at my wit’s end

Originally posted on May 25, 2010 at 4:04 PM

When I went to line camp my freshman year of drill team, I remember dancing in my sleep. That week of learning dances and practicing sometimes 20 hours a day sank so deeply into my brain that even in my dreams I was working on the moves I’d learned. It was exhausting, really. In fact, I remember one morning when my alarm clock went off at some ungodly hour, I actually danced out of bed. I know it sounds like some cheesy metaphor, but I’m serious. The sound woke me and my arms and legs flailed in some sort of mid-motion arabesque and it took me a moment to fully wake and be embarrassed. Because I had a roommate, and she was older and she didn’t dance out of bed.

At officer camp, too, my senior year (which turned out to be about 10 times harder than line camp was that first year, even though at that time I’d thought I would die), we all danced in our 3-4 hour nights’ rest. I specifically remember being kicked heartily in the shin several times by my bedmate. We were so deeply ingrained in the process, that I found myself counting as I shampooed. 5-6-7-8, and then I’d scrub on beat.

Again, when I got a job at Sonic as a carhop, I had to learn to make all of the drink combos for the first few days. I was scooping ice in my dreams, and raising my hands overhead to grab the cups. Something about being that dedicated to something for days at a time tricks your mind. And when you finally get a break—you get to go to bed and think you don’t have to do that anymore—your brain can’t stop.

That’s me lately with novel writing. I’m clocking over 3,000 words daily (about twice as much as the original goal of 1,667/day), and last night in particular, I kept waking up from dreams where I was plotting in my head. Working out kinks, coming up with new ideas that were actually bizarre and crazy but seemed good at the time. I even found myself stringing together prose and editing it as I “typed.” My characters were the same, but they started doing crazy stuff that I hadn’t planned. Too weird.

And I found it every bit as exhausting as the dancing and drink-making had been. I love my job, I really do. Some days it’s hard to make myself sit down and work, but almost always, once I do it’s a blast for me. But I don’t want to do it when I’m not doing it! I need some breaks, some times to replenish my muse with other things. A girl can only write so much. Geeze. Take a chill pill, brain.

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To get to the other fried. I mean SIDE!

Originally posted on May 23, 2010 at 3:15 AM

I was telling hub-a-dub that I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to finish this entire novel by the end of the month. (I’m sure I’ll be able to hit 50,000, since I just did (sub-parentheses parenthesis HOLLA!), but I’m not sure if I’ll finish the actual full manuscript, which should be around 80,000.) He said, “Well, don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”

I was like… “Uhh. I’m not. That’s what I’m saying.”

He blinked at me and said, “Oh. I mean, don’t knock your chickens before they hatch.”

Lolz. So, what he’s saying, is that I shouldn’t knock my chickens.

Which would make this entirely out of the question:

me: Knock knock.

my chickens: Who’s there?

me: Chickengoes.

my chickens: Chickengoes who?

me: No! Owls go who. Chickens go Bck-cawk! Bawk, bawk bawk bawk!

So I won’t. Consider my eggs uncounted and my chickens unknocked. (But… I’m afraid I might not finish but I really want to and I think I can.)

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Four Classic Gothic Novels: a review of Vathek, Otranto, Udolpho, and The Monk

Originally posted on May 19, 2010 at 5:50 PM

Many people are fascinated by the dark allure of the gothic genre, like myself. Usually drawn in by modern spins such as Rebecca, Wuthering Heights, and Jane Eyre, we find ourselves wanting to go back in time to trace the origins of these thrilling stories. I have done so, and if you’re interested in pursuing the “forefathers” of modern-day horror, here’s what you should know—blunt, honest, and simple.

Vathek by William Beckford, 1782

Subtitled, “An Arabian Tale,” this is sometimes credited as “the first” gothic novel. Quite frankly, it sucks. It is excruciatingly drawn-out, and reads more like a list of random, supernatural oddities than a novel. There are no emotions, no characters one can become invested in, and no details to make the story interesting. There is no hinting or mystery, only recounting in straight-forward terms the over-the-top occurrences that fall one after the other so quickly that if you don’t understand one you might as well move on to the next. It is one of four books in my entire life that I found unworthy of finishing.

The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole, 1764

More generally the consensus as the first gothic novel–written in English. (Vathek was translated from French.) This novel isn’t really worth your time, either, although infinitely better than Vathek. It is very short, so if you just want to be able to say you’ve read it, it won’t take you long to check it off your list. The sentences are long and muddling, and the dialogue isn’t separated with new lines or even quotation marks from the rest of the prose, so it can be rather tiresome to make sense of. I’d have to Wikipedia it to remember any of the characters’ names, which tells you how little I cared about them.

One thing I can say for it: it is a clear predecessor to the gothic genre, and that’s kind of cool. My suggestion: read a summary. Also, read the cool facts about Walpole’s life, house, and obsessions. A better story than the novel itself, if you ask me.

The Mysteries of Udolpho by Ann Radcliffe, 1794

I actually enjoyed this book quite a bit, but it’s not for a reader who dislikes “old” prose. The sentences are lengthy and wandering, as are the numerous descriptions of scenery. I believe there are abridged versions available that cut out these unnecessary wanderings, and having only read the original version, I would recommend giving one of those a try—especially if your goal is just entertainment.

The story is good. The characters are emotional and relatable in comparison with the two novels above, and the atmosphere is fantastic. There is mystery and suspense. For the average reader, I would recommend starting here as the birth of the gothic novel, and perhaps with an abridged version.

