Schatzi Francis & Other Work (Avoidance) Names

There is a…thing we did in junior high. We took the name of our first pet and paired it with our mother’s maiden names, and voilà, — we had a “professional” name. You know, for that euphemistic “oldest profession?”

No one knows why we did that, but, Gwenda found something better — a pen name generator. Who hasn’t wanted to write something anonymously? I sometimes wish I’d chosen to do that — but apparently it’s something writers do when their careers are flagging — who knew? If I ever break the mold and start writing SF bodice rippers (Of course, in space, would your bodice rip?) you can bet I’ll come up with a suitably spicy nom de plume like Vivianna Isabella Tentadore. (Be on the lookout for that one!)

Amusingly Kelly’s pen name turned out to sound like she’ll be a writer of historical romance — at which we both shudder — and I turned out to sound like someone who writes very dry treatises on naval history — A.M.S. Marchen. Try it yourself, if you can settle on a single favorite author and character.


Via SF Signal, the somewhat elusive Ursula K. LeGuin reads from her latest novel, Lavinia, and talks about how she decided that she really ought to “get to it” if she was ever going to learn Latin in her lifetime. NPR interviewed this author last week, and revealed the preparation and research she undertook to write this novel. First, she retaught herself Latin. Then, she read The Aeneid — in the original Latin. You can read an excerpt of the book there, and another one at The Wall Street Journal’s Art section.

This book has received a starred review from PW, and the reviewer says, “It’s a novel that deserves to be ranked with Robert Graves’s I, Claudius.” Our Lady LeGuin is seventy-eight.

Were you planning on learning Latin, too? Get to it, then.


Okay, this is also high in the category of Work Avoidance: Extreme Makeover for Spiders. Via Mangesh @ mental_floss, we see an artist collaborating with spiders on web decor. They mostly unraveled her efforts and threw them on the ground (likely with looks of disgust in all eight of their eyes) but it’s kind of cool. The idea that the spiders came back to what looked like abandoned webs and basically Just Said No to her artistic license is my favorite part! I wonder if it was merely territorial, or they just didn’t approve of red thread?

“It is unlike any maternity clothes on the market.” Another entry for the Most Egregious Misuse page? Yes, but it’s not the only one. Via Fritinancy, the naming blog, I’ve discovered Acne Jeans. Yes, people: acne. As in spots, zits, or any other name for the embarrassing and life-altering facial eruptions that stalk our adolescence, and if you’re like me, your very, very, VERY late second adolescence-also-known-as-adulthood. Are we forgetting the basic meanings of words, in the quest for advertising dollars? Why yes, as a matter of fact, yes, we are… Acne Jeans. Wear them, and go right back in time to the worst days of your life. Whoo! Fun!

All right, enough malingering. Back to what seems like the sixteenth revision of this particular tale. Cheers!

Treasures from All Over

There’s a television show in the UK called “Are You Smarter than an 5th Grader” or something like that — I’ve never watched it because I have a sister in the sixth grade who assures me that the answer to that is an unequivocal “No.” I’m cheered by the fact that she’s still not smarter than eighth graders in 1895. Via the mental_floss blog, we’re privileged to see the 1895 final exam presented to 8th-graders in Salina, Kansas… and boy howdy are those questions hard. FIVE HOURS were allowed for the final test. Five.

Remember that many young adults decided to teach school after graduating from the 8th grade in those days — and honestly, if they know how to respond to such questions as:

A wagon box is 2 ft. deep, 10 feet long, and 3 ft. wide. How many bushels of wheat will it hold? 3. If a load of wheat weighs 3942 lbs., what is it worth at 50cts/bushel, deducting 1050 lbs. for tare?

… then they had the chops to at least teach fifth graders… check out the whole exam here.

Imagine treasure-hunting with your granddad — looking for old cannon balls on a site of a battlefield — and actually finding treasure. Nine year old Alex found 4,600 silver coins dating from the 13th century — then archaeologists uncovered almost three thousand more. Hands down, best day out with Granddad, EVER.

Via the Guardian blogShakespeare is being revised — again — into “yoofspeak.” “Dere was somefing minging in de state of Denmark.” Okay, so it’s accessible to some — readable, even, if you’re in the know, but the beauty and power of the original language is what makes Shakespeare, isn’t it? This isn’t an issue for some, because the language tripped them up… Once again, people use the argument that if the Bard were writing now, he’d be writing in “the vernacular” as it were — but whose? I dunno. I find this a bit patronizing. We’re assuming that people who don’t choose to participate in the dominate culture only don’t because they can’t? Hm.

