Last month, I bought bunches of books. Seriously, bunches. This morning I stared at my bookshelves in the library and decided it was time to sort through, at least non-fiction, cull some I’m never going to use, and make some room.
Theoretically, this should be something I do twice a year, or at some kind of threshold. I will never be the “a new book came in, so one book has to go out” person (I mean, people didn’t do that with their kids, did they? So why books?). In fact, I do it when I feel like it… and that happens to be about twice a year.
Main non-fiction case
The image above is my “main” nonfiction/reference case. At the bottom left you see a Victoria Whitehand figure and the carved spiral rock Sharon gave me for Christmas. The jumble of cords curling out on the right is my “charging station.”
While my fiction section is sorted alphabetically by author’s last name, the reference section is loosely by topic. Topic, and one other important shelving factor–which shelf a tall book will fit on. For example, I have a mythology section in the other case but both Bibles, mine from Confirmation and the New Jerusalem bible I bought second hand, are on this case because that’s where they fit.
Sections, to the extent they are sections, include:
Personal family history
California and US history (and a pocket copy of the Constitution)
General history, kind of
1920/30s books
The Inklings
How-things-work books.
The second shelf holds:
Bronte history/biographies
Victorian times books
Tudor times books
Hawaiiana
Native American history
Construction/architecture
Trade
And it goes on like that.
The second case
The second non-fiction case holds a thematic jumble.
The first shelf contains essays about writing and two baby-book names. Why? Because they fit there. Also, C.S. Lewis’s religious books ended up there, and I don’t know why.
The second shelf, not pictured, holds style manuals and dictionaries, including all of my language dictionaries.
The third shelf holds mythology/religion books, books on herbalism, magical systems (like Tarot), symbology and so on.
On the fourth shelf you’ll find my charging paraphenalia, my travel journals, a collection of letters my father wrote to my mother when they were long-distance courting and planning to get married, geology, and travel guide books. The bottom shelf holds a couple of hardcovers that wouldn’t fit anywhere else, and the start of the fiction section.
I was brutal. I managed to cull about 20 books, which I plan to offer to Second Chances Used Books today. At first I didn’t see any visible difference, but looking at the photos, I see I made some room on the bottom shelf of he first case. Probably just enough room for the Petaluma-themed non fiction books I got as prep for the next Comeuppance story.
Another Mendocino Coast Writers Conference is in the rearview. This was the first in-person conference since 2019, and I would have loved it for that alone. I did love it for that reason, but there were many other reasons to love it as well this year.
Like any multi-person event, there were also things that didn’t go perfectly. I didn’t take advantage of the one-on-one consultations this year (I don’t most years) so I can’t comment on those. In retrospect, I wish I had signed up for one with our workshop leader. Anyway, now I know. I also skipped pitch sessions and the anonymous read of your “first lines,” so I can’t comment on them.
The things I loved included:
The morning workshop:
The morning workshops are the wellspring of the conference and everything else, bad or good, flows from them. The workshop leader is critical for this. The group is important too, but as a participant, you know something about the leader and can choose based on your category and interest. Since they’ve offered Speculative Fiction, I’ve signed up for it practically every year, mainly because it fits my work.
This year Ayize Jama-Everett was our leader. Workshop leaders have ranged from acceptable to great in my experience with this category, and Ayize was great. This year brought some twists; we had to be masked while indoors, which meant functionally during the workshop. For most (all?) of us, it’s difficult to project through a mask, and often challenging to understand something through a mask. (And we had a participant with a hearing loss as well.) The solution many workshop leaders took, including ours, was to meet outside. The weather cooperated, and it worked well. The first day we had some irritations with ambient noise, but otherwise, this was the solution.
It helped that everyone in the group was a strong writer and a smart, generous person.
I don’t know for sure, but I think the conference has embraced the new model of workshopping across the board. At least I know two workshops used it.
Instead of a trial by ordeal, where the writer sits silently while people either flail around, trying to offer useful comments, or focus dagger-sharp criticisms in order to eviscerate the story, in the new model, the writer speaks first, and throughout the workshop process if necessary. They start off by saying what they want or need for the story.
This is just so… logical.
