Happily addicted to the web . . . .

(Or, In Which Helen Should Avoid Resolutions, Part II)

No, I didn't revise as much as I planned to last month. Anyone really surprised? I did. however, generate a few thousand words of new material, and I spend a considerable amount of time struggling with my novel's setting.

The story's set in a very specific City, which I know lots about; the problem is what world this City is in. Apparently the story gives off a futuristic vibe (which was part of my original idea); but it contains some magical/supernatural elements which prevent it from being the future of our world. Right now I'm thinking it's the future of a sort of parallel universe--our world + my particular brand of "magic." (Sort of like Watchmen, which is our world + "superheroes."*)

Anyway, some small amount of progress has been made by me. And no doubt (no doubt)** there would have been more, had I spent less time online. Hulu is simultaneously a delight and the bane of my existence . . . all those TV shows, available whenever you want them! Ack. But in five days or so my semester will essentially be over,*** and I'll be back home without wireless. Which will be good for my soul and my writing.

Before that happy day, however, I must survive two juries (piano and organ) . . . and actually I probably won't do any writing until after Christmas: I have two full services Christmas Eve and one Christmas morning. So not much chance for relaxation until Boxing Day, when I intend to sleep very late and do nothing useful all day.

Yet despite all this, I am happy. An elusive and fragile state, to be sure: I'm always hesitant use these words, lest the force of words destroy so ephemeral a feeling. But I played my Toccata in Convocation today, and it went splendidly. I haven't performed in a long while (church is a whole different creature), and it's so nice to know that I can still perform--and that I can even enjoy it. Also I spent half an hour outside this evening looking at the moon (which apparently was the closest and brightest full moon in fifteen years), and then came inside and drank hot chocolate whilst ordering Christmas presents.

I only wish it was colder. :-)



*With the important exception that my novel is not a cynical-yet-brilliant deconstruction of an entire genre. (Hopefully it will have a brilliant moment or two; but no cynical deconstruction, thanks!)

**Insert Alan-Rickman-as-Snape-voice here.

***Yes, I split that infinitive. Gleefully, I might add, and with malice aforethought. There is absolutely no reason to not split infinitives in English. (See what I did there?) The only reason it's "wrong" is because some stupid grammarians in the seventeenth century thought that English should be Latin. This is also the reason we aren't allowed to use double negatives--which Old English, and even sixteenth-century English, used freely. Thus we are deprived of a form of dramatic emphasis native to our tongue, and are not under no circumstances to never use it. Solely because some stupid dead guys thought every language should emulate Latin.

In Which the Black Dragon Comes South, and Havoc Ensues

Actually, spanokopita and scarecrows ensued, but that doesn't sound nearly as impressive (though it does have a nice alliterative ring to it). And this post is not primarily about the Black Dragon. (So far, I'm not sure it's about much of anything, besides unnecessary parentheticals.) I just wanted to use that as a title of something, because I like the way it sounds. She did come south, though. This was a good and joyful thing, and is well-documented on facebook. Her visit was notable for many reasons, including the afore-mentioned spanokopita and scarecrows (as well as the unmentioned and decidedly unimpressive Macaroni-Masquerading-as-Exotic-Greek-Cuisine), and its only fault* (besides the macaroni) was its unavoidable brevity.

A few weeks later, I'm rejoicing in almost-autumn weather (the leaves have changed, finally, but I'm still wearing short sleeves), and trying to hatch plots to visit all my scattered friends: the Black Dragon's visit has reminded me how much I miss them. So far, these plots are insubstantial and hypothetical, but hopefully some of them will materialize. (I'm also trying to come up with a scenario which would allow me to be in Oxford and Santa Fe simultaneously. Pretty sure that's an exercise in fruitlessness . . . but right now it seems easier than choosing between an amazing three-week study-abroad opportunity and the Glen Workshop. Besides, it would be a fascinating cultural experience.)

I thought about trying NaNoWriMo this year; I have a new novel idea, which is mostly outlined. But unfortunately I sketched out a few scenes back in September, when the idea struck--which means I would have had to come up with another idea. So instead I'm resolving to spend November seriously revising the novel I finished** back in May.

Of course, I'm starting almost a week into November, which is not ideal--but I need some kind of deadline. The whole thing is kind of a tangled mess right now, and if I let it sit much longer I'll never be able to untangle it. I'm thinking I'll try for a minimum of 1,000 words a day . . . which would get me through 24,000 words by the end of the month. It's half the word-count for official NaNoWriMo (am I spelling that right?)--but revising/rewriting is an inherently slower process than the intitial writing. (For me, anyway; others may write more slowly to begin with, and have less of a mess on their hands afterwards.)

Anyhow, that's the goal. I'll try to post on my progress; should help me stick to it, and also breathe some life back into this poor neglected blog of mine.


*(The visit's faults are not to be confused with my faults--the worst of which, at the moment, appears to be the overuse of parentheses. I find them terribly addictive.)

**I use this word pretty loosely (there's so much more to life than words . . .)

Numbers, novels, and organ-playing nomads

Behold, many months have passed, and the moon hath waxed and grown thin, and summer hath come and departed*--and here much blogging!

In other words, I just realized how long it's been, and figured I should do something about it. Only trouble is, a lot's happened since I last blogged--guess I should start with the present, and work backwards.

Classes started today. Yes, I'm beginning my . . . how many is it now? . . . my thirteenth straight semester of college. My seventh straight year. However you want to look at it.

But--and this is a significant but--I'm only a part-time student this semester. I'm also living in Rivertown, which means a 10-minute drive to classes (instead of 45 minutes). Huge blessing--the commute was draining, and I'm not sure I could've kept it up another year. Of course, I now have an hour commute to my job . . . . it's 15 minutes from home, but in the opposite direction from Rivertown. It's a church job, though, so I only have to be there on Wednesdays and weekends--which means a long drive twice a week instead of 5 times. So I'm still semi-nomadic, but I'm expecting less stress.

Plus, I love the job. It's not perfect (what is?)--and there are a lot of things I wish I knew more about (conducting, for instance). But I'm learning a lot just being there--about music and people and churches and committees--and I know enough about music that I can teach them some things, and hopefully prepare them to carry on without me. (I'll graduate in a couple of years, and will need to move on. Probably to grad school. (Not even going to count those years right now . . . I don't want to think about it.))

Also, I've got a recital coming up--the projected date is February. Suite by a French Baroque guy named Clerembault; three Bach chorale preludes (including "Wachet auf"); and a couple of 20th-century pieces (also French). This means I actually have to practice, regularly and intensively; but it should be fun, too.

I kind of hate practicing. It's like writing: really hard to make yourself sit down and do it--but once you can play the piece (or once the scene starts working), there's nothing better in the world. The trouble is, there are lots of days when you can't play the piece, or your setting is hopelessly confusing, and you realize you have to ditch a good ten pages of your novel and come up with a completely new way to get your protagonist where she needs to be for the climax to work.

But it's worth it. So I'll be busy practicing, and revising, and maybe by February I'll have a readable novel to go along with my recital.

In other news, I just finished listening to David Byrne and Brian Eno's new album "Everything That Happens Will Happen Today." It's good stuff--and it's mostly responsible for this blog post, so I figured I should mention it. Plus, free streaming. Always a good.

Oh, and I'll try to post again before February. Lots of good summer stuff happened, and should be recorded for posterity. Or, you know, whoever actually reads this thing.


*At least, it's departed somewhere. Presumably. In these southern regions, it'll stick around another month at least.