“Smart, funny and cheery, Meyer does not seem noticeably undead in person.” Not “noticeably.” Well, that’s a relief, anyway.

Time Magazine is trying to figure out just what the heck is up with Stephanie Meyers — how did this 34-year-old observant stay-at-home Mormon mother and housewife turn into a woman being hailed as the next JK Rowling? Seriously, HOW did this happen?! Hat tip to Original Content for the link.


May looks to be a month stuffed with all kinds of fun, games, blog blasts, contests, fluffy bunnies and chickies and …vampires. Don’t forget it’s also National Independent Bookseller Month — if you haven’t dropped off the name of your favorite Indie to the ladies at Shrinking Violets, DO SO NOW!

Against Hubris

natalie dee
nataliedee.com

It’s a once-in-a-lifetime fortune cookie, that.

So, May 1 my first review will run in Kirkus Reviews, and I’ve finally signed contract for the second novel and movie people are talking to my agent and the designer is bouncing ideas off of my editor for covers I’m 3/4 the way through the third novel and I’ve hit a wall.

Well, not too much of a wall, I guess, it’s just the sort of startling realization that the novel I *thought* I was writing isn’t the story I’m telling. This is something completely new.

I can’t tell you how much I hate it when this happens.

It usually doesn’t. Usually I know what story I’m telling.

I’ve been trying to excise a ghost — ? — or something from my head for years. A childhood friend died a violent and senseless death, and I’ve been writing around the event that effectively ended my childhood for years. For. Years. And, after a soupçon of success, I finally thought I was a “mature” enough writer to take the shards of the previous attempts and unite them into a revised whole, and maybe get to the point of the dancing around the event — and Tell It. I honestly really thought I could. It’s been ten years now.

I’ve …kinda done that. I’ve created dynamic characters and situations that are making my writing group, at least, twitchy with worry over what’s going to happen to the characters. I’ve done what I could, creating the realistic, small traumas that make up the daily bricks in the Huge Wall of Awful About To Fall On You, but I’ve found something out — it’s all gotten away from me.

Right now, I’m looking at my main character and asking, “Beg pardon, but WHO the HELL ARE YOU!?” This must be what it’s like to have children, to wipe their noses and butts every day and pick up their crap and finally get around to teaching the amoral little beasts to stop blackmailing you and speak nicely and pick up their own crap, and then you look at them and they’re not the ones you started out with; they’re some other exhausted shrew’s get and look remarkably like the postman and you think, “Why are you in MY house?”

And they give you that insouciant shrug and flash each other a look that says, “She’s on the bottle again,” and they all detour in a wide circle around you every time they see you.

Not that I would know what that’s like. *Cough*

But, that’s what my characters are doing. They’ve morphed into being someone else’s puppets, and now I have to make a choice: do I change my original intent to suit who I’ve got, or do I keep planing and puttying and trimming and sculpting their resistant little story lines until they’re who I wanted them to be?

Unfortunately, I already know the answer to this.

Maybe what I really want to know is why. Why can’t I write the story of this senseless death? Why can’t I get my fingers ’round the taproot of this tale and pull it ’til it’s all out? Probably for the same reason that people can’t easily separate salt and sand; because it’s become part of me.

The ghosts live behind my eyes. And they’ve made up their minds to stay.

Mememento mori. Remember you must die. If you see the ghosts, don’t flinch. They’re just Telling It true, in a way that I can’t seem to manage.

Can't Stay Long — The Sun Is Shining!!!


In Brief

I was immeasurably cheered last week when Galleycat reported that my hometown (when in the US) newspaper, The San Francisco Chronicle, had expanded their book coverage. People have been sighing about newspapers cutting reviews, and The Chron sometimes has two a day, plus their Sunday Book section. GO CHRON!

They’ve got a pretty decent children’s book coverage going, but my favorite thing of theirs is a new feature where they ask kids about books. Today’s question: What Book Turned You Into A Reader? Some creative answers — and the girls might surprise you.

You’ve all heard me whining for the last eight months about how cold I’ve been — well, I’ll have you know, I took off my coat today. It’s finally hit sixty degrees! And now I’m off —

Glorious weekend to you.

Can’t Stay Long — The Sun Is Shining!!!


