Nonsense….and a story….
So, I had jury duty today. I was summoned to appear WAY downtown at 1945 S. Hill (that’s Hill and Washington Blvd at Traffic Court) to do my civic duty as a juror. And, as has been my experience in the past with jury duty, it was yet ANOTHER DUI (or DWI depending on where you live) case (c’mon people! Get a cab! Take the bus! Walk it off!). They decided to settle AFTER we all got in there and introduced ourselves and got interviewed (*rolls eyes*). Maybe it was seeing and hearing all of us sharing all of our experiences with friends and family who had been harmed or killed because of drinking and driving that made them decide settling wasn’t so bad after all.
But that was towards the end of the afternoon. Most of the day I had a lot of time to sit and read, or sit and write, or sit and think about my sins, or plain just sit…….I had a lot of time. After all that time, instead of feeling like my brain was full because of this different experience that I could catalog among the many things I could use in my writing, it felt as old and battered and empty as a hobo’s cooking pot. Not a good place to be if you’re a writer. According to the Occupational Handbook of 1978, if I remember correctly, a writer is someone whose job it is to notice and use EVERYTHING. Like a pilot, the writer should have at least (AT LEAST) 40% more perception than the average person and use it to their advantage. They never know when it may come in handy later in their writing. (And who’d a thunk that I would ever use a report I wrote from Career Awareness in junior high from 30 years ago in a blog in the 21st century? 
).
But it is time to post something new on this blog even for my audience of one (or two). As Lewis Carroll wrote: “The time has come . . . to talk of many things: Of shoes–and ships–and sealing wax–Of cabbages–and kings–and why the sea is boiling hot–and whether pigs have wings” (http://www.jabberwocky.com/carroll/walrus.html). Maybe later on I’ll put up another book review or something, but today my brain is on vacation, so it will be utter nonsense and a story I wrote a while ago (ten years?)that I put in a family anthology a while back (three years?). As I was on my own little adventure today and wondering how I could use it in my writing, I realized that Lavinia, the character from my story, had also been in a similar situation. Whilst I am nothing more than a bipedal writer, however, and did NOT meet a cute cop on my excursion, Lavinia was on her way towards becoming quite the anthropologist (her study was on Adaptaptive and Evolutionary Human Interaction in Close Spaces and based on her work while living in San Francisco – I hear her draconic professors were so shocked at the living conditions of humans that they pulled all dragons out of the field until we humans grow up and learn how to behave in a civilized manner with one another…). Currently, she is working on her second doctorate degree while raising her third batch of hatchlings. My how her life has changed.
So, for what it’s worth, here’s Lavinia’s story. I would try to upload a picture, but everytime I do, it doesn’t show up, and I just don’t have the draconic patience or memory that someone like Lavinia would have to make it work:
Lavinia’s Apprenticeship
Lavinia opened her eyes, yawned, stretched, and looked around. Freshly washed sunlight streamed in through the window and settled in a pool at the foot of her bed (now blocking the door of her tiny annex, situated in the backyard of some converted apartment houses). The pool of sunshine was the smallest bit of warmth and was exactly where Malcolm, a large orange tabby, had decided to settle as well. Lavinia plopped her head back onto her pillow to consider all the possibilities before her. Since moving to San Francisco this had become her favorite part of the weekend, considering and cataloging all the things she could do with all the time before her, before actually doing anything. Should she garden? Go to a festival? Do laundry? Or sit and watch TV all weekend? Parade up and down The Haight and pretend she was a disenfranchised youth? She’d never had real “weekends” before and there was just so much out there for a young anthropologist to do! For Lavinia, lying in bed and daydreaming about the entire weekend ahead was a bit like the moment before opening a gift when you’re holding it in your hands and don’t know what’s in it yet. That was Lavinia’s favorite part of the weekend, shortly followed by her other favorite part of the weekend, Sunday evening, when she cataloged everything she had done before.
