Mostly because I'm bored, and I just found out that Dragon Fate is not even in the library catalogue yet, even though it's been out for over a month.
5 Worst Dragon Books
5. "Joust" by Mercedes Lackey.
It's Mercedes Lackey. What more need be said? Few writers can pull of such cliche, shallow characters, long-winded monologues, or overly detailed, prettified worlds. Worldbuilding details are good, but they should always be plot-relevant and not mere decoration. "Joust" is actually not too bad as far as dragon books go. The dragons do not talk (At least not in the first two books, and I don't see why that would change), and seem to be on a level of very clever animals with slight telepathic tendencies. They are fed a fantasyland drug to keep them tractable, though of course un-drugged dragons that bond with humans as hatchlings perform much better. Really the only problem with this series is that it is by Mercedes Lackey.
4. "Dragonflight" by Donita K. Paul
This is a kid's book, so I can't really complain of the black-and-white morality, although I would...is that Jesus? Why is there a Jesus in a dragon book? Not that there's anything wrong with that necessarily, and kudos for not having a typical vague pantheon, but...the distinction is between a book about religion, a book about religious characters, and religious allegory. The first is acceptable if it asks more questions than it answers (read: The Sparrow), the second if the characters behave like actual religious people and not idiotic fanatics (though there are real ones of those, I suppose. But read: Firethorn) and the third...if you subscribe to the religion and don't want to have your mindset challenged? The Dragonflight series, however, uses religion to support its very simplistic and childlike moral structures. It is a kid's book, I suppose, so I can't really be too hard on it.
3. Dragonriders of Pern - Anne McCaffery
May her soul rest in peace. I never got into the series. I can't remember why; I can't remember many details of what I did read, so I'm going to go out on a limb and claim that the characters and stories were not very memorable. Everything else I have is hearsay; namely, some very problematic portrayals of gender roles and relationships. However, since this book is what started the whole dragonrider craze, I shouldn't be too hard on it. Or maybe I should.
2. "Eragon" - Christopher Paolini
The fifteen year old kid had enough dedication to sit down and write a novel from beginning to end. I'll give him that much credit. I can also list all of his sources: McCaffery, Eddings, Tolkien, and Star Wars. David Eddings is the reason fantasy is shit. No, seriously, he codified if not started all of the needless traditions that the genre bears today, though most writers have the decency to not rip off his dull magic system word for word...Anyway, let's talk about Saphira. For starters, she has no personality. A few of the other characters in the books have some interesting quirks, so I'm going to count that as a fault of the character and not the book in general. Basically, she's only there to make Eragon look cool. Like a motorcycle. But for her, Eragon (not quite an anagram of "Garion") is the whiny little bitch hero typical of the Eddings and Star Wars traditions; can't blame Tolkien for that one - Frodo was middle-aged!
1. Dragonlance - created by Margaret Weis and Terry Hickman
Hoo boy. Where to start? The plots are based off of D&D campaigns. No, really, I'm not making that up. The writing quality varies because there are so many different writers, but the dragons. Ah, the dragons. I don't believe they are actually in a lot of the books. When they are, they are color-coded for your convenience. Shiny dragons are good, rainbow dragons are bad. And they talk, but they don't really do much when they're not being ridden around. The only good part I can see is that since there are so many writers, some have tried to play around with the structure; there's a short story about an awkward misunderstanding with an albino silver dragon, and one where an evil dragon questions his evilness but doesn't actually follow-through (I think he dies, actually...). On the whole, though, for a serial with "Dragon" in the title, they don't really do a whole lot. Only ranks above Eragon because it is written by adults who should know better, but let's face it. They don't.
Now before you start calling me a hater, here are my top 5 good dragon books
5. "Eon: Dragoneye Reborn" - by Allison Goodman
Full review here. If you're too lazy to click on the link, it's about a girl who dresses as a boy in order to get a dragon companion. Which is a horrible plot, so you can imagine my surprise when it didn't quite suck. The setting is randomly Asian, and the dragons are life-draining energy beings rather than scaly kittens. The story isn't exceptional, but it has some good points and on the whole isn't bad.
