06/26/00 -- Talk to Mr. Monkey

See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil

I was feeling vulnerable this morning during critique session.  I don't know why I was feeling anymore nervous or vulnerable about "Mockingbird Girl" than I was over any of the other stories I turned in and had critiqued.  Maybe it was because I forgot both Lansing and Grumpy Pikachu in my room.  I dunno.  I had to settle for Mr. Monkey or the blue bunny.  I like Mr. Monkey better.

We went through the other three stories this morning before touching mine.  When we got ready, I told everyone: I'm feeling a little vulnerable today, so address the bad stuff to Mr. Monkey.  I think Mr. Monkey heard more than I heard.  At least, that was what it felt like while it was happening.  Actually, it wasn't so bad as all of that.  There are places I need to answer questions and things I need to clarify, but it shouldn't be too bad.  I should be able to fix it without too many major changes.  A sentence here, an extra word there, change that one...

I don't know why I'm so hung up on "Mockingbird Girl", but I am.  I really like it.  It's really different for me.  It's ... sweet.  Or something.  I want it to be perfect.  I would've liked it to be perfect before I went into critique session, but I knew that was pretty unlikely.  There were a few folks who didn't get it at all and maybe some more back story in there will help, but I don't want to put too much in there.  I don't want it to be too much longer than it is.  I don't want it to spread into something huge and bloated.  I have to find the right mix of detail, of past and present, of magic and reality.

Lunch was another day in the Owen cafeteria.  (I say that like I've had a lot of them -- I think this is only my fourth or fifth meal in there in the past two weeks.)  The mac n cheese was scary.  It was like Play-Doh paste, orangeish/yellowish and disgustingly thick.  The cod wasn't too bad.  Jennifer and I sat with Tananarive Due and chatted about a few different things over what, by some definitions, might have qualified as food.  Paula joined us as Tananarive was leaving and Susannah, too.  We talked about a whole bunch of weird stuff... like penis-shaped swimming pools and the strange juxtaposition of the feminine metaphor of the swimming pool in such a shape.  We talked about cyberpunk and steampunk and video games and shooting the dog in Duck Hunt.

I helped Jennifer get her email downloaded after lunch, too, then worked on my story a little bit more before my meeting with Tananarive.  I'm just so weirded out by this story.  I'm not quite certain where I'm taking it (or where it is taking me).  And, unfortunately, I'll be inflicting cyberpunk (again) on folks who don't like it.  Oh, well.  It's a first person story.  It's something different.  Maybe I'll write the squirrel story afterwards.  Something light and frivolous and stupid.  I haven't done one of those yet.

The conference with Tananarive was cool.  We talked about specificity and consciously remembering the little details that I tend to forget (sometimes -- except when my muse is hitting me with a sledgehammer).  We also talked about forcing my muse ... which is what I feel like I've been doing since I've been here.  We also talked about revision.  I loathe revision.  But I do it.  And I'm going to try and revise 
"Mockingbird Girl" before I leave Clarion ... Maybe I'll be able to talk a few folks here into reading the revision in their (snrk) spare time just to get an opinion about before/after.  But I'm going to hold off on revising until I get one of these first person stories out.

Oh!  And because I'm angsting over my first person story (stories), we talked about first person, too.  One thing she suggested is a letter-story... though I've always shied away from them.  I'm not sure why.  I guess in some cases, the feel like a cop-out for me.  But I suppose that I could think about the story in terms of a letter and just not put in the "Dear so-and-so", "Love, character" part and make it slightly less chatty.  Then all I'll have to worry about is the huge number of sentences that start with "I". :/

We also segued at one point into writing to imitate a writer whose work you admire (for whatever reason).  I'm thinking about that a little bit.  Maybe the next story I write (or the next-next story if I write the squirrel story next) I'll do in the style of Tanith Lee.  My deep dark desire to be compared favorably to Tanith Lee is becoming not so deep, not so dark, and not so secret.  I think I accidentally wrote in a style similar to hers with one of my submission stories, but I want to try and do it while I'm here just to see if I can.  It should be an interesting experiment.

Walking back to the dorm from my conference reminded me of the LA Zoo during a rain storm.  Everything is wet and gross and smells vaguely like wet animals.  I'm not sure that the rabbits and squirrels and woodchucks can account for that, but the memory jumped vividly to mind while I trudged through the disgusting heated humidity.  I want it to cool off again, though I'm still not so desperate for a cooler working environment that I've bought an air conditioner yet.  Maybe I just want the air to dry out a bit.  I didn't realize how spoiled I got living in Colorado (which Jennifer thought was too humid in comparison to Reno) with the dry mountain air.

I'm so sick of this story.  I hate first person.  I hate where it is going.  I hate how unvivid it is.  It's the anti-vivid story.  It sucks the vividity out of everything around it and makes me feel like an idiot.

In spite of my back, Jennifer and I went over and worked out.  It felt good.  And I could still walk afterwards, which I took as a good sign.  A shower and a little dorking around later, Jennifer and Karen and I went and had dinner at Olive Garden.  I love toasted ravioli.  Jennifer wondered why she couldn't ever discover food that was sugar free, fat free, and tasted good.  I decided it was because cardboard is generally lacking in taste unless one pours something that is high in fat, high in sugar, and high in flavor on top of it.

Back in my room later, I struggled with that damn story again.  I finally gave up around 11 so I could read and critique stories for tomorrow.  Got through that and, for the first time, didn't type up all of my comments for each story.  I just scribbled on the back.  I didn't want to sit in front of the computer anymore than I already had.

Have I mentioned that I hate my story?  That it feels pointless?

Oh.

 

Okay, so other folks are talking about their productivity here.  I decided I may as well, too. This list (and my productivity) is subject to change without notice. :)
Title	Word Count	Finished	Critiqued?
"Where the Blood Roses Grow" Week one, first story.  Wahoo.  And I was worried that something wouldn't come.	5000	6/13	6/15
"Uprooting the Tree" Will probably change the title at some point.	3400	6/16	6/19
"Mockingbird Girl" I think I'm happiest with this story, so far.	2800	6/19	6/26
"Poor as Paupers, Rich as Royalty" My challenge story from Sean's week.  I hated writing it.  It gave me a toothache.	2000	6/22
That fucking first person narrative (not yet complete)	(400)
That other fucking first person narrative (not yet complete) Actually, I like this one better than the one above it ... which is why I'll probably finish it first.  Okay, maybe I don't like it as well as I thought. :/	(2054)