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Freedom report, day one

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I’m very mildly hung over from the two 22-oz beers I drank last night. Lindsey and Noelle, if you’re reading this, thank you again for those excellent going away gifts. They were complex, rich, and delicious, even if they did give me a bit of a headache today. I don’t want to think about how I’d feel if I hadn’t spread them out over four hours. At least I still have an area of my life where I can legitimately call myself a “lightweight.”

The whole family sat down to watch THE SECRET OF KELLS last night. My wife and son had no idea what to expect, but they were just as blown away as I’d expected them to be. Gorgeous movie. Highly recommended.

Also last night, I talked with the filmmakers making the book trailer. They received my drawing of the ghost knife sigil just fine, and I’ll post a link to imdb page for the actor playing Ray Lilly when they give me permission.

This morning I slept in until the late, late hour of 6:30 am. Luxury! I mailed off the last copies of GAME OF CAGES that I owed folks, and sent one each of my books to Pat Rothfuss for his charity auction. If you have something to donate, please consider doing so. It’s a good cause.

Then I did a bit of writing… but not much, because I’m enjoying this weekend. Next, I’m going to check out my library books and head out to meet a college buddy I barely ever see for a late lunch.

Hope you guys are having a day that’s just as nice.

NaNoWhaNow?

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NaNoWriMo is coming up, and as usual I won’t be playing along. I’ll explain why at the end. For those who don’t know, “NaNoWriMo” stands for National Novel Writing Month, an annual November game where people try to write a 50K word novel in one month.

Odds are that *some* of the people reading this will be taking part, some for the first time. For those of you who write solely because you like to write, maybe share your work online, I think it’s awesome. Good luck with your word counts and be interesting.

For those of you who would like to write professionally but haven’t reached that goal yet, I think it’s awesome (redux). Good luck with your word counts and be interesting. I’ll add something else, though: If you’re not already writing at this pace, consider this essential practice for how you will work year-round. 50K words in 30 days is only 1,667 (to round up) per day. Call it 1,700 to give yourself a cushion for those days Mad Men is on.

That’s not a lot. Many professional novelists would consider that a Meh day, and many others would feel like slackers. If 50,000 words in one month seems like a huge goal, take the NaNoWriMo game as an opportunity to stretch yourself and your conception of what you’re capable of.

I’m talking from experience here. I’m a poky writer myself, and 1,700 words a day would be a difficult pace to maintain. You know what? It holds me back, and I’m trying to improve my productivity by limiting distractions and prepping better for each session. Hell, I might even try Write or Die, as suggested by Naomi Novik here.

So have fun and do good work. Also, take the opportunity to challenge the limits you believe you have. It doesn’t have to be one month a year.

Heading to the gym

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I’m going to the gym this morning for the first time in over a year. Yeah, it’s going to cut into my writing time and I’ll need to steal time from something else to make up for it. But I’m in terrible shape and constant pain. I can’t keep living this way and I certainly can’t keep up with my writing commitments.

Starting slow with lots of stretching. We’ll see how my pain levels do.

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My wife and son have gone out without me. Think of it as a date. They’re going to a concert and will maybe get a dessert afterwards.

Meanwhile I’m left at home. I’ve already scrubbed the pots and pans, loaded and run the dishwasher, then vacuumed. Now I’m going to put on some Tom Waits, fire up the writing computer, and revise that essay to acceptability. First, though, I’ll perform the ritual that will summon my guardian angel, Mac Freedomiel.

Woo!

“I’m not an author. I’m a writer.”

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Heh. I finished up the latest section of A Key, An Egg… yesterday morning. It was a really difficult section, too, in which a home invasion completely destroys the protagonist’s house, and dangerously ups the stakes.

Now I get to start the whole book over from page one. After a healthy dose of outlining, of course. Fun!

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Ta-Nahisi Coates said that obesity is the third rail of the blogosphere, and damn if he isn’t right. He links to a rather tame and unimpressive post about the BMI which had to have comments closed because people went nuts.

Because… yeah. As a culture we’re raising awareness about sexual pleasure and, even if we aren’t 100% sane (or ever likely to be) we’re tossing the issues of privacy, preference, et al back and forth.

Not so with the pleasure that comes from eating. People are still weird about their food. Anyone who talks about vegetarianism knows that. People have strange compulsions regarding their food, and they hate to let other people examine them closely.

Coates also says, in the comments, that his legs hurt constantly when he was 295. Damn. I weigh about that and have the same problem…

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Last, I want to take note of this essay by Richard Kadrey about his new Sandman Slim novel.

Let me start by saying these books sound very good. They sound like they would fall right into my reading sweet spot: Fantasy elements in a book inspired by the best crime and detective fiction of the previous century. Wait a minute! Is this my book? ::checks Amazon.com sales ranking:: Nope! His numbers are too good.