As Lavinia rolled out of bed she heard a “chirrup” followed by a clunk and slither, and stopped to look around. The “chirrup” had been Malcolm, jumping down to play with the tip of her tail, or what had been the “clunk and slither”. That meant one thing, she’d missed curfew and so hadn’t Changed last night after she went to bed. Shuffling over to the mirror only confirmed it. There she was, whirling emerald green eyes sunk deep into a triangular reptilian head — in all her green, scaly draconic glory. She noticed that her head and back ridges were askew and reached back to set them right as she hunkered down to mirror level. Sighing, she realized that all the possibilities considered before getting up had been narrowed down to one — staying home. Deciding to make her fuming useful, she set about to make some coffee.
Lavinia had been the runt of her clutch. At only nine-feet long (well, thirteen if you counted the tail, as she always reminded her siblings) and only 8,000 human pounds, she was considered really rather petite by draconic standards. Too small to be apprenticed as a warrior or considered “Queen” material, and not enough talent to be a mage, she was still very bright and had been blessed with an exceptionally good memory. Dragons normally have a photographic memory anyway, which is how they know when things are missing if a knight or a thief tries to sneak in and steal some of their treasure. But Lavinia noticed the details within the details, and more than that, she noticed the connections. She was terribly proud of the fact that one of her professors even called her “instinctively intuitive.” Such a human term, but how apt for her field of study! Lavinia grinned at the memory. So, when she reached the tender age of 150 years, she was sent off to apprentice as an anthropologist in the realm of the two legs, or humans as they called themselves. Her parents hoped that, even if she never mated and clutched, she would at least make a name for herself. This assignment, living as a human in San Francisco, had been attained only after years of studying human behavior and mastering the art of Changing and Weight Displacement. It was part of her thesis actually, living as a single female at the beginning of the 21st century in one of the major cities of this realm. Good thing she was small for a dragon. It made the Changing spell easier when morphing between human and draconic shapes, not to mention living in these city dwellings. Absolutely uncivilized the way they smashed themselves together in these tiny hovels. Only rats lived this way.
At that thought, Lavinia gave a final huff to the coffee. Hmm, nice and hot, just the way she liked it. She sipped and watched Malcolm play with her tail as she flicked it back and forth. Cats were so satisfyingly normal compared to humans. Strangely, Malcolm seemed to take her Changes in stride. However, after living with a feline for the last two years, she was beginning to suspect that this was a species on a level with her own, with their own mission. She sighed as she glimpsed her tail, and scratching a foreclaw over her eye ridge, considered her dilemma again.
Part of the agreement of her onsite study was that she only Change into her draconic form once a moon, when she had to hunt. She could eat human food and survive well enough, but there were some nutrients that her draconic form required and needed periodically, as well as needing to be in physical contact with the rest of her physical body occasionally. This required Changing at least once a month and flying far a field in the dead of night to do some good old-fashioned hunting and rock chewing. Although Lavinia looked forward to this, the catch was that she had to be Changed back to her human form by sunrise to keep from being found out. The consequences of being late were remaining in her draconic form for another 24 hours, supposedly so the dragon in question would suffer enough inconvenience to not let it happen again.
This was a serious problem when it was your job to go out and study people.
Lavinia finished her coffee and then started looking for cat food. Malcolm was beginning to treat her tail like live prey. The trouble with this fog-infested city was that she could never tell when true sunrise happened, and then she was trapped for another day before she could do the spell to Change her back into human form. This was the fifth time in the last year and as she felt the rumbling in her stomach she was reminded of how she had NOT been able to find anything even close to edible the night before. Yet, this was the Elders’ way of keeping those living with other species from taking advantage of the situation by Changing whenever they felt like it. Humans, no matter what they said, were just not ready for inter-species communication. While throwing a glamour over one’s form worked for the short term to prevent exposure (all dragonets learned that in the nest; it kept them safe while their parents were out hunting), a glamour just covered up what was really there. People might think they saw another person on the street, but they’d still be tripping her over tail. And she really hated it when people tripped over her tail.
“Well, Malcolm, when you’re done playing, would you like some breakfast?”
