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

Defending a thesis is a lot like trying out for your high school's
theater company's production of Rent. You spend a lot of time
worrying and practicing beforehand, but in the end, you realize your
uncredited role as the second waitress at the Cat Scratch Club mostly
involves just being there.

My thesis defense played out like so: I met with my advisor and
reader in my advisor's office. They sat across from me with my thesis
stacked up in front of them. They made eye contact several times, got
water, grabbed pens they forgot to bring in, went back out to look
for the reader's copy of my manuscript, realized she'd forgotten it
at home, came back in, shifted in their seats and began talking.

My reader--who I didn't know before and has the reputation of being
very blunt--offered me congratulations for finishing my novel. This,
she said, was a big deal as many students turn in manuscripts that
aren't complete. Thus ending the compliments portion of her show. She
then told me that now it was time to re-write. And re-write again.
And again. Saul Bellow, she pointed out, revised Herzog twenty times.
"Wow," I said, trying to break the tension I felt pouring over me. "I
draw the line at thirteen." (deciding at the last minute to omit adding, "Zing!!!")

She paused for a second as if weighing the pro's and con's of
eliciting a fake laugh, decided against it and then proceeded to
skewer my novel for the next forty five minutes. My narrator--she
points out-- isn't engaged, doesn't enter into conflict, seems
unconcerned about whatever is going on around him, never actively
does anything, merely observes, forgets to recycle, doesn't get up
for older folk on the subway, eats food with the bad kind of
cholesterol, kicks (small) dogs, doesn't know how to whistle and--
given the choice to vote or die--probably wouldn't vote.

When she finished talking, you could feel the air of enthusiasm slide
out of me. All I could think about was the amount of work that I'd
put into the book, and then I thought about having to do that twenty
more times, and then I thought about applying for a job at Espresso
Royale, and then I thought about actively working with the hippies
and always smelling like patchouli and exotic blends of coffee, and
then I thought about whether or not they would care if I curled up
into a ball and assumed the fetal position for the rest of the
defense. I was giving up. They'd sunk my (Electronic) Battleship.

But then my advisor saved the day.

Given, she did offer critiques and say that i needed to work more on
the book, but she also gently put me back into the right state,
unpacking the harsh mental baggage that my reader made me carry and
putting it away in the proper drawers.

She found a character she loved, asked that the story focus more on
the narrator's relationship with her, and figured out real ways to
improve my book without making me think that someone should bury my
novel in a time capsule. I was so relieved by my advisor's words that
I almost jumped across the desk and hugged her when it was all
finished, something her aversion to physical contact would not have
been cool with.

So, friends, this leaves me with about a months worth of hard work
before I do the show and tell agent style, but at the very least, I
am done. I survived my defense. No more MFA. After five years of
post grad education, two masters degrees of debatable merit, and
several changes in my wardrobe, I can safely say I don't want to
think about a syllabus again for at least 3-5 years.

Then I'll probably get my PhD (JK, dad!).

And now that I have fully recovered, expect mo' blogs and mo' ~~money~~
interaction via the Commenting portion of the show. You complete me.

Need You,
Tonight

INXS

4/29/2008 10:03:35 AM (Eastern Daylight Time, UTC-04:00)

Comments [22]

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

The Quick(ish) Descent to Thesis Insanity: Aftermath

Friends. I cannot describe to you the relief that I feel right now. I imagine it's somewhere between finishing a (Boston!) marathon and beating Tetris on Level 9 with the music set to Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. Here are the details: In the last two weeks, I have written 80 new pages, re-written 220 pages, drank 11 (Sugar Free) Red Bulls, 17 Hot Teas (8 Green Ginger, 4 Refresh, 4 Awake, and 1 African Red Bush), ate 16 bowls of Honey Bunches of Oats mixed with Crispix, fallen asleep on my computer 8 times, run through 3 pairs of sweatpants, and let one man wearing a suit with a bow tie borrow my cell phone to make a "local" call to Canada. My final day I worked for 19 hours straight with a break only to eat pineapple and to field a call from my mom:

"Kevin, hon, how's it going?"
"AHHHHHHH!!! MY BRAIN IS FRIED!! I HATE THIS! I HATE THIS SO MUCH!!! I'M SOOOO TIRED!!"
"....Oh. It seems like you're a little overtired, dear"
"AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!! (tears)"
(Pause)
"Oookkk....well, I just wanted to say good luck. I'll let you get back to it."

But then, miraculously, it was over. I got through the edits. I re-wrote an ending that will have to be re-written again. I went to Kinko's, printed out two 300 page copies of the manuscript, hand delivered them to the homes of my thesis adviser and reader, then drove to my favorite deli and used up the rest of a gift certificate I got last year for my birthday on Robust Russet Cape Cod Potato Chips. But by far the best part of all of this was waking up in the morning on Saturday and realizing that I had NOTHING to do. No magazine deadline, no chapter to edit, no re-writes...nothing. All I had to do was play in a soccer game, get sunburned, drink (imported) beers and pass out while trying to watch Juno.

