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Posts Tagged ‘Amy Sundberg’

I just got back from my more-or-less annual visit to Disneyland. This year one of my stated purposes was to check out the redone Star Tours ride. I heard the new ride featured some large number of possible combinations (I heard the number fifty-four being bandied around), but the details I garnered were somewhat fuzzy. Obviously the thing to do was to go check it out in person and see for myself.

With much glee my friends and I proceeded to ride Star Tours many times (I think my personal total was around seven) and break down its intricacies. Following is a detailed report on the new ride, so if you want to be surprised, read no further.

Star Tours has always been a movie experience attached to a “theater” styled as a space vehicle that moves in conjunction with the movie. The newest iteration adds 3D to the mix. I have to say, I’m not a huge fan of 3D in general, and noticed the 3D effects in the new ride only rarely. Unfortunately, the addition was enough to make my husband ill, though, so if you have troubles with 3D movies or 3D video games, be warned that you’ll probably have trouble on this ride as well.

The other big change to the ride is its variability. Before, the ride consisted of a single adventure that was always exactly the same every time you rode. Personally I didn’t mind this because the adventure included a Death Star trench run, so you know, I kind of wanted it to be the same every time because for me, trench run equals awesome sauce. But I can see that other visitors might have found the same old, same old to be ho-hum.

The new ride’s experience is divided into four distinct sections:

SECTION 1: Beginning
A. The ship begins in a dockyard area that includes many stormtroopers. In the background, Hans Solo is visible in front of the Millennium Falcon, arguing with more stormtroopers. A robot attaches to the front windshield of the ship and determines that a rebel spy is aboard (a photo of one of the audience members is shown at this time). Both your ship and the Millennium Falcon shoot their way out and make the jump to light speed.
B. The ship begins in a dockyard area and is then approached by Darth Vader. He makes demands for the rebel spy on the ship to be delivered to him (again, a photo shown of one audience member). He uses the force to control the ship, but then the ship shoots at him and escapes. BONUS: Darth Vader uses his light saber to deflect the ship’s shots.

SECTION 2: First location
A. Hoth: Your ship visits the ice planet of Hoth. It gets involved in a battle not unlike the Hoth battle at the beginning of The Empire Strikes Back.
B. Kashyyyk: Your ships visits the forest Wookie planet of Kashyyyk. It gets mixed up with some speeders not unlike those from the Endor parts of Return of the Jedi.
C. Tatooine: Your ship visits the desert planet of Tatooine and participates in a pod race not unlike the pod race in that new Star Wars movie whose name I have blocked from my mind.

SECTION 3: Holographic transmission
All three of these are essentially the same message, saying that the ship must deliver the rebel spy safely to coordinates that are being transmitted to R2-D2. The Princess Leia message has the additional bonus of quoting passages from her famous message from A New Hope.
A. Yoda
B. Princess Leia
C. Admiral Ackbar

SECTION 4: Second location
A. The bounty hunter sequence: Bobo Fett is trying to blow up your ship. There might be some asteroids involved. There is definitely a Death Star involved, I think probably Return of the Jedi era.
B. Coruscant: The ship emerges from light speed into a gigantic space battle and eventually plummets down into Coruscant below, where it must contend with crazy big city traffic, in a scene reminiscent of one of those pesky movies whose names I do not know and they all blur together anyway.
C. Naboo: The ship is escorted from space down into Naboo and ends up plummeting underwater to see the underwater city, followed by a journey to the core of the planet. Jar-Jar Binks makes a cameo here.

I have mixed feelings about this remake of the ride, honestly. I love that the ride has so much variety, and I really like getting to visit different areas of the Star Wars universe. However, the transitions between the sections are often a bit shaky at best. And, perhaps more importantly, there is no trench run. Other fans will share the understanding of how tragic that statement truly is.

However, I was selected during one ride to be the rebel spy, and Darth Vader himself demanded that I be handed over immediately. Was this moment of equal coolness to the trench run? No, probably not, but it was pretty good all the same.

