Come on Over!

So, I'm taking the plunge and redirecting visitors to www.traciewelser.com even though it's not quite ready yet. No new content will be posted here, so be sure to adjust your feed reader and/or subscription.

The content is the same, just working toward a better-looking site and more flexible platform.

See you there!

This Blog is Moving!

Just a heads-up; Is This Utopia? will magically transform this month into traciewelser.com and migrate on over to a WordPress format, finally.

SO, adjust your sets, and let me know what you think. The site is already up, but it's a work in progress; new logo is being designed as we speak.

On Roller Derby (more non-writing activities)

Too chicken to play all-female flat track roller derby myself, but it is awesome to be a spectator. I've recently been introduced to this team sport, and my current fav is the Switchblade Sisters, a team in the Tampa Bay Derby Darlins league.

The officials are almost as much fun to watch as the flat track action itself. I spent a fair amount of time at the last bout on September 4th trying to capture the antics of Stella Knockout (derby names are fun). She skidded on her knees on the edge of the track (a few feet from me) after every other play like she was sliding into home plate. Never quite got the shot I wanted, though. As seen here, she rocks the referee uniform.

I'm really not one for sports. I was forced to play team sports as an adolescent and hated it all. Now, I tend toward individual or partnered recreational activities, not competitive ones, and I don't watch sports on television. The entertaining aspect of roller derby (for me) has a great deal to do with empowering women, and the majority of spectators are women and girls. I plan say a bit more about this and the appealing third-wave punk aesthetic, too, when I'm not so sleepy; women-centered space can be creative and interesting to occupy. The number of supportive males in the sport, in terms of both audience and officials, is not too shabby from what I've seen in this league.

For a fun and informative look at roller derby, check out the excellent documentary Blood on the Flat Track: The Rise of the Rat City Roller Girls.

What Else?

My family and friends must be getting tired of hearing about my writing life because someone recently asked, "So, what else are you doing? What have you been up to?"

What I'm up to is bouldering and buildering, veganing and watching roller derby (but not all at the same time).

About bouldering:

I discovered this with the help of a friend and freaked over it, a little. Who knew climbing around on walls could be so awesome? And it builds muscle like crazy. The crummy thing is, the nearest gym is an hour away.

So, just for fun sometimes I gotta builder. In other words, climbing around in places I probably shouldn't like a monkey. Mind you, I'm a novice at both of these activities, but this one is particularly appealing to the juvenile delinquent (by which, of course, I mean "free spirit") that lives in the corner of my heart. A good friend is an influence in this regard.

So here I am climbing around on stuff behind the post office. Postal people might not appreciate this activity in the same way I do, so I'm buildering after hours. My son thought it was a hoot and joined right in. Is this a negative thing?


This silliness is abetted by the fact that I just acquired a pair of Vibram Sprints, five-fingered toe shoes that garner weird looks everywhere they go because, frankly, they are odd-looking. But they give you all kinds of grip, and they're comfy. I walked a couple of miles in them today, rode a bike and then set a bad example at the post office after dark. Good times.

Tomorrow: veganing and roller derby. Those need their own posts, methinks.

An Acceptance!

I'm am thrilled and amazed to report that a submission of mine has been accepted for publication.

In a fun publication, too. Recently, excellent super-duo Ann and Jeff Vandermeer announced a call for micro-submissions to be included in their latest, The Thackery T. Lambshead Cabinet of Curiousities, which will feature such cool people as the marvelous and friendly-in-person Ted Chiang, China Mieville, Holly Black, Garth Nix and Minister Faust, to name a few.

You can read my submission on the blog comments here.

Congrats to all, and a big thank you to the Vandermeers for their consideration.

The Single Best Thing

One of my Clarion West buds just sent me a critique of my latest effort at a short story. A really solid crit. And that may be the Single Best Thing to come out of the CW experience.

Not only do I have great friends who keep in touch and tweet pictures of their lunches to me, who chat with me about theology and life and finding fulfillment, but we are also lending generous hands to each other in our continuing work.

Even better, we'll get a chance to further that effort when we meet up again at events like World Fantasy Con.

Thanks, peeps! You made my day.

Life After

It's been a busy summer, and I've only covered a fraction of it here. As proof that there's more to life than Clarion West recovery, I actually set some goals.

