Refocus and Weekend of Until Next Time

Short and sweet. I've gotten a little off track in my thinking about this blog. It doesn't have to be just about writing. It's about all aspects of life, specifically what I experience, express, and learn. And those things are shared through the unique medium of story, whether fictional or not, creative writing or just the facts, ma'am. I've forgotten this and got overly stressed about reaching a weekly "quota" of posts or figured I had to hit the mark with something that's "writerly."

What I've forgotten is I'm not the author of my own story. Sure I take actions, and I am a character, but I would need too many drafts to get it right if all the plotting and cast and setting and pacing and...everything...were up to me. I just have to determine my goal, and I can change it as I need to. So, new goal: don't stress, enjoy the adventure that is life, take it as it comes, try not to lose sight of the big picture, try not to take over the big picture.

In light of that, this weekend is kind of going to stink. My brother and sister in law are packing it all up and moving. I think we've gotten pretty close in the last couple years or so. We're bound by blood relation, but also by camaraderie and friendship. Now, for one year, that bond will have to be held by Facebook, email, and gmail video chat. It just won't be the same as the sanctuary Jessie always offered me to rest in her comfortable abode when I want to cry and Lucy vies for my attention. ::sigh::  In a way, it will be one less group to help, but I think their presence helped me as much as I helped them with little things like the few times I babysat or was chauffeur. And that sanctuary that I used more than once, that to me was desperately needed and priceless.

My dear Norman and Jessie and Lucy, I'm going to miss you, no two ways about it.

...Until next time...

{phfr} - Writer's Edition

I wanted to put a writer's twist on {phfr} since I'm not really a homemaker (maybe someday), but I was a little short on creative material (as a writer, I haven't done much that's docu-photo worthy) so I offer you this and hope my off-kilter {funny} allows you a smile or perhaps even a chuckle. Have fun!

{pretty}

As one who understands reality through fiction/story, this is perfect. This decoration was a gift and happily hangs under a writing award of sorts and over my desk, which I hope to return to using for writing...after I clear it off...again. Ah well.

{happy}

Happy that I wrote a short story specifically for this blog and it's now available for reading, complete with its own tab (which has a link back to the original posting, should anyone wish to add comments) to make it easy to always find.

{funny}

This picture was shamefully staged (no one was around and I was still embarrassed) and has nothing to do with writing except that I am a writer and this is a roundabout intro, quite possibly only sensible in my oddly-connecting thought patterns, to my recent whimsical idea: I wouldn't mind if Adam Young asked me to dance. I know, I know. You're probably thinking I'm a silly school girl with a silly celebrity crush...and you might be close to right, but not quite. One, I am no longer in school, and two, I'm not yet to crush point (but if I get there it would be my first celebrity crush and he's a Christian and a real person [not to be elevated to god-status], so a little crush wouldn't be a bad thing). Right now I just think if Owl City came to Oklahoma and Adam Young decided to ask me to dance...well, I wouldn't mind.

{real}

Laptop collection! I have two currently, and hopefully a third soon on its way—the third will be the first one owned new. On the left is my old Apple, The Three-Legged Horse, a school auction bargain and a good computer even still, but not suited to my needs now. On the right is my old Dell, Smalls (have you seen "The Sandlot"?), a garage sale deal and a grand one at that but now no longer fast enough for my needs (also, I've dropped it a time or two, but this only added battle scars to the casing and hasn't harmed the machine itself). Both computers were affectionately, though earnestly, named. I wonder what the new one will be called? And if you're wondering, yes this picture was staged...but only a little.

New Step in the Adventure

Should I tell you I'm excited or should I show you? The writer in me says, "Show."

I'm gearing up to embark on another step in the adventures of life and storydom. (I know that's not a real word.) I've wanted to teach and encourage other, particularly younger, writers since before I graduated. Now I'm given the opportunity to do just that.

I was asked to tutor a girl I know and have previously talked with about her story. We'll be using a program called One Year Adventure Novel next school year. All the materials have been provided, I just have to check them out, see what my soon to be pupil has come up with for her story, and set up the meeting times. For the second time, I get to teach during a school year (and for the first time, I will not also be taking classes...maybe). And I get to teach and build someone up in my area of study: story!

