A.M. Riley's Blog, page 9
February 17, 2011
Critique partners/ Beta buddies/ the quest for 'The One'
They should have a match.com for critique partners.
You know, post photos of your most recent books (all pictures are recent!). What you like, what you don't like. What you can't stand. Your ideal.
I started writing back in 2001. I had a beta reader who tirelessly and for free (!) checked everything I put on my fanfiction site before I posted it. That poor woman taught me rudimentary skills that I ought to have already known. She squawked when I let the angst draw out too long. She gurgled when scenes worked and was kind but honest when they did not.
So, you see, I was spoiled.
I'm on the hunt again and I find I hold everyone up to her standards. A little tough.
How does one find a partner? Besides ones relatives or SO, who in their right mind will read this stuff?
You know, post photos of your most recent books (all pictures are recent!). What you like, what you don't like. What you can't stand. Your ideal.
I started writing back in 2001. I had a beta reader who tirelessly and for free (!) checked everything I put on my fanfiction site before I posted it. That poor woman taught me rudimentary skills that I ought to have already known. She squawked when I let the angst draw out too long. She gurgled when scenes worked and was kind but honest when they did not.
So, you see, I was spoiled.
I'm on the hunt again and I find I hold everyone up to her standards. A little tough.
How does one find a partner? Besides ones relatives or SO, who in their right mind will read this stuff?
February 16, 2011
BDSM and Domestic Discipline
I haven't learned what I know of BDSM or the Leather lifestyle from google. I know some people. and I've been in it for a minute. There are things I understand, viscerally, and things I only 'get' because it's been explained to me. And then of course there are areas in which I remain utterly clueless. Because I am not a man and that's just how it goes.
I ALSO know a few people who are in domestic discipline relationships. But here, I'm only getting things as they've been explained to me., because I have NO experience with dom disc relationships.
There's a wibbly line between the two, as I see it. The only traditional leather-type relationship to which I was privy was very much like a domestic discipline relationship. There was a similar exchange of power and trust. However, I KNOW there are arrangements out there that run the gamut. From non-sexual to only sexual and beyond.
I'm working on the sequel to my old domestic discipline books, "Goldilocks and His Three Bears" and "A Man, a Jersey and a Tight End" and I'm trying to examine the different ways these relationships evolve. I wondered how readers feel about the differences and similarities, if any between BDSM and DD.
I ALSO know a few people who are in domestic discipline relationships. But here, I'm only getting things as they've been explained to me., because I have NO experience with dom disc relationships.
There's a wibbly line between the two, as I see it. The only traditional leather-type relationship to which I was privy was very much like a domestic discipline relationship. There was a similar exchange of power and trust. However, I KNOW there are arrangements out there that run the gamut. From non-sexual to only sexual and beyond.
I'm working on the sequel to my old domestic discipline books, "Goldilocks and His Three Bears" and "A Man, a Jersey and a Tight End" and I'm trying to examine the different ways these relationships evolve. I wondered how readers feel about the differences and similarities, if any between BDSM and DD.
February 10, 2011
But why do we write?
Or make art at all?
My mother kept one of my first drawings. It is a figure drawn on red construction paper. When she asked me what it was I said, 'a girl in a red dress'. What this tells me is I had nothing in mind when I drew it. I only named it after being asked.
But what compelled me to draw it?
Trust me; there was nothing in my environment, at the age of three, that would encourage me to draw pictures. I may have been receiving positive feedback by the time I was five because by then I was in public school and scribbling like a demon. But WHY?
Nobody seems to know.
I hopped in the Wayback Machine and returned to CalArts where we discussed this subject ad nauseum sometimes in our right heads, sometimes not so much. People feel compelled to make things, to communicate. It is only later that they articulate reasons for these actions and, of course, by then there are all kinds of grown up people type reasons. "I want to make a difference." "I want to communicate my feelings." Still, there is no answer to the question But WHY?
A blog I sometimes frequent, The Greater Good, interviewed several artists and asked them this question. The one that resonated the most strongly for me was Kwame Dawes:
"I write in what is probably a vain effort to somehow control the world in which I live, recreating it in a manner that satisfies my sense of what the world should look like and be like."
That comes close to the little-me who drew a girl on red construction paper. I have Aspergers and was very withdrawn, so I drew a lot. Later, I escaped into books and still later I attempted to alter the world of books in a way that suited me and my reality. I. E. a world peopled with Lesbian, Gay and gender queer people trying to re-write the rules and find some kind of happiness.
Somewhere in there come the readers. I haven't yet figured out where, except I am pleasantly surprised to find you here in my little world... hello!
Just as I wrote this, I read Nathan Bransford's blog and saw that he is writing along the same lines, but of course more fluently.
