||[Apr. 16th, 2014|08:28 am]
I had three days off in a row.
I had a road-trip to Boston and the Buttery.
I had two EXCELLENT WRITING DAYS!!!
I have calculated, with some care and some despair and a lot of hilarity, that if I revised 7.5 pages for the next 14 days, I will have finished my 3rd draft revisions by the end of April. I want to finish my revisions by the end of April. But when I say 7.5, that means single-spaced pages, which means, like 15 pages MS, and when I say "revise" I mostly mean "cut it all and completely re-write, occasionally pasting paragraphs back in from the "cut" file. SIGH.
But it's SO MUCH FUN!!! I vacillate from thinking this monstrous monster of mine is good - better than its previous draft, certainly - and complete nonsense. But... But whatever, it's nonsense I must write. And, at the very least, women with agency. Women who are friends. Some floomping. Some flirting. Some blood-letting. Some interfering gods. Some radicals. Some direwolves. Some nefarious doings. A lot of jokes.
Miscellaneous Stones: Assassin, I will do my best by you. I don't entirely know if that's good enough. But I'm all you got, kid.
BUT IF I FINISH YOU BY THE END OF APRIL, THIS IS WHAT I WILL DO NEXT:
So, Blood Bound Books submission guidelines for novels looks like this:
With the submission window for MAY being sci-fi and fantasy. No, this is not where I'm going send my beloved Lanie Stones... SHE will go straight to her GREAT AGENT QUEST. But! What I do have is...
The Bone Swans of Amandale, the first installment of Silver and Bone: The Pied Piper Tales. Currently it's just a novella. It's about 25,000 words. If I can (and I can, easily) beef it up by 20,000 words, I will submit it to Blood Bound Books by the end of May. It has sat around long enough. It's brilliant (okay, or at least it's raunchy, and bloody, and edgy, and kind of hilarious), it will be better, and why not make it WORK for me??? So no one will buy a 25,000 word novella. Maybe someone will buy a SHORT NOVEL!
And then... NEW PROJECTS!
I am halfway through my second, erm, "erotic fairy tale" - which, if I ever do more than two, and collect 'em, will go into a collection I'm thinking of calling "The Witch's Garden." This one is currently soft-titled "The Almond Witch" or "The Witch in the Almond Tree" or possibly "The Ghost in the Almond Tree." I don't know. I should finish writing it first. If I write a third, it'll be called "The Dark One of the Sea." That's my vengeful mermaid story, only now with SEX!
(Oops. Did I just say "sex" on LJ???)
I am a third through the first draft of my second (AND FAVORITE!!!) Dark Breakers novella, "The Two Paupers." What I want to do is throw the first "The Breaker Queen" up onto Amazon as an ebook, and then quickly follow it with "Two Paupers," and follow THAT with "Desdemona and the Deep Lord."
Aaaannd... Then I'd like to see if I can try and revise The Twice-Drowned Saint or The Ghost Who Bled Coins, Being a Tale of Gelethel:The Angelic City.
The first thing that must go, of course, is the ridiculous title.
At least, that is the plan.
|"I acted on it"
||[Apr. 16th, 2014|07:44 am]
Sherwood Smith had a fun review over on Goodreads of one of Patrick O'Brian's seafaring tales (The Surgeon's Mate, in case you're curious--full review here), and in it she featured this snippet of conversation, from when the characters talk about Hamlet's grave while their ship is being fired upon from Elsinore:
"So there he lies," said Jack, his telescope leveled. "Well, well: we must all come to it. But it was a capital piece, capital. I never laughed so much in my life."
"A capital piece indeed," said Stephen, "and I doubt I could have done much better myself. But, do you know, I have never in my own mind class did among the comedies. Pray did you read it recently?"
"I never read it at all," said Jack. "That is to say, not right through. No: I did something better than that — I acted in it. . .”
Aside from laughing, because I've always thought of Hamlet as an action/thriller, but if not that, then comedy is definitely a label with potential, I misread the last line as
I acted ON it
And I thought, YES! Yes, I've acted on stories as well! It's a slightly different thing, I'd say, from "This story has changed my life." That's more large scale. This is more small scale. Like, after reading Zilpha Keatley Snyder's The Changeling, I started signing letters "LOVE-LOVE-LOVE" because Ivy did, and I loved Ivy. And after reading her green-sky books, I made up a song of peace to recite each morning, because the people in Green-sky did that. Or, when I was even littler, I remember wanting to have a doily to set my lunch out on, like Frances in Bread and Jam for Frances.
