Thrusty Thursday: Fan Siu-Wong

Also known as 樊少皇. Also known as Louis Fan. Also known as the foxy, evil Northern gang leader from Ip Man, a 2008 Kung Fu film chronicaling the rise of one of the modern Grandmasters of Wing Chun (and Bruce Lee's mentor).

This movie, or rather the version of it that I watched, had a major drawback—it was dubbed, and the American voiceover actors were truly terrible. But Fan Siu-Wong stood out despite the corny audio distractions. Ooh, I love me a good baddie. Give him kick-ass martial arts skills and I turn to goo. I couldn't find too much biographical info in English about Fan Siu-Wong, but here's what Wikipedia had to say: "At the age of 14, Fan traveled to Xuzhou on the request of his father to take up martial arts because he was virtually a toothpick. There, Fan studied gymnastics, kung fu, and taekwondo." Well, he's certainly blossomed. Want to see him in action? Here he is doing his evil Kung Fu thug thang in Ip Man:

Recipe: White-Girl Chicken Masala

Photo stolen with thanks from Food 

Network, but you get the idea.

Another Trader Joe's-centric recipe! I promise I'm not getting any kick-backs from them.

I love Indian food, but lack the skill and spice-knowings to make the authentic stuff myself. Instead I employ TJ's Indian simmer sauces to modify my usual stir-frys into something a bit more filling, but still healthy. Here's an easy recipe for faux curry that'll feed 4–6 people, depending on their appetities.

2 bottles Trader Joe's Masala Simmer Sauce, from nearish the store's marinara sauce section (the Korma and Curry varieties work great too)
1 large boneless chicken breast, cut into small pieces (cage-free organic if you want to go to heaven)
½ head cauliflower, chopped into bite-sized florets (if you don't like caulifower, you can substitute potatoes, though they may extend the cooking time)
1 cup sliced white or button mushrooms
1 cup carrots, chopped into small medallions
1 clove garlic, peeled and chopped
¼ cup onion, chopped

½ cup frozen peas

½ cup frozen sweet corn kernels

salt

1½ cups brown rice, dry
3 cups water
1 tsp olive oil

1. Dump the sauce into a large sauce pan and set the burner to medium-high.

2. Chop the chicken, cauliflower, mushrooms, carrots, onion, and garlic as noted. Add chopped ingredients plus corn and peas to sauce and stir. Once the sauce has begun to bubble, turn the heat down to medium-low, cover and let simmer, stirring very occasionally.

3. Once carrots have begun to soften (15 minutes, give or take), begin the rice. If you don't have a rice cooker (like me), combine rice, water, and olive oil in a medium sauce pan. Cover and bring to a boil. Turn heat down to low and let simmer until water is absorbed and rice is soft (about 35–45 minutes). Do not stir.

4. Add salt to sauce to taste. Serve over rice.

Bad Reviews: The Price of Admission

I'm not sure exactly why, but it seems that in the past couple of weeks my fellow authors (and myself) have been hyper-aware of reviews. Comments have been flying around Twitter in the vein of "Egad, some mean person hated my book!" And much commiseration hastily ensues, because romance writers stick together.

Authors, for the most part, are sensitive creatures. Most creative types are. I find it hard to imagine writing an entire book, struggling to get it published, and not taking it personally if a reader or reviewer slams it. Publicly. What I do find a bit puzzling is the surprise factor.

Of course somebody won't like it!

Has a movie ever been made that pleased every single person who watched it? (I'm not talking about The Shawshank Redemption here of course, as that movie is perfect.) And what about songs? Albums? Works of art? Hell, individual people? And that last one, I think that may be the crux of the issue. After we sweat and suffer and churn out a book we're proud of, convince someone to buy it, wait for it to release and gnaw our nails off, it does feel like some unseen stranger is jabbing hot pokers into our bodies (or perhaps our children) when they lambaste it on the interwebs. Two minutes' worth of snark can suddenly tumble out of some anonymous keyboard owner's fingertips and belittle months of our hard work. Yeah, that fucking stings.

I don't fault anyone for having their feelings hurt when that happens. It'd be odd if they didn't. And I don't fault readers and reviewers for writing criticism and sharing their opinions…unless it's vapid and petty. Anyhow, a "This book sucked! I won't bother articulating why but it totally did!" criticism is never taken seriously—it discredits the person who wrote it far more than the author.

But I'd like writers to take this to heart: bad reviews are the price of admission you pay if you want to play in the deep end of the author pool. You can't please everyone, and I'll suggest that hearing the worst is a tiny fee to tender for a chance to do what you love at a professional level. So your book got slammed. Congratulations! You're an author now, my child.