This is not over, of course. I have to defend my thesis on Thursday, which will involve at LEAST learning the names of all of my central characters, and then make sure the formatting is right, etc, etc, to turn it into the grad school office, and then i have to re-write again before releasing it into the public, but whatever. That's, like, not even hard. That's like beating Tetris on Level 6 with mute on so you can listen to your own Maxell Cassette mixtape featuring "Have You Seen Her" by MC Hammer.

Anyway, I also wanted to thank everyone for all of their support during my thesis insanity. Your comments, your links, your Youtube videos, all of it kept me from focusing but, like, in a good way. Seriously though, you all are fantastic. And to show my gratitude--as promised-- click here for your own personal e-card: http://www.someecards.com/upload/friendship/if_you_ever_disappeared_while_hiking.html

I think that says it all. In the meantime, 1988 continues its unstoppable reign.

Tell it to,
my heart

Taylor Dayne

4/22/2008 8:00:26 AM (Eastern Daylight Time, UTC-04:00)

Comments [19]

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

The Quick(ish) Descent to Thesis Insanity: The Last (Poetry) Week

Well, friends, it all comes down to this (week). I have exactly 72(!)
hours before I have to turn in a copy of my thesis to my thesis
advisor and readers. And since every creative ounce of my soul has
been sucked out and dropped into my book, I have decided that the
best thing to do for you--in lieu of an actual blog entry--is a poem.
Poetry--as many of you know--is the long way to say I love you or I'm
sorry or actually, I kind of made out with your cousin but it didn't
really count because we were on a cruise ship. So here is a poem I've
crafted for all of you entitled "A Modest Plea," which will probably
be set for publication in the Paris Review sometime in early 2010.
I'll return to twice a week ramblings next week.

A Modest Plea
By Kevin Alexander
Dedicated to: My Thesis.

Why, when I write
You, do you not sound better?
Are you Mad at
Me? Is it because
I called you Thinly Veiled
Pseudo-Clever
And At Some Points
Rambling?
Or Superficial, Lame and
Filled With
Grammatical Issues?
I apologize.
I didn't mean those things
I was just trying
to be
self-deprecating
in front of that chick.
This Week
If you don't mind
it would be cool if
You got, like,
Good?
But Seriously
No Pressure

Even if I can't comment on them, your comments are keeping me half-
way sane.
1988 endures.

Got to have,
Faith

George Michael

4/15/2008 8:47:56 AM (Eastern Daylight Time, UTC-04:00)

Comments [27]

Tuesday, April 08, 2008

The Quick(ish) Descent to Thesis Insanity: In Loco Parenthetical(s)

I keep have a recurring dream. I wake up in my bedroom to my alarm
going off and my roommate standing in the doorway asking me why I
haven't turned off my alarm in days. Confused, I get up and realize
that my thesis defense started twenty minutes ago. But I can't find
my thesis. Or my computer. Or a quality pair of (expensive!)
distressed jeans to wear. Perhaps more alarmingly, in this dream I
have a full beard. This happens every other day.

Friends, the Thesis Insanity is in its full anti-glory right now.
Perhaps this is because I've put myself on a plan that calls for
eight hour writing days, then a break to think about going to the
gym, decline that notion and watch part of the John Adams HBO mini-
series on my couch with several sleeves of Whole Foods brand Oreo's,
a short nap on that couch while John and Abbey Adams share moments of
passionate sophistry and then a second session that usually lasts
until I fall asleep on my computer with my face mashed up betwixt the
JKL and ; keys. The ending to my book won't stop expanding; each
scene calls for much more work than I originally imagined; much more
detail to explain where we're at, more details in the dialogue, more
everything. I would be more specific but the idea of expanding on
something other than my book saddens/frightens me, much like the
movie Harry and the Hendersons. Less to the point, I haven't watched
anything on Netflix since February!!! Do you know how far in the past
February is???!? Sadly, I do not.

Of course there are bright sides to my pity party Evite. I have
increased my typed words per minute by just under infinity. For some
reason, other publications are all of a sudden interested in me doing
magazine work for them. And, as my dad points out, I "finally know
what it feels like to actually live in the real world," something he
has informed me I "need to get used to" if I expect to ever "be
invited to SoCal again." The fact that he said this from his cell
phone as he was on a golf course and someone in the background was
imploring that he "hit his lob wedge" remains a source of
considerable angst.

The truth, friends, is that I'm just tired. I know I will look back
on this time and remember how hard I worked and how intensive and
invested I was and that will really make me appreciate a finished
novel all the more, but right now I just want to take my shirt off,
wrap it around my head, turn on some intensely melancholy indie rock
and lie in my bed until May flowers have eclipsed April showers and
someone has paid my taxes and washed my hand towels.

That is a dream I wouldn't mind having.

As I attempt to keep it more or less real, tell me happy things in
the Comments, friends.

Sun shines through the rain.

Eternal,
Flame

The Bangles.