How about you? What stories have you acted on?
|travel back in time with me (just a few days)
||[Apr. 15th, 2014|07:50 pm]
Today it's raining in sometimes fine and sometimes coarse curtains of raindrops, and there's a lot of it--roadways are reconfiguring into waterscapes. But on Saturday it was sunny, and the high school girls' lacrosse team was having a car wash behind the town hall, to raise money.
Car washes are a fundraiser that really lends itself to the boisterous collegiality of a sports team. The girls were enjoying themselves. Orange and black are the school's colors, so it makes sense that the team is called the orioles. Orange and black were my own high school's colors, too, and our yearbook was called the Oriole.
Down the hill, you come to a convenience store called Checkers and a seasonal grill and ice-cream place called Chubby's, because, get it, Chubby Checker? And there were orange-clad team members there, too, though in that case it wasn't for a school team but for a recreational soccer team.
Nothing like the first outdoor ice cream of the 2014 season!
Meanwhile, the peepers are peeping. Sometimes slow and thoughtfully . . .
Being alive--it's worth singing about, for sure!
|Talking with Flo about cooking, Youtube, and self-publishing
||[Apr. 12th, 2014|07:57 pm]
On Friday I enthused about the popular Youtube channel All Nigerian Recipes and its charismatic creator, Flo Madubike. Today I have my questions for Flo, along with her answers.
First, though, let me tell you a little about her. She's from Nigeria (surprise!) and is married with two young children, a son and daughter. She's also a world traveler, because of her day job. And what might that be? Well, after taking a degree in engineering from the University of Nigeria at Nsukka, she now works as an exploration engineer. She says,
When oil companies think there's an oil prospect somewhere at sea, they invite us to look for this oil using various techniques. From the data we give them, they can pinpoint where the oil is, then bring a rig to drill there and extract the oil. I have done this job on and off for 13 years . . . I love the job because I only work in offshore locations, so I can live anywhere in the world and fly to work from there.
And now, let's ask questions. There are so many interesting questions I **didn't** ask--feel free to ask in comments, and Flo will do her best to answer as time and Internet access allow.
Can you share the history of your relationship with cooking? Have you always enjoyed it, or did you grow to like it?
My relationship with cooking started from a very young age. I have good memory of my life back to the age of five, and by that time, I was already helping my Mum prepare ingredients for her cooking. I have always enjoyed cooking! I remember when my Mum would "warn" me to ONLY prepare the ingredients so that when she came back from wherever she went to, she would do the cooking. But I would prepare the ingredients and cook the food too!
( Click here for the rest of the interviewCollapse )
Thank you so much for spending some time with me, Flo! I really, really have enjoyed it, and I know I'm going to continue to enjoy your channel--not to mention your cookbook!
Flo's cookbook at Amazon
|Recipes, the Internet, and friendship
||[Apr. 11th, 2014|11:24 am]
|[||Tags|||||cooking, east timor, friends, internet goodness, irl goodness, life on the wire, nigeria, pen pal world, recipes, videos, youtube||]|
|||||Laid Back: Bakerman||]|
One of my earliest memories of Internet goodness is of searching for a recipe for wild mushrooms--this would have been sometime between 1998 and 2005--and finding one offered by a guy who identified his location as Turkish Kurdistan. We had a brief back and forth, and I thought, Now this place is personal to me. I know someone there. I know he used to pick wild thyme with his grandmother.
Fast forward to last summer. One of my best memories from Timor-Leste was of being served deep-fried plantain chips, homemade, and of sharing the leftovers with friends. I wanted to make those myself, to feel close (because eating food brings us close) to Timor-Leste. And the best recipe I found? Was a Nigerian one.
So easy to follow, so clear, so pleasant! (And the recipe was a success)
Not only did this bring me close to Timor-Leste, it made me feel close to Nigeria. I had one previous experience with Nigerian food: akara--wonderful, croquette-like deep-fried items, made with ground black-eyed peas, with onions and hot peppers to flavor it. I bought some at a local market, loved it, wanted to know how to make it, and had found recipes online, but was stymied by one key detail--getting the skins off the black-eyed peas.
Oh My God, the time that took. I'd soak the black-eyed peas, and as they expanded, the skins would begin to come loose. Then I'd rub them together in the soaking water to get more loose, and then I'd strain off the skins (which would float), while trying to keep the peas themselves from pouring out. It was such a slow process! I mean, kind of relaxing, too, if you have nothing else to do, but. . .
