A case for a daydreamer

Yesterday I attended a reading event. People were presented, and then went up to the podium to read their work; essays, excerpts from novels and poetry. One guy sang and played the piano.

I was there because one of my classmates was one of the people doing a reading. He read his essay, which talks about his experiences while working and studying Arabic in Morocco. I'd read just pieces of it, and was glad I had waited for the rest. The parts I already knew were even better coming from the writer himself, and I listened and enjoyed it quite thoroughly.

Of course, it's always been my luck that the thing I go somewhere specifically to see never comes soon enough. For example, at concerts, my favorite songs are not played until the very end, or close to it. I've always had to wait and sit through agonizing things to get to my goal, and though this has taught me patience and extra appreciation for what I'm waiting for, it's still agony.

Before Jeff went up and read his essay, I and everyone else had to sit through three presentations. The first was quite pleasant, short and sweet-- a bluesy/jazzy song on the piano that was really cute. Following that was a nice and long essay that began with visions of cats and other creatures popping out of the pattern of a Persian rug, then branched out into musings over extinct smells and sounds from history we've only read about. You see, I was listening, but felt boredom slightly tugging at my brain.

Tugging turned into consuming when the next reader went up to the podium. She read the prologue from her soon to be published science fiction/fantasy novel for young adults. Not only was the subject matter not interesting to me, but it's built for a completely different audience. I kept looking at the stack of papers in that reader's hands, waiting for it to dwindle down to just one sheet. It seemed like eternity, but her hands were finally empty, because as she finished with one sheet, she would place it on the podium. Everyone applauded at the end. But wait! She also had an excerpt from another science fiction/fantasy book she is publishing.

The stack wasn't as big as the first, but it was still agony to get through. I prayed for the reason I was there to be next, so I could go about my day and keep boredom from putting me in complete hibernation mode.

My prayers were answered, because Jeff was next, and just in time. His reading was great and an absolute joy, pulling me right out of misery.

There are things I just don't feel or plain don't like.

Poetry is one. I know that songs are poetry set to music, and I agree, so, I guess I like poetry when combined with music.

I also don't feel, nor like nonlinear storytelling. Seriously, if I wanted to give myself a headache and get confused I would just listen to myself.

Readings are now part of this list.

Don't get me wrong, I really did enjoy Jeff's essay, and if another friend was doing the same thing, I'd still go and watch them during their big moment where they get to shine.

I am a daydreamer however, which makes me someone very prone to having a wandering mind that is hard to hold back and keep in place without something extraordinary.

I suppose everyone is like this, but I think I'm worse off than most people. Reading has been and will always be one of my favorite things, but only when I'm the one reading. Though I still daydream while I read, I daydream about what I'm reading, which is a wonderful side-effect.

"Pride (in the name of the AFP)"

What a wonderful day.

You know those days you get up in the morning, get ready and think it's gonna be an ordinary day... then as the day accelerates, you find that it is a phenomenal one?

Well, today was a day like that for me. I got up, struggled to find something to wear, threw whatever on, gathered my things and drove to school. Before I even reached school, my phone rang, and it was Kat, the assistant editor informing me that the newspapers we sent to the printers the day before had been delivered and were ready for distribution.

PHEW! Issue one is out, and I can't express the amount of weight that has been lifted off my shoulders. I wanted so bad to get that sucker out of the way and move on to the next issue. The time has come, finally.

But the coolness doesn't stop there, because plenty happened on this very special day for me, the staff, the advisor, and even the administration of ACC.

You see, it's a very long story, but basically the Arapahoe Free Press has been struggling to stay alive for a few years. ACC's administration has wanted to kill the publication for reasons I'm not clear on, and as a result, it has made running the thing efficiently near impossible. It has also made the administrators read the newspaper religiously, but never express anything positive. From what I understand, the administration read the paper to see just what was being said about them, which usually pissed them off. Hence, the plans to make the AFP disappear.

Today, I believe the AFP made history. Or perhaps changed its fate. Not only did we get kudos from the advisor who was raving about what a great first issue we had produced (then proceeded to rip it apart with red ink), but we also got kudos from two very unlikely sources.

The vice president of the college came in and congratulated us. I thought nothing of it at first, and simply thanked him, thinking he's a pretty good-looking guy for his age. Later, another member of the administration came in and congratulated us as well. I thought maybe this was normal for the first issue out of courtesy. Chris, our advisor informed us that this was in fact the first time he'd ever seen or heard of administrators congratulating the newspaper staff on their work. Chris has been with ACC 20 years, so to hear him say that made my heart skip a beat.

Am I on the brink of reviving ACC's newspaper with utmost quality, to the point where the administration will love it enough to pay it more heed? Or did we simply write things that pleased the administration?

I hope it is the former rather than the latter, because we had a couple of stories in there with the potential to upset the administration. Either way, I'm so proud of myself, and I'm proud of my team, and I'm proud of the Arapahoe Free Press.

And now, we move on to issue two...

