|
Monday
2 February 2004: day 29
Jack Dann
is an asshole
Actually,
Jack is far from an asshole. He's great. But he told us to blog that,
and I certainly wouldn't like to disappoint him. <grin>
Today
only Claire and I had stories up. I put in Rockfall on Friday,
knowing it was stuffed. I wanted to know exactly how stinky it really
is, and I found out: very, very stinky.
I
discovered something important. I could make this story work, and I know
how. To do it, I would need a raft of books on plants and methane gases
and respiration and plant communication and... well, I just can't be bothered
for a short story I'd probably sell for $20. I
can be bothered for a novel, though - I've done heaps of research for
my novel, and didn't resent it in the least, in fact, I loved it.
The
other important discovery is, I just don't have the energy or inclination
for hard SF. So that's that. I will put the story aside.
Next!
Consultation
My
individual consultation with Jack was very interesting. He passed on a
raft of useful advice about how to go about getting my novel published,
and got me all excited. Just have write the damn thing now.
It's
remarkable how generous all our tutors have been. I mean, they could just
lob in, deliver crits, some general writing advice, and leave. Instead,
they've shown real interest in our careers, offering help, recommendations,
and all kinds of things.
Clarion
life
Sarah
is suffering from some kind of virus, though all yesterday people thought
it was a hangover. Actually she had a 100 degree+ temperature. She's languishing
in her room, the poor thing.
Everyone
is flagging, energy is low. People are pushing themselves so hard to write
the last two stories, working late into the night, until 5am. Then zombies
the next day. The person suffering the least was Claire, being a shift
worker it didn't bother her too much, but even she's showing signs of
stress this week.
These
last two weeks are going to be very tough for us all. I've decided to
cut myself some slack. I'll work on my story. If it's finished, I hand
it in for Thursday. If it's not, well, it's not. I don't want to kill
myself over it.
Tuesday
3 February 2004: day 30
Clarion
life
Great
news - James is coming back! Apparently he's sorted some things out at
home and will be back with us.. .I think tomorrow.
Sarah
on the other hand is really very sick. She's going to need to take things
easy, so (sob) no more domestic goddess magic in the kitchen. Things are
a lot quieter in the Drip Tray - she adds so much zest when she's in full
flight.
I
was sitting in the crit room this afternoon and bang, a plot came to me
for my Last Child story. I have some details to work out... but at least
I now have a conflict and a character arc.
Everyone
is so exhausted... so I've offered short massages this evening. I put
three times on the board and they were full within moments. Sadly I can't
do more than three in a row. And I wouldn't mind one myself.
I'm
also looking forward to cooking Grandma's chicken paprika for the Drip
Tray. I love that dish so much... and it's great cooking it for a bunch
of people who love food.
What
I learned
- write
about what you want, don't write to a market or you end up writing shit
- Argosy
and Polyphony are good markets for me
- writers
are part of the entertainment industry, and we have to get in front
of the audience, at things like signings and cons
- short
story collections tend to sell fewer copies, and this can affect the
sales of your next book
- it's
a good exercise to write plot outlines of your favourite stories and
novels, just to see how it's done
- detail,
detail, detail. If I've learned one thing here, it's that detail is
king - all our tutors have said it, and I notice it when it's lacking
- make
sure you know what your characters and setting look like, then choose
just a few telling details to sketch it clearly for the reader - help
the reader hallucinate the story
- third
person past forces you to do work that you wouldn't otherwise
- ask
questions to focus the story:
- what
does this person do for a living?
- what's
in it for each character?
- what
is their goal?
- why
do they do each action they do?
- exactly
how does everything work?
- how
does the money work?
- what
is your theme?
- what
is your throughline (convert the story to a two sentence summary).
What
editors look for
- a
sense of focus and certainty
- specific
details
- totally
convincing world building
- if
you want to mess with the reader's brain, you need a totally smooth
surface, in the sentences, the words and the detail
- look
for the point of difference that you have, your own quirky way of looking
at things, and emphasise them
- something
fresh and original, or if using an old idea, a fresh take on it.
Wednesday
4 February 2004: day 31
Clarion
life
This
morning I spent ages fixing up my parking permit. The parking people here
are feral. It's so boring. I have a permit to park on the street but only
in some limited permit zones. In others, it says permit parking, but I
immediately get booked. It happens so fast I think they must be wearing
invisibility cloaks and spring out the second you leave your car.
I
have a boomgate passkey, kindly granted to me by the lovely Martin at
the accommodation centre. I blithely parked in the resident's carpark
that this gave me access to... and got booked.
So
I bought yet another permit this morning, and Martin said he'd make the
fines go away. Still, it's taken up almost the whole morning, time I could
have used far better.
This
afternoon, my threatening flu descended again. I've been eating gallons
of echinacea so I haven't got that horrible stuffed up feeling (and it
hasn't inflamed my sinuses, always a threat). But my voice has gone.
This
evening Linda Furnell, Senior Publisher from Harper Collins, dropped by
the Drip Tray and we pelted her with lots of questions. She took it with
great style and answered as best she could. Interesting stuff.
The
big excitement last night was that Brendan lost his first game of ping
pong to Andrew. Opinion is divided between those who think it was due
to his just having had a massage (almost everyone) and those (Andrew)
who think it wasn't.
A
rematch will establish the truth.
Beep,
beep, beep
And
tonight, excitement is unfolding as I write this. Our security doors have
been beeping constantly, and increasingly annoyed calls have been made
to security. We demanded a visit, which took several hours as the first
guy just went home without telling anyone. Poor Alex, the contract security
guy, showed up and basically said he didn't care, it wasn't his problem,
and he didn't want to do anything about it.
Various
tactics were tried, and it was very interesting to see who used which,
from pleading ("it's been going for hours, it's driving us mad, please
h help"), to reason ("no, shutting the door doesn't switch it
off, that's why we called you"), to swearing ("we'll just take
the fucking hammer to the thing"), to threats ("I know the vice
chancellor's daughter, and I'll call her now if something doesn't get
done"), to personal threats ("you want to keep your job? What's
your name?").
In
the end he said no more than he'd call facilities management, but I expect
nothing will happen. That's how things go when the person you're talking
to doesn't give a damn.
Hours
of beeping have turned this tired, overworked crew into furies. The security
guy made an assessment of exactly how pissed off we would be...and five
minutes later it was off.
