When your computer decides to give you a blank stare (usually it's blue, but could be also grey, if you're a lucky Mac owner) life turns pretty hectic. You realize just how much you depend now on that one piece of silicon and metal to handle your life. Suddenly, you are helpless. You scramble for your old notebook to figure out things like your friend's birthday or the bank account number (that you're not supposed to write down....) In half-a-day you get internet withdrawal and become anxious about missing important emails... and then your Facebook friends get mad at you for not responding to their witty status updates. Next thing to go is your Twitter, because people, unaccustomed to such long silence from you, start worrying about your well-being, or maybe not being, since what can prevent you from keeping up with BOTH Twitter and Facebook? Only grievous health problem or death.
And then those lucky bastards who still have their computers with their address books intact, look up that seldom used phone number and your phone starts ringing.
I am exaggerating of course, since my internet footprint is not nearly big enough to get a sizable impact on Twitter traffic (I am considering changing my name to something containing Bieber and THEN we'll see). However, losing the use of my laptop for a while totally unhinged my life. Work was a mess, I almost missed my friend's birthday, I forgot to remind my son about a workshop he was supposed to go to etc etc.
And, to top it all, I lost (sadly irretrievably) around a dozen reviews I've written for this blog. Curse my silly desire to double spell-check everything before posting. Now, I'll be doing it right away, Gods of proper grammar be damned.
So, instead of reviewing book in order I've read them, I'll be going backwards.
Starting tonight with Hex Hall and Demonglass by R. Hawkins.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
What's in the name?
It was a nice evening. I was feeling accomplished - I finished a draft for a short story.
"Can I read it?" asked my husband, fake enthusiasm in his voice.
"Yes, pleeeezze!"
I love getting his feedback, it's always right on target and mostly very honest. So, I sat by his side, looking over his shoulder, awaiting the verdict patiently. In a few seconds however, he looked up at me, one eyebrow raised in an exaggerated puzzlement.
"Who is BMP?" He asked. "It can't be what I think it is, because it's obviously human."
Note - my husband is a biologist and BMP does have a meaning in science.
"It's "Big Manly Protagonist"," I answered impatiently. "I haven't decided on his name yet."
His eyebrow hiked up a few millimeters more, but he returned to reading.
Soon though, he was overcome with giggles.
"GFP is talking to PMS. This is priceless," he choked at me.
"What's funny? Genius Female Protagonist is talking to her sidekick."
"Her sidekick is PMS? I never knew PMS is a guy. Now it makes a lot of sense..."
I threw a pillow at him and exited the room, trying (in vain, I might add) to keep the remnants of my dignity.
Naming is difficult. Unbelievably difficult. I spend days and often weeks agonizing about it, and really envy those people who can spew a dozen names off the top of their head and pick one at random. Giving a name is the hardest, most painful thing in my life.
My friends have names for their cars and laptops and their kitchen appliances... man, do they fit! When I connect to the network at work, I see other lab's computers, and I feel bitter envy at how relevant those names are. There is a Gandalf (it's been dead and came back to life almost magically), there is a glitchy old thing named Gollum (it's also scratched and really dusty) and there are backup drives Two Towers (actually it's a computer with two hard drives) and Mnt. Doom (the one that crashes every month). And the Boss's laptop is named "My Precious". Considering the cost, it sure is.
My computers are all called Julia, Julia1, Julia2 etc. in order of their appearance in my life. My car is just my car, no matter how much I wanted to call it something else. My husband gave a name to our home network after I failed to come up with a single idea.
The only thing that I ever named well was our Rumba vacuum cleaner. I called it Dobby. It's eager and hardworking. Sadly though, it is also quite willful and slightly dumb since it gets stuck under the couch, but still always tries to go there, ignoring my carefully set up "virtual walls". It's truly a free house elf.
