Performance Anxiety

I admit it, I don’t read enough blogs and I the ones I do read, I don’t read closely enough. I don’t read them at all if they don’t have an RSS feed that I can plug into Google Reader–even then, I skim and speed read. Most of the time, the entries I do read are ones that get my attention through the people I follow on Twitter.

Hell, I tweet so much, how often do I even write in this one? I’m making an effort, though. For awhile, I let this blog degenerate into a tweet archive. I’ve been making an effort, though. I put an end to the LoudTweeting. But I did fail at a couple of points along the way. I didn’t start my 2009 Rod Serling Conference posts and I’m still catching up on my thoughts on last month’s Astronomicon 11.

So, what reawakened the blogging desire? The feeling of “Oh shit, people are actually coming here to read this!” thanks in no small part to some of my favorite tweeps who’ve started following this thing and have actually plugged it on their blogs.

Follow–and actually read–these folks. They’re writers at every stage, writing every sort of thing, listed roughly in the order I met them (if my faulty memory serves)…

I know that I’ve missed a good number of people! Some, but not all, of these folks are Followers on that there sidebar on the right. For more, check out my twitter list of the usual suspects.

If nothing else, reading these folks will keep you occupied while I figure out what the hell else I’m going to talk about, on something resembling a regular basis.

Quandary

I have–rather, I had–I dilemma. This post isn’t about the dilemma itself, but rather my joy over how I found my solution.

If you’ve been following my Twitter lately, you’ll know that I’m making an effort to resubmit my rather shameful backlog of returned stories in order to keep them in circulation. It’s quite the shell game, making sure you’re resending stories to Plan B, Plan C, Plan Q markets while making sure it fits their varied guidelines and submissions periods.

Now, I believe in the conventional wisdom–sub to top markets first, then work your way down. I don’t always follow it, but I believe in it. Me, I consider all of the following when I decide where to submit a story:

  • Pay Rates–just like the conventional wisdom says.
  • “Street Cred”–I wasn’t paid for my one piece on McSweeney’s, yet it’s been worth its weight in gold, as I found when I mentioned it to other pro writers at a recent conference
  • Story Fit–only 2-3 stories I’ve ever written might have almost, possibly, if you squint your eyes, be appropriate for Analog)
  • Timing of their submissions period.

I don’t like having to make Story Fit and Timing my primary criteria. I get there sometimes when I feel I have to choose between (getting rejected by) a top-paying pro-zine or high “street cred” market that isn’t taking subs until next month, or a market that might not pay quite as high in either area but that’s taking subs now. That’s where I am with one particular piece. I won’t go into details. Suffice it to say that I’d been asking myself the question of “How small of a market is too small?”

Then, checking my backlog (another backlog–gee, there isn’t a pattern, is there?) of unread Google Reader items, I found that John Scalzi, Cat Valente, and Sarah Monette all have different takes on my quandary, all posted over the last few days.

I rush to point out–none of these positions are wrong! They gave me a lot to consider, and now I’ve decided that the story in question isn’t going to do me any good whatever sitting in my trunk.

Sci-Fi Poetry

I know I’ve been slack on my Astronomicon 11 posts, especially since the con was a month ago, now. But since we’re done with one holiday and I’ve pushed a bunch of rejected short stories back out to various markets, here’s the next entry, as I promised last time.

I attended the panel on “Sci-Fi Poetry” (Moderated by Gerald Schwartz, with Herb Kauderer and John Roche) having no idea what to expect. My only exposure to genre poetry came in some of the pieces in The Best of Lady Churchill’s Rosebud Wristlet and the occasional piece I might catch in one of the “Big Three” print genre mags or some of the online mags I submit stories to (but only if I’d heard of the author previously).

There wasn’t too, too much in the way of discussion. Just readings. The pieces read were very competently written verse, at least in my uneducated “I know what I like when I hear it” point of view, covering a variety of topics. I was surprised –and I say this again in the context of my ignorance of the area of genre poetry–that until the very end of the presentation, I hadn’t heard any prose poetry.

