Yesterday I had a splendid time at the annual writing symposium at USU hosted by the League of Utah Writers. I'll keep my remarks brief because I don't see why I should share everything I learned with people who didn't pay the $30 fee. First I attended Shaun Anderson's presentation "The Dark Arts: Unforgettable Villains." I saw Shaun went I went to eat on campus a couple of days before the event. We were in a class together nine years ago, but I've only talked to him a couple of times. Knowing that he was a part of this symposium and that he's been in charge of Helicon West, I thought of him as a "real" writer and myself, who's only recently started getting involved in such things, as a poser, but he admired that I'd published a full book while he hasn't yet, so that was some kind of poignant lesson about how we're too hard on ourselves or something. (He has published non-fiction pieces, like an essay about being a gay Mormon missionary that made a big impression on me when I was Mormon.) In this presentation, he suggested several questions we could use to flesh out our villains. I was struck by a perspective he shared that I'd never considered: by making a character a villain, we're asserting that they're wrong in some way, and thus making a statement about our own morality. Mind blown. Bryan Young, who writes for Star Wars and other less important IPs, gave a presentation on "Captivating Character Creation." My favorite takeaway: we learn more about characters when they're forced to choose between two terrible options. Mind blown. Bestselling author John D. Brown told us about how to keep readers hooked by triggering anticipation, hopes and fears, and/or puzzlement or mystery, and then delaying the payoff. It sounds simple enough, but the way he said it was more entertaining. He showed us a bunch of his Amazon reviews that said they couldn't put his book down, so he knows what he's talking about. *Break for pizza* Jennifer Sinor presented on "Scene, Summary, and Musing: Controlling Pace and Developing Depth in Prose." She started it the way she starts every one of her classes: by making us do breathing exercises to center ourselves and return to our bodies. This time, however, Russ Beck was presenting next door with his exceptionally loud voice, which made it difficult. She walked around barefoot while she talked, so I'd like to have a word with the anonymous creeper on Twitter who said that I'm weird for "wandering around shoeless" outside. I love Jennifer. So carefree, so compassionate, so spiritual. I hated the class I had with her as an undergraduate, but that had nothing to do with her as a person. The class I had with her in graduate school went much better. The essay I wrote in two parts, "Things That Rhyme with 'Elise,'" left an impression on her that she said she would think about for a long time. Her response to the second part still cracks me up in a sick kind of way. SPOILER ALERT: Yeah, that makes two of us. Where was I? Oh yeah, so then I went to another presentation by Bryan Young on "Setups, Payoffs and Endings." He mostly used movie examples in his presentations because he assumes we've seen more of the same movies than read the same books. I suggested Raiders of the Lost Ark as an example of a good ending, and then later he had a picture of the warehouse scene as the backdrop for one of his slides, so I nailed it. Key takeaway: problems with the ending are often actually problems with the beginning and the middle. And I'd already done the technique of writing the ending and then revising everything that came before so it all looks carefully planned and perfect, so it was nice to be validated in that. Finally, I attended "Seeing the Extraordinary in the Ordinary" by Shanan Ballam, which focused more on poetry but was still applicable to other things. Shanan had a stroke a couple of years ago and had to learn how to walk, talk, and write again. I'm inspired by her resilience and pleased that she continues to recover. I had two classes from her, Fiction Writing and Poetry Writing. One of them, probably Fiction, was the class I had with Shawn. As if the nostalgia factor wasn't high enough already, the notebook I used to take notes at this symposium was the one I had purchased for that class, used in that class, and then never written in again until yesterday. It still has the note in the front that she left after I wrote something that made her worry about me. I don't even remember what it was. I had a note from my first class with Jennifer that I wish I could find because I think it was hilarious. It was something like, "Christopher - I'm not sure you understood the assignment - but you did it! 100"
There were also presentations entitled "Level Up Your Social Media," "Becoming Your Own Boss: Your Guide to Indie Publishing," and "Amazon Advertising Strategies" that I'm sure would have benefitted me because I suck at those things, but I was more interested in learning about the writing craft itself, because that's what I write for, so I'll just have to stay true to myself and face the consequences for sucking at the other bullcrap I have to do. The symposium was well worth the $30, and again, I regret that I'm just now getting involved in the local writing community and I'm going to move in a month.