Malcolm stepped and jumped through the obstacle course that was Lavinia’s tine “mother-in-law” house, going from floor to book stack to shelf to chair and back to floor like a dancer. Lavinia scratched behind his ears proudly, opening the fridge and hoping there was more in it than she knew there to be. No. No cat food. Malcolm mewed piteously and begin nipping at her legs. Lavinia tossed around the contents of her cupboards. No luck — no food. Malcolm was looking at her like she’d broken a sacred contract. She grabbed a can of chicken noodle soup and used a talon to open it into a dish. Hopefully between the little meat bits and the broth she’d be able to satisfy him for a little while.
Lavinia reached to take another sip of her coffee. It was cold now so she heated it up with a short burst of flame then sipped the last bit while watching Malcolm. After a sniff and a lick Malcolm looked up at Lavinia and kicked at the dish like it was something in his litterbox. She couldn’t blame him really. How could humans call those little chicken bits food? Sighing, she looked down into the empty coffee cup. That was the last of the coffee. No cat food, no coffee, and (after looking in the cupboards again) no chocolate. If there were only two things she could take back from the land of the two legs it would be coffee and chocolate.
Change spell or no, she was going to have to go out and forage today. It would take a good glamour and careful planning to be able to accomplish this task. Lavinia got out her books to see if there were any spells she could use that would ensure a more realistic glamour; one suggested casting a fog, another suggested waiting until dusk, yet another suggested mixing the gall bladder of a brave warrior with the heart of a virgin princess. Her clan had given up the barbarous practices of live sacrifices generations ago, so the brave warrior and virgin princess, besides being impossible to find in San Francisco, were out of the question, as was waiting until dusk. Neither she nor Malcolm would be able to wait that long for food. That meant casting a fog. The human saying “Like bringing coals to Newcastle” went through Lavinia’s head. She slammed her tomes shut. “Malcolm, I’m just going to have to cast the glamour to the best of my ability, cross my talons and be quick about getting to the store and back. Do you think you can last?”
Malcolm rubbed his face along her leg in answer.
Lavinia stood in the doorway and cast one last look in the mirror hanging by the door to make sure all was set. What she saw was a thirty something woman with shoulder-length, mousy colored hair peering back at her through whirling emerald colored eyes. That was the hardest bit to try to cover in a glamour – the eyes. She shook her bangs a bit to cover them. Checking to make sure both jeans and sweat shirt were convincingly Haight-like, she tossed her bag over her human shoulder, and was on her way out the door when the phone rang.
“I’m not going to get it,” she told the room, “I’m not –”
The answering machine went off, “Hello, Lavinia?” asked a soft voice, “Lavinia, it’s me, Maria. Pick up the phone!”
Auugh! Not Maria! Not the one subject of her study who had become the one thing all social scientists dread, a friend!
“Hi, Maria–” Lavinia groaned, gingerly picking up the phone. This had better be good.
“Listen, Lavinia, I only have one phone call and you’re the only one I could think of to call–”
“Oh, Maria, don’t tell me–”Lavinia’s stomach sank.
“I’m downtown in jail.”
“Okay,” sighed Lavinia, “what happened.” Maria was a young 23-year-old idealist. One of Lavinia’s unwitting subjects, she also had become one of Lavinia’s projects and a very good friend. She was constantly getting into trouble.
“Well, there was a STOP THE HATE rally in the Castro cuz of all the gay bashing that’s been happening lately and then we were going to coordinate with the Equal Rights for Marriage group, ya know? It was just supposed to be one of those things where we carried signs and handed out flyers.”
“Yes,” Lavinia assented. This didn’t sound good. There had been some violent incidents happening in the Castro, clashes between established residents and new families and many others along the political spectrum. Some of the individuals of this species could be highly intolerant, even when tolerance was in their best evolutionary interest.
“Well, I guess I was in a wrong part of the crowd, cuz suddenly someone started throwing things. I couldn’t tell if it was one of the protesters or one of the people hanging around. Some of us tried to get away or calm people down, but before I knew it I was in the middle of a riot. And I got pulled in. Could you bail me out, please?”
Lavinia’s human shoulders slumped and her glamour started to shimmer as if getting ready to release. “Sure, Maria, I’ll bail you out. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Lavinia sighed as she hung up the phone. Giving up the money wouldn’t bother her. Like any right-minded dragon, she had a good bit stored away, both here and back home. But it was the energy that she would have to expend to keep the glamour up while she not only went to the store, but went downtown to wait and bail out Maria, who would also need consoling and escorting home, if Lavinia knew her friend-er subject — and she did.
