I never really landed on what I wanted out of my new year's goals and resolutions, save I wanted to do something different from last year and the year before. Mostly, I'm trying to write more fiction, which has gone a touch better than I anticipated: I've managed to get a total of six stories, most of them I've published this year, onto my website. They're all rough drafts, but there's something enjoyable about having started a story and then finishing it, even if it isn't exactly good. (And, as an aside, I should probably start thinking about feeling okay with writing a short story--maybe one a week--but not feeling the pressure to finish a short story the same day I start it. That impulse of mine is probably the biggest reason why I'm not writing more; I need to stop thinking that it's only worthwhile if I complete what I start in the same writing session.)
However, there have been a lot of things going on in January that have cut into my writing time--some good, some bad. I'll start with the good: I recently purchased an electronic drum kit and have been pounding away on the drums almost every evening. I got them on Thursday, 23 Jan and I haven't played video games since they showed up. I've only had three nights but I'm probably at about six or so hours on the drums already. I play along (poorly) with '90s music, but I get the most pleasure playing along with my own guitar music--indeed, it's one of the reasons that I'm picking up a new instrument. I want to feel like I've composed the entire song--lyrics, melody (which is hard because I don't have much in the way of singing talent), chord progression, bass line (which is hard because I don't have a bass), and drums. Since I already have a basic knowledge of how the drums work (thanks to my countless hours playing Rockband), I'm not starting at square one, and that's been the saving grace. And though I've a long way to go--and a lot to learn--I'm excited about this. The bad, however, is one of those hard-but-understandable bad things, which is that my grandmother died. I went with my family a couple of weeks ago--two days before she died--and said goodbye. She was unconscious, so it wasn't verbally reciprocated. It was…hard. Yesterday (25 Jan) was the funeral, and it was emotionally pretty up and down. My part in the program was a pallbearer and to offer the benediction (in which I slipped some Hamlet because Shakespeare knows how to say what I feel). Then there was the family gathering and my sister was in town with her fiancé for the funeral and…well, things are always a bit harder for me when there are a lot of people interacting. I get nervous and uncomfortable when I'm unsure what's expected of me, and there are always interpersonal dynamics that feel fraught…it makes large gatherings tough, is what I'm saying. Add to that the emotional ride of a funeral, and the day didn't lend itself to much writing. Those are a couple of reasons I've not hit the keyboard as much as I'd like. (That I designed a Quidditch board game and have spent quite a few hours playing it alone or with my son has also eaten into the writing time.) Nevertheless, I have managed to find a way to get a few more words into my monthly wordcount. I think I want to have about 400,000 words by the end of the year, which makes for about 33,000 words per month. (Currently, I've 25,000 and five days to go…so I've got a bit of work ahead of me.) The best way to get that is to have a writing retreat, but since I only get three of those a year, I have to otherwise type away just a bit at a time. To that end, I've picked up an abandoned project, Ash and Fire, and I'm looking at it with fresh eyes. I chose this novel for a couple of reasons: It's the one I did before shifting gears to War Golem, and since I've tightened that up about as much as I can stand, I'm eager to return to a world that stems from one of my areas of expertise. Though I could probably work on the sequel, War Golems, I don't have much confidence in that story. So Ash and Fire is the logical choice: It's based on an Elizabethan England style--even down to the doublet and hose--which comes from my Bardolatry. Going through my notes, I was able to see the areas that changed in the telling of Ash and Fire, and I also see the gaps I left behind. The result is that I've dropped about 6,000 new words (probably a bit more) into the WikiDpad over the course of the past few days. What's fun about this particular process is that I usually worldbuild until I can't handle the story bursting in my brain and I have to get to work on it. This time, however, I already have the story out. Not only that, but I have a huge amount of worldbuilding that's already done…and room for a lot more. So I can luxuriate in my worldbuilding throughout the process. The process? It's a rhizome. I can be working on, say, the genealogy of the monarchy in the world, and think about a particular event that would be interesting, and start detailing that event, only to pull back to the genealogy a bit later, better understanding the imaginary character's past. Then I might remember an animal that needs documentation, so I pursue