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I have nothing to say about this except that I don't want to watch it because I hate my voice and my mannerisms, but I request that both of my blog readers at least mute it and play it in the background to drive the views up. And then also buy my book if you haven't yet.
This week I had the opportunity to present to USU's creative writing club, the Bull Pen. I was honored to receive the invitation. As the meeting approached, I got ridiculously nervous considering that I taught writing classes at that university for years, and very briefly considered hiding somewhere instead of showing up. When I did show up anyway, I got more nervous because my former thesis chair had come to hear me speak, so now I had to impress him and not just the students. It went great. I'd intended to try to talk for twenty minutes and then let the students write stuff for the rest of the time, but then I started late to wait for some who got out of classes late, and then from the third slide onward they asked questions and made comments during my presentation, so that it turned into more of a discussion and filled up the entire remaining time. Someone told me afterward that he would incorporate my advice into his writing. That made me feel good. At least this one time, I had an influence on someone somewhere, and my existence wasn't pointless.
Here's my slideshow. I can't figure out how to embed it, though that should be possible with today's technology. I talked about incorporating humor into writing, and I used quotes from Douglas Adams' The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series instead of my own writing because it's less egotistical and I don't like being the center of attention. I know, I'll have to get used to that if I have a successful career. I'll have to give more presentations, interviews, autographs, that sort of thing. ![]()
Of course, I had to plug my own book a little too, and I'll plug it again here. If you like humorous sci-fi fantasy adventure novels, check this one out at the following Amazon Affiliate link:
And tomorrow is Earth Day. Happy Earth Day. I'm going camping with friends. I expect that I'll have a lot of fun and lose a lot of sleep, leading to a lot of regret.
This week has been a bleeping roller coaster. First, the highlights.
I've been trying to write some prequel short stories to go with my recently published novel, Crusaders of the Chrono-Crystal. It's been very difficult because I write two sentences, they're garbage, and I have no motivation to continue. This is not a new problem, so I thought back to how I've managed to finish short stories in the past. I remembered that in most cases, I wrote them for college classes, and the pressure of the deadlines and having to share with my peers eventually overrode the writer's block. So I sought out a local writing group and attended my first meeting this week. It was a nice meeting, but the real fun happened when several of us went to dinner afterward. I say "us" as if I'm part of the group already. Well, I feel like I am. They were very welcoming. The leader of the group is this surprisingly boisterous, outgoing guy who tells funny stories and keeps looking around to make sure you're paying attention to his funny stories and feeling included. He said traditional publishing is dying, so I don't need to feel self-conscious about self-publishing, and he suggested that I publish each of my short stories individually before publishing them in an anthology, to boost myself in Amazon's algorithms and drive more people back to my novel. Genius. Except now I have to somehow get fourteen cover arts instead of one. I got a publicist for my recently published novel, Crusaders of the Chrono-Crystal. He reached out to me on Facebook and offered me a huge discount on his standard rate. Of course I was suspicious, but I verified that he's a real person who's worked with authors who have far more sales and reviews than I could ever get on my own. I don't have whatever it takes to make the universe stop ignoring me. I had a strategy of posting on this blog every week, building a following, and then telling my following to follow my book when I published it, but after almost nine years of posting on this blog every week, that strategy is clearly a bust. Just recently, I thought maybe after some of my friends buy the book and tell other people about how great it is, it will spread organically without the need for a bunch of advertising, and I guess it's too soon to rule that out, but there's just too much competition in self-publishing for that to be feasible. I need someone who isn't invisible to make me not invisible. So even though I'm in literal poverty, I took the chance. In theory I'll make that money back with interest. Now, the anti-highlight. A school filed an incident report against me because I yelled at some students to leave me alone and threatened to call the police if they didn't stop harassing me in the bathroom. I misspoke. I didn't mean call the police at the station, I meant talk to the one officer who's already at that school every day because it's a shithole. Seriously, this school has hands-down the worst behavior problems of any I've been to, and I try to avoid going there, but I was just substituting for an art teacher, so I thought