Lavinia recast her glamour and thought out her plan of action as she walked down the street. She had planned on going to the store at the end of the block, walking on the side of the street that had no people. If she didn’t do that there would be people tripping all over her tail, and while they might just think it was a crack in the sidewalk, she knew it would be them tripping over her tail, and at last count she had already had 256 trippings over her tail.
After she dropped by the store, thankfully empty due to some sporting event (she refused to waste her brain on cataloguing if it was the game that had to do with the ball that was tossed down the field, or the ball that was kicked down the field, or the one that was bounced down the court), she set out for downtown. It would be about a half-hour walk, since taking a bus or a cab would be out of the question – she might look 5’4” but she was all dragon. So, Lavinia walked – her powerful legs striding quickly down the city streets, musing on her recent anthropological finds in regards to human mating rituals.
Lavinia got pulled out of her brown study when she noticed two guys loitering in the middle of her sidewalk. Stop, she thought, that’s draconic, it is not ‘my’ sidewalk, it’s ‘the’ sidewalk. Then she noticed how the two guys weren’t moving out of her way. Looking up she saw where she was, not the nicest part of town, and deserted for a Saturday afternoon due to that sporting event she was trying to ignore.
“Hey, what time is it?” one of guys asked her, the one in the gray, hooded sweatshirt, as the other one, the one with the shaved head, took up a position behind her.
“I’m sorry, I seem to have left my watch at home,” Lavinia tried to push past. Hooded Sweatshirt grabbed her arm and she flinched at the contact, “Yeah? What’s this?” She could feel Shaved Head behind her advance as this one tightened his grip.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Lavinia advised calmly.
“Do what, princess?” Hooded Sweatshirt sneered, yanking Lavinie in towards him. “Take my toll, get my due? Why yes, I will!” Lavinia held her breath and tensed. If she kept her temper, she might be able to get out of this without hurting them or breaking any rules. Then it happened. Shaved Head tripped over her tail.
Lavinia lost it.
Hooded Sweatshirt flinched, “Hey, why does your arm feel so-? AAAAAUUUGGHHHH!” He let go, as the woman standing before him suddenly grew several feet, developing green scales, dripping fangs, and razor sharp talons. Smoke curled out of its nostrils as it brought its head down level with the young man. Whirling green eyes peered at him through the smoke drifting up out of its nostrils.
“Go,” it breathed.
He went.
As Hooded Sweatshirt and Shaved Head sprinted back down a side street, Lavinia recast her glamour into her human form. Thank the All-One that the street had been deserted. She had reacted instinctively and she hoped the Elders and the Interdimensional Crime Patrol hadn’t sensed that little bit of magic or she might be in for it. Lavinia continued down the street, hurrying to pick up Maria.
As she strode away, a dark figure pulled out from the shadows, blue eyes smoldering as he looked thoughtfully after Lavinia’s striding form. As she disappeared, the cop followed her down the street.
Getting down to the jail downtown was only half the battle, Lavinia found out as she stood in line for security (tail trips 258-300), got directions to find Maria, got lost (tail trips 301-304), found the room, paid, and then was asked to sit and wait while Maria was processed out.
It was then that Lavinia realized she had to pee. This was not her day. She couldn’t sit and put her dragon weight in the chairs, but anywhere she stood her tail got in the way (tail trips 305-308). Finally she went up to the clerk and let him know she would be out in the hallway. At least there would be more room out there. Just as she was leaving for the hallway, however, she felt yet another trip on her tail, no, it was a distinct pull. Breathing in to bellow at whoever was behind her, she whirled around, running into the most sparkling pair of blue eyes she had ever seen. They appeared to be attached to a man with dark, brown hair that was almost long enough to curl over the collar of his policeman’s uniform. Hmm. A pretty cute policeman — by human standards anyway. Too bad. If he were draconic he’d be able to detect it as she threw off some pheromone to hint at her attraction to him. Oh well. Lavinia threw some off anyway. He was cute.