One of the cooler gifts I was given at CW (among others too miraculous to quantify) was a autographed copy of Jeff Vandermeer's Booklife, which is an extraordinary survival guide that all serious aspiring writers should have. Thanks, Jeff! In the book, Vandermeer handily explicates the notion of goal-setting as it applies to the writing life, along with a wealth of other helpful suggestions.

I sat down and cranked out goals for the week, month, and coming year, including the number of submissions I think I should be rotating at any given time in marketland, and conventions for professional writers that may help further my career. I made plans to attend one, World Fantasy Con, and outlined plans for other events in the year to come.

The momentum is exciting, but I realized pretty quickly that my weekly goals are unrealistic; part of me crazily expected to keep up a CW pacing outside of the workshop bubble. When a child is tugging my sleeve, other family members need attention, and I find myself launched back into service of my faith community, the pace really slows.

However...

I have recently submitted three works, two of them stories from the workshop, and I'm currently working on a promising new idea. I'm keeping in touch with CW colleagues, and I joined the Codex Writers' Group.

I guess this is a little pat on the back to reassure myself that the thrills and successes I experienced over the summer aren't going to fade away into the ether of memory as the present realities of my life assert themselves. I'm working toward my future, one goal at a time, and I know what I want. I just have to keep moving forward.

Clarion West Made Me Do It Part 2

I can't believe I didn't mention this one already. As far as crazy things go, this ranks pretty high with some people, including more than a few Famous Authors I met at the CW parties. I was NOT the only one who got a tattoo to commemorate the workshop, BTW.

The Clarion West Narrative: Eight Crazy Things Clarion West Made Me Do

This ongoing narrative thread about Clarion West is less coherent than I'd like, but I'm starting to think that's symptomatic of the experience. My brain is so full of memories, sights, sounds, faces, places and ideas that the story is coming out in a jumble. A rough draft that I'll clean up as I go, at least in my head, as I rewrite my life story.

One way I want to address some of the story is to drag it out of my past and into the present moment.

The welcome packet I was given warned us that we'd return home changed people, and in my case, the advice was dead-on. From very basic things (I started chewing gum to stay awake and developed a habit) to major shifts in self-concept that I can't yet articulate, the workshop was transformative.

I developed an almost paranoid relationship with my laptop and still feel uneasy if it's not where I can see it. I'm addicted to Twitter. I drink too much coffee. I'm aggressively protective of my privacy and free time. I can't sleep (yet) on an Eastern time schedule. I returned to veganism with a passion. But, HEY! Results may vary.

I also learned to think and work like a professional writer, which is a good thing, one hopes.

This last part may seem a little juvenile, but when I came back, I also had a burning desire to be a bit funkier, to make my outer appearance match my changing inner self-concept. After some careful thought, I made a big change.

So, here's my new do, some of which is blue. I feel fabulous and more comfortable in my own skin. I can't sufficiently explain why this was important to me.

At my age, you'd think I'd be past little things like appearance. But I'm becoming a person I've wanted to be for quite some time, and it feels totally right.

Clarion West Narrative: some tidbits

Clarion West students work to build collegiality, but the workshop tone is set by the instructor.

Case in point: Week One

Michael Bishop was wonderful, a pro. Right out of the gate, he launched into an enlightening lecture on the evils of passive voice and tired phrases, and discussed the useful concept of the "object correlative." During week one, it was clear that Bishop expected us to be familiar with more than just work in our chosen genre. We discussed James Joyce, Eliot, and Robert Hass. We talked about Flannery O'Connor and characterization, "say-able" dialogue and careful prose. And we wrote our butts off, with a different short piece due each day on a particular theme. The extraordinary part, one I dearly loved, was the fact that the stories were turned in anonymously, and Bishop read them aloud for us to critique.

The quality of those early stories blew me away. I had found myself in the company of some brilliant people. Good place to be to grow as a writer! In this process, Bishop taught us how to workshop stories without blasting authors. It set a marvelous tone for the weeks to come. Bishop himself was positive and humorous, a delightful guy.

On Tuesday, we attended a reading at the UW Bookstore where he read from a recent anthology he edited entitled Cross of Centuries. His selection was a fabulous re-imagining of Christ as a woman. Definitely worth the read.

The Clarion West Narrative

Finally back at home, after some training and travel unrelated to writing (more on that later, perhaps).

