Viable Paradise: A Travelogue (Part 7)
(Let's see...when we last left Our Heroine she was on her way to lunch in Oak Bluffs with a small group of fellow fantasy writers, on the afternoon of the final Friday of the workshop that changed her life. And now, back to the obsessively detailed, parenthetically-riddled narrative.)
I have to admit that I really didn't know anything at all about Martha's Vineyard before I went there. I spent way more time excitedly researching details of the workshop and the instructors than I did the place it was held. (I completely failed to google my fellow students beforehand, unlike my cleverer compatriot Mark, who told me casually on a run to the Package Store, "oh, I saw your paintings" and thus must have found my moldy old Juliart site.) I knew it was supposed to be a lovely vacation place for East Coasters, and that it had something to do with Kennedys and other wealthy and powerful people. I had a vague image in my head of swanky touristy East Coast beach town, based on a single visit to Cape Cod back in my teenage years. I expected salt-weathered blue and grey houses with white trim, some fire-colored Fall foliage, maybe a few fish or lobster-related decorative items. But really that was about as far as I'd thought about the place I'd be spending a precious week of my time in.
And as it turns out, I really *still* don't know much about Martha's Vineyard. I have no sense of its history, its sociology, its economy or its residents. All that I know is what I was able to gather through my brief interactions with the physical environment beyond the Island Inn. I was right about the beaches, but that was about it. On our drive around the Island a few days previous (the day we went to the Bite for the infamous chowder), I'd discovered that the foliage hadn't turned yet, but the trees were slender-trunked, close together and footed by large clumps of underbrush. I learned that the people on this Island made incredibly beautiful stone walls, the mortar-less kind that relies on superior stacking skills to stay together. I'd seen new kinds of both wild and landscaped flora that I'd never known and wouldn't be able to name now without a great deal of research (and we all know how I feel about research: "why bother?"). And on this walk into the town of Oak Bluffs, I discovered that apparently one of the things that Martha's Vineyard (or at least, Oak Bluffs) specializes in are elaborately gingerbread-y Victorian homes. I had no idea that I'd find houses on an island off the East Coast to rival San Francisco's painted ladies, and I regret not having snapped a few more pictures (those that I did take will be posted someday, I swear...posting pix is next on my list after finishing this travelogue).
But back to lunch. Additional fried seafood was consumed (not as good as the seafood from the Bite had been, but tasty nonetheless), much writerly conversation was had and more bonding was accomplished. After lunch we dallied for a precious few minutes buying souvenirs, then strolled back to the Island Inn in the watery Fall sunshine, pausing for a few pictures of especially impressive houses. We arrived over an hour late for the post-lunch collegium, but despite feeling a pinch of regret over the lost opportunity to absorb more writerly bits of wisdom, I was really glad we'd taken the break.
Even given our lateness, the collegium still was valuable. There was no particular topic per se, but here are a few bits I wrote down:
-There are really only 3 reasons to join SFWA (Science Fiction Writers Association): the grievance committee, the medical fund and the legal fund. But overall it has a "toxic internal argument culture" and it may be best to keep it at arm's length.
-Great West Coast cons to check out:
* Bay Con (Silicon Valley)
* Potlatch (up and down the West Coast)
* Norwescon (various West Coast cities)
* Orycon (Portland)
-Making mistakes in short fiction is cheap; making mistakes in novels is expensive
-Try a short story or novelette after VP as a "palate cleanser"
-"To double your success rate, triple your failure rate" (I forget whose quote this is)
-Editors don't get to pick the specific copyeditor who will work on your manuscript (neither do you)
-It really helps to do a style sheet for your copyeditor (when you get to that point)
Eventually the collegium conversation wound down and it was time for the official VP picture (yes, soon to be posted) and the official VP oath:
"I, ________ do solemnly swear:
I will write everyday.
I will finish what I write.
I will revise what I finish.
I will send out what I revise
To paying markets only.
I will continue to send out what I revise
(To paying markets only)
Until Hell won't have it.
