My "Hope" Came True

       For quite a while, I read as C. Hope Clark charted her novel's progress via encouraging posts. When Lowcountry Bribe came out, I was unable to run out and buy her book because I was buried under a tower of books I had borrowed from friends. (Right now, only an arm is peeking out from under that heap.)

     However, I was sure that--soon--I would read her novel. After all, Hope is a writer's writer. After hearing stories of the conception, the discomfort as things shifted, the labor pains...I was looking forward to seeing her new baby.

     And fortunate me, a copy dropped right into my lap. Barbara Younger had a give-away, and I won.

      Today it came winging my way and landed in my mail box. I read the inscription, and then turned to the first page. For many readers, that's what hooks them. if the first sentence doesn't reach out and grab 'em, they'll put the book back on the shelf.

       Here is Hope's first line:  "O postive primer wasn't quite the color I had in mind for the small office, but Lucas Sherwood hadn't given the decor a second thought when he blew out the left side of his brain with a .45." What a wonderfu line to start your novel with.

        And speaking of minds, I have not yet made the final decision about my NaNoWriMo 2012. If you have a first line that's been discarded, please send it to me. I will gladly you half credit for the steaming pile of poop manuscript.

       So, how 'bout it? Do you have a first line to spare?

The Hard Way is Sometimes the Best

         Revising is always one of my favorite parts of the writing process. Granted, I only write short pieces--1,400 words or under, usually--so I'm not like C. Hope Clark (in so many ways). She recently worked on revising her novel, soon to debut, which is gargantuan compared to the reworking I do.

     However, there are a couple of things I've discovered--one because of my daytime job, and one accidentally.

      When it comes to editing, there is no better strategy than reading your work out loud to yourself. The brain is a wondrous thing. If there is a word that's left out and you read it silently, your brain will slip it in, unbeknownst to you, but it will only get set into the mental version. It will remain absent on paper. If you scan your writing without hearing it spoken, you might not catch the  unwanted repetition, the awkward rhythm, the screwed-up tenses.

      (I expect my third graders to make their writing make sense. They are held accountable if they leave out a word because their mouth works just as well as mine, so when I grade their work, I read it quietly to myself.)

      A few years ago I participated in a writing retreat. Technologically, I am an idiot, so I brought along my husband's laptop, and a hard copy of the piece I was working on. Since I did not have the story on a flashdrive or in a file, and since I needed to have it saved some way so I could revise it during the weekend, I ended up typing it over, word by word. 

      When you are typing up something from a hard copy, you have to pay attention to every word, every bit of white space and every punctuation mark. You're seeing it with new eyes, revising as you go, and rethinking the choices you made. This works so well for me that often, when I have the time, I will choose to not send a piece to my work email, even though I know I will be working on revising it after-school hours. The simple, methodical process of retyping it works for me.

     What are some "backward" methods that work for you? What are some throwback strategies that you rely on? Inquiring minds want to know...

Torturer or Murderer? AND Something Mind-Blowing

Two nights ago a fly got into the house and tormented me for a while. Perhaps the huge spiders who have set up a campsite in my family room let them in? Anyway, in the wily way they have, the fly eluded me. I tried to swat it, I attempted to sneak up behind it and smash it with anything handy, but unsuccessfully.

photo by leonlee28

Finally at one point, I saw the fly inside an empty glass. I quickly put a small bowl on top, trapping my flying foe.

So far, it's still alive. Occasionally I observe it. It's interesting. The fly is not giving up. Every time it detects some movement, the fly walks up toward the top of the glass, hopeful. When I shift the bowl slightly, the fly springs into action, ready to slip out of any available crack. And even without any food, the fly is sustaining itself.

Part of me wants to take the glass and bowl outside and let it go free. Most of me wants to wait out the fly, and see how long it takes. 

As writers, we have to be persistent and not give up. If we're "blocked" by one editor/magazine via a rejection, we need to look for a crack or an opening or a submission possibility somewhere else.

And when we have a long dry spell, and have not gotten an acceptance in a while, we need to find ways to keep our spirit alive. Meet with a writers' group to get some affirmation as well as some constructive criticism. If that's not a possibility, read over what you're working on. Find some great lines you're proud of, or a marvelous hook at the beginning, or a satisfying conclusion. You could even blog and get some positive feedback.

Be like the fly. Be persistent.

