Irene Ziegler's Blog, page 15
October 26, 2010
In Which I Pay $76 for a Bra and Make My Mother Spew Diet Pepsi Through Her Nose at a High Velocity
I tell my mother I finally found a bra that fit AND was comfortable. I lift up my shirt and show it to her. I have three sisters and we do this all the time in my family. We like to think we're shocking my father, but he he just rolls his eyes and says, "Pft."
"How much?" my mother asks.
"Seventy-six dollars," I say.
"For how many?" my father asks.
"One."
My mother does a spit take worthy of Danny Thomas. "Seventy-six DOLLARS!" she says.
"It's really comfortable."
"It damn well better be!"
"It's a Chantelle bra," I say. "It's French."
"I buy my bras at Marshall's for nine dollars," my mother says.
"Those are made in China."
"So what? I wouldn't pay $76 for a bra, I don't care where it comes from."
"Thats what I said until I tried it on," I say.
"Tried it on where?"
"Nordstroms."
Another spit take. "What were you doing in NORDstroms?" She says it like I was dancing naked at Buckingham Palace.
"I was shopping for a dress, and the saleswoman suggested I have a bra fitting."
"What business was it of hers?"
I don't have a good answer to this.
"If a saleswoman suggested to me that I have a bra fitting, I would have given her the stink eye," she says, then demonstrates. It's a pretty stinky eye.
"She escorted me to the lingerie department and introduced me to Liz," I say.
"Who's Liz?"
"The bra-fitting lady."
"Nice gig," my father says."Do they have any openings in that department?"
My mother says, "Does that bra make you look like you're sixteen?"
"Nothing could do that," I say.
"Then what good is it?"
She has a point. Sort of. "Liz told me I was the wearing the wrong size," I say. "And she told me my straps weren't tight enough. I wasn't getting enough lift."
"For $76, I should think they'd be under your chin."
"No, they're where they're supposed to be."
"Yeah, but $76! I thought I raised you better than that."
My mother is the original Second-Hand Rose. I bought my clothes in thrift stores until I was 40 years old.
"I'll get the rest of them on eBay," I say.
"That's my girl." She looks at the river. It's a beautiful fall day. "I wish I'd had my operation earlier," she says.
My mother had a breast reduction in her mid-70's, about ten years ago. She often says she wishes she had done it earlier.
"I know."
"Then again, I never had a $76 bra."
I nod. "It might have saved you some money."
"Nah," she says. "I like my B-cups." She lifts up her shirt and shows me. My father rolls his eyes and says, "Pft."
"How much?" my mother asks.
"Seventy-six dollars," I say.
"For how many?" my father asks.
"One."
My mother does a spit take worthy of Danny Thomas. "Seventy-six DOLLARS!" she says.
"It's really comfortable."
"It damn well better be!"
"It's a Chantelle bra," I say. "It's French."
"I buy my bras at Marshall's for nine dollars," my mother says.
"Those are made in China."
"So what? I wouldn't pay $76 for a bra, I don't care where it comes from."
"Thats what I said until I tried it on," I say.
"Tried it on where?"
"Nordstroms."
Another spit take. "What were you doing in NORDstroms?" She says it like I was dancing naked at Buckingham Palace.
"I was shopping for a dress, and the saleswoman suggested I have a bra fitting."
"What business was it of hers?"
I don't have a good answer to this.
"If a saleswoman suggested to me that I have a bra fitting, I would have given her the stink eye," she says, then demonstrates. It's a pretty stinky eye.
"She escorted me to the lingerie department and introduced me to Liz," I say.
"Who's Liz?"
"The bra-fitting lady."
"Nice gig," my father says."Do they have any openings in that department?"
My mother says, "Does that bra make you look like you're sixteen?"
"Nothing could do that," I say.
"Then what good is it?"
She has a point. Sort of. "Liz told me I was the wearing the wrong size," I say. "And she told me my straps weren't tight enough. I wasn't getting enough lift."