“Ahem, I – uh-er- saw,” he coughed again, and grinned. Was it her imagination, or did she smell smoke? These humans didn’t always do what was good for them.
“Are you okay?” Lavinia asked. “You don’t sound so well.”
“No, I’m fine, really, I — uh — just saw you — down the street — you know — when you were accosted by those two –”the cops eyes took on a peculiar twinkle.
“You what?!” Lavinia roared. The man behind the counter jumped and several people looked over. Taking a deep breath, she lowered her voice into a reptilian hiss, “What did you see?!” She wasn’t sure what made her most angry, that he saw her being attacked and did nothing, that he saw her Change, or worst of all, that she hadn’t caught him at it. This time there was definitely a whiff of smoke, but it was coming from her.
“Ssh-sh, Calm down! Your secret’s safe with me,” the policeman’s baritone voice played Lavinia’s ear like a harp. He ushered Lavinia out to the hallway and turned his wrist towards her, briefly letting show his draconic tattoo and badge of office. “I work for the Interdimensional Crime Patrol, kind of on a case, doubling as a cop,” he explained. “I was in the area and caught the last of your ‘show.’ I take it you didn’t get in on time after your hunt last night?” the policeman stopped as someone passed within earshot.
“Yeah, I was only going to go to the store and then, well – uh – I had to bail out a frie-subject. You know how it is,” Lavinia flustered. She could feel her hearts race. She’d never thought she would run into one of her own kind here. If he was a member of the ICP and had seen her expose herself she would really be in for it now. She could feel her pores exude fear. Not good. Taking a deep breath, Lavinia mentally began to marshal together an argument in her defense.
“Yeah, these humans get to you don’t they?” He said disarmingly and gave her a knowing look. Then it came, a whiff of pheromone, dark and spicy like cloves and brandy. “My name’s Reginald, by the way.”
Flustered, Lavinia replied, “P-pleased to meet you, Reginald. I’m Lavinia” and almost forgot why she was in the police station as she distractedly threw off an answering scent of cinnamon and apple. “Here’s my, um, charge coming now,” she added nervously. By the All-One, he smelled good!
“May I call you, Lavinia?” Reginald asked, his grin grew even deeper and Lavinia swore his eyes were beginning to give off sparks. His scent was becoming over powering now. Looking out over hallway and away from his eyes, Lavinia strove to gain her composure.
“C-certainly, Reginald,” Lavinia said her number, knowing that Reginald would remember it, store it, and retrieve it better than any recording device. If he didn’t call, it would not be because he lost or forgot the number.
“I’ll call you soon,” Reginald’s voice was rough. Lavinia wasn’t the only one trying to keep her composure.
“Lavinia? There you are!” Lavinia looked over and watched as a petite brown-eyed girl, with light brown skin, spiky fuschia hair, and a complete set of tattoos and piercings strode across the lobby. Maria looked relieved to see her friend. “Who was the cute cop you were talking to?”
Lavinia smiled. Maybe Maria was a subject, but she was also a friend and it felt good to tell her. “His name is Reginald, and I think he wants to ask me out.”
“Cool!”
Much later, after putting Maria in a cab and giving herself a long walk home, Lavinia returned to a friendly red blink on her answering machine. It was Reginald, asking her out.
“Hello, Lavinia? This is Reginald. I was wondering, I have this watch, it’s set by the atomic clock? It’s perfect for keeping track of sunrise. I don’t know if you had any luck last night, but I was wondering, would you like to go hunting tonight? There are some cattle in the Central Valley, that are just waiting to be culled.”
Grinning, Lavinia picked up the phone to return his call.
***
As Lavinia sat with Malcolm, he enjoying his tuna and she her chocolate and coffee, she realized that this day had certainly been a day for the books. In fact, as she catalogued it in her head, she found that this was the 1,337, 483rd new and different experience in her collection of experiences in San Francisco — worthy of being entered into her anthropological study catalog on the Health and Habits of Humans. What a bright gem it was, too. Hoarding sure wasn’t it used to be.
