I can’t tell you how thrilled I am to see the back of 2011. Really — I can’t. It was a year full of professional milestones, and I had a wonderful time teaching my first classes at Wooster this fall and getting to know the town and college, but it was harder on the personal front. I’m looking forward to 2012 with optimism and anticipation. I fully expect the spring to be crazy — I’m teaching three classes rather than two, and my senior IS students will be finishing their projects — but I also hope it will be rejuvenating. I’ve been amazed by how widespread this sentiment about the new year has been. I can’t think of another year when I’ve heard so many people express relief at the passing of the old year and hope for the new one, in a way that seems heartfelt rather than rote. I guess it’s just been a hard one for all of us. May 2012 bring positive change for you, too.
Also, mysterious Mayan calendar predictions aside, isn’t “twenty-twelve” just so much more satisfying to say than “twenty-eleven”?
I didn’t get as much work done on Killingly this year as I meant to, mostly for the above-mentioned personal reasons, plus that whole “first semester of teaching” thing, which is pretty time-consuming. But I did get some work done! And I’m delighted to say that I’ll have a student assistant helping me to dig up more research material this spring. If all goes well, I hope to finish the book in summer 2012. I’ve also been writing some nonfiction, partly inspired by the reading I’ve done with one of my IS students.
In March, I’ll be back in Austin briefly to give a reading at UT before zipping down to San Antonio to present a paper at ASECS 2012: “Delarivier Manley Understands the Ladies Better than You: The Female Wits and Feminocentric Satire.” I’m also hoping to attend Wiscon this spring. Anybody else planning to be in Madison?
I meant to post a multitude of things in the last month or so, some still open in tabs from the first time I read them. (I prune my tabs regularly, but still, it’s no wonder my Firefox loves to give me the spinny rainbow wheel.) Here are a few of them:
And finally, something that makes a dreary January day a little brighter, at least if you grew up with the Buffy kids and still like a good vampire show now and then. 2011 would not have been possible without yoga and Netflix streaming.
A very happy new year to you all.
On Sunday, September 4, at 2 pm Eastern time, the #FeministSF book chat on Twitter will be discussing Alcestis. Djibril Alayad of The Future Fire has kindly organized this chat and I am so looking forward to snooping and possibly participating! If you’ve read the book, please do join in — and even if you haven’t read the book, feel free to check out the conversation by searching for the #FeministSF hashtag on Twitter. You can contribute to the chat by posting a tweet which includes the #FeministSF hashtag.
You can also see a list of other books that are scheduled for future chats, or are being considered for scheduling, on the Feminist SF wiki.
Hope to see some of you on Twitter discussing the book!
Because that’s what you get this summer, apparently. I’ve been working on Killingly and course prep and an eighteenth-century abstract this week, and I’m wiped.
The Hairpin has a great interview with Kate Beaton, who talks smartly about many things, including dramatizing history in comic form and why people reacted so weirdly to her calling-out of sexism in comics. And for your enjoyment, a recent Hark! A Vagrant strip sure to delight c18 nerds: Fop Gun.
Thriller writer Will Lavender describes his path from writing literary fiction he wasn’t satisfied with to writing what he loves.
A long piece in the Atlantic about the development of the current YA market.
And a lovely review in PW for my friend Merrie Haskell’s forthcoming middle-grade book, The Princess Curse.
First, read this interview with Ana Menendez at The Rumpus. Ana taught the first workshop I took in graduate school, which guided the revisions of the first three chapters of Alcestis. Her new book sounds delightfully odd.
Then read Kari Kraus’s op-ed in the Times about digital preservation and archives, which opens by discussing Bruce Sterling’s donation of his archive to the Ransom Center.
I also liked this post by Molly Wizenberg, talking about the kind of writing-avoidance we all practice sometimes. (You can tell me that you don’t, but I won’t believe you.)
I’m now in Wooster, Ohio, and have finally just about finished unpacking. I would kill for a papas, egg, and cheese taco from Tacodeli right now, but I’m enjoying the cool Ohio mornings (and sometimes, entire cool days). Everyone here is complaining about the heat, but after a month of 100+ weather in Austin, it feels heavenly to go for a run in a 65-degree breeze, even if the afternoons do get close to 90.
This summer is full of transitions, professional and personal, and I’m trying hard to get a bunch of writing done before the semester begins — so I may be a bit quiet around here. I hope to have time to post more about the courses I’m teaching this fall, though.
One quick bit of news: a few days ago, I was delighted to see this recommendation of Alcestis at After Ellen’s Across the Page. It makes me really happy to know that readers are continuing to discover the book.
Two points of view about writing that might seem opposed. I don’t think they are, though.
Ann Patchett:
I don’t believe in writer’s block. I think writer’s block is just a myth that was invented by people who either don’t want to work or people who aren’t ready to get an idea down on paper. So if I can’t write, if I’m stuck, it’s because I’m trying to figure something out. The other thing is my husband, who is a doctor, goes to work every single day, and he doesn’t get ‘doctor’s block’. He doesn’t just say, “I don’t have any idea what this patient has, and I’m just gonna go home and lie on the couch and stare at the ceiling and eat popcorn.” Which is what writers do. It’s like we have this built-in ‘Get Out of Jail Free’ card going called Writer’s Block. But if you work, you just work, and sooner or later, you’ll get through it.
And The Intern, “on finding beauty again“:
You can’t remember what inspired you to write your novel. It’s a vicious ugly cold-hearted thing and it’s eating you alive. You’re a vicious, ugly, cold-hearted thing too, an evil plumber with a bag full of tools. You couldn’t find the pulse of your novel if you tried. It’s turned into a dead thing—or a thing towards which you’ve become dead.
“Writing is hard work,” you reassure yourself.
