Gettin' All Meta Up in Hir

I really want to write a good, in depth post, but I have a terrible headache and my cats have broken a bunch of keys on my computer so typing is now frustrating and slightly difficult.  It was fine when it was just the “z” key and slightly bothersome when the “m” button fell off, but now that I am forced to hit weird little rubbery/plastic-y nubs for “a” and “w” too I want to throw my computer out the window.  Right before I do so though, I recall how time consuming it would be to write this on my smartphone and I pause.  Maybe I will just throw the cat out the window next time she makes a really terrible smelling poop.  Nah, I guess I will keep her, but seriously, those poops are toxic. 

So, what do I want to talk about besides my two favorite topics of cats and poop?  I mean, I think they have come up three times already, usually in the same sentence.  (Brief aside, can I just misspell words to avoid using the broken keys?  No?  Ok.) Well, I read The Help this week since I was busy and Infinite Jest is too deep for that idle fifteen minutes before sleep.   No, I don’t want to talk about the movie, because I haven’t seen it.  Nor do I want to discuss race, or being dumped twice by the same guy, or even the poop cake.  I will point out that clearly I am not the only girl who thinks books should have more poop jokes though.  

I want to talk about the act of writing, and writing about writing.

Lets start with form, since I love form.  The book inside the book has one chapter written by a maid and Skeeter, who maintains this weird role of interviewer, writer and editor.  This is a fairly straightforward organizational system.   The actual book jumps between three women’s perspectives, and even has one chapter written in the third person.  This is not so straightforward.  I understand wanting to give the individual characters control over perspective, but I don’t understand breaking that pattern for omniscience.  Especially when the one chapter that is in the third person is not the only time the three characters occupy the same space.  I also find it troublesome that only three of the characters control what the reader knows when they are clearly sympathetic characters.  Why don’t we hear the story from the nasty characters too?  Because we can imagine how racist and ignorant they are so clearly their perspectives don’t count?  Isn’t it their perspectives that created the Jim Crow South?  My point being, wouldn’t it be interesting if the reader were given the perspective of a generally good person who had this one terrible, hurtful, but socially acceptable (at the time) flaw?  “Flaw” belittles racism, I know, but I lack a better word.  Blame it on the headache. 

This leads me to what I have been working on in my own story.  I want a particular character to be likeable, but totally blind to his ego, thereby undermining his reliability as a source of information.   This is hard people.  It is difficult to tell a story by withholding information.  Well, withholding it until the time is appropriate.  How do I create a likeable character with a pretty major flaw (all though WAY less of an issue than racism, on a totally different scale really), and not drop that bomb until, like, halfway through the book?  THIS IS SO HARD!  TYPING THIS I MEAN, IT IS SUCH A PAIN IN THE PLACE WHERE MY CAT MAKES STINKY POOPS.

Goodnight.

What the Heck am I Doing?

Well, I can just tell you that the week has barely started and yet I am almost speechless with joy to have my shows back.  Today I watched the previously DVR-ed “The Biggest Loser” and I was moved to tears.  There were these military helicopters, and my favorite reality show (besides “16 and Pregnant” for the obvious train wreck possibilities) and old people.  Patriotism, excitement, and old people just create a perfect storm in my eyeballs I guess.  I still don’t entirely understand why the Marines were involved, probably to make me cry. 

So, the real bit of news is annoyingly salient.  Remember that part in the chapter I gave you when Lydia laments not seeing some of her friends and co-workers for long periods of time after finishing a job?  (You totally read it right?  You didn’t?  Well, go read it now.  Don’t worry, I will wait, it is short anyway.)

So, now that we are all back together again and recalling that little line, well, guess who decided to join the crew of the show that has become my little world since July?  That’s right, that guy who drove me to make amusing ecards about cats and LBJ.  The great thing about working freelance in the film and television industry is that when you finish a job you can often escape those you want to get away from.  The bad thing is almost anyone can turn back up in your life at ANY TIME. 

I bring this up because of course I immediately sought out my besties for emotional support, and the weird thing was, more than one of them asked me if I thought he joined the crew to work near me.  I call this weird because as a Romance writer that should have been my first thought.  Perhaps it is not surprising that my mind did not come up with that awesome plot device sooner because I am in the middle of it and not observing from the outside. The mundane nature of life and knowing his perspective relatively well obscured anything beyond the surface of the situation for me.  But as a writer IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN MY FIRST THOUGHT!  AAARRGGHH!  Am I going to be terrible at this and fail horribly?  Probably not, I am sure this is the emotional upheaval kicking up dust in my head.  BTW, I am fairly certain that he did not board the Clipper Majestic (bonus points for those of you who pick up the reference and figure out what TV show I am working on.  I hope I didn’t mention it in an earlier post…) just to hang out with me.  But if my life were an awesome Romance novel he would totally have squirreled his way on to be near me because I am awesome and have unforgettable kind of green, kind of brown, squinty eyes and cute freckles or something.   Oh, oh, even better, he didn’t want to work near me and didn’t think I would be there, but there I am, his old flame, and the flame hasn’t gone out.  I flit back and forth in front of him, and, oh wait, am I flirting?  Maybe I am flirting, and he is stricken.   I draw him, almost magnetically, with my kind of green, kind of brown, squinty eyes and cute freckles or something. 