Many people are blogging about the workshop experience, and I know why (here's a superb example). I've written for newspapers, but this isn't reporting. This is grieving and restructuring the narrative of our lives, post-CW. At least, for me it is.

I don't have adequate words to explain how much the workshop experience impacted me and changed me. I'm opting to tell the tale more thematically after a failed draft attempt to break down my Clarion West experience into week-by-week description. The bottom line is, the week-by-week stuff all blurs together, even if you take extensive notes, like I did.

Having said that...

Arrival at the workshop, Saturday June 19. Palpable excitement as classmates arrived. Lots of hugging and thrills of recognition from forum and blog posts, photos shared online in our Google group. Threw luggage into my room. The admin folks, who are lovely people, left us to our own devices to get acquainted. We went out for Indian food on University Avenue, the smorgasbord of ethnic cuisine yum-yums.

Imagine showing up to a beautiful house filled with people who share your fondest hopes. They've read some of the same books you've read. They speak your language. They laugh when you make reference to Babylon 5 or The Princess Bride. They're wearing t-shirts with geeky sayings on them. I breathed deep, in spite of my jitters. These were MY people.

The most precious thing about the CW experience for me? Friendships. This was also the toughest part, as the workshop drew to a close. Not only did we get an extraordinary chance to learn from pro writers, we also got to share our own talents and passions with other new writers, and the combination of these factors makes for some seriously powerful bonding.

Now, some of us are working hard to stay in touch, which is professionally smart but also fulfilling in other ways. I miss them terribly. This matters so much to me that words fail here, but this aspect of the workshop was huge. I'm sorrowful, but so very grateful.

Heartfelt thanks to all.

Home Again

Wow. I just had my life radically altered by Clarion West Writers Workshop. I wish someone had told me coming home would be like ripping my heart out.

It was lovely. It was terrifying. It was complex and full of joy and discovery. It was everything I ever wanted and then some, including things I didn't even know I needed and a bunch of new best friends.

I didn't blog about it during because it's just too damn hard. Some folks did in the past, and I really appreciated their efforts, for giving me a window into that life-changing event before I attended the workshop. I learned that every workshop class has a different experience, that the time we're given is shaped by us, the participants, but there are lots of commonalities, too. Read and compare, if you are a future hopeful.

Over the next few weeks, I'll attempt to reconstruct some of the narrative of my experience there. But it'll be mostly for me, I think. The last six weeks have been so intense and important to my life as a person and as a writer, and I need to decompress and process some of that data, if you know what I mean.

In the meantime, here's photo #1, arrival and unpacking.

Arrival and Ecstasy

If you've been reading along, you know I'm at the Clarion West Writers Workshop in Seattle, Washington, which is amazing and surreal and a bunch of other words that don't tell much. I will probably post irregularly, and I am beginning to understand why it is officially discouraged. There is far too much other activity and purpose here to spend it doing any writing other than fiction.

Having said that...

The house is like a palace on the bottom (where we eat and talk) and an institution on the top floors (where the writers sleep and work). The administrators are praise-worthy in the extreme. I already feel like I've known them a while, and they work hard to meet our every need (or demand). I nearly fell out of my chair this morning when they announced that there would be a massage therapist coming to the house at intervals to service our cramping shoulders and backs. The food is incredible and constantly available: I will probably gain back every pound I lost in May and then some.

The people, the other writers, are delightful. We're all very different but share that one intensity of purpose. It's sort of like being on a nerdy con panel but small, intimate and regular. So far I've seen work from nine of the eighteen, and they have serious chops. It's good company.

Our first instructor, Michael Bishop, has made me think more about narrative theory in seven or so hours than I've ever done before. Not everything we're discussing is new to me, but bringing it all into focus in one place, and then sitting down to write minutes later, has already produced writing of which I can be proud.

Description is inadequate to convey the experience. Suffice it to say, I'm having a blast though I miss my family, and today I ate a Vegemite sandwich for the first time ever.

Now, back to writing.

Journey's Beginning (Random Pre-flight Ramblings)

Up early and eager to go. I don't think I've mentioned before that I hate flying with a passion. If I could avoid it in a reasonable manner, I would, but I can't see traveling for days and days clear across the country for this workshop.

So, I'm packing my usual pile of flight survival drugs and earplugs and so on, in hopes that I won't get sick or have to endure excruciating ear pain.