What
I learned
- Ask
lots of questions about your story. What is his job? What's in it for
each character? Why does he do that? And that? Exactly how does that
work? What's your theme? What's the throughline?
- The
plot comes from the research. Jack does lots and lots of it all around
the subject, and that helps him develop scenes. He doesn't use a plot
outline before he starts, though he does have a book proposal that contains
the overall arc of the story, which usually changes before he's done.
The
opposite of Kim... whatever floats your boat.
- Jack
demonstrated his mindmap method for plotting, using associative techniques
to come up with different related elements and how they interact
- Research
gives fantasy the ring of truth.
- Original
sources are the juiciest, eg diaries
- Science
fiction backwards = historical novels - you need to do as much research
for them as for SF
Thursday
5 February 2004: day 32
Clarion
life
Man
everyone is tired. Jack keeps calling us feral... we have developed a
group gestalt and our moods go up and down and sideways mostly together.
Today the mood was dog tired but punch drunk.
We
started adding to the mindmap Jack drew yesterday, using Clarion as the
central theme. Quickly everyone started adding to it, and within moments
the idea of using it as the basis for the t-shirt developed. We have been
hoping to come up with something uniquely Clarion South on the basis that
we shouldn't just ape the US. It's getting quite complex, and cool.
For
example, Garry the lion has retired to the Drip Tray TV. We're too old
to need a plush toy for comfort.
Sarah
is up and about, though not yet better. James has moved into the Crisper,
and is looking relaxed and comfortable.
I
am having a lot of trouble with my story. I just can't seem to find a
way in.
A
weird experience
Tonight
I had a quick chat with Wendy outside on the way back from class. I told
her that I'm finding Clarion a strange head space for me. I'm going with
the flow more, not needing to have as much control over things as I usually
do. I'm floating through, doing whatever I need to do, while keeping an
eye on the group's needs and contributing to it when I see a way to do
that.
I'm
feeling somehow more me, in some way that I can't articulate. I'm
not sure why that is... I'm away from all the things I'd normally define
as part of me, my husband, my job, my friends, my city, my home... Maybe
stripping that all away is helping me to just get down to the basics.
Maybe it's because I'm once again spending all my time doing something
creative.
Or
maybe it's an illusion created by extreme sleep deprivation, who knows.
In
any case, I told Wendy that I thought Clarion was a mountain peak in my
life, that I wouldn't know its impact for six more months. Then I went
inside and Kaz read my runes... and told me pretty much the same thing.
Spooky.
Tonight
a bunch of us headed to the city to the open mike reading, but I've decided
to stay back and see if I can get this story going at last. Zara came
in to give me a preview of her gorgous outfit, and she looked mighty fine.
Then she amused me immensely by stroking her top and purring.
One
of the best things about Clarion has been the chance to get to know Zara
better. She's very cool. Though I'm sure you're getting sick of us blathering
on about how cool we each are, so I'll stop now and not mention it again.
What
I learned today
Not
a lot, actually. Perhaps I wasn't in the mood. Maybe there was less to
learn.
- vagueness
stops writing getting over the bar. It's not about the detail in the
description. It's whether the reader can picture what happens accurately.
- first
person is tough to pull off for an alien point of view.
That's
it. Slim pickings. Nevertheless, I enjoyed the afternoon's class.
Friday
6 February 2004: day 33
Clarion
life
I
am still trying to write this Last Child story, and it's just not happening.
Sigh.
This
afternoon's class was short and sweet... then we wrote up more mess on
the board diagram, and generally goofed around. Wendy and Cat played bumpercars
with two wheely chairs. Generally acting up and being stupid was today's
theme.
After
the one critique for the day, we went to the now-open bar and drank for
a while, and ate some incredible cheese from Piedmont.
Some
people are saying they could stay here another month, just keep on going
so they don't have to go back to their real lives which are harder. Others'
thoughts are turning to home, the jobs they'll have when they get back.
I
am thinking about nothing past the day I leave here. My head is so full
of being here, the people, the writing, the whole experience. As every
day goes past I want to venture out of the campus less and less, even
out of my room less and less.
I
found out today that our builders, who are sanding and polishing some
rooms at our house, decided to store my piano on its end. They reckon
that's fine with the master tuner they asked. Well, they would say that
- it would mean an extra three tunes to get it back afterwards, and the
master tuner wouldn't mind about that. I do, at $500 a pop or whatever
they cost these days.
What
I learned today
Really
nothing. There was just the one story, and it didn't spark anything off
for me. I guess there are always going to be days like that.
Beep
beep beep fucking beep
The
beep is baaaacccck.
Look,
don't mind my language. But if you had to listen to a constant beep ALL
DAY LONG for two days running, with no relief in sight, while trying to
write, you'd swear too. I tell you... it's simply appalling.
Saturday
7 February 2004: day 34
A
day of Hungarian weirdness
I
fell into a strange mood yesterday...normally when I'm in one of them
I stay out of anyone's reach, but here there's really no option. I felt
disjointed, out of it, morose, melancholy... existential angst. I had
a strong feeling that something bad was going to happen.
Nothing
did. Which is good.
[March
2004: Now read on to see what actually did happen.]
I sat out on the front steps, that favourite meeting place, with Zara
and Chris, Brendan, Cat, Paul and Sarah...Brendan told funny stories about
his time in Laos, keeping us all amused. I was distracted by some glider
possums making leaps from the gum tree on one side of the road to the
other. The moon was huge, rising above the trees....all suited my mood.
Brendan
made lovely noodles and fed me some, which helped.
Beep
beep beep
We
have covered the beeping security things with towels and duct tape, which
muffles the damn things. But they are still beeping. It is driving us
all crazy. We throw the backs of our hands to our foreheads and demand
to know, how can artistes work in these terrible conditions?
Actually,
all the irritations here originate with the university. Terrible stoves,
that turn off when they want to and don't heat properly. Shower with a
head that reaches your chest. Cleaners that arrive when you're asleep
and demand your sheets. Beeping things that no one will turn off or even
give a damn about.
All
night, important things must be done that apparently cannot be
done during the day, like trucks unloading, grass being cut, logs being
sawn through, and so on. Though I don't hear any of it because I wear
ear plugs, others are being woken at 4.30 am with chainsaws, I kid you
not.
