I am not a robot, but I'm starting to act like one

I think it’s pretty safe to say, I’m working hard—harder than ever before. The problem is, I’ve cut out all the fun; I simply don’t have time. Dishes? A thing of the past. Cooking? Surely, you jest. I’m living on a diet of hard work and microwave dinners.

I hate it, but this is about goals, and sometimes goals mean more than playing a little Skyrim (seriously waiting to finish my PhD before playing that game).

But all this self deprivation has made me think about things. I usually read books, but sometimes they swallow my mind. I can’t write my Super Hero Novel (though I almost entered a critique with it yesterday, but in the final seconds, I reeled myself back in, reminded myself that it would be selfish if I couldn’t spend the time on critiquing other peoples work as well—damn mature responses anyway). I can’t draw or paint because those both have the same level of mind consumption as writing a novel for me, and are therefore too draining of time and brainwaves.

I’m sort of at a point where I’ve eliminated everything but my dissertation. And that’s not healthy, no matter how you look at it.

So here’s my question to you: when you’re under the gun but you just need a break what do you do and how do you get back to work?

Whoa there, Rena. Take it slow.

First I’d like to thank everyone for their kind words on my last post. I don’t think it’s any shock to you all, but I was blown away. Thank you.

I had a moment this weekend, and I bet I’m not the only one to have one of these moments.

I read an agent wish list (You can check it out here, if you’re into that sort of thing). But the very first thing that crossed my mind was: OMG that’s exactly what I’m writing right NOW! OMG! I need to send her a query for my snarky women’s up fic set in SPACE that bends all the rules.

Yeah, then I pulled myself back from the ledge and reminded myself that a) I haven’t finished writing it yet, b)first drafts are the nasty crap you get on the bottom of your shoes when you walk across a lawn shared with Canadian geese, and d) I haven’t finished writing my snarky women’s up fic set in SPACE yet because I’m furiously writing my dissertation and prepping to teach a 250 person lecture class (more on that later, o_o).

I’d like to think that it’s a mark of maturity—or at least professionalism, maturity has eluded me most of my life—that I didn’t fire off some sort of garbled up “I’m writing exactly what you’re looking for, just wait for me PLEASE!” sort of letter… but it was tempting.

I think this need to get it out there just as soon as possible revolves around this feeling that the world is rushing past while I’m sitting at home moving slower than molasses on New Year’s eve in New York. From the writer’s perspective, the world is flying past us, and our ideas are going to expire if we don’t get them out there Right. Now.

This is Relativity.

I know, I’m going science on everyone, but hang in there. See relativity is based on point of view. Every bit of it has everything to do with the reference point of view.

Writing a novel is slow.

Life? Not so slow.

It drives me nuts, but one of the most important parts of a novel is time. It needs time everywhere. It has to breath after I finish writing it. The idea needs time to breath before I even start writing it. Then there’s editing and revising, and more editing. So the point of view for writing a novel is glacial. By comparison, everything is faster. Even publishing.

So even though I’d love to fire off that “You’re asking for the novel I’m writing right now!” I know better. It's not like her tastes are going to change over night (although I can see how she might get tired of snark women's up fic set in SPACE with rules bent more than the front end of a corolla after it takes out an 18 wheeler). They probably aren't going to change any time soon. I just have to write a dynamite book. 

I’m practicing patience (I have to practice ‘cause I’m still learning how to do it for real).

So, ever have that “MUST SEND QUERY NOW!” feeling?

Insecure writers, or where I talk too much

I’ve avoided joining in on these. I don’t know why… Yes, actually I do. And that’s why I’m joining in today.

I’m afraid.

I’m afraid that people will mock me, laugh at me (rather than with me), that they will call me a fake and a fraud and otherwise inform me that I am worth less than they are. I’ve been afraid for years. I’ve been so afraid that I haven’t been trying.

That’s right, I haven’t been trying. I could pour my heart out into the world, but I haven’t. I’ve turned in half-hearted work, taken the easy way out, and when it doesn’t rock the rest of the world, I shake it off. After all, I hadn’t really tried. I didn’t really do my best, so it doesn’t matter that no one’s foot wear was threatening escape, I hadn’t even tried.

