarized better here than I could do.


In the end, my pitch turned into this: 

THE TWO SOCIETIES is a complete, 74K word, YA Steampunk novel about Rebecca Flynn, an inventor’s daughter who must evade an evil scientist who wants her weather machine - and her - for himself.  At the same time, she tries to navigate high society to win a critical election for her uncle, and the heart of a dashing young man for herself. 

And here’s a good resource on the synopsis workshop from Kathleen Ortiz's blog.

 

4.  Keep your day job.

I always kind of felt guilty that I work full time instead of devoting every waking moment to writing.  If I were really dedicated, I figured, I’d live in poverty. 

Not true.

It was wisely pointed out to me that if I rely on my writing for my living, that puts a lot of pressure on me.  I suppose that was part of my desire to give it all up - that push to excel.  But that can also make it harder to write.  And the other good point was that if I write for money, I have to write things that pay money, regardless of whether that was something I want to write.  So that helps me feel a little better about my day job.  Which is good, because I like it.  :)

5. All you need is love. 

This is the fluffy one, but it makes a lot of sense to me.  Author and illustrator David Slonim  spoke eloquently at the closing dinner.  One of his wonderful points is that art is an expression of love between you and the reader.  I honestly hadn’t thought about it that way.  I had thought about my love for the work and the process, but not about love for the reader.  That changed my perspective greatly.  It’s not about being awesome, or winning. It’s about connecting with people.  I love that. 

6. I belong here. 

One nice thing about being among writers is you don’t feel so isolated and weird. We’re all mad here, essentially.  But I felt a little more that I have the right to be here, writing.  That I can talk to fellow writers, agents, editors like a professional, because that is what I am.  People who looked at my work told me I’ve got the chops.  Individual pieces might need work, but the skill is there.  That makes the rejections sting just a little less. 

And I made friends.  Writer friends.  We’ve got an online group together and we’re supporting each other.  I needed that, and, really, that was the best find of all.

 

So, I think I'll probably go back next year.  :)  Anyone want to come with me? 

The Fall of Anakin Skywalker: How I think it should have happened.

Yes, the prequels were disappointing for many reasons, but one of the things that really bugged me was that Anakin’s fall came out of nowhere.  I mean, there were things that led up to them, but they were of a magnitude to make him a little depressed for a while, but not turn evil forever.  And then he jumped to super evil all of a sudden.

So, since I’m a nerd, I came up with this alternate story. 

Anakin is a rock star Jedi.  Yoda didn’t want to take him on (at, like, 15, not 6), but Obi-Wan said he’d train him, and it looks like he was right.  The two of them go around kicking ass in the Clone Wars (which is about something interesting, not trade treaties).  But when Anakin meets Padme, Senator Palpatine’s political prodigy, they fall in love.  Yoda says he has to choose between the Jedi Order and Padme, and he, to everyone’s surprise, chooses Padme. 

He leaves the Order and settles down on Naboo.  Soon they have a son (just one) and he’s happy as can be, although he is a little antsy when he hears about what’s going on in the Galaxy, with chaos in the Senate and Palpatine (who's still a family friend) gaining power. 

Obi Wan visits and sees that although Anakin loves his family, he still has that taste for adventure.  He goes back to the Jedi Council and says they might be able to get him back.  They try getting him involved in some problem (go defeat this badguy or something), which Anakin enjoys, but at the end, the badguy’s friends retaliate by attacking Anakin’s home on Naboo (perhaps Palpatine told the badguys where to find him).  Padme survives, but their son is killed. 

This is the tragedy that makes Anakin vulnerable to the dark side.  But Palpatine doesn’t just recruit him here; he starts a long period of psychological torture.  For months, he torments Anakin with nightmares and visions, making Anakin’s grief even worse and confusing him until he doesn’t know right from wrong.  When Palpatine teaches him some Dark Side techniques and suggests he uses them to get revenge on the badguys, Anakin feels the power of the Dark Side and likes it. 

