Stephanie Gayle

On Sunday the very handsome boyfriend and I made our way through the rain to another damp spot: the New England Aquarium. We just happened to be in the ticket line behind a nun, whose head dress part of her habit was unlike any I'd seen before. Of course I stared. Not as badly as the time I was ogling the Amish at the National Zoo. But still, you know, staring. So you'd think that giving the staring and her proximity and all I would have known to keep my mouth shut while the idiots in the ticket line consistently failed to approach the sales windows when called. Every person at the front of the line would get yelled at, and they' be looking at the seals or some other thing, any place other than the ticket windows. Being the helpful person I am I'd yell, "Window two!" at them and point. They rarely noticed. It was almost as if there was a coma-inducing-front-of-the-line curse at work.

After this happened several times I muttered loudly, "Christ!" And then I slowly pivoted to the boyfriend and winced. He gave me the "how exactly did you fail to notice the nun in front of you?' look. I know. She didn't react visibly. Maybe she was watching the seals. Maybe she was deaf. Actually, she wasn't. I know because the man with her had to explain to her (in Italian) about the photo taking part.

I hate the photo taking part. Nowadays when you visit the aquarium, and you enter they make you stand and get your photo taken. Then, when you leave, they try to make you buy a copy. I don't like having my picture taken much. I hate having people take it against my wishes and then displaying said photos for every aquarium-loving person to see. And there's really no way to avoid it. You can't escape the line.

This then, is where the nun worked in my favor. When her interpreting friend explained about the picture she shook her head and he said, "No thanks" and the staff weren't going to argue with a nun. So the boyfriend and I did the same, quickly speeding past with a "no thanks." It was awesome. No unwanted pictures. Huzzah!

So thank you, nun of the exotic head dress, and sorry about the blasphemy. My mom tried to raise me better. Really, she did.

Posted by Stephanie at 07:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

For all of you just waiting to get your hot little hands on an audio copy of My Summer of Southern Discomfort, I have wonderful news. Southern Voices Audio has released my book on CD and cassette. I'm not reading the book and that's probably just as well, because I'd spend half the time finishing a sentence to say, "Oh, hell. Can I change that? No, well, can I add a three-legged elf? I think this scene needs something more." This kind of behavior is what stands between me and an appearance on Oprah. Really.

Instead of me, actress Julie Dretzin reads the book, and from the sample audio I heard, she does a terrific job. She does a good Lala.

As I was thinking about recording and books I was imagining what it would sound like to record a book being written. I realized that would be dull. Very, very dull. You'd hear some paper rustling, furious typing, and then silence. Lots and lots of silence, broken by an occasional curse word and a muttered question, like, "Well, where is she buried?"

So I think I'll leave the recordings to the finished product and the readings to the actresses, unless someone wants to record me reading a fantastic story about a three-legged elf.

Posted by Stephanie at 03:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Recently, Annie Proulx spoke about how much she dislikes people sending her fan fiction pertaining to her story that was the basis of the film Brokeback Mountain. The Guardian published that she finds the pornish rewrites people send her, "a source of constant irritation."

Here is my considered response.

Hey, Annie, I can understand not liking the alternate endings people send of your work, but I've got some advice. Don't read them. Also, what they are really rewriting is the movie version, not so much your story. Most people who saw the movie probably didn't even read your story! Which was goddamn brilliant, I admit. You're a hell of a writer.

This antagonism toward fan fic writers makes me recall you crying foul after "Brokeback Mountain" failed to win an Oscar. Yup, here it is. I understand the horror of having Crash win Best Film. Watching that movie was like being beat over the head with a junior high public service announcement (only more painful). However, it did seem a wee bit like what we call "crybaby son of a bitch behavior" to write a piece protesting your film's loss. Leave the public crying over lost awards to Kanye West. He does it better.

Today I came across this proposed fan fic alternate ending to Brokeback Mountain written by Gabe Delahaye of Gabe and Max's Internet Thing fame. I just had to share. It's glorious. It manages to emulate the original story's tone for just a moment before veering wildly into the happy fields of imagination. Proulx would be appalled. You will be amused.

Posted by Stephanie at 03:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

This weekend the very handsome (and smart--I'm no objectifier!) boyfriend and I went apple picking. We picked apples and got cider donuts and I fed and pet some billy goats. So tonight I thought I'd upload the photos. I got to my Ofoto account (now Kodak Gallery) and encountered a difficulty. I logged in and couldn't find any of my photo albums. Not one.

