Writing Update

Of Tapestries and Daemons is on its way to WOTF as we speak. My local post office has a new automated postage machine in the vestibule which is open 24/7, so my mailing woes are over. Of course, we have two cars now and I can drive to the post office anytime, but it's nice to have options. As far as the story goes, I think I fixed the ending. It seems to work for me. I'm not in love with it, like I was with Saga, but since Saga broke my heart, this is probably a good thing.

Still waiting to hear back from Asimov's on Tao of Troth. I found a website that tracks how long various magazines take to respond, which is comforting on two levels. 1) I have a better idea of when to expect to hear something and 2) I know I'm not alone in really obsessing about this. It's been longer than their average response time as reported by writers making submissions (which is longer than Asimov's says it will be), but not the maximum time reported (which is waaaaay out there). I'm still trying to decide if the long wait is a good sign or a bad sign.

"You're no Richie Rich, but you have a good heart."

Yesterday I watched Pyromaniac: A Love Story, a movie I haven't seen in years. It had a small theatrical release and I remember having to hunt through video stores to find a copy before I finally got to see it. I highly recommend it if you're in the mood for a small, sweet story (as opposed to a sweeping epic).

The main character is Sergio, played by John Leguizamo, whose always cool but very young here. I had forgotten how old this movie is; he looks like such a pup! But a digress. Sergio is the sort of character I have a fondness for, but is very rare in movies (or any other media for that matter): the sweet guy. I suppose there are two reasons for this: 1) most chics like edgy guys and 2) they are really hard to do in a believable way. It's too easy to make them come across as pushovers or way too sappy. Sergio is an example of this type of character done well. I also love the guy characters in Hayao Miyazaki movies, like Potsu in Castle in the Sky or Tombo in Kiki's Delivery Service. They are good, decent guys with big hearts and lots of affection for the girls they're playing second fiddle to. Lloyd Dobbler in Say Anything is another good example, but I understand that John Cusack wanted to play him angrier, which goes with what I was saying about these characters being hard to do.

Just in case you've stayed with me so far, let me piss off a bunch of people and say I always thought Buffy's best relationship was with Riley. She and Angel were always too dramatic for me (and I never liked his character until he moved over to his own show, where he got to grow in non-Buffy ways and became quite interesting). Spike was always one of my favorite characters (isn't he everyone's?) but that relationship was doomed from the start. Listen to Tara discuss the Hunchback of Notre Dame; that's every reason they weren't going to be a couple.

Riley, on the other hand, had open and obvious affection for Buffy. He wasn't afraid to disagree with her but always backed her up in the end. He just had the misfortune of turning up after Angel. I appreciated that he went to a dark place, but when he came back to Sunnydale he seemed to be an older and wiser version of his own self. Still an optimistic do-gooder, still with affection for Buffy for who she was. Spike got to make the big speech at the end of season seven, but you can't make me believe that Riley didn't feel the same way.

Apropos nothing

My sons are big Beatles fans. They've been listening to it since birth, but it really clicked for them when I picked up the movie Yellow Submarine. The weird thing is, I always found that movie unspeakably dull. It's slow with lots of "psychedelic" animation. I freely admit I am part of the MTV generation. But my boys just love it.

My mother was a teenager when the Beatles invaded. She regretted throwing all of her memorabilia away when she left home; she had no idea that when I was fifteen I would be mad about the Beatles too. I had all their records and Beatle posters all over my room. The idea that her grandchildren love the Beatles too is amazing. The music just never sounds old.

So I was thinking back and there is a definite pattern to my love of the Beatles. When I was a teenager, John was my favorite Beatle. He is the god of angry teenagers, though, isn't it? But after I had read every book about the Beatles I could get my hands on, I quickly realized that John was a bit of a prick. I've mellowed with age, I would now say John had a truckload of issues, but I've never gotten around to forgiving him for the way he treated his son Julian. With everything he went through, he should have known better. I'm not judging or blaming really, I've never met the man, but he was no longer my favorite Beatle.