Wall Nuts: A Book Review
In my apartment building there lives a delightful woman with a classic and unique sense of self, style, and dress. She has two friendly and squishy cats, one black and one orange. She’s done a lot of things in her life and one of them is write. This week she blessed me with a signed copy of her latest book of poetry, left by my door like a pert little present. As I have had her first book of poetry (Cobwebs on the Dublin Bus) in my Amazon Shopping Cart for a while (WALL NUTS is her second book of poetry, but her sixth book thus far), I found this to be a very welcome treat. Since I was blue this morning on the way to work, I decided to take it along with me and read it and see where her poetry took me. It took me on a wild ride.
Wall Nuts (2007), by Wendy Elliot Hyland, is a term Wendy coined which means: “a two-legged being having a tough outer shell with a brain speckled with magic and madness. Some WALL NUTS may be difficult to decipher from their mental and physical manner while others are easily recognized” (Hyland, 2007, Frontispiece). Oh, the delightful trip through madness she takes us on! And it is a journey. The first poem is titled “train schedule, please,” while the last is called, “long day’s journey.” So you know you’re in for one helluva ride. Quite mercurial – and it really takes you to outer space, too!
The poems range from zany and spirited to loving to bitter to magical to contemplative, but each is marked by a certain wit, like she is constantly laughing at herself and the world around her. But don’t be fooled. These poems aren’t all about “her.” Like Emily Dickinson, Wendy may be using the first person in writing something, but she could be playing another character completely. She is simply the filter for presenting that character’s voice to the world, and it’s a filter that makes one laugh and think at the same time. Even her most serious poems about love or loss have a fillip somewhere that shows that here again is something that could be laughable (even if bitterly) when taken another way. One of my favorites is ”visitation rights”: “it’s strange that the people/now visiting me in the psycho ward/bringing me pretty bunches of flowers/are the same people who put me/there in the first place!”
Because she also illustrated each poem with simple line drawings, it adds to the fun of the read as the line drawings are, again, illustrative of her tweak on life. The line drawing for “visitation rights” is the same as that on the front cover to give you an idea (http://www.amazon.com/Wall-Nuts-Wendy-Elliott-Hyland/dp/0931761166/sr=8-1/qid=1169847322/ref=sr_1_1/002-6464611-3190466?ie=UTF8&s=books).
I know poetry books are not best sellers these days, but I do believe that this collection of poetry is worth the read. Reading it took me from being glum to being carefully optimistic – even oddly cheerful. As they say in the musical, it’s like being a fiddler on the roof – playing and dancing while being careful that you don’t fall off or fly away. But then again, that could be just the beginning.
ARGH!
Tonight I’m working on the type of writing I DON’T like to do.
Sometimes I freelance for the company I work for writing papers, resumes, cover letters, personal essays (“why do you want to attend this university?”). I wouldn’t mind finding other freelance work, but that always peters out somehow. Which, is probably for the best because resumes, cover letters, and personal essays are so boring. I mean really. How many times can one write, for a vapid 19 year old, how much they did in high school (or community college) and how much they’re willing to do in college. Oh, and the vapid 19 year old didn’t even provide any of their info. It’s an exercise in creative writing. But don’t be too creative, cuz they wouldn’t like that.
Actually, this essay I’m currently working on isn’t too bad. Not too long and I actually have some information and a good topic. It’s refreshing. Like getting a resume from someone who actually has done something with their lives (besides live off their parents). But just as some people don’t give you enough information, others flood you with it. Usually it’s information you don’t need. About a month ago I did a resume for someone who wants to start working in executive positions in talent management in the entertainment industry. He only wanted one page, not a CV, but a resume, with a cover letter. He wanted it catered to the industry and gave a company and certain positions as examples of where he was applying. He paid for 3 pages. So, okay. Here I go.
I researched the company. I found out what they were looking for. I found the buz words and the type of people they looked like they wanted to hire. I took the 10 pages of dross he gave me (all the way from where he went to high school and what student films he had made to actual work he had done and education he had up to the present, most of it NOT in the industry). I trimmed and manipulated, wrote and edited and revised, and pared and easily, after shifting everything to single space Times New Roman, and doing thing creative things with spacing and bullet points so it wouldn’t look too crowded, ended up doing at least 6 pages worth of work, if not more.
