Ever notice that many writers have a morbid fascination with death? Why do you think that is?

About half done with the SB synopsis. May finish it after work today, or may do it tomorrow; off work tomorrow (mmm-mmm, the sweet sound of me sleeping in and snoring my head off).

Huh. Well. That’s about all. Don’t really have much to say. Still waiting on query responses as patiently as ever (you know if I’d heard something good I’d have run here to babble about it by now); still not writing much other than picking out a few ideas daily. Less in a mood than just generally tired, and not spending much of my off-time on writing due to allergies making it hard to see the screen.

…well, maybe I’m in a mood a little. But mostly I’m just working and taking some downtime to figure out what I really want to work on, stick to, and finish next. I’m tired of waffling between filler projects.

S’all.

So I was bad this weekend. I didn’t write the Shadow’s Breath synopsis, but I did have a marvelous time going to Mitsuwa and Terminator: Salvation with Hikaru. The movie was a bit of a letdown, but I still had a great time; considering that I rarely get out of the house and really need to stop pulling the hermit act, the movie was more important than staying at home and writing what’s basically an overgrown plot summary.

…and I wasn’t wholly bad, since last night I did most of my work for today. So today I can take the free time to be good and write my synopsis, no matter how boring it is. Right? Right?

…well, as soon as the allergy pill kicks in and I can see…

Pet peeve time again. Ohhhh is this a huge pet peeve. Big. Enormous. Gigantic. Totemo ookii.

Writers: if you decide to write a character who speaks a language other than your native language when you don’t possess even the remotest fluency, either write what they’re saying in your mother tongue with some indicator that they aren’t speaking said mother tongue, or take the time to at least learn the rudimentary conversational basics of their language. Pick up a phrasebook. Take a course. Find someone who speaks both languages and grill them on common speech, idioms, structures, customs, grammar, etc. (usually the best way to get an idea of natural dialect as opposed to formal textbook translations).

Otherwise, you never know when your clever witticism might turn out to be a graphic depiction of your mother’s relations with a gorilla. Or a wallabee. Or the chemical composition of gaseous substances on Jupiter. Don’t just Google it (and please, please don’t use Babelfish unless you want to sound like a cracked-out Swedish hooker trying to order bao in broken Mandarin). Look for reliable sources. Multiple reliable sources, and verify them against each other.

And please, for the love of gods and gorillas, don’t think your readers won’t know the difference. Never underestimate your readers’ intelligence, and never assume that your audience’s cultural background is identical to your own.

I want to say I’m looking at English-speaking authors here, but considering some heinous and hilarious examples of Engrish I’ve seen, English-speakers definitely aren’t the sole culprits or even a large majority – and it’s not just confined to literature. Hell, I think I still own a shirt from Japan that says “Hot Fish Toddy” on the front. I’m sure it sounded cool to the designers, at least.

Although admittedly, I am one steamy mixed drink, and flavored entirely of non-tetrapod chordates.

I may get flamed for saying this, but…a major pet peeve of mine is when authors personify their inspiration, creativity, and work ethic (and lack thereof) as a muse. It doesn’t bother me when it’s just used as a general saying, but there are some who take it so far as to talk about discussions with their muse, talk about arguments with her, and generally blame her for any creative shortcomings as if they can somehow be excused for missing a deadline or writing a bad story because it’s the muse’s fault; it’s not theirs.

Your creativity is not a separate entity from you. Personifying it doesn’t show how unique and imaginative you are; it shows an unwillingness to take responsibility for the fact that your own productivity as a writer (especially as a professional one) is on your shoulders. It’s one thing for an unpublished author to waffle around with their muse. They have no obligations to anyone but themselves. But a published author has certain obligations; if not to their readers (I think Neil Gaiman covered that point pretty well), then to their agent, their editor, and their publishing house. If your contract stipulates that you produce X number of books in a certain time within reasonable expectations, then you need to grab your so-called muse by the throat and inform her of one very important thing:

This is your job. Whether you’re feeling it or not, you need to wake up, soldier up, and where your creativity and inspiration fail you, call on experience and professionalism. Sometimes you just need to forge through, get the idea on paper, get past the hump, and then come back later to polish it into genius. If this was a nine-to-five job, you wouldn’t be able to say “I’m sorry I didn’t do that presentation for today’s meeting, sir; my muse just wasn’t feeling it.” You’d be out on your arse in a heartbeat, looking for a new job.

Yes, creativity has its foibles; it’s a frustrating thing that I struggle with just as much as anyone else. But frankly the real world doesn’t leave much room for foibles, and doesn’t have much patience when your muse is behaving like a stubborn, recalcitrant child. Meditate. Listen to music. Go out and try something new. Do some research. Draw Venn diagrams of your plot threads. Play word association games. Do whatever it takes, but do something that will kick your arse further down the path to finishing the bloody story rather than just wibbling about how uncooperative your muse is being.

And if the creativity just isn’t happening and you really can’t make it work? Take responsibility for it. Say “I can’t do this right now. I can’t work out the plot thread, I can’t find the words, I can’t unravel this problem.” Because it’s you. It’s not your muse. Just about anyone would understand “My brain isn’t in the right place right now; I need a little more time.” It’ll get you a hell of a better reception than “My muse just won’t cooperate! Can you hold on while I negotiate with her and try to stimulate her?”

