Thesis Reading and Defense

SJSU, I'm going to miss you

Last Saturday, friends and family gathered in the Martin Luther King, Jr., library to listen to the my thesis reading and defense and those of my fellow MFA graduates. I have been nervous about reading aloud from my book for 10 minutes for ages now, so after I selected a passage, I practiced it aloud all week. I wasn't going for any dramatic effect -- I just wanted to be able to read the darn thing without stuttering. Once I make a mistake while reading aloud, I often stutter and get red in the face.

My fiction professor and thesis director, Nick Taylor (author of The Disagreement) introduced me by using the nickname the screenwriting agent I've been working with has given me: "the poet laureate of bad ass women." Then he switched gears to talk about my, "dare I say it, sensitive side," which I thought was sweet but amusing. I know the female characters in my stories are full of piss and vinegar and that, after three classes with him, Taylor knows my irreverent, no BS side, but I never thought people actually perceived me as "tough." If only they read my blog, they'd know I spend my free time caging communists, playing dinosaurs, and decorating LOST cakes. He tells the story of how I once gave him an Iroquois talking feather.

Professor Taylor's Introduction

Thanking my family, friends and teachers before I read. I have no idea why I look so concerned.

I don't really have pictures of the actual reading, but my friend was running about snapping them with a much nicer camera than mine, so if he sends me those, I'll have to share them. Overall I was happy with how I read. I don't think I stuttered at all, I remembered to breathe, and I paced myself so that I didn't read too fast. The only problem? By the time it was my turn to read (being at the end of the alphabet never has its advantages, especially in an air-conditioned room) my mouth was so dry that I could hardly speak. Hopefully everyone wasn't wincing, but I was sure uncomfortable at first. Here's a clip, and for anyone keeping track, this section takes place after the section I shared on the blog a few days ago. Isabel has followed Devon to his camp and the two have just shared a meal.

Snippet of my Reading

After our readings, we all had to come back up and stand as if we were facing a firing squad and answer questions from our professors and the audience. That was our "defense."

If that isn't the most awkward bunch of idiots, I don't know what is

One of the questions was about genre, and another was about marketing. A man who said he was in marketing asked how important that aspect of writing was to us, and after everyone else answered "Oh, I never really think of it," or "I'm just now working on a query letter," I jumped in and gave the answer you get glares for in the classroom.

"Never forget that you're a product," I said. "Since I'm also in screenwriting, I've learned that you're never just selling your work, you're selling yourself, as well. If you want to view yourself as an artist who is writing something literary, then that's fine, protect that part of you by building a mask that you present to the world. I know I write to be published and assume the rest of us do, too, so you've gotta be able to pitch yourself."

The director of my program, Alan Soldofsky, then commented "that's a lot of maturity." At the time I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not (since, as I mentioned before, what I just said slapped the cult of the artist in the face which is a big no no in workshop) but apparently he was being honest. Then the daughter of one of my older classmates asked the question, "what advantage do you have at entering the program at your age as opposed to someone her age," pointing at me.

In the span of a few seconds, it hit me that not only was I the one other female graduating, but that I was the youngest of our group. I'm not used to being the youngest (though to be fair, I think I've been tied for that position with a few of my other grad students for a few years now). If I was going to be singled out and profiled for my age, I was gonna call her on it. "For the record," I announced with a raised arm. "I'm 52." I didn't really think before I said it, it just sort of came out. The room burst with laughter that took too long to die down. For the rest of the afternoon, people were complimenting me on how great I look for 52. It wasn't really that funny, but I think people appreciated the fact that I wasn't going to just stand there and be judged, even though it wasn't something negative. I tried to shoot the woman's daughter an apologetic "sorry, I couldn't resist mate" face but wasn't sure if she got it. I still feel bad from taking some of the gusto away from my classmate's response (she sure as hell has earned her degree and the respect of her fellow writers) but she didn't seem upset, and her response was, "perspective."