Perhaps I had that one preconception about genre poetry. I don’t know why, exactly. I think it has something to do with a particular piece by Charles Simic, which starts, “He held the Beast” from Part I of his collection The World Doesn’t End (reprinted in The New York Times–second piece from the bottom).

He held the Beast of the Apocalypse by its tail, the stupid kid! Oh beards on fire, our doom appeared sealed. The buildings were tottering; the computer screens were as dark as our grandmother’s cupboards. We were too frightened to plead. Another century gone to hell – and for what? Just because some people don’t know how to bring their children up!

Simic and others might not say so, but I thought this could’ve easily fit into the rest of the work read in this session.

As it happens, the one prose poem I did hear–my favorite of all the pieces read–was from John Roche. Here it is, posted with permission.

“Reading Comix”
by John Roche

Those long rainy afternoons spent huddled on bed or chair with pile of DC comic books: The Flash or Superman or Batman or Green Lantern Clear heroes for an altar boy who believed Vietnam was a just war and didn’t talk to bad girls, or any girls other than his cousins, for that matter. Later, with onset of puberty, the Marvel anti-heroes: Fantastic Four, The Hulk, Spider Man. Rare ones from my collector friend: Dr. Strange, Strange Tales, The Silver Surfer. Always the sense of forbiddenness, the frown of parents who didn’t quite approve of comic books, at least anything other than Nancy or Archie. Even Bugs Bunny too subversive. And connection to the darker side, the fat dorky guy with disheveled hair and pattern baldness sitting under impossible ziggarats of books reading a paperback and looking pissed when you disturbed him with your pitiful pile of comix then totaling the sum in his head never using a cash register except to make change. Then the older cousin of your collector friend, the cousin with ID to buy you all cigarettes and maybe the occasional six-pack and he had some cool comics but there was something not quite right about him you couldn’t place it except you didn’t want to be alone in the room with him and his pimply face, anymore than to be alone in the sacristy with Father McSheffield. Then, around age 16, came potsmoking, came the comix: Mr. Natural the Furry Freak Bros. Felix the Cat. Visual equivalents to The Fugs and Frank Zappa & The Mothers of Invention. Girls with impossible breasts sucking off skinny cartoonist alter egos or upside down against walls, their giant asses primed for virtual penetration by fat bikers and smooth-talking gurus alike. Trucking on trucking on trucking on page after page after page joint after joint after joint masturbation after masturbation after masturbation laugh after laugh after guilty laugh while the hi-fi played The Doors and The Who and the Airplane such were the joys of reading at that age. But still the appeal of virtual worlds, the Bat Cave, the laboratory of Lex Luthor, the Sanctum Sanctorum of Dr. Strange, or his Himalayan lamasary, the Silver Surfer’s lost home of Zenn-la, the place you visited after your friend gave you that tab of windowpane to see through seven dimensions seven generations seven suns and daughters seven rings of Saturn seven hours and counting seven heads are better than one and after that you didn’t read many comics for a good long while because you lived in the world of Dr. Who and didn’t even need a phone booth to dial home to your extraterrestrial parents just had a tough time walking on the x’s never on the o’s lest you fall into the vast void opening up under your feet and that would be almost as bad as getting shipped off to Vietnam like your cousins and not even Sergeant Fury could save you then nor the Sky Pilots neither so you walk carefully on the lattice scaffolding between the sidewalk cracks for years, it seems, until Don Juan the Brujo and David Carradine the Kung Fu master come to teach you the proper way for a warrior to walk, magic string from the belly pulling you forward past unseen terrors, calmly past all the hunched up horrors of the next fifty years, unafraid through the transitive nightfall of diamonds.