"For $76, I should think they'd be under your chin."
"No, they're where they're supposed to be."
"Yeah, but $76! I thought I raised you better than that."
My mother is the original Second-Hand Rose. I bought my clothes in thrift stores until I was 40 years old.
"I'll get the rest of them on eBay," I say.
"That's my girl." She looks at the river. It's a beautiful fall day. "I wish I'd had my operation earlier," she says.
My mother had a breast reduction in her mid-70's, about ten years ago. She often says she wishes she had done it earlier.
"I know."
"Then again, I never had a $76 bra."
I nod. "It might have saved you some money."
"Nah," she says. "I like my B-cups." She lifts up her shirt and shows me. My father rolls his eyes and says, "Pft."
October 25, 2010
Help Me Choose a New Cover For Ashes to Water
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Well, that's that. I totally sold out. I uploaded an eBook version of Ashes to Water on Amazon.
Come to think of it, "sold out" is optimistic. To my knowledge, I haven't sold anything yet. I blame the cover. I can't use the same cover as the hardback edition because my publisher owns that artwork. So imagine my delight when an old school friend (he's old, I'm not) volunteered his son to design a new cover for me, gratis. I smiled so big I almost creased my forehead. (Note to self: more Botox.)
James Giffiths, it turns out, is a very talented young man. If you need a cover design, I encourage you to contact him for a quote. (If you know his mom or dad, you may qualify for the Friend of the Family rate.) He's at grifranger@hotmail.com. I mean, look at these!
It took me a while to see to the face at the bottom of the second one. I really like it, and I really like that I didn't see it at first. But I thought the first design might read better. So I went back to him, and asked him to make the first design a "feminine" face. To my surprise, he said it was the same female face as in the landscape picture. He tweeked, and came up with this:
He included more options, variations on the theme:
Which one do you like? Here they are as they might appear online. You can identify them as 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.
Pretty, pretty cool. Thank you, James. (And thank you, James' dad.)
Well, that's that. I totally sold out. I uploaded an eBook version of Ashes to Water on Amazon.
Come to think of it, "sold out" is optimistic. To my knowledge, I haven't sold anything yet. I blame the cover. I can't use the same cover as the hardback edition because my publisher owns that artwork. So imagine my delight when an old school friend (he's old, I'm not) volunteered his son to design a new cover for me, gratis. I smiled so big I almost creased my forehead. (Note to self: more Botox.)
James Giffiths, it turns out, is a very talented young man. If you need a cover design, I encourage you to contact him for a quote. (If you know his mom or dad, you may qualify for the Friend of the Family rate.) He's at grifranger@hotmail.com. I mean, look at these!
It took me a while to see to the face at the bottom of the second one. I really like it, and I really like that I didn't see it at first. But I thought the first design might read better. So I went back to him, and asked him to make the first design a "feminine" face. To my surprise, he said it was the same female face as in the landscape picture. He tweeked, and came up with this:
He included more options, variations on the theme: 
Which one do you like? Here they are as they might appear online. You can identify them as 1, 2, 3, 4, 5.
Pretty, pretty cool. Thank you, James. (And thank you, James' dad.)
October 18, 2010
You're Never Too Old to Be Read To (or end sentences with prepositions)
This morning, I got a call from Robert Olen Butler. He won a Pulitzer Prize in 1993 for his collection of Vietnam short stories, Good Scent From a Strange Mountain. When he said, "This is Robert Olen Butler," I almost dropped my martini.