4 people + 14 unedited articles = production day

Today was production day. It actually should've been yesterday (Tuesday), but given the events of the last few days, I, as Editor, made the decision to move it to Wednesday. It was a good decision, but it still didn't alleviate a lot of the problems I was hoping to with that extra day.

Without a Copy Editor, editing copy is naturally a nightmare. There were four of us working last night, and all of today. I'm pretty good at spotting mistakes... I find them all the time in newspapers, books and websites. It's easy to find mistakes when you're not rushing. But when you're rushing, and it's your product you're proofreading, it's a little less easy.

Like I said, there were four of us; me, the assistant editor, the designer and Dave, the man I mentioned in a previous post, who reminds me of Peter Boyle. Between the four of us, we had an insane amount of unedited articles to take care of between yesterday and today. And when I say unedited, I mean UNEDITED. I must put the crackdown on writers not following instructions, because the hot mess we had on our hands at production time cannot be repeated and is totally unacceptable.

Now, I understand that Arapahoe Community College isn't exactly an institution with the cream of the crop as its student body, but these people aren't exactly dumb. Some of them are quite brilliant. The problem is this apathy from students and faculty alike. Even professors attest to this apathy, and that is a complete and utter shame, because it transfers to the students.

Because of this attitude, I'm having trouble getting things done. Stories are turned in late despite many warnings that missing deadlines is a ticket to getting fired. When work is turned in on time, it is either riddled with spelling and grammatical errors, or it is simply incoherent. Writers think that once their work is turned in, they're free and disappear until it's too late to get them to make corrections, or get more information. We, the editors, end up editing and sometimes rewriting entire articles because of this carelessness.

The writers are very sadly mistaken if they think they can do things half-assed and still get a byline by themselves, if at all. With issue two, there will be quite a bit of cinching and tightening.

For one thing, now that things are more official, job descriptions will be handed out. The job descriptions state plainly what is expected of each individual in the position they are filling. I hope that by letting people see what they are officially supposed to be doing, I get to insure that instructions are followed, and that stuff gets done. Moreoever, job descriptions will weed out those who are unqualified. I hate to say it, but I've got a feature section editor who doesn't know who her writers are and what stories they're working on. This isn't including the fact that she can't write features to begin with. I don't know how she became feature editor, but a feature editor, a mediocre movie reviewer does not make! Hopefully, by giving this person an official job description she will realize what the position involves and decide to either drop it (which I'm hoping for, since I have someone in mind to take the position and do well at it), or she will start being more proactive.

Then I've got writers who walk in without any experience, but are sporting gigantic, air-filled egos. I have one writer who is 25, used to be in a band, left the band after the usual "band break-up" drama, skipped a chance to sign on with a huge label (or so he says), and decided to come back to school after seeing his friends get their degrees and making something of their lives, while he was rocking on, and bar tending. Great, I thought. He really wants to be here, and really wants to learn! WRONG. The guy has an ego the size of the state of Texas, and is a major d***. I'm not alone in my opinion of this supposed rockstar. Even the advisor agreed with me. I will admit that he is our best news reporter, but I can't get over his attitude and want nothing more than to twist his ear and make him see that the very thing stopping him from becoming something more than a former rocker is his ego.

BUT I won't be twisting any ears, or giving any reality checks to him, or anyone. I am supposed to be diplomatic, gentle and encouraging, even when people don't deserve it. I simply cannot afford to lose any more writers... especially not news writers.

I've always hated it when people say things like "team work", "team player", or "proactive", but I'm finding myself at a loss for any other words at this point. The words still make me twitch, but they are very important when you're trying to make a machine work that has different parts that must function properly for success. The Arapahoe Free Press is lacking team work and team players who are proactive, and I'm growing tired of it already.

The good news is, tomorrow issue one is on stands and it has become clearer to me what needs to be done to insure a better process for issue two. In the meantime, I must improve on my leadership skills and put my foot down on slacking.

Now, I'll go do some homework.

Let the games begin

The Olympics are over, and have been for about a month, but I've got my own games just starting.

I'm officially Editor now, which also means I'm officially baby sitter. My God, the things that are surfacing are making me think I'm going into the seventh circle of hell.

To make a long, confusing story very short... my assistant editor got into a tiff with the designer who hates her, and called me this morning in tears wanting to resign, because the girl who hates her told her to resign.

Now, I've had my issues with the assistant editor, but nothing along the lines of wanting her to resign from the paper altogether!

Just in one day, I've confirmed that I can't keep writers because of the assistant editor, and that my designer is even more outspoken than I'd already thought. I've talked to both, and I hope these problems are more the exception than the rule.

This brings me to the subject of trying to keep people happy... I don't think it's possible. I was lucky with these two girls, because they are both gung-ho for the paper, and had no intention of really leaving... but I know for a fact that I'm not going to be able to put out all fires each time tempers flare. This makes my job extremely challenging, even more than it already was without the politics.

All I can do is try to make everyone happy by listening to them and addressing their concerns, and hope to God that is enough to keep them on the staff.

How about the real reason I'm at ACC?

I've been so consumed by the happenings at the newspaper, that I've neglected to write about the real reason I'm in school-- my class!