And I will tell everyone I know
That Viable Paradise is a really great workshop.
(So consider yourselves told!)
There was also some silliness at the end with an addendum that went something like this: "And if I should ever drink too much and fall down, I will make sure that I pass out face up so that people will see my VP t-shirt and they won't think I went to Clarion."
The picture and oath marked the official end to the workshop, but since most of us weren't leaving until the following day, and no one wanted the experience to be over yet, most everyone transitioned into playing Thing in the common room. As afternoon faded into evening, and dinner came and went, people began to break off into smaller groups and the remains of the alcohol from Beer With Billy the night before came out. I remember having a great conversation with Cory and a few other students about Cory's upcoming wedding plans (such a fabulous and of course super-geeky event it will be, but I don't want to spoil it by giving any details here), and I remember that people started to break off and sing along to Patrick's guitar and Norm's ukulele (?) in the other room. Eventually, though, Kim and Dorothy and I grabbed some bottles and some people (Mark, Yeff, Ben, Laura, Marta, Eric and probably others) and headed up to our room for an after-party.
Little did we know that Room 50 had been the big party room for the VPX bunch the year before, but clearly some of that energy was still hanging around, waiting to pounce. Over the next few hours, what began as a few of us sitting around on the couches and chairs in the living room drinking and chatting grew into a standing room only group storytelling fest, where each of us took turns telling our relationship "origin stories" (e.g. how I met the one who broke/stole/captured my heart). It was vastly entertaining to me that most of us, when liberated by a few drinks, couldn't succinctly tell a story with clear narrative drive to save our lives (see, revisions really are the writer's friend!) And speaking of a few drinks, I have to admit that in my excitement I overindulged somewhat and found myself with the overwhelming need to pass out horizontally for a few minutes. Luckily it was our townhouse, so I just went in the bedroom and laid down on my bed until Kim came in to see if I was ok. Which I was, so I came back out for more origin stories. Perhaps I had been re-energized by my brief "nap", perhaps it was just the reluctance to have the experience end, perhaps it was just a hostess's instinct to not give up before the guests did, but one way or another, I wound up staying up until around 3:30 or 4:00 AM, which is when the last guests finally gave up and stumbled home themselves.
Despite my lack of sleep and burgeoning hangover the next morning, I was determined to cook the French toast I'd promised my roomies and the boys downstairs back on Day 1. And since our door was open, people kept dropping by--which is why I can say I have now cooked for famous (and soon-to-be famous) people. (Jim ate at least two pieces, if I recall, and even Patrick accepted a piece...but Cory just looked longingly at it, since he was on a "lose-weight-for-the-wedding" vegan diet.) Then it was time for packing and tearful farewells, capped by hugs and promises to keep in touch.
Yeff and I were both flying out to Boston on the same puddlejumper flight out of the Vineyard, so he drove me to the airport, and we spent some good end-of-the-event hangout time. We had glorious weather for our flight to Boston so the ride was fun (I got to sit next to the pilot!) but unfortunately it was too hazy for good pictures. I contented myself with taking pictures of the dials and levers "for research" purposes, in case I ever wanted to finish my foul-mouthed pilot story and needed a little realism. Once we reached Boston, we found we were in separate terminal for the flights out to our respective California airports, so we bid each other a fond farewell and I went off to find some food to sustain me for the long trip cross-continent.
And here we pretty much come to the end of the travelogue, since everything else was fairly uneventful. It was lovely to come home to my place and my family (my parents even kindly picked me up from the airport), and while it was maybe not so lovely to be abruptly thrust back into the hurly burly of my usual overfull life, I didn't mind, because I brought back with me something of immense value, something I am still unpacking and exploring because it affected me on so many levels.
I'm sure I have forgotten a few things, and failed to expand on others, but I'm done for now. It's time to let the VP experience go underground, and continue to work its transformations quietly beneath the surface. It is time to carry forward my new enthusiasm and commitment to making my writing better (not to mention a priority), and to simultaneously be okay with where I'm at. It is time to own what I need to own and drop the rest.
