(no subject)

I finished reworking Trace yesterday. My feelings, they are complicated.

I have been working, for a while, on coming to terms with the fact that this story will never be As Good As. It's based in a fanfic, and that causes some problems. Prison is a ridiculously restrictive setting for a novel. Plus I'm still learning some basic techniques and styles -- I've been writing for fifteen years but I've had a serious crutch for most of that time. While I've written multiple works over the 50k word count, this is, really, only my third or fourth book. I am very much learning as I go. Steep curve.

Over the last few days, though, especially as I've started to vocalise what I see in my studies on magical realism, my attitude has shifted away from "as good as" and more towards the idea that the book Is As Is. The standards have changed, which is a little like having the rug pulled out from under me -- well, okay, honestly, it's like having a flying carpet pulled out from under me, but it's a net gain.

It's not that within this genre standards are lower, but the expectations are different, and the book fits them better than it fits regular literary fictional standards. Trace falls into a lot of the tropes I talked about and, within the new definition, it is a strong book. Stronger for the feedback I took with me and worked into it, but strong enough now to withstand major criticism in the second round, even though not all of the original flaws were fixed. At this point they are not flaws so much as they are imperfect attempts.

I'm not a perfectionist, not in the difficult, obsessive way some people are. I'm not naturally born to it. But my work ethic and my sense of artistic perfectionism are pretty rooted, at this point. So while I don't struggle to actually reach Perfect, I do my best to get as close as I can. I might regret the gap between where I am and where I could be in an ideal world, but that's just regret, not despair. There will always be another book to write, so the failure is impermanent.

Trace will never be an easy book for readers, not because it's high concept or overly complicated but because it's not based in the template of mainstream literature, and it's not going to hit the expectations people (quite rightly) usually have. I'm okay with that -- more okay than I have been, anyway. Call it a labour of love, I suppose.

At any rate it's been educational, and that counts significantly.

So! Picture me clapping my hands together and rubbing them here. I'm going to do one more pass through for glaring errors and then Trace draft two is going up probably starting tomorrow: free to the public and with commentary encouraged. Didn't quite hit the Solstice as a kickoff date, but it's close enough for jazz.

(no subject)

One of the staff just brought me my new company-branded umbrella (my old one fell to pieces). I thought it was pretty cool on its own until she showed me THE BONUS FEATURE.

Not only does the umbrella open when you push a button, but if it's already open and you push the button again...it closes on its own.

Five bucks says I manage to close it on my head the first time I use it.

(no subject)

I walked to the Museum of Contemporary Art tonight, because Tuesdays are free and the museum's open late.

I always feel vaguely unsatisfied when I visit the MCA. They have a truly bizarre and not terribly useful building layout, with huge high-ceilinged galleries that are always drastically underused, so they feel empty and kind of uninspired. That the art usually feels empty and uninspired too doesn't help matters. I don't often feel any emotional or intellectual connection with the art on display. Most of it I doubt has any significant meaning outside of its creator's ego.

I like modern art. It's postmodern art I can take or leave. (I do like postmodern theatre. It's a whole big thing.)

I did enjoy the exhibit I went to see, which was the Pandora's Box exhibit based around the works of Joseph Cornell, a reclusive artist who did weird and interesting shadow boxes. Cornell's work I like very much -- I saw some the first time I ever visited the Art Institute Museum -- and the concept was a fun one: base each "room" in the gallery on a work by Cornell, and surround that with the work of other artists on the same theme. Some of it worked, though some of it was just bizarre; the image they have at the webpage was one of the (my opinion) dumbest, a repeating film clip of water paired with an audio recording of a terrible Chris Isaak song. I don't know why they didn't choose the Voyeurism room with all the naked women in it, they'd get better attendance I bet.

But I did get to see a bunch of Cornell's stuff, and a super-creepy Magritte (aren't they all) and a really lovely Duchamp box. I was especially pleased because I saw the Duchamp out of the corner of my eye and thought, "That has to be Duchamp," and I was totally right. I like art as art, but there's a weird little triumph in being able to look at a piece and know who made it, too. Also it has taken me forever to learn Duchamp's name (I will always think of him as R. Mutt).

Then I left the MCA and walked down Chicago Avenue and had a treat at Forever Yogurt, which is a frozen yogurt outfit where you make your dish yourself, then pay by weight. For $3 I got a decent helping of chocolate-and-vanilla swirl with crushed heath bar topping and hot fudge, and I got to make it JUST HOW I WANTED IT, so I approve.

Forever Yogurt: four out of five control freaks recommend it!

(no subject)

Oh god you guys I totally forgot about this, but R cleaned his fridge.

When I was over there on Sunday, I opened the fridge to put the beer away and noticed that The Wine Bottle was gone.

R's fridge is never full at the best of times, but usually there are a bunch of condiments and The Wine Bottle. This bottle was in the fridge when I moved in. It was there when I moved out ten months later. It was there throughout our meatloaf-making lessons, for multiple parties, and at least through Christmas of 2010. I just assumed it was stuck to the shelf. I've mentioned this bottle ON THE BLOG before, that's how constant it was.

So I said, pleased but startled, "You cleaned your fridge!"

He said, "Yeah, well, it broke, it stopped keeping stuff cold. But I didn't have the money for a repairman, because I thought it was gonna be like $300, so it took a while to get it fixed."

I said, "How long was it broken?"

"Oh, about a month, month and a half. But when I finally called the repair guy it was under warrantee, so -- "

"You had no fridge for a month and a half?"

"Yeah. I was mostly bummed all my condiments went bad."

My platonic lifemate, ladies and gentlemen.

(no subject)

I don't know if I have anything especially interesting to say about today's origami. It's a perfectly serviceable pair of sunglasses folded from a $20 bill.

The fact that I find a pair of sunglasses folded from a $20 bill mundane says something about my life, but I'm not sure I want to examine too closely what that is.

In other news, the first four posts on my Friendslist this evening are about allergy medication. Apparently trees and flowers everywhere are vigorously fucking.