Good News, Not So Good News

In the spirit of the Friday the 13th

At the end of the last week, I applied for a job as a writer for an online magazine for women. A couple of days ago, I found out they didn't accept me. Too bad.

On the other hand, yesterday I found out that my story was accepted for a vampire-themed anthology in Serbian; it should come out in September. Yay!

For the end, something that's not writing-related: on Monday, I made a pizza for the first time in I don't remember how many years, and it turned out good. Another Yay!

Have a nice weekend, everyone! And remember to be nice to cats!

Chimney Cake!

Sometime last year, a fellow writer Oto Oltvanji recommended chimney cake on his Facebook status. Last Thursday, I managed to try one (two, actually, but more about that later), and I can recommend it too, although I suppose it might create you problems if you're on a weight-loss mission.

A cinnamon chimney cake on the outside.

You can read what Wikipedia says about the chimney cake here.

Go on and read it, I'll wait. It's not long, promise, but it will give you an idea about a delicious cake.

Managed to get back? Are you drooling yet?

In the very small store where they make them and sell them in Belgrade, there are 6 flavors: cinnamon, chocolate, vanilla, hazel, almond, and coconut. You get them freshly baked, still hot; they're packaged in such a way they're still warm by the time you get home, provided you don't open them before you're ready to eat.

Hollow on the inside, like a chimney is supposed to be.

I got 2 of them, for the two of us; one cinnamon, and one chocolate. The chocolate one was so-so, but the cinnamon... Slightly crispy on the outside from all the cinnamon and the caramelized sugar, melt-in-the-mouth soft on the inside. And the cinnamon, oh my! There was so much of it that it made my mouth sting a bit -- not that I complain, I love cinnamon, and they were certainly not saving up on it. Yum!

You don't exactly see that on the pictures, but one chimney cake is big enough for two people to eat, unless you're really, really hungry. Or like the taste extremely.

Have I mentioned that chimney cake probably wasn't such a good idea if you were trying to lose some weight?

For a brief moment, the writers mind wondered about putting a chimney cake in a story, about a character eating it, or something.

Then I got back to just enjoying the taste. That's how good it is. Or overwhelming?

So, if you ever get anywhere near a place where they sell chimney cakes, do try them. You won't regret it.

Doing Laundry, Getting Character Ideas, and Other Monday Ramblings

Need... More... Coffee...

SO fixed the washing machine last night (it broke last Monday), so I managed to do the laundry this morning. The only reason I mention this is because, while the machine was doing its thing, my mind was doing the writer's thing, thinking of a way to insert doing laundry and the washing machine in a story or with a character. The character would probably be a female, but, of course, there's a bunch of questions: when does she do the laundry? Early in the morning, to get it done as soon as possible? Late at night, when the power is cheaper? In the afternoon or in the evening, after the job is done (what job, and at what time of the day is it done?). Does she wait until there's enough to fill the machine, or there's a reason to do the laundry before that? What detergent does she use? What's the smell of it, is it something she prefers, or whatever is the cheapest in the supermarket? And so on.

I don't know the answers to these questions, but just thinking about them told me it's possible to learn interesting stuff about the character from the way she does the laundry.

By the way, that's a writer's mind for you, sometimes. Or more often than that. Can't do a routine, mundane thing without thinking about writing.

Speaking of writing, a great way to improve your writing can be a writers workshop. Unfortunately, they can also make your writing much worse than it would otherwise be. I've encountered both kinds of writers workshops, and this excellent text reminded me of them (you can also find links to some online -- and free! -- writers workshops there).

Since it's Monday, I can't help but think of coffee and the other ways to wake up (I think I still have too much blood in my caffeine). And when it comes to coffee, you have to drink it from something, right? This wonderful page has some hilarious coffee mugs -- gotta love 'em!

Okay, enough with the ramblings, back to work! Oh, and feel free to share your Monday (Tuesday, Friday, whatever) ramblings! 

An Excerpt From a Future WiP

I can't exactly call it a WiP, because it would indicate the book in progress, and I haven't started writing it yet. But this humorous piece can give you some taste of what my non-fiction book about cats is going to be like (although, not everything is going to be as funny). It appeared here first, and people seemed to enjoy the silly but true story of a cat refusing to catch a mouse. I might re-write it for the book, especially the end part, but all the fun stuff will stay. So, without further ado, here it is.

