in which things that should have been obvious years ago are belatedly made clear…

Ok, so Calculus of Hope is actually my second novel that will, I hope, be written to completion of at least a first draft (actually the third, but we’re not going to talk about that tolkein pastiche I wrote my senior year of high school because …. shudder.) And the first one, completed two years ago, is still waiting for a massive rewrite because though I loved the story, I kind of meandered through the plot the first draft, thinking that was ok for me to do and I could fix it in the re-write, which is a little like Dr. Frankenstein making up his monster as he went along and attaching three arms and two and a half legs and saying he’d fix it later.

Fixing it at that point is kind of like just making another monster. Fixing the first book is really just writing another book, and that has morphed into the next book after Calculus.

This one I’m concentrating a little less on sentences I like, and more on “Does this make any damn sense and does it screw me narratively later.” See also :”No, no no … now is not the time to split open the structure and add a third POV character….I said NO!” And … this novel will probably be done this month, which means I’ve written it in four months, not two years like the last one. And I’ve been focused on 1 thing and 1 thing only, the narrative structure. I feel like if, in the first draft, the narrative structure makes sense, then I can fix ANYTHING in the other drafts. That is not to say I do not chase bunnies down trails, it just means I have a tether to lead myself back. Or at least a guide dog. I just pray to God there are no squirrels.

First draft …. it’s all about the narrative. It only took me twenty years to figure that out.

Nerd Family Powers! Activate!

Thanks, Phil for the title.

Yes, halloween was fun. My costume started with the ghostbuster t-shirt and kind of got out of control from there, what with the backpack and the vaccum cleaner attachment. I just kept repeating to myself “don’t cross the streams” all night long and I got through without destroying the space-time continuum. You’re all welcome.

And today, NaNo. And a V marathon on SyFy (seriously, today?) and grocery shopping and labs due on tuesday, and … and I think I have to go lie down now.

I WILL WIN THIS YEAR!

A rant (probably only slightly paranoid)

My son is a first grader. He’s very bright. Independent observers have confirmed this and, anyway, I can’t take credit for it because I did my best to teach him how to rot his brain with cartoons and comic books. He had a great year in kindergarten, but toward the end of the year started to get in trouble, mostly because he’s smart and charming and had a group of littre smart and charming friends who all decided they would see what they could get away with. It got handled very well by his teacher and his principal.

His kindergarten teacher was wonderful. She was whip-smart and had this really effective mix of warmth and firmness.

Enter first grade. Full stop. He basically has not been able to do anything right the entire year. My wife and I have tried to be really supportive of the school, and his teacher has tried to work on being more positive with him, but it’s getting a little ridiculous.

Case in point: He has math work he does at home and in class. Maybe this is the way they’re teaching it now, but with almost every math problem they have to draw a little picture. 5 apples + 3 apples = 8 apples (someone should probably check my math there just to be sure). They’re supposed to draw and color the apples as well as write out the “number sentence” (an aside: why are we not teaching kids the actual math terms and using fuzzy stuff like this?) Well, Drew looks at this and immediately says 5 + 3 = 8, and writes out the number sentence. He grasps the concept. Why does he need to take an extra five minutes and draw the apples? It just frustrates him.

So, the next night, the homework comes home for corrections which are all, basically, DRAW THE PICTURE. This is stupid. He does not need to draw the picture. He needs to move on to other things so he does not get bored.

I know elementary school math programs now are all about this kind of stuff, making it more “arty,” and supposedly “fun.” But for kids who get it, its just frustrating, and reinforces the whole, “Can’t do anything right.” thing. My daughter’s fifth grade math text was all about little pictures and tricks and listing and she could do all of that but didn’t have a grasp of the fundementals, so we switched to Saxon, a math program with no frills, all fundamentals.

At the beginning of this year we wanted to be so supportive of our son’s teacher that we unwittingly sent him the message that we were not on his side, we were on hers. Well, fuck that! I’m on his side, and he needs to know that. And if my kids teacher starts to think I’m a little bit of an asshole because I’m going to the mat on this stuff, well, fine. Kids need what they need and he needs something different. I’m not asking the school to provide that something different, just to get out of my way.

And don’t even get me started on the yard duties who let the boys be teased and tormented by the girls but don’t hesitate to bust a boy who steps out of line, because anyone who’s ever worked around kids knows that totally happens.

Anyway, i’ve been thinking a lot about this kid lately after the months of sturm and drang regarding the other. It’s the opposite problem, really, but just as important mostly because he is really smart and if he gets frustrated and decides to devote his powers to evil in revenge for his unhappy primary school experience we are all screwed.

The Night of Writing Dangerously

Ok, so I’m doing this. A six-hour write-a-thon in San Francisco sponsored by NaNoWriMo to raise money for the young writer’s program. I feel really straongly about this cause because I was one of those kids who could have used a little help to believe this was possible and give me the actual tools to do it.

So, please, please, please, please sponsor me. And you are encouraged to come to the event in costume. The theme is Noir. I promise to go in costume and have embarrassing pictures taken. And yes, all right, posted.

