Sorrows of the armchair critic

When I turned six, a boy a year younger than me gave me a handmade birthday card. I told him birds and clouds don’t really look like that. 

Also, I wasn't really sure how the black birds on pink paper motif had any relevance to celebrating another year of maturity. It all seemed sort of random. I wasn’t trying to be mean; I just thought he might like to know. 

It is very, very hard to switch to being an author when you’re a critic at heart.

The Road to Texas, Phase 1

I’ve tried various approaches to this writer thing. Last year, it was all about being a deadbeat mooch, pretending money wasn’t important and focusing on my Art.

Then I tried being a World Traveler and Self-Sacrificing Volunteer.

Soon, all the unimportant money had dribbled away. I had deep doubts about the value of my volunteering. (Some people are born to make a difference. Some people should really go back to work and just send money.) And the Art—hah! Pah! And even, bah!

That’s when I remembered the whole starving-artist-with-a-menial-job thing. It’s unpleasant, yes, but it has all that romance and cachet and stuff.

Restaurant work seemed the most traditional choice. The application process, however, was tricky. I waited tables in college but in the subsequent ten years, I had made an important self-discovery: I kind of hate people a little. (See item re: volunteering, above.) I really, really, really don’t like depending on being cheerful and friendly and helpful for my daily bread. True, at the very highest levels, wait staff are expected to be cold and snooty, but we really don’t have those kinds of restaurants here in Dog Patch, and I wouldn’t be qualified for them if we did.

So, I put in a bunch of applications at various establishments, listing my experience as a server, but gently encouraging them to consider me for any position but.

Confusing for people.

Lately I’ve been trying to have a more honest and open approach to life, but my ‘I hate people and do not wish to serve them’ explanation seemed ill-advised.

And then I heard about the Café.

They were hiring for the summer.

They didn’t require experience, preferring to train their help themselves, rather than deal with people used to other restaurants’ systems.

They were looking for a kitchen helper who would be on the fast track to a supervisorial position.

It sounded too good to be true …

…

…

.

Funny how these things work out.

Watch this space for Part II of Phase I (shut up) in the coming days!

Dum dum dummmmm.

Citizenship

In preparation for my impending move, I've been doing a little research on Texas. Since it's an election year, it suddenly occurred to me that I might be moving to (gasp) an Early Primary State.

This is a crucial question: As you all undoubtedly know, or at least all of you who are Americans (my stats keep picking up hits from Russia, for some reason), voters who want to have an actual impact in a presidential election need to vote in a primary.Or live in a swing state.

Thing is, I don't really want to have an impact. Who needs that kind of responsibility? I don't like politicians, as rule, so voting early just means choosing the lesser of two (or eight) evils. That means research, and that means paying attention to parts of the news that don't involve a burglar shooting his own foot after the cat knocks over the tropical fish bowl.

As it turns out, there is both good news and bad news: the Texas primary, in April, is not as irrelevant as North Carolina's (May), but neither is it as nearly-competitive as the one in Georgia (March), where I was a registered voter (and odd job reporter covering local political issues!) for five exciting years.

It’s my party and I’ll have dragons if I want to

I don’t care what anyone* says: The flying reptiles are BACK ON.

My whole life, I've wanted to live in a world with pterodactyls, and I edit them out of a schlocky fantasy novel because they're “stupid?” Who exactly are we kidding here?

Of course, this means extra work. Because I have actually  made a lot of progress in cutting the giant lizards out. And some might say my constant waffling makes a highly convenient way to procrastinate on finding some kind of conclusion for the plot. Maybe it is. Maybe I just want to avoid getting deep into that tedious escape sequence again. I don’t care.

HERE, THERE BE DRAGONS.

*Including me.

Vision vs. work

Brilliant ideas are so much fun when they hit you. How is it that executing them is always so tedious?

Excising the dragons has been—tricky. For such a thin plot device, they are remarkably well-knit into the story. I keep coming across new vicious flying lizard attacks that I had forgotten about, and then I have to drop everything to figure out what should happen instead.