Oh, and you also get a chance to see what my writing looked like 9 years ago. Not too bad, I hope.

Catching a Mouse

Once upon a time, Kes was a big, strong cat who hunted everything that moved. He was able to catch a fly while it was flying; several times, we have found remains of a big, fat pigeon which served as his snack. People in Belgrade tend to feed pigeons so much that they become too fat to fly, or at least too fat to fly away in time. A heaven for cats!
However, with years Kes became lazy. He could move fast when he wanted to, but he preferred to sleep and be fed and petted. And of course, my mom and I loved to feed him and pet him. Still, I believe my mom thought he should catch a mouse if an opportunity arises; I also believe Kes didn't share her opinion.
One morning, when I came back home (my boyfriend and I were celebrating our fourth anniversary), mom was panicking. She told me a mouse appeared in our apartment last night, and she had barely slept because she was afraid it would climb her bed and bite her. I gave her a puzzled look.
"Mom, mice don't climb beds. And why would it bite you?" I said.
"I'm not afraid of mice," she said. "But if it bit me, I could get some disease. Kes didn't even notice it; I believe it's somewhere in your room," she added.
I shrugged. What's so scary about a cute furry little thing, anyway?
Kes was sleeping on my bed, as usual. I petted him and turned my computer on, to read some book I've downloaded.
Later, I went to the bathroom. Mom summoned me from it, clearly in panic.
"I've seen it again! It IS in your room! I put Kes so he could see it, and he ran and hid under your bed!"
I laughed. I couldn't help it. Just imagining Kes -- the biggest cat I've ever seen (black with little white fur on his lower belly, as if he was wearing panties, if you want a more clear image) running away from a tiny little mouse -- made me laugh. Of course, I knew he wasn't running away from the mouse. He was running away from my mom, because he felt like sleeping and didn't want to be bothered. At the age of twelve, he was a senior kitty citizen and was rarely in the mood to hunt.
I tried to explain to mom that such a tiny thing as a mouse couldn't possibly be a threat. Besides, if it spent entire night in my room, it was probably half-dead with hunger (I don't keep food on my floor) and fear. Mom reminded me that hungry mice chew on cables. Ouch. I also remembered that if it hid behind some big furniture piece and died of hunger, it would be extremely difficult to find and get rid of. Ouch again.
And Kes still refused to get out from under my bed. He decided to take a nap there. A very long nap, if necessary. Nice kitty.
Eventually, I had to catch the mouse myself (well, people do compare me to a cat, sometimes :) ). It wasn't difficult, really. It was in the middle of my room, confused, and all I had to do was to throw an old T-shirt on it. It was so scared it didn't even wriggle in my hands. I took it out of the house and set it free. It disappeared in the bushes. Cute furry little thing. I hoped it would survive.
My boyfriend's comment to this was: "I know you grew up with cats. It's all right to catch a mouse, we all do it sometimes. Just don't eat it."
Kes? Once it was all over, he went to the kitchen to get a snack. Then he got back to my bed and fell asleep. He seemed satisfied.
Several months ago, Kes disappeared. Sometimes he would disappear for a week, or even more, especially in February (or whenever there was female kitty company to please). But he had never disappeared for months, and knowing he was more than thirteen years old, there isn't much hope he's still somewhere, lost but alive. :( The only thing that comforts me is that he was a happy cat. He had a good life, and is probably chasing females somewhere in kitty heaven.

"I Write For Love, Not For Money!"

The title sentence is one I hear from time to time, and seriously dislike it.

For one thing, it implies that it's impossible to love writing and still want to get paid for your work.

For the other, it often sounds as if those saying it see themselves as better than those who write for a living.

And frankly, to me it sounds like: "My writing is not good enough that anyone would want to pay me for it, so I'm going to put down those who manage to sell their work." Not to mention that I often hear it either from people who are financially supported by their parents (regardless of their age), or from those who do something else for a living, like to write, but for various reasons don't give their writing serious effort and don't dare to attempt to make it more than a hobby.

