Writer's Digest blog - This Writer's Life by Kevin Alexander

Friends, we're taking a brief respite from the Thesis Insanity to
drop a quiz today. The insanity--though perpetually all-consuming for
me--will return for you on Thursday. Know this.

Secondary characters are like the Chili's appetizer Triple Dipper of the
novel world. First, you're not sure if you should even have them
around, then you realize you like them, and by the end you kind of
wish you hadn't ordered the chicken tacos as your main course.
Without secondary characters, your main characters will
spend most of the book talking about dream sequences, looking in the mirror
and having flashbacks. So it's important that you create full, well-rounded
secondary characters to help carry the load. Although they don't get the
same spotlight as the main act, they still need to feel, act, think, yell, and purchase
Certificates of Deposit in a real, real way. Because if they don't, not only
will Michiko Kakutani not review your book for the NYTimes, she'll
probably light it on fire and post the video on Youtube.

Directions: Read the questions then take a permanent marker and
circle the letter that best corresponds to your own book on your
computer screen. If you are at an Internet Cafe the directions don't
change, they just become slightly more subversive.

1. For whatever reason, you keep including scenes in which your main
character--a dude named Wendy-- goes to his local watering hole,
Trinity Gardens, to drown his sorrow in Appletini's. The cocktail
waitress there, Peter Pan, becomes an oft utilized secondary
character. What details do you include to help shed light on Peter
Pan's life?

A. Peter Pan has "shimmering" black hair AND above average dental work.

B. Peter Pan wears a wedding ring at the bar during the week, but
takes it off on the weekends. She also has a child carseat on the
front passenger side of her yellow Mazda Miata.

C. Peter Pan always says, "I got you babe" when Wendy puts in his
drink orders, probably because of her love of Sonny and Cher (RIP!). She has
a scar on her chin from an incident involving her ex-husband, who was a Hell's
Angel and she has the faded remains of a tattoo that says "Captain
Ho--" someone on her left forearm. She wears purple contact lenses
and tells men that they're real, until they really get to know her or
realize that no one has purple eyes.

D. Peter Pan is married to Wendy.

2. If someone who'd read your book kidnapped you and forced you at
gunpoint to name all of your secondary characters and give brief
bios, you would:

A. Feel very uncomfortable, albeit slightly flattered that they read
your book.

B. Be able to name them and give some general characteristics, but
then be forced to rely on the improv class you took on a lark during
your semester abroad in Australia.

C. Whip through the bio's, backgrounds, and mental makeup of all the
characters in such a small but intense time period that the person
who kidnapped you is overcome with emotions and asks you to lunch at
Chili's for a Triple Dipper. You (politely) decline.

D. Explain that you had no "secondary" characters. They're all main
characters in your heart. Then ask to be excused from the kidnapping
citing a technicality.

Answer Key:

Mostly A's: Hmmm. You don't so much know about your secondary
characters as you do NOT know about them. Unsure as to whether or not
you'd be able to give the police an accurate sketch if one of them
hit you with their car. Mildly troubling.

Mostly B's: You're getting there, but you haven't fully committed to
loving your secondary characters, which begs some questions about
commitment and other issues that you should lie to your significant
other about.

Mostly C's: Yeah. You know your characters, have a good idea of
what's going on in the background of their lives, and remain non-
flattered when felons ask you to lunch. Take me to book parties!

Mostly D's: I'm pretty sure you're talking about your protagonist.

How'd you do friends? Awesome? Unawesome? Intensely ambivalent?
Questions, Answers, Results, SAT Verbal scores, and other grievances
can be aired in the Comments section.

You Make Me,
Wanna

Usher

3/25/2008 11:35:19 AM (Eastern Daylight Time, UTC-04:00)

Comments [17]

Thursday, March 20, 2008

The Quick(ish) Descent to Thesis Insanity: (Mostly) Redemptive Song

I had my meeting with my advisor yesterday, the big two hour kind of
meeting where we went over my novel with fine-toothed combing
mechanism, and I can report, confidently, that I didn't die. The
scariest part was sitting in front of her with the manuscript and
watching her move around her office (as if she was putting it off!),
then finally sitting down, sighing and saying, "Well, um, ok."

But, friends, her intentions were neither cold-hearted nor snake-
like. She had good things to say (for the most part). It seems the
re-writes I did brought the novel into coherence and upped the
tension throughout. She loved certain scenes involving a character I
added as sort of an afterthought, and she was able to think about my
book in the sort of analytical way that smart people think about
things. Okay, yes, she now hates my first chapter, and yes,
apparently chapter four isn't exactly "logical by any sense of the
word", but overall, not that bad! My favorite part of our two hour
meeting involved her asking about whether I did something because of
some sort of complicated, subtle symbolism when I think I just did it
because I had seen a particularly moving episode of Friday Night
Lights right before I started to write.

Other highlights: "You could potentially keep this part if you just
made it...hmmm...you made it much, much smarter. And funny."

"I'm having difficulty telling the difference between these two
characters."
"Well, Jay has blond hair."
"Yeah, um, that wasn't really what I meant."

"This part kind of reads like a bad college guidebook."
"Like Barron's?"
"No. Like one that didn't get published."
"The Princeton Review?"
"Stop."

So now I have official orders. And strategy. I have to turn in the
new ending to the book at the end of next week, all of the vignettes
(my book has vignettes!) by the end of the following week and then
make all of the changes that we talked about in this meeting before I
turn it in to my advisor and reader on April 18. For anyone not
keeping track at home, that's eight extra days that I didn't think I
was going to have! I can write at least infinity words in eight days,
so that has taken some of the pressure off. I now have time to play
the Big Cat in several games of Stratego (editorial note: I am VERY
good at Stratego. And it's cheating if you surround your flag with
bombs) and occasionally shower.

Also, March Madness starts today. Everything--for the time being--is
coming up ~~Milhouse!~~ Kevin. I assume this will change in the next 36 hours.
Onward. I hope your weekend is chillaxed yet intensely fulfilling.

Gettin Jiggy,
Wit It

Will Smith

3/20/2008 1:55:43 PM (Eastern Daylight Time, UTC-04:00)

Comments [7]

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

The Quick(ish) Descent to Thesis Insanity: Game On

Friends, I'm not exactly well.

