In the evening, I took one of the manual typewriters out and wrote a little. The glare was too strong for the laptop and somehow the typewriter felt more indulgent. I have to finish the story tomorrow since I won’t be lugging a typewriter to NYC and switching to computer will change the voice some.

Today I had lunch out there again. Then in the evening biked up to the Kennedy School to have dinner with Beth Wodzinski and Felicity Shoulders. It felt so good to be outside and have it be something other than cold and rainy.

This evening was my last gym session before heading off to NYC tomorrow. Things are much easier than they were when I went in last week. It always amazes me how quickly things come back. When I return from NYC I’ll keep going but at a somewhat saner pace.

Anyway, that was my weekend. How was yours?

I have a contest up on my website right now, and the winner gets a free signed hardcover copy of the new book. All you have to do is go to my site, follow the link to the sample chapters of the book, and, after reading them, answer the contest question. That’s all there is to it. So give it a try. And next week I’ll be posting more about the new release.

via An Exchange of Words: David B. Coe’s Weblog – Win a Signed Book!.

After everyone had gone, Rob carried me across the threshold.  In a fireman’s carry, to be sure, but romantic in his own way. We never did that when we got married since I already owned the house when we met.

I managed to get most of the kitchen unpacked, which makes me feel a little better. It also gives me a clearer sense of what we’ll need in order to make it a workable space.  Actually, the layout, compact as it is, will probably be the most efficient kitchen I’ve worked in. It’s just going to be a matter of deciding where things go.

Today was largely uneventful as we left Colorado and headed up through Wyoming. I cranked out story and got about 5000 words written.  Things were fine until we got to Utah.

Ah, Utah.

There’s this dinging noise that our truck makes when the temperature spikes. How do I know this, you might ask? Because it happened when we hit the hills leading into Salt Lake City.  Thrice, in fact. Rob had checked the fluids before heading into the hills, but that didn’t stop every light on the dashboard from lighting up.  The third time we called the truck rental company and talked to roadside assistance. They are going to get us in with a mechanic tomorrow, but won’t know what appointments are available until seven am.

Needless to say, Rob and I did the only logical thing. We coasted into SLC, to Beth Wodzinski’s house, where she and Sean Markey had arranged for us to meet up with some fellow writers at a local pub.  We got to see Eric James Stone, Sandra Taylor and Chris Hansen.

And now, I’m going to turn into a pumpkin so that I can get up in the morning and talk about the truck. We’d just better not have to reload the thing.

We got on the motorcycle and went to upstate NY where some friends of ours had generously offered a corner of their backyard. We were both braced for this to be a really hard trip, but it wasn’t. I think the whole burial ritual, or funeral ritual in whatever context, evolved because you really need that sort of closure to get on with things. Even if the creature you are mourning is a small fuzzy gray cat.

While we were back there, Mrs. L– beckoned us and said “Look! Racoons!”

Rob kept digging, but I went over to look, and sure enough there was a family of mama and two baby racoons coming out of their garage. Mama and one of the babies hightailed it across the lawn.

The other one wandered over to check out what Rob was doing.  It stood up on its hind legs, about two feet in front of him as if to say, “Hi there! What are you doing?”

This amused all of us, while at the same time, being glad that Rob had a shovel just in case Mama decided to feel protective. Rob waved at the little guy, who dropped back down to his haunches.

Then stood up again. “Whatcha working on? Huh?”

Sadly, attempts to establish a true cross-species dialog didn’t proceed past that and the little fellow trundled off to his mother, who probably said, “How many times have I told you not to talk to strangers?”

Sorry that the photo is as fuzzy as the racoon.  It was awfully cute and a nice place to leave Maggie.

We spent the night and then had a leisurely morning up there.   Rode back today, taking the scenic route.

The rest of the day seemed to consist of meeting very cool people for food or drinks, interspersed with a nap. I didn’t manage to make it to any panels at all which is a shame because Wiscon has really good ones. I’m going to try to remedy that today. Speaking of which, I should head out and hit the con.

Don’t be surprised if the blogging is a little light for the next week.

Ken is one of my dearest friends and he’s also one of my favorite authors, which is a handy combination.  If you’re in the Seattle area, you can head over the the U-bookstore for his signing.   But if that’s too far away and you want a sampling of Scholes, Tor.com has one of his short stories up.

A Weeping Czar Beholds the Fallen Moon by Ken Scholes.

Frederico leaned close to smell the poison on his thirteenth wife’s cold, dead lips. It tickled his nose and he resisted the strong desire to kiss her that suddenly overcame him.

