Gaming with Strangers (Deep South Con 50)

I'd just come from a panel and I was making my way to the autograph table to see which authors had signed up for a time slot. A woman stood in the middle of the walkway with the top of a game box in her hand.

"Want to play a game of Munchkin?" she asked me. 

I've wanted to get more into gaming for years. But my gaming history is next to non-existent (let's not count Candyland and Monopoly when the power went out as a kid). I've watched the gaming tables at comic shops, and peeked into gaming rooms at conventions, but I'm always afraid to ask to join a game. I don't want to burden those already playing by my novice status. 

Last year at Clarion West one of my classmates, Erik David Even, brought some amazing games with him to the workshop (check out Letters from Whitechapel!). And because most of the other people in our group hadn't played the games before either, I felt more confident in giving it a try. And the games were so much fun. Erik was a patient and fun game master, and it's due to my positive experiences gaming at Clarion West that when a complete stranger asked me if I'd like to play a game at a convention I said yes.

The woman motioned me over to a table in the middle of the atrium. I walked over and introduced myself to two other players sorting out cards. Within a few minutes a guy walked up and asked if he could join in. And just a minute later a very tall man in a cape and with a double red light saber asked if he could join as well. His name badge read "Count Dooku." 

The young guy, Sam, and Count Dooku had both played Munchkin many times before. Myself and another girl were complete newbs, and the woman who had recruited me and her husband had played a few times. 

But after the cards were sorted, we realized that half of the deck of cards was missing. There was no way we could play the game without the treasure cards. 

Another group of people sat playing a game at a table near us. It was one of those conquer the map type games that I associate with seasoned players. The Munchkin recruiter went over and asked if they happened to have a game of Munchkin with them. A man with a long white beard pulled three small boxes out of his backpack and brought them to our table - a full set. 

We started playing, using pennies for level markers. I became a bard with a spring-mounted magnificent hat. I listened at the door, kicked the door down, and once I even went looking for trouble. 

My hand early on in the game of Munchkin at DSC50

Count Dooku helped me with each of my turns, and after a while I started to get the hang of the game. He made quippy jokes and transitioned from someone physically intimidating to a really fun person to hang out with.

If I had been watching from across the room, I think I would have mistaken our laid back game for a group of seasoned players. And that would have kept me from approaching and asking to join.

"My name is Count Dooku. Don't worry, I never strike an unarmed opponent," he had said when he first sat down.

Then he handed me a lightsaber and smiled. "Here, hold this."

The next time I'm at a convention, I'm going to ask to join a game. I know I'll be able to learn how to arm myself as I go.

Deep South Con 50: Novel Workshop

Deep South Con 50 didn't officially start until Friday, but for myself and my fellow novel workshop participants, our convention experience started Thursday night with a lecture by editor Lou Anders of Pyr Books. 

Lou's talk, "Using a Character-Based Screenwriting Formula for Novel Writing," was fantastic. I had listened to his talk about using screenwriting on the Writing Excuses podcast, but his lecture at the workshop was more in-depth. At the end of his presentation, I felt like I had learned completely new elements of screenplay storytelling that I had not encountered in my graduate classes or in my readings. I'd highly recommend the podcast, and if you have a chance to attend one of Lou's screenwriting lectures don't pass it up. 

After Lou's lecture, the entire workshop group walked across the street to the public library to hear Gregory Benford's talk. The admission tickets were $10 to the event, but as workshop participants our tickets were comped (free!). 

Once Gregory Benford's talk ended, most of the workshop participants headed over to the con suite in the hotel for free beers and snacks. I wound up talking to some of my fellow local writers, like Louise Herring-Jones. We'd met a time or two at the SF Writers and Cake Appreciation Society critique group, but Deep South Con was the first time we really got to sit down and get to know each other. I also got a chance to meet one of my Deep South Con novel workshop group mates,  April Steed, whose novel has an amazing thematic idea. I can't wait to see what she does with it. And I spent a few minutes geeking out about belly dancing with Julia Mandala, who performed with Ravenar during the opening ceremonies. 

Friday the novel workshop split into two groups. Each one was led by a professional editor. My group was helmed by Toni Weisskopf of Baen Books, and the other by Lou Anders of Pyr. Each group had eight workshop participants who had each submitted up to the first 5,000 words of their novel and up to a 5 page synopsis of the rest of the book. We started our critiques at 10AM, and went until 4PM with a short break for lunch. 

This was my first time in a novel workshop, and my first time attempting to write a novel. It was really instructive to read my workshopmates' stories and hear everyone's critiques. One common piece of advice - slow down. Novels are much longer than short stories; you've got tons of time. Really get us into the scene by specific description and mood-setting.