My mother kept one of my first drawings. It is a figure drawn on red construction paper. When she asked me what it was I said, 'a girl in a red dress'. What this tells me is I had nothing in mind when I drew it. I only named it after being asked.
But what compelled me to draw it?
Trust me; there was nothing in my environment, at the age of three, that would encourage me to draw pictures. I may have been receiving positive feedback by the time I was five because by then I was in public school and scribbling like a demon. But WHY?
Nobody seems to know.
I hopped in the Wayback Machine and returned to CalArts where we discussed this subject ad nauseum sometimes in our right heads, sometimes not so much. People feel compelled to make things, to communicate. It is only later that they articulate reasons for these actions and, of course, by then there are all kinds of grown up people type reasons. "I want to make a difference." "I want to communicate my feelings." Still, there is no answer to the question But WHY?
A blog I sometimes frequent, The Greater Good, interviewed several artists and asked them this question. The one that resonated the most strongly for me was Kwame Dawes:
"I write in what is probably a vain effort to somehow control the world in which I live, recreating it in a manner that satisfies my sense of what the world should look like and be like."
That comes close to the little-me who drew a girl on red construction paper. I have Aspergers and was very withdrawn, so I drew a lot. Later, I escaped into books and still later I attempted to alter the world of books in a way that suited me and my reality. I. E. a world peopled with Lesbian, Gay and gender queer people trying to re-write the rules and find some kind of happiness.
Somewhere in there come the readers. I haven't yet figured out where, except I am pleasantly surprised to find you here in my little world... hello!
Just as I wrote this, I read Nathan Bransford's blog and saw that he is writing along the same lines, but of course more fluently.
Why We Write -- Revisited
Everyone asks it and there are many many blogs about it. Why do writers do what they do?
I've been thinking about this question and thinking about the effect of the internet on writers. It used to be a solitary job, but now it can be much more public. Actually, it behooves one to stay in the public eye as much as possible as it does appear to influence sales.
How many writers are hooked on the twitter/chat/group interaction, though? I only wonder because I can imagine how gratifying the attention could be to an individual accustomed to working in solitary. I work in public and squeeze in writing time, so I'm not quite as starved for feedback, but during a brief period when I had no work I got addicted to the internet.
It made me want to write faster so I could get a book out there. And is that messed up or what?
Because that is NOT why I write. I'm a storyteller. I make up people and events and wrap them around each other. I'd do it if no one ever read a single book of mine. And I worry that I might be more particular if publication were a distant foggy dream, not practically immediate upon finishing the first draft.
How does the instantaneous internet interaction affect the quality and subject matter of our books? I'm just wondering...
I've been thinking about this question and thinking about the effect of the internet on writers. It used to be a solitary job, but now it can be much more public. Actually, it behooves one to stay in the public eye as much as possible as it does appear to influence sales.
How many writers are hooked on the twitter/chat/group interaction, though? I only wonder because I can imagine how gratifying the attention could be to an individual accustomed to working in solitary. I work in public and squeeze in writing time, so I'm not quite as starved for feedback, but during a brief period when I had no work I got addicted to the internet.
It made me want to write faster so I could get a book out there. And is that messed up or what?
Because that is NOT why I write. I'm a storyteller. I make up people and events and wrap them around each other. I'd do it if no one ever read a single book of mine. And I worry that I might be more particular if publication were a distant foggy dream, not practically immediate upon finishing the first draft.
How does the instantaneous internet interaction affect the quality and subject matter of our books? I'm just wondering...
January 31, 2011
Does the Art excuse the Artist?
There was a hypothetical question my best friend and I argued while we were still getting our degrees in Art History: If a building were on fire and you had a choice between saving a Rembrandt and saving a cat, which would you choose?
Okay, besides the fact that those stupid hypothetical questions are always too simplistic, and besides the (also) fact that my best friend HATED cats so the question was more whether she would throw a cat into the fire...
I'd save anything alive before I'd save a painting. A pointsettia. Anything living is more important than art. It was her opinion that Art was superior to Life. And so the argument would begin.
Certain 'great' artists were morally reprehensible human beings. Surprised? No, I didn't think so. Matisse, for instance, who painted the famous "Dance of Life" impregnated his wife repeatedly and then gave his children to an orphanage. They were an impediment to his lifestyle, you see. Keep in mind, orphanages were a lot worse then than they are now.
Kind of ruins his art for me.
The same goes with authors. I loved Dean Koontz for many years. His descriptive passages are vivid and exciting. I could read them over and over. Sadly, he is reported to have said many disparaging things about Asian people. The man is a bigot! Who knew. It has spoiled my enjoyment of his skill. Sadly.
Now, my friend's argument was that all people are wicked and that their art redeems them on some level. She has a point, right? My question is, where do you draw the line? CAN you draw a line (I'd say, 'no') For instance, how can I read books written by mysoginists, given that I've spent most of my life fighting for women's rights? Or how can I read books written by men who subsequently supported Hitler?