That you might lose yourself from sadness by my lips, my husband and Czar, her open, glassy eyes promised him. He looked away, uncomfortable with her empty, inviting stare.

Behind him, the Minister of the Interior cleared his voice and spoke. “The cabinet feels it would be more stabilizing to consider this an assassination. Jazrel was a most popular wife.”

As a bonus, they have an audio version available as well, read by me.

I have to tell you that this week has been wonderful. Having time to hang out with family and friends, write and cook has been just great. I don’t want it to be over.

On the other hand, I am looking forward to getting home to Rob. The only time my poor boy could schedule for his physical was on Thursday, so he wasn’t able to be here for the weekend. He also came down with a nasty, nasty cold. Hopefully I’ll be able to tend to him some when I get home and not spend all my time at the theater.

But if I do, at least I’ll have some very happy memories to boost my spirits. I haven’t even told you half of the cool things from this week. For now, know that I am an extremely happy forty year old girl.

We all trouped over to Grandma’s church for her 104th birthday party and then went straight from there to shop for Iron Chef. At first we were going to shop separately, but then thought, what? We’ll see each other in the store and be shocked that, “OMG! You’re buying pears!”

Back home the two teams — headed by Alethea Kontis and me — began cooking. There are two kitchens at Mom and Dad’s which is part of why I wanted to try an Iron Chef battle in real time. You know, because we could. I took the kitchen in the other house so we’d both be in unfamiliar kitchens and we gave ourselves two hours to compensate for not having Kitchen Stadium.

Here are the results in video form.

Here are writeup’s from Alethea Kontis, David D. Levine and Steve‘s flickr lineup plus combined photos in my Picasa album

Edited to add:
The recipes our dishes were based on.
Warm peppered pears with dolce gorgonzola and fried sage on watercress
Smoked Pear and Parsnip Bisque with frizzled ginger
Pork Tenderloin with Caramelized Pears and Pear-Brandy Cream Sauce served with Gorgonzola and Red Pear Risotto
I just made up the zinfandel poached pear with dark chocolate and pistachio icecream.

So tonight we are dressing formally for my birthday dinner, but I don’t know how I will top last night’s meal.

I’m also getting to cook, which I very much enjoy. The routine goes like this: Breakfast consists of cereal, toast, fruit and yogurt. Folks are on their own for that. Then writing happens.

Sometime around noon, we all get hungry so there are sandwich fixings and leftovers from the night before. (Mushroom Quinoa Risotto, Vegetable Soup and Broccoli) Today I also cooked some bacon for BLTs.

More writing happens.

Around six I started cooking dinner. Tonight’s menu:
North Carolina Red Trout with garlic, oregano and lemon zest.
Steamed Cauliflower with Parmesan Cheese
Green salad with Balsamic Vinegrette
Dessert: Mom’s Blueberry Cobbler

Then more writing happens.

You see why I think this was a good idea.

As you might guess, I was chopping onions today. I had to make pear relish — Grandma’s recipe — to go with the black-eyed peas and collards we were having for dinner. Now, besides the standard Southern tradition of beans and greens on New Year’s Day, I tend to hold with the belief that the way you conduct yourself on the first day of the year will influence how the rest of the year goes.

So we invited friends over for dinner and I set the table with crisply ironed linens, the china, the crystal, the silver and…. beans and greens.

We also have Ozuni, which is the traditional New Year’s Day soup in Japan and something Rob is very fond of. Then, to further blend cuisine traditions, we also have champagne and caviar. It all works together better than it has any right to.

It was a really, truly lovely evening and the perfect way to start the New Year. I hope the first day of 2009 was as nice for you.

The building inspires awe. Pure, simple awe. Though I’m not much of one for organized religion, I do think that this is one of the things that it ought to do. I mean seriously, if you’re going to put up an edifice in the glory of God, it ought to darn well inspire awe. I can worship on my own, but a cathedral is a physical manifestation of the idea that individuals are small and that there are things that are much, much greater than we are. You know?

It helped, of course, that they were tuning the pipe organ for tomorrow’s rededication. It was haunting although at times a little unpleasant when a reed was particularly out of tune. I’ve never heard a pipe organ bend notes before. Pretty darn cool.

As I’m writing this, it strikes me as amusing that I started the day with a hamentash — a pastry from the Jewish holiday of Purim — and then went to a massive cathedral. I have to say, as impressive as the cathedral is, the idea of making cookies seems more practical. Or at least tastier.

See who I had breakfast with this morning?

Scalzi was in town for a quick trip on his way to Viable Paradise. By happy chance, Diana Rowland was also visiting, to talk to her editor and agent. It was like a mini-con of fun!