The
parking, of which I have already whinged. The lack of transport on the
weekend. The lack of anywhere to buy booze, even a glass of wine, in the
evenings. The hard beds.
On
the other hand, if we stayed in a resort, which is clearly what we suffering
artistes would prefer, the cost of this would be 10 times the amount and
none of us would be here. I dread to think what it would be like if you
lived on campus for even a semester, let alone all the time. Perhaps when
you're 20 you don't care as much. Or perhaps we're all spoiled brats.
Saturdays
Zara
and I went into the city for lunch, and hung out at Borders. We tried
to work out what my nom de plume would be, once I write my bestselling
novel - to stay Thornton, and get relegated to the bottom of the last
shelf, or do a Cecilia Dart-Thornton. McThornton, perhaps? Blackthorn?
It's
a conundrum I hope to have one day.
Swish!
Take that you scoundrel!
This
afternoon, in an effort to procrastinate writing my Last Child story,
Sarah and I went to watch Chris doing a demo of his sword wielding prowess,
which I missed the first time when I was away last weekend.
I
got a whole new appreciation of sword fighting. Height really matters
- his arms are longer, his height means he gets more access to the top
of my head (to slice it open). Chris is over 6 foot and I'm 5 foot 7,
so that's a lot of advantage. I can't get close enough to get the point
of the sword near his body, before he's already lopped off some limb or
other.
The
sword is a little heavy for me, but I think I'd manage it with some muscle
building. A fearsome thing.
Sarah
and I practised with sticks the various moves, and boy we felt different
about swords afterwards. It was a powerful feeling, even pretending with
a stick. When Chris swished the sword and lunged in a couple of times
I felt a moment of real fear...I could imagine how it would really be.
As Sarah put it, "they'd just have to come and take my maidenhood".
Sunday
8 February 2004: day 35
Mango
daquairis
Last
night we had a Mango Daquairi event. A few of us were hanging out in the
Drip Tray kitchen, as per usual, drinking bloody Marys. As all my friends
know, the concept of putting any foreign substance at all into tomato
juice is an anathema to me, so I drank gin instead.
Wendy
arrived bearing nearly-too-ripe mangos, and Bren hit on the grand idea
of turning them into daquairis... since the mangos really needed to be
eaten. She found cream, coconut juice, and plonked it in the blender.
The beeping suddenly got too much for us and Wendy started to go "beep,
beep beep", and did this little beep dance, turning in the centre
of the kitchen. We all joined in.
So
there we were, Zara, Wendy, Bren and I, singing a silly beep song in time
with the beep, dancing, being really silly. Then Bren cut up mangos, and
everyone started pulling the flesh off the fruit with their fingers, smushing
it into the blender and then licking their hands.
While
we waited for the drinks to happen, Zara decided it was a great moment
to show us her pretty lacey bra. So then we all flashed each other, giggling
like idiots (though showing nothing more shocking than you'd see on the
beach, settle down there in the back).
We
began a blues version of the beep song, based on the one Nalo sung for
us to the "Sweet Potato Woman".
Ba
DA da DA (buh BUH, buh BUH). I'm a beeping little door....
Ba
DA da DA (buh BUH, buh BUH). I'm a beeping little door.... etc.
Andrew
tottered through the kitchen, saw how high the hysteria level was, and
scuttled straight out again. Fair enough.
Chris
came in just as we were doing the mango mixing bum shimmy dance (a wonderful
dance, if I may say so). He was kind enough to applaud said dance, and
as a reward was plied with mango daquairis. Mmm they were nice.
Finally
we did a raucous version of We Will Rock You, by Queen, stamping
our feet in a circle and clapping. Woooh!
All
a great stress reliever, and a whole lot of fun. Followed by lots of writing
unto the wee hours of the night.
Late
in the night, after some writing activities, I went down to the common
room and watched a DVD of Time Bandits with some of the others. It's really
a very silly movie, lots of fun. Sean Connery is young(er) and bodacious
in it, which was possibly the only real highlight.
Yum
yum cha
We
piled into a few cars today and went over to the dreaded Sunnybank shopping
centre to get yum cha. After a wait of 45 minutes to get a big table,
we plonked down in the corner and stuffed ourselves on egg rolls, dim
sims, chicken feet, seafood dumplings, choi sum, noodles... then followed
it with coconut jelly, mango pudding and custard tarts, all washed down
with either beer or champagne, according to fancy.
Mmmm.
All for seventeen bucks.
Lucy
joined us and I think I saw a look of fear in her eyes as she realised
what she is in for!
Beep,
beep, beep....
Luckily
I am at the far end of the building so I don't hear it so long as I shut
my door. What's happening? Read Zara's
wonderfully succint explanation, then tune back in. Back? Good.
Basically
the problem is that we can partially stop some of the beeping by closing
the doors. This doesn't actually stop the beeping. Only sometimes. For
a while.
And
if we shut the doors, we lose two really important things: the ability
to get back in our building at all (we have no key), and the ability to
talk to each other. If the door is shut on another floor, you have to
bang on the door loudly and make a big deal of something when you just
wanted to pop your head in for a sec.
It
totally changes the nature of the interactions you have with people, and
drastically reduces them.
The
amount of people who are collaborating on stories this week makes this
even more frustrating for everyone.
Hopefully
the university will do something about it tomorrow. We have tried so many
different ways... we told one or two of the convenors earlier in the week,
when they happened by. We called security. They didn't want to know. We
spoke to Martin, our nice conference liaison guy at the Hub, and he did
want to know but didn't fix the problem.
So
now we have just muffled the noise with towels and gaffer tape. Bleah.
Also we have let off steam by writing beep messages on the whiteboard,
singing beeping songs and just yelling out BEEP whenever it gets too much.
I
have just written paragraphs and paragraphs about a beeping noise. I hope
this will convey to you how incredibly present the thing is for us all.
Writing
Yes.
Well I am 3000 words in to the Last Child story, and I am sweating
blood and tears over it. Probably I would have no trouble at all if I
just left it for a few weeks, but I'm trying to get it in for next week.
Sigh.
Tuesday
10 February 2004: day 37
Clarion
life
The
mood today was ratty and distracted. Several people had a strange tummy
virus, which made them tired, crabby, vomitous and burpy. Mmm, nice. A
whole bunch of other people had stayed up till the wee hours, including
me (4.30am), writing. I heard those amazing leaf blower people at 3.30am,
it was SO loud, like a chainsaw. Then at 6am they started washing the
concrete outside our flat.. WHY?