So I got a little frantic. I have backups of my photos but these were neatly arranged into little albums...and they're gone. All of them. Apparently if you don't buy prints within a year Kodak Gallery deletes your albums. What kills me is that they didn't warn me. No little email with a "hey, your galleries are about to expire unless you give us some cash." Fuckers.

So in response I'm singing pop music loudly. I hope you can hear me Kodak! Because my vocal talents are nonexistent and I want you to suffer!

For the non-Kodak fuckers among you, please enjoy the photos below.

Goats aren't much for manners!

Leading the way to the apples!

Lovely apples.

Posted by Stephanie at 07:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Oh, hello there! How are you?
I'm in pain.
Yes, that white thing sticking up out of the waistband of my pants? No, not an adult diaper, but I understand your confusion. It's a heating pad. I wish it would get hotter. Normally, I prefer the adhesive pads that are like giant Band-Aids and that get hotter than the sun. But Medical didn't have that kind of heating pad. They had only the wrap around sort that resemble adult diapers and only get as hot as a trashcan fire.

Not hot enough!

It only hurts when I sit or bend, so as long as I avoid that (impossible) I should be good (not writhing or screaming).

The culprit?

My beautiful Nanda laptop bag. Lovely, but not ergonomic. The straps are way too short for my shoulder when the bag is empty, much less full. I might try carrying less stuff in a bag, but I know and you know, that effort would be short term.

So, looks like Mama needs a brand new bag!
You know how I like bags....almost as much as I like coats.

In fact, last night I almost bought this coat because I had a discount coupon code

But then I realized it was still expensive and it doesn't come with the horse.

Posted by Stephanie at 11:28 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Remember those "Choose Your Own Adventure" books? Those were swell.
Well, I've got something similar. It's got choices and more than a hint of the macabre.
It's Virtual Autopsy, brought to you by the good folks at University of Leicester.

You can play here!

Just click on a case number (to the right), read a short description of the deceased's medical history and take a stab (heh) at cause of death. It took me just two guesses to get it right on case one.

Oh god! My eyes! Um, word of advice. Do NOT click on the interactive cadaver. Unless you like pictures of internal organs. In which case, it's your lucky day.

Posted by Stephanie at 07:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

There are moments when I'm writing or researching for a book that might make a sane observer go, "Um, the hell?" For instance, right now I'm researching cemeteries and muttering, "Yes, but could I get buried there now? Or are these just old graves? God, why is this so hard to figure out?" Before I know it I'm on a message board where people post where their clients would like to find a burial plot. It looked like Monopoly meets Death.

Right now I'm looking at coffin models. However typing coffin + models=not so useful. Apparently an Italian coffin maker promoted his line of wares by offering a calendar of scantily clad women draped over his coffins. Sexism beyond the grave. Wow.

So now I'm looking at discounted coffins, trying to figure out if they look even odder without a corpse. So, um, yeah. These are some of the moments that make up being a writer.

Now I'm wondering who names the different coffin models. There's a story right there.

Posted by Stephanie at 07:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Every now and again Google lets me know that my name has appeared anew on the internets. Sweet fame!
The other day, through the magics of Google Alerts I learned that famous author Susan Elizabeth Phillip had read and recommended my book on her web site. See? Color me flattered.

Today I learned I made it into the Fairhope Police Report for September 10, 2008. Boo yah!
Check it out, y'all.
Arrests:
Aug. 25
•Stephanie Gayle Clark, 42, of Mobile, accumulation of refuse.

Okay, so that's not my real name. It's my refuse accumulating alias. Zing!
I mean, I know my desk is getting untidy, but this is ridiculous.

So yes, sometimes the Google alert has nothing to do with me, and sometimes, as in arrest reports, I'm grateful that it doesn't reference me.

Posted by Stephanie at 07:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Once again, it's time to pay attention to banned books. Banned Book week will be taking place from September 27th to October 4th. Many libraries will feature displays of books challenged and in some cases, banned. It's quite interesting to see why the books have been challenged (and by interesting I mean infuriating).

