Adventure in the Great, Wide Somewhere

Belle sang about “adventure in the great, wide somewhere.” Aladdin, Jasmine and Genie all went off to “see the world.” Arielle sold her voice to be “part of your world.”*

Everyone wants to be the star of their own story.  I wanted my story to be an action-adventure tale with lots of explosions, magic and a real-life version Dimitri from Anastasia. The best stories all involved leaving home. Everyone knows you can’t have a grand adventure unless you travel.**

Because who doesn't want to marry a con man who takes you to Paris and tries to pass you off as a Russian princess?
On second thought I would be ok with this.

Everytime the Air Force moved my family from one middle-of-nowhere town to the next I got excited. Maybe this time we’d go somewhere exciting. Of course we didn’t, reality can never compete with preadolescent fantasy. The other Air Force BRATS didn’t help--they all had stories of Germany and the Philippines. I had stories about Nebraska and West Virginia.

The wanderlust never left me; but I’m a natural saver and spending money on a one time experience seems extravagant. My travels thus far have only included Mexico and Canada. That’s not exactly the adventure I had in mind. Heroes are never called on great quests to the Canadian side of Niagara Falls. It’s a fact.

So for my five year anniversary I wanted something different. I was ready to blow out all the stops and go to Rome...until I saw the cost. Not to be deterred, I planned to fly to Machu Picchu...until the government shut down and my husband’s company took a pay cut. So when the government fired up the ‘ol engines again and sputtered back to life my husband and I were looking for a great deal or no trip at all.

We choose a heavily discounted trip to Costa Rica. I’d never considered a vacation there. It wasn’t on my bucket list. No famous heroine from any novels ever went on a journey of self-discovery to Costa Rica.*** I was muttery and inconsolable.

Let’s step back and take a moment. I was disappointed about a vacation to Costa Rica.

I wanted a specific experience so much that I refused to get excited about a wonderful trip involving a volcano and ziplining. I realized that I was being ridiculous. That led me to the further realization that I am better traveled than I give myself credit for.

I’ve had fifteen different homes in five different states. I’ve swam in the Gulf, the Atlantic, the Pacific and a dozen different lakes in between. I’ve been from one side of the continent to the other (2,686 miles in my case.) I’ve seen  the Southernmost tip of Florida disappear into the ocean and I’ve driven the long, flat northern interstates of North Dakota. Just because it was all part of the same country doesn’t mean that I haven’t seen a huge chunk of this great big world.

My life is cooler than I thought. Yours probably is too.

P.S. There will not be a blog update next Tuesday due to my awesome anniversary vacation.

The Finish Line Gets Further Away

“So when is your book coming out?”

That’s an easy question. When someone asks me that I wax loquacious on agents, editors, publishers, “the market,” and a host of other forces outside of my control. I point out that many bestselling classics were rejected for years before publication. I shrug, smile optimistically, and imply that I’m quite close to starting that long, unpredictable cycle of submissions and rejections.

“So when will your book be finished?”

That’s the tricky bit. If you’d asked me two weeks ago I would’ve said “Early 2015.”

But that was two weeks ago. I’ve done some serious replotting since I finished my second draft. As always after a second draft I look at the story and realize that it’s about 70% wrong. This might sound depressing to you but it’s exhilarating to me because this time I know how to fix it.

My three years of serious slaving over a word doc might not have produced a bestseller, but it did produce a writer who knows how to edit.  I finally have the ability to look at the whole plot and realize “ah, that’s what’s broken.”

Previously I would finish a second draft and think “something’s kind of wrong here.” But I didn’t know what it was or how to change it. I could fix individual scenes but I couldn’t fix the whole arc.

For instance I’m altering a “She doesn’t know that I know that she’s actually one of the bad guys” dynamic. Now it will be a “We’re both kind of bad guys and we’re openly using one another” dynamic.  I don’t have to throw out too many scenes to make this happen but I do have to alter the tone and the motivations every time these two main characters are involved. (Hint: that’s all the time.) Still it was a necessary change because I want these characters to swagger and you can’t swagger when you’re always pretending not to be a bad guy.

So early 2015, that’s not going to happen. In the past two weeks alone I think I’ve given myself an extra six months of work. I went from 77,000 to 59,000 words and most of those remaining words need to be changed into better words. Long story short, my finish line just moved further away. But you know what?  It will be a better book.

The First Rocket Outta Here

I planned my life around space colonization. I assumed that by the time I was an adult we’d have already invented faster than light travel, sent some drones to examine suitable worlds, and established bases. I wanted to be on that first ship. Nevermind that the first wave of colonists always get terrible diseases and die. Nevermind that it’s a one-way trip. I wanted to live and be buried under a strange new sky.

So I prepared.I knew that I wouldn’t get on board for my technical skills, but surely they’d need someone to keep a record? At the very least they’d need me to make recruitment pamphlets. Come to Beautiful Gliese 581!  Tidally Locked so it’s Always Sunny!

I exercised regularly so I’d be in good health for the journey. I ate plenty of calcium to counteract the loss of bone density in space. Whenever my doctor gave me medicine I grilled her about how long I need to take it--I don’t want to rely on supply shuttles from earth to bring me my medicine.

