I’m guilty of the phenomenon my CW classmate Jenni describes in her post about Clarion West; that of the blogger who returns home, says they’ll post more about the workshop, and never, ever do.

So not writing about Clarion West after you’ve come back to your other life is a kind of shield, or maybe just a good guard against writing overly emotional blog posts

I actually never thought my theoretical Clarion West blog post would’ve been that emotional; I just haven’t had a clue what to write. Don’t get me wrong. I have feeeeeelings. Lots of ‘em. It’s been very hard to live in a house with seventeen people you grow to love and then pack up and move five thousand miles away, alone on a continent. I spent the entire last day in tears. It was not my finest moment; at one point I caught a look of myself in a mirror and very much wished I hadn’t. (I cried some more on the plane, when I exited the airport in Amsterdam and saw my mom picking me up, then when I was home on the couch, freaking out the family who’d come to welcome me home. This is… not normally me, y’all.)

What was almost worse is the way life went on, to the point where it felt like Clarion West might as well not have happened. Everything is as it was before.

So I just didn’t know what to write; I can’t talk about how I’ve been changed, because I don’t know if I have. I can’t talk about how much I’ve learned, because I’m still processing. I’m neither hit with bursts of inspiration or the dreaded dry spell. I have not gotten married, divorced, lost a job, gained a job, moved houses, or had any of the other major life changes so many graduates talk about.

But what I do have are memories that, over two months after, still make me teary sometimes. I have stories that I would never have written otherwise, friends that still make me laugh in e-mails because I can imagine their voices with every word; I have the knowledge that I succeeded where I was so, so desperately afraid I’d fail.

I wish I could go back.

Jenni put it perfectly:

How do you leave Clarion West? You don’t. You kind of get taken away from it.

And then you cope.

Worst title ever, I know.

Anyway! As I mentioned on Twitter a few days back, I made a new short story sale, this time to the Dagan Books anthology FISH. My first anthology sale! Neat. The story is titled “The Applause of Others”, and it’s about magic eels in Amsterdam. No, not electric or moray eels — we definitely don’t have those in the canals — the other kind. The kind you smoke and eat.

Anyway x2, if that story concept sounds familiar, it’s because I mentioned it before — it’s my week 6 Clarion West story. One story down, four to go!

The anthology will be out on February 8, 2012, has a lovely cover, and one hell of a ToC. I’ll be reunited with editor K.V.Taylor and author Cate Gardner for the first time since last year’s inaugural Red Penny Papers issue, and other nifty people in the ToC include my loverly Clarion West classmate Maria Romasco-Moore (High five! Affable mofos repra-zent!) and Cat Rambo, whom I also met in Seattle this year.

This is going to be one gorgeous book.

Um, sorta.

I arrived back in Amsterdam on Sunday afternoon and walked around in a daze for most of that time. Like my brother-in-law put it, it was like my mind had returned to factory settings: I wanted to lug my suitcase into my old bedroom instead of the one I’ve been using for years, and at the airport I was expecting to see a car picking me up that was sold ages ago.

I’m a little better now, but not much. I’ll try to actually talk about Clarion West at some point, but for now, I think link-spamming is better for everyone involved.

• My classmate Eliza Hirsch has a series of posts about the workshop on her blog. Check ‘em out.
• The fab K.V. Taylor’s first book, Scripped, is now up for pre-order. Which is just freaking exciting. It’s got creepy Appalachian fae, y’all–you have to check it out.
• K.V. Taylor’s other incarnation, Katey Hawthorne, also has some sweet news–her superhero romance story Equilibrium now has a cover, and it’s pretty damn shiny.
• You dig music? Check out my classmate Mark Pantoja’s band, Mist Giant. You can listen to three tracks online or just buy ‘em straightaway. It’s name your own price, so even if you don’t have any money, you can still enjoy and spread the word. Sweet deal, right?
• Beth Revis’s A Million Suns got a cover and blurb while I was gone!
• And so did Jodi Meadows’s Incarnate!

I was going to type more, but I have this sneaky suspicion I’m crashing and crashing hard. Ahhh, jetlag. Gotta love it.

You know how I didn’t do WIP Wednesday last week? Yeah, that’s ’cause I didn’t have any words at the time. I eventually managed 1200 words on a story about narcissistic magic eels in Amsterdam, then scrapped it and worked on a superhero story instead, which was critted yesterday. Consensus: it’s a damn novel. Back to the drawing board.

The opening:

Luka gaped at the man sitting across his living room. “You want me to be a superhero?”

“Ah… I suppose that’s one way to put it. ‘Government operative’ is the favored term.” One corner of the man’s mouth twitched. It was the closest he’d come to smiling yet. Luka was glad to see it, though–the whole emotionless G-man act was kinda creeping him out.