So my twenties were all about Paul. From talking to people, one almost gets the impression one would get more respect for saying Ringo was your favorite Beatle. John was edgy, Paul is milquetoast (is the usual argument), to which I say: Helter Skelter. The guy has a gift for melody, and I love that his love songs seem to be all about his wife. Writing about the unatainable, unrequited love is easy. Writing about love in a decades-long monogamous relationship? That takes talent.

So far, my thirties have been about George. His last album, made after he knew he was dying, is one of the most beautiful, most optimistic things I've heard. It's so cool and so George. I don't listen to whole records back-to-front much anymore, I usually randomize my iTunes and listen to whatever, but George's record is a back-to-front listen.

Which leaves me wondering, are my forties going to be the decade of Ringo? I saw him on tour with his All-Starr Band. I think my forties are going to be a lot of fun.

Spike the cat

This is the newest addition to our family, an orange tabby kitten we've named Spike. We got him from the Humane Society; he was a teeny-tiny stray. Molly and Joey were both left at the Humane Society after someone's cat had kittens the owner didn't want. Spike is our first kitty from the mean streets (of Golden Valley?)

At any rate, he breaks our tradition of cats with literary names (Valentine Michael Smith and Molly Bloom) (And Joey is for Joseph Campbell, so not fictional). He's named for Spike Spiegel from Cowboy Bebop, although the Japanese creators of the show always pronounce it "Spike-u". It can also refer to Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but let's keep that between us (my husband does not need to know)!

Spike the cat 

Headed, I fear, toward a most useless place. The Waiting Place.

I am, I fear, in the Waiting Place right now. I'm not enjoying it very much. Well, I did some revisions to Saga, which failed to make quarter finals in WOTF, but I'm reluctant to send it out until I hear back from Asimov's on Tao of Troth. The two are sort of companion pieces. And yes, WHAT WAS I THINKING? Oh well, I should be hearing from Asimov's any day now. Yep.

I think I'm starting to scare the mailman.

This quarter's deadline is June 30. I have a story, but I'm waiting to get some notes on it from my Faithful Reader. I'm not sure if I like it. The ending isn't satisfactory for me, but I'm not sure what the problem is. Of course, I loved Saga so much it is quite possible I'm not qualified to judge. I have some thoughts for a story with a dragon in it, but that's very pre-birth. I have some words on paper but the voice isn't there yet.

I'm reluctant to make a big plunge into the second draft of the novel Omphalos, horribly because I'm waiting to read other people's books! It's a big three months coming up for me with new stuff from J.K. Rowling, Jasper Fforde, George R.R. Martin, and Neil Gaiman. Horrible, horrible. Can't I find time to both read and write?

Hmm, the Waiting Place is a very Negative Place. I need to move on, to find the bright places where Boom Bands are playing.

Save Everything!

While I consider myself to be politically moderate, most of my charitable giving goes to more liberal organizations, so I end up on some really liberal mailing lists. Every other day comes with an impassioned plea for me to send money in order to help some organization I've never heard of do something.

When I was shuffling through the mail today I found what I thought was a rather thick phamplet commanding me to SAVE EVERYTHING! Well, that sums it up, doesn't it? Someone finally got fed up with only saving this animal or that ocean and decided we should pool our efforts and SAVE EVERYTHING! "Sounds expensive," I thought, somewhat wearily (I've been down in the dumps since my story got rejected by WOTF, and a trip to the mailbox is like walking to my execution. Will the Asimov's rejection come today?).

I did eventually realize that what I was holding was in fact a catalog, entitled SAVE ON EVERYTHING only the kid in rollerskates on the cover was covering up the "ON" with his head. Now I feel a bit silly about my earlier guilt that I wasn't doing enough to save the world.

Well, back to eating ice cream and watching the Chappelle Show. I need to nurse my hurt feelings for a few days before I get back to the writing (I really liked that story!).