He wasn’t happy. It wasn’t “professional.” I’ve been doing this for 6 years, but it wasn’t “professional.” He wouldn’t say what was wrong other than that he didn’t like his education at the top (yet, it was the MOST RECENT relevant experience and it was easily changeable by anyone, including himself). But, just in case, I consulted with a friend in the recruiting business who also does this for a living and I was right; I had done this correctly. But according to the future Hollywood mover and shaker, it still wasn’t right. The client couldn’t say what wasn’t right, but it wasn’t what was in his head. And he expected me to read his mind. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. This is Los Angeles. Land of the Megalomaniacs.
This is why I like writing my own essays and fiction and poetry SO much better. Then I’m only dealing with trying to get what’s in my own head down on the page so others might enjoy reading it in their heads.
Well, back to writing for 19 year olds.
It’s a living.
Learning the Trade
Writing is a trade, a craft, just like any other profession. And, like any other profession, one of the best ways to get better is to study what other people have done before and are doing currently in your line of work. For the writer, this means reading, analyzing, and possibly writing (sometimes reviews or sometimes in a journal or blog) about what one has learned or gleaned from the reading and analyzing.
In school, the classes that demand this type of practice are typically the ones that everyone dislikes. First, they ask us to read something, then they ask us to think about it (God forbid), and THEN we gotta write something meaningful (or something that sounds meaningful) about it. Nobody likes these classes, except for the would-be writers that are in those classes. However, writers, and others, know that this practice is one way to hold up a mirror to our awareness of the world. Writers write to tell tales, but those tales are often reflective of society or philosophy or other things going on in the world. They’re a mirror that we hold up to the world, a filter we see the world through. Even tales of seemingly vapid romances or adventures can have lessons in them to learn about oneself.
For the writer, there are the additional lessons of plot, grammar, dialogue, characterization, etc. It is our job to study what other people are writing. We really need to read other books or watch tv and movies, whether in our genre or not, to research trends and areas that are bogged down. We need to be able to read a story and go, “huh, I wouldn’t do it that way,” or “wow, I would never think to do it that way, but it really works,” or even, “yikes, that sucks. Make a note, never do it that way.”
Writing reviews is one way to accomplish this type of study. I write for a review company call TCM Reviews. I don’t get paid, but they send me reading material FOR FREE. Then, when I get a chance, I read it, think about it and write about it. This helps me improve my craft, trade, profession. Being in critique groups or workshops is another way to accomplish this piece of work for the writer.
Today, I read SNAP! by Shelley Munro (Triskelion Publishing, 2007) and besides the normal release from reality that reading fiction gives me, the analyzing and writing will help me along in my own writing. Then, when I write my review and upload it to TCM Reviews tomorrow, it will add to the body of work that I have that represents me online. As discussed earlier, developing an online presence is very important these days. If a someone I have submitted to Google’s my name, they will have something to read of mine to gain a greater idea of my body of work.
So, it’s not fiction, my chosen field, or my poetry or anything else near and dear to my heart. But it is good practice and it does show whether or not I can be a wordsmith, which is half the challenge of being a storyteller.
Not on target today….
Well, figured out that part of me feeling bad yesterday really was me being sick yesterday (i.e. it wasn’t all in my head). So, not on writing target today as I’ve slept most of it with the cats when I wasn’t busy being sick. But as Scarlett said, Tomorrow will be another day…..
Mixed Media: My Angstful Writing and a SWOT Analysis
Today I’m sad. Sad, sad, sad. A friend who decided to desert our friendship is moving away. He already deserted the friendship months ago so I’m not sure why this is all hitting me hard now. I guess it’s because he’s not going to say goodbye. He’s just going to go. No reconciliation, no nothin’ and I hate it. I hate losing friends, especially when I don’t understand why.
So, all I want to do is write self-pitying dirges, which only belong in my journal for my private angst moments, not for public viewing. But I need to write. My goal this year is to write at least 1/2 hour a day or 3-4 hours a week. I know that doesn’t seem like much, but the only time I have to write these days is sometime between 7pm and 10pm after I get home from work and do home stuff. So, for me, it’s a commitment. And writing a blog doesn’t count towards that goal either, in case you were wondering. I came up with that commitment when I did a SWOT analysis on myself to see where I could improve.