“But I’d be in a team with other superheroes–”

“Operatives.”

“–living in the same headquarters–”

“Base.”

“–using codenames–”

“As non-powered operatives also do. They’ll be unrelated to your abilities.”

“–wearing masks–”

“Only when we deem it necessary to guarantee your anonymity.”

“–and capes?”

The only response to that was a cynical look.

“I’ll still go with ‘superhero’, thanks.”

For next week — my last story! — I’m back to work on my magic eels.

As the week went on, Floor found herself sitting on a nearby dock that extended only a couple of feet out onto the water on an almost daily basis. She’d wear capri pants, bare feet dangling in the cool canal water, her camera on one side of her and the battered library book she was reading for her upcoming Dutch exams in the other. The eel showed its face more often than not; she’d whisper at it, asking what it was doing, and taking occasional snapshots, at this point more out of habit than anything else.

She couldn’t tell which would be the biggest coincidence—if it were the same eel or a different one. There was definitely that same shimmer of blue the British tourist kid had pointed out, even when the eel swam inches below the surface. Other times, when the sun hit it just right, the eel’s shade veered closer to purple, or other times greenish or silver, or sometimes all at once.

No matter how much Floor toyed with her camera’s settings, no matter how much advice she asked from the forums she frequented online, she never managed to capture those shades on camera. She didn’t need to, though. She could see them, and so could Clara and Ronald, and so could the tourists she delightedly pointed the eel out to. They’d ooh and aah and snap pictures the same way she did, and she’d grin and turn to the eel and tell it it was getting popular.

My deadline isn’t until Sunday evening/Monday morning, but I’m determined to finish it early. It’s my last Clarion West story, and the earlier I finish, the more time I have to actually go out and see Seattle. There’s friends and family I’ve yet to meet up with, dorky souvenirs not yet purchased, downtown not yet visited, trips not yet made, booze not yet devoured, books not yet read, and sleep not yet slept.

Er, I guess those last few don’t have much to do with the actual city. It still counts!

You know what’s awesome?

Naps. Naps are awesome.

I’ll keep this short and sweet, since I still have two stories to critique for tomorrow, I’d like to get some writing done on my own story, and Margo Lanagan is coming over to the house for cocktails in abooouuut… one hour.

Here’s my opening for next week’s story:

“Dear God,” Susannah whispers, dragging me into this world, into darkness.

I don’t know who I am.

But I’m not God.

I claw for an escape, but Susannah’s stupid, childish words anchor me here. They pin me into the ground alongside dust and tangled clutches of hair and discarded toys and dead bugs.

And knees.

Susannah’s knees.

They dig into the carpet. Her feet are bare. Her skin glows white. I can just see an inch of spindly upper leg overrun with dark coarse hairs before the underside of the bed steals the rest of her from my sight.

“That’s how it starts. Right?” Susannah says. She sounds distracted. Her knees shift in rough-hewn carpet. I hope it hurts.

I string together curses, spit them out.

There’s another voice. This one comes from further away. I can’t see. I can’t see beyond Susannah’s legs and the carpet. Beyond wooden slats overhead.

The voice says: “I guess. I don’t pray. It’s stupid.”

“Grandma asked us.”

There’s silence from the other end of the room.

“Well, I’m doing it, anyway.”

It’s about the monster under the bed… from the monster’s perspective. It’s screwed up, I’m excited about it, and its very tentative working title is “We Use the Pain (And Want Some More of It)” after the Guano Apes song.

It doesn’t quite work for the story anymore, but it’s what inspired the idea, so I’m sticking with it for now.

Yep.

Still alive!

And still doing surprisingly well. I’m running on very little sleep, but I don’t feel like I’m about to crash, which is a lovely surprise.

I’m not sure what to say about my experience here that hasn’t already been documented in other blogs in more detailed and eloquent ways. I’m living in a house with seventeen other SFF writers, and next door to our instructor. I have three-four short stories to critique per day, and a new one to write per week. It’s a lot of work. It’s a lot of fun. It’s a lot of alcohol It’s a lot of sleep deprivation. It’s a lot of Bananagrams. It’s a lot of sorority girls wandering through the backyard. It’s a lot of silly quotes for the T-shirt. It’s a lot of new friends. It’s a lot of delicious, sharp, beautiful insights on writing. It’s a lot of insecurity. It’s a lot of ego boosting.

It’s, basically, a lot.

For this week, I wrote a story called Lilo Is, affectionately referred to as “spiderbaby” throughout the house. It was critiqued on yesterday, and very well-received overall, which was a huge relief… and put on the pressure for next week.