4. "Dragon's Milk" - by Susan Fletcher
I haven't read these books in forever, so I can't give too many details. It might not be as good as I remember, and if I haven't read it in forever it probably isn't the best thing ever. But since I kept excusing "Dragonflight" for being a kid's book, here's another kid's book for contrast. The story is about a girl who ends up caring for three dragon hatchlings after their mother dies or something. They have to go on the run because people kill dragons in this world. And there are people in difficult situations making difficult choices and facing the consequences, instead of people in difficult situations making difficult choices and having their problems vanish as a reward for making the right choice. I think maybe one of the dragons died, too. Not sure. Kid's books can be pretty dark, you know.
3. The Dragon Quartet - by Marjorie B. Kellogg
This series is just frickin' weird. The first book takes place in medieval Germany, where this girl finds an earth-dragon and goes on this journey with it to find her destiny or something, ends up falling through some kind of time portal where, in the second book, she meets a boy from modern-day Africa who is bonded to a water dragon, and then they go back to medieval Germany for a brief bit and end up in this post-apocalyptic future run by a fire dragon, and the air dragon is really a computer, and the dragons are really transdimensional beings who incarnated at certain points in time in order to save the human race from global warming...or something like that. I should really re-read those. They're just so...weird. And different. See, that is what fantasy is supposed to mean - creating your own unique vision of a world. Not pseudo-medieval whiny farmboy kill the dark lord questing.
2. Age of Fire - by E.E. Knight
Think "Wicked" for Dragonlance. The original book, not the musical. It's a sort of dark reimagining of a familiar world (not Krynn specifically, just the whole freaking genre paradigm). You've got your elves/dwarves/humans/+2, and all kinds of crazy race relations. And you have the dragons. The book is told from the dragon's point of view as hominids try to kill them or enslave them. They end up sort of turning that around and starting a dragon empire and making it very clear that in the dragon/rider relationship, the dragon is boss. The characters are all very interesting, and in the latest (well, next-to-latest) I actually started to feel for them a bit (That poor Copper! - oh yes, it has amazing technicolor dragons, but physical appearance does not correlate with moral alignment), and I really want to read the last one, Dragon Fate.
1. Temeraire - by Naomi Novik
Napoleonic Wars. With dragons. It is awesome. Yes, the dragons tend toward the scaly kitten end of the spectrum, but they are not pastel greeting-card kittens, they are real live animals that poop on your floor. Metaphorically speaking. Actually, they are not animals. They are people, and Novik does well building a subplot of a sort of impending dragon civil rights movement (I'm only about halfway through the series). Also, historical detail. England, Africa, China, Ottoman Empire, Prussia...Holy crap, that woman has done her research. So yes, Temeraire is adorable. He talks (not telepathic, thank the gods). He chose his rider from the egg and loves him oh-so-much. And he is a slave. And seeing him struggle to compromise that with his love for his rider is so...woobifying. Squee.
Yeah. Dragons. You probably think I think too much about dragons. Funny that I don't usually write about dragons. There might be some in my shapeshifter story, but they're not really in the plot. Dragons just seem so overdone and so rarely done well. At the same time, all the possible subversions are already being done (and done well). So for the time being, I remain a dragon appreciater rather than a dragon writer.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Cleaning up the Mess
So, back in November I participated in 30 days of awesome hell called NaNoWriMo. I ended up with 50,000 words of garbage, and have made it my goal for January - NaNoEdMo - to sort through it and look for anything worth saving. Well, initially I set out intending to create a readable second draft, but...yeah. That's not going to happen.
So how do I edit? I normally don't get this far, so I'm making this up as I go along. Of course, that's what I did when I first started writing. Heck, that's what I still do, so I don't know what I'm complaining about. Anyway, I borrow techniques from several writers I respect (note "respect," not "like"). First step is the read-through. This is why EdMo is January and not December, besides the fact that in December you are too burned out to even think about writing. You have to read it as though it is not your own work. The month-long interval gives you some distance, so that you can read as a reader and not a writer. Usually it's not as bad as you remember, at this point.
Of course, "not as bad as you thought" is not the same as "good." On the second read-through, you are allowed to make notes about what needs to be improved - the first time through, you are not allowed to criticize. I realized very quickly that none of the actual scenes were salvageable. I had to create a whole new outline for the story I ended up with, rather than the story I began with. I made notes about which scenes can be used for reference (more just to make me feel that this is a second draft and not a complete overhaul), but over half of it has to be written from scratch, and I have no idea how some of the new plot points are supposed to happen.