Some of the references pre-date me by (precious) few years. Yet I and most everyone in attendance agreed that every bit of the poem resonated. To me, it was an archetypal resonance. If sci-fi/comic-book fandom has anything resembling a “race memory,” this piece listed most of them.

Odds & Ends

I didn’t take notes at some of the Astronomicon panels I attended because the material was pretty straightforward with nothing particularly earthshattering or, the opposite, I was too engrossed in the discussion and/or managed to take part! So, here are two of those, with more to come.

“Is It Fantasy, Sci-Fi, or Something Else?”
with Josepha Sherman (moderator), with Sal Monaco, Daniel Rabuzzi, and Steve Carper

I remember it started off with an invitation to the audience to shout out the name of a series (lit, TV, whatever) and the panel would try to categorize it as best they could. The Twilight Zone came up and I remembered being a little disappointed with how easily the panel resolved their hemming and hawing and decided, “Sci-fi. Well, no fantasy… well, it had some fantasy elements, but mostly sci-fi.” I let it go, ‘cos I didn’t want to come off like Prometheus from on-high (read: The 2009 Rod Serling Conference), pontificating to the unwashed.

The most interesting part of the discussion happened when the subject of the hard-to-categorize came up. That’s when I got to show off a bit, rattling off all the various lit mag issues devoted to that recently, Tin House 33, Conjunctions 39 and 52, Interfictions–well, I didn’t bring up Interfictions. One of the panelists, Rabuzzi (a member of the Interstitial Arts Foundation) did!

“The Internet and Personal Privacy”
with Alan Katerinsky (moderator) with the hosts of the radio show Sound Bytes–Nick Francesco, David Enright, & Steve Rea

The tech specifics were over my head, but we’ve heard all the principles before. Put anything on the internet, you’re putting it in public, and it’ll always be there, period. Their examples were pretty graphic. Transcripts of VOIP conversations that one member managed to sniff. One panelist was at his laptop rattling off the names of every laptop in the room currently on the hotel’s WiFi–thank god mine was off! “If I can see it, I can probably get into it,” he said.

Next time: Sci-fi poetry!

“Does anybody really know what time it is? Does anybody really care?”

I intended to neatly organize my panel notes and thoughts from Astronomicon 11. It was a lot of fun and I met some wonderful people–legendary sci-fi writers, aspiring writers, poets, and other artists, some small-press publishers, and of course, other fans. And I wanted to blog it all in order. Then, mindful of my broken promise to blog more about the 2009 Rod Serling Conference, I decided to just post since I know there are folks interested in the following topic.

I had two goals for the con: To meet Nancy Kress (she signed my copy of Beggars in Spain as I squeed about how awesome I thought the novella was) and to attend a panel called “Short Stories: Does Anyone Still Care.” Everything else was icing–and very substantial icing, I might add.

The panel consisted of Kim Wehner, a local (to the Rochester area) writing instructor (who writes as K.L. Gore), and Craig DeLancey, professor, playwright, and fiction-writer with publication credits in Analog, among others. Author Daniel A. Rabuzzi, a panelist in other panels, was invited to contribute from the audience. Here’s what I picked up…

1
To start, the question of whether or not anyone still cares about short stories has a simple answer: Yes and no. Using figures from Locus, DeLancey observed that while subscription rates for genre magazines (particularly “The Big Three”) are decreasing, the number of published short stories are increasing. (I was a little unclear about how “published” was defined, exactly.)

2
95% of the audience raised their hands when asked by Wehner, “Who writes short-stories?” When she asked why, the typical answers popped up: To take advantage of brevity for impact, to follow the examples of novelists who can’t fit everything into their novels and put them into short-stories, to practice in preparation for novel-writing, etc. I chimed in with the credo I adopted from a line in one of Aimee Bender’s stories, “I want to be violated by insight.”

It was funny. I could feel that parts of the audience were thinking, “That’s cool!” and other parts were thinking, “He’s gotta be one of those pretentious MFA bastards.”

