I love loud music. Most anything from the seventies and eighties played good and loud gets my creative juices flowing. Revs me up and for some reason allows me to think clearer most of the time.
For as long as I can remember I listened to music when I needed to work, even back in grade school. I do so much better at math and programming when I have music jamming in the background. It could be because it keeps me from getting distracted by stray thoughts or outside sounds.
Too bad they didn't let you bring a walkman (that would be an mp3 player for today's generation) into tests. I would have aced them all.
Now, when I work, or write, things work best when I'm in my own world, surrounded by a protective cocoon of music.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
Synopsis purgatory
OK, everyone. In my daily juggling act I have slowed on writing my main WIP, Redemption. I have not however completely given up writing altogether. A mermaid short story has intermittently captured my attention, so I'm working on that as well.
Also in the past couple of days, I've agonized over a synopsis for my completed novel Creatures of the Moon. The problem with synopses is every agent/editor has a different idea of what they want. The rules change based on: 1)who you talk to 2)how long the synopsis is supposed to be 3)what genre you are writing for.
To be honest I am one of those people that need guidelines, rules. I hate to do something that is "wrong" because I'm not entirely sure of the rules beforehand.
Rest assured, when I get something straightened out, I'll post it.
Also in the past couple of days, I've agonized over a synopsis for my completed novel Creatures of the Moon. The problem with synopses is every agent/editor has a different idea of what they want. The rules change based on: 1)who you talk to 2)how long the synopsis is supposed to be 3)what genre you are writing for.
To be honest I am one of those people that need guidelines, rules. I hate to do something that is "wrong" because I'm not entirely sure of the rules beforehand.
Rest assured, when I get something straightened out, I'll post it.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Dreams and Hope
As a white child in public school, I would tear up when I listened to Martin Luther King speak. The “I have a dream” speech would play at least once every February, and it moved me. Not just about racial equality, but just the general message of hope. Hope moved me. Hope that dreams can come true. Yes, I would get misty eyed when I heard “When you wish upon a star” too.
I think that hope is the reason our citizens elected Barak Obama. I’m not the only one in America that needs hope. We need to believe that our dreams can come true. Perhaps that’s why we are finally making Mr. King’s dream come true.
Our new president is the embodiment of our hope, for change, for peace, for our families and for the nation.
I have my own goals. My own dreams. There is no reason that I can’t make them come true. With work and perseverance I will be able to attain my goals. I just have to work at them. Never give up.
What an inspiring election.
I think that hope is the reason our citizens elected Barak Obama. I’m not the only one in America that needs hope. We need to believe that our dreams can come true. Perhaps that’s why we are finally making Mr. King’s dream come true.
Our new president is the embodiment of our hope, for change, for peace, for our families and for the nation.
I have my own goals. My own dreams. There is no reason that I can’t make them come true. With work and perseverance I will be able to attain my goals. I just have to work at them. Never give up.
What an inspiring election.
Monday, October 27, 2008
Closed doors
Closed doors invite knocks. There is something irresistible about someone behind a closed door. If we can’t see them we need to know what they are up to. This instinct is prevalent in adults and children alike. If there is a person behind the door it means that they are not accessible. And a person always wants what they can’t have. So although the person, lets say a writer, is not really needed they will be sought out and interrupted. Usually when things finally start to flow. This makes me wonder if I wouldn’t be more successful writing in the middle of the living room with plugs in my ears. LOL
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Giving encouragement
I am a member of several writers groups. One of the main things we do in these groups is encourage each other. Provide a shoulder, the straight truth or constructive criticism when someone needs it. The trick is figuring when they need what.
As I understand it, this knowledge comes with experience. I try to be a friend and provide this to my fellow writers. And although most times I do get it right. Sometimes, I feel as though I fall short. Either I don’t know what to say so I say nothing, or I talk too much and end up saying something that is taken wrong.
For years my father encouraged me, and as a result I no longer enjoyed what I did, playing the violin, singing, painting or writing. The only thing I kept coming back to was writing. So I guess it helped to hone my interests…although I like to think it could have been done less painfully another way.
We had a problem because he tried to help. The halfhearted “Oh, that’s nice” got drowned out by the list of things I could do better. Intellectually, I knew he meant to help, but the barrage of criticism, left me with the feeling I was so terrible at what I tried that I shouldn’t bother.
Finally, I realized that the only failure was to stop trying, and I needed to keep working on what I wanted. While there are people that hate my work, there will also be people that enjoy it.
But I digress.
Because of my experience with encouragement I feel as though I fall short when I comment on something. Perhaps I hit the nail on the head and don’t realize that people were dancing around the issue for a reason. And a critique that is too on-the-nose will douse someone’s attempt to succeed. Speaking the worst things that a person thinks of themselves can make insecurities become harsh reality.
I like to think I don’t have that much power over people. But sometimes just one perceived failure can disrupt someone’s life.
With my children I try to see only the good. Sometimes I will ask what they think about this or that, thereby allowing them to tell me where they think they missed their target. But, they are children and everything they do is gold. They sing as beautifully as any angel. Their stories are brilliant. Their paintings are inspired. Would they be picked up by an agency and make a million dollars? I don’t know, but that’s not the point. They have amazing potential.
Do the other writers in my writing group have that potential? You bet. They might not get published today. They might need to work on it. But if they keep at it the sky’s the limit.
I just need to find a way to say that to adults so it doesn’t sound corny.
As I understand it, this knowledge comes with experience. I try to be a friend and provide this to my fellow writers. And although most times I do get it right. Sometimes, I feel as though I fall short. Either I don’t know what to say so I say nothing, or I talk too much and end up saying something that is taken wrong.
For years my father encouraged me, and as a result I no longer enjoyed what I did, playing the violin, singing, painting or writing. The only thing I kept coming back to was writing. So I guess it helped to hone my interests…although I like to think it could have been done less painfully another way.
We had a problem because he tried to help. The halfhearted “Oh, that’s nice” got drowned out by the list of things I could do better. Intellectually, I knew he meant to help, but the barrage of criticism, left me with the feeling I was so terrible at what I tried that I shouldn’t bother.
Finally, I realized that the only failure was to stop trying, and I needed to keep working on what I wanted. While there are people that hate my work, there will also be people that enjoy it.
But I digress.
Because of my experience with encouragement I feel as though I fall short when I comment on something. Perhaps I hit the nail on the head and don’t realize that people were dancing around the issue for a reason. And a critique that is too on-the-nose will douse someone’s attempt to succeed. Speaking the worst things that a person thinks of themselves can make insecurities become harsh reality.
I like to think I don’t have that much power over people. But sometimes just one perceived failure can disrupt someone’s life.
With my children I try to see only the good. Sometimes I will ask what they think about this or that, thereby allowing them to tell me where they think they missed their target. But, they are children and everything they do is gold. They sing as beautifully as any angel. Their stories are brilliant. Their paintings are inspired. Would they be picked up by an agency and make a million dollars? I don’t know, but that’s not the point. They have amazing potential.
Do the other writers in my writing group have that potential? You bet. They might not get published today. They might need to work on it. But if they keep at it the sky’s the limit.
I just need to find a way to say that to adults so it doesn’t sound corny.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Making Progress
I've been working on Redemption every day for the past week. Sometimes putting in several hours a day. I'm really doing well. The key, that I've just learned in a workshop, is to have a goal of twenty pages a day. (basically sit down and write the junky first draft)
This gives you the novel in two weeks. Now sure, if I didn't have a full time job, two kids, two dogs a husband, and a house taking up my time, I would be able to make that goal consistently. As it is, I manage anywhere between five and fifteen pages a day.
In the past two months, I've written just over a hundred pages. I plan on being done with the rough draft before the end of October.
The characters are evolving, and they've taken me in directions I didn't plan. Most of the time the way they want to go works out better. There are several more scenes to write. Aside from the climax, I have to wrap up two subplots. I also have to go back and insert several of the subplot scenes into the earlier chapters of the novel. They are not add-ons so I can meet my word count, they actually belong. I'm pleased with how well this story is taking shape.
And here, for the record, I need to thank Laura for kicking me in the rear and insisting I write this story. It's been a very good time and I look forward to pitching it to the agent masses once it's finished.
This gives you the novel in two weeks. Now sure, if I didn't have a full time job, two kids, two dogs a husband, and a house taking up my time, I would be able to make that goal consistently. As it is, I manage anywhere between five and fifteen pages a day.
In the past two months, I've written just over a hundred pages. I plan on being done with the rough draft before the end of October.
The characters are evolving, and they've taken me in directions I didn't plan. Most of the time the way they want to go works out better. There are several more scenes to write. Aside from the climax, I have to wrap up two subplots. I also have to go back and insert several of the subplot scenes into the earlier chapters of the novel. They are not add-ons so I can meet my word count, they actually belong. I'm pleased with how well this story is taking shape.
And here, for the record, I need to thank Laura for kicking me in the rear and insisting I write this story. It's been a very good time and I look forward to pitching it to the agent masses once it's finished.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Skunkventures
So ok, I'm sitting in the den (part of our walk out basement) with my spiral notebook on my lap and my pen in my hand. My husband is flipping channels, but I don't care because I just got finished listening to a lecture about putting romance into your novel and I'm thinking about how to write a scene I need to insert before this huge looming dark moment. I'm in the zone. Getting into the grove...then I smell it.