I'm reaching the critical thesis crunch time and I am NOT in good
shape. My advisor, having read a second draft of the ms, has informed
me that the book needs "serious work" and she needs me to "work very
very very hard" for my thesis to "matter", I have an ending that
doesn't--on its face-- make any sense, and several of my chapters
have the gaunt post- Castle Greyskull Skeletor look: just really the
bones, a blue body and some purple makeup.

Today is March 18.
I need to turn in a copy of my thesis on April 10.
I can't do math but that seems like it's at the most three days from
now.
I am (almost) officially freaking out.

So I find this a good time to start the official My Quick(ish)
Descent to Thesis Insanity portion of my blog. From now until the
manuscript is in the hands of whomever controls the graduate student
office (or wherever we turn this in... crap, why don't i know
this??!) I will be offering a deep, insightful dive into a place no
one wants to go: the mind of an MFA student about to turn in and then
defend a thesis that he's not entirely confident about to a group of
professors also not entirely sold on said student. If that doesn't
sound like a non-stop fun rollercoaster or at least Thunder Mountain,
then I'm afraid you're probably being logical.

Everything else, at this point, seems like it will take too long.
Working on anything outside the thesis, going to the gym to wail on
various parts of my body, text messaging, using emoticons or the
restroom-- all of these things would take too much time away from my
characters, especially the one I've almost entirely based on Ramsey.
And while I have no problem doing it to Ramsey, I can't let Ramsey's
pseudo character down. I need a creativity IV, some sort of diaper
system, and at least three hippies worth of granola if I'm going to
make it this three week period without losing myself in the
(insanity) music. I assume this will involve whiskey.

Anyway, this will be the channel I'm playing on until our April 10th
deadline. As we get closer to the TD (thesis drop) day, blogs might
get more frequent or deleted by my editor, depending on my coherency.
But there will be at least two a week. And some pop culture. And lots
and lots of the music of 1998 to guide us home.

And for those of you who want nothing to do with the QDTI, fear not--
like most of the relationships on Saved by the Bell-- this portion of
my blog will only last three(ish) weeks.

I have a tendency to wear my mind on my sleeve. I have a history of
taking off my shirt.

One (to Three) Week(s),

Barenaked Ladies

ps- Oh yeah. We've switched the address of the site on the Interweb.
It's now at blog.writersdigest.com/writerslife/ You can still get to
it from the old address, but why make it harder on your computer?
Please adjust your Internets accordingly.

3/18/2008 9:26:05 AM (Eastern Daylight Time, UTC-04:00)

Comments [13]

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

A Television Show That Will Make You a Better Writer (and Make Me Irrationally Emotional)

There will be better and more coherent posts regarding the series
finale of the Wire, but I just wanted to offer my final
recommendation/plea as a writer. "The Wire"--for those who haven't
heard/seen it-- was a show that was on for five seasons on HBO
depicting inner-city Baltimore through all the different arms of city
life: the drug trade, the city police department, the mayor's office,
the unions, the newspaper, the city schools, etc. The series finale
was last night. Like my profile on Friendster, it is now retired.
And--although I do have a penchant for hyperbole-- I swear to you
that I am not being overly dramatic when I say that "The Wire" is and
will forever remain the best and most complete form of entertainment
I have ever experienced. And that goes for books, movies, television,
internet shows starring Michael Cera, AND my roommate performing
"Kiss from a Rose" at the Japanese karaoke joint in the Fenway. And I
love karaoke.

Each season is a chapter in the most complicated and utterly
authentic tele-novel ever written. It was created by a former
Baltimore Sun reporter and a former Baltimore detective, and the only
writers they've brought on to collaborate with are urban crime
novelists: George Pelecanos, Richard Price, Dennis Lehane, etc. And
they just nail it. All the characters are so well developed, so real
feeling, so spot-on with their dialogue, so perfectly placed with
their own arcs, and internal conflicts, you can't help but grow
despondently attached to them. I cried when my favorite character was
killed. Legitimately. And he did (mostly) bad things.

I have been watching this show since it first came on, and although I
normally take a loserish pride in staking any sort of trendy claim
about discovering something, I have told everyone I've ever known to
give it a chance. Anyone that will listen to me. I have pitched this
show like I had some sort of major investment, like I would somehow
benefit financially from its success, like it was written by one of
my (financially well off!) siblings. But I don't have any sort of
publicity deal. I just appreciate art and think this show is
important enough that everyone should watch it. Yes, it has bad
language (authentic cop/drug dealer talk!), and violence, and other
vices that may offend, but I guarantee that watching this show will
improve your ability to see and develop full characters and recognize
the greatness that comes with real authenticity in writing. The
entire show sounds improvised and ad-libbed, but according to what
I've read, hardly any of it deviates at all from the script, which is
the true litmus test of real dialogue writing. Even my dad (MY dad!),
who won't do anything I ask him and shies away from publicly
admitting he helped create me, begrudgingly watched the first season,
and ended up secretly watching all the other seasons behind my back
because he didn't want to admit I was right. Friends, The Wire is a
show for writers. Trust me on this. Rent the first season, watch the
12 episodes, and if you don't like it or at least see what I mean, I
will (probably) personally mail you a check for $8.99 in Netflix
expenses. OK, so I won't write you a check but you will definitely
not be invited to my Annual Wire Anniversary Gala next March
(featuring Kim Kardashian!).

Ok. Whew. I'm sorry. I'm all choked up. I will now step down off of
my soap box, dry my eyes and resume what's left of my regularly
scheduled blog entry.

I am on deadline again for Boston Magazine, trying to finish up a
quick essay piece re: an interesting phenomenon in city social
circles. For fear of someone stealing my idea, I will NOT be more
specific. My plan of attack is to write several hundred word blocks
in stream-of-conscious fashion for two hours straight until I find
something that actually sounds clever/accurate and then fashion my
entire piece around that insight. FYI: I do NOT recommend this tactic
for the GRE writing section.

This was really great, friends. Let's do it again Thursday.

Also, the songs of 1998 will resume with Thursdays entry, but I was
reminded last night that every make out scene from BH 90210 had this
song playing in the background, and so it needs to be all over my
Internets. You win, Steve Sanders!

No, I don't want to fall in love (This world is only gonna break your
heart). With you.