As for me, I love writing. I couldn't imagine my life without it. And the main reason I want to get paid for writing is so that I can write full-time, so that I don't have to do something else for a living and write only when time/energy/circumstances permit.

And besides, is there anything better than doing what you love most and being paid to do it?

Wishes Do Come True

Wishes do come true.

Yesterday I've read this post, and it inspired me to say something on the subject of the wishes.

Wishes do come true.

There's a catch, though. They don't come true out of the blue; you do have to do some work. You also have to be careful what you wish for.

My wish was to be able to survive from writing. I was told it was impossible to do in Serbia, small country, small language, there's no money in it... And yet, I've managed to do exactly that. For seven years, I've been writing for a living (it ended about a year ago). My wish did come true.

However, there was work involved. When choosing University, I've chosen to study dramaturgy (writing for theater, for television, screenplays...), because, at the time, it was the only place in my country where I could learn about writing, where I would be required to write and the professors and other students would read it. In terms of money, it was not a profitable choice; in terms of later employment, it almost guaranteed I would stay unemployed. But writing was my wish.

After getting my diploma, it was working this and that, applying here and there, until I started getting contracts to write. When I did start getting contracts, since the pay was low, it meant I had to write a LOT. Day after day, week after week, month after month. If I wanted to go to a vacation, no problem -- I just had to write all that stuff in advance (think being required to write about 100 articles per month, every single month, and doing it in  considerably less than a month if you wanted to go to a vacation). But hey, my wish to write for a living did come true.

That is, my wish to be able to survive from writing -- now we come to the be careful what you wish for part. I was able to survive, yes. If I worked as much as I said, I was able to survive. There was no getting rich, popular, famous, there was surviving.

I'm not complaining. I got my wish, and I loved it. I didn't want to get rich, famous, popular, I just wanted to be able to survive from writing, and that is exactly what I got.

So I can tell, from my own experience, that wishes do come true. It's not easy, and the outcome of the wish might surprise you, but they do come true, and give you a great ride.

My 2011

I did some work before I fell asleep, really!

This has been a tricky year for me. At the very beginning of it, I was left without job; not only was I left without my income (which wasn't much to begin with, but still better than nothing), I was also no longer writing for a living. Although, truth be told, I was more concerned about the income.

Some start of a year.

A friend helped me, she found a guy who needed a book translated from Croatian to English, a crime novel. I've never translated an entire novel before that, but hey, there's a first time for everything, and I made it. After that, a publishing house hired me to translate Graceling by Kristin Cashore and City of Glass by Cassandra Clare. More work, yay! And then, there was translating The Man from the Diogenes Club by Kim Newman with a killing deadline -- a new challenge, and a great experience; I'll be translating another book by Mr Newman, the one which nobody dared to publish.

So, within a year, I have translated four books -- is it good, bad, average? I'm not sure.

I've also managed to finish a short story collection (ghost stories), I hope it will get published sometime next year.

Not to forget: I've written some reviews for Suite101, and one of those reviews helped a book get translated into Polish. I'm really proud of that.

All the time, there's the economy crisis (although, there's always some sort of a crisis here), lousy health mostly due to stress (both me and SO).

Did I do well this year? Or bad? Something in the middle? I don't know, but we survived. I guess that counts for something.

What was your year like?

Backup!

Never forget the backup!

It looks like my computer is dying (I'm writing this from my netbook). The Windows won't start, and I have no access to my stuff there. Maybe I'll be able to save my data, maybe not; Significant Other will look into it.

And, you guessed it, I was an idiot enough not to do the backup.

Now, don't get me wrong: whatever was related to paying work (translation, editing and so on) is safe -- already sent where it should be, mostly payed for, and while I was doing that particular work, I was always careful to save it in more than one place. When it comes to work I get money for, I'm extremely careful.

But. My stories, the photos I took, some other stuff -- I made no backup of that.

It turned out I was pretty lucky: some other stuff I can get again, most of the stories were either already sent to my publisher as a short story collection (it also means I have them in the attachment of my sent mail) and some of them were published on my blog, so, if I can't retrieve my data, I'll lose one or two very short stories and some photos. Some of those photos were really nice, but it won't break my heart if I have to lose them; as for the stories, I might be able to write them again -- they wouldn't be exactly the same, but it's not the end of the world.