Hey, thanks for letting me freak out about writing.  I am going to go work on chapter six now!

Hooray for Sweater Season!

I am all over the place to day so forgive me if this is not the most cohesive post.  First of all, I know it has been a while since I posted.  I took an Internet break on the 11^th; I did not feel like chatting that day, and then the week just ran off on me.  Despite it passing so quickly, this week was pretty great.  I orchestrated my first free day since May, the weather has been lovely since Thursday, and my excitement for the fall TV season has kept me going on a super fun high.   For clarification, a free day is not a sick day, a holiday, a weekend, or a lack of work.  A free day is when one has the option to work but chooses to get a manicure and go shopping instead.  I love free days.   In addition to my free day I went out with my family on Friday, and had a night on the town last night too.  Added to all of this activity, I also managed to tidy up around the apartment a bit and bake some gluten free cornbread muffins.  I just can’t stop the energy flowing, and it is all due to my love of television. 

Not only to I spend somewhere between 48 and 60 hours a week as a cog in the machine that turns out a major network show, but I am also an avid consumer of network programming.  I enjoy cable shows too, and feel particularly indebted to cable as the driving force behind a greater creativity for the networks.  I just love television.  On Saturdays I even like to watch movies on TV and cook or clean during the commercial breaks.   My buzz this week lead me to create a new ecard.  Here it is:

I think it is pretty true too.  If I had new episodes of my favorite jams (“Criminal Minds,” “Castle,” or “The Big Bang Theory” especially) I think I would have been feeling fine in like, two weeks.

Guys, you know what else has me feeling pretty good?  I feel so honored that you folks have been reading my blog!  I know that what I have to say is pretty specific to my life and my writing, but ya’ll keep coming back to see what I have to say and I thank you for that. 

So, what is going on with the writing, you ask?  Well, I have been chugging away at editing what can loosely be called the first act.  Overall, I am pleased with what I have down on the page.  I think my characters are pretty believable, and the dialogue is not terrible.  Some of my chapters are pretty great, if I do say so myself.  Here is a chapter I like, just for fun.  Luckily for you, it is the first one.

When I look at the chapters that I struggled with, I am much less enthusiastic about this whole endeavor.  I have chatted with some writers, some friends, and some writers who are friends, and I have been given a lot of different perspectives and ideas.  I chose to “just get something down on paper” but now I just want to scrap the bad stuff and start fresh on those chapters.  Maybe not go in a different direction, but certainly not allow some of the frankly terrible and clichéd drivel that I wrote continue to exist.  Readers, who I am so thrilled and lucky to have, what do you think?  Please leave a comment or two with any advice about the process, or reactions to the chapter I just gave you.  Please?  I would love a comment!  Mom, feel free to refrain from "oh honey it's great."

Some non-sequiturs that I want to share with my tiny public: I learned how to curl my hair with a straightening iron this weekend-which I find to be a thrilling oxymoron-and I have to go because I think my kitten just ate some plastic.  Also, this.

Striking a Universal Note

I apologize, dear readers (of which there are more than four, I am pleased to note) for not providing you with fodder for procrastination this week, but I was otherwise engaged. It was a busy week here in New York; Fashion Week has started which, thankfully, this year it means very little to me. I attended a Fashion’s Night Out event at my friend’s lovely Park Slope shop Eponymy and that is my entire involvement in the events of this week, praise Jesus. My friends visited from the Left Coast and last night I found myself at a rooftop bar that wanted so badly to be exclusive. I felt like I was at the bar where the rejects from The Boom Boom Room (I think this link explains all you need to know) go to make some sort of decent night pan out. Well, at least the drinks were strong and I was with good friends.

However, what really took up most of my time was reading a Romance novel. Well, first I finished the Daphne DuMaurier I was reading called Castle Dor that has a Nineteenth Century town relive the events of the Tristan and Iseult myth. I mention it because I may bring it up later on, I have not decided. So, I finished Castle Dor and then decided to read the new Julia Quinn. You see, I only read Historical Romance, which, to the uninitiated, is a subgenre of the whole. Why, then, am I writing in a contemporary setting? Because I decided to start out with writing what I know. I have to establish myself first before I write my WWI novel because I am pretty sure there isn’t much of a market for that yet.