I've written novels before, so I know what the process is like, and hopefully I can now use that for my budding writer's benefit. I will be doing exactly what I hoped to do with my degree. In addition to writing and editing my work, I get to tutor, teach, and encourage.

I couldn't have planned it better myself. I wouldn't have known where to start. Owl City was right; dreams don't turn to dust.

Short Story - Garrett's Girls

Garrett’s Girls

by

Dorathea Maynard

A sixty-year-old hand clapped Garrett’s shoulder.
Garrett didn’t turn from the freshly filled grave to look at his younger brother. He looked up into the trees, trying to hear the birds chirping on the hot Saturday afternoon. A storm was building on the horizon. The weathermen had predicted it would arrive after one in the morning.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Jimmy, said.
I should have been with her, Garrett thought. I should be with her now.
“You couldn’t have known Crystal would have a heart attack.”
Sweat dripped down a wrinkle on Garrett’s face and he shrugged Jimmy’s hand off.
Jimmy shuffled, backing up a step. “Okay.”
Garrett turned and looked at his baby brother’s brown hair, now almost all gray. “When did we get old, Jimmy?”
Jimmy smiled sadly, his eyes crinkling. “We didn’t do it on purpose. I think it snuck up on us.”
Looking into his brother’s eyes, Garrett saw an old, old man. “Do I look as bad as you?”
Jimmy’s smile grew. “You’ve got eight years on me. You look ten times worse.”
For one moment Garrett smiled, then he turned back to the dirt mound on his wife’s grave. “I can’t go on without her, Jim. Next year we would have celebrated fifty years. She wasn’t even old yet and as pretty as the day we wed.”
Silence filled the open sky and Garrett blinked back tears.
“Come on. I’ll take you home. Candace has dinner waiting, and I’m sure your grandkids want to see you.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Well, you can’t stay out here in this heat.”
Maybe I can. He didn’t move.
Jimmy sighed. “Garrett, staying won’t bring Crystal back.”
Maybe not. But if he stood in the scorching sun long enough, he might join her.
“Let’s go, Garrett. I can bring you back tomorrow.”
Garrett rubbed his wrinkled face with hands that weren’t as strong as they used to be. He stared at the fresh dirt. “No, Jimmy. I won’t need to come back tomorrow.”
Jimmy directed Garrett back to the sedan. “How long are your kids in town?”
“Candace and the kids are staying for another week. Doug has to head back after the weekend to get back to work.”
Jimmy nodded and unlocked the car doors. He slid into the driver seat and started the engine.
Silently promising Crystal that he wouldn’t be long, Garrett grabbed the handle and eased onto the leather seat.
At the house, the table was set for six, but there were chairs for seven. Crystal’s seat waited for its owner who would never return.
Garrett almost left at the sight, but Candace wiped her hands on her dark apron and wrapped him in a hug. “Hi, Daddy.”
He returned the hug and petted her silken blond braid, but couldn’t make his tongue respond. Candace guided him by his shoulders to his chair at the table, irritating his pride, but he said nothing.
Candace’s dark-haired girls, four and five year old Samantha and Danielle, filed silently into their chairs, sitting high enough at the table only because of the phone books on their seats.
Doug busied his hands with filling everyone’s plates with the steak and mixed vegetables. Once all the plates were passed around, he busied his napkin with wiping the food out of his sandy beard.
Candace kept her eyes lowered. Once or twice Jimmy tried to strike up a conversation about the kids’ spouses or work or lives. He received quiet, short answers that didn’t lead anywhere. When he turned to Danielle and Samantha, even they weren’t talkative.
Garrett pushed his food around on his plate.
Crystal should have been there. Her soft smile would have brightened anything. She always knew exactly what to say to start family conversations. She had a secure gentleness that put everyone at ease.
One of the lights above the table burned out, dimming the room.
Danielle sniffed.
Candace turned to her. “Honey? Are you okay?”
Danielle looked up at her mom, tears brimming in her bright blue eyes. Her chin quivered and she looked at Garrett, her wide eyes asking him to bring Grannma back.
A knife twisted in Garrett’s heart. Grannpap couldn’t fix this problem. He couldn’t stop his own hurt.
Samantha wiped her nose, not looking up.
Candace beckoned to her girls and held them in her arms.
Garrett scooted his chair back, scraping the feet on the linoleum.
Five pairs of eyes turned to look at him.
His chest was empty, like someone had ripped his heart out. He stood and escaped their painfully compassionate gazes to his room as quickly as his old hips would allow and locked the door.
