9/22/2010

engrish-funny - Haiku
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There's something about this tiny piece of English that I find entirely beautiful.

9/19/2010

I'm exhausted, and it's not over yet.

What a weekend! On Saturday Houston, a friend, and I went to see "Hi, How Can I Help You" (there are two performances left), then had a nice dinner in Petersham, then Houston and I went on to go see "The Governess in Lessons Learned" (there is ONE performance left). The former, as you may recall, contains my short play "Hold" and a number of other very entertaining short pieces. The latter is an unnerving and extremely funny one-woman show devised and performed by the multitalented Anne-Louise Rentell, and if you're in or near Sydney, PLEASE try to catch that last performance! It MAY be coming to Wollongong, but there are no guarantees, and you'd regret it all your life if you missed it.

Today I spent all day in a gymnasium. Those of you who know me from of old know that unless the gymnasium held a book sale, an arts festival, or a karate tournament, there wouldn't be much chance of my sticking around anywhere near that long. But this was almost like a karate tournament: a fencing tournament. To my deep and lasting shock, I ended up equal-third in the novice women's foil state championship — I have a medal and everything! Considering that in ALL the years I did karate, in ALL the tournaments I entered, I won exactly, precisely ONE sparring match, to have achieved medallist status is really quite a profound thing for me. And in my first tournament, too — I'm more than a little bemused. Moreover, it was on Talk Like a Pirate Day: could there be a better day to win a fencing medal? I think not. Arr. (Thanks to my fencing buddies, family, and friends who were so supportive!)


Tomorrow it's back in arts mode as I attend a day-long series of short readings from long plays: the Kicking Down the Doors event. I'm attending because one of my plays is on the menu. Wish me good fortune.

Then Tuesday, at what will doubtless feel like the crack of dawn, I begin another high-school spec-fic writing workshop.

Meanwhile, I have a searing, nuclear-hot-and-scary deadline for two stories. So any spare moments are spent trying to meet it (the deadline, that is).

It's going to be another wild and crazy week around here. Just like pretty much all the other ones.

9/16/2010

Frustration, dismay, and determination

The story I'm currently working on is giving me no end of trouble. I'm in the middle of its second — second! — gutting, this one more complete than the last. I have faith that there's a solution in there somewhere, that I need not abandon it totally: an idea is just an idea, and there are ways to make just about any idea work if you can keep your brain open to unusual possibilities. But so far that solution is eluding me.

There's a story about one of the early Chinese martial-artist monks (I'm only remembering it, perhaps imprecisely, but it's an interesting story for all that): apparently he spent years and years just staring at a stone wall. All the other monks were doing whatever they needed to do to train hard in martial arts and gain enlightenment and all that, and they were contemptuous of what they considered to be his laziness. Eventually, however, he stirred and stood. The other monks gathered around to see what he would finally do, what his "training" had accomplished for him. With one mighty shout alone, he knocked the wall completely down, so fully had he come to understand it, and his own power, through those years of staring.

I feel like I'm staring at this story as he stared at that wall. I don't feel like I'm gaining in understanding, I'm just hoping and having faith that at some instant something will change and I will know exactly what needs to be done with it.

I hope it doesn't take years, though. I have a deadline on this sucker.

9/15/2010

News update

I am very pleased to announce that an extract of my full-length play The Death of Albatross will be given an airing at Playwriting Australia's event Kicking Down the Doors, an initiative that gets new playwrights a bit of attention. My extract will be read sometime between noon and two (details of the location are on the event web site); if you can be there, that will be great!

Moreover, there are still a number of nights left to see Hi, How Can I Help You, in which my short play "Hold" is the penultimate item.

I'll be teaching a day-long workshop in writing fantasy and science-fiction short stories at the Tasmanian Writers Centre on October 9; see "Programs" on their web site for info.

On Sunday I made my debut playing in a concert at the Sydney Town Hall, as the percussionist on two numbers performed by the spectacular Sydney Male Choir, directed by Houston Dunleavy (who is my husband, for those who don't know). There were over a thousand people in the audience, which is a lot, and it was very alarming when a rogue gust of air conditioning blew my music off the stage (a kind person in the front row rescued it for me — thank you, nameless but kind person).

Hm, what else? At the rate things are cookin' around here, I'm sure there will be more news soon.

