Da Plan

Goals are good. Goals keep us motivated. Goals are probably going to shave off a good seven years from my natural life :)

As a proud, card-carrying member of the Distressed Guild, I like to craft unrealistic goals for myself, and then go after them all Beowulf-style* so that I can be properly dismayed and destroyed by my inability to meet said goals. I don't know when I started doing this, but I'm going to guess it had something to do with being a hall monitor once in grade school.

Sometimes, those goals are just throughout the day: I will get up at 7, I will be showered, fed, and dressed by 8, I will have three chapters edited by noon, I will--wait, when did it become night time again? I was just looking at one picture of legitimate female battle armor!

I do hope that illustrates my point. And I am trying to do less of that, because the stress that goes into making strict schedules tends to eat more time than I ever gain. That being said, I am trying to adhere to a stricter schedule for myself--time allotted after Dayjob and with a healthier amount of sleepytime and oh Lord this is boring to even type about! But it's helping me actually accomplish things, which is some good clean fun the whole family can enjoy :)

Doing creative, fantastical things is sometimes a little odd to cram into a working, real-world schedule. At least, it's not something I've perfected. Sometimes I wish I could move into a little commune full of writers and sketchers and crafters of all kinds, because then all of my neighbors would, like...get it. You know? However, lackaday, that is not the way of the world.

So, more realistic schedules, less babying of the self, less abusing of the self, and I think it's turning out okay.

All of this only really matters because I'm taking a trip in September, and I insist to myself that the work must be done before I go!

But for the first couple of weeks in September, I'll be driving towards or around or away from The House on the Rock. If you've never read Neil Gaiman's American Gods, first, shame on you, second, do it, third, The House on the Rock is a conglomeration of vaguely haunted insanity and roadside nonsense that appears in a really good book. And I'm going to explore it for a while, and also all of the things between hither and thither, because I will be driving there.

There will be much reporting when I go, and probably several photos, which I'm trying to get into a better habit of taking.

Supposedly it takes thirty days to develop a new habit. I have about ninety days to snag this one :)


*unarmed, undressed, unstable, and eventually set on fire on top of a pile of gold. You should read the book.

Tyler: A Confession

Dear Blogalogalogs:

There's something we need to talk about.

Please, don't be upset. It's not your fault. I just have needs...needs I'm not comfortable sharing with you right now.

There's...there's someone else.

Tyler.

My stolen poetry book.

We've been seeing each other...for about six months.

I'm going to need my poetry key back.

...still friends?

So What Are You, Really?

So there I was, elbow-deep in shallow revisions, and then I set my computer aside for a minute so I could stare into the horizon and contemplate how much I loathed my manuscript.

I don't, actually, by the way. I really, really, would-totes-date-like my story, and it has been an impossibly wonderful journey working on it and so on. Trip of my life so far, actually! It's just that I've been reading a lot of TransMet lately, and I can't help but idolize Spider Jerusalem. Just...read the comic some time.

Back to rant:

I was flustered because I am doing a thing I have never done before, in a time and place I've never been, and new things are bothersome when you secretly pine for easy things because you are a Lazy Person. I had a moment of weakness and a bit of a pout, and then a nasty thought crept into my head:

"What if I'm just a bakery clerk?"

Oh, shudder. Gag. Stifling sounds. Please, no. Anything but that.

I don't think there's anything wrong with being a bakery clerk. I don't think there's anything wrong with working in a deli, or with washing dishes, or any means of doing what it is that fulfills you. Go you! You have made it!

It's just that I don't want to be a bakery clerk. It doesn't make me happy, because it doesn't make me feel like I've put my best work into the world. It's just not what I can do best, when I am at my best. And that's something I need in order to be a happy Lark. It's something that I hope everyone gets to experience, at least once.

So frustration is okay. Because that at least means I'm trying, right? And I'd rather try and try until I'm blue in the fingertips (because typing) than know that I'm always going to have to cringe when people ask me what I 'do.'

So, bowler cap back on, manuscript reloaded :)

We'll talk again soon!

Dat Muse

Hello, Internet!

The last few weeks have featured spotty internet and spotty casual inspiration, which has led to the radio silence that the scores (2?) of you may or may not have noticed.

But fear not: I have been hard at work. This round of novel revisions has presented to me a series of challenges that have me chomping at the bit. Character mash-ups, earlier deaths, plot twists for future tales! Woo! I can't put it down! Compliments and encouragement are awesome, but I crave a challenge. So I've been editing, printing off what I've got, editing in paper form, adjusting, and moving forward. I aim to have this round sent back to Pestritto on Rye before I get my bigger tattoo. Which will be awesome.