That night, Garrett stayed in bed until well after Doug turned off the TV and the soft sounds of crying upstairs quieted. Jimmy had come to the door earlier, but when Garrett didn’t answer, he left for home. Everyone was asleep.
The wind blew against the house and rustled in the trees outside.
Garrett checked the clock.  It read 1:37.
He slid out from under the covers of his double bed and reached to his bedside table, nearly knocking over the old picture frame with his and Crystal's wedding portrait. He picked up the picture and pulled out a .22 pistol from the drawer.
That’s all it would take. One quick shot to the brain at point blank range. Then he would go see Crystal. He wouldn’t have to live another day without her. The pain that threatened to smother him would stop.
Thunder crashed and the rain began. It pattered against the bedroom windows and ran the panes’ length in streaks.
He cradled the gun. The clock flicked another minute. He turned to the tidy, empty half of the bed. Someone had made it earlier and he hadn’t been able to bring himself to fold the covers back.
Another roll of thunder filled the room.
He could time the lightning and his family might not even hear the gunshot.
Why had the worst happened? There had been no warning. He hadn’t even been nearby to call for help. Of all the worthless things, he had driven down to the pharmacy to pick up one of her prescriptions. When he got home he found her already dead, collapsed on the living room floor, duster nearby, her silver hair wrapped in a floral handkerchief.
A tear splashed his arm. He hadn’t even noticed he couldn’t see. He cleared his throat and set the photograph down to wipe his eyes. The pistol remained in his other hand. He stared at its shape in the dark room.
The minute on the clock shifted again.
Thunder rumbled long and low, reaching the windows and rattling them.
Garrett sighed. He was a coward. He couldn’t face living without Crystal, but he wasn’t sure he could pull the trigger, either.
He stared at the picture again, soaking in every tempting curve, every silky curl, every soft feature. Her silly grin from that day hadn’t dimmed over the years. She had always been there for him through everything.  Their financial hardships, colicky children, the miscarriage, storms, broken bones, lost jobs, everything. She had been the support he needed, and he had done his best to comfort her.
“I miss you,” he sobbed.
Lightning flashed, followed by a loud thunderclap.
He set his jaw and raised the pistol to his head. “I can’t live without you, Crystal.”
The rain danced on the windows.
Tears streamed down Garrett’s face.
“I’m coming.”
A bright explosion shook the house, nearly deafening Garrett. He froze.
The bedroom door crashed in and a dark bundle with long hair dashed to his side bouncing the mattress. Tiny warm hands wrapped around his waist.
Garrett looked down at the top of Danielle’s dark head and released his breath.
His granddaughter was quivering.
He set the gun in the still open side drawer and wrapped his arms around her. “What’s this? What are you doing up?”
“I’m scared, Grannpap.”
“Why? It’s just a little thunder.”
“It’s so loud.”
Another clap of thunder shook the house and she clung tighter.
Seconds later, Samantha came crashing into the room and landed in Garrett’s lap.
He held his girls close, shushing them, trying to speak softly, but they wouldn’t leave.
“Don’t go, Granp,” Samantha said.
Garrett twitched in surprise. “What do you mean, Samantha?”
Danielle piped up, “You won’t leave us, will you?”
The hollow in his chest weighed him down.
“Mommy says you’re very sad,” Danielle’s muffled voice came from his side. “And you might not want to stay here anymore.”
Garrett cocked his eyebrow. Candace was a little too smart for his good.
Samantha snuggled closer. “When will the thunder stop?”
Garrett sighed. The warmth of his two granddaughters soothed his aching heart.
“Please, can we stay with you tonight, Grannpap?” Danielle asked.
He looked at her.
Her blue eyes shone even in the dim room.
He glanced at the pistol and sighed.
Samantha pinched his stomach with her worried fingers. “Please let us stay, Granp.”
“Please, Grannpap?”
The rain let up and a wave of rolling thunder washed through the house.
Garrett sighed again. Not tonight, Crystal. I guess I’m still needed here.
Danielle wasn’t shaking anymore but she held on just as tight. Samantha was already asleep against his stomach.
“All right. You can stay. I’m not going anywhere.”
Danielle let go and crawled under the covers.
Garrett shifted the sleeping Samantha who stirred enough to nuzzle his arm and curl up where he set her on the bed. Both girls spent the night resting a hand or head on their Grannpap.
And Grannpap closed the drawer on his side table and set the wedding picture back up in front of the clock without checking the time.

