Sunshine Award

A few days ago I received the "Sunshine Award" from fellow WWWP-er Tammy. She had the audacity to say I am sunshiny, but not in the Brady Bunch way. Apparently she doesn't know me. I can be just as full of unicorns and prancing kittens as the next crab***.

Read along, and you'll find the deep, thought-provoking answers I gave to the hours and hours of questions that accompany this prestigious award. At the end, I'll pass the torch to two bloggers who spread sunshine to me.

Favorite color: Green. Not the "pretty" shades, either.

Favorite animal: Dogs and cats. I love them both equally (although not in the same way), but currently I only have dogs. I wish I could fall in love with one of those odd-looking breeds that are hairless but alas, I have a Golden that sheds a couch pillow every day. 

Favorite number: 26. The first teacher I was in love with was 26 when I was in 7th grade, and I thought, 'That is the perfect age to be.' It's also double 13, which is an unlucky number according to some people, so 26 is like thumbing one's nose at 13...

Favorite drink: Bolthouse Farms Vanilla Chai Tea (the high protein version; I think the big bottle has something like 32 grams of protein in it) as a treat. It's way too rich and addictive to swill too often. Most times, chai tea with equal parts of milk, or tea (no ice) from Quik Trip.
Facebook or Twitter? Neither. Sorry.

My passions: Music. Loud. Everybody from Janis Joplin to Janis Ian to Cat Stevens to REM to Regina Spektor...Zentangling (a detailed version of doodling--look it up--"zentangle")...writing...knitting (only scarves)...reading great novels and memoirs

Giving or getting presents: I prefer giving. I get a little uncomfortable when I'm the recepient.

Favorite day: Friday. I watch junky TV in the evening, and have grandiose plans to stay up late, but it's inevitable--I fall asleep by 9:30 (sometimes even 8:30) drooling and snoring away, while I'm still sitting upright on the couch.

Favorite flowers: I'm not really a flower person. I used to love Birds of Paradise. Now, I appreciate a patch of coneflowers, a mound of mums. Or how about wallflowers? That is definitely the kind of flower I am like.

Now, onto the torch-passing...

I considered cheating, and providing the link to several different blogs, but with much regret, am sticking with the rules and am only bestowing this great honor onto two blogging friends.

First, Kim of Ratio of Failures. Like me, she is all sparkly sprinkles and talking tulips. Kim has a pointed sense of humor, and she can do serious metaphor-filled writing as well.

Secondly and finally, Barb with her purple pen, gets a nod from me. Not only does she handle extremely sticky situations with the grace and manners of a queen (you know what I'm referring to, Barb), she comes to meetings with gifts of poetry and chocolate. Now that's the kind of sunshine I enjoy.

So Kim and Barb---Tag! You're it.

 

Dogs and Swans and Chicken Fat, Oh My!

        Yesterday St. Louis All Dogs hosted a book signing for some St. Louis writers. Four local authors--Linda O'Connell, Renee Hughes, Gregory Lamping and myself--spoke about our writing, our dogs, and sold (and signed) a surprising number of Not Your Mother's Book on Women, On Dogs and On Being a Stupid Kid books.
 
       Publishing Syndicate has a book in development for everyone. Have you caught an acquaintance picking their nose, and you can tell the story in a funny way? There's an anthology they're working on called On Nose Picking. Did you ever have a bunion that looked just like Tom Cruise? There's a collection called On Skintag and Bunion Celebrity Lookalikes, and they're desperate for submissions. Seriously.

         Well, now I actually am serious. There are Publishing Syndicate books about RV adventures, military life, firefighters, nurses, being actively retired, weddings, treasure hunting (for the nose picker, I guess), special occasions, sharing secrets, politics, pets, holidays, girls' night out, food, dieting, dating, cowboys, fishing, working, and more. Now that I've listed hundreds of themes, what is your excuse not to write and submit several stories? They're looking for edgy and funny. You can do hilarious, right?

           After our book signing was over, several of us commented on Linda's youthful skin. She flaunted her fountain-of-youth face, stretching her neck like a vain swan (see the picture above--I had to snap it quickly). No saggy neck. No wrinkles on her face. We all demanded to know her secret.

          Apparently when you have gotten published in over a dozen Chicken Soup books, CS will send monthly vats of fresh chicken fat (known for its wrinkle prevention abilities) in order to keep their favorite writers handsome and happy. Linda's husband will methodically and lovingly apply the strips of fat onto Linda's face every evening as part of her beauty regimen. I must say, it works.

       Check out Publishing Syndicate's website, dig into the recesses of your mind (and not your nasal cavity) and get writing.

A Missing "Piece"

        Yesterday evening was WWWP night. The evening where five fierce writers gather, their writing pieces in hand, and critique and support and snort and snark.