Padme finds out she’s pregnant again, but Anakin is acting so strangely, she doesn’t tell him.  Palpatine draws him into deeper and deeper acts, until finally Padme doesn’t feel safe and runs to Obi Wan.  That’s when Obi Wan confronts him, peacefully at first, but Anakin accuses Obi Wan of seducing Padme and things become violent.  And from there, the fateful duel where Anakin is terribly injured, Palpatine saves him, and it’s easy now for Palpatine to bind Anakin to him. 

So, then, later, when he learns about Luke, he’s going to feel very conflicted.  He’ll remember the pain of his first son’s death, and want to protect him.  But he’s bound to Palpatine, and knows what he’s done with this life.  Finally, it’s that love for his two sons that will lead him to sacrifice himself to save Luke, and therefore redeem himself as a Jedi. 

So that’s my theory.  What do you think? 

A big egg, hot crickets, and funny shoes - a review of Cirque's OVO

I like Cirque du Soliel.  A lot. There was a point there, before they started setting up permanent shows all over creation and Las Vegas, that my husband and I had seen every Cirque show.  We've fallen behind now, but we always see the tours when they come through, and we're working on getting out to Vegas.

The last show, Kooza, was incredible.  I fell madly in lust with the Trickster, the clowns were fantastic, and the acts were a lot of fun.  (OK, the dog character peed on me -- I was soaked -- and that was upsetting, but otherwise good stuff).

Last night we went to see OVO, and we had fun.  It wasn't Kooza-mind-blowing, or on the level of Quidam or "O", but more like Corteo or Varekai - a really good night out. 

I think the star of the show was the costumes.  They're always great, and OVO was no exception.  All the characters were insects, and the costumes were really clever and beautiful.

The story was a little vague, but it usually is, I suppose.  A bunch of bugs live with a cranky clown bug, until a fly shows up carrying a big egg.  The fly falls in love with the ladybug, so the clown bug steals the egg.  (I wondered if they were going to start flinging birds at him to get the egg back, but that didn't happen). It really bothered me that the egg never hatched. That's the point of an egg--what's inside?  An egg is all potential.  Why wasn't it realized during the show?  As my husband said, you can't bring an egg out in act one without it being fired in act three, or something like that. 

The fly, the clown bug, and the ladybug were the main clowns in the show.  The two guys were pretty good, although I can't say that their gags were particularly creative ("let's have a duel" and "I'll show you how to woo a woman").  The ladybug clown, except for a few moments, was pretty one-note.  I don't know why Cirque has world-class acts and such inconsistent clowning.  Kooza had amazing clowning (which, considering it was directed by David Shiner, is no surprise), and there were good clowns in Quidam, Varekai, Corteo, and La Nouba.  But Dralion's were awful (we caught them later in the tour and they were better), and Alegria's were boring.  Most of the others were just sort of meh. And seriously, when the hell are they are going to get a kickass girl clown in there? 

There were some spectacular acts.  The diabolo juggler did things I'd never seen before (suicides where he released both sticks, suicides with two diabolos, rotating the diabolo to spin on a vertical axis instead of horizontal - I've been out of the loop for a while, so maybe that's nothing new, but my jaw was on the ground).  The "ants" - six little Chinese girls did a brilliant funambulist act. The spanish web duo was delightful.  And the slack rope act was astonishing. 

But some of the other acts seemed a little unfocused.  They did a combination flying trap/banquine act at the end of the first act that seemed a little underrealized.  I felt like they spent more time setting up the rigging and the nets than they did on the actual act.  The second act opener was a spiderweb thing with some bouncing around and contortion that was a little off (although I suspect they were missing a performer, judging by pictures in the program).  And the finale, while an amazing spectacle of fast track and trampoline combined with a climbing wall, was fun, but the rhythm seemed off, and I wasn't always sure where to look. 

Oh, and this is possibly the first time this sentence has been written (certainly the first time by me):  The crickets were hot.  Especially when they did that cool twitching thing. 

Anyway, the show was really fun and I'm glad we went.  I remained unmolested by incontinent dogs (although we were nearly suffocated by confetti butterflies at the end, but that was OK), saw some incredible acts, and generally had a wonderful evening. 