The LORD is close to the brokenhearted

and saves those who are crushed in spirit.

-Psalm 34:18

The Secret to a Good Pudding Cup

Yawn. Short post tonight. It's been a long day, but a good one. My publisher says I've struck gold with my latest Johnson Clifton book. Hayley was the secret. She's so much fun. But I won't spoil anything for you. You can read all about it as soon as the book is released.

Until then, I will tell you the secret to a good pudding cup. Get a plain vanilla cup, none of this mixing colors going on, open it, stir it up, and add a spoonful of peanut butter to the top. Creamy or crunchy, whichever you like. Or, if you're in a sullen mood (peanut butter is for good mood celebration times), add a palm full of chocolate chips, you know, the kind for baking cookies. Mix those in or leave them on the top.

Mmm. It's almost as good as strawberry ice cream.


Keep it real...unless you prefer fiction.
~Heather Bliss~

Growing in Beauty - Old Blog New

After more than a year of inactivity, I am taking a new look at the world with Uluwehi, my old blog.  Beauty has been on my mind and heart, and at Uluwehi I hope to share with you my thoughts and experiences on the reality of beauty—both of the world we live in and of women—not to-do lists that anyone has to live up to.  I write Uluwehi with the hope that it will be a place of encouragement.

Gentlemen, you can read this blog and join the conversation.  It might grant you a better insight into the hearts of women (it's not impossible).  Ladies, Uluwehi is written with you in mind.  I've met women who didn't think they were even pretty, who thought their form of beauty wasn't enough, who were afraid of being overlooked, who would rather stay hidden, and more.  I'm one of them.  So I come at this blog in an effort to correct my thinking to the truth and to share it with you.  We don't have to be Megan Fox in order to be absolutely stunning beautiful.  You are beautiful.  You may or may not think so, but you are.

Obviously I am not the ultimate say in the matter of beauty, but I hope to look to the One Who is as I write Uluwehi and as I live life.  I will be imperfect.  Though I will always put effort into writing with clarity, I may not always succeed.  I don't even know if the blog will be of any help or not, but I think this is important, so I will try.

I've added a link to Uluwehi in the sidebar under "There's More Here" and you can click this link to jump directly to yesterday's post renewing the blog.

{phfr}

{Pretty}

I bought this claddagh at the local medieval faire this year as a "class ring."  This picture was taken before I had it engraved (though if you could see the engraving, that could work as {real} since they engraved it upside down), and was used in my graduation invitations designed by Vaughan's Ink.


{Happy}


This...was a long time ago, but oh so happy.  I really should make it again.  I got the recipe for this apple crisp at StartCooking.com.  Such a great site.


{Funny}


Once again, my niece is the star.  She found our Christmas tree decorations that were still out and about and brought them over, so I put them on my ears to be silly.  But "Ah-Die" (Aunt Dotty) was happy to be imitated when Lucy asked for the ornaments to be put on her ears.  Then, in her adorable high voice, she said, "Take picture," and posed while you can believe I took several.

{Real}

I am not always serious.  And we like blankets in our house.

Behind the Goal

A story begins with two things.  It needs four or six things (depending on how you like to count).
1) A protagonist,
2) an antagonist (who can be a villian),
3) directly conflicting goals between the two characters,
4) and motivation for them both.
Here's why.

I recently wrote a short story that went through a lot of revamping and rethinking before I got very far. My main character, Valerie, started out as a bounty hunter almost in a corner, choosing to fight instead of run. But she didn't care if she lived beyond the battle.

Um... No.

That is a weak, inactive protagonist. Not interesting to read (and a pain to write if you want to make the story go anywhere). My flaw was pointed out to me (I'm looking forward to the day I catch on quicker—or just stop making this error), and I rethought.

Okay, so Valerie wasn't who I thought she was. So who was she?

She needed a goal, yes, but she had that. Survival. It just wasn't strong enough. But wait, survival can be a very strong goal. What was missing? Motivation. She needed a reason to want to live. She needed a reason to want to take out the man hunting her.