In fact, looking at it all now, I realize I have two choices. Well, three, but the third doesn't really count. I can 1) Add in the new scenes. Somehow. 2) Cut down what I have and strip it down into a short story. 3) Toss it all out and give up (You can see why this one doesn't count, but technically it is an option)
I think I might end up going with 2, and possibly taking it a step further and just making it backstory. You see, my novel did a funny thing this year. Around page 55, which was about halfway through the month this year, I had nothing left for the story I was trying to write. So I wrote a slightly related story about witch hunters. No planning, no prior imaginings, just a desperate gimmick to add words and keep creativity flowing.
Predictably, that is the part of the month I think has the best chance of being saved.
That is what happens during NaNo. If you look at the pep talk of successful (published) NaNovelist Erin Morgenstern and her novel The Night Circus, her story is that when her NaNovel wasn't going anywhere, she sent her characters to a circus, which turned out to be much more interesting than the original story. Now she's published and there are over a hundred requests on her book at the library, so I probably won't get to it until after break. The point is that writing is a process of discovery. Creation is discovery. That's what makes it interesting, more so than arranging information into an essay or solving a math problem. You have control over the novel, but at the same time, the novel has power over you.
Going to stop now before I get too postmodernly semantical. Have to get back to that editing. Or possibly that new story with the shapeshifter that's lurking in the back of my mind...
So how do I edit? I normally don't get this far, so I'm making this up as I go along. Of course, that's what I did when I first started writing. Heck, that's what I still do, so I don't know what I'm complaining about. Anyway, I borrow techniques from several writers I respect (note "respect," not "like"). First step is the read-through. This is why EdMo is January and not December, besides the fact that in December you are too burned out to even think about writing. You have to read it as though it is not your own work. The month-long interval gives you some distance, so that you can read as a reader and not a writer. Usually it's not as bad as you remember, at this point.
Of course, "not as bad as you thought" is not the same as "good." On the second read-through, you are allowed to make notes about what needs to be improved - the first time through, you are not allowed to criticize. I realized very quickly that none of the actual scenes were salvageable. I had to create a whole new outline for the story I ended up with, rather than the story I began with. I made notes about which scenes can be used for reference (more just to make me feel that this is a second draft and not a complete overhaul), but over half of it has to be written from scratch, and I have no idea how some of the new plot points are supposed to happen.
In fact, looking at it all now, I realize I have two choices. Well, three, but the third doesn't really count. I can 1) Add in the new scenes. Somehow. 2) Cut down what I have and strip it down into a short story. 3) Toss it all out and give up (You can see why this one doesn't count, but technically it is an option)
I think I might end up going with 2, and possibly taking it a step further and just making it backstory. You see, my novel did a funny thing this year. Around page 55, which was about halfway through the month this year, I had nothing left for the story I was trying to write. So I wrote a slightly related story about witch hunters. No planning, no prior imaginings, just a desperate gimmick to add words and keep creativity flowing.
Predictably, that is the part of the month I think has the best chance of being saved.
That is what happens during NaNo. If you look at the pep talk of successful (published) NaNovelist Erin Morgenstern and her novel The Night Circus, her story is that when her NaNovel wasn't going anywhere, she sent her characters to a circus, which turned out to be much more interesting than the original story. Now she's published and there are over a hundred requests on her book at the library, so I probably won't get to it until after break. The point is that writing is a process of discovery. Creation is discovery. That's what makes it interesting, more so than arranging information into an essay or solving a math problem. You have control over the novel, but at the same time, the novel has power over you.
Going to stop now before I get too postmodernly semantical. Have to get back to that editing. Or possibly that new story with the shapeshifter that's lurking in the back of my mind...
Monday, January 2, 2012
Time
Time is a funny thing. It is elastic, like a rubber band, so the same length of it can feel very long or very short. Seconds can grind slow as hours if you are giving a presentation in front of a class, but you can sit down to talk with a friend you have not seen in far too long, and find the hours flying by like seconds.
So whether this was a long year or a short year, I cannot say. A year ago today I was on a airplane to Germany, somehow convinced I was going to have the time of my life, despite the frightful doubts in my head that I was in completely the wrong place. Empty lonely hours stretched long in the Scheissburg, but back at school my life was carried away by a whirlwind until I finally took it back by force. Then stood staring, wondering what to do with it.