So
today I felt as though I was pulling crits out of nowhere...really working
to give something useful.
Last
night we sat around in Drip Tray doing over the top impersonations of
each other's critting style. Sarah did a hilarious one of me, Claire did
a hysterical one of Andrew, I did one of Claire, and so on. It was pretty
funny. During the critique session, Sarah did the nicest, most subtle
one of Zara, which made us all laugh hysterically.
I
wonder sometimes whether Lucy is overwhelmed by the sheer amount of in-jokes
going on.
Things
not said
Zara
has written a fantastic story that deals with the unspoken. It made me
think a lot about what I'm not saying on this blog.
The
real story of Clarion is nowhere near this blog, and can't be written.
Partly that's because I don't want to embarrass or annoy any of my fellow
Clarionites. But also it's because you'd need to see everything from all
17 angles.
The
experience of being here is extraodinary, even leaving the writing itself
aside. We are all writers. This sounds obvious. But writers are different
from other people: as a group we are very perceptive.
That's
not to say other people aren't. It's more that most
of us spend much of our time observing other people's behaviour, tiny
changes in body language, tone of voice, and analysing that to form a
view of character. We then rush to record what we've seen.
My
notebook is full of little character sketches of people I've met, conversations
I've had, little movements people make, snatches of dialogue I've overheard,
stories people have told me, things that were in the news and so on.
What
all of this means is that you can't get away with a thing even for a second
here. Some Clarionite is reading this now, saying to themselves, hah,
but no one knows blah. They may not. But we do know that something is
up.
One
Clarionite the other day looked slightly different from usual. I observed
tiny changes in their behaviour and enquired....no no, I'm fine was the
response. Later, it emerged that actually something had changed for that
person. The tiny changes were real.
Now
don't think I'm singling myself out, because I'm not. We all do it. If
I have a pensive moment, someone spots it and wants to know what's up,
or provides me with what I need - a drink, a hug, a cup of coffee, a chat,
or space... it's really quite extraodinary.
Now
it's not extraordinary for people in a close relationship to do this for
each other, say if you're married, or have been friends for years. But
this happened from the earliest days of Clarion. Some of us know each
other and some didn't... all my flatmates in the Drip Tray are from Melbourne,
so I didn't know any of them personally before this.
Every
emotion we have here is magnified. Things that you'd usually dismiss,
or get over in seconds, seem to have more impact and last longer. Possibly
because there's no respite. We're with each other all day long.
Even
living in a share house isn't this intense, because here we spend the
whole day together. Everyone knows what everyone else is doing and feeling...
up to a point anyway.
So
the real story of Clarion lies in the sum of all these thousands and thousands
of tiny interactions, the ebb and flow of the group gestalt and all the
smaller ebbs and flows between individuals. And I can't tell you any of
this.
Another
key thing about being here is that everyone's head is full. My head is
full of the people, the writing, the critiquing, the talking about writing,
the life here. There's no room for much else. It's wonderful and strange.
Going
back to my life will be a jolt I think, having to split my attention again
between all the stuff I do and the people I care about.
And
finally, the key thing about being here is that we are all so amazingly
tired. We push ourselves hard. We read 20,000 words of stories every day,
and critique them. I can't convey to you what a workload that is. It's
not the time it takes so much as the energy and the head space. Most of
us have the least head space for our loved ones at home. We are too full
of what's happening here.
Then
we also have to write... and write... and write...
It's
not uncommon to stay up to 3am writing, then get up at 8 or 9 to exercise,
or breakfast, then critique four stories. I have rarely had more than
5 hours of sleep a night, and somehow I'm surviving on it. Normally I
couldn't, so I'm not really sure how that works. Some people are living
on three hours a night.
In
short: this is the most intense experience I think I have ever gone through.
It's exhausting, it's exhilirating, it's fun, it's awful at times, it's
wonderful at others.
I
wouldn't change having done this, but I certainly wouldn't want to ever
do it again.
Writing
I
finished Last Child Inc yesterday, after a long and difficult birth. I
have absolutely no idea if it's any good or not. I was aiming to write
a proper plot, you know, with a hero, an antagonist, a conflict internal
and external, world-building, and the hero trying to solve a problem,
failing, trying again, failing, and the conclusion.
That's
been my mission here: to learn to plot better.
Beep
beep beep...
The
beeping has been beaten into submission. We now have keys we can use for
the apartment door, so that we can close them. This does not entirely
eliminate the problem but it has reduced it to a more bearable level.
We
are so grateful we could cry.
Sunday
15 February 2004: it's over - and
a flashback
Observant
readers will spot at once that I haven't updated my blog for days, and
Clarion is now over.
Despite
David G's advice not to do flashbacks, I will spend a little time recapping
the last few days, before moving on to post-Clarion.
Wednesday
11 February 2004: day 38
The
crit sessions are becoming somewhat strained. We have major crit fatigue,
and a few people are very sick. Sarah and Andrew in the Drip Tray are
laid out with the Clarion lurgy, and Zara is missing in action. Poor thing
has the lurgy bad, and has been sleeping most of the day. Bren had it
bad, and kept threatening to vomit.
Some
people have just reached the point where reading one more story is too
much, or whose comments have devolved to, yeah, I liked it, or nah, this
really stinks. I can't really blame anyone. I'm feeling the same way myself.
However,
my story did get a good crit anyway. The general consensus was that the
world I had built was interesting, and people wanted to know more about
it. On the other hand, the characters and the plot were overwhelmed by
the world itself. The plot had a few logic holes in it, though nothing
structural, so I was very pleased aobut that.
I
suspect that the end is too trite, too Truman Show. So I need to make
the world richer and rethink the end.
I
was generally pleased with this response. My aim for Clarion has been
to learn to plot better, and I think I have done that.
Lucy
is a very different kettle of fish from the other tutors. She is very
prepared.. notes, handouts, quotes... all kinds of stuff. She is also
very concerned about classroom decorum. For instance, one Clarionite has
had an upset stomach for a few days, and has been burping loudly every
fifteen minutes or so. We all know it's involuntary.
