An Exercise in Straying Off Topic... you'll see

So... today my assignment is to write about my obsessions. This seemed fairly easy yesterday, but now, when I am far from being in "writing mode" the idea just seems depressing. Oh well, a writer's life is full of misery! So I must forge onward! Perseverance! Fortitude! Condoms!

So... what am I obsessed with?

Teachers

I still don't know why. I just find this profession to be as sexy as all hell. I think about my teachers constantly. I romanticize them, speculate about what they are like outside of the classroom, analyze and enshrine every word they say, and look at their existence with a very peculiar kind of affection. People who I probably would not like or notice in any other situation become objects of my attention and scrutiny. Even if I do not like or approve of them, I cannot help but feel a certain kind of fondness for them. Maybe it's because I'm a suck-up, show-off bitch. I'm eager for adult approval and affection, because I didn't receive it from my parents. I need someone to look up to and idolize. Or I'm a whore. Or both. Either way.

I don't really think that this started happening consciously until high school. I always had liked school, and liked doing impressive, elaborate projects that impressed my teachers, whoring myself in general. But I don't remember ever wanting them to like me for any other reason than the fact that it meant that I was going to get a good grade, and that I wouldn't have to deal with them bitching at me. Not that I was a goody-goody or anything. I didn't aim to be a teacher's pet; not really. I got written up loads of times in my younger years for disrespect, talking in class, sarcastic comments, and emotional outbursts. I liked being appreciated for my brains and creativity, not for my subservience. Probably the reason that I didn't really like my teachers when I was younger was that they were too focused on what I saw as stupid, arbitrary rules.

But when I went to high school, that pretty much changed. Suddenly, teachers had senses of humor. They confessed to being human, they laughed at their mistakes and their laziness. They encouraged us to voice our opinions in class, and didn't expect us to be "on our best behavior." They wanted us to be individuals, not robots. And they all had personality. And they like me, even though I was a giant loser.

It was all downhill from there.

I feel so weird and stupid writing this. My obsession with Jansen, Parks, Hein, Cataneo, McClain, Holinko, Leone, and all the others is simply embarrassing. The degree to which I took this isn't really frightening-- I didn't stalk them or really act creepy in any way. I just thought about them. A lot. I found their personalities fascinating, and hilarious. They were the subjects of constant jokes between my friends and I. House of Orange actually originated from an inside joke between me, Sam, Fallon, and Rikki about how Mr. Jansen and Ms. Cataneo would make a great couple, and how it would be awesome if they could raise a kid together. His name would be Glenore, I decided. Later, that was extended to Lord Glenore Horation C'tansen. I blended this with the theory we had once purported, freshman year, that Jansen and Hein were gay lovers. I added our extreme dislike for our valedictorian (we shall call her Dandy Candy, to protect the not-that-innocent) with a dash of the insanity and Napoleon Complex of Mr. Leone, and my everlasting love for Theodore Roosevelt (I used to eat Teddy Grams in class, and liken them to the Great Bull Moose... my friend Yelena and I even made up a song for them!) and the result was Glenore, the play that would form the basis of House of Orange. The writing of this play was a very public affair, and I showed it to my friends, who made requests to have characters based on themselves added into the mix. The result was that soon the plot became too burdensome to be contained in one play. I decided to make it into a novel.

Okay, while we're on the subject, I guess I will do my best to explain the plot of House of Orange. I was talking to Professor Conway today (more on that later) about my paper, and he asked the question I've always dreaded hearing: "What exactly is this book about?"

"Uhhh..." I said stupidly, "There's a reason I didn't include that in the paper. It's super complicated. Like, twenty different story lines and character arcs intersecting and crashing into one giant climax."

"Yeah, well you're going to need to be able to pitch that to editors in a concise way."

No shit, Sherlock, thought evil Mei. Nice Mei said ever-so-carefully, "Yeah, I know it's a problem. I've got to find the heart of the story, and get rid of the unnecessary stuff."

"Yeah," says Conway, stroking his red little beard-thing pathetically. "450 pages is too long to get published."

