Caren Gussoff writer. geek. bon vivant. dot com

This seems like it should be the time I’d be pushing out frequent updates to the three or four of you dedicated readers. Instead, I have temporarily deserted you and experienced the last whirlwind month without you in my front pocket. What a terrible, negligent virtual pal I have been. I have been ensconced in velvet for the past few weeks and I have shared nary a corner.

Clarion West season is very consuming. There are now parties, weekly readings and all other variations of social engagements in which I get to see friends and make new ones—as well as honk incomprehensible love-words towards writers of whom I am a sick-ass fan. Maureen McHugh, my long-distance crush, materialized into this lovely woman with a gentle, no-bullshit personality and a wicked sense of humor. I did not curl up in her lap, although I wanted to, and remain convinced that she could have totally taken it without freaking out over my needy adoration. Plus, I was lucky enough to sit in on one of her CW classes and get proof-pudding that she the genius that I have lovingly expected her to be.

I was also present during the reception in honor of Octavia E. Butler’s induction into the Science Fiction Hall of Fame, and was blessed into meeting some of her relatives, her whip smart/red headed agent, and other friends and readergellencia.

The beginning of this week found me back to heaven-on-earth (AKA Hedgebrook) to a party in honor of the writers who were honored with this year’s Elizabeth George Foundation Awards. I was one of these honorees, and I was bursting with pride and nervousness and self-doubt. But, between the nourishment of Hedgebrook, Elizabeth George’s quiet, classy, feisty generosity, a rousing round of croquet, the spying of bald eagle fledglings, and some very, very, very wonderful conversation over red wine with Gloria Steinem, I felt wrapped in angel wings of printed paper.

To top this sundae of holy-shitness, I’m taking on as web manager for the SFWA website, creating and implementing a content plan that allows fresh, interesting, relevant, and useful articles, interviews, and reviews go up on the site nearly every day. I’ve spent the past few weeks ramping up. I have pulled back a corner as a place from which to jump, so watch for me pulling my parachute—possibly in your direction—starting this week.

Oh, yeah. I’m also trying to whip some novel pages into order so they can be sent out as partials.

Sometimes, I sleep.

It’s not just because she is a close friend of mine. I swear. Lady is a whiz bang writer and editor, gonna be super famous vry soon, and a kind and thoughtful teacher.

She’s teaching a speculative fiction writing class at Field’s End, and if you’ve been dipping your toes into SFF–or are even wading waist deep–I can’t recommend you consider taking this course strongly enough.

Here’s the description:

“The field of speculative fiction allows writers to play with talking objects, spaceships, and transformations of the unlikely to the unlikelier. In this workshop, we’ll discuss the basics of story writing and how the considerations of speculative fiction do (and don’t) alter those basics. We’ll also discuss how to build convincing worlds and cultures. In-class writing exercises will focus on sparking creativity, establishing characters, and plotting. Light refreshments will be available during the half-hour lunch break, but a brown-bag lunch is suggested.

The Speculative Literature Foundation has the 2009 Gulliver Grant press release up:

http://www.speculativeliterature.org/Grants/SLFTravelGrant/TravelGrant2009.php

I’m really excited and very honored. Looks like I was up against some serious competition, just from the announcement of the honorable mentions.

I am going to use the grant to offset expenses to travel from Seattle up to Orcas and Whidbey Islands, and then southwest to Ocean Shores (during various times in February, March, and April 2010)  for research for the book.

Dang, I really love this book.

“No one has ever written truly immortal poetry about how good their dog looks in knitted garments.”

Amen, brother.

Potlatch, the convention, is coming March 5-7, 2010 to Seattle, WA.

Potlatch, an all-volunteer, non-profit, literary event for the readers and writers of speculative fiction. Proceeds from Potlatch benefit Clarion West. And this year, I will be acting as the workshop administrator for the Friday writing workshop–open to all speculative fiction writers, regardless of experience, who want to get critiques  in a round-robin Clarion West style.

So, read more about it, grab a copy of the book of honor (Lord of Light by Roger Zelazny), mark your calenders, book your room, and plan on being there.

