Unconventions in Your Writing

No one, and I mean no one, is as disappointed as I am that we still have yet to reach the age of the hovercraft. 

As a kid I fully expected that by the time I was an adult, I’d be regularly driving a hovercraft or, at the very least, using a jet pack to get to work.

I blame you, George Lucas, for giving us false hope.

Yet here it is, 2012, and still no stinking hovercraft.

There is something about the idea of hovercraft that we love. I guess it’s the closest thing we can  imagine to unfettered flying. It’s the magic carpet of the modern age, and just about every science fiction novel or movie features them. And it's for that reason that I, as a writer of science fiction or sci-fi or SF or whatever the cool kids want to call it, tend to avoid them.

Yes, my brothers and sisters, hear these words that I’m speaking from my little bloggy pulpit: there will be no hovercraft in my SF novels.

I’m not saying that having hovercraft in your novel is necessarily wrong, and believe me, if and when hovercraft go into mainstream production, I'll be the first in line to buy one of the dang things. I don't care if I’m 94 years old. But let's be honest, they’ve become a bit of a cliché, and that’s why I don't want to use them in any of my stories. That and my extreme bitterness about still not having one.

Is there anything you avoid in your writing for similar reason? Some convention of your particular genre that you shun just because it’s become ubiquitous?

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Getting Over It

So here I am. Back again.

In July it seemed like there was this big wall standing between me and moving forward, but now I’m over it. I’m not even sure why, but I’m not questioning it. Maybe I should credit this achievement to the one certifiable superpower I possess: the ability to endure prolonged periods of crappiness with my sense of humor more or less intact.  

I'm the guy at the far right. Still thinking about it.

No, that’s not quite true. I have two superpowers. I can also write a kick-ass cover letter.  Doesn’t do me much good these days as a stay-at-home mom, but back when I was job hunting it was a very handy skill. 

See, the trick with cover-letter writing is to not sound like an idiot.

No, actually the real trick is to not BE an idiot and somehow convey that on paper.

By the way, are we going to have to do away with the phrase “on paper [such-and-such] looks good.” Because nobody puts things on paper anymore, do they? “On screen” doesn’t work as a suitable substitute somehow.

Nah, I think “on paper” is a keeper. There are lots of those kinds of expressions still hanging around, seemingly unaware that they don’t apply to modern life. Like, for example,“That’s a tough row to hoe.” I’ve personally never hoed an actual row, but I imagine some are tougher than others to get through and besides, people get what you mean, and there’s no simpler way to say it.

OK, so let’s re-route this digression back onto the interstate where I started.

I seem to be over my malaise, my sense of hopelessness, my questioningness about the pointedness of continuing to write. I got myself up over the wall and down the other side. Brava, me. 

Did I have some great revelation? No, I did not. I find revelations are usually slow, incremental things that build more slowly than a reef. Then one day there’s the curiously pleasant sensation of not being in total agony anymore. Kind of like the moment you realize you’re not in love with that person who dumped you, and you can finally stop feeling like a chump.

             

The other side of the wall is a good place to be. And it will include regular blog posts from here on because I missed it. Blogging is yet another of those things I was questioning the validity of and you know what? Of course the world does not really need more blathering about writing, but I’m going to do it anyway. Last I checked, pointlessness was not a crime so long as you’re having fun.

See you all next week. In the mean time, I have some used grappling hooks you can borrow if you’re dealing with seemingly insurmountable walls of your own.

It's Time for a Video Montage

You know how politicians and high-profile government officials sometimes announce that they're leaving a job in order to "spend more time with their family”? 

And everyone’s like, yeah, right. Who wants to spend more time with their family? There's got to be more to it.

Better still is the all-purpose celebrity excuse: So-and-so Starlet is being treated for “exhaustion.”

 

Well, I’m going to be taking an extended break from blogging because I’m exhausted, and I want to spend more time with my family. And frankly blogging has been making me feel "tired and emotional" for quite some time.  

Make of these euphemisms what you will.

Mostly I’m terribly, terribly worn out trying to seem like this:

 When I really feel like this:

So I'm going into video montage mode for the foreseeable future.

You know what I mean. It's when you’re watching a movie and the hero has to go through some long, drawn out, totally boring period of time working hard at something—usually sword play or kung fu—at least in the movies I watch. And of course nobody wants to watch that so they show a montage of her practicing her moves or meaningfully staring off into space or whatever?  Oh, and of course it’s all set to music to make the suffering seem artful.

Yes. That’s going to be my life for a while. Boring hard work, minus the stirring musical score. When/if I tell the tale of these coming days, I'll need to do some heavy editing to make it suitable for viewing (ie., less dreary).

I’ll still be on Twitter because I love chatting with my writer friends who are, hands down, the best folks around. 

(Come on, don't get all shy on me! You totally know you are.)

I'll be back in a few ... weeks? Months maybe? It's depends on how well my kung fu moves are coming along. In the mean time, peace and productivity to all.

Wait. What? Are you telling me... summer? Now?

Summer used to start on June 21, did it not? 

Now I got these smartypants kids who tell me, no, it’s actually June 20 this year because of the blah, blah, blah and the effects of an additional minute added thrice quarterly, take into account the tilt of the earth, and carry the one. 

Anyway, apparently whoever is in charge of these things just up and decided when the solstice is and TODAY is the first day of summer, not tomorrow. What is this crap, I ask you?

On a related note, I woke up in a panic this morning.

I’m a full-time mom of four and for all intents and purposes, a full-time writer, and every year the summer arrives and I stand before its gaping maw and announce tremulously, “We’re going to have the best summer ever, kids!”

Which is sort of like announcing that this phase of the war in Afghanistan is going to go especially smoothly, for sure, uh-huh. *high five* 

Because high fives make everything seem possible, do they not?

So, yeah, summer comes, and I make plans to keep everyone busy, myself included, but of course me and the kids are working at cross purposes as far as that goes. And inevitably, despite my best efforts, things turn into mushy whining and squabbling and by late-August—often far sooner—the household falls under the spell of grumpy torpor that makes a prison cell in Guantanamo Bay seem cheerful by comparison. 

By August 31, absolutely EVERYTHING will be lame, and even my suggestion that the kids "go steal some cars and see if you can outrun the Smokies like me and your uncle used to do back in the day" will fall on ears made deaf by sheer boredom.

But that’s NOT going to happen this summer. No, this year will be different. I’m so sure of it!

Give my muse Ivan some skin, folks.

Hell to the yeah! 

*high five*

And what are your outlandishly optimistic summer plans, writing or otherwise?