writing

I will not buy this Monday, it is scratched

I was more than a little convinced, for most of the morning, that today was really just an elaborate practical joke, or perhaps just an unusually vivid dream. It seemed just off enough that I was occasionally looking for hidden cameras or pinching myself in order to wake up.

Part of that’s just a product of the past few days. We had a little bit of a health scare here at the household recently, enough that my sister and her husband came to visit over the weekend, but everything seems to be significantly better now. (It’s funny, but just typing that now made me feel significantly better.) The weekend, my first full one since returning from Canada, was kind of a blur, and I’m kind of glad to have put it behind me.

But it was also the day itself, which started with a bizarre e-mail from Netflix CEO Reed Hastings, “apologizing” for their recent price hikes — which I’ve grumbled about here and elsewhere myself — and detailing the company’s plans to split itself in two.

This is quite honestly the worst thing they could have done. While they claim they’re “done with” pricing changes, that’s only now that the new rates have already gone into effect. They’re taking what was a costly and increasingly less certain product — Netflix has been losing studio deals left and right, and their streaming catalog is looking less appealing every day — and they’ve made it twice as difficult to navigate. The new DVD-by-mail side of the business, named (rather poorly) Qwikster, won’t be tied to the streaming-only Netflix in any obvious way. Customers who opt for both options, like I currently do, will have to navigate two completely separate websites and will receive two completely separate bills. And there’s every indication that Qwikster’s being created just so it can be spun off and sold somewhere — probably not very far — down the line.

Somehow Hastings and company think this is what customers (and investors) didn’t like about the recent price hike. I stuck with them through all of that — I didn’t change or cancel my plan, despite the grumbling — but I’m seriously eying the door right now. I’ve been a customer of theirs for more than ten years now, but I think this might just be the end of the road.

The day just got more Monday-ish after that. I missed my morning train — the later one, the one that’s usually my aw-let’s-sleep-in-a-little back-up — and then got on a subway headed downtown instead of up when I arrived at Penn Station. I figured it out pretty quickly, but wound up on the local instead of the express going back. I wasn’t very late to work or anything, but it was a weird start to the day.

And then the fire alarms at the office… It was almost like being at the old office, where they went off all the time, with only occasional information relayed about why.

By noon, though, the day had more or less righted itself — as much as a Monday can, I suppose — and I carried on as usual. This evening, I finished Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird, which really has some wonderful writing advice in it. It’s warm, patient, and funny, at times feeling revelatory without being especially ground-breaking. I mean, her best advice — and Lamott admits its not even hers — is write. Put one damn word in front of the other. I didn’t quite do that myself this evening, as I still have a fair amount of line-editing that needs to be done if I’m going to get an issue of Kaleidotrope out before November, but I at least dug out my notebook and started re-reading the story I’ve been working on. Now that the weird Monday — and the health crisis — have passed, I’d like very much to get back into the swing of it, writing again.

Somehow it’s Friday

On the one hand, it’s hard to believe it was only a week ago that I was in Banff, since it seems like so much longer. But on the other hand, it feels like it was just yesterday. I’ve more or less gotten back into the swing of things, at least as far as work is concerned, but I don’t really feel like I’ve adjusted. I genuinely miss it, not least of all because circumstances and my own laziness have contributed to my getting practically nothing written this week. Not even the short story that seemed to have a little momentum behind it my last couple of days at the Centre.

I don’t remember missing Las Vegas nearly halfway this much the last time I actually went on vacation.

But, anyway, it’s Friday if nothing else. I hope to spend the weekend line-editing some stories for Kaleidotrope and maybe even working on some layout. Maybe do some writing. Maybe even watch a movie. I haven’t watched a movie in a few weeks. Mostly just relaxing.

Thursdaying along

Another busy day at work, although I at least seem to be making some small headway into the half dozen different projects I’ve got juggling now. Of course, I’d much rather be writing, all things being equal.

To say nothing of the many, many stories for Kaleidotrope that, it occurred to me this morning, I still need to edit and squeeze into some kind of layout. The last (print) issue might have to be “Fall 2011” instead of October, depending.

I weirdly feel like I’ve been ignoring the zine, despite having just put out an issue in July. That issue, though, was a little different than the norm, being just the single novella and and a long-form poem rather than the usual assortment. There’s never been a flood of reviews for the zine — though some nice write-ups on occasion by people like Gavin Grant or Rich Horton — but SFRevu has some kind things to say, if you’re curious.

Back to the garden party

I had this idea, in the back of my head, that I would get up early this morning to write. But, honestly, it’s an idea I’ve had many times before, and it almost never seems to win out over going back to sleep for another hour.

I suppose there’s always tomorrow to try it again. I’ve been reading Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird : Some Instructions on Writing and Life, which so far is full of a lot of simple but really good practical advice for writers. It makes a little sad for not having encountered the book except by name before this…but it also makes me want to write, so that’s good.

This afternoon, at work, we had one of our semi-regular “brown bag lunches,” where they invite in a speaker and give everybody shows up to hear the speaker a free lunch. It can be hit or miss sometimes, but today’s talk by NY DJ and author Pete Fornatale was actually pretty entertaining and informative. He talked more about Woodstock than his experience in radio — he’s got a new book on the former — and the presentation maybe got a little away from him near the end — he showed this video in its entirety; Chris Bliss is an impressive juggler, but even if I hadn’t seen the video before, it strayed a little from the topics at hand. But, overall, it was one of the better talks we’ve had.

And hey, free lunch.

So, Canada

The past week really just flew past, and it’s with no small amount of shock that I realize I left for Canada some ten whole days ago. It was a really good trip, productive in odd ways for my writing and a whole lot of fun. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel a little weird to feel like I’m suddenly back.

