The Furious Spinner

Well, I had planned this long glorious post about a week in a writer's life, but the week went by, and I can't remember everything that happened. I keep trying to get on a schedule, but it doesn't work. This week I had some great news. I also didn't get a lot of writing done, besides the blog. Next week it'll be different...

Sunday: Drove to Seattle. Watched Mariners game. Luxuriated in the presence of Ichiro. He is so graceful when he walks. Not that American male stud walk so many men have. It's as though he's floating. Mario agreed. Internet and stove in the hotel didn't work. Near dark, we walked around the Jimi Hendrix museum, which isn't called that. The shiny silver and maroon sides reflected the flashing lights of the carnival next to it. Woke up every hour until morning.

Monday: July 4th. Internet still didn't work. Moved us to a new room. Stove didn't work. Got email. Agent said publisher wants Camel Jockey. Learned this at the same time maintenance man told us the stove in the other room, where we slept last night, had a leak as he worked on the "new" stove. "If you smell anything, it probably means this one has a leak too." "I can't smell," I told him. "Well, if it blows up, you'll know there was a leak." We checked out of the hotel. We walked over to the Seattle Center. Mario took the citizenship oath with 500 plus other people outside after many speakers. I called my dad and told him the news about my novel. We talked about Karl Rove and Robert Novak as I paced the street in the shade while Mario and the others listened to yet another speaker. Mario and I decided to get out of Dodge and drove to The Bombay Cricket Club in Portland to celebrate Mario becoming a citizen and me selling a book. Didn't sleep.

Tuesday: My agent emailed that he'd know more about the offer later in the week. Mario and I went into Portland and ate at Thai Noon, then went to a movie. War of the Worlds since it was on the big screen. Mistake. Bleck. First hour suspenseful and entertaining. Second hour just creepy and icky. Bleck. Bleck. Bleck. When we got home there was a phone message from my agent, but it was too late to call. He emailed the offer from the publisher. I wrote "The Vagina Blessing" post. Slept like shit. However shit sleeps.

Wednesday: Mario back to work today, so I was determined to get on some kind of healthy schedule. Called my agent and we talked about the offer. I had some questions, a couple of things I was worried about. He said they would probably want a title change because the term "camel jockey" might be too offensive. I used the term on purpose because it was offensive, but I was willing to change it. I don't think I realized just how offensive it was. He was a bit concerned about teenagers coming to my site and seeing posts like "The Vagina Blessing." I gave him a hard time even though I was glad he felt comfortable enough to discuss such things with me. I agreed that I would create a website just for young adults. He also said he was ready to send out Lady Liberty. I said I wanted to look at it again first. Hung up. Came up with a bunch of new titles for the YA novel.

Called my dad and told him about the offer. I also told him about the concerns about "The Vagina Blessing." He said, "Well, you don't want to cut off your nose to spite your face." "Dad," I said, "this is the first time in my life that I've had a place where I felt free to really express myself, without fear. I'm not giving it up." Not that anyone was asking me to give it up, and of course, even with Furious Spinner I don't say everything that comes into my brain. My dad said he read somewhere that all stories have a certain form. He wondered what I thought of that. "Yeah, I think they do," I said. "Good stories have a natural rhythm. You know when you hear or read a story and it isn't quite right, don't you?" He agreed.

I spent muchos time looking at websites of other YA authors. Some of them were so freaking perky. I am not perky. I may have been perky in another life time—maybe even when I was a teen. But as I tell my friends when we're standing together comparing breasts, my breasts have never been perky and neither have I. When I was in the third grade I was two feet tall with breasts. Lovely breasts. I'm not complaining. But when I see these women with breasts ABOVE their armpits, I'm absolutely amazed. Not in this or any other lifetime. (Talking about vaginas and breasts again; you can't take me anywhere.) When I told Mario about the perky websites, he said, "You'll be more dark. There are some teenagers who like dark." My stuff isn't goth, either. Goddamn. One of these years I AM going to fit in a slot somewhere. No. It ain't gonna happen.

Talked to my agent again. Really a pleasure. So strange to feel as though my agent and editor and publisher are on my side. They get me, they really get me. (Hey, Sally and I are both short. And both of us were never actually nuns.)

I found one author's website who does YA books. I thought she only did adult novels and was surprised when my agent told me she was the author of a VERY popular series (which I thought came from a house—you know, like Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys). Her site was perky, but she was funny, too. When Mario came home for lunch, I told him I wanted to create a site that was very inviting, where the girls (and boys, if they were interested) would feel welcomed: simple, beautiful, informative, and inspiring. I don't ask for much. We tried out some names. Later worked on the site for my Scarf Sisters project a bit. (More on that later.)

