Joy of Writing

Earlier this month, Amoloki asked if we ejoy

I think I do write from the joy of writing. At any rate, I do experience joy while writing. Not always. At times, I hate my book, I growl at my story, I loathe what I’ve written and despair of it. But other times, I’m so excited by a scene, I jump up out of my chair and, literally, dance for joy.

This is the main reason I must write locked alone in my room. I look like an utter idiot.

http://amloki.blogspot.com/2009/03/writing-on-happiness-in-writing.html

Slapped in the Face by Life, Followed by Life’s Apology

Last fall I applied to a prestigious graduate academic program. I had a meeting with a professor in my field (history) and we had a wonderful discussion. I admire her work, and she seemed genuinely enthusiastic about what I wanted to study.

Early in the new year, I heard, albeit informally, that I had been accepted to the program.

Yesterday, a form rejection arrived.

As a writer, I’m used to form letter rejections, and, if it hadn’t been for the rumor that I had been accepted, I would have soldiered on through this rejection too. But staring down at those words, “We know this must be disappointing, but we must turn away many applicants…” I felt a fool. Bitch-slapped by life.

I will never, ever be able to go to graduate school now, I whined inside my head. I will never be able to face my former professors to ask for recommendations a second time. I had only applied to one program. Idiot.

Fortunately, I had tried hard not to boast about my acceptance, but I had shared my joy with my family. (“Oh, good, finally you’re going to stop wasting your time writing!”) And even my writer’s group. (“If you waste your time on that, you’ll have no time to write!”)

My husband, ever sensible, told me to stop moping about the house, agonizing over the letter, and to just write and ask them if it was a mistake. That’s crazy, I thought, You can’t write to either a school or an agent who’s rejected you and ask, “Hey, are you sure about that?”

Of course, this was a little different because I had been told a contradictory message before. I emailed.

The rejection letter was a mistake. My name had been accidently slipped in with the long list of those to be sent form rejections.

Now, if only agent rejections would turn out to be mistakes too.  🙂

http://kathytemean.wordpress.com/

I like the competent, assured prose. I would have been more interested if this had been set in a more troubled period, such as the Cultural Revolution (I collect autobiographical accounts). I was sceptical, since I don’t want to read about someone’s vacation or mild culture shock in another country — although I could definitely relate to the toilets on the trains. Ugh. I’ve traveled and know exactly what you’re talking about. And little details, such as second class being highest, were new, and amusing, to me.

Then “Taoist music” caught my eye. I was extremely curious to see what “conduct[ing] fieldwork in Taoist music” would be like in contemporary China.

Star Trek

The new movie looks pretty damn good. I’ll have to take my mom, an old trekkie from the days of the first series, to go see it.

Apocalypse of the Books

Repent, sinner. The end is near.

I now have a Kindle. Even though I’ve had two ebooks published (under another pen name), and have often purchased ebooks to read, I’ve never had a dedicated ebook reader before. I insisted I didn’t need one, wouldn’t want one, couldn’t enjoy one.

I love it.

As I curled up in bed, cuddling my Kindle, the bittersweet thought hit me, Oh, so it’s true. Treebooks are dead.

You see, I can’t even call them just “books” any more, because “books” for ever after will make me think of the content, without necessarily defining the medium. We no longer have mail, we have email or snail mail. We no longer have books, we have ebooks and treebooks.

The image of book apocalypse, by the way, I grokked from a real, recent incident, in which an Amazon shipper abandoned a warehouse full of books.

Here’s my prophecy. Treebooks will not go extinct. There are too many people, like me, who love to caress old covers, turn pages, assemble a forest of spines on magnificant bookcases. But I fear, it is also people like me who will drive the explosion of ereaders and ebooks. Because what I love most about the Kindle is that I can download a book instantly, as soon as I covet it, without going anywhere, without waiting for shipping. Like most introverts, I find anything which helps me interact more with fictional people than flesh people to be a lure.

If I want to turn a book into a social forum, however, it’s easier than ever to add in my own comments and share these with friends, so that our own community commentary interlaces the book, adding a new layer to the original text. Every book can become the mishnah of its own gemara, every ereader a compendium of living talmuds.

What, then, will be the fate of treebooks? I fear, sadly, as ebooks and ereaders become the norm, treebooks will become a luxury. Collectors like me will still shell out hard currency for beautifully bound new editions, but only of books we truly adore. Used books will jump in value.

I have a library of over 10,000 treebooks. A constant battle in our family is where to put my library. I want my library lining the walls of our house. Every wall. (Which is what it would take — our house is not nearly so vast as my collection.) My husband wants my library in the garage, or, preferably, someone else’s garage. One of his motivations in buying me a Kindle was to convince me to sell or give away most of my treebooks.

It’s had the opposite effect. I’m more desparate than ever to hold onto my treebabies. They’re going to be rare collector’s items by the end of my lifetime.