9/09/2010

Moderating Con Panels — an Introduction

One of the things I did at Worldcon/Aussiecon on the weekend was moderate a panel. For those unfamiliar with such things, a con panel (usually) consists of from two to four people with something to say on a topic, and a moderator. Formats vary, but usually each panelist talks for a few minutes on the topic, and then questions ensue. Often the panelists start bouncing thoughts and ideas off each other, which is my favorite bit. Sometimes you hear something quite profound that stays with you for months and years.

Most panels have a moderator, whose job is to make sure the conversation keeps flowing smoothly. This may sound like you just sit there and call on members of the audience when they raise their hands. But no! There's a lot that goes into making a panel run invisibly well. I'd like to set forth for you the things I did for mine (and I got a lot of good feedback from panelists and audience members alike, so I'm pretty sure I got it pretty much right). I was rather surprised, actually, that it seemed to come so readily, but it occurred to me but a moment ago that it's really very, very like running a press conference (which is something I've done a lot of). So if you've done that sort of work yourself, this will seem very familiar, perhaps even simplistic. But if you haven't, I hope this is helpful for the next time you are asked to moderate a panel (or run a press conference).

Preparation
  • Make friends with your coordinator: the person who acts as a liaison between you and the conference venue and organizing committee. That person is noble, brave, selfless, and true, and you are privileged to know them. Ask them your questions; don't guess. They want things to go well, and they will find you answers that work. Make sure you keep them in the loop of any communications with your panelists (see below).

  • Know your panelists' work, at least a little. If you can't afford to buy their stuff, borrow it and read something of theirs. Read their web sites, their Wikipedia bios (with a grain of salt), reviews of their work. If they're famous enough to be on a panel, they're famous enough for there to be something online about them.

  • Have a very clear idea of what your panel will be about. If the coordinator is a little vague, that means you have some latitude. But it does NOT mean YOU can be vague. Your panelists are counting on you to help them succeed. Part of that is giving them a structure they can use to guide their own decisions about what they're going to say. That's not to say you can be a dictator about it. But panelists are very busy people, and mostly they're going to really appreciate your narrowing the focus a little. For example, my panel was on poetic and lyric language as part of YA fantasy. Uh-huh. But I started out by developing four or five questions ("What is it that distinguishes poetic language from prosaic?" "What are the reasons you might choose to add poetic language at a particular point in your story?" — that sort of thing) that gave a way to define and talk about the topic. Moreover, it gives you something to throw into the mix if the audience is small or shy and there aren't enough questions from them to keep the energy going.

  • Get your coordinator to put you in touch with your panelists BEFORE, WELL BEFORE, you get to the con. Like, weeks. Not hours. Introduce yourself (cc your coordinator, too). Mention your questions: "I was thinking that during the panel it might be interesting to focus on a few things like these...." Also, it's helpful for you to suggest a format for the panel. "Is everyone all right for talking for between five and 10 minutes, and then we'll open it up for questions?" Ask them three very important things:

    • How do they want their bio to read?

    • What technology might they need? (One of my panelists had a book trailer she wanted to play, so I needed to make sure there was a computer/projector setup and either Internet or a port for a USB.)

    • Most important of all, what books or other works do they want you to mention/promote as part of their introduction? That's one of the main reasons they're there. Help them out. Ask them before they have to ask you. This shows you are working for their success.

The day approaches
Because you've done so much good, hard work in the previous stage, this is nowhere near as hectic as it could have been. You just need to do a few things:
  • Check that you have (or have written) everyone's bios. Two paragraphs is plenty, and one is usually enough. If you've written it yourself, or even just cobbled it together from several sources, MAKE SURE YOU RUN IT BY THE RELEVANT PANELIST.

  • Check with your coordinator that all the technology your panelists wanted is available and ready to go. (If not, you may need to break it to the panelist that they have to go a little more austere.)

  • Print out the bios and your list of questions. I am not even joking: even if you have the most reliable computer in the world, it will fail during the con. Will it kill you to print out a couple of sheets of paper? Recycle them later.

  • Reaffirm for yourself the timings you are aiming for: maybe three minutes for intros, 20 minutes to a half hour for panelists' shpiels, questions for the remaining time. Your coordinator will have told you when you need to wrap things up and be out of the room; stick to that slavishly. It's only professional.

  • See if you can get a friend to commit themselves to attending the panel: both for moral support and because they can be very helpful indeed (see below).

