Most writers will tell you that, by the very nature of the work, they are solitary creatures. Writing is a lonely business, and you have to be comfortable spending many hours inside your own head, rattling around like a ghost in an attic. It can be unnerving at times, hard to face head-on what's in there. Your memories and experiences define you as a human being and an artist, but constantly re-examining all of that shit is not easy.
Sometimes I worry that I'm slipping away from the things that should matter to me. I get so wrapped up in self-examination that I forget about the world around me. My family helps; when they come home at the end of the day they force me back into reality, force me to wake up and blink in the sunlight. That's a good thing. I think that if I lived alone I'd end up one of those crazy recluse artists whom no one appreciates until they're dead because they're loony as a tune.
It's who I am, though. I don't believe I could define myself without that part. Otherwise, I'm only the collection of things and impressions that people on the outside see. I'm a friend, a lover, a mom, a neighbor. But none of those things feel real to me. The writer, the introspect, the crazy cat lady living inside my head - that's who I am to ME. In some ways it's frightening; in others, it's incredibly comforting. Walking that line is where the art happens.
Yesterday I finished a new flash piece, "Invicta", and sent it off to be judged and hopefully not found wanting. If it doesn't sell I may post it on the website as a freebie, just because it's short, easy, and I really like it. I also got through notes and outlines of three stories, two of which could actually turn out to be book ideas. A good day, all in all, despite the unsettling notions sliding around in my head.
I've been tired lately, bone tired. All I've wanted to do for several days is sleep. I suspect it has something to do with a medication change this week, and I'm almost to the point of saying fuck it to the whole thing. I'll give it a few more days to work itself out first. I'm going to the farmstead tomorrow to work on the giant renovation project, then back here Sunday for a day off. I may or may not post, though my money is on next week.
Until then I sleep, and I dream...
Such Stuff as Dreams Are Made On
You Say That I Should Care
Finally back at home after a week or so of driving two hours nearly every day to the farmstead, working six or so hours, followed by another two hours home. It's been tough, but very gratifying, to see the place slowly creep back into shape. We have cleaned and replanted several of the front flower beds, raked and burned literally acres of leaves and pine straw, and started the LONG and arduous task of renovating the main house, which we hope to turn into a quasi-retreat. It's been bittersweet but nice to come home. For the first time in my life I feel I have ownership there, and that makes the place seem even more special. It truly is a beautiful piece of land, 10 acres smack dab in the middle of nowhere. A wonderful place for my kids to be kids in the old-fashioned sense, skinned knees, toads and all. A wonderful place to sit, listen to the wind in the trees, and just bask in the quiet. Will post pictures soon.
Today is for catching up on answering mail, paying bills, and writing. I need to finish the revisions on The Graveyard Road and send it out into the wild, something I should have done last week. When that is done I'm going to buckle down and finish the first draft of this novel. It must, nay will, be done by the end of the year. "Or else, what?" the cat asks.
Hell if I know.
17 April 2009
Our Souls Are a Myriad of Wars
The last couple of days have been full of revisions and revisions of "The Graveyard Road", and now, frankly, I'm sick of it. I've read the story so many times that it's become meaningless, like when you say the same word over and over again. I can't make sense of it anymore; can't judge where I am or what I've created at all. So, I've put it to bed, sent it off nice and cozy to the SFF Online Writing Workshop. A few fresh eyes will help tremendously. Hopefully, I'll be able to send it out into the wild again next week.
Tonight the kidlets head off to their Dad's house, and the LOML and I will have a few days together, which is always nice. No R & R, though, as we'll be heading out to the farmstead to work on putting the pieces back together again. It's ten acres out in RURAL Louisiana that belonged to my parents - the place where I grew up. In recent years it's fallen into major disrepair, so we've decided to jump in and restore things. This weekend, the first of many, I'm sure, will be mainly spent just securing the place and starting cleanup. Long term plans involve restoring/expanding the gardens, pond, and houses. It's a HUGE project, and neither of us is sure where it will end up. I'm excited about it though, I have to admit. There is true solitude there, not something to be found very often in our modern, shiny new world. Would be nice to have a place to go to where I can find the quiet again occasionally.