Still. I should have been more careful. I knew my computer was ancient and it was matter of time before something like this happened, and even if it wasn't, I should have saved important work -- and my writing is important, right? Right.

On top of all that, the flu refuses to leave either me or Significant Other (by the way, my computer decided to crash on his birthday), I can barely breathe, and this time flu managed to make my gums bleed. Ouch.

Rant over.

So, has it ever happened to you to forget the backup of the important (or not so important) stuff?

Parents Influence Their Children

The cub will be influenced by this.

When I create my story characters, I start with the parents. I go even more in the past if necessary, but the parents are a must, whether they actually appear in the story or not. If asked how to make the story character seem real, I'd suggest: "Start with the parents."

We all are who and what we are partly due to our parents. I'm not saying we're just like them; in many cases, we're not. People can become this or that in spite of their parents, not just because of them -- but one way or another, their parents will have some influence on them.

What if they're orphans? What if their grandparents or relatives brought them up? What if they were taken away from their parents because they were criminals? What if they grew up in a foster home, or an orphanage, or on the streets? The lack of the parental presence influences people just as much as the presence does -- the person won't be the same if they grew up with a loving mother and a loving father and if they grew up on the streets, looking up at their gang leader. It's also not the same if a human brought them up, or a pack of wolves, or if it was an alien family or an elven or a dwarf family.

I usually start at the moment the characters' parents first met. How did they meet? How old were they at the time, what were they doing, what were their hopes and dreams? How did they marry (if there was a marriage)? How did the pregnancy go, was it risky, was it difficult? Did the parents even want that child? What kind of childhood did that character have? What sort of relationship did they have with the parents? And so on, until I have the character's entire life story in my mind, starting at the moment their parents met.

I don't write all these things down. I often write none of them down, and most of them never even show up in the story, at least not directly -- but the result is there. And the result is a character you know almost everything about, starting from the time before they were even born -- and the readers will sense that, they will find your characters believable and will care about them. On top of that, you'll find the writing easier, because the picture of the character is so clear in your head (it could also mean the character won't always do what is convenient for the writer to do -- but hey, it's quite possible to adapt to that), and the whole thing doesn't take too much effort, just some daydreaming about the characters who refuse to leave your head anyway, so you might as well play with them.

Ouch

I have written a bad story and survived it.

It happened to me, and I suppose it happens to every writer from time to time. And it hurts every darn time.

I have written a bad story. As in, really bad. And sent it to a writers workshop of kinds, the best stories from that particular round were supposed to be published in a family magazine, a legend I grew up with. As it happened, we all sent really bad stories. Now, most of the participants are not really writers, but I am -- and my story turned out to be the worst. Ouch.

It hurts. Acknowledging that I've written such a bad story hurts. Realizing I was clueless as to how bad it was hurts too -- why didn't I see it before I sent it? Or before it was even written? Plus, in the rare moments I show up in that workshop, I act arrogant more often than I should (I shouldn't be acting like that at all), and then I send a truly bad story.

The only good thing I did was accepting criticism with grace, asking for explanations and thanking for comments. No being defensive, no hissing fits. Good for me.

So, what do you do when something like that happens, when you feel ashamed because your story, for which you thought was somewhat cute, turns out to be bad?

I suppose I could work on that story and make a better one, but I'm not really interested in that particular story enough to do it. Or I could write something else, hope I do better this time, send it to someone whose judgement I trust, and see what happens.

That's what I did. I have written a story for Karen's Flash Fiction Fridays (the October one, with nightmares as a subject), and sent it to her, and she told me it was good and would appear on her blog.

Having someone with decades of experience as an editor tell you you wrote a good story after a fiasco sure feels good. It helps with moving on, with realizing that, yes, one of my stories was really bad, but I have written another, and it was good.

I've written a bad story and survived. I'm moving on and I still write and I still have good writing in me, and it feels good.

The Book Characters Are Not Real Life People

Afternoon sun in the trees.