Wicked Game,
Chris Isaak

3/11/2008 10:44:15 AM (Eastern Daylight Time, UTC-04:00)

Comments [19]

Thursday, March 06, 2008

Missed Opportunities, Nostalgia and (More!) Name Dropping

In keeping up with my theme of the week of reading something then writing about it, the New York Times (I still read the Times!) just published an article about an upcoming piece in Esquire (I also read Esquire!) entitled "Esquire Publishes a Diary That Isn't" that details how Esquire assigned a writer to write a first-person fictionalized account of Heath Ledger's last days. Because Ledger just died, Times cites the move as controversial but David Granger, the Esquire editor, defends the piece as just what Esquire does:

“It’s an earnest effort,” he said, adding that the magazine has tried to tackle fiction using a nonfiction playbook before. “We’ve been trying to assign fiction,” he said, “to make it topical, relevant. To go to writers with a headline or an idea.”

From what I know of the magazine, this is a path they've been riding down in a very real way for more than a year and, I think, is cool and promising for young fiction writers that like Esquire's style. I enjoy magazines that are willing to push boundaries (as long as they clearly label their efforts) and yes, I love Esquire. I might not always love everything they put in there, but I enjoy the creative efforts put forth. All I'm saying is that if Esquire wanted to casually date me, I would consider it. But telling you this is, of course, just an excuse to mention something about Esquire that is relevant to my own life. (If you're keeping track at home, I've now said the word Esquire 9 times in two paragraphs. Eat that, Lit Classes!)

Several months ago, I spoke to (name drop!) Tom Chiarella, the Esquire fiction editor, when I was writing a profile of the writer James Boice, whose fiction first appeared in the pages of Esquire and closely resembled a fictional account of the Kobe Bryant rape accusations from several years ago, and he reiterated this push for relevant "urgent" fiction. Chiarella seems like one of those great editors who knows a lot about writing, life, and clever things to claim on your tax returns, but lacks the monstrous ego that you normally associate with people in those positions of power. We talked for over an hour about the magazine and good fiction and he'd also stated that they were looking for fresh, new voices for fiction and asked if there was anyone up in Boston that he should be checking out.

Of course, I recognized this as my "chance", this fluid, seminal moment of connection when a spot opens up and you have a window of opportunity to both show and tell, and that later on in life, after I was demanding 20 K for guest speaking fees and had my own live-in hairdresser/masseuse, I would look back on this moment with a bit of nostalgia as I was getting my sideburns evened out, but, alas, it was not to be so. My only short story-- something about dating a reality star while living in Zurich and pretending to be a travel writer-- needs at least eleven more drafts to be acceptable. So I said I would think about it, asked him if he liked Sam Lipsyte, and then we hung up. Then I think I (internally) cried at my explicit dropping of the ball and proceeded to eat several blueberry Ego Waffles with (NON) low calorie Mrs. Buttersworth AND real butter. Obviously, I'm totally over it.

Anyway, I don't really remember what we were talking about. I'm overcome with emotions. Enjoy your weekend. I'm now going to wallow in self-pity until tomorrow night when I wallow in guacamole at my favorite Mexican restaurant.

I will never stop loving the songs of 1998.

All for,
You

Sister Hazel

3/6/2008 3:53:47 PM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)

Comments [9]

Tuesday, March 04, 2008

On Virtual Breaks, Internal Monologues, and Reggie Bush

There is an article today in the NYT (fyi: I read the Times!) called "I Need a Virtual Break. No, really" in which the author discusses how he forcefully worked some peace and quiet away from all methods of communication into his routine and how it benefited his life. This rang true to me because I have serious issues letting go of my communication devices (literally. I fall asleep most nights clutching my cell phone with my computer on in my bed). This is not healthy.

I've been on the other side of the technology coin. When I was finding myself (and other things) in Eastern Europe, I did not have a cell phone for 100 days. I wrote longhand in a journal-thing. I read 16 books. I even used phonebooths! I remember discussing these feelings of internal and external solitude with the Big Cat:
BC: Remember cell phones?
KA: What?
BC: Cell phones? Remember them?
KA: Yeah.
BC: They were pretty convenient.
KA: I know.

We'd spent so much time with ourselves and without the use of modern technology that we were starting to get nostalgic about it. On some levels, this was great. Internal reflection, peace of mind, and not having to ignore ubiquitous ":-(" messages from my father, once my younger brother taught him how to use the texting feature, were all hella (NorCal shout out!) positives. But then we rented a computer in Prague. And all bets were off.

We attacked the Internets like hungry dogs, each trying to wake up earlier to first get a piece of the world wide web action. The computer became a new, new thing to fight about, and our complete cold-turkey experience without it had done little to quell the internal feelings that us Web 2.0 humans feel: Namely, who has been friending me on Facebook?!?!

So I guess my point is this: as writers, we spend so much time with technology in one way or another (just by the act of sitting at our computer) that--for us, perhaps more than most-- actively cutting yourself off from that sort of thing is a hard, hard task. But writers especially need their time away from technology, away from the fast paced world of the 'Net, and within themselves. It helps us make connections, it helps us figure out what we're trying to do, and--most importantly-- it doesn't give us an excuse to go on thesuperficial.com and look at pictures of Kim Kardashian grinding with Reggie Bush.

Explain away your own technology-induced or fearing habits in the Comments section (located below!). I hope your weekend was well above-average.

Deja Vu,
(Uptown Baby)

Lord Tariq and Peter Gunz

3/4/2008 3:08:00 PM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)

Comments [16]

Thursday, February 28, 2008

On Re-Reading, Re-Writing And Arithmetic

Things seemed so easy. Just zip through the ending that I'd already
mapped out, nail a few scenes, drop some exclamation points, throw in
some gratuitous nudity and I'd be finished. Or finished with this
draft until my advisor skewered it (in a constructive way!) at least.
But it turns out that life isn't always the easy road that they make
it out to be on the first season of Lost. So instead of just
plodding forward happily, I started to re-read my book from the
beginning. And then I started to freak out. It seems, not enough was
happening to my characters. Sh*t needed to go down in a much more
intense and forceful manner. People needed to be put in awkward
positions. Choices needed to be made. Adverbs toned down. Exclamation
points undropped.

In lieu of completely losing my mind, I decided to semi-rationally
read through the book again with a pen and a pad and take note of the
places that needed some more conflict, where things needed to be
ramped up, toned down, or excused from existing. This took an entire
day, but it had the end result of making me much more confident about
the state of my book (almost readable!) while staving off any desire
to self-medicate.

And now I feel the need to do those things before I turn in this
draft. Which might take a few more days. Yes, this could make my
advisor curse the day that I forced her to sign an exclusive advisor
for life contract, but at least she didn't actually prick her finger
and stamp the contract with blood, like I'd asked. And if this draft
is better, then my next draft will be better, which means I will have
to spend less time on the back end making the excuses that i'm trying
to make right now, which will no doubt improve relations with the PR
firm hired to promote my work. And that, friends, is how you publish
a book!!!