Evil Mei was thoroughly ticked. Did he even read this paper??? (I always get this sinking feeling that teachers don't really read my papers. It might be paranoia. Then again... they always seem to miss fairly evident passages. Like the two paragraphs I spent talking about how editors aren't going to want a book this long!!! Actually, the whole damn essay was about the shortcomings of my manuscript, and how to get it up to snuff to make it viable for publication. I felt like he was just re-posing all the questions I asked myself in the fucking thing. Jeeze. Paranoia, you say? I'll post the paper later. You tell me what you think. Paranoia my ass.) Nice Mei said, ever so tenderly, so as not to hurt Conway's soft, pink professor feelings,"I did try to address that issue in my paper. From what I read in all my research, a slightly longer novel is acceptable in Historical Fiction and Fantasy genres. And my story is a blend of the two. But it does need work. That's why I wrote this paper." I kept the bitch to a minimum.

"Yeah," Conway asserted weakly, "You won't have much luck publishing something of that length as literary fiction."

"As I concluded in my paper."

"Yeah."

"Yeah." Then I laughed, this stupid little half-nervous, half-frustrated laugh. I fidgeted with my sleeves. They were green. Green sleeves. Haha. Henry the Eighth was fat. And red. Like Professor Conway. I gave another short little grunt/chuckle.

"What?" he asked, looking vexed. And pink. So very pink and red. Like a flaming, embarrassed pumpkin drenched in the blood of a ginger kid. All these shades of red.

"I don't know," I said. It was true. I didn't. I had no idea what was going on. I was babbling. Kind of like now.

So yes. As red and oblivious as Professor Conway might be, he embarrassed me into facing reality. Even though I had already told myself that my book was not publishable for all the reasons listed above, having him say it kind of drove home that fact. In a very uncomfortable way that made me squirm under his bored, laconic gaze.

So, I figure I'll practice explaining the cumbersome plot of my not-so-magnum-opus to you peeps. Because you care. Oh so much.

This post is too long. I'll start a new one. Especially since we're going on to a very important topic that merits its very own Grand Post of Postage.

See you on the other side.

The Beginnings of a Great Enterprise

Well, the prodigal Melissa has finally made her glorious return. The crowds holler in adulation. All bow to her greatness.

As you can see, I have made some changes. My goal here is to do what I said in my post months and months ago-- make this blog into the record of my journey from the earliest forms of brainstorming for my novel, to my theoretical publication. This, of course, may never happen... but hopefully if other people can follow my journey they can not only get to know me, but come to understand what life is like for a young writer hoping to one day have her humble words sold for millions. Mwahaha!

Meh. Enough of my posturing. Let me tell you how things are going to be from now on. Ahems-

I want to build a world from scratch. I want all of the characters, all of the ideas that have been stewing in my brain for 19 years to have a place to live. I like the idea of everything being interrelated; of being able to build a kind of mythology and history of a place. Kind of the way Tolkien operated, I guess, but I shy away from making that comparison. I used to be a huge Lord of the Rings fanatic (bless my wittle soul!) but I pretty much outgrew that by the last half of high school. Let's just say my period of addiction was brief but violent. Many hobbits perished. I was left in the aftermath, a thoroughly self-conscious, humiliated little thing. I DON'T want to be seen as emulating Tolkien. I don't want people associating me with him. Not anymore.

Just think of me as fantasy's answer to Victor Hugo. Oh, gods, I love that man. I've been rereading Les Miserables, and I still marvel at the way that man writes and plots. Orphans! Prostitutes! Convicts! Inspectors! Gypsies! Shady Innkeepers! Little Chimney Sweep Boys! Sexy, sexy, sexy... I love the way he develops all of his characters, from the major players to the nuns who show up for a couple of chapters and then are never heard of again. The way he describes them, like he really is this engaging historian who has investigated all of the circumstances and can't bear to leave any of his research out... yum. I love the richness of the text, full of allusions, historical references, political diatribes, lectures on culture, language, and geography. Excuse me as I orgasm several times. 'kay.