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The event, co-produced by James River Writers and Cultural Arts Center at Glen Allen (in support of the READ Center), went very well. VALL features Virginia actors reading short stories by Virginia writers, accompanied by Virginia Musicians. I founded the event in 2004, so this was the 7th incarnation. My guest host was Most people know Pat for voicing Ursula the sea witch in The Little Mermaid. She first endeared herself to Richmond audiences in "Gertrude Stein, Gertrude Stein" at Barksdale Theatre Hanover Tavern, then took two turns playing Mother Superior in the wacky musical, Nunsense. I was very fortunate to co-star with Pat when Theatre IV produced "Grace and Glorie." I learned more from being on stage with Pat Carroll than any amount of schooling could have taught me. I watched her get a huge laugh just by raising one eyebrow. And then she got another huge laugh just by putting it back down again. When Tim Kaine was mayor, he presented Pat with a bronze seal of the city, which made her an honorary citizen, and commemorated her many contributions to the art and cultural life of Richmond.
The evening began with Tony Foley reading Olen Butler's story, "Jealous Husband Returns in Form of Parrot." The title says it all. Tony was spot on with his parrot-like movements and vocalizations. His comic timing was impeccable. He was so good Pat asked him to take another bow.
Jill Bari Steinberg read "Jonas" by Belle Boggs, about a middle aged woman coming to terms with her husband's decision to get a sex-change operation. The story itself is pitch perfect, but Jill Bari's performance was sensitive and skillfully nuanced.Pat Carroll read last—for thirty-three glorious minutes her audience was taken by a consummate veteran performer for a ride they will not soon forget.
Accompanying all the performances was Kelly Kennedy on piano, Andy Cleveland on violin, and Rachael Blake on flute.
During the reception afterward, Pat signed CDs of The Best of Virginia Arts & Letters LIVE, which were available for purchase.
Pat is looking for a play that she and her daughter, actor
If you were at VALL on Friday night, thanks for coming out. If you weren't I hope you'll attend next year. You're never to old to be read to, especially if by talented actors reading richly rewarded stories by Virginia writers, accompanied by great musicians. @font-face { font-family: "Times";}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: "Times New Roman"; }div.S
The Richmond Theater Circle Critics Awards
I wrote a play, Full Plate Collection, and last night, it won the RTCCA Award for Best Locally Produced Play. Now I want to write another play. Success is motivating.Congratulations to all the nominees and winners. I hope Dave Timberline doesn't mind that I lifted the results from his blog.
Best Musical
The Sound of Music (Barksdale / Theatre IV)
Best Direction (Musical)
Chase Kniffen, The Sound of Music (Barksdale / Theatre IV)
Best Actor (Musical)
Durron Tyre, Rent (Firehouse Theatre Project)
Best Actress (Musical)
Joy Newsome, Rent (Firehouse Theatre Project)
Best Supporting Actor (Musical)
Antonio Tillman, Rent (Firehouse Theatre Project)
Best Supporting Actress (Musical)
Susan Sanford, The Sound of Music (Barksdale / Theatre IV)
Best Musical Direction
Leilani Mork, Rent (Firehouse Theatre Project)
Best Choreography
Willie Hinton, Black Nativity (African American Repertory Theatre)
Best Play
Take Me Out (Richmond Triangle Players)
Best Direction – Play
Bo Wilson, Shining City (Henley Street Theatre)
Best Actor – Play
Joe Inscoe, Shining City (Henley Street Theatre)
Best Actress – Play
Kelly Kennedy, On Golden Pond (Barksdale)
Best Actor in a Supporting Role – Play
Jimmy Glidden, Take Me Out (Richmond Triangle Players)
Best Actress in a Supporting Role – Play
Carmen Zilles, Boleros for the Disenchanted (Barksdale)
Best Ensemble Acting
The Mystery of Irma Vep, Swift Creek Mill Theatre
Best Locally-Developed Work
Full Plate Collection (Independent)
Outstanding Achievement in Costume Design
Rebecca Cairns, Servant of Two Masters (Henley Street)
Outstanding Achievement in Lighting Design
Lynne Hartman, The Sound of Music (Barksdale / Theatre IV)
Outstanding Achievement in Set Design
Betsy Muller, Is He Dead? (Barksdale)
Outstanding Achievement in Sound Design
Derek Dumais, The Sound of Music (Barksdale / Theatre IV)
Full Plate Collection Wins the Artsie
I wrote a play, Full Plate Collection, and last night, it won the Artsie Award for Best Locally Produced Play. Now I want to write another play. Recognition is validating. Success is motivating.
