In 2010 (which is pronounced “twenty-ten” in my head), heaven only knows what will become of us. The older I get, the more strongly I feel that I have precious little control over much of anything; but the things that are within my authority, I will do my best to manage.

Mind you, I don’t smoke, don’t drink to any prohibitive excess, and I’m not interested in losing weight (though I’m a little out of shape). I already keep my home tidy as a matter of personal routine. My credit cards are finally paid off. And, quite frankly, the bad habits I indulge are not the kind I can be bothered to address. My capacity for resolution is therefore somewhat limited.

Ergo. This year I’d like to sell more books, but I can only resolve to continue writing more books. To this end, I’m going to once more make it my goal to write every single day, even if it isn’t much. Likewise, I’d like to get in better shape, but I can only resolve to maintain my present exercise regimen and eat reasonably.

So I guess that’s it. I resolve to keep on keepin’ on. It’ll either be enough, or it won’t.

[Crossposted to/from my website. If you'd like to comment, you can do so either here or there.]

I seem to remember making many fine resolutions last year about writing every day, even if only for an hour, which sounded reasonable at the time, but (like world peace and a perfect health insurance plan) dissolved under the weight of real life and human nature, namely mine, and I lapsed back into what seems to be The Way I Do It, which is fairly long periods of daily writing, and uneven periods of no writing at all--except what's involved in interviews and letters and prep for some trip or teaching gig or con.

So I'm not making any resolutions this year.  I'm making goals.  And I'm trying to make them realistic, which is somehow in my head different from reasonable.

In 2009, I
Edited, administered, and did publicity for Interfictions 2:  An Anthology of Interstitial Writing (With Chris Barzak, who did a lot of work, and Gavin Grant, who actually published the thing)
Edited the Annex (with Chris again, and Geoffrey Long, who designed the pages and put the stories up)
Did publicity for The Magic Mirror of the Mermaid Queen.
Oversaw the redesign of my website (Thank you, Claudia Carlson, web-designer extraordinaire and good friend).
Oversaw the making of the video trailer for MMMQ.  (Thank you, Lisa Stock, film-maker, artist, and good friend).
Wrote "Flying".
Wrote Draft 15 of The Freedom Maze and sent it out to an entire alphabet of Beta readers for comments, which I am now digesting.
Began "The Great Detective," which morphed into "The Mystery of Cwmlech Manor," leaving the first idea to possibly grow into a steampunk novel someday.
Began the proposal for The Dragon of Wall Street, the next New York Between novel and the final book in the Neef trilogy.

All of which, I guess, adds up to a lot more than I thought I'd done when I started the list, although still less than I wish I'd done.

Which is the problem, I guess.  There's desire and duty on the one hand; there's reality on the other.
I want to be able to write a novel in a year; I should be able to write a novel in a year.  But.  I like to travel.  I like to teach (plus, I get paid for it).  I like having friends and feeding them and hanging out with them.  I also have to do my part to keep the house ticking over smoothly, which boils down to things that don't involve picking up a telephone or spending a lot of time chasing things on-line.  I like going to the theatre.  I need to sleep, or I can't do any of the above.  And there are only 24 hours in the day.

So what is a realistic writing goal for 2010?  In which I will be teaching Clarion and spending time in Finland and Australia?

Finish The Freedom Maze (Absolutely necessary to my peace of mind, since I've been working on it on and off since 1996, and I really, really, really need to GET IT THE HELL OFF MY DESK)
Finish "The Mystery of Cwmlech Manor"  (Well, it's due Jan. 30, so that's going to happen)
Finish the proposal for The Dragon of Wall Street (Thoroughly doable, since it's all but done)
Choose my next project and get cracking on it.

If Dragon is accepted, obviously, that's what I'll do.  If it isn't, or it takes a while to hear, then I'll need something else lined up, ready to jump into.  Choices include the middle-grade boy-book The Wizard's Apprentice, the cracktastic Sherlock Holmes as an automaton novel, featuring Mycroft, a hitherto unknown sister, and a young Moriarty, and Gingerbread House, my take on "Hansel and Gretel," set in New York in 1929, which I really need to write before too long, or I'm afraid I'll lose my desire to write it.

Wizard's Apprentice is maybe 1/3 written, so it makes sense to dive into that one, maybe start the research on one of the others.  And something's bound to pop up in the course of the year.  It always does.

Okay, that sounds like a plan.  I'm glad we had this little talk.  Howabout you?

Interview went well. It was pretty clearly designed to test my patience and flexibility (they thought they were being stealthy, but 8-9 interruptions in one interview is just too big of a stretch) and I just kept my calm professional face on the whole time. At the end she started talking about the pay rate, room for advancement, and other such fun things before saying that HR will give me the official word next week. I think I got the job, but she never came out and said it directly (which is quite possibly their policy) so I must wait some more. *sigh* Patience is not one of my virtues. What did I miss today?

