From left to right: Lavinia, Ursula K. LeGuin; The People Who Watched Her Pass By, Scott Bradfield; The Taqwacores, Michael Muhammad Knight; Blameless, Gail Carriger.

For a total of $3.

I may have more to say about these here, or not. One of the things I intend to do on the other end of this flight is hole up, however briefly, and write, dammit.

This time Mr. Gibson was juxtaposed with a taxidermically-themed art exhibit, which made it appear among other things that a bear was enthusiastic and amused and a deer was pensively, almost sternly contemplating his words. This photo, which I did not take, gives you a bit of an idea of the effect:

One thing I always find slightly disconcerting at readings, and which was definitely in evidence at this one: people who follow along in the copies of the book from which the author is reading. To make sure the author isn’t deviating from the printed text? Because you like to look at words on a page while hearing them pronounced by the person who decided to put them in that particular order? If you do this, I would love to know your reasons.

I enjoyed the reading itself — selections from his essay collection, Distrust That Particular Flavor — but his answers to audience questions were especially good. Gibson is eloquent and funny even in his casual speech — although I suppose you could argue that any public speaking is by its nature not casual. But his nonchalant delivery makes his smart and well-turned phrases feel more off-the-cuff than they perhaps are, and the effect is extremely pleasant.

So mostly what I did was scribble quotes, or near-quotes.

About influences:

“Being human, you tell people you like who you think it’ll sound cool if you say you like.”

“As writers, how we learn what is good is from everything we read — a personal microculture of literature.”

“Someone setting out to write sf who has only ever read sf is at a certain disadvantage.”

I can’t remember what question this next bit was in response to — I think someone asked if he considered himself a watcher? (Were they thinking of Juvenal? Or Alan Moore?)

“…a watcher in the sense of an anthropologist without any of the discipline…also a flâneur, walking about pointlessly in large cities…”

Someone asked if the Blue Ant books were meant to remind us that we’re living in someone else’s future:

“I write novels to find questions, not because I know the answers…the only conscious purpose of the Blue Ant books was that I realized after All Tomorrow’s Parties that the yardstick I used for measuring cognitive dissonance on the page as opposed to the world outside was an eighties yardstick. So I wrote Pattern Recognition to update the yardstick.”

“Google Streetview changed how my imagination worked — you could spend the rest of your life describing a single block — inadequately.”

I wanted to ask him what he thinks about the way search tools are increasingly being designed to bring us the Internet they think we want, but I did not get a chance. Next time, Mr. Gibson.

As I’ve mentioned a few other times here lately, Randy Powell and I collaborated on a story for the Girl Meets Boy anthology edited by Kelly Milner Halls. And now we are collaborating on this interview about our story, “Launchpad to Neptune.” This is but one of many stops on the full-on Girl Meets Boy blog tour!

The title of “Launchpad to Neptune” comes from a comment G makes to S about a place they find themselves in — a clearing in the woods that feels like you could take off from it in a rocket. Have you been anywhere that evokes that sense of possibility?

Randy: Here’s my idea of a “launchpad to Neptune.”  First, the idea of a Vision Quest — a rite of passage where you go off to some place in the wilderness alone and camp there overnight (or for several nights) and have some sort of an “experience.” Such as see visions or hear voices or something. I’ve never done that, mainly because I have very inappropriate camping gear. But hey, I suppose it’s never too late to go on a Vision Quest and finally make that leap into adulthood. Second, it evokes a place of solitude where you can sit in nature and be silent and still. That’s something I do quite a bit and I value that a lot. Go out in nature and just listen to the silence. Preferably it’s raining and you can feel the rain on your face.

Sara: Picking up on what Randy said about solitude in nature – I’m a fan of walking on beaches in the winter. I like the quiet and the cold, and how you rarely see another person, but if you do, you almost always exchange a conspiratorial smile. You might not launch right then, but you could.

G likes the collection of beach glass and driftwood S had when they were kids, but no longer has by the time the story takes place. Do you collect anything? Have you ever abandoned a collection? If so, why?