Last night we fired up WOW for the first time on our laptops, playing side by side in bed. We didn't have the advantage of the big monitors in our office, but it was certainly more cozy. We didn't do much, just some housekeeping and item swapping betwixt and between our characters, followed by a single little quest in the wilds of Durotar. Still, it was fun. Hoping to get more playing in over the next few days as the kidlets are on spring break and I won't have to get up at crack-thirty every single morning.
And now, for your viewing enjoyment, one of my favorite a-ha songs. Alas, there was never a true video made, and this version isn't as good as the one on the album, but you can at least get the idea:
09 April 2009
It Will Make My Body Dissolve Out In the Blue
Somewhat of a nonstarter today. Between getting nothing done on the 'tedious minutiae of life' front this weekend (for the uninitiated, that means paying bills, filling out misc forms, the general blah, blah, blah of everyday life), catching up on housework, and leftover exhaustion from yesterday (more on that in a minute), the day was over before it ever got started. This afternoon, normally one of my most productive times, was taken up with kidlet activities.
The exhaustion comes from the fact that on a SUNDAY morning, the LOML and I got up at the crack of dawn and drove 3 hours to do a day of maintenance and yard work on our rental property in Slidell. The LOML replaced the broken doorbell and front porch light, as well as cleaned the gutters and installed guards on them. I, meanwhile, removed a couple of flower beds, dug up umpteen bulbs, flowers, and shrubs, and pruned the navel orange and mayhaw trees. Then we had the joy of packing up all of the plants I uprooted (as a diehard gardener there was NO WAY I was going to let all those perfectly good plants go to waste) and drive another 3 hours back home, followed by unloading said plants, taking care of kidlets, and falling, exhausted, into bed at 10pm. So, as you can imagine, I am sore from head to toe today.
On top of everything else, the weather was dreadful today. Sunny, crystal blue skies (the evil kind - hard and cold like diamond) coupled with howling winds blowing sustained at 25mph with gusts (every two minutes or so) of 35mph or higher. I swear, my vision of Hell is a place where the dust-filled wind blows unceasingly. Tonight a light frost is expected, so I've had to protect all my recently planted warm weather vegetables. Oh, and did I mention the recent plague of flies?
It's all conspired to put me in a foul and unforgiving mood for the evening. As soon as the kidlets are squared away I'm taking a warm shower and sequestering myself in my nice warm bed with my laptop and my writing. Even at its worst, writing is my joy and my release.
06 April 2009
Across a Year and Through a Day
When I was a kid, Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are was one of my favorite books. I never had my own copy, but I obsessively kept it tied up and checked out of the school library, literally, for like, years. It was that kind of book for every weird kid, I guess - every kid who didn't quite fit in here, never really felt at home inside the mendacity of the everyday life of a child. Every kid who felt like, secretly inside them, they could take care of things themselves, that they didn't really need grownups as much as grownups told them they did. It's all about the fearlessness, and audacity, and adventurous spirit of youth. It's about seeing more than is really there, and being right.
When I did grow up, and had kids of my own, it was the first book I made sure they read. I have two children, but I don't have one copy for them to share, or even two. There are copies floating around all over the place here. It's been read for countless bedtime stories, and like me, it's turned out to be one of their favorites. It's timeless, and beautiful, and the truest vision of childhood I've ever encountered.
So, I was understandably worried when I got wind of a film version, as all lovers of beloved books-to-film type projects are. I have to say, though, that after viewing this new trailer released by Warner Brothers a couple of days ago, I am hopeful. Very hopeful. Check it out:
26 March 2009
The Art of the Art
Fairly productive day yesterday, as I wandered away from "Becoming" and started a new story, horror, called "The Devil's Wheel". It's about a carnival that shows up in town only once every ten years, and a loser, low-end criminal named Bucket who finds his way there...
A great find a few days ago, "Eros, Philia, Agape" by Rachel Swirsky, up at Tor.com. It's a wonderful story, full of everything I think good SciFi should strive to achieve - believable, solid characters who are trying to figure out how to be human in a world driven by technology. Check it out if you can.