that before returning to the main thread. (Because I use WikiDpad, I'm able to do this with alacrity.) It's one of the great things about worldbuilding digitally, as it allows constant growth and quick changeover without having to worry about space or anything like that. The result? Well, I'm probably about 10,000 words deep into the worldbuilding of the novel that I've already written. I'm not sure why I need this much stuff in there, but I like having it feel more concrete in my mind and fingertips. My hope is that I can leverage that into a worthwhile edit and--eventually--rewrite of Ash and Fire. We'll just have to wait and see. In a distinctly non-Heideggerian way, I've been thinking about both being and time quite a bit the past few days. My current course at school is a deep (and I do mean deep) dive into the Harry Potter series. I wrote about my trip to Universal Studios Hollywood already, which took up the middle section of the course (which is only three weeks long). Now we're looking at the last day of our time together, and…it's hard. One reason that ending these unique experiences is that we spend so much time in one another's presence that a special kind of affinity grows. This is enhanced by what we do, as well--that is, our time as students and teachers talking and learning about this thing specifically binds us all together in a way that no other class can.
I mean, think about it: Even without having spent an entire week in one another's exclusive company, we still have had four and a half hours a day together. It's not like normal classes where fifty minutes click by and then you say, "See you tomorrow." It's a pretty intense schedule--and if you've never gone for two hours and fifteen minutes in a single discussion, you likely won't understand that intensity--which points toward the thesis of this post: Narratives that truly matter take time. I'm speaking from my own tastes here, but it's rare--exceedingly rare--for a piece of fiction to wind its way into my mind and thoughts without spending a lot of time in that world--fantastical or otherwise. Hamlet is the longest Shakespearean play; Paradise Lost is an epic poem (twelve books of poetry, ten of which are absolutely unforgettable); Les Misérables is 1,400 pages long (though when I read it with my students, it's the 600 page version). Why do these characters stick with us? It's because of the time we spend together. It happens with more modern things, too. One of the reasons that I keep watching and reading It is because the book is so long and I get to spend time with characters that I genuinely like. Why did Avengers: Endgame satisfy so many fans (despite some flaws in the work)? Because a decade of our movie-going lives was tied up in the events on the screen. We've all heard stories of someone who went to see Endgame and hadn't watched any of the previous MCU entries and that they were bored and couldn't understand what all the hubbub was about, right? That's because the last chapter of the story can't really be understood without what preceded it. And, most pointedly (and most on my mind right now), Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows is significant because of the intertextuality within itself and the series as a whole. We care a lot about Harry, despite his flaws, because we've already been through over 3,400 pages with him. That's a lot of time in his--and Hogwarts'--company. Sure, there are lots of other things that draw us into Book 7, but Harry's journey--ending, as is only fitting, at Hogwarts--works because we know the steps that led up to it. Rowling does a fantastic job of not only calling back to the previous books, but to letting the connections flow organically. One couldn't pick up Deathly Hallows and expect to understand it without the context of the rest of the series, but that doesn't mean the book doesn't have its own story and arc to tell. I think it does--and I think it does it very well, as a matter of fact. But it always goes back to time--that fickle thing that is harder to get from readers than their money. (How many of you have books you purchased but haven't even cracked the cover? I rest my case.) I don't have the growing-up-with-Harry nostalgia for these stories that others do, but I do have a deep love for them. And every time I start the series over, it's wonderful to be back, to enjoy all of the things that I loved and enjoyed the previous time, plus more. The rereads only add to the depth of appreciation for Harry's world, which is a rare treat: Rather than growing stale with rereadings, the Harry Potter series gains immensely. The time there is always well spent. And that's the whole problem for me as a writer: Knowing that, how can I recreate something so wonderful? How can I make the experience pass the time in such a way that readers are swept up--not just in the story and the world, but anxious to invest their thoughts and time in the fiction? And--perhaps an even harder question--how can I, an unknown and unpublished writer, get the readers on my side long enough for that to happen? My longest book was about 311,000 words by the time I was