It was a WWWP night last night---Wild Women Weilding Pens--and the end of NaNoWriMo. As usual, the critique group made sure it was a rowdy and sometimes bawdy evening. (We're so glad Beth is back!)
I tried to keep everyone on track and serious. I really did. I tried to prevent the group from veering off into gut-busting ruts. Honest. Unfortunately, it seemed like the rest of the women were determined to snort and guffaw. I just sat by and watched, as I shook my head in disgust.
One of the writers shared a story from her childhood. That critique led to a serious discussion about the importance of wood in Jesus' life, but then the voices rose, and the talk went off in a whole other direction. I tried to remain rigid with my resolve, but failed...
I will say I liked my idea for my NaNoWriMo novel, but it's going to take lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of revising before I'll show it to anybody. Even my dog Foley, who eats poop, got one whiff of my novel and has turned his nose up at the prospect of me sharing it with him. (Have you figured out how I got to the 50,000 mark? Are you really really really really really curious?) I began the story with my writing critique group, and started writing some short stories from the voices of the other women. I figured, it would be the best of both worlds: a novel and a collection of personal essays. A bathroom book (a book to read in the bathroom, when you only have 10 minutes to read*) and a bedroom book (a book to read in bed before falling asleep).
That lasted for about three minutes. I found I could not cloak myself in the style of the other writers, and my writing quickly stumbled back to my own style.
I have one of the characters surviving a traumatic event, and the women begin a part-time business together. That's the only "plot" I have going...Hence, the hot mess quality of the story.
I submitted two Chicken Soup stories yesterday morning (the deadline was yesterday--hey, it was the morning so I was working ahead) and have a Sasse piece to submit next week; it was critiqued last night, and needs some revising, but then I'll send it off.
Maybe in a few days I'll write a post about all the things I'm thankful for. The holiday came and went in a blur of family, food and gift-wrapping at our local Barnes and Noble.
Have a great weekend. Hopefully I can return to commenting on my favorite blogs (I've been reading them) and life will get normal again--or at least as close to normal as I can get...
* Ten minutes in the bathroom? Okay, so perhaps I should stop considering chocolate (it comes from a plant) as a vegetable and hence roughage?
The Pyrenees---Southern France
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Whoopsy!
I am close enough to the end of NaNoWriMo to think, optimistically, that I will finish it. However, if I am able to cross the 50,000-word finish line, it will take some novel revising strategies to improve my "novel." (The quotation marks are used because at this point, it can only be loosely called a novel. There are lots of places I have a straight line across the page, signifying I have to put some "connecting" stuff in that spot. And not just a little something, either. No, I'll need to put big piles of something in many places.)
In other words, it's a hot mess right now.
But as I took a break this morning, I read Lisa Ricard Claro's post. It went up today (Wednesday, the 23rd) and is entitled "Good Gravy!" but if you go and check out her blog on another day, you won't be disappointed to find another post.)
Yes, she lures us into her post with a photo of a gravy boat full of a fat-filled, delicious cargo. Don't be angry when you don't get to ladle some onto your potatoes. Lisa cannot help it. When you see photos of her, you realize that the only "gravy" she enjoys is the non-greasy type, the "my-kids-are-wonderful" kind of gravy...the "my-writing-friends-are-incredible, even-if-one-of-them-has-a-head-on-a-stick" kind of gravy...the "my-weiner-dog-is-the-best-dog-in-the-world" kind of gravy. In other words, the gravy of life...
Lisa's story about her son brought to mind a story about my daughter when she was a kid--probably 3 or so. I used to have a long drive to work when she was young, and her daycare center was close to my work, so we spent a lot of time in the car. She learned to talk early because while I drove, I would chat to her about the weather, the plans I had for work, what we would get from the grocery store on the way home, and so on.
I digress.
I have always been fond of the horn. It is put on the car for a purpose. When a driver would do something stupid, I would give a quick toot and say, "Dammit!" I realized I was teaching my daughter the wrong thing when I tooted the horn once to let a driver know they could go through an intersection ahead of me and my little girl said, "Dammit!" with the perfect inflection.
This was decades before road rage became all the rage, so I no longer use my horn like I used to, and I've also learned to control my mouth--most of the time.
Read Lisa's post. She has marvelous advice for writers, along with the heart-warming story about her son.
In other words, it's a hot mess right now.
But as I took a break this morning, I read Lisa Ricard Claro's post. It went up today (Wednesday, the 23rd) and is entitled "Good Gravy!" but if you go and check out her blog on another day, you won't be disappointed to find another post.)