Class is going good. I haven't published anything yet, but this class has helped me in different, amazing ways.

For one thing, the project we're working on right now is a book proposal. Now, I don't have a book, but my ultimate goal is to write one one of these days. Up until now, my vision of a book has been a little hazy. I simply had no idea what I wanted to make into a book, but I knew I wanted to write one.

A series of events recently has cleared up the murky waters, and the book proposal assignment is simply a way for me to put my vision of my book in writing and on paper. For the first time I feel I can answer the question: "What do you want to write?"

So, what do I want to write? Are you ready for this? Historic fiction. I love history, and I love fiction. A number of my favorite books fall under this category. I can't think of a better combination, and it's what I want to do.

The Bronze Horsemanwas a book I read years ago that is more of a romance, but has a very strong historic fiction aspect to it. This book is one of my favorites and really got me into reading the genre. Few books were able to hold me and draw me like it did for a long time, but it certainly sent me on a path. The path was long, but it finally lead me to The Birth of Venus, the book that truly got me thinking about trying my hand at the genre. I only dreamed about it, though, and instead just felt awed by the genius who wrote it (Sarah Dunant). Further down the path, I stumbled upon Outlander, part of a series, and which actually falls under fantasy, given its time-traveling aspect. This is the book that helped the machine run by the class work properly and produce a solid goal.

I am simply hooked on this idea, and have not only decided on the genre, but I've also decided on the setting. I've thought about a rough plot, and decided on the time my story will take place in.

Simply put, through this class assignment, I was able to insure that what I plan on doing has not been done often, and virtually never. Out of all this, new stories and ideas have surfaced that I think have finally given me a niche to strive for in the genre I've chosen. A ton of research is in order, naturally, but luckily, the research is on history... I said it already and I'll say it again... I love history.

Though I usually shy away from sharing my fiction/creative writing, I am going to share an excerpt of my first attempt at historic fiction, and would love to know your thoughts!

So, here goes:

It was the year 1257, and peace broke out over our city for the holy month of Ramadan, leaving us to tend to our religious duties as Muslims. Ours was a city that was rich with books on science and literature, culture and religion. It had been that way for over 500 years in Baghdad-- the City of Peace.

The smell of jasmine permeated the air, while the Tigris and Euphrates rivers glittered underneath Allah's light and glory. Minarets poked out like decorative needles against a backdrop of the orange setting sun in the horizon.

I was born and grew up in this city that was the home and center of the Abbasid Caliphate. My father was a respected merchant of all things exotic and spicy. I was sixteen then, and living in a palace with my father, mother, brothers and sisters. A slew of servants filled our courts to tend to our every need. It was the life of an aristocratic family in these Abbassid years-- one filled with delicious meats, breads, rice, and an assortment of fruits and vegetables virtually unknown to the commoners of our rich city.

Each day, the servants would spend endless hours preparing the family's meals, becoming mesmerized by things like a long yellow fruit that is joined at the top with others like it in a tough black bond.

I was a child of five, when I saw Amina, my nanny, marvel at the beauty of a bright red apple. Thinking her wonderment funny I broke out in laughter, sending Amina running after me as I maneuvered the palace's open courts. I knew every nook and cranny of the palace with its vast courts and majestic columns. I floated and disappeared behind exotic pieces my father had brought back from his travels as a merchant. Some of them still held the smell of spice and the seas that had absorbed into the wood during transport aboard ships. I could still smell the cinnamon, curry, cumin and paprika emanating from the Chinese wooden chest. My father prized this chest more than any other object he acquired during his sails. It had a lock and an accompanying key with golden tassels hanging from it.

Amina’s duty was to tend to my every need. She was like a mother to me, though I gave her more trouble than I gave my real one, who commanded the respect of all the palace’s occupants. My mother had gone through a dozen pregnancies, several difficult births and a handful of stillborns—a mixture I had come out from, healthy and mischievous. My mother was simply too weak to care for a child of my disposition, even if it weren’t already the custom for a family of our status to have nannies for children.

Amina's thick body often left her winded when she finally did catch up to me, making me succumb to the dreaded nightly bath.

I hope I was able to conjure up vivid images of Baghdad, back when it was the center of the world. There is quite a conflict being set up for this story, and I didn't have to do much to create it. History itself created the conflict for me, all I have to do is describe it in an engaging way. I mention the year 1257. Well, 1257 is the year before the Abbasid Dynasty ended. February 10, 1258 is when Baghdad was sacked by the Mongols, who wreaked so much havoc on the city, that the Tigris was said to have turned red with blood.

It's obvious that Baghdad is a city that has seen a lot of violence in its time, and it's unfortunate, because the violence is all most people see. They never see the beauty of this city, with its rich history and culture. I will paint Baghdad as the way it was once upon a time, and show how that beauty began to fade, yet never completely went away. That beauty still exists today, but I suppose it's a little hard to see with tanks rolling through streets that have existed for centuries, and hold secrets that were once written on paper, but burned by the Mongol invasion 750 years ago.

So, this is what my class has done for me just in the last month. This class has been worth every penny!