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Hon­est.

I’m just real­ly busy. I’m still teach­ing judo, I’m try­ing to write an inter­est­ing Word­Press plu­g­in or three, and I’m men­tor­ing two youths in writing.

So what’s new with you?

What I’ve been up to lately:

Judo

Learn­ing some Kodokan goshin-jutsu.

Writ­ing

Not as much as I’d like, sad­ly, though I did go to the Tun­nels of Moose Jaw on a research trip.

Work

Just wait­ing for the fac­ul­ty to all show up again. After all, it’s the end of summer.

I trav­eled to Edmon­ton for a judo tour­na­ment, I got to see some rel­a­tives, and I drove all the way back in a five-speed car with arm­strong steer­ing and no radio. It was a good time, but I’m glad to be home now.

More details lat­er. For now, enjoy the video of me get­ting thrown around.

I’m doing nanow­rimo* this year. My sto­ry’s title is Once I Was You. Here’s the first snip­pet, from the 1244 words I wrote in an hour this morning:

As if on some silent cue, the doors of the school across the street at the far end of the park burst open, and chil­dren boiled out, their laugh­ter too qui­et to reach me. The buzzer sound­ed then, delayed by dis­tance, and the joy­ful noise of hun­dreds of six- to ten-year-olds washed over me, a rau­cous burst of mirth and mer­ri­ment, and even I, cold now of heart and mind, had to smile.

More to come, but right now I have to get to work. Toodles!

____

* the NAtion­al NOv­el WRIt­ing MOnth.

Part 1 | Part 2

Peo­ple kept ask­ing me all day — all week lead­ing up to the week­end, real­ly: “Are you ner­vous?” I’d answer “Yeah, some­what”, or “Not real­ly”, or “I used to read in church all the time”*. I was a lit­tle ner­vous, though.

Fri­day after­noon, after the screen­writ­ing ses­sion, I went home and — for the first time — read aloud the sec­tion I’d intend­ed to read. I timed myself. It took four min­utes to read the descrip­tion of the dream palace erect­ed by the gods at the far end of time. Four min­utes. I had fif­teen to fill.

Hmmm.

So I read the first half of the sto­ry aloud, which came to some­thing like eleven or twelve min­utes. That was more like it. The down­side was that it was, well, a lit­tle sweary. The view­point char­ac­ter is a trick­ster god, named Fox, and he’s … earthy.

Which would­n’t be so bad, but my mom was com­ing for the reading.

Con­tin­ue read­ing “Words Alive (3)” →

Part 1

[Oops. This is long over­due. Sorry!]

On Sat­ur­day, I went to two workshops.

First up, Ani­ta Daher deliv­ered a pre­sen­ta­tion on “Writ­ing for the Young Adult”. This intrigued me, since one of my back-burn­er projects (also my sec­ond nanow­rimo project), Salyx, neat­ly slots into the YA mar­ke­teer­ing cat­e­go­ry: it’s about a boy’s com­ing of age on a dis­tant colony world. It’s cur­rent­ly sit­ting at about 55,000 words, and it real­ly needs to have its end­ing cleaned up. It’s also got some heavy themes in it: teen preg­nan­cy, mur­der, reli­gion, the fric­tion at the edges of two cultures…

So it was good to hear Ani­ta’s advice: Don’t wor­ry about writ­ing to the mar­ket. Just write the sto­ry — write the truest sto­ry you can — and let the mar­ke­teers fig­ure out which slot it fits best in. (It was also nice to hear that 40,000 words is a nice sol­id num­ber for a YA nov­el — I was think­ing I’d have to add to it, and the sto­ry’s all told already.)

Next was Dan­ish­ka Ester­hazy’s ses­sion on Screen­writ­ing. I’m not a screen­writer, but almost every­thing she told us maps straight across, in my view, to nov­el-writ­ing. The inter­twin­ing of action, inter­per­son­al con­flict, and per­son­al growth; the idea that most movies fol­low a four-act struc­ture (though movie execs will claim up and down that they’re real­ly three acts, split 25−50−25); the con­cept of grow­ing a screen­play from a sol­id log­line into a hun­dred-or-so-page draft; all this fits very well with what I’ve learned about writ­ing long-form prose.

So here’s the log­line for my work in progress:

Every­thing that Nev­er Hap­pened is the sto­ry of a rud­der­less 17^th-cen­tu­ry sea cap­tain, who must bat­tle his undead patroness to save the world — and his soul.

Tomor­row*: my reading.

____

* This time I mean it.