finished with it, and though I'm still proud of that thing, there's no doubt that a book of that size simply won't be published by a debut author, not even in fantasy. (And, now that I think about it, I probably love the world in that novel more than almost any other--and it's because I've spent so much time there.) This realization is part of the reason why I no longer write books that are over 120,000 words (and even the most recent one of that length could probably be pared down quite a bit). I can't see how I can expect publication if I don't better match the attention span of my potential audience. Of course, Rowling had the advantage of being a middle grade writer at the commencement of the series. The Philosopher's Stone isn't particularly long--its subplots are minor and mostly useless, its actual worldbuilding curt--but it's enough to introduce and invite and pull in. That allows for a continual growth in the size of the books (maxing out with Book 5's length and then remaining robust for the final two) and, as the word count increased, so, too, does our understanding and affinity for Harry and his world grow. (As I think about it, Anne McCaffery did a similar thing, though of the two I'd say that McCaffery is a better writer.) So what's the recipe for Harry Potter's success? Timing and luck are a component--the millennial generation that grew up on her books were fed a lot of hope and aspirations for the future while they were young, which is a part of the Harry Potter series--but there are a few things that I can point to that, I think, makes a big difference between it and all of the imitators that have come afterward: A balance of light and dark (thematically as well as tonally, as the whimsy off-sets the danger for a good portion of the series); an exceptionally strong sense of a desirable milieu; a distinct style and iconography; continual depth of worldbuilding that continued up until the end (and even beyond); characters who grow and change, covering a wide range of personalities and identities, yet still connect to the broader themes of the series; mysteries wrapped in the package of fantasy; and time with all of it to make a difference in our hearts. No, her magic system isn't particularly hard--rules bend frequently enough as to make them mostly guidelines. And she doesn't have detailed maps to help us understand where the Hogwarts Express goes from King's Cross to Hogsmeade. That, however, isn't necessary. Those pieces listed above are really the core of what makes Harry Potter (and Harry Potter) different than the rest. Now…could I do something similar? Time, I suppose, will tell. My Winterim class' study of Harry Potter involved heading down to Los Angeles and visiting the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Universal Studios Hollywood. I wanted to document a few of my memories here--albeit quickly. Thanks for your indulgence. Day 1 We met at the school at seven in the morning, loaded up twenty kids and six chaperones into four vans, and headed south. I'd broken the trip into four segments, arranging it in such a way that I could lead a discussion in each car with each group of kids. We discussed a couple of portions of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. The conversations were pretty similar--done on purpose, as I wanted to give them all the 'same' lesson, inasmuch as was possible--but they were good. I liked them, at least. We arrived at our Air BnB in good time--very few delays, even within the thorny California traffic--unpacked the cars, and made some spaghetti dinner. The students entertained themselves with Disney Plus' The Simpsons and chatted and relaxed. We even got to bed at a decent time, with only needing three forceful reminders from me to be quiet when it was time to go to bed (which was only required the one time). Day 2 After arising and breakfasting, we went down to Sunset Beach, which was essentially empty. The students played in the sand and surf--very cold surf, as it was only in the mid-sixties--until it was time to have another class. We discussed Lupin from Prisoner of Azkaban, as well as exploring some of the fears that we have (in relation to the Dementors and the Patronus Charm). Though having the beach pretty much to ourselves was nice, the sun and the lack of facilities forced us south to Huntington Beach where we had another hour or so of class, plus some wandering around time. It was here that we, again, lost a student in the bathroom. (By 'again', I'm referencing the time when, in Cambridge, England, a student went to the loo without anyone knowing and, as a result, was left there for an hour and a half before we realized what had happened and found her. Yeah. Good times.) The kid had gone into a bathroom to change without telling anyone that he needed extra time. So Gayle and I found him just as he exited the stall, oblivious to the fact that the group had moved on. After that, I assigned four kids to be the Head Boy and Girls of their respective houses, tasking them with the responsibility to do a head count so that we could avoid that happening again. Once finished with the beach, we