Weekend Trip to Disney

Hi all! I’m back from a two-day trip to Walt Disney World in Orlando. We drove out Friday afternoon and arrived in Miami yesterday evening. The two days in between were quite adventurous.  

We haven’t been to Disney World since 2011, when we stayed in Bay Lake Tower and learned how Disney is accommodating to special allergies and dietary needs for my younger brother. This was going to be fun, short, and sweet. And it all was. On top of that, I smuggled in my Hiccup doll for comfort from the packing stress and the road, and to indulge in the subversive nature of bringing a Dreamworks character to a Disney franchise.  

Hiccup enjoyed himself, I can tell you that. So did we. So much has changed in Disney over the past five years. A few rides, like Snow White’s Scary Adventures, have vanished and been replaced by a Princess Fairytale Hall where you can meet and greet the ladies of Disney. We didn’t go on the new Snow White ride, Mine Train, because the waiting times were between 40 and 60 minutes, but it certainly looked interesting. Fare thee well, Snow White; I wished I had ridden you more often before your 2012 closure. 

On the first day, we went to Epcot, which remained mostly the same as it was in 2011. Spaceship Earth is still the most soothing ride, and my mom’s favorite experience was going on Soarin’. The large globe is soothing to see at night, though the walking between rides and Via Napoli wore us out. I actually fell asleep on my brother after we boarded the Monorail back to our hotel room.

 

On Saturday and Sunday, we went to the Magic Kingdom. The park is decorated in full for Halloween, even with a month to go before Mickey’s Not-So-Scary Halloween Party. It certainly gives a delicious air to the fall atmosphere. The people dancing around trolleys and singing about hayrides also helped.

The new ride that I loved the most was The Little Mermaid ride. I saw a 3D blueprint of the ride on my Little Mermaid DVD, and was excited to get a chance to go on it. The animatronics were very sophisticated, with the audio matched closely to the lip synching, and there was an extended sequence depicting “Under the Sea” with Sebastian the crab conducting.

With that said, they do cut out the Lovecraftian climax towards the end where Ursula gets angry and takes over the oceans, but I figured that’s a small allowance to make in favor of an actual Little Mermaid dark ride. This took twenty years into the making. The queue was also entertaining, with an animatronic Scuttle providing commentary and a sea-like backdrop.

We also went on Splash and Thunder Mountain; I was terrified of going on the rides as a kid, when we used to go to Disney more often, but I managed to swallow my fear and go on the drops. After all the stress of the past three years, an amusement park ride that relies on our fear of falling felt like a walk in the park. Plus, I can make up for the times as a kid that I freaked out and refused to get on, requiring my mom to wait with me outside the ride.

 On the second day, I took Hiccup with me to the Magic Kingdom. He got a glimpse of Cinderella’s castle, which is undergoing renovations. I found it wicked to sneak in my favorite Dreamworks character into the Happiest Place on Earth (fanfiction material). He sat with me on Space Mountain, and no one noticed. It was hard to take a photo of him in the dark, but I managed. Space Mountain was pure darkness, so I was relieved to have a comforting character with me.

We also went on the Carousel of Progress (which will remain a classic), Small World (ditto), and the Haunted Mansion. I love the ghost host outfits that the cast members wear and asked where I could get one. A cast member told me that the nearby shops sold a t-shirt, but I want to go for the full Victorian dress. I also got flashbacks when a frightened child said he didn’t want to go on; I was the same way about Pirates of the Caribbean. Jay and Mom remember that, and how I would always say, “NO yo-ho!” On the bright side, the ride was as fun as I remember, with a few updates; Leota’s head does more floating, I actually saw the Black Widow bride, and the tombstones were hilarious as always.

Overall it was a fun trip. I enjoyed myself, as did the family. Hiccup also got a chance to see my childhood and enter a place forbidden to him; the security guard that checked my bag didn’t even recognize him. I got to be a proper kid again, with some cynicism about progress and yet less adult worries on hand. In the Magic Kingdom, you can shut most of the real world out, and get lost in the atmosphere.