Class dismissed.

Kidding.

On to more general topics: (several of) the people have spoken and
it's generally agreed that I am lazy and need to step up my blog
game. With that said, I will now be posting at least twice a week,
usually Mondays and Thursdays. At least one of these posts per week
will be of choice quality. The other will be, like, pretty good.

Enjoy the remnants of the week and the weekend. My friend Frank is
coming into town, utilizing his spring break from law school in balmy
Virginia to spend some time in the winter wonderland of Boston.
Obviously, he didn't think this through.

And PS- I'm planning on milking the songs of 1998 for all they're worth.

Pretty Fly,
(For A White Guy)

The Offspring

2/28/2008 1:21:30 PM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)

Comments [10]

Sunday, February 24, 2008

The SoCal Exile Journal Day 4: Technically Over

I'm not good at saying goodbye. Although to be fair I probably don't know anyone who would say that their talents lie primarily in goodbyes, I just mean I dislike leaving things. Especially pretty things with good sushi. And so it was for NorCal. On my second day in the windy city of...hills and brotherly lights (?) my friend was kind of enough to show me (albeit by car, but whatever, it was raining hard) the Golden Gate Bridge (it's so red!), a French restaurant in Presidio with choice onion soup, that crooked street on the hill that's chock full of bricks and a close part of Marin County (with the brunch place on the water?). Mostly because my plane was delayed. But my point is: San Francisco is absolutely gorgeous, the people were handsomely dressed, and I was able to visit the Original Swensen's for Caramel Turtle ice cream after several sake bombs. That's like infinity wins.

But duty and my father called, and so I had to return to San Diego and then back to Boston to resume the rigors of journalism and pay my roommate his rent check. And so I'm back in my beloved Beantown living again amongst kilometers of snow and the pained looks of people who haven't been to the Original Swensens. And since I like to reflect, I would say that this was a very productive exile. The trip afforded me the opportunity to entirely re-create the middle of my book, I was able to enjoy not less than two a-ha! moments, I hashed out an intense outline of the end, and--on the plane--I was able to sort out three vignettes that I'd previously had little-to-no-idea how to deal with before my computer died and I started watching Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium sans volume. Of course, I could've done more work and spent less time cavorting and gallivanting, but I like to think that my brain was processing and making connections during the down time. Right? Right? Totally.

The Father-Son Relationship Quote of the Day: After sampling my Clif Bar brand Mojo Bar (mountain mix flavor): "Your fancy-pants energy bars are too crunchy."

Thank you for staying tuned during my brief respite on the Left Bank. Without your love, support, and offers to tri-habitate, I can honestly say I would've done much, much less. We will now return to our regularly scheduled program of blog entries. But since I kind of dig writing more frequently, I'll try and do this sort of thing more often. And as a reminder, you guys/girls have a say in the matter. This is America, man. So if you're interested in seeing more of a type of entry, or quiz or anything, feel free (as always) to speak on it in the Comments or send me a (handwritten!) note via snail mail. I'm now off to make snarky (but well-timed!) comments to myself while watching the Oscars.

Why am I kind of nervous to see the hippies tomorrow?

Inter,
galactic

Beastie Boys

2/24/2008 8:25:38 PM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)

Comments [11]

Friday, February 22, 2008

The SoCal Exile Journal Day 3: NorCal?

Did you know that San Francisco has hills? I mean, I've watched a significant portion of the fifth season of Full House so I thought I knew what I was getting myself into, but apparently I had not. The hills of SF, not unlike the hit MTV television series of the same name, are sudden, difficult to traverse and filled with beautiful people that want to hook up. But we're not here to discuss the topography of major NorCal cities (Are we?). We're here to talk about my writing progress. And progress it was, friends. To the tune of a major shake up in the middle of the book. After having sorted out something yesterday that made my book readable, I had only to connect the other literary dots in order to put the middle to sleep and get my end on.

I also was able to utilize something (name drop!!) Tom Perrotta said to me when I interviewed him last year as we both ate Cuban sandwiches: "Just skip the boring parts." This is sound advice for me because I have a hard time not keeping everything in these very linear blocks that go from one scene to what would be the next logical place. So say my main character was in the mall shopping at Forever 21 for a coral sequined halter top (for his lady friend!). The next logical scene (in my mind) would be him driving back from the mall with said halter top and possibly a new vanilla Frosty from Wendy's. But that's pointless. No one needs to see him driving. It doesn't push the plot forward, it doesn't develop his character, and even though he probably would've had clever things to say about his vanilla Frosty, you can't build a book relying solely on cleverness, well timed bon mots and boring parts. This is something I've only recently learned.

The Father-Son Relationship Quote of the Day: "I'm not driving you to the airport."

I'm currently sitting at a Starbucks on Stanford's campus waiting for my friend to get out of his business school class so he can buy me some Stanford Men's Distressed Print Sweatpants (Size Large) and I need to get some writing done so I'm going to disengage myself from the Internets. But I feel really good about where we are in our relationship. Good talk.

Doo Wop,
(That Thing)

Lauryn Hill

2/22/2008 6:01:33 PM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)

Comments [5]

Thursday, February 21, 2008

The SoCal Exile Journal: Day 2: A Hint of Glory

Yesterday, during dinner with my father, I had a breakthrough. "Holy
(swear word)," I said, during one of our long stretches of silence.
"That's how I should do it!"
"Are you drunk," my father asked me (I wasn't!), but I chose to
abstain from comment as I'd already excused myself and headed back to
my room where I spent the next three hours sorting out several scenes
I'd been thinking about all week. I finally figured out how I wanted
to end a crucial middle chapter scene (important semi-secret revealed
in dialogue!), and that ending coincides nicely with this vignette I
have to write (the book is told in two parts). I know all of this is
vague and sounds semi-made up, but I swear--by the moon and the stars
and the sky-- the connections developed post-dinner yesterday have
rendered my book almost readable.

So that was a positive. Because the rest of the day was utterly
horrible. It rained here, which my dad thinks I had something to do
with ("Do you think it's a coincidence that it's rained twice since
you've been here and once before that in the past month?" "Yes."
"Well...I don't."), and my writing was largely devoid of nouns and
clauses. I did drink seven waters, though.