returned to the cars and drove home. There, we continued the classwork that we still needed to do, then piled back into the cars to go to Downtown Disney, which was only about ten minutes from the house. The problem was, the parking at Downtown Disney was exorbitant. In the end, we decided that we would drop off the students and a couple of chaperones, then drive the vans back to the house. From there, we ordered an Uber, which got us back to the park for, maybe, six bucks. We tried to enjoy the Downtown Disney vibe, but one of the students brought a harmonica, which prevented him from getting in (they didn't want him busking, I think). Rather than sitting and waiting for us to come take care of it, he wandered away--as if that makes any sense--which required additional work on our part. I wasn't particularly happy with that decision of his. Still, we eventually all made it through security. The kids were let loose--on the precept of the buddy system--to look at what was there. (Part of our Winterim is to study marketing; what better place to see it done than at the park of the masters of all marketing, Disney?) Gayle and I enjoyed a churro together--it's one of her favorite treats--and looked at some of the merchandise. I noticed that, last time I was there, I had been on the lookout for something that I actually wanted to buy. I ended up getting a metal model kit for Cinderella's castle, mostly because I like castles. (It sits on my bookshelf now--though I almost never remember that it's a Disney landmark.) Suffice to say that Disney is not a key component of my childhood. I mean, it's fun--Disneyland is great and I like going there--but there's little about the Mouse that makes me truly excited. Being in Downtown Disney that night, without having been in the park at all, made me feel even less inclined to pay any amount to anyone for anything (churros excepted). Without the brainwashing of being in the park, my interest in the merchandise was basically non-existent. We hired another Uber to get us back to our vans, then returned to Downtown Disney to pick up the students. Once home, we had a nice dinner. For the most part, my wife cooked the food with a student or two to help while I organized the shower schedule and kept students rotating through. (With only two bathrooms in the house, it required a lot of discipline to ensure that everyone had time to bathe.) After dinner, we had one of the houses--yes, I broke up the twenty students into the four Hogwarts houses--help on the cleanup. Day 3 This was an early day, as we wanted to make sure that our tickets worked and we could get into the park. To that end, we left the house in Anaheim at 8am. Los Angeles traffic conspired against us, and we didn't get to the theme park until 9:30am. Then we struggled with figuring out parking--we wanted to park at the Metro station nearby and just walk to the park, but there were signs prohibiting that. While that probably wouldn't have mattered, I happened to pull into a stall that was within eyesight of an attendant. Since there wasn't any other option, I decided to fork over the $28 to park in the parking lot. Still, despite these hiccups, we were able to get everyone through security, get some pictures, and head into the park. We decided to meet at the Three Broomsticks for lunch, then everyone went whichever way they wanted. Gayle and I decided to start at the Wizarding World, since that was our entire purpose in being there. We had our robes on and everything--why wouldn't we head straight there? Because it's January, the weather was quite cool--and, indeed, by the end of the day, was feeling downright cold--but it also meant that the park was not well attended. Gayle and I stood in line for the Flight of the Hippogriff ride, which took seven or eight minutes to get to the front of. (Probably a bit too long of a wait for a ride that short, but that's okay.) Then we and a couple of students went into the reason we were there: Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey. We walked at a steady pace through the Hogwarts queue, enjoying the recreations of the different statues described in the books and seen in the movies, looking at sundry props and listening to the talking portraits. Maybe five minutes later, we were on the ride. Gayle and I have been on the ride before--we went to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter in Universal Studios Orlando a few years ago--but that didn't change how exciting it was to be on it again. I've grown a lot as a person and as a reader since then, and I have a different relationship with Rowling's world now. Getting to "be there" to such an immersive extent was really enjoyable. Slightly shaken about, we then wandered through Hogsmeade and enjoyed the different shops' sundry charms (while suffering the mild panic attacks set on by the prices of everything). We swung out of Hogsmeade long enough to watch the Kung Fu Panda attraction, which was like watching a video game in a rumbly seat…we didn't go back. By then, it was almost time for lunch, so Gayle and I hung out at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade