Analytical Adaptation
Thursday April 17th 2008, 5:35 pm
The first part of periodized weight lifting is called anatomical adaptation, which means, “Oy, muscles! These little bits of weight that you’re going to be picking up and putting down for the next four weeks? Yeah, this is just the warm up. It gets tougher from here.”
The thing about AA is that the exercises are embarrassing, things like getting on all fours, then holding a 2-lb. dumbell in front of you while you straighten the opposite leg. The weights are tiny, the poses lack dignity, and you’re the only one in the gym doing this. Even if you’re in a place where Serious Athletes are working out, it’s tough not to feel like a ninny.
Oh, and the weights are pink.
I bring all this up because the more I work on Windswept, the more I can feel things stretching out inside my skull. The past year of short stories and Tweets and blog posts was all adaptation, and now the hard work begins. This shit isn’t easy, and I wonder how people like Jay Lake can crank out an incredible amount of words and while working a steady job and raising a kid (hint: he doesn’t watch TV). I’m also letting myself wander into blind corners and write stuff that is sheer crap, because I know that I can redo it in editing. I’m lazy and would rather get it right the first time, but I now know that editing is just a different kind of writing, not repeating previous work.
Still, I wonder if I’ve bitten off a lot more than I can chew. One hundred thousand words by Christmas Eve? That’s going to be quite a haul. But better to say a whole bunch of stuff at first and pare it down later, right?
Right.
Thinking Out Loud about Windswept
Monday April 14th 2008, 5:11 pm
Thinking: the problem with space elevators and human passengers is one of safety. It takes a long time to get something high in orbit, and it’s a hell of a high gravity tax to seat all of those people comfortably and safely. So, you knock ‘em out, stack ‘em like cordwood, and stick ‘em in a lead-lined box for the long ride up.
So, would a civilization that’s capable of that have any technical limitations? If you can kick ten thousand fishsticks into space at one go, why can’t you shrink ‘em? Upload ‘em? Crack time-space on the ground and let ‘em slip through to Dimensions Beyond?
Is it a moral issue? Do the Luddites keep you from monkeying with genes and quarks? Or are there technical limitations that we just can’t crack? If you had an army of hungry mouths who were willing to do any crap job, would you bother with AIs and the like? Why create new problems when human nature is relatively unchanged?
2 for 2
Monday March 31st 2008, 10:09 am
No Clarion this summer. This, of course, is a bummer and a half, but it does mean I can focus on two things: 1) the novel and 2) kicking Jon Cryer’s ass at Malibu. You hear me, Ducky? You and Mulder both, you’re going to eat my dust!
Also, this means I’m going to the UCSD library this summer just to find out what the hell does pass muster. Research your markets, right?
Right.
Thpt.
We are all in the gutter…*
Friday March 28th 2008, 11:59 am
Back in July 2007, I was in Waikiki, waiting for a bunch of people to arrive for a wedding rehearsal dinner. It was a gorgeous evening, not too muggy, just enough moisture in the air to scatter the light and do incredible things to the sunset. I was working on my third glass of pineapple juice (beer you can have any time, but fresh pineapple juice? Pour me another, dude) when I realized I was surrounded by white people. White people behind the bar, at the bar, at the tables, waiting on the tables, even a trio of white guys playing ukeleles and mangling songs in the golden light. Everyone said “aloha” and “mahalo” without any sense of irony. And then these words jumped into my brain:
“The one thing they taught us in B-School was this: if you’re working for the Colonial Services, for God’s sake, don’t go native.”
I pulled out my phone and fold out keyboard and started typing. And now, some nine thousand words into Windswept, I’m not going to stop until I finish this damn thing.
The original target count was 50K, but now, in the post-Ironman I-can-do-anything glow, I’m going to push that target farther out. One hundred thousand words by Christmas Eve, 2008. Look up and reach, dammit. Now, get writing.
Also: should know if I’m going to Clarion by Sunday. Keep your toes crossed.
*It was either this bit (which, thanks to the Googles, I finally know is from Act III of Lady Windemere’s Fan. Context matters, people) or Browning’s “Ah, but a man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for?”
“I’ve always wondered…
Wednesday September 12th 2007, 3:39 pm
…has it always been like this? Have clients always been an unbelievable pain in the ass? When the first turd merchants slithered out of the primordial muck to sell their wares, did they run into some bastard who said, ‘No, I’m sorry, but these turds aren’t brown enough’?”
Stay on target…
Thursday June 21st 2007, 9:23 am
“To Plant a Tree,” my Jack London tale of divorce, spacesuits and nanotech canines, got honorable mention in the ol’ Writers of the Future. That’s better than my last entry did. Closer…
One cut, one to go…
Tuesday May 01st 2007, 10:26 am
Well. I made the Clarion wait list.
Now I just have to wait until the 11th to find out how I’m spending my summer vacation.