Here’s the link to my fundraising sight. All donations are tax deductible.

Things I am kind of over at this point

Because everyone cares, right?

Vampires — oh, god vampires. Please … no more, no more. I don’t want any more books about them, I don’t want to see any movie trailers starring them, I don’t want to see them hanging around at the corner of my street waiting for the twi-hards getting off the bus from the middle school. I just can’t take anymore. Really. At this point, I am not even up for a Buffy reunion. I know!

Glee. It was a short courtship, and an early break up. It’s entertaining, and I like the music parts, but I am always annoyed when even escapist shows don’t even bother to handwave things to the point of deniable plausibility. Terri as the school nurse? Seriously. I’m not expecting realism, but NO WAY someone would be hired as a school nurse without a credential. Health aide? yeah. But not a school nurse with a faky lab coat and everything. Plus, it’s the same old thing, the same old message, that nothing is valid as an endeavor until the cute jocks get involved. Maybe I’m projecting a little. Oh, and Matthew Morrison is reeeeaaaallly annoying. It may be his hair.

But Jane Lynch is awesome, so I’m not quite ready to break up with it just yet.

Face book games. I don’t have the time, what with the writing and the studying, and the cleaning, and the cat training, and the secret plans for world domination (but wait — I’ve said too much). And most of them don’t work very well. I got tired of building a kick-ass roller coaster kingdom, then logging in again to see that none of my progress was still there and having to start over again. The only reason I have not deleted myself from these games is that if I do my wife and her friends will beat me soundly about the head and shoulders because they will lose their friends points. But don’t send me gifts or invite me anymore, because it’s not you, it’s me.

and since this has been two whiny posts in a row, I will end with some things I should be over, but am not yet:

zombies
lolcats.

I know, I know.

things that have disturbed me lately

The vhs copy of Passion of the Christ on the shelf of kids videos in the waiting room in the psychiatrists office.

My cousin telling me, “Hey, my kids have seen that!”

The CPS worker totally ignoring my subsequent report.

The fact that I feel like I am trying to get the swine flu, but somewhere along my body is refusing to commit to it, and I’m just left with this annoying chest rasp/cough/headache combo that doesn’t even get me any sympathy and doesn’t even give me a workable excuse to take a nap.

Tom DeLay on Dancing with the Stars. The horror, the horror.

The “I want to sex you up,” dance number on Glee.

The fact that I have two dance-related traumas on this list now.

Festival Season in Northern California (actually, it’s ALWAYS festival Season in Northern California).

Tiberius trying to catch up with Caligula in the girth department.

The Predicate Adjective/Predicate Noun worksheet in my daughter’s Language Arts packet. It’s fifth grade, people! I don’t even need to know that crap. And I had to teach it to myself to teach it to 7th graders lo those many years ago.

Having to teach myself, once again, the difference between a predicate adjective/predicate noun.

Having already forgotten the difference between a predicate adjective/predicate noun.

Kanye West making me feel sorry for the Taylor-Swift-Bot.

That is all for now, but we’re headed to another festival, which is always a source of new material.

Ant Protocols

You would never know this to look at me, or to look at my home and my workspace, not to mention my filthy, filthy, car, but I am a closet neat freak.

It has been beat out of me by years of child-rearing, teaching, and my own disorganization, but I really, really like things clean and am greatly affected by places that are not clean. Like, everywhere I go these days.

It’s my basic problem: I desperately need things around me tidy and organized for my own mental health, but am unable to create or maintain this for myself. I really, really need a filthy assistant or 12 (read transmetropolitan if you don’t get that ref) but, of course, the writing isn’t even paying for itself at this point let alone allowing me to hire a staff.

and no, efforts to train my children have been spectacularly non-effective. And don’t even get me started on the cats.

I did not realize that I “came by it honest,” as we say in the midwest, until my last visit to visit my grandparents in Florida. Apparently, there’s a Naked Jungle sized ant problem down there and my grandmother is a little paranoid about it. She has always kept a spotless house, but as I was helping her clean up from dinner one evening, I realized that she was doing something weird. She was taking the trash — milk carton, juice container, chicken wrapping– and rinsing it off in the sink with scalding hot water.

My wife and my parents were like, “woow … that’s … hard core. and weird.”

I thought it was the coolest thing ever. And it should be noted, she has NO ants in her house.

I’ve thought about that a lot, especially as we’ve also had ant problems, mostly because my children think the proper disposal method for a half-eaten cookie is to grind it into the carpet until the crumbs have gone through the carpet and into the pad so Dad won’t see it right away. And I think about my grandma washing her trash and I want to go wash my own trash.

The ants are back. I hate the ants. Obsessively washing dishes and picking up the trash isn’t helping. I believe it is time to institute the ant protocols.

I’m wondering if I can just use Dawn or if I need to go full-out and use something with bleach?

Just in case you were wondering …

ok, so yesterday’s post was a little strident, but I’m still glad I wrote and posted it. And it wasn’t really aimed at anyone, but I don’t really apologize for anything I said. I needed to say it. And if I used a firehouse instead of a squirtgun, well, that’s baseball.