The trip to Portland has made me a little melancholy, wishing we still lived here. I had breakfast with David Levine and Katy Yule yesterday morning at Milo’s, which is one of my favorite breakfast spots. In the afternoon, I hung out with -e- on her porch while she worked on a lamp and I edited stories.

I took a walk up 15th, past our house, and then down Alberta. I didn’t go into the house, but just seeing it from the outside made me a little homesick. BUT on Alberta, I ran into a couple of friends that I hadn’t managed to get in touch with. So that was lovely. I went over to their house and hung out for a bit before trotting down to have an early dinner with Sam Mowry and Cindy McGean. It was so good to see them.

From there, I went to Sue McBerry’s, my voice coach, and we just sat in her living room and chatted for not long enough.

I miss all of these people.

Yesterday -e- and I went out to Sauvie’s Island, picked blueberries, ate a peach straight from the tree, picked flowers and then headed back into town. I had tea with Judy Straalsund, of Tapestry Theater and then went from there to the Fireside Room where I met up with a bunch of old writer buddies.

I got work done, but not in the way that feels like working. Stories that I wanted to edit, got edited. It was nice and relaxing.

In the evening, we headed over to the Barley Mill and it was lovely to catch up with old friends and meet new ones. Karen, Joyce, Carol, Aimee, Kai and Evan .

Today consists of hanging out with more friends.

1629 S.E. Hawthorne

I love Powell’s, City of Books. It’s one of the major draws to Portland — not just that we’ve got a giant bookstore, but that we’ve got the sort of literate culture that requires the giant store. In the science-fiction and fantasy section, there’s this column, signed by SF & F authors who visit. Inspired by Cherie Priest’s visit, I wandered up to the SF desk and said, “Hi, I’m the Campbell Award winner for this year. Could I sign the column?”

This was cool because:
a) This is the first time I’ve introduced myself that way and it was sort of like playing dressup.
b) I didn’t have to explain anything else. His eyes sort of lit up, he congratulated me, and grabbed the key.
c) My name is on the column at Powell’s! Like I’m a real author and everything!

I know, it’s ridiculous that it has that effect on me, but holy cow! Do you know how many times I’ve looked at the names on there and marveled?

Sean was very accommodating and took photos for me. Look! You can see him in the reflection on the column.

I also miss the lack of bullshit with Icelanders. With an American you so often have to do a social dance to make plans. You know the one.

Host: “I could make muffins or we could go out to a diner for breakfast.”

Guest: “Whichever is easiest.”

Host: “They’re both easy. Which would you like?”

Guest: “Oh, I don’t want you to go to any trouble.”

etc, etc, etc… until it’s time for lunch and the whole thing starts again.

With an Icelander.

Host: “I could make muffins or we could go out to a diner for breakfast.”

Guest: “A diner sounds good.”

So, with that in mind, here’s the Daily Show and their documentary on the effort to get Iceland’s troops back in Iraq.

Our friend, Daddi, said that he was at the studio packing up for an expo here and that he and Hannis felt it, saw the lights shaking and headed outside. The quake lasted long enough that they got all the way outside before the tremors stopped. He also said that the weather is perfect today, so that most people are just pitching tents outside and planning on camping while things get sorted out.

If you click through you can watch footage of the quake from different parts of the country, including parliament. Does business stop? No. I love the Icelandic spirit.

And I’m so grateful that everyone is okay.

I had to pick up a prop two blocks from the Puppet Kitchen and thought I’d poke my head in to see what they were working on. A big group of my favorite people were there, making what has got to be one of the most gorgeous puppets I’ve seen.

Sometimes, when I’ve needed a break from sewing or basket-weaving or whatever tedious bit of puppet building I’m doing, I’ve read these guys a story. So Emily saw me and said, “Read us a story!”

“Err… I only have an unfinished one with me.”

The group gives a very gratifying chorus of “read it anyway.”

Now, I’ve read unfinished stories to Emily when I’ve been stuck so I could bounce ideas off of her but never one that stopped quite this close to the beginning. “I mean, really unfinished.”

“That’s okay.”

And I wanted to see if the opening works, so I pulled out my palm pilot and started reading:

Half-consciously, Kim put a hand up to cover her new nose ring. She knew it pissed her parents off no end that she could tolerate cold iron and they couldn’t, not like there was that much iron in a nose ring.

It still made her break out sometimes, but didn’t burn her like it did them. “Kimberly Anne Smith,” Mom’s voice caught her in the foyer as surely as if she’d been called by her true name. “I’ve been worried sick. Do you know what time it is?”