I’ve been in workshop after workshop where I’ve wasted brain energy and time explaining why the opening chapter didn’t really work for me, only to find out, when the writer is finally allowed to speak, this this is Chapter Six and they wanted to know if the narrative voice worked. I’ve been in groups where the participants have thrown out stuff like, “You shouldn’t use first person here. Write it in third!” or “Nothing works here except your fantastical city. Throw out everything and write a new story about the city.” (That last one is a quote.) I also know of people who were deeply wounded, to the point of considering quitting writing, by workshop experiences.
All of this is to say that I’m a fan of the new model. It worked well for us, not only because of our leader.
The weather:
The conference really can’t claim credit for the weather, but it didn’t hurt
that it was in the high 60’s, with fog most mornings and sun the rest of the
day, all three days. The one drawback to the weather was a cold, capricious
wind that would spring up with no warning, creating a wind chill and slicing
through wraps, coats and sweaters like a magic knife of ice. Otherwise, it was
perfect walking weather, and perfect sitting outside weather.
The food:
The food is conference food, with a focus on things that appeal to a broad
number of people. Nothing is cooked to order. Chef Oscar makes a commitment to
offer palatable choices to people with food allergies, who eat vegetarian,
vegan, and/or gluten free. They offer entrees in all these categories. She
introduced “alphabet safe” main courses, which, she said, met all three of the
options above. There was always a fresh green salad at lunch, and nice
desserts.
Cooking for a crowd on a budget is challenging and there are things you learn
to expect, like varieties of pasta. The selections are not going to be perfect
for everyone. Fortunately, the school is about one mile from downtown Mendocino
Village, where there are plenty of restaurants. At least two, The Good Life
Café and Frankie’s, are less expensive, offering fast service and good value
for your money. Fort Bragg is six miles north and a haven for fast food if
you’ve got a hankering.
I like the food, but I like it making the allowance that it is
conference food, and I’m the person who considers tortilla chips and salsa a
light meal, so be guided by those facts.
The Afternoon Sessions:
I attended two afternoon sessions. Faith Adiele discussed and demonstrated the “hermit crab” story; a story that fits into the “container” of another form, like a letter, a review, a set of instructions, or an advertisement. The mid-afternoon sessions ran an hour and a half and included both talk or lecture and a writing exercise. Faith is an electric presenter, with a delightful slide show, and I found the seminar inspiring. The next afternoon I found Ayize’s presentation equally so, and my friend Terry got a story idea out of that one.
The Staff:
Conference staff is always wonderful, and they were this year too. Plus, it was so great to see them in person! They all stay cheerful and friendly all the way through and frankly, I don’t know how they manage it!
The Bookstore. Gallery Bookshop always manages the conference bookstore. They know their stuff and they know their audience. In addition to books by faculty and books by participants, they bring writing books and inspirational books, reference books (Mendocino history for example) and lots of tchotchkes or “sidelines”—pens, journals, small notepads, bookmarks, etc. They had a location that was both good and bad, right in the main hallway from the lobby out to the classrooms where the workshops were held. Good for exposure, and, pun intended, bad for exposure and general congestion. Rob staffed it every day. I loved it.
There were things I liked less.
The classrooms.
The school is K-8. K stands for Kindergarten, and I wouldn’t have minded the kindergarten room if I only had to deal with the alphabet and the numbers running along the wall. Sadly, I also had to deal with a kindergarten-high table and chair. I doubt I could have hauled my carcass out of that teensy chair unaided if we’d had to sit there three hours. Going outside solved that problem mostly.
The restrooms.
Saturday, the final day, mostly of the restrooms were locked. There were four functional ones in the main building two were marked Out of Order. This was not okay.
The Contest Winners.
The contest winners were announced on the conference website, which makes sense and allows for an excerpt to be posted. That’s efficient and cool, but I wished there had been a general in-person announcement somewhere. At the final Open Mike, when some of the readers signed up, the host read off their names and shared some of the judges’ comments, but it wasn’t comprehensive.
Overall, though, it was great to be back in person. For the first in-person workshop since 2019, I am grateful it was wonderful.
This means that I’ve sold enough copies that I’ve paid back my advance, and any royalties now come to me. This is exciting! Comeuppance is now The Little Story That Could in my mind.