One year ago today I took to the air and I still cannot say if I have landed safely.
There was a lot this year. I hit the low point of my life, and pray to whatever gods may be that I never go there again. I have discovered I am not who I thought I was, and though I no longer have the adolescent urgency to figure it out, I am looking down a lifelong road through self-discovery.
This was a year of redefining - redefining of relationships, goals, desires. And though I don't feel like I have any more answers than when I started, what I have is, I think, enough to carry me through 2012.
These were my goals for 2011:
1. To no longer be afraid of things that won't kill me.
2. To stop making things my problems that aren't.
I think I did okay on those. Certainly not going to leave them behind, but I think I need some new ones for 2012.
1. Take control of my own life.
2. Make new friends and take care of the ones I have.
3. Show someone a story (a real one, one that matters). Shouldn't be a problem if no one bugs me about it.
4. Actually learn to play something on the guitar.
5. Redefine my relationship with my body.
If you know me and don't know what #5 means, don't ask. I'll tell you in my own time.
(Why do I post things I don't want to talk about? I guess I feel more comfortable writing than talking sometimes. It makes me uncomfortable to talk about the things I blog about, which is why I blog about them instead of talking - like they are still being expressed, more than in a private diary, but I don't have to say anything, and I don't get immediate responses. Things I need to say but can't. I forget sometimes that real people I know read this. Like it doesn't exist in the spoken reality. Ah well.)
So whether this was a long year or a short year, I cannot say. A year ago today I was on a airplane to Germany, somehow convinced I was going to have the time of my life, despite the frightful doubts in my head that I was in completely the wrong place. Empty lonely hours stretched long in the Scheissburg, but back at school my life was carried away by a whirlwind until I finally took it back by force. Then stood staring, wondering what to do with it.
One year ago today I took to the air and I still cannot say if I have landed safely.
There was a lot this year. I hit the low point of my life, and pray to whatever gods may be that I never go there again. I have discovered I am not who I thought I was, and though I no longer have the adolescent urgency to figure it out, I am looking down a lifelong road through self-discovery.
This was a year of redefining - redefining of relationships, goals, desires. And though I don't feel like I have any more answers than when I started, what I have is, I think, enough to carry me through 2012.
These were my goals for 2011:
1. To no longer be afraid of things that won't kill me.
2. To stop making things my problems that aren't.
I think I did okay on those. Certainly not going to leave them behind, but I think I need some new ones for 2012.
1. Take control of my own life.
2. Make new friends and take care of the ones I have.
3. Show someone a story (a real one, one that matters). Shouldn't be a problem if no one bugs me about it.
4. Actually learn to play something on the guitar.
5. Redefine my relationship with my body.
If you know me and don't know what #5 means, don't ask. I'll tell you in my own time.
(Why do I post things I don't want to talk about? I guess I feel more comfortable writing than talking sometimes. It makes me uncomfortable to talk about the things I blog about, which is why I blog about them instead of talking - like they are still being expressed, more than in a private diary, but I don't have to say anything, and I don't get immediate responses. Things I need to say but can't. I forget sometimes that real people I know read this. Like it doesn't exist in the spoken reality. Ah well.)
Wednesday, December 14, 2011
"Frostfire" by Kai Meyer - Chapter 3, Part 4/7
The door across from him was opened as well. Then two others, farther to the front of the hall. In the space of a moment the dark corridor filled with half-grown boys in pajamas. Whispers and giggles pierced Mouse through.
“What do you want?” Her voice sounded hoarse and breathy. Her throat was suddenly as clogged as the corridor.
“Girl-boy,” one of them said. Others chimed in, and in no time at all there was a whispered chorus of it: “Girl-boy! Girl-boy! Girl-boy!”
Mouse pressed her back against the iron bar of the emergency exit. Its cold cut through the jacket of her uniform like a blade.
“Girl-boy! Girl-boy!”
“The grown-ups say that you’ve never left the hotel,” said Maxim, and took a step toward her. “Is that true?”
Yes! she wanted to shout at him. Yes, it’s true! Because I’d die out there, and that’s just how it is!
Nothing, absolutely nothing, gave her such fear as the world Outside. She could not imagine herself standing on a street under the open sky. The thought of this vastness, this emptiness, cut off her breath.
She did not make another sound. Not even a whimper. Her heart galloped.
