"What then remains, but to bow your heads before such a wonder?"

I came very close to translating music. I did. The libretto is close, right? Right before Christmas, the New York Choral Society performed Hector Berlioz's L'enfance du Christ in Carnegie Hall, with supertitles translated by yours truly. The hall was packed. I was very lucky to be there.

There were some stunning reviews, and deservedly so, for the concert was fantastic. But one, this one, from Downtown Magazine, gave me such satisfaction. And I quote:

"The show’s epilogue was indelible all on its own. The whole company projected of Christ’s future and ultimate sacrifice with some very simple yet heart wrenching words: 'What then remains, but to bow your heads before such a wonder?'"

How could the reviewer possibly have known what was being said, without the supertitles projected for all the audience to see?

I don't need public acclaim for my work. It's nice, but I'd rather the notice fall on my work. The books, the poetry, the music, the work that should be seen and read and heard by as many people as possible.

So when people do notice the work, and especially when they notice it so seamlessly that they don't even consider there was a translator standing in between them and the original text, that is a very high compliment, indeed.

Santa makes me happy.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. So he can make people happy. As usual, half of the things on my Christmas list this year were books. (The other half was divided between music, knitting supplies, the odd gift card, and a new heavy winter coat -- I live in upstate NY now). This is both because I love to read and because it's my job to read and write. I buy lots of books for myself and frequent the library and read articles online, but Christmas always means that I get even more books than usual. Which I love.

So, without further ado, here are three of this year's favorites:

#1

This year, I even got something useful in my daily work: the Collins Robert French Dictionary. This thing is a bible, both in size and scope. It's bilingual, and as close to comprehensive as a print dictionary can get in this digital world. It's going to replace the pocket dictionary currently on my shelves.

But, you ask, why? Didn't I just read that this is a digital world? Why is this necessary?

And that's a valid question. For me, it's a matter of variety and security. Different dictionaries tend to have slightly different definitions, and being able to research many options for one word can sometimes make the difference between an okay choice and the best contextual choice.

And as for security, well, I usually use lots of online dictionaries, both free and subscription-based (I'm currently on a test run of the Oxford Language Dictionary online) because they're faster. But the Internet is a fickle creature, and can crash, disappear, or not be available on travels.

#2

In October, I went to the ALTA Annual Conference in Rochester, and heard Marian Schwartz talk about her new book, Maidenhair. It's "an instant classic of Russian literature," and I am so very excited to sink my teeth into it. I'll let it speak for itself:

"Day after day the Russian asylum-seekers sit across from the interpreter and Peter—the Swiss officers who guard the gates to paradise—and tell of the atrocities they’ve suffered, or that they’ve invented, or heard from someone else. These stories of escape, war, and violence intermingle with the interpreter’s own reading: a his­tory of an ancient Persian war; letters sent to his son “Nebuchadnezzasaurus,” ruler of a distant, imaginary childhood empire; and the diaries of a Russian singer who lived through Russia’s wars and revolutions in the early part of the twentieth century, and eventually saw the Soviet Union’s dissolution."

So. Excited. And I even met the wonderful translator, because as it turns out, people in the literary translation industry are categorically wonderful!

#3

Another wonderful translator, who I hope to meet someday, is Gregory Rabassa. He's the only reason that any Americans have read Gabriel García Márquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude, which is one of my favorite books. Rabassa wrote a memoir of translation in 2005 called If This Be Treason: Translation and Its Dyscontents. Rabassa is one of those people whose life and work proves that translators are writers, too. He's one of those people who makes my job awesome, because he's made my job exist. And he wrote his own book eight years ago.

Yes, please.

So, all I have to do is finish sobbing through reading Stone Upon Stone, which is my current obsession. I should really stop reading it before bed, though; it's messing with my dreams.

Happy 2013! I'm back! Plus: previews of upcoming things

The holidays have been very good to me. Moving was successful, family time was wonderful, relaxation was had, and I even got a few nice presents (more on that in a later post -- some should be of interest to my dear readers!). Professionally, I made a conscious choice not to accept any jobs between Christmas and New Year's. Instead, I used the time to very leisurely work my way through a novel sample whose deadline is now approaching fast, retool my (and my family's) finances, and get my work life in order for the new year. It was a nice week of spending time with the people I love, with a couple calm hours of work inserted whenever I felt like working.

This was a good choice. I feel so much better about diving back in to a normal schedule starting tomorrow.