So, I'm really looking forward to doing the character development. I'm a psychology major, and my fiction has always been more character centric than anything else, so I shouldn't have any trouble coming up with a large and elaborate cast for my production. That will be my joy.

Trouble: setting. I've never been one for organized research, and this is going to take a whole lot of organization and work in areas that I don't particularly enjoy. Not that I hate it or anything, but the bulk of the research that I'm going to have to do is so staggering that whenever I think about it I feel like throwing up on someone and then committing suicide in some very painful manner. The main problem with my existence seems to be that I get easily intimidated by the prospect of doing lots of work, and then I never get started on it. Once I get started, it's all good. It's just getting my ass going that's the trouble.

My advice to myself: make it a fun routine. I know this could be fun. I do. It's like a mystery. A game. It's like the Sims, except instead of creating a world on my computer, I'm doing it in my head and on paper. And in the end it's going to be a lot more rewarding. How come I would willingly zone out for hours in front of a computer playing a game like Sims or Spore, but I won't do that for the sake of my art? Dumb, dumb Mei-Mei.

So, as far as my plan of attack goes... I am going to compose a map. Oh, the great tool of corny fantasy authors EVERYWHERE! I hate maps. Hate, hate, hate them. My spacial IQ is, like, 30 points lower than my average IQ. That gives you some idea of what is going to happen here. Misery. Death. Hell, several times over. But, once I get into it, I could actually enjoy it. If I make it. Which... arghh. Positive thinking, Mei-Mei. Be POSITIVE.

Which leads to............ the question I have been avoiding for four years. Yeesh. What kind of universe is this actually taking place in? For some time I have contended myself (and my writing classmates/teachers) with the answer: this sort of pseudo-Pirates-of-the-Caribbean-Universe where we have a place that's something like our historical Earth, except not. Because there are evil sea-creatures, and magic things, and whatnot. With a dash of His Dark Materials. Parallel universe would probably be a good description of the place... except... I've always had this idea that the world I have created is this world, but in the future. Except the future ends up being a step backwards. We end up trading our technology for magic stuffs. To a degree. I might allow a certain level of machinery into the mix... 19th century romanticized shit. Except it's powered by magic? See, haven't really made up my mind. At all.

But the question is: what happened? Why did the world go in this other direction? I need an explanation for this, pronto. And a quick, concise way to explain this to agents/editors if they ever come into the mix.

See, without this question answered, I can never develop a realistic culture for the present world. And without developing the setting, I don't have a home for my characters to populate. For a long time, I have been letting half-formed vapors resembling characters and storylines run around in my head. But they can't be solid, because they only live in this pseudo-world of my messed up, messed up brain. Like Victor Hugo's characters-- like any real human being-- their stories are going to be irrevocably tied to where they are. And if I don't know, they can't be. Especially since I'm writing a kind of political, military epic where characters travel around and are caught up in the conflicts of nations and societies. Great stuff. But unless I can create nations and societies, I have nothing.

So, for the next while, that's what my posts are going to be about-- my journey in discovering the world that all my future characters are going to inhabit. I want to find some kind of software I can use to make maps of the land... on as large of a scale as a continent, and as small as a street name. If I can't find a computer program, this work is going to be done in sketch books, which will be more difficult. Either way, I'm going to get the important stuff sketched, write the histories, develop the mythology, yadayadayada. After that, I'll focus more on character building, which will be waaay more fun once I don't have to wring my hands and try to fill in setting information as I go. Oi! Most of my countries, I think, are going to be based off of already existing ones- the Dutch and Russians are targets, definitely. The rest will be revealed in time. I'll have to do extensive research on those cultures, figure out what I want to keep, and what I want to discard. I have to come up with the laws for magic, which will be more fun than the other stuff for me.

So, I have my mission.

I debated extensively before writing this post about the name of my new world. For the longest time, it was just called "Earth." That was truthful, but not fun. My world deserves a fancy new name, because even if it is the same place as Earth, it's not the same. So I've named it Verloren; it means "lost" in Dutch. Sounds pretty cool. Why is it called that? I haven't a clue. I'll have to figure that out, along with a million other things, as I start my great enterprise.