It's been a very nice, bum-around sort of weekend. Yesterday morning the weather was too perfect, so we strolled along the bay and out to the beach and had a relaxing breakfast at Seaside Cantina. Great place to watch waves and people.

Returned home after wading in the surf and caught a showing of Iron Man. I don't think I liked it quite as much as some people, but I really enjoyed Robert Downey, Jr.'s performance, and the suit was totally neat. Sometimes superhero movies turn into CGI cartoons in the last half hour, but there were enough shots of Tony Stark's face behind the helmet that I never felt I'd lost contact with the character and shifted into a different movie.

Stopped at the market on the way home from the movie for sandwich fixings, came home and quickly assembled a picnic, and then headed out to sit on the sand by the bay and munch. I even snuck a beer out there, which you're not supposed to do anymore on account of the hundreds of drunken knuckleheads who rioted last Labor Day. I quietly drank my beer and did not riot.

I've already gotten some feedback on the novel from very-first readers, who caught some stupid things I thought I could get away with, some dumb decisions I made with pacing, and various and sundry. Trying to fix some of that today.

Now, however, I am sleepy.

Many thanks to everyone who commented with nice things about the almost-finished draft of my YA novel, Flotsam. I spent the last two days going through it, doing the meatball surgery that will get it to the Army hospital in Tokyo. Now, it goes off to the Blue Heaven workshop in June. I think I'm going to give my brain a day or two to rest, and then I start work on a proposal for my next book. But right now, I drink beer.

Why am I wearing a hat, you ask? I think the better question is, why aren't you?

I'm making pretty good progress going through my book. About a hundred more pages to go.

Came across a telling typo:

Slug-like creatures slithered at my feet among truck tires and safety cones, fish skeletons, gelatinous blogs, undigested leftovers.

I do not have a complete draft of my YA novel, but I have typed the first word of the first scene (the) and the last word of the last scene (laughed), and all the words in between. The reason why this doesn't constitute a first draft for me is because if I sent it out in the world in this shape, even to trusted first readers, it would die. The lungs are hanging on by mere threads. The heart is sewn onto the elbow.

So, what's required now is what they used to call meatball surgery on M*A*S*H. It's not polish and perfection. It's more stuff like, if the heroes employ a mummy in the climax to save the day, I have to actually go back and write in a mummy for them to employ.

This is a dangerous time for me. The language is clunky, the characters inconsistent, some of the plot business completely nonsensical, and not being able to fix all these things before people read the draft can push me pretty far out on the ledge of shame and despair. But I don't have time to fix all these things. I only have time to shove the heart into the chest cavity and hit it with my fist and scream, "Live, damn you, live!" Alan Alda-style.

There are houses I like better, but this one has a more scalable cliff than the others, so I think I might steal it.



I'm not a huge fan of the architectural style (I favor the Craftsman), but the location is nice.



***

Just 500 words today. The ending is starting to take rough shape in my head. One thing's for certain: It will involve the kelp guys.

I haven't been posting many pics of writing from the coffee joint because I've seriously curtailed my coffee joint visits. I have this crazy, nutty dream of writing for a living someday, and though I'm nowhere near that point, it seems like it'd be smart to make sure writing isn't actually costing me money. So far this year, I'm still in the black.

In my next book, my characters will face dilemmas no more dire than wondering what to order for dinner. Because I have no freaking clue how I'm going to get my characters out of their situation in the current book.

I'm just not that clever.

I am writing the worst book in the world. I've read all the books in the world, and mine is the worst.

My book is so bad that I wouldn't even give it the satisfaction of being worked on this morning. Instead, I spent my morning writing session goofing off. Farting around. I rode my bike to the beach. I took a long walk. I drank coffee, and my coffee was nowhere near the vicinity of my computer, which is where my book is right now, busy being bad.

I took some pics as I walked, because I find the act of taking pics inspiring, even if the pictures themselves are not. I saw a sea serpent, a giant pelican wearing a vest, a pier that shook like a seismic eff-up every time the waves struck, and also a sweet old dog and Rotten Livers and the Trashbot 28.

See, book? I don't need you to have fun.

(Please don't be mad at me tomorrow, book.)

