How I Imagine Lizards Feel When Rosie Catches Them.

Today is a good day.  Today the sun hits my back just so and my pushups are strong.  Others stay away from my territory which is full of ants.  I scurry towards a lemon tree. Stop.  Quickly, again, to the palm tree. But its skin is too slippery for my long claws and I scurry again to the deep shade of the hedge. It is cool here, but the heat from the sun stays on my back. I am happy.

I stay still only for a moment, then am off again, rustling in the underbrush of the hedge and back into the hot sun. I step onto the flat rocky stuff that holds so much heat, it is even too much for my claws, and begin to run. There is a wall that leads to an anthill and I am hungry.

I begin to scale the wall. I feel a shadow above me where there should be none. A huge claw grazes my belly and I am filled with fear.  I scurry up the wall as fast as I can, but the shadow returns. I am knocked off of the wall, into the dirt below.  I do not know where I am, but I must get away.  Shade means protection. I must get to shade.

I turn in the blink of an eye and attempt once more to run, but suddenly something hot and wet surrounds me.  I feel sharp teeth near my gut. My tail detaches and falls to the ground.

Out of the hot wet place I am trapped comes a noise. It is a piercing "meow". I have heard this sound before and I know it means danger. I go completely limp, knowing that this particular predator only wants me to wriggle.  The piercing cries continue as I am carried in its mouth. The light changes suddenly from warm sunshine to diffused light. It is darker. I cannot see because the change is so fast.

I am released onto a smooth cool surface. It feels like the palm tree, only cooler and smoother. I try to run, but my claws do nothing. My movement causes a heavy paw to pick at me. I freeze again.  Under my belly I feel vibrations in the floor. Something huge is coming and I cannot move. 

The piercing cries stop when a voice far above me says "Rosie! Not again! Shit, is it still alive?" I try to breathe slowly, but my fear makes it difficult.  Strange large claws without sharpness try to trap me, but I am too fast. "Shit." the voice comes again from above. "C'mere. ROSIE, NO!" I feel the shadow above me again, but something holds it back and the claws I expect to feel never come.  I scurry to the darkest corner I can find. I am trapped there. There is no escaping the strange, dull claws that reach for me again and again. At last I am caught. I feel myself lifted high into the air and once again go limp.

The light abruptly changes back to bright sunshine. I feel myself being lowered to a rock. The heat from it warms me, but I dare not move.  I hear above me "its ok, little guy, she's not going to hurt you...but she might catch you again if you stay here." I realize the danger is leaving. I am not hurt. My tail is gone. My heart is racing. But I am not hurt. I remain still for a moment more. Then I run as fast as I can toward the safety of shade I see ahead. 

An Imaginary Conversation with Patrick Rothfuss

Every spring for the last few years, the UofA has hosted the Tucson Festival of Books, a gathering, as you might have guessed, of book people.  Being one of those book people myself and interested in scratching the writing itch I seem to have to developed in the last few months, I decided to check it out.

The panel I ended up at, Worldbuilding, featured some really great authors, the most famous of which (at least to me) was Patrick Rothfuss, author of The Name of the Wind.  I hadn't read The Name of the Wind when I went to the panel, but I'd heard of it from other fantasy aficionados, so I was particularly excited to hear what he had to say. And I wasn't disappointed.  He was funny and articulate, and confident without being a total douchebag (which could not be said of other authors on that panel). 

Because of that encounter, really, I decided to read The Name of the Wind. And I came away disappointed.  Not because the writing was bad or the characters were thin, but because of something much more worrisome to me: There wasn't any story.  Or, there was the beginning of a story, with a hint of much much more to come. But the whole thing seemed like one introduction.  After I finished it, I fell into a half-sleep, and in that state, Patrick Rothfuss and I had the following discussion:

(HERE BE SPOILERS. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK)

Me: Look, its a well-written book. I love the way you describe music and the way you describe Kvothe's childhood.  But he doesn't really do anything.  You just set him up to do things.

Patrick Rothfuss: Well, yeah. Its the start of a trilogy.

Me: But stuff still has to, you know, happen.

Patrick Rothfuss:  Stuff does happen.

Me:  But its boring everyday stuff. Not boring stuff. Sorry. Its just interesting, unrelated stuff.  So he goes to the University. That's great.  And he makes an enemy there. That's also great. And he falls in love. Awesome! And maybe he finds a teacher. Kickin! But none of that carries any significance.  You tell us all about that (or Kvothe does), but then the climax of the book is about an encounter with a dragon! That doesn't have anything to do with Kvothe's quest for information about the Chandrian, which also doesn't go ANYWHERE in this book.  But then neither do any of the aforementioned plot points. What is that??

Patrick Rothfuss:  Look, you want this to be some sort of fairy tale and its not.  Its Kvothe telling the story of his life as it happens and sometimes life is like that: something seems significant at the time but ends up being just another bump in the road. He knows that.

Me: I get that. I do, really. I think its an interesting meta-commentary on narrative structure.  Like, lets make our stories more real and shit. That doesn't mean its satisfying as a story. Especially since Kvothe knows the value of story-telling! Its frustrating! There's a reason, even after thousands of years that fairy tales still get told.  They resonate. Just because we want our stories a little bit more nuanced doesn't mean we want that familiar structure to go away completely. 

And what the heck is up with end? That's not an end! Its just a set up for the next book! This was my problem with Suzanne Collins too. Get your shit together and write a goddamn ending.

Patrick Rothfuss: You're getting a little belligerent, you know.

Me: Well, I'm sick of authors messing with narrative structure so much that they can't even write a goddamn first book.  If I wanted to read 300 pages of goddamn exposition, I would read Tolkien.  If you're going to write one big story divided into three books, at least have the decency not to call it a trilogy. Tolkien didn't and neither should you or Suzanne Collins. Say what you want about JK Rowling (and, as I recall you did...something about sloppy world-building), at least each of her books is a complete story with a beginning, a middle, and an end.  Yours is just a whole bunch of beginning with the hint of a middle! You are a goddamn story tease!

Patrick Rothfuss:  You know, I think we should probably continue this conversation when I'm actually present, rather than just a figment of your sleep-addled brain.

Me: Fine. But if A Wise Man's Fear doesn't have an actual ending, I will be back, post-nap, to give you an even bigger piece of my mind than the subconscious chunk you already have.

Blogging? Blogging.

The last time I updated this blog, it was 2007.

I was not yet a Master's student at the University of Arizona, but taking classes there. I had boyfriend named Eric and a job at a local gear shop. I wanted to be a college professor, to rock climb constantly, and I started this blog to keep in touch with friends far away.

Fast forward 6 years. I will be 30 in just a few short weeks. I am a fully fledged Master of Arts. The boyfriend Eric is gone, replaced with 2 adorable cats and a new model that goes by the name of Tim. I no longer rock climb, but I still work at that gear shop from time to time. And my friends who were once so far away are further still.

This blog is still an attempt to bring them closer, but its also at attempt for me to see if I can write. Want to write. Will write. Like most creative endeavors, it is mostly selfish, but I hope it will be enjoyable, not just for me, but also for anyone who stumbles onto it.

So.

Blogging? Blogging.