It
made us laugh when at the beginning of class today, Lucy announced that
if this person had been 12, Lucy would have thrown them out of class by
now for burping like that. I also earned a baleful stare by blowing my
nose, and on top of that, we were admonished not to talk or laugh during
someone else's crit.
This
last was in part due to the previous day's discomfort, where one person
was upset by too much talking over the top. Still, the result was that
we all sat there like dummies, good little kids in class. You couldn't
tell we were the same rowdy, hilarious lot of the week before with Jack.
Several
people commented that this was preparing us for a return to work.
Clarion
life
I
need to get my car back to Sydney. We finished in the crit room quite
early, and repaired to the wine bar. This wine bar is extremely pleasant,
incidentally. It's right next to our residence, is very coldly air conditioned,
which is sheer bliss. It has the world's most fabulous cheeses... I have
had several helpings over the last two weeks of the Dorolo, a sharp-tasting
crumbly cheese from Piedmont with a grape rind. For five bucks, the pleasure
is well worth the buck.
Anyway,
I rang from there, Grand Marnier in one hand, to ask whether I could indeed
bring my car the next day as I had been previously advised.
Me:
If I bring my car in tomorrow to get to Sydney, would that still be
okay?
Them:
Yes, that should be fine.
Me:
When will it get there?
Them:
Well all the trucks are full over the weekend, so it won't leave till
Monday... so it would get there Wednesday. If you'd booked, it would
go on the weekend.
Me:
Can I book?
Them:
Yes, if you want to.
Me:
For tomorrow?
Them:
no, but you can book in for Friday.
Me:
when would my car get there?
Them:
Monday or Tuesday.
Me:
how come?
Them:
well if you book, it'll get on the Saturday truck.
Me:
I thought you said it was full?
Them:
only if you don't book.
Strike
you as odd at all? Yes.. take it in a day later, and it gets there sooner.
I wish I'd asked whether, if I took in on Monday, it would get there the
day before. Reminds me of that Douglas Adams thing about the postal office
being the key to faster than light travel.
Anyway,
that meant I had to swap places with Zara for my individual consultation
with Lucy. No worries. I then swapped with Cat as well, so that I didn't
have a 9am start. Best if you're awake for these things, I find.
We
are trying to use up all the food in the fridge, which is making for some
odd meals. Chilli con carne on top of spaghetti, for instance, which didn't
turn out too badly.
Thursday
12 February 2004: day 39
Individual
consultation
Unfortunately,
I forgot to tell Lucy that Zara and I had swapped days. None of the other
tutors really cared who came when as long as you'd already presented a
story in class. Having seen Lucy in action for three days, I should have
realised this would throw her, but I didn't. She hadn't prepared any comments
for me, and so we spent the time with me telling her a short story of
my life, plus an account of the plots of my stories at Clarion.
I'm
a bad girl.
Clarion
life
Class
was even shorter today, and again repaired to the wine bar for refreshments.
What a pity it has been closed for most of Clarion. And also a great pity
it shuts at 5pm, just when you want to get going with drinks.
I
packed up my suitcases this evening, with all the stuff I needed to pack
in my car. I made an announcement at the end of class that if any Sydney
people needed to put things in my car, they were welcome. I was thinking
about how I'd taken some stuff home in the visit I made to Sydney a couple
of weekends ago. Unfortunately, my 3-D challenged brain hadn't actually
made the leap to figure out that it's not what's in my suitcase that matters,
it's how big the suitcases still are.
So
I then had to reneg...bleah. Hate that.
Many
of us want to go home, though the mothers less than the rest. No one wants
Clarion to be over - can we go home and still be at Clarion? Huh huh huh?
A few people were ready to go days ago, and have just shut down hatches.
Friday
13 February 2004: day 40
This
morning I drove out to Toll Finemore, accompanied by Sarah. The relief
of the air conditioning was incredible, it's so steamy you could mistake
it for a sauna. No problems with the car, and it was great fun yakking
away with Sarah there and back, though I suspect the taxi driver on the
way home learned a few things he may have wished not to...
Class
was short today, with only two stories. We went to the wine bar en masse,
and drank things, laughed, wrote things in little memory books that Kaz
had given to a few of the Top Shelf. We presented book tokens to the long
suffering convenors, and generally did a wrap up thing. We took photos,
then Cat got the "men of Clarion" together, except James who
had left already by then. The girls pleaded for a "men of Clarion"
calendar, which made the boys fluff up their chests and look broodingly
into the camera.
We
then asked for a "writer's book jacket" photo, and they posed
again, making the girls at the table behind us laugh hysterically. All
good fun.
We
repaired to the Drip Tray for the ritual evening drinkies, and ate some
rather dubious stew made by Bren. Basically she'd thrown every leftover
in te place in there. She was feral. I had to chuck the potato salad with
mayonnaise into the bin to prevent her throwing that in as well.
Anyway,
it hit the spot. We then piled into maxi taxis. Actually, a bunch piled
into one, and I told the others to get in the other maxi. Sadly there
was a normal taxi sitting there, which I hadn't noticed. They thought
I meant that one, and a few got in it. Which meant three people got left
behind with no ride, and had to argue with the maxi when it finally got
there, all a bit of a pain in the bum.
We
went to the launch of Marianne des Pierres' book, Nylon Angel, at Dymocks
in the city. I met Marianne, who seems lovely, and also Rowena Lindquist,
aka Cory Daniells, whose short stories I've enjoyed.
We
then walked up to the evening venue, the Belgian Beer Hall. That sounds
bad, but it's actually rather up market. The "Clarion dinner"
promised in the initial handouts had dematerialised, I'm not sure why
but it probably had to do with budgets. In any case, we each paid $16
and got nibblies in a roped off corner of the pub. It was loud, very very
loud, and full of hundreds of different kinds of Belgian beer. I tried
a few kinds.. including a cherry one which was too much for me.
After
a while, half of us left for the campus. I believe that there was a final
ping pong match and a little drinking, before a bedtime of 1am or so.
The
rest of us, including me, kicked on to a place called "Troubadors".
It's in the Valley, and it reminded me of something David Lynch. Dark,
with lots of soft lounges in a seventies style, soft cube footstools,
that kind of thing. There were two troubadours, both of them quite good.
Bren and I drank many La Rosas, which has gin, cointreau, vodka, grapefruit
juice, pink lemonade and a lime, with a lychee in the bottom. Mmmm, deadly.