until it was time to eat. Because of how the trip was supposed to go, we had to figure out a way for the students to be able to enjoy the food there without them all cracking open their wallets. In the end, we bought four Great Feasts (large meals with ribs, chicken, corn, potatoes, and vegetables) and thus fed the kids. When we were done, we headed onto the Universal Studios tour, which took a solid hour or so. It was really cool to see some of these sets for films I'd seen--and a bunch for movies I'd never even heard of. The entire experience was enjoyable--especially when we saw some of the dinosaurs from Jurassic Park. Since the Jurassic World ride was closed that day (and the next, as it happened), this helped scratch the dinosaur itch. With that done, Gayle and I explored the lower lot of the park, descending the escalators until we got to the Jurassic World attraction. We arrived just as the velociraptor, Blue, came out for pictures. We watched as it made its angry noises, clacked its mighty jaws, and terrorized some of the smaller guests. Gayle and I got in line and got a few pictures with the creature. We then went on the Mummy ride and the Transformers ride, both of which are close to the Jurassic World section. That essentially finished off our first day in the park. Of course, we still had a commute to contend with. The distance from our house to the park was just over 30 miles, but it still took almost two hours to get back, since the traffic was so bad. Fortunately, we made it with little damage, though I'll admit that the car was pretty quiet--almost everyone was dozing after having gone through such a long day. We got home, made some tacos, fed everyone, did our shower routine, and called a lights out. Most kids, I'd guess, were asleep within a few minutes. Day 4 Originally, we thought that this day would be like day 2: classes on the beach, maybe something fun in the evening. However, through a good deal on the tickets, we actually had a total of three days' access to the park. So, since we couldn't afford lunch for all three days--it wasn't in the budget--we decided to hold class in the morning. Students could then eat the lunch provided by the school or, if they wanted, wait until we arrived at the park. The commute, being in the middle of the day, was much shorter. We dropped off the students (buddy system!) at the Universal City Walk drop off point, then I parked the car in the metro station as before. With my other drivers, we headed to the shuttle that took us up the hill and into the park. Meeting up with Gayle, she and I made sure the students were set before heading into the park ourselves. We decided to take in the shows, watching the Special Effects show and the Water World stunt show before returning to Hogsmeade and browsing the shops. We had to find some souvenirs for our kids, so we passed some pleasant time that way. We also ate lunch at Three Broomsticks again, this time ordering a butterbeer to go along with the shepherd's pie. We went on the Forbidden Journey again (why wouldn't we?), then took in a couple of the rides we'd missed from before--the Simpsons and the Despicable Me rides (which were the same and not particularly noteworthy; the Simpsons ride, strangely enough, was always the one with the longest queue--sometimes as long as 45 minutes--which I can't understand; it's not that good of a ride). We ended our evening by watching the Animal Actors show, which we enjoyed. By then it was getting late and quite cold, so I used a Starbucks gift card a student had given me for Christmas to buy us some hot chocolate. The return trip was long and fairly uneventful, though we did see the remnants of one of the wrecks--a compact car had gone under a pickup truck, with the truck's bumper all the way to the windshield of the car--and we got home safely. We had breakfast for dinner, and as the evening was winding down, one of the students said she was going to jump into the icy cold pool. After all, we'd brought our swimming suits: Why not use them? It was a moment of decision for me: I could indulge them, let them do the dumb thing, and roll my eyes at them; I could forbid them, dropping the disciplinary hammer on them; or I could join in. I decided to do the last one, in part because my purpose in the trip was to find ways to give them memorable, important experiences. What better way than to leap into the icy pool with them? There were probably eight or so of us lined around the pool. I told my coteacher to count us off, then, at three, we all leaped in. The temperature outside was, I would guess, in the high forties--the water was not so warm, methinks. I immediately set out for the side of the pool, shrieking that I'd made a huge mistake. To my surprise, my coteacher--who was not in her swimming suit--was in the water, too: She had jumped in when she'd shouted three, having taken off her shoes and set aside her phone. Other than that, she was in her clothes that she'd been wearing all day. We climbed out--I set about trying to hug Gayle with my wet body--and spent a good portion of time shivering. After an hour or so of getting