Burning rubber and scorched coffee. Overwhelming. In unison, my husband and I groan. We've smelled it before. Skunk, and one of our dogs just got it in the face.
I quickly change into junk clothes, then go outside to corral the dogs. Jordan, our black lab is fine. Yes, I grab her by the collar and sniffed her all over. Squeezing her into the house, I go after our other dog. Cameron is running over the yard rubbing her face in the grass.
We used a concoction of baking soda, dish soap and peroxide to wash her. It worked before, but tonight it doesn't. So we whip out the cans of tomato paste and rub it all over her like shampoo. Of course she shakes, so now the scene looks downright macabre.
Finally, after over an hour of pasting, rinsing, and soaping over and over. She's finally clean... mostly. There is one spot on the corner of her mouth where she kept licking the paste off.
I'm exhausted, and the scene that I was grooving on has faded into the cloud of skunk stench.
Sometimes there's nothing to do but laugh.
Burning rubber and scorched coffee. Overwhelming. In unison, my husband and I groan. We've smelled it before. Skunk, and one of our dogs just got it in the face.
I quickly change into junk clothes, then go outside to corral the dogs. Jordan, our black lab is fine. Yes, I grab her by the collar and sniffed her all over. Squeezing her into the house, I go after our other dog. Cameron is running over the yard rubbing her face in the grass.
We used a concoction of baking soda, dish soap and peroxide to wash her. It worked before, but tonight it doesn't. So we whip out the cans of tomato paste and rub it all over her like shampoo. Of course she shakes, so now the scene looks downright macabre.
Finally, after over an hour of pasting, rinsing, and soaping over and over. She's finally clean... mostly. There is one spot on the corner of her mouth where she kept licking the paste off.
I'm exhausted, and the scene that I was grooving on has faded into the cloud of skunk stench.
Sometimes there's nothing to do but laugh.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Dogs and Cows
One of the things a person gets used to as a dog owner is the types of barks their dogs have. Like a baby has several types of crys, so a dog has several types of barks. There are the "Hey, you're a new creature", "Want out", "Want in", "Pet me", and "Daddy, get your gun a stranger is here." At least those are the ones my dogs use.
Well today my dogs barked the first. It's a curious bark, they wern't sure if the creature was dangerous. Cameron ran back and forth from me to the sliding glass door. The classic, "You've got to come take a look" plea. What I saw stunned me.
Bovines. A large cow and her almost grown son just on the other side of our fence. Not a hundred feet from the back of the house. I've seen deer, skunks, chipmunks, groundhogs, and wild turkeys, but this was a total first on our property.
I ran to a nearby Mennenite farm to ask what to do. They came over almost immediately to help corral and identify the owner of the animals. Unfirtunately, while I was gone the cow and her calf moved on. Well, now I have his number and will call him should I see the pair again.
I'm glad I got pictures. :) The kids will love it.
Well today my dogs barked the first. It's a curious bark, they wern't sure if the creature was dangerous. Cameron ran back and forth from me to the sliding glass door. The classic, "You've got to come take a look" plea. What I saw stunned me.
Bovines. A large cow and her almost grown son just on the other side of our fence. Not a hundred feet from the back of the house. I've seen deer, skunks, chipmunks, groundhogs, and wild turkeys, but this was a total first on our property.
I ran to a nearby Mennenite farm to ask what to do. They came over almost immediately to help corral and identify the owner of the animals. Unfirtunately, while I was gone the cow and her calf moved on. Well, now I have his number and will call him should I see the pair again.
I'm glad I got pictures. :) The kids will love it.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
loitering
I've written my feelings before about time wasters so I won't waste time doing it now. This poem spoke to me, and so I'll share. :)
Lose this day loitering, twill be the same story
Tomorrow, and the rest more dilatory;
Thus indecision brings its own delays
And days are lost lamenting over days.
Are you in earnest? Seize this very minute;
What you can do, or dream you can, begin it.
Courage has genius, power and magic in it;
Only engage and then the mind grows heated.
Begin it and the work will be completed.
Johann Von Goethe
Lose this day loitering, twill be the same story
Tomorrow, and the rest more dilatory;
Thus indecision brings its own delays
And days are lost lamenting over days.
Are you in earnest? Seize this very minute;
What you can do, or dream you can, begin it.
Courage has genius, power and magic in it;
Only engage and then the mind grows heated.
Begin it and the work will be completed.
Johann Von Goethe
Monday, August 25, 2008
First Day of School
Ah, the first day of school. A day preceded by frantic worrying, a sleepless night for everyone. Did we get all the supplies? What is my locker number? Hundreds of questions circling through the minds of the students and parents alike.
Then when the alarm (unused throughout the summer) sounds, everyone jumps out of bed, reading themselves for the day in record time. This energized morning, precipitated by anxiety, will turn into the slogging forgetful mornings in a week or so.
Now I sit. Logged into my day job enveloped in quiet, the clacking of the keys beneath my fingers is the only sound in the house. I can be lonely for the chaos of my children tomorrow, but today I plan on relishing the peace.
Then when the alarm (unused throughout the summer) sounds, everyone jumps out of bed, reading themselves for the day in record time. This energized morning, precipitated by anxiety, will turn into the slogging forgetful mornings in a week or so.
Now I sit. Logged into my day job enveloped in quiet, the clacking of the keys beneath my fingers is the only sound in the house. I can be lonely for the chaos of my children tomorrow, but today I plan on relishing the peace.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Pop
For the last few days my life has been on hold so we can deal with a death. My husband’s grandfather passed away the other day, after almost a decade of “mini strokes.” I loved this man, as did my children. He was gruff and blunt. If you asked him how you looked, he would tell you exactly what he thought without a thought to sparing your feelings.
The record of Pop’s birth was lost in a fire but they narrowed it down to the year and one of two days. So we’ve always celebrated both days. J Pop’s mother died just after he was born and his father had a Native American woman care for Pop while he went out and earned a living. When Pop was very young, (I don’t remember the exact age, but under the age of ten) his father died and Pop and the Native American woman were left to fend for themselves. She raised Pop and watched over him until her death when he was about fifteen.
After she passed he started to wonder. He traveled the Mississippi, meeting a young woman in the bayou that he very nearly married. Her father wouldn’t have it being as Pop didn’t have two coins to rub together. Eventually, he moved to New York where he worked in a theater and met several noteworthy men.
Finally he joined the military and went to war in World War II. He fought in the Pacific theater and was a member of Truman’s honor guard when he signed the treaty ending the fighting with Japan.
When he came back from the war he went back to Pennsylvania where he met the woman he would have his family with. They married and had a little girl (who would become my mother in law) then a boy, another boy and a girl. They lost the second boy when he was about seven to a drunk driver who plowed the playing child down.
Despite the heart aches and tragedy Pop and Nana stayed married for over fifty years. When she passed away, Pop was devastated.
Pop asked my husband if he really loved me. Of course, the reply was yes. Then Pop told him something I will never forget. “If you love her than you better divorce her as soon as you finish raising the kids, loving someone for fifty years hurts too much. It’d be better for you to get rid of her as soon as you can.”
But Pop and I would have some great conversations and I think he was fond of me and that he believed Brian made a good choice with me. That’s what I’d like to believe was true anyway.
Pop’s health declined after Nana passed and with it so did his temper. But I vividly remember the man he really was and will keep that close to me. The man the strokes made him wasn’t who he really was.
I’ve tried to capture a bit of the stories he used to tell in this blog, but it doesn’t do his true life story justice. I wish he would have written the stories down. There is more I could write. Like the time he and his son cornered a skunk under the neighbor's bathtub. Or the countless times he threatened the lives of people who hurt his family.
Today is his wake and tomorrow is the funeral. Roland Lester was an amazing man. He will be truly missed.
The record of Pop’s birth was lost in a fire but they narrowed it down to the year and one of two days. So we’ve always celebrated both days. J Pop’s mother died just after he was born and his father had a Native American woman care for Pop while he went out and earned a living. When Pop was very young, (I don’t remember the exact age, but under the age of ten) his father died and Pop and the Native American woman were left to fend for themselves. She raised Pop and watched over him until her death when he was about fifteen.
After she passed he started to wonder. He traveled the Mississippi, meeting a young woman in the bayou that he very nearly married. Her father wouldn’t have it being as Pop didn’t have two coins to rub together. Eventually, he moved to New York where he worked in a theater and met several noteworthy men.
Finally he joined the military and went to war in World War II. He fought in the Pacific theater and was a member of Truman’s honor guard when he signed the treaty ending the fighting with Japan.
When he came back from the war he went back to Pennsylvania where he met the woman he would have his family with. They married and had a little girl (who would become my mother in law) then a boy, another boy and a girl. They lost the second boy when he was about seven to a drunk driver who plowed the playing child down.
Despite the heart aches and tragedy Pop and Nana stayed married for over fifty years. When she passed away, Pop was devastated.
Pop asked my husband if he really loved me. Of course, the reply was yes. Then Pop told him something I will never forget. “If you love her than you better divorce her as soon as you finish raising the kids, loving someone for fifty years hurts too much. It’d be better for you to get rid of her as soon as you can.”
But Pop and I would have some great conversations and I think he was fond of me and that he believed Brian made a good choice with me. That’s what I’d like to believe was true anyway.
