In honor of the season

Enjoy. Howl along, if you feel so inclined. I always do.

Rejections

Writer Beware just posted on Facebook a blog post from io9 (keeping up?) about classic science-fiction and fantasy novels that have been massively, crushingly rejected multiple times. I shouldn't indulge myself in lists like this, because even though these great works were rejected, it doesn't necessarily follow that MY work, which has also been rejected, is also great.

Still, there is comfort in musing that rejection per se does not necessarily mean my work sucks. It may suck, of course, but then it may not.

The inner life of a writer is a minefield. A veritable minefield. And people wonder why so many writers take to drink.

I'm versatile! It's official!

My friend, colleague, and Scrabble buddy Satima Flavell has bestowed on me the coveted Versatile Blogger Award.



See?

Thanks, Satima!

Apparently, part of the deal is that I am to list seven things you maybe didn't know about me. I know how to make quilts. I have a niece who looks almost exactly like me. My grandfather was a pioneer in robotics in the 1940s (specifically, automated underwater arc welding, which sped battleship construction by an enormous factor and demonstrably shortened WWII). I was born two months premature. I once interviewed Ray Charles and Chubby Checker. I have a pilot's license. On my 30th birthday I was mugged by the number 30. There.

Hmmm.

Stephen Fry's fabulously articulate rant below (of course it's fabulously articulate, it's Stephen Fry) puts forth a number of strongly held opinions about the need for and uses of rules of grammar. I agree fervently with some of them; I disagree just as fervently with others. But the fundamental point — that it's not a question of "correct" grammar, syntax, and diction so much as a question of appropriate language styles for particular situations — is one that bears repeating. If you listen to the clip below, you will hear it repeated, only by Stephen Fry, not me. And that's worth something in itself.



Thanks to my friend Theresa for pointing me to this clip!

Specificity of medium and all that

Certain artistic endeavors present a cautionary tale when translated into other forms or media. I present a case study below.

Useful advice from your Hobart correspondent

1. Walk more. Walk lots. Walk to accomplish things (like the groceries for dinner, or getting to a place where there's Internet access). Walk when the weather is crappy. Walk when the weather is stunningly gorgeous. See something in the distance and walk to it to find out what it is. Walking Makes Life Better. We have no car here, and if you're in a position to make that work, it really is better than jumping into the car at every provocation.


2. The very best way to understand your own work/artistic practice/etc. is to try to explain it to others. Today Houston and I did a joint presentation on collaborating artistically (we work together often, and of course the major project of the opera requires a lot of collaboration). Explaining how we work together forced me to look at the process with mindfulness — which, again, Makes Life Better.


3. Wherever you go, make sure you connect with others who are interested in the same things you are. Not only have I been spending significant time at the Tassie Writers Centre, but I sought out a writer colleague whom I know lives in the Hobart area (we had a lovely chat over baked goods), and I'm planning to go to the launch of a new YA fantasy on Sunday — meeting and supporting colleagues also Makes Life Better.


4. Eat marzipan. Enough said.

A week of low-tech

The media diet continues. Not exactly a media fast, mind you: obviously I'm still occasionally finding my way to the Internet. But it's an effort. And, as I mentioned in a previous post, we are not watching TV, not even listening to radio. We don't know a whole lot of people here. We are On Retreat.

Humans in general are torn between craving interaction and longing for quiet and solitude. The Internet lets you do both at the same time, which is, I suspect, why it is so dangerously time-consuming: until this point in history, you had to have one or the other, never both. The psyche (if one is inclined toward technology) rejoices, and says More, more!

The quiet of this week of retreat is compelling me to notice that I only have a very, very small handful of pieces out at the moment. This is no good at all! (Although it is a function of my having been working on a few larger projects as well as getting in a fair bit of paid editing work, which is good, but even so.) I have a few days left of our fabulous Hobart retreat (surely the best capital city in all of Australia, and I have seen almost all of them by now).

Incidentally, I need to put in a plug for the phenomenally kind, helpful, and friendly people at the Tasmanian Writers Centre. I'll be teaching a one-day workshop for them on the weekend, and they have bent over backwards to make sure I feel welcomed and that I have the support I need as a writer far from home. They fully rock. Thanks, Chris and all!

Hobart. We likes.

Okay. Here's the house we're staying in here in Hobart:


And here's a very puzzling banner we saw:

When we went inside, we saw the Buddha of Hobart (which surely needs no commentary from me):


Here's Battery Point, including the Jackson Jackman & McRoss bakery and place to eat and drink nice things (I wish they had their own web site I could link to):




In the park at Battery Point, we saw what may very well be the best-written interpretive sign ever (and I'm somewhat of a connoisseuse of historical interpretive signs). It read, in part:

The British troops garrisoned in Tasmania were all infantry. Despite official enthusiasm for batteries there were never any artillerymen to fire them. Occasionally a few soldiers, and even the police, were given sufficient instruction by retired artillerymen to fire a salute.

The Crimean War in 1845 once again alerted the authorities to Hobart's defencelessness. With its customary speed the Government acted. It passed legislation in 1858, under which the Hobart Town Volunteer Artillery Company was formed in 1859.

They used the Albert Battery for shot and shell practice. Before firing, a non-commissioned officer would visit all the houses behind the battery and warn the occupants to open all their windows. Those who did not had their windows broken, which was the only damage the Volunteers and the batteries ever inflicted.

After an initial rush of enthusiasm for the dashing uniforms, marching, and the opportunity to fire the guns, members dwindled from 126 in 1860 to 53 in 1864.* A Select Committee in 1865 concluded that while some of the men were clearly capable of becoming good soldiers, 'as a means of Defence against foreign aggressors [the Volunteers] would be next to useless'. In addition, the money spent on uniforms, pay and prizes was far more than was ever spent on maintenance of the batteries. The last parade was held in 1870.

The other thing I'm finding interesting is that we're on a media diet: our house has no Internet, no television reception, and no radio (and for once I neglected to pack my own radio when travelling). We also have no car here. It takes effort to connect to the outside world. And I'm finding that quite nice.

*I've seen this phenonemon in the SES; luckily, volunteers who can handle the thought of slow, steady, careful work rather than adrenaline-fuelled death-or-glory charges are always the best ones anyway.

I'm in Hobart!

The whole family has pretty much instantly become rabid fans of Hobart. Is there a better town for the geek-inclined? So far I haven't seen one.

Photos and commentary to follow in due course.