Friday chapter

Well, here’s chapter 9. The only thing I have to say today is – I didn’t read over this. I can’t let myself look at it, lest my retinas burn and my brain forget that my characters are so much MORE now. More interesting, more “manly” if you will, more independant.

Regardless of the age, the emotional scaring, whatever – this dude was over the top writerly speaking. I can appreciate the fact that those who read this 10 + years ago feel slighted, or confused, when the author speaks this way about her own creation – but I’m speaking as a writer who sees warts she ignored before. Or wasn’t even aware of. And frankly, at the time, I was being swayed by an editor who wanted more and more of this angst-ridden stuff that – in all honesty – makes my brain cringe now. I’m seeing weak dialog, overly-long situations and scenes, plenty of showing not telling.

As the creator, I do still love this piece. But as a writer, I can’t help but wince just a bit.

Continue reading “Friday chapter”

the odd side of normal

My New Year’s Eve was spent at my Mother’s house, playing cards and having dinner. My oldest sister has a massive party at her house – but my other sister and I just go to Mom’s and play cards with her and her husband and relax, enjoying a quiet evening. Partly because we don’t care for huge, loud crowds of people we barely know. But mostly because we’re never invited.This year was a bit odd. On Thanksgiving day, my mother’s twin sister died. And now, as of a few weeks ago, we all found out that my stepfather’s mother – who is 89 – is dying of cancer. My mother looks after her, having put her in a nice home only a few miles away. She drives there every day to give her mother-in-law her medicine and they take her out for trips and have her over for dinner every week and holidays. She’s frail, can’t hear a bloody thing, and shrank to about 4 foot 3 in the last several years.

She’s clueless to the fact that she has cancer, even though Mom made sure the doctor explained everything to her. And that’s fine – better to be clueless and happy, I say, at the age of 89. She thinks she’s 91.

Anywho – with all this going on lately, my sister and I were treated to a New Year’s Eve dinner conversation that went something like this:

Mom: “Well, Esther has her plot already, it’s beside her husband, but we picked out a coffin last week. It’s white with a pink lining, one level up from the cheapest, since they’re really expensive. Then we had to buy a liner.”

Me: “What’s a liner?”

Mom: “They line the grave with this metal box, then the coffin goes inside, and then the metal top is sealed over it.”

Me: “What in the hell is that for? Can you skip that bit?”

Mom: “No, it’s required now. And it’s nearly $1,000 on top of the coffin, which is $1,500. But her plot, when she bough it, was only $80.00. Can you believe that? Nowadays it would be over a grand. So her coffin has a pink lining–”

My Sister: “Hang on – did she die last night and you forgot to mention it?”

Mom: “No, she’s fine. The doctor has no idea how long she has, we’re just getting things ready.”

My Sister: “Oh.”

Mom: “She looks pretty in pink, so we went with the pink lining, and Joyce (her daughter – same name as my mother) liked the white coffin. Oh, and we’re not going to have a viewing. She isn’t going to be embalmed, which they do only for viewings, and we don’t want a viewing.”

Me: “I thought they embalmed everyone?”

Mom: “No, only if you want a viewing, because it’s a health concern. Decaying bodies and stuff. If you don’t embalm them, you can’t view them after 12 hours because they start giving off bacteria.”

My Sister: “So no embalming?”

Mom: “No. Besides it wears off after a few weeks, and you decay anyway, that’s what they told us.”

Me: “Well, ashes to ashes.”

Mom: “Oh, and Jerry can’t decide if he wants to be cremated or buried. But I’ve decided to be cremated and I want under my brother’s headstone. Jerry wants the space beside my brother.”

Me: “Well, Cindy and I want cremation, but we don’t care where we go. The back yard is fine.”

Mom: “Jerry is freaking out. He wants to be buried and he wants a headstone so everyone can come see him.”

Me: “I haven’t even visited Dad’s yet.”

Mom: “Well Jerry’s freaking out.”

Jerry: “I’m going to put your mother on the fire place.”

Mom: “You are NOT! Jerry, you’re putting me under my brother’s headstone. The girl’s father is under his father’s headstone next to his mother, who’s under it too.”

Jerry: “I’m going to put you on the fireplace, so I can talk to you.”

My Sister: “Don’t worry, Mom. If Jerry puts you on the fireplace, we’ll put Jerry IN the fireplace.”

Jerry: “I don’t want to be cremated.”

Me: “You’ll do what SHE wants, or we won’t do what YOU want.”

