The Unexpected

It is easy to blog about unexpected things.  I've done so myself prior to this.  I suppose that's because the world around us is full of the unexpected.

Here's why I think it happens so much.  Most of us awake each day with expectations for our day. We expect to eat meals and go to work or school.  We expect to interact with familiar people or follow through on our agenda in our planner.  By having expectations, we set ourselves up to meet the unexpected at every turn.  Reality comes into play.

Most unexpected turns are small such as a traffic jam or tripping on the sidewalk, not usually the life changing events that, while they do happen, are rare.  And remember, the unexpected is not always bad.  It can be good.  The day after Christmas some family members and I headed out to see a new movie.  We got to the theater a little early, but not early enough - it was sold out.  Unexpected - yes, bad - not really.  We'll go another time and instead we did a little shopping and returned home to play with new Christmas presents.

Part of dealing with the unexpected is attitude.  We could have been angry and upset about the movie, but we took it in stride.  In books, characters will definitely need to face the unexpected.  How will they respond?

If a book is to be believable, different characters will react differently to unexpected turns of events.  Molehills of surprises can create mountains of distress or instead show the flexibility of an individual.  With a different character, the unexpected can create a paralysis, an inability to cope.  Much can be revealed about an individual by the way they react to the unexpected.

But for those of us "real" characters, I have a different question.  Since so much around us is unexpected, shouldn't that be exactly what we expect?

A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to ...

I admit I was in a hurry this morning.  It's one of those days where I move from thing to thing throughout most of the day, and I was already late to help in my 6-year-old's classroom.   So, in this rush, even though my hair was still damp, I was trying to curl my bangs.  As I did so, I kept smelling some sweet, spicy smell like cinnamon or cloves.  I asked my husband if he had just sprayed some air freshener.  "No."  What could it be?

As I finished with my curling iron, I looked at it a little more closely.  It seemed to have streaks around it.  With realization dawning I understood what had happened.  That 6-year-old of mine loves our orange clove scented pump bottle of soap.  It is positioned very close, too close, to where my curling iron sits.  At some point soap must have dripped onto my curling iron.  When I plugged it in to heat up, it worked just like an incense burner in spreading that scent around.  Fine up to that point, but now I have clove scented bangs!  They're also just a little stiff.

What does any of this have to do with writing?  I haven't the foggiest!  But maybe it's the little moments that really have no lasting significance that make writing real and genuine.  Maybe I need to not be in so much of a hurry writing my "story" that I forget to make my people real, to make my tale seem true to life and believable.  Although, who would believe I would spend the day with clove scented soap in my hair?

Christmas Vacation

I have about a week before I leave for a family gathering, a Christmas vacation.  And while my writing routines cannot possibly stay the same, I know I will write.  It's not that I have a deadline to keep.  It's not that I can't afford to take off.  (This is kind of odd for a writer anyway seeing you are not getting paid by the hour but by the product.)  It's simply that I can't not write.

Thoughts constantly swirl in my head.  Where is the next story?  What are my future characters up to?  Do they need me yet?  Can I reach out to them and lift them up?  It's not possible to allow them to hang in suspended animation just because I am having fun with my family.  And so, I know that while sugar plums dance in my children's heads, I will be writing and putting on paper the sweet fruits that originated in my mind.  And sweet dreams to you too.

Ode to A Completed Memoir

There once was a writer from Solon
Who said, "Hey, let's get this ball rollin' "
And long tho' it took
She wrote down a book
'Bout her kids and how they've been growin'

Formulas

I come from a math background, and I must say I love the surety that 2+2=4.  It is complete.  It is correct and certain.  But do you want the same thing from your books?  That's hard to answer, and the answer isn't as well defined as my math problem.

Do you like formulaic books?  There are probably movies or books that we all like that admittedly are tied up neatly in some formula.  You can tell this is the case when you know exactly how the story is going to end.  The geeky boy will get the cute girl when one of them gets over themselves.  Or the main character is saved at the last minute by some unlikely hero.  And those stories can be good.  We can enjoy them and smile as we read.  But do they leave you thinking about them for days to come?  Do they pierce your soul?