I know I may seem like the last person to talk about writing every day considering how often I stray away from my fiction and story-bounce, but the thing is…right now, fiction is my hobby. It’s something I do in my spare time. It’s not my job. Writing resumes and articles – that’s my job. And I do it. Even when I’m not feeling it, I do it. I arrange my schedule as necessary to get my work done on time, making sure that each resume hits its deadline and all my articles are ready every week before my Monday newsletters go out. There are days when I look at client worksheets and not a word of it makes sense. I don’t want to be bothered with it, and I’m not feeling particularly inspired to write what’s basically a two-page marketing piece selling someone to an employer whether I, personally, feel they’re qualified or not.

But I do it anyway, because there are people depending on me. My clients depend on me to help them present their experience in the best way possible, so they can get and keep a job that will keep a roof over their heads and food on their tables. My boss depends on me to produce content that makes clients (and readers, for the articles) nod, smile, and tell other people about it so that the reputation of the business remains strong and we can keep operating and turning a profit, making sure we have roofs over our heads and food on our tables. Hikaru depends on me to pull in my half of our joint income so we can make ends meet and live comfortably without one or the other having to struggle to cover our expenses. These people all depend on me to be professional, whether I’m feeling like writing or not.

So I do it. I do my job. And just as they depend on me to do my job, so too do editors, agents, and publishers depend on their contracted authors to do their jobs and uphold their end of a business agreement. So suck it up, put on your big boy/girl hat, and tell your muse to sit in the corner and shut the hell up.

You’ve got work to do.

(Reposted from my LJ and edited for profanity and vulgarity.)

Star Trek: So. Effin’. AWESOME. There were a few things that spat in the face of canon, but it was executed well. The ending/explanation behind a central plot theme had a bit of deus ex machina and really felt like a gaping inconsistency, but it’s my only real complaint. The rest of the blatantly-defying-canon stuff was so entirely forgivable for the wonderful characterization, gripping action scenes, well-done dialogue & scripting, hilarious one-liners, and the fun game of “spot the canonical tribute” as they worked in SO many things that just make you go “squee!” in recognition. The opening scene made me cry; it was extremely powerful and well-done, although the rest of the movie did seem to lack impact in comparison just because they opened with something so strong. There were a couple of spots where the plot started to lose me just because it got so, “Oh, PLEASE, you’re kidding me,” too much glossed, too much rushed through…but it kept redeeming itself.

It’s definitely Star Trek for a new generation, though, designed to tell a story that will appeal to an audience that’s too new for the existing franchise. It reinvented itself with some details changed, and was as much Star Trek as it wasn’t Star Trek. Strict canon-lovers probably love it, hate it, decry it at every chance. I only have one thing to say.

Young Spock? Effin’ SEX.

Now. Wolverine.

Huge letdown. HUGE. The pacing was clunky, the scripting poorly done, the scenes badly timed, the CG godawful, and the physics of certain things so outlandish that you can’t accept it even in a comic book world, where disbelief suspends itself over the gorramn Tonga and waits for the inevitable long drop. There were fewer deviations from canon, but the crimes were more heinous; rather than feeling canon up in a back alley, this movie dragged it out into said alley and [you really don't want to know what was originally here; trust me].

The thing is, I don’t mind deviations from canon. I really don’t. What I mind is when they’re badly done. Star Trek deviated from canon terribly, but it was still a fun, enjoyable movie (albeit a “don’t think too hard about this or your head will explode from the logical fallacy” kind of movie). Wolverine deviated, but it didn’t make those deviations fun. They weren’t exciting, they weren’t interesting, they weren’t anything other than badly-performed attempts at being deep, angsty, profound, or all of the above. I like movies that make me think. I don’t like movies that obviously stage everything to try to force a moment of introspection, but just come off as false. Plus: plot holes, horrible inconsistencies, and far too many moments of “What the hell, why didn’t they/why isn’t there/where’s the mother effin’ ____________? This makes no sense/would never happen!”

The storytelling was just…so bad. Yes, the story was easy to follow, but you shouldn’t have to follow a good movie. A good movie catches you up and carries you along in a headlong rush, swept on the tide of every charged moment. This? This plodded along, leaving you to trudge in its wake, following behind only because there’s no other path to walk.

God, the dialogue was horrible, too. Wholly unbelievable, and there were so many instances of people saying unrealistic things only vaguely related to the topic at hand just to give someone a chance to fire off a pre-planned one-liner.

And Gambit. Oh, Remy…Taylor Kitsch did unspeakable things to you, and wasn’t even attractive while doing them. When I first saw you, I thought you were either Johnny Depp as Willy Wonka, or that freak from Clockwork Orange. I didn’t think you were Gambit. I didn’t believe you were Gambit, and you destroyed one of my favorite characters. I didn’t care about him at all, and movies like this don’t work if you don’t care about any of the characters.

Overall, the execution was just entirely flawed for this kind of story and this genre; it smacked of a director who doesn’t know how to tell an action story with heart, and thus just bludgeons the audience with transparent attempts at shallow on-screen character development. If not for a lot of sweaty Hugh Jackman, wet Hugh Jackman, shirtless Hugh Jackman, and naked Hugh Jackman, I think Hikaru and I would have walked out.

It always weirds me out when my Sitemeter tells me that people get here by Googling my name. I don’t know why it weirds me out; it just does.

Finished chapter one of Waking Magic yesterday; I was starting to think I’d never get to a closing point, and I think I might have forced this one – but it was over 5,000 words long, and that was stretching it. Granted, it’ll trim down quite a bit, especially since I was waffling a bit as I tried to establish Veronica’s character and parcel out details without infodumping. Still.

When did I start treating this story like a serious project?