3
Wehner’s theory–something I’ve heard elsewhere–is that short-story readers are primarily writers or aspiring writers. She did not say it in the tone that usually accompanies that statement (“Those hoity-toity Raymond Carver wannabes!”) nor did the typical “Writers writing stories to impress other writers rather than for readers” argument come up.

But I wondered if that accounted for the fact that short-story collections and anthologies just keep on coming. “Can we say that writers are the ones supporting the short-story industry?” I asked. One audience member attributed the continued propagation of short stories to pros who basically force the issue with their publishers. He repeated a story one of the pros told in another panel (I think it was Nancy Kress, but I could be wrong), that she was willing to write a novel for her publisher that she didn’t really want to write in exchange for publishing her short story collection.

I countered that while that may be true of individual collections (I don’t believe that, personally), that doesn’t really account for anthologies: themed anthologies, “best of” and “year’s best” anthologies, etc. “Clearly, there is a maket,” DeLancey said.

4
The panelists asked the audience “Where do you read your short stories?” Answers varied–it seemed that only slightly more people answered “online” than “books.”

At that point, I publicly admitted that I didn’t subscribe to the Big Three magazines. I buy a magazine or read a particular online mag based on the table of contents. Period.

5
DeLancey, a playwright, wondered if the art of the short-story was a “mature art form” in the way theater and opera are, and if so, why don’t we hold it subject to the same limitations? In other words, no one expects a ballerina to become a millionaire. No one expects a theater to break even, let alone make a significant profit. And things being what they are nowadays, is it fair to tell a short-story writer (or even a novelist, for that matter)–and these are my words, not the panelists’–that, “You’re probably not going to be Stephanie Meyer, so get over yourself.”

Rabuzzi took the comparison a step further, mentioning the theater scene in New York City, where you have Broadway–the rock stars, the big hits–and Off-Broadway, Off-off, and down the line. The more interesting stuff tends to be in those areas.

Short-stories have been, and still are, the “bleeding edge of our [i.e. genre] fiction”, DeLancey said. “What would our fiction landscape look like if short-stories were gone?” he asked. Someone responded, “It’d be all Cats and Phantom of the Opera.”

Though folks were quick to add, “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” It’s interesting to note how often I heard that phrase, especially when names like Dan Brown or Stephanie Meyer came up. Moreso, it was the way it sometimes came out, like “I have to say that even though I secretly wish those people would go back where they came from.

7
Despite a bit of arguing (again, a story I’ve heard elsewhere) about the difference between what editors say their subscription numbers are vs. what appears in Locus, the number of stories published (again, what’s “published” exactly?) as podcasts are booming.

###

I know I’m missing a few points, but I can always add those later. But here’s what I took away…

  • I realize that at a lot of panels, one rarely walks away with any feeling of resolution. And I personally wouldn’t have minded if there was a dissenting voice somewhere in the audience who would’ve said, “No, I don’t care. Fuck short-stories!”
  • Yes, people care about short-stories. They’re not going away.
  • Yes, it’s a fact, publishers–the big ones–hate short-story collections. And yet, how exactly do we account for something like The New Space Opera 2?
  • If the short-story still has growth potential, it’s not solely in print.

Mad Pulp Ass-Kicking

Despite my brave words last week, I haven’t stuck with NaNoWriMo as much as I would’ve liked.

The irony of it all is that the thing driving me (or most anyone) to do NaNo is the thing keeping me from it, namely the desire to write and get my shit out there. So, when I should’ve been NaNo-ing for the past few days, I’ve been doing the following…

  • Submitted two short-stories (one of which was rejected after one frakking day, but oh well–on to the next market)
  • Prepping two more for final submission (just a few MS tweaks according to particular market specifications)
  • Going through my published and unpublished stuff as potential entries for a short-short chapbook contest
  • …and to facilitate writing more material for the contest, I’ve reacquainted myself with the flash fiction section of the Zoetrope Virtual Studio. (Even scored myself an invite to a private office, where all the fun of Zoe really takes place!)
  • Preparing to run into some well-known authors at Astronomicon 11, if I can steel my resolve.