2009 wasn't the best year ever. On the other hand, it could definitely have been worse.

What I achieved: passed my exams, started climbing better/more often, stayed reasonably fit, stayed reasonably sane, tramped all over London in four days, spent four weeks on an archaeological dig in the heart of England, started - and am almost halfway through - a final year thesis, read 110 books.

110 books is nearly thirty fewer than last year. On the other hand, I've been reading a lot more history books, and those take longer. Not to mention the thesis, with all its French and fiddly scholarship, has taken up a lot of time.

Top ten (fiction) books read this year, not necessarily in order:

1. Ursula K. LeGuin, The Dispossessed
2. Elizabeth Bear, By The Mountain Bound
3. Daniel Fox, Dragon In Chains
4. Terry Pratchett, Unseen Academicals
5. Amanda Downum, The Drowning City
6. Elizabeth Bear, Seven for a Secret
7. Anthony Price, Other Paths to Glory
8. Sarah Monette, Corambis
9. Marie Brennan, In Ashes Lie
10. Kristin Cashore, Graceling.

I must also say here that Dragon In Chains is absolutely beautiful right down to the prose level, and By The Mountain Bound is fabulous and bloody heart-breaking.

The absence of science fiction on that list, apart from the LeGuin... has a lot to do with the fact that while I find space opera amusing, and dystopias engaging, very few of the former are actually any good and very few of the latter are actually enjoyable to read.

Write me thoughtful and interesting and well-written science fiction, people!

A giant ridiculous dog and his aardvark in the snow:



Happy new year!

#84. "The Pursuit of Alice Thrift" by Elinor Lipman

Alice, so lacking in social skills that her mother suspects she might be on the autism spectrum, is pursued by a rough-edged suitor with whom she takes up, just for the companionship. Interesting, well-drawn, well-rendered characters in this one.

85. "Methland" by Nick Reding

A look at the effects of meth on small town America, in this case, Oelwein, Iowa. Apparently meth is the quintessential American drug because it allows us to stay up, to work harder, to work longer, which of course is how Americans perceive ourselves as getting ahead. This book looked at many different angles, from the large scale Mexican dealers to the small-time "batchers" who make meth in water bottles while riding their bicycles. It didn't help that the author made some factual errors, though; such as referring to Iowa City as "the largest city in Iowa."

86. "The War Against Miss Winter" by Kathryn Miller Haines

A fun mystery set in the 1940s with a wise-cracking part-time actress and detective as its protagonist. Fun but sometimes the dialect got to be a bit too cutesy with its 40s lingo.

87. "Zeitoun" by Dave Eggers

The story of a Syrian man who remained in New Orleans during and after Katrina, and the trials and tribulations he went through. Noted as one of the best books of the aughts, it really tells a good story, although it makes you mad at the Bush administration all over again.

88. "The Winter of Her Discontent" by Kathryn Miller Haines

The 2nd book in the Rosie Winter series seems to hit its stride more--or maybe I just didn't notice as much slang-talk. This one finds our heroine involved in a play with a dicey, mobster backer, and investigating black market meat during the rationing of WWII.

89. "Citizen Girl" by Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus

The authors of "The Nanny Diaries" have another unnamed protagonist (she's just "Girl," which is kind of annoying); this time the heroine is a young lady raised by a feminist who loses her job in the non profit world and then attempts to negotiate the for-profit world without feeling like she's selling her soul.


89 books is pretty good. It'd be more if I didn't count the American Girl books as one entry. Now, I need a new "What I Read" journal.

I keep looking at postings on CL and so on, against the day when I go back to work.

That day is not yet. The notion of Hotspur in a group care situation makes the pediatrician look very grim and serious.

I am not entirely sure how I feel about the question. On the one hand, I am developing quite the catalog of projects at home. On the other, some of those projects reek of stir-crazy.

I think I will clean my basement as best I can, start a batch of cider for Imbolc (because the bread, candles, and song version of the holiday, plus or minus homebrewed alcohol, sounds about right by me), scrub out the utility sink, dye some yarn to make socks for my aunt... and then I have to find a goshdarn job. Before I come up with another complicated thing to do with myself. Part-time would be about perfect given what children to do one's schedule, but full-time would also be okay.

First day back at the gym after a fortnight off.

Well, that was made of fail. A stop-starty mile in thirteen minutes, which is three and a half minutes longer than normal, and gods above and below, my wind is gone.