25 March 2009
The First Day of Spring
...has arrived and I am infinitely glad. The vague sense of grey melancholy that descends upon me somewhere in mid-January begins to lift like a fog burning off in the light of the sun. And it's not the sunlight, per se, that carries me up and out...it's the greening of the world. The leaves and grass anchor things for me, and give me comfort. It's not the lack of sun that is the culprit in winter. It is the lack of life and vitality. I survive in winter time - I live in the spring.
So, to celebrate, I went out yesterday evening and took a bevy of pictures from my blossoming garden. Enjoy.
And for those of you who are still in the grips of ice and snow, take heart - the warm air is drifting your way, and it will arrive soon...
All images copyright 2009, Lynette Mejia.
20 March 2009
Marking Time
Rainy day here, which is a good thing for two reasons. One, we need the rain - the area is already in a moderate drought for 2009. Two, during the month of March, I have a very hard time staying indoors. The warm sun and the greening Earth are far too tempting. I want to be outside after the long, cold winter. I want to feel the warm breeze on my skin, and dig in the dirt. I want to be a part of the world waking up again. The fact that today is nasty out at least ensures that I'll be inside getting work done, which in my case is a very good thing, since I did in fact spend most of last week outside.
Watched "Flash of Genius" last night with the LOML. I thought it was a pretty good movie, which surprised me because of its low performance at the box office. After we were done I looked up the New Yorker article on which the movie was based, and found it very interesting. You can check it out here.
I did manage to get my website updated yesterday with publication news. Today is set aside to write, write, write, as well as sending a couple of stories back out into the wild. And maybe later on, a walk in the rain. Just for a little while. :)
14 March 2009
"The Homecoming" Live at Niteblade
My story "The Homecoming" is now live at Niteblade Magazine. It's only my second published piece, my first paid sale, and I am happy, happy to see it in print. It's also my first story to get an illustration, which makes it doubly cool. Please go visit, take a peek, and leave comments.
01 March 2009
Thawing Out
Spent the day at an outdoor event with my daughter that required me to stand around for hours in the cold, biting wind. I felt like one of those cows you see in snowstorms hunkered down against the cold and wet. It's taken me hours to properly thaw out. And yes, I know I am a wimp, that Louisiana cold doesn't measure up to 'real' winter weather. Be that as it may, I still freeze. I'll be glad when Spring comes for good.
Finished 'Memento Mori' a few days ago and sent it off to Chiaoscuro. So, now to wait and see.
Tomorrow will be spent inside, working, except for a short trip to the grocery. I'd also like to update the website and post a couple of short pieces so that visitors can get a sense of my work.
Last week's labors involved a lot of note organization and outline work on The Queen of the Night. I feel like I'm getting a much better handle on the more subtle plot points, and it's really helping to collect and arrange all of the notes I've made over all the long years of research. I have a couple of scenes that I need to finish, but I feel like the project is at long last starting to come together in a meaningful way. Hurrah!
28 February 2009
Warm and Dark in my Little Black Heart
Don't ask me where that title came from; I just don't know. I make this stuff up as I go along. It's what I do.
Pretty productive day yesterday, the first in a while, as obligations related to the Fly have been taking up much of my time. Was finally able to sit down and add about 1500 words to "Mememto Mori", the new short story. It's horror, by the way, if you didn't catch that from the title. Inspired by this. Have it out at the Online SF/Fantasy/Horror writer's workshop at the moment, but also looking for a market. My new strategy is to start pro and work my way down as I collect rejections. Am thinking of Clarkesworld to start for this one. We'll see though, that may change as I re-read, and put some final edits on the thing. In any case, hoping to have it out in a week.
Work on the novel beckons for now. I think I am done with reviews for the time being. Short stories, probably but no promises. One of the best things about being a writer is when you are sitting around and a good idea just drops out of the sky. When that happens, I have to listen, everything else be damned.
My goal is, 10 stories sold this year, one novel written and off to potential agents. So far I am on track with one sale to date. Hopefully this will be the next one.
12 February 2009
Review: Babe & the Kid by Charlie Poekel
I’m not a big baseball fan. I can admit that. I love history though, and like nearly every other American I’m a sucker for pop culture. Most of us tend to think of celebrity in terms of what Paris Hilton wore last week, but this story reminded me of a time when doing something nice instead of something stupid was what got lots of publicity.
