And Yet

25/3/16 00:27
taste_is_sweet: (My OTP has issues)
So, Empire Online posted this thing about how Captain America: Civil War is a love story but Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are not boyfriends (Which I found out via this Tumblr post originally by YouNeedToStrut). For those of you who aren't into links, the Empire post by Phil De Semlyen talks about how director Joe Russo refers to Civil War as a brotherly love story, saying:

"These are two guys who grew up together, and so they have that same emotional connection to each other as brothers would, and even more so because Bucky was all Steve had growing up."

Now, I made my own post about that whole 'Brotherly' thing back in February, generally going on the assumption that the Russos were madly trying to avoid a mass homosexual freakout. And then Sebastian Stan said this:

"I think it’s easy and generalising [sic] it to say that they’re lovers, when you’re forgetting that one has a lot of guilt because he swore to be the protector of the other, the father figure or older brother so to speak, and then left him behind." Adds the actor: "I have no qualms with it but I think people like to see it much more as a love story than it actually is. It's brotherhood to me."

Here's the thing. He's not wrong, and the Tumblr post I mentioned above has some thoughtful discussions on that fact. I know for myself that even way back in my Star Trek: Enterprise fandom days, I would occasionally wonder if we slashers were devaluing male friendship by interpreting the male characters' chemistry as romantic so much of the time. And I'm certainly aware that friends can love each other platonically.

And yet, I'm just so freaking disappointed.

It doesn't matter to me that the Russos' Word of God is that Bucket and Steeb are only friends. I'm used to creators overlooking or blindly ignoring aspects of their own work, especially when it veers towards territory they're uncomfortable with. Given what I've seen of Disney properties, it seems reasonable that even if the Russos were all over the Stucky like Red on Johann Schmidt, the mouse paying them would never, ever go for it.

But this is Sebastian Stan, who has played gay characters before and is actually playing Steve's long-lost whatever now. And if the actual actor who made Bucky Barnes live for us says Bucky and Steve are bros, not lovers, then...Then it's true. Then my wanting to see their relationship as anything other than that feels wrong. Illegitimate. Not a reinterpretation of canon, but a desperate scrabbling for something that never existed.

It's weird. I shipped Danny Williams and Steve McGarrett even when Hawaii 5-0 kept throwing women at Steve like spaghetti at a wall. In Stargate: Atlantis, I happily wrote around the cannon Rodney McKay/Jennifer Keller relationship to keep him with John Sheppard. I love Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton shacking up even though they were both with other people in Age of Ultron (then again, I ignore a lot of things about Age of Ultron). But Sebastian Stan calls No Homo and suddenly I feel like a kid sneaking porn.

I wanted his approval, damn it. Not for me or my fic, because that's pathetic and creepy. But for the possibility that went into the fic. I wanted him to say, 'sure, that's cool,' and instead I got condemnation.

Maybe it is overly facile to see romance where there's only deep affection. Maybe we (female) writers are just picking out nonexistent subtext for all the same varied reasons we enjoy slash in general. Maybe we're just seeing what's not intended to be there, because we've been trained to (I urge you to read this brilliant essay on that subject). Maybe an actor's opinion about the character he plays shouldn't carry more weight than my own, but it feels heavier all the same.

This issue is that, as a writer who also writes fanfic, I'm always fighting the sense that my hobby is illicit; that I'm furtively dabbling where I don't belong. Allowing myself to do what I do is hard enough, without the knowledge that one of the actors who inspired it wouldn't accept my perception of his work. The fancy of tacit approval, no matter how spurious, is far more liberating than the certainty of its opposite. And honestly, I was expecting the guy who made his career playing troubled, gay sons to not reject the thought of a gay romance out of hand. Maybe seeing a romance in every love story is generalizing and easy, but that didn't mean he had to make it difficult.

The two seconds of the film wherein Bucky is happy
taste_is_sweet: (And he will actually kill you)
Hello, my beauties, and Happy Friday! Monday the March Break officially begins and I will be going to Canada with my kid to visit the fam. It should be awesome.

While I readily admit that I, too, can be at times almost as awesome as a trip to Canada to visit the fam, I am, as I'm fairly sure you're aware, human and therefore extremely fallible. Occasionally more fallible than your average bear, so to speak. There have been times, I admit, when the only thing keeping my mouth shut or my fingers still is the fact that I don't like hurting peoples' feelings. I am a big adherent to the rule that if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all (or just hit the back button). I've also gotten pretty good at keeping things to myself.