October 17, 2010
Abandon All Hope, Ye Mice Who Enter Here
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My husband is mowing the lawn. Then he will aerate and seed. It's that time of year. Last week, the Canadian geese arrived. At dawn and dusk, they squawk and honk, then fly off to do whatever it is Canadian geese do, which is fly, I guess. And this morning, I found the first signs of the annual invasion of mice.
My house, made of barn wood, attracts mice. As soon as it gets nipply, in they come through every crack and crevice. A favorite entry place is the corner of the drinks cabinet, and really, who can blame them? They roam, nibble and deposit evidence of said nibbling among the Pims and ginger beer. They get into the junk drawer, the silverware drawer, the basement. One morning, after leaving dishwater overnight in the sink, I reached in and found one drowned.
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At first, Graham and I battled them with Little Nipper mousetraps. They're the best ones. The spring action is quick and lethal. Just after dusk, I hear them going "snap!" in the pantry, beneath the window sill, in the kitchen cabinet. I fling the carcass into the woods, guiltless.
But last year, we couldn't keep up with them. Vigilant at first, we rebaited the traps after each catch, but after a while, the blood lust faded, and we fooled ourselves into thinking we had them under control. Pretty soon, while watching TV, we felt one run over a foot, and rodent rage returned.
Let me pause for a moment to acknowledge that mice are God's creatures. So noted. They are also disease-carrying intruders and will chew through triple wrapped packaging to turn groceries to garbage. They also poop with each breath they take. I feel the need to assert my superiority in the food chain.
On the advice of a neighbor, we tried poison. The poison makes them thirsty, so the theory is they will go outside in search of water, then die outdoors. Good theory. In actuality, they die in our basement in some corner behind steel shelving where you never find them, not even after they bloat and turn to decomp. Mice decomp is bad news. Not only does it STINK, it also attracts maggots, which lay eggs that hatch into big ass flies. It's one Biblical blight after another.
I know what you're thinking. "That's what you get for killing God's creatures." To you I say, "Bite me."
Another neighbor suggested a cat. We tried it. Our dog, part wolf, gave it that lean and hungry look. We took the cat away before it became lunch. See? We're not completely insensitive to animals. Just mice. And snakes. And spiders. And ticks. And home invaders of the Ninja variety.
As for those anti-pest devices that claim to keep rodents at bay by emitting a high frequency signal undetectable to the human ear? Well, guess what? The signal is undetectable to any ears. It's the best consumer rip-off since snake oil. And those glue traps seem worse than quick death. Capture them alive? Well that sort of defeats the whole point. And I'm not going to put them in the car and drive them into the next county.
This year, I'm going to try a combination of techniques. Above ground, I've put poison in the drinks cabinets and other favorite places. In the basement, traps. My hope is that the above ground mice will find their way outside. The basement mice I will have to retrieve and throw away. I know what will happen, though. I'll get tired of descending the basement stairs every morning to collect carcasses. Then the mice will party and have babies and we'll be overrun again.
We could move, but that would be admitting defeat. Besides, we don't want to move. If you lived here, you wouldn't want to move, either. It's our home.
By day, we'll reseed the lawn, listen to geese, and enjoy the pleasures of the season. By night, we'll put on our Mr. Hyde masks and bait the traps. We have no desire to bake our bounty into pies, so please, don't be a stranger. Just don't bring your cat.
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My husband is mowing the lawn. Then he will aerate and seed. It's that time of year. Last week, the Canadian geese arrived. At dawn and dusk, they squawk and honk, then fly off to do whatever it is Canadian geese do, which is fly, I guess. And this morning, I found the first signs of the annual invasion of mice.
