After the great angst that was my last post, I am abashed to admit that I've arrived in San Francisco......and all appears fabulous. The conference has yet to begin, but simply the fact that the venue is the Mark Hopkins Intercontinental renders the experience already delectable. It didn't hurt that my flight was uneventful, on time, and turbulence free. I also met a very kind gentleman who gave me an overview of his Amazon Kindle (it looks really cool, I want one!), which is making waves in the book business, and was even so gracious as to encourage me to keep writing because his teenage daughter would probably love my novel about werewolves. Since she is my target audience, I found such words very inspiring and I hope someday she is one of my first and most enthusiastic fans. Thanks again, airplane neighbor!
From my new perch on Nob Hill, Wonderland appears much less daunting. So I'll frolic on the other side of the looking glass with steps full of optimism. If I'm lucky enough I'll find a Cheshire Cat to guide my steps. But I won't try out any "drink me" flasks or "eat me" snacks I happen upon while I'm visiting - it is still Wonderland after all.
Are You Going on Tour?
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Teeter-Totter: A Note from the Dark Side
The edge. I end up here more often than I'd like to admit. When I find myself teetering at the brink, it derives from my proclivity for over-commitment (in labor and emotion). Right now I'm staring down the barrel of the semester and grinding my teeth into paste.
But the spines of anxiety needling my skin this week are also born of a looming, much-anticipated event: my first writer's conference.
Late Thursday night I'll arrive in San Francisco to rub elbows with a mass of editors, agents, and authors (published and aspiring like myself). For me, this step has moon-landing significance. No longer will I be staring at the shiny mirror of the writer's world and wanting my reflection to belong among the crowd of authors who I admire. The conference means I'm through the looking glass. Once I cross to the other side, I half expect to find Alice waiting for me with a smile and a knife to bury in my belly.
So at the moment I'm tottering, half-drunk with doubt, and wondering whether the bottom of the chasm might not be so bad.
But the spines of anxiety needling my skin this week are also born of a looming, much-anticipated event: my first writer's conference.
Late Thursday night I'll arrive in San Francisco to rub elbows with a mass of editors, agents, and authors (published and aspiring like myself). For me, this step has moon-landing significance. No longer will I be staring at the shiny mirror of the writer's world and wanting my reflection to belong among the crowd of authors who I admire. The conference means I'm through the looking glass. Once I cross to the other side, I half expect to find Alice waiting for me with a smile and a knife to bury in my belly.
So at the moment I'm tottering, half-drunk with doubt, and wondering whether the bottom of the chasm might not be so bad.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Music Lit Convergence
Happiness is learning that there will be a musical version of Coraline composed by none other than Stephen Merritt (Magnetic Fields). Sigh, smile, giggle....when wonderful worlds collide.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
My Big Fat Geek Movie Weekend
One of the nice things about having a Ph.D. and a job is that I no longer feel compelled to construct an exterior persona that depicts my own self as anything other than the exuberant nerd that I am. (I wish I could have claimed this level of self-awareness and rejection of normative consumption earlier in life, but alas, I was insecure.)
In my younger days I kept my passions close to the chest, reticent except for my vehement defense of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which I could no sooner supress than a geyser eruption. But now I frolic through fields of comic books, graphic novels, their web sites, television, and film adaptations. In fits of ecstasy I plot my pilgrimages to children's book conferences, Comic-Con, and Worldcon. And sometimes the convergence of events makes for a particularly exciting circumstance.
Case in point: This weekend features the release of two movies I am dying to see. Coraline is the film adaptation of Neil Gaiman's fantastically scary children's book, and Fan Boys is a road-trip homage to Star Wars fiends like myself.
If you're looking for me this weekend, I will be worshiping the silver screen with much abandon.
In my younger days I kept my passions close to the chest, reticent except for my vehement defense of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which I could no sooner supress than a geyser eruption. But now I frolic through fields of comic books, graphic novels, their web sites, television, and film adaptations. In fits of ecstasy I plot my pilgrimages to children's book conferences, Comic-Con, and Worldcon. And sometimes the convergence of events makes for a particularly exciting circumstance.
