That Little Dickens!

         If you haven't found him yet, check out Doug Savage's daily post, where he plays "Chicken" every day.

        Obviously, Dickens never participated in NaNoWriMo. If he had, it would have been Tale of Forty-Two Cities. There would have been no talk of it being too  long.

        Sadly, I am still way behind but have not given up (yet). According to my stats, I have to write 14,638 words every day if I want to finish on time. Otherwise, I will finish on November 3, 2525. 

        Keep thinking good thoughts for me. And here's a message for those word hogs out there (and Lynn,you know who you are!): Loan me some words. Scratch that. Don't loan them to me, give them to me.  

        Please. 

It's Raining!

         Yeah, I know, it's really raining outside. If you spend hours and hours on your coiffure like I do (ha), this is not enjoyable weather for you. But you might not know this:  it's raining inside (for me) as well.

        These "droplets of joy" fell down on me today, when I am (now) thousands of words behind in NaNoWriMo. I am in such a state of desperation, when I revise a sentence I just wrote a moment ago, if it involves getting rid of a word, I sniffle and whine and cry a tear or two.  I'm trying to think of myself as the Little Engine That Could...IthinkIcan, IthinkIcan, IthinkIcan...and I tell myself that if I stick with it, when I emerge victorious on the other side, the process will have made me stronger.

        Right now, it's killing me.

        But as I checked my email this afternoon (it's a professional development day, which for teachers, is like a day off--at least from kids), I found not one but two emails that said "Yes."

        Who said "yes," you say?

                              Chicken Soup for the Soul
                                                  and
                                               Sasee 

       Of course, the Chicken Soup for the Soul collection might be a no later on, but right now, my story "The Ones From Zirconia Are Just as Nice" is in the final round for their Here Comes the Bride anthology,  due out on May 15, 2012. I'm keepin' my fingers crossed.

      It's a definite "yes" from Sasee.  My story about my money-making endeavors when I was a kid will appear in their December issue.

     And who do I have to thank?  The Coffee and Critique Group (especially Alice with her notorious red pen) that I met with a few times this past summer, for one. Even though some of the grumpy old men looked down their noses at the schmaltz of Chicken Soup-type essays (Doyle, I'm not talking about you), the suggestions I got from Donna, Marcia, Becky, Lou, Doyle and the rest of their gang really got me into the mood to submit. Merci!

    Also, the writing group that I am currently in is due some chocolate. (Or, maybe another cream cheese birthday cake? How about it?) They are a bit too subdued and dry and boring for my tastes, but what the heck--I'm not in it to be entertained and to get my pantyliners damp, I'm in the circle to improve my writing. Beth M. Wood and Linda O'Connell, both published in Chicken Soup and Sasee, encouraged me to send the childhood story in; Tammy and Lynn gave me wonderful suggestions to improve it as well. (The Chicken Soup one I did completely solo, which is a scary thing to think about, considering it is me we're talking about.)

    Barbra had it all wrong. DO rain on my parade.  I love this kind of rainfall...

WWWP Critique Group and SD Society or Beth M. Wood is Missing

         Yes, last night was another night of our Wild Women With Pens gathering, where we make suggestions and disturb...well, you know.

         Usually we're a rowdy group. Twice already, the police have been called on us; the neighbors reported loud snorting and guffawing, squeals of laughter, and strange screams, like:

• "I'm gonna get the top of George Clooney's head tattooed right here!"
• "Fargo him! Put him in the chipper and chip-chip-chip him away."
• "OMG! That story on flatulence was...explosive!"
• "I've never heard of a workout being so...hot!  Show me his picture again."

     Last night, we were subdued. Restrained. Proper. However, I can't figure out why the evening was so different. 

     Anyway, in spite of the low decibel level and the still-dry-at-the-end-of-the-night panties, I learned some things and was reminded of something.

1. Six or seven heads are always better than one. Even if someone makes a suggestion that you disagree with, the act of going back and rethinking and rationalizing your word choice/arrangement (usually) strengthens the piece.

2. Working for little or no money is not always a bad thing. If an author writes for an anthology that only pays $5 or $10, it's a way to support the editors/publishers, it's a notch on our publication belt, and you never know what connections you can make.

3. If you eat four pieces of birthday cake with cream cheese frosting, due to the high protein content of cream cheese, you're getting four servings from the "meat" group. Really. I'm serious.

4. When an integral cog in our wheel of fun is missing, it's just not the same...

      Hopefully our next meeting will find us back to normal. Oh, that's right. It'll be another one full of whispered advice. I suppose someone else could step up to the plate and take charge of the bawdy revelry. Linda O'Connell? You've been known to clear tables--at least of full glasses of soda. Are you up to the challenge?

      Just wonderin'... 

Magpie # 89

      Every week, Tess Kincaid provides a bit of visual inspiration. Those who participate in Magpie Tales create a vignette, a poem or whatever their muse dictates...