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Ever since I read an article in Psychology Today entitled The Double-Edged Sword of Hope, I’ve been thinking about the nature of hope.

I’m a natural optimist, and possibly as a result, I carry a lot of hope around with me. It’s not that I don’t see anything wrong in the world or in my life, but I tend to try to find the hope in a situation. Sometimes that means thinking of the best case scenario as well as the worst case one. Sometimes it means brainstorming what I might be able to control myself in order to turn things around. Other times it’s more of a blind hope–things might suck now, but things do change. (Tuesday’s blog post is a great example: We might not have a strong space program now, but that doesn’t mean there will never be one in the future.)The problem with hope is that it sometimes persists past the point of reasonable returns. We have such an ethos in our culture of not being a quitter, of persistence as a virtue, of not giving up. Many times these are beliefs that hold us in good stead and keep us going when things become difficult. But there is a line that we don’t want to cross, beyond which is the Sea of Wishful Thinking.

The Sea of Wishful Thinking, for all that it has a poetical name, is a painful place in which to reside. It is from this place that we continue to try, even though in our heart of hearts, we understand (or at least suspect) that things aren’t going to work out the way we want. We continue to hope even in the face of odds that are truly insurmountable. Perhaps there is still hope in the bigger picture (or perhaps not), but we continue to obsess over the battle that we are consistently losing.

The difficulty, then, is determining whether we are indeed in the Sea of Wishful Thinking, or whether we’re still dwelling in the Realm of the Possible and have merely fallen victim to a passing Dark Despair Cloud. If the latter, then by holding fast, we can wait out the cloud and still have the potential of a positive outcome. And indeed, in most ambitious endeavors, there will be times when we have to hang on even though things seem bleak. If the former, then at some point we will need to cut hope loose and move on to some more promising possibilities.

Hope can be a beautiful sentiment, but ultimately it is a tool we can use for both the good and the not so good. It can trick people into thinking they don’t need a practical plan, or it can keep someone going until they reach the next stage of mastery. It can bring the strength needed to survive, or it can offer someone an excuse not to take responsibility for themselves. I think as soon as we become aware that hope can both help and hinder us, we are better able to recognize how we’re using it. But sometimes its promise will burn too brightly for us to see clearly, and sometimes it will gutter and die too soon. Perhaps that is part of what it is to be human.

Hope springs eternal, the saying goes. But it is up to us to decide how we are going to use it.

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Sometime in the last few months, I read someone’s Tweet about space travel. I don’t remember who it was, but they said something to the effect of how science fiction set in space felt irrelevant or dated to them. Like it was nostalgia and nothing more. Of course, this was right around NASA’s final space shuttle launch, so depression about the space program and the likelihood of humans doing much in space is understandable. But more than the final space shuttle launch itself, that comment depressed me, and I’ve been thinking about it off and on ever since.Has space really become so passé that stories involving it are outdated? I began thinking of my own (admittedly small) body of work, almost none of which takes place in space. I have a few subtle nods to the idea that there are humans in space, even though the stories in question take place completely on Earth, and I believe I have one scene of a trunked story that takes place on the Moon. And that’s it. But I’ve written a lot more fantasy and contemporary fiction, so I don’t see myself as indicative. I actually see my lack of space settings as more of an oversight than anything else.

I love space. I love learning about space, and I love reading stories set in space. Many of my all-time favorite novels and series are set in space, and some of the most formative of my reading experiences came from space operas (the Hyperion books and Dune come to mind). As sad as I am that the space shuttle has been discontinued, I would be a whole lot sadder if science fiction that explored the possibilities of space was no longer being written.

Here’s the thing. Economics and politics are always changing. Technology is constantly being developed, and scientists are gaining new knowledge about the world and the universe around us. Our world isn’t a constant–it’s always in a state of flux.