You can find more information about Banned Book Week here. Note that one of the books highlighted is the fantastic Judy Blume's novel, Forever. My Mom busted my cousin, Megan, and me for reading it when we were young. I'm okay with parents deeming subject material too adult for their children. What I am most emphatically not okay with is parents deeming material unreadable for persons other than their children. So unless you're my Mom, no, you can't tell me what I can and cannot read.

Though I wonder if I ever told my mother that Forever's depiction of sex (as I remember it) was pretty unglamorous and fairly accurate, especially as regards what happened afterward. Let's just say it wasn't happily ever after.

So yay to books and boo to banning. If you see a banned book listed you haven't read, consider reading it. After all it's 100% guaranteed subversive!

Posted by Stephanie at 01:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I'm a feminist. Lots of my friends are too. Those friends include men and women. Feminism is not the exclusive territory of those with ladybits. Nor does having those ladybits make you de facto a feminist. Not at all.

In the interests of being helpful I searched for some quotes on what feminism and feminists are and here are just two.

"Feminism is the advocacy of political, economic and social equality between wome and men." - Feminist Majority Foundation

Feminism is "a socialist, anti-family political movement that encourages women to leave their husbands, kill their children, practice witchcraft, destroy capitalism and become lesbians." --Rev. Pat Robertson, 1992 Republican Convention

So sixteen years ago at the RNC feminism was evil. Twelve years later at the RNC it's everywhere. And by everywhere I mean in every half-second of political commentary. I don't mean to imply it was actually present. It was not.

You know what you call a woman with children? A mother.
You know what you call a woman with children who has a job? A working mother.
You know what you call a woman with children who has a job who is chosen or chooses to run for elected office? Egads. So many options to chose from! Whatever your choice, feminist cannot be the default option.

Being a feminist means holding a set of beliefs about the value of women and working to ensure equality for all. It does not mean that you have a vagina. Feminists are not born, they are made.

Posted by Stephanie at 08:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I was reviewing my submissions spreadsheet the other day. It's where I track where and when I sent my stories to journals, what the deadline (if any) for submissions was, and how long it took to get a response and what was the response once I got it. There's color coding involved. Usually it serves me well.

However, I noticed a few days ago that I did something not so bright. I submitted the same piece to the same journal I'd previously sent it to three years ago (and which said journal rejected). Oops. Admittedly, the piece has undergone revision, but...it's still very much the same story. A part of me (the perverse part) wants to see if they'll notice, or, better yet, accept it this time around. Another part of me thinks I should send them a message saying, "Oops. Sorry. My bad." I haven't decided yet what to do.

Suggestions?

Posted by Stephanie at 02:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

A new student stopped by my office today and asked for some help. It involved me entering a form online. As I was typing she said, "You're using two fingers!" Then she added, "And you're really fast!"

"I write books this way," I said.

It's true. I hunt and peck on my keyboard. Most days I forget I don't type like other people. Most people who "hear" me typing assume that I'm using all my fingers. But no. Why? Stupid public school. You see, when I attended high school the typing class was considered a "standard class" and it would have negatively skewed my GPA if I'd taken it. Instead I had to stay in Honors classes so that I could go to a "good college" and reap the rewards! (What rewards you ask? Indeed.)

So I never took typing. I did once or twice try to teach myself to touch type using this old school manual that belonged to my sister. I found it really hard not to look at the keys. To be fair, I still look at the keys a lot when I type. It feels sort of Zen when I'm typing fast.

I'm sure I'm in good company with two-finger typists. It's old school. Which is my way of saying that I'm never going to break this habit.

Posted by Stephanie at 03:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

When I finish a book I have another in the pipeline to work on. Inevitably I'll sit down, excited to start a new narrative and...I'll balk. Like a horse before a jump it doesn't want to take, I'll pull up short. Every time. My brain refuses. It says, "Too many words. I can't produce that many words. I can't." Untrue, obviously, as I just finished a book, but there you have it.

So what do I do? I start working on short stories (less words). It's a good time for me to review the stories I've written and have set aside for edits or wholly abandoned, unsure of their worth. My edit meter is on high, and I'm happy to work on stuff I haven't seen in months or years. In time (usually a month or less) I'll start thinking of the new book, and I'll return to it, no longer daunted by the amount of words.

I don't think I'll always work this way, but, who knows?

Posted by Stephanie at 09:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)