I Will Write What I Want

I will write what I want.
I will not write what you tell me to write.
I will not stop writing what you dislike.
I will not write what I dislike just because you like it.
I write a lot.
I update constantly.
If I'm not updating your favorite story, just wait.
I write variety, depending on how I feel that day.
I will not focus on a story unless my mind is prepared for it.
If I haven't updated in a month, my mind is obviously not prepared for it.

I do not use other people's Original Characters.
I will not cross-over into your ongoing story simply to promote you.
I will only promote a story that inspired that particular chapter/scene.
If you are pestering me to promote you, chances are you probably don't inspire me.
I will not randomly "squeeze in" your favorite shipping just because you want to see it.
I will not "just update something."
I will update when the chapter is done and proofread.

I go through phases.
You may not like my current phase.
Don't hate me if I'm having fun in one of my random phases.
Killing my "groove" will not get you what you want.
Writing in every single review, "The story was good but it'd be great if XX and YY got together" when XX and YY are not anywhere in the story, will not get you what you want.
I like hearing suggestions, they can inspire me, but don't get enraged if I don't take your suggestion. It was nice of you to write it, but that doesn't always mean I can work the idea into what I have planned.
Yes, my stories are usually planned out, in detail.
If I'm writing about something, obviously I like it, and telling me "that couple sucks," or "I hate stories like this" will not inspire me to write in new directions. It will make me frustrated, and all creativity, including what you hate and what you potentially like, will die. It will not give birth to what you like. Creativity is not a frigging phoenix.

I like to see requests, but one at a time, please! Sending me 10 story ideas every day will not make me write more of what you want. I hate to think you spent all that time writing your ideas down when I could have told you up front "I don't have time."
If I say "I don't have time," don't send me more story ideas "but they're one-shots!" I...don't...have...time.
I am not looking for another collaborator. I only use one, because she's that good.
I will answer questions on how to write. I will not give you the whole story. Unless it's a gift. Don't demand gifts.
If I tell you I'm busy, I'm busy. Sending me your full manuscript with the note "read it when you have time," and then crying because 3 days have passed and I haven't read it, will not make me read it. I'm busy.

If I haven't PM'ed you back, you are in the queue. I chat a lot...I mean A LOT! I have 10-50 PMs at any given time. There are days when I'll write to 20 people, and there are days when I don't feel social. I am also out of town frequently with music bands. I don't hate you. I'm too busy writing stories to write PMs all the time. Sometimes you catch me and I write directly back, sometimes I get bogged down and you might wait 2 weeks. That's just the way it is. Keep getting angry and whining "you're ignoring me again" like a clingy girlfriend (even if in jest) and I might purposely put off your PMs, because I simply don't have the patience to talk to you.

I get writer's block.
I burn out.
I am SERIOUSLY burning out on fanfiction in general.
If I have written "This story is on hiatus" then it's on frigging HIATUS.
If I'm not updating the story you particularly like... tough luck. At least it's not on hiatus.
Writing to me weekly "when will you update" will not speed me up.
Telling me to stop working on my current obsession because you want this other story, will not speed me up.
Leaving reviews under different names but saying the same "Y U No Update" message every time, will not speed me up.

I do not take vague requests of "Can you write about this couple," especially if I have 10 stories on that couple.
I do not accept all story requests. They need to interest me personally, and that's pretty random. Even if I accept a request, realize that I'm working on about 12 stories at any given time, with 50 in the queue. Some people have waited a year or more.
Don't ask me every day "What about that request I sent you?" It's in the queue, with 50 other stories.
Especially don't ask when I said I don't have time to write requests until autumn.
Don't keep asking "Are you free now? Aren't you on summer break?" No. I'm an adult. We don't get summer break.

Nagging me does not make me faster.
Calling me names does not spur me on.
Threats never work.
If any of these fit you, I don't hate you. You are not the only one. These are issues that have come up multiple times, so it's not like I'm singling you out.

I will write what I want, when I want, at the pace I can mentally handle.
I love to write. I love to chat. I love to help young writers. But please...I'm just one person!

Thanks.

30 is the new 15

I've heard people reassure my eldest sister, "Being 40 isn't too bad. 40 is the new 30, after all." It made me wonder. I'm in that state of being a "thirtysomething" so...what am I? I was hanging out with some friends over Christmas, and it was noted that we were being loud, drinking a lot, not really acting like adults (crude conversations as only people who are married can even discuss), and basically we were being a rowdy group of perverts. Someone jokingly said, "Meh, don't worry about it, 30 is the new 20 so we can act like idiot college students."