Well, Flo, the woman behind All Nigerian Recipes, has the answer for that, too:
( two videos about getting the skins off beansCollapse )
So by this time I'm really loving this Youtube channel, loving the recipes, loving the fact that Flo responds to comments--and loving her personal videos, too. Like this one:
Pretty cool, right? Not only does Flo put up fabulous cooking videos, she also has an *intense* day job!
And because the Internet lets us make friends with people all over the world--just write hello, just hit send--I thought . . . maybe she would let me interview her.
Then I checked and saw that she has close to 30,000 subscribers. Her top video has more than half a million views, and her top ten videos all have over 100,000 views. I'm not the only one who loves her. So then I felt more hesitant about getting in touch. . . . But I overcame that and wrote to her, and she said yes!
So come back on Monday, everyone, when Flo will answer my questions about cooking, YouTube, and self-publishing a cookbook.
Meantime, enjoy her channel and maybe have a Nigerian meal tonight.
Video List Here!
|A Bird is Not a Stone: Kickstarter for Contemporary Palestinian Poetry
||[Apr. 11th, 2014|08:15 am]
AMAL IS IN THIS.
Originally posted by tithenai at A Bird is Not a Stone: Kickstarter for Contemporary Palestinian Poetry
Yesterday, editors Sarah Irving and Henry Bell launched a Kickstarter
to raise money in support of A Bird is Not a Stone: Palestinian Poetry in Translation
. The collection -- to which I contributed a translation of Bisan Abu Khaled's work -- looks amazing, and includes poetry translated into English, Scots, Gaelic, and Shetlandic. It's also introduced by Scotland's Makar (Poet Laureate), Liz Lochhead.
You can read an interview with the editors
about the project, or find out more about the book itself here
. You can also pre-order it from Freight Books
directly; all proceeds fund Palestinian-led creative projects in Palestine.
The book will be released this summer from Freight Books in Glasgow, and I'm really looking forward to it.
But the Kickstarter's stated purpose is different; it's not about making the book happen (it's all done!), but rather about helping it reach more people. From the Kickstarter page:
We want to make sure that this collection and the messages it carries - of cultural vitality, of life, of communication - find the widest possible audience. In order to do that, we are fundraising for two things. Firstly, to be able to share as many copies of the book as possible, principally with universities, libraries and other institutions in Palestine and in Palestinian refugee communities. And secondly, to enable Palestinian poets to come to Scotland (and, ok, maybe the rest of Britain) and Scottish poets to visit Palestine, to share their work with different audiences.
I really want to see this succeed.
||[Apr. 11th, 2014|07:35 am]
I moved into this room when I was sad. They say wherever you go there you are, but all I did was switch my office with my bedroom, and I was still me, but I was less sad.
I cried a lot in December, but when I woke up at 4 AM, I could see stars right outside my window, and felt some clarity. I'm glad the crying's done. I wish the waking up early had lasted. I accomplished more once I decided to use the morning starlight to work by.
My friends are visiting, and our spare room (we call it the Purple Parlor) air mattress broke, so I gave them my queen mattress. Now I have a slim futon pallet, thinner than a twin bed, right on the floor. The Skynest, which is a small room and has been called the Skynest since the moment I saw it, is suddenly so much bigger and more angular.
I have always lived in high places ever since I lived alone and became a grown up. I have always liked to laze around and watch the sky. The other day I played with a rhinestone necklace in the late afternoon light and made the fairies dance on my ceiling. I realized it had been too long since I did that.
This morning I thought that whoever I'd been, watching the sky back in my Chicago Aerie, was a stranger to me now. Not a stranger. Someone familiar but distant. I thought that these last two years in Rhode Island had maybe stained me. Or scarred me. But those are both strong words, heavily laden with negative imagery. There is a brightness between me now and Chicago me. A tidal wash. A roaring.
So many people lie between me now and me then. So much travel. And events. And things. They changed me. I have changed.
But doth suffer a sea change
Into something rich and strange
A newer friend recently referenced an event that happened before I got here, as if I'd been there.
"I was not around back then," I said.
"Oh," he said. "I forget that sometimes."
I wonder if an older friend who's not seen me as often as, say, Patty (who meets up with me at conventions at least once a year and talks to me fairly regularly on the phone, and writes) would have anything to say to me now. Or me to them. Other than polite conversation.
