Mehitobel Wilson: writer, reader, chronic curmudgeon.

Tomboy bombshell cowgirl; lover of funk, attracted to roadsides.

Besotted with spots.

Friend to sleaze.

Admirer of filthy films, fleshy steaks, Hong Kong rap, new felt and pocket-knocking 8-balls; prefers 10 gallons of hat and 4 fingers of Jack.

Procrastination here breeds urgency there. Urgency begets sharper fiction. The dream: hone it to a splinter, and sink it deep.

So I'm here.

Also, it could just suck.

The notion of talent in fiction is subjective. I'd like to say that skill is not - I'd like to consider skill to be defined by the implementation of proper sentence structure and grammar, but that's probably unfair.

So we'll skip that.

I have a very hard time biting back my suspicions that some of the work in the the "experimental" or "surreal" wave that seems be rolling a little more aggressively in horror doesn't... just... really, really suck. I think a lot of "experimental" authors jack off with abandon, and, when told their work makes no sense, they then get to squeal and hide behind "AVANT GARDE."

My first inclination, when I'm told that a book is "experimental" or "avant garde" or "math rock" or "surreal," is to recoil. It's either going to 1) suck or 2) just not be up my alley. (And I declare that there is a difference. I can recognize good work, yet dislike it. I also can recognize crap hiding behind labels.)

But, I dig Barthelme and Disch, who probably count under the above labels. M. John Harrison probably counts. Fuck, O'Nan might count to some people, just because he uses XTreme Thangs like 2nd-person POV.

So, I suppose frame-of-reference matters.

Today I read a writer's blog in which he mentions revisions, and how he most enjoys writing the first draft because you get to just dump it all onto the paper.

I, on the other hand, adore revising. The MOST fun is declaring a word limit that demands that a certain number of words should be cut from the story. Never mind what the guidelines said. The gl's may have said < 6k; my first draft may have been @ 5k. Then, I bring the blowtorch: I decide to burn off 2300 words.

I can kind of sense how long it ought to be, in terms of word count - and then all I have to do is find the only words that actually belong to the story.

(I'm lucky that I love revising. I feel real pain for the writers who get off on the initial writing but have to trudge through the revisions.)

When I'm doing all of that, I'm looking for the story. That's the important point there. I do screw around with structure sometimes, because I want the most precise approach. I want a forward drive, and sometimes it seems more less intrusive to the drive to fill in a gap with a segment of material that's in a different format (ie, a news clipping or transcript) than to use flashbacks or forced narration. Bleh.

Fancy for fancy's sake pisses me off.

(For instance: I hated MEMENTO. I thought it was a stupid plot hidden by artifice. Worse, the device had no point - there was no reason whatsoever to tell the fucker backwards other than to mask the worthlessness of the actual story.)

I just can't tolerate reading anything when I suspect the writer has no idea why he wrote the story, what the story *is.* I get the feeling they never bother to consider applying a blowtorch, and wouldn't to know what to look for if they did.

Whatever. I don't have to buy nonsense.

I feel like I just wrote a bunch of it, though.

I don't really revise email or this blog, if you were curious. This is off-the-cuff blather.

Next thing, because I have to do this, or I'll crack:

The more I take Eike out in public, the more I hear such questions as, "What kind of dog is that?" and "So, she's a German Shepherd mix?" "She can't be purebred." I'm not going to give them a whole explanation, or even a summary, because that would entail more social interaction than I'd like.

But I'm going to give it to you, because a few of you have asked what I've meant by "working lines."



From left:
German working-lines GSD (Arec vom Bunsenkocher, SchH3 IP3 4xBSP 3xWUSV - Eike's great-grandsire, in fact.)
German show GSD
American show GSD (either a champion or a futurity winner, I don't recall)

Each of those dogs is representative of their type. Each type has as dedicated a breeding history as the next. If you think I'm lying, or have purposely used the most extreme photos of roach backs and overangulation in the rear, you're more than welcome to do some nosing around on your own. You'll see.

Working-lines dogs are imported primarily for work (SAR, K9, narcotic location) or for sport (Schutzhund.) Eike's too reserved to do either one, so instead, she hangs out with me. We both got lucky.

posted by Mehitobel Wilson at 6:26 PM

You are Form 7, Gryphon: The Wyrm.

"And The Gryphon displaced the balance of
the world in his favor. With grace and
control, Gryphon deceived mankind and ruled
over civillization. But even he realized that
all good things must come to an end."

Some examples of the Gryphon Form are Satan
(Christian) and Baphomet (Assyrian).
The Gryphon is associated with the concept of
control, the number 7, and the element of wind.
His sign is the gibbous moon.

As a member of Form 7, you are a very in control
individual. You maintain your coolness in most
situations and always seem to be prepared.
Though some may say you are a bit of a control
freak, you know that you really do make the
best leader even if others can't see it.
Gryphons are the best friends to have because
they have a positive influence on people.


Which Mythological Form Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

posted by Mehitobel Wilson at 4:18 PM

I forget myself

There was, Sunday night at sevenish, a bit of a flurry on my part, trying to find an HBO-having person. Tony said, "It's been too long. They've lost me. I don't really care." I'll add that Tony only started watching at my behest last season, and half the episodes, we had to watch at the bar. My suggestion to rent a "free HBO!" hotel room for the evening fell on deaf ears.

But Tony remembered that Rusty had HBO. Rusty, a'called, said, "I'm watching it at this girl's house, but you guys can watch it at my house - I'll leave you the key." Aww. So, that's what we did.