Paul McCartney, a time machine, and a popsicle.

Last night, Paul McCartney played Wrigley Field.  I was there, and it was amazing.

I’m a second generation Beatles fan.  My mother had tickets to see the Beatles in the sixties, but let a friend talk her into waiting by their hotel instead of going to the show, a decision she regrets to this day, since, surprisingly, John Lennon did not stop the limo and demand that my mother, then fourteen, join him. 

I felt a little out of place sometimes.  I’m not that much of a Paul girl, per se.  My heart belongs to John.  I don’t know Paul’s solo work all that well, except that I grew up in the 70s and Wings stuff was definitely hard to avoid.  But a Beatle’s a Beatle, and I knew Paul’s shows were incredible.  So when I heard him playing “Lady Madonna” during the sound check, my knees buckled a little. 

Our seats were on the field, which meant we got little glo-pink bracelets to wear, signifying our superior status. No one needed to kowtow or anything, and one security guard was even testy when I showed it and my ticket when coming back from the bathrooms.   It tickled my wrist and I kept thinking I was getting bitten by a bug. 

Next to me was a couple who saw Paul’s shows regularly.  They were delightful to talk to, and we geeked out together.  In front of me were a group of people whom I will describe as goombas.  Big, Italian guys with their pretty wives.  They kept grabbing each other by the back of the neck to draw them in and talk in their ears.  While I was surprised that they would have so much to say during the concert, I was really annoyed that it blocked my view every time they did.  Eventually, they started taking turns to get beer, which cleared things up.  And by the end, Paul had completely won them over.  They were singing and dancing with the rest of us.


The first part of the concert was me just forcing my brain to recognize that this, *this* was Paul McCartney.  The same Paul McCartney who played in Hamburg, who had an ornery grandfather, who sang on the rooftop of Apple, and on and on.  Here he was.  The Beatles songs did the trick.  Every time he played a Beatles song, particularly an earlier one, I found myself jumping up and down in the throes of Beatlemania, fifty years out of time.

The set list was over 30 songs.  What struck me was how Paul never let up.  It was just awesome song after awesome song.  And the size and power of the crowd was amazing.  I was surrounded by tens of thousands of people who were all singing and cheering.  I loved seeing the people standing on the rooftops and watching, and thinking about how our sound and light was visible across the city.  We were an oasis of music and, at the risk of sounding cheesy, love.



I cried hard during “Here Today” (the goombahs all sat down).  That song breaks me up when I listen to a recording of it; a live performance was more than I could handle.  But mostly, I danced.  Mrs. Vandebilt, Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da (did Paul invent Ska with that song?) were just joyful.  I was blown away by “Live and Let Die” and “Helter Skelter.”  I wish he had done “All You Need is Love” instead of “Give Peace a Chance,” but I waved my arms to the sky and sang with everyone.  During “Yesterday” (one of the two encores) I turned around and looked at the crowd around me and marveled at the mass of humanity all singing together.

When Paul finally said good night (and meant it, after two encores), I was exhilirated and completely exhausted. As we walked down Addison, we stopped and bought popsicles from an ice cream truck.  Everyone was buzzing, and someone was blasting Paul's music from their car stereo.  By the time we got in our car (and normally, you wouldn’t hand your car keys and fifty bucks to a strange in an alley, but before an event at Wrigley, it’s quite normal) and wound our way through the crowd, it was about 1 in the morning.  I still needed to calm down, so I sat and read the program book.  In it, I saw a quote that I really loved:

You have played with some of the best musicians in the world; is there anyone you would like to join you for a number?

John Lennon, George Harrison, and Ringo Starr.

Me too, Paul. Me too.

 

Powerless.

The storm on Monday knocked out our electricity, and it's still out.  We're lucky, really.  We've had a comfortable place to stay during the hot weather, we've been able to save most of the big stuff from the fridge, and we didn't get a tree through the roof like our neighbors.*

We had to vamp a little on Monday and Tuesday because Eddie's summer camp was cancelled, so we didn't have anyone to watch him, but that wasn't catastrophic.