In Brief

I was immeasurably cheered last week when Galleycat reported that my hometown (when in the US) newspaper, The San Francisco Chronicle, had expanded their book coverage. People have been sighing about newspapers cutting reviews, and The Chron sometimes has two a day, plus their Sunday Book section. GO CHRON!

They’ve got a pretty decent children’s book coverage going, but my favorite thing of theirs is a new feature where they ask kids about books. Today’s question: What Book Turned You Into A Reader? Some creative answers — and the girls might surprise you.

You’ve all heard me whining for the last eight months about how cold I’ve been — well, I’ll have you know, I took off my coat today. It’s finally hit sixty degrees! And now I’m off —

Glorious weekend to you.

Poetry Friday: Poetic Virtue and Dr. Hardcastle

A man once said that conservation was a sign of “personal virtue,” and when he said this, ‘virtue’ quickly lost points for some — and gained points for others. It’s an old-fashioned word, virtue is, and seems to imply in modern times a sort of do-gooder attitude of scrupulous perfectionism. But once upon a time, a virtuous person was merely one of the best sort — thoughtful and helpful and not given to excess — the kind of person everyone wanted to have around.

I remember my high school English teacher Dr. Hardcastle reciting this poem from memory with perfect, crisp diction. (Sweet day! So cool, so calm, so bright! was actually a line he was apt to declaim on nice mornings, when the rest of us were gazing longingly out of the windows.) He taught us that George Herbert had been a priest, and this poem part of a liturgical tradition. Knowing this, it is easier to see the poem as both a celebration of seasons and consonants, as well as a dark reminder of a priest’s ever present knowledge of judgment and death. It is balanced in contrasts: dawn and dusk, blooming and withering, sweet spring, and its close, a soul and its ‘vertuous’ reward – life, when all else may be turned to coal.

Dr. Hardcastle was in his early sixties when he was my teacher in high school, and I expect that the fatal refrain of this poem has come to him. Still, every new, dew-bright day in Spring reminds me of this poem, and of him — a virtuous man gone to his reward, as they say, whatever that might be.

The Temple (1633), by George Herbert:

  
Vertue

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridall of the earth and skie:
The dew shall weep thy fall to night;
                                        For thou must die.

Sweet rose, whose hue angrie and brave
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye:
Thy root is ever in its grave
                                        And thou must die.

Sweet spring, full of sweet dayes and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie;
My musick shows ye have your closes,
                                        And all must die.

Onely a sweet and vertuous soul,
Like season’d timber, never gives;
But though the whole world turn to coal,
                                        Then chiefly lives.


Poetry Friday graces the blog of The Miss Rumphius Effect today; gather round and bring your verses.

Borrow a Body and Round up Some Posts

I cherish the thoughts of others even more when they clarify thoughts of my own. Thank you for thinking with me and for your faith that I am a much better person than I am. Feeling that our gifts are insignificant against the larger, crueler world is a daily occurrence, but feeling other hands in the murky dark is — so much help.

I am making a pact not just with A.fortis, but with all of you — when you find your individual strategies for strengthening your world, let me know. Like Sara’s The Very Big, No-Kidding,We’re Changing the World, You Bet! Good Deed List or Colleen’s impassioned writing about New Orleans, or the 7-Imps rubber-to-the-road support of Robert’s Snow — I know that many, if not all of us have had our hearts involved in ways to change, support or protect the denizens of this planet in ways outside of writing, and it’s personally encouraging to me to see where people are carrying their candles to light up the world.

I ran across an interestingly world-changing idea via the the Guardian blog — libraries full of …people to borrow. No Dewey Decimal needed, they’re filed by stereotype… The idea is fascinating. Imagine checking out ‘Immigrant Woman’ or ‘Gay Man.’ Imagine the prejudices within yourself you would encounter just on deciding on a dialogue with a “volume.” Is this really worthwhile, or could people learn as much if they’d open a real book?


Aaargh! I’d already read one of these blogs – Colleen’s informative post on which are the “important” blogs that authors are sending books to, and how to work the whole blog-tour, blogging author thing (there is no science to it) but Original Content brings in the other half of a question on ‘trustworthy’ reviews — as in, if all of your reviewers are friendly fellow bloggers, how are those real reviews? I think watching HGTV with my copious free time is indeed the best option, here. *sigh*


Hear ye, Hear ye! The Prince is Having a …Writer’s Conference! Cinderellas and Cinderfellas, want to go to the SCBWI Summer Conference? Need some money? The Shrinking Violets have got your back. Check it out!!