And, since I have no idea of a post that could just include this, I'm tacking on this video. It shows a 3-D "copier" that can replicate objects with moving parts. On the video, a wrench is copied. It will amaze you!     

Go!

         I love Doug Savage's blog posts. The cartoons are always quirky, they're drawn on post-its (amazing in itself!) and often, they're responsible for me beginning my day with a chuckle. (He posts them early in the morning, at "the crack of chicken," so along with C. Hope Clark's middle-of-the-night meanderings, they're the first new posts to greet me when I wake up.)

      Today's cartoon is marvelous advice for writers. (It's a rare one. Most of his cartoons are about chickens.)

       Go. Go for the submission. Go out of your comfort zone and try a different genre. Go to a writing group. Go to the post office and send off your story. Go up to a fellow writer and ask for advice. Go to a workshop. Just go.

     Because if you stay, you're a weanie.

No Catty Writers Allowed

photo by balkers

        In a former life, I was a quilter. Only handwork for me. While other quilters pieced used a sewing machine, I hand-pieced whenever possible. While others used a long-arm (a huge industrial-sized quilting machine) or quilted with their little Singer/Viking, I loved the process of handquilting. Machines slayed me. The meticulousness of weaving a needle--the tinier the better--in and out of layers of fabric and batting...it relaxed me. It was my form of meditation.

         Now I knit. And although I could make vests and wall hangings and occasional bed quilts in my former life, I can only make scarves as a knitter. Fat scarves. Skinny scarves. Long ones. Short ones. Even though my inability to follow a knitting pattern limits me, knitting still serves several purposes. I can make beautiful gifts for friends, and the process of knitting relaxes me.

         If you do crewel, I won't be cruel and say, "I've done that. I don't like it." If you engage in counted cross-stitch, I won't make you cross by declaring you "anal" and continue on about how nit-picky your personality must be. If you love to do crazy quilting, I won't make any snide remarks about your degree of sanity.

         If you're a writer and you're into zombies and the undead (Joe, I'm talkin' 'bout you!), I'm clueless. But I'm not going to consider your talents any lesser than mine. I have no skill in that area, but I bow down when your red carpet is rolled out and your magazine article/short story/novel is carted out. And if you write romance novels, I cannot understand how you do it, but I'm not going to cut you down because your abilities differ from mine. 

         Have you ever been put down over your area of expertise? (You don't have to name any names.) Has anyone ever looked down their nose at where your talents lie? (You don't have to identify the nasal cavity, unless you want to!)

         If you want the high falutin' version on this issue, go to Hope's blog. And if you want to talk trash about my post...keep it to yourself.  

WWADD

           What would a dog do? 

        If we lived our lives like a dog lives their life, the world would be a better place. We'd be happy with the same food every day. We'd wag our tail a lot. We'd be happy even if our walk was occasionally cut short and wouldn't whine about it.  We'd sniff each other's butts and...Okay, perhaps that is one canine habit we don't have to adopt.

Foley---not the brightest bulb...I think he's looking up at the sun,
thinking, 'Hey!  That's a really huge ball. I wonder when they'll throw it for me?'

         On Sunday we had a family get-together at my mother-in-law's; since she lives just a couple of blocks from us, at some point, my husband got Foley and brought him down.

      My granddaughter, who's five, loved the idea of being in charge of someone/something else. After all, she's told all day what to do and how to do it and when to do it. So she was enthralled with being able to walk Foley around on his leash.

     Unfortunately, Foley was not thrilled. He was in a fenced-in yard. 'What's with the leash?' he wondered. He wanted to play ball. Being led around by a little kid was stupid, from his perspective.

      But he tolerated it. And made the best of the situation. As Riley walked him around, he got to smell a few good smells. There were breaks where she'd drop the leash and he'd get to chase the ball for a while.

       As writers, as teachers, as humans doing their best to keep their head above the water--here's my lame analogy, Hope--we try to make a bad situation work for us. If we get a piece rejected, we revise it so we can submit it to a different publication. If we face writer's block head on, we put the piece away for a while and let it marinade. If we get a story shot down, we tweak it, we revamp it, and send it out again.

       Be like Foley. Turn a negative situation inside out...Put a positive spin on it. And don't stop trying...

Prioritizing Emergencies

         "Peter!  Come quick!  This emergency trumps the kitchen sink!"