Pop’s health declined after Nana passed and with it so did his temper. But I vividly remember the man he really was and will keep that close to me. The man the strokes made him wasn’t who he really was.
I’ve tried to capture a bit of the stories he used to tell in this blog, but it doesn’t do his true life story justice. I wish he would have written the stories down. There is more I could write. Like the time he and his son cornered a skunk under the neighbor's bathtub. Or the countless times he threatened the lives of people who hurt his family.
Today is his wake and tomorrow is the funeral. Roland Lester was an amazing man. He will be truly missed.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Coming along
My writing has picked up lately. Ever since I pushed past a love scene where the characters couldn't make up their mind. Now that we've gotten that behind us, we've made incredible progress.
Odd how that happens. One scene could take days to write. Then after sticking to it, pushing past the agonizing wall, the book once again flows freely. I'm pleased to say it's moving right along now.
My goal is to have it finished by October. Lofty considering my pace, but doable I think.
Odd how that happens. One scene could take days to write. Then after sticking to it, pushing past the agonizing wall, the book once again flows freely. I'm pleased to say it's moving right along now.
My goal is to have it finished by October. Lofty considering my pace, but doable I think.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
I've been working on my physical health quite a bit lately. This is because I find that I think better when I exercise and eat right. Go figure. There are good things to be said about having equipment and being able to exercise at home. Unfortunately, there are down sides too. The most glaring issue I've become aware of recently is the lack of a personal trainer.
A PT is there to be sure you're doing things correctly. If one were around, he/she would have corrected my workout the other day, saving me from hurting myself. When on an elliptical machine I thought you just got on and pushed it until you became exhausted. This isn't the case. I pushed it until my heart rate was 180 and kept it there for ten minutes.
Those of you that are fitness savvy are groaning, I can here it already. My target heart rate is 133. Thus explaining the pain I was in when I ended my workout. Not from my legs or arms which were happily zinging from the workout. No, the issue was in my chest. The workout hurt my heart.
For four days I lived with the ache in my chest. Finally, yesterday, it felt fine. I will be going on the elliptical machine today, monitoring my heart rate closely, and keeping it within the targeted range.
As I continually prove, ignorance hurts.
A PT is there to be sure you're doing things correctly. If one were around, he/she would have corrected my workout the other day, saving me from hurting myself. When on an elliptical machine I thought you just got on and pushed it until you became exhausted. This isn't the case. I pushed it until my heart rate was 180 and kept it there for ten minutes.
Those of you that are fitness savvy are groaning, I can here it already. My target heart rate is 133. Thus explaining the pain I was in when I ended my workout. Not from my legs or arms which were happily zinging from the workout. No, the issue was in my chest. The workout hurt my heart.
For four days I lived with the ache in my chest. Finally, yesterday, it felt fine. I will be going on the elliptical machine today, monitoring my heart rate closely, and keeping it within the targeted range.
As I continually prove, ignorance hurts.
Friday, July 4, 2008
It has to work
While at the writers retreat I heard of a study were people take these antioxidants and they lose weight. I'm taking quercetin, resveratrol and soy isoflavones. The fellow that talked about it had already lost over twenty pounds.
Overflowing with hope, I picked up the pills at the store. The first two days I lost six pounds. From 260.5 to 254.5. This morning I'm at 255, gaining a half pound back. (Yes, I'm heavy)
It has to work, it just has to. Not only have I paid the money, but I've realized I'm not as content to be heavy as I once thought. Something needs to give, and that something is me.
I've cut back on my portions, but now I need to look at the type of food...Dinner last night was fish sticks. Not the healthiest thing in the world. I wonder if that made the half pound difference.
They say you shouldn't weigh yourself everyday. I've taken to weighing myself three times a day. To be sure the pounds I lost that morning haven't creped back. Insidious things.
I will continue to post regarding my progress in dieting and anything else that I change.
Overflowing with hope, I picked up the pills at the store. The first two days I lost six pounds. From 260.5 to 254.5. This morning I'm at 255, gaining a half pound back. (Yes, I'm heavy)
It has to work, it just has to. Not only have I paid the money, but I've realized I'm not as content to be heavy as I once thought. Something needs to give, and that something is me.
I've cut back on my portions, but now I need to look at the type of food...Dinner last night was fish sticks. Not the healthiest thing in the world. I wonder if that made the half pound difference.
They say you shouldn't weigh yourself everyday. I've taken to weighing myself three times a day. To be sure the pounds I lost that morning haven't creped back. Insidious things.
I will continue to post regarding my progress in dieting and anything else that I change.
Back home in paradise
I’m home and back in the swing of things. However my trip has several side effects that haven’t worn off yet. Both of the children don’t argue when I ask them to do something. I expect this to ware off in the next day or so. J My husband waited on himself yesterday and this morning. This effect may last longer…or it could end this afternoon.
The dogs flipped when I went to the store the other day. I think this one may last the longest. Poor puppies.
My writing has been affected too. I won the contest. (I’ve been told the name drawing was a ruse to spare other writers’ feelings) Not only did winning the actual contest boost my confidence, but someone who’s been down on my writing for a long time read it and loved it. Having his approval shouldn’t mean that much to me. The confidence I have in myself should be all I need…but it meant quite a bit. He will still not see unpolished projects.
At the retreat I got to hang out with other writers. The socialization was as important as getting the actual writing done. I managed to write 17 pages over the retreat with another five in airports and on planes.
As much as I enjoyed the retreat, I’m so glad to be home.
The dogs flipped when I went to the store the other day. I think this one may last the longest. Poor puppies.
My writing has been affected too. I won the contest. (I’ve been told the name drawing was a ruse to spare other writers’ feelings) Not only did winning the actual contest boost my confidence, but someone who’s been down on my writing for a long time read it and loved it. Having his approval shouldn’t mean that much to me. The confidence I have in myself should be all I need…but it meant quite a bit. He will still not see unpolished projects.
At the retreat I got to hang out with other writers. The socialization was as important as getting the actual writing done. I managed to write 17 pages over the retreat with another five in airports and on planes.
As much as I enjoyed the retreat, I’m so glad to be home.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
The Bonfire
The contest entries were read while sitting around a bonfire. Bob, a worker, or the owner, of the retreat built the fire. He gave us a run down on bonfire safety and then preceded to pop corn in a huge cast iron pot that hung from a crane over the fire. While the corn popped we took turns reading our entries.
This is a Christian retreat. Everything about the compound shrieked order and piety. Three crosses stood opposite the bonfire from the seats, and Bob stood in front of them popping the popcorn.
So, it gets to be my turn and I start reading. I didn’t think my story was risqué, it seemed tame when I wrote it… but as I was reading I saw lines that I didn’t want to say in front of Bob and the crosses, in a place where they obviously prayed. So I started editing, skipping over lines that I wouldn’t let my kids read. The first page I did ok, the second page was harder. Once the characters started kissing, I couldn’t read anymore. My ears turned red and I started to stammer.
Someone said, “I think she’s editing.”
Embarrassed by the material I choked out “Someone else has to go.” I couldn’t read it anymore.
Later that evening, we assembled in the common room and they told me I needed to reread the story. When I was done the room filled with applause. They all wondered why I stopped reading it.
I said that I couldn’t say the word, “hungrily” in front of Bob. I just couldn’t.
Everyone else finished reading their stories, those that didn’t have one went into the other room to decide who won. They came back and said they were all so good that they drew a name from a hat and I won. Andrea Jackson hands me the gift bag and declares, “I hungrily present you with this award.”
Hungrily was the word of the retreat from then on. When I asked what the statute of limitations was on teasing. I was told there is none, and expect that if I ever receive an award it too will be presented “hungrily.” :)
For those of you that are curious, I’m pasting the story below.
“I don’t see how you can deal with having him gone for three months.” Megan said, helping Tammy adjust her wig. “I’d have had an affair by now.”
Tammy smiled at her friend. “Yeah, you need someone around every minute this week, but next week they’re suffocating you.”
“I’m just saying you must be in love.”
“Oh, I am.” Finally satisfied with the wig, Tammy started on her makeup. “It can be hard sometimes, but when he comes home it’s like our honeymoon all over again,” she said, lowering a lid to apply the violet shadow.
“Yeah that’ll stop when you have kids. It’ll be like you’re a single mom when he’s gone.”
“True.” Tammy pursed her lips. She knew several navy wives in that position but they seemed to handle it alright. “There are counselors to help families deal.”
“Whatever.” Megan waved a hand. “So, what’s with the wig?”
“Every deployment I make sure he comes home to a surprise.”
“Surprise?”
“Sure, the first time I just decorated. But then I started trying to top myself. Last time I stripped the instant we came home and served dinner in the buff.”
“I’ll bet he liked that.” Megan laughed.
“We ate dinner cold that night.” Tammy grinned with the memory. They ate it naked feeding each other.
“I get the idea, but you have a better surprise than the wig.” Megan crossed the room to help Tammy zip up her dress.
“He’s so observant I need a decoy. The wig is misdirection.” Tammy twirled, examining the effect in the mirror.
“He’ll be surprised. I wish I could see his face.” Megan nodded toward the hallway.
***
Tammy waited with the rest of the wives in a roped off area. The sounds of crying children accompanied the harbor noises. Baby diapers and cloying perfume did little to mask the smells of the seawater and oil.
She fought the urge to scratch under the wig. Her feet ached in the stiletto heals and she forgot to slather her cleavage in sunscreen. It was worth it. If she hadn’t done this he would be on the lookout for something else.