The Father-Son Relationship Quote of the Day:
During an introduction:
"This is my son."
(Pause)
"He's a writer."
(Long Pause)
"Of sorts."

Anyway, I will be taking a side trip up to San Francisco for the next
few days--a city I've never actually been to, but tell everyone that
I love--to see some friends. Now I can't say for certain, but I'm
pretty sure that at least one of the Internets works up there, so we
can continue our conversation while I'm (insert touristy San
Francisco activity here).

And fear not: the hits from 1998 keep coming. Because when everything
feels like the movies, yeah, you bleed just to know you're alive. Right?

Iris,

Goo Goo Dolls.

2/21/2008 3:26:52 PM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)

Comments [6]

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

The SoCal Exile Daily Journal: Day 1

Words are complicated. Back in the old days, I used to know if I'd
accomplished something by my word count. I'd say: I'm going to write
2000 words today and then I'm going to eat a club sandwich and have
several Arnold Palmers. And I'd know that I was being productive,
because the 2000 words were there, sitting tangibly on my (very
expensive) computer screen. This made it easier to enjoy my club
sandwich.

But the re-write isn't all charging club sandwiches and Arnold
Palmers to your father and asking if you can borrow his car for
several hours to "run errands" by the outlets in Carlsbad. The word
counts go up and down in an unpredictable fashion. Yesterday I
deleted 46 pages of crap and rewrote 18. I have now connected the
entire middle of my book to the end so that it no longer seems like I
spent the middle chapters writing a (hilarious?) short story about
the mall that had nothing to do with the rest of my work. But like
the temperatures in my home state, my word count is low. I need to
get over this, friends, and it starts by ignoring the word count. And
maybe writing more?

My Father-Son Relationship Quote of the Day: "So when you finished
that jar of pickles did it even cross your mind 'hey maybe I should
go the store and replace them'?"

Today I am attempting to clean up those middle chapters I just re-
wrote and plow through the back end of the book, editing with a
passion and fury unseen in SoCal. I will keep you so up in the loop
that you'll feel like you are writing this book and I'm just sitting
in the hot tub text messaging emoticons.

I'm also going to need to get some pickles.

Let's do this again tomorrow.

Oh, also: Song sign offs this week are exclusively coming from the
year 1998. Mostly because that was a great year for network
television. ( Two Guys, A Girl, and a Pizza Place, we hardly knew ye)

Truly, Madly,
Deeply

Savage Garden

2/20/2008 12:46:33 PM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)

Comments [11]

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

The 2nd Annual Self-Imposed SoCal Exile Daily Journal (Co-Starring My Father): Now Featuring Re-Writes!

Once again, I have abandoned the excessively cold, stagnant world of
my hometown and traveled across the country to my father's house on
the Left Coast in a self-imposed exile designed to shock my system
into productivity. And, like, get out of the cold for a little while.
The stakes are very high. I have to turn in a second re-write of my
completed thesis (novel) by Feb 25 so that my advisor can give
feedback and questions for the final re-write before I defend it to
the High Council of Thesis Readers and Champions of Knowledge at
Emerson College in the middle of April. Then I will release it to the
publishing world, like a flock of extinct but very promising carrier
pigeons.

Coming out here wasn't as simple as calling my dad (who, if you want a mental picture, shares an uncanny resemblance to former PGA tour pro Andy North). I also had to
try and convince him to purchase my airline ticket. The conversation
went something like this:
"Hey Dad."
"Yes?"
"What's going on? How is California?"
"You've been here before, you know what it's like."
"Yes, but I haven't been in so long, I seem to have forgotten. And I
miss you. I miss you father. We don't nearly get to tell each other
that enough."
".... What do you want?"
"Can I come out to your house to work on my book?"
"Again?"
"Yes."
"You're not done yet?"
"No."
"...Are you really going to work this time or are you going to sit in
the hot tub with your book all day drinking Negra Modelo's and
talking on your cell phone?"
"I was brainstorming!"

Nevertheless, through a combination of guilt and persistence, I
earned a trip out to SoCal. And so here I sit, writing or re-writing
between 2500-3000 words a day, locked away without the (consistent)
use of cell phone, internet, and/or DVR. But fear not, friends,
because--although the mountain is high and the journey appears long--
I am prepared this time. Maybe not mentally, or physically or even
emotionally, but I did bring snacks and my dad's pantry contains
plenty of water.

And in honor of my bravery in the face of Thesis, I will be keeping a
daily log of my troubles, triumphs and other non-t-word related
activities as I make this final push. So keep your family off the
phone line and your dial-up AOL account signed on all week as I bring
the Words.

Dirty,
Diana

Michael Jackson

2/19/2008 3:24:36 PM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)

Comments [4]

Tuesday, February 12, 2008

The Two Question Novel Quiz Part 4: The Sequel

If you're writing a novel, and you've gotten past the third chapter
without thinking about a sequel, you, friend, are behind. College
level math shows that writers who have ideas beyond the book they're
writing are more likely to a) get agents b) get published to multiple
book deals and c) stay fit well into pregnancy. But if this is not
you, do not lose hope, like most people did after the first season of
The O.C. All is not lost. You may have a sequel in there somewhere.
You just need to take this quiz to find out.

1. Finally (but, like, in a good way) your first book ends. Pick the
letter which best parallels your own main character's plight at the
end of said book.

A. After nearly falling for the wrong girl during the 70s dance bc
she could do the Hustle, Casey gets back together with the love of
his life, Drew. But as Casey and Drew ride off in their 2007 Chrysler
Sebring convertible to spend a weekend in South Beach at the Raleigh
Hotel because the pool is nice, the girl that did the Hustle stands
by the side of the road shouting, "This isn't over! In fact, this is
just beginning!" Then she follows them in her own Chrysler Sebring,
which is a hard top.
B. Although they failed to find the lost treasure of Zion, the book
ends with Casey and Drew both moving to the Nolita section of New
York City, where they get internships at Runway fashion magazine
under the notorious (but personally fragile!) Miranda Priestly.
C. The book ends with Casey treating his lady friend Drew to some
waffles at the Waffle House. Drew looks down at the place setting
underneath her Toddle House Ham and Cheese Omelet, which lists all of
the other Waffle House locations nation-wide and says, "Hot Tuesday,
Casey! They just opened a new Waffle House in Groveport!"
"Groveport, Ohio?" Casey asks.
"It has to be!" Drew looks across the table, his eyes shining. "Are
you thinking what I'm thinking?"
Casey says, "No."
D. Casey dies of a love stroke. And right before he dies, he ties up
a bunch of loose ends. The book ends with the doctor saying (directly
to the reader), "There's nothing more to be done. Or said. Or, like,
typed."