But even people I know well and deeply, even we have polite conversation when we first meet after a hiatus. Polite conversation about books and movies turns into something deeper. It's like we all require a warm-up before intimacy, no matter the flavor. Long walks help.
I don't know what I'm trying to say. I feel older today. But the sky is old and still very beautiful. And I never tire of looking at it with my stranger's eyes.
|"TEN CIGARS" AT STRANGE HORIZONS
||[Apr. 10th, 2014|07:04 am]
***HOLY ALIEN BUTTERFLIES, BATMAN!
My flash fiction piece TEN CIGARS, published last year at Strange Horizons, is now up at PodCastle!
And narrated by ALL THE COOLEST PEOPLE EVER!
Thank you, Anna Schwind, Graeme Dunlop, Amal El-Mohtar, Norm Sherman, Tina Connolly, Ann Leckie, M.K. Hobson, Dave Thompson, Wilson Fowlie, and Peter Wood!!! THANK YOU!!!http://podcastle.org/2014/04/10/podcastle-306-flash-fiction-special-tales-of-strange-inspiraiton/
|Before it all fades...
||[Apr. 9th, 2014|12:42 pm]
Currently I'm reading Richard Kadrey's SANDMAN SLIM books. That is, I'm on Book 2, Kill the Dead.
It's superfun splatterpunk hardboiled Hollywood fantasy-noir, come to me recommended by our own pattytempleton, and I was precisely in the mood for it.
Words Kadrey likes: Rhino, Martha Stewart, Jack Daniels.
But before I started in on the Sandman Slim stuff, I read Nabokov's Lolita. After which, I sought recovery in non-fiction. I chose to read a chunk of Joanna Russ's How To Suppress Women's Writing. This made me angry. But it was a clean-burning anger, anyway.
The thing about Nabokov is... Everyone has already written about Nabokov.
I knew such... joy... such a dreadful, fierce joy in the writing itself. Leaping flames of the forehead, Batman! The wordplay, the giddiness, the melancholy, the operatic absurdity, the terrifically in-love-with-itself LANGUAGE got me. Got me good. Gut, thigh, mind.
Content? Well, content.
Mostly what Lolita did was make me want to read Reading Lolita in Tehran. I want someone to sit me down and teach me HOW to think about this book. Why not Azar Nafisi? She'll teach me so many other things too, while she's at it.
I thought so many things about this book, but cloudily, ambiguously, guiltily. Some of it exulted, some titillated, some bored me. And at one point at least I wanted to put the protagonist down with a no-fuss bullet to the brain, and would have done it had fiction turned to fact and stood before me, and that was disturbing.
Here were some opinions from Facebook:
I think I was about 15 when I read Lolita in secret. I remember it making me feel naughty and being appalled and loving the language. I also remember being flirted with at 16 by an older man and being disappointed. - Jeanine Vaughn
It is really fascinating to me how so many people react so differently to Nabokov (and Lolita) than I did. I read the book, I dunno, twenty years ago, and it really seemed dry and cynical and basically wise-ass, the style intentionally ludicrous and overwrought just to make the point of how delusional love is and how the narrator was hiding from himself how exploitative he was. The whole thing was just coated in such thick sludgy irony I found myself rolling my eyes. - Matthew Surridge
The trouble with Lolita is that it's about 4 books at once. Three are appalling and one is exquisite. - Patrick O'Leary (I love this one.)
But what I DID notice while I was reading - and this is a firm opinion, and boy, I get those so rarely that it always surprises me when I bump into one by accident ("Oh, is THAT what I think? How wonderful to THINK something for SURE!") - is that there were strong similarities between Humbert Humbert in Lolita and Lars Tobiaason-Svartman in Menkell's Depths, which I read last month.
The same thing that fascinated me about both protagonists at the beginning of their respective narratives made me less interested when they hit the midpoint of their journey arc.
Both Lars and Humbert are both moving through society, their quotidian occupations, and their family structures (these are not the sort of men who can have actual friends), disconnected from humanity, but passionately observant of it, and by contrast, of themselves.
The friction of the outer world with their inner landscape, the profundity of their self-analysis, their barely contained panic at being discovered, makes for an alien and highly poetic architecture of prose.
And the tension - the tension! - of watching our protagonists ill-at-ease in their own atmospheres, wondering voyeuristically when the other shoe would fall for them, what false move will shake their world to pieces - that's what kept me breathless, pressed between the pages, completely submerged. I was intently tethered to these lonely creatures as they bobbed in a sea of perceived "normal" people.