“Don’t tell me to take a break,” you snap at your well-meaning loved ones.
You fight your way grimly through the brambles.
Meanwhile, the world goes on lush and sun-filled just outside your field of view.
First: Ed Battistella of Literary Ashland just posted an interview with me about Alcestis, Killingly, my dissertation, and numerous other topics. I read from Alcestis at Ashland’s wonderful Bloomsbury Books in 2010 and was interviewed for Ashland’s “Open Books, Open Minds” TV program when I was in town. (My parents retired to Ashland, and it’s one of my favorite places on earth.) Many thanks to Ed for the insightful questions!
Second: Diane Havens, the wonderful narrator of Iambik’s audiobook of Alcestis, answers five questions, some of which make me blush. Iambik is offering Alcestis at a 50% discount in June — enter the code “#jiam2011″ at when prompted at checkout.
Third: #YAsaves. I wish I had time to write up a full and thoughtful post about this, but since I’m swamped with moving preparations, course prep, and writing, I’ll just direct you to this excellent overview at Publishers Weekly and to Sherman Alexie’s heartbreaking and inspiring piece in the WSJ in response to Cox Gurdon’s classist stupidity. (It’s not just that Cox Gurdon dismisses teen readers who aren’t sheltered and privileged — it’s that she doesn’t even seem to know that other kids, less lucky kids, read. Or exist, for that matter.)
I didn’t mean to disappear for quite so long. First I had to finish the last few line edits on my dissertation and file it, officially; and then I wrote more Killingly, worked on finding a place to live in Wooster (and I finally have, after the house I thought I’d secured fell through), worked on course planning for fall, cut my hair short, flew to Oregon, and drove one of my family’s cars down to Austin, sharing the driving with my mother. Then I had a great book club meeting with a group of women in south Austin, for which I had to refresh my memory of all things Alcestis. May’s been quite the month.
Did you know that an early-2000s Toyota 4Runner and a late-80s Saab convertible have veeeeery different turning radii? Still getting used to that. I’d just achieved basic competence with manual driving in the Saab, enough that driving an automatic now feels strange (words I never thought I’d type!). Next I need to master the Toyota’s 4-wheel drive, before the Ohio winter, at least.
I thought I might be able to attend the Lambda Literary Awards this week, but the above circumstances and others conspired against it, so I’ll be cheering the ceremony on from Texas while my lovely editor Juliet Grames attends the actual shindig. And on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, I’ll be spending time on campus again for the third and final TILTS conference of the year, which has an impressively varied lineup of speakers.
I’m back to working on Killingly, and I’m also back to course planning. Given all the noise about the goofy Family Radio apocalypse predictions, my post-apocalyptic & dystopian novel course feels trendier than ever — I’m excited to delve into those trends with my students and talk about their cultural underpinnings.
Soon, moving! And packing! Gah.
Chronologically, as it seems easiest:
Last Friday, I defended my dissertation in the Fleur Cowles Room at the Harry Ransom Center. (You want to follow that photo link, I promise.) Fleur Cowles was one of the sponsors of the internship I participated in at the Ransom Center, so it felt like a nice conclusion to my years as a graduate student to be in that pale-yellow room full of paintings of tigers and flowers and at least one unicorn. The defense itself went swimmingly, as did the dinner and drinks we decamped for afterward. It was really nice night.
This week, I finished up the line edits I’d made while re-reading the dissertation yet again before the defense, and yesterday I officially filed to graduate. A very strange feeling, I can tell you. But pleasant, too. I’m looking forward to being back in the classroom.
And then: last night, Alcestis won the Edmund White Award for Debut Fiction from the Publishing Triangle. I wasn’t able to get to New York to attend the ceremony, unfortunately, but I followed the live-tweets (!), and got a report from Soho’s Mark Doten, who attended on my behalf and accepted the award. I hear that some very nice things were said about the book, and I am so honored and touched. Here’s Lambda Literary’s lovely write-up of the awards ceremony, with a photo of the winners who were present.
On a sadder note, I was sorry to see earlier today that Joanna Russ has died after a series of strokes. If you haven’t read How to Suppress Women’s Writing, now’s a good time. (It continually makes me happy to know that there’s a UT Press edition of that book.) If nothing else, read the cover, which in itself is enough to get a good conversation started with students. I don’t know if I’ll have the chance to use the book or its cover next fall, but it’ll appear in one of my spring classes. For more about Russ and her literary career, see this excellent tribute at io9.
I’m still a bit dazed from the last few weeks, but I’ll be moving on soon to more course-planning and Killingly-writing. And planning my move to Wooster!
Over the weekend, Diane Havens, the wonderful narrator of the Iambik audiobook of Alcestis, and Miette Elm of Iambik asked me excellent questions about the book, writing, and audiobooks, including some Proust-questionnaire-style inquiries about my favorite sounds. If you follow the Q&A link, you’ll see a discount code for all Iambik’s titles through the end of the month, too.
I’m in the last push toward finishing up my degree right now, but I’ve been saving up blog material. (And occasionally then deciding not to write a post on it because it was just too annoying to think about in any more detail, cf. Ginia Bellafante’s remarkably silly “girls can’t possibly like Lorrie Moore and The Hobbit at the same time!” review of Game of Thrones and her point-missing follow-up piece. Sorry, couldn’t resist.)
I have managed to go to a couple of readings lately, though — last night was Russell Banks, reading from his forthcoming Lost Memory of Skin, and I’m hoping to make it to Chimamanda Adichie’s reading on Thursday, also at the Joynes Reading Room at UT. A few weeks ago I was fortunate enough to attend the benefit reading for Dean Young held here in Austin. Dean has since received the heart transplant he needed, but he and his family still need support. If you haven’t (or even if you have), do donate here.
