Death of a Muse

Heath Ledger is dead. That news last week actually shook me a little. The guy was younger than I am, and I've enjoyed seeing him in several of his movies. I think 10 Things I Hate About You and A Knight's Tale are both on my list of movies I really like (not to call them "favorites"...but ones that I will watch the middle third of if I find them on cable when I'm channel surfing). He was really good looking, and has a two year old, and the whole thing is very sad.

Ok, so this is not breaking news anymore. The problem is, he (or at least his face) was one of my inspirations for the hero of my book-in-progress. My hero is a combination of several people (as are all my characters), but I was totally picturing Heath in plate armor when writing my intro, which takes place at a Renn Faire. Imagine my shock when I was driving home last week and heard that one of the faces of my hero was dead.

I haven't done much (any) writing on my book since then, though I've been stewing over most of the ending for a while. It's going to be hard, though, to attempt to picture my hero now without remembering, and to not feel all squeamish and uncomfortable plotting a romance with the face of a ghost.

Coffee ice cream is a bad idea at bedtime

I did get my enrollment figured out--apparently, faxing in my "payment voucher" paperwork from my employer didn't go through or didn't get processed the first time. Second time was the charm (I also got a very helpful person on the phone and a different fax number).
Wash U has apparently rehydrated my old (old old old) email address and set it up to forward to my work address, and I've received a lovely notice about their automatic emergency notification system. She also said she would try to get my name changed in the student records...in the mean time, I am finding it rather odd to see emails addressed to my maiden name.

Last week's class was amusing in part because I am so out of practice for attending a college class. I was running around trying to get ready, debating whether or not to pack my laptop (and whether I'd find a wireless connection if I needed one), that I nearly forgot to bring paper. And a pen. In my defense, the only classes I've taken in the last 10 years (gulp...that's a really big number), have been entirely computer related, with pens optional (generally only used to initial the roster on the first day), and lined paper completely unnecessary. I also had to check the campus map to find the right building (Eads). This class is not in one of the many, many new buildings on campus. In fact, I know that I had at least one class in this building as an undergrad. I just could not remember which one it was. Lucky for me, there is a new (to me) coffee shop in the library that is about 10 feet from one of the doors to the building, so after arriving early (doh! class doesn't start till 7 after...), I had plenty of time to get a nice steaming cup of my favorite beverage :)

My homework's done, though I realized after I printed it out that I forgot to put my name on top (take credit for my work? Normally you'd have to check the userid in the revision history to know who to blame for the spelling errors....). I also realized that I'm probably the only one in the class who won't didn't indent paragraphs. Lucky for them I didn't start the whole thing off with "1 Introduction...1.1 Document Scope...1.2...." :)

I need to get some sleep.

First class

I had my first fiction writing class session on Saturday. Except that the instructor still didn't have my name on her roster, after I'd played phone tag and fax tag with the registrar's office last week, this should be fun. There are only 4 of us in the class, a nice variety. Two are undergraduate students, the other student is finishing (or maybe just finished) going back to school for her bachelors. I am looking forward to having other people give me feedback on what I'm writing.

We have writing assignments every week, along with a small amount of reading--mainly short stories I gather. The biggest writing project is supposed to be a 10-15 page work that could be a self-contained piece, or a chapter to somethign larger. I may work on revising my introduction to my novel to use for class--of all of the stuff I've written, that's the one that fits the size limit best, could be used standalone, and would really benefit from some attention and critique. Or, I could choose to write something different.

First, I guess I have some more phone tag.

Class

I am attempting to enroll in a writing class. Actually, it's titled "Fiction Workshop" through Wash U's U College. Held on Saturdays, 10-noon, for 8 weeks. My company's tuition reimbursement should actually pay for it (though I have to pay taxes on it as if that amount were income, because it's not job related). This ought to be fun. Or, I might decide that it's too much work, and stuff what's written of my book-in-progress on a shelf with the rest of my unfinished craft projects. We'll see :)

I used to do a lot more sewing, but have not been able to for the last couple of years for a variety of reasons. Right out of college, I actually took a pattern drafting class at Wash U (as an evening class, not through the regular Art department), and was really interested in the whole process. Much like my current fascination with writing, at the time I could actually picture myself doing that for a living--not so much the design of new fashions, but taking someone else's drawing and buldign the patterns for it. I would still enjoy that now. But my momentum stalled out when the pattern drafting series of classes was dropped by the school, and then I got caught up in my "real" work, which ate 90 or more hours a week for a while. Then came a house and marriage, and several jobs where the "dress code" barely included shoes, and I just had nothing interesting to sew.

I started making Charlotte clothes after she was born, but that's fallen away for now also. Mainly I haven't made the time, but there are also issues with space and noise. Sharing the office with my husband and his computer games and his clutter, not to mention his paint choice, is not particularly inspiring. It's also right next to Charlotte's bedroom, and she can hear every chair squeak through the wall, let alone a sewing machine or serger.

For a while I tried demanding some private time, while Charlotte was awake, but I was frequently interrupted by my husband, bringing in Charlotte, telling me that "she missed you"...and then allowing her to be underfoot and into what I was working on. Or he, himself would come in and want to have a conversation. Sewing time has always been my quiet time, where I could work and concentrate and let my mind relax. Interruptions from someone telling me about a game he's playing or some conversation he's having online frustrated me. Then, my sewing tables got covered by junk that has no other home (or just hasn't been filed or tossed), and lately it takes longer to dig out my machine than I ever have to sew.

So, maybe writing for me will end up the same, eventually buried under a pile of unfiled junk. In the mean time however, I'm on the upward swing of the momentum.