Have you been CHOKING on the VITM (vitamins?) showing up in the spate of recent reports on badly thought-out children’s books? What Very Important Teaching Moment would you like to share with the world via a picture book? Big A, little a wants to know… And, any sponsors out there, she’s got a great book pitch for you…


Galleycat on the most important YA novel of this election year: Cory Doctorow’s Little Brother, which the reviewer commented, “It’s a level of direct political engagement I’ve seen few “adult”/”literary” novelists attempt in the last few years” — Cheers for another literate, intelligent YA novel. Big Brother, look out.


The hilarious Sarah Beth Durst is deservingly up for the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America Andre Norton award. She’s all dressed up and ready — and very, very funny: “Don’t misunderstand — I am not expecting to win. I am up against some really stiff competition (Elizabeth Wein, Ysabeau Wilce, Steve Berman, Adam Rex, Nnedi Okorafor-Mbachu, and some unknown writer by the name of J.K. Rowling). But I am ridiculously excited to lose in person.

And to wear a pretty dress.”

Writing is more of a …sweats and ponytail kind of job, kind of like being a dogwalker, only you walk your thoughts. However, Sarah Beth’s dress is gorgeous, and we at Wonderland wish her the very best of luck!!

Why Am I Writing Right Now…?

I love my job. I love writing, writing about and talking about books.
However, it’s sometimes hard to square what is essentially a job in entertainment with a world that isn’t entirely free to be at ease and entertained.

What does it mean, when you are a writer, that people are starving in Haiti, Egypt and the Philippines? That there’s a massive drought in Australia, and a food crisis in South Asia? People have always starved, it’s endemic to poverty — the poor we always have with us, after all — but things have been drifting quietly downstream for some time now, and in the distance is the roaring sound of the rapids.

…and yet I’m writing books. Is this the best use of my time?

Common sense suggests that paddling this canoe now won’t even slightly delay our rush toward white water, but that’s not why I’m still writing — I’m writing because I believe in the power of stories. I do. I think that’s a core belief — something I believe in as strongly as a religious creed. I believe in the power of story.

I remember feeling quite moved when so many SCBWI authors and authors-to-be sent books and flashlights to the kids caught in the Katrina floods, and knowing that if I was miserably hot and stuck with thousands of people in a sticky, crowded, dark room, facing The End of Life As I’d Known It with nothing but the grubby clothes on my back and a few damp possessions — maybe –, I’d want something else — quick — that said, “Once upon a time,” and ended somewhere else, maybe not with “Happily Ever After,” but with “Happily, Not Here.” I believe in the power of stories to distract and distance us from the unpleasant. I’m big on escapism — sometimes it is A Good Thing.

I also believe in the power of stories to teach. Just the other day, when we all rocked the readergirlz TBD, I was cheered to know that hundreds of hospitalized teens would now have a chance to be distracted — but more than that, to be taught. So many books have taught us. We know about cancer and diabetes, revolutions, wars and life as immigrants. We can’t really be afraid when we know things. Prejudices and terrors stem from what we don’t know. When we read, we learn. I believe in the power of learning things to shine a light on our fear.

Story was my lifeline when I was a kid.
Stories are my lifeline as… an older kid.

Yet, the food crisis thing. Starvation. Not just kids, but everyone in some countries. Somewhere the obnoxious idealist in me is shrieking, “Somebody should do something!!!”

I know who ‘somebody’ is – it’s me.

So, I’m writing.
And thinking of what else to do.

Waking Weekend

Yes, it’s early on a weekend morning, but I had to point out this little goodie. Via SF Signal‘s daily Tidbits, I discovered that Omnivoracious has interviewed Gwenda Bond on the best recent and upcoming YA novels. She listed some really good ones, including an upcoming J. Larbalestier that I dearly want to read — and reminded me happily that Flora Segunda’s sequel is due sometime this Spring. Nicely done, Ms. Bond!

Mitali survived her TV debut. Mr. DeMille…? About that close-up… Spencer Christian, who was our local Bay Area weatherman when I was a kid, does the interview.

Yahoo Books broke the news — the ferrets are safe at last. Actually, it strikes me rather painfully that romance author Cassie Edwards has been dumped by her publisher. It was bound to happen — and Secret Agent Man, in the wake of the original publicity, predicted that would happen, and warned all of his writers that it would happen to anyone who garnered a publishing house negative publicity — but still, it’s sad when an author shoots herself in the foot. Lesson learned for everyone, here’s hoping.