 

The Art of Connection

Two weekends ago, I attended the Florida Supercon at the Miami Beach Convention Center, during the weekend. My friend Corissa procured a table in Artist’s Alley for herself, me, and another artist Megan Wilson. She and Megan manned the table Thursday and Friday while I worked at my internship, and then I joined them for Saturday and Sunday. The year before I had missed the Supercon due to extenuating circumstances, so this time I made sure to do all the preparations in advance, including buying ten copies of Carousel and the Flux Fiction anthology that featured my story “Blood Lioness”.

For those who don’t know, Artist’s Alley is the part of a convention where local artists, writers and vendors can rent a table, set up a display, and watch people stroll by, potential customers or new friends. This is perfect for a starting artist, as opposed to the expensive Exhibition Tables, which are better when one is more established. Comic legend Neal Adams was also at the con, and he was with the more higher-up tables.

I actually have tabled before, albeit at the Miami Hurricon when the latter debuted in 2012, so I figured this would be a better version of a local convention. Cory and I get along very well in that we squee at every awesome cosplay and at good news, and she said we would probably sell out of copies. We’d connect with dozens of fantasy readers and become the next Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman for women. 

That didn’t happen. In fact, I learned the hard way that I was pushing the table’s products on people too hard, rather than letting them explore the wares without any intrusion. Megan was selling wonderful art that she had made, and she gently corrected me on day one. Eventually I  learned to lean back, read the thrilling fantasy novel I had bought from the table across from us, and let the people that come by judge our table while being friendly. I also got to marvel at the many cosplays, including several Five Nights at Freddys cosplays that freaked me out. Author Phil McCall who created the Flux Fiction anthology also let me take several pictures with cosplayers of his characters from his work Dr. Daedalus. We even got to talk about creating a sequel to “Blood Lioness” that would involve quite a bit of world hopping.

With that said, the sales that we did make mattered, and we had quite a few compassionate and meaningful interactions. One man in a wheelchair noticed the Flux Fiction anthology and told me that he loved “Blood Lioness”. One girl on Saturday, my first customer Theresa as a matter of fact, bought Carousel after she heard the pitch and read through it; she also took the hastily scribbled information I gave her. A jeweler that made customized copper rings also came to buy a copy, after I had agreed to buy a nice ring from her whose marble stone resembled a dragon egg. In fact, I had agreed to buy the ring with a larger band after one that I had worn to measure the thickness of my fingers had gotten stuck on my right hand and needed soap to remove. I was happy to write every signature. An author that had written a detective noir set on the moon came over and purchased Flux Fiction after I had bought his story with great intrigue, and I recommend it-- Lunatic City-- if you like the old-fashioned thrillers. 

This is an important lesson; to find a new reader, or a new author, you have to have a connection with the other person. That connection has to exist in a crowded place, so that another human being will give you his or her time. Amanda Palmer achieved connection first as a living bride statue and as a performer; with books, you have to rely on the other person being a reader and a fan of fantasy.

After selling each day, Phil had arranged for Cory and me to talk on and attend two different panels, one about world-building and the other about publishing. After spending years listening to writers give their advice, via blog or interviews, it was quite a chance to be on the other side of the table. I enjoyed answering questions about how to create a new kind of good and evil, to hear what the audience wanted to know and hearing Phil shut down a potential argument over a question regarding Fifty Shades of Grey and Twilight.  I even met an MD in the audience in the second panel who attended my alma mater and knew some of the doctors in the same medical program. 

Energy filled the room. The connection was there again, as four of us authors, including Phil and Cory, and about four cosplayers and a musician posed for photos and listened to our audience. We were offering something of value to about forty people, including our experiences and encouragement as writers. Our experiences mattered because we could use them to help others. 

 

 

By the next Supercon, I'd like to perfect my ability to connect with people over books and fantasy before the convention, the way that I connect with people on Deviantart and Tumblr. This year was a good start, however, in showing me how to make fellow readers and writers happy with one written adventure. 

Old Shame

On Monday before last, while searching for a hard copy of a science fiction novel I plan to revise, I found a hard copy of another long story, a dystopia with intended moral ambiguity and a boarding school of horrors. Immediately I put it away and hid it in the drawer, along with the poems and short stories that had earned me A's in middle and high school. The shame colored me all evening, to think that I had written something so laughably terrible and dark.