Few hours after I explained PMS being a Protagonist's Male Sidekick (as opposed to Female), I opened a new file and started writing. It was a new story, about a girl who was trying against many odds to become a professional figure skater. I've written almost two pages of the story and I knew, it was going well, except for one rather important detail. I referred to her as "she" all the way. With a sigh, I wrote, CFP on a chapter notes column. Courageous Female Protagonist. Not cyan fluorescent protein.
"Can I read it?" asked my husband, fake enthusiasm in his voice.
"Yes, pleeeezze!"
I love getting his feedback, it's always right on target and mostly very honest. So, I sat by his side, looking over his shoulder, awaiting the verdict patiently. In a few seconds however, he looked up at me, one eyebrow raised in an exaggerated puzzlement.
"Who is BMP?" He asked. "It can't be what I think it is, because it's obviously human."
Note - my husband is a biologist and BMP does have a meaning in science.
"It's "Big Manly Protagonist"," I answered impatiently. "I haven't decided on his name yet."
His eyebrow hiked up a few millimeters more, but he returned to reading.
Soon though, he was overcome with giggles.
"GFP is talking to PMS. This is priceless," he choked at me.
"What's funny? Genius Female Protagonist is talking to her sidekick."
"Her sidekick is PMS? I never knew PMS is a guy. Now it makes a lot of sense..."
I threw a pillow at him and exited the room, trying (in vain, I might add) to keep the remnants of my dignity.
Naming is difficult. Unbelievably difficult. I spend days and often weeks agonizing about it, and really envy those people who can spew a dozen names off the top of their head and pick one at random. Giving a name is the hardest, most painful thing in my life.
My friends have names for their cars and laptops and their kitchen appliances... man, do they fit! When I connect to the network at work, I see other lab's computers, and I feel bitter envy at how relevant those names are. There is a Gandalf (it's been dead and came back to life almost magically), there is a glitchy old thing named Gollum (it's also scratched and really dusty) and there are backup drives Two Towers (actually it's a computer with two hard drives) and Mnt. Doom (the one that crashes every month). And the Boss's laptop is named "My Precious". Considering the cost, it sure is.
My computers are all called Julia, Julia1, Julia2 etc. in order of their appearance in my life. My car is just my car, no matter how much I wanted to call it something else. My husband gave a name to our home network after I failed to come up with a single idea.
The only thing that I ever named well was our Rumba vacuum cleaner. I called it Dobby. It's eager and hardworking. Sadly though, it is also quite willful and slightly dumb since it gets stuck under the couch, but still always tries to go there, ignoring my carefully set up "virtual walls". It's truly a free house elf.
Few hours after I explained PMS being a Protagonist's Male Sidekick (as opposed to Female), I opened a new file and started writing. It was a new story, about a girl who was trying against many odds to become a professional figure skater. I've written almost two pages of the story and I knew, it was going well, except for one rather important detail. I referred to her as "she" all the way. With a sigh, I wrote, CFP on a chapter notes column. Courageous Female Protagonist. Not cyan fluorescent protein.
Friday, January 14, 2011
The importance of being earnest...
When I started this blog, for reasons unknown even to me, I was not sure what exactly I will be writing about. However, I was - at least at a time - certain that it shall not be a place to upload my emotions and rant about things that make me unhappy.
I am only on my fourth post and I'm breaking that rule. I want to scream my frustration into the crowded emptiness of the internet.
Here is the thing. I love when people talk about writing. I admire (and often envy, though in a good way) those who decide to share their experience and knowledge with aspiring writers. It's great! It's motivating! Even if it does not make mediocre people like me into bestselling novelists, it still helps us become better, even if marginally.
A great example - Nathan Bransford - who tirelessly provides much needed guidance to all those in dire need. When I read his posts, even if I find myself making the mistakes he talks about, it's still a very positive experience. It pushes me into action, drives me to revise and correct and write.
So, to the heart of the matter. Today a good friend of mine told me about another blog, supposedly very helpful, that talks about numerous mistakes newbie writers make and I rushed to read it.
Only few sentences into the post, I could tell it wasn't going to be a "feel good" read. The self-proclaimed teacher was sarcastic and condescending to the point of rudeness. Some points that he made were undoubtedly valid but mostly he was showing off his well-learned "rules of writing that every decent author should be aware of", like :
Don't use character name in dialogue.
