The Bat-Signal
Okay. So apparently, Gotham City has a big ol’ spotlight with a bat in it that they turn on when they need Batman. Cool. I get that.
What do they do if there’s trouble during the day?
I mean, clearly they don’t have some other means to contact Batman, like a drop-off cell phone or something, because if they did then clearly they’d just use that and not tell everyone in Gotham where Batman was going to be in twenty minutes. Because if I was a criminal, I’d just line that rooftop with explosives and then burn it when Batman showed up. So clearly, this is their best bet for getting Batman to come to them, and they accept the risks of, say, Deadshot the Sniper showing up every time they activate this big glowing “BATS IS HERE” bulb.
So that means that for twelve hours of the day, and on cloudless nights, the cops have zero way of contacting Batman. This seems like a pretty obvious workaround for criminals. Just plan your crime at noon, and you have a nice solid eight-hour window to escape. Assuming you have to commit your crime in Gotham at all, of course, it’s the one town with Batman, you couldn’t go to Pittsburgh or Cleveland or some other Batman-free zone to do your dirty work? But hey, just work your dastardry while the sun’s out and Batman – who, apparently, is so disdainful of police radios that he requires a huge fucking night-light before he deigns to show up – will stay in hibernation.
You know what I’d do if I was commissioner, and had to have a big ol Bat-signal? I’d double up. Bat-Signal at night, Bat-Blimp during the day. A big ol’ transparent blimp with a bat painted on it that casts a huge shadow across Gotham City. Of course, there’s a good chance I’d do this because I’d want to say, “What? The bank depository has been broken into? RELEASE THE BAT-BLIMP!” But that’s me.
How To Become A Real Writer
The greatest gift the Clarion workshop gave me is that it made me feel like A Real Writer for six weeks straight. That was the longest continuous period of feeling like a Real Writer I’ve ever had.
I say this today because of an absolutely beautiful post by Justine Larbalestier, which lists all the times when Justine knows she will have made it as a writer. Which is wonderful, heartbreaking, and true.
Truth is, I don’t feel much like a writer these days. Yes, I have this lovely Nebula nomination… but I also haven’t had a story accepted in four months despite having eleven stories darting from market to market. I haven’t written that much, because I’m mentally planning a novel and even though I’m creating characters in my head I’m not actually knocking words on the page. And my novel is still waiting, precipitously, for near-certain rejection by agents.
Yet I’m still doing pretty well. It’s just I have to look for evidence to remind myself of my Real Writerhood when I’m mapping out my next novel and realizing it’s too much for me and oh God I’m not sure I can do this. (And I think, honestly, that’s every novel for almost everyone.)
The thing that Justine’s post highlights so well is that it’s hard for many of us to feel like Real Writers because even the best writers keep getting evidence that we’re not Real. All those rejections and bad reviews hurt… And that’s part of the deal you took with this crazy career. Four months without a story sale? Heck, I’ve had nine-month dry periods. Jay Lake had ten years, for Chrissakes. We all have our deserts to cross.
The truth about being a Real Writer is that it’s not about paying attention to the external factors, which will never really set you free. You’re a Real Writer when you apply ass to seat, write, finish, and send it off for someone who might publish it. (Or if you’re a self-publisher, to a lot of people who might purchase it.)
All those other hallmarks Justine mentions? They’re temporary highs, fleeting triumphs that will make you feel confident and strong for a day or two. Then it fades. And you know why? If you’re a good writer, you’re always stretching, writing off more than you can chew because you know the only way to get better is to do new things. Constantly. And that means you don’t really have many moments where you go, “Yeah, I got this” because you’re always reaching out for greater emotional depth, better prose, more entanglement. You don’t feel confident because you’re brave enough to move beyond where you know and to boldly set out for What You Could Do If You Tried.
Then you send that new-as-scabs talent out for someone to potentially ignore, reject, and even hate. This is a brave thing. This is what makes you Real, even if you may not necessarily feel that Realness thrumming along your heartstrings.
But hey. If you’re writing regularly, and doing your best to get it out to an audience, I will tell you true: you’re a Real Writer. Take pride in that.
