Monthly Archives: November 2009

Insomnia blogging

Posted on by Sherri
4

I drank coffee until well into this afternoon, and now I’m paying for it. It’s almost 1:00 a.m., probably will be by the time I publish this. When I get in this mode, lying in bed is just like lying in a bowl of swirling paint, all the thoughts taking over, but not in a pleasant dream-like way, more like someone has taken a stick and started stirring up my brains, around and around. I go over the same unlikely scenarios again and again, and usually they are bad ones…I have whole arguments with people in my head, and then I’m mad at those people but they haven’t done anything wrong. It’s silly.

I’m getting quite good at telling when I’m having normal, pre-sleep thought wanderings, and when they are the steamroller variety, so I don’t lie for long. I’ve been up a couple of hours by myself, watching the gerbil on her wheel, writing stories, and playing computer games till I work out whatever has me agitated. I wish I could talk it out, then maybe I could get to the bottom of it.

Actually, I’ve been a bit agitated all day, because of a very real and poignant dream, in which I lived with one of my children on a tiny island, a utopia of sorts, and my only means of communication, apparently, was messages in bottles thrown out to sea. My “husband” had left me, and I thought, Well I guess I don’t have to live on this island anymore. I sang “The Way We Were” while scrubbing the dishwasher in the front yard… woke up halfway through the first verse.

So anyway, this evening, while I waited to get sleepy, I started a story I’ve been thinking about for quite a while–seems like things have to ferment with me–and I wrote another as an impromptu exercise, but it turned out…interesting. It’s not a story so much as a one-sided conversation about a story. But the good part is that the story I was talking about sounded pretty good, so maybe I’ll put that in the idea still and let it ferment a while.

I guess I’m sleepy now…or maybe I’ll play a little more Dynomite…

The story of my broken hand

Posted on by Sherri
7

Well, I guess I should post. I wanted to write a post inspired by one Marta wrote last week, about whether we feel comfortable calling ourselves writers and artists, but I haven’t really felt reflective. Or rather, I haven’t felt like writing down my reflections. I’m in a business state of mind, very ordered and analytical, probably because I’ve been editing for three weeks straight. Also because I’ve had more outside-world things to do, Thanksgiving school stuff, cleaning and preparing for the holiday, and Maggie’s broken arm. Git ‘er done.

We’ll be going to the orthopedist today to get a more permanent solution to Maggie’s store-bought brace. I was surprised about how unconcerned everybody was with getting her a cast. When making the appointment I grumbled, “What’s another day, her arm’s been broken for a week and a half.” The lady said, “Oh, everybody thinks they should run right in and get a cast as soon as it happens, but it’s better to wait till the swelling goes down.” Oh. Well that makes sense.

Seeing Maggie’s injury makes me realize how truly effed up my hand was. I can’t remember if I ever told that story. It was Friday of Spring Break ’09. I’d promised the kids I’d take them to the skating rink–they just about died from the anticipation–and this was the last day we could use our coupons. I got everybody ready and sent them out to the car while I locked up the house. I stepped off the porch, like I have thousands of times. This time something went wrong (still not sure what) and I pitched over. My hand went out automatically to steady me, but again something went wrong and I ended up jamming my middle finger on the step. Except I heard something snap.

After that I remember things in snapshots. The blinding sound of pain. Me, bent over at the waist with my hand wedged between my thighs. Saying, “Kids!” multiple times. (My daughter told me later they had no idea what I was saying. First they thought I was playing around, then they thought I was dying.) The thought that I had done something seriously terrible to my hand, followed by denial.

I stood there for a while, letting the pain subside, catching my breath, trying not to cry in front of the kids. And it started to hurt less. In my altered state, I decided that meant it was just a stinger, maybe jammed but okay. I couldn’t let the kids down. It was the last day to skate. Now I realize the swelling was probably deadening the pain. I didn’t look at my hand. I didn’t want to know.

My single-mindedness was unrivaled. My mission was to get the kids their skating, and that’s what I would do. I whimpered quietly as I drove us one-handed to the skating rink. I had to stop and ask directions, because it had moved since I’d been there last. When we finally got there, I depended on Abby to get everybody’s skates tied. On the skating floor, a teenager skating backwards slammed into me and sent me flying. I landed on my back, hard, and my hand and head bounced off the floor, and when he apologized and tried to help me up, I yelled at him.

In denial, I played Galaga, beating the shoot button with the side of my hand, till I couldn’t anymore. I had to hold hands with Maggie, and it had to be the on right so she could stay near the wall. Once the adrenaline started to wear off, I started to think maybe I could have postponed the skating trip.