      Ooops, last night there was one of the WWWPs missing in action. A bad cold had kept her home, overdosing on zinc.

       Since Tammy was the one who was MIA, and since she is our resident Grammar *itch, we all scrambled to fill in for her. Where do those commas belong? How about that apostrophe--what is the most accepted placement? We did our best, but fell short. Not only did we miss her deft touch, we missed her writing voice.

      I had seen a grammar pen, and mentioned it to my fellow WWWPs, but since no one believed me, I'm including a link. It vibrates when an error is made, which--in our group--led to some wild digression.

       As writers, when something is missing, we know it. Succintness. A strong ending. A hook at the beginning. When we get the story down, then we can attend to the missing components.

       Last night, except for Tammy, nothing was missing. Apparently Elvis had not left the building. Lynn shared a story she had written quite a while ago about a trip with "Elvis," which proved that a good storyteller's stories have great bones, no matter how ancient the story is.

      Linda brought a story about the WWWPs. In not many words, she had captured the flavor and the evolution of our group.

      And Beth...Beth has written a story that is honest and raw, exposing her vulnerability. She took a Chicken Soup theme and has condensed it down it its very essence.

      Tammy, you had better be over your cold in two weeks. You had better get off your butt and join us. We missed you. When a piece is missing, there's a void...a void that a vibrating pen could not fill.

It's All Gravy

        Friday I was driving home, on a main drag wannabee, when out of the corner of my eye I spotted someone coming out of a building. It's always been a building that I never paid any attention to, in spite of me passing it twice a day. Is it an office? A tiny restaurant? A hardware store? Not sure, because there is no sign--at least not one that I've seen.

     Since this is the first time I saw any activity in front of this little stretch of a strip mall, my interest was piqued. And then I saw a sign painted on the glass door. This is what the gold letters said:

                       The Gravy Station

      And then I realized that the man coming out of that building was holding onto a huge tureen of...gravy? 

      Of course, that is not what it said. I'm not sure exactly what the sign said, and certainly that man was not cradling a vat of fatty gravy, but all the way home, I thought about how wonderful it would be if we could stop by--on our way home--and get a tub of gravy.

       You're going to make some mashed potatoes but are in the mood for something besides butter to dollop onto them? Stop by the Gravy Station.

       You're going to have some biscuits and eggs, but you're hankering for some gravy to ladle over those biscuits? Stop by the Gravy Station. (They've got several types to choose from, after all.)

        You're a bit blue, and want to take hunks of bread and sop up something rich and greasy? Stop by the...

        Well, perhaps it's a good idea there is not really a Gravy Station. But it was a pleasant daydream as I hurtled home.

        What kind of daydream has entertained you recently?
       

Donna Volkenannt--Look Out!

       I got an email today that my story, "Princess of Procrastination" has made it through to the final rounds. Some stories--they tell me, and I shudder--get axed at the last minute. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

       Trying to increase my odds, I submitted two stories for this collection. One was about my fabulous writing group; the other was about a picture book manuscript I had written but was procrastinating about.  It is that story Chicken Soup is considering...

     And where does Donna Volkenannt figure into this post? Why does she need to look out? 

       It was Donna who used an electric cattleprod on me prodded me to send my manuscript off. She called my bluff. She nudged me with a rough foot up my butt gentle encouragement.

      This past week or two, I've been in a writerly funk. Not in the mood to write. Not inspired. Not eager to hit the laptop.

      Perhaps this little glimmer of hope will get me going again...

Cupid's Arrow Has Found Its Mark

Yes, it's official. The powers-that-be have proclaimed that Sioux can indeed do romance. (I'm sure when my husband sees me snoring and drooling, while sitting upright on the couch, at 7:30 at night, he might question that ruling.)

This past weekend I got word that my story, "Playing a Different Tune" will be published in Welkin Press' Cupid's Quiver. 

Since romance is such a foreign genre to me, I used some elements of reality. This year, I am taking violin lessons right alongside my third graders, much to the dismay joy of our violin teacher. 

I took our violin teacher, changed her to a man and made her Venezuelan (my teaching partner's husband is from Venezuela), transformed myself into a young teacher in her early thirties (sweet!),  and added some of the actual screw-ups that have happened to me during our lessons. It's a reality-romance mash-up.

What have you done or tried in order to make a story more realistic? Gary Paulsen once ate a fish eyeball in researching Hatchet and Brian's Winter. (He promptly threw it up, his sled dogs immediately gobbled it up, and that made him hurl once more. This is chronicled in his book Guts.)

I know my fellow WWWP, Linda O'Connell, also has a story that will appear in Cupid's Quiver. I've heard that Donna Volkenannt's story will be included as well. Are there any other blogging buddies who had stories accepted by Pat Smith? Give a shout out and give yourself a pat on the back. For at least Linda and me, it was an instance when writing out of our boxes paid off...