So, we've passed ze halfway point of ze Clarion South. This weekend I got all dressed up for the Aurealis award, and learned that I still suck at talking to people in schmooze-for-all environments. Towards the end, someone asked me for my thoughts. I said "I'll gather my thoughts and explain later", but I very much wanted to explain to her that I had a social kryptonite belt on. These kind of things get me the reputation of being "stand-offish", when deep down I'm wishing people would just take one glance inside me and see that I'm not that way at all, that I really do want to come out and play.
It's all good, though. I handed in story #4, and I think it may be my turn to end up with multi-ringed spank prints on my arse before 1:30pm tomorrow. To top it off, I have a one-on-one session with Gardner Dozois (yes, the one and only). What am I going to say to Gardner Dozois without doing the whole "we're not worthy!" act? (more to the point -- what's he going to say to me?). But if nothing else, this will give me a chance to take a panning gracefully.
My floor continues to be awesome. We eat together, have random midnight chats together, we're civil, and we remain intact amidst rising tension and frustration among the clarionites. And yes, there is rising tension and frustration. I keep my half-grin and outer confidence about my writing, but I'm feeling the burnout as much as my colleagues.
Good night, and good luck.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
I guess I am one of the luckier ones so far at Clarion. I've been having more or less a sweet ride through the crits and responses. That could change any week, though. I think the sheer self-confidence in my writing helps me produce decent works in 7 days or less.
Yesterday I had one of the most personal stories I've ever written highly praised by almost everyone in class, then ripped to shreds by the tutor. Yet it bounced right off me. Looks like that thick skin is finally growing, though there's no way of telling what's in store for weeks 4-6. I could very well be facing what some of my poor colleagues are going through now, emotionally.
Yesterday I had one of the most personal stories I've ever written highly praised by almost everyone in class, then ripped to shreds by the tutor. Yet it bounced right off me. Looks like that thick skin is finally growing, though there's no way of telling what's in store for weeks 4-6. I could very well be facing what some of my poor colleagues are going through now, emotionally.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
entry deux
I continue to hit social pay dirt at Clarion, and my week 2 session went extraordinarily well. Apparently there are "fighter pilot" and "bus driver" types, and I'm a figher pilot. Woohoo!
It's only the end of week 2, but I'm already thinking about how much I'll miss these guys when it's over. I've distinguished myself socially as the quiet-ish guy with periodic wit that makes the room explode with laughter. I've distinguished myself as a promising writer who can crack out kick-ass drafts within a 7 day span; story 2 received an uber positive reaction, including one colleague saying it was one of the best stories she'd ever read.
I'm still a big chicken in one respect. Today at lunch, I became especially aware of that during a certain conversational moment. That ain't going to change right now, due in part to sheer impracticality of trying to change it out here. I'll only say that I wish I'd come up with some witty interjection filled with subtle suggestions, but I ended up just staring at my plate instead. This one will go under "The effects of 3.5 hours sleep on Michael's wit" section of my eventual memoir.
And, yeah, I'm being self centered since it's my bathtub--err, blog. Story 3, which I just handed in, is an extremely risky and extremely personal piece. It could generate a bipolar reaction, it could get praised, it could get the little red riding hood treatment. In any case, I'm sure there's more to pick apart than in my last one. But, thick skin and all. Lay it on me, mates.
It's only the end of week 2, but I'm already thinking about how much I'll miss these guys when it's over. I've distinguished myself socially as the quiet-ish guy with periodic wit that makes the room explode with laughter. I've distinguished myself as a promising writer who can crack out kick-ass drafts within a 7 day span; story 2 received an uber positive reaction, including one colleague saying it was one of the best stories she'd ever read.
I'm still a big chicken in one respect. Today at lunch, I became especially aware of that during a certain conversational moment. That ain't going to change right now, due in part to sheer impracticality of trying to change it out here. I'll only say that I wish I'd come up with some witty interjection filled with subtle suggestions, but I ended up just staring at my plate instead. This one will go under "The effects of 3.5 hours sleep on Michael's wit" section of my eventual memoir.
And, yeah, I'm being self centered since it's my bathtub--err, blog. Story 3, which I just handed in, is an extremely risky and extremely personal piece. It could generate a bipolar reaction, it could get praised, it could get the little red riding hood treatment. In any case, I'm sure there's more to pick apart than in my last one. But, thick skin and all. Lay it on me, mates.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Days 0-4
Pre-Clarion lesson: Critiquing a pile of manuscripts on the airplane is a great way to draw attention from the hot blonde woman sitting next to you. Too bad she disembarked at LAX (though not without my e-mail address and some scholarly writer-submitter advice ;).
Where do I begin? The jet lag went away with surprising ease, for which I have Emer-gen-C to thank. Ah, but the anxiety. Waiting to meet my apartment mates, barbecuing with the staff and week one tutor and stumbling into a colisseum of social uncertainty triggered my UC for a bit. I must have hit the bathroom twenty times that day.
That said... after 28 years, Michael slowly begins to crawl out from under his shell. Most other people who know me in the flesh know me as the man of legendary silence, capable of sitting in classrooms or at dinner tables for hours without speaking a word. Here, at Clarion, I feel reborn. My colleagues kick ass, and though I'll always be a naturally quiet person, I can actually relate to them. I've done more socializing over the past five days then I have throughout all my school years combined, perhaps even college. I make people laugh. I make people cry (well, not yet). I'm actually part of something, rather than having to fish out one or two friends, as I usually have to do when I'm in a group of 20 or 30. People are getting to know me. My tastes, my quirks.
At academic "literary" writing workshops, I've always been the black sheep. While none of those people blatantly scorned my kind of writing, I had the sense that few of them took me seriously. In turn, I had very little to say about their writing and often found myself in "trouble" with classmates and teachers for my lack of participation, and a couple of other things that I won't get into at the moment.
