::Urraca:: A blog on writing and books

We all need inspiration, and today I am celebrating my lust for life with delicious jap-chae before tackling 1,000 words in Carapace. Peace out!

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I don’t share my full manuscripts for longer-term projects readily. It’s not from a sense of grandeur about my writing abilities, nor from avarice. I simply don’t like to pass the thing around to everyone. A book is the kind of thing that can literally take whole years to be complete, even if a writer has put it in a drawer to collect dust. Even when it’s in high revision or rewrite mode, I feel like the thing is not in the best shape it can be in. So thus, not everyone needs to see it till it’s good and ready. And yes, that also includes getting a book all the way to publication, a long process to say the least.

Enter a reader. I have a tiny handful of them. Some are artistic colleagues from theater, some are other writers, friends back from the college days, etc. I can count all of them with only one hand.

Asking a friend to read your work is a big deal, I think. Whether they are articulating feedback for you or not, the work is out of the writer’s hands once it’s being read and absorbed by someone else. They’re going to find subtexts, errors, images, and emotions you didn’t even know you were introducing into the story. Asking a person to read hundreds of pages, though, can take a while. It can be weeks, or even months until you get some input back from them, and by then you’re getting flabby and old, googling Botox treatments and face lifts to pass the time. And then you realize that a.) You can’t afford any of those things if you ever want to retire and have health coverage in this proud country of ours, and b.) You want to leave the science fiction bits inside your novel and not outside, in the real world. Write about the monsters, don’t become one, Cesar. You also realize that Madonna’s starting to look like a mannequin, but that’s a story for another day.

I have a new friend, and I want him to read one of my manuscripts. I’m not exactly sure why I was eager to share my manuscript with him. It could have been his interest in the concept. It could have also been his dashing good looks and joy de vivre. Who knows. But with this new reader, I will try something else. I will give him a few chapters, and then if the story maintains his interest, he can ask me for more chapters. If not, then we just end it there. No hard feelings. I am kind of excited about this approach, because I think it also eases the pressure on my reader, and I’ll get better feedback in smaller increments, instead of expecting him to remember the all of his notes in one sitting. As we all know, sometimes we have stacks of books that simply glare at us from the nightstand each night, screaming with their disapproval and neediness. Three of four chapters are easier to attack. So we’ll see. And if the manuscript is boooooring, I’ll know straight away. Anyone else try this kind of method? How did it work out for you?

Note: So, I was ready to give my friend the chapters yesterday, went to print…And you guessed it, printer screw up. And I didn’t want to be late to meet up with him, so now he has to wait till Friday.

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Look at the gorgeous, gorgeous present my friend Tim Frick gave me this morning. Isn’t she a beauty? Like an ambassador from prehistoric times paying us visit through a time machine.

Tim didn’t actually give me the mosquito, but he sent me the amazing pic he took. He’s allowing me to re-post it; you should also read his blog over at his site, timfrick.com. Oh yeah, let’s add him to the blog roll while we’re at it. Ta-da. Mental reminder: I won’t be sharing any drinking cups or glasses when Tim gets back to Chicago. But hey, let’s not think too hard about the disease-carrying capabilities of mosquitoes, and we’ll focus on those dazzling wings they’ve got. Any Gentle Readers out there who can identify this species?

And now for our regularly scheduled book segment:

“The Orwell Prize, Britain’s pre-eminent prize for political writing, is publishing George Orwell’s diaries as a blog. From 9th August 2008, Orwell’s domestic and political diaries (from 9th August 1938 until October 1942) will be posted in real-time, exactly 70 years after the entries were written.”

That’s it! The Orwell Diaries will be taking higher priority in my RSS reader cue from now on. This is the kind of literary gimmick that targets people just like me: all-too connected, blogging, who give a damn or two about those bound stacks of pages called books.

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Sometimes, I feel Lacy-esque, like the successful Lacy. Not like the Hulk Lacy.

Yesterday was one of those days. I wrote 2,471 words in Carapace. That’s all the way to the halfway mark of the weekly word count. I call a day like yesterday a success. I even ran 4.5 miles afterward.

And so now, I contemplate the weekend. I’m trying to take it easy, chill a bit after traveling the past few weeks. Yet, there’s still a nice chunk of summer out there. Are you going to tell me you would choose the Wii or a DVD indoors over a beer garden, a margarita on a patio, a walk on the lake front, or a night dancing to electro house?

Is there even any question?

That is my dilemma today. I want to get to bed tomorrow at a good hour so the writing momentum keeps steady. I also want to run. I am doing a 10K next week.

What to do? What would you do?

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Docket Thursdays are back! I’ll keep it brief. First, I’m getting right back to Carapace, and this week the 5,000 words are getting done. For more detailed updates on this, check the Twitter feed over the weekend. Also, working a little more on the new short story, which right now just feels like a series of vignettes. Thirdly, do some of the business stuff. Queries, proposals, etc. That’s a full afternoon, lovers. I’ll be juiced up on caffeine and blaring music. Care to join?

In other bookish news, Neal Stephenson’s new novel “Anathem” sounds terrific on concept alone. I’ve already pre-ordered a copy. I couldn’t agree more with him. There is a definite anti-intellectual movement in the U.S. that is coming from the top down, but also from the masses. If I mention anything longer than a blog entry, such as long novels, politics, and people shut down. If I talk about politics and rhetorical arguments, they turn mean. They lash out at me with rage and raw anxiety. It’s the American Way. I WANT MY BRITNEY GOSSIP, YA HEAR? GOD, WHY DO YOU HAVE TO INSIST ON RUINING MY DAY WITH YOUR BOOORING NEWSPAPER ARTICLES AND LONG-WINDED NEW YORKER ARTICLES. LIFE IS SO, SO TOUGH NOWADAYS, AND I NEED TO JUST COZY UP WITH SOME TOSTITOS AND JUST CHILL, WATCH SOME “AMERICAN IDOL” AND THINK ABOUT HOW “SPECIAL” THIS AMAZING COUNTRY REALLY REALLY IS. LEAVE BRITNEY ALONE! LEAVE ME ALONE! PINKO!

Kill me.

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If only I had a 15 foot suitcase, and if only bastard American Airlines didn’t charge me $15 for bringing it on board.

I want this thing.

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I love traveling.

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Crusty bread, smoked trout, golden beets, pickled onion. That’s the one second from the right. Gut, why won’t you let me eat all four? Hate you.

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You know you’re a grown up when you obsess about stuff like this when you travel.

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