So there aren’t any huge, aggressive space programs right now. Given the present geopolitical and economic climate, this isn’t a huge shocker. But does that mean there never will be a great space program in any country in the world? I don’t think so. The confluence of events, powers, and technologies during and after World War II led to the Cold War and provided the perfect pressure cooker in which the space race could occur. Such a perfect storm could happen again, this time with different political pressures and different emerging technologies.

In the meantime, it is science fiction that keeps the dream of space alive, whether that be in literature, film and TV, or video games. It reminds us of what is possible. Beyond that, space provides an evocative backdrop for storytelling, in which we can enjoy stories of truly epic scope, explore the other (often in the form of an alien race), celebrate innovation and a spirit of adventure, and encounter different cultures and ways of being human.

Just in the past few days, I saw another Tweet from someone who said they were watching Firefly just to see the spaceships. And i09 had an article about how we need more space adventures. It’s nice to know that I’m not alone in my love for and appreciation of fiction set in space. Yes, I’m an optimist in a gloomy time, but I hope I can find space in science fiction for a long time to come.

ETA: Just found another great article on the importance of science fiction that seems relevant to this conversation: China has decided that science fiction is the key to its future success in invention and design of new products.

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Ah, the jellyfish. A brainless, spineless sea creature that drifts along feeding and spawning incessantly. And yet it is strangely hypnotizing and beautiful. Not completely unlike its human relative, the Jellyfish Friend, or for those who don’t like to be friends with mean people, simply the Jellyfisher.
Bridget Jones’s Diary and its sequel (written by Helen Fielding) introduced us to this species of people: “Humph. Rebecca is not “great”; she is a Jellyfisher. Talking to her is like swimming in a lovely warm sea, then suddenly something stings you and next thing everything is back to normal except a bit of you really hurts.” The Jellyfisher is defined as being a person who makes small cutting comments and put-downs, all the while pretending to be perfectly friendly and ordinary.

For awhile I thought the Jellyfisher was mainly a fictional creature. Perhaps I could live in this state of blissful denial through the combination of having many male friends (for whatever reason, the Jellyfisher tends to lean female, at least in the media), making the effort to be tactful as much as possible, and blaming myself over others in a pinch. However, I’ve recently had the interesting though dubious distinction of being able to watch one of these bloodthirsty creatures in the wild so I can vouch for their existence.

As far as I can tell, Jellyfishers live to make us feel badly about ourselves. No matter how solid we think our armor is, Jellyfishers will, with consummate skill, locate the few little chinks and stick their stingers right in there. Sometimes they’ll even discover (or create?) a chink we never knew we had. They dress up their phrases with such judgmental gems as “well, if you’re comfortable with that” and “oh, isn’t it nice that you finally [have a boyfriend/sold a story/got a raise/pretty much anything else you can think of]”, with occasional snide remarks about how your clothes/hair/belongings aren’t very nice or you’re obviously an unkind/immodest/unintelligent bitch (except said in a very subtle way or as if joking, sometimes so skillfully that other people involved in the conversation won’t even notice).

No, I am not using this essay as a mere excuse to show you pretty photos of jellyfish. Really…

So what to do about your friendly neighborhood Jellyfish?

1. Identify these people as quickly as possible; this way you deprive them of the element of surprise and limit their potential ammunition. When we feel badly after interacting with a particular person on a regular basis, this may be a sign that we are dealing with a closet Jellyfisher.

2. Ignore the stinging comments. Refuse to rise to the bait and become defensive. Instead, smile and make a dismissive comment, or simply change the subject. Then think or talk it through later to avoid internalizing the negative messages this person is giving you about yourself.

3. Avoid this person when possible. Obviously there’s only so much we can do to avoid some people who play a role in our daily lives, but we certainly don’t need to seek them out.