The Monk by Matthew Gregory Lewis, 1796

Fantastic. Juicy. Detailed but still succinct (there are few aimless wanderings like with Radcliffe). A wonderful read and by far the best novel of these four. It made shockwaves during its time for the scandalous content, and even now, it’s not for the innocent. Several times I found myself surprised by how modern it seemed in its refusal to back down to the graphic, grotesque, and profane.

One thing that might throw some readers: the elements of unexplainable supernatural. Radcliffe uses the “explained supernatural” in her story, which gives us the chills without the doubts. Lewis has no such qualms; you’d better be willing to suspend disbelief before you crack open this bad boy. But if you want good entertainment in the classic gothic style, go for The Monk.

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How to Accept Critique (with poise)

Originally posted on May 13, 2010 at 6:29 PM

Disclaimer: Everyone is different, and every group is different. Do what works for you. Here’s what works for me.

This is a sister post to my blog, How to Give Critique (with poise).

Finding, joining, and attending a writers’ critique group can be tricky. There’s a delicate balance between helping and hurting, and sometimes that balance is tipped. How do you know that you’ve found the right group? How do you know that you’re getting everything you can from it?

I’m the president of the North Branch Writers’ Critique Group in Denton, Texas, and I’ve been attending that group (mostly fiction) for over a year and another (poetry) critique group for three years. I would love to share my advice and insights with you.

First of all, you have to decide if you are ready for a critique group. The number one reason that feelings get hurt is actually not due to the other members and their feedback, but due to our own unreadiness. Critique groups are usually not for brand-spanking-new writers. This is not to say that you need to be published to join, just that you need to have been writing on your own for at least a few years, maybe longer. Likewise, sometimes a hot-off-the-printer story is too new to bring.

If what you’re looking for is support and confidence-building, don’t join a critique group; join a writers’ group. Before you can feel secure enough in your work to put it out there for critique, build up your confidence by becoming used to simply sharing your writing with others. Read out loud, hear other people read it, meet other writers, and become involved in the industry so that you know where you and your writing belong. Only then, once you’ve found your own style and voice, should you join a critique group.

Let me stress that again: a critique group is not for sharing your work, padding your résumé, boosting your self-esteem, or hearing people reassure you of your genius. It is for suggestive feedback. If you do not want feedback (that may conflict with your own opinions), do not join a critique group. It only wastes your time and the group’s time, and no one benefits.

Okay, so you’ve made it this far. You really are ready to hear people tear apart your baby. Go to a meeting or two without bringing anything (if they allow it). Observe. Do you like the way the group works? Are there members who are too harsh? Would you have your feelings hurt if someone said to you what you hear them say to someone else? Do their suggestions seem useful? If you don’t like the answers to these questions, keep looking. A negative critique group can really hurt a budding writer.

So the group seems good. You’ve gone once or twice now, and agree with what most people said about members’ works. This means you have at least some degree of trust in their abilities and opinions, and that you should indeed listen when they give you critique. This can be difficult.

Perhaps you’ve done something with your story that no one seems to understand but you know is brilliant. Well, for one thing, don’t argue. If you argue with their suggestions, it does three things:

  1. It wastes time, which ultimately means you get less different suggestions and just the one that you disagreed with.
  2.  It annoys people. If you don’t want to listen, why are you here? Tempers can rise and words become sharp which leads to hurt feelings.
  3. It makes people hesitant to give you legitimate suggestions in the future, which you might actually have agreed with and benefited from.

A better solution to arguing with someone’s critique? Hold it inside. I know, I know, your mother told you to never hold in emotions because they’ll eat a hole in you—but I only mean until you get home. Allow everyone to have their opinion expressed, and silently nod along. Ask questions if you don’t understand, but not because you disagree. Write down what they didn’t jot on your copies so you can refer to it later. When you get home, cry and vent to your roommate, cat, or lover. Call your mom; she will always agree with you. Then let it sit.

Several days later, come back to it. How many people said this same thing? Did some members disagree amongst themselves? Did they all suggest related problem areas? Perhaps you should let down your defenses and consider their suggestions. Fear is the main motivator, but there’s nothing to be afraid of. Even if you put their critiques into effect and hate them, you can always go back to your original piece. No harm, no foul.

But generally speaking—if you’ve found a good group—these people want to help you. It is in your best interest to allow their critiques fair play in the old noggin. Still disagree? Well, then don’t change it. It’s as simple as that. Ultimately, it’s your work. If you know what you’re doing and why, and someone else disagrees, that’s okay. You’re the writer.

Finally, there are a few ways to prevent these issues in the first place. A disclaimer! (Disclaimers are always the way to go!) If you know that a piece is just bizarre subject matter that members of your group won’t like, preface your time with something like, “And this is a space-punk cyber story done in 4th person plural, so I know it might not be your cup of tea. But what I’m really looking for help on is writing style, not content.” Or vice-versa. If you know that your lengthy sentences are your signature and will eventually rock the publishing world, put out the disclaimer: “I know you guys don’t like my super-long sentences, but I really do. So instead of focusing on that, I’d really love help with the flow of the plot.” Get the idea?

Good luck, happy writing, and peaceful critiques to you all.

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three worthy thoughts

Originally posted on May 10, 2010 at 6:52 PM

1) The word “manly” doesn’t have the connotation it used to. Back in the day, it used to be used in all seriousness as a compliment. It meant strong, honorable, and noble. Now, you rarely hear it unless it’s used playfully, usually as a joke. As in, “Look at those manly bunny-slippers.”

2) I dislike that the word “queer” is now relegated solely to the world of homosexuality. Its original meaning has a slightly different connotation than “weird” or “odd” do, and I think I should be able to use it without raising eyebrows.

3) Dr. Pepper is the elixir of life.

Now you may ponder, ruminate, and discuss amongst yourselves.

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