The novel continues! I'm up to 18,503 words now, which, for those of you who are counting, is a little over a day ahead of schedule. So that's good. The novel is evolving in odd, unpredictably interesting ways, which is why I'm able to be ahead a little bit.

On Sunday, I took a class at Richard Hugo House http://www.hugohouse.org/ from Jeff VanderMeer called "Exploring Your Booklife." The lessons were taken from his new book, "Booklife" which talks about how to balance one's writing life with other activities, as well as how to meet your writing goals. It was a medium-sized class, about 7-8 of us, which was good, because that way everyone had a chance to ask all the questions they wanted. Although we did some writing in the morning, it's the first class I've taken at Hugo House that wasn't craft oriented. That said, it was extremely helpful. Yesterday, I made myself a list of goals for 2010, including steps to take in order to reach said goals. So often, it seems like I'm either overly optimistic on when I'll finish projects, or I make myself arbitrary deadlines that don't mean anything. Now I think I've got a better grasp on what I want, and what I need to do to get there, so maybe I won't feel like I'm floundering around quite so much.

Well, time to figure out what's for dinner and get a few haiku things done. I'm still hoping to get to work on "Pawn" tonight. On Sunday night, I'd just finished getting ready for bed when an idea about Lucian's past popped into my head, so I opened my notebook and jotted it down on the bathroom counter. My muse must have seen that as an open invitation, because then she threw a few more ideas at me, and before I knew it, I was sitting on the bathroom floor, back against the cupboard, writing page after page of backstory. Some 45 minutes later, I finally exhausted that train of thought and finally went to bed. Even when the timing's weird like that, I really can't complain when the inspiration hits me.

Oh, one last thing: if you're a fan of Pink Martini, check out their new album, "Splendor in the Grass." I've been listening to it over and over, laughing and dancing around the kitchen, much to the cat's chagrin.

WRITE-O-RAMA!

The very phrase conjures up an event of epic proportions, full of furious scribbling, bottomless baskets of muffins, and clanging bells. Twice a year, Richard Hugo House puts on this spectacular extravaganza of writing, and even if you're not going to be in the Seattle vicinity on Saturday June 6th, you can still participate by clicking on this link http://www.hugohouse.org/laureates#tanya and donating to Hugo House on behalf of yours truly. By doing so, you'll be supporting a place that supports writers of every sort from every walk of life.

My favorite memory of Hugo House (to date) is chatting with Charles de Lint out on the loading dock after taking a class from him last October. It had been a long day, and although the class was excellent, I was tired and had sunk into "I'm a lousy writer" mode. I was sitting out on the concrete dock, waiting for Russ to come pick me up, and Charles came and sat down next to me while he waited for Leslie to finish up with a few things inside. Just sat down as casual as could be and we chatted about books and writing. It was truly magical. (If you are unfamiliar with Mr. de Lint, here's a link to his website: http://www.sfsite.com/charlesdelint/ )

Through classes I've taken at Hugo House with Charles de Lint, Michael Dylan Welch, Monica Drake, Ellen Klages, Gregory Frost, and most recently, Paul Park, not only have I learned about the craft of writing, but I've learned that these magnificent writers are actually people. (Gasp!) They're not just awe-inspiring names on the front covers of books, but actual people who learned how to write and are willing to share their knowledge with aspiring writers. This is the sort of magic that happens at Hugo House, connecting writers with other writers, and it's worth supporting this connection, worth supporting the dreams of other writers.

One last shameless plea: donate to Hugo House. Who knows, that next book or poem or article you're reading when you're stuck overnight in the Phoenix International Airport could be written by someone who found their writing boost at Hugo House!

I probably should have gone to bed sooner last night instead of watching clips from The Daily Show with Russ. Or maybe it was hormones. I certainly can't blame the weather; it was as beautiful a fall day as one could ask for, crisp in the morning, but with bright sunshine, sunshine you can feel soaking into your ear and cheek when the breeze isn't cutting through you. Or it could just be that I'm still an amateur in social situations. Once in a while, I feel like I've got it, the key to social interaction, how to speak without awkwardness tripping up my tongue, but today wasn't one of those days. Until the end.

The hour and a half bus trek to Hugo House this morning was fine. I wrote in my journal, like I always do, in spite of the bouncing bus, even had time to get a cup of tea at Seattle's Best across the street from the #10 bus stop. Upon arriving at Hugo House at 9:20 (class was due to start at 10), I checked the front door. Finding it locked and no one inside, I settled myself in the sun on the steps of the loading dock. I guess it's the memories of the docks at old Garten in Salem, back when I was a kid, that endear them to me. A place to feel like myself, safe, comfortable. The sprigs of fennel sprouting up in the neglected planter and in flowerbeds added to the ambiance, as did the constant squeaking song of an Anna's hummingbird, first from the top of the maples across the street, and then closer as it checked out the buddelia bushes, their purple blossoms almost gone, but still fragrant.

After about ten minutes, a familiar face from a previous class appeared and we chatted in the sun. Well, she talked and I listened. This is par for the course in conversations for me it seems. Maybe I need to be more assertive, but to do that, I'd need to be more confident that I actually have something worthwhile to say. In any case, other people began arriving in ones and twos, including Mr. de Lint. The front doors were still locked. Seems that someone was supposed to show up at 9:30 to unlock them and never did. So we congregated out by the dock in the sun, chatting until 10:25 when someone showed up with Teresa's wayward keys, at which point we migrated inside to slightly warmer environs, finally settling upstairs in the Winslow Room.