As far as my personal novel submission and critiques, it was extremely helpful to me to hear my fellow writers' suggestions on my main character's motivation and for world building. As a first-time novel writer, this early feedback has given me the confidence and direction I need to continue writing a first draft. 

Scott Hancock, who won the Deep South Con 50 short story contest, was in my group. He made the most amazing critique packets I have ever seen. 

The packet contained a copy of Southern Fried Sci-Fi and Jambalaya Genres (a chapbook published by the Huntsville SF writers group in 2001), my workshop submission with notes in the margins, and a copy of the typed notes for all of the workshop stories. 

Scott is an amazingly friendly person and a wonderful writer. He had an account of his meeting with Dr. Von Braun published in the Deep South Con program book, but you can also read it here. 

At the end of the day on Friday, Toni gave a lecture on world-building which included a group exercise. We went through the rubric together - where does the energy come from? Where does the water come from? Which family member do we want to focus on? What about the arts and entertainment in this culture? And in five minutes, we'd created an interesting, layered world ripe for a story. 

Then Lou and Toni answered our questions about submitting novels to agents and/or presses. Some stray notes:

• Don't invest everything in one book. Set it aside/submit and move on.
• Look in Locus Magazine at the books sold page for tips on which agents you might want to work with. 
• Joshua at Jabberwoky - Blog: Awful Agent
• Sometimes it takes 10-15 years of rejection head banging to learn to write to a market.
• Slushpile - mostly B+ when you want As
• It is worth a cut of your money for the services that publishers provide. 

Before we disbanded, we each received a copy of the essay "Style, Substance, and Other Illusions" by Gregory Benford. 

The best part of the novel writing workshop was meeting my fellow writers. I never ran out of people to talk to the entire weekend. After the panels there would invariably be a small group of workshop participants gathered in the back of the room talking, and because I'd been in the workshop I felt confident in going up and chatting with them.

In the hallways, the con suite, and at room parties, I had great conversations not just about writing, but about specific stories that we had written. Nancy S. Brandt told me what it was like to publish a genre book through a small press. Zan Oliver was a blast to hang out with in the party rooms, and she told great stories about New Orleans. And Alice and I people-watched from the balcony and talked about learning and re-learning. 

It was a wonderful, hearty dose of writer camaraderie.

Deep South Con 50: Anticipation!

This weekend is Deep South Con 50. This convention is held in a different location in the south each year. This year, it is returning to Huntsville, where the first Deep South Con was held.

I'm already very impressed with the organization and promotion of this convention. They've got an active Facebook page, a beautiful and often-updated website, and they're partnering with the public library for a public lecture by one of the attending authors: Gregory Benford.

When a convention is well-organized and promoted, it makes me even more excited to attend. It bodes well for the panels and events running smoothly, and for having an all-around wonderful con experience. My hats off to the organizers.

For the past month or so, the con has had a display of science fiction books and artwork set up in the entrance to the main library downtown.

DSC 50 display at the Huntsville Madison-County Public Library

Lovely art and books in the display at the public library

Skylife, edited by Gregory Benford

Gene Wolfe's book on display in the library

Almost all of the books are original hardcovers, and the gorgeous painting is either an original or a high-quality print. Every time I go to the library I have to stand and gawk at the treasures inside the display.

Here's a few of the programming items I'm looking forward to:

Thursday

• Novel Workshop lecture by Lou Anders of Pyr
• Gregory Benford speech at public library, "The Wonderful Future That Can Still Be: Science Fiction and Current Science"
• Beer in the consuite with novel workshop participants and teachers

Friday

• Novel Workshop critique sessions
• Novel Workshop lecture by Toni Weisskopf of Baen Books
• Lois McMaster Bujold reading
• Bellydancing workshop

Saturday

• "Hard Fantasy" - Lou Anders, Danny Birt, <3 Gene Wolfe <3, Lois McMaster Bujold, Tony Daniel
• Ravenar Belly Dance performance
• Dr. Demento live performance

Sunday

• "Violence for Writers, with Demos of Hard, Sharp, Pointy Things"

There are dozens more amazing lectures, live music performances, and demos going on throughout the weekend. 

If you're within driving distance of Huntsville and can take a road trip this weekend, I think this convention will be well worth the trip.

Write-a-thon Goals and Moving Forward

I got an envelope from Clarion West in the mail today, which always makes me happy. Inside were two pieces of paper: a flyer for the instructor reading series and an invitation to the Friday night parties.

This year's Clarion West Readings and Parties

I can't show you the second piece of paper in detail because the parties are often held at supporters' homes, and the residential addresses are listed. But it's amazingly cool - if I could travel to Seattle, I could pop into these parties.