Last Tuesday, coincidentally, AvannaK on Tumblr posted a few old Naruto fanfics that she had written when she was younger, with apologies for characterization and shipping. I thought they were well written and had less obsessive shipping than a few young adult novels I had read over the weekend, and told her so. So did a few followers, but she still responded with modesty:

Jumping7Salon:Awwwwwww I want to give 20 year old Avanna a hug!!
AvannaK: or a smack in the face with a dictionary

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Writers always have that interesting contradiction: the egotistic ones, like me, know that we can write well, and we submit works when we feel they are ready to be published, but we also have some works that can never reach the proper light of day, and when they do, they are like the rogue dandelions that the gardeners could not pull out. I don't think I can ever read the bad fanfiction that I wrote when I was a teenager, but a few of them are still floating around online; half a dozen more disappeared when I switched computer hard drives. No, I will not tell you that pseudonym I used.


We writers have one thing in common when we have success, big or small: self-deprecation. Our old works embarrass us because we know what we did wrong then, and that we can do better now. AvannaK's concern involved her not knowing how to characterize Sakura in Naruto fanfiction, since it seems that when we fanfiction writers started out we tended to make our girl characters obsessed with the guys or vice versa, giving no thoughts to canon. With that said, she still finds the right words and phrasing to paint vivid scenes.  

For context, Sakura takes a bit to warm up to Naruto in canon.

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When submitting I try to hold onto my ego and belief that "THIS story is good!" and I ride on a high that it's going well, that "THIS story" will be the one to earn professional rates. The few times that I get an acceptance on the first try, like with "The Opera Singer," it brings a great sense of vindication especially when those stories come from a dark place. The times when a story that I work hard on gets nothing? I feel like a wave has flipped me over, and that the story isn't good enough. That it has lost my edge.

Some of these stories, I have retired because I run out of places to send them. I don't delete them like I used to, but I feel ready to move on to other stories, that feel right, and get back to the troubled ones when I know how to fix them. Probably when I have more energy I'll deal with them properly, and understand what to change. My endings are still fairly weak, but I'm getting better at them. 

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In the meantime? I'll watch the embarrassing dandelions bloom in my garden of stories. They deserve a small place, for having helped me start.  And I'll keep praising Avanna's works, old and new,  because her dandelions are undiluted power.

A Tale of Two Artists

Before I begin: Acidic Fiction has published my short story "Coming Home"! It's available for perusing and reading, and I am grateful to Stephen x Davis for accepting it.

I meant to post this the moment I came back from India, but the start of school and the inability to articulate my feelings staggered the post for a month. With that said, I think that I have the words now to express the numbness and grief at losing two great people. 

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 While I was away, my friend Corissa messaged me grave new: Sir Terry Pratchett died. Sir Terry had written dozens of fantasy novels, some tongue in cheek, some somber, and some falling in between humor and tragedy. He had also been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, and had planned to use physician-assisted suicide when he felt the time was right. On March 12, however, he died of natural causes at home, surrounded by family and his cat. At least three thousand people have since petitioned Death to “reinstate” Sir Terry and have offered Death basketfuls of kittens in exchange for the beloved author. They have left comments on said petition explaining how Sir Terry impacted their lives, and what it meant to have a friendly personification of Death or a character like Sam Vimes.

Two weeks ago, right before we left the States, Dave, a tennis teacher who has been giving lessons to my younger brother, delivered more grave news: songwriter Frank Smith died. He had spent several weeks in the hospital due to pneumonia, while living with paranoid schizophrenia. Frank was a prolific songwriter that detailed science fiction adventures  with bluegrass riffs. Frank lived in Cleveland Georgia, channeling his inner demons into song and creating analogies for paranoia with alien abduction and robotic women far from reach. He would leave song demos on Dave’s answering machine and cheerily refuse to move from his Cleveland home, even though he could get better care in Miami.

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Unlike Sir Terry, Frank didn’t have an international following or a petition written up to bring him back to life, but he had friends in the Southeast and family that appreciated him and his talent. Last Thursday these people came together to honor Frank at the Luna Star Cafe in North Miami. His friends played dozens of songs, some that Dave hadn’t heard, and they remembered Frank’s good nature and stubbornness.  

Death at times becomes incomprehensible to me; that someone I either know personally or whose art I know personally is gone, suddenly vanished from the world. I hope that by writing down my thoughts that I could pay homage to both of these geniuses.

