What I want for when I grow up

It has been pointed out to me in recent weeks that I am an artist. Like, really an artist. Not just a dabbler with a day job. I think I really have been longing to hear that my whole life, and I am deeply grateful to the people who have taken the time to tell me. It is more rewarding and wonderful than being thought to be beautiful, or even smart, although it may encompass both of those things at times.

Now that I am really close to unbuckling myself from the daily grind that is my day job in favor of going to school for nursing for the next 2 years, I am starting to feel the surge of momentum that is bringing me closer to my goals, and that is a real rush.

Not that being a RN is my big goal. Far from it. The RN thing is merely a better, higher paying, and more flexible and portable "day job". What I really want to do is explore my horizons as an artist and how that relates to my interest in helping others make art.

I am not sure what shape that is going to take, or even if what I want to do will work in Reno. It all started with my "Writers' Dungeon" idea that I didn't have the time to really get off the ground. But I want to create a "creating studio" space for writers and artists from other media to work in a supportive and focused environment. Not a "support group" per se, because talking about making art is not the same as actually making art. I would want to have as part of that regular "salons" where the art can be shared with the collective and/or the public.

I got the idea in part from the San Francisco "Red Room" concept, (http://www.red-room.com/) but want to expand it to include the visual arts and music.

Like I said, I don't know if Reno is really the place for this. It would thrive more in a more cosmopolitan city like Seattle or San Francisco or some locales on the East Coast I can think of. I might even be able to launch a kind of virtual equivalent to start with, but I like the idea of being at the forefront of community building as much as I like creating my own art.

Writing is a largely solitary exercise, but promoting it from that place is really hard, and getting over creative blocks is hard without friends/peers to support you.

I have to spend a lot of time doing science for the next 2 years. But you need to know that this is where my heart is. Sometimes I feel like I am going to need to live forever to accomplish all that I want to do with my life.

I am open to suggestions, but mostly I just wanted to thank the people who believe in me. It matters to me, and I am grateful, and I love you.

Hero Worship gets you Nowhere

Some people have more talent in their Underwood-worn little pinkies than I have in my whole fevered form. If you don't know, the above photo is of Harlan Ellison, and he's my favorite author. He's twisted, he's cranky, and he's brilliant. He doesn't play it safe; he thinks that writers who do are hacks.

This sits in sharp contrast to the smooth marketing speak that I was exposed to at the last writers' conference I went to. I don't know if the presenters meant to portray the writing profession as a slick, form over substance exercise in polite public masturbation, but now that I think of it, I think Harlan Ellison would disapprove.

I don't know what he would think, of course. I would be way to terrified to ask him. He's actually friendly with my cousin, but I would possibly literally pee my pants if I met him. I certainly wouldn't want to talk about my writing, but I would love to hear him talk about his.

All I know is that the climate in the "publishing business" makes me pretty ill. I got, for a dizzy, vertiginous moment, a perspective on just how many people write, or aspire to write fiction, and just how few of them will publish. The reasons for why they don't publish vary as often as the capricious moods of a public that would rather watch "American Idol" than read a book most of the time.

I totally fear being a hack. I don't want to play it safe. I'm trying to get fired up to work on my newest idea, and I'm bitterly ashamed how easily I get sidetracked. Being a new parent has robbed me of my sleep, as well as whatever free time I used to write that last deformed manuscript that feels beyond the reach of reform as it is. I'm exhausted, and to be honest I am feeling a little sorry for myself.

I think I need to go back and re-read some of my favorite Harlan Ellison and re-focus on the kinds of stories that make me want to write in the first place. Those civilized hotel convention lunches with their well-intentioned keynote speakers are not going to cut it, I'm afraid. I need to reach out and find the dangerous, bleeding edge of what I am willing to say and then lean on it hard. It needs to hurt more to not write; I need to be able to soothe myself with climbing word counts more than the opiate feed coming out of the "glass teat". I need to stop whimpering and really suffer if I stop creating things, even if they are malformed and not marketable. I need make cranky work for me.

I really hope I can meet Harlan Ellison one of these days. But more than that, I'd like to have the frame of mind that would make me at least an entertaining dinner guest for him. No, fuck that. I'd like to actually be able to enjoy meeting him and not be thinking that I sound insipid. I'd actually like to have a good time and not give a crap what he thinks of me. I'd like to feel that way about a lot of people.

Writing Dilemma

The ugly truth is that I have written a bad novel. It is the result of two years of work, but it is a rambling mess with some bizarre, unmarketable plot conundrums.

I used to have hope for my deformed brain child, but I engaged the assistance of a developmental editor earlier in the year who basically told me in the end to scrap it down to the first chapter and start over, telling a totally different kind of story.

That really bruised my ego, but I think the failures of that project had more to do with a flawed premise than a lack of writing ability.

So I am going to the San Francisco Writers' Conference in February. Originally, I was going to shop my edited novel for agents and publishers. Now that that manuscript lines the bottom of my file cabinet, if not the round file, I need to finish a draft on one of my other projects to make the most of this opportunity.

Here are my options:

1. Vampire novel: It is about halfway done, but I am a little conflicted about my originally planned ending, so I feel a bit adrift.

2. Romance novella: This is a May-December erotica romance (with the older partner being a 36 year old woman, the younger an 18 year old man/boy) that I started writing for fun. It is totally inappropriate and blasphemous and socially unacceptable. It is a little more than half done, but I have a fairly good sense of where it is going, story-wise.

3. I could compile some of my best poetry and try to sell some of that.

4. Enjoy my trip to San Francisco and quit fooling myself that I could ever sell my art.

I can't do anything until I get done with finals in mid-December, but then I have until mid-February to work on things, at least while "A" is napping. I have chosen to not take any classes next semester, since I have a lot of wrangling to do with learning to be a parent. I need to not be worrying about term papers and crap.

Any thoughts? What would you like to read more of? Should I just serialize my stuff on this blog and say the hell with it?