When I critique characters from someone's story, saying that their actions make no sense, I often hear: "Well that's what's it like in real life." On the other hand, people who tell me that often realize their story characters really don't work very well, and they ask me: "How do you do that? How do you make that character believable with one sentence only?"

This time I won't talk about making the story character believable with one sentence only; I'll talk about book (or story) characters not being real life people. The tree pictures have nothing to do with this, I just thought they looked pretty.

I can see these trees from my window.

So, once again: the book characters are not real life characters. You might know this really interesting guy who always wears two neckties at the same time, and be clueless as to why he does that; that's life. But if your protagonist (or any other book character) acts like that, you must state his reason for doing it, or at least acknowledge that nobody knows why he does it and nobody ever finds out. You can't just leave it be. Otherwise that character won't be believable, and you will appear a writer who can't define their own characters well.

While it's impossible to define a tree, it's necessary to define your story character.

If book characters are not real life characters, what are they? They're constructs. That's why you have to make them so carefully. It can give you a lot of trouble, because if you create them well, they might refuse to do what you need them to do - they might tell you: "Wait a minute, there's no reason for me to do that!', and you would have to admit they were right. On the other hand, it can also give you a lot of freedom, because if you give them a good enough reason, and if that's how you create the world you place them in, they'll be able to do what a real life character never would. They will fly. They will move mountains. They will know when to reply with a witty comment and when to stay silent. And they will lead you, their own creator, to ideas and worlds you never thought you could come up with - because, even though they're constructs when we look at them from our side, in their own worlds they're real, and can guide you through them.

Once you're done, you can just look at the pretty trees.

And when you get tired, they will take your hand and lead you to sit under a pretty tree, to daydream of the new adventures and the new worlds to come.

A Cosmetics Appreciation Post

The scent of the Godiva solid shampoo is simply amazing.

I don't use make-up. I rarely even think about cosmetics - about any kind of it. But sometimes, just sometimes, there are cosmetic thingies which are so adorable that they manage to grab my attention, and then refuse to let it go. One such thingy is Lush's Godiva solid shampoo.

I bought that one for the first time a few years ago. It's like a soap in your hand; you use it quite easily, as if washing your hair with a soap. It's easy to apply and easy to rinse; since it's both a shampoo and a conditioner, you don't need a conditioner later on, unless your hair gives you a lot of trouble without very special products. If you have to, you can wash your body with this solid shampoo too; in the times of need, it's also good for hand-washing small, delicate pieces of clothing.

All of it is very practical, but that's not what makes Godiva so special. It's the scent.

On the catalog, they say it's the scent of jasmine. And it is, but not just jasmine; and whatever it is, it's divine. I kid you not. It's wonderful while you wash you hair; afterward, the scent is so amazing you wish to run your fingers through your hair and smell them - do I sound like a pervert now?

I remember washing my hair with it a few years ago, and then going out. After a while, the rain started, a heavy rain. My hair got all wet - and then I felt the intense scent of Godiva. It was so wonderful that I wished I could keep my hair wet all the time. And since it was a silly idea, I kept hoping for the rain to fall in order for my hair to get wet again, which was even more silly. I'll have to put this amazing shampoo in a story sometime - you know, a heroine using it one way or another, just a routine thingy, nothing over the top.

Today I bought the Godiva solid shampoo again (that's what inspired me for this post), but not for me; I bought it for a friend whose birthday will be soon (you can see it on the picture above). She likes Lush products, and I hope she'll enjoy this one too.

Anyway, am I the only one getting silly ideas when it comes to cosmetics?

We Got to Install Microwave Ovens...

Yesterday evening, we got ourselves a microwave oven for the first time (where we live, many people prefer good old-fashioned stoves and ovens, and up until recently, microwave ovens were way overpriced and simply not worth it unless you really can't live without one). We spent the evening experimenting with it (my SO was preparing food - it turned out pretty good - and I was cleaning afterward), but today morning, my mind started to work in another direction: that of a writer.

The first thing I looked up in the microwave oven instructions was how to prepare coffee, and while I was preparing it, I thought of a story or a book character. The first thing she does when she gets up is  make a Nescafe in a microwave oven. It's like a gesture, like someone grabbing for cigarettes and a lighter as soon as they open their eyes in the morning; only after she had her coffee, her mind starts functioning. It's then that her day starts.