This was my "Aha" moment. Or, if you prefer.

She needed a motivation behind her goal. That's not something I've heard explained much in my writing classes—at least, not in that wording. But it's one of the most necessary aspects of a protagonist, or any developed character. The why behind the what. And the answer? It had to do with a relationship. Relationships are always on the line in a story, the only question is which one. Then why that one. And, of course, how. Once you answer those questions, you're rolling.

I answered them. I answered the why she needed to survive with two relationships. A boyfriend. And his daughter. (It just became more interesting in your imagination, didn't it?) The answer to why those two relationships and how they're on the line has to do with the antagonist's goal and motivation. See how it all ties together? Before my eyes (...okay, twas all in my planning head) the story was building in strength. I had a goal with motivation for my protagonist and had further developed the direct conflict of goals with my antagonist/villian.

Now the story had heart. There was purpose to Valerie's actions. She had a reason to care enough to pursue her goal, and pursue it she did. Ta da.

So, a story needs...
1) a protagonist
2) with a [strong] goal
3) that's backed up by [deep] motivation,
4) and an antagonist/villian
5) with a [strong] opposing goal
6) that is also backed up by [deep] motivation.
Now you know why.
 

It's Another Mezcla Day

If you've ordered pizza online you've seen the little additional comments window.  Well, with a little inspiration from the interwebs, I decided to have a little fun and experiment.

I ordered three pizzas and asked them to draw a rocket.  The fun part is interpretation is up to the folks boxing up the pizzas.  I figured a rocket would be a good experiment to see what they would do.  Nothing too crazy, though next time I might get a bit more inventive.  We'll see.  Here's what I got:




I know it's kinda lame, but fun, just the same.

~~~~~


I have now been to the ER two times, neither time was I the patient.  I would like to not go a third, as patient or friend or family of the patient.  However, I am glad that I took a first aid, CPR, AED certification class a couple weeks ago.  Here's hoping I won't need any part of it ever again!

~~~~~

Flowers are a nice thing to have in the house.  A friend dropped by with three white daisies, which are now in a small vase in the living room for everyone to enjoy.  A lovely gift anytime.

~~~~~

I took the week off from reading and writing blog stuffs, Twitter, and Facebook.  I'd caught myself on them (particularly FB) far too often for far too long without reaping benefits (or giving them, either).  So, this addict stepped back for a time, and it was nice.  I need to always remember that as fun and handy as social media can be, they are not, in fact, life.  Balance, as with everything, is important.