Writers on the cusp of a first release, I promise you, you will get slammed. You want to get slammed. Hopefully your skins got thickened by all the rejection letters en route to published status, but even if they didn't, revel in this new pain when it inevitably arrives. Like a ninja punching the bark off trees to strengthen his fists, this pain sucks ass, but think of it as training. Not for punching reviewers, mind you—for recognizing the pain and knowing it won't kill you, knowing it will pass and that each time you get through it, you're growing more well-adjusted about this ridiculous, masochistic job.

My erotica-writing alter ego received her first high-profile review this past weekend, on the romance review blog Dear Author. DA is notoriously tough, one of the "mean girl" snarky review sites, as many scorned authors would call it in confidence—a hulking Nelson Muntz point-and-laugh-at-your-hard-work digital bully. I wouldn't elevate or demonize it quite so grandly, but I lived in understandable fear of such an eventuality. But the hazing had to happen sooner or later, plus it meant I'd cleared another hurdle in my little career. I was pleased to come away with a B- grade and a very thoughtful write-up, an overall highly positive experience. And damn, it didn't hurt my Analytics traffic.

What was tough, however, was the odd sensation of being talked about by others. I don't follow Dear Author normally, but luckily Google Alerts tipped me off and I was able to be the first commenter, doing my authorly etiquette duty and thanking the reviewer for her time and kind words. I was in the conversation, but I nevertheless felt very…separate. Like I'd walked into the lunchroom in 1997 in my combat boots and army jacket to discover all the cheerleaders were talking about me. Nothing nasty, even, but I felt exposed. It was the same sensation I get when I do a guest appearance on someone's blog and the post goes live, but on a far grander scale. Standing naked on the end of a high-dive board. But at the same time, it was rather fun. Like many writers, I crave both anonymity and attention. Writers are performers of a highly passive breed.

I hadn't seen this review coming. I knew the reviewer had read my book, because I'd spotted her kind write-up on Goodreads. It was flattering that she decided to feature it on Dear Author. But I also know from Goodreads that she deeply disliked another of my books. Whether she decides to take that to the blog remains to be seen, but I sort of hope she does…even terrible reviews are good PR, if as an author you handle them with grace and good humor. Which I trust I would.

If a nasty review happens to you, take these tips to heart. Don't apologize for sucking (you don't, just ask your mom), just thank the reviewer for their time, and if appropriate, clarify (non-defensively) anything that befuddled them about the story. Don't denigrate their opinion. Don't act wounded. Don't act righteous, either. Just be honest and gracious. "I'm sad the book wasn't to your taste, but thanks so much for taking the time to read and analyze it." For the love of God, don't go on the attack, or recruit your friends to act as your pit bulls. We've all seen those horror show chains of scathing comments. A bad, high-profile review is a great chance to show readers how well-adjusted and, frankly, mentally stable you are. Don't let angry brain chemicals send you into fight mode and blow your chance. Or your professional reputation.

Also, once you're done licking your wounds, contemplate what the reader or reviewer had to say with as much detachment as you can muster. It may be a case of your book or style simply not being their cup of tea, but if it goes beyond that into a question of your skill as a writer (uh, ouch), is there something in their analysis that you agree with, something that can help you become a more effective storyteller? Well-written criticism isn't about You Suck or You Rock, it's about analyzing what you did well and what you perhaps didn't do so well. It may be too late to fix flaws in the published book, but take to heart any negative comments that ring true for you, and let them make you a stronger writer going forward.

I suppose that's about it, except to add, don't forget to savor the highs that come from the good reviews, which are also blissfully inevitable. They won't preclude negative criticism, but they might take the edge off. Enjoy them as they come. And remember that every bad review is a new callous on your writerly fists, easing the blow of the next one. Keep on punching those trees, ninjas.

Free iPod Shuffle

Totally random post. I have a super little mint green iPod Shuffle that I don't use anymore. It works perfectly and it needs a good home! I'm giving away the Shuffle, its dock, original packaging and manual—everything but the headphones—to whichever commenter with a US mailing address I deem most worthy. I'll even ship it for free. Just tell me why you want it by next Saturday, October 2 at noon EST.

Sunday Puzzle

It's Sunday again, and you know what that means—time for me to rip off the puzzle segment from NPR's Weekend Edition Sunday!