4. Stand up for yourself. Ferrett is trying to teach me that it is not necessary to be polite to people who are behaving rudely. I’m still thinking about that, but even if you’re like me and being rude feels like drowning kittens, it is still possible to stand up for yourself while being polite and firm (often with a dose of deadpan humor). Examples: Jellyfisher: “Well, as long as you’re comfortable with that.” Me: “Why, yes, I am comfortable with that. Thank you for being so supportive.” Jellyfisher: “Do you really think that red is your color?” Me: “Why, yes, I do. I simply adore red. I’m glad you agree.” Jellyfisher: “You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?” Me: “Why, yes, I actually do have a high IQ. Thanks for noticing.”

Of course, with a close enough friend, bluntness may be called for if you have any interest in saving the friendship from dramatic implosion and/or causing you prolonged misery.

What do you think? How do you deal with the Jellyfishers in your life?

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Gather ye rose-buds while ye may;
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today,
Tomorrow will be dying.
~Robert Herrick

Regular readers of this blog know that I often espouse a carpe diem philosophy. I talk about seizing the day, doing what you want to do, following your dreams and sculpting them into reality. But how does time fit into the equation of this free spirit paradise?

I wish I believed that we could decide to follow our dreams today, and that tomorrow those dreams would be a reality. Or that we could decide to change ourselves today and be completely different people tomorrow. Or even that we could make absolute statements about what an hour of any given experience might be worth. But so often, that is not the way that the world works.

Let’s say I decide I want to be a fine pianist, maybe even an exceptional one. Whether or not we subscribe to the popular notion of 10,000 hours of practice to master a new skill, I don’t think any of us would argue that it would take time, energy, and commitment to learn to play the piano. First we have to learn the fundamentals: how to read music, how to feel and count rhythm, mastering new vocabulary, how to move our fingers on the keys, etc. Then we have to learn ever more complicated pieces, build up muscle memory and finger dexterity, and discover the difference between rote playing and artistic playing. It takes years to become a very fine pianist, and even more to become exceptional. So how do we reconcile these years of effort with seizing the day?

I think the answer is that we have to find pleasure in the daily tasks. While we might not enjoy drilling scales, we might find satisfaction in mastering them. And as a reward, we may allow ourselves to practice Schubert, whom we absolutely adore playing. The idea behind living life to its fullest is not that every day has to be a potpourri of incident and excitement (the people who want this are probably not going to be found practicing piano ten hours a day). It’s that you are spending at least a portion of every day on activities in which you are invested (you know, in between taking a shower and playing Angry Birds).

Time is not the absolute it sometimes appears to be, and some things cannot be rushed through. Forgiveness takes time. Building a relationship takes time. Figuring out what we want takes time. Getting to know ourselves takes time. Becoming skilled takes time. Making change takes time. Sometimes a long time. And we face judgment for not accomplishing these sorts of difficult tasks fast enough. But which is more valuable–doing something right or saving time? Saving time is not always the answer.

Since my mother died, I’ve had people tell me that they’re sure I’d give anything for even just another hour of her company. On the surface, this sounds like a no-brainer, especially since I was very close to my mom. But even this statement ends up being superficial. My mom spent her last week mostly unconscious and obviously in horrible pain and discomfort. Would I give anything for another hour in that week? No; in fact, I’d give a lot to avoid another hour in that week. It follows that the quality of the time is as important as the quantity. There are moments I had with my mom that I wouldn’t trade for days with her.

Our society tends to teach us to value more time, save time, and avoid wasting time. But sometimes less time is more. Some tasks cannot be rushed through. Sometimes seizing the day means slowing down and doing what is needed. Should we put off our dreams indefinitely? I don’t think so, but we also shouldn’t expect them to come true without investing time and effort into them.

In what dream are you putting your time?

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Well, I’m home from WorldCon, at which I got to spend time with old friends and make new ones. And now I’m exhausted and sick and all I really want to do is take a nap, watch some Desperate Housewives, and read Zelazny. So this essay is going to be short and to-the-point.

Robert Barnes shared this quotation by Mohandas Gandhi on Google+ the other day:

A “No” uttered from deepest conviction is better and greater than a “Yes” merely uttered to please, or what is worse, to avoid trouble.