Right now, I have nearly 2400 words finished of the first draft for that one. It’s going to be a horror story, on a space ship, with lesbians and weird cats. There are no spiderbabies. Its working title is Bound Home, and here’s the opening paragraphs:

“He looks like he’s dead.”

I stroked Een’s grey-tabby fur, his body perfectly still under my touch. Hairs clung to my sweaty palms. He never used to shed this much. His fur never looked this patchy, either. It stuck out in little clumps, like he was the one sweating, not me.

Paws lay limply on the gleaming steel table. His mouth hung open, his tongue dangling out.

Wouldn’t that be something? I managed to kill my cat with only two months left to go before the Malak arrived on Earth.

“He’ll be all right,” the girl on the other side of the table said. She’d introduced herself earlier, but I’d been so focused on scanning the wall compartments to figure out where they kept Een that her name had slipped right past me.

She cocked her head, sending spiked rows of hair flopping left. She scritched Een behind his ears. His lack of response didn’t seem to bother her. “Look at the monitors. His heart is starting back up already.”

I let my hands rest over his ribcage. Softly, ever-so-softly, his fur beat against my fingertips: thump.

Then, seconds later: thump.

“C’mon, kittyface,” I whispered, too soft for the girl to hear.

“A lot of people are pulling their pets out of stasis lately,” she said. “Don’t you worry. He’ll be running around in less than a day. Cats are steel.”

It needs to be handed in by Sunday night.

… and right now it’s 9PM and I still have four stories to critique by tomorrow. Gulp.

Hey. A non-scheduled post. I guess that means I’m still alive!

[Good news imminent. Stick with me, here.]

There are all kinds of things I’d like to say about being here at Clarion West. What I’m experiencing. Things I’ve learned. How awesome it is to be having Pop-Tarts and chocolate chip pancakes again. How I’m savoring every last bit of the salty liquorice I brought because I know it’ll be a while before I get to have any again.

Instead, I’d like to bring up a post I wrote a couple of months ago, just before the new year: A Year of Failure, or, Holy Shiz, I’m OK!

In it, I mentioned three things I’d meant  to accomplish in 2010 — sell a short story that was on submission early that year; get into Clarion West; sign with an agent.

None of those happened. And I was OK with that. Hence, uh, the title.

Enter 2011.

January 21st: I received an offer from Agent Michael.

January 31st: I accepted that offer.

March 3rd: Clarion e-mailed that I was accepted into the San Diego workshop.

March 12th: Neile Graham called with the news that I was accepted into Clarion West, as well. I accepted on the spot.

March 15th: Strange Horizons sent me an R&R regarding a time travel story called Eight.

April 20th: I sent in the revised version.

June 17th: I traveled almost 5000 miles to attend Clarion West in Seattle.

June 25th: Strange Horizons e-mailed to tell me they accepted Eight for publication. I stomped downstairs with my netbook under my arm and freaked the hell out of the students diligently writing in the main living room by going “ZOMG YOU GUYS YOU GUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUYS. FIRST PRO SALE. STRANGE HORIIIIIIIIIIIIIIZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONS.”

Basically…

Basically I am in love with 2011.

In November, prepare to receive a giant, giant headache from time travel complications.

Since I’m in Seattle from June 17th to July 31st to attend Clarion West, I’ve scheduled a number of blog posts to go live while I’m gone — including this interview with Clarion West administrator Neile Graham.

I’ll be keeping an eye on the comments, but might take a while to respond.

Neile Graham is Canadian by birth and inclination, but currently lives in Seattle. Her poetry and fiction has been published in the U.S, England, and Canada, and she is a graduate of and workshop administrator for Clarion West Writers Workshop. She blogs irregularly about life, music, reading, and writing at Les Semaines and LiveJournal. Information about her various publications can be found here.

Could you tell us a little about the kind you work you do as a workshop administrator?

With the help of Clarion West’s board of directors, our Executive Director, and a wonderful group of volunteers, Leslie Howle, who is the workshop director, and I do everything that needs to be done to make the workshop happen on a day-to-day basis. We’re responsible for making certain everything is running smoothly with the site, in the classroom, and for the instructors and the students. This ranges from buying paperclips and collating manuscripts to making sure the instructors have all the information they need and reminding sleep-deprived writers to take a nap.

Additionally, I manage the mechanics of the student application process, and together Leslie and I guide the selection process.

What do you think is Clarion West’s strongest draw for authors?

The experience.