Except for that one thing, I don't know anything about her; but with that one thing, she seems so clear in my mind. I don't know whether I'm ever going to actually write about her; right now, while she does seem clear, I don't know her story yet. But this post isn't about her, not really. It isn't about microwave ovens, either.

This post is about a small thing which sparks a new character or a story idea or, sometimes, even a novel idea into life. It can start so small, and can end up pretty big - and if you're a writer, such a thing can happen anytime, with next to anything and everything.

So, what was the last small thing giving you an idea for a character, or a story, a scene, a plot, a book?

For the end, something not quite related: because of the line from the title of this post, this song keeps going on in my head.

That Darn Song

It happens to all of us: a song gets into your head and refuses to get out. The main thing about that song is that it's catchy; you don't have to like it - and if you happen to hate that particular song, it's even more annoying if it keeps pestering you.

But it's not always something you hate. Sometimes it's smart and very amusing and yes, catchy, like this one:

I don't mind that one being in my head all the time. On the contrary; it keeps amusing me.

However, sometimes it's somewhat amusing, but not so much that I'd want to listen to it over and over again, like this one (and keep in mind that I do like Weird Al):

Now, what do you do when a song refuses to get out of your head? As a writer, I tend to use writing when something - anything - refuses to get out of my head. And, a few years ago, I wrote a story about a song refusing to get out of a young woman's head - a song which turned out to be a sort of a parasite, seeking to mate and to make a new song.

The story was entertaining, even if I say so. :) And it was a great fun writing it. But it didn't help; the unwanted song (I no longer remember which one it was) was still in my head. The writing, it turned out, wasn't a cure for everything.

The only cure I found for a song refusing to leave my head is listening to another song, just as catchy, but more powerful, and a beautiful one. Like this:

I hope you enjoy the cure as much as I do!

Between Projects, What's That?

I'm always working on something, even if it doesn't look like that.

Saying I'm between jobs usually means we're unemployed, while saying I'm between projects usually means we're not working on anything right now. But, if you're a writer and a translator like me, how can you ever be between projects? That is, how can you ever be in the position of doing nothing?

True, I'm not working on any translation right now. But that leaves me time for writing, the same writing the translating often left me too tired for. And so I write. While I won't get money worth mentioning for what I'm writing now (the situation here is a disaster, writers often get paid in copies of their books instead of getting cash), I do hope to get a new story collection published, and hey, having a book published is always great. Not to mention I might find a way to also earn some cash for it.

I wrote three short stories today, and now I have enough of them for a nice collection, and I've also written all the stories on the subject (ghosts in every meaning of the word - there are cat ghosts, dog ghosts, a smilodon ghost among the others, and a ghost town, and ghosts of children never born...) I wanted to write, which leaves me with a sense of fulfillment, of a job done. Sure, I need to edit all of them now, but the majority of the work on this collection is done.

Also, while between projects as far as translating is considered, I've translated an old story of mine originally written in English and sent it to a contest for an anthology; if it gets accepted, it will be in a vampire-themed anthology published in Serbian, Romanian and English. And I've written and sent a story to a contest for stories for the most legendary family magazine around here.

After doing all of these stories, am I between projects? No. I need to edit my ghost story collection, I should also work on another collection, and I could also translate my stories to English and try and sell them abroad.

While I'm doing that, at one point or another, there will be another translation to work on.

So please, if you're into writing like me, can you tell me what's this between projects about?

Almost Done

Ah, the feeling of almost done. We all feel it sometimes, and I’m feeling it these days, the sweet anticipation of almost getting there, knowing I will get there, and the relief and the fulfillment of it soon to be completed.

Not so long ago, I was almost done with the reading of the Kafka’s The Castle. For some reason I don’t understand, it took me quite a while to read that book – as a matter of fact, I’ve read several other books while being troubled by that one. And then, the end of the book got near, and it felt good.