All that typed, between you and me there have been many, many times with I've just wished I could, for example, leave a comment on someone's fic or their post that completely represented what I was thinking. Now, I would never actually do that (see above). I'm not generally a mean person and life is too short not to be nice.

But. And I hope I'm not alone in this, but. That hasn't stopped me from compiling a list of things I could say, but have and will not. I've included it here, because I can.

I hope some of you might unleash your baser selves and contribute in the comments, bearing in mind that this is nothing but venting, not aimed at anyone. Just devilish self-indulgence that I won't partake in out loud again.

I just think that we're entitled to what we feel, and allowed to feel things even if they're bad. The point is not to inflict those feelings on anyone else. Which is why they're under a cut.

But if you'd like to join me, there's plenty of room on the dark side. And we have cookies.
Mind the gap. )
Thank you for your forbearance and understanding. Now I'm going to take a shower.
taste_is_sweet: (Harlock Skull)
Though Pedro de Valdivia looks like he could have used a tissue.
Pedro

Yes. Hence my lack of brilliance today (I'm always brilliant otherwise, right? RIGHT?). But today, alas, I woke up feeling like I hadn't slept at all. Astonishingly, it hasn't gotten better the longer I've been awake. I blame the weather, because it's windy as hell and likely blowing billions of metric tons of pollen all over the Brazos Valley. "Brazos" is short for "Brazos de Dios", which is Spanish for "Arms of God". Obviously the conquistadors didn't have allergies.

The Brazos Valley is known locally as being particularly bad for allergies, by the way. You can imagine how much I enjoyed learning that.

So, I'm stuffy, sleepy and considering having a nap, which would make three this week. I feel like a toddler.

However, since I have posts to post and main characters to torture novels to write, I'm just guzzling coffee and hoping for the best. This blog post seems reasonably coherent so far, so I'm optimistic.

Coffee, coffee, coffee, coffee.
ID-10089544

I should probably have an 'exhausted' tag, or something more thematically appropriate. But I'm too tired to think of one. ::Lethargic rimshot::

I think the coffee's brewed, thank God. Catch you all later if I'm not qafsjd;lwq;rwetgj;lka



"Businesswoman Sleeping On Desk" by imagerymajestic via FreeDigitalPhotos.Net.

taste_is_sweet: (My OTP has issues)
Over at [livejournal.com profile] ushobwri (and why haven't you joined it yet? They have such cool stuff) today, the topic is pet peeves in fanfiction--as in, the stuff that makes one backspace quicker than a porn pop-up add at the office, or keeps you reading only for the hate.

Now, I'm not saying I actually read or write fanfiction, because I'm trying to be all professional an' shit. But if I did, my pettiest peeve ever would be what I call "Passive-Agressive Utopia Fics".

Passive-Agression, if you, O best-beloveds, are unaware of the term, is basically trying to make other people do all the emotional work for you in a conflict. A perfect example is someone who will brood in hurt silence until you realize you upset them and apologize--only for them to then turn around and berate the fuck out of you for the original transgression. Another perfect example is someone who will mope and sigh for hours, but won't say anything's wrong until you ask. Even worse is when you ask and they say, 'nothing', because if you loved them enough you'd already know.

Guilty yet?
 photo Wormpic.jpg

As you can imagine, and have probably read, this shows up fairly often in fic. It generally follows a particular pattern:

1) The most beloved but flawed (and occasionally badly treated) character (think Rodney McKay of Stargate: Atlantis or Ezra Standish of the 1998 The Magnificent Seven TV series) will experience something in canon that is perceived as cruel and/or unfair by his fans (I'm sure female versions of such characters exist, but I can't remember encountering any).

2) The fans, angry at this character's perceived helplessness and unjust suffering, then write a story either dealing directly with the ep where the unfairness happened, or a story that keeps the same general theme of bad treatment.