Sailors disembarked slowly.
Finally, she saw Mark and kept herself from running into his arms. Holding her ground, she continued to search the faces of the men behind him. Try though she might her eyes flicked back to her husband. Just the sight of him made her weak. His height and broad shoulders filled out the uniform impressively. Scanning the crowd, he walked in her direction. Her flesh burned as his gaze swept over her.
He got closer. Closer. She focused everything she had on controlling her breathing. He walked up beside her she continued to face forward pretending to watch the men coming ashore.
All at once, his duffle hit the ground with a thud, strong hands gripped her shoulders spinning her to him and his mouth pressed hungrily against hers.
When the kiss ended the embrace did not. He pressed his lips against her cheek and neck, running his fingers up into the wig. “I like you better without the wig.”
She whispered back, “It’ll be the first thing I take off.”
“Then let’s get home.”
***
“Do you mind if we order in for dinner?” Mark asked as he unlocked the door.
“If you want to.” She smiled at him desperately trying to hide her nervousness at revealing the real surprise.
“Oh yeah.” He shut the door behind them and caught her around the waist. “Everything I have in mind requires you home and your hands free.”
His kiss wiped her mind bare. Curling her toes and every muscle in her body convulsed then went limp. Thank God he was home.
She held onto his shoulders for a moment after he released her, until her vision cleared.
“There’s something you need to see.”
“Really?” He grinned tugging on the zipper of her dress.
“Not that.” She danced out of reach and led him down the hall. . “I redecorated the guest room.” If she didn’t show him now she’d blurt it out.
“Good. I’ll see it later.” His lips caressed her jaw and neck.
“I can’t concentrate until you take a look.” She turned the knob and pushed.
To his credit, he raised his head and glanced through the door before returning his attention to her neck. She waited, holding her breath.
He paused. Rocking back on his heals. He met her gaze with a bewildered expression.
She smiled at him, warmed by the tenderness of his fingers that now caressed her abdomen. He looked into the room again.
“Really?” he asked. He laid a palm on her still flat belly.
She nodded. “Just over three months.”
He threw his head back and crowed. Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her off to their bedroom leaving the door to the new nursery open.
“This is the best surprise yet.”
Tammy ran a hand along his jaw. “Just wait until next time.”
This is a Christian retreat. Everything about the compound shrieked order and piety. Three crosses stood opposite the bonfire from the seats, and Bob stood in front of them popping the popcorn.
So, it gets to be my turn and I start reading. I didn’t think my story was risqué, it seemed tame when I wrote it… but as I was reading I saw lines that I didn’t want to say in front of Bob and the crosses, in a place where they obviously prayed. So I started editing, skipping over lines that I wouldn’t let my kids read. The first page I did ok, the second page was harder. Once the characters started kissing, I couldn’t read anymore. My ears turned red and I started to stammer.
Someone said, “I think she’s editing.”
Embarrassed by the material I choked out “Someone else has to go.” I couldn’t read it anymore.
Later that evening, we assembled in the common room and they told me I needed to reread the story. When I was done the room filled with applause. They all wondered why I stopped reading it.
I said that I couldn’t say the word, “hungrily” in front of Bob. I just couldn’t.
Everyone else finished reading their stories, those that didn’t have one went into the other room to decide who won. They came back and said they were all so good that they drew a name from a hat and I won. Andrea Jackson hands me the gift bag and declares, “I hungrily present you with this award.”
Hungrily was the word of the retreat from then on. When I asked what the statute of limitations was on teasing. I was told there is none, and expect that if I ever receive an award it too will be presented “hungrily.” :)
For those of you that are curious, I’m pasting the story below.
“I don’t see how you can deal with having him gone for three months.” Megan said, helping Tammy adjust her wig. “I’d have had an affair by now.”
Tammy smiled at her friend. “Yeah, you need someone around every minute this week, but next week they’re suffocating you.”
“I’m just saying you must be in love.”
“Oh, I am.” Finally satisfied with the wig, Tammy started on her makeup. “It can be hard sometimes, but when he comes home it’s like our honeymoon all over again,” she said, lowering a lid to apply the violet shadow.
“Yeah that’ll stop when you have kids. It’ll be like you’re a single mom when he’s gone.”
“True.” Tammy pursed her lips. She knew several navy wives in that position but they seemed to handle it alright. “There are counselors to help families deal.”
“Whatever.” Megan waved a hand. “So, what’s with the wig?”
“Every deployment I make sure he comes home to a surprise.”
“Surprise?”
“Sure, the first time I just decorated. But then I started trying to top myself. Last time I stripped the instant we came home and served dinner in the buff.”
“I’ll bet he liked that.” Megan laughed.
“We ate dinner cold that night.” Tammy grinned with the memory. They ate it naked feeding each other.
“I get the idea, but you have a better surprise than the wig.” Megan crossed the room to help Tammy zip up her dress.
“He’s so observant I need a decoy. The wig is misdirection.” Tammy twirled, examining the effect in the mirror.
“He’ll be surprised. I wish I could see his face.” Megan nodded toward the hallway.
***
Tammy waited with the rest of the wives in a roped off area. The sounds of crying children accompanied the harbor noises. Baby diapers and cloying perfume did little to mask the smells of the seawater and oil.
She fought the urge to scratch under the wig. Her feet ached in the stiletto heals and she forgot to slather her cleavage in sunscreen. It was worth it. If she hadn’t done this he would be on the lookout for something else.
Sailors disembarked slowly.
Finally, she saw Mark and kept herself from running into his arms. Holding her ground, she continued to search the faces of the men behind him. Try though she might her eyes flicked back to her husband. Just the sight of him made her weak. His height and broad shoulders filled out the uniform impressively. Scanning the crowd, he walked in her direction. Her flesh burned as his gaze swept over her.
He got closer. Closer. She focused everything she had on controlling her breathing. He walked up beside her she continued to face forward pretending to watch the men coming ashore.
All at once, his duffle hit the ground with a thud, strong hands gripped her shoulders spinning her to him and his mouth pressed hungrily against hers.
When the kiss ended the embrace did not. He pressed his lips against her cheek and neck, running his fingers up into the wig. “I like you better without the wig.”
She whispered back, “It’ll be the first thing I take off.”
“Then let’s get home.”
***
“Do you mind if we order in for dinner?” Mark asked as he unlocked the door.
“If you want to.” She smiled at him desperately trying to hide her nervousness at revealing the real surprise.
“Oh yeah.” He shut the door behind them and caught her around the waist. “Everything I have in mind requires you home and your hands free.”
His kiss wiped her mind bare. Curling her toes and every muscle in her body convulsed then went limp. Thank God he was home.
She held onto his shoulders for a moment after he released her, until her vision cleared.
“There’s something you need to see.”
“Really?” He grinned tugging on the zipper of her dress.
“Not that.” She danced out of reach and led him down the hall. . “I redecorated the guest room.” If she didn’t show him now she’d blurt it out.
“Good. I’ll see it later.” His lips caressed her jaw and neck.
“I can’t concentrate until you take a look.” She turned the knob and pushed.
To his credit, he raised his head and glanced through the door before returning his attention to her neck. She waited, holding her breath.
He paused. Rocking back on his heals. He met her gaze with a bewildered expression.
She smiled at him, warmed by the tenderness of his fingers that now caressed her abdomen. He looked into the room again.
“Really?” he asked. He laid a palm on her still flat belly.
She nodded. “Just over three months.”
He threw his head back and crowed. Sweeping her into his arms, he carried her off to their bedroom leaving the door to the new nursery open.
“This is the best surprise yet.”
Tammy ran a hand along his jaw. “Just wait until next time.”
Thursday, June 26, 2008
I'm here
I've fallen back into the rhythm of working in the office. At my desk with the white noise of the ringing phones, conversation and hum of the server room about me. The training meetings that I came here for are going well.
The retreat is tomorrow!! WooHoo! I'm looking forward to it. I just want to sit in a quiet room and write write write. No distractions. No interruptions. Awesome.
The trick is not to think about home. If I don't think about it, I don't get homesick. To be quite honest, I can't wait to get back the hectic bustle of my everyday life.
The retreat is tomorrow!! WooHoo! I'm looking forward to it. I just want to sit in a quiet room and write write write. No distractions. No interruptions. Awesome.
The trick is not to think about home. If I don't think about it, I don't get homesick. To be quite honest, I can't wait to get back the hectic bustle of my everyday life.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Today's the day
Today is the day. I fly to VA for a gazillion meetings at my day job. The bonus being I’ll be able to attend a writers retreat this weekend in Williamsburg VA. I’m leaving all books at home. The only thing I’m taking to occupy my mind in the airport and on the plane is my spiral notebook. Hopefully, I’ll be able to get some major writing done on the trip and at the retreat.
Flying isn’t an issue for me. (Although I hate heights) My problem is I’m leaving the family. Not only do I work full time, I orchestrate the household, their clothes, meals, everything. I need to let things go. Relax. My husband is fantastic and he can totally handle anything that may come up.
He doesn’t do it when I’m here, because I’m here. He does know what needs doing, and can do it while I’m gone. Everything will be fine.
Flying isn’t an issue for me. (Although I hate heights) My problem is I’m leaving the family. Not only do I work full time, I orchestrate the household, their clothes, meals, everything. I need to let things go. Relax. My husband is fantastic and he can totally handle anything that may come up.