Mom: “Oh, and Jerry wants to be buried with Kaylee. So if the dog dies first, he wants to save her ashes. I think that’s ridiculous, but that’s what he wants.”

Me: “Okay, if the dog dies first, we’ll take Jerry out back and shoot him, then put them in the ground together.”

Mom: “Do you think the nursing home will clean her body if they find her dead, or will we have to?”

Happy New Year.

The downside of up

So I was taking down my Christmas lights today, freezing my fingers and toes and asking myself WHY on Earth I felt compelled to put them up in the first place.

Oh they were pretty, outdoors only because my cats like to light up the insides of their cheeks. In the back yard, I wrapped white lights around an umbrella trellis and then draped them along our pathway lights to brighten up the walk from the back door to the garage. Then on the side of the house, we have an archway with a lovely green climbing vine – which in the winter is nothing more than a massive twig puzzle. There I twined more white lights up one side, down the other, then up and over again. Visible from the side living room window, it was a delight to see for a few weeks.

Out front, the steps leading up to my front door, as well as the front porch, are lined with scrolling wrought iron. Lovely curves and turns were draped with colored lights, down along the base, then up the fancy scroll work, down the bannister, back up the bannister, up and over the doorway, twisting and twining along the other side of the iron work to light up the path to my door.

It was lovely. And all of them were on the same timer that turns on the light at our gate every dusk, shutting it off at dawn. I never had to go outside to plug them in or flip a switch. And at night, from inside the house, the glow of colored lights was delightful.

But that was then.

Christmas is over, and while I usually leave them up for New Year’s Eve, I have to go back to work on Wednesday and wouldn’t get outside to take them down until next Saturday, and that’s just too long. It’s a little tacky to have lights up for a holiday that’s passed, especially a week gone by.

So today I froze, swore, shivered and asked myself the same question I ask every year: Why did I do this? Snaking the lights through the twigs of the arch was pretty – but now my frozen fingers are having trouble getting those twisting little bastards out of the twigs, which are themselves twining around my hair as if holding me up out of support and assistance. Then there’s the wrought iron. It’s pretty to have the lights twisting in and out of the scroll work – but it’s hell to get them back OUT again! No longer fresh out of the box, the lights aren’t bunched up and easy to manipulate.

And you can forget carefully wrapping these puppies up again, making sure nothing gets tangled together. I’m so sick of the whole mess by the time they come down, we just jam them into big garbage bags for storage and toss them into the garage on a shelf. I figure by next December, I’ll be in a happy holiday-anticipating mood and won’t mind sitting down for an hour untangling the buggers.

It’s time to put 2007 away. Time to get 2008 prepped and ready to go. I’ve got the Penman Shipwreck to look forward to, a new novel Ether I’m excited to start, two competitors I have to beat and loads and loads of writerly discussion to engage in with my fellow writerly persons.

And what the hell, let’s call this the year I get an agent! Sure, I called last year the year I get an agent, but that didn’t work – so nevermind 2007. Let’s focus on 2008, shall we? If my urologist was right, I should be due for another kidney stone in 2008, so let’s balance that out with an agent, a 3-book deal, and a great publisher who pays me loads in advance money. Oh, and while I’m putting in my wants, I’d like those contracts to earn out and put me in the royalty club 😀

Okie dokie?

So forget resolutions, forget diets you’ll abandon in February and excercise routines that will last three weeks. Forget end-of-holiday depressions and cookie-guilt. Tell me – what is 2008 going to bring for you?

Another friday chapter

Okay, the disclaimer this week is the fact that I didn’t read over this one before putting it up here – it’s too embarassing. Yes yes, ten years ago – learning experience – grown as a writer. Aw hell, what can I say? I was a fan of my own self at the time, so sue me! Now I shall shuffle off and work on my notes for the Penman Shipwreck new novel Ether, which is a far cry better than this thing!

Chapter 8 this time, for those of you still playing along . . .

Continue reading “Another friday chapter”

epiphany

I haz one.

So for Christmas Eve, I got not one, but two rejections in the mail. One was form – the usual. But one was from an agent who had asked for the first 3 chapters – had them for 4 months – then rejected. Yes, she had nice things to say – writing was strong, held over after initial favorable reading – yada yada yada. But a No is still a No.

And it was a No.

I’m bummed. To say I’m not would be a lie. She was a legit agent, very good sales record, and I was really holding out some hope. But alas . . . Well I still have several fishing lures in the water, so all is not lost (yet). And to keep my brain off the depression I’m prepping for the Penman Shipwreck. I was initially excited about Ether, then after giving the story idea more consideration, I realized it wasn’t going to work.