At the con venue
NOT at the last minute, make sure you get a thorough briefing on the technology. And that means you, yourself, with your own hands, doing a test run with whatever your panelists asked you to play/show/run.

At the session
  • Be there the instant the previous session starts to file out. Smile and be nice to anyone still on the dais, but you have work to do. Get the technology set up and test it (including microphones). Choose a seat for yourself (the one nearest the technology is best), and put your printouts there (did you remember to bring them?)

  • Introduce yourself to your panelists in person as they get settled, and ask them if they need anything or have any questions. YOU ARE HERE TO SERVE THEM. THEY ARE THE CENTER OF YOUR UNIVERSE, AND MAKING THEM LOOK FABULOUS, WITTY, PREPARED, AND COMPETENT IS YOUR HIGHEST JOY.

  • Right smack bang on time, speak gently and cheerfully into the microphone: "Hi, everyone. Let's get started. I'm [insert your name here], and this is the panel on [insert panel topic here]. I'd like to start out by introducing our panelists." Do NOT feel you have to introduce yourself to any other extent than giving your name, unless you, too, are a honking great expert on this topic. I wasn't, particularly, on mine, so I didn't. The audience wasn't there to hear me, after all.

  • As each panelist speaks, look at them, preferably with an expression of genial interest and approval. The audience may not think they're paying attention to you, but believe me, they are. If you are shuffling papers, staring dully into space, or looking annoyed or irritable, that will erode your panelists' credibility, and that's just not nice. However, if you model enthusiasm and interest, the audience will follow you, and the speakers will warm to them and speak more vibrantly. Which will increase audience enthusiasm and interest, and up and up. This is a good thing.

  • Your friend in the audience can tell you by their wonderfully expressive frowns and squints whether the microphones are close enough to each panelist's face; if not, unobtrusively adjust them or murmur to the panelist in question to move the mic closer.

  • When each panelist is done, say thanks and move on to the next one. This is very simple: "Thanks, X. Y?"

  • Ah, question time. I strongly recommend you lead off with the first question (one of your prepared ones is perfect, because the panelists have all seen these questions from you before and have thought about them, so they'll have at least a basic idea of what they want to say. This makes them look good). Don't be shy about it: you're the moderator. You are the bringer of order and peace. "Thanks, [last panelist]. I'd like to open it up for questions, and I'd like to ask the first one. [Insert question here.]" See? Easy. After that, it's your job to make sure people get called on in approximately the order they raised their hands. It's a nice gesture to make eye contact with the ones you haven't picked yet and subtly let them know (with a nod or a "wait a minute" raised finger) that you have seen them, you will give them a go, and you think they're terrific for being here and asking a question. Nobody likes to be ignored, and just a small thing like this can make a big difference to their memories of the panel. If there is an awkward silence in the proceedings, fill it with one of your questions, or, even better, have your plant in the audience ask one (one of yours, or one that occurs to them on the spot, either is fine).

    A note about the non-question question. I swear, every con badge should come with a device that detects when there is absolutely no question mark anywhere inside someone's head when they raise their hand, and it should zap them instantly into unconsciousness. There will, I repeat, will, be at least one person there who has no intention of asking anything, but is just dying to add, correct, amplify, do whatever they need to do to feel like they're part of the show. These people must be treated with courtesy and respect. But so must everyone else in the room, and after a few seconds of rambling (NOTE! NOT a few minutes! Be bold and resolute!), you are obligated to interrupt them (that's why you have a microphone and they don't). "Tell you what," you can say brightly, "I want to make sure everyone gets a chance to ask questions; would you mind saving that until after?" Usually they will acquiesce, but repeat as necessary.

  • When time's up, time's up. Cut things off, thank the audience for being there, thank each panelist individually, lead the applause. As the audience leaves, thank each panelist again yourself, making sure you let them know you really enjoyed their participation. Gather your papers, return any technology to its original state, and you're done. Mostly (see below).

Afterward
As soon as you get home, email the panelists and your coordinator and thank them all again.

Moderating con panels is fun, and important, work. Doing it well is not just a matter of professional pride (although it's that, too). It's also a way to show your colleagues and your potential readers that you care about THEM. And that can only be a good thing. A world in which we work for each other's success is a good world.