My house, made of barn wood, attracts mice. As soon as it gets nipply, in they come through every crack and crevice. A favorite entry place is the corner of the drinks cabinet, and really, who can blame them? They roam, nibble and deposit evidence of said nibbling among the Pims and ginger beer. They get into the junk drawer, the silverware drawer, the basement. One morning, after leaving dishwater overnight in the sink, I reached in and found one drowned.
body {font-family:helvetica,sans-serif;font-size:12px;}a.stbar.chicklet img {border:0;height:16px;width:16px;margin-right:3px;vertical-align:middle;}a.stbar.chicklet {height:16px;line-height:16px;}
At first, Graham and I battled them with Little Nipper mousetraps. They're the best ones. The spring action is quick and lethal. Just after dusk, I hear them going "snap!" in the pantry, beneath the window sill, in the kitchen cabinet. I fling the carcass into the woods, guiltless.
But last year, we couldn't keep up with them. Vigilant at first, we rebaited the traps after each catch, but after a while, the blood lust faded, and we fooled ourselves into thinking we had them under control. Pretty soon, while watching TV, we felt one run over a foot, and rodent rage returned.
Let me pause for a moment to acknowledge that mice are God's creatures. So noted. They are also disease-carrying intruders and will chew through triple wrapped packaging to turn groceries to garbage. They also poop with each breath they take. I feel the need to assert my superiority in the food chain.
On the advice of a neighbor, we tried poison. The poison makes them thirsty, so the theory is they will go outside in search of water, then die outdoors. Good theory. In actuality, they die in our basement in some corner behind steel shelving where you never find them, not even after they bloat and turn to decomp. Mice decomp is bad news. Not only does it STINK, it also attracts maggots, which lay eggs that hatch into big ass flies. It's one Biblical blight after another.
I know what you're thinking. "That's what you get for killing God's creatures." To you I say, "Bite me."
Another neighbor suggested a cat. We tried it. Our dog, part wolf, gave it that lean and hungry look. We took the cat away before it became lunch. See? We're not completely insensitive to animals. Just mice. And snakes. And spiders. And ticks. And home invaders of the Ninja variety.
As for those anti-pest devices that claim to keep rodents at bay by emitting a high frequency signal undetectable to the human ear? Well, guess what? The signal is undetectable to any ears. It's the best consumer rip-off since snake oil. And those glue traps seem worse than quick death. Capture them alive? Well that sort of defeats the whole point. And I'm not going to put them in the car and drive them into the next county.
This year, I'm going to try a combination of techniques. Above ground, I've put poison in the drinks cabinets and other favorite places. In the basement, traps. My hope is that the above ground mice will find their way outside. The basement mice I will have to retrieve and throw away. I know what will happen, though. I'll get tired of descending the basement stairs every morning to collect carcasses. Then the mice will party and have babies and we'll be overrun again.
We could move, but that would be admitting defeat. Besides, we don't want to move. If you lived here, you wouldn't want to move, either. It's our home.
By day, we'll reseed the lawn, listen to geese, and enjoy the pleasures of the season. By night, we'll put on our Mr. Hyde masks and bait the traps. We have no desire to bake our bounty into pies, so please, don't be a stranger. Just don't bring your cat.
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October 12, 2010
Why I E-Subscribe to The Writer's Almanac
The Writer's Almanac is produced by Prairie Home Productions and presented by American Public Media. Each morning, I open my email and read a poem and several brief literary birthday announcements, or literary milestones. I like cutting and pasting a literary birthday each day on my Facebook page. Some people think I'm smart and just know all this stuff. Most people have my number.Yesterday, I started my day with a poem called "Story," by Sabine Miller. It really affected me, maybe because I haven't felt motivated to write lately. Or maybe because I'm hosting Virginia Arts & Letters LIVE with
Tonight, I'm receiving an award for "excellence in the arts" in the category of Words, along with twelve other artists in their artistic field. The Theresa Pollak Award recognizes my first novel, Ashes to Water, and my play, Full Plate Collection, both of "came out" this year. I'm really proud of this honor. Knowing my words touched some people is a wonderful feeling. It's why writers write. It's why this poem is so good.