Any excuse to show off the cover.
This doesn’t mean the book hasn’t made a profit for the publisher until now. My royalties are a percentage of the hard copy’s or e-book’s profit. ( A different percentage for each format.) Many books are profitable and at least break even for the publisher without ever earning out the author’s advance.
We’ve all heard horror stories of advances being clawed back by the publisher, but those are mostly specific, and extreme, cases. And I won’t be one (at least this time) so, yaaay!
On Saturday, August 27 I’ll be at the Word Horde Emporium of the Weird and Fantastic, in Suite 805 in the Petaluma Outlet Mall. This will be a meet-and-greet as part of the shop’s Grand Reopening in its new location. I’ll be there about 4:00 PM.
What I love most about the new location is the plentitude of parking! What I love second-most is the official greeter, Fiona, the terrier who supervises the pet specialty store that shares the suite.
The Mendocino Coast Writers Conference starts next week. For the first time since 2019 it will be held in person.
The conference is being diligent. They required the participants to provide our vaccination status, and face coverings will be used whenever we’re inside. Breakfast and lunch are provided outside so masks won’t be required. The conference isn’t requiring a daily test but they recommend it. I plan on testing daily.
As always, I’m looking forward to the usual things at the conference. I’m eager to meet all my workshop-mates and our leader, and discuss our work. I usually don’t attend many of the afternoon sessions but two of them this year look like fun!
Then there are all the conference-adjacent things I love visiting Mendocino for:
Eating out. Yes, I do too much of it, but the village has excellent restaurants, cafes and diners. It’s also when and where I get to catch up with friends.
Walking around. Getting a coffee drink and strolling the village? Check. Walking on the bluff, watching as the fog glides in? Check. Walking in the headlands park? Check. Driving up to Fort Bragg and wandering around there? Check again.
Botanical garden. Photos of flowers, the homestead vegetable garden, the succulents, the fir trees and the ocean. At least two hours of tranquility and wonder.
Browsing the bookstore. Buying a hundred dollars worth of books? Or two hundred? And why not?
Out of This World. Pretending to myself that I’m going to buy a telescope? Absolutely.
Ravens and crows. The photo opportunities are nearly endless.
Aloft Suite at the Alegria Inn. I’m looking forward to checking in with Eric and Elaine and climbing the eleven stairs to the Aloft Suite in Raku House, a suite I’ve started thinking of as “my writing suite.” And already imagining Elaine’s warm fresh scones for breakfast. Yum!
I usually don’t give space to negative reviews, but Deborah Ross’s review of the ill-conceived Netflix adaptation of Jane Austen’s Persuasion is not only hilarious, it’s perceptive. Ross knows Austen and she knows exactly what’s wrong with this version (It’s temping to say, “Short version: Everything.”)
The James Webb Space Telescope brings us images of wonder and beauty. The experts say that it’s the later information, scientific in nature, that will enrich us. Right now, though, the beauty is breath-taking–a potent reminder of our place in the universe.
Our workshop leader for the Speculative Fiction workshop at Mendocino Coast Writers Conference asked us to find a one-page story we really liked. I found a George Saunders story. Do you have a favorite one-page story?
Syfy, which once again has no programming, has started “Flashback Friday”– basically a marathon of an SF series that runs all day Friday and a few hours Saturday morning. As much as I’m mocking this (and come on, I totally am) I was delighted to see Warehouse 13 as a choice on Friday. That show was so smart, so silly and so fun! A tidbit–the artifacts were a collection of fabricated objects, yard sale finds and stuff from the garages/attics of cast and crew.
Today at noon, our time, Gabrielle Mathieu interviewed me for the New Fantasy podcast–all he way from Switzerland. She came well-prepared, and was a delight! My interview lasted just under half an hour, and will be combined with her capsule review and a read of a brief passage from the book. I’ll update you when it airs.
Mendocino Village’s Gallery Bookshop hosts a monthly Authors Showcase, and I’ll be part of their August event! It starts at 6:00pm on Thursday, August 25.
This morning I was reading about several immersive writers conferences that start soon. to my surprise, I felt… yearning.
I’m going to an immersive workshop in August. It might simply be that this will be the first in-person workshop since 2019, and I’m experiencing nostalgia.
