Maybe you had to be there...

This morning I was talking to my favorite three-year old on the phone, and she told me a joke she made up:

Question: How does a witch blow her nose?

Answer: Wicked hard!

Okay, so maybe I'm biased, but I thought it was pretty funny.

Favorite Q&A of the Week

Me: What's Carol's last name?

Maggie: Carol who?

Hey Babe, What's Your Sign?

It's February and I'm walking in a park in Michigan. Trudging is a better word. The path is treacherous. The packed snow must be two feet deep, uneven with lacerations from cross country skis, and covered with a thick layer of ice. My dog tugs on the leash, I know any minute I'm going to slip. This is not fun. I pray I make it back to my car without breaking any bones.

A dark figure approaches in the distance. It's a man. He seems to be struggling even more than I am, and flings himself onto a bench.

"Tough walking," I say.
"You're not kidding," he says, "Especially since I'm an amputee."
Conversation screeches to a halt.
"Uh, yes," I finally say, "I bet that makes it even tougher."
"Yep," he says, "My ankle doesn't bend."
"Darn," I reply.
"See?" He hikes up his pant leg to reveal a leg made of steel rods with a shoe screwed into the bottom.

He whacks the shoe a few times with his knuckles, sure enough, the ankle doesn't bend. I don't mean to sound unsympathetic but this is way more than I ever want to know about this guy.

I edge away. "Enjoy your walk," I say, and beat feet.

I bumped into him again recently, same thing. He announced he was an amputee, showed me his prosthesis and gave me the ankle demo. I have an uneasy sense he's trying to pick me up. He really needs to work on his opening line.

Isn't Life Strange?

This morning I was thinking how important my writing buddies, Loree Burns and Eric Luper, are to me. Then I thought about how random it is that I know them at all.

I must first state I never intended to become a writer. It happened accidentally after the world, as I knew it, blew away, taking my identity with it. I started going for long walks in the woods, trying to figure out who I was. When I finally accepted I didn't know, the walks became meditative.

One day, a children's story appeared on the movie screen in my mind. I liked it so much, I wrote it down. Another story came along, then another. I decided to take a crack at getting published, only I didn't know how. A friend of a friend suggested I join SCBWI. So I did.

I met Loree and Eric through the SCBWI message board and, in 2003, we formed a critique group. Over the years, our relationship has evolved into a very special friendship. With their support, and a great deal of trial and error, I have completed two novels. At some point along the way I picked up a new identity, I'm a writer.

We met because each of us took specific steps at precise moments in time. Three little meteorites traveling through the vast universe collided and a friendship was formed. It's too random; I can't think about it anymore.

Mirror, mirror....

I divide my time between two houses, one in Michigan, the other in Tennessee. In both of them I have mirrors hanging everywhere, not just bathrooms and bedrooms but the living room, dining room, kitchen, basement. It's not because I'm vain, I like to look at rooms backwards.

First I admire the general appearance. Without fail, each room appears more spacious. I cannot figure out why. I marvel at the still life quality, the colors in the furnishings, the angle of a chair, the views out the windows. It's like I'm looking at a different house.

When I'm done with that, I move onto the main attraction; I try to see what's going on in the spaces that are outside my range of vision. I twist, and turn, stand on my tip toes, lean in, lean out. Since I have so many mirrors, I can spend countless whiles moving about the room, seeing it from different angles.

I know the concept is not new. Alice did this very thing in her "Adventures in Wonderland." But I didn't get the idea from her. I started this practice as soon as I was able to climb up on a chair and look in a mirror.

It's great fun and I suggest you give it a try.

Oh Dear

I just finished the book I've been working on for the past year and a half. My days will no longer be spent in the dysfunctional little world I created.

I'm not happy, I'm sad. Worse, I'm bereft. I feel like I just got a divorce. Like my dog ran away.

I stand alone watching the train pull out of the station, and all the characters from my book are on board. They have each other. I have no one. This is too hard. I am never writing another book again. Ever!

The Essentials for Writing a Book

Let me just launch into this. My writing behavior is inconsistent because I suffer from multiple-writing-personalities-disorder. Here's how it works:

#1: I don't write anything at all and don't feel guilty.

#2: I beat myself up for not writing but I don't have anything to say.