Everyone told me I was crazy. Well, mostly they just rolled their eyes and let me come to my own conclusions, but now I’ll prove them all wrong. *cue maniacal laugh*

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n4tgkyUBkbY

THERE WILL BE A PERMANENT HUMAN SETTLEMENT ON MARS IN 2023!!! I don’t approve of all-caps or multiple exclamation marks but this is a special exception because SPACE.

A foundation called Mars One released their list of qualifications. I always imagined that such a list would include: jet pilot experience, the ability to garden in zero gravity, shuttle repair skills-all skills I lack.  Luckily for me, they just want smart people willing to spend the rest of their lives in space.

http://mars-one.com/en/faq-en/21-faq-selection/251-do-i-qualify-to-apply

I can do that. I’d live the rest of my life on Mars harvesting space beans by day, writing science fiction by night. Editors would actually buy my books because hey, they’re written by a woman on frickin’ Mars.

It’s the perfect scenario. I’ve prepared for this my whole life. I even took care to inform my husband of my intentions before we married. Ok, maybe I told him after we married, but either way he agreed. I double checked and he said that he absolutely was not kidding. I have the green light from my spouse, we’re totally going to space. C’ya earthlings.

I've Still Got It

It was like sitting in a haiku. Cherry blossoms swirled through an azure sky.  I flicked a flower off my book and continued to read under the shade of a tree. It was the first truly warm day of the year, and I enjoyed the shiver of coconut ice cream melting on my tongue. I wasn't the only one, the park teemed with awestruck office workers scrunching their toes in the grass, tossing frisbees, and slurping milkshakes.

Four men sat at a table eight feet away in front of me. They were the young professional type: blue shirts, shiny ties, just enough hair product. I pegged them as defense contractors or government consultants, people who couldn't explain their jobs without using terms like “facilitate” or “enhance.” They had the nerve to sit directly in my staring spot so I took revenge by nicknaming each of them. Calvin Klein, Immaculately Trimmed Beard Guy, Hipster Glasses, and Señor Sweatervest unwrapped their burritos and discussed the unseasonably warm weather.

They weren't loud, but they were too close for comfort, it took effort to tune them out. I shoved the rest of the world out of my consciousness and concentrated on my book. I focused so intently that at first I didn't notice that the four men were whispering and glancing in my direction. Immaculately Trimmed Beard Guy leaned forward and seemed to be asking his friends for advice and Hipster Glasses pointed right at me. I mentally checked my appearance and determined that I had nothing stuck in my teeth, a bird had not pooped on me, and there was not a giant spider in my hair (it's happened before.)

As a matter of fact, I looked good. You'll have to take my word for it, but I've been told that I look like I could be Nicole Kidman's daughter. Once an elderly one eyed woman clasped my arm wouldn't let go until I agreed that I did indeed look like the sultry star from Moulin Rouge.

Nevermind that I've been told countless times that I look like “that scary girl from The Village.” I choose to believe the senile, half blind woman.

My point is that men had tried to pick me up before—not often—but often enough and awkwardly enough that I didn't care for it. Still, Immaculately Trimmed Beard Guy didn't look like a creeper. He had the perfect ratio of non-threatening courtesy to confidence as he sauntered towards me. I allowed myself to feel flattered that a decent looking guy had the guts to approach me.

He stopped in front of me and I realized with a start that not a single stranger had flirted with me since I got married three years earlier. I quickly assured myself that it was because I wore a ring, not because I'd grown less attractive. With my ego on the line I flashed him my best smile. I decided to let the man properly introduce himself before giving him my kindest rejection line “I'm very flattered and very married.” I might even throw in a gracious laugh and a hair toss.

The man cleared his throat and shuffled his feet nervously. “Excuse me miss.”

“Yes?” Our eyes met.

“The mulch is on fire.”

I'd never heard that line before. I took a moment to process his words.

“Oh.” I jumped up “Oh!” White smoke wafted from a burning cigarette butt and the smoldering wood chips. The damp soil kept it from catching properly, but it fumed enough that half the park stared at it. At me.

“I'm surprised you didn't notice it.” He walked behind my bench and stamped out the cigarette, moving carefully so he didn't scuff his brown leather shoes.

“Yeah,” I answered eloquently. Gone were my winning smiles and charming dialogue. Gone were my delusions of Nicole Kidman. I wasn't a desirable young woman. I was a boring married lady--only twenty three and already too old for anyone to notice me. Worse, I was the ditz who didn't notice a fire burning inches away from her chair.

Not only was my attractiveness in question, but my survival instincts were clearly substandard. I was the slow antelope in the herd. I was a white moth hiding on a brown tree. I was a shark with a fish allergy. Feeling old and ugly paled in comparison to the realization that I wouldn’t live to see forty--I’d likely kill myself in a  vegetable-related knife accident first.

Immaculate Beard Guy rejoined his friends and I looked at my phone in an exaggerated pantomime of “Oh my, is that the time? I’m terribly late, I must leave immediately!” I gathered my book and my melted ice cream and then beat a hasty retreat.

I left my pride in that park, but it’s alright. I found it shortly afterwards when I looked in the full length bathroom mirror. I checked to make sure that there was no one in the stalls. Then I struck a pose, one hand on my hip. I wasn’t skinny, I still had acne, my hair was flat and limp--but when I smiled I was gorgeous. “Yeah,” I told myself, “I’ve still got it.”