Both of these protagonists, by the midpoint of the novel, get what they want. The veneer cracks. The facade crumbles. They both end up in an isolated situation with a single person (both women - or, in the case of Lolita, a girl) who is completely in their power. And the monstrous thing these men had to keep chained in darkness when they had to move about in society is let loose.
And I just didn't really find the rampaging monster all that interesting. It began a downward spiral of a. murder, or b. rape, or c. both, that could only end one way. It was like watching a striptease. The fun of burlesque is the accoutrements, the costumes, the music, the choreography. But the structure is formulaic. I suppose it is the formula of a downward spiral that inevitably ends in DOOM AND DEATH that makes me feel The Literary Ennui.
If either character had shown any signs of clawing his way back up to surface, reconstructing the veneer, struggling to get it back together, or showing brief weird moments of humanity or hope, and then, THEN was dragged BACK into the undertow of their addictions and obsessions - THAT would be more interesting to me.
It's the steady decline that makes me start to flip pages fast. To scan instead of read. I don't mind if their stories destroy them. I just don't really want to be ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN of their destruction halfway through the book. Or if I begin a book knowing that they will be destroyed? I want to be forgetting that CONSTANTLY and then being reminded by sly little darts and then FORGETTING AGAIN. That's what I want.
Besides, two people in any isolated situation, especially where one has ALL the power and neither has a LOT of conversation? Dull.
But the work itself, the WORDS, these were not dull.
I could sip of Menkell's (or his translator, Laurie Thompson's) and Nabokov's prose as of nectar and icicles, lava and diamonds, ALL THE DAMNED DAY. I'd be a mighty hummingbird of words.
Secondly, re: Nabokov...
Even if the protagonist is an anti-hero, a serial killer, a pedophile, and/or a total douchebag (I don't think I've ever typed out that word before), when you're sitting on their shoulder, wallowing in their febrile brains, seeing through their eyes, you can't help but feel points of connection to the character. That's the POINT of fiction, isn't it? To make you complicit in their crimes and passions, a passenger on their sprees, their victim and accomplice.
But, sheesh. I've never had a character make me feel so physically UGLY as Humbert Humbert. Not morally ugly - that's a different discussion. But me, personally, the reader. Physically ugly.
I felt like a cow when I read Lolita. I felt hairy, fat, sorry, awkward, old, worthless, and stupid besides. I felt personally insulted - and isn't that strange? - because I was not, and never have been, even at 12, a nymphet. All beauty was a single and singular beauty to Humbert Humbert, all beauty was certifiably nymphetted, and I could in no way participate in it. And, because Nabokov's language is so gorgeous, because his Humbert Humbert is so terrifyingly CONVINCING in the expression of his own madness, I wanted that beauty too. I wanted in. I wanted to embody it. Just a slice. Just a little.
I find my own reaction repulsive, actually, but I'm just putting that out there. Because it's SO FASCINATING.
I wouldn't have wanted to have coffee with Humbert Humbert. On a purely imaginative harmless having coffee mind date. Nope. I would RATHER have coffee with Hannibal Lector. Because at least he'd be interested in eating ME!!! Even find me beautiful in his way. More so if I had keen psychological empathy for sociopaths and was always polite.
But not Humbert Humbert. I don't have coffee with people who make me feel bloated, bovine, and absolutely worthless.
I would, however, have coffee with Nabokov. I would be a butterfly on his tombstone. I want to read more of him. And more than that, I want to stalk him on YouTube and hear him talk. Talk to me, Nabokov. Speak to me of writing and of words.
For now, however, it's Richard Kadrey. It's the fearless cheekiness of Sandman Slim. And soon it will be Azar Nafisi, and Francesca Forrest's Pen Pal, and maybe even my first Thomas Pynchon. Karen Meisner recommended The Crying of Lot 49 as a chaser to Lolita.
What do you think?
|my own Everglades
||[Apr. 9th, 2014|08:25 am]
Two days ago, Writer's Almanac quoted Marjory Stoneman Douglas, eulogizer of the Everglades, who said of them,
Nothing anywhere else is like them: their vast glittering openness . . . the racing free saltness and sweetness of their massive winds, under the blue heights of space . . . the simplicity, the diversity, the related harmony of the forms of life they enclose . . . it is a river of grass.
(vast glittering openness
sweet massive winds
blue heights of space
a river of grass)
One day I'll see them. For now, here is my own Everglades, waiting to be reborn.
