So, after my Lord of the Rings post (see below) I've decided that what I really want to do is a massive, MASSIVE graphic novel adaptation of the story.

Anyone know an artist who wants to take on the most ambitious project they will ever do?

jaylake has just posted an interesting theory of writing success which has its good points.

I've got to say, though, that having worked in publishing, I don't buy the notion of "being good enough to publish" anymore. So much craaaaap gets published and gets popular. Look at Dan Brown--I would have thrown him out with as vicious of a form rejection as I could. Yet he not only got published, he brainwashed the masses!

Therefore I present the Crapshoot Theory of Writing Success.

This is you:

:)

This is your submission process as you send your submissions to every possible place. The X is each rejection.

:) -> X -> X-> X-> X-> X -> X
-> X -> X -> X -> X -> X
-> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X
-> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X
-> X -> X -> X
-> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X
-> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X
-> X -> X -> X -> X
-> X -> X -> X
-> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X
-> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> X -> :) This is when you finally hit the right editor.

Basically, there are editors out there for everyone. You have to fire in as many different directions as possible to hit the right one.

Therefore, SUBMIT YOUR STUFF.

My beloved Intergalactic Medicine Show has released an anthology of some of the best stories from their years of blessed storydom. Included is Eric James Stone's "Tabloid Reporter to the Stars," which has the BEST surprise ending ever.

I recently rewatched and reread the Lord of the Rings. (It's funny how the books are so connected to the movies now.) It's funny--I don't have any of the problems with the movies that some of the other fans do, like Faramir's side trip to Osgiliath or Gimli's silliness, but I just can't make my peace with the third movie. It's overlong and repetitive and I'm shocked when I see the Extended Version, knowing what they left in the theatrical version. 1) There is a rehash Gollum schizophrenia scene that is totally unneccessary and slows down the story. 2) They took out most of the scenes from Frodo and Sam's journey across Mordor, and 3) of course, they left in the infamous "Sam-eats-all-the-bread-and-Frodo-tells-him-to-go-home" scene. I have never seen anything more asisinine than that damn scene. I wish I could edit it out of the movie, but there would be no way to do that and make dramatic sense.

Also, why is it that Peter Jackson, who has to overdramatize Sam's silly attempt to swim to Frodo in the first film, made Frodo's sickness so subtle at the overlong denoument of the third film? In the books, Frodo awakes shaking and is constantly grabbing for something around his neck. It's the only time the movie actually downplays something.

Grrr... oh well, someday someone will remake it, and then I'll have a new host of complaints.

I can't stop watching this. It goes beyond being a Sarah Palin joke into the realm of beauty and truth.

This is my new favorite joke.

I am now a second-year Master's student at the fabled University of The West in Washington, in the field of English and Creative Writing. Related fields include Dreadlocks, Making Clothing Out of Weed, and Making Beer Sound Like Church.

I'm taking a Graphic Novels class, which has given me a good excuse to re-read Watchmen for next week. However, I'm also a little trepidated over the whole thing. Although a good number of people in the class are complete nerds like me, others have never read a comic book in their life, and come with all the baggage of being English grad students before being fanboy nerds. I like the teacher a lot thus far (I hope I continue to like her, as she's on my thesis committee.) Everything comes with a price, though, and mine is called The System of Comics. It's one of those absolutely unreadable books of English "theory" which basically comes down to 1) either telling you things you already know but couching it in difficult language or 2) telling you things you will never, not even if you sell your marriage to the devil, understand. I have a hard time figuring out how the author understood them.

I'm pretty leery of English theory anyway, but not because the different modes of thinking are damaging on their own. The philosophies behind modernism, post-modernism, feminist theory, psychanalytical theory, and deconstruction are all valid and fascinating. It's even fun, sometimes, to discuss books with that mindset. But the ideas have taken precedence over the application. The discipline is written and discussed in such code that is only relevant or interesting to the people involved. In fact, the impenetrable, circular nature of theory writing since the 80s has become a joke.