The next day, the swelling went down enough to show the bruising. Purple bloomed at each joint of my middle finger and ring finger, and at the base of my hand in line with my middle finger. I didn’t go to the doctor because we couldn’t afford it. It took three months to be able to type at all, six months to type normally. The hand still hurts, it gets tired easily, the finger’s still crooked, but I think the breaks have healed. At least I can type.

So that’s the story of my broken hand. Happy Thanksgiving, everybody. I know what I’m thankful for.

Me today

Posted on by Sherri
5

I have a little fragrance hangover. Yesterday was my daughter’s Thanksgiving lunch at school, and I actually did quite well. Felt fine (as fine as I ever do) while I was there and into the evening. The eyesight started to get a little iffy around nine, and I went to bed soon after. Woke up this morning with bad eyes, but let me tell you, I am grateful for these bad eyes. You know why? Because last year at this time I was just starting The Time of the Migraine, a good two months in which I had constant blurry vision and any whiff of fragrance brought forth the headache. And the year before that, I had bronchitis or pneumonia or something along with a bad back but was unable to go to the doctor, so both lasted for months. I can handle a little fragrance hangover.

This fragrance thing is actually getting more manageable. I think I’m healing, as the reactions for the past several months haven’t been as strong. Trips to the store are less taxing. I can think while at a school function. It’s tempting to start letting my guard down, but I know this is a slow process. I have to let my body heal.

Finally seeing the end of this editing project. It’s the first novel I’ve edited, been editing shorts, so it seemed to go forever. I’m at the point now where I know what it’s like to be an editor, and I need to balance it against my own writing. Do I like editing enough to put my book on hold for three weeks? Not sure about that. I’d planned to get BVA done by Christmas, something I could have done if my editing assignment had been another short. I had no idea how much time a novel would take.

Gotta get bananas for Maggie’s class . Thanks for everybody’s good wishes about her arm, it’s not bothering her too much, with the brace.

So…that’s me today. What’s up with you?

Observations of a new editor

Posted on by Sherri
13

So I have this editing job. I haven’t decided yet if it’s a good idea to associate my writer persona with my editing persona, so I won’t be linking to or mentioning the company by name in this post. I’ve learned some things that would benefit my author friends, so I thought I’d share in a vague, generic way.

First of all, it’s not like a critique. In a critique you can say things like, “I can’t follow the action in this scene,” and then leave it up to the author to figure out why. That’s perfectly acceptable, because as the critic you’re doing the author a favor, and they’ll take what you have to offer. As an editor, I have to figure out exactly what confuses me about the action, and then say that. Saying it is the hard part. If I do my job right, the solution will be obvious to the author, even if I haven’t suggested a solution. Which ties in with my next point.

Editing is a balance of telling the author what to do and letting her decide how to do it. Except in the case of punctuation, where there is a right way and a wrong way, but even then if she feels strongly about leaving out a specific comma, that’s ultimately her decision. I have to be very careful about rewriting anything. If I can’t move around phrases she’s already used to fix it, I leave a suggested fix in a comment, then she can either take my advice as is, change it another way, or tell me to take a flying leap. Although the last one on that list might be counter-productive, since I’m an impartial observer (or at least as impartial as anyone can be), and I’m only here to make her look better. Which leads to…

The editor is there to correct mistakes, no doubt. But among some authors there’s this attitude of, “So I don’t know how to punctuate a sentence correctly, that’s what editors are for.” Let me take a moment to point out I’ve not yet edited an author with this attitude, but I’ve seen it around in the blogosphere. But let me tell you something, dear authors, this attitude is stupid. STUPID. If my harsh words pull one author away from this abyss, they will be worth it. Not only is it good to know your craft inside and out for your craft’s sake, but there’s a practical purpose for knowing the nuts and bolts, and then putting them into practice BEFORE sending it to your editor.

If I have your manuscript for 20 days, and I spend the full 20 helping you polish your words, you are going to have one tight, well-written book. A tight, well-written book will increase your reputation, generate better word-of-mouth, ergo selling more books and creating more fans. However, if I have to spend seven of those days correcting hundreds or even thousands of typos which could easily have been found before the ms came to me, then you are getting only 13 days of word polishing. We might only have time for plot and eliminating confusion, and very little time for word choices and flow.

So those are the observations I have so far. I’m sure I’ll have more as I go along, and maybe even change my mind about some of those up there. (Except for the last one. Since I basically called everyone who doesn’t agree with me an idiot I’ll have to stick by it. It’s true anyway.) I’m getting the education of a lifetime, being on this side of things.