Being 30... I suppose there were a lot of things I thought would happen by now that haven't come to pass: a lucrative career, a few novels published, a house of my own, a family. Some of my friends have all that, and I'm a bit jealous. Maybe it won't happen until I'm 40, since "40 is the new 30."

However, I'm finding myself in an awkward phase. I feel trapped between one stage in life and another.

I began to notice this metamorphical transition when I began to write fanfiction. Such a hobby is seen as the budding writing attempts of teenagers, focusing on love affairs that never happened in the actual story, or feeling out their own strengths and weaknesses. In other words, 90% of all fanfiction is poorly written verbage-garbage written by hormonal adult-children. They're trying, though, and it's a medium for editorial help that didn't exist when I was a teenager. Then there's me. I usually keep my age a secret, although I did finally state on my profile that I'm "over 25." That alone makes me old. My readers are the same age as some of my friend's children. Still, I try to teach through writing, I "beta read" (AKA, edit manuscripts) for a select few who I deem as having true potential. I could not tell you how many people have written fan letters to me saying that my style of writing has inspired them to write also. I am called "sensei" and "taicho," Japanese for teacher and captain. I'm a mentor on that site. One reader who discovered my age called me "the old lady of fanfiction."

Then, on Tuesday nights, I pick up my trombone and play with the local symphonic band. Amongst my peers in the trombone section, I'm the only female and the only one without gray hair...besides a half dozen rogue strands. So since all the other trombonists are between the ages of 55-70, I'm "the little girl" of the trombone section. They respect me, but I felt like I had to earn that respect. I'm a child in their eyes, a youngster. One of the trombonists in the group avoided me with a sense of awkwardness until he found out I majored in music, studied music theory in college, and was a section leader (and later instructor) for my youth band. That apparently impressed him, showed him I'm mature and know what the hell I'm doing, and now he's talking to me like an equal. But again, I'm "the little girl" who has to struggle to gain the respect of the "older adults." I've always had the pressure of being female in a male-dominated instrumental section, but now I have pressure for being so young.

So I'm "the old lady" but also "the little girl." I'm trapped between two phases in my life, that of being a vibrant adult in my prime, yet not quite considered elderly and experienced. My in-laws still refer to me and my husband as "the kids." I had a neighbor's son see me coming up the street and shout "Run, it's a grownup!" (That was awkward.) People call me "ma'am." People call me "young miss." Because my hair refuses to turn gray, my former school friends see me and exclaim "You haven't aged a day," yet I'm no longer carded when I buy alcohol because I look old enough (21 in this country). I'm fully entrenched as an adult, but I'm still seen as a young person. That's...good, I guess. But it's becoming awkward.

30 isn't the new 20.
30 is the new 15.

Fifteen years old: that awkward stage of not being a child but not being an adult, when your body is changing, puberty sneaks up on you, zits plague your skin, hormones are raring, independence becomes a struggle as you battle parents and teachers, stupid choices are made (drugs, drinking, weird hair colors), and we desire with all our heart to "belong," no matter which clique we pick to hang out with.

Thirty years old: that awkward stage of not being recklessly young but not being satisfied with the settled adult life, when your body is changing, gray sneaks into your hair, wrinkles threaten to crease your skin, hormones are beginning to wane, freedom becomes a struggle as you battle bosses and the tether of having children to lug around, stupid choices are made (sleeping pills, drinking, mid-life crisis), and we desire with all our heart to "return" to youth, no matter if that means we sound like old fogies talking about "the good old days."

Yes, 40 may be the new 30, but 30 is the new 15.

Christmas Writing

People on my fanfiction sites have asked why I'm not updating as frequently. I'd love to have some tragic reason that makes all of you pity me, but that's not the case. My husband has me utterly addicted to Star Wars: The Old Republic, on The Harbinger server, in case you play too. Between my Consular "Rhov" and my Smuggler "Nikolai'Hel" I'm having way too much fun. (Note: I play a male smuggler, my hubby plays a female Jedi...gender-bender RP'ing FTW!)

I've also been busy with Christmas stuff, including my hubby's birthday, relatives visiting from out-of-state, Hanukkah (in-laws are Jewish), many small ensemble performances, Christmas caroling, potluck parties (I always cook green bean casserole and people eagerly look forward to it, which I think is bizarre), and tomorrow I perform on trombone in a concert with my local symphonic band. Also, in one week I'll be flying back home to Los Angeles, enjoying the Hollywood sites, the sunny Southern California beaches, going to Disneyland since my brother works there and can get me in for free, and spending 8 of those 12 days of Christmas with friends and family. I'll be on vacation until after the New Year. I might get some writing done, but I doubt it.