Also, no one in English critical circles wants to talk about what creative writers want to talk about, which is what makes certain authors successful and how we can steal their techniques. English studies means, at best, finding windows into culture or philosophy by taking studies apart. (I say "at best" because that's the only practical application I can find for most of what goes on in ES.) Uniting English with Creative Writing as supposedly similar disciplines was a silly mistake that is somehow still not rectified at most universities. Creative Writing should be run strictly out of departments like Liberal Studies, where the writers can construct a curriculum that matters, outside their workshops.

Anyway... once I get past all that lingering resentment, I might actually enjoy the class. I'm also taking a class in Medieval Literature, which I had a lot of fun with as an undergrad, but which promises to be a hefty class as a grad student. I'm lucky that most of what I'm doing in Graphic Novels is stuff I would be doing anyway--creating comics, for instance, when my thesis will be a comic, and writing a review of a comic when I already write reviews. The medieval stuff requires much less Middle English reading than I thought it would, which is a relief, and I'm already a bit ahead in having taken three undergrad courses in medieval lit, but still... never think that a grad class will be easy. That's how they get you.

The Bellingham Review is actively looking for submissions, and yours truly is the associate editor.

http://www.wwu.edu/bhreview/submissions.shtml

Also, somewhere on there is a link to the Tobias Wolff fiction contest, starting in January.

We get a whole lot of stories from people more interested in experimenting with form than telling about interesting characters. I think everyone is pretty sold on "fantastic elements" so while we wouldn't consider something hard enough to be in, say, Analog, the kind of stuff that shows up in F&SF or Strange Horizons would be great.

I'm also trying to get the word out to lots of sites for writers. Can anyone suggest some?

Adia has a broken wrist.

Apparently there was another incident with the famously dislocate-able arm last night (I wasn't there) and the X-ray revealed that Adia actually has a fracture in her wrist, bigger than hairline and possibly on two bones.

I remember my little brother David having a broken arm at the age or one or maybe two. He shoved a lot of bananas down the cast. We had to get it replaced several times because it stunk so badly. It also didn't stop him from breaking the same arm four years later.

We have us another David. Thanks, genetics.

"Do not laugh! But once upon a time (my crest has long since fallen) I had a mind to make a body of more or less connected legend, ranging from the large and cosmogonic to the level of romantic fairy-story--the larger founded on the lesser in contact with the earth, the lesser drawing splendour from the vast backcloths--which I could dedicate simply: to England; to my country... I would draw some of the great tales in fullness, and leave many only placed in the scheme, and sketched. The cycles should be linked to a majestic whole, and yet leave scope for other minds and hands, wielding paint and music and drama. Absurd."

--J.R.R. Tolkien, age 62

I'm sorry to all the very talented writers out there, but I've quit agenting.

I really liked a lot of things about it. I liked feeling like a part of the publishing industry, this big monster that I was afraid of before. I liked the people involved. I liked my clients and I liked falling in love with stories that I could represent.

But I never, ever had time for it between grad school and parenting. It always got shoved to the back of my schedule and that was never fair to my clients. It's impossible to make that kind of a commitment and go to graduate school, because graduate school by its nature demands all your emotional and mental involvement. Some teachers are really kind, but even those are pushing you and testing you on a level they would never approach with undergraduates. And then there's the little bundle of joy that takes up my time. (Today she fell down the stairs. Again. And she cried so hard for me that Chrissy brought her to the friends' house where I was. Turns out she dislocated her elbow. You see how crazy it gets?)

So sorry world. It had to be done. It may not be forever, though. We'll see what happens with the PhD and all that jazz. If for some reason you're reading this and you sent me something, know that if it's gold it'll get passed on to other agents at the L. Perkins Agency.