         That's what I yelled, in the hopes that my sister's beau would respond. Fast.

         I spent the night at her house, and we were heading off to lunch and then a bike ride. 

(Abigail's in Rocheport---delicious, unusual combinations and quite reasonably priced.  It's a family-run restaurant--Abigail is their teen-aged daughter--and is very small. If you want a spot on Sunday afternoon, get there right at 11 when they open. I hear getting dinner there means you made reservations a week or two in advance.  They always get fresh stuff from the farmers' market, so the menu varies from day to day. Yesterday I had a brie, apple and pecan quesadilla--delicious!)

        Chomp. Chomp. Swallow.  Sorry...back to the story.

        Peter was attempting to fix a clogged-up drain. My sister Nancy had been dealing with it on Saturday afternoon. Chemical gunk that was guaranteed to work failed. Peter was called into action, and he brought with him a snake.

        As he was working with the snake, pleading with it to slither down the length of the pipe, I stayed out of the way. No one who is elbow deep in grease and acid is eager for an audience. 

        As I was lurking in the spare bedroom, I heard a bird. Clearly. Loudly. And clearly, this bird was not outside.

            I ran into the hall and there was Lilly (Nancy's cat) and a bird. Proud (Lilly) and in shock (the unnamed bird).

photo by bluemoonart

        I picked up Lilly and Peter grabbed the bird. After spending a few minutes in the bird bath, it got its bearings and flew off. Lilly's ending was not as happy. I picked up and discarded the few tiny downy feathers that were still in the hall (I did not want the cat to have those as a memento; it might have reinforced her thrill with the near-kill) and had to wipe a couple off of her chin.

      I am sure she was upset.  'Hey, I did something exciting, and you  blew it for me! What the heck?' She had been so close to something so desirable and then it was inexplicably yanked away from her.  And after all, she was doing what she was born to do...

     But later on that afternoon, when we returned from our bike ride, there was Lilly, hiding under a newly-planted spruce tree. She was scanning the yard for her next prey.

     As writers (here it is, Hope) we might think we are so close to snaring something fantastic. A magazine's acceptance.  An anthology saying "yes." A publisher sending a contract to sign. 

     But if they are wrenched out of our grasp, we can't give up. We can only keep alive the glint in our eyes, and keep stalking...Stalking with our submissions in hand... 

      

          

Don't Dip...Dive!

       When I was a kid, I never dipped my toes--timidly and demurely--in the water at the swimming pool. (I must admit, my demeanor ain't never even shook hands with demure.) Never worried about the temperature of the water, I'd always boldly dive right in. Even if the water was a bit cold, that initial blast of cool water was refreshing...

       Often when women surrender to swimsuits that have skirts (personally, I'm on the hunt for one that's formal-length, with a long Princess-Diana-style train), they take less risks. They might wade in the water. They might dangle their legs in the pool as they sit on the edge. But dive right in? Not always...

photo by pjhphotos

       Usually, when I have trouble beginning a piece of writing, it's because I am dangling. And I've developed a habit of dangling for 2-3 days before diving right in.

       When I slice right through the surface, sometimes it's a bit of a shock. I get blasted by a beginning that's not quite ripe. However, I come up for air, and start flailing around as best I can, heading to the other side.

       Just like my swimming is smoother after I get into the groove, so is my writing. And later, I get the chance to clean up the messy bellyflop-of-a-beginning.

       Fellow writers: dive in! I dangled on Monday night and last night. Tonight I need to jump right in...

(Sorry, Hope. There are no evil beavers in this one, but it was the best analogy I could pull off this morning...)

       

The Inclined Plane---Or Raising Chickens, C. Hope Clark-Style

          Yesterday we were conducting an experiment, using simple machines. Our third graders (both classes together in the same room at the same time; our mental health examination will follow later this week!) were working with an inclined plane.  Each group of 5 or 6 created a ramp, measured the "work" that was being done, recorded data, and then would increase the steepness of the ramp.

          This work was designed to give a bit of relief to kids, who spent all morning 95 minutes answering 9 questions (no exaggeration). The state MAP testing began yesterday. And if you believe all the stories in the papers about how the blame should be placed on the teachers ("Yeah, those lazy teachers! If they just taught those kids...") or you think that the achievement is flat-lining because of incapable/uncaring students ("Yeah, those lazy kids!  If they just wanted to learn..."), think again.  