Nearby a male turkey was displaying for an only moderately interested crowd.
One more picture, this from yesterday--the turbulent sky ocean
|an afternoon and a morning
||[Apr. 6th, 2014|01:37 pm]
|[||Tags|||||beauty, birds, bridges, civic stuff, clouds, ice, ineffable happiness, irl goodness, music, radio, songs, springtime, sunlight, youtube||]|
|||||Queen Ifrica: Times Like These||]|
In a snatch of afternoon time yesterday I went food shopping, and on the way I radio channel surfed, and got caught by a song by Eminem, all raw the way his songs tend to be, forgiving his mother and also apologizing, and as a mom, it got to me. (Song is called "Headlights.")
Then I moved on, and got waylaid by a song on a country station, because in the song a guy is trying to sweet-talk a girl, and she totally interrupts him because her favorite song comes on the radio, and I could identify with that. (Song is called "Play It Again.")
And then I decided to go to my favorite radio station--favorite because it plays songs in all different languages and is really into the local community, and it was their Caribbean hour, and they were talking about how they're going to get cricket going in June in Springfield--"so no matter what island you're from, if you play cricket, come join us"--and then they went into this song by Queen Ifrica,
"Tribute to Past World Leaders." ETA: Looks like it's actually called "Times Like These"
And this is joy--three such very different songs, all with some goodness in them.
And the light that afternoon--I wanted to catch it for you, in the pussywillows,but it decided to play shy behind the clouds, so:
Then this morning, there was a cardinal, a bright ruby up at the top of a tree whose branches are still winter-bare, singing and singing
( can you see him up there?Collapse )
And a squirrel was munching on an apple core, but ran away as I walked by, but you can still see the apple core, if you care to, on top of a trash bin.
In the sand were beautiful designs, made by truck tires:
On the muddy path, there were frost cobwebs:
( frost cobwebsCollapse )
And in the hoof prints of passing horses, complicated ice architecture--stellate bridges.
And now there are things to be attended to, stuff to do, but the sun is broadly shining and the birds are singing--I can't ask for more.
|The Wind Rises
||[Apr. 4th, 2014|03:27 pm]
Some weeks ago, we went to see Hayao Miyazaki's recent film Kaze tachinu (The Wind Rises)--coincidentally, just a few days after rushthatspeaks posted this thoughtful review of it. About it Rush writes,
It's an incredibly uncomfortable masterpiece working on many levels ... ninety percent of it is uplifting, soothing, and funny in the best of Ghibli tradition. It seems to have managed to have offend both the left wing and the right wing in Japan, which is entirely as it should be.
--Yes, given that it's about Jiro Horikoshi, the creator of the Zero fighter, the legendary Japanese World War II plane, a fearsome dogfighter in the early years of the war, a vehicle for kamikaze attacks in the later years. Anyone with a sense of history is going to walk into theaters on tenterhooks . . . just how is Miyazaki going to treat this?
The answer is, with neither enough celebration to satisfy the right wing or enough condemnation to satisfy the left--because . . .
( the pursuit of beautyCollapse )
Jiro and Caproni, in one of Jiro's dreams
|March on! Wait, no...
||[Mar. 31st, 2014|02:55 am]
The first day of March, I acted in a play. Backstage, the lead actress pulled my pigtail, hard. This was less about her being bitchy and more about the fact that she was officially in charge of removing my wig as I prepared for my scene change, which was under a minute. She hadn't realized that I'd already removed my wig and that the hair she was pulling was, in fact, mine. That my hair was in pigtails only makes for a better visual.|
That play pretty much rocked. I got to play four characters in all: A little girl, a blogger obsessed with the plot's major conspiracy theory and also why God allows evil to exist, a talk show host interviewing a dead Swedish transcendentalist philosopher, and a futuristic English language expert with a gun.
So that was fun.
On the opposite end of the month, in a much smaller festival, in a much shorter play, I played a much less surreal character. My fiance and I simply planned our impending marriage of swag-based convenience. In the five minutes we were on stage, I didn't rise from my seat once. Hey, I was playing a lazy character.
It was also fun, but much less work. Even though I technically directed as well. My one note to my male counterpart was "Yeah, like that."
And in between, I did academic things, writing reports for my students and drafting papers so my NYS license stays intact for another 2 years or whatever, blah blah blah. I should sleep.
Less than 24 hours till April. Bring it on. I still have my prop gun left over from an earlier play.
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