Does it ruin books (or other art) for you if you know that the person who created it was an asswipe? Does it matter, or not?
Okay, besides the fact that those stupid hypothetical questions are always too simplistic, and besides the (also) fact that my best friend HATED cats so the question was more whether she would throw a cat into the fire...
I'd save anything alive before I'd save a painting. A pointsettia. Anything living is more important than art. It was her opinion that Art was superior to Life. And so the argument would begin.
Certain 'great' artists were morally reprehensible human beings. Surprised? No, I didn't think so. Matisse, for instance, who painted the famous "Dance of Life" impregnated his wife repeatedly and then gave his children to an orphanage. They were an impediment to his lifestyle, you see. Keep in mind, orphanages were a lot worse then than they are now.
Kind of ruins his art for me.
The same goes with authors. I loved Dean Koontz for many years. His descriptive passages are vivid and exciting. I could read them over and over. Sadly, he is reported to have said many disparaging things about Asian people. The man is a bigot! Who knew. It has spoiled my enjoyment of his skill. Sadly.
Now, my friend's argument was that all people are wicked and that their art redeems them on some level. She has a point, right? My question is, where do you draw the line? CAN you draw a line (I'd say, 'no') For instance, how can I read books written by mysoginists, given that I've spent most of my life fighting for women's rights? Or how can I read books written by men who subsequently supported Hitler?
Does it ruin books (or other art) for you if you know that the person who created it was an asswipe? Does it matter, or not?
January 30, 2011
on Arrogance, Greed, and the Reasons We Make Art
I love capital letters. One of my all-time favorite authors, Jane Austen, used them incorrectly and in excess. They successfully place ones tongue firmly in ones cheek. So when I say Arrogance, I mean it with the capital 'A'. As in 'nobody does it better than I and here I sit on my mighty highchair pronouncing judgment on all of you' Arrogance. I.E., the king of the dump is feeling mightier than his other vagrant friends.
And Greed. I write, currently, in a small pocket of a fan base. We aren't making the New York Times Bestseller list anytime soon, are we? We aren't talking bazillions of fan dollars. Snarling and worrying over a few hundred, or even a thousand, purchases more or less makes us small and mean.
Man makes art for no good reason, evolutionarily speaking. (Evolutionarily? :) Oh, dear.) Obviously, there is a certain amount of ego involved. We slave away and see others (perhaps) getting praise for work we might not like and we feel??? offended??? outraged??? We forget that EVERYONE HAS DIFFERENT TASTES and we get on some high horse and freak out. Writing is insecure and lonely and scary. And we all worry about money. And then there is the Love factor. It's hard to work in isolation and get no Lurve all day. It makes you nuts.
But, I'm lucky, in that my 'day job' is a creative one. I get feedback. I get praise. I get smacked upside the head and I've learned to appreciate that feedback as well because it makes me better at what I do. I observe, every day, how hard it is for creative people to praise other creative people. How difficult it is to accept that someone else might take a concept and use it differently. We are Opinionated. We Care. We are Outraged at Incompetence. lol We are Arrogant and Greedy and have to smack ourselves periodically because truthfully, humility makes us better artists.
Sadly, I don't see as much of that being learned by writers. I am painfully aware of the emotions and feelings that writers suffer. Hey, I'm not immune. But I hope I have learned something from working in Animation. Arrogance and Greed. God save me from it. I mean that. If I ever have an 'off' day and I put down other authors, or set myself up as some kind of standard (trust me, this won't happen anytime soon, but if it does) smack me upside the head and make me go read Thomas Hardy. Remind me to be humble.
Okay. Done. Going off to read some old school BDSM that teddypig recommended.
And Greed. I write, currently, in a small pocket of a fan base. We aren't making the New York Times Bestseller list anytime soon, are we? We aren't talking bazillions of fan dollars. Snarling and worrying over a few hundred, or even a thousand, purchases more or less makes us small and mean.
Man makes art for no good reason, evolutionarily speaking. (Evolutionarily? :) Oh, dear.) Obviously, there is a certain amount of ego involved. We slave away and see others (perhaps) getting praise for work we might not like and we feel??? offended??? outraged??? We forget that EVERYONE HAS DIFFERENT TASTES and we get on some high horse and freak out. Writing is insecure and lonely and scary. And we all worry about money. And then there is the Love factor. It's hard to work in isolation and get no Lurve all day. It makes you nuts.
But, I'm lucky, in that my 'day job' is a creative one. I get feedback. I get praise. I get smacked upside the head and I've learned to appreciate that feedback as well because it makes me better at what I do. I observe, every day, how hard it is for creative people to praise other creative people. How difficult it is to accept that someone else might take a concept and use it differently. We are Opinionated. We Care. We are Outraged at Incompetence. lol We are Arrogant and Greedy and have to smack ourselves periodically because truthfully, humility makes us better artists.