the showers taken care of, we turned in for the night. Day 5 As part of our final day in the park, we arranged to get--as much as possible--the students in the park for the maximum amount of time. We left early, though we still arrived a half our after the park opened. Dropping the kids off, Gayle and I went to park in the Metro station, only to have the kiosk refuse to register our cars. We decided that it was the sort of thing that we'd have to figure out later, so we went ahead and took the shuttle to the park. Since the Jurassic World attraction was now open, Gayle, my coteacher, her parents, and I went straight there. The queue waiting time said ten minutes, but we essentially walked on, our plastic ponchos covering our Hogwarts robes. We got fairly wet the first time through, but I demanded on going again. And again. Three times in a row--each one as easy to get on as the first. The second experience was the most unexpected: At the end of the ride, the T. rex lunges out of a dark recess, roars at the tourists, then the boat goes down a steep hill, landing with a splash. Well, something must have happened with the boats at the dock, because though Rexy came out and roared at us, we didn't move forward. The dinosaur did her thing, then ducked her head and retreated, no longer interested in us. We sat, waiting to go down. At last, we moved forward and it plunged us down the hill. We immediately turned to the Mummy ride, which we were able to walk onto straight from the queue. That's always a fun ride, I think, though they have changed it a lot since I last was on it: In the past, they had more Brendan Fraiser doing his thing…this one did not. And this is, I think, one of the real problems that both Universal Studios and California Adventure have to deal with: They aren't timeless/classic properties. Sure, Transformers and superheroes are popular now, but ten years down the road? No one will really care--much like no one cares about Brendan Fraiser's version of The Mummy. Yes, some properties really stick around, but most don't. Disneyland itself is the attraction--the whole place is its own classic, nostalgic, timeless area. Some things change, obviously, but its core identity remains. Not so with these other parks. The sun was out, and though the day was warm, we were still wet; we sat at a table to dry off and try to figure out what was going on with the parking situation. After some time, my coteacher said she'd figure it out and that Gayle and I should go enjoy the park. So we went on the Transformers ride. However, a woman in the row in front of us vomited, so we weren't really interested in sticking around. Heading back to the upper lot, we headed to Hogsmeade (easily our favorite part of the park, regardless of whether or not we were there for a Harry Potter Winterim) where we got lunch--fish and chips, plus a hot butterbeer (which I very much liked)--and breezed through the shops. As it was the last day, it was time to start making our souvenir decisions. We didn't want to burden ourselves with too much stuff, though, so we only looked. The Flight of the Hippogriff was walk-on, so we did that. Then, we decided since we were in Hogsmeade, we would go through the Forbidden Journey at our own pace, enjoying the queue much more than we had the other times. We went slowly, letting groups pass us as we stared at the detail poured into the design. We spotted the sword of Gryffindor in Dumbledore's office (and we listened to both of his lectures); we spent time watching the four founders of Hogwarts verbally spar from their paintings; standing in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class, we got to watch Ron accidentally start a thunderstorm, then make it snow. Honestly, a big portion of the fun of that ride is the queue, which is a testament to Rowling's imagination and the ride makers' commitment to creating an exceptional experience. With that ride done, we were feeling pretty satisfied. There wasn't a whole lot else to do--we'd gone on every attraction (save the Walking Dead one, which I wasn't in the mood for)--and time was quickly slipping away from us. We bought ourselves one last butterbeer and pumpkin juice (say what you will, but I love both of those drinks; and they're expensive enough to make it feel like you're drinking gold, good heavens). I saw that the line to Ollivander's Wand experience was short. On a whim, I said we should go in again. It was walk-in speed, so we were soon corralled into the first part of the shop. Boxes of wands--thousands of them--spread upwards to the ceiling on their crooked shelves. We waited only a moment before the hidden door swung open and we were ushered into the actual wand-selection room. I was secretly hoping that Gayle or I might be picked--as I looked around, there weren't any children and we were the only two in Hogwarts robes (I in my Ravenclaw, she in her Gryffindor). The wand-matcher began her speech--the same one we'd seen on an earlier day--and prowled the room. Her eyes lighted on me. "Ravenclaw," she said, "do you have a wand?" "No," I said, though that's only partially true: I have a wand. However, I've