And then, one foggy Christmas Eve 😀 I was drifting to sleep Christmas Eve and had an epiphany. There are minor details still to be worked out, but I know where Ether needs to go in order to work, and I know enough to get it started in January, on the 1st, as my Penman Shipwreck novel. Plenty of time to work out the few kinks still there, because I can see it all clearly and beatifully. And writing by hand will give me more time to think than I’m used to.

So while I’m depressed, I’m also happy.

Such is the life of a writer !

merry Christmas to all! And to all, a Good Night.

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, ‘Fear not: for behold, I bring unto you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the City of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.’ And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God, and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all, a good night.

a festivus miracle!

Okay, for Festivus, you get two – yes, 2 – chapters. It’s getting more and more embarassing. This has a return of Emo Kid Syndrome, and all manner of smarmy crap that causes my eyes to roll in memory. Reading this now, as I scan quickly for grammar booboos and typo gremlins, makes me ashamed of how I used to write – but also proud that I’ve grown SO much from this point. 

 It’s really something, looking back on a period of your writing life and realizing how different you are now. How you’ve grown, stretched your abilities and your talents. 

I do give this novel credit, though, for having been a launching pad into bigger and better things. And I will always appreciate the “story” I created here. The world, the general idea, and if you can see past the stupid stuff, there’s plot and twists and what I thought at the time were very clever methods of resolution.

So here are Chapters 6 and 7. Read at your own risk, avoid sugary sweets afterwards and cleanse your pallet with something intelligent 😀

Continue reading “a festivus miracle!”

the penman shipwreck

For any of you living in a cave, or who have been ignoring much of what I say on my blog, here’s a little reminder. The First Evah Penman Shipwreck is about to launch ! In this contest, we’re stepping away from our computers and writing a novel by hand, the old fashioned way, like God and Ernest Hemingway intended. From January 1st to January 31st, we’re writing our novels down on paper using pens (or pencils, if you’re an eraser freak). Then, at the end of the month, we’re mailing our notebooks / papers / napkins to Lori – who is judging this contest – and she’ll determine the winner.

There’s still time, if you want to sign up. Run over to the Penman Shipwreck section of Castle Debacle, read up on it real quick (I used small words) and email one of us. You’ll have the time of your life, I swear.

Why on Earth would someone be so silly as to write with Pen and Paper, you ask? Well, I’ll tell you why.

Because.

Because it’s a natural method of writing. Because it’s how all the greats did it. Because you haven’t done it in years and years and you need to get back to the roots of writing and become one with the ghosts of the masters. I’ll tell you why I’m doing it. It could get sappy, so skip to the end if you don’t care.

Not long ago, Pete was talking about handwriting, and his growing disdain for writing solely on the computer. He was waxing philosophic about the tactile process of writing by hand, how he’d taught himself stamina and technique, and improved over the months and years. His talk made me long for the days when that was all I had – pen and paper – having come upon computers in my early 30’s. I remembered long, amazing summer nights sitting in bed with a small lamp illuminating my notebook, my hand cramping up holding that pen so tightly because I was too excited about the words flowing out to stop and go to bed. The smell of ink penetrating my nostrils, the sound of the pen moving over the paper, even the weight and feel of that notebook in my hands.

See, I’d stopped writing by hand long ago, when I discovered the joys of my own PC and began writing fanfiction, then left that and started writing my own work. Years after that, I had elbow surgery and couldn’t really hold a pen for longer than a few minutes. But that’s old news, I’ve mentioned it before and how the PT told me there was no reason why I couldn’t retrain myself and use pens again with comfort.

Which is why I’m gonna go for it. I purchased a very nice pen that’s easy on the hand, found some web sites that help teach you better handwriting and techniques to cure bad habits. I’m giddy with the thought of writing my new novel Ether in this big 5-subject notebook. Sure, I’m going to be transcribing it into the computer as I go, since you do need breaks during handwriting. But I feel like a geek at a Star Trek convention!  Shopping for Pens was a joy. And notebooks – I’m going joyfully nuts over notebooks.

There’s something primal about a leather-bound notebook, and writing in it. Remember that one Indiana Jones with his dad? Remember that old journal he had, with all the maps and notes and researched information in it? I couldn’t take my eyes off that thing. Every time one of them whipped that puppy out I was enthralled. The idea of carrying around a leather bound journal with notes and ideas and quickly jotted-down thoughts gave me happy-shivers !