~~~~~

This blog post is possibly the hardest thing I've ever had to format.  I managed to get the separation tildes in the center twice without aligning all my text with them, and now they have completely flummoxed me.  I have no idea how I did it before.

~~~~~

Last, and not least, if you're in the area:
Free admission. Come and see beautiful dance today.

Southside Christian Dance Recital 2011
6pm, June 4th
Hillsdale Free Will Baptist College

3701 S. Service Rd.

Moore, Oklahoma

This is one of the highlights of my life every year.
 

A Quick Look At Writing Techniques

We all know when we like something in a story, and when something doesn't sit right with us.  But do we always know why?  I'm taking a look at novels and looking specifically at how the writing techniques are applied.  My goal is to learn from published authors in order to improve my own story writing.  The technique of this post is character introduction.

       Character introduction is critical to hooking readers...and it's something I struggle with.  I've recently had a refresher lesson on character introductions, and I thought I could learn something from my look at The Path of the Fury.  Specifically I looked at the methods used to introduce the Fury and Alicia, two main characters in this novel.

       For the Fury, we have a prologue which largely uses habitat to introduce a nameless "she."  It gets the idea across, but it's not reader friendly.

       For starters, who is "she"?  As a reader, without that all-important name tag, I have nothing to hang onto.  I can barely see a murky black smokiness, but that's not really helpful.  We could be in the emptiness of space, among the stars.  We could be in a non-physical realm.  She's clearly not human, so what kind of alien is she?  She's the first character we meet, assuming we read the prologue, so is she the protagonist?  What are we dealing with here?  The blankness is too blank.  Give me something to go on.

       The prologue introduction shows we have a truly alien setting, but it's one that I personally cannot imagine well.

       It is effective with the emotional reaction—the confusion of suddenly missing a group and the loneliness that follows.  But even that is hard to grasp without knowing more about this group that "she" was a part of.

       Alicia's introduction is actually similar to the Fury's, though it works better since it uses some characteristic entry action (an action that flows from a character's personality and reveals a trait [bold, quirky, fearful, etc.] about the character, used in this case to introduce the character to the story, but the action does not have to be limited to the introducing moment).

       Once again, we have the nameless "she."  Is this the same "she" as from the prologue?  This she has hair, a face, and eyes and interacts with a physical world, so probably not, but it's not clarified (for all I knew the Fury was capable of that and just hadn't at the moment of her introduction).

       Also I'd like to know what the "tick" is that pulses within Alicia.  Without more details, that could mean too many different things to be helpful as a specific introduction tool this early on.

       But Alicia's action takes off and we see some of her character.  She is calculating, collected, and capable.  It tends to suggest either she's something of a robot—though maybe not since she has a brother—or she's hardened by battle, training, or some sort of harsh times.  This works better to whet my appetite to know more about her.  But I still wish I knew her name at this point.  I don't want to be surprised by the identity of the protagonist; I want to see the world through her eyes.

       And there is a lot of reminding the reader about her eyes.  They are green—jade to be specific.  Why should that be emphasized over and over and over?  It takes me out of her point-of-view and makes me see it as Dorathea outside of the story, watching a movie instead of allowing the closer connection to a protagonist that a novel should offer.

       So, how do I compare?  I practically open with a name, but instead of picking a main characteristic and using entry action to emphasize it, I tend to use physical description dumps, stopping my story without enough life to be memorable.  I forget that, like a stage play, everything should be exaggerated in order to convey the idea clearly to the audience in the back of the auditorium (my readers).

       Also, I'm not good with imagery and similies.  I fear overemphasizing the wrong characteristic (I need to choose a strategy) or offering the wrong dominant impression because I described it in a strange way.

       So, obviously I could use some work, and since looking at The Path of the Fury I've been more careful and deliberate in my introductions.  To keep getting better I could use a list of metaphors and similies, familiar and new, sensible and off-the-wall.  Maybe that would get the wheels in my head turning so I can capture the most appropriate entry action to introduce my characters with effective dominant impressions.  Also, I can look at how characteristic entry action is used for protagonists in several books and compare them to get a better idea of what other writers have done.

       What about you?  Do you have tricks, tips, or troubles introducing your characters?  Do certain methods employed by other writers confuse you?  Or have you read vivid introductions?  What have you seen that works, and what's not as strong as it could be?

{phfr} Graduation Style

Had to, had to, had to post this for {phfr} though it has essentially nothing to do with domesticity.

Pretty

I know, it's flowers...flowers are pretty.  My best friend's brother (my adoptive brother) gave me this as a surprise after my graduation from OU and made me feel special.



Happy

My niece, Lucy, was a bit overwhelmed by all the people and noise and a wee bit tired, but I got my hug and later she and I danced.