But for some reason, I'm feeling kind of stressed.  I'm also feeling frustrated by my lack of success in writing so far. 

So, today's Yoga practice is Ishvara Pranidhana.  It means, according to the translation in this wonderful article, surrendering to a higher power. 

This is actually something I've been working on, and something I'm not very good at.  I generally feel that I know what I'm doing, and have a good idea about what should be done in most situations.  And I like that feeling.  It's certainly good for the ego when it works.

But in both of these situations, I'm being told by the Universe to just sit and wait.  Slow down.  Enjoy what you have. 

Watching the Wheels

This song's been resonating a lot lately.  John's talking about his househusband time, when he stopped recording music and just focused on being home with his son Sean.  It always makes me a little sad, since he didn't get much time with him (Sean was only 5 when John was killed).  I also think it's interesting that I have something that he never had, or didn't have much of, even though he was so successful, which I would like to be.  It reminds me to appreciate what I have.

Divine inspiration
Another translation of Ishvara Pranidhana is "offering the fruits of one's actions to the Divine."  This is really important for writing, both as a craft and a business. 

This video from Elizabeth Gilbert, the author of Eat, Pray, Love talks about the role of the muse as a writer.  It's long, but worth watching.  While hard work certainly has its role, a lot of good writing has to do with getting out of your own way and letting things work in your unconscious mind.  Steven Pressfield talks about it in his wonderful book The War of Art:

The artist is the servant of that intention, those angels, that Muse. The enemy of the artist is the small-time Ego, which begets Resistance, which is the dragon that guards the gold. That’s why an artist must be a warrior and, like all warriors, artists over time acquire modesty and humility. They may, some of them, conduct themselves flamboyantly in public. But alone with the work they are chaste and humble. They know they are not the source of the creations they bring into being. They only facilitate. They carry. They are the willing and skilled instruments of the gods and goddesses they serve.

Steven Pressfield (2002-06-01). THE WAR OF ART (Kindle Locations 1136-1140). Rugged Land. Kindle Edition.

And patience and surrender is probably really useful in Publishing, where so little is within my control.  I can try to make my work better, and I am, and I can be persistent in my efforts by continuing to submit things, but  that there's a big chunk that's just luck. 

So I need to just practice relaxing and letting go.   And I'd better get going on that. :) 

*Who do have power, and I'm still jealous, even with the tree thing.

When Trees Attack.

There were once again some severe, violent storms in my area this
morning. I was driving down the highway, looked to the west, and saw
The Nothing approaching, which was a little unnerving.

I had my 3 year old in the back seat (watching Episode I…Jar Jar has
found his audience) and needed to get him to daycare. As the wind
started whipping up leaves, and Miss Gulch went riding by on her
bicycle, I knew I needed to get there quickly. I checked my iPhone
(at a stoplight) and saw a huge red blob coming our way on the radar.

Come on, red light…change…let’s go….

We got closer and closer, the weather getting worse and worse. Rain,
wind. And people were *not* moving as fast as I wanted them to. Come
on, people! Didn’t you see the cow go flying past?

Suddenly, a huge green mass filled my windshield and I realized it was
a huge tree limb falling right in front of me.

“Oh my stars,” I said. “That’s rather surprising.”*

I couldn’t swerve at all, so I just ran over the thing. Then, for
some reason, I pulled over, realized that was dumb, and went back into
traffic, hoping I didn’t just blow both front tires.

Nothing wakes you up on a Monday morning like a full complement of
adrenaline being dumped into your system all at once.

But I still wasn’t at daycare, and Ragnarok was fast approaching. I
got to the parking lot, and then had to figure out how to get from the
car to the door, while my entire rear brain was still going
“RUNRUNRUNIT’SGOINGTOEATUS.” I decided the umbrella would be pretty
useless, so I climbed to the back seat, grabbed Charlie (I never
thought I’d say this, but thank God for minvans), and just made a
break for it, with Charlie clinging to me like a baby chimp.