Wherein:

---The Beloved Helpless Character will be treated with great cruelty and prejudice by the other characters, often to an uncharacteristic or even absurd extent. Shunning may occur in retaliation for something the BHC did in canon or otherwise, or threats to the BHC's continued acceptance in the group and/or employment. Rarely, their life.
---The BHC will not contest this or stand up for himself in any way. There may be an attempt at protest or apology, but this will be rebuffed by the other characters. The BHC will subsequently just accept his fate.
---The BHC will either ostracize himself from the group, or, already shunned, go off alone and/or cease all but minimal communication or interaction with the other characters. Rodney McKay may take himself to the wretched bowels of Atlantis to do horribly unpleasant menial repairs unworthy of his skills and intelligence. Ezra Standish may leave Four Corners without telling anyone, preferably by riding into a monsoon or blizzard.
--- OR, the BHC will attempt or actually commit suicide, or will be believed to have died by the other characters. The BHC will then get to, in essence, attend his own funeral and witness the other characters' praise of him and their remorse at his ill-treatment. (If the BHC dies, then the reader is their proxy for this.)
---The BHC, due to their misery and the privations of their ostracizing, will become horribly ill and/or injured. It will likely take days to find them, unless they manage to drag themselves back to aid. Either the other characters will have begun a frantic search at this point, or will not even realize the BHC was in peril because he's been shunned to the point of insignificance.
---A character who is the BHC's True Friend and The Only One Who Understands Them (like Rodney McKay's buddy Carson Beckett, who is conveniently a doctor, or Ezra Standish's Mom) will then proceed to berate the fuck out of the other characters for their cruelty, generally while standing at the bedside of the insensate and possibly dying BHC. The True Friend will also, if necessary, explain the BHC's real motivations for their original offending action(s) and basically make the other characters go fetal with guilt. Unless they're already fetal with guilt, in which case the True Friend's job is to make them feel even worse about their treatment.
---The BHC naturally survives and either returns to his previous position within the group or gets some kind of promotion. Occasionally he'll leave for a better offer from people who will appreciate him. Either way, the other characters will fall all over themselves in apology and remorse, which the BHC will righteously milk for all it's worth. Maybe, if he deigns to stay with his former abusers, at the end of the fic he'll begin to forgive them. Maybe.

As you've probably guessed, I call these kinds of fics "Passive-Agressive Utopia" because it's possibly the one place in the universe where the tactic actually works exactly the way its adherents would want it to. Their BHCs are vindicated, glorified and defended, all without them actually having to do anything. They go eat worms because nobody loves them and everybody hates them, and they really do get admired for it; they nearly or actually commit suicide and everyone really is sorry. It's the best of all possible worlds.

And honestly, who wouldn't want that? I still have to remind myself sometimes that my darling husband can't read my mind so if I'm pissed off I need to tell him. It's scary to admit you're angry when you've been raised never to show it. How awesome would it be not to have to?

So I get it, I really do. I just wish it didn't show up so often. And you'd better agree with me, or I'm going to slink off and sit outside in the rain until I get pneumonia. And then you'll be sorry.

Picture is courtesy of antpkr at freedigitalphotos.

taste_is_sweet: (Chuck was Worried)
(Yes, "oppilant" is a real word. I totally looked it up.) And edited because I can't believe I spelled 'losing' with two 'O's. What the hell, brain?

I've been told in no uncertain terms by the lovely woman I pay to bitch at that I may be losing out on opportunities because I'm terrified I'm reluctant to move out of my comfort zone.

Since I pay her to tell me these things, I can only assume she has my best interests at heart and is probably right. Therefore o, best-beloveds, I've decided that this year I need to get off my frightened little ass and go to a writers' conference.

What am I frightened about (I know you're not asking, but I'm telling you anyway)? That would be rejection, my friends. Plain and simple. I've posted about this before, because I'm nothing if not redundant consistent, but I didn't realize just how terrified I am of rejection until I contemplated being rejected in person by other writers I don't know.

Seriously, nauseous with terror just from looking at a couple upcoming conferences in Texas. All I can think of is going to these panels hosted by beautiful writers (that's not even a joke--they all look so pretty and thin in their pictures) who are way more successful than me and then I'll say something or offer something, or just, something...and there'll be crickets. The metaphor for the deadly silence just before the hapless comic taps the microphone and asks, "is this thing on?"