Funny

My badge of honor at my party, given and improved by my sister-in-law, Jessie.  She also painted my graduation cap of awesomeness below.



I received several compliments for my Tangled cap, and friends and family were able to find me!  She So Crafty eyeballed the star for me.



This really happened, it wasn't a dream...This really happened, it wasn't a dream...


My published friend and fellow graduate, Jaimie Krycho.



My published friend and fellow graduate, Jelani Sims (left), and my published teacher and mentor for the last two years, Mel Odom (center).

Graduation

Five years of study
And eighteen before
Culminate in one night
And one afternoon of glore

Now I leave these walls
Lined with brick and book
In search of my dream
I know I'll find when I look

I move on, ambitious
You've taught me well
My teachers, my mentors
Now I navigate the seaside swell

Fiction is my realm
Yet real my tale
Story is our mirror
Of life behind the veil

Looking Into Self Publishing?

I'm in the midst of my 180 degree turn around.  I'm starting to see the value and potential of it, and considering it for myself.

Rebecca Knight offers her thoughts and insights on Self or Indie Publishing.  It might not be the end of the writing world after all.

If Belle's Library Were Mine, I'd Probably Never Leave

You cannot ask me to go to the library without picking something up for fun.  It just won't happen, not if I have all of five minutes (and haven't somehow left my library card behind).

This week, I went to the library and left with two books for fun.  I was really trying to limit myself (well, I do have a half dozen books I bought after Christmas that I've been waiting to read for over three months).  This week's winners, hailing from the teen section, are The Cloud Chamber by Joyce Maynard and The Lost Years of Merlin by T. A. Barrow.

I was just browsing the shelf, not looking for anything in particular, and I thought, "Hey, I wonder what would be around where my books will (eventually) be shelved?"  And that's when I saw a familiar name.  My own.  Maynard.  But I don't know who Joyce is.  Still, long lost cousin or not, the writeup on her novel sounded interesting.  It sounds like a mystery.  Young Nate is juggling many (pre)teenagery things: baseball tryouts, a science fair project, tree house plans, and a girl who likes him.  But even with all that swimming in his mind, he can't get his mind off of the day he came home to the police surrounding his house, his dad bleeding and arrested, and his mom shivering.  And that's what I got from the back and inside covers.  Sounds like a fun summer read.

Merlin, I picked up because I didn't want to only take a book that bears my name.  I know that sounds silly, but it's true.  I took it home, though, because it also sounded interesting.  Merlin when he was young; who knows what kind of mischief and cool things he could have gotten into?  Also, I've recently seen the first episode of Merlin, which plays off of the same thing.  So, yes, I was intrigued by the different take.

I love libraries.  Now if I can just make sure I have time to read.

Pretty, Happy, Funny, Real ~ Thanks to Like Mother, Like Daughter



From my friends' house. When I watered their
flowers, these bloomed for me.



Have you seen Like Mother, Like Daughter?  Tis a grand blog.  Auntie Leila was a big help to me when I had to take over the care of a household.  Her down-to-earth but kind advice and wisdom are usually directed toward women who have small children and babies to take care of and not enough time for a shower, but it helped me, too, a twenty-something college student taking over her ill mother's around-the-house jobs.  Auntie Leila is truly a blessing.



And she's recently started this, Pretty, Happy, Funny, Real series, another encouragement to me.  Things at home haven't gotten any easier, and honestly I fall behind on a lot of things.  As such, it's harder to see the pretty that's around the house, and I appreciate the photos and the idea behind them.  We all have those pretty, happy, funny, and most certainly real moments.  Sharing is part of the fun, and it's encouraging.  My situation may be a little different than the target audience for Auntie Leila's blog, but I know I'm not alone.



A winter meal that made everyone's tastebuds and tummies happy, and I was learning that, yes, I can cook.



I may or may not be able to participate and contribute anything (worthwhile) to the {phfr} posts, but now, at least I'll be looking to recognize those moments in my life.  I'll get to enjoy others' moments caught on camera, and I'll look for my own, even if I can't catch them in a non-blurry photo.  What's more, I'm looking for the little things that are pretty; it's a nice distraction in which rest can be found instead of being overwhelmed by the mess and to-do list that don't go away.



On the morning I saw this, I understood perhaps where the inspiration for Cars came from.



For now, I'll share some pictures from the past.  They fit the bill at the time, why not share them now?



This was simply very real.



Quotes and Tags

I quote movies.

While I don't know as many movies as Rebekah Roberts does, I love to use the one-liners, or even entire conversations from films in daily life (My household is particularly fond of quoting the family scenes from While You Were Sleeping—These mashed potatoes are so creamy...).  Sometimes the folks I'm chatting with don't get it.  Other times it can open up further and fun conversation because we have seen the same movie and enjoyed it (particularly with my friends who also quote movies in normal conversations).  And mostly it's just fun.