Matt: I am so f*&^%ing nervous right now.
Me: Just put on your Bruce Wayne mask!

After the "defense," Professor Soldofsky awarded us with our "official proof" that we had graduated: SJSU Alumni key chains. I guess the diplomas won't arrive in the mail for a few weeks yet.

Receiving our prestigious key chains

The reading was followed by a champagne reception where we all toasted each other as the future of California's writers. Yet on the way to the reception, a woman who had attended the reading was waiting for me outside to let me know how much she enjoyed the section I read, and how her daughters (who hate Twilight) would love to read my book. She asked when it was going to be published and all I could give her was the address of my website where I'd certainly make the announcement when it happened, but talk about a compliment. That's the best response I could have hoped for!

Ben Linus and Richard Alpert celebrate

Chatting with the Department Chair

In this picture, you can glimpse the hair decoration that I made in honor of Mickey, Clara, and Junior. It is made of the feathers of a local woodpecker (as far as I could tell -- I usually gather the feathers off the ground when a bird has been plucked by a predator), a white seagull feather to symbolize the white dove who came to visit, and Mickey's hair from his mane, along with beads representing the four directions in the Lakota mandala.

My hair decoration

You can see it better here. This is my lovely auntie. You can so tell that we're related.

At the reception, three people came up to me to tell me how much they appreciated what I said about being a product. It is admittedly a tough lesson to learn, and one that most only learn through experience. I was lucky enough to have it driven into me in Las Vegas last month and wish we were more exposed to it in the classroom. One woman introduced herself as an artist and said that in a workshop she was taught that buyers don't want just the artwork, they want the story of the artist so that they could point to the piece of art and say, "And you know, the woman who made this..." They want a conversation piece.

Tomorrow is my actual graduation where I have to wear robes and this dumb hood thing. I was gonna be cheap and just use my Rasta zion lion scarf instead, but then heard my mother's voice in my head hissing, "we're going to be sending these pictures to relatives!" and thought better of it. Then... I'm done. I don't think the fact that, after being in school since I was 2, I am finally done, has hit me yet. Nor the fact that I am now leaving the campus where I spent 8 years both as an undergrad and a grad student. It's a lovely place, and a great school. There will be times that I'll miss it.

As for what I'll do after graduation? I wish I knew. I'm living off hope for the moment. I have a new script with the agent and manager and am awaiting their opinions. Two literary agents have requested pages of Sing Moonlight but I also have yet to hear back from them. I've learned not to hold my breath, but I'm hopeful that something will work out soon. In the meantime, I need to get busy working out the outline for my sequel, my new script, and the details of a TV show to pitch...

the other amanda -- Isn't he amazing? I'm glad he's interested in perusing music as a career. And the LOST cake not only looked good (or convoluted) but was very tasty!

Mackenzie's Momma -- Yes, you would have been lost (as were many longtime viewers, though!) and I agree. I have rarely, if ever, had the opportunity to hear him play and he's amazing.

Official BEA Photos and Novel Excerpt

Me with Michael McAlexander

Here are the official pictures from the BEA website.

Giving my acceptance speech

Chatting with an aspiring producer. I need to start wearing make-up. My buggy eyes always make me look ghoulish when I wear black.

While there, several people asked me if I had a website, so when I got back, I took a look at what's available for free (webs.com) and did what I could. If you haven't yet, please feel free to check it out! Click on the link below:

Kellie Rice Storyteller

Under "My Work" you will find links to pages created for my most respected writing.

And remember when I asked if anyone wanted to read an excerpt from my novel, Sing Moonlight? You can do so on the site here, complete with swashbuckling background music. Or... you can continue reading the rest of this post!

Note to all potential pirates... all of my work on the site is copyrighted, so don't waste your time.

To put the excerpt in context...

Sing Moonlight is a Young Adult Fantasy novel that follows thirteen-year-old Isabel Alcott as she is kidnapped and taken to a world similar to the Spanish Main. She strikes up an uneasy friendship with a seafaring boy named Devon while she tries to find her way home. Having been a slave as a child, Devon isn’t a trusting person. However, throughout their adventures, Isabel and Devon forge a bond of loyalty and devotion.