From What's Up! magazine in Bellingham about my band:

"I wonder why someone would put themselves in a position to get annihilated by a reviewer by sending in a demo. Heck, unless you are Death Cab, why do I have to suffer through mistakes and bad production? Especially when the first song of your demo really puts down blind people, and the reviewer is blind. What poor luck.

"Anyway, if you have ever stayed in a bad motel, you know some of the problems that can occur. Dirty sheets, uncomfortable bed, no hot water, cockroaches, poor TV reception, weak shower pressure, the list goes on and on. Luckily this demo isn't that bad, some of it shows promise like the drumming and guitar work. The vocals are a bit over dramatic, lyrics under developed. It's had to be PJ Harvey. That is why there is only one.

"Not to be a jerk, but it would be cool to hear this band again once they really developed their craft."

Yeah? Well my grammar could kick your grammar's ass anyday, bud!

So yesterday Adia fell down some stairs from the landing in the front of the house. We never use these stairs because we can get in and out more effectively through the side, but our landlord is painting the side steps right now. Adia has been very delighted to find a new set of stairs to go up and down on, and to fall down.

Apparently she cried for me after she fell, so she got to come to the writing group and entertain the Dead Pervert house plus Hanna. We all felt her for bumps or broken bones. She seemed fine. Fine until she woke up at two in the morning screaming. Chrissy and I took turns with her last night staying up and watching Elmo, since it was the only thing that would calm her down. La la la la, la la la la, Elmo's world... kill me if I ever hear that song again.

This morning the doctor revealed that she had actually DISLOCATED HER ELBOW. It wasn't bad, so the doctor was able to put it back in place, but boy did she scream.

In other news, it's a beautiful sunny Saturday afternoon and I'm sitting in the library answering slush and reading to get ready for school.

I would like to go on record as saying that I don't want to be studying for my comprehensive exams. But to make up for it, I have just eaten the greatest chocolate ice cream in the world. Normally I don't like plain chocolate ice cream; I like an orgy of chocolate and other awful delicious stuff, like the marshmallows and caramel and chunky fudgy fish in Ben & Jerry's Phish Food. But I can eat this stuff plain and feel like I have been through Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory with a bigger appetite than Augustus Gloop.

It's so chocolate it leaves you dying for water. For those in Bellingham, get your tushies to the Public Market and eat some. Phish Food and those chocolate-almond coffee ice cream bars from Haagen-Daz are the only things that can compare. Maybe some Lindt Truffles, dark chocolate (the blue kind, not the black kind that's too bitter). Or maybe just Coke and MnMs; that's just crappy deliciousness. No, none of those compare.

Anyway, I'm studying for the comprehensive exams, which was a pain before but I'm starting to enjoy. I finished the very good BBC full-cast dramatization of David Copperfield, which was much more fun than reading Dickens, though I don't mind Dickens. I read Beloved by Toni Morrison, which is beautiful, and finally found an Italo Calvino story I liked (Dinosaurs). I got to read my favorite book, The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien, again, and write a study guide on it. I read Ralph Ellison's Invisible Man, which was also fantastic and funny. And I discovered that Raymond Carver's other stories are better than "What We Talk About When We Talk About Love" but not better than "Cathedral." I hope I can write a story one day that has something in it as touching and original as a blind man holding another man's hand as he draws a cathedral.

But now I have to write some practice essays and I'm not excited about that. And All Songs Considered is supposed to be running a Radiohead live podcast tonight, but it hasn't shown up on my iTunes yet.

The L. Perkins Agency, namely me, has a new intern. Master Keffy of Keffington. She will dig me out from my pile of things to do, at least the things my child has not eaten.

Copped off one of Jay Lake's blogging friends:

For Richard and a conversation that was far more entertaining than Sunday School.

http://www.shunn.net/format/story.html

The top bullet: "Ellsworth/Revenge of the Poop/13" is the most important part for those of us with one-year-olds who like to steal pages.