Whatever the reason, this poem hit me just right, and I wanted to share it. BTW, you can subscribe to The Writer's Almanac, too. Or you can hear Garrison Kielor read the Poem of the Day at 6:00 am EST on your local NPR station.
That is all.
Story
by Sabine Miller
Tell me the one
about the sick girl —
not terminally ill, just years in bed
with this mysterious fever —
who hires a man
to murder her — you know,
so the family is spared
the blight of a suicide —
and the man comes
in the night, a strong man,
and nothing is spoken
—he takes the pillow
to her face — tell me
how he is haunted the rest
of his life — did he
or didn't he
do the right thing — tell me
how he is forgiven,
and marries, and has
2 daughters, and is happy —
no, tell me she doesn't
die, but is cured and
gives her life to God,
and becomes a hand-holder for
men on death row —
tell me the one where the man
falls in love with the girl
and can't do it, or
the girl falls in love
with a dog and calls
the man to tell him
not to come, or
how each sees their pain
mirrored in the other's eyes —
tell me how everyone is already
forgiven every story
they ever told themselves
about living
or not living —
tell me, oh tell me
the one where love wins, again
and again and again.
"Story" by Sabine Miller, from Circumference of Mercy. © Mountains and Rivers Press, 2010. Reprinted with permission.
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October 10, 2010
Detoxing With NaNoWriMo, the Writer's Flush
At a party last night, several people asked me, "What's next for you?" I gave a different answer each time. After completing a three-month book tour, I'm a little, howyousay, unfocused at the moment. So this afternoon, I was participating in #writechat on Twitter, and someone was extolling the virtues of NaNoWriMo.
Huh? I thought.
So I looked it up.
NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month, "a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to novel writing." Maybe you know this month-long writing marathon has been around for ten years, but it's new to me, and I'm intrigued. So I signed up. Here's what I'm in for:
"Participants begin writing November 1. The goal is to write a 175-page (50,000-word) novel by midnight, November 30. The ONLY thing that matters in NaNoWriMo is output. It's all about quantity, not quality. The kamikaze approach forces you to lower your expectations, take risks, and write on the fly. By forcing yourself to write so intensely, you are giving yourself permission to make mistakes. To forgo the endless tweaking and editing and just create. To build without tearing down.
So, to recap:
What: Writing one 50,000-word novel from scratch in a month's time.
Who: You! We can't do this unless we have some other people trying it as well. Let's write laughably awful yet lengthy prose together.
Why: The reasons are endless! To actively participate in one of our era's most enchanting art forms! To write without having to obsess over quality. To be able to make obscure references to passages from our novels at parties. To be able to mock real novelists who dawdle on and on, taking far longer than 30 days to produce their work.
When: You can sign up anytime to add your name to the roster and browse the forums. Writing begins November 1. To be added to the official list of winners, you must reach the 50,000-word mark by November 30 at midnight."
The first thing I'm going to do is throw away the ideas I've been carrying around for "my next novel." In order to pump out 10 pages a day for 20 days (I figure a 5-day work week is reasonable), I'll have to write about something that doesn't require research. So I'm going to write a comedy about a naive writer who kidnaps and tortures her agent by reading aloud from his slush pile.
My goal is to help other writers (and readers!) understand what is involved in the post-publication process. I used to think writing the book was the hard part. Writing the book is cake compared to what comes next. Cake, I tell you.
I've been told that I should never write anything on my blog that I wouldn't want printed in the New York Times, so I haven't talked much about the darker side of my publishing experience. People don't like it when you complain, particularly when you've accomplished something they perceive as prestigious. You risk sounding ungrateful, when in fact, you're just hacked off because nobody told you that here, there be dragons.
