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(no subject)
I'm just tired. Came home from work today - and decided, eh, don't have enough energy to do laundry.
I fell asleep around 12:45 and slept until 1:30 at my desk while attempting to read a negative review of Yellowface. I have no idea what the review said - I fell asleep during. Work suffice to say is boring at the moment, but it appears to be for a bunch of folks.
I told the whiny Babs (who always, since I've met her, whines about how much work she has), that if she wanted to pass any of it onto me - go ahead. She used to try to pass filing - but I halted that practice in 2010. I don't think she really has that much work - I think she volunteers to do things that she's not required to do. (Actually, I know she does that - the union informed me of that ages ago.)
BYT keeps forgetting that Babs reports to her and leaves her off emails, which I find amusing.
Spoke to one of my union reps today - while I got reassurance that my lack of work wouldn't equal a lay-off, there's still no movement on the labor negotiations.
I've been noticing that I keep skipping over or leaving out words in my sentences. I've caught a few just writing this post. I'm wondering how clear my posts are? Because a skipped word can change the intent of an entire sentence.
***
On the writing front, I decided I might want to try AutoCrit - which is cheaper than line editors and sensitivity editors. OTOH - I'm afraid of AI, although I've been writing online for a while now - AI probably already has a lot of my stuff. Stupid overpaid software engineers - they'll be the death of us all. (And yes, I've quite a few cousins who are software engineers.)
I'm not giving up on the novel. Don't know why - but I find editing and revising it a good writing exercise. And considering I'm blocked at the moment...the internet is very good at blocking me creatively, so too are other novels. If I ever self-publish the thing - it will be under a pseudonym and I probably won't tell you.
***
Latest Ninja Creamer Creation:
Oh the bowl - I made in a pottery course about twenty years ago.
The sorbet is pineapple, mango, kiwi, with lemonade and a touch of orange juice. The lemon counteracts the sweetness of the pineapple.
I chopped them up. Poured in the juice. Put it in the freezer for about twenty-four hours. Took it out, and plugged it into the creamer, and voila, sorbet.
Don't ask about measurements - I suck at measuring things.
***
Co-workers still adore the hair-cut. I keep getting compliments. (Making me wonder what the though of the other ones, which I rarely got comments on.)
***
Spoke with Mother who has convinced me to go with Pandemic Sunflower, which she adores. (So too does apto_omn, who told me I should print it off and frame it ages ago.)
So, I'm going to try and submit that one to the Art Museum Open Submissions this weekend. The water colors of the people I saw on the subway and drew/painted from memory - works better as a complete work or show, or a book.
They can't be shown individually.
Just have to measure the frame.
***
Reading? Slow going, I'm about fifty pages into Yellowface, and 45% of the way through Bride by Alix Harwood. Enjoying both. But Yellowface has made me self-conscious. There's a kind of didactic, self-righteous undercurrent of rage in the novel that may or may not be justified? The publishing industry is unnecessarily toxic. But it is that way for literally everyone. Harper Lee ran into it. Truman Capote did. It wants to mold you into the writer and prose that the editors were assigned and taught was worthy in school.
I know, I went through more than one editor and agent who told me they loved my writing but wanted me to "write this story instead". And I had a long conversation on a train with a young man who was telling me about the writer of the Golem and the Nightingale, who changed her book and her style to fit the publisher's demands. As did the writer of the Maggie Hope series, she changed Mr. Churchill's Secretary to fit the demands of her literary agent and publisher. Cheever also had an editor change his work.
And I remember taking writing courses - where they want you to write about specific things, and in a specific way, and set all these rules down.
It's why I've been in a reading slump, frankly. Most of the stuff I've read sounds the same. The writer's aren't taking risks. And the story I want isn't there, anywhere.
I guess it comes down to one question really? Why do you write? [Do you write to inform? To understand? To figure something out? To cater to a larger audience? To acquire validation? For commercial gain? For fame or fortune?]
Why do I write fiction?
Because if I don't - I won't get to see the story that I've not been able to find anywhere else, and is inside my head for whatever reason. It's to tell the story in my head. To put it on paper. To hear it. To taste it. To see it. To interact with it. To give it life.
I'm not sure I've ever cared whether others read it? Part of me does. I do want to share it. And it would be nice to make a lot of money sharing it.
Who wouldn't want that. Or to see other's takes and adaptations? Yes, that would be fun to? But it's not why I write the story.
Maya Angelo once said - if you can't find the book you want to read on the shelf, write it yourself. (OR something to that effect. At least I think it was Maya Angelo, it may have been someone else?)
So, I write it myself. Same with my art. I do it myself. Creating art has never been my problem - finding a way of sharing it with the universe at large or making money off of it, on the other hand? That has been a problem.
I could of course, once this book is revised, is set up a dummy site on DW and post chapters from it? Do people still do that?
I fell asleep around 12:45 and slept until 1:30 at my desk while attempting to read a negative review of Yellowface. I have no idea what the review said - I fell asleep during. Work suffice to say is boring at the moment, but it appears to be for a bunch of folks.