Sadly, I don't see as much of that being learned by writers. I am painfully aware of the emotions and feelings that writers suffer. Hey, I'm not immune. But I hope I have learned something from working in Animation. Arrogance and Greed. God save me from it. I mean that. If I ever have an 'off' day and I put down other authors, or set myself up as some kind of standard (trust me, this won't happen anytime soon, but if it does) smack me upside the head and make me go read Thomas Hardy. Remind me to be humble.
Okay. Done. Going off to read some old school BDSM that teddypig recommended.
January 25, 2011
omg mom I want to have Taylor Mali's baby...
I Could Be a Poet
by Taylor Mali (www.taylormali.com)
I think I could be a poet because I like to wear a lot of black.
And I can think of incongruous images like a Marxist with a trust fund.
A Porsche pulling a U-Haul, a lobsterman in Birkenstocks sipping a cappuccino,
with his pinkie pointing toward the sky.
I have studied the poets who sing song out their lines
for no other reason than that's how it's done,
in love with the sound of their own voices,
ending each line going up,
every single line going up,
as they read, and read, and . . . read?
See, declarative sentences that in prose would go down,
in poetry seem to go up
as if it adds some hidden meaning:
I know what I'm talking about and you should too.
And I am not afraid to get pissed off!
I am not afraid to use that ONE requisite swear word
to let you know I am FUCKING serious, man!
I'm not afraid to
SHOUT! WITH INTENSITY! AND LONG, DRAMATIC . . .
PAUSES
FRAUGHT WITH ANGST!
And still you can hear the lines going up.
And the words, the vocabulary words—
Glaconian, distemic, irrepscenteelia—
Thrown in to remind you
"I am a writer! Eat my Verbal dust!"
And then the end
Spoken softly, hauntingly tender,
Though not devoid of irony,
Ending abruptly as if there is more . . .
by Taylor Mali (www.taylormali.com)
I think I could be a poet because I like to wear a lot of black.
And I can think of incongruous images like a Marxist with a trust fund.
A Porsche pulling a U-Haul, a lobsterman in Birkenstocks sipping a cappuccino,
with his pinkie pointing toward the sky.
I have studied the poets who sing song out their lines
for no other reason than that's how it's done,
in love with the sound of their own voices,
ending each line going up,
every single line going up,
as they read, and read, and . . . read?
See, declarative sentences that in prose would go down,
in poetry seem to go up
as if it adds some hidden meaning:
I know what I'm talking about and you should too.
And I am not afraid to get pissed off!
I am not afraid to use that ONE requisite swear word
to let you know I am FUCKING serious, man!
I'm not afraid to
SHOUT! WITH INTENSITY! AND LONG, DRAMATIC . . .
PAUSES
FRAUGHT WITH ANGST!
And still you can hear the lines going up.
And the words, the vocabulary words—
Glaconian, distemic, irrepscenteelia—
Thrown in to remind you
"I am a writer! Eat my Verbal dust!"
And then the end
Spoken softly, hauntingly tender,
Though not devoid of irony,
Ending abruptly as if there is more . . .
January 24, 2011
Plot and Structure
Write Great Fiction: Plot & Structure by James Scott BellMy rating: 4 of 5 stars
Okay, I have quite a few 'how to write' books.
Some are awesome to read just because they are inspiring. For instance, "On Becoming a Novelist" by John Gardner, made me feel like it was a holy journey to pick up pen (or place fingers on keyboard) and compose a story.
Some are absolute garbage that tell you nothing you don't know and without any kind of details, so you're left feeling like you just read a synopsis of a synopsis. Or like an Apple software user manual that is nothing but press for the author's other products.
I found this one while going down in the quicksand of a novel in which I knew the characters, knew their motivations, knew the beginning middle and end and yet could NOT find the story in the mass of words on the page.
He spells it out. Yes, it's what you already know. You know good story. You know the so-called "Hero's Journey" But it helps very much to have it pointed out clearly. At least it helped me.
I do love Dean Koontz, and so the frequent quotes from his and Stephen King's books did not bother me. If you are an anti-Koontz reader (I know of a few) then you might not be as tickled.
View all my reviews
January 23, 2011
sick again...
I thought I'd gotten over whatever that was, but last night my throat started to hurt and tonight I have a fever and I've lost any desire to move. I've changed the colors of my blog in an attempt to make it easier on the eyes, but it unfortunately resembles burnt split pea soup.
bleh.
bleh.
bye bye Bears
The did better than I thought they would. If I gambled on sports I would have made a fortune on my prediction that Cutler wouldn't survive the game uninjured.