So I'm looking forward to vomiting my little Roman a Clef during NaNoWriMo. I intend to write it fast, keep it light, and make it fun. At month's end, I hope to feel purged of the toxins that have me temporarily unfocused and remember why I'm a writer in the first place. And if that doesn't work, I'll just shell out the money for a partial lobotomy or another arts degree, whichever is cheaper.
Let the games begin.
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Huh? I thought.
So I looked it up.
NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month, "a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to novel writing." Maybe you know this month-long writing marathon has been around for ten years, but it's new to me, and I'm intrigued. So I signed up. Here's what I'm in for:
"Participants begin writing November 1. The goal is to write a 175-page (50,000-word) novel by midnight, November 30. The ONLY thing that matters in NaNoWriMo is output. It's all about quantity, not quality. The kamikaze approach forces you to lower your expectations, take risks, and write on the fly. By forcing yourself to write so intensely, you are giving yourself permission to make mistakes. To forgo the endless tweaking and editing and just create. To build without tearing down.
So, to recap:
What: Writing one 50,000-word novel from scratch in a month's time.
Who: You! We can't do this unless we have some other people trying it as well. Let's write laughably awful yet lengthy prose together.
Why: The reasons are endless! To actively participate in one of our era's most enchanting art forms! To write without having to obsess over quality. To be able to make obscure references to passages from our novels at parties. To be able to mock real novelists who dawdle on and on, taking far longer than 30 days to produce their work.
When: You can sign up anytime to add your name to the roster and browse the forums. Writing begins November 1. To be added to the official list of winners, you must reach the 50,000-word mark by November 30 at midnight."
The first thing I'm going to do is throw away the ideas I've been carrying around for "my next novel." In order to pump out 10 pages a day for 20 days (I figure a 5-day work week is reasonable), I'll have to write about something that doesn't require research. So I'm going to write a comedy about a naive writer who kidnaps and tortures her agent by reading aloud from his slush pile.
My goal is to help other writers (and readers!) understand what is involved in the post-publication process. I used to think writing the book was the hard part. Writing the book is cake compared to what comes next. Cake, I tell you.
I've been told that I should never write anything on my blog that I wouldn't want printed in the New York Times, so I haven't talked much about the darker side of my publishing experience. People don't like it when you complain, particularly when you've accomplished something they perceive as prestigious. You risk sounding ungrateful, when in fact, you're just hacked off because nobody told you that here, there be dragons.
So I'm looking forward to vomiting my little Roman a Clef during NaNoWriMo. I intend to write it fast, keep it light, and make it fun. At month's end, I hope to feel purged of the toxins that have me temporarily unfocused and remember why I'm a writer in the first place. And if that doesn't work, I'll just shell out the money for a partial lobotomy or another arts degree, whichever is cheaper.
Let the games begin.
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Detoxing With NaNoWriMo, the Writer's Colon Flush
At a party last night, several people asked me, "What's next for you?" I gave a different answer each time. After completing a three-month book tour, I'm a little, howyousay, unfocused at the moment. So this afternoon, I was participating in #writechat on Twitter, and someone was extolling the virtues of NaNoWriMo.
Huh? I thought.
So I looked it up.
NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month, "a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to novel writing." Maybe you know this month-long writing marathon has been around for ten years, but it's new to me, and I'm intrigued. So I signed up. Here's what I'm in for:
"Participants begin writing November 1. The goal is to write a 175-page (50,000-word) novel by midnight, November 30. The ONLY thing that matters in NaNoWriMo is output. It's all about quantity, not quality. The kamikaze approach forces you to lower your expectations, take risks, and write on the fly. By forcing yourself to write so intensely, you are giving yourself permission to make mistakes. To forgo the endless tweaking and editing and just create. To build without tearing down.
So, to recap:
What: Writing one 50,000-word novel from scratch in a month's time.
Who: You! We can't do this unless we have some other people trying it as well. Let's write laughably awful yet lengthy prose together.