#3: I am on fire! My fingers race to keep up with my mind. Nothing can stop me. I forget to eat, sleep, turn on lights, bathe.

#4: I'm done. I submit my manuscript to my writing group. I can't type and gnaw my fingernails simultaneously, so I wait. And fret. I realize there was a plot twist I left out. A witticism I neglected to include. A loose end I forgot to tie. Too many dialogue tags. Not enough tension.

#5: My writing group sends their critiques. Every word reads: THIS SUCKS!

#6: After I pull myself out of the fetal position, I slam my computer shut, and go back to personality #1.

#7: I am being eaten alive by guilt. I have got to finish that manuscript. I square my shoulders and sit down at the computer. I take off my shoes. Blow my nose. Go floss my teeth. Come back. Read my email. Send my brother a chatty note about myself. Read people's blogs. Eat a bag of Starlight Mints. Write something in my own blog. Go brush my teeth. Come back. File my nails. See what's happening on Rugman.com.

When I am finished with these warm-up exercises, I re-read the critiques. They aren't so bad after all. In fact, they're downright encouraging. Hey, these are some fabulous suggestions! My mind sparks, it ignites, I'm on fire!

It's All in the Presentation

Here I go again, commenting on signs. The name on this one has been changed to protect the innocent (me.)

It's spray painted on a warped piece of wood that's staked into the lawn of a house on the side of a highway:

Jane Doe Attorney at Law

The mind boggles.

Let's Hear It For The Roses!

My roses are in bloom. Amazing.

I'd always thought roses were little sissies that had to be coddled and coaxed into growing. Not these guys. They hang tough in my survival-of-the-fittest garden.

They're planted in soil made up of clay and rocks. The rain here comes four inches at a time, if it comes at all, and the clumpy dirt retains no moisture. It's not a problem.

Every May these roses strut their stuff like a troupe of Las Vegas showgirls. Sadly, by July they are nothing but bare stalks.

I think I shall go outside and enjoy my roses before the deer do.

A Few Short Words on Verbosity

Verbosity is my middle name, so I'll make this long. Just kidding.

For years I have blithely claimed to be verbose. Today I decided to look up some synonyms for that wonderful trait.

Windiness, long-winded, redundancy. Yikes!

That's what I've been telling everyone? What're the antonyms?

Conciseness, laconic.

I like those better. From now on I'll be laconic, short-winded, admired by one and all for my succinct, pithy...damn! I'm doing it again.

Communicating Clearly

Okay, I know I tend to go on about this, but I saw a hand-lettered sign posted in the window of a storefront church. It said: What if it true?

What if what true?

The Martians have landed? The fork ran away with the spoon?

Next time I'm near that church I'm going to knock on the door and demand an explanation.

Bad, Badder, Baddest

My writing group of two, Loree Burns and Eric Luper, have finished critiquing my novel. They have offered their usual wonderful insights and suggestions which I intend to incorporate into the next draft.

I had hoped the novel would fall into the young adult category. It does not. It's kind of liberating. I can now fully unharness my dark side, dust off some choice swear words (joke - they don't need dusting) and get some of my characters off their passive butts and into really hot water.

I simply must spice things up. No, it won't be heaving bosoms or throbbing manhood. It'll be something much better than that - violence. Just a tad.

I also need to add a new element of surprise. Dr. Luper was not impressed with my who-dunnit angle, so I'm going to twist it around so that even he, great sleuth and guesser-of-endings will be caught off guard.

Now, how to make a surly, snarky individual into someone Dr. Burns will like from the get-go. Groan. Sigh. That is my biggest challenge.

Writing bad guys is so much easier than writing good guys.

And the Answer Is...

When I get to heaven I have three questions I'm going to ask:

1. What happened to Amelia Earhart?

2. Who was behind the grassy knoll when President Kennedy got shot?

3. What does this slogan, posted in the window of a beauty salon, mean?

"Yesterdays hair is tomorrows trend"

A Little Whine, Please

I have an idea for a new novel. I have a good premise and some interesting characters but I'm not sure which one is the protagonist. I know I'll find out when I start writing the book, only I don't start. I feel overwhelmed by the immensity of the project, like I'm an ancient Egyptian laborer who just received orders to build a new pyramid.