Randy: I’ve always been envious of people who collect stuff — stuff that requires hunting and gathering natural things, found things. Beach glass is ideal. Sometimes I go walking at low tide on Puget Sound near my house and I used to find some pretty neat beach glass and bring it home and put it in my back yard, which I would take a picture of except they’re all buried in snow right now. But I gave up on the beach glass because I found I was spending all my time during those walks with my head bent looking down.  It gave me a sore neck. I’ve tried to collect other things. Comic books. Golf balls. Bottle caps. Pens. It all fell by the wayside. Now I just collect words and phrases and interesting word combinations.  And names. For instance the other day I came across someone with the last name Quitiquit. That would be a great name for a character in a sports story, but a little too contrived — too obvious an “aptonym.”

Sara: I actually do collect beach glass!

But I get what Randy means about always looking down — every so often when I’m scrutinizing the sand I force myself to remember that there is also an ocean I could be looking at.

The most notable collection I abandoned was probably my Smurfs. I had enough of them to people (or smurf?) a small village, each one carefully marked with my initials. I grew out of liking them right before a birthday, and of course I received a bunch of them. It provided me with a valuable lesson in feigning enthusiasm.

What was the experience of collaborating on the story like for you? 

Randy: More fun than I thought it would be. Drinking coffee and brainstorming with somebody else is a lot more fun than doing that all by yourself. It was more like playing a game than writing.

Sara: I definitely agree, the exchange of ideas was fun and valuable. Also, Randy and I live in the Pacific Northwest where coffee is actually medically necessary to survive the sunless months and thus its preparation has achieved the status of art. So we were drinking especially delicious coffee.

First: if you have not yet seen Pariah, I suggest you remedy that. I fell completely for the protagonist Alike (say it uh-lee-kay) and her attempts to express her identity through poetry, clothing, friendships, relationships. The movie has a lot of heart, a lot of strong performances, and pulls no punches. Here are a few other things it does well.

The specificity of the setting. Stories that resonate universally come from particular places. There’s no such thing as a portable story, as Robert McKee says in Story and I quoted five years ago talking about The Wire. 

The assumption of viewer intelligence. Pariah drops you right into Alike’s life, without wasting time hitting you over the head with where you are and who everyone is.

Doesn’t get rid of the parents. There are strong scenes in Pariah that focus on Alike’s mom and/or dad, with Alike herself offscreen. They’re very effective in showing the pressures both parents are under that affect the way they interact with their daughter.

Storytelling via fashion. I’m a big fan of the way identity can be conveyed through style choices, and Pariah does this very deliberately, as Eniola Dawodu explains.

In conclusion: more like this, please.

There were some lovely moments, but overall 2011 was a hard year. I’d like 2012 to be easier. That is of course not entirely subject to my control, but I’m gonna do what I can to facilitate rather than complicate.

So cheers, all. Here are a few things I’ve been learning about making things easier. As usual, all this advice is also advice for myself.

It’s easier to cook at home when you have some basic meal templates. In our house, this typically means one-dish meals with protein + greens + either barley or brown rice. Infinite variations are possible. We mostly use the wok to make them. Another dinner template: roasting vegetables with olive oil, salt and pepper. Put them in the oven and go away. They become delicious. The breakfast template is steel-cut oats with berries and apples. Soak the oats the night before and pre-cook them some in the microwave and it won’t take a lot of time in the morning.

It’s easier to get up and go to the gym when you pack your bag the night before. If you know it’s hard for you to get up when the alarm goes off, set it earlier and let yourself press snooze a few times or listen a while to the radio.

It’s easier to have an idea how you’re doing with exercise if you track your workouts. I like to write them down in a nerdy little notebook. I’m aware that there are any number of apps for that, but I appreciate the tactile quality of making a hash mark when I finish a circuit, getting some sweat on the page, seeing blank pages fill with day after day of activity. But if an app works for you, then app up.

It’s easier to keep your house the way you want it if you make it harder to mess up. I now have a number of items of nice wooden furniture, the surfaces of which I’d prefer to remain unmarred. But I’d also like to avoid shrieking fussily at visiting friends, so I’ve been deploying both expected (coasters, placemats, tablecloths) and less expected (taped-down butcher paper) methods to ensure the continued viability of both the furniture and my status as a pleasant host.

It’s easier to write if you schedule regular times to do it. Deploy Freedom. Make writing dates. Make deadlines, your own if you don’t have any that are externally imposed.