Anyway, that sense led me into a journey down memory lane, good and bad, which I will now share with you, so get out while you can. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
I’ve gone to several immersive workshops. I’m going to write about the best and the worst, starting with the worst so I can end on a high note with the best.
There are my memories of my personal experience. As with anything, your mileage may vary.
Nothing like a glass mountain to boost your confidence.
The worst, by far, was held in what is now called Palisades Tahoe, by a group now called Community of Writers. I’ve written about this one-week workshop before because it included the Amy Tan incident. The then-Squaw Valley Writers Workshop had an elevated reputation. I attended because of that reputation. I don’t see how they earned it then, unless it’s purely a triumph of marketing.
My workshop group was about sixty percent recent MFA grads there to shop their novels and make important connections with established writers. As I’ve said elsewhere, the behavior of said graduates definitely helped shape the disgust I feel for MFA Creative Writing programs, perhaps unfairly. I have a sizeable list of what didn’t work for me (a wunderkind workshop leader one day who had to make it all about herself; two cut-throat MFA’s in serious rivalry with one another strewing chaos through the group; sloppy programming and bad organization). The attitude of the program’s leaders tops this list though. They had been together for years. There was a familial connection; I want to say father-daughter or woman and father-in-law. Other than basic annoyances (afternoon events starting late, etc), this little group, four people, were noticeable for being very pleased with themselves. They felt they knew a lot about writing, publishing, the inner workings of the arcane business and the alchemical magic of storytelling. The shimmering soap-bubble of their schtick popped for me on the next-to-last day, when I learned that while one of them had some short stories in print and one had sold a non-fiction book, no one in the quartet had sold a major work of fiction, to anybody. They were wannabes just like us, only they’d been wannabes longer.
They also kept to themselves at meals, inviting the guest lecturers/writers to join them a their table, but rarely mingling with the participants. It made an impression, and not a good one.
I didn’t love the location. This was my problem, by the way, not the workshop’s. I wasn’t familiar with ski resorts. I knew Palisades Tahoe had a mountain in it because, well, it’s a valley and, well again, it’s a ski resort. I failed to consider that a mountain famous for being covered in snow five months out of the year might not have a lot of trees. And while I knew I was miles and miles inland from the ocean, I failed to take into account what that really meant. It meant I was nowhere near the ocean. I could drive to Lake Tahoe, a beautiful, highly commercialized and very popular blue lake, but it didn’t satisfy.
Worst immersive experience, hands down.
Or I could walk on this beach every morning. Image by Coast Explorer Magazine
Best immersive experience: A three-week residential workshop offered by Portland State University in Cannon Beach, Oregon. Did you note the name of the location? There’s a beach. On the ocean. Already a win. Its focus was speculative fiction; a win again. In previous years, this workshop had Ursula LeGuin as a leader. For three weeks instead of one, it cost about as much as the one-week Community of Writers workshop. I had a great group; people I still connect with (and this took place in the 1980s).
A great location, a great group. Held in a grade school, it also offered some important amenities (looking at you, Community of Writers…) like a photocopier we could use.
Then, our workshop leaders. We had a different leader each week. I’ve written elsewhere here about one of the three, definitely the least satisfactory; but Week One introduced me to Marta Randall. I’d only read Islands, her science fiction novel, before this. Marta was and is an amazing teacher in addition to being an excellent writer. She also helped our group coalesce. Marta brought her significant other, but they were both up for pizza most evenings, or walks on the beach with the work-shoppers. There’s no rule that says leaders have to make themselves available to the workshop after formal hours, and I understand better than anyone about introversion and a need to recharge. Still, it’s really nice when the leaders do join in on things.
Week Two brought us Paul Preuss, a science fiction writer. Thoughtful, probing, Paul was a considerate leader who gently (but stubbornly) prodded each of us to push our own barriers. Like Marta, he and his wife spent some after-hours time with us.
Week Three was Peter Beagle and his new woman friend. He was the least successful of the leaders, but even he couldn’t damage the value of what I’d already absorbed. Best immersive workshop.