On the plus side, I got a new computer! One with a functioning hyphen key! And a caps lock! Which I had forgotten turns on accidentally at least seven times a day!

Earlier today, I accidentally spelled 'fishing' with two S's. I am convinced that this is an improvement: fisshing, fisshing, fisshing. Doesn't it look ten times less dull that way?

I will now remember things!

I am really, really, really excited about Moonwalking With Einstein: The Art and Science of Remembering Everything, which, I gather, is about to make Joshua Foer the Malcolm Gladwell of 2012.

I haven't finished it yet. Actually, I've only read the Kindle sample so far, since I was debating whether or not I can afford more trendy nonfiction geared more toward boosting my self-esteem than to actually improving my performance. There are, presumably, other, more boring books about how to memorize information that would actually help more.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Foer's book, which you absolutely must familiarize yourself with if you want to appear hep to the zeitgeist of the Teenies (I've decided I need to get in on the ground floor in naming the current decade), is about how he stumbled into the world of competitive high-speed memorization, and, only a year into his new hobby, became the US champion in the sport.

It's beautifully written, and Foer shows a true journalist's disregard for people's feelings in the fantastic word pictures he uses to describe his fellow competitors and enthusiasts. In much the same way I just did.

Memory athletes utilize mnemonic systems called “memory palaces,” where they mentally assign each number, playing card, word, or other item to a room that is in some way particularly memorable. In Foer's case, his palace is filled with images of celebrities doing disturbing things, thus making each imaginary room unique.

And that's actually all I know, not having read the whole book.

The end.

Thinking out loud

Deep breath. Okay. This is a little out of left field, I know, but, I think the Awful Space Opera needs ... a protagonist.

Crazy, huh? I know it surprised me.

I was reading a review of Screenwriting Tips, You Hack when it hit me like a ton of bricks: I can't follow any of these tips about the protagonist until I figure out who the protagonist is.

At one point I believe it was what's-his-name, the weather nerd. But somehow he never took hold.

Poor Little Rich Girl, on the other hand, seems very nearly interesting. Okay, mainly she has the most interesting storyline, which is really things happening to her rather than because of her, but it's something. And if blondie and the tough guy are Princess Leia and Han Solo, which I don't think they can avoid being, not without me discovering some lost writing talent in my sofa cushions, then the PLRG is clearly Luke.

There is no mysterious heroic-yet-evil father.

This makes it original.

However (arrrrrgggh, I seriously did not think of this until this very moment), the Arch Villain is believed to be responsible for the PLRG's father's death.

There is a distinct possibility I need to get out of the house more and watch videos less.

Of course, that was the whole point of the India trip, or, rather, one of several points, most of which are a tad vague. But it was a reason, and, regrettably, India didn’t inspire me in the least. Except for this one temple that would make an absolutely amazing backdrop for a scene in Firefly, or something similar. I'm not going to tell you which one, as this is one of my few actual good ideas and for once I'm a little uneasy someone might steal it.

Quit laughing. One of my posts had fourteen page views last month.

Anyway, a protagonist. It has to be the girl, everyone else is a bit blah. Of course, that means she needs a bit more development. Even for pulp fiction, she needs more development.

Also, come to think of it, the antagonist needs work. Much, much, much work. As does the relationship, distant though it might be, between the two.

I suppose this is why I always start to feel lost when I get really into the escape sequence. It's two or three chapters where the PLRG doesn't appear once. She's completely unimportant here, is in fact on the other side of the planet, so even though I get a fair amount of character development among the crew, it feels like a rabbit trail. I suppose I have to switch back and forth between storylines a bit more. And make the escape sequence shorter, but I knew that before.

Have I mentioned that every time I try to tighten it up it gets longer? It's a bit like the broom in the Sorcerer's Apprentice.

I love that word, apprentice. Maybe I can work it in.