He doesn’t do it when I’m here, because I’m here. He does know what needs doing, and can do it while I’m gone. Everything will be fine.
Monday, June 23, 2008
quote of the day
Today I wanted to find a quote to start my day off well. Inspirational and True.
I found this by Alan Alda,
Don't ever aim your doubt at yourself. Laugh at yourself, but don't doubt yourself.
It's something everyone would do well to remember.
I found this by Alan Alda,
Don't ever aim your doubt at yourself. Laugh at yourself, but don't doubt yourself.
It's something everyone would do well to remember.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Quote I love
I'm a member of RWAOL and every week there is an inspirational encouraging post. This week one of the quotes she included really touched me.
"A successful person is one who can lay a firm foundation with the bricks that others throw at him or her." ~David Brinkley
"A successful person is one who can lay a firm foundation with the bricks that others throw at him or her." ~David Brinkley
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Finished the short story
I’ve finished writing the short story for the contest at the retreat. It’s more chic-lit than anything else. Stretching like this is healthy, but like regular exercise, it’s not something I do often. I hope to put the finishing touches on it today then pack it with the rest of my gear for the retreat.
Time to get some coffee and start the day.
Time to get some coffee and start the day.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Short story
Last night I wrote two pages for a contest being held at the retreat I'm attending in a couple weeks. It just flowed out. So awesome when that happens. :)
The story needs to be mega short, only about 800 words. Length isn't what makes this difficult to write, it's the rule that the story has to be a genre in which you don't write. I usually write paranormals, but with this I'm going for a contemporary story of a navy wife. So far it's going well. As I write I'm making notes of what I want to change; so far the first round of editing will be major.
The story needs to be mega short, only about 800 words. Length isn't what makes this difficult to write, it's the rule that the story has to be a genre in which you don't write. I usually write paranormals, but with this I'm going for a contemporary story of a navy wife. So far it's going well. As I write I'm making notes of what I want to change; so far the first round of editing will be major.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Crash of the day
My husband had the day off of work today and although the weather was hot, he figured it’s as good a day as any to cut down a couple of trees in the backyard.
I telecommute to work from my office in the basement. While on the phone discussing an urgent deadline I hear a booming crash. I gasped and declare to my startled coworker that a tree fell on the house and I needed to call her back.
I rushed up the stairs as fast as my flip-flop clad feet would allow and darted outside. There is my wonderful husband standing by the stump considering the back of the house, one hand holding the now silent chainsaw and the other scratching his chin.
“I didn’t do it.” He declared when he saw me.
At the start, he explained, the tree fell just as he planned. It curved to fall on the corner of the house about halfway down. Luckily, the only damage was a few displaced shingles and a split 2x4 where the gutter attached to the roof.
I helped him remove the tree from the roof, and then left him to fix things while I returned to work. I can only hope that this impressed the powers-that-be with my dedication to them in the face of the presumed crisis.
Well a girl can hope.
I telecommute to work from my office in the basement. While on the phone discussing an urgent deadline I hear a booming crash. I gasped and declare to my startled coworker that a tree fell on the house and I needed to call her back.
I rushed up the stairs as fast as my flip-flop clad feet would allow and darted outside. There is my wonderful husband standing by the stump considering the back of the house, one hand holding the now silent chainsaw and the other scratching his chin.
“I didn’t do it.” He declared when he saw me.
At the start, he explained, the tree fell just as he planned. It curved to fall on the corner of the house about halfway down. Luckily, the only damage was a few displaced shingles and a split 2x4 where the gutter attached to the roof.
I helped him remove the tree from the roof, and then left him to fix things while I returned to work. I can only hope that this impressed the powers-that-be with my dedication to them in the face of the presumed crisis.
Well a girl can hope.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
He’s found us.
I started writing this blog under a pseudonym for one purpose; I wanted to leave as few clues as possible as to our whereabouts. There is a person in our lives, I will not divulge his relation to us, who insisted on spending time with our children. He didn’t listen to our wishes with regard to his behavior while he was around them so we cut him off.
He took us to court and his motion for visitation was dismissed. Subsequently, we moved. Leaving no forwarding address and telling only a select few where we were going.
Last week he found us. He drove five hundred plus miles to drive by the house twice. Pulling all the way into the driveway then dashing off once we had a good look at him. (We live in a rural area, our road is dirt and our driveway is rather long) Letting us know he found us is the only reason we can think of for these actions. My husband, the white knight that he is, confronted him. (read: chased after him in our minivan until he caught up with him) Insisting that he leave us alone. We haven’t heard from this person since.
This man isn’t a pedophile, or a convicted criminal, but we wouldn’t put it past him to snatch the children should he get the chance. He is a transient person, no steady job, no steady address. In fact, his last known address is a restaurant.
Our school system and the local courts took our concerns seriously. Thank heaven. We have a restraining order, and although it’s just several pieces of paper and a staple, it feels as though our children are safer.
I am still debating on if I should keep the pseudonym or not…for now I’ll keep it. Although I have to say I like the signature for my real name quite a bit. And I know it sounds silly, but should I ever get published I would rather write my own name over and over again than my alternate.
What’s my real name you may ask…
Well, you’ll know when I get one of my novels published. :)
He took us to court and his motion for visitation was dismissed. Subsequently, we moved. Leaving no forwarding address and telling only a select few where we were going.
Last week he found us. He drove five hundred plus miles to drive by the house twice. Pulling all the way into the driveway then dashing off once we had a good look at him. (We live in a rural area, our road is dirt and our driveway is rather long) Letting us know he found us is the only reason we can think of for these actions. My husband, the white knight that he is, confronted him. (read: chased after him in our minivan until he caught up with him) Insisting that he leave us alone. We haven’t heard from this person since.
This man isn’t a pedophile, or a convicted criminal, but we wouldn’t put it past him to snatch the children should he get the chance. He is a transient person, no steady job, no steady address. In fact, his last known address is a restaurant.
Our school system and the local courts took our concerns seriously. Thank heaven. We have a restraining order, and although it’s just several pieces of paper and a staple, it feels as though our children are safer.
I am still debating on if I should keep the pseudonym or not…for now I’ll keep it. Although I have to say I like the signature for my real name quite a bit. And I know it sounds silly, but should I ever get published I would rather write my own name over and over again than my alternate.
What’s my real name you may ask…
Well, you’ll know when I get one of my novels published. :)
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Schrödinger's cat
I saw a wonderful episode of Big Bang Theory yesterday. The lead character asks his neighbor out. Both our hero and his neighbor are nervous about the date and ask the hero’s roommate advice. They are both given the advice, Schrödinger's cat.
The theoretical experiment positions a cat inside a sealed box with a radioactive substance. If this substance decays, a trigger mechanism releases a poison killing the cat. Schrödinger used this example to explain the quantum theory of superposition, until we observe the state of an object, it is in all possible states simultaneously. So until the box is opened the cat is both alive and dead. This is a thought experiment and has never injured an actual cat.
While I think this is ridiculous when talking about cats, it relates meaningfully to relationships. Until you give a relationship a chance you will never know if it will work out.
Our hero takes it to mean you never know until you try. My favorite line of the show was after he kisses her and backs away. She declares, “The cat’s alive.”
This also relates to a writer’s work. Until you open the envelope you can be both rejected and accepted. Until you write the novel, you will never know if you will be able to do it well. Until you actually try, you can be both successful and a failure.
Once you’ve tried, you’ve opened the box.
Do you have the courage to open the box?
The theoretical experiment positions a cat inside a sealed box with a radioactive substance. If this substance decays, a trigger mechanism releases a poison killing the cat. Schrödinger used this example to explain the quantum theory of superposition, until we observe the state of an object, it is in all possible states simultaneously. So until the box is opened the cat is both alive and dead. This is a thought experiment and has never injured an actual cat.
While I think this is ridiculous when talking about cats, it relates meaningfully to relationships. Until you give a relationship a chance you will never know if it will work out.
Our hero takes it to mean you never know until you try. My favorite line of the show was after he kisses her and backs away. She declares, “The cat’s alive.”
This also relates to a writer’s work. Until you open the envelope you can be both rejected and accepted. Until you write the novel, you will never know if you will be able to do it well. Until you actually try, you can be both successful and a failure.
Once you’ve tried, you’ve opened the box.
Do you have the courage to open the box?
Friday, May 9, 2008
Taking a class
I am a member of RWA. (Romance Writers of America) A wonderful organization that is a benefit for fledgling and published authors alike. In earlier posts I've mentioned my frustration at writing a query letter. I've read books, searched the web and now I'm going to take a class on the subject.
As most writers know, a query letter is what gets an author through the door. Without one, or with a bad one, even the best novels may never see publication. So this one page letter can make or break a writers career.
According to the rules of the class I can't quote the lecture or share the materials with others, so none of them will appear here. However if general nuggets of wisdom speak to me I hope to be able to share my new understanding with anyone that reads this blog.
As most writers know, a query letter is what gets an author through the door. Without one, or with a bad one, even the best novels may never see publication. So this one page letter can make or break a writers career.
According to the rules of the class I can't quote the lecture or share the materials with others, so none of them will appear here. However if general nuggets of wisdom speak to me I hope to be able to share my new understanding with anyone that reads this blog.