Babe & the Kid tells the story of Babe Ruth and his enduring friendship with a young boy during and after the 1926 World Series. The kid, Johnny Sylvester, was seriously ill when a kind gesture by the most popular pro ballplayer of his day literally made the difference between life and death. What I found most interesting was the fact that their friendship endured for years afterwards, a testament to Ruth’s character. His visit and gift weren’t a publicity stunt staged for the camera, but the genuine actions of a true hero.
Poekel has done a fine job of researching the facts related to an iconic story in American sports. Especially welcome were the numerous photographs and memorabilia he was given access to through the collection of John Sylvester, Jr., who maintains the scrapbook his father kept of his extraordinary friendship with some of the leading athletes of his day. The book is well-written, an easy and accessible read, and thoroughly enjoyableThe High Cost of Living
Yesterday was bizarre, bizarre. A step back in time for me, as it were. A bit of the backstory -
When I was a kid I was fascinated by death. Not in the 'killing small animals way' (actually I'm quite the pacifist in that regard) - more along the lines of infamous murders and the like. My mom had a book of famous crimes of the first half of the twentieth century (complete with photos), and I poured over the thing, reading with gusto all the gory details. I still remember the picture of Charles Lindbergh's baby. The story of Ruth Snyder & Judd Gray. As a teenager one of my favorite poetry finds was Ogden Nash's "A Tale of the Thirteenth Floor". I read books about Jack the Ripper and his ilk.
So yesterday I'm browsing around looking for info about the plane crash that killed Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and The Big Bopper. I found a site called FindaDeath.com, and I was quickly sucked in. It appears to be run by a guy who does celebrity death tours in Hollywood. I spent a couple of hours there, most of the afternoon, actually, reading the stories and looking at the pictures.
To be honest, I felt somewhat guilty by spending the day doing what amounted to staring in the street at the passing funeral procession, but it got me to thinking about the social taboos we have surrounding death. There are the euphemisms, for instance. (Down here in the south we say he or she "passed away.") There also seems to be a (fairly modern, it would seem) taboo against photos of the dead. Although I also found this yesterday, and it seems like a wonderful idea.
It's a shame, really, all these cultural rules and regulations. I think we dishonor the dead by refusing to deal with the more visceral aspects of it.
Death is all around us, every day. It stands behind us, holding that ticking clock. And yet, in our isolated, sanitized modern world of medical miracles and antibiotic soaps, we have learned to treat it like some pedophile uncle we'd like to pretend doesn't exist. It seems odd to me. I spent the day with Him yesterday, and while it was a strange day, it wasn't sad. Just...another part of life.
Momento mori. Et in Arcadia, ego.
04 February 2009
The Absence of Malice
...or at least, the absence.
Most of my posts lately have been book reviews. Apologies, as I have been writing, submitting, and taking care of the fly. I could say that I will try to be better about posting, but I always say that, so...
The LOML is leaving today for a business trip to the UK. I always worry when he flies. Only a couple of days, thankfully, returning by Friday evening. And hey, he has the added bonus of seeing some snow. Back here its supposed to be mid 70's by the end of the week, so he'll be returning to shorts & t-shirt weather. The year's first barbecue might just be in order.
In other news, I have finally been "officially" published. Twisted Tongue #12 went live yesterday, and it contains my story, "What Goes Around", along with a poem of mine, "Wicked." You can download a PDF of the issue here. Enjoy!
The music died 50 years ago today. Whenever I hear that song, it makes me wistfully sad, not only because of the tragedy, but because it makes me long for a time I never knew - that golden time when we are teenagers without care, immortal, inviolate creatures who will conquer the world. McLean captures that feeling so beautifully.
For the curious, a few links. Wikipedia's article about the crash; Photos (warning, you can see bodies); an analysis of the lyrics of "American Pie"; an article on the death of Buddy Holly; how Waylon Jennings carried the pain of what happened that night his entire life; and finally, the exhumation of the Big Bopper by his son who was born after his death. It was the first time he'd ever laid eyes on his father.
Take time today to look around you and take a long breath of air. Enjoy the feeling of being alive. Conquer the world.