Mustachioed enigmatologist 

extraordinaire, Will Shortz 

If you're a newcomer, each week on Weekend Edition Sunday, Will Shortz (the hardcore crossword puzzlers' almighty God) comes on the radio to do three things: share the solution to the previous week's puzzle, invite a winner who entered the correct answer to play another puzzle (usually word-related) on the air for word-nerdy prizes, and present everyone with the next week's puzzle (answers due in by Thursday afternoon if you want a chance to play on the air).

Without further ado, here's this week's new puzzle:

From Elizabeth Gorski: Take the phrase "patron saint," remove a letter, then rearrange the letters to create a new, familiar two-word phrase that names something important in life. Hint: The first word has three letters, the second word has seven.

Call me cocky, but that doesn't sound too tough. Click here to see the original puzzle posting, check the answer to last week's challenge, listen to the segment, or find the link to enter your answer.

Le Jeudi Frotteurible: Cyril Raffaelli et David Belle

I've gone French this week on old Thrusty Thursday, and I'm encouraging everyone to not merely thrust against two worthy men, but against an entire movie. The movie is District B13 (originally Banlieue 13), a French action film from 2004 starring Cyril Raffaelli and David Belle. Both garçons on their own are pretty foxy, but add them together and hot damn! Deux renards pour le prix d'un!

District B13 isn't your typical action movie, though there is plenty of general mayhem and car chasing. However, I'm tempted to label it instead a martial arts movie, as the truly outstanding action lies in the physical feats the actors pull off. The plot in a nutshell is that a goodhearted thug from the ghetto and an idealist cop team up to take down a drug ring in Paris's down-and-out B13 district. It's set in what used to be the future—2010—but it's not futuristic at all, just a bit dystopic…come on, it's French. What else would you expect?

I'm prepared to beg anyone who has a Netflix subscription to check this film out on Instant Watcher. Don't fret about subtitles, as it's an action movie and hence the dialogue is succinct and easy to follow. Don't worry about squicky violence, either—very few times did I have to look away from the scene, fearing something disturbing, which I do nearly constamment during American action flicks. You'll be too focused on the superbon stylized action and fight choreography to care, anyhow.

Without further ado, voilà un morceau. Watch David Belle do his foxy French thang and try to imagine a whole movie's worth of this awesomeness:

The Great Twitter Blackout of 2010

No longer breaking news, I know. In fact, it may be old news, now—I haven't logged onto the Twizzah since before I left the house for my run, and it may have been fixed in the last couple hours. But since the social networking site got hacked and spammed so mightily this morning (I was one of gazillions who got punk'd) I've made two observations about my own relationship with the Twiz.

1. Twitter is very much like a little blue bird. It sits on my shoulder, in my periphery, and although I think I'm focused on other things, I still feel its weight and presence on me. And occasionally, like today, it takes a dump on my lapel. When I have a deadline or can admit my own goof-offishness, I quit my browser and Gmail notifier and go stealth, hiding under the web's radar until I've reached my goal. When Twitter broke today, I was having a good writing morning, typing along quite friskily, feeling impervious to distraction and therefor allowed to have Firefox running. Love those mornings. Then Twitter broke and I decided to just stay off the site for the morning, or until it seemed fixed. Sounds like it's okay in some desktop and mobile apps, unlike the website, but I decided to just skip it entirely. And yet I caught myself clicking over to my browser to check it, like a physical tic. Normally I guess I do this without thinking, but because this morning I had to pause and remember why I didn't have that tab active, I noticed just how often I do it. Not a condemnation of the Twizzah, just a curiosity. I still maintain that any minutes it gobbles up in a given day is worth it for the friendships and industry contacts I've made by participating. That said, you won't catch me on the MyFace. I don't trust myself with too many points of entry into the digital playground.

2. The second thing I've noticed is that I don't miss Twitter much. This is probably because I know most other folks aren't on there right now either, so I don't feel left out. That's what makes social networking a bit anxiety-inducing, especially to the young whippersnappers—you don't want to be the one missing something, out of the loop. But today it's like we've all been given silent reading period, everyone with their head down, tackling their assignment for a change. There may be a few people out in the yard playing kickball, but I'm not the only dweeb doing their work. And yes, blogging counts as work, not a Twitter substitute…even if I do have six hundred more words I need to be writing on the work-in-progress.

So, no point here, just thought I'd share those experiences during this, the Great Twitter Blackout of 2010. Can't wait to tell my kids where I was when it happened. Though by then they'll surely have moved on to the next next next next big thing… Better wrap up now. Don't get me waxing philosophical about the Interwebs. Me and philosophical waxings go alarmingly well with too much red wine, and it's still firmly in the a.m.