I
particularly admired Bren's round-shouting technique. Do you have twenty
dollars for a couple of drinks? she asked me. I gave her a fifty, and
she put in her remaining 12 with my fifty to buy a round for everyone.
Must try that some time. :-)
We
hung out there on one of the huge sofas together until about 3.30. One
minute, I was huddled between Chris and Zara on the lounge, Chris was
cuddling both me and Bren on the other side. Groovy music was lulling
us all into a stupor. Zara was doling out head massages to whoever would
submit.
Then
all of a sudden (yes, I know that's a banned phrase, but tough) we were
standing, heading out the door at a cracking pace. I was so tired and
well, a little tipsy, that I just followed without any idea what was going
on. For all I knew we could have the mafia on our tail, that's how urgent
it all suddenly seemed. Out the back door, down the metal fire escape,
through the rubbish bins, out the parking lot and onto the street.
Where
a maxi taxi appeared in very short order. Ah. That's what was going on,
though I really don't know how it was managed. Back at the ranch, we kicked
on a while longer, and things got so very silly that I have to stop my
account right here.
Sorry
to tantalise you, but some things just aren't bloggable. Nothing to frighten
the horses, don't worry. Though if Bren ever publishes her photos, taken
at 4.30am, there are certain horses who might have an anxious moment.
Got
to sleep at about 4.45. I toyed for a moment with staying up, and seeing
off the early risers, but sanity prevailed.
Saturday
14 February 2004: it's all over.
The
last day. Some people had already upped and gone before I even woke up.
I suspect my hungover face was a sight to behold, so it's just as well.
Bren announced at breakfast that she was still drunk... though I very
much doubt that was true. On the other hand, there were an awful
lot of La Rosas drunk the night before.
The
place was an utter disaster, and I felt completely unable to deal. Lucikly
some perky people were already at it. Those who'd gotten to sleep at 1am,
for the most part, but also the indefatigable Zara.
Suddenly
our apartment had become a meeting for convenors and volunteers, and we
had to pick our way past them to get breakfast. The downside of being
on the bottom floor, I guess. Grace was the lucky recipient of my curtain,
floor rug and box, due to being there at the time.
We
took fans apart and hurled them into boxes, and Chris took the blunt side
of an axe to the chairs... I suspect most of both will never fit back
together, as people flung all the rings and other bits in willy nilly.
Packed
and out by 10am was what we were told, so the cleaners could come in.
At 11 there was no sign of the cleaners, and we started muttering about
an extra hour of sleep we could have had.
In
shifts we all ended up at Robert H's flat, about 10 of us that were left.
The others had either headed to the airport, or home (in Kaz's case),
or to friend's houses. We were so dead, we plonked ourselves in various
prone positions and watched Star Wars: Attack of the Clones on Robert's
groovy DVD and wide TV. The only sign of life was people rousing themselves
to either eat more junk food or to half heartedly criticise the many plot
holes and terrible acting: "Yeah, if you wanted an army, you'd get
your own planet and grow clones for 10 years. That would be so much cheaper
than just paying a bunch of guys."
The
day was a stinker, hot and very humid. Eventually Cat and I were at the
airport, though on different airlines.
Finally
arrived home at 9.30pm. Note to future Clarionites: book a flight at midday.
Alinta
is released
Tony
and I headed to a luxury suite in a city hotel, (due to our house being
in renovation bedlam). The floors are in fact dry, and we could have gone
there. But we thought, what the hell. It'll be a nice half way point between
Clarion and home.
And
it is.
Oh,
the bliss of a king size bed, that's soft. That has my husband in it.
Oh,
the bliss of going home and getting clothes I haven't worn for weeks.
Oh,
the bliss of sleeping in, god, sleeping a full night. The bliss of a not
having to critique anything for Monday.
Oh,
the bliss of seeing my dog and cat, taking my dog to a cafe. Sitting in
a cooler temperature with a nice cool breeze. I even read something. Admittedly,
only two pages.
And
oh, the bliss of no beeps.
Picked
out a colour for my study wall.. a lovely deep purple (just one wall).
Had a swim, walked down to the opera house and ate oysters and salmon
overlooking the harbour. Lovely.
The
aftermath
Clarion
was...
Wonderful.
Amazing. Filled with generous, eccentric, smart, fun people who I've just
adored getting to know.
Difficult.
Tiring. Exhausting. Draining. Unbelievably challenging.
Hot,
filled with ants, spiders, goannas, and storms.
Just
about the best thing you can do to make your writing better.
One
of the most amazing things I've ever done: a life highlight.
And
now for something completely different...
I
will report on more post-Clarion thoughts later in the week. Right now,
I need to go and take a swim in the hotel pool.. or perhaps some brandy
in the Club lounge? Oh, the hard life.
Unfortunately
I must go straight back to work tomorrow, as I have no more leave for
the rest of time. I'm rather unprepared for it. This has been nothing
like a holiday, in fact I've worked harder and more intensely than I can
remember ever doing in my life, getting 3-4 hours sleep many many nights.
Monday
16 February 2004
Post
Clarion is a strange world. On the one hand, it's so cool not to be in
the Clarion prison any more. On the other.. no Clarion buddies around.
Real life is very present, and asking to be assessed. And I have a horrible
big SPIDER bite, it's HUGE and ITCHY, thanks to lounging on Robert's floor
on Saturday.
What
I learned
- how
to plot with better results than before
- what
the story is really "about"
- it's
all in the details
- everyone
will read a story differently
- how
to market myself, get an agent etc
- to
focus on the key relationship of the story
- to
work out what the theme is, and focus on it
- how
to generate more ideas and plots than ever before
- that
one should not drink Father O'Leary's Cream under any circumstances
whatever.
Regular
readers will know there's heaps more. But those are the main things in
a nutshell.
What
I got out of it
The
feedback I got from 16 fantastic writers. The variety of feedback means
there's always going to be someone who really nails the issue for you.
The differences in taste, style and approach are very cool, and let me
see my work from lots of different perspectives.
You
start to see patterns about what works and what doesn't. How writers use
standard techniques to fall back on that can sometimes get in their way
without realising it. How you might be doing the same. (As in, 'Oh my
God, I am doing the same!")