Maxim’s tone stayed amiable. “We have decided that you’ll miss out on a lot if you never go outside. It’s high time, don’t you think?”
“Girl-boy! Girl-boy!” whispered the husky chorus. More than a dozen boys, most of them with their voices breaking.
“Please,” whispered Mouse. “I haven’t done anything to anyone.”
Maxim shook his head, smiling. “Nor do we want to do anything to you. Just understand – we want to help you.
He gave the other boy a wave – he worked in the kitchen, in the butchery – and the stout fellow immediately grabbed Mouse by the shoulders and lifted her high like a bouquet of dried flowers. Maxim stepped past her, unbarred the door, and shoved her out.
Snow drifted about. And a cold, that caused the throng of boys to give out a groan and flinch back a step.
“It’s not far to the main entrance,” Maxim assured the wide-eyed Mouse. “Really, it isn’t. You don’t even have to go all the way around the hotel. At most half.”
Tears popped into her eyes. And then she kicked the butcher-boy’s knee with all her strength. He howled, let her go, slid down the wall and held his leg, whimpering. A few others laughed hatefully, but Maxim motioned them into silence. Two other boys jumped up – pages from the entrance hall – grabbed Mouse and turned her face to the open door. In the darkness, she could recognize the landing of an iron fire escape. Nothing else. Only night and driving snow.
She began to scream. She struggled, thrashed about, scratched, kicked, and bit.
“…want to help you,” she heard Maxim say again, then she received a shove and stumbled out onto the iron stairs. She stumbled, and was only at the last minute able to grab the railing. Never in her life had she felt such a cold. With a wail she tore his hands away, whirled around – and stared in Maxim’s smiling face. A bundle of fabric flew out at her – the old coat that he had held in his hand. In the same moment, the door slammed shut, and the iron bar on the inside latched back in place with a crunch.
“Let me in!” she cried in panic, and hammered with both fists against the door. “Please! Let me back in!”
Sunday, December 4, 2011
What Should Theater Look Like and What Should Theater Be About?
Above are the two driving questions for my Theater History class that I am currently taking for a fine arts GE. It's not that bad of a class, even though the professor has a tendency to analyze things for us and not encourage discussion and argument against her; I'm bored, but that's why I crochet. No, the problem arises when we do three plays in a row about race relations, and that is the sum total of our look at American theater. See, apparently "being American" means what race you are and how you're being oppressed.
There is a quote from August Wilson which I would like to paraphrase and dispute. He argued against colorblind casting, claiming that it was devaluing African-American identity, and that instead there should be more plays written by blacks about blacks. That way, black people would learn to respect their black identity.
While I respect the sentiment, and can agree it was probably appropriate for the times, I would like to bring up one point - namely, myself. Am I even going to see the German-Chinese lesbian identity validated on the stage or in print? Probably not. The bigger question for me, though, is that if I did find a story that was not my own about a German-Chinese lesbian in America, would it mean anything to me? Would that character really have anything to do with me? Would this hypothetical character be obsessed with languages? Would she be a ruthless literary critic? A laconic feminist? Would she have struggles with identity and independence that have nothing to do with her race or sexuality?
I don't think so. I think that I am more than my race, ethnicity, and sexuality.
It bothers me when people try to portray themselves and their characters solely as representations of their race. Yes, more racial and cultural awareness is good, but the whole purpose of racial inclusion is to show that people who aren't white Christian heterosexual able-bodied males are people too. That does not happen if your black character is a cardboard cutout of a black person, and not a fully developed person with dark skin and African heritage.
Compare the last two plays we had to read: "Zoot Suit" and "Cloud Nine." "Zoot Suit" bored and frustrated me. It is a whiny minority play, about Mexican-Americans in the 1940's bitching about how they're being oppressed and thrown in jail just because they're Mexican. There is one line that goes something like "You just don't understand the Chicano people." To which I reply "No, I don't, because I haven't seen any of your culture or personality, I'm just hearing how you're discriminated against. I don't understand you any better than I did before."
Now, "Cloud Nine" focuses more on gender and sexuality than race, though there is a small racial component. What "Cloud Nine" does is crossgender casting - Betty is played by a man, Edward is played by a woman; also, the black servant is played by a white man. This shows how gender (and race) roles are just that - roles that we play. It questions the very institutions. That is so much more interesting and thought-provoking than "Look at us! We're being oppressed!" Is it not?