Because what would happen if I did try and I still failed?

Would I shrivel up and die like the wicked witch of the west?

If I never put my best work out there, then no one is ever rejecting me. They’re always rejecting my C+ game. Competent, but not the A game I know is in there somewhere.

C+ is a lot easier than A, too. I mean, all I have to do is come up with something competent and I can ship it off into the world. The rejection doesn’t hurt (well, it hurts, but it’s bearable), and there’s the sort of self congratulatory feeling of “See how well that did, and I didn’t even try.”

But I’ve been called out. A dissertation can’t be your C+ game. It’s A time. So for the first time in my life I’m pulling out everything, and I’m scared. I’m pouring out my heart, and it’s not enough. I’m so frightened that my A game isn’t an A game at all. My hardest might not be good enough. I’m staring down the barrel of true and complete failure, and it makes my heart race just to think about it.

Shit, I try not to do this sort of thing on my blog. How do I come back from telling the world that I’ve been faking it? I’ve been the fraud I’ve always been afraid other people would see and uncover. And now that it counts, I’m so scared I’m petrified that my best will only be tiny bit better than my phoning it in. My Real Effort isn’t going to be any better than my faking it. My fraud to protect my heart has backfired. I’ve been caught out by my old habits, and now I don’t even know if I have an A game at all.

What if they still hate it?

All I can do is do. I'd love to try, but Yoda might be on to something. I've been trying. I've got to do.

A Million Suns

I recently posted my review of Across the Universe because, well, it was a great book. I enjoyed it. But there was something else there motivating me. I’d entered Beth Revis’ holiday giveaway and I thought it would be awesome to start the new year with a review of an ARC for A Million Suns. 

I didn’t know I’d win. It was a gamble. And it panned out. I won an ARC of A Million Suns! (I’d like to point out that it’s actually the first internet thing I’ve won since I started entering blog contests over a year ago). So, next week A Million Suns hits shelves, and here’s my opinion for those of you who want it:

GO BUY THIS BOOK! Stampede that little old blue hair if you have to, but make sure you get a copy of A Million Suns. It is incredible.

And it’s also really hard to review because it is easily spoiled. Which means that if you are thinking about talking to some people about it, don’t: just go buy it (or check it out from your library).

First, I really liked Across the Universe. I loved A Million Suns.

So what was the biggest difference? Hope. There is so much more hope in A Million Suns, and hope makes tension. When you have something to lose, the stakes go through the roof, and the tension is thicker than a San Francisco fog in June. A Million Suns sets up our main character to really lose everything she holds dear.

In Across the Universe, it was a murder mystery on a tiny little ship hurtling through space, but A Million Suns is a scavenger hunt combined with the great social commentary possible on a generation ship. Some of the social commentary reminded me of Frank Herbert’s The Dosadii Experiment and The Godmakers (in a good way, I liked those books), but without the often over dense writing style common to Herbert—in short, it was the good parts version.

I think that’s all I’m going to say about this incredible book for now. And just think, I have over a year to wait for the next one to come out… Patience really isn’t one of my virtues.

A New Year, or How I plan to drive like an Italian

It’s sort of obligatory to write a post that reflects on the last year in the first week of January, but I’m not sure that’s the best idea. Things didn’t really go as planned last year—not at any stage—and just when I thought I had things under control, life threw some curve balls at me. I’m not shocked mind you, but it seems like I’d at least be more prepared for those curve balls.

Strike!

My father is a car enthusiast, so as a child I’ve watched every movie ever made that included a cast of Ferraris, Lamborghinis, and corvettes. One of my favorite is Gumball Rally; it’s sort of funny if you’ve grown up on a steady diet of Smoky and the Bandit and the Dukes of Hazard. But there’s a great scene where the Italian race car driver for the Ferrari starts the car, grabs the rear view mirror and throws it out the back of the car.

“The first rule of Italian driving: what’s behind me, is not important.” 

I think that's how I'll handle this year. Always forward.