But imagine my surprise when I was watching a rerun of one of my favorite shows, Human Target, and the leading man, Christopher Chance, seemed to quote Han Solo.  Not just in one episode, but in two!  I need to watch more to see if he does it more.  Granted the lines used are actually older than the heartthrob scrounge, but in the context of the scene I couldn't help but wonder if the writers threw that into the show as a character trait for Chance.  Since he is a bit of a Han Solo character (rough around the edges, a romantic at heart, gallivanting all over the world), it would make perfect sense for Chance to quote him on purpose.

That's a pretty fun tag for a character, isn't it?  (A tag is an identifier for a character, like the tag on the back of your shirt.  It can come in dozens of forms such as clothing and jewelry, side items, speech patterns, gestures, and more.)  I've seen the quoting tag in another place.  Tony DiNozzo of NCIS is always quoting or referencing the plots of movies.  This is one of his endearing, as well as annoying, traits.  But what a great character tag.  If someone in the show is referencing a movie, it's either Tony or because of Tony's influence.  But it always points back to Tony.  If a case is looking like a movie plot, Tony will point it out (and he has been right).  His tag can be handled in numerous ways, but it's always there.  Tony loves movies, and he's seen a lot, so his tag has quite the variety to keep it interesting and almost always amusing.

I'm thinking about tags to give my character for my next short story to flesh him out and make him jump off the page.  Tony and Chance could provide some inspiration.

What are your favorite sort of character tags?  What's the hardest one you've ever tried to write?

Seeker's Intro

I missed a week of blogland and accidentally did not post last Friday.  So, let me tell you what I saw this week.

I saw an episode of Legend of the Seeker for the first time this week.  I think it was the first episode since all of the characters and the story problem were introduced.  I've seen lots of sci-fi on TV before, but I can't say I've ever seen a fantasy series.  It's cool.  Horses, pretty dresses, halfway decent special effect (some better than others).  I'd like to watch more and see where the story goes (I know, I'm behind the times. Please, no spoilers.).

I liked the intro to the characters and the story.  Richard's intro showed him in action in his element.  He's strong, capable, and clever enough to build a bridge by himself.  This we learn before a word is spoken.  It slows up the pace, but after Kahlan's flight a change in pace give viewers a chance to catch their breath.  Then we learn Richard's name with the little boy's "Hi, Richard," adding humor as well.  We're given a chance to see the caring side of Richard—he crosses the bridge to assure the boy it's safe—before we see his other, not quite as favorable characteristics.  This is a good thing.

I have been told to introduce my protagonists at their best.  Yes, they should grow throughout the story, but readers need a reason to want to follow that growth.  This is accomplished by showing the protagonist at his best at the time.

With Richard, once the trouble starts we see he is reluctant, a tad whiny, and not perhaps the most respectful of young men.  But, since I have seen him hard at work and looking out for a little boy, I have hope for him, so I want to keep watching.

Is Richard's introduction dishonest?  I don't think so.  It's just a layer of him, one that we need.  When everything's hunky dory, he is fine, hardworking, and nice.  When things fall apart, he's not so much, but we know that he can be.  He just needs the motivation to reach for the story goal.  Once he's motivated, we have a good dynamic in this one character to keep things real and interesting.  What will kind, stubborn, capable, resistant, hardworking, lazy Richard do when x disaster is thrown in his face?

Good question.  Don't you want to know?
 

The End Has Come

Ironically, there was never an end to When the End Comes...  Until now.


And, yes, my diet was ruined.  Though I wasn't really on a specific plan, other than to eat.  Come to think of it, I haven't stopped eating, so maybe my diet wasn't ruined?

Walk on Fear, Someday to Fly

I'm fighting the fear.  I've let it keep me from editing my stories, from finishing old projects, and from moving forward on new ones. But that's the fast track to nothing.

I remember my first rejection letter. I had sent a short story to a magazine and waited a few months for a reply. I expected a rejection, but knew there was a possibility that they'd buy it. When I opened my rejection letter, I wasn't discouraged; I wasn't beaten down. For some odd reason that I still can't quite explain, I was encouraged and excited. Probably because I'd taken another step forward, and I knew I would still take the next step forward.

And I am.  I've just started a Facebook Fan Page.  Take a look.  It's my new Facebook home.

Someday I'll walk. Then my feet will fly over the land and the wind will refresh my face, and I will run.

Today, I take another step with my head held high.


What fear are you facing?  What will you do to overcome it and keep moving forward?

War with Allergies

This is a formal notice to you, allergens and misery makers, that you have trespassed on our, this blog writer's collective senses, territory and harassed our members without indication of cessation.  We can only understand this to be an invasive act of war.  Therefore, we will take appropriate countermeasures against you and your malicious offenses until you have been driven from our territory or killed outright.  Should you wish to surrender and withdraw your forces from our territory, you must do so immediately.  We have already begun our actions against you and will strengthen our efforts with the new day.  If you choose to stay, you may expect our best and most persistent fighters to face you until you are slain.  No mercy or quarter will be offered.  You will not be victorious.  This is your only warning.