2. Your attitude towards re-utilizing your characters from your first
book could best be characterized by which Justin Timberlake/NSync song?

A. I'll Never Stop
B. What Goes Around Comes Around
C. Bye Bye Bye
D. The Game is Over

Key:
Mostly A's: Congratulations. You are all sequeled up and have left
many opportunities for reprisals in other books. Quite literally, you
might have the potential to write infinity books about your
characters. I smell the next Babysitter's Club series.

Mostly B's: Yes! Like in real life, you've left some awkward loose
ends that invite the possibility for sequel without completely
overdoing it. You feel comfortable with your characters but know that
a change in locale/age/perspective might be just the ticket to
keeping them fresh and ever developing. And if you didn't know that
before, well, now you do.

Mostly C's: You're not necessarily in a prime position to rock a
sequel, but, hey, it's not like your main character died. Right?
Right? Oh. Well...hmmmm.

Mostly D's: To say that you're not really feeling a sequel would be
tantamount to me saying that I only watch Justin Timberlake's live
Madison Square Garden Concert on HBO OnDemand every time I come home
intoxicated and I've stopped feeling weird about it. In other words,
an understatement.

Let me know how sequeled up you are in the Comment portion of the
show. And, as Danny requested, my very best Foreigner pick...

Cold as,
ice

Foreigner

Post Script for Pre-Promotional Sidenote: On Sunday, I spent 8 hours on a train.
Well, two trains. The reasoning behind my sudden and drastic increase
in train-related travel was to go to NYC for a 7 hour period to film
a series of short web videos that will debut in the Spring on this
very internet locale (among other locales). Despite me being
involved, you should not automatically assume the worst. Said
webisodes feature actual professional actresses/comedians/TOW book
authors and a real director and a real sound guy, all of whom used
real film lingo like "soundcheck" and "action" during the filming. I
do not want to give any more away other than to say that everyone was
extremely impressive, I was very nervous, and getting (repeatedly)
slapped in the face isn't actually as bad as I thought. Keep your
internets antenna up for more info as we come close to the drop date.

2/12/2008 10:57:50 AM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)

Comments [10]

Tuesday, February 05, 2008

Helping Me Help You Help Me

Last summer, I took a lit course on postmodern fiction. It was a
sampling of different postmodern authors from Pynchon and Burroughs
to Foster-Wallace and Mark Leyner and, aside from being a very good
course, it had some sort of impact on my writing. As several peer-
pressure induced incidents in my life can attest (wearing my sister's
deodorant on a hilarious "double dare", drinking Kahlua mixed with
OJ, bleaching my hair in my basement bathroom the day before soccer
tryouts sophomore year of high school, etc), I can be easily
influenced, and my writing bears that same mark. For shame.

Post-course, I spent several weeks trying to incorporate "postmodern"
influences into my writing. But then I realized--in some sort of meta-
philosophical postmodern moment while I (might have) been watching
the Matrix-- that by even trying to utilize "postmodern" influences,
I was going against the whole point of postmodernism, which is to
challenge using a standard template. So I scrapped trying to think
about it like that, and just decided to do whatever pleased my
writerly palate.

Now usually I'm very secretive about what I have going on in my book,
for fear that people will copy my ideas and then do a much, much
better job using them and get their work out before me, so that--in
the end--when I complain about someone jacking my ideas, I just kind
of look like (more of a) whiny (you fill in the swear word here). And that, as my editor might
say, is not poison. But today I will reveal my idea. It is neither
original, nor is it very good, and my thesis adviser calls it
"unnecessarily risky to the point of stupidity" but I remain unfazed because,
like Mary J. Blige, "I don't need no hateration."

Anyway, this is the idea: There is one particular scene in my book
that is includes a college bar fight. Yawn, right? College bar fights
happen all of the time at colleges and bars, especially colleges with
fraternities and/or varsity football. But, wait! For this particular
scene and this particular scene only, I have set up the entire thing
like you're reading a play script complete with stage directions and
all of that jazz. Eat that, Foster Wallace. Postmodern genuisocity
indeed!

I know, I know, it's a great idea, and I will no doubt probably make
Outside Magazine's 2008-2009 Winter Hot List. But there remains a
chink in my seemingly invincible use of armor. Problem is, I don't
really know how to write a play script. Like, not at all. So I need
to look at some examples of actual play scripts so I can mimic the
form and make sure it's exactly as I want it. And problem #2: I can't
seem to find any of this business via Ask Jeeves. Which is where you,
friends, come in.

If someone can find an example online of a useful play script that
has all of the necessary bells and whistles (stage directions,
dialogue, etc) that I can access via me clicking something using my
mouse, I will do you a solid by linking to the 80s or early 90s
artists music video of your choosing. You simply select the artist
and allow me to use my YouTubing skill set to find an appropriate
tasteful vid. Unfortunately for the music community, I will only put
up a link to the first person who submits successfully. The rest I
will hold very close to my heart and burn onto a mix CD that I will
give to the Big Cat for Valentine's Day.

Heat of,
the moment

Asia

PS- I feel this anecdote sums up nicely the state of the New England
sporting community post Patriots Super Bowl loss. Heard outside of my
apt minutes after the loss: a college age dude in a white Brady
jersey talking to another dude wearing a blue Bruschi Pats jersey:
"It's not just that I feel let down, I just...I just...I don't even
know."
Friend: "Sucks, man."
Brady Jersey: "Oh, f***. You know what I just remembered?"
Friend: "What?"
Brady Jers: "Valentines Day."
Friend: "Yeah."
Brady Jers: "February is gonna suck."

2/5/2008 8:54:01 AM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)

Comments [8]

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

On Diaries, Dinner Parties, and Morally Questionable Decision-Making Skills

A little while ago, my (two) friends and I put on our mature pants,
and had a dinner party to welcome another friend into a new apartment
complete with wine and a grown-up style cheese plate. The apartment
came furnished by the owners, who were also in their mid-twenties,
and came with several peculiar idiosyncrasies, including (but not
limited to) a 1980s style Jack LaLane barbell set, a container filled
with Maxell Cassette Mix Tapes, and
three forks (total). Also strewn casually amongst
the knick-knacks was a red spiral notebook with characters from
The Disney Afternoon on the front.
As we sat around admiring the new place and
marveling at the noises emanating from the heater, one of my friends
picked up the notebook and had a look inside.