My point is, that if I weren’t trying to write something utterly different from my usual stuff, I’d be all over this guy’s books like ugly on an ape. Then I read this:

It all comes down to this: I’m not an artist. I know artists. I have friends who are artists and I’m not one of them. Mickey Spillane said it best, “I’m not an author. I’m a writer. That’s all I am.” Occasionally I wonder if I even write novels. I write long shaggy dog stories. Messy, kind of odd and noisy. I love the graceful sloppiness of early punk and the garage rock you find on Lenny Kaye’s Nuggets record series. I feel like my books and stories are similar to the way Iggy Pop describes The Stooges music, “It’s dumb. But it’s smart dumb.” My books are basically Raw Power with commas.

Hmph! I’m guessing Iggy Pop isn’t a musician, then, because he doesn’t play music.

I’ve gotta spray this grafitti again: If you’re writing fiction, you are an artist. I don’t want to get into a debate about where to draw the line through art/not art. Fiction isn’t an edge case. Fiction is art.

Now, it may be bad art. It may be utterly conventional art. It may be an ass-kissing hand-jobbing desperate-to-please whore in a Mary Sue mask, but it’s still art.

Art isn’t a term of praise. It’s not a label we reserve for those things that “terrify” us but never “seduce” us. It’s not a superlative. If you make something that exists mainly for the purpose of evoking an emotional reponse from people–in other words, if you’ve written a story, you’ve made art.[1]

[1] What say you, Wikipedia? “Art is the process or product of deliberately arranging elements in a way to affect the senses or emotions. It encompasses a diverse range of human activities, creations, and modes of expression, including music, literature, film, sculpture, and paintings.”

That makes a lot of people uncomfortable. I know; I used to be one of them. Also, I used to get as obnoxious about it as: “Yes, I wonder about the nature of our existence, but I don’t get all Tolstoy about it.”

So I understand the urge to try to avoid being an artist. Who wants to be compared to Tolstoy? Who wants their readers to think the books we write are good for them? Does McDonald’s go around telling customers that their burgers are high in fiber?

Hell no. McDonald’s wants to sell their burgers; they only talk about the taste and talk about nutrition as a side issue. Eat this tasty burger! Read this exciting thriller! Don’t worry, I’m not like those high-minded guys your school teachers forced on you. I’m fun!

It doesn’t work, and it damages the art you make.

Call it low art if you want. Or pop art. Hell, call it “art-tertainment.” I don’t care. But don’t try to tell me it’s not art.

And buy that dude’s book, because it sounds awesome.

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Jeez, I’m really ranty these last two weeks, eh?

Let me make up for that with this: you can win a free copy of GAME OF CAGES (plus other awesome books) by entering this Suvudu contest.

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Anyway, I won’t be around to respond to comments for a while. I’m in training today and tomorrow. Pity me!

Writers do it while sitting

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But not this time. I’ve stacked a table on top of a table and I’m working on my wip while standing. The usual pain I’ve been used to has become much too intense lately. I’m hoping a change in position will make things easier on my legs.

Which puts me in the odd position of reducing knee, ankle, and muscle pain by getting up. What the hell. Variety is the spice, right?

State of the project

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I really need to go back to the outline on this thing and flesh out the next few chapters. But not yet. I still have to write out the current home invasion scene, then sit down and work out the protagonist’s plan of attack.

This isn’t a Twenty Palaces novel, though; I’ve mentioned that, haven’t I? After bouncing around between a couple of projects I’ve settled in to write A Key, An Egg, An Unfortunate Remark which is the working title, I guess.

However, I’m a little annoyed that I’ve been tagging this project “project number next.” So I’ve created a new tag, based on the way I described it to my agent.

Back to work.

I was your puppet; you made me dance

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As you guys know, I’ve been taking part in Suvudu’s reader-driven chain story, “A Glimpse of Darkness” (quick summary for those who don’t know what I’m talking about: five authors (Lara Adrian, Stacia Kane, Kelly Meding, and Lucy A. Snyder) are writing a “chain story.” Each week, one of us posts part of the story and at the end of the segment is a poll allowing the reader to choose what will happen next. A clear, full explanation is here.

Well, Lara Adrian’s first section went up last week, and the poll closed on Friday. I spent the weekend (skipping Foolscap) writing the next section, and guess what?

It’s live right now.

It’s, erm, longer than I’d intended, but that’s because I wanted to put in as much good stuff as possible. I gotta admit, it was fun to write (also stressful, because those other authors are way more experienced than I am, and I wanted to do good work).

Go! Read! Vote! And maybe, if you enjoy it, you can tell other readers about it.

State of the self

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I don’t want to talk to anybody.

Jesus Christ.

“On this planet, we are surrounded by danger and MADNESS!”

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Well, the poll for chapter one of A Glimpse of Darkness has closed, and my favorite choice didn’t win. If this were politics, I’d be looking over Canadian and Australian immigration websites, but there’s no escape for me. I have a chapter to write.

Actually, I’ve already started it. It’ll be pretty damn good, but you know, we always think about the path not taken.

I must say, though, that I got a late start. I woke early this morning and, instead of rushing out to write, hung around the kitchen baking Biscotti di Regina for my wife (no link b/c the recipe I used isn’t online). After her vacation in Italy, this should be a last treat to ease her back into her everyday life. Too bad she woke up before I was finished and accidentally spoiled the surprise.

Now… Back to work!