03 February 2009
Review: Nine Lives: Death and Life in New Orleans
New Orleans is a city full of contradictions, a place out of context with the rest of America. It defies understanding, explanation, and most especially, classification. It’s a quality the residents hold onto, this testament of uniqueness, even as the city has teetered time and again on the brink of destruction.
I’ve lived near New Orleans for most of my life. I’m a frequent visitor there, and, like everyone else who comes, I’ve fallen in love with its decadent grandness, its welcoming, leisurely way of life. All manner of humanity calls New Orleans home, and the city embraces them all. It’s a unique place, out of step with the rest of America, and that is exactly why it is so important to save. This has never been truer than now, as the great lady teeters on her knees, still struggling, three years later, to rise from the devastation of Katrina.
Dan Baum, on assignment from The New Yorker after the storm, quickly learned all of these things. Along with his wife Margaret, he eventually moved to New Orleans in order to write a book, one which, using the timeframe between Betsy in 1965 and Katrina in 2005, captures perfectly what it means to love this city.
Baum chose nine people he got to know after the storm, conducting hundreds of hours of interviews, writing the story of the city through their eyes. They are from vastly different ends of the socio-political spectrum, ranging from the widow of a revered Mardi Gras Indian chief to the long-time coroner of Orleans parish, from a transsexual bar owner to a former king of Rex and pillar of the Uptown community. Their stories are unique, yet a common thread runs through them all – the deep, abiding love of this place, of the home New Orleans offers to each.
The author captures that love without being preachy or overly sentimental. New Orleans is far from a fairy-tale land of mutual respect, understanding, and tolerance. Poverty, desperation, and crime are huge, unending problems, and Baum acknowledges this by telling stories that are candid, real, and fraught with generations of loss and disappointment. They are also, however, stories of hope, of people who have risen, time and again, despite adversity after adversity.
Many people in the rest of the United States have questioned why we should rebuild such a place, crippled as it is by poverty and corruption. It takes spending time in New Orleans to learn its value, I suppose, to experience the unique magic that makes this city special. If you can’t visit, however, read this book. Dan Baum has clearly seen and understands. Five Stars.
28 January 2009
Review: Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee
Rating: 5 of 5 stars
Most people from my generation (X) take for granted that everyone is aware of the atrocities committed against the Native American peoples of the United States in the name of "Manifest Destiny". There was a time, however, not very long ago, when children still played games of cowboys and Indians, pitting the valiant U.S. Cavalry against bloodthirsty savages. This book, published in 1970, went a long way towards correcting 100 years of misinformation and ignorance concerning the plight of the people who lived in this land when the Europeans arrived.
Brown was remarkable because he was not a "trained" academic historian (whatever that means), amassing his wealth of information through years of personal research while a librarian at the University of Illinois. This book is hard to read, mainly because it contains story after story of the deliberate, systematic extermination of tribe after tribe. However, it should be required reading for anyone interested in American History. This book is, to put it plainly, the other side of the story.
View all my reviews at Goodreads.
15 January 2009
Review: Wastelands: Stories of the Apocalypse
Rating: 4 of 5 stars
I love short stories, and themed anthologies like this one are a great way to cover a lot of authorial ground for your buck. This one, edited very capably by John Joseph Adams, had some true standouts - Elizabeth Bear's "And the Deep Blue Sea" is a clever, somewhat spooky tale,and David Grigg's "A Song Before Sunset" is a beautifully written and imaginative take on what the Apocalypse might mean to the cultural spirit of humanity. I can't say there were any stories I didn't like, but be warned - this is 300 pages of dark, mostly hopeless stories. Not a terribly cheerful read, but a good one.
View all my reviews at Goodreads.
Freeze-Tag
The cold has returned here, with a vengeance. Not forecasted to rise above 55 F or so all week. For some of you, I'm sure that's pitiful in terms of chill factors, but for us down here in the deep south, it's a regular ice box. Only Saturday we saw highs in the upper 70's. All of the plants here had begun to spout, and people were out in shorts. It's a bit jarring to go from that to 35 F in less than 24 hrs.
Winter here is interesting, in that it is less of a time of sleep and snow and more of a constant battle between the cold and the warm. We are on the front lines of the War of Seasons - an ongoing conflict that leaves us with yo-yoing temperatures and confused flora. In any case, I am happy for the Spring-like days, and I get through the cold ones with a nice fire and layers of warm fuzzy clothing.