never been selected for a wand. "And you, Gryffindor," she said, turning to Gayle. "Do you have a wand?" "No." "Come forward, both of you." Gayle and I did as asked, smiling with excitement. The wand-matcher spoke about how wands work, giving a very similar speech to what Ollivander says in the book and movie. She picked one box--one "made" of ivy (they're all plastic, of course)--and pulled out the wand. She handed it to me and asked me to cast the Unlocking Charm. I waved the wand, said, "Alohamora!" and, instead of opening up some drawers, a pile of wands almost fell from a shelf. "Good rebound, but clearly not the right wand," said she. Turning to Gayle, she presented one of oak and asked my wife to light up the room. Gayle pointed her wand to the ceiling and said, "Lumos!" A lightning storm began. "Not the right one, no, I'm afraid not…" The wand-matcher paused, then looked at the two of us. She picked up the two wands and switched them between us. A light illuminated us, a burst of air blasted, and angelic singing filled the air. "Those are both dragon heartstring cores--and they come from the same dragon. That means their cores are twins. We call them brother wands," said the wand-matcher. She then went on to explain what the different types of wood meant and some other similar things. We thanked her as an assistant helped box them up. We were then ushered out and given a quick explanation about the wands. "Wizards must pay for their wands, so it's $55 per wand. If you choose not to buy them, please return them to me." It didn't take much deliberation to decide to keep the wands. Not only had they "chosen" us, but they were the kinds of wands that allowed us to interact with some of the shops in the park (by using the wands in certain locations, "magical" responses were possible, including making paper flit about, music boxes sing, and a dragon to be awakened behind a locked door). We paid for those wands, as well as an extra one for our middle son's souvenir. We cast spells, purchased final merchandise, and finished our time at Universal Studios Hollywood. Day 6
We left the Air BnB early, having cleaned up and packed up with surprising efficiency. Our trip home was uneventful, save that there was quite a bit of snow and wind once we made it back to Utah. Still, we all arrived home safely and in good time, which was nice. I'm glad to be home, even if the weather disagrees with me and the politics here is weird…not that that has anything to do with my past week, but…y'know…it's always there. Final Thoughts Multiple times whilst in Hogsmeade--usually during our meals--it was important for me to try to sit back and soak in what was happening. With all the stresses, improvisations, and tweaks, the trip was a difficult trick to pull off. That's how they always are, of course, but it was more difficult than in the past. (There were reasons for that, none of which interesting enough to go into here.) So it was important for me to try to really relish these fleeting moments of being in these places that mean so much to me. Yes, I recognize that the Wizarding World of Harry Potter wasn't created so that I could have moments of peace: It's a moneymaking venture (and it earned a lot of our money, let me tell you). And that's the tricky part: The cash desire has led to a value that's beyond what's within the park. The memories that the trip generated will be fond ones; I'll reflect on this time with warmth for many years to come. All possible because of money--and the lust for it--that has given me something slightly more ineffable. It's an uncomfortable alliance between the base desire of greed and the human value of ascribing and embracing worth. In the end, though, I have to accept it on its own terms, and be grateful for the time that I have. I hope that this will be something that really sticks with me, something that remains throughout the rest of my life as being a worthwhile effort and a wonderful memory. More than anything, it helps to underscore the importance of forcing meaning onto moments: Like the empty plastic cups of butterbeer, the temptation is for the moment to pay for itself only, to not allow it greater import and worth in our lives. It takes conscious effort to appreciate things as they are, when they are. Here's hoping I can internalize that lesson. All the way back in 2019, I talked about my goals and mused a bit about how writing fiction and writing nonfiction are two separate skills--and I wasn't working on the former nearly enough. To that end, I decided to pursue more fiction writing during 2020. My ArtStories project--wherein I use others' artwork as the launching point for my story--has begun in earnest…and by that I mean I have four new stories. (If you want to read them, I'd recommend going to the ArtStories link, as that gives you access to the PDF of them, which are better formatted. More on that anon. However, if you want to check them out online, they are "Community Service", "Dirt Path", "Sidewalk", and "Tradition".)
