Sipping Coffee

I sat sipping coffee as a manuscript was going through an evaluation process.  I also half-listened to a conversation happening over my shoulder…about that editorial process — young women sissy-whispering about who that might be with that manuscript box loaded with postage and whose manuscript was being evaluated.

Pages were sifted and shifted by the editor, notes checked, references made, and an occasional comment jotted.  With each new development, the surreptitious audience got a little louder…and louder…and louder…until, finally, the editor looked over at them, frowned, and asked them exactly what it was they found so stimulating that they felt it necessary to make themselves a nuisance.

I expected the brazen young ladies to slink down out of sight, or at least turn their heads and muffle it.  To my surprise, they scooted their chairs nearer and started to ask questions, chattering on and on about how they were writing books and…well, you know, pouring their details out as if pitching an agent.  They didn’t even pause long enough upon asking something to give space enough for an answer to happen in between their incessant, burbling chatter. 

ADD I wondered?  Too much sugar? (Both were drinking sweetened beverages.) Or was it just too much self-infatuation?

If you want answers, you’ve got to listen and, then, hear.

And Speaking of Boring, Writers…

I’m trying to reopen The Deepening, not as an online fiction magazine, but as a stimulating place to discover the joys of reading fiction.  I have a category called Peek Behind the Scenes which is supposed to give a look into the creative minds responsible for the stories.  Unfortunately, nothing much comes up in the way of “interesting” when it comes to many writers.  Most writers are REALLY BORING.  A look at their forums and their blogs will confirm this if you doubt me.

Now, don’t get me wrong.  I know authors who ARE exciting people.  Their minds are constantly abuzz with what-ifs, they are forever rolling out new ideas, playing with possibilities, toying with potentials.  A few.  Some really good ones, too.  But the majority?  Omigod.  Dry, boring, awful.  The only thing coming out of their fingers when it isn’t fiction is their medical history, their love life, and their daily routines from brushing their teeth to their craving for adulation and praise  (“Pweez, pweez, wuv my stories and gimme lotz and lotz of muny.”) 

I’m sorry, but if the best thing an author has to offer as insight is some sappy, giddiness about how much they totally adore the false flattery given them by some reviewer they paid, or, worse, some whiny moan about how hard it is to get published, nobody cares, especially me.  What I want to hear is how they conceive their worlds, what generates an idea to form itself into a plot, what drives them to create characters and how they make them so real that their readers want to know more and more about those characters.

What drives the ideas? What music, sounds, visions, happenings? What happens inside them to make such magic happen with words (if what they do is any good, that is…which, for the majority who call themselves writers, isn’t)?

What do I see and hear from writers, though?

“I’ve got an adorable baby, a husband, a cat, and a dog.  I live in Anytown, AnyCountry.  I want to be rich and famous someday.  I love my new patio, and my favorite color is red.”

OR

“I’m simply the most marvelous thing since chocolate syrup.  You really will love my new book called Sonya’s Sunshine Dream and you need to buy a copy over at BlankDotCom where all my books are published by DumbSap Publishing.”

OR

“Those rotten publishers and agents won’t even look at my book.  They didn’t even have the courtesy to respond to my query until over six months after I sent it in.  And then they said no.  I mean, sure their guidelines say ninety days, but I’m special….”

Um…get a life?

Of course, artists aren’t much better, and neither are muscians, but, right now, I’m ranting on writers because it seems to me that I should be able to look somebody up and they should have more in their bio and on their blog than “I’m married and have two kids…,” “My eczema is better,” “I just finished tidying up my closet…,” or “I just got rejected again….”

Nobody cares.  Really.  Give us some insights into what catalyzes your creativity, what excites you, what makes you write a pulse-pounding story.  Else, hang it up.  Don’t say anything.  That would do you less harm.

Some People Are Exciting; Some Art Not.

I’ve been dealing, one on one and many on one, with people my whole life.  Some, I always enjoy engaging; others, well, two minutes into becoming acquainted with them, and I’m yawning already.

Self-infatuation and a penchant for caring more about the surface than about the depths, along with shallow thinking are the main culprits that bring me the “yawn reflex.”  Give me someone who isn’t seeking flattery and adulation, give me someone who doesn’t give a damn about what color lipstick they put on this morning…or even if they are wearing any, give me someone whose entire mental repertoire consists of more than parroting the latest ad, fad, and fatuous flatulence as fed them from the boob tube, church, government, or the gossip queens, and, maybe, just maybe, I’ll not dismiss them out of hand.

I like someone who can think for themselves.  (The churches, governments and the mega-corps do not.)

I like anyone who doesn’t swallow, hook, line, and stinker, the “truths” convenient for getting along and going along with status quo.

I like anyone who knows how to substantiate their position, and who, if they discover that maybe their position might be wrong, can admit it and take another look.

I like anyone who challenges opinion and accepted circumstance.

Polly Parrot, Missy Aren’t I Pretty, and Mister Dodges Anything Which Pins Him Down is not for me.

I might argue with you, and we might disagree, but that’s how we learn and grow and explore perspectives, isn’t it?  If I lend an ear, if I speak, and, if you, in turn, respond and listen, too, isn’t that the highest honor you and I can pay each other? 

Yes.

Whelp, Yup, He Done Did Break It!

So Friday…hubby broke his pedal.  No, not the guitar pedal, not the car pedal, not the bicycle pedal.  His foot — he broke his foot. 

Now, after x rays, after doctors conferring, he’s literally “on ice and immobilized” until the swelling reduces enough that the orthopedist feels confident that it can be cast. 

I’ve got a feeling that this isn’t going to be any of those nice take-it-off/put-it-on casts, either.  I’m betting they do one of those fiberglass numbers — rigid and lots of fun in the shower.  Hubs is a big man, and the joint got shattered into itty  bitty pieces. 

Needless to say, I’m not getting much work done.  I’m not getting much of anything done.  He needs lots of TLC and tending.

“Honey, can you get me a soda?   …Can you get me a sandwich?  Can you get my painkillers?  Can you….”

So now I’m gonna be even further behind on my various need-tos/have-tos.  Hubs comes first.  Always.  Don’t you wish every “other half” felt that way?  Well, don’t marry until you and your choice are both over thirty, and then work at it.  Remember, all that matters is the love, and also, when it comes to differences of perspective, is your point and your stance in the conflict worth more than your relationship?  Probably not, so don’t fuss the small stuff, okay?

Good.

Several things, though:  Don’t marry someone who prefers alcohol, drugs, or sports, never marry anyone who “gets physical,” and definitely do NOT marry anyone just because the sex is good.  Really.

My life at the moment…

Well, the good news is that my eyes are getting better…as long as I don’t look at a computer screen too much, and especially if I don’t read work that uses movable type…which means stay away from blogs, online newspapers, most forums….  If it is static type, it doesn’t bother me, go figure.  So that’s the good and bad of it.

Gripes:  Writers.  Too much to go into at the moment.  My decision?  I’m cutting them loose. They can make it or break it on their own.  I don’t need the abuse.  I don’t need the headaches.  I don’t need the financial drain.

More gripes: Sandpoint, Idaho.  Oh, can we see the mayor sign the green bill?  And then what?  Cut more big trees down to make way for yet more development — non-green development.

And last but not least: Petulant men and women whose only goal in life is to get their way — men and women driven only by selfish desire.