You
do some writing, but that is actually the least of it. I produced four
new stories and two revisions. I did a couple of stories that were way
out of my comfort zone, and am much the better for it. But even if I had
written nothing at all, I would still feel I had a great experience.
The
amazing long talks about writing with the others, about habits, techniques,
approaches. Some of the most important things I learned by chatting with
people out of class. Brainstorming plots with a couple of other people
lets you try out ideas you don't do on your own.
I now have
a sense that I am a publishable writer in the world market, and that I
should be thinking that way.
On the down
side, I don't want to read. I don't want to write. I want to crawl into
bed and stay there a while. I have withdrawal symptoms from my Clarionite
buds. I am utterly drained and exhausted, gobsmacked by my real life.
Some facts
- Four new
stories
- Two revised
ones
- Idea for
how to complete novel
- New tools
for plotting, yay
- Words
written: 25,500
- Story
ideas not yet written: 10
- Stories
critiqued: about 100; about 500,000 words (or 1000 pages of single-spaced
A4)
- Lurgies
survived: 2 (food poisoning, plus virus)
- Bookend
injuries: 1 badly sprained ankle on the first day; 1 horrific spider
bite on last day
Some thoughts
- What
I miss the most: the focus on writing, and being around the others;
being able to write heaps
- What
I miss least: oh how hard to pick just one - the hard bed, the heat,
the lack of sleep, the beeping, the pressure
- Clarion
regrets: I never played one game of ping pong (on the basis I am
congenitally unable to hit balls with bats, but still)
- Funniest
moment at Clarion: it's a toss up between Claire doing feminist
SF poetry for David Hartwell; the beep dance/mango daquairi making;
the audience at the pub overhearing Matt's reading of The Vomit Prophecies;
Kim W's infamous "Oh God" critique; and the unblogged events
of 4am on the last night
- Funniest
moment in class: Kim Wilkins after one glass of champagne
- Coolest
moment ever: Nalo's rendition of the blues version of "Sweet
Potato Woman"
- What
I most wanted to do when I got home: sleep in a soft bed
- Story
I like the most that I wrote: Kelli's Mum and the Hugdoll
- Story
I like the most someone else wrote: Zara's story about the mute
girl, the title of which escapes me right now, but a bunch of others
too
- Am
I glad I went?: oh yes. Very glad.
Advice
for next year's Clarion South attendees
- don't
bother bringing books to read. Seriously, don't. Your brain will
be too full
- do bring
nice stuff: a lamp, and a nice bedcover or rug with you to brighten
up your cell
- bring
kitchen stuff, or buy some when you get there
- bring
powerboards (two) and an extension cord
- ensure
at least one person has a car they're willing to use or lend
to others, the campus is very isolated
- bring
way more hot weather clothing than you think you'll need, and
just one shirt or warm thing. Brisbane is HOT and you will SWEAT
- try to
get a top floor room on the north side, they are cooler
- in the
critique room, pay attention to all the critiques on every story,
that's where you learn the blinding insights. Someone will see a story
in an utterly different light, and you will gain an understanding of
something you'd been searching for on your own story
- be honest
in your critiquing right from day one - find one thing to praise, but
do it quickly, then move through the main points in order.
- never
confuse the person who writes the story with the story itself.
That applies to your own stories too
- if you
have to choose between writing your story and critiquing, choose
critiquing - you actually learn more on other people's stories than
you do on your own
- be brave
- write stuff you didn't think you would ever write, in styles you haven't
tried before. People who did this developed the most
- be ready
for your individual consultation, know what you want from that tutor
before you go in
- accept
that you will drink a lot and stay up nights, and if you smoke
or have ever smoked, you will do it more/again
- try to
get at least some sleep, see above
- take plenty
of vitamins, and a bit of exercise, or you will get the Clarion
lurgy
- think
of Clarion as a marathon, and pace yourself accordingly. The
workload doesn't let up for a second
- conjugal
visits are a mixed blessing - you get less time to write on the weekend
- you will
not have free time. You won't be visiting your friends in Brisbane
or visiting the art gallery. You'll barely be moving from your room.
- get a
dialup internet account. The university LAN is fast, but you
can't blog or send email, log on to Usenet, or use MSN, etc; anything
that goes out from you is banned.
- the parking
police are vicious. Don't park anywhere you aren't supposed to
- try not
to stay up all night writing a story. You will sincerely wish
you hadn't the second you submit it.
- even if
you are out of holidays, plan at least two days off when you
get back.
- during
critiques, write as many notes as you can. Not everything people
say will be on their written copies, and you may forget what they've
said. Hell, an hour later you will have forgotten, because - did I mention
this? - your brain will be full.
- if you're
worrying about spending so much time with so many people, don't.
No one gives a damn if you spend time by yourself, as long as you come
out occasionally
- if you
just want praise for your writing, don't go. Seriously, don't
go. You'll just waste everyone's time.
- take DVDs
with you - there's a cool wide-screen TV in a common room.
On writing
at Clarion
- I wish
I'd brought more ideas with me. I wish I'd spent the month or
two before I went just thinking up cool ideas ready to write. That would
have saved me a hell of a lot of grief.
- don't
worry if you can't generate six fresh stories. Just do what you
can do.
- write
to each tutor's strengths. That's not to say write in their style,
but you'll get more useful feedback if you show stories that are more
their 'kind of thing'.
- it's okay
to write complete rubbish. If you think that, you'll write more,
and it will be better. And it might be something you're not expecting
- something new, a different way of writing, that's actually better
than before. If you aren't sure, show someone you trust.
- try
stuff. The most amazing leaps in ability came from people who abandoned
their usual toolbox and strengths, and tried something utterly new.
In a different genre, a different length, a different tense or person,
or just leaving out the more extreme things of their normal style.
Thursday
19 February 2004: 6 days post-Clarion
A bit
of light relief
Zara, Wendy
and I went out on the town last night. We drank chocolate martinis, which
are heavenly (gin with a dash of vermouth, plus a mint stick). Also champagne
cocktails with peach schnapps. We got very silly, alternately loud, sad,
flirtatious and laughing, sometimes all at the same time.
There was
a table full of guys near us who I suspect were taking notes for their
own stories; ocassionally they couldn't resist making editorial remarks.
Later, in the tapas place next door, the waiter was delightfully tolerant
of our utter silliness and recurring need to cuddle.