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I first encountered Sir Terry by reading The Tale of Maurice and his Educated Rodents, which was a parody of “The Pied Piper of Hamelin”. Intrigued by the balance of humor, wit, and suspense within the story, I started reading. Afterward I looked for more Pratchett novels and found a standard Discworld novel, Night Watch. I started reading the Discworld books out of order, while requesting the ones that were in order. The library didn’t have all of the books, but I read as many as I could and gobbled up the ones that were released the fastest.

Terry Pratchett's humorous tone relied at first on mocking typical fantasy tropes, like the orphan who’s a king in disguise or Fate choosing the unluckiest wizard to be her tool in defeating evil. He often turned the tropes on their head, so that the orphan would remain an actor or a police officer, and mock the idea of playing them straight in an age where many writers took inspiration from Tolkien. Within all the humor, however, was a respect for the established tropes, and knowing the reader’s need for a story to have logic and completion. Sir Terry also commented on social justice and current affairs through his work, explaining to the reader about arbitrage in Making Money and why gold standards do not work; he trusted us to follow along even when the issues were complex. 

Before, I had previously encountered humorous fantasy through Harry Potter and The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. For the latter, I was too young to appreciate Douglas Adams's caustic humor, and often I couldn't finish his books out of disgust and confusion. Sir Terry rekindled my belief that a fantasy story could have humor and logic. Wintersmith both made me laugh hard and cry for the titular character, and Hogfather showed compassion for "The Little Matchgirl" that few people would show, to challenge acceptance of tragedy.

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I'm not exactly sure the details about meeting Frank, except that it started with talking with Dave. Dave teaches tennis to my younger brother, encouraging him to run on the court and to put "more spin" into his hits. At some point Dave lent me a CD he had burned, from when he had belonged to a science fiction bluegrass fan. I enjoyed the last song, "Hunting Aliens," for its matter-of-fact tone approach towards the titular activity and tongue-in-cheek lyrics. 

Dave told me that his friend Frank Smith had written it and all the songs on the album, and Frank often wrote songs to express his feelings about the world and about living with paranoid schizophrenia. I mentioned wanting to draw cover art for a CD, and I did draw a watercolor for "Robot Woman". Frank and I talked on the phone once, and he even sang one of his songs on the phone. He had his talent, and he had supporters that wanted to share his music, but he didn't have the widespread success that his contemporaries did. He didn't need it, though he deserved it.

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Before I learned about Frank, I had no idea fantasy was possible in general music. No popular song I know talks about aliens, or about the possibilities of exploring other worlds; our generation mainly has romance, breakup songs, and righteous fury in the mainstream. I didn't think it was possible to combine two worlds, except perhaps as a musical. What's more, I didn't think that people accepted that sort of music. But people did, the ones who understood.

I never met Frank in person, but his music touched me. Like with Sir Terry he taught me that something previously thought impossible was highly possible. He also taught me that people respond to the fantastic woven into bluegrass, and that genius can be hidden right under your nose. 

May these two great men rest in peace, and find further adventures in far-off places beyond our reach. And may people care about them and remember them for an eternity. RIP Sir Terry and Frank.

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Respect the Source: Why Fifty Shades Irks Me

Hi all,

Happy belated International Women's Day! Finished with final exams (finally) for the first part of the semester, so I can blog! Going to be flying to India for a week, so will be offline in all likelihood.

 Recently on Tumblr, I found out that a lot of young-adult and fantasy authors post material there; one of my new favorite blogs posted this interesting bit on how Fifty Shades of Grey did well at the box office and on the bestseller list. For those who don't know, Fifty Shades is an erotic adult trilogy about how an ordinary college graduate ends up in a legally binding, non-consensual BDSM relationship with Christian Grey, a millionaire that has better things to do than to micromanage another adult's life. A film version premiered on Valentine's Day this year and has grossed $150,048,805 in ticket sales.
 
I haven't read Fifty Shades of Grey, let's get that out of the way first. While considering it, two separate people that I know and trust instructed me NOT to read it, and it's a red flag when the actors for the film adaptation describe their discomfort with acting out the book's scenes. With that said, I have heard bits of the prose and marvel at how people find it unintentionally funny. Doug Walker and his brother Rob describe that part of the book's fun lies in its terrible writing, and comment on how the actors make a valiant effort at genuinely playing out the parts.