I have spent most of my life trying to avoid trouble. Sometimes I have done this by saying yes when I don’t mean it; sometimes I have done it by saying no to myself. Sometimes I do both at the same time. I think this idea cuts to the core of what it means to be a people pleaser. We want to please people, yes, but even more we want to avoid trouble, or conflict, or rocking the boat. Even when we might be willing to say “No” on behalf of others, we’re not necessarily willing to do the same for ourselves.

What I am coming to realize is that conflict isn’t always inherently bad, even on an interpersonal level. It can bring about much-needed change; it can allow us to finally find our voices. It can open up channels of communication, help us discover and create new opportunities, and allow us to stand up for ourselves when we’re being treated poorly.

Granted, I usually find conflict to be very taxing and stressful. But my negative experience of conflict doesn’t mean it’s not necessary or important. In fact, in my experience, the important things in life are usually difficult at least some of the time.

So nowadays, I am trying to remember to ask myself this question: am I doing something because I want to avoid causing trouble, or am I doing something because I truly believe it is the right thing to do?

Now Fudge is a troublemaker worthy of emulation.

In elementary school, there were the good kids and the troublemakers. I was always one of the good kids. I got my name put up on the board one time in second grade, and I thought I was going to die. I followed every rule as best as I was able. I did all my homework. I raised my hand before I spoke.

Who knew that one day I would be doing my best to join the troublemakers?

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Since I talked about blogging last week, I decided to continue my trend and talk a little more social media. Only this time, I will turn my attention to Google+ and Twitter, and one of the strategies I see being discussed and implemented. Okay, time to test out my backbone!The strategy I’ve been thinking about is automatic mutual following or circling. The idea is this: when someone follows you, you automatically follow that person back (unless it’s a spambot, although some people even auto-follow them). In your turn, you can hope for similar reciprocity when you follow somebody else. By doing this, you can build your Following count and therefore your social media reach and presence, presumably for the purpose of connecting with your audience.

I’ve seen this strategy pushed all the time and tried it myself on Twitter. I didn’t just do automatic follow-backs either; I regularly retweeted, shared cool content, joined in conversations, etc. This took a fair amount of time to do properly (sifting through all the material to find the articles I thought merited retweets, for example), and as the number of people I followed grew, my stream became so noisy I began to be unable to find quality content or the people I actually wanted to talk to.

I know, I know, Tweetdeck. But all Tweetdeck does is allow you to divide people into lists, and show those lists in different columns. It’s still the same amount of information to read. And most people don’t have time to read that much information. I began to realize that, in fact, most people weren’t reading the information I was sharing. The whole “I’ll follow you if you follow me” game was resulting in a torrent of what I like to call “Fake Follows:” follows in which neither person actually reads anything the other person is sharing, instead using lists and circles to avoid each other, while boosting up Follower count.

So when I got the opportunity to start over again on Google+, I decided to try something different. I don’t feel obligated to circle someone when they’ve circled me. A revolutionary thought! Instead, if I have the time, I go look at the person’s posts that are visible to me, and I decide whether or not to add the person to my circles based on how interesting she is to me. And if someone starts posting up a storm about topics that make me feel stressed or bored, I remove them from my circles. (For instance, anyone who starts complaining all the time about Google+ while not being constructive or actually saying much of anything? Kaput. Life is seriously too short.) Meanwhile, if people who are reading me comment intelligently about something I’m sharing, I’m very likely to check them out again and see if their posts have become more interesting, giving them another chance to be added to my circles.

What I am left with is a much higher quality stream than I would otherwise have, without the charade that I’m following people who I never read. I circle people who I think are interesting without worrying about whether they’ll find me interesting in return. And I curate the “Amy feed” knowing that if anybody finds it extremely dull, they can always remove me from circles, which means I don’t have to censor myself from sharing on a variety of topics.