So that's my lame excuse for laziness: gaming, partying, performing, cooking, and vacationing.

Nanowrimo 2012

It's that time of year again. I'm participating in National Novel Writing Month, otherwise known as Nanowrimo. During the month of November, I will be attempting to write a 50,000-word novel in 30 days. It's my 7th year participating. Lucky seven, I hope!

If any of you want to be writing buddies, I would love to join you in the insanity. My username is Rhov.

If you have a novel you want to work on and think a competition like this is a good excuse to focus on it, it's not too late to join in. It's lots of fun, especially if you get really involved, meet up with local writers at write-ins, and make acquaintance with the people in your region through the forums. Sometimes I write so much in the forums that I get too distracted from my novel.

So please excuse me as I take a break from writing fanfiction during this month. Random one-shots might spring out from my over-worked Muse, but otherwise my life is focused around my novel. It's called Trombones Are Blue, about a girl with synesthesia, a condition I have where I hear colors and see sounds. In my story, her way of experiencing the world causes her to be bullied and outcast. Still, she struggles on and in defiance of the kaleidoscopic chaos, she joins the school band. Although petite, she wants to play the trombone (which I play) because "trombones are blue."


Rough concept of a book cover.

Wedding Bells Still Ringing

Today is my wedding anniversary.

Seven years of bliss, rarely an argument, never a fight, and we have never spent more than 24 hours apart in those seven years. Instead of that being annoying, we both get a small sense of dread when it seems like one of us might be sent away for training, conferences, or family business. We still sleep in the same bed, we grab each others' butts when we pass one another in the kitchen, we cutely hold hands while walking together, and I still blush if he kisses me in public.

"Seven year itch?" We have our own cure. LOVE!

(And the honeymoon ain't over, folks!)

We Can't Forget

I clearly remember this day, 2001. I was in college, and I had just left tutoring in the math department (I suck at math). I went outside, called my boyfriend (now husband) up on the cellphone, told him I was done, I was free until afternoon, and maybe we could get lunch. That was when he told me. I remember I had been merrily walking down the broad staircase from that math building, feeling cheery, when his voice came over the phone pitched higher than usual. "They've flown planes into the World Trade Center," he cried out in a panic. "The Pentagon's been hit too. They think there are other planes going to crash into places. It's World War Three!" he screamed, perhaps exaggerating, but I could hear he was terrified.

I stopped dead in my tracks in the middle of that broad stairway. I almost stumbled and fell as my head plummeted and the world seemed to tilt off its axis. "...That's not funny."

"Babe...this is no joke. Have you really not heard the news?"

I had noticed crowds around the computers in the math lab, but I thought it was some new program a geek wrote. Standing on those stairs, and I had a good view of the area. Only then did I notice groups huddled and crying, people wandering aimlessly with empty eyes, and pale faces looking stunned beyond the ability to think.>

"...The Pentagon?" I asked in a quavering voice.

Face it, before 9/11 the idea of flying planes into the Twin Towers was not unknown. It was a plot device used in movies and TV shows. I assure you, you will NEVER see those episodes on the air again!

So for those of us at the time, it seemed...stereotypical! Too "Hollywood" to really be happening.

But the Pentagon! At hearing about the WTC, I truly thought he was joking, but that...that's serious shit. You don't mess with the goddamn Pentagon!

"Honey, I'm picking you up. Classes will likely be cancelled anyway. They're talking about suicide bombers on buses and trains. I don't want you on that city bus. Stay on campus. I'm on my way. NOW!"

Suddenly, I joined the ranks of blank-eyed students. I wandered toward the parking lot and tried to process this information. Most of you seeing this were too young. You heard about 9/11 in school history class. Maybe...maaaybe you sort of remember your parents speaking in hushed voices. It's "history" to you.

But on that day, it felt like there would be no future. Time stopped. Our lives stopped. Airplanes grounded, trains stopped, schools closed, no one left their homes. For the next few days, people feared all-out war.

I went to my boyfriend's place just in time to see the Towers collapse. I'm a writer, and I honestly can't describe the chill and numbed disbelief that hit us all when we saw that. The scene has been replayed so much, younger people are immune to it, but when we saw it the first time.....

