What's the best thing about having an office job? Access to a printer and copy machine. I say, if I have to be at work at 7 a.m., then I'm allowed to print a copy of my 112 page manuscript if I want to. I don't get paid overtime, after all. I just sent the first five chapters of my book out for the writing workshop I will be participating in at the SciFi Convention in May. I'm actually getting sick of having those beginning chapters critiqued. They are what they are. Someone needs to read the whole thing. I suppose I need to write it first.
This past weekend, Joe and I went to New Jersey to visit his mom and to go to his friend Jess's baby's baptism. Her baby Conner, is the CUTEST. CHILD. EVER. He's so happy all the time! Except, of course, the one time Joe held him. Then he cried. Hehe. He slept through the whole ceremony, while the other 4 babies being baptized screamed. When the water was dumped on his head he woke up, made a cranky face and fell asleep again.
We spent the rest of the weekend digging through Joe's old boxes in the attic. His mom is moving to Delaware this summer, so most of his stuff has to go. He has a fabulous collection of Star Wars figurines, Wolverine comic books, a box of cassette tapes, and 6 boxes of books. One of the tapes, though, was a recording of Joe at six years old talking to his dad, and it was the sweetest thing I've ever heard. At one point his dad mentions the holocaust and Joe goes, "Who is Hitler anyways?"
"You'll learn about him in school," his dad answers.
"What if I can't find the right book?" A precocious child he was.
Thursday, March 30, 2006
Thursday, March 23, 2006
I saw Fabio yesterday, but only in profile
Every Tuesday I tutor a Chinese girl named Jojo. She has a show on the Chinese language channel and was semi-famous in China. Here's her website. I admit I am a somewhat sloppy tutor, which I make up for with my incredible intelligence. I'll tell you how. I can count on Jojo to provide material to keep us busy for at least half of the hour-long lesson. Last week we went over her resume. This week, we sat down and the first thing she said was:
"Have you ever seen a movie called Good Luck Good Night? I don't understand it."
"Good Night and Good Luck? Which parts don't you understand?"
"All of them."
So we watched the first half hour together, with closed captioning on. The problem with closed captioning is that it's not the same as English subtitles. When we see English subtitles of a foreign movie, they are not usually literal. For example: He has a beef with us. It means nothing in the literal sense. How would you say the same in a Chinese phrase? Maybe: His puppies are out of control.
So the first thing I did was try to explain the McCarthy Era to her. "So, there was the Cold War, right? Which I think was with the Soviet Union. And then everyone started to think that everyone else was a communist. And there was this Senator McCarthy. He was from Wisconsin. You couldn't win he accused you, and you couldn't question his methods, or that made you a commie. It was a witch hunt."
"Witch Hunt?"
And on and on. My biggest problem was that I don't understand history very well myself. I never learned it in high school. Every year, we would begin at the beginning of that grade's history book. It usually started with Columbus, and we would work our way through history from there. But we never got to the Twentieth Century. I kid you not. I think once, when I was a sophomore, we made it to World War I by May, but that's it. So where did I learn the meager facts above? Film school. Hollywood is still angry about that blacklist, so every generation must learn and remember.
After the movie, we read outloud a bit, I corrected her grammar, and I went home, twenty dollars happier. Not a bad gig.
"Have you ever seen a movie called Good Luck Good Night? I don't understand it."
"Good Night and Good Luck? Which parts don't you understand?"
"All of them."
So we watched the first half hour together, with closed captioning on. The problem with closed captioning is that it's not the same as English subtitles. When we see English subtitles of a foreign movie, they are not usually literal. For example: He has a beef with us. It means nothing in the literal sense. How would you say the same in a Chinese phrase? Maybe: His puppies are out of control.
So the first thing I did was try to explain the McCarthy Era to her. "So, there was the Cold War, right? Which I think was with the Soviet Union. And then everyone started to think that everyone else was a communist. And there was this Senator McCarthy. He was from Wisconsin. You couldn't win he accused you, and you couldn't question his methods, or that made you a commie. It was a witch hunt."
"Witch Hunt?"
And on and on. My biggest problem was that I don't understand history very well myself. I never learned it in high school. Every year, we would begin at the beginning of that grade's history book. It usually started with Columbus, and we would work our way through history from there. But we never got to the Twentieth Century. I kid you not. I think once, when I was a sophomore, we made it to World War I by May, but that's it. So where did I learn the meager facts above? Film school. Hollywood is still angry about that blacklist, so every generation must learn and remember.
After the movie, we read outloud a bit, I corrected her grammar, and I went home, twenty dollars happier. Not a bad gig.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Coming up for air
Do you look around you sometimes and wonder how you got there? Not as in, how did my life turn out this way? But as in, how did I get on this street? How did I manage to pick up a loaf of bread and stand at the checkout line before I even really realized it? Sometimes this is an okay thing. I get off work, go home and am sitting on my couch before I even notice I've left. Other times it's not. I buy the loaf of bread but forget to get eggs because I was watching "A Knight's Tale" in my head when I passed the dairy section. Still, I've never been hit by a car.
It can also feel that way when I'm going so quickly from one event to the other in my packed life, that I don't have time to breath. I get up early to exercise, go to work, do work, eat, join an extra online writing group where I'm expected to submit my entire novel in just a few weeks, go home, eat Chinese, etc. I don't know how I get from one activity to the other.
In more exciting news, WisCon, the feminist scifi/fantasy convention I'm attending in May, has sold out. They have a cap of 1000 memberships, and I think this is the fastest they've reached it. It may even be the first time they've sold out before the day of the convention. It's going to be awesome. There is not a pitching session with agents and editors like at other conventions, but I will get to meet some and I hope to get a few addresses to send out my then-finished novel. Yep, trying to pick up an agent and get his digits.