that would be fine, and it mostly was, except for this part. So someone from the staffing place called me to tell me that she would send me an email to go to an online calendar to make an appointment to talk to someone else about it. Literally the first opening on the calendar was eight days later. I called the person back to tell her that, and the number was no longer in service. I responded to her email to tell her that, and she ignored me. So for a minimum of eight days, I can't work, and this job that already wasn't paying me enough to survive will pay me nothing. And then maybe they'll just go ahead and decide to fire me anyway. I had an assignment scheduled for this entire week, filling in for a special education aide who's going on spring break from USU. Now that's canceled, and the school won't likely be able to replace me on such short notice, and it will assume that I'm to blame. I have an eight-day assignment scheduled beginning next week at the youth facility where only people who have done the special training can substitute, and maybe they'll reinstate me fast enough to do that if they don't fire me, but I'm not counting on it. They're clearly in no rush. For the second time in a month, I became suicidal and only held on for the sake of the people who love me. I see no purpose for and no end to my suffering anymore. I hate this job and I hate having no rights. I doubled my efforts and lowered my standards in the job search. I'd rather use my Master's degree to stock shelves at Costco than be bullied by students, stabbed in the back by two-faced administrators, and kicked around like a lump of dog shit by apathetic bosses who wouldn't likely appreciate it if someone stopped them from earning money and ignored them for over a week, but of course nobody would do that to them because they, unlike me, have rights. I'm stable now. I'm doing the work to change my life into something that I don't hate. But because the world is fundamentally unfair, there's no guarantee that I'll succeed in doing that. Ever. Hence my depression and lack of will to live. There is one tantalizing prospect that I should hear about within the immediate future, but I don't want to jinx it by talking about it. Also, Daylight Savings Time started today, and I hate that so much that I got in trouble for threatening violence against it.
Sometimes people on Twitter tell me to get therapy. Not because they actually care about me or mental illness, of course, or because they agree with the best practices of the mental health profession. But I did just go to therapy for a few months. I got it from an unlicensed USU student at a huge discount because I live in poverty. Like everyone else in that building, she was irreligious and politically progressive, the opposite of these Twitter people - not that she pushed any of that on me, but I made the assumption and she confirmed it. I mentioned on my blog when I started therapy, and then I thought I'd have a lot to say about it, but I didn't. Now I'm done for the time being because we ran out of things to talk about and also because I live in poverty.
At the beginning, I was just so excited to have a captive audience that I wanted to talk to her about all the deep intellectual things that I'm starving to talk about. I'd half-seriously considered hiring a prostitute to pretend to be interested in the things that interest me, and I assume this was cheaper. But she wanted to have actual therapy goals and stuff. She had the idea to read and discuss a chapter of The Unwritten Rules of Social Relationships: Decoding Social Mysteries Through the Unique Perspective of Autism by Dr. Temple Grandin and Sean Barron each week, and since it's available to borrow for free on archive.org, I agreed. I went through a suicidal patch last summer when I realized that the loneliness I've experienced for my entire adult life is never going to go away. Now it's daunting to even think about trying to have real relationships. I'm still not sure if I will. I've been a fan of Temple Grandin for a while. I'd never heard of Sean Barron. They bring very different perspectives to the book. It seems that Sean wants relationships for their own sake, while Temple just sees them as a thing she has to do to advance her career. Sean sees autism as a disease and thinks he's been cured of it by learning to think differently, while Temple just sees it as the way she is. I have some mixed feelings about their approach to teaching social skills in the book. I agree that people on the autism spectrum need to understand how to be polite and hygienic. I think I've already benefitted from some of the principles they explained, like showing interest in people and knowing when it's okay to break the rules or lie. At the same time, though, neurotypical people should learn not to be ignorant assholes about things that don't matter. Sean tells the story of how he started to make friends with a boy in his class, but then he blew it, and the boy started bullying him like everyone else. The entire focus is on his lack of social skills, and at no point does he acknowledge that the boy was wrong to bully him. Temple mentions that she got a new boss who wanted to fire her for being weird, but she changed his mind by showing him how much she'd contributed to the company. She doesn't seem to recognize