Remember I mentioned what a SWOT analysis was yesterday? Well, today, I’m going to copy and paste my notes from my presentation in case anyone out there is interested. Cuz when I did a SWOT analysis on myself, I found it was very helpful. Hopefully it will help other writers or creatives out there as well. Here it is, below:
SWOT Analysis for Writers: The Business of Creativity
While writing may still happen in isolation, publishing does not. As writers, we are used to playing the role of the creative and the editor, but we also need to be comfortable playing the entrepreneur. We need to sell and market our product in order for our art to be seen and heard. We need to think like business-people. SWOT is a tool, similar to the Pro/Con list tool, that is commonly used in business to assess where a business stands and where it needs improvement. This tool can easily be used by writers to help them see where they are now and how they can improve their chances to be published and noticed.
Welcome to my Blogetary!
No, you’re not in the wrong place, I just couldn’t find an easy blog template that matched my easy webpage template, so this is what you get.
So, I’m not too sure how this particular blog tool works. I’m learning as I go along. It’s not like the other “point and shoot” set ups that I’ve had on Tribe.net or MySpace.com so bare with me as I learn how to use it. For now, it may look a little barren. Haven’t figured out how to get the pictures to load, for example.
Pictures, however, are not the emphasis of this particular blog. No, the gist of this blog will be to track my journey on the way to becoming, eventually, hopefully, trepidatiously (is that a word?) published some how or some way in several different genres (I guess I dream big).
I suppose I should let you know what I’m working on. Right now, I’m between stories. I have two or three short stories (fantasy) I’m revising, a couple of short stories (fantasy and science fiction) on hold since they seem to be growing into novel length, and about three new short stories (also fantasy) I’m working on. There are novels (fantasy and chicklit) in the works but they seem to be permanently stalled in my head, so I’m working on the short stories instead to see if I can improve my craft while waiting for the novels to decide to get back to work.
I also belong to the California Writer’s Club, the Mid-Wilshire Chapter (though we’re not officially a chapter yet). We meet monthly and discuss the business of writing and sometimes discuss our own writing. But the club is more of a support group to help writers with getting published than a critique group or a workshop. I find it interesting. January’s meeting focused on three topics: 1) how to create a web presence and use it in your writing and publishing (hence my setting up this blog, which I’ve been meaning to do for a long time), 2) etiquette and the need for attending writing workshops and conferences, and 3) how to do a SWOT analysis on yourself as a writer/author.
For those of you not familiar with the term, a SWOT analysis is a tool that examines a business’s Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities and Threats to see where they are doing well and where they need to improve. Artists and writers rarely think of themselves as businesses, but in a sense we are entrepreneurs. We want to create our art, our magic, and then we want others to see it, be moved by it, and maybe even buy it. So, it’s important then to be objective and honestly look yourself and see where you need to work on your writing or what opportunities you need to take advantage of to improve or get published. I was the person to present on the SWOT analysis, so maybe, when I’m feeling ambitious, I’ll blog my presentation so you can see what mean.
February’s meeting of the CWC will be about character development and maybe copyrights. I’m going to do a little research on copyrights for the writers and how it may work. If you know of any good resources, I’d love to hear about them.
By the way, if you’re in the Los Angeles area and are interested in trying out our writer’s club (there’s both a Mid-Wilshire branch and a Venice branch), then let me know. We want more members. We aren’t chartered yet, so it’s free (for now). If you are a fellow writer then you’re probably as introverted as the rest of us and need the outside stimulation anyway. So, let me know! If you want to check out the club’s website, then go to www.calwriters.org. (Yeah, I don’t know how to do that fancy thing with the links yet, either).
A few of us from the writers club formed a critique group specializing in paranormal writing that limps along meeting occasionally to read and comment on one anothers work, either online or in person. It’s fairly interesting. Always good to read what other people are working on. Again, if you’re interested in joining us, let me know. Other than that, I suppose I’m due for a workshop or conference, but I think my bank account needs to recover first.
Well, that’s it for now. I’ll write more later.
