I had a good week at Nationals. As in, surreally good:
I won a shiny…
…fenced a team event as the “anchor” (though I was always the kid picked last for kickball). On the elevated finals strip, no less, though not a gold medal bout
…and even placed the highest I ever have (80th) in a large (150+) competition of mostly spry teenagers.
Additionally, querying and other networky/researchy things revolving around The Book™ are going better than expected. Don’t really feel like I can go into detail yet but it’s all very promising.
So why, when everything is coming up roses, does it all feel a little…wrong?
Part of it is straight-up homesickness. I lived out of a suitcase for half of June. I don’t usually travel this many places in quick succession. While the people I’ve met and events I’ve participated in have been wonderful, I’m unused to such rapid changes of place and I’m left disoriented.
Some of it is exhaustion – all that travel, plus full time job and Life that never stops on top of my seeming inability to get more than 6 hours sleep a night has taken a toll.
But more than anything else it’s my bad wiring.
I have anxiety and depression. I don’t like to dwell on it so I don’t talk about it very often. Due to my great good fortune in having decent mental health care they are mostly managed, most of the time.
But sometimes my brain just won’t let me have nice things, as it did towards the tail end of last week. It has this chemical rebellion that results in feelings that it’s all going to backfire any minute, or that it’s all luck and not the result of long hours of hard work.
As I type this I’m bouncing back, but it’s a long, slow bounce. The best I can do is rest, get back on a regular schedule and avoid caffeine like the plague (ask me about my celebratory slice of chocolate pie. No, best not). When I’m in such a state, rejoining the workaday world where I am not an [insert activity here] rockstar is paradoxically easier than enjoying my successes.
So: big girl panties yanked up, laundry done, early bed tonight.
This isn’t going to be your usual conference recap.
If I try to list names or sessions I’ll forget someone and I don’t want to risk leaving someone out or appear to play favorites. If you were there, you know who you are, and you made my third(!) HNS conference everything I dreamed it would be and more!
The weekend itself was a delightful, overwhelming blur. Many people met and re-met, many sessions attended, many ideas spawned and shaped.
I’ve not even typed up my notes yet but a few notions stand out:
Make shit up. Hammering a story arc out of Kelley and Dee’s peripatetic activities sent me down research rabbit holes that did nothing to help the story, so “permission” to focus on the fiction in historical fiction in the next book* was supremely freeing!
Do what scares you. If a project seems out of your league, you’re probably on the right track.
Say yes. To ideas, to opportunities, to something or someone you’ve not considered before. You might learn something.
Be flexible. In terms of describing your work, marketing, etc. ‘Cos my manuscript has fingers in multiple pies but doesn’t fit in any one pie tin.
Go gothic. See “be flexible” above. I always thought of “gothic” fiction as something set in the Victorian era that explored the tension between man and technology. Not so – check out these tropes. At HNS 2017 I learned I was writing historical fantasy; this year I further honed that down to gothic fiction. Makes it easier to describe this thing, that’s for damn sure!
Avoid burnout. Because I’ve been skating on the edge of it for months, and enjoy riding that edge until I hit a wall. I may turn off social media apps or designate certain times or days social media-free just for my own sanity. I may also set aside a day a week to NOT work on book-related stuff.
Stay on site, if possible. This is specific to conferences, but not just HNS. This year HNS was in my own back yard but I got a hotel room so I wouldn’t have to cut interesting conversations short to hit the road. Because guaranteed-all the really good conversation takes place after hours.
This publishing thing is incremental. I am thrilled to report that I pitched my novel and got some interest! I’ve sent pages to the relevant parties and while of course I’m hopeful I keep reminding myself: this is just a foot in the door. If it goes nowhere, that’s ok – these pitches were practice for future pitches. If this book goes nowhere, it’s ok – this book was practice for future books. If this book does get representation, that’s only one step in the long process of getting a book on shelves. It’s a cliché but overnight success is never, ever overnight.
Credit where credit is due: this is Katelyn Shelby‘s. Read the post as well.