The translation of the City of Glass: almost done. The translation itself is over, actually, but there’s still work to be done, proofreading and finding the already existing translations of the quotes of Shakespeare, T. E. Lawrence, Coleridge… On a side note, it turned out that the librarian who never heard of Catullus or Milton also doesn’t know how to use the library computer properly – she told me the library had no Milton, and another librarian immediately found me Paradise Lost (that other librarian isn’t all smiles like the first one, but she knows her job, which is what I’m looking for in a librarian – I asked her for Coleridge, and she went straight to the shelf where the book was supposed to be, without looking like a puppy on a busy railway station).

As I said: the translation is almost done, and with this somewhat longish book, I cannot even begin to describe what a relief it is.

And then, there are the short story collections I’m working on. I need just a few more stories for one of them – the stories I write are very short, so that’s another thing almost done. And a good thing, at that.

I thought of doing something today – I’d certainly make a pause with the translation work, I always make it between the translation itself and the proofreading, but I thought of working on one of the books. However, it turned out I was too darn tired for it, so I’m getting some rest, drinking some green tea (the one with a beautiful golden-green color), doing some beauty rituals (everyone needs them!), and watching that pretty and interesting tree you can see on the picture.

Tree watching is always pleasant.

So, how about you? Is there something you’re almost done with right now?

Weird Much?

Writing horror/fantasy/murder mystery is considered weird. photo by tassie.sim

I'm translating City of Bones, the third book of the Mortal Instruments series by Cassandra Clare, into Serbian. Recently I've contacted the lady who translated the first and is translating the second book in the series to ask how she translated a few things, one of them being the Ritual of Infernal Conversion. It turned out we translated it the same, which made us giggle a bit - what were the odds?

Anyway, when I mentioned that to someone else, the reaction was like 'Ritual of Infernal Conversion, what is it you're translating?' While this reaction was a joke, it reminded me that things I enjoy reading/watching/writing are considered weird by many.

I enjoy SF/fantasy/horror, and many find it childish/creepy. Some of the stories I've written are quite creepy, and then some people come to the conclusion I'm creepy. Hey, I'm just writing that stuff! I don't have the heart to harm a cockroach even though I can't stand them, let alone anyone bigger than that!

A friend of mine, a very strong woman (talking about personality here) is considered immature by her mother because she reads (and writes) science fiction. Women see another friend of mine as a non-long-term relationship material because he enjoys reading and watching science fiction, fantasy and horror, and he also enjoys reading comic books (which some people see as something only children should be doing). Yet another friend, a writer of fantasy, is often considered to be someone with his head in the clouds, while he's actually a very down-to-earth person. I know of ladies who write murder mysteries and are considered scary because of that, as if they were murderers instead of writers. And then, of course, there are those who believe that reading itself is for children and the idle, not for serious people; or that being a writer means that you've got too much free time on your hands and are available to do the chores they're too lazy to do.

So, to all of you who might happen to read this, do they consider you weird because of the things you write, enjoy reading or watching?

Back Home

It's been hectic.

Go sign the contract and get the money for the translation. Check. Go see the doctor (the results were good, yay!). Check. Go buy the bus ticket. Check.

Sea is always nice

And then, there I was, on the bus for Croatia, to visit my family. They live by the sea, which is always nice seeing. The water was too cold for swimming, at least for my taste - there were people in it. Not that it mattered; I enjoyed being by the sea, spending time with my father and my kid brother (twenty years younger than me and almost twice my size), and, being the workaholic I am, I also brought my netbook with me, read the books I intended to read, and started the work on the new translation.

A friendly dog, unless you're an intruder, or a dominant dog.

Oh, and I shouldn't forget Roko, my father's dog, now a senior canine citizen, age 14 (a year younger than my brother). His hearing and sight are poor now, but he still enjoys seeing me, and being petted and walked (not a long walk, though, he gets tired).

Roko and me; he doesn't care to pose.

And, after a 13-day-long trip, I'm back home, got some really good results from the doctor, I'm back to translating, and back to writing.

Not bad. Not bad at all.

Getting Carried and Forgetting Goals

Don't forget to see the forest, it's not just the trees! - photo by Kenneth Baruch

Being a writer and writing is wonderful; planning to try and survive from writing alone is also great. However, before that happens, we all need some other means of survival, that is, we need to do something and earn money. And, of course, there could also be health issues (ours or of someone we care for), there's purchasing groceries, doing laundry, cooking, and all the other household tasks which need to be done. It is very possible to get carried with one thing, such as finding a way to earn money, preferably by doing something you like, and to forget what was the goal: writing.