I told the whiny Babs (who always, since I've met her, whines about how much work she has), that if she wanted to pass any of it onto me - go ahead. She used to try to pass filing - but I halted that practice in 2010. I don't think she really has that much work - I think she volunteers to do things that she's not required to do. (Actually, I know she does that - the union informed me of that ages ago.)
BYT keeps forgetting that Babs reports to her and leaves her off emails, which I find amusing.
Spoke to one of my union reps today - while I got reassurance that my lack of work wouldn't equal a lay-off, there's still no movement on the labor negotiations.
I've been noticing that I keep skipping over or leaving out words in my sentences. I've caught a few just writing this post. I'm wondering how clear my posts are? Because a skipped word can change the intent of an entire sentence.
***
On the writing front, I decided I might want to try AutoCrit - which is cheaper than line editors and sensitivity editors. OTOH - I'm afraid of AI, although I've been writing online for a while now - AI probably already has a lot of my stuff. Stupid overpaid software engineers - they'll be the death of us all. (And yes, I've quite a few cousins who are software engineers.)
I'm not giving up on the novel. Don't know why - but I find editing and revising it a good writing exercise. And considering I'm blocked at the moment...the internet is very good at blocking me creatively, so too are other novels. If I ever self-publish the thing - it will be under a pseudonym and I probably won't tell you.
***
Latest Ninja Creamer Creation:
Oh the bowl - I made in a pottery course about twenty years ago.
The sorbet is pineapple, mango, kiwi, with lemonade and a touch of orange juice. The lemon counteracts the sweetness of the pineapple.
I chopped them up. Poured in the juice. Put it in the freezer for about twenty-four hours. Took it out, and plugged it into the creamer, and voila, sorbet.
Don't ask about measurements - I suck at measuring things.
***
Co-workers still adore the hair-cut. I keep getting compliments. (Making me wonder what the though of the other ones, which I rarely got comments on.)
***
Spoke with Mother who has convinced me to go with Pandemic Sunflower, which she adores. (So too does apto_omn, who told me I should print it off and frame it ages ago.)
So, I'm going to try and submit that one to the Art Museum Open Submissions this weekend. The water colors of the people I saw on the subway and drew/painted from memory - works better as a complete work or show, or a book.
They can't be shown individually.
Just have to measure the frame.
***
Reading? Slow going, I'm about fifty pages into Yellowface, and 45% of the way through Bride by Alix Harwood. Enjoying both. But Yellowface has made me self-conscious. There's a kind of didactic, self-righteous undercurrent of rage in the novel that may or may not be justified? The publishing industry is unnecessarily toxic. But it is that way for literally everyone. Harper Lee ran into it. Truman Capote did. It wants to mold you into the writer and prose that the editors were assigned and taught was worthy in school.
I know, I went through more than one editor and agent who told me they loved my writing but wanted me to "write this story instead". And I had a long conversation on a train with a young man who was telling me about the writer of the Golem and the Nightingale, who changed her book and her style to fit the publisher's demands. As did the writer of the Maggie Hope series, she changed Mr. Churchill's Secretary to fit the demands of her literary agent and publisher. Cheever also had an editor change his work.
And I remember taking writing courses - where they want you to write about specific things, and in a specific way, and set all these rules down.
It's why I've been in a reading slump, frankly. Most of the stuff I've read sounds the same. The writer's aren't taking risks. And the story I want isn't there, anywhere.
I guess it comes down to one question really? Why do you write? [Do you write to inform? To understand? To figure something out? To cater to a larger audience? To acquire validation? For commercial gain? For fame or fortune?]
Why do I write fiction?
Because if I don't - I won't get to see the story that I've not been able to find anywhere else, and is inside my head for whatever reason. It's to tell the story in my head. To put it on paper. To hear it. To taste it. To see it. To interact with it. To give it life.
I'm not sure I've ever cared whether others read it? Part of me does. I do want to share it. And it would be nice to make a lot of money sharing it.
Who wouldn't want that. Or to see other's takes and adaptations? Yes, that would be fun to? But it's not why I write the story.
Maya Angelo once said - if you can't find the book you want to read on the shelf, write it yourself. (OR something to that effect. At least I think it was Maya Angelo, it may have been someone else?)
So, I write it myself. Same with my art. I do it myself. Creating art has never been my problem - finding a way of sharing it with the universe at large or making money off of it, on the other hand? That has been a problem.
I could of course, once this book is revised, is set up a dummy site on DW and post chapters from it? Do people still do that?
no subject
That's why I starting writing fanfic. No one was writing the fic I wanted to read.
Edited because I forgot to say that the bowl is gorgeous and the sorbet looks luscious.
Some people here have posted chapters of their original work to a separate account for feedback.
no subject
Thank you!
Some people here have posted chapters of their original work to a separate account for feedback.
Interesting. I've considered it. And have done it once or twice, but often not gotten useful feedback - but I did do it in this journal and not in a separate account, so there's that.
no subject
I definitely relate to that quote because I started writing fanfic when I fell for a rare pair and very few people cared for it/wrote for it and I figured "why not me?"
I think people still create separate journals and comms to post their works.