Now get back to work.
Your Linkdump, My Embarrassment
I’m too tired today for a real post, so let’s have a linkdump of silly stuff that I’ve been meaning to bring to your attention.
The first is the most recent – our girlfriend Bec brought my attention to Epic Rap Battles of History (or, as those in the know call it, “EPUH WHA BAUHS HITTUHRY!”), of which I think these are the three best:
Darth Vader vs. Hitler
Justin Bieber vs. Beethoven
Dr. Seuss vs. Shakespeare
Of the three, I think the winners are Hitler, Beethoven, and a very close call on Shakespeare, who was being thrashed thoroughly in the first round until he staged an epic comeback in the second half. (Though I do wonder how classicist Kat Howard would weigh in.)
Another weird video for your pleasure: Vytautas Mineral Water is Earth’s Juice! Sent to me by my pal George Galuschak, I’m not sure whether to thank him or slap him. Then again, I’m pretty sure George would GIVE NEGATIVE FUCK!
Lastly, when I was very sick (which explains the extraordinarily unkempt hair even by my standards), I began emulating emoticons for the amusement of my friends. Why shouldn’t you share this wonderment?
Okay, that third one should probably be :p and not ;p, but as I said. I was very sick.
Married, And Married, And Married Again
It’s been a rough couple of weeks for Gini and me, what with all of my travelling and Gini’s horrid case of hoof-and-mouth and many other intangibles. And we haven’t had the time to really connect, just to cuddle in bed and feel that comfort and talk.
Which we did. And then we got married all over again.
It’s rare. But in times of stress, Gini and I tend to recite new vows – not often, maybe once every couple of years. But during a particularly tender time we’ll look each other in the eyes and make new promises and feel all of that old tension shedding away like a snake skin.
You will never know what we promise to each other. But you will know that we’ll come away as newlyweds again, and starting anew doesn’t mean abandoning everything we’ve done before. It means that no matter what kind of a patina life loads onto our relationship, the tiniest of scratches and we’re right back on our wedding day, holding hands and feeling that this is the best choice either of us have ever made.
I love you, my bride. You’re still everything I’d ever hoped for, and more.
Weird Comfort Watching
So yesterday, I questioned whether people would rewatch the Hunger Games movie, since it had all that, you know, traumatic children death in it.
Then Fargo came on HBO and I was all like, “Oooh, let’s watch it again.”
Yes, I know, in the end it features a murderer stuffing another criminal into a woodchipper. But despite all the horror, Marge Gunderson still manages to retain her humanity, love, and good will, so when she settles into the bed with her husband and his three-cent stamp, it feels like a hug.
So I ask you: what’s your bizarre comfort watching, and why? Sure, anyone can watch Galaxy Quest or Tangled a zillion times – it’s all silly comedy that ends well. But what do you watch when you’re stressed that comforts you for reasons others might not understand?
The Consolation Challenge: Four Minutes Or Less, And Your Pizza's Free!
Congratulations go to David Steffen, whose flash fiction story got rejected by PodCastle in a blistering five minutes yesterday. As David said, “I had not even finished updating the entry in my submissions spreadsheet before it got rejected.” The email confirms it: submission at 8:57 a.m., response at 9:02 a.m.
You know what that means: free pizza!
If you will recall my consolation challenge, I had promised to buy a consolation pizza for any author who got rejected more quickly than my previous record of twenty-nine minutes. As David said, “What better way to wipe up my tears than with a delicious pizza?” Here, you see David eating his pain, complete with manuscript, ham, black olives, and extra cheese.
I should note that in both cases, the rejection came from blisteringly fast rejectioneer Ann Leckie – so if you’re looking to maximize your hopes of a free pizza, submit to either PodCastle or Giganotosaurus, both of which are fine markets to be published in or to be rapidly ejected from.
In any case, the timer has been adjusted, and to win a pizza you must now be rejected in four minutes or under. The rules are here. Should you be rejected in four minutes or under, I will buy you pizza – a pizza that will take longer to arrive than your rejection did.
Best of luck, writers!