Don't write OK instead of okay, 6 instead of six etc.etc.
Don't use passive voice (because someone decided that it makes for a better style and God forbid you like otherwise)
Don't you dare to use British rules for punctuation and/or spelling, because the highest reviewer is from US and does not know English could be a language with punctuation that makes sense.
And so on.
So, for several pages this Mr. Prick makes fun of an inexperienced and unknown to me writer. For all I know, that poor soul might only exist in Mr. Prick's imagination. Still, I felt really bad for this publicly crucified guy whose biggest mistake in life was attracting the attention of the Highest-and-Mighty-All-Knowing Editor. Mind you, Mr. Prick does not give good advice - he just changes the writing to fit his style. "You can't put thoughts in quotations," tells us Mr. Prick. His solution? Change writing so there are no inner monologues or thoughts. Simple, isn't it?
It's two in the morning and my brain is on a backup power, so I'm probably not making much sense here. I'll have to turn in and be ready to reboot in four hours (just thought of writing 4 hours, simply in spite of Mr. Prick-rules). What I really wanted to say is this:
Dear Professional Writers, Editors and Those Who Know The RULES,
Please, don't be condescending when you pretend to help. We know our shortcomings, we are aware that we are far (and some, like me, VERY far) from perfect. We want to improve, to become worthy of the title "writer". However, if you want to help, please, recall your own beginnings, remember, how nice and patient your teachers were and be gentle.
Most of all, remember, that some of the best books don't follow The Rules. They go against them, they splash and turn over the monotony of accepted style and structure, they provoke and thus inspire. And sometimes, make new rules.
The best story I've ever read has never been published (well, at least not yet). It has the weirdest punctuation and the most confusing plot. It's very unconventional and may not speak to everyone. But if you read it the way author intended, if you pause at each dash and comma, you'll love it, you'll see that it's brilliant. If you just let go of your preconceptions and enjoy the music of words even if it's not your mainstream classic. .. Scratch that. Enjoy it, because it's not classic, because it's so unique. Because it's unlike anything you've learned in your MFA.
Because, as one Olivia Joules said,
"Language <is> a beautiful free-flowing, evolving thing which should not be fettered by artificial rules, regulations and strange markings imposed from without rather than within"
P.S. and if my punctuation in this post does not appear correct, it has nothing to do with me being half asleep. It's the way I write. Sorry to offend delicate sensibilities of those who feel strongly against passive voice and dashes and ellipses and misused commas.
I am only on my fourth post and I'm breaking that rule. I want to scream my frustration into the crowded emptiness of the internet.
Here is the thing. I love when people talk about writing. I admire (and often envy, though in a good way) those who decide to share their experience and knowledge with aspiring writers. It's great! It's motivating! Even if it does not make mediocre people like me into bestselling novelists, it still helps us become better, even if marginally.
A great example - Nathan Bransford - who tirelessly provides much needed guidance to all those in dire need. When I read his posts, even if I find myself making the mistakes he talks about, it's still a very positive experience. It pushes me into action, drives me to revise and correct and write.
So, to the heart of the matter. Today a good friend of mine told me about another blog, supposedly very helpful, that talks about numerous mistakes newbie writers make and I rushed to read it.
Only few sentences into the post, I could tell it wasn't going to be a "feel good" read. The self-proclaimed teacher was sarcastic and condescending to the point of rudeness. Some points that he made were undoubtedly valid but mostly he was showing off his well-learned "rules of writing that every decent author should be aware of", like :
Don't use character name in dialogue.
Don't write OK instead of okay, 6 instead of six etc.etc.
Don't use passive voice (because someone decided that it makes for a better style and God forbid you like otherwise)
Don't you dare to use British rules for punctuation and/or spelling, because the highest reviewer is from US and does not know English could be a language with punctuation that makes sense.
And so on.