Upon reviewing my blog today I see that I'd said, "I need to find someone who has HBO, befriend them, and then ask them to sit silently (or, preferably, not even be home) while I watch it at their house."

Who said I can't meet my goals?

Thank yew.

(Rusty ROCKS.)
posted by Mehitobel Wilson at 12:28 AM

Rent

Dig this: Book that sold on Ebay: DEAD BUT DREAMING.

I have a story in this book.

I never got paid for it.

The publisher, Darktales, decided to close up shop about a month after the book was released.

Yeah, I got a contributor's copy. I left it in Rhode Island, not realizing that the fucking book would be impossible to buy again.

Got an email from Darktales: "We're going out of business. All books in stock are cheap." I replied immediately, saying that I wanted a few copies of DbD. The very prompt response was, sorry - sold out.

There was nothing in the contract about giving authors a first crack at owning copies of the book, I grant this. But I still think that the whole situation sucked.

I wouldn't be selling copies on Ebay. I haven't ever sold a thing on Ebay - I'm too lazy to dare. But I'd like to HAVE a copy, and can't afford to buy one from anyone.

Imagine the possibilities: POD guys could "go out of business" and thereby pump up the collectible nature of their books, then, from time to time, when grocery money's low, run off a copy or four, and sell 'em for twelve times the cover price on Ebay.

Daring but Dreamy.

Disclaimer: I'm not accusing anyone of doing any such thing. I'm just sayin', is all. Imagining the possibilities.
posted by Mehitobel Wilson at 2:59 AM

ICUCMe

In response to a storm of questions and comments I've received in the past day, some bits:

Ma' 6-shooter: the grips on the revolver are not the daily drivers. They're just for lookin' pretty. I have Pachmeyers on it.

Pots & pans: I have done mucho cooking. I will have gained 30lbs by the time anyone sees me next.

The six stories: I'm not telling.

Menfolk & "Maybe I'm wrong" (see yesterday's entry) - I have 8 emails, all from men. 4 say I'm NOT wrong, menfolk don't really slaver and boggle as much as some of Laymon's characters do. 4 say I'm wrong. Discuss.

My grandmom: thank you. She was neat. She did nearly as much to raise me up as my own folks did. She lived "next door," though it's really all on the same land, so I was running around over there all the time.



posted by Mehitobel Wilson at 3:15 PM

Subconscious monstrous

Yeah, so, if I'm ever late to work EVER AGAIN, I'm fired on the spot. Today's Wednesday. I doubt I'll make it through the week. 90% of the time, I just suck at being on time. The other 10%, I can be running a good half hour ahead of schedule, TONS of wiggle room, and get stuck at the railroad tracks or one of those damn license-check roadblocks they love so much around here.

I'm convinced that, since I'm unwilling to quit a job, my subconscious is trying to help me out by getting me canned. I don't want to screw them by quitting, but if they choose to do without me? I go guilt-free.

But, for the time being (aka "today") I am trying an experiment. Experiment is: go to bed earlier. Get up earlier.

Sucks.

Dig the Eikedog, now 11 months old. We're in classes again, and she's discovered that the house is Hers. Now, she does big defensive barks & stiff legs at: Joe, the dog next door; the alien little Dachsund that peeked around the corner this morning; Harold, the rotted-corpse head that Ed Lee gave me; and chef Martin Yan on tv.

But the night I got her, she did try to attack Buffy the Vampire Slayer when ol' Buffy whined in a commercial, and I knew we'd get along just fine.

Anyway, we're stepping up her attention training now, and start drive focus & bite/grip development pretty soon. (Note to the nervous: a dog trained to bite, hold, and release on command is, in theory, less likely to bite when it feels like it. Note to anyone, right now: no running around Eike. Run, and she wants to take you down.)

Fun fun.

Fiction: I've got to get these short stories written and sold, stat, so I can get cracking on the novel. I'm so distracted BY the novel that I can't focus on the shorts. It's always something, isn't it? And I'm up to SIX stories due now. One deadline per month starting in, uh, May, I think. Better be May and not March.

(May 1. Okay, that counts as April to me. ack. I need a calendar to get all these straight. Maybe set my Palm's alarms: beeep, beep, week before deadline, this counts as being Against the Wall. Beep, beep, two days before deadline: this counts as Down to the Wire. Time to get started! Heh. Procraaaasstination.)

I read Laymon's BODY RIDES last night and, once again, wonder: are menfolk really as sexed-up as Laymon's are? Do they really look at a woman and keep a mental commentary of the status of her nipples, their relation to the fabric of her shirt and the amount of skin visibile between the buttons, etc? I really want to know if this is the case. If so, you know, eek. I've told myself plenty to try to be less critical of myself - nobody's paying that close attention anyway, I say. I say, nobody's going to notice that this sweater kinda stretches apart a little between the buttons. Nobody's going to notice that you can almost see through this shirt - I'll just stay out of direct sunlight.

Reading Laymon sometimes makes me worry that I'm wrong.

If that's the case, that sucks. I could have been wielding some vast powers over the years, and now here I am getting too old, probably, to do it right. Bummer.

Sopranos start on Sunday. I need to find someone who has HBO, befriend them, and then ask them to sit silently (or, preferably, not even be home) while I watch it at their house. I have until Sunday to do this. If I get canned tomorrow for being late, I can spend my 8am-5:30pm normal work shift looking for an HBO friend. See? Future's bright, after all.
posted by Mehitobel Wilson at 10:36 AM