The packing is almost complete, I just have to shuffle things around so my pillow will fit. I'm happy to report that I located a satchel in my closet that will accommodate my groovy but unnecessary doumbek, so now I can add one more parcel to the three I'll already be trying to manage.

Now I've just got to wake my boys so we can finish up and hit the road to the airport.

No Rest for the Weary

Can't sleep, must pack! And repack, fidget over loose ends and contemplate the prospect of fitting just ONE more thing into the suitcase.

I actually shopped today for a carrying case for my doumbek, but I couldn't find one, so I guess it stays at home. Why do I even think I need that?

Every time I really think about what I'm doing, I feel the urge to vomit. I may yet take some decongestant to knock me out so I don't lie awake for the rest of the night worrying about what I've forgotten to pack (relax, I have a cold, so it's not total drug misuse).

This time tomorrow I will be in Seattle. Terrifying, really.

Countdown

Clarion West begins in five days. I tried (unsuccessfully) to avoid thinking about the whirlwind adventure waiting for me in Seattle, but now that the days are down to single digits, and friends are wishing me well, I feel pretty scared.

I'm still working through the instructor reading list; I've changed it up a bit from my original plan, and now it's on round two, where each author is going through my brain a second time with a second book. I've been absolutely blown away by Maureen McHugh. If you like Ursula K. Le Guin at all (and I adore her work), then McHugh is for you. I've also been impressed with the style of Ian McDonald, Nnedi Okorafor and Michael Bishop. Reading Graham Joyce's Requiem was a little unpleasant for me, but now that I'm into The Limits of Enchantment, I'm ready to give the author another chance to make a first impression. One more by Bishop and I reach my minimum goal.

Other than that, I've been trying to tie up loose ends and set other bits in motion, in hopes that those plates will still be spinning (how'dya like that mixed metaphor?) when I return from the workshop. A big challenge is figuring out what to pack, and although I've been making the list and assembling the collection of stuff for over a month, now that the time is really upon me, I'm struggling a bit. I realize yet again that I like to be in control of anything and everything that I can. This whole thing is outside my comfort zone, but the nervous part of me has been properly chided by the thrill-seeker and the aggressive self-promoter. I'm almost ready.

I'm not sure how much time I'll get to blog while I'm there; in fact, we are encouraged not to. Other participants have promised a daily update and fallen off halfway due to the demands of the workshop, so I'm not making any promises. But I do hope to document the experience a bit for myself and for future hopefuls because those who did blog gave me a window through which to look and dream.

And then there was Pie (and sand)

I promised a photo! Thankfully, I took one because, as they say, a picture will last longer. It was GOOD pie. I confess that I ate almost half of the pie all by myself. So much for the low-carb diet.

The delay in posting of the promised pie photo is the result of my family's long-awaited trip to Anna Maria Island, which was incredibly beautiful. The sky was this gorgeous azure, and the water was perfectly clear and aquamarine. There was a moment when the beauty of the water was overwhelming and unreal to my eyes, a solid thing, like a delicately colored piece of plexiglass. Absurd, right?



Unexpectedly, I shed tears when I first touched the water. The oil spill is on the mind of every person along the coast, even though they pretend, like our innkeeper did, that everything is wonderful as usual. I said some prayers, and we had a lovely time for the most part. Mr. B ran himself ragged and fell into bed at 9 PM every single night we were there. I wish I could figure out how to exhaust him that way at home.

The sea turtles were nesting at night, which was something I would have dearly loved to witness, but I was too tired. We did go out each night in the early evening and walk in the twilight. Every night, when the sun touched the horizon, an interesting thing happened. Every person on the beach stopped (except Mr. B, who never stops moving unless he is unconscious) and stared at the sun as it appeared to grow smaller and smaller, and then wink out below the horizon line. It occurred so rapidly, and I found this unceasingly amazing. I mean, Florida is flat, but I rarely see the completion of a sunset because we live in a tree city. I was caught up every night in that motion, startled by it each time. It made me feel very small. It's easy to forget that we live on a enormous ball spinning in space, and then you glimpse it turning.

Blessed be, Gaia. Oshun. Yemaya.