I’m not saying I’ve given up on NaNo entirely. What I am saying is that it’s lower on the priority list than it was. I realized that my reasons going into it this year were somewhat faulty. I wanted an excuse to generate material, even though I had a backlog of stuff and a virtual notebook full of more ideas than I could ever use. I wanted that mad NaNo rush to get it all down. But why? For it’s own sake? That’s a good enough reason for most NaNo’ers but not for me, not this year.

I’ve been following Bill Cunningham’s (d.b.a. The Mad Pulp Bastard) Pulp 2.0 blog for quite awhile, before I ever followed him on Twitter. And the other day, he gave me some advice as I twitter-pondered aloud about a story of mine which was bought and paid for, but never published…

And the Mad Pulp Bastard responded…

Now, the particular advice itself isn’t as important as the spirit of it. The spirit of it said to me, Don, just get your shit out there.

There was a point where NaNoWriMo was a particular means to a particular end for me, and it served that end very ,very well. Then. Now, I know that finer, more experienced, and more published writers are doing it right this very second, but at this stage of the game–my game–it doesn’t serve my ultimate end. Oh, I’ll dabble and throw some words into the wordcount meter, to be sure. But if I don’t hit 50k words, then meh. I’d rather put more effort into building on my 2009 publications and get a head start on 2010!

“Here we go again/ He’s back in town again”

For the past two years, I’ve sworn off National Novel Writing Month. It’s not that I’ve ever turned my nose up at it. It’s just that I’m primarily a short-story writer, for one. And, more importantly, I’ve got a bit of a backlog of stuff that needs to be revised and submitted (or resubmitted). Plus, I’ve always had trouble wrapping my head around the idea of writing a novel. Besides having only one or two ideas that might possibly be big enough for that format, I get discouraged that I don’t have the level of fortitude I see in the novel-writing members of my critique group.

But somewhere along the line, I’ve gotten out of the habit of drafting new stuff while rewriting old stuff. If you’ve read or heard Ray Bradbury’s thoughts on writing, he’d probably tell me, “Yr doin’ it rong.” And it’s bothered me for the past twelve months, which is why NaNoWriMo keeps me coming back.

I’m not too hung up on whether or not I finish. I did back in 2005 and haven’t looked at the thing since, and since I’ve published a few things since then, it’s all good. Basically, I’m in this because my feeble Jedi skillz need work and I figure NaNoWriMo is the best way to kill all these birds with one thirty-day stone.

I’ve got a strategy which involves…

  • Creating a novel of interlinked segments. Yes, you can check the NaNo boards for the endless debate about what constitutes a novel, but if Cat Valente’s In the Night Garden (The Orphan’s Tales, #1) and Sarah Shun-lien Bynum’s Madeleine Is Sleeping are novels, then so is my attempt, tentatively titled Thoughts of Reference.
  • Going through my notebook–I’ve accumulated and tagged all these items, and dammit, it’s about time they started working for me.
  • Channeling Ray Bradbury, the master who demonstrated that it was possible to write a story a week. I’m attempting something a little more ambitious, but at the same time, isn’t. All I’m after are first drafts!

You’re all welcome to join me for the ride, though I make no promises as to how long that ride might be. I’m always glad to offer help & support, but I gotta warn you: I believe in doing unto others as I would have done unto me, so my help & support might look a little something like this…

If you’re down with that, then by all means, look me up!

Catching Up is Hard to Do

I’ve decided that part of the problems I’ve been having with writing have to do with all the stuff swimming in my psychic RAM that needs to be dumped out. So many blogworthy things going on; so little time to blog them. So, here goes.