That said, it’s kind of the end of a process of, as I said, staking out some territory for myself in the world and in my own head, and feeling like I’ve earned the right to call the universe on its bullshit.

And to call myself on my own bullshit, which, yeah, there’s a lot of.

But … done now. Will not comment further, will not engage in debate, will just let it stand as it is and get on with the business of living my own damn life and letting everyone else get on with theirs. The rest of this will probably get worked out in fiction, as all things do, for me, really.

But it’s also made me want to do something I felt weird about before, and that’s to can the intitials and start writing things under my own name.

So, no more pen name (since it was my own initials, it wasn’t exactly a pseudonym anyway). From now on, I publish as Chad Grayson.

Hey, I’m a certified crazy. I’m allowed.

What It’s About

It’s about the 7th grade quest program, standing in front of the sheet getting my picture taken in a full classroom, answering that question they wanted you to answer, with “I want to be a writer,” and hearing about a dozen assholes start laughing and saying “what, you want to write stuff down like, a, b, c and stuff?” and me not even being able to understand how they could not know what a writer was.

It’s about the fact that they didn’t feel stupid about this, but that I did.

It’s about the history teacher/football coach who made no correction and just laughed.

It’s about being told that there weren’t any answers to my questions, that I just needed to have faith and trust God when the things I was told were true made no intellectual sense to me.

It’s about being told that I just needed to pray and I would feel better about myself. And maybe I needed to read the bible instead of all those stupid alien books I carried around with me.

It’s about me not saying “but I’ve read the bible five times. The whole thing. Have you?”

It’s about watching my daughter curled up in fetal position on the kitchen floor, crying and whispering “I hate the way I am.”

It’s about me remembering doing that myself in my room.

It’s about realizing that it was my anger and criticism that made her collapse that way.

It’s about me being told I felt like this because I wasn’t right with God, and that I needed to pray and confess and he would heal me.

It’s about, even after all these years, me still believing that might be true.

It’s about thinking it made sense when people would say “Well, of course my child is afraid of black people. Every time you see a crime report on the news, it’s a black person who did it.”

It’s about thinking it was funny when one of my uncles, when asked to do something, responded with “I ain’t your nigger, woman!”

It’s about wanting to throw up when I think about that now.

It’s about me saying to my best friend “I think prejudice is wrong, but if there’s one that’s ok, it’s the one against gay people because that’s just gross and that’s what the bible says, anyway.”

It’s about a secret that best friend knew he could never tell me.

It’s about looking at my wife when I come out of the fog, and realizing that I’ve put her through it again, and I don’t know how to heal any of it.

It’s about realizing exactly how my son learned it was ok to throw things at people and curse when he’s mad.

It’s about always knowing what I wanted, but never thinking I could be good enough, so deciding to live the back-up plan and pretending it’s the real one.

It’s about doing that until I couldn’t anymore, and then life imploding.

It’s about looking in the mirror and knowing, on some level, how it’s all going to end.

It’s about coming up for air and realizing the world is still here, and some of it even still wants me in it.

It’s about taking the meds just so I can feel normal and behave.

It’s about wanting to go off the meds because I find out I hate being normal and behaving.

It’s about sticking with it because it’s for me, for me to accomplish what I want to accomplish, not to make other people feel comfortable.

It’s about getting frustrated with people you love because they don’t see what you see, and continue dividing people between the damned and the blessed, and use politics to deny rights to the people they feel uncomfortable accepting.

It’s about realizing if you want people to meet you where you are, you have to do the same thing. Even if you feel like a lot of the people in your past didn’t give you the same courtesy.

It’s about knowing you’re building walls and feeling sad about that, but needing to build them anyway.

It’s about realizing some fights are just not worth it.

It’s about realizing some fights are.

It’s about realizing I’m the one who gets to make that decision.

It’s about being sick of statements that begin with “Can’t you just …”, “I don’t know why you have to…”, and “Is that really necessary?”

It’s about thinking it’s funny that some who read this will just roll their eyes. Because yes, there I DO go again.

It’s about me staking out territory for me and people like me.

It’s about taking a big sigh of relief and wondering if, now that it’s out, if I’ll be brave enough to post it. Or If I won’t because I know people won’t understand, and will start ending my wife emails asking if I am ok. (answer: yes. If you can read this, I am very much ok).

So, if you can read this, you know what I decided.

Destination: Future cover

Destination Future cover, art by Ed Norden

Eric Reynolds, publisher of Hadley-Rille books recently posted the preliminary cover to the anthology Destination: Future, which will contain my short story, “Jadeflower.”

Cover features art by Ed Norden. Ed’s art has, I think, a groovy, retro sci-fi folk art vibe, if such a thing exists, AND IT SHOULD.

Look for Destination: Future out in early 2010, edited by Eric T. Reynolds and Z.S. Adani. Lots of cool people in this one, as you can see from the cover (Resnick, and Wentworth and Bear, oh my!. no, I am not proud of this joke), and I realy am considering changing my pen name to And More. Thoughts?