But, I'm going to be brave and do it anyway. However, it'd be a lot easier to be brave if I wasn't alone. So, is anyone else out there planning on going to a writers' conference, who would like some company? Even if it's outside of Texas, if it's not too far I could probably manage to go. And I can be extremely encouraging to other people, if necessary. It's just me I have trouble with. I'd love to meet more people on my FList, too.

If not, well. I was thinking of going to the Writers League of Texas Agents and Editors conference in June. If you happen to be there, I'll be the plain, geeky older woman in the back. But my tee-shirt will be awesome.
taste_is_sweet: (Hawaii loves Danny too)
I was all set to write a post about how bizarre it is that nearly all the fictional former (or current) military-type Americans served in Afghanistan rather than Iraq during the war post 9/11. And then I did research on both wars and it seems that having them in Afghanistan is not as annoyingly unreasonable as it seemed (especially in the case of my personal favorite American military-type, John Sheppard).

I'm still not sure why John Diggle of Arrow or Steven McGarrett of Hawaii Five-O couldn't have both been awesome in Iraq instead, but it's plausible so what the hell.

Unfortunately, that left me with nothing terribly interesting to post about, so instead I'm going to link to [livejournal.com profile] ushobwri, where the always-awesome and very thoughtful [livejournal.com profile] brumeier declared that it's Hottie Wednesday. "Hottie Wednesday" means that there are lots of pictures of beautiful people in the comments because, Wednesday. And at least I don't have to be creative or inspired to look at beautiful people. Not to mention that posting links to photobucket is way easier than actually thinking of anything.

Enjoy! And happy hump day. And stay warm, for those of you in the cold places. :)
taste_is_sweet: (But some of us are looking at the stars)
Might as well get this out of the way now: I love fictional androids. It's the whole not-human-but-striving-to-be-and/or-understand-humans thing, especially when they're used to point out all the very, very many ways that we humans don't make any sense. And I love the cynical but lonely humans who get paired with the androids and then, despite themselves, fall in love become their friend.

I may have written fanfiction on that very premise. I admit nothing.

As you can imagine, with my love of human-like robots, I was looking forward to Almost Human the way my son is looking forward to Christmas. The show's set in the near-future, where cops are issued robots like handguns. Karl Urban plays John Kennex (not to be confused with John Sheppard or any of the thousands of other fictional characters called 'John'), who is an embittered, physically and emotionally scarred, cynical and guilt-ridden detective.

Naturally, Kennex's go-to problem solving method is violence, including killing incapacitated bad guys (because due process is for pussies, amirite?) and getting rid of things that bug him by throwing them out. Of his car. On the freeway. (Because safety and private property are also for pussies.)


Start at .22 for the full impact. Heh.

He is reluctantly paired with Dorian, a sweet, thoughtful, kind and beautiful heroic android, who sees the special snowflake inside Kennex and immediately saves his life. Or maybe he's programmed that way; the show is a little unclear on that point. Anyway, they form a forced but then genuine partnership based on sarcastic jibes and mutual antagonism. And together they solve crime.

Michael Ealy is totally lovable. Look at that lovable smile.
 photo MichaelEaly.jpg

What's not to love, right? It promised to be a mash-up of Blade Runner, RoboCop and Due South, except where the Mountie's a robot and the Cop would be played by a New Zealander instead of a Canadian.

And then it finally aired, and four episodes later the show just makes me sad.

I've been trying to put my finger on exactly why a show that's ostensibly exactly what I could ever want has disappointed me so much. I think it's because, for something set up to be more about human/android relations than crime solving, it's turned out to be pretty much Law and Order: Everyone Has a Robot. I have no idea what rights Dorian may or may not have; I have no idea how he may feel about those rights; I don't even know what he does in his off-hours or where he does it. Does he go into standby mode? Does he borrow Kennex's desk and play spider solitaire? Does he have a designated wall-socket? Does he dream of electric sheep? All I know for sure after four episodes is that he doesn't want to die (not exactly a shock) and that he's way more useful than an iPhone.

What really gets my synthetic goat, though, is how the production of the show itself conforms so much to the status quo that you can paint the lack of inclusion by number. Of six regular cast members, only two are women, and the only female androids have been sex-bots.

Even worse, So far in the series the only people of color have been extras or have played bit parts. And yes, that includes Michael Ealy.