I was thinking about these things yesterday, about the way the world looks and feels in winter versus summer. I've decided that the differences I feel viscerally are actually due to the quality of the light. In the summertime, the sunlight is warm, golden-colored, and covers the world in a rich, thick layer of heat. In the winter the sunlight is thinned, pale, a shimmer that skitters off the surface of things without really supplying any warmth. The blue sky in summer feels like an aquamarine tropical sea, but in winter it turns into hard blue plastic, unforgiving in its vastness.
I guess its obvious that I have a bias towards summer. I know that's true. I am a girl of the Southern climes, and though I sometimes think about what it would be like to live in a place where the politics are further left and the seasons are defined and specific, I imagine I will remain. It seems to suit me.
12 January 2009
Sex and the Undead
From I09:
Vampires are the sexpots of the undead. Zombies are usually too blood-dribbly and rotted to be players. And ghosts are, well, insubstantial. Which leaves us with vampires, who are permanently young, beautiful, and possess a fierce need to suck things. How could they not be the poster-children for weird sex after death?
Where did all this sexual rule-breaking come from? Certainly Bram Stoker's late-19th century bestseller Dracula helped. He took legends of blood-sucking beasts, mixed them with a little Transylvanian history, and created a mesmerizing creature who drained British ladies of their blood and turned them into wantons. Cinematic versions of Dracula have played up the erotic side of this story, casting gorgeous men and lovely ladies with blood-red lips and strange desires.
I've always found vampire myths to be interesting on numerous levels. It's a shame that most horror mags aren't very keen on publishing vampire stories, though I can understand their point. Every disaffected, book-loving goth college kid has gone through a love affair with blood suckers, and most I'll wager have written a cheese-riddled homage to their favorite tragic characters. Still, I think the possibilities for exploring the myths, and mythos, surrounding them are far from played out. It's one of those things that seems to come in and out of fashion in entertainment and art. There was a big resurgence in the early 90's, and now with the whole Twilight business, here we go again. It would be nice to see more substance than barely-concealed romance novels and gore flicks, however (though Let the Right One In looks very interesting).
Until then, I'll have to satisfy my interest in what's there, I suppose. Love-starved, under-sexed emos of the world, take heart!
09 January 2009
Resolutions for a New Year: 2009 Edition
Is it too late to post my resolutions for 2009? I never write them on January 1st - I like to think about them for a while, contemplate what it is I want to do with myself after all of the sound and fury of the holidays has died down a bit. This year's goals are mainly professional, though the ubiquitous health/fitness stuff is thrown in there as well.
Some people find it juvenile and a waste of time to make New Year's Resolutions. I say we should always have goals - we should always be striving to make ourselves better, to stretch our horizons, to force ourselves to go places we've never gone before, both personally and professionally. The best advice I ever heard from a self-help book/person/whatever (I don't remember the source) was this: Do something every day that scares the shit out of you.
Others deride New Year's Resolutions because they say you should make goals all of the time, that you shouldn't wait until a new year to challenge yourself. Now, I agree with this 100% -but it's important to note that a new year has psychological significance as well - it's a clear cut beginning, a line in the sand, a starting gate. The idea that I'm going to start fresh and ready to go in January helps me to relax during the holidays and not freak out that X,Y, & Z aren't getting done, that I'm slacking off to spend lots of luxurious time with my family. I know that come the beginning of the new year, when everyone goes back to school & work, I'm ready to go. Call it a mental crutch, whatever. We do what we must.
In any case, without further ado, here is the list:
1) Publish (not write, publish) 10 short stories.
2) Write a book. (Not publish, but write, polish, and send out to potential agents)
3) Read 55 books (Up from 50 last year - I ended up with 51, so I figure this is achieveable)
4) Lose 20 lbs (On everyone's list I know)
5) Run a 5K race. (Only about 3 miles - I can do this if I get consistent with my exercise routine)
So there you have it. I try to keep them within the realm of possibility. The 10 stories is ambitious, I know, since I have placed only 2 in the last year, but damnit, you gotta push hard sometimes. We'll see how it goes.