The unexpected, unpredictable novel can leave a lasting impression, and kidnap your thoughts when you're supposed to be doing something else.  It can make you wonder or shiver.  It can leave you thirsty for more.  This is, of course, the harder book to write.

So, should a writer reach for the stars with a profound book, or simply settle for the formulaic, yet profitable novel?  Is it better to succeed at mediocrity or fall short of perfection?

The Housekeeping Tasks of Life

With every job come the necessary housekeeping items.  When you paint, you need to clean your brushes when you are done.  When you do scientific research, you have to explain your findings to others in understandable terms.  When you teach, you need to also grade papers and give feedback.

You may like these housekeeping tasks or dread them, or simply accept them with no real feeling either way.  I am finishing my book by putting together the appendix.  It's not glamorous.  It's not full of feeling like real writing.  But it needs to be done for the book to be complete.  I don't mind.  It's part of the process.

The question I have, since these tasks seem mundane and boring, is do you write about them in a book, including them with more vital activities?  Now, if you are writing a non-fiction, how-to book the answer is an obvious, yes.  But what about a biography or a novel?

My belief is that the answer to this is all about the feelings you want to evoke.  The tasks, in and of themselves, may not be interesting, but can they be used as tools?  Can the endless cleaning up of toys by a mother help you feel exhausted along with her?  Or can it be the means for the mother in the story to discover important information about her child?  Or could she discover a lost earring and uncover an affair?  Could her meaningful thoughts be allowed to flourish while performing the mindless task of picking up toys?  The possibilities are endless.

In the end, as a writer, you must keep the end goal in mind.  If the menial tasks in life help you tell your story, then they should be included.  If they are simply filler and mindless, who needs more of that in their life?  So, I will continue to work on my appendix and remind myself to use these tasks to move my stories forward or for good blogging fodder.

It's always one more thing . . .

Two days ago, the last time I blogged, I finished writing my book (except for the Appendix, which I'm working on today).  My daughter commented, "I'll bet that felt good."  Actually it felt like nothing.

I'm kind of surprised.  How am I supposed to feel?  Satisfied?  I think I will feel satisfied when it has been accepted by a publisher.  And maybe if it were a novel instead of a memoir/parenting book I would feel the sense of completion, of things being wrapped up.

What I really feel is a sense of, "Okay, what's next?"  I still have my set writing time, so I haven't freed up time just because I'm done.  I am now needing to decide which story idea to run with, what will be next on my writing agenda.  It's not a bad feeling.  I think I'm actually excited about starting the next project, with no real excitement about finishing this last one.

Don't get me wrong, I am happy with my book.  I even like it.  But I am driven to write.  I will not be satisfied with one book, one short story, one article.  There will always need to be one more thing.

Feelings

I have noticed something about good books versus great books.  A good book will hold your interest, intrigue you, keep you guessing.  And when you are done you might recommend it to a friend.  You may or may not read it again.

A great book, in my opinion, makes you feel.  How it makes you feel can vary greatly.  You may feel rage or fear, joy or sadness, outrage or contentment.  Does the book make you cry or smile involuntarily?  Does it make you want to get up and right the wrongs in the world?  Does it satisfy, as if a warm blanket were wrapped around you?

I have used this test on my own writing.  Stories that make me feel, even though I wrote them, are my best.  Others that are interesting, but don't really make me care about anything in particular, I know are lacking.

I'm not sure that some types of feelings I will ever be good at writing.  I don't know that I can invoke anger; I wouldn't be happy writing something so full of injustice to elicit such a response.  But I can write words that evoke emotions drawn from love.  We cry because we love, and we smile because we love.  And I can write about love because I have been greatly loved.  I grew up in  a loving home where I never doubted that my parents loved me.  That made it possible to go out into the world and love others and be loved by them.  And my parents still love me, and, to quote Robert Frost, "that has made all the difference."