Case in point: This weekend features the release of two movies I am dying to see. Coraline is the film adaptation of Neil Gaiman's fantastically scary children's book, and Fan Boys is a road-trip homage to Star Wars fiends like myself.
If you're looking for me this weekend, I will be worshiping the silver screen with much abandon.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Writers Draw Blood
If you'd like to see fangs bared and claws come out, check out the 200+ posts on Nathan Bransford's blog (which I follow religiously) regarding Steven King's public critique of Stephenie Meyer. I've never seen blog posts go up so fast.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Pulling for Milk
I'm not one to get on board with the Oscar build up (if there is one in Minnesota), but this year I'm holding my breath in the hope that Milk will win Best Picture. The historical footage, compelling narrative, and exceptional acting made this film one of my favorite biopics to date.
It's with reluctance that I confess I only made it to the film this evening and not sooner; I was truly moved and reminded of the amazing activism offered by leaders like Harvey Milk, but also the work that is yet to be done.
It's with reluctance that I confess I only made it to the film this evening and not sooner; I was truly moved and reminded of the amazing activism offered by leaders like Harvey Milk, but also the work that is yet to be done.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Winter Sun
February 1.
We've made it. January is gone. I don't know whether I'd go so far as to call January the most challenging month of the year - but in my book it's close. This year in particular, when we only had one day above 32 degrees and far too many below zero, I welcome January's departure with a hearty hurrah.
Yesterday, when the long-awaited thaw finally arrived and 45 degrees felt like being baked on a tropical beach, the hard packed snow was cut through with rivers of slush and innumerable tiny cricks that flowed along the sidewalk.
But that was yesterday. When winter returned overnight and hung around to greet February, all that abundant melting froze. Now the sidewalks are sheets of ice that make dog walking an extreme sport.
The point of all this ranting (though I do believe ranting is a valid end in itself)? As I shuffled (the only safe way to move on the ice paths that line my neighborhood) along with my two dogs this morning, I realized how unfortunate it is that my eyes had to stay on the sidewalk.
The winter sky deserves more attention. A stark wash of blue. The sun pale and always a little hazy. Austere colors made all the more striking by the snaking dark branches of leafless trees that break up the endless expanse above. And at night. Ah night. The stars glitter more brightly against that cold black canvas. Light and oblivion.
Winter conditions draw our eyes down. Stomping boots, breath that materializes before us and then fades away, treacherous slipping feet as we try to make our way forward. Hesitant, irritable, impatient for the spring.
And winter's grace escapes us.
Dangerous though it may be, I'll be looking up more from now on. It's worth the risk.
We've made it. January is gone. I don't know whether I'd go so far as to call January the most challenging month of the year - but in my book it's close. This year in particular, when we only had one day above 32 degrees and far too many below zero, I welcome January's departure with a hearty hurrah.
Yesterday, when the long-awaited thaw finally arrived and 45 degrees felt like being baked on a tropical beach, the hard packed snow was cut through with rivers of slush and innumerable tiny cricks that flowed along the sidewalk.
But that was yesterday. When winter returned overnight and hung around to greet February, all that abundant melting froze. Now the sidewalks are sheets of ice that make dog walking an extreme sport.
The point of all this ranting (though I do believe ranting is a valid end in itself)? As I shuffled (the only safe way to move on the ice paths that line my neighborhood) along with my two dogs this morning, I realized how unfortunate it is that my eyes had to stay on the sidewalk.
The winter sky deserves more attention. A stark wash of blue. The sun pale and always a little hazy. Austere colors made all the more striking by the snaking dark branches of leafless trees that break up the endless expanse above. And at night. Ah night. The stars glitter more brightly against that cold black canvas. Light and oblivion.
Winter conditions draw our eyes down. Stomping boots, breath that materializes before us and then fades away, treacherous slipping feet as we try to make our way forward. Hesitant, irritable, impatient for the spring.
And winter's grace escapes us.
Dangerous though it may be, I'll be looking up more from now on. It's worth the risk.
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