It can also feel that way when I'm going so quickly from one event to the other in my packed life, that I don't have time to breath. I get up early to exercise, go to work, do work, eat, join an extra online writing group where I'm expected to submit my entire novel in just a few weeks, go home, eat Chinese, etc. I don't know how I get from one activity to the other.
In more exciting news, WisCon, the feminist scifi/fantasy convention I'm attending in May, has sold out. They have a cap of 1000 memberships, and I think this is the fastest they've reached it. It may even be the first time they've sold out before the day of the convention. It's going to be awesome. There is not a pitching session with agents and editors like at other conventions, but I will get to meet some and I hope to get a few addresses to send out my then-finished novel. Yep, trying to pick up an agent and get his digits.
Monday, March 13, 2006
How to Write a Novel
The problem with writing a novel is that for every hour you spend writing, you spend ten minutes of that staring at the computer screen thinking about how the whole thing is a pile of rubbish. Then I remember that most authors do not get the first book they write published. This makes me feel both better and worse. Better because it doesn't matter if this book is crap. It's my first, my practice novel. It's not going to be published anyways. I get more chances after this. Worse because then why the heck am I wasting my time? Shouldn't I just give up now and start on a better story concept? No, because then technically THAT one would then be my first novel, and it wouldn't get published either. I have to finish this one, if only for my decendants to read someday.
Also, it is always suggested that a wannabe writer should write and publish short stories before cranking out a novel. I have two problems with this. One, short stories and novels are two different art forms. It's the difference between being a sculptor and a painter, a furniture-maker or a house-builder. One does lend its talents to the other, but they are different on the most basic levels. Two, how does one find the time and organization to write short stories, research markets for them, write cover letters, print your story, take it to the post office and mail it to a magazine that's going to pay me $17.50 if they accept my story which they probably won't since it doesn't quite fit the "mood" of their magazine or even their word count. My stories always seem to be too dark, or not dark enough. Not that anyone there is even going to read it before sending me a form rejection letter. Why should they? I've never been published before so I can't be any good. All this is not even worth the ink and the postage. So I hack away at my novel, hoping it can lead to bigger and better things.
Also, it is always suggested that a wannabe writer should write and publish short stories before cranking out a novel. I have two problems with this. One, short stories and novels are two different art forms. It's the difference between being a sculptor and a painter, a furniture-maker or a house-builder. One does lend its talents to the other, but they are different on the most basic levels. Two, how does one find the time and organization to write short stories, research markets for them, write cover letters, print your story, take it to the post office and mail it to a magazine that's going to pay me $17.50 if they accept my story which they probably won't since it doesn't quite fit the "mood" of their magazine or even their word count. My stories always seem to be too dark, or not dark enough. Not that anyone there is even going to read it before sending me a form rejection letter. Why should they? I've never been published before so I can't be any good. All this is not even worth the ink and the postage. So I hack away at my novel, hoping it can lead to bigger and better things.
Monday, March 06, 2006
Preachy Piece of Junk
Woo, it's been a long time since I've posted! Work has been crazy busy, but also more fun. I'd say I love it 20% of the time, hate it 20% of the time, and don't care much either way about the rest. Not bad. My job happiness is going up at the same rate as my paycheck.
Joe is coming home soon! I missed him so much more than I thought I would. I like having alone time, and really being able to focus on writing, but I just wanted someone to watch a movie with on a Saturday afternoon, you know? Sometimes I forget he's my best friend too. All my other friends always had "plans." Things I didn't want to do. One friend asked if I wanted to come hang out one night with two British guys she'd just met. Let me think, um, no. So I'm saving Joe a piece of the chocolate cake I baked and I'm attempting to clear the couch of my laundry so two people can actually sit on it. Stay tuned and I'll hook you up with pictures and/or a blogged account of his trip.
On the Oscars: How could Heath Ledger not have won Best Actor? Phillip Seymour-Hoffman won, for what, doing a lisp? Heath is australian folks, and he sounded like a Montana cowboy! Though I admit, I'd like to see Capote. At least Ang Lee won Best Director. However Crash, the movie that won best picture, was the preachiest piece of junk I've ever seen in my life. I almost walked out during it and then almost cried afterwards because I'd wasted twelve bucks. Yes, everyone is racist. We get it. You don't have to give someone an Oscar for telling us that.
Joe is coming home soon! I missed him so much more than I thought I would. I like having alone time, and really being able to focus on writing, but I just wanted someone to watch a movie with on a Saturday afternoon, you know? Sometimes I forget he's my best friend too. All my other friends always had "plans." Things I didn't want to do. One friend asked if I wanted to come hang out one night with two British guys she'd just met. Let me think, um, no. So I'm saving Joe a piece of the chocolate cake I baked and I'm attempting to clear the couch of my laundry so two people can actually sit on it. Stay tuned and I'll hook you up with pictures and/or a blogged account of his trip.
On the Oscars: How could Heath Ledger not have won Best Actor? Phillip Seymour-Hoffman won, for what, doing a lisp? Heath is australian folks, and he sounded like a Montana cowboy! Though I admit, I'd like to see Capote. At least Ang Lee won Best Director. However Crash, the movie that won best picture, was the preachiest piece of junk I've ever seen in my life. I almost walked out during it and then almost cried afterwards because I'd wasted twelve bucks. Yes, everyone is racist. We get it. You don't have to give someone an Oscar for telling us that.
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