Yes, she lures us into her post with a photo of a gravy boat full of a fat-filled, delicious cargo. Don't be angry when you don't get to ladle some onto your potatoes. Lisa cannot help it. When you see photos of her, you realize that the only "gravy" she enjoys is the non-greasy type, the "my-kids-are-wonderful" kind of gravy...the "my-writing-friends-are-incredible, even-if-one-of-them-has-a-head-on-a-stick" kind of gravy...the "my-weiner-dog-is-the-best-dog-in-the-world" kind of gravy. In other words, the gravy of life...
Lisa's story about her son brought to mind a story about my daughter when she was a kid--probably 3 or so. I used to have a long drive to work when she was young, and her daycare center was close to my work, so we spent a lot of time in the car. She learned to talk early because while I drove, I would chat to her about the weather, the plans I had for work, what we would get from the grocery store on the way home, and so on.
I digress.
I have always been fond of the horn. It is put on the car for a purpose. When a driver would do something stupid, I would give a quick toot and say, "Dammit!" I realized I was teaching my daughter the wrong thing when I tooted the horn once to let a driver know they could go through an intersection ahead of me and my little girl said, "Dammit!" with the perfect inflection.
This was decades before road rage became all the rage, so I no longer use my horn like I used to, and I've also learned to control my mouth--most of the time.
Read Lisa's post. She has marvelous advice for writers, along with the heart-warming story about her son.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
A Death of BUS
A pair of my BUS (Butt-Ugly Shoes) died a kind of death on Friday. At least they breathed their last breath as work shoes.
A friend of mine, Darice, had a celebration to mark the occasion. She poppped open a bottle of champagne. She hired a caterer to prepare a delicious array of appetizers. And she jumped for joy.
You see, she will not go anywhere with me if I'm wearing my Crocs. (The photo below is not a picture of my shoes. I have a tan pair and a black pair. I could only dream of orange ones like these.)
Before you grab a handful of rocks and threaten to stone her for being unreasonable, I should explain that my Crocs are not new ones. I've had the two pairs for several years. And because I wear each of them 2-3 times a week, they are worn. Run down. Pathetic.
I should also add that I wear them in the creation of some hideous ensembles. For me, they are not just for the ultra-casual outfits, like jeans and a t-shirt. Oh, no. I wear them with nice slacks. I wear them with skirts to work (because they are as comfortable as slippers) and (skip this next part if you have a sensitive stomach) I wear them without any kind of stockings. Bare legs. Old lady legs. A whiter-shade-of-pale legs, with the only "color" being supplied by the stubble of leg-hair scattered along my not-really-slim calves. However, when the weather gets cold, I wear them with jeans or slacks with socks. (No, even I would not wear them with socks when sporting a skirt! Give me a credit for having a modicum of fashion sense!)
As I was walking across my classroom before the kids came in, I felt something flapping against my ankle. I looked down, and saw that one of the straps had gotten detached. (I never use the straps; they are always swung to the front, rather than the back.) In vain, I tried to reattach it. Unable to, I thought of stapling it back (that would hurt my ankle when the staple--as it was sure to do--would scratch my flesh) or using a glue gun (I doubted it would hold it permanently). I finally just cut both straps off, since I had no other pair of shoes to change into.
When I told Darice about my beloved tan Crocs, she said, "Thank goodness they're in the trash now, where they belong." Not so fast. In the trash? Why would you assume I threw them away?
After all, they're still in perfect shape for yard work or a walk in the park. I said they had breathed their last breath as work shoes. They're not completely dead...yet.
A friend of mine, Darice, had a celebration to mark the occasion. She poppped open a bottle of champagne. She hired a caterer to prepare a delicious array of appetizers. And she jumped for joy.
You see, she will not go anywhere with me if I'm wearing my Crocs. (The photo below is not a picture of my shoes. I have a tan pair and a black pair. I could only dream of orange ones like these.)
 |
| photo by PetiteFamily93 |
Before you grab a handful of rocks and threaten to stone her for being unreasonable, I should explain that my Crocs are not new ones. I've had the two pairs for several years. And because I wear each of them 2-3 times a week, they are worn. Run down. Pathetic.
I should also add that I wear them in the creation of some hideous ensembles. For me, they are not just for the ultra-casual outfits, like jeans and a t-shirt. Oh, no. I wear them with nice slacks. I wear them with skirts to work (because they are as comfortable as slippers) and (skip this next part if you have a sensitive stomach) I wear them without any kind of stockings. Bare legs. Old lady legs. A whiter-shade-of-pale legs, with the only "color" being supplied by the stubble of leg-hair scattered along my not-really-slim calves. However, when the weather gets cold, I wear them with jeans or slacks with socks. (No, even I would not wear them with socks when sporting a skirt! Give me a credit for having a modicum of fashion sense!)