As I type this I’m prepping for the final loop in this summer’s roller coaster: Nationals. So it’s going to take me awhile to digest everything I learned last weekend. Maybe I’ll make some headway on my to-read stack between competitions, so there’s that.
*For the next book I am going to avoid real historical figures for this reason. I’m also likely going to write the pitch/synopsis first to keep the story foremost in my mind.
By the time this posts I’ll be on my way to the Historical Novel Society conference. Or, at least, I’ll have my query typed, my elevator pitch memorized, and my manuscript grammar/spellchecked to within an inch of its life.
I’m as prepared as I can be. Hell, I’m overprepared, but while I’m excited about the conference, the stakes feel higher than before because I’m pitching to an agent and an editor.
Not that I haven’t pitched before. I did at my first HNS back in 2015 because I didn’t realize I wasn’t ready. Ah, the bliss of ignorance!
This past Sunday afternoon I finished my third draft.
I am still unhappy with parts of the book but apart from a few tweaks in the proofreading/spellchecking stage the bulk of rewriting is done. It’s as good as I can make it without professional help, so I’m going to fulfill my personal goal of pitching this thing at the Historical Novel Society conference in just over two weeks.
[gulp]
I’m really trying not to think about that.
Fortunately I’ve got some distractions.
That’s what part of 8 yards of silk habotai looks like-it extends a good few feet beyond the frame. Photo author’s own.
I promised myself a sewing project or two during the initial query process/before I start research for the next book* and what you see above is the raw material for a long-standing plan to make a silk pleated gown in the style of Fortuny’s Delphos. I made a polyester version years ago but it does not move or drape the same way natural silk does.
I dyed this with natural indigo at a friend’s house back on a cold, chilly day in May and set it aside though I wanted to play with it so much! But I’ve learned I can only do one project at a time if I want to do it well.
In addition to the HNS conference I have a family trip and Nationals this month so my June is well tied up. Hopefully I’ll get back on my weekly blogging schedule as well.
What have you got planned for this summer?
*I’m deciding between two plot bunnies and will get nose back to grindstone this fall.
I came late to this news story. I’d been away from my desk for an hour and came back to find my Facebook feed blowing up with the most horrible, unbelievable photographs. I spare you links to the same here – I imagine everyone will see those photos many times in the next few days – so I include a 29 year old set from a childhood family trip to Europe.
A photo album so old they’re actual photos. Author’s own.
I don’t think we went in. Our stop in Paris was so short, and we were trying to see so much in just a couple of days. As a teenager my interest in history competed with my interest in clothes and records, and I always thought something like the Notre Dame was perennial, permanent. I mean, it had survived over 800 years and umpteen wars. Something like that could never be destroyed, not really. I’d see the rest someday.
I guess I’ll never see it now, or at least, not as it was.
The last news report I heard before I typed this was that the structure had been saved but the spire and roof are lost, and the fate of much of the artwork and wooden interior is as yet unknown. I watch updates in a kind of morbid fascination, if only because I keep thinking this is the last time, the last time I see any of this, and I don’t want to miss it.
Happily, no one was injured in the fire. Human life is paramount, and this tragedy would have been all the worse if there were fatalities. But art and architecture aren’t trivial. I’m not religious myself but humanity’s beliefs in their deities of choice have inspired outstanding, unique artworks that I fear we’ll now never see again.
Not sure where I was going with this, just that I felt I couldn’t let this moment pass without saying something. Remember, someday is now.
If want to share your own feelings about the fire, or if you have any memories of Notre Dame, please feel free to share them in the comments.
Travel enriches us. It allows us to not only see new places but let go of assumptions and clichés about those places. And while I know there’s no way that one day in Belgrade makes me an authority on the city, it does give me some things to ponder.
Take Tito’s mausoleum.
This is in the middle of an extensive park.
Can’t really be a dictator without at least one self-aggrandizing statue of oneself. At least Tito’s is only life-size.
Contemporary news and culture taught me that all Communist dictators were oppressive monsters who kept their citizens in perpetual fear and despair. Our guide wasn’t a fan, but insisted that, like many things in Serbia, Tito’s legacy is “complicated”.