What I did instead of writing

Not having had a good writing weekend, I desperately required a productive morning. It was reasonably productive, thanks to the mojo of my trusty "A T.Rex Named Sue" coffee mug.



I said the day that my new Threadless Loch Ness Impostor t-shirt arrived would be the happiest day of my life. It just arrived, and I have to say, I'm pretty happy.



Lastly, this octopus mosaic in Pacific Beach has been making me happy for months.



Anything making you happy?

I've been going to my current kung fu school since October, and not ever, not even once, have I stopped in at the donut shop a few storefronts down. But, oh, god, did I want a jelly-filled sugar raised today.

ETA: I think I left this unintentionally ambiguous. I bypassed the jelly-filled donut. I still have had no donut, and I feel I should be given a black belt for my sacrifice.

***

Writing.

Not liking the writing much this morning, but no complaints about the coffee joint.

DIE YOU FUCKING ANTS EVERY SQUIGGLY ONE OF YOU DIE DIE DIE DIIIIIIIIIIEE!!!!!!!!!

***

Other than that, though, it's been a rather excellent day. One of the best things about moving from Phoenix is now there's a whole entire city to discover. A whole city! With stuff in it! That I don't know what it is or where it's been put! Previous to coming here to live, my experience with San Diego was limited to a few family trips to Sea World or the zoo and a couple of Comic-Cons. But it's turning out to be so much more than Shamu and asphyxiation from too many Doom Patrol fans.

Today we had lunch (me with a pork chile Colorado and a Negra Modelo, Lisa with a lobster enchilada/fish taco combo) in University Heights, yet another nifty neighborhood full of neat coffee joints, restaurants, and cottages. Back in the early 1900's, the area was an ostrich farm, so there's lots of ostrich iconography all about. All the houses are built upon an ancient ostrich burial ground, and so on.



Afterwards we made the short drive to Midtown for snackage and work at Eclipse Chocolat, where I had a latte with super-special caramel made from sugar imported from the Hollow Earth.

I read the last 50 or so pages of my book, and though the last ten or so are rocky (major characters introduced and lots of exposition to get across), I encountered nothing fatal, so I just have to keep on writing.

The last couple of days have been good, too. Had burger and beers and ice cream shakes at Hodad's in Ocean Beach with the visiting Jackie and Chris, and then got to hang with Jackie more at Rebecca's. It's nice to be social. Even with Jackie.

I think I'm going to eat some wings now, washed down with hooligan beer.

Hope your Saturday's been good!

The fine agents of the Donald Maas Literary Agency reveal what books they'd like to see. From Donald Maas himself:

A science fiction novel that is really a dynastic epic set on another world, with grand characters, secret cabals, betrayal, outcasts, economic conflict, drugs and arms, previously unknown creatures and enormous destinies played out on a huge scale. The next Dune.

A fantasy set in the world of tunnels and homeless colonies beneath Grand Central Station.

A pyrotechnic fantasy set in a world like 16th Century London (with magic) about rival fireworks makers, culminating in the Great Fire.

I could see really cool books arising from any of the above ideas, or any of the other ones listed on the page. I'm not writing anything resembling them, but I'm hoping my agent will like the book I'm currently writing, because I'm entering the dreaded middle-of-the-book with all the usual despair and gnashing of teeth. A book sale would help me replace my enamel.

***

The 1,000 True Fans concept has been popping up on various blogs over the last few days. Very briefly, a "True Fan" is someone who will buy everything an artist produces and is willing to spend one day's income per year on that artist's work. An artist with 1,000 True Fans can make a living.

I don't think it works for a writer like me, pursuing the traditional publishing model, in which I make a small amount of money for every book I sell (once my book has earned back the advance), and in which I depend on a publisher to get my book in the hands of readers. For someone like Wil Wheaton, who assumes all the risks and reaps all the rewards of self-publishing, though, it sounds like a reasonable model. Wheaton reckons that right now he has between 300-500 True Fans. That's after years of building an audience through his hugely popular blog, and after having attracted an audience to his blog partially by starting off with a recognizable name and a built-in curiosity factor. That's not to detract from Wheaton's determination and hard work, nor his talent for engaging his readers. But even with his considerable audience, he's still got a lot of work to do before he achieves that 1,000 True Fan target. (Also, like Wheaton, I dislike the term "True Fan.")