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Someone very close to me got upset, to the point of yelling, when I told them something they already knew.
This is in conversation. I would never seriously tell an adult, “You know, the sky is blue.”
However, his responses to my observations were, “Don’t you think I thought of that.”, “Do you think I’m stupid.”, and “I already know that.” This wasn’t just hurtful it has made me reconsider giving advice to friends and family in general.
Most people think their way through a situation. They come to the metaphorical tree across the road and mull over various courses of action on their own. It’s my understanding that people talk to others to get their take on the situation. To either get new ideas they'd not considered or confirm their chosen course of action.
It has occurred to me that this particular person may have mental issues that led to the outbursts. This of course means that the problem is his and not mine. Still I think twice before saying anything meaningful to anyone, for fear of their wrath.
It’s unfortunate that discussions with this person are at an end. I will truly miss them.
Do any of you get upset or feel a person is being condescending when they tell you something you already know?
This is in conversation. I would never seriously tell an adult, “You know, the sky is blue.”
However, his responses to my observations were, “Don’t you think I thought of that.”, “Do you think I’m stupid.”, and “I already know that.” This wasn’t just hurtful it has made me reconsider giving advice to friends and family in general.
Most people think their way through a situation. They come to the metaphorical tree across the road and mull over various courses of action on their own. It’s my understanding that people talk to others to get their take on the situation. To either get new ideas they'd not considered or confirm their chosen course of action.
It has occurred to me that this particular person may have mental issues that led to the outbursts. This of course means that the problem is his and not mine. Still I think twice before saying anything meaningful to anyone, for fear of their wrath.
It’s unfortunate that discussions with this person are at an end. I will truly miss them.
Do any of you get upset or feel a person is being condescending when they tell you something you already know?
Friday, May 2, 2008
Perfection, like beauty is subjective.
There are those that strive for perfection and are satisfied with nothing less, from themselves and from those around them. But I ask you, what is perfect?
It’s whatever the person looking at it says it is. What is the perfect child? The one that sits on his or her hands with a closed mouth for hours, or the one that fidgets and asks a constant stream of questions. The answer depends on who you ask.
To some the perfect novel is the mystery where you’ve been with the killer the whole time and never knew. To others it must take you to places you’ve never been or to other worlds entirely. Some insist it ends happily, other need it to end with a twist.
Writing a novel that is perfect to everyone who read its pages isn’t humanly possible. A writer can only write the best work they can. Even being a best seller doesn’t make it perfect. Plenty of people take issue with J K Rowling’s writings. Subject, style or voice, there is something they don’t like. Millions of people, children and adults, love her books, but there are some that find it imperfect.
So, what is perfect? It’s like asking what is beautiful, everyone has an answer and no two answers are the same.
Don't worry about perfect. Just write.
It’s whatever the person looking at it says it is. What is the perfect child? The one that sits on his or her hands with a closed mouth for hours, or the one that fidgets and asks a constant stream of questions. The answer depends on who you ask.
To some the perfect novel is the mystery where you’ve been with the killer the whole time and never knew. To others it must take you to places you’ve never been or to other worlds entirely. Some insist it ends happily, other need it to end with a twist.
Writing a novel that is perfect to everyone who read its pages isn’t humanly possible. A writer can only write the best work they can. Even being a best seller doesn’t make it perfect. Plenty of people take issue with J K Rowling’s writings. Subject, style or voice, there is something they don’t like. Millions of people, children and adults, love her books, but there are some that find it imperfect.
So, what is perfect? It’s like asking what is beautiful, everyone has an answer and no two answers are the same.
Don't worry about perfect. Just write.
Monday, April 28, 2008
I just read an article that declares our writing voice is drawn from our life experiences. It is shaped the same way as our view points and opinions. I agree.
Though I haven't done the self exploration that would shed light on what makes me me, I believe I wouldn't be the person I am today; hopeful, yet cynical; driven, yet a dreamer, a study in contradictions, if my young life had not played out as it did. For the record I'm rather happy with myself.
Everyone has baggage, it molds and shapes the way we interact with the world. The trick is being able to realize who you are, and to toss the things you don't like.
For instance, if you grew up with a parent that grunted over dinner, a behavior you despise. (Yes, I know people who've had such a childhood) Then you find yourself grunting over dinner. You can do one of two things. Either continue grunting and pass it on to your kids, or you can stop and chew in silence.
Our lives make us who we are, as people, as writers. It's up to us to deside if we accept it or we make a change. Hopefully for the better.
Though I haven't done the self exploration that would shed light on what makes me me, I believe I wouldn't be the person I am today; hopeful, yet cynical; driven, yet a dreamer, a study in contradictions, if my young life had not played out as it did. For the record I'm rather happy with myself.
Everyone has baggage, it molds and shapes the way we interact with the world. The trick is being able to realize who you are, and to toss the things you don't like.
For instance, if you grew up with a parent that grunted over dinner, a behavior you despise. (Yes, I know people who've had such a childhood) Then you find yourself grunting over dinner. You can do one of two things. Either continue grunting and pass it on to your kids, or you can stop and chew in silence.
Our lives make us who we are, as people, as writers. It's up to us to deside if we accept it or we make a change. Hopefully for the better.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Don't be afraid
There is someone in my life that should be a writer. He is talented, both in story creation and writing itself. When I pressed him as to why he isn't even trying to write, (writing at a snail's pace is still writing) I was told that he is afraid to fail.
He hangs too much importance on his success. It appears to me that this is paralyzing him. He is afraid to try because if he tried and wasn't able to get published it would mean that he was the ultimate failure. Something he knows he wouldn't be able to recover from.
He knows himself. This is a man that is unable to play board games with a child because his ego is so wrapped up in the game that losing would devastate him.
But for the rest of you...
Don't let fear paralyze you. Try, fail and keep trying. We learn from failure. The ultimate failure is not trying.
He hangs too much importance on his success. It appears to me that this is paralyzing him. He is afraid to try because if he tried and wasn't able to get published it would mean that he was the ultimate failure. Something he knows he wouldn't be able to recover from.
He knows himself. This is a man that is unable to play board games with a child because his ego is so wrapped up in the game that losing would devastate him.
But for the rest of you...
Don't let fear paralyze you. Try, fail and keep trying. We learn from failure. The ultimate failure is not trying.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Root Canal
This morning my husband got a root canal. A long time ago in a state far far away, he had a severe trauma to his mouth and unbeknownst to him it killed the tooth. Given all the horror stories and the phrase "it's like getting a root canal" we figured I should go with him just in case.
The funny thing is, the experience wasn't painful at all. According to my husband, of course, the only pain was from the injection of the pain killer.
Being myself, I peppered the dentist with questions. She answered them pleasantly, explaining what she was doing as she went. Dental work may play a part in a future novel either as an activity or as a profession.
As for my husband, he said he feels uncomfortable around the injection site, but otherwise feels fine.
The funny thing is, the experience wasn't painful at all. According to my husband, of course, the only pain was from the injection of the pain killer.
Being myself, I peppered the dentist with questions. She answered them pleasantly, explaining what she was doing as she went. Dental work may play a part in a future novel either as an activity or as a profession.
As for my husband, he said he feels uncomfortable around the injection site, but otherwise feels fine.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Stress is an odd thing. It can be caused by virtually anything and can have any symptoms. Have you looked at a list of possible symptoms of stress lately? They run the gambit from tooth grinding to bowel issues to nightmares.
And anything can cause undue stress. Undue meaning stress that you or I just can't handle. Lately I've been under undue stress.
I am a married mother of two. All the mothers will raise their hands and say well yeah, there's your stress right there. But I'm handling that alright.
I also work full time, and keep the house. Well there it is, right? Nope I've been doing that for years and no issues until now.
I'm a writer. (not published yet) but I try to at least write a page a day. This is actually the most relaxing part of my day, so that has nothing to do with it really.
So where is the stress coming from?
Uncertainty.
To spite assurances to the contrary, I feel as though my day job is in jeopardy. I'm being asked to train others in what I do. I understand the reason and if it were my company I would do the same thing, but the logic of their actions does little to assuage the niggling feeling that when the people I'm training (both great people by the way) get the hang of things I will be told quite politely that I am no longer needed and asked to leave.
My husband's job is also uncertain. I've mentioned his heroic nature in an earlier posting. Well he is honest too. Where he works donations are taken on a regular basis and he has reason to believe these donations are being stolen.
These beliefs are shared by other workers including the district manager. However this person is not being chastised and is not being let go. This is intolerable. He wishes to leave this employment, but as we need his income he can't. So, his misery adds to my own.
I am stressed.
I am hoping that this inventory may make things easier to deal with. I need to find a way to deal.
So I post these questions to the void: What do you get stressed out about? How do you deal with it?
And anything can cause undue stress. Undue meaning stress that you or I just can't handle. Lately I've been under undue stress.
I am a married mother of two. All the mothers will raise their hands and say well yeah, there's your stress right there. But I'm handling that alright.
I also work full time, and keep the house. Well there it is, right? Nope I've been doing that for years and no issues until now.
I'm a writer. (not published yet) but I try to at least write a page a day. This is actually the most relaxing part of my day, so that has nothing to do with it really.
So where is the stress coming from?
Uncertainty.