Yes—Tito was a dictator who ruthlessly sentenced political opponents to forced labor and constrained human rights when it suited him. Yet he is still held in some regard (by my guide, and I’m guessing she’s not alone based on the large crowds at the mausoleum) because he kept Yugoslavia together, kept the Russians out, and allowed open (by Eastern Bloc standards, at least) borders.
Within sight of the this secular shrine—actually, within sight of much of Belgrade—is the astonishing Orthodox cathedral of St. Sava.
Construction started in the 1930s and though interrupted by war, invasion, and politics, is still crawling towards completion. It’s among the largest Orthodox churches in the world, but it doesn’t need size to impress. I’d seen pictures of Orthodox iconography and frescoes, but nothing compares to the three-dimensional reality.
If I remember correctly St. Sava’s icons and frescoes are made using medieval materials and techniques. The reason we see more gold than blue here is because while lapis lazuli was expensive and rare hundreds of years ago, it really isn’t anymore. To show wealth/prestige gold is now the obvious way to go.
Gilt everywhere. Photo by Charlotte Dries.
Belgrade has been destroyed and rebuilt around 40(!) times in its long history, and much of the city center is still rebuilding after the wars of the 1990s that broke up Yugoslavia. Right across from a restored 19th century train station are the ruins of the Yugoslavian Ministry of Defense, bombed out by NATO.
Photo by Charlotte Dries.
I felt a little weird viewing it, though our guide pointed this out without any apparent ire (surprising [or not?] given that most of us were from NATO countries). I was even reluctant to include it in this post, but decided to leave it in because my reaction reveals some of the complicated facets of being a tourist. History is often a series of violent events, but I think the recentness of the violence got to me. The bombing was only 20 years ago, and even though this building was on the tour and the decision to leave it a ruin is deliberate I still felt like an ugly American enjoying a morbid thrill at Serbian expense.
After a very long day walking around Belgrade we walked a bit further to our one off-schedule stop: the Tesla Museum.
It was a leeetle underwhelming, but to be fair we were also quite rushed (when the boat leaves it leaves, whether you’re on it or not). It’s only about three rooms (or at least, that’s all we had access to) and we stepped in between English-language tours. They have his ashes, as well as the safe he used in his rooms at the Waldorf Astoria and some of his characteristic gloves and hats.
Of course Tesla’s urn looks like an atom.
The very safe from which the U.S. government took Tesla’s papers upon his death.
Not sure if these are reproductions or the genuine article, but Tesla was a natty (and germaphobic) sort.
As near as we could tell most of our fellow patrons spoke English but Serbians hold him in high regard as well – he appears on their 100 dinar note and every souvenir shop we passed had a Tesla-themed something. The museum itself emphasized his technical achievements to the point that even the gift shop has scientific monographs and collections of Tesla’s correspondence instead of magnets and coffee mugs.
What followed was a mad dash back to the boat in a very fast, very economical taxi. I left Belgrade intrigued, a bit uncomfortable, and thinking of some questions to ask.
This is my last post before I take a break from the blog. I’m not sure for how long. These take a long time to write and research (even the link dumps) and between the holidays coming up and a real need to make some headway on my book, something has to give. I hope you’ll check out the archives and/or join me on social media (Twitter | Facebook | Mastodon).
Taking a break from the travelogue because I’ve got a busy week:
Welcome to the Witch Capital of Norway: Vardø never capitalized on its bloody history in the manner of Salem MA, but it does have some stark monuments to the 1621 burnings. The article also includes some beautiful but bleak photos of the town as it is today.
Murder in the Mountains—AT Murderer left creepy occult clues at cache site: Randall Lee Smith, the “Appalachian Trail Murderer”, spent fifteen years in jail for killing two hikers in 1981 and upon release lived quietly…until he attempted another double killing in 2008. After Smith died authorities found his eerie outdoor cache of women’s underwear, glasses…and audio tapes of supposed magical rituals (stolen from the movie “The Craft”?). I can’t link directly to the “My Favorite Murder” podcast episode about Smith but if you want to know more that seems a good place to start.
If you love Roman history you should go to… Serbia.
I know, right?