It's not just the fact that Fifty Shades has terrible writing according to my friends, or that it was originally posted as Twilight fanfiction on the Internet and remains 89 percent similar to its incarnation. What troubles me is the sensation that author E.L. James cheated when writing her novel, that she played some sort of a practical joke on the writing world and the publishing industry. As Bookshelves of Doom pointed out, if James had chosen a more "high-brow" young-adult trilogy to inspire her work, like The Fault in Our Stars by John Green, she would have received more flak.

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This sensation did not feel rational; I've written my fair share of fanfiction and enjoy it, and Neil Gaiman has pointed out that no idea is original; Rudyard Kipling inspired Gaiman's Newberry winner The Graveyard Book, and Gaiman wrote a troubling response to the Narnia books via "The Problem of Susan". C.S. Lewis in turn took inspiration from the Bible for the Narnia books, and despite disagreements over how he treated Susan, he does know how to tell a story.       

Matt Anderson and I were talking about the uncomfortable sensation that I got from Fifty Shades's success, from the fact that it was inspired by a troubling young-adult trilogy that disappointed the reader, and he pinned it down: Fifty Shades despite having terrible writing became a success, either because people purchased the book to mock it or to enjoy the more erotic elements. James's trilogy didn't add anything to the book world or to the fanfiction world. She didn't explore a different side of an "ordinary" girl getting involved with an emotionally abusive, powerful partner as Bella Swan got involved with Edward in Twilight, or perhaps even a unique take on the premise that vampires have carnivorous relationships with humans.

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Fanfiction by itself has a vague definition; copyright laws determine what characters and settings are public domain and what aren't. Many Lovecraft anthologies have filled the publishing world this year, for example, while Sherlock Holmes's copyright becomes murkier. With that said, the best fanfiction tends to supercede the original author's purpose and dive into a new world, either literally or figuratively, while showing knowledge of this strange territory; Hitchups for example depicts how Hiccup's wanderlust in a deviation, combined with loyalty to his dragon, leads him to becoming a different kind of hero that he becomes in canon, one that cannot tie himself to Earth but still needs bonds to his old home. In contrast, later fanfiction that took the same idea of Hiccup leaving before his final examination tread on similar territory, sometimes condemning the characters that stayed on Berk outright or offering minimal sympathy.

I see inspiration as a springboard into a large swimming pool; you take a leap off established solid ground and end up in a flurry of different water, sometimes aching if you did a belly flop. As long as you make your mark, no matter what the distance from the original starting point, then you have the right to call that story your own. At the same time, one must show that we know the starting point's location, no matter how far we've deviated from it, and pay homage to its origin. To do so otherwise, by weak characterization or convoluted plots, shows disregard for your source and for the reader.

Mel Brooks once said that "You cannot have fun with anything that you don't love or admire or respect." Having done various parodies such as Young Frankenstein and Spaceballs, Brooks knows how to make any mockery work and to tastefully cross lines. In addition to parodies, inspired works ideally ought to follow similar guidelines so that  "love," "admire," and "respect" become the key words. One must act to respect original sources, to remember to pay homage to what made the previous stories great.

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The Graveyard Book won the Newberry Medal because while paying homage to an English classic that barely avoided racism, Gaiman understood the intelligent prose and themes that children and adults craved, about the power of living and facing down evil. Spaceballs became a classic cult film because while mocking Darth Vader's impact it told a cohesive if absurd story about stealing precious oxygen and rescuing a rebellious princess, showing regard for the hero's goals to discover his identity and earn a reward. Even Shrek, for all the original film's bitter blows towards Disney and fairy tales, displayed a belief in true love breaking curses and outsiders finding happy endings. Fifty Shades despite purporting to have "true love" only reinforces the idea that people ought to be in sadomasochistic relationships with no boundaries, which Twilight already portrayed for a younger audience. The setting and characters were different, but the central idea remained the same, and many readers bought it.

If you're going to write because another author's story inspired you, take that leap and remember your original source. Respect your audience's intelligent and desire for a good story. 

Sick Weekend Two: The Danger of Silence

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Hey All,

I'm sick again. Fortunately it's not as painful as the sickness that I had in December, but battling a sore throat and mild fever while doing schoolwork and writing this blog. But I feel the need to write it, to keep up with my earlier resolution to blog once a week. My problem was that I hit the dreaded sensation that  every writer must get in their lifetime: a Block.

