Pennsic preparations are underway; my bins are packed (that sounds vaguely off-color; I have no idea why) and ready to load in the car, and pretty much everything else is properly in train. This means, however, that I will be off-line for about ten days, which, considering I live and breathe by my mobile apps, will be not unlike quitting smoking cold turkey. (Not that I’ve ever smoked, and cold turkey? Yum, especially with mayonnaise and home-grown tomatoes on fresh bread…)
This has become an issue the last couple of years, what with the writing life and the social networking I do. (Who’da thunk I’d suddenly develop a social life?) I pretty much don’t write during Pennsic—hell, I pretty much don’t READ during Pennsic, and anyone who knows me is right now dropping dead of shock. Because I read constantly. But at Pennsic, there’s so much to do, and so many people to talk to, and so many bottles of Gatorade to fill for the Ayreton Angels Fighter Support Squad, that I just don’t have time to read. I do sew, and sometimes draw, because you can do that and talk at the same time, but I don’t read or write, which are both activities for which I require quiet and solitude.
The internet isolation is especially knotty this year, because of JP Barnaby. JP writes wonderfully angsty stories, some with BDSM, some without, but all with immense tear-jerking properties. In fact, she just sent me a heart-in-your-throat short short story under the subject line: “Your crying jag for the day…” Beast. I love her. AND she and I are going to collaborate on a novel. Or perhaps a series; we haven’t quite worked that out yet. The other day, we shot ideas back and forth like water balloons at a picnic. It’s still in the bare bones stage, but we think it will be a fantasy novel with kings and executions and gods and reincarnation and social reconstruction and battles and wizards and street kids and of course TONS of angst: betrayals and murder and poison and forced prostitution and slavery and tattoos. Because that’s what we do, JP and I: we torture our characters.
So I will be pretty much incommunicado and left to percolate ideas with no way of sharing them with JP, and she will be working on her next Little Boy Lost installment without me as a critique partner (waaaah!!) hopefully, because she has a deadline. And I still need to finish the story I’m working on before I can commit to an undertaking like the collaboration I really want to be working on. It will be interesting to see how we work together; I tend to take a looooong time to write, and JP whips those puppies out like one of those tennis ball machines. So I hope this will inculcate in me the drive to write faster, because I pretty much need to do that. Not so much faster as more, on a daily basis. I’m gonna have to start writing at home, instead of just on my lunch hour.
Maybe I will develop a better work ethic…. Nah.
On a separate note, my mom called last night, to tell me she’d gotten to the part of Kindred Hearts where Charles is in the Battle of Waterloo, and she said she had been on the edge of her seat it was so good. I love that! On the other hand, she doesn’t like men who cry, whereas I do. (See “Angst,” above.) I’m just happy that she’s reading it and finding it readable. Because she is, after all, my MOM.