My new novel is set in the post-apocalyptic PNW. For it not to be future fantasy, the poxy-lips needs to happen within the next 5 years or so. The question is, what songs will people sing once their ipods/zunes/radios/etc no longer work? There certainly are musicians around, but the infrastructure to keep the electric guitars/keyboards/etc is gone. So we’re back to human voices, in most cases, with some accompaniment when so lucky as to actually be in the physical presence of a musician.

So what popular songs (say, from the past 30 years) would you remember and sing? Suggestions so far: 
- Baby Got Back, Sir Mixalot
- Rick Astley’s earworm
- Brown Eyed Girl, Rolling Stones
- Blister in the Sun, Violent Femmes
…

I need more. Please help?

Alice can deceive the unimaginative. Sure, I could call her the starbucks-coffee-on-demand-short-cup-to-full-carafe-stainless-steel-coffee-grinding-cocoa-making-industrial-capacity wonder machine… but that doesn’t begin to describe her consistent production of joy. Maybe those who think dubiously it’s a coffeemaker-right? Maybe they live too far away from reality’s fluid edge; maybe they aren’t exhausted enough from a yesterday filled with unexpected swashbuckling opportunities.

When I arrive at work, ready to take on my new day of surprises, Alice is ready. The cup is put flat where the cup is supposed to go, and I look not-quite-up to the buttons on the front. She dispenses warm truthfulness 12 ounces at a time.

She reminds me of Alice who ran the diner when I was a teenager, when I was too broke or clueless or insensitive or arrogant to leave a decent tip, even after my friends and I made towers out of glassware and straws, painted modern art in the catsup and laughed and swore and smoked too loud.

Maybe you remember: Alice who smiled at nobody, but surprised you the day you came in trying so hard not to cry because your truest-love-so-far had done whatever finally-admitted insensitive thing that shattered your happy illusion. The cup is put flat where the cup is supposed to go, and you look not-quite-up to the buttons on her front. She set hot cocoa in front of you without asking, without smiling, without repeating that there are other fish in the sea. And the bill, of course.

She didn’t add whipped cream, but that’s okay. Neither does my mechanized Alice.

Every weekday I see her. Caff, half-caff, decaf through the day, on demand, without comment, without smiling. Now I’m all grown up and don’t remember to play hooky to the diner, and my daily Alice doesn’t need my tips – just a rinse cycle now and then. Maybe this weekend I’ll drive back to the diner – maybe even this Friday night. I’ll squeeze into a booth near the teenagers and I will not fuss with the silverware or the condiments. I’ll try to give Alice a sympathetic look.

Whatever happens, I’m leaving an enormous tip.

It is a ridiculous, petty, affluent-first-world problem: and yet, my life is better when the computer isn’t broken. My most productive, smartest place to write fiction* is out-amongst, where I can hear the sounds of people swirling together in a mass: voices and laughs and indistinguishable sursurrations. So when my trusty computador Sancho became far less trusty several weeks ago – and had to be sent to reform school – I was stuck with the much slower pen-and-paper. 

And by much slower, I mean by a factor of hell-frozen molasses. Slower than snails grow legs. Slower than jujubes melt in a toothless mouth, and slower than a brontosaurus who survived long enough to take quaaludes in the 70s, after taking the quaaludes. Hyperbolically slow.

Which is not to say that writing by hand doesn’t have its place. (To some extent, I just like hyperbole.) But my fingers record words more than twice as quickly, making it so the story doesn’t drag on past the point I’m interested in it. I get bored too quickly! And if I’m writing a scene that i’m sick of… it’s a problem for that scene.

I am so glad to have back my lovely computador. NaNoWriMo ‘08, here we come!

* People-noise is good for writing fiction, but for nonfiction, I’ve been listening to classical pieces (Hindemith, Adams, Mahler, Holst, + many more) on Pandora, in a station called “Torreybird’s Concentrating.”

A new review is out for Gathering Grace from the Midwest Book Review. On their Fantasy/SciFi Shelf, it is written:

“Growing up brings a lot of new things including new responsibilities, new privileges — and new superpowers? “Gathering Grace” is a fantasy set in modern times as Grace uncovers deeply held family secrets. Unknown relatives, the risks of her new abilities and how to use them responsibility, these are what Grace must deal with. But as all teenagers know, sometimes responsibilities aren’t always followed and rules are sometimes broken. A coming of age tale set in the real world with a unique fantasy twist, “Gathering Grace” is very highly recommended to young adult fantasy readers everywhere.”

Oh, yay! I feel like celebrating. I think I need to do a brand-new kind of happy dance. Glee!

It didn’t keep me up all night – but I did have to make a phone call before bed so that my brain could rest.

I have a new novel on simmer for this year’s NaNoWriMo: Fallen Fruit. I’m looking at a 10-20 year post-apocalyptic Johnny Appleseed story. I’m inspired by the Jam Economy and the Pacific Northwest, social change and community, hardship and abundance. I’m expecting at least one death, a dark past, lovely times in kitchens, and the lovely sunrise dew and grit of traveling. Also look for my bias toward apprenticeship, the firm belief in structured, meaningful, loving childhoods, and recipes.

Oh yes, there will be recipes. And probably a mule. And maybe a goat? I like goats. But there has to be a balance between mouths to feed and food with which to feed them…

I love this part where a story comes by to visit and lets me get to know it.

Being an author is a lovely thing: there’s a little piece of my own worldview that is entertaining and informing and delighting different readers. Not to mention, lots of folks seem to find it impressive. But it is fundamentally difficult to concentrate on writing when there are Big. Important. Things. pending – especially when there’s little or nothing I can do to influence those things.