It was strange
to see the two of them outside Clarion. My God, these people are real,
they do exist outside of the Clarion prison, and I can still talk to them
again. We spent a lot of time talking about Clarion and how we feel about
it now, and I suspect we'll need to do it again a bunch of times.
Zara floored
me when we were at Clarion, saying that it wasn't going to affect her,
it was going to be just a cool thing she's done. I knew it would hit me
hard, because I've done something similar before (I spent a few months
in Japan studying violin with Dr Suzuki), and I remember how long it took
me to readjust when I came back. So I'm
not surprised to find that she's having just as much of a jolt as I am
now we're back.
The thing
I miss most is the intensity of it. Real life seems beige in comparison.
How to get some of that intensity into my life is the question I want
to answer. I'm sure Zara, Wendy and Cat will help, and Chris when he gets
back from driving down from Brisbane.
Emails from
the others tell me that most of us are having trouble going back to "normal".
Rethinking things, missing everyone.
Clarion
cliques
Before we
went, I remember saying to some of the others, we won't be like those
Clarionites in the US, huddling together at cons and forming cliques.
Now I totally get why they do it. Totally. And I fully expect to be huddling
at every opportunity.
Writing,
I need writing
It's driving
me mad that I can't write at the moment. My house is still in bedlam,
though we have the bedroom back (thank Christ), my study is empty and
being painted. I discovered to my horror it will be the end of next week
before I have it back.
I must write,
and I must write now, or I will go mad. So tonight, I will set up my stuff
somewhere, and perch there for a bit. I am itching to get going with my
rewrite of my novel, Apulder Sweet.
Friday
20 February 2004: 7 days post-Clarion
Distant
and unconnected
According
to Tony, plus an assortment of other people in my life, that's how I am
right now. And they're right. Eventually I'll get over it, I'm sure.
Ditmar
nomination!
I just heard
from Richard Harland that he liked my story The Collector (from
Borderlands #2) enough to nominate it for a Ditmar award. I can't say
how thrilled I am, I mean, I didn't even ask him to.
Clarion
photos
I'm in the
process of putting up some photos on this blog, along with the relevant
weeks. Check out January to see the first
batch. Most are taken by Claire, but also some by me. Gawd, some show
people at their very seediest. Needless to say, I won't be posting those
ones, at least not the ones of me. Mwahahaha.
Wednesday
25 February 2004: 12 days post-Clarion
She's
baaaack
Apparently,
I'm back from Planet Clarion now.
I sent an
email at work yesterday which immediately brought the boss into my office.
"You're back, I see," she said. Yep, my brain is back online,
and not a moment too soon.
What I
miss about Clarion
The people,
most of all. The intensity. The atmosphere of creativity. The time to
spend writing, talking about writing, thinking about writing. The space
out of my normal life. The total willingness of people there to brainstorm
any weird idea that pops in your head, take it to the extreme. The ability
to bounce plots off some amazingly clever people.
What I
don't miss
Heat, hard
beds, spiders, ants, lack of sleep, lack of cooking implements, the isolation,
the beeping, the pressure.
Hmm. These
lists aren't all that different from the ones I wrote last week. Interesting.
Lost things
While my
brain is reportedly back, my life isn't yet. My house is still in total
bedlam, though the wall of my study is a glorious deep purple, and I am
so going to love it.
My filofax
went missing between Brisbane and here and hasn't surfaced. It had my
whole life in it, addresses, phone numbers, appointments, birthdays, you
name it. I bought a brand new red one in an attempt to bring the old one
back (on the same principle as: when you want it to rain, wash the car).
It didn't
work.
Last night
my laptop decided it had no hard drive at all, and for one terrible moment
I thought I'd lost that as well. I switched it on and it said, "no
hard drive", and I switched it off and on again a few times with
the same result.
I railed
against the universe, demanding to know why I had to lose all my email
addresses just when I'd lost all the phone numbers and street addresses.
Some part
of the universe must have been listening. Tony fired it up one more time,
and it worked. It seems it was just hot, it didn't turn off properly the
night before and had overheated.
Luckily I
do have a backup of all my writing, that I made last Friday, but there's
so much more on there. The latest backup was made before I left for Clarion,
so that's tonight's job: big backup. Of course, first I have to find where
the blank CDs are in all the mess.
I'm back,
but my inner writer isn't
I have started
writing again, but everything I write is awful. I don't think I'm really
ready to write again, but I'm sitting down most nights anyway, just to
keep the discipline going.
Last night
I wrote two beginnings of stories, and they were both really dreadful.
Ah well. At some point, my inner writer will come back from Clarion too.
Cold,
and good
I love the
weather this week. I was actually cold last night, just a little, and
instead of turning on the heater I revelled in the feeling of it. Mmmmm.
Today it's raining, and it's not chubby rain. Just the ordinary wet stuff.
Fun at
Balmoral
What a lovely
day we had at Wendy's on Sunday. Chris, Wendy, Zara and me, plus Keenan,
Wendy's partner, and Tony, and Louise, Chris's partner. We had fruit and
cheese in the garden with G&Ts, then swam at the beach, drank a little
more, then had fish and chips on the beach.
Our partners
were very tolerant when we began doing silly antidittos of our antidittos,
followed by qualified gender based antidittos, buckets of dittos, and
some antiditto...ish....ness.
Detoxing
I have been
drinking a great deal less in the last week, not that that would be hard.
At Clarion it seemed the most natural thing in the world to drink starting
at 5pm with a G&T after class, and just keep on going. I didn't really
feel any ill effects from it either, with one or two notable exceptions.
Here, most
days I don't drink at all, or if I do, it's one or two at most. It's unusual
for me to have more than that.
Funny, I
just don't want it now I'm back. I guess my liver is happy about it.
Friday
27 February 2004
Writer's
agony
I sit down
to write, and find myself not writing. Or I do write, and out comes crap.
I look at my novel, and think, why did I ever think this was any good?
I'm sure
this will pass.
Tell me it
will pass.
Meanwhile...
There's a
war
going on in Mario Brothers Land (Part 1).
See Part
2
And Part
3.
My
mum is seriously ill
My
mother, who we thought had a bad bout of encephalitis at Xmas, turns out
to have an aggressive, malignant brain tumour in her speech centre. So
I'm gobsmacked...she may have to have brain surgery later next week, after
which she may or may not | 
next >