I don’t think Fake Following is effective at marketing or spreading the word about your book or getting people to spend money. What I think is truly effective is following people who give you value: with whom you can engage on a personal level, or who feed your artistic spirit (I follow some great photographers for this reason), or who give you interesting food for thought. These are the people who will enrich your life, and if you begin to develop a relationship or even a friendship with them, these are the people who will support you in your endeavors. You can’t fake this support; it must be earned.

So for those of you on Google+, I encourage you to share some posts publicly, so that other users can tell if they might enjoy adding you to their circles. And for those of you on Google+ or Twitter, I encourage you to choose authenticity over the Fake Follow, to follow people because you are truly interested in them, not just to add to your numbers.

How about you? How do you decide who to follow on social media? Are you interested in following people you don’t know personally?

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Last week when I was schmoozing away at the SCBWI conference, I told my friend how much I love my blog. “I don’t know if it builds my audience or will help my career in any tangible way,” I said (paraphrasing alert!), “but I don’t really care. I love writing for my blog. It’s an important part of my life as a writer.”

My friend responded that she hardly ever heard those sentiments. The conversation moved on, but what I think she meant was that so many people don’t like to blog. They complain about blogging. They wonder if they can get away without blogging. Blogging is a duty, another item on the to-do list.

I don’t think it’s worth it. I read a lot of blogs, and I can tell which bloggers love it. It shines through in their posts. I begin to feel like I know them, even though I’ve never met most of them. They are often so passionate about blogging that they can’t help talking about it every so often, just like I’m doing right now. Their blogs ring with passion, with thought, and with genuine interest in their readers. These are the blogs I miss when I’m away from the internet.

I question whether that sort of commitment can be faked. I’ve been hearing a lot in the past year about the craving we as a society have right now for authenticity, to the point that it has become something of a buzz word among certain circles. But jargon or no, I think it’s relevant to the conversation. We can tell when someone cares deeply about what they’re saying or doing, and their authenticity draws us in.

We can talk about how much we love blogging all we want, but it is our actions that show  whether we’re being genuine. Do we post regularly or do we tend to find excuses to avoid it? Do we write about subjects that we obviously care deeply about? Do we engage in the comment section with thoughtful discussion? Do we approach the writing of a blog post as though it is one of the most important things we could be doing right now?

For those who don’t enjoy blogging, there are plenty of other ways to engage with others. Happily we live in a time rife with choices: Twitter, Facebook (and Facebook pages), Google+, podcasts, Goodreads, etc. If there’s one of these platforms that we connect with better than the others, that ease will reflect itself in our interactions.

I hate the thought of the dutiful yet miserable blogger. Of course, even the most passionate blogger will have his off days or her moments when the words just don’t flow. Sometimes I’d prefer to mess around on the internet instead of writing the next essay, or ideas fail me and I don’t know what to write about. But ultimately I’m working out of a sense of love, not duty. I remember how much blogging gives to me and I push through the laziness and the lack of inspiration.

I think we find authenticity when we do what we love.

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Here it is, WorldCon week! I am so excited to be seeing so many of my favorite people and getting to spend time learning and discussing such interesting things. If you will also be attending WorldCon, please don’t hesitate to come up to me and introduce yourself. I love meeting new people, and if you tell me that you read my blog, I can guarantee that I’ll be bubbling over on the inside. On a business note, I have scheduled posts for my absence, but the comment answering is going to continue to be slow for the next week or so.

I’m also pleased to accept The Parking Lot Confessional’s Validation Ticket blog award. If you go visit them, you will see that Amy says some very nice things about me and my blog. She also says I’m fearless. Doesn’t that have a nice ring? I’m not sure if it’s true, but I’m going to practice saying it to myself in the mirror anyway.

Part of the deal with this award is that I’m supposed to pass it on to other blogs. Now, back in the day, I was always the kid that broke the chain letter loop, so I have this slightly squirmy feeling about this. However, I thought it would be a nice opportunity for me to highlight a few blogs that I think are worth your time.

Renaissance Oaf: Sean Craven was a classmate of mine at Taos Toolbox, which is how I discovered his blog. He has got his blog voice down, and I love reading about his slightly off-kilter take on many subjects. Speaking of fearless, Sean often ventures deep into autobiographical territory, and he has some fascinating tales to tell.