I'm Puzzled

The other day I saw a group of men on motorcycles. They and their passengers wore black leather vests with the following inscription, "Undisputed Ryders." I assume it's the name of their club. And I'm sure they spent a great deal of time deciding on it. But I can't figure out what it means and it's been bugging me.

It's That Time Again

I am about to start a new novel. This will be my fourth if we count my very first attempt which was written in ten days using the stream-of-consciousness technique. Whooo-eee, that was a beaut!

I have written two novels since then. The first first draft of the second one, a middle grade light fantasy, was another one of my ten-day wonders. It amazed me how fast the words sprang from my fingers. And, looking back, how random and unfocused they were. Three cheers for my writing group, Loree Burns nd Eric Luper who read both of these pitiful manuscripts and critiqued them. They even managed to encourage me, and this stuff was B-A-D!

Two pretty darn good novels later (she said modestly), I've realized my problem in revising first drafts is I've tried to keep them as is. Not a good idea for a free-range writer. If I consider the first draft to be a 300 page outline, maybe the first first draft of this next book will shine. Maybe.

Four Firsts and an Answer

I just got back from the Rising River retreat in New Hampshire. Hooray for me! I went to my first ever writer's retreat, and I met Eric Luper and Loree Burns(my online critique group). Two firsts with one stone.

I was a bundle of nerves about going. When the Big Day arrived I dragged myself out of my hermit cave, shoved my feet into my big-girl shoes, and booted my butt onto the plane.

The weirdest thing about meeting Eric and Loree was, it didn't feel weird at all. It felt like we already knew each other. I guess we did. Isn't that funny how you can make friends just by typing on the Internet?

The place we stayed was really neat. It's called the Gibson House, here's the URL - www.gibsonhousebb.com

Check out the rooms. I was in Le Petite Chateau, Loree was in the Rialto, and Eric was in the Taj North, which was only fitting for the only male amongst nine women.

The writing part of the retreat was the hardest for me. That's because I didn't have anything to write. I'd just finished my novel and wanted to put it away for awhile but that left me with nothing to do. So, I hauled it out and read it through. Yikes! My protagonist starts out as one of those people you couldn't warm up to if you were cremated together. She gets more likeable as the book goes on but I'm afraid she'd scare the readers off long before they got to that point.

I spoke about it with Jackie Davies who hosted the retreat; she made some excellent suggestions. Then I had a group critique with some of the other writers. (The one-on-one, and group critiques were both maiden voyages for me - pat on the back for bravery!) I got a lot of helpful feedback but I still couldn't figure out what to do with my nasty little main character. Until...

We were at dinner on Saturday night (marinated flank steak, roasted potatoes, and Swiss chard...YUM!) Eric was talking about a woman who had trouble writing a synopsis. I was giving him my full attention when, for no apparent reason I exclaimed, "I started my book in the wrong place."

The people at the table looked puzzled.

"The story really begins in chapter six," I said, "and that's when my protagonist lightens up. Ha!" I realized how rude I'd been and added sheepishly, "Sorry, Eric."

Here's the URL for Rising River retreat - www.risingriverretreat.com

If you click on the images of Winter 2007 session, you'll see your's truly along with the other attendees. I'm the one with the light bulb glowing over her head. It was a very cool experience.

Say What?

As a writer I may not always mean what I say, but I'd darned well better say what I what I mean! In order to do so, I rely on words to say what they mean.

When they don't, I get in a snit, which is what I'm in right now. The word that put me here has no synonym, is impossible to spell, ridiculous to pronounce, and means - words that sound like what they describe.

Yes,friends, I'm talking about onomatopoeia.

I suppose if I were an ancient Greek I'd say, "So what's yer problem? Da woid couldn't be more clear."

To an ancient Greek, I'm sure that's true. But what about the rest of us?

We can snicker at the irony of using onomatopoeia to mean, "...the use of words whose sounds suggest the sense...," but when we're done laughing we need to get serious. Words like buzz, whisper, babble, smooth, are an important part of creative writing; it's essential to have a word that defines them. Surely we can do better than onomatopoeia.

I'm not suggesting we lose the word, let's just change the spelling to something more contemporary like, wordsthatsoundlikewhattheymean. It would still look imposing and be difficult to spell but, when spoken aloud, its meaning would be instantly understood.