So, for several pages this Mr. Prick makes fun of an inexperienced and unknown to me writer. For all I know, that poor soul might only exist in Mr. Prick's imagination. Still, I felt really bad for this publicly crucified guy whose biggest mistake in life was attracting the attention of the Highest-and-Mighty-All-Knowing Editor. Mind you, Mr. Prick does not give good advice - he just changes the writing to fit his style. "You can't put thoughts in quotations," tells us Mr. Prick. His solution? Change writing so there are no inner monologues or thoughts. Simple, isn't it?
It's two in the morning and my brain is on a backup power, so I'm probably not making much sense here. I'll have to turn in and be ready to reboot in four hours (just thought of writing 4 hours, simply in spite of Mr. Prick-rules). What I really wanted to say is this:
Dear Professional Writers, Editors and Those Who Know The RULES,
Please, don't be condescending when you pretend to help. We know our shortcomings, we are aware that we are far (and some, like me, VERY far) from perfect. We want to improve, to become worthy of the title "writer". However, if you want to help, please, recall your own beginnings, remember, how nice and patient your teachers were and be gentle.
Most of all, remember, that some of the best books don't follow The Rules. They go against them, they splash and turn over the monotony of accepted style and structure, they provoke and thus inspire. And sometimes, make new rules.
The best story I've ever read has never been published (well, at least not yet). It has the weirdest punctuation and the most confusing plot. It's very unconventional and may not speak to everyone. But if you read it the way author intended, if you pause at each dash and comma, you'll love it, you'll see that it's brilliant. If you just let go of your preconceptions and enjoy the music of words even if it's not your mainstream classic. .. Scratch that. Enjoy it, because it's not classic, because it's so unique. Because it's unlike anything you've learned in your MFA.
Because, as one Olivia Joules said,
"Language <is> a beautiful free-flowing, evolving thing which should not be fettered by artificial rules, regulations and strange markings imposed from without rather than within"
P.S. and if my punctuation in this post does not appear correct, it has nothing to do with me being half asleep. It's the way I write. Sorry to offend delicate sensibilities of those who feel strongly against passive voice and dashes and ellipses and misused commas.
Monday, January 3, 2011
Book overview: TIME RIDERS by Alex Scarrow
As I decided to catalogue the books I'm reading, I am starting with the last one I've finished.
Can't say it's a book review. I am not even trying to be an objective reviewer. I'm making it easy for myself - so here are just my thoughts, valuable or not.
For some reason, I had very high expectations for this book. Maybe it was the premise of time travels (which I love for their bizarre effects on storyline), maybe it was an outtake on the back of the book. Time police, the group that corrects time-traveling accidents. People in a group are taken from different points in time, seconds before they are about to die and given a chance to live for all the humanity. Four main characters are enigmatic and likable enough judging by the first pages.
I guess, high expectations were what ruined this book for me, because the story just didn't live up to them.
The writing is good, the scenes are the right length and there is enough suspense to keep going. However, with so much premise, with all the possibilities the setup offers, the book comes out rather bland. The interludes showing "the bad guys" (I don't want to spoil anyone by telling too much about them) could have been shorter and more to the point. If the author wanted to mess with history and include real historical figures, I think, he could have done more. Somewhere in the middle of the book I found myself skipping through long "world domination" talks of one of the "bad guys" - even his split personality did not bring much to the table. His history of madness could - for my taste - been more brief and exciting.
There are undoubtedly many good points to the book. As it is a series, developing good characters is very important and I think overall the author was successful (with "good guys" I mean. He still has a long way to go with his evil dudes :P) Liam, while not always original, had many redeeming qualities, despite his suspicious ability to accept modern technology way to easily. Maddy was geeky enough to believe author is well acquainted with game programmers and Sal mostly behaved her age.
Probably the most exciting and interesting part of the book (again, I hope not to spoil too much) is in the last chapters, when survival of the base camp is in jeopardy and there is a race against time (or with it?). It gives the story a satisfying conclusion and pays off for the pages wasted in pointless meandering across the time and land.