And most of all, it is time to stop blogging and go start writing more novel chapters!
I have to admit that I really didn't know anything at all about Martha's Vineyard before I went there. I spent way more time excitedly researching details of the workshop and the instructors than I did the place it was held. (I completely failed to google my fellow students beforehand, unlike my cleverer compatriot Mark, who told me casually on a run to the Package Store, "oh, I saw your paintings" and thus must have found my moldy old Juliart site.) I knew it was supposed to be a lovely vacation place for East Coasters, and that it had something to do with Kennedys and other wealthy and powerful people. I had a vague image in my head of swanky touristy East Coast beach town, based on a single visit to Cape Cod back in my teenage years. I expected salt-weathered blue and grey houses with white trim, some fire-colored Fall foliage, maybe a few fish or lobster-related decorative items. But really that was about as far as I'd thought about the place I'd be spending a precious week of my time in.
And as it turns out, I really *still* don't know much about Martha's Vineyard. I have no sense of its history, its sociology, its economy or its residents. All that I know is what I was able to gather through my brief interactions with the physical environment beyond the Island Inn. I was right about the beaches, but that was about it. On our drive around the Island a few days previous (the day we went to the Bite for the infamous chowder), I'd discovered that the foliage hadn't turned yet, but the trees were slender-trunked, close together and footed by large clumps of underbrush. I learned that the people on this Island made incredibly beautiful stone walls, the mortar-less kind that relies on superior stacking skills to stay together. I'd seen new kinds of both wild and landscaped flora that I'd never known and wouldn't be able to name now without a great deal of research (and we all know how I feel about research: "why bother?"). And on this walk into the town of Oak Bluffs, I discovered that apparently one of the things that Martha's Vineyard (or at least, Oak Bluffs) specializes in are elaborately gingerbread-y Victorian homes. I had no idea that I'd find houses on an island off the East Coast to rival San Francisco's painted ladies, and I regret not having snapped a few more pictures (those that I did take will be posted someday, I swear...posting pix is next on my list after finishing this travelogue).
But back to lunch. Additional fried seafood was consumed (not as good as the seafood from the Bite had been, but tasty nonetheless), much writerly conversation was had and more bonding was accomplished. After lunch we dallied for a precious few minutes buying souvenirs, then strolled back to the Island Inn in the watery Fall sunshine, pausing for a few pictures of especially impressive houses. We arrived over an hour late for the post-lunch collegium, but despite feeling a pinch of regret over the lost opportunity to absorb more writerly bits of wisdom, I was really glad we'd taken the break.
Even given our lateness, the collegium still was valuable. There was no particular topic per se, but here are a few bits I wrote down:
-There are really only 3 reasons to join SFWA (Science Fiction Writers Association): the grievance committee, the medical fund and the legal fund. But overall it has a "toxic internal argument culture" and it may be best to keep it at arm's length.
-Great West Coast cons to check out:
* Bay Con (Silicon Valley)
* Potlatch (up and down the West Coast)
* Norwescon (various West Coast cities)
* Orycon (Portland)
-Making mistakes in short fiction is cheap; making mistakes in novels is expensive
-Try a short story or novelette after VP as a "palate cleanser"
-"To double your success rate, triple your failure rate" (I forget whose quote this is)
-Editors don't get to pick the specific copyeditor who will work on your manuscript (neither do you)
-It really helps to do a style sheet for your copyeditor (when you get to that point)
Eventually the collegium conversation wound down and it was time for the official VP picture (yes, soon to be posted) and the official VP oath:
"I, ________ do solemnly swear:
I will write everyday.
I will finish what I write.
I will revise what I finish.
I will send out what I revise
To paying markets only.
I will continue to send out what I revise
(To paying markets only)
Until Hell won't have it.
And I will tell everyone I know
That Viable Paradise is a really great workshop.
(So consider yourselves told!)