Called my close friend in North Carolina. She said, "Kim, you just have to let me rant about so-and-so." Last time we talked she mentioned some movie star and I said, "Carolina (which isn't her name but I forgot to ask her if I could use her name), 100,000 Iraqis are dead because of a war fought in our name, over 1,700 of our soldiers are dead, Bush won't do anything about global warming, I don't give a shit about any movie star or anything he has to say." Poor thing. She never got to say a word. This time I let her rant. When she was finished, I said, "You have a finite amount of energy. We all do. There are so many more things in the world that are more important. Why do you care what so-and-so says?" "Because people listen to him." "You don't have to listen." "You don't go to grocery stores. It's everywhere." "Don't look at the magazines. Don't watch so much TV." "But you don't know what he's said." Unfortunately, that stuff gets in the ether of the universe or something, because goddess bless it, I did know. "First off, I don't care what any celebrity has to say about anything except their movies. But in real life, our country should have a conversation about psychiatric care. My (a relative) is in a mental hospital right now because she went to a doctor for depression and he put her on a pill and then she couldn't sleep so he put her on another pill and the pills caused a reaction in her and she could have killed herself or her children and that doctor never did a single solitary test on her to see if something else was going on. And her story isn't unusual. So yes, I think we need to have a discussion about such things. But not because some celebrity is talking about it."

I became dizzy from too much telephone and too much computer. Ungrounded. And where was Randi Rhodes? I was tired of being the only bitch in the house.

Printed out Lady Liberty and started going over it. It was the wrong version. Had to print another one. Too many computers; too many files. Still sleeping poorly. Exhausted. Allergies terrible. Can't relax. Wrote several posts.

Thursday: In the middle of the night awake, I turned on the TV and turned it to CNN for the first time since we got TV back again...again and heard about London. After a little bit of listening, I got sick to my stomach. CNN seemed to be relishing every minute of it: they already had a theme song and a logo. They're all repulsive. Linda called in the morning upset because her doctors wanted her to get hip surgery. She asked me to try and find out the postoperative infection rate at the hospital where the doctor operates. I spent a while on the phone trying to find that information. I went to the library and did some work. Got an email with the galleys of a short story of mine which is going to be reprinted in a "best of" anthology. The editor needed the galleys completed and returned to her before next Tuesday. Spent some time trying to figure out things on my new website for the Scarf Sisters project. Worked on the short story galleys. Wrote to my editor to see if she got the galleys for Mercy, Unbound yet; also let her know how glad I was to be working with her again. Wrote a couple of posts.

Friday: Finally slept. Halle-fucking-luia. Determined yet again to have an organized day. Not getting much done. I felt so ungrounded. I took the short story galleys to the post office but decided not to send them—the editor would never get them in time. I'd try to fax her. Went home and emailed her. We went back and forth with phone numbers; had to wait until she could switch her phone to fax. Had Mario ask the women at work which new title they liked best for the book. After lunch, I worked outside, trying to get the vines out of my poppies. Felt so ungrounded still. Too many projects; too much stuff that needed to get done. Behind in my library work. My friend drove up with her two children and I said I would meet her at the library in a bit, which I did. Came home and had a long telephone conversation with an old friend. I don't like talking on the phone. My friends often take it personally, but I just don't like it. I feel completely ungrounded. (Have I said that?) Mario really liked "unbound" as the name of the teenage site. (I had given him a list.) He checked the dotcom register and it was free.

The day got away from me. I never got the short story faxed. Never got Lady Liberty read. We went to Beacon Rock State Park to listen to logger poetry. Three men, ages 70 and up, told stories, played the guitar, and recited a couple poems. I didn't understand many of the terms, but I was fascinated. Some of the stories rambled and didn't seem to have a point. After all these years living in the Northwest, I was accustomed to these kinds of stories and storytellers, some with more wit than others. It's storytelling by geography. In the Midwest, the stories are more exaggerated, with a lot more laughter. These Northwest stories are often about how skilled the hero is—but the skill is often something only a select group of people would recognize.

Saturday: I had forgotten Mario had the day off today. I had planned to do my library order today. Ah well. I called the editor and I read her the corrections from the galleys over the phone while she typed them in—upon Mario's suggestion. Then we headed for Portland. We looked for a dresser and talked about the design for the unbound website. Went to Powell's. Sat at a table and drew pictures of how we saw the website.

Went to Tao of Tea and had dal and rice while we talked about the website and what we would put on it. I wondered how I would have time for four websites and two blogs plus all my writing and my library work, as well as all the other stuff I do. Went to Kitchen Kaboodle to buy plates as my gift to myself for selling a novel. Mario was very cute. He sat in a comfy chair and I stood across the room holding things up for him to see, and he would shake his head no and make a face or nod slightly if he liked it. I knew he was thinking, "How could we possibly need another bowl in our house," but he never said a word. We just don't buy stuff, so if one of us decides to get something the other one doesn't interfere.

At home, I wrote a couple of posts. Mario discovered unbound.com was taken. *sigh* Back to the drawing board. End of a another exciting week. Next week, I am determined to be more organized. 1 comments

1 Comments:

Here are some non-perky YA author sites...

http://www.sararyan.com/blog/ (Sara Ryan)
http://www.sparksflyup.com
(John Green)
http://www.misscecil.com
(Cecil Castalucci)
http://www.andrewauseon.com/
(Andrew Auseon)

...there are more

By  Sara Z., at 3:31 PM  

Post a Comment

All photographs and written material copyright © 2003-2008 by Kim Antieau unless otherwise indicated. May not be used without permission.