4/8/2008 9:32:22 AM (Eastern Daylight Time, UTC-04:00)

Comments [23]

Tuesday, April 01, 2008

The Quick(ish) Descent to Thesis Insanity: Manic Tuesday

I am embarrassed, friends, to report that I committed a rather large
error a few weeks ago that I now feel (not entirely)comfortable
sharing with the group: Noticing a recent sale on Publisher's Lunch,
my editor asked me if I would be interested in doing a Cover Q & A
with a high profile writer (whose will remain nameless for obvious
and organic reasons). Naturally I said I would and got on the
Internets, utilizing the search engine Google and many of the other
tools a fantastic investigative journalist like myself keeps at his
disposal. After a cursory search, I located the email address of her
agent and publicist from her first work, and sent them (in my
opinion!) a well crafted, polite-but-like-pretty-excited, professional
query. Understanding the snail's pace at which the publishing world
works, I promptly fell back into my thesis and forgot about it until
my editor sent me a message with the subject head: ???, asking if I'd
heard anything.

I had not, and it had been a decent amount of time and time, friends,
is money. Write that down. Anyway, I went back to the InterWeb to
investigate the (cold?) case and found that said author had actually
left her old agent/publisher for new ones, meaning my gushing
congratulatory email praising her book sale to her old scorned agent
probably wasn't the best thing said agent woke up to that morning. I
considered apologizing but thought I should just let the sleeping
dog lie, even if it wasn't sleeping and was kind of bitter. Anyway,
if there is a moral to be learned from this story, it probably
involves counting chickens, hatching, and being more thorough in
getting up-to-date information re: subjects you are about to contact.

As for the thesis insanity: I am now officially back on my grind
after having taken a hiatus to jump up and all over a Boston Mag
feature and--while my writing is rusty and my use of metaphors
cheesy--it feels hella (shout out to Norcal!) chill to get back to
writing about the aftermath of alleged fictional sexual assaults.

The section I'm re-writing now involves the coast of the state of
Maine and--while I've been there almost infinity times-- I'm having
my own personal mission impossible picturing what I'm writing about,
and my Google image search is being both stubborn and ambivalent to
my needs, probably due to troubles with women. I keep imagining a
time in the not-so-far future when my thesis is done and sent off and
the weather isn't close to zero Celsius in April, and I'm wearing my
standard summer outfit of cut-off jean shorts and jean jacket (no
shirt!) sipping on a cool (virgin!) Daiquiri listening to the gentle
rhythms of Buffalo Tom. This--and several bowls of Honey Bunches of
Oats-- are the only things propelling me through this week.

If you can't already tell, I'm a little bit manic this morning.
Please enlighten me to your own writing needs for the week, the
attire you might rock to a 1994 themed party, and anything else you
feel the urge to share in the Show N Tell portion of the Comments. In
the meantime, we're still dropping hits from 1988.

The Loco,
Motion

Kylie Minogue

4/1/2008 10:38:56 AM (Eastern Daylight Time, UTC-04:00)

Comments [15]

Friday, March 28, 2008

The Quickest Thesis Insanity: Big Apple Weekend Edition

Friends, I am going to have to keep this short due to a ridiculous and fairly robust sprinkling of work on my plate today. The story I've been working on for Boston Mag recently doubled in size, which--while good for my sneaker addiction, clip file and ego--isn't awesome for my thesis. I have to turn around a third draft of it this weekend or risk getting flogged by my editor (Geoff--if you're reading this, I'm working on it right--ummm... wait. Why are you reading this?)

Meanwhile, on the thesis front, I am having trouble writing a crucial final speech that some would say will make or break the book. No pressure right? Luckily I NEVER overthink things. I'm just waiting for it to come to me in my sleep and translate directly onto the dictation machine I have hooked up to one of the several Alphasmarts I keep on my bedside table.

Also, I'm in NYC visiting Ramsey who, last night, informed me that his popularity with women is "cresting". I'm not sure how to interpret that. I did, however, just see a woman made almost entirely of plastic wearing boots that went up to her thighs. Take that, classiness!

Two final thoughts:

One: I just read a very insightful and interesting analysis on the weird, self-perpetuating marriage between celebrities and the paparazzi in the Atlantic Monthly called "Shooting Britney" (I read the Atlantic, NBD!). It's by David Samuels, a fantastic writer, and it allows people like me--who pretend like I'm too high-minded, literary, and above-the-fray to "slum" by reading about celebrities in US and InTouch and the like-- to read about celebrities and the like (it's okay since it's in the Atlantic!). It's also disturbingly surreal. You can find it here: http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/200804/britney-spears
Sidenote: (I also read The New Republic! I'm so nuanced!)

Two: I'm officially retiring the music of 1998. I think i've maxed out the usefulness of Sister Hazel and the Offspring. I've opted to back the music bus up another ten years to 1988. Get excited.

Enjoy whatever nuanced joys your weekend brings. We'll continue our friendship on Tuesday.

The,
Flame

Cheap Trick

3/28/2008 12:43:54 PM (Eastern Daylight Time, UTC-04:00)

Comments [5]

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

The Two Question Novel Quiz Part 5: Secondary Characters

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