Anyhoo, I don’t think I have read a Romance since the last Julia Quinn came out this winter. Between work, writing, and reading Brideshead Revisited I just haven’t picked one up in a while. If you are familiar with Quinn you will recall the notoriously dreadful Smythe-Smith musicales and with Just Like Heaven she finally introduces her readership to the Smythe-Smiths and their lack of musical talent and love of exhibitionism. The book’s plot is focused on two main events, but despite one of them being the musicale, music seems strangely absent. Even when the characters are supposed to be practicing they argue, and the event itself is described after the fact. In Castle Dor, the Tristan character breaks his violin when he decides to begin his affaire with the Iseult character and music becomes absent there too.

Now though, music is far more ubiquitous than in the Nineteenth Century. If we walk in to a shop music will be playing. The subway platforms and cars are often makeshift stages, and almost everyone has a mp3 player, and not everyone has the courtesy to use theirs’ with headphones. This has all been rather difficult for me this summer as I have some compulsive issues concerning music. I believe that certain types of music/songs will affect the immediate future or have particular significance. Yes, it is crazy and no, I can’t logic my way out of this one. Recently, someone was agonizing to me about being in the card store and all the songs on the radio station playing in the shop seemed to relate specifically to his life at that time. I pointed out quite logically that pop songs are generic for that very reason. The writers and performers want you to believe that that song was written for you. “Killing Me Softly” and “You’re So Vain” spell it out almost. See, I can logic it, but if I don’t hear classical music once a day (and write to it) or listen to particular bands SOMETHING WILL GO VERY, VERY WRONG.

What all this really causes me to realize (above and beyond some possible obsessive/compulsive tendencies) is how universal the big things, like love and loss, truly are. What makes Romance so appealing is the triumph of those things that people almost universally desire, such as trust, love, and being the first priority for the same person who comes first for one’s self. Pop songs function on the same level. They tap in to those feelings that are so forceful yet so common, that the expression of them creates an automatic bond between the music and the listener. I have "known" this for forever, but I am a little emotionally closed off, so it took some upheaval in my life to embrace this part of the human existence instead of rolling my eyes and seeing pop music as trite. Tonight I wallowed in this bond with a little Heart, Adele, Iron and Wine, Mumford and Sons, and Prince. Oh, feelings.

Form, Format, and My Love of Pithy Statements Combined with Somewhat Relevant Illustrations

I am a formalist. What I mean is that I love form, I think that form is as informative as word choice, plot, metaphor, and every other signifier used to create meaning, to use semiotics for a moment. I have never seen the movie "Beloved" because I believe that the book Beloved is so reliant upon it's form to convey meaning that the movie cannot be the same thing. Yes, Dear Reader, I know they are actually not the same thing. But I feel that Beloved is so deeply reliant upon form that it doesn't really translate visually.

I think I love genre so much because I love form. There are rules to form and genre, the rules can be bent, but not broken, and true creativity lies in the writer's ability to function within the rules. The natural extension of this logic is that I also love Twitter. I think I would love it if more people were creative, and when they are I have a great time browsing randomly. I, however, do not need to be greeted "good morning Tweeps" by my high school friends, @kristyamaguchi (much as I adore), or @stephenfry. Don't judge who I follow.

Having said all that, here is a new form I have embraced to help with the burning desire I have had to call that guy who dumped me and cry about how sad I am from reading too many articles about 9/11.

Go here to understand what this card means.

Who knew misery and creativity got along so well?

Penguins in Pants

Titling. I am so terrible with titles. When I was in college I turned in my first few essays without titles for two reasons. The first being I have a lot of anxiety over title writing and the second being I don’t really believe school essays need titles. Unless it is a dissertation or something you are submitting for publishing I feel that the three, five, whatever page essay’s job is to make the argument, so why do we need titles telling us the point of the essay?

I have a lot of anxiety over title writing because most essay titles sound grandiose and therefore stupid because it is a three page college essay dudes, you can get away with a single word title, probably. I really hate the compound essay title. You know what I mean. “Over Thinking It: The Metaphysical Act of Writing About Writing” or whatever minor detail your hungover and barely functional mind had decided to place an overabundance of importance upon that week. I rebelled strongly against those and only began using them my Junior year due to complaints from professors. Seriously. Not that I don’t love my professors but I smell creativity being stifled.

Now, titling my Romance novel is causing even greater anxiety because Romance titles almost demand to sound idiotic. As a being who abhors and avoids cliché I am having great difficulty feeling comfortable with my current title. The book is about an A-list actor who falls in love with his personal assistant while working on a small independent feature film. The novel is the first in what I hope to be a series of four other novels concerning characters who work in the New York film industry. I want the titles to sound like Romance titles and involve well-known filmmaking terms. I don’t want the titles to sound really stupid. The first one is currently being called:

Love and…Action!

What do you think? Please comment, please be honest, I don’t have much of an ego when it comes to my writing, and especially not my titling!

I worked 49 hours this week and it is only Thursday. This means that I am not going to write a five-page essay like I usually do.