“11:49.” Kim dropped her hand and turned to face Mom, her Doc Martins making a satisfactory clomping sound on the hardwood floor. “I’m here. Home before midnight. No one with me.” As if she’d take the chance of her glamour dropping and showing her friends what she really was. A freak, like her parents.

I kept reading for another two thousand words and right as Kim was about to go into The Scary Place the story had been leading up to, I said, “And then… this is an unfinished story.”

I thought they were going to throw the puppet at me.

“I told you!”

“Yes! But what happens next?!?!”

I glanced at all the sharp instruments they had in their hands, decided that my life was in danger, and told them the rest of the story. My word-smithery went out the window pretty fast leaving me with voice to convey mood and then… the rest was all about the plot. What happened next.

I knew basically what I wanted to have happen, but I hadn’t worked out any of the details yet. Having a live audience listening to me as I found my way through the rest of the plot points showed me exactly which things were interesting and which weren’t. (The car chase is right out.) If they had a question, I could stop for exposition, (See, the Faerie Queen knew there was a traitor, she just didn’t know who) while making a mental note that I needed to plant that piece of information earlier when actually writing it.

When I got out of there, I sat down with the keyboard and the words fairly flew out of me. I still have a couple of thousand words to go, but I know exactly what happens next.

Hans Christian Andersen used to do this. As he was working on a new story, he would tell it to a live audience and then go write it down. I don’t think I’ll do this with every story, but telling this one to a group was a good reminder that writing was created to capture the spoken word. I might be a writer, but I do that because, really, I’m a story-teller.

After the museum, we wandered in Central Park for a while. The weather was unbelievable after a season of gray, winter blahs. Warm, with flowers blooming everywhere, it felt like Spring had truly arrived.

In the middle of the lake, a mass of turtles crowded on the only available rock to sun themselves. It was like watching New York’s housing crisis repeat in the animal kingdom.

As such, my only relevant reactions are going to be to dresses — no good standouts this year — and the best effects Oscar. Seriously? People thought the Golden Compass effects were better than Pirates of the Caribbean? That’s just crazy. I mean people have been doing talking animals more convincingly since Babe. I was seriously annoyed through most of Golden Compass because I just couldn’t believe the animals.

It took two years for us to reach this decision.

I’ll be honest, it wasn’t an easy one. I’ve never been a girl who has craved babies, though I went through a phase when I was fascinated by pregnancy. That said, I’ve always assumed that I would have children because I come from a very loving and extended family. Of course, it was only natural that I would contribute a branch to the family tree and pass on things. Some of them were ephemeral like Robinette, my middle name, and some were tangible, like my great-grandfather’s bedroom suite.

But when I spend time around friends’ children, even charming ones, there is always a sense of relief when I leave. Yes. I’ve heard that it’s different when they are your own. But what isn’t different is that your time no longer belongs to you. It’s not like having a cat or a dog; a child is forever.

So, coming into our marriage, I was ambivalent about having children. I thought I would want them later, but I didn’t want them then. Rob came into our marriage not wanting children. He was “adamant” that he did not want children, but said that his position might change. It seemed like opposite sides of the same place. We agreed to wait three to five years before discussing children any further.

Now, here is the only piece of misunderstanding in our communication. I took “I don’t want children” to mean, “I do not desire children,” while he meant, “I actively desire to be childless.” One is negotiable. The other is not. He, on the other hand, knew that I might change my mind and was willing to marry me anyway.

If you’ve been reading my journal for any length of time, you know how much I love my husband. He is, quite simply, the best thing that has ever happened to me. Given a choice between having children and having Rob, there was no choice. Sure, I could have insisted. We talked about different scenarios that would fulfill the urge I felt for children while preserving as much of his desire for a childless state as possible. We both knew, however, that these were fantasies. I was looking at taking a really solid marriage and putting a great deal of stress on it for a possibility. The thing with deciding to have kids is that you don’t know who you’ll get. It’s not like picking a pet out at the store; you may get a kid who is severely troubled or is perfect and wonderful. You just don’t know. It’s a gamble. For me, for us, that gamble wasn’t worth the risk.

There are so many children in the world already, too many for the planet to handle, that I think both partners have to want the child to justify bringing it into the world.

Are there things I will regret? Of course.

I will regret never knowing pregnancy. That I’m sure of. I’m afraid of being lonely when I’m old. I love my parents, and I’ll miss being on the other side of that relationship.

But at the end, weighing all the possible regrets and maybes, the thing I am most sure of is that I am not willing to give up Rob for a person who doesn’t exist. There are other reasons, just dealing with myself and a selfish desire to control my own lifestyle, but the big one is that I wasn’t willing to chance destroying something wonderful.