     After your piece is completed, you thank Tess and comment on her piece, you get linked to all the other pieces via Mr. Linky, and comment on the others. A fun time for all.

      So, without further ado, here is the photo and my poem:

she began with an old fashioned pen.

safe inside

was a tube of ink,

as black and glinting as her eyes.

the audibleness of it,

the scratching sound

of pen on paper,

was comforting.

crap!

pure crap!

she wadded the paper

and dropped it in disgust.

she hurled the pen.

it hit the wall, a splatter of writers' blood

sprayed and splayed in protest.

she then turned to a pencil.

its point broke as soon as she touched it

in contemplation.

dropping into onto the floor,

she ground it into pulp with the heel of her boot.

turning to the contraption, 

electrified and eager,

she whispered,

"third time better be a charm,"

as she caressed the keys...  



Franklin Finds Hope

       A couple of posts ago, I wrote a book blurb for Lisa Ricard Claro's Book Blurb Friday. The book cover "blurb" was about a real-life 4th grade boy (Franklin) and his 2nd grade sister and kindergarten brother. They live in another state; they are students of a friend of mine.

     Franklin and his sibling were being forced to perform unspeakable sex acts on each other and the boyfriend of their mother. Franklin had told his teacher last year; this young boy's behavior was off the chain, and justifiably so. It was then reported to the principal, and the appropriate officials were called in. When the boyfriend denied it (what a surprise!), the authorities closed the case. And the boyfriend resumed picking up the children from school...everything back to "normal" for these no-longer innocents...

     This young man felt like he had been tricked...duped. He had done what everyone tells all children: tell someone you trust. Keep telling them until someone listens. People had listened, but still nothing had happened.

       The family then decided to move--to a new school district where no one would know what to keep an out for--and last Friday was going to be their last day at my friend's school.

      Just this week, my friend reported that her principal had called in the police and threatened to call the local news channel. When that didn't have an immediate impact, he promised he would kidnap the children and take them to his own home. When the police said, "We would have to arrest you if that happened," the principal replied that it would be on the news then, which would be the desired result. 

     It appears that the mother had told the children to lie when the authorities originally investigated; this caring, loving mom protected her kids by promising them she would beat them if they told anyone. Sadly, children who are abused remain strongly connected to their parents, because even sexual abuse and beating is attention. Neglect is what severs the connection, screwing up a kid's ability to bond...The children said nothing.

     Right now, the children are still at my friend's school. They are living with another relative. I would not call them permanently "safe" because anything can happen with parental rights and lying sacks of shit and court dates. However, Franklin knows that--finally--someone really listened to him.

(Author's Note:  The names, location and details have been changed to protect the guilty--those who are guilty of blogging about something that could cause them to lose their job.

And who do I hate worse--the mother or the boyfriend? The mom, hands down. I despise perverts, and I know they are all around us. But a mother who has given birth to children and then condones her kids being forced to perform oral sex on each other and an adult male? I just wish I had three minutes alone with the two of them. I could kill two birds--birds that are nastier than pigeons, more damaging than hawks, more ugly than turkey buzzards--with one stone.)





    

Monet Monday

photo by Lauri Johnston

       This evening I went to a special class at our city's art museum. About fifty of us--teachers, artists, writers--were going to explore Monet's art in depth.

       The museum was closed to everyone else. We had a quick meal in the cafe, then began our workshop.  At one point I needed to use the restroom; another woman and I went at the same time. A guard was there when we got on the elevator, and a guard was there when we got off and went directly into the bathroom. The rest of the museum was off-access.

       The cloak of darkness was upon us. The elevator was large enough to comfortably accomodate a painting or two. For a moment, the Walter Mitty in me came out...What would it be like to try and lift a priceless painting? Probably more exciting than wrestling with my students and their stuffed animals (It's "Hugs Not Drugs" day tomorrow.)

        Of course, I did not conjure up Pierce Brosnan ala "The Thomas Crowne Affair," nor did I branch out on my own and become an art thief. But I did think about it for a split-second.

        This evening we looked at Monet's Waterlilies using homemade viewfinders (an index card with a small rectangle cut out of the center) and decided on a spot of our own, we drew what our spot inspired in us, we chose a sound that we "heard" at our spot and created a symphony of sounds, and we wrote poetry about the paintings. Even though I did not get back until close to 9 (making it a 14-hour day for me), it was a marvelous night.

       The bit of writing advice I got out of this experience:  look from afar, and then look closely (make your own handy-dandy viewfinder), and then back up again and look from a distance. If you're writing about a character, and you know a person who has the same hair as your character, ask to look at their hair with the viewfinder. You'll see things differently. You'll see the variances in color, you'll see more texture than you would otherwise. Look at your house with the viewfinder. You'll be focusing on parts, which will nudge you into thinking in unique ways.

      Try it. You'll be surprised...