At any rate, exciting things are happening, and I've got some good posts simmering in the back of my head to write over the next few days and weeks. Here's what you can look forward to reading about soon:

• a wonderful review of a recent choir concert that made use of supertitles translated by yours truly
• previews of The Last Love of George Sand, the biography of the famous French writer that I translated from Evelyne Bloch-Dano's original book, slated for publication by Skyhorse on February 6
• possibly a book giveaway for said biography, because I think it's a fantastic story
• and the aforementioned Christmas haul, of course

Sound good? Awesome. 2013 is going to be a marvelous year.

Happy holidays! Don't die.

The December holidays are hard for many of us. For me, Christmas is a big deal. Always has been for my family. And while it's a time of joy and love, it's also a time of stress and RUSH AROUND AND DO ALL THE THINGS. All of them.

There's shopping for presents, and making sure everything is bought and received and wrapped by one particular day, which just so happens to be the same day that everyone else wants everything bought and received by.

There's decorating festively, and here, I really pity people with large houses. 1-bedroom apartments are hard enough.

There are all the seasonal concerts to go to (Nutcracker, Messiah, everything else that every musical group does because it's Christmas), or, if you're really lucky/crazy, to perform in.

There are parties to host, buy things for, prepare, dress for, and attend.

There are the cards to send to everyone you ever knew.

There are all the traditions to follow: wandering around an outdoor market with hot chocolate, ice skating, sledding, picking out a tree, Advent wreaths, reading "Twas the Night Before Christmas" on the night before Christmas....and the time to fit all of them in.

THEN, there's everything you already have to do in your daily life. Work, namely. Everyone wants to get everything done before Christmas, because no one wants to work in between Christmas and New Year's, so you're trying to fit a month of work into three and a half weeks, when your workday is already shortened because of everything else you're doing. And as a freelancer, this only falls into a sharper relief. Clients bombard you with urgent projects, but only because they've suddenly gotten urgent deadlines from higher-ups. It's no one's fault, really.

But there are also all the other normal daily things: dinner and laundry and maybe even trying to spend time with the people you love.

It's tough to find a balance.

Maybe I shouldn't try to move 400 miles away five days before Christmas. What did I get myself into...

MA Meeting

(That's Musicaholics Anonymous.)

Hi, I'm Allison, and I'm addicted to music.

I think my music collection is too large.

I can't keep it organized. Not years ago, when tapes and CDs lined my bedroom shelves. Not now, even with iTunes and digital music.

For example, you'd think I'd know what was in my musical library, or at least have a vague idea. Yes, there are those times when friends give me 20 CDs worth of music all at once, but I generally know what they're giving me, even if it takes me months to get around to listening to all the new music.

But then I discover things that I had not the slightest clue that I possessed. It's a pleasant surprise, of course, but just a bit startling and confusing.

Three years ago, my first concert with a new chorus included the one-act opera "Cavalleria rusticana," which includes the heart-wrenching final tenor aria "Mamma, Quel Vino È Generoso." I had never heard this piece before. We were lucky enough to perform it with Roberto Alagna, a world-famous (and very attractive) tenor. After the concert, the aria was, of course, stuck in my head. I got home, typed "Cavalleria" into my iTunes search bar, looking for the rehearsal tapes we had been given to prepare for the concert. I also found that same aria. On a CD of operatic arias. By Roberto Alagna.

Sigh.

And now, it's happened again! Tomorrow, I go to perform Berlioz's "L'enfance du Christ," a wonderful holiday oratorio. The chorus has a lovely lullaby called "The Shepherds' Farewell" in the middle of the second part. It has, of course, been stuck in my head for weeks as we've been rehearsing this new-to-me music. But I wasn't even looking for it this time, I just have my 625-song Christmas playlist on shuffle. And what should come up, but the Illinois Brass Band's CD, which apparently includes a beautiful arrangement of that same tune, entitled "The Shepherds' Lullaby."

"Hey, I know that song!"

"Of course you do, dear, you're performing it tomorrow."

I also talk to myself. But that's another support group for another day.

Better Late Than Never!

So, remember this post? All about how I was going to send out holiday cards to colleagues and clients? Okay. So. Didn't happen last year.

BUT!

I have officially finished writing and posting every holiday card that I wanted to send this year. I DID IT.

One year late.

The lesson here: persistence is key. Especially when it's going to make other people happy, and bring a little joy to their humdrum lives. (Thank you, Lina Lamont.)

One Peril of the Publishing Industry:

Lead time.

There's that expression that goes: "Hurry up and wait." That is the publishing industry, from an author or translator's perspective.