Most of the things I’m afraid of are things that are within my control. I am taking active steps now to develop connections with people in the next generation. I’m trying to become more involved in the life of my nieces and nephew. I’m finding other ways to leave a legacy besides my genes.

And here’s the big thing I want you to understand — I went through a rough period when we were making the choice, but once it was made… I really didn’t realize how much pressure I was putting on myself to procreate until it was gone. If you have a friend who is childless, don’t second guess them. Don’t assume that someone has to have kids to be happy. And please, please, don’t put pressure on them, even by implication.

You may not intend it, but it’s just mean. It’s hard to buck the social and biological pressure to have children. If someone makes that choice, do them the courtesy of accepting that it is the right choice for them. That’s all I ask. I’m happy. Those of you with children may think that I’m a fool, but I’m a happy fool.

Edited to add: I wanted to point out karindira’s very thoughtful post on the question of childless women from the side of motherhood.

He stayed with us for two nights and took us out to dinner tonight at Jean-Georges. I think we all agreed that the food was well-crafted, but not inspiring. By that I mean that everything was exquisitely cooked, but that the recipes were uneven. We had a tuna tartare that was probably divine, if it weren’t over-sauced with Thai Ginger. Even so, it was a delightful meal. We had two wines that were exquisite — I’ll get the names from Rob tomorrow.

When you have something great, you want everyone to know. So you tell people about it. You share it. You pass it along to friends everywhere. Well, that’s what we’re doing with InterGalactic Medicine Show. We want to make sure everyone has had a chance to check out what we’re doing, so w’re offering up a sampling of our stories — for free.

During the month of February we are going to make one story from each of our first four issues available at no charge. Two stories will be set free on February 1st, and two more on February 15th. Just visit www.intergalacticmedicineshow.com and explore the table of contents; the free stories will be clearly marked.

Issue one’s free story will be “Trill and The Beanstalk” by Edmund R. Schubert, issue two’s will be “Yazoo Queen” by Orson Scott Card (from his Alvin Maker series), issue three’s “Xoco’s Fire” by Oliver Dale, and issue four’s “Tabloid Reporter To The Stars” by Eric James Stone. Each story is fully illustrated by artists who were commissioned to create artwork to accompany that tale — as is every story published in IGMS.

“Tabloid Reporter To The Stars” will also be featured in the upcoming InterGalactic Medicine Show anthology from Tor, which will be out this August (we wanted you to get a sneak peek of the anthology, too). However, the other three stories aren’t available anywhere except the online version of IGMS.

It’s really quite simple. Great stories. Custom illustrations. Free. We’re pleased with and proud of the magazine we’re publishing; now we’re passing it along to our friends and telling them about it. We hope you’ll enjoy it and do the same.

Edmund R. Schubert
Editor, Orson Scott Card’s InterGalactic Medicine Show
www.intergalacticmedicineshow.com

And for those of you who read Shades of Milk and Honey, most of the characters in the book got their names from friends. Edmund gave his first name to Mr. Dunkirk.

Several friends also make an appearance: Ted Kosmatka (who pointed the list out to me), Aliette de Bodard, John Scalzi… Best of all, they link to a lot of the fiction, which means it’s a treasure trove of really good stuff.

So I called the friends that were supposed to come over and regretfully asked them to stay away. We’ve been huddled under the covers with a Veronica Mars marathon pretty much all day. I still made black-eyed peas and collards though because I’m just not willing to chance going into the New Year without them.

It’s funny, even in Portland, at the grocery store the black-eye peas and the collards were always prominently displayed and you could tell that there’d been a run on them. Here in NYC, not so much. People looked at me like I’m a crazy person for saying that you have to have them on New Year’s day.

So how about you? Do you have a New Year’s day tradition?

I know very little about some of the people on my friends list. Some people I know relatively well. (Some I know too well. You know who you are.) I read your journals, or we have something else in common and we chat occasionally. Some of you I hardly know at all. Perhaps you lurk, for whatever reason. But you friended me and I thank you for your interest in my words.

But here’s a thought: why not take this opportunity to tell me a little something about yourself. Any old thing at all. Just so the next time I see your name I can say: “Ah, there’s so and so…they listen in rapture to the love-music of she-turnips.” I might feel compelled to mock your musical taste, but I’ll certainly remember you.

I’d love it if every single person who friended me would do this. Yes, even you people who I know really well. Then post this in your own journal and see what gems of knowledge appear.

So, tell me about yourself.

We’ll go with social, because that is rarer in these parts.