And then, because I’m a wuss, I waited at the daycare for a good ten
minutes until I was sure the storm had passed. On the way out, I
checked the front bumper. Tires were fine, but we had a lot of
foliage in the grill, and a dent in the bumper, which I don’t think
was there before.**

I did pull out a stick from the grill. I’m keeping it as a lucky
charm. I figure we were really fortunate that the branch didn’t fall
a nanosecond later and hit the windshield. So maybe a little of that
luck stuck in that stick.


*That might not be an exact quote.

** Although I’m not really one to inspect my car’s bumpers on a
regular basis. It falls into that category of things I should pay
attention do, but don’t, like how the stereo works and where gas
prices are cheapest. I honestly have no idea how much gas costs now.
I just go, fill my tank, and leave.

Do I have "sucker" written on my forehead? Apparently it's sprayed on my garage door.

Doorbell rings.  I look through the screen door and see a young man, African American, wearing a white short sleeved collared shirt, an orange tie that is too short, and orange shorts.  He is holding a clipboard.  I once again regret that I keep forgetting to put up a “No Solicitors” sign. 

He gives me a schpiel about how he’s in a program to better himself, and he’s going door to door because he believes it’s not about where you start, it’s where you end up, and do I think he’s doing a good job so far? 

Yes, I say, tentatively.  I hate this.

I just have to give him points on his appearance and mannerisms and if he gets enough points he’ll make junior manager and go back to the inner city and teach the kids what he’s learned, which is apparently how not to scare the white folks.  He asks to shake my hand, proffering a well-manicured handshake.  I open the door, shake his hand, and close it again.

It’s not that he’s black.  It could be Brad Pitt standing there, and I'd probably do the same thing.  It’s that he’s at my front door and he’s going to ask me for something.  Any minute now.

And you’ll notice on the back of my clipboard here there’s a list of hundreds of magazines and children’s books--

And there it is.  I explain I don’t want to buy a magazine subscription from a door-to-door salesman.

Not to worry, he goes on, reciting the speech he learned when the lady of the house says no, I can choose to buy a subscription or children’s book and donate it to the inner city kids.

I tell him no again.

He asks me if I’m sure.  Don’t I believe in him?  Don’t I think he can make it to someday have a big house like mine? 

I say thank you, but I’m not interested.  He looks disappointed, but thanks me and is on his way.

It’s not that I don’t like magazines, or giving money to charity.  I do the same thing when phone solicitors call me asking for donations, even when they’re charities I know. 

Maybe I’m just suspicious.  Any salesperson makes me nervous.  I’m just certain, in some cynical midwestern part of my brain, that this guy is out to scam me.  And if it’s not this guy, it’s who the guy is working for.  I want to buy things on my own terms.   Even if this guy were selling vegetarian cookbooks, Converse shoes, Hugo-nominated science fiction books, or anything else I’m currently interested in buying, I would say no.  It’s just the medium I don’t trust.

And maybe I am being classist.  The statement about the house got me. I do suffer from a healthy dose of liberal guilt, living in my 4 bedroom house with a new deck, having just picked up my son from Montessori summer camp.  Am I so shallow that I only feel comfortable buying things in a clean, well-lit, soulless shopping mall?  Yes, perhaps.  I admit that I do enjoy a nice, well-manicured, franchised shopping experience.  I hope that doesn’t make me shallow. 

It’s just that, deep down, I’m not quite sure that this program is on the up and up.  I can imagine that these kids are probably being taken advantage of.  And I’ve heard that most charity telemarketing firms take a good cut of donations.  I feel like I’m being manipulated.  I feel like I’m being taken advantage of.  I don’t like it.

Anyway, if that kid’s going to be successful, he has to learn how to deal with rejection.  In business, you don’t get a contract just because people feel sorry for you*.


(Oh, and look, Getrichslowly.com agrees with me.  So, nyah.)


*well, actually, sometimes you do.  But let's not tell that kid, ok?