The problem is that not all of the writing life is lovely. There are times when the writing is so drecky I have to start a new page so I don’t have to look at what I just wrote. But when the writing is done, I can celebrate, right? Of course – because otherwise there’d be no momentum left to drag me through the painful work of editing: the pruning, reshaping, bulldozing and knitting of the story together. And all that before shopping the book around, the further editing, publishing, and then the marketing…

Three-quarters of the way through the current novel I have to wonder: what keeps me going? I’ve tried to distill, record and admit my top motivators below:

So now that I’ve posted to my blog, I return to the novel. Back to the control, the increasing of word-count, the storytelling, the discipline, and the potential fame and fortune of writing.

Right after I clean up the cat pee.

Have you seen this? As my friend Nathan writes, it’s required watching for the Cape and Cowl set:

But what’s the point? I think it’s all of the following, in order of least to most cynical:

1. To remind us, as the video says, that Superman is Clark – he is Everyman. We can all achieve great things, even if we are grieving the death of a parent (as Siegel was when he invented the bulletproof man) or are neglected and forlorn (like the house currently is.)
2. To show that we recognize the importance to US culture of the contributions of Siegel and Schuster as much as HP and other recent cultural landmarks.
3. To generate publicity for Brad Meltzer’s most recent book.

Anywhere on the list, it’s a cause I can get behind.

I got a rejection letter with a bonus today. It was a company to which I had applied to work writing some documentation; while I didn’t make their final cut for interviews, the person who wrote the email said that the intriguing reviews of my novel inspired her to order it. So one more sale, though one fewer job opportunity.

But what’s the real message I should take away? On the one hand, it’s easy to get discouraged. People are finicky in what they want to read. Most of writing is a solitary endeavor; there’s not much feedback as I’m actually doing the work. It’s not social, or easy, or secure. Success is far more often a function of marketing than artistry, and the market is cutthroat. There’s the perpetual question, too, of “so what have you written lately?”

On the other hand, even though someone wasn’t interested enough to interview me (and boy, do I interview well!), my resume was strong enough to merit research. She had to follow at least one link-within-link, if not two, to read the reviews of Grace. And now one more person is reading it. So I wasn’t the top choice for the job, but who knows whom I was up against? I’m marketing one book against millions of novels, and with one more person I’ve won this particular round.

I think it is not a coincidence that wars and marketing are both waged as campaigns. The message I will take away: It is not the individual sale, large or small, but the accumulation of battles won that makes the difference. One more sale, one more order, one more review.

Today, I’ve got one more – and always one more – book to write.

Gathering Grace has made its debut in a real brick and mortar store: Balderdash Books and Art, a small independent Seattle (Greenwood neighborhood) bookseller, has a few copies to sell! And it’s just a few doors down from the Wayward, where I’ll be reading from it next Friday evening (August 29th.)

So if you’re in the Puget Sound area: Go! Support a local business *and* a local author, simultaneously!

I have three “in-general” theories about why folks like superheros:

Theory One: I like Good vs. Evil fights because they are so much simpler than the slings and arrows of slogging through every day. Superhero fiction usually revolves around battles between Good and Evil. Even when the line between them starts to gray, redemption lies in redefining it – with Our Hero firmly retaking the higher ground. Wouldn’t it be great to be the Hero to kids, to coworkers, to family and friends? And wouldn’t it be great to do it so easily: (1) Find Evildoer, (2) Smite Evildoer, (3) Smile and Pose. I’ve rarely seen a Superhero worry about offending someone, or how they will pay all their bills, or really want to call someone a nasty name in heavy traffic after work.

Theory Two: For United States Americans, superheroes reinforce some of our favorite cultural traditions. I wrote about this on LinkedIn, in response to a question there. Superman is an orphan, refugee from his destroyed planet, who crashlands on a rural farm — who then makes it to the top of the world! He’s the ne plus ultra of “making it,” with a private retreat home, the attention of the world, and invincible power. (Batman provides an interesting counterpoint to success, however: he is born into wealth, but his parents are killed in random violence. He lives to bring justice to the seamy side, having enough wealth to ‘create’ successful vigilantism instead of innately expressing heroism)

Theory Three: It’s important to remember the accessories: Superheroes get cool costumes and gadgets, but don’t necessarily make you work out the math. Where would Batman be without his utility belt? And how many things can possibly fit in it? In Gathering Grace, Ruth has a special ring, a “magical” golem, and nanoducks – each of which has its own importance to the story. While there has to be enough “science” or context to make the new device understandable, it invites the reader further into the escape. And sometimes, only sometimes, reality eventually surpasses the writer’s imagination. (Remember Dick Tracy’s watch?)

My main interest in Superhero fiction comes from a slightly different source, however: High school. For nine years I was a high-school science teacher, teaching chemistry and physical science in Seattle. I learned a lot during that time – about teaching, group management, writing, communication, assessment… but most importantly, I learned about people.

One day I realized: out of the nearly-thousand students I have taught, I’ve never met someone who is intrinsically boring. To put it another way, there’s been at least one unique and interesting spark in each student who passed through my door or shook my hand at the end of a class.

Not everyone’s talents were obvious in my science classroom, to be sure. However, once I had the image of each student with their own secret sparkyness inside, it was a short step to imagine they could each have secret Superpowers. So what if their sparkyness – their Superpower – wasn’t science?

My basic modus for handling recalcitrant students fundamentally changed: everyone has the right to their secret identity, after all. Perhaps he is a genius in history, I reasoned, so he needs other reasons to engage in Physics. I guess it’s not too surprising that the connections I was making to my students started improving by leaps and bounds.

After living with this revelation for a long while, I have to ask myself: do I believe in Superpowers? The answer is guarded: the Superpowers that people attribute to themselves are not always correctly identified.  But I do believe that each person has an interior sparkyness, some unique talent that may be known or undiscovered. I’d call that a Superpower, any day.