Foggy Morning

When I arose this morning, the world was hidden behind soggy layers of fog.  It left any number of things to the imagination.  As my husband and son drove off to high school, they disappeared before they reached the end of the street.  We only saw them for as long as we did because of their tail lights burning through the mist around them.

Jesse (my six-year-old) and I had watched them evaporate into the ground-level clouds while we waited for his bus to appear like magic out of those same clouds.  We saw the lights first before any shape was visible.  Gradually Jesse made out yellow, then a bus form emerged.  As it got closer we could read the number on the bus.  It was indeed his bus, on time, like clockwork, like any other day.  And yet was it?

What is hidden in the mist?  What is in front of our eyes, yet we do not see, or will not see?  Does danger lurk or is it pleasant surprises?  Or is there nothing at all, only our fears magnified by the water droplets that obscure?

And Here's the Rest of the Story

Two days ago, I left you with the unfinished saga of the beginnings of a community service organization.  To refresh your memory, I am writing an article for a local magazine about this organization, Solon Civic Club.  I had already asked the co-presidents about its origin, and they did  not know.

So, thus my journey began.  I next spoke with a former president, Donna, and asked her, among other things, if she knew the history of Solon Civic Club.  She thought it might have split off from the Women's Club, but wasn't sure.  She referred me to Nancy.  Nancy thought it spun off from a men's club, but wasn't sure.  She referred me to a former president, Julie.  Julie thought it came from the Solon Jaycees, and she referred me to Debbie.

Debbie told me this story:  Once upon a time there was a Solon Jaycees, which was a community service organization for men.  To accommodate their wives a Solon Jaycee Wives club was created.  After a while this group noted that there were women who wanted to join who had no male counterpart in the Jaycees.  So given that and a desperate need for new members they became the Solon Jaycee Women.

More time passes - Some women (nationally) brought a lawsuit against the Jaycees.  These women wanted executive positions and the Jaycees were helping the men get these positions - meeting people, community service looked good on their resume, and the Jaycees were even promoting themselves as helping men get ahead.  So, the women felt that was unfair and discrimination.  The case went to the Supreme Court in 1984 and the Jaycees lost.  It appears that the national organization was prepared for this and within days of the ruling had merged the Jaycee and Jaycee Wives clubs.

The Solon Jaycee Women had become quite independent by now, and many of the women had no male counterparts in the Jaycees.  So, for them it was simply a matter of what their new name should be.  Thus in 1984 Solon Civic Club was born.  Some of the initiatives they support such as Lunch with Santa and Amblyopia (lazy eye) screening had already been going on for some time and are actually older than the name!  (But of course they have been done by the same women all along.)

I never would have guessed that was its genesis.  There was no animosity, nothing earth-shattering, but interesting how it all evolved none the less.  Just thought you would like to know.

A New Day

I am a temporary empty nester.  Yes, I still have children at home, but I just sent a short story off to a contest.  Almost like another daughter, I gave birth to this story.  I groomed her and refined her; I watched her grow.  She has touched my soul.  And while she is still a part of me, somehow, for her to live fully, she needs to leave my hands just like my flesh and blood son who recently left for college.

It is a happy and sad feeling all in one.  I am excited for her future prospects, even if they are uncertain.  And, I am sad she is no longer mine alone to treasure, to mold, to hold close.

Of course this is temporary, other stories will come and other stories will go.  But she will never lose her spot in my heart, my love will not diminish with time, only deepen.

I don't know if you understand what I mean, or sense what I feel.  Maybe you think I'm just a little touched.  But that's okay.  Especially if you eventually read my story and fall in love, too.

Unraveling the Mystery

Being a writer can take on many forms.  While I am currently finishing my first book, I am also writing short stories and magazine articles.  My latest magazine article took an unexpected twist last night.  I am writing about a community service group for a local magazine, and to that end interviewed the two co-presidents last evening.  Wanting to include their history in my article, I inquired about the club's beginnings.