To spite assurances to the contrary, I feel as though my day job is in jeopardy. I'm being asked to train others in what I do. I understand the reason and if it were my company I would do the same thing, but the logic of their actions does little to assuage the niggling feeling that when the people I'm training (both great people by the way) get the hang of things I will be told quite politely that I am no longer needed and asked to leave.
My husband's job is also uncertain. I've mentioned his heroic nature in an earlier posting. Well he is honest too. Where he works donations are taken on a regular basis and he has reason to believe these donations are being stolen.
These beliefs are shared by other workers including the district manager. However this person is not being chastised and is not being let go. This is intolerable. He wishes to leave this employment, but as we need his income he can't. So, his misery adds to my own.
I am stressed.
I am hoping that this inventory may make things easier to deal with. I need to find a way to deal.
So I post these questions to the void: What do you get stressed out about? How do you deal with it?
Monday, March 24, 2008
Hunting Wabbits
This morning I woke and let the dogs out as usual so they can do their business. I love our fenced yard. After about five minutes I called them to come in, it’s still very cold in the mornings. Our eldest dog Jordan came after a minute or two. But Cameron, the dog in my picture here, didn’t. Figuring she needed another minute I closed the sliding glass door. Praised Jordan and I started getting the cereal for the kids.
A minute later, a movement outside the door caught my eye. I turn on the porch light and there is Cameron, doing a little dance with her front paws, a rabbit hanging from her mouth.
Stunned, stood there for a moment while I watched Cameron drop the carcass and give me her best doggie grin, before picking it up again and trotting off.
I called down to my husband. "Cameron caught a rabbit."
"What?" Apparently not something he expected to hear.
I told him, "She caught a rabbit and is running around the yard with it. You need to get out there and take it from her." Even if I could get it from her, there was no way I would touch it.
Grumbling about the cold he shrugged into his coat and boots. Cameron was more than happy to give her prize to her daddy. She danced around him as he removed it from the fenced area. He praised her lavishly when he came back of course, and she was happy as a lark.
My mother-in-law told me I should have made stew. The idea never crossed my mind in all honesty. If Cameron catches another I may have to do it. Just to be able to say that I did.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Trigger Finger
For months I've been struggling with an ailment that I first thought to be arthritis. I am one of America's uninsured and I find it ridiculous to pay upwards of a hundred (with ex-rays, because you know they will take at least one) dollars for a visit for a hurt finger.
Anyway, it's the ring finger of my right hand and it started to lock. I would bend it and it would get stuck cricked over and I would have to straighten it with my other hand. It was annoying but not overly painful until recently.
When the pain got to be too much I went online to look up my symptoms. The real name is called Stenosing Tenosynovitis. The tendon or tendon sheath becomes inflamed and swells, this causes the locking and snapping effect. Lucky for me, to fix it I just need to immobilize that finger and take ibuprofen. After six weeks the literature says the tendon will heal and I will be able to use it again.
And so my writing will progress even slower now that my finger is taped between two popsicle sticks. Slow, but hopefully still steady.
Upside is the kids are doing dishes. :)
*sigh* I think I heard a crash
Anyway, it's the ring finger of my right hand and it started to lock. I would bend it and it would get stuck cricked over and I would have to straighten it with my other hand. It was annoying but not overly painful until recently.
When the pain got to be too much I went online to look up my symptoms. The real name is called Stenosing Tenosynovitis. The tendon or tendon sheath becomes inflamed and swells, this causes the locking and snapping effect. Lucky for me, to fix it I just need to immobilize that finger and take ibuprofen. After six weeks the literature says the tendon will heal and I will be able to use it again.
And so my writing will progress even slower now that my finger is taped between two popsicle sticks. Slow, but hopefully still steady.
Upside is the kids are doing dishes. :)
*sigh* I think I heard a crash
Thursday, February 21, 2008
MP3 Players
Just wanted to take a second and express my love for this gadget. The ability to shuffle is what I always wanted to do with my cassette tapes on my old walkman. If used right you have a personal soundtrack.
I'm walking on sunshine!
I'm walking on sunshine!
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Heroes
When writing romance novels, one of the things you learn early on is the reader has to fall in love with the hero. That's what keeps them reading.
When I read romance I see my husband in every hero. He may not be a quadrillionaire, but I see my husband in Rorke (the hero of Nora Roberts's In Death series). I see my husband in Joe Morelli (the main love interest of Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum series). And so on.
These wonderful storytellers seem to capture everything sexy and satisfying I see in my husband... hum, I guess I picked a good one.
When I wrote my first novel, Creatures of the Moon (yet to be published) the character Ryan reflected aspects of my husband. I realized this on the third reread and wondered if my next hero should as well. In some ways it feels like cheating. Here I have the sexiest man alive (No not anyone famous) as my husband and I'm using him as character fodder.
So my current project is not based on him. I've tried something else and I'm wondering if I may have made a mistake. That's not to say my new male isn't sexy, he's just more reserved, not as much of a player, doesn't just take what he wants... yet. He will have to step up and be an alpha male when it counts, but for the most part he's not completely sure of himself. The concept could be refreshing or it could bomb entirely.
So, I'm asking you...If anyone out there is reading this. :) Does a romantic hero have to be a Rorke or Morelli, or can he be quiet and reserved until his alpha moment, then retreat back until he's needed again? Hum, I guess it would be more a Clark Kent / Superman thing. Could a woman love Clark Kent?
When I read romance I see my husband in every hero. He may not be a quadrillionaire, but I see my husband in Rorke (the hero of Nora Roberts's In Death series). I see my husband in Joe Morelli (the main love interest of Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum series). And so on.
These wonderful storytellers seem to capture everything sexy and satisfying I see in my husband... hum, I guess I picked a good one.
When I wrote my first novel, Creatures of the Moon (yet to be published) the character Ryan reflected aspects of my husband. I realized this on the third reread and wondered if my next hero should as well. In some ways it feels like cheating. Here I have the sexiest man alive (No not anyone famous) as my husband and I'm using him as character fodder.
So my current project is not based on him. I've tried something else and I'm wondering if I may have made a mistake. That's not to say my new male isn't sexy, he's just more reserved, not as much of a player, doesn't just take what he wants... yet. He will have to step up and be an alpha male when it counts, but for the most part he's not completely sure of himself. The concept could be refreshing or it could bomb entirely.
So, I'm asking you...If anyone out there is reading this. :) Does a romantic hero have to be a Rorke or Morelli, or can he be quiet and reserved until his alpha moment, then retreat back until he's needed again? Hum, I guess it would be more a Clark Kent / Superman thing. Could a woman love Clark Kent?
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
I have been working on the same chapter, the same scene for the past week. Until two days ago, I didn't know why. My head was foggy. My energy low. I felt week, and try as I might I couldn't have strung two words together with superglue and twine.
My non-writing, 8-5 job I do from my office at home. A cozy room in our finished, walkout, basement. I've been slower than usual in that job too. Coffee and short walks outside would get me going enough to get through the day, but concentrating took effort.
Saturday night my daughter felt ill. She sat downstairs in the family room playing video games with her older brother. Her face was flushed and her head hurt. I took her upstairs, away from our coal stove, because it sits in the family room and it was cranking out heat. I thought she may have been overheated.
After a few hours, after the kids were in bed I started to feel ill too. Was I coming down with the same thing my daughter had? Yes, actually, but I didn't know it then. I stepped out the door to stand in the frigid air and after a few moments I felt better.
When I walked back in the house, I smelled something. Coal gas. The same scent I smelled when I emptied the ash pan. I checked the doors on the stove, every connection, every crevice. I couldn't smell it again, but I knew something wasn't right with the stove. I opened the door to let the fresh air in. In a few minutes I closed the door and went to bed, but not before moving the carbon monoxide detector closer to the stove.
In four hours it went off. The house was filling with carbon monoxide. As it turns out there is something called fly ash (the consistency of baby powder) that builds up in stoves. We didn't realize we should shut the stove down and clean it in the middle of the season. That ignorance could have cost us our lives.
My husband and I shut down and cleaned the stove. Removing the pipe that connected it to the chimney, we found the vertical pipe clogged with this fly ash. We owe our lives to that little twenty dollar box. I'll admit when I bought it I thought I may be wasting money. I know better now.
We are all fine. Healthy, and happy. I didn't realize how foggy my mind was until it cleared. I look forward to getting back to work on my book.
My non-writing, 8-5 job I do from my office at home. A cozy room in our finished, walkout, basement. I've been slower than usual in that job too. Coffee and short walks outside would get me going enough to get through the day, but concentrating took effort.
Saturday night my daughter felt ill. She sat downstairs in the family room playing video games with her older brother. Her face was flushed and her head hurt. I took her upstairs, away from our coal stove, because it sits in the family room and it was cranking out heat. I thought she may have been overheated.
After a few hours, after the kids were in bed I started to feel ill too. Was I coming down with the same thing my daughter had? Yes, actually, but I didn't know it then. I stepped out the door to stand in the frigid air and after a few moments I felt better.
When I walked back in the house, I smelled something. Coal gas. The same scent I smelled when I emptied the ash pan. I checked the doors on the stove, every connection, every crevice. I couldn't smell it again, but I knew something wasn't right with the stove. I opened the door to let the fresh air in. In a few minutes I closed the door and went to bed, but not before moving the carbon monoxide detector closer to the stove.
In four hours it went off. The house was filling with carbon monoxide. As it turns out there is something called fly ash (the consistency of baby powder) that builds up in stoves. We didn't realize we should shut the stove down and clean it in the middle of the season. That ignorance could have cost us our lives.
