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pameladeanStill here, still writing trip report. It's taking forever. I cannot do it except in strict chronological order. I'm glad I don't write my books like that.
I have copies of all three Secret Country reprints, and they are a completely beautiful set.
I mowed the lawn. I read a bunch of the Peter Dickenson books kindly provided by Papersky a long time ago. I began to have the vague feeling that I had read them already, but I had not; it's just that the ones I happened to light on have similar structures and concerns, and I think I started several of them and then put them down. In any case, I read Death of a Unicorn, which I liked very much; The Yellow Room Conspiracy, which had a lot of good moments but was not as pleasing; and Hindsight, which was very clever but very unpleasant in its total effect, though I enjoyed reading it while I was doing so. I am generally finding Dickenson in these books to be way too Freudian, but if I can persuade myself that I am reading about an alternate universe I get on all right with that. I also cannot stand his female characters when they are being looked at by a male character, though if they tell their own stories I like them much better; this is true even of something like The Lively Dead, my current favorite of his "mainstream" books.
I have mown the lawn and am about to start on weeding. Today my mother and I had lunch at her house and then went to the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum, mostly to see the Giant Bugs. This is a travelling exhibit of much, much larger-than-life insects made of wood. The first dragonfly, in a fountain, and the three giant ants, made of willow wands with polished wooden eyes, were the best; the praying mantis was extremely creepy, especially when you could see its head rearing over the steep slope it was on the downside of. These objects were about 12 feel long or high and very beautiful in the sunlight. There was a butterfly too (wings made of forest fungi for the mosaic effect) and a ladybug that, looking as it did like a giant turtle, was not entirely persuasive.
I am trying to let my fictional works in progress percolate while I write my trip report. I am extremely depressed about the prospects of ever having anything else published again by anybody at all, but this is mere foolishness and self-indulgence. It has to have its day, however, or I won't be able to get on with anything.
My cat is still dusty. Or rather, dusty again.
Pamela
I have copies of all three Secret Country reprints, and they are a completely beautiful set.
I mowed the lawn. I read a bunch of the Peter Dickenson books kindly provided by Papersky a long time ago. I began to have the vague feeling that I had read them already, but I had not; it's just that the ones I happened to light on have similar structures and concerns, and I think I started several of them and then put them down. In any case, I read Death of a Unicorn, which I liked very much; The Yellow Room Conspiracy, which had a lot of good moments but was not as pleasing; and Hindsight, which was very clever but very unpleasant in its total effect, though I enjoyed reading it while I was doing so. I am generally finding Dickenson in these books to be way too Freudian, but if I can persuade myself that I am reading about an alternate universe I get on all right with that. I also cannot stand his female characters when they are being looked at by a male character, though if they tell their own stories I like them much better; this is true even of something like The Lively Dead, my current favorite of his "mainstream" books.
I have mown the lawn and am about to start on weeding. Today my mother and I had lunch at her house and then went to the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum, mostly to see the Giant Bugs. This is a travelling exhibit of much, much larger-than-life insects made of wood. The first dragonfly, in a fountain, and the three giant ants, made of willow wands with polished wooden eyes, were the best; the praying mantis was extremely creepy, especially when you could see its head rearing over the steep slope it was on the downside of. These objects were about 12 feel long or high and very beautiful in the sunlight. There was a butterfly too (wings made of forest fungi for the mosaic effect) and a ladybug that, looking as it did like a giant turtle, was not entirely persuasive.
I am trying to let my fictional works in progress percolate while I write my trip report. I am extremely depressed about the prospects of ever having anything else published again by anybody at all, but this is mere foolishness and self-indulgence. It has to have its day, however, or I won't be able to get on with anything.
My cat is still dusty. Or rather, dusty again.
Pamela
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Date: 2003-09-17 09:45 am (UTC)I've just been re-reading _Tam Lin_ with bittersweet pleasure. It reminds me strongly of my own college years, altho' they were at Brandeis in the early 80s. That book of yours helped me through a break-up about ten years ago; every time I read it, I remembered that my recent ex had had none of the beguiling characteristics of the English/Theatre/Classics majors -- and I really had missed that quality.
My copy has had to have both its covers taped back on. You're in good company: other authors of books I've worn out are Dorothy Sayers and Dorothy Dunnett.
I understand the folly of grim predictions for the future (and have been indulging in same myself, sigh), but please rest assured that there are indeed folk who would be Very Unhappy if you were to give up on producing fiction. So there.
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Date: 2003-09-17 11:06 am (UTC)I wouldn't give up, at least on either of the two current projects, because they are at the nudging stage, like a cat trying to wake you up. The Liavek novel has a wet nose and the Whim/Hills sequel has very hard feet. I even believe that lots of people want to read them. It's just that the huge black box that is publishing has for years been to me something that would remove from my consideration all practical difficulties in finding readers, and now it seems instead, as it often does to aspiring writers, a huge intractable inscrutable malignant obstacle. It's not so much that this retards writing as that it casts a dreadful shadow over everything, including writing.
Pamela
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Date: 2003-09-17 12:27 pm (UTC)I certainly do!
In the meantime, I'll make do with the Secret Country reprints.
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Date: 2003-09-17 03:34 pm (UTC)My non-tech writing is much slower to develop any kind of nudging ability, and I seldom have the energy to attempt to take it public. It's on my list of things I Must Do Before I Die, Unless I'm Too Damn Tired. Somehow, the title of that list fails to convince even me.
Sometimes I wish there was some sort of patronage or sponsorship system available to writers and other artists (musicians, certainly). Too many talented folk are unable to develop or enjoy their own talent (let alone share it with the rest of us!) because daily living doth drag at them.
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Date: 2003-09-18 06:33 am (UTC)I can see why that might cause a publisher to hesitate, it's a connection with something obscure and out of print. But if you just said it was a novel about a theatre in a magic city and didn't mention the Liavek context until much later, or if you in fact didn't mention it at all externally, assuming it stands alone, then it just becomes a standalone fantasy novel by the author of...
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Date: 2003-09-18 11:49 am (UTC)Pamela
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Date: 2003-09-19 12:10 am (UTC)moi
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Date: 2003-09-20 10:07 am (UTC)Pamela
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Date: 2003-09-19 12:51 pm (UTC)I loved Juniper, Gentian, and Rosemary, and do not understand why it didn't do better. Hm, it does occur to me that the discussions on RASFW added immensely to my enjoyment. Only reading the book would not have been as fun.
Tangent: Maybe that partly explains why since about 2001 I've felt like I've been in a slump, suffering from reader's block: RASFW hasn't been up to its previous standards. :(