9/07/2010

Back from AussieCon 4/WorldCon

We got back from WorldCon at 2 a.m. Tuesday, after one of those appallingly monotonous drives along the Hume Highway between Melbourne and Sydney that we have grown to know so, so well. This time I didn't mind so much, though: I relished the empty time to start sorting out in my mind what had been a gloriously chaotic and intense few days.

For me, cons are more about hallways than panels. Panels are fun, mind you, and often informative. But what really exhilarated me at WorldCon this week were the constant interactions: with friends and colleagues, with chance acquaintances — even with people who wanted to tell me they liked my writing! In fact, that's how I'm going to lead off my list of my personal WorldCon highlights:
  • Interactions: (a) with friends. I know, I know, these days I can Facebook and Skype and email my friends. It's not like I'm totally unconnected with their lives, or they with mine. But nothing compares with the joy of catching sight of a faraway friend, suddenly magically right here, and rushing up with a squeal of happiness to give them a boisterous hug. WorldCon was full of faraway friends. It made me really, really wistful that life and physics just don't let us be with the people we love all the time. But it made the time at WorldCon doubly, triply, infinitely more precious.

  • Interactions: (b) with colleagues. It's a stereotype, but it's true: writers work alone. Shut up in rooms, or off in corners of libraries, or wherever. So it's a rare privilege to be able to see the faces, hear the voices, shake the hands of people whose thoughts and dreams you've come to love through their writing. It's even nicer to know that there's a particular bond between you because you're in the same business: the job of showing people the deepest, scariest truths you know, by telling them stories. It's a funny kind of job, a solitary one, and it's nice to be reminded that many, many wonderful people have chosen to give their time and love to it.

  • Interactions: (c) with people who like my writing. There were an almost alarming number of these. I don't reckon I've been at this game very long, and I'm never very certain I'm doing it right. But there were enough people telling me they liked this or that story of mine that I'm starting to think maybe I am.

  • Rob Shearman's reading. Well, anytime you run into Rob Shearman is time well spent, we all know this. But I was able to catch his reading of one of the stories from his latest collection, Love Songs for the Shy and Cynical. It pretty much literally gave me chills: very deft, very subtle, very poignant. Perfect. A lot of writers don't spend too much time working on their skills for readings, but Rob has, and the results — well, that reading made me realize just how much more work I, myself, have to do on my reading skills. Plus, the story was terrific.

  • Richard Harland and Jack Dann's reading. These two, both great performers on their own, became the best show at the con when they worked together. They took roles in each other's stories, and swapped back and forth whose stuff was being read during the half hour. Audience participation, cheers, thunderous applause, raucous characterizations (if you ever, ever get a chance to hear Richard read his own character Mr. Gibber, do not pass it up), and, of course, riveting storytelling. I was very, very happy I'd caught this one; it made me smile at odd moments for the whole rest of the con, and is still doing so.

  • The Baggage launch. I love launches. I particularly love launches when the book in question was, at least in part, written by me. (I have yet to find out how fun it is when the whole book is written by me, but I'm very much looking forward to that!) Here's where you can get your copy, if you couldn't get to the launch. It was packed with well-wishers, packed I tell you. Jack Dann (yes, the same one) gave a really good launch speech. The other authors who could be there were some of the coolest people you could ever want to be TOC* buddies with. The cover (by the wonderful Andrew McKiernan) was gorgeous beyond my wildest dreams. The editor and publisher were (and are in general) extraordinarily selfless and dedicated, very happy to let the day be about the writers and the book itself, not them. And there were mountains of food (see "selfless and dedicated" above). Thanks, Sharyn and Gillian and all the people at Borders and everyone else who made the launch so great! It was the very best start to WorldCon I could imagine.

  • Moderating a panel. Huh. Turns out I'm legendarily good at moderating con panels. Wasn't rocket science, really: do your homework, help everyone play nice, make the panelists the most important people in your universe during that hour. It's all about them. (Sometime in the next day or so, I'll do a blog post about moderating panels and how I did mine — it worked really well, so my strategies and tactics may help you as well.) Anyway, the panel was about lyrical and poetic language in young-adult fantasy. A rather obscure topic, and the panel was lightly attended. But the people who were there got a lot out of it, and I feel proud that I was part of making WorldCon better.

  • Spending time with my family. Margaret and Houston (and a family friend) were all with me during WorldCon. That was way cool. We split up a lot to do our individual things, but we also spent a fair bit of time together. Yay!

If you would like to have wonderful adventures like this, become a writer and go to cons!

*Table of Contents.