Theodora Goss: You probably remember that I’ve mentioned this blog before because I really can’t say enough good things about it. In a medium in which all the “experts” are telling you that you have to blog on a single subject, I look at Dora’s blog and think, “Yeah, they’re wrong. This is how a writer blog should be done.” She does have recurring subjects just like I do; she talks often about beauty, about creating and living a creative life, about art. And she has a beautiful voice that pervades everything she writes.

Tribal Writer:  I looked at Justine Musk’s blog originally when I decided to start The Practical Free Spirit, and I thought, “Yes. I want to do something like that. Only by me instead.” Justine writes some fiery inspirational essays; she also talks about feminism, finding your power, being a creative “bad ass,” and how to create your own tribe.

What do these three bloggers have in common? They all come across as fearless adventurers, and as you read their blogs, you realize they’re sharing an essential part of themselves. They are each extremely comfortable in their own voices. And all three of them encourage me to think, to challenge my assumptions, and to see the world a little bit differently.

I’m always looking for new blogs to check out, so tell me: what blog rocks your world? What do you like about it?

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I’m writing this up in my hotel room at the SCBWI conference. I just heard an amazing keynote speech by Bruce Coville, who was in part saying what I said in my blog post last week about influence and never knowing how your actions will affect others. Only he said it in a more articulate and developed way and threw in several musical theater references for good measure.

He also gave many tips for writers, and something he said jarred a useful insight loose in my brain. He talked about the importance of art, craft, and business sense. All in one speech. I’ve been thinking about each of these subjects a great deal, and you’ve seen some of the results of that thinking here on this blog. But the speech gave me some much needed cohesion.

Sometimes I feel like art has become something of a dirty word among many writers. If we’re serious about writing (and oh, are we ever serious), then we discuss craft a great deal. Sometimes we even bite the bullet and talk about business and the industry in ways that are more thoughtful than reactionary and more intelligent than just following the herd. (Sometimes we freak out instead.) We can be inspirational within certain boundaries. But art. Yes, art is a loaded word.

When we hear others speak about art, perhaps we imagine the dilettante artist who never actually writes anything. Or perhaps we think about those who start with a message and try to slap their audience in the face with it. Or perhaps we think of something inaccessible, like the serialist movement in music that I was talking about on Tuesday. The starving artist comes to mind, the irresponsible flake who needs to be talked down from the ledge by the long-suffering editor, the tortured soul who has a room filled with crumpled pieces of paper (see the recent movie Limitless, in which the writer portrayed has nothing to do with reality whatsoever).

And yet, this is not how art needs to be, and this is not how we must define ourselves as artists. Art doesn’t have to mean any of these things. Instead, it is an essential leg in the tripod of the writer.

Here’s how the system works: A good grasp of craft means that we produce sellable and marketable works, which helps our business. It also means that we have the tools at our disposable to create art that works, that really does evoke emotion and help us see the world differently. Craft is essential.

A good grasp of business means that we can get our work out into the world. This facilitates its purpose as art to communicate. It’s also always nice to avoid being screwed and to get paid for our work, which helps us continue both our craft and our art.

An acceptance of our work as art keeps us inspired. It encourages us to keep improving our craft so that we can achieve more through our words, and it challenges us to learn the business side so that we can achieve greater impact.

Lose touch with the business aspect and we cannot support ourselves or get our work out into the world. Lose touch with the craft aspect and we cannot write well enough to be effective. Lose touch with our work as art and we flirt with a sense of futility and forget to take risks.

I tend to neglect the art aspect that reminds me of my purpose and pour all my energy into craft and business. This choice, I tell myself, makes me a serious writer.

But I am wrong. My best work doesn’t happen when I only have two of my cornerstones. It takes place when I remember all three and dare to write bigger. It takes place when I accept that I am a businesswoman, a craftsperson, AND an artist.

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