In my case, not even my own mom is a True Fan. Still, it's fodder for thought. I wonder how a writer following a traditional publishing model can benefit from the 1,000 True Fan concept.

***

The Journey is a short, nicely done animation explaining that turning off the tap while brushing your teeth not only saves water, but also reduces greenhouse gas emissions (via Drawn! The Illustration and Cartooning Blog).

I'm an apartment dweller and don't have the freedom to paint my walls, much less install a wind turbine to power my television or solar panels to heat my water. I can't install a system that will enable me to drink my purified pee. But I do want to do the little things that will help me be less of a polluting, consuming, outgassing blight upon the face of the Earth, and the Green Apartment blog seems like it might have some useful tips for people in my situation. If you know of any other good resources like this, or better ones, please let me know? Thanks.

***

"The 27 bones of the hand rattle around inside a glove of skin and fluids."

YouTube clip of a guy karate chopping a brick in slow motion.

(Via the head instructor from my old Kung Fu school, which I'm missing more than ever, partially because we did no breaking.)

***

Clip of a dude attempting a handstand on a running treadmill (via affinity8).

***

Giving myself a May 1 deadline for the current book. If I don't make it, I'm a lamer.

Scott Kerkmans is Chief Beer Officer for the Four Points by Sheraton hotel chain. His job is to drink beer and choose craftbrew selections for the chain's bars and restaurants.

The basement of his house is crammed full of fine beer. He mostly works at home.

"Something just seems a little bit wrong about drinking beer at 8 in the morning, every morning, for me, so I often will wait until about 10 on the mornings that I'm tasting. Not to say that there's anything wrong with having a beer for breakfast. I do that sometimes, too," Kerkmans says.

(Read story at NPR.)

***

I've been harassing some of my writer friends for tips on synopsis writing. I should have known that jaylake (Jay Lake) would have covered the topic thoroughly in his journal: Synopsis writing, according to Jay.

And I've been getting wonderfully generous tips and advice and examples from my other victims colleagues as well. I love my colleagues. Maybe I've got the best job in America. (Except for the lack of living wage part, of course.)

Tiny little perching pterosaurs.



***

Turning off my AirPort seems to have helped my productivity these last two days. Not so much helping with the gig-searching.

Two more pages to hit my day's goal, though. Off it goes for now.

Nothing's been formally scheduled yet, but my editor (whom I'm already adoring, btw) says Norse Code will probably be released in Summer '09. At least that's the current plan. In some ways that seems so far down the road, but I'm sure once I'm in the midsts of revisions and proofing and all that, it'll feel like an avalanche of activity crammed into a short span. So I'm still going to have to jam away on the current book.

Speaking of which, turning off the Internet this morning helped me hit page 50. For various reasons, I'm tending to think about this book in 50 page sections. The first 50 got my characters on stage and in motion and all obstacled up. Onward now to complications and hijinks and more obstaclization.



Oh, also, here're pictures of my socks, which are too damned to be darned. ( my socks )
Yes, I'm posting photos of my feet poking through my socks on the Internet. You're welcome.

I feel like I've been working on the same page for two days now. It's one of those cases where I've been looking forward to writing a particular scene for months, and now that I've finally gotten here, it feels rather meh. So, I've been picking away at it with fine instruments, trying to make it somehow greater than meh. Probably I should just move on.

Feeling vaguely under the weather. That's why there's chicken noodle soup in today's coffee/computer picture.

Working on the Weird Beach YA, I thought it might be a good idea to back up a bit. I've got pages and pages of plot notes and a couple of first attempts at opening chapters that I think will yield some useful words, but I think now it's time to stop and come up with a real outline. But before I even do that, I thought it might be useful to jot down some higher-level notes, to put down in writing why I want to write this book, and why I want to write this book.

If things go according to plan, in a month or two or three, I'll be tens of thousands of words into the manuscript, and I will hate everything I've done and everything I'm doing, and I'll wonder why I wanted to write this book in the first place. When that happens, as it inevitably will, I'll be able to turn to my letter of intent, and hopefully it'll remind me.

We'll see how this goes.