My husband and I shut down and cleaned the stove. Removing the pipe that connected it to the chimney, we found the vertical pipe clogged with this fly ash. We owe our lives to that little twenty dollar box. I'll admit when I bought it I thought I may be wasting money. I know better now.
We are all fine. Healthy, and happy. I didn't realize how foggy my mind was until it cleared. I look forward to getting back to work on my book.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Ouch
Yesterday, I picked the kids up from the bus stop. Usually takes five minutes. On the way I drop off a little girl at her house. 1/4 mile away, but she is our next door neighbor. She lives in a two story house turned apartment complex. Their driveway branches off of the road, wraps around the house and merges back with the road. The land is sloped so when you make the turn around the house you are facing down a hill.
When I made the turn today I found the entire slope covered in a thick sheet of ice. The truck slid and twisted sideways. I managed to break. Front tires resting on the edge of the hill. I got the neighbor girl out and into her apartment. I asked her mother if she had cinders I could put on the ice so I could get traction to back up and straighten out. Having nothing to put down she called her father, Bill, to tow me straight.
When he arrived my children got out of my truck and into the Bill's. A nice new one with a crew cab and 4-wheel drive. The Bill hooked up the chain and told me to get into my truck and put it in drive. I go around the driver's side and start to climb in. The truck slips. And with one hand holding the door and the other on the steering wheel I was dragged over the brink my feet stumbling on the earth so I didn’t trip and end up under the truck.
As it was a hill, not a cliff, the tires continued to make contact and when I finally reached up and pressed the emergency break, the truck stopped.
The only thing going through my mind was "crap!" When I stood, I found that I slid over six feet at a sixty degree angle through a pine tree. I don't remember the pine tree while I was sliding. Finally, I did the only thing there is to do when stuff like that happens. I laughed.
The kids were scared when they saw the truck go over the edge. Until they heard me laughing, then they laughed too. Bill said that the new position of the truck would make it easier to get back on the road. I was just glad I could help.
I am a little sore this morning, and the truck is fine. One new scratch, but you really don't notice.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Writing the perfect query.
Everyone that's ever written a query knows this trauma. So many of us who can write, edit and rewrite a novel, struggle over a one page letter describing said novel. There are no standards. No sentence by sentence outline on what to write.
The main objective is to let the agent/editor know what your book is about, what makes it special. Hook them. Sell them. Some want to know about your writing credentials. Some don't. Some insist that it is just courteous to thank them for their time. Some are put off by that.
IMHO there is only one way to do it. Focus on the hook of the book.
In the first paragraph you flatter them, note the genre and word count. You should include a one sentence hook.
In the second paragraph blurb about the novel.
In the third paragraph conclude the letter. Thank you for your time. I look forward to hearing from you. Give contact information.
Doesn't sound too hard does it? For some of us it's murder.
Well, I've just the read the best description of how to write a query letter here:
http://misssnark.blogspot.com/2007/04/yea-this-works.html
If nothing else, it may make you smile and relax enough to take another stab at that letter.
Good Luck. :)
The main objective is to let the agent/editor know what your book is about, what makes it special. Hook them. Sell them. Some want to know about your writing credentials. Some don't. Some insist that it is just courteous to thank them for their time. Some are put off by that.
IMHO there is only one way to do it. Focus on the hook of the book.
In the first paragraph you flatter them, note the genre and word count. You should include a one sentence hook.
In the second paragraph blurb about the novel.
In the third paragraph conclude the letter. Thank you for your time. I look forward to hearing from you. Give contact information.
Doesn't sound too hard does it? For some of us it's murder.
Well, I've just the read the best description of how to write a query letter here:
http://misssnark.blogspot.com/2007/04/yea-this-works.html
If nothing else, it may make you smile and relax enough to take another stab at that letter.
Good Luck. :)
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
The project is not right for us.
I have had two rejections up to this point. Both have sighted something to the effect of this project is not right for us. The latest one included in the text that they use a form letter. I understand the need for that, but the lack of criticism is disheartening.
I grew up in a home where constructive criticism was doled out with regularity. An honest review can help a person, writer or not, grow. If you don't tell the person they have spinach in their teeth, having that awkward moment when they ask "How do I look?", they will go on the date or the interview flashing a speckled smile and having that moment at the worse possible time.
I understand agents and editors read hundreds, even thousands of queries a month and most don't have time to write personal replies to every letter. And that some writers have such fragile egos they will crumble at the slightest negative word.
So really, that is that. Agents and editors will not suddenly expand the day. Creative people will not thicken their skin any time soon. And I will continue to submit my work until an agent or editor explains where I'm not hitting the mark, or it gets accepted.
Until then I work diligently, albeit slowly, on my next novel.
I grew up in a home where constructive criticism was doled out with regularity. An honest review can help a person, writer or not, grow. If you don't tell the person they have spinach in their teeth, having that awkward moment when they ask "How do I look?", they will go on the date or the interview flashing a speckled smile and having that moment at the worse possible time.
I understand agents and editors read hundreds, even thousands of queries a month and most don't have time to write personal replies to every letter. And that some writers have such fragile egos they will crumble at the slightest negative word.
So really, that is that. Agents and editors will not suddenly expand the day. Creative people will not thicken their skin any time soon. And I will continue to submit my work until an agent or editor explains where I'm not hitting the mark, or it gets accepted.
Until then I work diligently, albeit slowly, on my next novel.
Monday, January 14, 2008
POV and Head-Hopping
Since I've become a writer, I've heard about the horrors of head hopping. Others have warned me not to do it, and although it came from several sources the reasons against it felt vague. In an article by Marg Gilks, on the writing world web site called Fundamentals of Fiction, Part X:Avoid Those Beginners' Blunders, (link to full article http://www.writing-world.com/fiction/fiction10.shtml ) the reasons become clear.
So, it all comes back to showing vs telling. If a writer is skilled enough, he or she can use omniscient POV and keep the reader in the action. Writers that are new to the craft, should practice, get used to showing action in other points of view. Then they can move on to omniscient. If it's done right, it can be well received.
If you want to read more of Marg Gilks's writing advise, or look into her editing services please visit her web site: http://www.scripta-word-services.com/
You'll probably notice when reading a contemporary novel that the story seems to be told in the voice of only one character. If there seems to be more than one character telling the story -- different viewpoints -- if you pay close attention to each scene within that novel, you'll probably find that only one character seems to be sharing his or her perceptions of events in the scene with the reader. The character whose eyes readers see story events through, whose thoughts the reader "hears" in a scene or throughout a story or novel is called the point of view character. This is called "limited" point of view, and it's the most common form you'll see, because today's readers like getting right inside a character's head to experience the story.
The point of view (POV) that most novice writers fall into, however, is "omniscient" point of view. In this point of view, the narrator is all-knowing and all-seeing, hopping from one character's head into another, making the reader privy to everyone's thoughts and everything that's going on, even if that activity is off-stage, in the past or in the present or in the future. There is a lot of explaining -- the
omniscient narrator tells the reader what everyone is thinking and what is going
on.
Sounds pretty good, huh. Look at that description of omniscient point of view
again -- the narrator is telling. Telling instead of showing is one of those red
flags for rejection, remember? With omniscient, you are leaving nothing to the
reader's imagination. You're not allowing the reader to participate, to experience, but merely to observe. For this reason, while omniscient POV is a legitimate point of view, it has fallen out of favor with today's readers.
If point of view hops from one character to another within a scene in your novel or
story, it will be perceived by an agent or publisher as poor writing.
Manipulating point of view to best effect or maintaining it consistently takes
attention and practice, but it's one skill that sets more experienced authors
apart from novices, and well worth learning
So, it all comes back to showing vs telling. If a writer is skilled enough, he or she can use omniscient POV and keep the reader in the action. Writers that are new to the craft, should practice, get used to showing action in other points of view. Then they can move on to omniscient. If it's done right, it can be well received.
If you want to read more of Marg Gilks's writing advise, or look into her editing services please visit her web site: http://www.scripta-word-services.com/
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Not so alone
In my quest for all the knowledge I can find on the business of writing, I am reading the blogs of literary agents. One that I frequent is Lit Soup by Jenny Rappaport. The blog is entertaining and enlightening and I am very glad she is writing it.
Today I read a post that lists her reactions to query letters and partial manuscripts. A wonderful idea. Especially for all of us as yet unpublished writers. Lets us know that we are not alone.
Writing is mostly a solitary business. We labor, create, submit and fail or succeed mostly on our own. Some of us have joined writers groups for support. And they are helpful. But in the end, when you sit at your computer or open the mail and read that rejection or acceptance letter you are by yourself.
It helps to remember that there are many more writers in the world giving it a try right along with you. Brothers and sisters in spirit. We are not really alone.
Today I read a post that lists her reactions to query letters and partial manuscripts. A wonderful idea. Especially for all of us as yet unpublished writers. Lets us know that we are not alone.
Writing is mostly a solitary business. We labor, create, submit and fail or succeed mostly on our own. Some of us have joined writers groups for support. And they are helpful. But in the end, when you sit at your computer or open the mail and read that rejection or acceptance letter you are by yourself.
It helps to remember that there are many more writers in the world giving it a try right along with you. Brothers and sisters in spirit. We are not really alone.
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