Mark and Karen graciously agreed (after I captured them and refused to release them until they agreed) to proof my recently revised, Dream The Moon story. This is one that wasn't critiqued by the group but by the instructors and a few participants outside the group critiques. Thus, I'm sending this one to F&SF before leaving. This is the closest I've ever come to writing the kind of story that Gordon would probably like. So off it goes before I lose my enthusiam and become overwhelmed with negative feelings again.
I've been spending even more time than usual alone. It's not that I WANT it this way so much as it seems to be the way I am. I can be a good team player but when the game is over, I go home instead of going to the bar for a drink with the guys.
I don't drink. I don't play games. I don't enjoy going to movies. I can't track group conversations well and thus my eyes glaze and I drop out of any conversation that expands into more than a handful of people and my mind bends internal such that everything around me becomes white noise and I start thinking about story ideas. I'm a real boring person to be around. Sorry, Hilary, but I'm just not going to come away from Clarion with eightteen close, forever friends. I've got nothing to offer. And I really, really hate imposing myself upon people.
I'm beginning to look forward to going home. I want to pet the cats (minus one particular one with a bladder problem) and I want some time on Sunday to stand outside, weeding. There's something restful about going around with a container of Round-Up for the undesirable weeds and a container of Bush killer for the suspicious poison ivy-like tendrils sprouting up where they don't belong. I want to see how many of my lilies survived winter and if my Kathleen Woodbury pink lily recovered from it's near-death in a shady area last fall. [I transplanted it.] I want to give my mother the gift I picked up for her at the mall.
I'm planning to go back to the mall one more time before leaving. This time, I'll be looking for close- out shoes for my husband and my son. I know I won't be in the mall at home until just before Christmas. I just don't shop at home. No need to. I've got other things I can do at home when the story stalls. I've already weeded most of the area around Owen Hall.
I feel that I didn't have a birthday this year. We never really celebrate birthdays or have a cake and I did get two Blue Mountain e-mail cards...but this year was really nothing. I went off to the mall and bought Nike shoes that were on sale. A birthday present to myself. We used to go to La'Chica's for my birthday celebration but that's turned into a Little Mexico restaurant -- a place with excellent service and authentic food. Authentic means that it's supposed to taste like Owen Cafeteria does Mexican food. Having eaten in California and having eaten at Accapulco Joe's, I believe that Chi-Chi's isn't nearly as good and Little Mexico is like eating paste. If authentic Mexican food tastes like that, I understand why so many Mexicans are fleeing to the US.
I want to do something when I return home, but I don't know what. Rivercon is the next weekend. A+ certification is the following week for me. I've got to get my act together on Worldcon and since all Worldcon information packets traditionally are mailed the day after the convention ends, I've got to make some long distance phone calls to find out for myself what we can and cannot do within the SFWA suite. I appreciate their desire to put as much information into the packages as possible, but the best information in the world and the snazzies package is worthless if it's not timely.
After Context, I collapse. I really and truly collapse.
Before Clarion, I decided not to censor the journal from my thoughts or activities during Clarion except where those thoughts/opinions/statements might injure others or be subject to misinterpetation. I wanted to keep this as open as possible both for myself and for those who will be attending Clarion or making a decison about attending Clarion. In a few days, this will change.
Home brings realities and I feel my online journal has become too open without me stopping to consider just how many people might step into my life through that open book.
I'm closing the door and pulling down the window shades.
I will continue keeping a journal for myself, but not online. The journal which is online will be updated less frequently and less personally. The journal will focus on writing-related events rather than personal ones.
The journey is almost over. I'm not even close to that mountain top. Reality is that I'll never really reach it. Every time I achieve a goal and think I can relax now, someone raises the bar and then I have to go over that hurdle as well. Writing isn't about publishing or award-winning... at least, not for me. Writing is about being the best I can possibly be and committing a part of myself to paper that gives me a feeling of deep satisfaction and accomplishment. If I achieve that and the rest of the world thinks my writing sucks, I don't care. If I produce something the rest of the world loves and I don't like it, then awards and praise are meaningless. I am the sole and final judge of the stories I produce and I'm still not satisified with my ability to communicate the story in my mind into a form that builds the image in a reader's mind.
I have now mailed home everything that I can possibly mail. What remains MUST fit into the car.