There is a quote from August Wilson which I would like to paraphrase and dispute. He argued against colorblind casting, claiming that it was devaluing African-American identity, and that instead there should be more plays written by blacks about blacks. That way, black people would learn to respect their black identity.
While I respect the sentiment, and can agree it was probably appropriate for the times, I would like to bring up one point - namely, myself. Am I even going to see the German-Chinese lesbian identity validated on the stage or in print? Probably not. The bigger question for me, though, is that if I did find a story that was not my own about a German-Chinese lesbian in America, would it mean anything to me? Would that character really have anything to do with me? Would this hypothetical character be obsessed with languages? Would she be a ruthless literary critic? A laconic feminist? Would she have struggles with identity and independence that have nothing to do with her race or sexuality?
I don't think so. I think that I am more than my race, ethnicity, and sexuality.
It bothers me when people try to portray themselves and their characters solely as representations of their race. Yes, more racial and cultural awareness is good, but the whole purpose of racial inclusion is to show that people who aren't white Christian heterosexual able-bodied males are people too. That does not happen if your black character is a cardboard cutout of a black person, and not a fully developed person with dark skin and African heritage.
Compare the last two plays we had to read: "Zoot Suit" and "Cloud Nine." "Zoot Suit" bored and frustrated me. It is a whiny minority play, about Mexican-Americans in the 1940's bitching about how they're being oppressed and thrown in jail just because they're Mexican. There is one line that goes something like "You just don't understand the Chicano people." To which I reply "No, I don't, because I haven't seen any of your culture or personality, I'm just hearing how you're discriminated against. I don't understand you any better than I did before."
Now, "Cloud Nine" focuses more on gender and sexuality than race, though there is a small racial component. What "Cloud Nine" does is crossgender casting - Betty is played by a man, Edward is played by a woman; also, the black servant is played by a white man. This shows how gender (and race) roles are just that - roles that we play. It questions the very institutions. That is so much more interesting and thought-provoking than "Look at us! We're being oppressed!" Is it not?
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Re-emerging Into Reality
You may have noticed that I have been somewhat less diligent about posting in this month of November. That is because I have been participating in a cult group madness challenge called NaNoWriMo - National Novel Writing Month. 50,000 words. 30 days. One writer.
Okay, not one writer. That is what is so wonderful about NaNo. Writing is by nature a solitary activity, and sitting in a group of people all absorbed in their own laptops writing their own novels does not sound like a party by anyone's standards. Still, it is a great way to stay motivated. I tend to write in creative spurts, but I have a hard time finishing. I get about half or two-thids of the way through, and the story starts to sag, and I start to see all the places I went wrong, and I want to start over and fix things. And I get to a point where I don't know where to go next and I don't really care.
But with NaNoWriMo, every word counts. Rule #1 is DO NOT DELETE. Rule #2 is DO NOT GIVE UP. I was up to being seven days behind, but I made up the difference in the last few weeks and pulled across the finish line with hours to spare.
I have done NaNo several times in the past, and this was a year of firsts for me. It was the first year I made an outline the night before from a story I thought of that day. It was the first time I threw out that outline on the first day and started with a story that had been smoldering in my head for a while. And it is the first year that I re-started on the second day with a completely new story that had been gestating but I had not considered ready to be born; but it was my most viable option. It is the first year I had no idea where the story was supposed to go.
That is another thing about NaNo. It forces you to be creative. For the first 20k or so I was writing myself in circles. Then I added witch hunters. I never thought I would until I realized that I needed something new. And there they were. That got me close to 40k before that arc came down. The rest was a first person account filling in the gaps of the first arc. Note: First person in lovely for wordiness. You can throw in so much opinionation and asides and rants. It's wonderful.
Then I was still about a thousand short and spat out half a bonus scene with the witch hunters.
Every year after that first one I have told myself that I won't do NaNo - I don't have time, I don't any good ideas, I'm in the middle of another project - and yet somehow I always do. And I don't regret it. Any of it. Even though all my drafts so far have been shit, and I don't very much think this one is any different, I wrote that damn novel. I have proven to myself that I can can overcome my creative barriers. It does not take skill to write, after all. Skill can be learned. It takes determination and persistence, and I definitely leveled up in that area this month.