But all of this (among with a few side-stories I won't get into) has led to me musing on muses.

I've previously discussed First Wife, who was very much my first muse. Fiery woman with a badass history, beautiful babies, and also one of the coolest names I've ever encountered? Hells yes.

But the last year or two has led to me finding inspiration in other places, and through other people, as I've stretched my writing wings and found other interests. Art, poetry, rants combining the two. I've come to realize that I really do thrive in challenge-mode. I like having my buttons pushed. More than that, I like people who can handle what comes out of the box when those buttons are pushed.

I spent a solid portion of my life in relative silence--I come from a clan of bickerers, but I was often told to 'calm down' when I engaged in the battle. I have a natural inclination to fight, but I also have developed a genuine, silly fear of offending people. So I listened. I 'calmed down.' Because Goddess* forbid I hurt anyone's feelings by standing my ground. I'm an overly passionate person by nature, but I retreated into a dormant shell, which really only resulted in volcanic blips when I was pushed too far (usually in discussions regarding the history of fairy tales).

So I need to be pushed, but I also need to be allowed to push back. I need to release my claws from time to time. That is when I create my best work--by which I mean, the work only I can create. The stuff that sets me apart from any old bum with a pen. Because I can schlock with the best of them--I just don't see the point. If you can't pick my words out of the barrel, why did I ever write them down?

But, surely, not everyone does their thang berserker style? What shape do your muses take? What lights your fire? Does your muse have a face, at present? Do you have different muses for different crafts?



*The wives and I have dubbed Amanda Fucking Palmer** our lead Goddess. We have a hand salute and everything.

**This is Her stage name. Deal with it.

Gaiminspiration

Very brief blogalog, just to inform my two active readers as to my latest goings-ons and plans.

Two of my Wives and I returned from a wee road trip yesterday. We drove to Billings to see a little-known author give a few speeches and read some stories to celebrate the opening of Billings' new library. No big deal. Just Neil Gaiman.

Shrill screamiiiiiiiiiing!!

I'm still trying to put my thoughts into some semblance of order. I--just--Neil Gaiman. He read stories. He talked about literacy. He had a beard, because his wife (who happens to be the head Goddess worshiped on The Good Ship Looney) likes the scruffy handsome hobo beard he developed whilst working on his most recent writing.

Shrill screaming (Part 2)!!!

He did a question/answer section after he was finished reading. One of the note cards he chose to read aloud and answer was written by Wifey. It was a question about me, about a lovely rejection I'd received comparing my writing to his. 








I'll post the audio of his response when I've finished having heart palpitations :)

Suffice to say, this was an inspirational trip. I took a lot of pictures, which you will be aware of if you follow me on any of the other media sites. If you don't yet, here I am on Tumblr, which I believe is connected to everything else in the world.

But I am throwing myself, body, brain, and boobs, hard into revisions. There are some mighty changes I'm making this round (I'm merging a handful of characters to lower the head count), but mostly I'm focusing on looking at the book from a more critical, commercial standpoint. Which is weird for me, but important. After a mighty day of reading, rereading, chopping, polishing, rerereading, and scrapping about ten entire pages of material, and then elbowing a bit more to the side, and then reading it outloud for the tenth time, I've got some decent progress made and a healthy, loving desire to set a portion of the world on fire.

But it's a good thing. Writing is like rollerblading uphill. If you're not sweating, not actively moving forward, you're probably zipping back down the slope.

And that awkward metaphor suggests to me that it is time for me to go to sleep. Now that I'm back in town, I will continue to blogalog, and toss in an update on revision status if it doesn't strike me as too boring to report :)

Thanks for reading!

Amber June

I believe I have mentioned once or twice a truly resplendent woman I have the great fortune to be friends with. Her name is Amber June, she has three beautiful children, and is easily the most gracious person I have ever known. She is also an absolute artist with words (and with art) and if I ever have to grow up I hope to be at least a little bit like her.

I made this as a gift for her, for Christmas:

Because Amber June is an elegant badass who has a thing for butterflies.

Valentine for a Bearded Man

I composed this for my bearded man friend, for Valentine's Day. Then I took him (and Wifey) to a cemetery to lay out flowers. If you've ever wondered what it's like to be courted by an author...well, here you go.

Note: Formatting is weird. And hard. The version I printed out and crumpled in my bag before actually offering it had text and images working in tandem. I'm afraid you'll all have to settle for the text/image mashup below:

Valentine, I will build for you a Cabin in the Woods,

Where The Strangers cannot follow.

It will be The Shining respite that we need

Our own little Sleepy Hollow.

Don't be Afraid of the Dark, for I will be with you

Lying beneath the Silent Hill

Awaiting The Return of the lark.