But it’s not that surprising when you realize that if Romania was named after Rome, the Romans had to go through what is now Serbia to get there (and get to everywhere else they colonized in Northern Europe). As it turns out, some 15 Roman emperors were born in what is now Serbia, and there’s ample archaeological evidence of Roman occupation.
My entire travel party was excited to see the ruin of Viminacium, a provincial outpost of the Roman Empire ca. the 1st-4th centuries C.E. I think we were all impressed. What follows is a thumbnail of what I learned on my visit, along with some of my pictures. I recommend the Itinerarium Romanum Serbiae site if you want to get into the weeds.
Viminacium was near the present-day town of Kostolac, Serbia. The archaeological site (and it is an ongoing excavation) is fairly isolated on a grassy plain. The only other nearby structure is a modern electrical plant, and it’s a bit odd to pass industrial towers belching steam to arrive in a field with only a cluster of low buildings and tents.
But oh, what you see in the tents!
This is the grave site and you can go right in (guided, of course). This is the largest number of graves found at a Roman site (nearly 15,000). The presence of Christian and Pagan burials side by side is noteworthy but not unheard of, and suggests that Christians and Pagans lived together in relative harmony.
Christians buried with arms crossed over the chest…
…pagans with arms at sides.
I faced down another phobia (dark, small spaces) to visit to the underground mausoleums (photography not permitted). The well-preserved frescoes are worth stumbling through the dark in a crouch; I can’t imagine many Roman sites would let you get that close.
They’ve also excavated some of the baths (because the Romans everywhere loved their baths) but due to the stage of excavation this is as close as I could get:
The amphitheater is partially excavated and partially reconstructed. Not sure what I think about building modern reproductions nearly on top of the ruins, but they do illustrate how things might have looked when Viminacium was a bustling town of 40,000.
The stone in the foreground is original.
Then on to the villa.
Not original to the site, obviously…
Well, not quite. The Domus Scientiarum Viminacium has the floor plan of a Roman villa but is a research and conference center. The upper levels contain scientific libraries, laboratories, and accommodations for visiting scientists; the lower level is a combination of museum (open to the public) and climate-controlled storage (not so much, though I did get a glimpse). I wouldn’t mind having my corporate retreat here.
Thus far archaeologists have only excavated around 4% of Viminacium. Though described as a “colony”, the speculative city plan reveals something far more extensive, cosmopolitan, and permanent than that word suggests:
If you have the facilities to host the Roman equivalents of the Superbowl, “Hamilton”, and Beyonce you’re a city, dammit.
Early Christian symbol floor in the villa mosaic that the guides asked us not to step on.
So much going on at the site that they haven’t been able to catalog everything yet. This wooden panel and lead coffins from were in a downstairs hallway.
The aim of the larger Itinerarium Romanum Serbiae project is to connect a network of other Serbian Roman ruins, reproduction Roman villas, and motels along the route of the old Roman roads. Part tourism, part scientific study, it would provide a lot of local jobs (a concern because Serbia isn’t part of the European Union [yet?] and much of the traditional farming is dying out).
And finally, the mammoths.
A bit of a non sequitur amongst all of the Roman artifacts, but these were found at the same site (in a much earlier strata, obviously) and are on display in a wooden chamber. If I remember rightly, only some of the fossils were found on site; others were brought in for comparison.
After walking around all day and putting so many things in our heads, we all slept well. Which is good as the next day we were in Belgrade, and in addition to the guided tour made an extracurricular visit to the Tesla Museum.
The ship entered the port of Vidin, Bulgaria around 7 am. I was up early most days of the trip out of necessity but also because I never quite shook Eastern Standard time. But it was worth to see a week of mornings just like this (we lucked into almost perfect weather for the entire trip).
Photo author’s own, as are all others except where noted.
We arrived ahead of schedule so we got to wander around Vidin a bit before the day’s field trip.
Statue in Vidin city center of the three unhappily married sisters who founded Vidin (or at least founded Baba Vida fortress around which the city was built).
Umbrellas in the park in Vidin.
Then we hopped on the coach for a trip to the mountains.