Why? Because he plays an android. His role in the show is as an other, not as a human. Dorian isn't a person of color because he isn't a person at all. I might feel differently if Dorian was more than an ingenious cipher, but until we find out how he feels about, well, anything, he isn't. And unfortunately, the show seems to be in no hurry to change that, either.

So instead of watching the beautiful men bantering, looking at each other longingly and saving each others' lives, I keep waiting for the show I wanted to actually begin. The body may be shiny and very nice to look at, but I'm still searching for a heart of gold.

taste_is_sweet: (Please be Advised)
Many years ago, while riding the Toronto subway, I was in a car with a young woman and her two friends. This was back in the early 90s, when name-brand, novelty sneakers were very much 'in'. This young woman had on such a pair, and I, with nothing else to do, was watching her wearing them.

I didn't realize it might have been rude until she glared at me and demanded to know why I was staring at her.

"I'm just looking at your shoes," I said, horribly embarrassed.

And she replied: "They don't wanna know you!"

Snobs
 photo Sneakers.jpg

It's the kind of moment that stays with you, and sometimes, like when I'm about to post on LJ or--especially lately--when I send out another novel query after the previous one was rejected again (three for three so far!), I hear those words. They don't wanna know you.

I realize this isn't helpful, and not even true (at least with non-footwear). I've met many people who wanted to know me, though I can't speak for their shoes; and many of these people both still know me and still want to, as far as I can tell. And I know that the people rejecting my novel aren't actually rejecting me. Maybe they'd want to know me if we ever met in person, even if they did describe my novel as 'fairly well written' and 'off-putting' in the same paragraph.

Maybe I wouldn't want to know them, but that's not the point.

Radio Host Jay Smooth, who is a bit of a YouTube celebrity for his commentary on racism, homophobia and gender issues, calls these kind of internal mantras "Little Haters". He has a video about them, which is pretty cool:

And Martin Freeman, lately of The Hobbit but possibly more beloved as Sherlock's Dr. John Watson, told an Entertainment Weekly interviewer that he doesn't read reviews because (to paraphrase, because I can't find it), it wouldn't matter how many awesome reviews he got, he'd only remember the negative ones and they would ruin his life. He has inner haters too.

That's reassuring, of course, to know that even famous people have their they don't wanna know you moments. But it's also discouraging. It'd be nice to think that at some point, somehow, maybe, I'd reach a threshold of success that would mean I didn't have to make the little haters shut up all the time.

Instead, most some days, like right now, it's a constant battle to keep writing, and posting to LJ, and sending out my novel when it seems like no one will ever want it. And to remind myself that they--whomever 'they' actually are--probably do want to know me. Just maybe not my writing.

It's a battle I don't think I'll win, but I'm still trying. And I'm still writing. And that's something, right?

But their shoes would love me. Really.

Photo: "Colorful Sport Shoe" by John Kasawa, via Freedigitalphotos.net

taste_is_sweet: (Every Five Pages)
I finished my new novel yesterday. I put in the last edits, made sure the title page had the right info on it, and sent that sucker off. Hopefully to engender a six-figure bidding war between famous publishers before it gets snapped up by Joss Whedon.

My immediate future. Of course.
 photo Money.jpg

So, with the work finished and my wealth and fortune completely assured, you'd think that I'd be happy, wouldn't you? Well, so would I! Except for how I'm not.

Nope. Pretty much everything made me cry this morning. Nothing like trying to sing along to your MP3 player and getting choked up by songs that have nothing to do with your life.

The sad (sadder?) thing is, I know it's because the novel's finished. This has happened to me before. What should be an occasion for enthusiastic relief, or at least relief and alcohol, instead ends up giving me the blues for days. Because obviously, if I'm not working on something then I'm a useless human being, right? Not to mention that once the novel's been sent out into the big, bad world, there's a huge, enormous chance that no one will like it. And if no one likes my writing, then I'm a useless human being.

Wash, rinse, repeat ad nauseam.

So here I am, moping 'cause I've got something accomplished. Go, me. And now I get to add terror to misery by starting something else that maybe no one will like either.

Writing: It's not a job, it's a (completely self-imposed) torment! And yet I keep doing it anyway.

Isn't one of the definitions of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, and expecting a different result?

 photo Chimp.jpg

taste_is_sweet: (On a Daily Basis)
Yes, it's that time again. I've finished a novel except for the (hopefully; please, God, hopefully) last beta-read and putting the info on the title page, so now I have to write a summary of the damn thing. Fuck, fuckity fuck fuck damn it.