1
Just ‘cos there haven’t been my usual Tough Love posts doesn’t mean that I haven’t been attending the biweekly evisceration. I just haven’t had anything to be eviscerated, not by the group, anyway.

2
I’m eviscerating my current short story in-progress, formerly titled “The Six-Hundred Dollar Man.” With every section of prose I clean up, I feel like I’m butting my head trying to stick to the story I want to tell.

You may be thinking, “Maybe it’s not the story that needs to be told.” Except I know in my gut it is.

3
And aside from that, I’ve got 3 other stories that I need to finish revising and send off.

4
I entered The First Annual Brain Harvest Mega Challenge a little while back. The Second Place Winner has been posted. And I have to say, if that’s second place, I think I’m pretty sure I didn’t make First Place. 🙁

5
Last Friday & Saturday, I attended the 2009 Rod Serling Conference. I’m still processing the experience, a weekend filled with scholars, fans, and artists including Serling’s surviving fammily and the legendary George Clayton Johnson on whose every word we hung.

A modern-day John the Baptist, if I ever saw one.

I’ll blog the blow-by-blow later.

6
And now that I’ve taken time out to process my inbasket and tickler files, I can get some sleep and hit the WIP tomorrow.

Tough Love

…will return in two weeks. Because it’s been hellish at the dayjob and I think I deserve to enjoy the holiday weekend, such as it is–I don’t get a third day off.

So instead of busting my ass to get something done to get vivisected, I’m chilling out, watching US Open tennis, and a little later, I’m gonna drive out to a cookout with some friends to have, what Laura Nyro calls, a “Stoned Soul Picnic.”

Speaking of, Nyro’s a singer/songwriter I’m discovering again for the first time. Apparently, I’ve been listening to her songs for years, as covered by Blood, Sweat & Tears and other bands on rotation in my playlists. I kept seeing the name “Laura Nyro” come up as the composer–it’s a kind of name that jumps out at you. So I looked her up and now I’m binging on her music!

But I digress. You’ll have to excuse me. I got very little sleep last night and I’m finding myself struggling to gather the energy to get to the cookout that I’m blowing off crit group to go to.

[Edited to add] The day after I wrote this, I found out that I’ve been living in the same town as Nyro’s brother and have seen the group he conducts, Vitamin L, perform several times!

Readin’, Writin’, Race

Two of my stories–“Good for the Gander” and “Tough Love”–have been listed in the 2009 Short Fiction by People of Color on the Carl Brandon Society wiki, and on the CBS’s blog as well.

It’s been a prompt for me to finally give some thought about readin’, writin’, & race.

…?

Oh, wait–you were expecting me to have thought those thoughts and expound on them? Unfortunately, I’m not quite there yet. But, I have considered a few back-of-the-envelope points.

1
I’ve put off thinking about this topic since I started spewing words onto paper five or so years ago. I had horrible visions of writing some manifesto that starts “As an Asian-American writer, I…” or writing some story about some thirtysomething First Generation Flipino.

2
For years I’ve been hiding behind my beginner status. (You could make a good argument that I should keep doing just that!) “Just learn how to write and get to the race stuff later,” I told myself. And to be honest, I never felt any real pressure to get to it. But not only did I feel some internal pressure, and it was a horrible push/pull situation. I subconsciously feared how much would be riding on writing “my “Filipino story.” I was probably overthinking the whole thing. Thing is, growing up Filipino and Catholic instills a fear of fucking up like you wouldn’t believe.

3
(or, “How I Learned to Stop Worrying About Race in My Writing Until I Had Something to Say”)

The only thing I can offer in my defense is that you wouldn’t have wanted to read any “Filipino story” I might’ve written 2-3 years ago. But as it happens, I’m working on a piece right now with Filipino characters. Not because of any pressure, nor to make any particular statement. I’ve got a yarn to spinl about certain characters who’ve grown up a certain way, who have made or will make choices about their life paths.

More to come later, maybe.