Friday night, our friend Jonathan invited us out with him to see Aimee Mann’s Christmas show. Now, I sort of vaguely knew who Aimee Mann was, but not really. I was exhausted and left to my own devices would have stayed home, but I like Jonathan and this was a really nice thing that he did for us. So I leave the studio with all its tentacles and head to midtown.

The show was in the Grand Ballroom of the Manhattan Center, which is a gorgeous space. Turns out that Aimee Mann does a variety show, with guest musicians, comedians and a little mini-mockumentary. It was so much fun. I had a blast and was really glad that Jonathan had invited us.

Yesterday was all Tempest, all the time.

Today, we went to Jonathan’s tree-trimming party. He does this fun thing where he hangs Polaroids of his guests on the tree. Lots of good food and interesting conversations. It felt really, really good to take the day off.

I also sent off an email to a man I’ve been meaning to thank for a while now. My college writing teacher, William Hallberg, had just had his first novel come out the semester I took a class with him. Much like my experience with puppetry, until meeting him it hadn’t occurred to me that publishing a novel was something that was attainable. Now, I haven’t spent the ensuing twenty years in desperate pursuit of getting a novel published — in fact I only really started writing seriously about five years ago — but the early lessons from Mr. Hallberg stuck with me. Among other things, that it is possible to write a novel and hold down another job.

So, besides spending time with Rob, I’m going to treat myself to a writing day today. Meanwhile, may I recommend that you pick up a copy of Rub of the Green, by William Hallberg?

Edited to add: Mr. Hallberg wrote back to say that he remembers me. Wonders never cease. He asked me to send him something I’d written, so I’ve sent him a link to For Solo Cello, op. 12.

Me? I’m printing up stage money and putting blood on the dog.

So let me point out a good guy fellow who has just gotten what he deserves. Ken Scholes, one of the hardest working and most talented writers I know, has just sold his first novel to Tor. That’s sweet. But what makes it sweeter is that they want his entire five book series. If you ask me, that’s just dessert.

First of all, receiving an email which says, “go to the back of the Met to the stage entrance,” was pretty darn cool in and of itself. Once you get past security the way to the rehearsal room is through a labyrinth of halls crowded with set pieces. In one corner stood a trio of temple bells. Another hall took me past a vast marble arch disassembled on the ground. The first rehearsal room had singers in rehearsal for a production, but no puppeteers. I rounded a corner, past a stack of chairs, and at the end of the hall found our rehearsal room. In it, they had put up the set for Madama Butterfly. A vast black lacquered floor dominated the room; shoji screens sat waiting in tracks to be slipped on stage.

I was one of the first puppeteers to arrive. For a while, it looked like there were only going to be eight of us auditioning but a whole gaggle of puppeteers arrived as soon as Mark Down (head puppeteer) said, “Shall we start?” All told there were between twenty to thirty of us auditioning.

Mark had us start by doing some elementary yoga. It was really nice that he took fifteen minutes or so to make certain that everyone was warmed up. Of course, it’s also a covert way to check for limberness and fluidity of movement.

He then introduced us to the puppet. As I mentioned, this style normally takes three puppeteers, but Mark wanted to see what we could do solo. He asked us to do a short scene using only the head and the torso to emote. We simply had to run across stage (with the puppet lifted so the feet didn’t drag) and then explore the “room” that our character had entered. What he wanted, he said, was a sense of breath and of the puppet being. He wanted to know that the puppet looked and listened rather than just seeing and hearing because he wanted to know that the puppet was thinking about what he was experiencing — incidentally, that’s good advice for writers too, I think. Then he said, “So who wants to go first.”

The room was silent for a moment as we all held our breath, waiting for someone else to volunteer.

“I’ll go,” I said as I stood and took the puppet from him. Inside I was trying to reassure myself that it was actually a good plan. I figured showing initiative and eagerness would make me stand out of the pack. Also, it meant that none of the obvious emotional beats had been tried yet. Anyone who came after me would either have to come up with something new, or repeat what I had already done. There is a downside to going first, of course. You can’t see how the puppet moves and don’t know what the director is looking for.

So, I ran the puppet across, peered around the corner of the screen set center stage and entered the “room.” The rehearsal hall phone rang. Instinctively, my puppet turned to look at it. Everyone laughed. Whew. But then… now what do I do? In order for the puppet to really look at something I needed to know what he was looking at. We were standing alone on a blank stage. So I decided that my character was looking for his mother. I didn’t do much walking because the dragging feet annoyed me. The whole time, a part of my brain was thinking, “When is he going to stop me?” It felt like I was up there forever.