Yes, exactly.
 photo ComputerScreaming.jpg





A summary is the shorter version of what the book's about, an important distinction that I'm sure I'll forget again as soon as I've finished writing one. Normally I've found the synopsis to be worse, because it's longer while still requiring pithiness, and its hard to figure out what bits are important enough to mention when I'm trying to describe the plot in as few pages as possible. My agent (which makes me sound wayyyyy more famous than I am. Like, enormously way more famous) prefers the synopsis to be no more than two. Publishers don't have much time to read stuff, yo.

And I'll just let the irony of that go unmentioned.

I remember gnashing my teeth and lamenting to the very kind [livejournal.com profile] sgamadison about writing the synopsis for Black Hawk Tattoo, though the short summary was pretty easy. But with this novel, so far it's been the other way around.

That's the thing about romance novels: the relationship is the point, so anything that happens that doesn't directly relate to the two protagonists' journey to kissyface can be safely left out. But unlike BHT, my current novel is a fantasy, where the romance is important but far from the only thing that happens. I could, actually, leave the kissyface out and still describe the plot, but these days it seems you can't sell a novel without romance; so mentioning somewhere that yes, the heroine meets a hero for kissyface and mutual lifesaving is probably important.

So, bearing that in mind, how's this?:

This book has magic in it.
There is kissyface.
Lots of bad stuff happens.
No one actually dies.
Then end.

Perfect, right? :P

Okay, break's over. Back to work. Yay. I love writing. No, really.

It was a lot more fun making duck movie posters

taste_is_sweet: (That's me baby)
Sometime in May, as many of you know, LJ went its usual periodic batshit and lost one of my posts. My particular server (named 'Chicken Tikka', because why the hell not, I suppose, though I would've preferred 'Shawrma') was one of the ones affected, and I lost a post.

Per your kind recommendation, I told the The LJ codemonkies PTB about it. They promised they'd do what they could to get the post back. Then I went on a trip to Florida with my family (my son insists on calling it a 'journey', which is adorable; we went on a journey to Florida). And when I came back, still no post. I fear it shall never show up in my 'recent entries' feed again.

So here it is, so at least it'll be scrollable: I'm turning 41 and a tad freaked out about it.

It's strange how the post is still there, in cyberspace, but I can only get to it by searching for the comments. It's like Schrodinger's Cat, only with less fur and more typing.

...Annnnd I just found out that the link I posted goes nowhere. So never mind.

It seems to be working now. Thank you to the commenters who encouraged me to keep editing the link. It finally seems to have stuck.
taste_is_sweet: (Chuck was Worried)

I was all set to make my villains torch-and-pitchfork-because-of-fear villagers, because I liked the idea of my novel having antagonists but not any conventional villains. (This would be my next novel; the one I'm working on does have conventional tear-your-entrails-out-because-it's-fun villains. I'm trying to change things up, yo.)

Great idea, right? Of course! Awesome! Bring on the unconventionality! And then I realized that if I do that I have two problems. Two fairly big problems:

1) Unless I have the protagonist kill them all, they have no reason to stop coming after him*, and this isn't the kind of story where the actually-friendly protagonist will have time or opportunity to convince anyone of his good intentions. Which makes the happy ending problematic.

2) If I have the protagonist kill them all, he won't be the protagonist so much as a mass murderer. Which makes a happy ending impossible.

Oops.

Luckily, I have another idea! Sort of! I just wanted to share my useless doubtlessly fascinating insight. Now I need to motivate the bad guys.

*(my plan is to send this one to Dreamspinner Press, and they only take books with male protagonists. The novel I'm currently revising stars a woman. Yes, I felt the need to mention that.)

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPad.

taste_is_sweet: (Chuck was Worried)
Don't get me wrong--I love writing. Mostly. Black Hawk Tattoo (Woot; there it is) is now in it's second month of being available, and hasn't quite fallen off the face of the earth the sort-of reasonable rankings on Amazon.com, but I figure it's going to happen any second pretty soon, so I'm trying to prepare myself for it. One of the ways I'm doing that is by more writing, because the more books you have, the more books people might buy from you, yo. The other way is to try not to worry about it (because I'm so good at not worrying).