You hurry up to get that manuscript to your editor...and then wait nine months to see it in print.

You get super stressed about finishing it, and tweaking it to perfection, and you're so excited/relieved when you finally do...only to put all that excitement on hold for the marketing push next season.

Or even before contracts are signed, you translate a new sample or write a new story as fast as you can to send out to all the magazines and literary journals and agents that you can...and then try not to sit around waiting for the response to hit your inbox, because it won't come for a very long time.

Then, when everything's done and you're finally ready to share your work with the world, and accolades start coming in...you're not allowed to publicize the reviews until they get published, which could be days or weeks after you're notified about them.

-------

In my younger days in a children's chorus, we worked with a wonderfully eccentric performance artist. At lunch one day, he got everybody's attention, because he wanted to share a poem with us. "It's called, 'Waiting,'" he said. He cleared his throat. Exhaled slowly. Gazed at the ceiling in preparation. Took a sip of water. Made eye contact with every single person gathered around the table. Stood up. Straightened his vest, brushed the crumbs off of his vest. Planted his feet in a firm stance. Clasped his hands in front of him. Took a deep breath.

And bowed, to giggles and a rapid crescendo of applause.

That was it. And it's the only poem I remember in its entirety from before age 15.

Hurry up and wait.

The Work-at-Home Blessing

Some days, you wake up, and you don't want to get out of bed. Because you're sick. You suddenly have a stuffy nose, a thick and scratchy throat, and a splitting headache right behind your eyes. It's not pneumonia or the plague, just a seasonal bug. A bug which most people will still go to work with, and which many people are expected to come into work with. (For better or for worse -- but that's a discussion for another day.)

And then, there are those of us who do the majority of our work from home. Clients on the other end of emails can't tell if we're sick. Just avoid videoconferencing, and it's possible to stay in your pajamas all day, propped up by pillows in bed, with a cup (okay, five) of tea and a slice of toast and a glass of orange juice and a bowl of applesauce and some soup, all close at hand. No one will know!

Oops. Probably blew my cover. You all know! My secret is out. Aaaaaahhhhhhhhhh*coughcoughcough*...... Oh well. No use getting worked up over it. I can still work, and work well, at that.

Ah, the blessings of a freelancer.

Say What You Mean…

…but it’s okay if other people don’t mean what they say.

To illustrate: a person who volunteered to script out a libretto translation for supertitles emails you, saying: “This isn’t going to work, I need a literal translation because I can only put up one phrase at a time. How long would it take you to do that and send it over to me?”

They don’t mean: “This is TERRIBLE this is not what I was looking for AT ALL you’re such a BAD PERSON and a DREADFUL professional what were you THINKING!!!?!?!??!?!?!??!” (with exclamation points and question marks ad infinitum, because we all know that person…)

They may instead actually mean: “This is a beautiful translation, but I don’t know how to work with it. Could you please help me?”

So, don’t email them back: “Oh my GODS how could you be so STUPID and not APPRECIATE all of my hard work you’re a blithering MORON!!!!?!??!?!?!?!??!?!??!?!” (also because you don’t want to become that person…)

Instead, write: “The project managers and I agreed that a more poetic, lyrical translation would be best for this concert. I did endeavor, however, to translate phrase by phrase, instead of being completely free with the translation. The ideas in each line should still line up between the French and the English translation. Would you like me to send you a copy of the English with the corresponding French text lined up?”

Now, instead of being a terrible awful person, you are instead a pleasant, helpful correspondent who goes beyond the job description to make everyone’s lives easier. And then, the people you work with are grateful, appreciative, and even more complimentary on your work.

As Wil Wheaton says, don’t be a dick.

(Especially when the other person is a volunteer – they are only being nice! Don’t make them mad.)

Writer's Block

Translators are writers, too (I've written a post about that already). Which means, by extension, that translators hit writer's block, too. In both translation tasks and straight creative writing (which most literary translators also do -- more on that in a later post, I'm sure), there come certain times when you just get stuck. Hit a wall. Dig yourself into a hole. Run out of gas. Lose your momentum. Can't think of a single darn idea, not if you had to save your life. So, then, in response, there's this:

http://www.lettersofnote.com/2012/10/help-from-heinlein.html

I'm in awe.

It's a letter from Robert Heinlein to Theodore Sturgeon, from one writer to another, with literally dozens of unsolicited story ideas. It's a slice of an amazing man's brain, a strange and wonderful world where things happen that we don't fully understand.

Now please excuse me. I have to go write a story about a cat.