Mark asked me to be very still with the puppet. There’s a difference, and it’s a very fine one, between still and static. With a puppet it is very easy to have stillness become static — it is, after all, an inanimate object. The difference comes from minute movements of breath and focus to keep the puppet thinking. My hand started trembling. I shifted position to get into a stronger hold and ignored the tremble.

(By the way, when I use the word “breath” I mean the rhythms of the puppet rather than just the act of breathing. When I teach puppetry I say, “Focus indicates thought; breath indicates emotion,” because the only time you notice someone in the act of breathing it carries meaning. The rest of the time we filter it out.)

Anyway. The rest of the performers went and I did the usual compare and contrast between their performance and mine. And that’s the thing. It really felt like I was watching performances; these were, for the most part, really good puppeteers. Some people he let go for a long time. Some he stopped fairly quickly. Some got direction. Others didn’t. It wasn’t always easy to tell why.

Then he introduced us to the choreographer. Since the stage is so bare, the performers form a large part of the world of the opera, so they needed puppeteers who can move well. They went in the same order as before, which meant — joy! — I was first again. The choreography was deceptively simple. Walk in, kneel, bow, sit up, say your name, stand, exit. No problem, right? Now do this very particular Japenese stage hand walk, where your feet don’t leave the ground. Keep your eyes facing down at 45 degrees. Fold your thumbs into your palm so they don’t show and you have “long fingers.” Make sure when you kneel, that your left foot is half a pace back and you kneel straight down like an elevator… The specificity went on.

This is where it sucked going first. I only got to see the movements twice before trying to remember them all. I was not expressing the “soul” the choreographer was looking for; I was expressing, “what next?”

Then came working as a team. Three performers on the puppet and we had to run the puppet across the stage. I dunno, sixty feet? Here’s the thing. The person on the feet had to crouch or squat. Go ahead. Try this at home. Crouch down and put your hands on the floor. Now stretch your arms out as far in front of you as possible, without losing the crouch. Now, in that position — while trying to make feet look like they are actually walking — run sixty feet. On a raked stage. I sucked at it. I felt marginally better because everyone sucked at it. Until one guy got up on stage and just did it. It was like watching magic. The puppet ran; the puppeteer didn’t fall on his face.

They had us break for fifteen minutes while they conferred.

When we came back, Mark said, “We’re going to break for lunch and when we come back we only need to keep these people. Jodi, Mary–” I stopped listening at that point. Thank God. I’d made the first cut.

He only kept seven of us. Some friends, who are brilliant puppeteers, didn’t make the cut. I’ve been on the other side of that line and it’s always hard.

After lunch, we headed back down to the rehearsal hall. This distinguished Spanish man was in the catacombs and a group of elderly ladies was lost. He said, “People who have worked here for years still get lost” and proceeded to tell them where the elevator was. I wonder if they knew that they were talking to Plácido Domingo.

In fact, as each of us walked back into the rehearsal room, there would be this moment of, “Was that…?”

“Plácido Domingo? Yeah.”

But, back to the audition. Mark kept switching us around trying to see what team would mesh best. Poor Oliver, the fellow who could do the feet, was on the feet the whole time. Granted, he knew he was cast by implication, but it was an awful physical position to be in for hours. Mark had us act out miniature scenes and play off an actor. It was fun to be onstage and wonderful to be in the audience. Everyone was good so it was like watching lots of little puppet shows.

After one of the teams did a very nice scene, Mark said, “Well, we’re only casting three people, and I think I’d like it to be the three on stage now.”

So. After reading all that, you now learn that I am not in the upcoming cast of Madama Butterfly. Which, you know, I’m okay with. Being on the list to audition for the Met? That’s something.

And here’s the final cool thing. One of the casting people referred to those of us who didn’t get cast and said, “We need to get their contact information, in case someone can’t do the part.”

Mark said, “Oh, right. I think we can just get Mary and Jodi’s information, then.”

I’m not cast. I’m not even an understudy. But I’m on the list for replacement performers and that’s not a bad place to be. Not bad at all.

This. Today. That opportunity is why we moved to New York.

So, to celebrate his birthday, I’ve got a thing I want you to do.

There’s someone in your life who is exceptional. Tell him or her that that. Go on. Pick up the phone, write a letter or send an email. Heck, go out for coffee.

Let me tell you about my dad.

Over the past month, I’ve had the chance to meet a couple of my friends’ parents. I’ve always had a good relationship with my parents — not counting the teenage years — but I thought that was normal. The older I get, the more I realize what exceptional, wonderful people they are. Rob and I were having this conversation after the last encounter with Other Parents and realizing how incredibly lucky we were. (His folks are great, too.)