What I've come to realize about this writing gig is that even when you succeed, there's anxiety. The difference is that now I'm worried about my next novel. Will anyone want to publish it? Will anyone want to buy it if it's published? Will anyone like it if they buy it? And how long will it stay anywhere reasonable on the Amazon rankings?

Yep. Yet more fun and excitement for me! And to think I actually somehow didn't anticipate this happening. Yeah, I'm awesome.

I do realize that in the grand scheme of things I have absolutely nothing to complain about. I know I've done well and I'm lucky and I'm definitely happy with and grateful for what I've accomplished. I'd just love to be able to relax, you know? Just a little. Slightly. Sometimes.
taste_is_sweet: (Carry This Weight)
Yeah, I was mostly fine the whole weekend after learning about the school shooting on Friday, but today it seems I can't stop seeing things about it and I keep crying. Maybe because Jav's in school. I keep putting myself in the place of all those parents who lost their precious little boy or girl on Friday. And all those kids who were only five and six and who died frightened and wanting their mommies and daddies.

Obviously, I shouldn't do that. It's not doing me any good and it's not like it helps anyone, least of all me. But I can't not. I don't have very strong boundaries at the best of times and things like this tend to throw me. A lot.

I'll probably be fine tomorrow. But maybe I'll get my kid early today.

Um, yay?

29/3/12 15:52
taste_is_sweet: (Miserably Ever After)
Took me two days to, essentially, add less than a full paragraph worth of words to a scene in the novel I'm editing.

I'm on page 66. Just thought I'd mention that.

::argh::
taste_is_sweet: (On a Daily Basis)
Cut because I talk about a character in a fictional story considering suicide by jumping off a bridge. )
The thing that constantly amazes me (and drives me nuts) about writing is that I can be barreling along at full-tilt, sure I'll finish a chapter in a day or so, only to suddenly need some small yet suddenly completely vital piece of information that brings everything to a screeching halt. I haven't written more than 200 words today, and it's already 3:30. :( But I've done over an hour of research on a bridge.
taste_is_sweet: (Carry This Weight)
My son is supposed to be starting kindergarten in August at the local school. I realize this isn't such a big deal--my child is hardly the first five year-old to do this--but I get anxious if I don't feel like I know exactly what I should be doing, especially when someone is depending on me. And even though the stupid school is within walking distance of my house, I have no idea what the fuck I'm supposed to do.

Apparently the registration will be some time in May, but there's no info on that yet. There is also a special bilingual Spanish/English kindergarten I'd like to get my son into, but I have no idea about that, either. Apparently I need to do something to get his language abilities appraised, but I don't know how to do that, either. The website for the school board is about as unintuitive for me as a grad-level physics class, and the pages for the local school aren't any better. And all I was able to find out when I called the school was that I needed to keep checking the website.

So I've contacted a friend of mine who will also be sending her child to the same kindergarten and who is the one who told me about the bilingual classes in the first place. She always knows what to do for things like this, or the magic words or links to use to get the information if she doesn't. I don't know why she's so much better at these things than I am, but she is. At least she can help me. I hope.

Meanwhile, I'm so upset about my inability to find out this simple information that everyone should be able to know that I'm sitting here in tears. My son needs me to know this stuff and I don't know anything. I'm meant to be an adult but I can't even navigate the fucking local school board. And there are so many things I could have enrolled him in but I haven't--sports clubs, sports lessons, extra-curricular activities--and one of the big reasons I haven't is because it scares me. I'd have to get him there and I don't drive. I'd have to deal with all the other suburban parents who always seem to know what the hell they're doing when I feel like I never do. I don't really want to be a soccer or softball or whatever mom, but meanwhile Jav isn't getting to play in a team sport. At least we'll get him swimming lessons once the pools open. I suppose that's something.

Sometimes I really wish I just had someone who would always be able to tell me what to do. Mostly I just wish I was better. At everything.
taste_is_sweet: (Target Acquired!)
AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I hate writing sex scenes. :P
taste_is_sweet: (On a Daily Basis)
I can't remember whether one of my protagonists lost his right or left kidney. Oops.

Also: AAAAAARRRRRRRRRGH. And, ::facepalm::

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June 2016

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