A couple of things that I've learned about this process: Writing fiction is much harder than nonfiction. Well, let me amend that: Writing fiction is much harder than spouting off whatever comes into my head. Some of my nonfiction is time-consuming--the music video essays I did for a bit, or the ones with a lot of links and research--and it can pull hours of a day into the crafting of them. However, there are essays I've written, or are currently writing this very moment, that don't require as much, mentally speaking, as fiction does. I can write a thousand words of nonfiction in less than half an hour, but the short stories--all of which clock in at over 2,000 words--take about twice as much time. Another little lesson is that, even with only four days of work to show for this new focus, I can already see how practicing my fiction--even if I'm not practicing any sort of worthwhile editing on it--is already helping me as a fiction writer. Unlike lifting weights or other physical exercise, I can see results already. This comes, I believe, from the fact that I have to condense all that I know (the theory of writing) and put it into immediate action (the praxis of writing). I don't have time to dither or write my way into the voice of the character. I have to pick it up immediately and run with it. Along those lines is the condensation of motivation. In my novels, I often have characters whose main desires are somewhat nebulous or ill-defined--at least, until the plot happens to them. I don't really try for a page one explanation of what my characters want. Normally, I write fairly subtly, with motivations slowly being exposed over the course of the novel, trying to avoid any sort of overt declaration. In short fiction, however, I have no choice but to keep that concept in mind. While I may have done it to differing degrees of success (depending on the story), I'm now much more cognizant of what it is that my characters desire right from the get-go. Monique wants to protest oppression. Lana wants to get drunk and finish her job. Randen wants to murder someone. With character motivation so clear, it helps me remain focused on what I'm trying to write. Next up: Twists. There's a lot to unpack about what a writer chooses to focus on, what it means to her to have certain events in her story, but I'm not really equipped to deconstruct my own writing. Suffice to say, each of these short stories are "pantsing" efforts--that is, I'm writing them by the seat of my pants, letting the story go wherever it wants. The result is that there is some surprisingly dark material here. Murderers, monsters, questionable inventions…the twists to the story often surprise me, too. (In fact, I think that's why I wanted to remain more positive and hopeful (comparatively) in my latest story, "Tradition", if only because it's a change of pace.) I don't necessarily write in order to have a twist--I'm no M. Night Shamylamalamalan--but they do seem to spring out of the story. I don't know if this will continue--I have no idea what story will come out next--but it's certainly been part of what's going on in the first few. One area that I didn't anticipate is the effort in putting them online. Essays like these are a breeze: I slap up a new post on the blog section of my website and publish it. There's, maybe, five additional minutes of work to get an essay like this up and readable. But the short fiction I'm writing is formatted differently: It doesn't have the additional spaces that an essay has to indicate paragraph breaks, it has tabbed first lines, and it's placed in its own page of the website. I do this because I feel like fiction should still look like it's in a book form: Essays are one thing, stories are another. I want to have a dropped cap first line of my story, and the paragraphs look like real paragraphs. I know that's a strange nit to pick, but that's how I feel it ought to be. The result of that is a rather tedious process of creating a new web page, saving the story as a PDF, uploading all of the right images, and doing whatever else is necessary to get the story published. I don't really want people reading it online, despite giving them the option, and though the PDF is a better preservation of my writerly vision, it's not ideal either, as mobile reading of a PDF is a pain. There's no clear way of fixing this, from what I can see, and it is a bit frustrating. If I come up with an alternative, I'll be sure to implement that. Now, you may have noticed that I decided to talk about my short fiction instead of writing that today. Well, there are personal reasons, including the fact that I'm going to be unable to write anything for the next week or so. End result: I felt like I should jot down some of my early feelings about the experience before I go too deeply into it. I hope that I'll be able to keep going--two or three short stories a week would be ideal, as that would mean that, by the time 2021 came around, I would have over 100 stories--and really see some progress. Then again, if it means that I feel inspired to write in my novels, then the website will likely languish whilst I work on those other projects. Who knows? It's a brave new world for me. |
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