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When I was a teenager, I read books about writer's block. I read comics about writer's block, including Neil Gaiman's "Calliope" which is a story that has since become a cliche in popular culture regarding writers interacting with muses. When I read these stories, I laughed; the idea of not being able to write a word seemed to be an inherent character deficit that could be corrected.

Now that I'm in a slump myself, I feel some sympathy for some of the fictional writers that suffer blocks. Not the one in "Calliope" though; he gave all writers a bad name in terms of what he does to the titular muse. I feel sympathy for Mike Noonan in Bag of Bones, however, because he stops writing due to external stresses, namely his wife dying in the novel's opening pages. Like him, the pressure to do well and stay healthy has affected how I view the words. Sometimes it feels like I'm stepping from one slipper stone to another across a rapidly moving river whose current has destroyed others.

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Traditionally "writer's block" refers to a writer not having any ideas, at least according to popular culture, or having stale ideas that quickly fall apart on the written page. In most cases the blocks happened after the writer had hit success with one novel, and had shut down shortly afterward. The solution to such a situation, which Joanne Harris did implement in real life, was have another book ready for publication. In her case she nearly suffered a block after Chocolat became a success but had already written Blackberry Wine, her next novel that delved into writer's block, the fantastique nature of the French countryside as well as tourist threats. I was planning to do the same thing with Carousel, since I have two novel rough drafts on queue, but stress and business school interfered with my plans. My next long work probably won't happen for a while, not until I finish some short stories.

For those wondering, I don't agree with how Jay the protagonist was portrayed during his block in Blackberry Wine; he got a block because he based his first successful novel on real life, and the success drove him to write "trashy" science fiction for ten years. Call me a fan of the former pulp writers like Ray Bradbury, but there is nothing shameful about writing about aliens as opposed to "literary" fiction. Also, I'm suspicious about basing entire novels on real life, since that can lead to hurt feelings and lawsuits. Jay could have easily started traveling with the money and freedom that he earned, to find more adventures to put into his books. For those wondering about his girlfriend Kerry, it's never a good idea to volunteer to be a blocked writer's muse and hope to encourage good works out of him or her. You will just end up frustrated and disillusioned. Better to brainstorm and encourage, rather than to cut their "trashy" works.

Currently I'm working to get out of my slump and back into the field, while searching for jobs, managing home duties and keeping up in schoolwork. I'm optimistic because this week I actually finished a decent tale for a friend's birthday, the first breath of life into this school year. And with luck, 2015 will mean that I make my goals with aplomb again. Wish me luck!

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Reasons for My Hiatus: Slump

Hi all,

I know it's been a while since my last post, and I apologize for that. A great amount of events occurred, including the start of business school (long story), family drama, and writer's block. Plenty of writer's block. 

So, the first order of business is that I have a book out! Carousel has been released, in ebook and print format! Over a year ago, I posted a blog on writing the initial draft for the novella, but my baby is finally out into the world and getting read!

Best for those who like fantasy and music

Several of my other tales have come out; Aurora Wolf released "Forgiveness," one of my moodier short stories, and Eggplant Publications came out with the ebook of Spindles, which includes my short story "The Brahman and the Onion". So definitely I've been productive, submitting stories and brainstorming creative responses for anthologies.

There's not all good news, however; I had to put my webcomic A La Mode on hiatus because business school ended up demanding more of my time than anticipated. My older brother also had to move out this year, to pursue his fellowship in ophthalmology, and the house has been quieter without his constant presence. He still visits at least once a month, but there has been a marked difference in our lives without him. Namely I've had to be more of an adult than I was before, taking on more responsibilities. This has left me feeling like I want to withdraw into an acorn shell, and hide from the world.

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Something I've learned about myself: it's hard to write well when I'm stressed. More importantly, it's hard to write depressing material when I'm stressed, namely horror stories. That's why at the moment I'm working on lighter material, doing Nanowrimo at a much slower pace than last year. I'm also working to learn how to meditate, and find healthier outlets. My new goal is to blog at least once a week, and I have a few ideas in the queue. I hope that you can all hang on till the ideas surface, including my impression on research and on Disney. Signing out:

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