So, to summ things up.
Pros:
Time traveling! History! Butterfly effect (sort of).
Good protagonists
Interesting time setup (time in world history chosen)
Writing style
Satisfying conclusion
Contras:
Evil guys are dull and are given too much attention in the story. It's a waste since there is no real direct confrontation. At least no confrontation that will justify us getting to know them.
History is not exploited to the extent. I know, it's hard in YA books, but I wish the author tried a bit harder.
Pacing is too slow at times, especially when it comes to villains discussing their evil plans.
It's a decent book, though disappointing if you are looking for a complicated plot that usually comes with time traveling. My 15-years-old son found it boring and too predictable.
Can't say it's a book review. I am not even trying to be an objective reviewer. I'm making it easy for myself - so here are just my thoughts, valuable or not.
For some reason, I had very high expectations for this book. Maybe it was the premise of time travels (which I love for their bizarre effects on storyline), maybe it was an outtake on the back of the book. Time police, the group that corrects time-traveling accidents. People in a group are taken from different points in time, seconds before they are about to die and given a chance to live for all the humanity. Four main characters are enigmatic and likable enough judging by the first pages.
I guess, high expectations were what ruined this book for me, because the story just didn't live up to them.
The writing is good, the scenes are the right length and there is enough suspense to keep going. However, with so much premise, with all the possibilities the setup offers, the book comes out rather bland. The interludes showing "the bad guys" (I don't want to spoil anyone by telling too much about them) could have been shorter and more to the point. If the author wanted to mess with history and include real historical figures, I think, he could have done more. Somewhere in the middle of the book I found myself skipping through long "world domination" talks of one of the "bad guys" - even his split personality did not bring much to the table. His history of madness could - for my taste - been more brief and exciting.
There are undoubtedly many good points to the book. As it is a series, developing good characters is very important and I think overall the author was successful (with "good guys" I mean. He still has a long way to go with his evil dudes :P) Liam, while not always original, had many redeeming qualities, despite his suspicious ability to accept modern technology way to easily. Maddy was geeky enough to believe author is well acquainted with game programmers and Sal mostly behaved her age.
Probably the most exciting and interesting part of the book (again, I hope not to spoil too much) is in the last chapters, when survival of the base camp is in jeopardy and there is a race against time (or with it?). It gives the story a satisfying conclusion and pays off for the pages wasted in pointless meandering across the time and land.
So, to summ things up.
Pros:
Time traveling! History! Butterfly effect (sort of).
Good protagonists
Interesting time setup (time in world history chosen)
Writing style
Satisfying conclusion
Contras:
Evil guys are dull and are given too much attention in the story. It's a waste since there is no real direct confrontation. At least no confrontation that will justify us getting to know them.
History is not exploited to the extent. I know, it's hard in YA books, but I wish the author tried a bit harder.
Pacing is too slow at times, especially when it comes to villains discussing their evil plans.
It's a decent book, though disappointing if you are looking for a complicated plot that usually comes with time traveling. My 15-years-old son found it boring and too predictable.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
New Year RE-solutions
I always hear from friends about those - New Year resolutions... Did you make any? Was it to eat healthier, lose some pounds, or maybe go to a gym at least once a week? To finish that stack of papers that pile up next to a bedstand? To not waste time on internet?
Everyone around me seem to be making some sort of promise to themselves. And year after year I feel excluded from this fellowship of self-motivators. The thing is, I do not really make resolutions, New Year-bound or otherwise. To me, any decision I make about my future is generally enough to stick with it. Like one wise green creature said once "Do or not do. There is no try."
My friend always accuses me that it's because I never give up much, so it's relatively easy. She's probably right. One day, about fifteen years ago I realized that eating chocolate gives me pimples. From then I stopped eating chocolate (and chocolate cakes and cookies with chocolate). And don't get me wrong, I love chocolate, I still do. But I find it easy to say "no" to a delicious piece in front of me, because I know, it's for my own good. Once in a while - maybe once in a few months, - I'll eat a piece. And I never feel guilty about it. I'm not breaking an oath to myself. I am allowing myself a small treat at the expense of my looks.