My dad has always treated me like an intelligent person, even when I was really, really little. He’s unfailingly patient about explaining things or figuring out problems. In fact, I’ll send my tricky plot stories to him to “debug,” because if there’s a flaw in logic, Dad will find it.

When I was a kid, Dad helped me make a planetarium for science fair. It was the coolest use of a refrigerator box ever. Did I mention the electric organ that he made for me? From scratch! Not to mention his sheer brilliance at marrying my mom, who is also exceptional.

And he’s been like that my entire life. When I toured through my home town, Dad took one look at my puppet stage and redesigned it. Then we built it in the driveway at home. His new design shaved 20% off our set-up time.

There’s more. More than I could type if I spent weeks typing.

Dad is grand. Wonderful. He is an exceptional person. I’ll be calling today to tell him that.

Now it’s your turn. It doesn’t have to be my Dad (unless you know him too) but get in touch with an exceptional person in your life.

The short form is this. If you get an invitation to Quechup, do not click on it. As part of the signup process, it will upload every address in your contact list and spam all of them with invitations. This includes business acquaintances, priests, editors, your mother-in-law… everyone. Just delete the thing.

For a good write up of it, check out Extra Spam, Hold the Quechup at Wise Bread.

I only escaped this one because I emailed the fellow who sent me the invitation and said, “Did you really send me this? What is it?” Lo! It was spam.

Remember kids, don’t click on strange links. Check everything out from another source before trusting it.

I made a beet green and black olive tapénade frittata, topped with a sour cream and gin sauce; sautéed green peppers and potatoes; fruit from -e-’s garden in Portland. I also had a some croissants leftover from work, yesterday.

The closest coffeeshop to the Puppet Kitchen is the The Bagel Zone. The guys there are totally nice. I needed to research some ways to decrease the distance of a cable pull, and they were starting to close down shop. Not only did he let me hang out while he cleaned, he gave me a big bag of pastries to take home.

It was great to have Fabulous Girl here. She is a fine reminder of the many reasons that moving to NYC was a good idea.

I hope today is wonderful.

They have been warned.

And we are cleaning.

In other news, I’m doing a test run with another friend’s laptop and if it goes well, I’ll be able to offer to mod other laptops as well. Wish me luck.

We have arrived safely in Salt Lake City. Alas, we had to cancel the dinner with friends because, even getting up at dawn, we still didn’t arrive at Beth’s until after eleven pm. Meanwhile, you can click on the photo above to look at an album–unlabled–of the past two days.

Things we learned today.

1. The truck goes about 60 to 65 mph, except up hills, then it goes 30, if we are lucky, for an average of 50 mph.
2. Marlowe, the cat who escaped outside last night, today exhibited signs of having kitty agoraphobia. He spent the first part of the day with his face pressed into the corner of his cage. He’s doing better now.
3. Maggie thinks that being in the van just means that she gets lots and lots of laptime.
4. Salt Lake City is much farther away if you can’t go 75 mph.
5. Weigh stations are not very exciting.
6. Wild fires make great sunsets.
7. Idaho roads are very bumpy.
8. Bumpy roads will cause the ferring guard to break on a motocycle if you are using it as an anchor.
9. Motorcycles are heavy if you have to tip them back upright.
10. When buying bottled water, make sure you select bottles with lids that screw on instead of ones with a bottle cap.

I think I’ll have internet most evenings over the next week, but clearly won’t be spending much time online. If you have some exciting news, and it’s on your blog, I probably will miss it so make sure you drop me a line.

However, at this rate, I will be exhausted before we hit the road. So, in the interests of self-preservation, I will not post a complete report of the evening, but instead, will go to bed early. Relatively. It’s before midnight!

That’s got to count for something.

Asher McGirt and his mother, Janet, have unusual summer plans:

They’re waiting for the sound of a beeper.

The beeper, when it vibrates and bleats, will signal that a set of lungs has been found for Asher, a sixth-grader at Moore Square Magnet School in Raleigh.

“It’s strange, of course, because it means that we’re waiting for a donor to … well, die,” Janet McGirt said.

Last night we went down to the Celsi’s for an Iron Chef reprise potluck. We’d all wanted to do another Iron Chef battle, but it just wasn’t in the cards. Eve reprised her Potato battle samosa dumplings in cardomon carrot sauce.

Don brought his amazing, amazing mushroom raviolli, which had won best overall when we did Best Of Iron Chef.

And me? My theme ingredient was “leftovers,” so I made a garbanzo, carrot, and shitake salad over a bed of greens.

Yani came with desserts from Pix Patisserie which are one of the many things I’ll miss about Portland.

But I’ll miss our friends more.