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6/22 FIRST WEEK DOWN, I’ve been writing by hand and when I transcribed into the computer I was stoked to find that I’d gone 1000 words over my goal for a total of ~3500 this week (for now we’ll forget the fact that I’ll probably end up cutting 1/2 of them). I’m thinking with love and envy of the class of 2018, who’re finishing up their own first week at Clarion West. They are so young and innocent, they probably haven’t even discovered karaoke at the Monkey Pub yet.
Here are the first couple paragraphs of the novella I’m working on. You can’t tell yet but it’s going to be a FUN! HEIST! so help me god.
Mornings, Maya stood on the muddy banks of the steaming river and fit her feet into the prints of the novitiate who’d bathed before her. Her newest Conservator, though unmoved by their vigilant proximity to her nudity, her sleep, her defecation, nevertheless always turned their hooded head when she settled her heels into the hollows made by another’s bare soles, as if for this act alone they believed Maya deserved privacy. It was the closest she ever came to touching another human being, the closest she’d come since she’d slit the boy’s throat, ten years ago.
Her time in the Conservatory had worked an unexpected alchemy on the memory of the murder: when she’d first arrived she’d been a child, barely twelve, and images of the boy’s panic-blown eyes, so wet and alive in his moment of death, had jolted her awake nearly every night, and the soft music of the brook that ran past her window was almost intolerable, an echoed gurgle of his opened throat. Back then it had been a nightmare, but all these years later the memory had taken on a terrible tenderness. His skin soft beneath her fingertips, the delicate tremble of his heart in the vein beneath his jaw, his head cradled in her lap. A huge feeling, like eating the sun. At her sentencing they’d called her a monster, which she didn’t think was true then, but maybe it had become true. Only a monster would look back on murder with a pain akin to longing.
|What I Write||
Until I attended Clarion West in 2017 last year (TEAM ECLIPSE 4-EVA), I’d never in my adult life written a genre story. Historically and by ~training I’m a lit-fic writer, which means pre-Clarion I mostly wrote about people in emotional conflict with other people. Lots of siblings, mountains, guns, restaurants, feminism is for everybody, capitalism blows, epiphanies left and right, etc. Post-Clarion, I still write about the same shit! But with SPACE DOMES and plots.
Two of last year’s Clarion West stories are in Uncanny (“Like a River Loves the Sky“) and Lightspeed (“From the Root” — will update with a link on 6/28). Full publication list can be found at http://www.emmaemmaemma.com/read-me/
I will write at least 500 new words a day, five days a week. On my off-days, I’ll re-read and revise.
To what aim? I am THIS CLOSE to finishing rewrites on my first novel, and I plan to write/rewrite the last three chapters by July 15th. By the end of July, I also hope to finish a novella that’s currently in progress.
I want to raise money for Clarion West, the only organization in the world for whom I feel doubtless, unmitigated, eternal love and gratitude. A year out, I still have trouble believing I was given such a gift in this lifetime.
I’ll be deeply thankful for anyone who sponsors me for even a dollar, but for some extra incentive here are some sponsorship gifts. Anything over $15 and you can choose which gift you’d like, but they start at $15.
$15. On a postcard, which I’ll send to you, I’ll draw a picture of what I was doing at the exact moment you were generously donating money.
$25. On a postcard, which I’ll send you, I will write a rhyming poem that praises you as if you were a murderous emperor, and I a court poet in fear of my life.
$50. I will read any novel you choose, and on a postcard, which I’ll send to you, I will write a brief fanfiction (gen or slash, up to you) in your choice of popular trope: Coffeeshop AU, CurtainFic, or GenderSwap.
$100. I will use your full name in a story — you may choose if you’d like to be a character, a place, or a fake product-placement.