Labels: manuscript format

I like to listen to music when I write. It took a really long time to get used to it, but I had to, given how difficult it is to come by peace and quiet in college. I just had to choose my noise. Now I find I can't write without a little background noise and familiar music to focus me.

So here's the latest suspects:

Saturday, for the gory battle scene, I did "Son Et Lumiere" and "Intertiatic ESP" by the Mars Volta, "Bodysnatchers" by Radiohead, and "Thursday" by Morphine.

Today, just for ambience, I did Elliot Smith's Figure 8, From a Basement on a Hill, and XO albums. Right now, Fiona Apple's cover of Elvis Costello's "I Want You," which is the most glorious epic, soulful thing in the world.

Who are the musics in your neighborhood?

Something from the agenting point of view, rather than the writer's.

MANUSCRIPT FORMAT! Put your name on every page. I'm sorting through a pile of submissions with "yes" or "no" written on them. Some of them don't have emails on them.

Look, people, if you don't use manuscript format there is no reason for us to even look at your work. Some of us do it out of kindness. Some of us (me) are losing our kindness fast.

That's right, I can no longer die as a drug-abusing rock star and join the 27 club.

The Bloody God
Words today: None today, but yesterday I wrote 3500 and cracked 80k as a birthday present to myself.
Words total: 80-freaking-K!
Reason for stopping: It was late and I made my goal and I was 28 and feeling my age.
Favorite:

Something struck him, drove the breath out of him and knocked him on his ass. Khalid looked down at his side and saw a stick—not like an arrow at all, he thought—and realized he could see it coming out both sides of him. Crossbow bolt. Cowards.

Battle wounds! Yeah!

Abusing my power: Crossbow fights. I love crossbow fights. The bad guys get one shot to win, and the shot will probably kill you through your chain mail, but if they lose, they're screwed.
It's aliiive!: I didn't even intend to make my character get this torn up. But he's such a determined survivor, I thought it would be fun to stick some sharp pointy things in him.
Embarrassment: I seem to really be enjoying the blood and gore, and though the dialogue is rolling off my fingers, I still have a hard time figuring out what both characters are thinking. Ah well. More blood and guts and sex will make it better.

This is a response I got from a recent rejection letter, which reads: "Thanks, but this isn't quite what we're looking for." Those of you who follow my blog know that I've detailed many times why we reject certain things.

This person wrote:

Thank you for the typically oblique, bordering on rude reply.

Don't ever do that if you want anyone in the industry to listen to you.

My folks are in town. Last night my mom and I stayed up till midnight playing chess with my Star Wars toys. Not that we're big chess fans, but we got really confused trying to figure out the rules of Super Munchkin. Anyone who knows the game want to come play? We seriously need help with Munchkin. We're rpg-tarded.

I'm managing my thousand words a day while my folks are here by losing sleep. And Adia's crazy (see below).

The Bloody God
Words today: So far, 1000
Words total: 75k? It's not in one document. I'll check later.
Reason for stopping: Adia POURED HOT TEA ON HERSELF! I didn't even think it was within reaching distance. She looks okay now and has burn creme on. But seriously. Parenting.
Favorite:

There was a heavy purple blotch on his calf, black and crusted like coals. A thin white line of liquid trailed down, drying on his skin.

I love describing gross things.

Abusing my power: I get to describe a medieval Islamic hospital and put some of my research to good use. Hopefully it won't get too long-winded.
It's aliiive!: Subliminal suggestion in the main character's head regarding him possibly killing another character in the future. Amen.
Embarrassment: I just tried to write something funny. That explains it all.

I'm stealing almost everything I do today from San. The title and the format. Since everyone loves my book, and since this is the first official post I'm putting in my livejournal and blogger accounts, here's the semi-self-explanatory rundown of how the writing's going:

Noble Quest...
Words today: More or less 1000
Words total: More or less 73k
Reason for stopping: Reached my goal and was hungry.
Favorite: "You're obsessive-compulsive," Shay said.
"So's the Count on Sesame Street," Sarah answered. "I'm in good company."
Abusing my power: One of my characters is a frustrated writer. I know, I know.
It's aliiive!: Every time I get these two characters in conversation, even when I end up deleting it all, it really flows. I think it's the ability to think in modern pop culture references rather than fantasy-mind-mode.
Embarrassment: Looking at San's blog numbers. Am I the only person in my writing group who takes two hours to write one thousand words and thinks that's good?