The class was fine, the chairs all full. Unlike previous classes, we actually took a few breaks to get up and stretch, which was appreciated. We did a few writing exercises, but I'm no good at writing in workshops. I freeze up, don't know what to write, and when I do manage to get a few sentences down, they're clunky, drab, and as often as not, not worth reading aloud. I was the only one who declined to read her exercise the first time around, and almost passed a second time. They were good writing prompts, though. Maybe next time I take a class there I'll bring my Beastie (MacBook) and see if that helps melt the writer's block.

At 4:30, the class ended and we dispersed. I lingered long enough to thank Mr. de Lint for the class, half-apologizing for not being able to make use of his writing exercises in class, but he said that he had a difficult time writing in workshops, too, which made me feel better. Then someone wanted her picture taken with him, so after obliging her, I slipped out of the room, back downstairs, and outside to wait for Russ to come pick me up. I could have hovered inside and listened to the reading that was going on in the Cabaret, but I was feeling...how to describe it? Fragile? Tired? Unimportant? Insignificant? Dejected? There were, as there always are in these classes, some brilliant writers (OK, so two of them were a recent Clarion West grads), and I know I shouldn't compare them to myself, but I do. It's a fault of mine, and it rarely does me any favors. Don't get me wrong: I'm glad I took the class. The exercises we did are ones I plan on using at home to practice my writing, and Mr. de Lint's comparison to practicing piano scales and practicing writing was a good one, one I hope to be able to take to heart and follow through with, but like I said, more sleep, less hormones.

Feeling more inexplicably dejected than afterglowy, I climbed the steps up onto the loading dock, seating myself cross-legged at the edge to wait for the red Prius to arrive. I was there for about five minutes, scribbling about the class in my journal, when Charles de Lint rounded the corner of the dock and saw me there. (Teresa, his hostess and ride, must have been finishing up with class evaluations inside or something.) To my surprise and joy, he just sat down right beside me, cross-legged, on the dock, casual as can be, and for the next 5 or 10 minutes, we chatted. Just chatted. It was the highlight of my day, of my whole weekend, just sitting there shooting the breeze about books and writing with one of my all-time favorite authors, the author who initially got me intrigued with modern urban faery fantasy. I could have sat there until the sun dipped behind the Olympic Mountains and the temperature dropped, and it wasn't even that fountains of golden wisdom were pouring from his lips, but just the fact that he sat down there to chat with me like I was a fellow writer really meant something to me. I know it sounds cheesy, but it was exactly what I needed, that connection, and while I probably won't remember what I learned in the class a year from now, I'll always remember sitting on that concrete loading dock on a sunny October afternoon and chatting with Charles de Lint.


Here's the link to his website: http://www.sfsite.com/charlesdelint/

After an unsuccessful search at Goodwill for a Halloween costume, I headed into downtown Bellevue for a concilliatory doughnut at Top Pot. http://www.toppotdoughnuts.com/ OK, even if I had found a costume, I was planning on going there to scout it out as a potential NaNoWriMo write-in spot. I'd been there once before with Sherra and Doctor, but had been too distracted to notice the ambiance.

It has an awesome writing vibe, at least for me. One of my difficulties with Soul Food Books has always been the distraction factor. Either the music is too loud (and there's no way to get away from the speakers) or conversations are too easy to hear. Sometimes, I like listening to other peoples' conversations, but not when I'm trying to write. Top Pot in Bellevue doesn't seem to have that difficulty. The music was innocuous enough and the ceiling high enough that I couldn't hear the conversations behind the counter. Plus, it's a spacious area with lots of tables, and an entire wall of bench-to-ceiling bookshelves. I figure if I get stuck at any point in my novel while I'm there, I can just take a gander at the titles on the shelves, and an idea will present itself.

Oh yeah, and they have doughnuts. And tea. (And coffee, espresso drinks, soda, sandwiches, scones, etc.) Frankly, a doughnut alone is enough to get me all bouncy. Add a cup of black tea and I figure the words ought to just flow out onto the screen if my fingers can keep up with my brain.

One week until NaNoWriMo starts! http://www.nanowrimo.org/

Also, if you haven't checked out the Hugo House website lately, please do! My profile is up on the Write-O-Rama laureates page: http://www.hugohouse.org/laureates#Tanya

Tension headache begone! I have summoned the gods of Excedrin and they shall smite thee with their caffeinated goodness!

Listening to Queen at loud volumes whilst singing along also helps banish headaches, rabid squirrels, unsightly warts, and Republicans.

So, I didn't watch the debate last night. I was in Portuguese class, working on my headache. Our teacher is a vivacious, sweet, fun person, but her approach to teaching is too scattershot for my liking. I don't feel like I'm absorbing hardly anything in class and I thank my lucky stars I know a bit of Spanish, or I'd be lost like a ship in the pea-soup fog of Industrial Era London. But I voiced my frustration, and although none of the other 8 people who showed up seemed to share my opinion, at least Ana listened to me and agreed that 2 chapters a week might be a bit much to assign as homework. Next week, they'll be watching a movie in class. I say "they" because I shan't be there. I'll be at Hugo House, mingling and eating with my fellow Write-O-Rama laureates.

Let's see, what else is going on? Oh yeah, Dan Teeter showed up yesterday afternoon and replaced the cracked heat exchange in our furnace with a new one from Portland. So we have heat, which makes me a happy camper.

Tomorrow morning, I'm heading down to Salem on the train. There are a million things going on here this weekend that'd I'd like to do, from going to the Haiku NW Seabeck retreat to taking a class at Hugo House, but I will be watching Ladysmith Black Mambazo at the Elsinore Theatre on Friday night, so I don't have to debate what I'd prefer to do in this neck of the woods. I've never seen them perform before, so it should be fun, and I always love going to the Elsinore. http://www.oregonlink.com/elsinore/biography/index.html

OK, time to do some writing whilst the caffeine is still pumping through my veins. Ate logo!