So. I’m starting a novel. I am of two minds about it:

• One, I’m really, really excited. The novel concept grew organically from the last short story I completed, mostly because I fell in love with the characters and became pretty convinced that the concept and world could be a bigger one than I was able to capture within the confines of the short story. There are definite advantages to working on a novel as well—novels are, realistically, the best  (although far from guaranteed, as evidenced by my own first novel as well as the experiences of countless other novelists) way to be able to make a living writing. Also, I really, really hate starting new stories—a personal quirk of mine, becoming a fiery ball of intolerable anxiety as I struggle to find an entry point into my next idea (if I have a next idea, that is).
• Two, I am absolutely dreading being ensconced in a novel. It’s like being in a new relationship. You need to be able to enjoy the honeymoon period while remaining somewhat clearheaded about the fact that it is a long-term commitment that will have ups and downs (and as many of one as the other). It’s also a time gamble, which frightens me to a certain extent—what if I dedicate two years to this project, forsaking other projects along the way—and it sucks? I mean, that sounds truly lame to say, but it’s a very real worry—not that there aren’t things to learn from a failed project, but because it’s a deliberate choice that regardless of the outcome, I must take responsibility for, good or bad.

I think I will continue to write short stories*. I am a short story writer, primarily, always have been, probably always will be. But here—I have smashed the bottle of champagne over my own head to christen the journey. My blog: now with 100% more novel bitching!

*in fact, got two pieces of awesome short story news this week. My very scary entry into the Worst Possible Cover Letter Rant Contest at Poor Mojo’s Almanac(k) took first place and will be published in the Fall. And, my SF story, “Games,” will be in Z.S. Adani and Eric T. Reynolds’ Destination: Future anthology. More details soon.

You’ve got to love it when a flower blooms from a pile of shit.

After a very homophobic and hateful post by a SFF writer who shall remain nameless and linkless (mostly because I don’t want to give the guy an inch more attention than he’s already managed to squeeze out of his ignorance), The Outer Alliance gets itself born.

The site is brand new, and the organizers are scurrying around getting things together, but I wanted to point all of you towards the site in case you are interested in helping or joining (I am going to). The Alliance is for “Anyone who supports the community’s tenets and is committed to engaging in intelligent discussion about LGBT issues in SF/F. This is a group founded in the belief that the best course against bigotry and discrimination is by rising above it, not stooping down to it.

This group is open to all writers (professionals and fledgelings alike) of SF/F (speculative, horror, paranormal, etc)–and their friends–of any inclination.”

Editor John Joseph Adams wrote a very generous and excellent blog post cataloguing the SFF writing and writing-related programs and workshops. I was thinking of doing something similar, but he totally beat me to the punch and kicked ass.

And my excuse for being scarce? I’m over mucking around with Brain Harvest. We launch Sunday, you know. W00t, indeed!

Since I’ve been back from Clarion West, I’ve mindfully adopted the Jay Lake-Cory Doctorow*-kamikaze approach to submissions. Every single piece that is done goes out, somewhere, and the second it comes back, it goes off to the next market.

This is about as opposite from the submissions process I had in my pre-CW days. I’ve talked about that before. It was a languid, lazy process that usually involved me waiting for someone to ask me for something.

The unremitting process is exhausting. As soon as I send off a piece, I am already researching where it should go next, should it come back—which sort of makes me feel like I am jinxing it (stupid, I know).

But it’s also weirdly zen and somehow inoculating against taking rejection personally (which is normal, even though we all know better)—it doesn’t give me a lot of time to wallow. Always a good thing. And because everything is always out, I seem more motivated to write new stuff**.

So, is it successful?

I don’t know yet.

So far, I’ve had between 3 and 7 pieces out at a time, to over 40 markets (many of those duplicate markets that rejected one piece, so I sent them another). 3 acceptances, 2 holds that turned to rejections, the rest , of course, rejections of varying types and friendliness. You can do the math on those percentages, should you be so inclined. When I crunch the numbers, it doesn’t feel very successful—I get something around 8% success, fudging it a bit here and there. But it certainly makes me feel successful, in the fact that my productivity is up something like 400%.
The jury’s still out, I reckon. Maybe I need to revisit this after 12 months of cumulative data***. Right now, I need to figure out market one for my newest—a weird little light piece about a shapeshifter in the mall on a Black Friday with bonus Elvis/Buddy Holly impersonators and an unidentified shooter.

 
*“To double your success, triple your failures.”
**as a side note, I’m writing an average of one new piece a month now.
***for the love of God, am I really this geeky?