that her boss was in the wrong legally and ethically. She says she learned not to do certain mannerisms in public. She shouldn't have had to. The other day, an anonymous Twitter account told people that I was always weird, even in the Mormon singles' ward. I asked him what I did that was so weird. He said, "Dude you wandered around shoeless muttering to yourself." He seems to have remembered wrong or conflated me with someone else, because I've never been in the habit of muttering to myself in public, but the first part is accurate, although he could have just as easily said "walked" instead of "wandered," but that wouldn't have sounded derisive enough. Walking around for exercise is entirely normal behavior. Doing so without shoes isn't, but so farking what? I didn't harm him. I didn't harm anyone. He just thought I was harming myself and needed therapy because it was different and therefore made him uncomfortable. Not that he ever expressed that to me in person, of course, though he claims that he knew me pretty well. (He's not the first anonymous Twitter account to make that claim. It's actually pretty creepy.) I wonder how many other Mormons just pretended to be my friends while having no qualms about telling people behind my back that I'm weird. It's funny how they think drinking coffee is a sin but being two-faced isn't. So that was kind of depressing, but I'm used to people unfriending or unfollowing me all the time, so it wasn't very surprising. And I read enough of his Tweets to confirm that he's an asshole and I don't want him as a friend. The last chapter had a section on anger management which, unlike all the other chapters, included several comments from other adults on the spectrum. It was the first time I ever heard of a correlation between autism and anger. I've wondered sometimes if I'm just an exceptionally angry person. But Jerry Newport validated me by saying, "ASD folks are no strangers to anger. They have lots of reasons to grow up into angry teens and angrier young adults. Put yourself in their place. Imagine yourself being teased, constantly misunderstood, abused in the name of therapy and often genuinely confused and overwhelmed by it all - not just a few times, but hundreds, if not thousands of times. It is no wonder that I know many adults with ASD who are literally paralyzed by their anger." Then, I might add, people just blame you for being angry and tell you it's entirely your responsibility to make something edible out of the shit sandwich that they gave you. I, for one, get angry about injustice whether it's against me or anyone else, and this world has no shortage of injustice. That's basically its defining trait. I'm angry about how I was raised and about how my entire generation has been royally screwed over by the preceding ones so that I'll never be able to own a house or retire, but I'm also angry about people murdering children in Ukraine and Palestine, people oppressing women in Iran and Afghanistan, people fighting against LGBTQ rights in my own country and too many others to count, etc. I think average Americans ought to be a lot angrier than they are about all this bullshit. It's called empathy. Some members of my family still believe that anger comes from Satan, and I think that's a really immature an unhealthy view. But since I'm also powerless to do anything about anything, my anger goes nowhere, and the only way to deal with it is to stop caring and escape through entertainment. I prefer music and movies. I hope to try mushrooms soon. I take some comfort in knowing that someday we'll all be dead. Between Temple and Sean, I think I have more in common with the latter. Temple thinks in pictures. I think in words. My mind is constantly running an inner monologue, and the pictures I get in my head while reading are vague and unfocused. I just came to realize this about myself when I needed to put more description into my novel. Sean struggled more as a kid and had more anger. Before, I assumed that Temple had twice as many obstacles to overcome from being autistic and female, but from her description, it seems like those things canceled each other out to an extent, and she was treated better and learned more easily than a boy might have. (She has high praise for the structured, polite society of the fifties and sixties that she grew up in, so that's some white privilege too.) Sean mentions that he struggled with humor, that he tried to be funny by repeating funny lines from TV out of context until everyone was sick of him. This is where I differ from him. Somehow I've gleaned underlying principles of humor without even trying. I often forget to put them in my blog posts, but my novel is very funny. Please read it. Amazon Associates link: |
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- Amelia Whitlock "I don't know how well you know Christopher Randall Nicholson, but... he's trolling. You should read his blog. It's delightful." - David Young About the AuthorC. Randall Nicholson is a white cisgender Christian male, so you can hate him without guilt, but he's also autistic and asexual, so you can't, unless you're an anti-vaxxer, in which case the feeling is mutual. This blog is where he periodically rants about life, the universe, and/or everything. Archives
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