Robert Louis Stevenson's classic Treasure Island was a source of inspiration, along with Phillip Pullman's His Dark Materials and Louisa May Alcott's Little Women, for there is a bit of Lyra Belaqua and Jo March in Isabel.

Sing Moonlight is the first in a series.

Excerpt from Chapter 6 -- Isabel and Devon's First Meeting

She didn’t know if she had run for several minutes or for many when she heard something crashing through the brush to her right. She came to a halt, hastily wiping at the rivulets of sweat that stung her eyes so that she could see properly, then ducked behind a large fern, shoving the fronds over her head as cover. The thrashing noises charged towards her and she curled up, covering the back of her neck as if she were in an earthquake drill at school, fearing that her wheezing pants would give her away.

The crashing of leaves grew louder and in an instant something smacked into her, tripped, and toppled on top of her with a yelp. Isabel squawked in surprise and scrambled to get away from the thing that was likewise scrambling to get away from her. Through the swaying fronds she glimpsed the bare foot of a human and looked up.

A boy lay on his back, propped up by his elbows, looking just as wild and red as she did. He was wearing tattered trousers that cut off at his calves and his loose white shirt was stained with dirt and sweat. A leather satchel was slung across his chest and she realized that he was holding a knife as if ready for her to attack. There was something wild in his eyes that stilled Isabel’s tongue.

The crack of a musket shot startled them both and the boy scrambled to his feet and was gone in a heartbeat. Isabel could hear more thrashing sounds heading nearer, accompanied by the shouts of men, and remembered the horseback riders she’d seen charging across the field. Hastily rising, Isabel raced after the boy, shoving leaves away as often as she could to keep his darting form in view. After a few yards she lost him and paused to attempt to reorient herself when she caught the scent of the sea.

Shoving through the brush once more, Isabel ran towards the beach and within a few moments broke through the foliage to see the boy hastily shoving a makeshift sailboat out into the surf. A horse grunted further down the beach as it slowed from a canter after breaking the cover of the trees, its hooves digging into the fair sand. The rider was a bearded man with leathery skin who didn’t hesitate to raise his musket and fire into the air as soon as he saw her. “Over here, boys!” he bellowed and Isabel could hear the rest of the mounted men charging towards him through the fronds.

Isabel sprinted towards the boy who was now climbing into his boat as the mounted man and his comrades grouped and charged down the beach towards them. She cried out in frustration as the water slowed her down, sucking at her feet as she trudged towards the boat. The boy saw her approach and rose in his rickety craft, stabbing an oar into the water to shove against the seabed, trying to take off. Isabel dove into the water and swam towards him. “Wait!”

The boy’s only response was a more frantic attempt to get away before she could reach him. One of the men aimed and shot at the two children and the ball hissing through the water near them momentarily distracted the boy enough for Isabel to latch onto the side of his boat and hoist herself up. “Jones!” he shouted then turned to her with a sneer and abandoned his oar to try to shove her out. “What are you doing?”

“Stop it!” Isabel squeaked as she kicked him away from her. Both heard the crack of another musket then the clunking thud of the ball sticking into the wooden hull. The two shared a look as the noise registered and in the brief moment before both scrambled for the oars to shove off together, Isabel noticed what made the boy appear so wild before: his eyes were a shade of honey that she had never seen, like liquid amber. Both stabbed against the ocean floor with an oar, hauling the small craft away from the beach as the riders skidded to a halt and took aim.

The boy darted an arm up and untied the twine lashing the sail to the mast, unfurling the small patch of canvas only to drop onto the floor of the boat as the men fired another shot. Isabel ducked behind a barrel and heard the lead hit water behind them. The boy scrambled back onto his knees and grabbed the end of the boom, angling the sail into the wind. He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Grab the tiller. Tack starboard!”

