Street art in Jaco, across from the sushi restaurant.What I worked on:
1007 words on Circus in the Bloodwarm Rain, although I really need to start going back and making some of the early parts make more sense. Right now there’s an awful lot of leaping about between the original short story it’s based on (news of that coming soon) and the final outline for the novel.
1005 words on Prairiedog Town (working title)
Total wordcount: 2012, but there’s still time to get a little more in
Today’s new Spanish words: la abeja (the bee), cienca ficción (science fiction), mamar (to suck, as it mother’s milk), el mamon (a kind of fruit), el lavavavillas (the dishwasher), el rastro (the flea market).
We walked down to the farmer’s market in the morning and bought lovely fruit, including bananas and rambutan. After some work in the afternoon, we took a swim break and tried out the pool here, which was delicious. But holy cow, I’d forgotten how tiring swimming can be, and what it’s like to step out of the water and feel gravity reclaiming what was just light and buoyant.
Later on, we went for an evening walk and were forced by rain into a sushi restaurant where we had terrific sushi (although the spicy tuna was a bit too much for me). We’ve been told that Jaco picks up considerably during the weekends, when everyone from San Jose comes down to spend some time here, and it does seem a good bit livelier this evening.
And a little translating! I’ve started “Panecillo tostado, con devoción para acompaña” and am undoubtedly mangling it considerably, all in the name of practice.
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News: Offering an Online Workshop
Bonus: The virtual classroom may include sundry visits from Raven, who likes to know what's going on at all times.Several people have been asking if I’d offer an online workshop and I’ve been thinking about how best to do that. So here goes. Please spread the word of this however you can. If I don’t get at least 3 students for a workshop, I’ll cancel it.
Dates:
Workshop 1 — Wednesday evenings, 8 pm-10 pm PST, December 14, 2011-January 18, 2012
Workshop 2 — Saturday mornings 9:30 AM-11:30 AM PST, December 17-January 28, 2012 (I have to miss the 21st due to a convention).
Format: I’m going to offer two sessions, one on a weekday evening and the other on Saturday mornings, because I know schedules vary. The class will run six weeks, with a two hour session each time. I would like to schedule workshop time into that, where you’ll get a chance to read and critique each other’s stories, as well as a chance to hear me critique them, so starting with the second session, part of the class will be devoted to that (no more than 50%, tops). I’ll be doing the class as a Google Hangout, so we’ll all be chatting face to face, which means there is a limit of 9 students per class. There will be an optional make-up session for both workshops for people who had to miss a class or two along the line the week after the class ends.
Focus: The focus is the short story – how to come up with an idea, how to write it, how to revise, and how to submit it. There will be weekly writing exercises and optional reading. The final class will include career stuff, market advice, and a few funny anecdotes.
Why take a class with me? As both a writer and editor, I bring a focus that lets me advise you from both sides of the desk. My experience as the fiction editor of award-winning Fantasy Magazine as well as short story collections and anthologies combined with the fact that I’m a working, selling writer helps me provide you with solid, up-to-date market advice for both online and print publishing. My teaching experience includes the Johns Hopkins University, Towson State University, and Bellevue College and I’ve studied with John Barth, Stephen Dixon, Octavia Butler, and Connie Willis, to name just a couple of people I’ve had the pleasure of learning from. Former students can testify that I’m an active, engaged, and entertaining instructor who gives careful and considered feedback on their work.
Value adds: As part of the class, I will be happy to critique an extra story (up to 10k words) afterwards and offer market advice. The offer expires after a year.
Cost: Well, it’s an experiment, so I’m basing this off comparable workshops I teach. I am charging $199 per person, but will make it $149 if you sign up before midnight PST November 30. I do take Paypal; contact me at spezzatura AT gmail.com and we can work out details. If you can’t afford it and have some interesting barter to propose, let me know at the same address.
What if those times don’t work for you? Drop me a line. We can try to work something out.
The Fisher Queen fished her parents out of the sea one evening. The waves were flat as paint, stretching out toward the horizon. Dead fish curled drying on the sand, scenting the air. It was the dog days of summer, windless. Far out past the sand bar, the sea shaded green, then brown.
She felt one of them lip the bait and the tender fumbling as they pushed it back and forth, mouthing it in inquiry. Then they both struck on the double hook, a rush as sudden as a punch, and the tip of the pole dipped in acquiescence to the water.
She pulled them in using long slow pulls, bringing the rod’s tip back towards her shoulder, reeling in swiftly as it lowered again towards the horizon.
She remembered scraps of childhood as she reeled. Hanging upside from the jungle gym, feeling her head throb with onrushing blood while a cat stalked by in the unmown grass, tail high and stiff. Sneaking off to be with a boyfriend for the weekend, her mother finding out, shouting at her. College graduation, their heads among the crowd. Calling her in her first apartment to make sure she was okay, didn’t need anything. Her father’s funeral, her mother’s only a few weeks later, like a swan than has lost its mate, and so lies down to die.
Now they were fish, as long and muscular as sharks, but toothless, living on plankton and the spawn of crustaceans. Now they thought slower, deeper thoughts than when they were human, and if they included thoughts of the Fisher Queen, they betrayed no sign of it.
She waded hip deep into the tepid water, holding a North Carolina summer’s heat still here in the final days of the season. The fish came to her, floated alongside her legs. She bent to each one in turn to coax away the hook piercing their lips. But free, the fish remained there, their scaly sides rasping along her legs. They were all muscle ““ she could feel it when they flexed a tail in over to stay in place.
She rested her fingers on their brows and let them move in tiny, hypnotic circles. The fish floated in the water. She could see their great golden eyes underneath the surface, staring up at her.