It’s easier not to beat yourself up. Beating yourself up takes a lot of energy. If you’re upset that you’re doing something you feel like you shouldn’t be doing, or not doing something you feel like you should be, take a moment to think about why you’re so inclined or disinclined. Are you trying to prove something? To yourself or someone else? It’s okay to want to prove something, but if the proof is in the pudding aka the results, do everything you can to make sure that pudding is delicious. If the pudding isn’t tasty, vary the recipe.

Writing. (Duh, on a certain level, but I do like to include it on the list in case of doubt.)

Cooking (by which I mean reheating) a smoked turkey. If you’re in Portland and carnivorous, I recommend Gartner’s.

Roasting a lot of vegetables. Root vegetables + onion + garlic + olive oil + heat. Easy.

Taking pictures:

Reading, looking at, and listening to an amazing, haunting book/music combination:

…i listen to the wind that obliterates my traces: music in vernacular photographs 1880-1955

“Recordings and images conspire towards a consistent mood that is anchored by the book’s title, which binds such disparate things as an early recording of an American cowboy ballad, a poem by a Swedish Nobel laureate, a recording of crickets created artificially, and an image of an itinerant anonymous woman sitting in a field, playing a guitar.”

Also reading, obsessively, the complete archives of Ironing Board Collective, a very smart group fashion blog. Two things of the many I’ve already learned from IBC:

• The concept of a “layering dress,”  which elucidated the purpose of a garment I have had for, like, a year, and had previously considered an odd sort of tunic.
• About Goorin Bros. Hats, one of which I acquired within 24 hours of reading about them. Hat:

And I don’t think I’ve yet mentioned here that because I can’t leave well enough alone with the Internet, I’ve finally gotten on the Tumblr bandwagon, so if you’re so inclined you can follow me there. If you’re there, I’d love to know so I can follow you, too.

There’s a corollary to this habit, though. After I’ve spent some amount of time (days, weeks, months) engaged in this fairly mild yet gross variety of self-harming behavior, I get to a point where it feels like it’s time to stop; to fix the problem I’ve been so assiduously manufacturing.

How do I know when I’ve reached this point? It correlates with a reduction in baseline stress levels. I’ve finished a draft, completed a project, or resolved, at least temporarily, some other form of difficulty. Then I slather my hands with lotion, put on gloves, and let the lotion soak in overnight.

It takes longer than a night to heal, of course. But once the gloves are on, it means I’m trying to.

There were Circumstances.

But now I am home, and I have been doing, if not all, at least many of, the things.

Got a haircut.

Color is now perilously close to my natural color, which it has not been in Some Time.

Took a carload of things to Goodwill, and immediately thereafter acquired not-quite-a-carload from the inimitable Rerun, including these glorious Prada (!) shoes, which I like to think were previously owned by a drag queen:

Organized two closets and a shelving unit within a 24 hour period. Here is one of the closets:

Yes, I am using a skirt hanger to organize gloves. In another closet, not pictured, I am using a belt hanger to organize necklaces. I know it’s obsessive. OBSESSIVELY AWESOME.

Also: I devoured Delia Sherman’s The Freedom Maze in a single sitting, downloaded and have begun to enjoy the delightfully dramatized audiobook version of Ellen Kushner’s Swordspoint, and tomorrow I will retrieve my preordered copy of Colleen Mondor’s The Map of My Dead Pilots from Powell’s. More to come.

Ingredients:

(1) serrated steak knife

(1) pair of garden shears

(1) hand saw

(1) flat head screwdriver

(2) extremely motivated humans

Time: approximately one hour.

Temperature: increases throughout.

The weather has been uncharacteristically sunny and mild, lately. ”It’s a lie,” I tell visiting friends.

But really it’s a gift. I’m trying to remember to look and appreciate.

This isn’t what I thought my fall would look like. I had a plan, then the plan had to change. I’m not going where I thought I was going. I won’t be doing what I thought I’d be doing. If I manage to accrete significant words in my manuscript over the next few weeks, I’ll be surprised. Doubt I’ll be around here much either, except perhaps for more photo posts.

But things need doing when they need doing. The words will come. And right now, I’m glad that while I’m thinking about everything I need to do, I can look at the leaves.