The weight work wasn't terrible, which I ascribe to my irregular programme of situups and pushups over the break, and I ran into one of the guys on campus, so I might well be going climbing on Saturday.

After the gym, I went to the French tea place, and bought myself Grand Yunnan and Rooibos au tilleul et a la menthe. They are tasty. I can see this tea thing might become a habit.

Now I must attempt to push the thesis on a little further, and talk about aretalogies. Perhaps after dinner, though: I'm getting a little hungry now.

galbinus_caeli offers a totally awesome free-form poll:

If you had to live in the world of a science fiction disaster novel, who would be the author? (Optionally: Why?)

Forecast for tonight through the weekend is intermittent snowpocalypse, which just started.

It's SNOWING!

Scalloped potatoes and spinach bread for breakfast*. Life is not so bad.

Also, Val Kilmer is fifty today. Congratulations GenX. We have officially lived longer than we ever expected to.

Well, the time has finally arrived. My iastate.edu mailing address has been deactivated. So if you've not updated your address books, let me ask for you to do it now. Not too surprisingly, the best email address for me is now badger2305 "at" gmail.com. Thanks!

Please note that my muse likes to make people twitch. I have to run out the door to go converse with the feds again (care bear stare my friends), so please excuse any errors. I hope you like this one. As always pimping is a good thing, but please don't feel like donating is required for reading.

__

Harpy's Lament

I glanced around for a comfortable spot away from the tentacles and still close enough to record her voice. Seeing nothing suitable I laid my microphone aside, pulled off my jacket, and tossed it at the largest of a pile of stones, only to see it fall short. I stepped forward, picking it up and throwing it again only to discover that my aim was off a second time. Confused, I started forward again only to hear “Stop playing silly games with her. It's my turn.”

One of the highest stones in the pile twisted to form a set of lips, “She should at least ask before she tries to sit on my knee.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't know that you were...a you.” I bent to pick up my jacket and the stone slid toward me.

“Humans have completely forgotten about us. Not romantic enough or something.” A rumbling sound that could have been a laugh came from the pile, “Go ahead and sit down. I don't bite. I don't do much of anything now.”

“That's okay. I can stand.” I shifted from foot to foot nervously.

“It's not every day that you get an offer to be dandled on a stone giant's knee.” The harpy bared her teeth, “I do not wish the pains of your feet to distract you from your work. Waste no more time on silly protests and sit down.”

“Go ahead. I'll even shape it so that your protuberances are comfortable” True to his word, the stone's shape altered into something like a chair complete with a place to rest my arms.

Arguing with a harpy and living rock struck me as a singularly bad idea so I said “Thank you” and took a seat. She paced back and forth in front of me, her claws clicking loudly on the rock.

Finally she spat out “You humans made up these stories painting my race as little more than screeching servants to some god's whimsy. But we were so much more than that, so much more than you could ever imagine.”

She fell silent again and I leaned forward, debating whether I should press her for more details or simply wait her out. I had just made up my mind to take the risk of asking a question when she said quietly, “Our cities were beautiful. Homes with roofs that brushed the sky and marketplaces filled with the most beautiful art. And puzzles. That was our joy. To solve things, to use our minds to their greatest potential in all aspects of life. We'd map fake routes through the trees, dizzying paths designed to confuse any approaching enemies. Roads leading in all directions with secret shortcuts that only we knew so that we could send them into a trap and be home in time for supper.”

She stopped pacing, turning to face me as she raised her head. Her eyes burned into mine as she spoke, “When my mother was young there was a war. It culminated in a massive attack, but our science was unparallelled and our warriors were so fierce, so well prepared that the fighting amounted to little more than a series of skirmishes on our end. My mother wore the mantle of Leader for many years and she insisted that we maintain the false routes and regularly practice our fighting skills. But nothing ever happened, after a few years there weren't even any more skirmishes. Our enemies seemed to have faded completely from the world.”

Her eyelids swept shut, and tears rolled down her cheeks to collect in the thin layer of translucent feathers that covered her body from throat to ankle “Eventually she succumbed to the peace of the ages, and I was left to govern in her stead. Our enemies hadn't returned in so long that my people grew complacent, fat and slow, content to spend their time on puzzles and other idle amusements. Only the necessary routes for supplies and trade remained clear. Because I was content to laze around with them. Those were happy times. So happy, that my people lived like children without a care in the world.”

Rage seeped into her voice, sending a shiver down my spine. I tensed nervously when she stalked toward me, “I had a name, a place in the world, respect, and responsibility. I squandered it all. We were a people in our own right. Not monsters, spirits of the wind, or even willing servants. The ones you call gods...they knew us for tacticians who could beat them with a smile on our face and a song in our hearts. So they waited. Watched us for signs of weakness and then they pounced.”