Who is going to be at these parties? In addition to the awesome people who make up Seattle's SF community and the Clarion West class of 2012, each week's instructor will be there: Mary Rosenblum, Stephen Graham Jones, George R.R. Martin, Connie Willis, Kelly Link & Gavin Grant, and Chuck Palahniuk.

This time last year, I was beginning to freak out big time about attending Clarion West. Mostly, I was afraid of letting my fears get in the way of the workshop experience. I was afraid I would be too shy to talk to anyone, and too afraid to step out of my writing comfort zone. Sometimes I failed on both of these counts. But mostly, I was able to close my eyes and push myself forward. And my workshop experience was better for it.

I also had to move forward with my writing. At Clarion West, I had to write five fresh stories. We were encouraged to bring ideas for stories as back up, but not use them. When I moved from Alaska, I had a bunch of stories that I hated. I had spent so much time working on them that I felt weighted down by my responsibility to make them the best they could be. It was so freeing, and so healing for my writing psyche, to go to Clarion West and be made to write completely new stories.

They were shitty first drafts. But they were new, and that made them wonderful. My stories got better from week to week, and all of the advice I'd gotten over the years began to make sense.

Ultimately, three of the stories I wrote at Clarion West as well as my Clarion West submission story ended up in my masters thesis. After the workshop, when I went back to my pre-workshop stories, I zipped through revising them. I wasn't frustrated with them anymore, because I knew that they weren't the only stories I'd ever write. I could work to make them better, but I wouldn't let them haunt me forever.

Clarion West is starting in two weeks. I can visit Seattle and go to the parties, but I can't go back to the workshop. So instead, I'm taking part in the Clarion West Write-a-thon.

My original goal was to revise each of the stories I wrote at Clarion West and submit it. But I've already been revising and submitting my Clarion West stories, perhaps too much, and I need to move forward. So I'm going to return to the concept that made Clarion West so helpful for me the first time around and write a fresh story, every week from June 17 - July 27.

This summer I'm putting my old writing in a drawer so I can explore the rest of the house. I know there have to be some secret balconies here, somewhere.

Want to know more about the Clarion West Write-a-thon? Here are the details:
If you're looking for a challenge this summer, joining the Write-a-thon could be a great option. You'll be part of an amazing community of writers and you'll be helping to raise money for the workshop. You don't have to be an alumni to participate. 

• My Write-a-thon page
• Go here to sign-up to take part in the write-a-thon, make a donation, and see individual author pages of those participating.

To Teach, or Not to Teach

"Don't feel like you have to be in a rush to prove yourself now that you've graduated," my sister told me over the phone last night.

But I do feel like I need to start accumulating more publications, and fast. Not only so that I avoid the post-MFA writing slump, but also so that I can build my resume.

I've been applying to jobs in two specific areas: teaching and as an administrative assistant. My feelings on the perfect job are ambivalent. Part of me wants a job I can leave at the office, with steady hours that won't drain my writing brain so that I can come home to my own stories. The other part wants a job that I will be proud of, one that makes me feel like I'm making a difference, even if it leaves less time for my personal writing.

But in the midst of sending out my resume and CV, I'm trying to keep a handle on the difference between wanting to teach because it is something I enjoy and wanting to teach because it can make me feel like a writer even when I'm not publishing any stories.

My CV for teaching prominently features my short story publications. While I was at UAF, two of our professors held a workshop and shared their CVs with us. For a teaching resume/ CV, your creative writing publications become an important credential. I think this document has bled its way into my mind, tricking me into thinking that landing a teaching job will validate me as a writer.

So I am trying to remind myself: That is one thing, but this is another. It's a phrase from a clipping that I taped inside one of my notebooks years ago and just recently rediscovered:

How do you find a job that doesn't drain the essential energies that you bring to participate in the creative act? How do you maintain those energies when you're a mother? How do you maintain them when you're a father? I mean, this is always the question. No matter what we do or how we live. How do you nourish those energies and live in life? 

We have to make a living. We want to be in the world -- to be engaged with other people. One has to know one's own temperament. I think of someone like Liz Rosenberg, a strong poet, and it's impossible to imagine her not teaching. She is so gifted at it. And she seems to be able to write her wonderful poems, and her energy is unabated. But there are the great writers who couldn't teach. Bishop, famously, was a terrible teacher. I always want to say to the young writers I work with, you can be an artist without teaching. You are an artist. You don't need an academy to tell you what you are. Whitman didn't teach. Emily Dickinson didn't teach. John Keats didn't teach. Rilke didn't teach. Let's go on and on. Let's make a list of all the writers who we read who didn't teach. Teaching is great but let's not put the equal sign between them. That is one thing, but this is another. 