There’s nothing to match it. Eighteen writers living together, sharing a classroom with six instructors carefully selected both for their eminence and for their ability to guide the class. Six weeks to concentrate on stretching yourself as a writer, away from the usual pressures of daily life. It’s a transformative experience, worth the sacrifices that students make to carve the time out of their lives. It’s like the most amazing graduate program in speculative fiction all packed into 42 days. When I attended myself I already had an undergraduate degree and an MFA in writing, and still felt like the Clarion West experience took the top of my head off.

After all your time with the workshop, would you say you mostly know what to expect each summer, or do new and surprising things keep popping up?

I know the general shape that the workshop will take and the landmarks along the way, but each year feels new because the experience is so influenced by the individuals attending and teaching it. Even after ten years I’m surprised by things that happen. What stays the same is the alchemical process that happens to the students–it’s so inspiring to watch. This may sound over the top, but it’s true: I feel honoured to be able to be a part of it.

Clarion West accepts only eighteen students each year; I’d love to know more about the selection process. How are the judges chosen, and what do they look for in potential students?

Like our instructors, our application readers are all writers or editors with significant professional publications and/or experience and people we trust to be perceptive readers. It’s a small group, but we aim for a diversity of backgrounds and tastes within it. They are looking for writers they think will benefit most from this kind of workshop, who are ready for its intensity and focus on writing and critiquing.

Do you have any tips or warnings for applicants?

Send your best fiction writing. Period. If you’re sending a novel excerpt, make certain your synopsis shows that you have a story to tell. A story with verve and an individual voice, even if it doesn’t quite achieve its ambitions, will stand out amongst safer and tidier well-workshopped stories. And if you aren’t accepted the first time you apply, remember the workshop has limited space. We can only accept 18 students. Each year it’s a new opportunity with a different group of readers and applicants and you will have had another year’s writing experience under your belt. And if you can’t reapply, remember that while the workshop is a wonderful experience it’s not the only path to get you where you want to be as a writer. Be persistent in working toward your goals whether or not the workshop is a part of your learning process.

Thanks so much for answering these questions, Neile — especially knowing how busy you are these days. It’s hugely appreciated!

I messed up and a couple of the posts that were meant to go up in my absence may have shown up in your RSS feed.

Um… pretend that didn’t happen, please.

In other news, I’ll be on an airplane in 25 hours. We’re down to “laying out airplane clothes” and “make sure all electronics are properly charged” and “buying salty liquorice to share with classmates” and “oh holy crap this will be my last lunch here.”

Also, I am going to miss kroketten SO BADLY.

You know that thing where you spend your days (beta) reading so you don’t have anything interesting happening to blog about, and then this friend comes over for the US so all of a sudden you’re busy dragging her around to the Dam and the Red Light District and the Central Station and canal tours and crappy steakhouses and NSFW souvenir shops and windmills and snackbars and the Van Gogh museum and the Anne Frank house and pancake restaurants and Japanese restaurants and even more NSFW souvenir shops and monkey zoos?

‘Cause that’s the thing that just happened to me.

It’s a thing that doesn’t make for a lot of blogging.

It’s also a thing that makes one very tired, and since I need to rest up for Clarion West — and may I point out that it’s less than two days until I’ll be on a plane to Seattle? — I honestly can’t work up much of a blog post right now.

Which is why you get links.

Adam Heine’s post, Opinions on Piracy (and Some Data), was a pleasant surprise in my Google Reader. While I’m leaning more and more towards — well, not yay piracy! but at least I’m okay with piracy! — I’m always interested in reading other people’s informed opinions on the matter, and Adam’s posts tend to be measured and well-written.

Both K. Tempest Bradford and Rachel Swirsky have posts up encouraging people to join this year’s Clarion West write-a-thon — Tempest is even offering a Kobo eReader to one lucky participant who enters her drawing!

Basically, the gist of the write-a-thon is that you commit to a goal for six weeks of writing — big or small, doesn’t matter — and convince people to sponsor you for whatever amount they want. That money goes to Clarion West, which, in case you hadn’t heard, is a pretty damn nifty SF/F writing workshop yours truly will be participating in.

Starting, um, Sunday.

^{Hold me.}

In other news: You know how I’m a giant comics nerd? Specifically, an X-Men nerd? Well, I watched X-Men: First Class in the opening weekend with a friend and thoroughly enjoyed it, but was irritated beyond belief at the same time. For a movie that’s all about combating bigotry, they sure managed to squeeze a lot of racism and sexism into a two-hour space. I particularly enjoyed N.K. Jemisin’s rant about the movie. (Warning: Cursing abounds. Delicious, justified cursing.)

Fassbender was still freaking awesome, though. <3

And now I ought to go and work on further preparations for my trip. I don’t think I’ll be around much these next few days, but expect a number of delightful interviews and guest posts to go up during my absence!