Cath once made me two notebooks, they’re delightful. And I’ve recently discovered the plethora of leather bound notebooks and journals that Barnes & Noble sells. I’m not sure I can describe it, really, but something about sitting outdoors with a journal and a pen, and writing words in a novel, or notes and ideas that just popped into my head – something about that makes me feel closer to those greats. Ernest Hemingway, Samuel Clements, the poets like Keats and Shelley, and just about every writer you can think of who penned their novels literally using pens. It’s a tactile thing. Almost a reverence, if you will.

I’m aware how different it will be, writing by hand versus writing by computer. I’ll be slower, perhaps somewhat frustrated in sections, angry at my penmanship early on, and disgusted at the lack of spell check or the delete button. But I’m also confident this will give me a new insight into writing, make my brain work a bit differently, cause me to be more considerate of words used and give me time to really contemplate what’s ahead.

I’ll have to stop frequently to rub Aspircream into my hand, and work out any kinks. I’m confident, also, that I will lose the word count contest, probably to Pete, but that doesn’t matter. What matters to me is relearning how to write by hand. Regaining a confidence in using a pen, and losing my fear of long sessions with a notebook and a dictionary.

This is one of my Mount Everests, and I’m excited to be starting the climb soon. I’m excited to be carrying around a big 5-subject notebook, and my new pen in its lovely green case. I’m excited about leather journals and notes I can jot down, with little maps and things no one else will have to see (until I’m famous and they’re published as a collection of works by the Great Author). I’m excited about what this will teach me, how it will change my ways of thinking and writing. And I’m excited that it has inspired others.

I know Ed isn’t joining the competition this time around, sadly, but I’ve heard him say he’s inspired to return to Journaling again. I wish Mary could play, but she’s busy prepping some queries and working hard to finish a novel – we’ll get her next time. I’ve heard many rumblings and wistful memories spoken of a desire to return to handwriting, and I’m sure that’s making Pete smile really wide. I am too.

I’m so excited, I spent the better part of yesterday writing Pete a handwritten letter, and will hopefully conclude that today and get it mailed to him.

The Penman Shipwreck – a return to innocence, a nod to the masters, and a freakin’ good time to be had by all.

Hump-day Chapter, eh?

Well, I posted my intelligent (or not) post at Castle Debacle  so I figured I’d post Chapter 5 here today.  The disclaimer dejoir would be to watch out for falling em dashes!  I was in love with those things in my early, formative years. I also had this habit of writing dialog, then action, then dialog – as a way to avoid dialog tags – but while doing so I constantly broke a grammar rule of punctuation. It was becoming my own little trait, but it was hammered out of me with a large, heavy hammer-like thing by someone who was editing me – using hammers. But that didn’t break my love of the em dash, by golly!  I try very hard to use it sparingly in my current writing, and I’m far more aware of it and the need (as well as lack of need) for the thing.

 So, anyone wondering when “it” was going to happen – Here it is:

Continue reading “Hump-day Chapter, eh?”

5 weird things

Five weird facts – since Ed tagged Pete and Carrie, and Pete tagged Lori and I, here you go:

1) I was born on April Fools Day, was an “accident” and my parents were hoping for a boy, and were going to name me Michael. Not really weird, I guess, but I use it as an excuse whenever necessary.

2) I have a furniture fetish – I LOVE shopping for furniture and planning rooms. I can’t BUY much furniture, because my house is quite small and fully furnished, but I love to wander around furniture stores and imagine whole new ways to decorate my rooms.

3) I don’t use credit cards. I used to, but then my sister developed an issue with them and we had to both go cold turkey in order to break that cycle. We paid them all off and we use cash only for everything now. Except the cars, and the house. That’s what credit was invented for – houses and cars – not sweaters or a nice pair of leather boots. And don’t let people tell you that plastic is necessary to keep your credit score – that’s bullshit. If you have a mortgage and make monthly payments to utilities and things like cable TV, there’s your credit score right there, my friend. Credit cards are a corporate conspiracy to enslave the human race in debt. /soapbox.

4) My SAT’s came back with a recommendation that I study languages in college and pursue a career in literature and the arts. So I signed up for every science class there was, knowing that’s where the smart money lay, and went into the Veterinary Medicine field. *sigh*

And finally:

5) I’ve been waiting anxiously for today to arrive, because The Mod Squad, Season 1, is out on DVD and I’m rushing off after work to purchase it, so I can relive my very first ever crush on a guy.

And there you have it. It all sounds pretty pathetic written down, and I hope none of this makes it into my Legacy as a writer, that will live in infamy. Or be infamous.

Or inflammatory.