With three days instead of a week (or three), the Mendocino Coast Writers Conference is already in a different category. It still delivers for me. Faculty make themselves available, staff are supportive, friendly and efficient. In the internet era things like print services and photocopiers are less crucial, but available if you have a situation. The workshop offers things like a quiet writing room and yummy meals. I’m in a place that resonates for me.
Instead of looking back, I should be looking forward! Looking ahead to walks on the bluffs, great workshopping with a great instructor, and lots of time with good friends.
I could watch Morbius for $3.99. The price was about right. I don’t know the character from the comic books, but I’d seen a few articles and reviews so I knew that a doctor turned into a super-vampire.
Michael Morbius has a rare genetic condition that leaves him weak and likely to die young. He vows to find a cure. In the hospital/hospice where he lives (he’s about 12) he befriends a younger boy with the same disease. the kid’s name is Lucien, but Morbius dubs him “Milo.” “You’re just the next Milo,” he says. When Morbius first arrived, the boy in the bed next to him was named Milo, and he died, as did the next and the next.
Flash forward. Michael Morbius (Jared Leto) declines the Nobel Prize for his life-saving artificial human blood, and returns to New York to continue his work on a cure. Nice (unintentional) bit of character development here–he declines the Nobel from the podium in Stockholm, instead of politely refusing it via email the way everybody else does. This way he gets all the attention and wastes everybody’s time, and Leto gets to look awesome in a tux.
Morbius is experimenting with the DNA of a rare species of vampire bat, aided by his partner Dr. Martine Bancroft (Adria Arjona). The serum works! Uh-oh, side effect–he morphs into a monster thing and drinks human blood. How will they fit this in the “side effects can include..” statement?
Because of this, er, glitch, Morbius refuses to give the serum to Lucien/Milo, (who is now the impeccably stylish Matt Smith,) living in luxury in New York, too. Milo steals the serum and takes it, and starts killing people.
I should mention that becoming a vampire in this fictional world means you move faster than the human eye can track, with trippy whorls of color following you, you’ve got sonar hearing, you’re super-strong, you can run, jump, climb, break things and so on. Milo loves this, especially the killing people and drinking blood part, so now you have a Bad Vampire and the Not As Bad Vampire and the plot goes pretty much as you expect until it gets to the end, where is it still pretty much what you’d expect.
What did I like:
Jared Leto and Adria Arjona are pretty.
The swirls of color. So cool!
The bat scene at the beginning of the movie.
Evil Milo (Matt Smith) dancing shirtless in his apartment.
Flying in the subway tunnels. Morbius rides the pillow of air pushed by the train and… it’s physics, don’t expect me to explain it.
That’s it. If that’s enough for you, or Morbius was your favorite comic-book hero, by all means check it out.
Today I have invented a new word: worldsetting. (I can’t prove I invented it, but it didn’t turn up in a Google search so I am taking credit.)
I invented it to solve a problem I’ve had for a while now, when talking about writing: worldbuilding. This element is not unique to speculative fiction, but it’s at the forefront of most books in the genre.
Speculative fiction takes place somewhere other than the “real world.” This requires developing a consistent world. It might be a starship or an alternative planet; it might be a “second world” or a fantastical version of a historical or contemporary world. Whatever it is, any aspect of life that will have an impact on the story have to be worked out, at least to a minimal level. Politics, economics, geography, social mores, etiquette, transportation, healing, clothing, food all require thought. The writer needs to know how these things work so they can avoid inconsistencies. Working out these elements is called worldbuilding.
Once the world is “built-out,” the writer needs to make sure the key details enter the story, preferably soon enough that they function as a safety net for the story. For instance, if your protagonist works in a salt mine, it would help readers if they knew pretty early that salt is a form of currency (or, alternately, very rare and expensive). Making sure these elements appear in the story as they need to, in a way that feels natural, is also called worldbuilding.
This leads to difficulties for me, both in reviewing works and commenting in workshops, because often I know the writer’s worldbuilding in the first sense is excellent… but getting the needed data into the work in the right amount needs work. Or, the precise details are beautiful, but inconsistent, because while the second meaning of worldbuilding is excellent, they still need work on the first meaning.
So, I’m inventing a new word for the second meaning. Worldbuilding is the interior development the writer does. Worldsetting is how they communicate it in the book.