There was also some silliness at the end with an addendum that went something like this: "And if I should ever drink too much and fall down, I will make sure that I pass out face up so that people will see my VP t-shirt and they won't think I went to Clarion."
The picture and oath marked the official end to the workshop, but since most of us weren't leaving until the following day, and no one wanted the experience to be over yet, most everyone transitioned into playing Thing in the common room. As afternoon faded into evening, and dinner came and went, people began to break off into smaller groups and the remains of the alcohol from Beer With Billy the night before came out. I remember having a great conversation with Cory and a few other students about Cory's upcoming wedding plans (such a fabulous and of course super-geeky event it will be, but I don't want to spoil it by giving any details here), and I remember that people started to break off and sing along to Patrick's guitar and Norm's ukulele (?) in the other room. Eventually, though, Kim and Dorothy and I grabbed some bottles and some people (Mark, Yeff, Ben, Laura, Marta, Eric and probably others) and headed up to our room for an after-party.
Little did we know that Room 50 had been the big party room for the VPX bunch the year before, but clearly some of that energy was still hanging around, waiting to pounce. Over the next few hours, what began as a few of us sitting around on the couches and chairs in the living room drinking and chatting grew into a standing room only group storytelling fest, where each of us took turns telling our relationship "origin stories" (e.g. how I met the one who broke/stole/captured my heart). It was vastly entertaining to me that most of us, when liberated by a few drinks, couldn't succinctly tell a story with clear narrative drive to save our lives (see, revisions really are the writer's friend!) And speaking of a few drinks, I have to admit that in my excitement I overindulged somewhat and found myself with the overwhelming need to pass out horizontally for a few minutes. Luckily it was our townhouse, so I just went in the bedroom and laid down on my bed until Kim came in to see if I was ok. Which I was, so I came back out for more origin stories. Perhaps I had been re-energized by my brief "nap", perhaps it was just the reluctance to have the experience end, perhaps it was just a hostess's instinct to not give up before the guests did, but one way or another, I wound up staying up until around 3:30 or 4:00 AM, which is when the last guests finally gave up and stumbled home themselves.
Despite my lack of sleep and burgeoning hangover the next morning, I was determined to cook the French toast I'd promised my roomies and the boys downstairs back on Day 1. And since our door was open, people kept dropping by--which is why I can say I have now cooked for famous (and soon-to-be famous) people. (Jim ate at least two pieces, if I recall, and even Patrick accepted a piece...but Cory just looked longingly at it, since he was on a "lose-weight-for-the-wedding" vegan diet.) Then it was time for packing and tearful farewells, capped by hugs and promises to keep in touch.
Yeff and I were both flying out to Boston on the same puddlejumper flight out of the Vineyard, so he drove me to the airport, and we spent some good end-of-the-event hangout time. We had glorious weather for our flight to Boston so the ride was fun (I got to sit next to the pilot!) but unfortunately it was too hazy for good pictures. I contented myself with taking pictures of the dials and levers "for research" purposes, in case I ever wanted to finish my foul-mouthed pilot story and needed a little realism. Once we reached Boston, we found we were in separate terminal for the flights out to our respective California airports, so we bid each other a fond farewell and I went off to find some food to sustain me for the long trip cross-continent.
And here we pretty much come to the end of the travelogue, since everything else was fairly uneventful. It was lovely to come home to my place and my family (my parents even kindly picked me up from the airport), and while it was maybe not so lovely to be abruptly thrust back into the hurly burly of my usual overfull life, I didn't mind, because I brought back with me something of immense value, something I am still unpacking and exploring because it affected me on so many levels.
I'm sure I have forgotten a few things, and failed to expand on others, but I'm done for now. It's time to let the VP experience go underground, and continue to work its transformations quietly beneath the surface. It is time to carry forward my new enthusiasm and commitment to making my writing better (not to mention a priority), and to simultaneously be okay with where I'm at. It is time to own what I need to own and drop the rest.
And most of all, it is time to stop blogging and go start writing more novel chapters!
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