Author: Don

Where’s My Inner Taskmaster?

Yes, I added about another thousand words to “The one with the mask.” But, the story’s still not done, I don’t think (which obviously means the MS isn’t finished). Alas, some of the pressure is off as the group is cancelled this week. But, this is opportunity–now, there’s absolutely no fucking excuse for not having a finished quality product ASAP.

Guess I’m Really Not Alone

I’m in a café in a library at the Big Red School on the Hill, playing hookey from work. Hell, I got stories to finish.

There’s a joke in I-town, mostly among writers who know each other, that everyone here is a writer. “Everyone”–townies, professors, undergrads, grad students–is working on some novel or screenplay or somethingorother.

I’m observing a conversation between two people, an English professor and a library media specialist, and an old physics professor who kind of horned in on their conversation.

Two of the three confessed to being writers.

So That’s How It’s Done

Elizabeth Bear writes in Storytellers Unplugged: Passion and the single blogger

And that’s what makes [certain blogs] readable–compulsive, even. Because they’re committed. They’re there laying it on the line. This is what I do, and this is how I do it.

And that? Is interesting. And it’s interesting in ways that apply to fiction writing, too. Because characterization counts. I mean, let’s be honest here: Shakespeare couldn’t plot his way out of a wet paper bag. And he knew it, too, which is why he lifted stories from everywhere and anywhere, with the peculiar light-fingered pickpocket’s touch of his. But the man could write characters–people–better than just about anybody.

A good weblog is about character.

New Subs

I’m going to have a go at tracking my fiction submissions on here. I’ve appropriately decided to label this, and all future posts of this sort, masochism.

I’ve sent two flash pieces here. I was at a talk in the spring sponsored by the Saltonstall Foundation, and the editor of this journal was one of the presenters. I’d been thinking about submitting to them ever since, even after seeing this potential vision of my future in the last two panels of this page from Raketenwerfer’s America’s Top Novelist, part 2.

Stars Must’ve Aligned

…if I’m reading this not two weeks after discovering this person’s name via the Great American Prose Poems anthology, which is yet another book added to my goodreads list before I’ve finished the 100 other things on it.

Charles Simic Receives Poet Laureate Post, Plus $100,000 Award
By Jeffrey Burke

Aug. 2 (Bloomberg) — Charles Simic, a Pulitzer Prize- winning writer, will receive two major honors today. He will be named the 15th poet laureate of the U.S. by the Librarian of Congress, succeeding Donald Hall, and he will receive a $100,000 award from the American Academy of Poets.

Rolfing My Inner Child

So you went and you found you a guru
In an effort to find you a new you
And maybe even managed to raise your conscious level.
While you’re striving to find the right road,
There’s one thing you should know,
“What’s hip today might become passé”

Tower of Power, “What Is Hip”

Note to self: Work that quote into a rewrite of this essay, written such a long time ago I’m almost embarassed by the prose.

Cramming

I know what you’re thinking. All that screed about writing, and here he is blogging. Deal ;). I just wanted to take a second and brag.

I’m also part of an online flash fiction critique group, which I’ve been neglecting as I freak myself out trying to pound “The one with the mask” out of me. There’s a minimum monthly participation level that I crammed into the last day of July with one story and three critiques.

The story was based on a Carver-like piece of Vogon poetry I wrote awhile back, probably the closest to a decent poem I’ve ever written or am ever likely to write. No, I don’t consider that cheating at all, why do you ask? There was lots of editing that needed done. Anyway, I submitted it to surprisingly few criticisms, aside from people’s individual tastes on sentence structure.

The point again that this is the umpteenth time I’ve experienced the joys of just sitting the fuck down and getting shit on paper, sort of the literary equivalent of a bulemic purge, in order to beat a deadline. You’d think I’d learn that lesson, but I doubt I will anytime soon. Already, I feel myself “not feeling like it,” as far as the bits I have to do to carry “The one with the mask” those few precious steps toward completion.