As I was walking across my classroom before the kids came in, I felt something flapping against my ankle. I looked down, and saw that one of the straps had gotten detached. (I never use the straps; they are always swung to the front, rather than the back.) In vain, I tried to reattach it. Unable to, I thought of stapling it back (that would hurt my ankle when the staple--as it was sure to do--would scratch my flesh) or using a glue gun (I doubted it would hold it permanently). I finally just cut both straps off, since I had no other pair of shoes to change into.
When I told Darice about my beloved tan Crocs, she said, "Thank goodness they're in the trash now, where they belong." Not so fast. In the trash? Why would you assume I threw them away?
After all, they're still in perfect shape for yard work or a walk in the park. I said they had breathed their last breath as work shoes. They're not completely dead...yet.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
More NaNoWriMo Tips
Every day, I learn something as NaNoWriMo progresses. And I want you to benefit from my experiences. Here are some handy lessons if you want to be sure and succeed at crossing that 50,000 word finish line on November 30:
1. Contractions are bad. Do not use them under any circumstances. (Use the more formal two-word version instead, to increase your word count.)
2. If you really want to make a strong point, say "very, very, very, very, very, very..." The rules are 50,000 words. No one said they can't be the same 50,000 words.
3. I cut and pasted a few lines of a Joni Mitchell song (The Last Time I Saw Richard) into my story. Accidentally, the whole song popped into place. I looked at my word count increase a great deal, with just a few clicks. Figuring "more is better," I cut and pasted all of the Blue album into my story. And eventually, all of Joni's song lyrics got embedded in my novel. Next are the songs of Zamfir...
If anyone else has some helpful tidbits, please send them my way! I'm still way behind...
1. Contractions are bad. Do not use them under any circumstances. (Use the more formal two-word version instead, to increase your word count.)
2. If you really want to make a strong point, say "very, very, very, very, very, very..." The rules are 50,000 words. No one said they can't be the same 50,000 words.
3. I cut and pasted a few lines of a Joni Mitchell song (The Last Time I Saw Richard) into my story. Accidentally, the whole song popped into place. I looked at my word count increase a great deal, with just a few clicks. Figuring "more is better," I cut and pasted all of the Blue album into my story. And eventually, all of Joni's song lyrics got embedded in my novel. Next are the songs of Zamfir...
If anyone else has some helpful tidbits, please send them my way! I'm still way behind...
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Donna and Linda and Lynn, Oh My!
This past Sunday was the debut of the Storm Country anthology. A gala was held on The Loop, and several creatures--some usually not seen sharing their work in the close vicinity of humans--were captured on film.
The oh-so-rare Donna Volkenannt was spotted, but one had to look quickly and listen hard. She darted up to the microphone, read a page or two of her story, and then scurried back to her lair.
Donna Volkenannt, author
Another elusive animal, Lynn Obermoeller, was there. She was cool as a cucumber as she shared her story with the audience. She was so cool in fact, scientists are speculating if she is a reptile rather than a mammal.
Unfortunately, a photo of the Obermoeller cannot be posted. Currently, she is under the witness protection program. Hundreds of death threats have been sent to her blog, due to her horrendously large NaNoWriMo numbers.
Our last creature captured on film that evening was Linda O'Connell. Normally, the Linda is a little less reserved. Not as shy as the Donna or the Lynn, she makes the rounds, performing her poetry and reading her stories for the public.
Linda O'Connell, author
It was a wonderful evening. The cause is marvelous as well. The book is being sold to help restock the school libraries that were flattened during the Joplin, Missouri tornado. If you were unable to make the event, and would like a copy of the anthology, I'm sure you could purchase it from Linda, Donna or Lynn.
That is, if you are able to spot them, as they hide behind stacks of published works or hunch over their keyboard...
The oh-so-rare Donna Volkenannt was spotted, but one had to look quickly and listen hard. She darted up to the microphone, read a page or two of her story, and then scurried back to her lair.
Another elusive animal, Lynn Obermoeller, was there. She was cool as a cucumber as she shared her story with the audience. She was so cool in fact, scientists are speculating if she is a reptile rather than a mammal.