                           -- Marie Howe, The Writer's Chronicle, May/ Summer 2010. (9).


Last week my grandmother pulled out a family photograph. "She was a teacher, and so was she, and so was she," my grandmother said as her finger hovered over the faces of great aunts and cousins. My mother, also a teacher, stood beside me as I looked at all of the teachers in my family.

I'd always vowed not to teach. I was going to buck that family inheritance. But then I went to graduate school, and I had a teaching assistantship to pay my tuition and help me live. And I developed a teaching persona, a person more self-confident and commanding than my every day self, the introvert writer. I loved learning from my students, and seeing texts through their eyes. It was the most rewarding work I've ever done.

When I'm gone, and someone in my family is saying my name as they point out the faces in a photograph, I want them to call me a writer. But after that, I'd like to be called a teacher, too.

Encouragement List

It's important for writers to write and submit. The submitting part is especially important. L. Timmel Duchamp stressed this to us at Clarion West. At a certain point, you have to let go of a story and send it out. The submitting process is important not just in terms of your writing career, but psychologically, too.

When I'm not actively submitting, I don't feel like a writer. I start to feel as if my writing time is selfish, and that I should be spending that time cleaning house and whatnot.

Submitting makes me feel part of the writing world, and that my writing process is moving forward. I might be sitting still at my desk, but my stories are moving around. Someone's reading them besides me, and I'm going to get feedback on whether that story works or not - even if that feedback is just a form rejection letter.

A sampling from my rejectomancy box

After several years and many submissions, I thought I was immune to rejection depression. I decided to aim higher. I applied for some big opportunities that had the potential to change my life so that I could focus on writing full-time for a year or two: fellowships, grants, residencies.

I was rejected. And it stung worse than my first rejection letter.

So I opened up a Word document and wrote "Encouragement" in the header. I even used a swirly, crazy font that I would never use in a professional document. I gave myself full permission to do some ego-stoking for the space of one Word file.

My Encouragement List

What have I put in this document so far? Words from critique partners pointing out strengths in my writing. Nudges from professors to keep writing. Positive feedback from journals and contests, even when I was ultimately not accepted for publication.

I don't want to spend too much time telling myself I'm a good writer. I never want to get to the point where I think that my writing doesn't need any revision - that everything I write is perfect.

But to keep going, I need these words of encouragement to turn to when I feel like I'm a horrible writer. They're the food I'm squirreling away for winter days, the lean times between acceptances. Because I know that the most important part to becoming a good writer is to keep going. Not just writing, but finishing and ushering my stories out the door.

A Name Against the Nothing

Artax in the Swamp of Sadness, from The Neverending Story

A few times at Clarion West, on the Sunday evenings when we met our instructor for the week, we would be asked to go around the table and describe the kinds of stories we wrote.

Occasionally, I'd be asked the same question at the Friday night parties, and at other random moments, like when I went to the comic book store in search of a poster for my bare dorm room walls.

"You're a writer? Cool! What kind of stories do you write?"

I was supposed to know this, right? Or at least be figuring it out.

I started to have a bit of an identity crisis.

"Fantasy," I'd say. "But not like elves kind of fantasy. Other kind of fantasy."

Or I'd list my favorite authors. Kelly Link. Margo Lanagan. Elizabeth Hand. John Crowley.

But it didn't quite work. I needed a place on the grid, a way to plot myself among the writers I was learning from.

I needed a name.




On one of those Sunday evening roundtables, Alisa Alering gave a great description of her stories, which I now cannot remember word for word. But from her description, I embraced my own. I wrote stories where strange things happened to normal people.

This helped, but it wasn't until recently that I found a name that I am comfortable wearing.

During my thesis defense, my advisor referenced the term "slipstream" often. I had heard of slipstream before, but it wasn't something I had researched. So instead I talked about my stories moving back and forth between literary mainstream and science fiction. Sometimes I'd swing to one side, sometimes to the other. Overall, my stories were inching closer to some strange place in the middle. But the middle couldn't have a name, right? It wasn't really a place.

The middle turned out to not be a swamp of sadness. In fact, it's the place where most of my favorite authors hang out.

This is a kind of writing which simply makes you feel very strange; the way that living in the late twentieth century makes you feel, if you are a person of a certain sensibility. ~ Bruce Sterling

Having a term I can use to describe my writing gives me guideposts. I don't always have to stay on this path. Maybe ten years from now I'll laugh at the idea that I once identified with slipstream. But for now, it is a way to navigate. It's a name to fight against that terrible feeling of the Nothing closing in from all sides.

After searching for a long time, all it took was a great writing friend to help me find a name.

And, of course, a little luck.