Sure, if I'm to be a writer, I need to stay alive, that is, to avoid starving to death, so earning money is important. And various other tasks do need to get done. But it's far too easy to get carried in numerous other things and to forget to write. To forget what was the main goal, and what was the big picture. Like not seeing the forest for the trees, all these trees you keep bumping into or avoiding them and forgetting there was actually an entire forest around you.

In January, I lost my regular income which I was earning by writing articles. A friend found me a novel to translate from Croatian to English, but that was only a temporary solution. Then I started translating for a publishing house - it was my first time to translate an entire novel from English to Serbian. I didn't know if I'd be good enough. I didn't know if they were going to like it - if they did, they might give me novels to translate on regular basis, but what if they didn't?

While translating, and doing various small tasks, and worrying, I was barely writing. And one day I realized that. The novel was almost translated. After a day's work of translation, I was tired. But I remembered I should be writing, remembered some ideas I had, and wrote some short stories.

Now I keep writing. I have some plans - a ghost story collection, a collection of Sf/fantasy stories about others and human relationship with what they perceive as the Other (Cold is one of those stories, only in Serbian version), and I'm also thinking about a third story collection, the one gathering all my stories about cats. And there's this idea about a non-fiction book about cats which went through my life.

I'm not writing all of that at once, but I am writing stories for the ghost story collection and for the Other collection. The third one will come out of these two and of my first story collection, the published one, and the non-fiction.... I'll write that one too, at some point.

Most important, I intend not to forget to write again. Because writing is my forest, and I want it to be a big, enjoyable one, not something that shrivels and dies. I'm not quite sure yet how I'm going to achieve that not-forgetting, but I'll do it.

And hopefully see a plenty of my books published.

Keep Movin' (Romania, Here I Come, Part 2)

Plans don't always turn out the way I intend them to. - photo by Ethan Hein

Plans. Gotta love them. While I never make strict plans, as in, writing from 9 to 13h, then cooking, then... I do normally have some sort of a plan for the day or the moth, the plan which looks like a bunch of things to do in the given period of time. And it goes with the assumption that I will be able to do all that in the given period of time, and we all know what they say about assumptions.

There I was, having a plan. I'll finish the translation, send it, and if the money comes quickly enough, I'll go and visit my family in Croatia, and get back in time for the appointment with my doctor.

Yeah, right.

I was having a cold for moths because the weather was terrible, the temperature kept going up and down and up and down and... But I was still able to work. I managed to finish the translation, and the only thing I had left before sending it was to proofread it. Then the cold got worse, it was so bad I was barely able to look. My eyes kept hurting, I could only read one or two sentences at a time. No way to proofread a translation of an entire novel with the eyes like that. So I had to rest for a few days, and what I intended to end on Monday or Tuesday I finished and sent today. In the meantime I also got an appointment with another doctor, and those two appointments mean I'll go to Croatia at the end of the month, instead in a few days.

Of course, it's not the end of the world. Croatia and my family won't run away, they will still be there when I get there, and they're happy to see me whenever I get the chance to come. Still, I had some sort of a plan. And that's what often happens to my plans, I manage, just not quite the way I planned.

However, something else also happened. My story, the one which was published on a Romanian website, was translated into Romanian, and if you speak the language, you can read it here. During the time I was barely able to look. And it's comforting, that knowledge that, once set in motion, things keep moving. I don't have to be there all the time and to keep pushing. Of course I should stick around and do something, from time to time at least, but things will keep moving, and that's a good thing to know. It's a good feeling.

So, what now? Now I wait to get the reply from the publisher I did the translation for (keep your fingers crossed for me so they like it!), then I go to see the doctors, then I go to see my family. And in the meantime, I do another translation, and hopefully some writing, and get the money for the translation, and whatever else comes up. Maybe I get another book to translate, that would be great.

Oh, and I try not to feel annoyed when my plans don't turn out exactly the way I intended them to.