Now for a rest. This is also the first year my wrist actually started twinging (at the 47k mark, when I was starting to think I might actually make it). That has not stopped me from starting a new crochet project. I want to get back to my translations - I've been making trips to the career center to see what the heck I can do with my life, and translator is still one of my options. I also want to start reading books again. Am halfway through the third Temeraire book and also for some reason have a strong urge to re-read the entire Chronicles of Chrestomanci. Oh yeah, finals are coming up too.
Blah blah words blah oh wait, I don't have to count them anymore.
Okay, not one writer. That is what is so wonderful about NaNo. Writing is by nature a solitary activity, and sitting in a group of people all absorbed in their own laptops writing their own novels does not sound like a party by anyone's standards. Still, it is a great way to stay motivated. I tend to write in creative spurts, but I have a hard time finishing. I get about half or two-thids of the way through, and the story starts to sag, and I start to see all the places I went wrong, and I want to start over and fix things. And I get to a point where I don't know where to go next and I don't really care.
But with NaNoWriMo, every word counts. Rule #1 is DO NOT DELETE. Rule #2 is DO NOT GIVE UP. I was up to being seven days behind, but I made up the difference in the last few weeks and pulled across the finish line with hours to spare.
I have done NaNo several times in the past, and this was a year of firsts for me. It was the first year I made an outline the night before from a story I thought of that day. It was the first time I threw out that outline on the first day and started with a story that had been smoldering in my head for a while. And it is the first year that I re-started on the second day with a completely new story that had been gestating but I had not considered ready to be born; but it was my most viable option. It is the first year I had no idea where the story was supposed to go.
That is another thing about NaNo. It forces you to be creative. For the first 20k or so I was writing myself in circles. Then I added witch hunters. I never thought I would until I realized that I needed something new. And there they were. That got me close to 40k before that arc came down. The rest was a first person account filling in the gaps of the first arc. Note: First person in lovely for wordiness. You can throw in so much opinionation and asides and rants. It's wonderful.
Then I was still about a thousand short and spat out half a bonus scene with the witch hunters.
Every year after that first one I have told myself that I won't do NaNo - I don't have time, I don't any good ideas, I'm in the middle of another project - and yet somehow I always do. And I don't regret it. Any of it. Even though all my drafts so far have been shit, and I don't very much think this one is any different, I wrote that damn novel. I have proven to myself that I can can overcome my creative barriers. It does not take skill to write, after all. Skill can be learned. It takes determination and persistence, and I definitely leveled up in that area this month.
Now for a rest. This is also the first year my wrist actually started twinging (at the 47k mark, when I was starting to think I might actually make it). That has not stopped me from starting a new crochet project. I want to get back to my translations - I've been making trips to the career center to see what the heck I can do with my life, and translator is still one of my options. I also want to start reading books again. Am halfway through the third Temeraire book and also for some reason have a strong urge to re-read the entire Chronicles of Chrestomanci. Oh yeah, finals are coming up too.
Blah blah words blah oh wait, I don't have to count them anymore.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Epiphany
I just realized something today.
Yes, Marburg was the worst experience of my life. I spent nine months clinically depressed. I failed so many times to establish relationships that I came scarily close to giving up on anything.
But if I had never gone, I never would have been introduced to the anime Princess Tutu.
In fact, I would probably not have rekindled my love of anime at all. Thanks to my one friend in that country, anime became a lifeline.
Was it worth nine months of depression? Probably no. But is it a damn good show? Yes. I can finally say that something good came out of that experience.
Note: This is not a show for people who do not already have a healthy respect for anime. The first six episodes seem silly and girly and fluffy and weird. But if you can watch every episode from beginning to end without shedding a tear, you have no soul.
Yes, Marburg was the worst experience of my life. I spent nine months clinically depressed. I failed so many times to establish relationships that I came scarily close to giving up on anything.
But if I had never gone, I never would have been introduced to the anime Princess Tutu.
In fact, I would probably not have rekindled my love of anime at all. Thanks to my one friend in that country, anime became a lifeline.
Was it worth nine months of depression? Probably no. But is it a damn good show? Yes. I can finally say that something good came out of that experience.
Note: This is not a show for people who do not already have a healthy respect for anime. The first six episodes seem silly and girly and fluffy and weird. But if you can watch every episode from beginning to end without shedding a tear, you have no soul.
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