I would say we all prayed. All of us. Either to God, Allah, Buddha, a goddess, a higher power, or to that which we didn't believe in before that day... we all cried out in anguish for this to not be true, to wake up, to let this horrific nightmare stop...just STOP... please God, don't let any more people die!

And then the other Tower fell. Our prayers were not answered. There was no Superman or Captain America to save us that day. We were abandoned, left to fight this tragedy on our own. We realized how childish our country can be, sitting by our TVs as we watch the chaos in "other countries" and shrugging that it wasn't affecting us, so why worry. That day, the eyes of the world were on us, and we felt like the child-country we really are. Hell visited America that day, and we were watching the flames burn away our innocence.

I truly don't remember the rest of that day. It was a Tuesday, like today. My boyfriend drove me home. The freeways were empty for once. At home, my sister was in hysterics. She had been on a business call with someone in the Towers when the first plane struck, and she realized that the man likely died on impact. A friend lived in NYC across the river; he witnessed the whole thing and was helping to shelter survivors who fled over the bridge on foot. A cousin lived mere blocks away from the WTC, and we were terrified for her (she was safe, thankfully). I didn't go to school the next day. I got a call from the dean's office that the college would be closed all week. Like I said, time stopped, and all of America was waiting, left hanging, frightened at what more would strike us.

I think NOT having anything else happen was stressful too. We were waiting, expecting it. We were loading our guns, those same guns the government had been trying to take from us. If terrorists were coming to American shores, by God we would meet them head on and send them to Hell!

Nothing happened. We mourned. We heard stories of heroes. We wondered "who did this to us" and not knowing who to blame, who to punish, who to direct our collective RAGE toward was frustrating too. There was an enemy out there, and we didn't know WHO! Despite the uncertainties that hung in the air over the following days and weeks, America united unlike it had ever done in decades, probably since World War II. Flags waved from every car. People wore black bands around their arms (I still have mine). Bands played "America the Beautiful" to start every concert. For the first time in my life, I saw what it meant to be the UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

"United" indeed!

If you live in America, you'll see lots of "Never Forget" signs today, but for those of us old enough to have truly lived through it, forgetting is impossible. Even when we sometimes want to...we can't! That bloody, fiery day of death and destruction, when terrorists thought they could rip out the very heart of America, indeed left a scar on our hearts.

But you know what? Scars make us stronger. Scars remind us.
We CAN'T forget!

America Needs An Enemy

I wrote this to a friend in China, so I thought I'd repost it here.

I think America feels it needs an enemy, doesn't matter who or what. This is just my opinion, but when you look through American history, that's how we always are.

The British were the enemies, and we broke away from English rule. Then Native Americans were all enemies, so White people massacred them and stole their lands. Then the Mexicans were enemies and we stole half of Mexico from them (most Americans don't realize this).

Then when we couldn't find anyone to hate, we hated ourselves, and the Civil War between North and South broke out. It wasn't originally over slavery like schools teach, but they were fighting because the South didn't want to be part of America anymore due to economic reasons.

Then it was any immigrant, like when famine drove the Irish to flee to America in droves, people despised all Irish and wouldn't give them jobs, then it was Jewish people fleeing Russia and coming in boatloads to America.

Then we had the two World Wars and we had a real enemy. Hate Germans! Hate Nazis! Hate Japanese!

Then the Cold War and it was Russia who was the enemy, and any Communist sympathizer was certainly a spy! Then Korea, then Vietnam for no other reason than they supported Russia. Really stupid wars!

Then Russia was our friend and people wanted something else to be the enemy, so we went back to hating immigrants, mostly Mexicans. Now it's Islamic extremists, and America's raring to go to war with anyone, even countries that have little to do with the attack on 9-11. Now it seems that's all cleared up, and people are looking at warlords in Africa, or threats from North Korea, anything!

We're willing to turn anyone, even ourselves, into enemies. Blacks versus Whites! Republicans versus Democrats! North versus South! Perhaps it's because we're a competitive society. We love ball games because we can cheer on our team. You can't like both the Yankees and the Dodgers in baseball, and if you cheer for both teams, you're a traitor to each. We're driven by seeing things in black and white, enemies and allies, right and wrong, good and evil. Those who appease to both sides, toe the line, sit on the fence, are seen as weak.

America needs an enemy! We love having a superhero who saves the day. We thrive when we can pretend we're the good guy, the hero, Captain America fighting evil around the world! And it doesn't matter what we deem to be "evil."