I'm taking a side in a genuine Internet controversy: this letter and the fallout thereof.

If you are an editor for a major publication and you make blatantly racist comments (and his argument that he is just talking about terrorists does not hold up from the use of 'sheet-heads') then you deserve what you get. Writers have the right to report bad behavior of this magnitude.

In case you were stunned and deflowered by my title, (I hope you weren't deflowered, but in case you were) be it known that I am reading and preparing a study guide for William Faulkner's Absalom, Absalom!

Usually, despite my limited attention span and recently increased love for comics, I can whiz through a book pretty easily. The biggest threat to my reading span is other books, which look more interesting than whatever I'm reading at the moment. It goes back to when my sister told me her ice cream tasted better than mine. I've never been satisfied since.

But this book... okay, I can't even read one sentence before I start spacing out. I can't get through paragraphs. I reach the end of the page and realize I have no idea what's happened. I might be able to go through the whole book forcing myself to look at each page for a few minutes, but I doubt I'll be able to ever say that I actually read it. I mean, you have to at least comprehend the words on the page to read something. Like, you have to be able to follow a sentence with your eyes.

This study guide should be interesting.

Which is something no sane person should wish.

See, when I was twelve, I had zero social skills and no wish to do anything but sit around and read. I read Redwall on top of an electrical box. I read Robert Jordan the night of Christmas all night and the next day. I read Watership Down on a car trip and I read "hardcore" Lord of the Rings, which means I started with the Silmarillion, went to the Hobbit, and finished with the trilogy.

My life right now would sound like a dream to my twelve-year-old self. I have a stack of books to read for work, a stack to read for school, and one from BEA I'm still trying to finish for pleasure.

But I'm kind of burnt out on reading. I need my old skillz back. If my twelve-year-old self were here, he would say: Yo yo yo, watch me read. I can read like a baker can knead. Read with greed and read with speed.

This would have something to do with the fact that my twelve-year-old self liked Public Enemy. I'm still trying to figure that one out.

I never saw this. It's funny.

There's got to be correlation between madness and actively not wanting to sleep.

It's not that I don't get tired. I get tired around the same time every night, but lately I've gotten this constant, irrepressible urge to stay up even when assaulted by said tiredness. Tonight I gave in and it's like one-ish and I'm scouring the internet for live Radiohead bootlegs. Okay, well I would have been doing that during the day, but it feels particularly empty at night. I'm going to see them live in August and I'm not sure if it will be an apotheosis or just business as usual.

But I did write one page of a story, a reworking of an old one that I've shopped around everywhere and since gained strong opinions on what it should have been. Four words: less swords, more muskets. I plan to throw this one at Writers of the Future and see if it sticks.

Speaking of which, I saw the video of Green Day playing at Woodstock 94 today where they were pelted by mud that completely destroyed the stage and the equipment. It's kind of fun to watch Billy Joe Armstrong moon the crowd. Also to see the way he keeps playing after a glob of mud smacks his playing hand and splatters all over his pickups.

I've been avoiding some reading I have to do for English comprehensive exams in the fall. The reason why I've been avoiding it was at first because it was David Copperfield. I love Dickens, but I don't love being under a deadline to read him. Plus, I've got this shiny ARC of Ken Scholes' novel and I want to finish it cuz it's good, and significantly shorter than David Copperfield. But now I'm supposed to read Living By Fiction by Annie Dillard. I should have bewared when I knew this was a book on fiction that English theory professors liked.

More ranting to follow, when I'm not so bloody tired.