Unfortunately, a photo of the Obermoeller cannot be posted. Currently, she is under the witness protection program. Hundreds of death threats have been sent to her blog, due to her horrendously large NaNoWriMo numbers.
Our last creature captured on film that evening was Linda O'Connell. Normally, the Linda is a little less reserved. Not as shy as the Donna or the Lynn, she makes the rounds, performing her poetry and reading her stories for the public.
It was a wonderful evening. The cause is marvelous as well. The book is being sold to help restock the school libraries that were flattened during the Joplin, Missouri tornado. If you were unable to make the event, and would like a copy of the anthology, I'm sure you could purchase it from Linda, Donna or Lynn.
That is, if you are able to spot them, as they hide behind stacks of published works or hunch over their keyboard...
Sunday, November 13, 2011
NaNoWriMo's Lessons
Okay, I admit it. I began NaNoWriMo this year because last year I crashed and burned almost instantaneously. I hate to lose, I'm stubborn, and decided to give it another try. And although I am hopelessly way behind, currently I am at 12,000 words. Yesterday before I began writing I was at 8,000 words. It's amazing what staying up until 3:30 in the morning will do. I wonder if I can do that every night?
Certainly, it's way too early to claim I will finish in time. I might be at the Thanksgiving table with my laptop in front of me instead of a plate of turkey and sweet potatoes. (Maybe this could be the NaNoWriMo diet plan? Write thousands of words instead of consuming thousands of calories...) But I have learned some lessons--already--from NaNoWriMo, and here they are:
1. You can become a novelist. I write personal essays and occasional poems. I don't do fiction. However, once the risk is taken, I've found it's good to stretch my skills and write outside the box. (I cannot promise it will be an entertaining story, but it will be a work of fiction. More or less.)
2. If you know the characters, they will drive the story. I began on November 1 with no storyline or plot. Oh, do I need one of those? I figured I did. Unfortunately, I went for a week just fleshing out the characters and still without a plot. Thankfully, a life-changing event dropped into my lap, and my story is meandering towards it.
3. Crime DOES pay. Last night, I broke into Lynn Obermoeller's house and stole her computer. I also took all her pencils, her pens, her lipsticks, her empty journals and her external drives. She must be stopped at all costs. A criminal, a word hog and hoarder, she has written so much already, she has finished crossed the 50,000 word finish line 3 times already, and was on her fourth lap before I threw a loose bolt into her creative cogs. Fuhgedaboudit, Lynn. Three will have to do it for you.
How do I know she has turned to crime? There have been reports that she decided to make some money this year off NaNo. Police have gotten calls about people lurking at street corners, asking Lynn, "Can you sell me some words? I'm hooked. I want the good stuff."
Stay tuned. On November 30, the exciting climax: will Sioux crash and burn, or will she be victorious?
or
Is that stink some burned turkey grease in the oven, or is it Sioux's NaNoWriMo novel?
Certainly, it's way too early to claim I will finish in time. I might be at the Thanksgiving table with my laptop in front of me instead of a plate of turkey and sweet potatoes. (Maybe this could be the NaNoWriMo diet plan? Write thousands of words instead of consuming thousands of calories...) But I have learned some lessons--already--from NaNoWriMo, and here they are:
1. You can become a novelist. I write personal essays and occasional poems. I don't do fiction. However, once the risk is taken, I've found it's good to stretch my skills and write outside the box. (I cannot promise it will be an entertaining story, but it will be a work of fiction. More or less.)
2. If you know the characters, they will drive the story. I began on November 1 with no storyline or plot. Oh, do I need one of those? I figured I did. Unfortunately, I went for a week just fleshing out the characters and still without a plot. Thankfully, a life-changing event dropped into my lap, and my story is meandering towards it.
3. Crime DOES pay. Last night, I broke into Lynn Obermoeller's house and stole her computer. I also took all her pencils, her pens, her lipsticks, her empty journals and her external drives. She must be stopped at all costs. A criminal, a word hog and hoarder, she has written so much already, she has finished crossed the 50,000 word finish line 3 times already, and was on her fourth lap before I threw a loose bolt into her creative cogs. Fuhgedaboudit, Lynn. Three will have to do it for you.
How do I know she has turned to crime? There have been reports that she decided to make some money this year off NaNo. Police have gotten calls about people lurking at street corners, asking Lynn, "Can you sell me some words? I'm hooked. I want the good stuff."
Stay tuned. On November 30, the exciting climax: will Sioux crash and burn, or will she be victorious?
or
Is that stink some burned turkey grease in the oven, or is it Sioux's NaNoWriMo novel?
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