Belogradchik Fortress was originally built by the Romans and passed through Ottoman and Bulgarian hands through the centuries. Given the elevation it was originally built for surveillance rather than defense, though the walls are 2 meters thick in places.
Belogradchik Fortress was built within and using the natural rock formations.
Roman cisterns, covered for safety. The Romans covered them with vinegar-soaked sheepskins to keep the water fresh.
We had the option to stay at the bottom or hike to the top. I chose the hike, and am grateful I invested in my hiking sneakers: ugly as sin prevented me grinding my knees to sawdust.
It was a bit of a hike…
…but the view was worth it.
I hate heights—or at least being near the edge of potentially long drops. Guard rails don’t help as I don’t trust them to hold. Nonetheless, I took a breath and stepped up to the edge.
See the railing? I sweat bullets to get this shot.
The city of Belogradchik from with the characteristic red-tiled roofs and whitewashed walls.
The town of Belogradchik (Belograd=”white town”; “-chik” suffix=”small”, to differentiate it from the big white town of Belgrade—a later stop on the cruise) is built within the many Belogradchik Rocks. Most are named but 1) my notes aren’t clear on the specific names, probably because 2) I never could see the Bear, or Adam and Eve, or other figures described.
This site was a bit of a workout, in a good way: I challenged my fear of heights and got some good hiking in as well. Belogradchik was both beautiful but also a warmup for the next day’s excursion to a Roman archaeological site in Serbia.
Our next stop was just that, a stop. Rousse, Bulgaria, is across the Danube from where we boarded the ship in Giurgiu, Romania. Think of Detroit’s physical relation to Windsor, Ontario. Our first view of Rousse was a bit confusing:
My traveling companions and I couldn’t figure out what the hell these were. A bit of digging reveals they may have been leftovers from an annual summer sand sculpture contest. All photos author’s own.
The excursion to Veliko Tarnovo started early (at least on this cruise line/itinerary). Most of the excursions did and justly so to accommodate the coach rides to and from plus a good chunk of sightseeing time. Double espressos were my friends throughout the trip. But said excursions are worth the early waking times. Every single one of these was interesting in some way, if only because I knew next to nothing about the histories of the places I’d be visiting. Happily the local guides are knowledgable and the coach rides provided ample time for crash courses.
Veliko Tarnovo was the capital of the 12th-14th century second Bulgarian empire. I didn’t know there was a first, so my notes say “read up on this”. The visit itself was a whirlwind of impressive hills and fortresses.
Everyone goes on about “the view from the top”—Tsarevets Fortress is pretty impressive from below.
The 1985 Monument of Assens celebrates the Tsars that created the second Bulgarian empire, and is visible from almost anywhere in the city. The characteristic architectural style is visible in the background: white stucco with red-tiled roofs.
By this time I’d developed a fascination with the buildings left over from communist days, if only because their aggressive simplicity stood out amongst the more traditional styles. Though, they also contained the occasional surprise: we stopped off at this ultra utilitarian hotel for coffee and banitsa to find the interior all red velvet and chandeliers.
See the lacy curtains and chandelier lights in the windows?
Then on to Arbanassi to get some early modern on. Some of the architecture here dates to the time of Ottoman rule (something else I want to read more about).
One of many among narrow cobblestone streets.
This cruise line was able to arrange a special performance of orthodox a capella chants at the Church of the Nativity.
No interior photography permitted but I did get this photo of the exterior. The flag belongs to our tour guide.
Hearing the old chants echo off the frescoed walls created one of those “you are there” time-travel type moments that remind you that these buildings aren’t just relics but real buildings where real people lived and worked and worshipped for centuries (and in some cases are still in use).
The finish of the day was a taste of rakia distilled from roses. It tasted the way roses smell (I can’t think of any other way to describe it). Rose oil is a prominent export of central Bulgaria, but I didn’t know you could distill it. This was my first of many encounters with the culture and products Balkan brewing during the trip.
The drive back to the boat was a blur: by then jet lag and general exhaustion was setting in. I got an early night and good thing too as the next day we had a day trip to some very tall, windy rocks.