As noted here, I arrived a week ago Thursday, after a busy (and early) morning of traveling. I wound up seeing very little of downtown Calgary, just a short walk around the hotel and then back to my room, but I have it on reasonably good authority that the city’s a whole lot nicer and more interesting before dark. (After is presumably when the bloodthirsty, fanged deer come out, at least those who have migrated from the mountains, but perhaps I’m getting ahead of myself there.)

On Friday morning, I met Heather for breakfast downstairs at the Palliser, where we were joined by Jocelyn, had a very nice meal, and I suppose they sussed out this odd man who had traveled some 2,400 miles (or 3,800 km — roughly; miles seem a whole lot easier to guestimate in, but when in Rome…) to meet them and travel on to Banff.

It’s not quite a two-hour drive from Calgary to Banff, but the time passed quickly. The bus was comfortable, and Heather was a very good tour guide and company along the way. We arrived and checked in at the Banff Centre, then split up, me to explore and get my ID card made and Heather to pick up supplies for her swanky studio. We met up for dinner, where we both met a poet and a filmmaker, who were staying and working at the Centre during the same time. I’m not terrific at meeting new people under normal circumstances, but the Centre really does allow you to bump into new people — artists and mathematicians both — doing interesting work, and I’m glad to have met the few I did.

Friday evening, after hearing about it at dinner, I decided to go to a short film retrospective, and after that, it was straight back to my room to work on the 3-Day Novel starting at midnight.

Well, I actually went to sleep and started around 6 o’clock the next morning. I mean, I’m crazy, but I’m not that crazy.

The next few days are kind of a blur, as I spent a lot of the time sequestered in my room madly typing away at my novel. Sometime Saturday evening, Heather took pity on me and accompanied me downtown, where I’d not yet been. It wasn’t the full Banff tour — and walking downtown in Banff always comes with the caveat that you’ll have to walk back up — but it was nice to get out of my room and my own head for a little while at least. And, really, Banff is a ridiculously pretty town whose weather was ridiculously nice while I was there.

And we only saw one bloodthirsty fanged deer along the path, so there’s that.

I finished the three-day novel sometime on Monday evening, Labor Day, around eight o’clock. I eventually called it The Last Man from Mars. It’s a bit more time-travely than I originally expected, and it’s by no means a masterpiece — maybe salvageable, almost certainly not publishable — but I definitely had a sense of accomplishment when I was done. The final draft, which I have yet to read over — and who knows if I ever will? — clocked in just under 17,000 words. That’s on the short side for a novel, but it’s 17,000 words I didn’t have on Friday…and not all of them are bad.

There are worse things than writing a failed novel. Like not writing one at all.

The rest of my days there were a mix of writing and seeing the sights. On Tuesday, we went up to Sulphur Mountain in the Banff Gondola. It’s a touristy thing to do, apparently, but hey, look at me: tourist. The view from the top was simply spectacular, even if I did get a little sunburned along the way.

A number of people hiked it — including, apparently, some of the aforementioned mathematicians — but even with the pretty reasonable switchback trails, I think the gondola’s the nicer way to see the mountain and below.

I spent a lot of the rest of my time plugging away at a short story. I didn’t quite take the words-and-more-words-at-any-cost approach of the three-day novel, and the going was a lot slower, with the story still nowhere near finished. But I think I made significant progress on a story that’s been stuck for awhile. The Centre definitely creates an atmosphere conducive to creativity.

After the gondola, Heather and I went to reserve a spot on a horseback trail ride for later in the week. I’ll admit I was more than a little nervous about the whole thing, having never been on a horse before — I seem to recall a brief photo op atop a pony when I was a young boy, but I don’t remember it ending well. But Heather made it sound like it might actually be fun, and how often do you get the opportunity to ride a horse along a trail in the Rockies?

I probably needn’t have worried. It really was a lot of fun. I was very sore the next day — I don’t think hiking back downtown for last-minute souvenir shopping afterward really helped — but it’s definitely something I’d welcome the opportunity to do again. Aside from a slight nervousness at mounting and dismounting, and some trepidation as Francis, my horse, picked his way down hills, the ride was absolutely worth it, and it definitely did not feel like two whole hours. I’m only sorry I didn’t take more pictures along the way.

Then on Friday I checked out. I hung around the Centre a little while longer, sitting out on the deck at Heather’s studio, reading her most recent short story (it’s quite good). Then around three o’clock, I got a bus back to Calgary, then found my way to the Hilton Garden Inn near the airport. (A really nice place, and everyone there was very friendly, but man, after a week of the Banff Centre’s terrific and ample food, their room service almost couldn’t help but be a let-down.) I turned in early, not doing much more than watching some Canadian television. (Wow, they have Red Green up there, too!)

I had an early-morning flight the next day, although thankfully not quite as early as the week before. I seem to have bumped into a lot of tour groups on my travels, first the large group in line ahead of me at JFK, then twice on the way back, Japanese tourists leaving Calgary and a tour group of Minnesotans headed for twelve days in Rome. I arrived around five o’clock in the evening, New York time, my father picking me up at the airport.

I had a really great time on my trip to Canada. I wrote a short and crazy novel, saw some beautiful scenery, plugged away at a short story, met some really interesting people, ate some really good food, went up a mountain, rode a horse for the first time (and enjoyed it, no less), and got the chance to meet Heather. Not at all a shabby vacation. I never quite got used to the money — some of it’s blue! some is magnetic! lots of things are slightly more expensive — or the use of metric for everything but weight in pounds. (Seriously, what’s up with that?) I never quite mastered the mental conversion of Fahrenheit to Celsius, and I never stopped being amused by everything being written in both English and French. But it was absolutely worth going.

And while I’m not so sure yet about next year’s three-day novel contest, I’d definitely go back to Banff some day.