Why: The reasons are endless! To actively participate in one of our era's most enchanting art forms! To write without having to obsess over quality. To be able to make obscure references to passages from our novels at parties. To be able to mock real novelists who dawdle on and on, taking far longer than 30 days to produce their work.
When: You can sign up anytime to add your name to the roster and browse the forums. Writing begins November 1. To be added to the official list of winners, you must reach the 50,000-word mark by November 30 at midnight."
The first thing I'm going to do is throw away the ideas I've been carrying around for "my next novel." In order to pump out 10 pages a day for 20 days (I figure a 5-day work week is reasonable), I'll have to write about something that doesn't require research. So I'm going to write a comedy about a naive writer who kidnaps and tortures her agent by reading aloud from his slush pile.
A personal fantasy? Let's just say I won't have to do any research.
I've been told that I should never write anything on my blog that I wouldn't want printed in the New York Times, so I haven't talked much about the darker side of my publishing experience. People don't like it when you complain, particularly when you've accomplished something they perceive as prestigious. You risk sounding ungrateful, when in fact, you're just hacked off because nobody tells you that here, there be dragons. So I'm looking forward to vomiting my little Roman a Clef during NaNoWriMo. At month's end, I hope to feel purged of the toxins poisoning my attitude. And if that doesn't work, I'll just shell out the money for a partial lobotomy or another arts degree, whichever is cheaper.
Let the games begin.
body {font-family:helvetica,sans-serif;font-size:12px;}a.stbar.chicklet img {border:0;height:16px;width:16px;margin-right:3px;vertical-align:middle;}a.stbar.chicklet {height:16px;line-height:16px;}
Huh? I thought.
So I looked it up.
NaNoWriMo stands for National Novel Writing Month, "a fun, seat-of-your-pants approach to novel writing." Maybe you know this month-long writing marathon has been around for ten years, but it's new to me, and I'm intrigued. So I signed up. Here's what I'm in for:
"Participants begin writing November 1. The goal is to write a 175-page (50,000-word) novel by midnight, November 30. The ONLY thing that matters in NaNoWriMo is output. It's all about quantity, not quality. The kamikaze approach forces you to lower your expectations, take risks, and write on the fly. By forcing yourself to write so intensely, you are giving yourself permission to make mistakes. To forgo the endless tweaking and editing and just create. To build without tearing down.
So, to recap:
What: Writing one 50,000-word novel from scratch in a month's time.
Who: You! We can't do this unless we have some other people trying it as well. Let's write laughably awful yet lengthy prose together.
Why: The reasons are endless! To actively participate in one of our era's most enchanting art forms! To write without having to obsess over quality. To be able to make obscure references to passages from our novels at parties. To be able to mock real novelists who dawdle on and on, taking far longer than 30 days to produce their work.
When: You can sign up anytime to add your name to the roster and browse the forums. Writing begins November 1. To be added to the official list of winners, you must reach the 50,000-word mark by November 30 at midnight."
The first thing I'm going to do is throw away the ideas I've been carrying around for "my next novel." In order to pump out 10 pages a day for 20 days (I figure a 5-day work week is reasonable), I'll have to write about something that doesn't require research. So I'm going to write a comedy about a naive writer who kidnaps and tortures her agent by reading aloud from his slush pile.
A personal fantasy? Let's just say I won't have to do any research.
I've been told that I should never write anything on my blog that I wouldn't want printed in the New York Times, so I haven't talked much about the darker side of my publishing experience. People don't like it when you complain, particularly when you've accomplished something they perceive as prestigious. You risk sounding ungrateful, when in fact, you're just hacked off because nobody tells you that here, there be dragons. So I'm looking forward to vomiting my little Roman a Clef during NaNoWriMo. At month's end, I hope to feel purged of the toxins poisoning my attitude. And if that doesn't work, I'll just shell out the money for a partial lobotomy or another arts degree, whichever is cheaper.
Let the games begin.
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October 9, 2010
B&N Promo Code
Click here for 40% off eligible items at Barnes & Noble, online or in store!
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