“They came stealing among us with cages and collars, destroying those that they deemed useless and imprisoning the rest with magics that we could not hope to fight.”

She wrapped herself in her wings, hiding her face from me as she sobbed out, “My mates and I were taken. Our children held hostage to bind us to the petty whims of mad men. One by one we starved, or went mad, or were torn apart in one of their stupid wars. They didn't fight for homes or love, they fought over land that they didn't live on. Land they didn't even want, and once only a few of us were left...they tossed us aside and went on playing at that war with brand new tools. What did they care about my people when they had new ones to enslave and destroy?”

“What was your name?” I cringed backwards in my seat at the awful sound she made, a grinding screech that made my hands fly up to cover my ears in self defense, “I'm sorry, I thought you were done. Please forgive me.”

She spread her wings to their full expanse, “I have no name. I lost that when I let my people be destroyed. It is your turn now. Tell me human, what is the worst thing you have ever done?”

__

help pinned under cats send assistance.

Especially since I really need to get up and ice everything that still hurts after yesterday's epic climbing success. And maybe eat something, based on the complaints my stomach is making.

And probably let the poor dog out.

Today is my last Day Off--work on The White City resumes tomorrow, and when that is done, "The Unicorn Evils." So I plan to spend today catching up on two weeks' worth of Mythbusters, reading this manuscript I am helping a friend with, and maybe taking the dog for a run since it's not too cold. Oh, and reading that damned Girl Genius collection I have been trying to get to for months now.

Tonight, the usual shindig with netcurmudgeon, ashacat, and two charming young men of my acquaintance. (And others, of course).

Farewell, 2009. So long, and thanks for all the fish.

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( You are about to view content that may not be appropriate for minors. )

"Amandla" is a very good movie, it's a documentary of the music around the apartheid resistance movement in South Africa. It's neat if you like the groovy music of South Africa, and the colors are beautiful too. It's like they turned up the colors to the maximum.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QujtfNEPnmc

( Testing an image and thinking about whether it would be useful to have images with Shinies posts, rather than just linked. (I'm thinking and, not or, here.) )

Greetings from snailsville, where the snails are making great progress in physical therapy despite the ongoing festival of ow, and are therefore all triumphant-feeling even if they do have to sit in bed with an icepack on their hip when they'd rather be at the workbench. Oh, well; that just means more makin' stuff tomorrow, right? Here are your newest shinies, direct from the Lioness:

( Oooh. Shiny! )

I have this vague memory, and little detail

There was a detective sort of series in the 70s ... there were, I think, two main actors and it went back and forth as to which one was on at any given time. The main thing was that there were, for then, various high tech devices through which the men were watched, guided, or some sort of thing.

Anyone remember what this series was called? I had in my head that it was Switch, but that was a different thing than I thought it was.

Edit Kathy Mar came up with it on Facebook ... it was Search.

Best climbing night ever, more or less. There's a new nice little flaggy 5.7- or so that's all just elegant and flowing, which I liked so much I climbed it twice as a warmup, and then after that I sent my project 5.8 on the skywall. Yeah baby. (buymeaclue, the one I was sailing off of so spectacularly on Sunday.) There was falling, and dogging on the rope, and it is so overhung that The Jeff had to tow me back up to it with a second top rope, but--

Well, I had told myself I was getting two holds higher than I did before, which was four holds higher than I got on Sunday, and then I managed that and felt good, so I got one more higher, and tried for the next and came off--but by then I could see how to get to the hold after that, so I got towed back to the wall and made it up a few more--reader, I used a heel-hook, and it worked--first time in my climbing career--and then came off again. And got back on and came off one more time but by then I was one hold from the top and I was going to finish it if it killed me.

It didn't kill me. Clipping the quickdraw on the way down, on the other hand, very nearly did. I was amazed at how strong and balanced I felt for parts of the climb, and how easily I made some moves that felt absolutely terrifying.

By then, I had given myself a coughing fit from the sheer anaerobic output required, which persisted (off and on) until I got some hand got some mint tea with honey in me.

But I did also climb a new 5.9 (balancy, on an arrete, and I was actually quite surprised at how secure some of the very sketchy moves felt), and then I climbed and downclimbed an old standby 5.6 and finished off on another easy one on the skywall.

I am totally psyched. I feel like I may have actually learned something. Maybe I am finally starting to learn to climb.

With a little luck, I'll be able to drop some weight this winter, which will make those pesky overhangs much, much less miserable. (It's amazing how much you can feel any given five pounds when you are hauling it up twenty feet of overhang.)

Also, two cute boys hugged me as I was leaving. All in all, a banner day.