Here, I pull my weight with commentary. I still find it hard to speak up during the free-for-all discussion segments with all 17 of us sitting in a wide circle, but I'm able to offer insightful and (if I say so) valuable feedback when it's my turn to talk.
To quickly summarize:
Day 0 -- barbecue, introductions, first impressions. I'm not quite the youngest, but I'm down there, which is fine by me. At night, I actually cough up 250 words on my first Clarion story.
Day 1 -- Wrote 650 words, but whenever there's a conversation out in the main room, I feel this urge to run out and join. Talk about bizarro Michael.
Day 2 -- The day I never thought would happen: I had practically no time to write because I spent too much of it socializing. Trekking to the pool, chatting with my housemates and one of the convenors. Oh, and the little detail of my first story being critiqued. The Raconteur, my Peter Pan prequel. The night before, I dreamed that some psycho was trying to kill me with knives because he thought (erroneously) that I had once dated his girlfriend. That's a good indication of my stress level at the impending critique, which I'm happy to say was largely unwarranted. Though there was a mix of positive and negative, there was certainly more of the former. I came away with the feeling that I could indeed make it into an excellent story with some work.
Also, my one-on-one session with tutor #1, Robert Hood. Very, very cool. These sessions are supposed to last from 45 minutes to an hour. Used the whole hour, and there was much laughing and nodding about the industry and the craft.
Day 3 -- I finish Think Fast, a super hero piece and my first Clarion story. Three days, little sleep. 1700 words, though my original canvas suggested 3000. I simply didn't need that many words. Not bad at all.
We made our dinner for Rob Hood (actually, one of us made it).
I showered. I shaved. Woohoo!
Day 4 -- Blogging. Heh. Lots of critting to do for tomorrow...
Every morning, we critique between 2 and 4 stories, starting 9:00 a.m. Time goes pretty quickly, thanks in part to the reward of tea and biscuits between stories.
My housemates and I have become early birds. I'll wake up at 7:20, sometimes earlier, to find half the doors open and fingers punching away at keyboards. Once, I organized a small trip to the cafe for a pre-crit breakfast (go go bizarro Michael).
That's it for today, neighbors. Tonight is Rob Hood's public reading, and possibly another Indian restaurant excursion. More to come "soon." :-)
Where do I begin? The jet lag went away with surprising ease, for which I have Emer-gen-C to thank. Ah, but the anxiety. Waiting to meet my apartment mates, barbecuing with the staff and week one tutor and stumbling into a colisseum of social uncertainty triggered my UC for a bit. I must have hit the bathroom twenty times that day.
That said... after 28 years, Michael slowly begins to crawl out from under his shell. Most other people who know me in the flesh know me as the man of legendary silence, capable of sitting in classrooms or at dinner tables for hours without speaking a word. Here, at Clarion, I feel reborn. My colleagues kick ass, and though I'll always be a naturally quiet person, I can actually relate to them. I've done more socializing over the past five days then I have throughout all my school years combined, perhaps even college. I make people laugh. I make people cry (well, not yet). I'm actually part of something, rather than having to fish out one or two friends, as I usually have to do when I'm in a group of 20 or 30. People are getting to know me. My tastes, my quirks.
At academic "literary" writing workshops, I've always been the black sheep. While none of those people blatantly scorned my kind of writing, I had the sense that few of them took me seriously. In turn, I had very little to say about their writing and often found myself in "trouble" with classmates and teachers for my lack of participation, and a couple of other things that I won't get into at the moment.
Here, I pull my weight with commentary. I still find it hard to speak up during the free-for-all discussion segments with all 17 of us sitting in a wide circle, but I'm able to offer insightful and (if I say so) valuable feedback when it's my turn to talk.
To quickly summarize:
Day 0 -- barbecue, introductions, first impressions. I'm not quite the youngest, but I'm down there, which is fine by me. At night, I actually cough up 250 words on my first Clarion story.
Day 1 -- Wrote 650 words, but whenever there's a conversation out in the main room, I feel this urge to run out and join. Talk about bizarro Michael.
Day 2 -- The day I never thought would happen: I had practically no time to write because I spent too much of it socializing. Trekking to the pool, chatting with my housemates and one of the convenors. Oh, and the little detail of my first story being critiqued. The Raconteur, my Peter Pan prequel. The night before, I dreamed that some psycho was trying to kill me with knives because he thought (erroneously) that I had once dated his girlfriend. That's a good indication of my stress level at the impending critique, which I'm happy to say was largely unwarranted. Though there was a mix of positive and negative, there was certainly more of the former. I came away with the feeling that I could indeed make it into an excellent story with some work.
Also, my one-on-one session with tutor #1, Robert Hood. Very, very cool. These sessions are supposed to last from 45 minutes to an hour. Used the whole hour, and there was much laughing and nodding about the industry and the craft.
Day 3 -- I finish Think Fast, a super hero piece and my first Clarion story. Three days, little sleep. 1700 words, though my original canvas suggested 3000. I simply didn't need that many words. Not bad at all.
We made our dinner for Rob Hood (actually, one of us made it).
I showered. I shaved. Woohoo!
Day 4 -- Blogging. Heh. Lots of critting to do for tomorrow...
Every morning, we critique between 2 and 4 stories, starting 9:00 a.m. Time goes pretty quickly, thanks in part to the reward of tea and biscuits between stories.
My housemates and I have become early birds. I'll wake up at 7:20, sometimes earlier, to find half the doors open and fingers punching away at keyboards. Once, I organized a small trip to the cafe for a pre-crit breakfast (go go bizarro Michael).
That's it for today, neighbors. Tonight is Rob Hood's public reading, and possibly another Indian restaurant excursion. More to come "soon." :-)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)