You think I'm going on about nothing? Next time you're at a dinner party with your learned friends, casually drop onomatopoeia into the conversation and see what happens.

I'm sure there will be some smarty pants who knows what it means. Ask that person to spell it. If they can, then they are probably an ancient Greek. Because I'm here to tell you, ain't nobody else gonna know what that word's tryin' to say!

The Q-Word

Do you ever experience word rage? You know, a word that gets up your nose, or bugs you so much, you want it to be outlawed? One such word for me is, quintessential. In one week I came across it four times in a single book, in a Real Estate ad, and in a description of a house plan.

It stops me in my tracks every time. I think it's clumsy, full-of-itself, and vague. It's an uncomfortable word to say aloud, similar to, "wasps nests." When it's used as the sole depiction of a setting or an object, I'm flummoxed. What is the writer trying to tell me? That it's the ultimate? Typical? Dull?

An adjective is fine if it gets the job done but one man's quintessential Tourist Mecca, might be another man's quintessential Bizarro Land. How can the reader decide which it is for him or her without a more detailed description?

After giving it a great deal of thought, I have decided that using "quintessential" as the modifier of a noun and not offering further explanation, is a covert attempt by the writer to control the readers' thoughts. The writer expects, no, demands that the reader visualize the object being described exactly the way the writer intends it to be seen. If the reader is unable to do so, then so be it. The writer knows what he or she meant, if the reader doesn't get it, that's their problem.

When You Hit a Wall, Embrace It!

I recently completed a middle grade (MG) light fantasy novel. It took about two years for me to get it right, and one and a half of those were a real struggle. So I thought I'd be glad to write "The End" and send the book out to dazzle the literary world.

Instead, I felt sad when I finished it. I was going to miss my protagonist. She and I had spent a long time together, and she'd become a real person to me. I also realized that while that particular part of her story had concluded, she wasn't done yet. Not a problem, I'd write a sequel.

"You're going to what?!?" asked my inner critic, in a tone that implied I was contemplating a faux pas of the worst kind. "I'm sorry, but a sequel is not a done thing."
"What about Harry Potter?" I asked.
"A mere quirk."
"How about Junie B. Jones?"
"The answer is, 'No!'"

Okay, so I'd write something else. Only I couldn't. The story that began with my first novel was incomplete, it needed to be followed through to the end. After much wringing of hands and gnashing of teeth, I decided to write the sequel. I wasn't going to let the "shoulds" interfere with what I wanted to do.

So, I started to write. It was a blast. I already knew the character. I totally knew what she was going to face, and some unexpected, interesting people showed up in her life. I was on a roll. Until...

My personal life intervened. I was dealing with a sticky emotional situation that threw me off track. Even if I had been able to write, which I couldn't, I didn't want to taint my book with the negative energy that was engulfing me at the moment. I came to a screeching halt. Then Eric Luper, one of my trusty and trusted writing group friends, challenged me to write something from the perspective of the person who was causing the problems for me.

IM-possible. That woman was down and dirty. Mean and evil. She didn't have a redeeming quality in her body. How could I, fine speciman of humanity that I am, ever get inside her head?

"Try," said Eric.

So I did. The character practically grabbed my computer off my desk, and started typing the story herself. She's not even close to the person who inspired the writing exercise, but she is still a real piece of work. She is definitely not MG material. In fact, I don't believe I can even pass the book off as edgy young adult (YA). She is a young adult, mind you, but the subject matter is pretty mature for those tender YA minds (Ha!).

So, now I'm also writing an adult novel with a protagonist who's negative, conniving, and has a vocabulary that would make the sailors blush! The fun part is keeping her true to who she is, while making her sympathetic enough for the reader to root for her.

It started as a wonderful outlet for my negative energy, and it's a good thing I grabbed the opportunity when I did. My life is back on an even keel, but my character is solid enough to keep moving on her own. Since things have settled down, I've been able to resume writing the sequel to my MG novel.

And the weird thing is, I don't have any problem shifting between the two books. I am amazed at how easy it is.

In a deeply philsophical moment, I likened a writer to a Shaman. Sometimes we need to be able to shapeshift to get the job done.