The Copper Cylinder Award derives its name from the first Canadian scientific romance, "A Strange Manuscript Found in a Copper Cylinder," by James De Mille (1833-1880). See how cool that award looks? It's about as steampunk as steampunk gets.
Congratulations to my fellow winner, Lesley Livingston, in the Young Adult category, for Starling. The Chaos is also a Young Adult novel, but it won in the Adult category. That confused me a bit, but the members have spoken, and I'm glad of it. Young Adult books are good reading for adults, too.
I'm having a pretty good writing day. Still having it even though it's evening time, which is rare for me. I've slowed down, but I'm still going. I've put the actual rewrite on the novel aside in favour of doing an in-depth planning exercise for it before I begin again. It's not my usual way of working. I can be impatient to get to the actual writing part. So I tend to write until I get stuck, plot a little way ahead, cuss, slash, excise, add, revise, fret, panic, rinse, re-read, repeat.
But I'm finding this new way illuminating. Essentially, I've sketched out the wants/needs/obstacles of each significant character, and their own story arcs. Now I'm taking each line of story arc and interweaving it into one document, listed as much as possible in the order of the general events I've already established for the story. It's helping me deepen my characters and their motivations, which in turn leads to intriguing plotting possibilities. I've used a different colour of text or highlighting for each character, so I can see at a glance where I've used them. That's helping me see which characters I could stand to employ more.
It occurred to me this afternoon while walking back from my office that I could create a similar visual map for settings and motifs. Maybe I could apply the technique to teaching creative writing. If I had students map out the stories we study in this way, it might yield some useful ways of perceiving and talking about structure. I'd have to be careful not to let them start seeing the map as programmatic. It's more like a sorting mechanism that lets you see what you have so that you can then proceed to build something from it, choosing which building blocks to use and which not. Brilliance probably happens in the deviations from conformity, not in the unquestioning adherence to it.
In the past month, two budding writers have given me the same reason for not applying to introductory writing workshops they'd love to attend; they aren't good enough yet. I understand how this can happen. You're an unpublished writer, you're not sure whether your work has any merit, and you're not sure how to tell whether it does or not. You look at the lists of names of people who've attended these workshops and gone on to have successful careers, and some of them are writers whose work you love. You think, OMG, I don't dare apply; I'm nowhere near as good as any of those people!
But here's the kicker; neither were they, when they attended those workshops. They went there to learn. That's what a writing workshop is for. When I attended Clarion, a lot of my stories were hot messes, sometimes with the occasional pearl or two floating in the mire. (Hell, there are those who think my writing is still a hot mess.) A good workshop for beginners isn't there to shame you if your writing skills aren't what they could be. It's there to inspire and challenge you. Ideally, it's a space in which you can push yourself and fall because you took the courage to aim higher than your reach. I think of workshops for budding writers as places for writing badly precisely because you're trying out new skills. It's not pleasant to hear that you still don't have the knack of it. But in the workshop, there's room to keep trying. Saying "I can't apply to x workshop for non-published writers because I'm not good enough," boils down to, "I can't apply for school because I have a lot to learn." See the tautology there?
I've taken a break from (re)writing novel Blackheart Man to do some more plotting and planning of it. I'm coming up with some intriguing -- and challenging -- plot possibilities.
A couple days ago, I made cornbread. It was pretty tasty, but we only managed to eat slightly more than half of it. I wrapped the remainder up and put it into the fridge. I meant to use it in subsequent meals, but, cold and hard as it was, I just wasn't feeling it any more. A few seconds in the microwave would have remedied both the coldness and the hardness. And yet.