Today is a Blue-fingered Day

Mr. B had a lucky day, according to reports. I arranged for him and some of his homeschool buds to go to a local blueberry farm, where they loaded up the yummy little gems. I think it's safe to say Mr. B put more berries in his mouth than in his bucket, but he had a blast.

It was blazing hot, of course, a balmy 90 degrees. When I finally sat down in the shade after an hour or so, I was startled that it took so long (about as long as it took for me to get overheated) for me to consider the contrast between my choice of recreation (blueberry picking) and the misery of farmworker labor (blueberry picking). A woman with four children in tow, one just an infant, was picking berries for the company, albeit in a different area, and I never saw her sit down for a break, especially not after such a short time. Just a thought.


The berries are amazing, though, and it was satisfying to pick them myself. It doesn't look like much, but there's more than four pounds in there. I may attempt to bake some sort of pie with them on Friday. There could be pictures!

Sometimes Rejection is Nice

Or at least when it's nicely worded. I sent off yet another story (actually the same one that keeps getting rejected all over town) to The Future Fire a short while back, and a few days ago, I got a very polite and encouraging response:

"This was a fascinating and well-written piece, with a dual plot arc of
Alice's failing relationship and imploding scientific experiment
working well to offset each other. Apart from being a parable on
scientific catastrophe-making, however, there isn't much
social/political content to the plot of this story, and in the end we
felt it didn't quite fit what we are looking for in TFF at the moment.

We'd like to thank you again for thinking of us with this story, and
wish you the very best with your writing in the future."

How refreshing to receive feedback beyond the typical form letter! It was also a gentle let-down as to the fit of the piece. I've gotten a few rejections in the past that seemed a little snarky, especially coming from amateur 'zines.

In a way, I was also pleased that the placement of my lesbian protagonist doesn't warrant classification as "social/political content." A mute point someday, I hope? I'm a little ticked with myself that I missed out on the submission window for the theme of their previous issue, Queer Sci-fi, where it may have faired better. Just my luck, I guess.

BTW, the letter also stated that The Future Fire is on hiatus until 2011.

Disaster and Heartache

I've haven't been able to form a response yet to the disaster in the Gulf. It's easier to ignore disaster when it is taking place in some distant place. This is not so far, really, and it's coming closer every moment.

Today, the outer edges of the spill hit the Louisiana coast, in some of the most pristine wildlife areas in the country, as this aerial photo from the AP shows.


My family plans to go to Anna Maria Island in a few weeks, and I'll pray there at the edge of the Gulf. I wasn't sure what I would say until I read this over at T. Thorn Coyle's blog.

As a pagan (not to mention a human with a pulse) who reveres the earth and the ocean, I feel horrified, numb and angry. However, I've been taught to channel feelings like these into positive ends, whenever possible.

To keep from crying about it, I'm trying to DO something, which a feeble thing in the face of the trauma the earth is facing. There's this effort you may have read about, where people are making these crazy-looking things called "hair booms" to soak up the oil. I'm just calling different salons and asking them to participate in the hair collection. One place so far said "yes," the Fantastic Sam's in my town. They have a designated collection bin for hair, so I took my Mr. B there to get his hair trimmed, and made sure he knows that his hair will go to help clean up the spill.

The crummy thing is, while salons all over the country are collecting the hair, BP hasn't agreed to use them in the cleanup). These booms have been shown to work; why wouldn't BP let the people help clean up this horrifying disaster?

Today, I channeled my inner crazy-lady and contacted the Louisiana Office of Homeland Security and Emergency Preparedness, where a woman named Jody was very nice but couldn't tell me why the governor's office isn't pressuring BP to approve the use of the booms, in spite of the fact that there aren't enough of the ineffective plastic ones. It seems strange and outrageous to me that BP has so much control over the cleanup. I called the local paper in Houma, Louisiana, which has recently covered the story about hair collection, and asked a reporter there to pursue it further. We had a effusive conversation, and she agreed to follow up and press the issue (there's a BP response center in Houma).

Then I read that BP may be reconsidering, probably in a PR move.

Makes me want to holler, but maybe some good is coming.

EDIT: Later, when I tried to call the Coast Guard Gulf command office to confirm that BP is waiting for their approval (and to advocate for said approval), they just passed me off to BP Operational Command in Houston (read: nice PR ladies). They had no clue what I was talking about, even though it's been in the news already that they're considering the possibility.
image from www.matteroftrust.org, the organization behind the effort