"Oh my God," she said, her mouth hung open. "This is a girl's diary."
She scanned some pages. "I think it's from college."

We all paused for several seconds contemplating the meaning of our
discovery. A diary is someone's personal muse, the secret key to
their secret garden of internal contemplation and, um, secrets. Its
intimacy and raw edge provide a rare-behind-the-scenes look into
someone's worries, fears, loves and prescription drug addictions.
Diaries are meant to stay away from the public eye, a locked box of
clandestine emotions, like that spot Jodie Foster and her daughter
get locked in in Panic Room, but smaller.

My friend Mary put down the book.
"We can't do this," she said.
"This is wrong," my other friend Alissa said.
"I like don't feel great about this," said the Big Cat.
We were questioning our own morals. Clearly, the group needed someone
to take charge. And me being a natural leader of men (and women), I
stepped in.
"No," I said, (probably) rolling up my sleeves. "They don't have any
board games. We need this."

And so, friends, in lieu of saying Grace pre-dinner, we each read a
specific entry from a different part of her college experience. Mine
entailed a particularly vexing incident with a boy that I will call
Casey and her distaste for but continued consumption of Red Bull
mixed with Vodka.

From a writing standpoint, I was completely and utterly enthralled
by the diary. The girl, writing only for herself, would confide to
the diary with specific context (for example, she would write "in
case you don't know, I'm talking about (this guy)") and would change
from angry to happy in the difference of one to two sentences. But
most interesting, I think, was the similarity that the diary has to
first person fiction. Every diary is really someone's own novel,
crafted and formed the way that they remember, cultivating a
narrative voice that records the most important events, usually
having something to do with boys, getting kind of drunk, and making
out. But it also, albeit rarely, helps the writer make personal
connections and links that they hadn't thought of before. It was like
the real version of William Boyd's fantastic novel Any Human Heart,
except instead of Oxford, WWII, and the burgeoning art scene of 1950s
NYC, we learned about guys that sux.

Ultimately, I think, reading the college diary of a girl that none of
us knew, who lived 2,000 miles away, wasn't the worst thing I've ever
done. I mean, it wasn't the best thing either, but it would probably
place somewhere in the middle. Anyway, I'm curious to hear what you,
my wise readers, have to say about this. Would you have done the same
thing? Do you keep journals? Would you ever leave your college diary
in a drawer with playing cards and a bunch of reggae mix tapes in an apt
that you just subletted to strangers? I await your moral judgment,
own stories of questionable taste, and several photocopied pages from
your high school diaries.

Love in an,
Elevator

Aerosmith

PS- As per request, a particularly intimate Open Arms By Journey.

1/29/2008 9:33:55 AM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)

Comments [12]

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

The Great American (Cellphone) Novel: A Writer's Digest Exclusive!!

I, like many youngish people, use the text message feature on my cell phone in an excessive manner, which is indisputably annoying and potentially harmful, especially when trying to cut things or cross major intersections. But unlike a lot of other young people who are probably just text messaging their friends to tell them about the cute boyz they sat by at the new Hannah Montana film, I, friends, am making history. See, I am writing a hit novel. On my cell phone. Although the fad has yet to hit the US, cell phone novels are huge in Japan. Seriously. Some 21 year old lady friend named Rin tapped out a novel on her cell phone that sold 400,000 copies in hardcover. The New York Times proves this by saying so here: http://www.nytimes.com/2008/01/20/world/asia/20japan.html?_r=1&ref=books&oref=slogin

And so, in honor of this newfound use of my text messaging ability, I just wrote a novel on my cellphone during the car ride back from my grandparents house in Springfield. It will come out in limited release (to all of my Contacts on my Contact List) later on this week but as a sneak preview, I am posting a never-before-seen portion on the Writer's Digest site. So, without further adieu, here is a two chapter excerpt from The Nite Out by Kevin Alexander:

Ch 1.
Sup, said John.
N/M. U? said Geoff.
Geoff told him he'd promised 2 get drinks L8R w/ a cute girl that he met at the mall. John says kewl but sarcastically. John h8s the mall, and tells Geoff. Geoff LOLs but doesn't mean it.
4eva ago the 2 were BFF. Now John and Geoff seemed 2 be not awesome. 10sion loomed.

Ch 2.
OMG, is this Boyz II Men? Carrie wondered. I f-ing heart B II M!
Geoff nods and turns his iTrip up.
I also have Jodeci, Geoff offers.
RU kidding me, Carrie says aloud. Carrie thinks he might be 4 her.
I didn't know U heart music, Carrie said, LOLing. U R a QT! We;ve G2G to a concert sometime.
Totes, Geoff says. U know who else hearts music? John.
Who's John. Carrie wants to know.
No 1. says Geoff. At least not 4 now.

There it is, friends. Can't you totally see the developing narrative arc? And don't get me started on the tensions arising between the protagonists/antagonist... I know, I'm surprised it's my first cell phone novel too. I'll let you know how the bidding goes when the deal for the manuscript inevitably goes to auction.

JK.

Loungin',
(Remix)

LL Cool J

1/22/2008 11:31:30 AM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)

Comments [8]

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

The Graduate School Timeline; Or Things You Can Do for Half a Decade Post-College

This week marks a special and unique moment in my life plan. It is the last week before I start my last semester of the last time I will ever step into a classroom as a student. This, friends, is somewhat relieving/terrifying. And so, armed with two inarguably similar masters and nearly 4 and a half years of post-college education under my ever expanding belt, I will finally be doing what my father asked me to do at the all night party following my high school graduation: getting a job.

Contrary to my father's belief, my twisted road through grad school hasn't been entirely Ritalin and Merlot-fueled debates about Arthouse films I hadn't seen, indie rock bands I tell people I saw several years ago but actually only recently downloaded, and ironic discussions of MTV reality shows. Sure, those things took up most of my time and energy, but there was also work. And education. And problems with my tuition checks. But before nostalgia completely creeps in and overwhelms me, and to honor the final time I get to ask someone where they are going for "Spring Break", I will present a timeline of the highs and lows of my post-college grad school career, complete with occasional points of exclamation!

Late August 2003: Attend graduate school orientation at Boston University's School of Communication with friend/roommate Matt Herman, who is also attending the grad school for Advertising. Sit with several people during the "get to know you" lunch that I never, ever talk to nor see again.