        If all the school districts in the state are failing (and they are; every school is auditioning for  the 2012 run of Man of LaMancha, because the state is dreaming the impossible dream when they set the expectations for us), can the blame be placed on the teachers, the children, or the test?  You do the math...

photo by RCAHMS

        Anyway, I digress. I'll wipe the spittle off my face, and get back on track.

         The students determined the amount of work being done by measuring the rubberband as they dragged the weight up their ramp.  And this morning, I thought of C. Hope Clark...

           In her blog, she regularly compares various tasks or activities to the writing process. Struggling with a knot in your shoelace? Hope can connect it to the writing process.  Burned your toast this morning? Hope can create a wonderful analogy about getting published, with your toast as a centerpiece. Did you have to remop your floor last night because someone tracked in some mud? Hope can help you out by telling you a story that will metamorphisize the filthy floor into a wonderful metaphor about revising...

         In fact, I think she is so gifted at it, she could blow her nose, compare the snot in the kleenex to what we "discard" as writers, and by the time you get to the end of her post, you're amazed.

          So I'm going to try my hand at it.

          The 49 nine-year olds took a ruler each time, and measured the length of how much the rubber band stretched. That's how they measured how much work was being done.

          As writers, how do we measure the work we do?  Do we solely count up the places where we've been published?  Do we tally up the hours we spend on writing every week?  Do we count up the "tasks" we accomplish every week  ( __ queries sent off, ___ submissions mailed, ___ many rough drafts started, and so on)?

         And what work do we consider the most difficult?  The students discovered that the same amount of work was being done each time (the length of the ramp was unchanged) but the work was easier to do when the ramp was gentle versus steep. What is the most difficult work you do as a writer?

        (Hope, how did I do?) 

Be a Jerk! Or Do the Jerk---Whichever Hits the Spot

(Note: Not to be confused with the song "Cool Jerk" although feel free to break into dance, if the spirit moves you...)
                                                         

            Yesterday the group Saturday Writers met in St. Peters, Missouri as they always do. Our guest  speaker was Joe Holleman from the St. Louis Post-Dispatch.

            Some of the information he shared was a great reminder. Start with an engaging lead (which is spelled "lede" when speaking in newspaper-talk). Make the story "human" by putting a human voice in your story. Avoid the passive voice and weak quotes. Those were all things I know, but sometimes forget, so to be reminded of them was definitely worthwhile.

            His advice to "read your work out loud" when revising and editing made me nod my head knowingly. As a teacher, when I read my students' work (a constructed response answer, or a story, for example) I read it aloud. I even tell my kids, if they're standing next to me as I do it, "You may think I'm crazy, but I'm reading it out loud because if I read it silently, if words or parts are left out, my brain will fill them in and I won't even know it."

           I cannot tell you how many times I have worked with other teachers or writers, and have caught mistakes they overlooked, not because I'm some crackerjack editor, but because I read with my lips moving. Our brains are incredible things; they will sneak in and fill in the missing puzzle pieces and not even inform us.  We need to be cognizant of any voids or awkward spots...

        However, what really stuck in my mind from his talk is five simple words:

               Be a jerk to yourself.
        
               What he meant was it's crucial we do the required cutting and slashing and editing before anyone else sees it, especially an editor.  (Holleman started frothing at the mouth when he spoke of editors; he said that if he writes cleanly, and gets the reputation as a clean writer, the chances that an editor will have to "mess up" his writing decreases dramatically.)

                We cannot be so enamored with our own writing that we declare it perfect/brilliant/moving without working hard (and hard-heartedly) to make it tighter...clearer...more powerful.

photo by g d townshende

               This connected with a post I read earlier this week. C. Hope Clark can connect anything (and I do mean anything) with writing. I think she could be blowing her nose, have the tissue tear a bit, and it would prompt her to write a detailed and informative post about the writing process and how it's like that torn tissue...I might be overstating her powers, but I don't think so.  Read her post on Friday, March 25 where she connects the art of raising chickens and roosters to the art of writing. You be the  judge.

              And finally today, welcome to my newest follower, Tony Benson.  He writes what I wish I could:  science fiction and fantasy. He has three blogs. One of them is Fireside Park.  Check this one out, along with his other two. (How can he maintain two? I can barely write for one!) Thank you, Tony for following me.