Isabel stared for a moment, having no idea what he was talking about, then ducked as another gunshot was fired. Part of the sail tore from the ball and Isabel grabbed the wooden handle sticking out of the back of the boat then shoved it to the right. When boat hardly moved, she swung it to the left and the boy let out a whoop as the boat suddenly tacked and gained speed, slicing through the waves into the open sea. Isabel smiled as she watched the men on shore gesticulate and shout at each other before firing a few more futile shots.

The boy handed a rope attached to the end of the boom to Isabel then shrugged off his satchel and climbed to the bow, a bare foot on either side of the boat with the ease of a monkey, and cupped his hands over his mouth, bellowing at the men on shore what sounded like a playground chant. “For devils and scum be the likes of some but lower than a lubber are ye!” One of the men fired a shot that stuck into the mast right above the boy’s head and he dropped back down into the boat like a diving swallow and crawled back towards Isabel, taking the mainsheet and rudder from her. She sat down beside him and watched as the men grew smaller and smaller as the craft gained speed out on the open water.

Tracie -- You have elf ears, too? We should start a club. :) And that's great that you can have chickens in your area now! I think you should get some. Nothing beats fresh eggs!

Happy Mother's Day!

Yesterday, my mom, sister and I went for a hike at Wilder Ranch. The trails wind around the cliffs overlooking the sea, offering gorgeous vistas that make your heart swell with excitement and the thrill of the open sea. Enjoy the sights yourself!

The ranch was a dairy in the 1800s

A beautiful sir

A gorgeous barn cat taking an afternoon nap

The Southern Pacific

The trail

Where Oholone people once gathered food

I thought the clouds resembled pyroclastic ash

The vast horizon

Wildflowers

Avast, matey! Thar be a pirate cove!

I was surprised by the clarity of the water

Someone ponders their existence

An ocean of another sort stretches out behind

Descending to the pirate cove

Gorgeous

It is said that the foam of the sea is dead mermaids

While my mom sets off to explore one cave, you can see a baby in the distance toddling out of another. The place is so beautifully wild. I felt like I was in the world of Sing Moonlight, and I wasn't alone. My mom kept saying "I feel like I'm in your book." :)

Moss growing on the side of the cave

Water dripping inside the cave

Alex looks out at adventure

Be this rope the vestige of a reckless lubber, or the last survivor of a squall?

The waterline was dotted with the bodies of sand crabs

All that's left are their shells

The appendage of a real crab. I'm afraid of them.

Water sculpture

A beautiful day

Below are pictures of the flowers growing in the garden by one of the ranch houses.

When we returned home, it was to discover that our father had cooked up a storm. Not only had he made French toast that morning, but he took it upon himself to make several delicious meals. Halibut with lemon and wine sauce, lobster tail for his mother, fettuccine alfredo, and artichokes, along with chicken nuggets for those in the family who aren't fond of fish. And for dessert, he made a flour-less chocolate cake with a raspberry sauce, and a pan of ranger bar cookies. Talk about the next Emeril Lagasse! And everything was absolutely delicious.

Not only is my dad a great cook, but it runs in the family. His grandpa was FDR's chef back when he was governor of New York!

Halibut

Cake

Soon-to be bar cookies

It was a lovely Mother's Day.

I'm glad to have something fun to post about after the sorrow of my last entry. And to those who don't know... remember the MFA exam I had to take in the midst of trying to spend every second that I could in the barn with Mickey? I had already decided that if I didn't pass, I would say "screw it, I don't need an MFA to write" and continue on my merry way. But then I found out that my professors were so impressed that they passed me with the highest marks they could give. I was in shock since I felt like my essays were barely adequate. I also received the good news that my thesis was approved. I'm heading in tomorrow to pick it up and look at the changes Graduate Studies & Research have requested, and hopefully pass my foreign language exam in Spanish. Hopefully.

Thank you so much to all who have offered their kind words and support during this difficult time, both here and on Facebook. It means a lot to all of us.