Oct 2003: Write story about male friendships for Literary Journalism class that Professor calls "Esquire-esque".

Nov 2003: Realize that calling something "Esquire-esque" doesn't necessarily translate into "publishable in Esquire".

Jan 2004: Get into class that works on "long narrative and investigative projects". Decide to write about being in middle school by spending 4 months at my own former middle school. Work is considered " kind of creepy" by my (ex)girlfriend.

March 2004: Spring Break!!!!

May 2004: Our class gets to present our work at a pitch meeting at Boston Magazine. So nervous I sweat through two shirts. Talk mostly about middle school slang. Swear three times and make several uncomfortable jokes in an attempt to fill dead air. Am convinced I will be kicked out of grad school. Post pitch meeting, get drunk.

May 2004: Surprisingly, find out Boston Magazine wants to buy my piece.
"Not so creepy anymore am I", I exclaim repeatedly to ex-girlfriend while she is at work.
"Are you drunk at 1 pm on a Tuesday?" she asks. Silence ensues.

Sep 2004: First published work comes out in Boston Magazine! Bring it into class! Other kids think I'm showing off/rubbing it in their faces! In hindsight, huge mistake!

Oct 2004: First negative letter written about said work is forwarded to me by editorial assistant!!!

Dec 2004: Graduate from BU! Get diploma sent to me, rather than attend graduation ceremony. Family thanks me. Tell them I want to get an MFA in creative writing in lieu of working. Family no longer appreciative.

February 2005: Find acceptance letter from Emerson in stack of papers my mom was throwing out. "Oh, whoops," she says.

March 2005: Spring Break!!! And rejection letter from Columbia. Call father.
"Well, Ivy League schools are hard to get into."
"No, dad. This is Columbia College. In Chicago."
"You're making that up."

September 2005: Orientation at Emerson! Take terrible ID picture. Sit with several people during the "get to know you" lunch that I will never, ever talk to again. And a kid from Ohio with a beard that I grudgingly become friends with.

Oct 2005: Realize Lit classes are harder than Journalism classes.

Dec 2005: Get grades. Ask friend if a "B" is good in a grad school class. Receive a "Are you f-ing seriously asking me that?" followed by extended laughter. Reply "no" meekly.

Jan 2006: Take lighter workload, hoping it improves work ethic.

March 2006: Spring Break!!!

April 2006: Deem goal unreasonable and poorly thought out.

Sept 2006: Take Memoir writing class. Use material from first book. Don't re-write. Sit back and wait for compliments.

Oct 2006: Chapters excoriated. Turns out, wasn't all that good. Confidence, security and bladder control questioned.

Jan 2007: Take leave of absence for quarter life crisis style trip around Eastern Europe with the Big Cat. Eat a ton of kebabs.

March 2007: Spring Break!!!

April 2007: Come back refreshed, re-motivated and semi-addicted to whiskey. Also have beard. Writing has a new, sleek European feel.

June 2007: Lose European feel. And beard.

Sept 2007: Toy with graduating in the Winter, but decide against it for "sake of my book".

Dec 2007: Get the "I feel like you're never going to graduate and get a job, which is embarrassing considering you're no longer on the sunny side of 25" speech from my father, hidden in a Christmas card!

Whew. Are blog entries even allowed to be this long? Don't you feel like you just lived through the last half decade of my life? Anyway, I'm off to figure out how to dismantle Chapters 4-7 of my book and rewrite them so that they're logical, well-written and don't have several elaborate side plots about characters that no longer exist. You, friends, should try and stay out of the cold. Or if you live somewhere warm, where blizzards are merely names for elaborate ice cream treats from Dairy Queen... invite me over. I travel light, do dishes and only snore when I'm on my back. Think on it.

In,
former

Snow

1/15/2008 7:45:37 AM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)

Comments [11]

Tuesday, January 08, 2008

On Taking (Non-Productive) Breaks

Hello friends,

I hope you--like me-- found time over the holiday to reflect on the year that was and consume nearly twice your daily recommended caloric intake in Lindt chocolate truffles and kind-of-gross, kind-of-really-good alcoholic Egg Nog. But now that I've New Years Resolutioned Up and thrown away anything and everything even vaguely brown in my apartment in favor of leafy greens and Guava Goddess Kombucha tea, and I'm finally ready to be back in my normal writing routine, I realized something: I'm kind of rusty.

Due to the holiday and some unforeseen family stuff, I didn't get a chance to write for two weeks. And so today, when I sat back down in the familiar confines of Espresso Royale, after attempting to nod tentatively at the regulars (you know: the hippies, the college age dude in a bowler cap who is always reading one of the free alternative weeklies and tracing something on a pad, and the loud, unpredictable counter-culture girl with multiple piercings, an eerily normal looking boyfriend, and either a drug problem or an unusually small bladder), I tried to pick up where I left off on my novel re-writes and discovered, to my horror, that I couldn't, well, do anything. Ideas were vague, plot connections muddled. I couldn't remember the name of one of my central characters. I spent a terrifyingly long 45 minutes re-reading back chapters just to get a sense of what I was writing about only to find that when I finally remembered, I didn't have anything creative in the tank. So I went and ordered a Turkey Avocado Club on a sesame bagel.

And while I was sitting down to slay said lunch treat (I know, I know, bagels are terribly caloric), I started to think about why I was rusty. Unlike writer's block, (which-- I should point out-- is usually just my excuse to watch "The View"), it wasn't that I couldn't get anything on the page, it was more that I was forgetting what I needed to put on said page. Which reminded me that writing a novel is just like speaking a language. If you stop working, you lose your fluency, your momentum, and your ability to remember the names of secondary characters that play vital roles nearly all the way through the book. Of course, sometimes breaks are good, and necessary even, to clear your head or give a draft another look with a fresh set of eyes. But not while you're in the thick of things, and not when you have to turn in a certain draft of said piece of work to a certain thesis adviser in a certain amount of days, and you only have another 44 minutes of battery on your laptop, and the hippies are hogging the tables by the power outlet.

So, in conclusion, my break, while important were I to ever need this excess weight during hibernation, was not what experts might call "smart" or even "logical under the circumstances". Let me know if you suffered the same fate of holiday-induced indolence or feel free to heap on the guilt by telling me about the thousands and thousands of words you produced while your relatives were talking. Either way, drop it in the comments.

We Got,
The Beat

The Go-Go's

1/8/2008 8:36:08 AM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-