Same with coffee. It's not good for my stomach - hence for almost two years I make do with tea in the morning. While my husband and even my son now that he is in high school and needs caffeine to wake up on some mornings, indulge in their deliciously smelling cups... I don't feel deprived and I do not pat myself on a back for this sort of abstinence. Maybe food is easy. A while back I realized I do not walk enough, I got too used to a car. So, just like that, one day I decided to park on a far parking lot so I spend 15 minutes walking to work every day. Not much of a sacrifice, but it was hard a few weeks to battle myself when the nearest parking lot was almost empty and the idea of getting to work earlier was somewhat irresistible. Now I feel it's a habit already and it's easy.
However, the longer I think of it, everything will be easy if you decide it with due finality. Not as a bet, not as something you start "next Monday".
So. No New Year resolutions for me. Not before, not this year, not ever. But I think it's a high time for me to sit down and write that blasted book I've been mulling over for seven years now. Life is short to waste it on doubts and self-pity.
It's time to quit the job that's way beneath me, which means I'll have to organize my notebook and file away all clones and constructs I've made.
It's also time to get back in shape and use a treadmill that's getting covered with dust in my garage.
And when I think about it, it is time to start with a book-reviewing project I've always wanted to do. I read at least 3 books a week. Often, more than five. Some I like, some are terrible. But when people ask me what I was reading, I can rarely remember half a dozen. So from today onward, it's time to write down at least in a few sentences, what I lose my life on.
No promises. I'll just start doing it - and not tomorrow, but today. Right now.
Everyone around me seem to be making some sort of promise to themselves. And year after year I feel excluded from this fellowship of self-motivators. The thing is, I do not really make resolutions, New Year-bound or otherwise. To me, any decision I make about my future is generally enough to stick with it. Like one wise green creature said once "Do or not do. There is no try."
My friend always accuses me that it's because I never give up much, so it's relatively easy. She's probably right. One day, about fifteen years ago I realized that eating chocolate gives me pimples. From then I stopped eating chocolate (and chocolate cakes and cookies with chocolate). And don't get me wrong, I love chocolate, I still do. But I find it easy to say "no" to a delicious piece in front of me, because I know, it's for my own good. Once in a while - maybe once in a few months, - I'll eat a piece. And I never feel guilty about it. I'm not breaking an oath to myself. I am allowing myself a small treat at the expense of my looks.
Same with coffee. It's not good for my stomach - hence for almost two years I make do with tea in the morning. While my husband and even my son now that he is in high school and needs caffeine to wake up on some mornings, indulge in their deliciously smelling cups... I don't feel deprived and I do not pat myself on a back for this sort of abstinence. Maybe food is easy. A while back I realized I do not walk enough, I got too used to a car. So, just like that, one day I decided to park on a far parking lot so I spend 15 minutes walking to work every day. Not much of a sacrifice, but it was hard a few weeks to battle myself when the nearest parking lot was almost empty and the idea of getting to work earlier was somewhat irresistible. Now I feel it's a habit already and it's easy.
However, the longer I think of it, everything will be easy if you decide it with due finality. Not as a bet, not as something you start "next Monday".
So. No New Year resolutions for me. Not before, not this year, not ever. But I think it's a high time for me to sit down and write that blasted book I've been mulling over for seven years now. Life is short to waste it on doubts and self-pity.
It's time to quit the job that's way beneath me, which means I'll have to organize my notebook and file away all clones and constructs I've made.
It's also time to get back in shape and use a treadmill that's getting covered with dust in my garage.
And when I think about it, it is time to start with a book-reviewing project I've always wanted to do. I read at least 3 books a week. Often, more than five. Some I like, some are terrible. But when people ask me what I was reading, I can rarely remember half a dozen. So from today onward, it's time to write down at least in a few sentences, what I lose my life on.
No promises. I'll just start doing it - and not tomorrow, but today. Right now.
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