It appears that no one knows how or when it got started!  It's clearly been around 38 years, since the lunch with Santa program this month has been going that long.  But what is the actual story?  The co-presidents left my interview, heading straight to a board meeting of the club, promising to see what they could learn.  Looking through the past president's notebooks apparently yielded no new insights.

Today I spoke with another member and former president of the club who thought they were originally part of a different club, maybe a woman's club, and split off to allow themselves more and better ways to serve the community.  But being unsure, she referred me to another member.  That member thought it was the offshoot of a men's club, but again, could not be certain.  She referred me to a past president.  I will be making that phone call soon.

I never thought a magazine article would lead to being a faux investigative reporter!  It reminds me of mysteries and the secrets people hold.  I don't think this secret, if I'm able to track it down, will produce much drama or any accusations.  However, it can be surprising where mysteries and secrets do arise.  Hmmm . . . I think I'll tuck that tidbit away.

Things are Not Always As They Seem

Do you ever notice how a clear winter day is deceptive?  The sun seems so bright and vibrant.  Surely it is bathing the world in warmth.  And it can even feel that way on the inside, sitting by a window, as I am now, with the sun raining down upon me.  It is intoxicating, and yet it lies.  One step outside will prove that.  Some of the coldest days in winter are the ones where the sun shines brightest.  There is no buffer, no cloud cover to hold warmth in.

It is foolishness to be taken in.  There are certainly warning signs.  Maybe I should remind myself it is almost December, or maybe the unmelted snow should be my first clue.  Do not be drawn outside, resist, resist!

Literary characters can be the same way.  You are drawn in by their charm, their professed experience or knowledge.  You are enticed by flattery.  But is it real?  Can they be trusted?  Once you step inside their circle will you be met by a cold shoulder or worse, experience their icy heart?

Maybe I'm too much of a dreamer or an optimist, but I believe, that in reality, there are few people who are actually like this.  Not many trouble themselves to act one part while being another.  There are some, but I believe they are few.  BUT . . .  do we really want our novels peopled with "real" people?  Believable, yes; but boring, work-a-day people?  Not likely.

So, my best hope in my next novel is to draw you in, make my characters believable, lovable even, and then . . .  (I guess you'll just have to read the book when it comes out, won't you?)

Shh ... Secrets

Have you ever wanted to write like Agatha Christie?  The twist and turns and surprise endings are so captivating.  Hallie Ephron (The Secret is in the Secret, The Writer, July 2012, pp. 27-29) expressed what so many mystery writers feel, a desire to follow in Agatha Christie's footsteps when crafting your own mysteries.

At first it appears that by adding hints and misdirection this can be accomplished.  But Hallie Ephron points out that it is really in the secrets that people hold, and how those are revealed that a great mystery is built.  A secret kept means people acting in suspicious ways, a secret revealed sheds light on the situation and brings in a whole new set of suspects.  She says, "I've discovered that if I let the characters and their secrets drive the plot, the clues and red herrings take care of themselves." (pg. 27)

I have paid attention to this and found it incredibly insightful.  But, I am learning, it is not just for the mystery novel.  I recently finished reading Emma, by Jane Austen.  What makes it interesting is the secrets kept and revealed.  (Spoil alert: if you haven't read it and intend on doing so, stop now.)  Secret #1: A would-be- suitor for Emma's friend, Harriett, is actually in love with Emma.  This puts the friends in a tailspin.  Matters are further complicated when the shunned suitor returns from vacation married to an insufferable woman.  Secret #2: A secret engagement, when revealed, casts everything in a new light: people's actions towards each other, an apparent cold shoulder, etc.  It once again changes the dynamics of the story.   Secret #3:  Harriet reveals her latest crush which leads to a different kind of secret.  Secret #4:  Emma realizes that she has secretly been in love with that same man, only she had kept the secret from herself!  Secret #5 (a two-for-one deal): All is well, because Harriet has actually never fallen out of love with her would-be-suitor from the beginning of the story (not previously mentioned here), AND, he still loves her despite her previous rejection.

Wow!  There is the whole story laid out in the secrets kept and the secrets revealed.  So, as a writer, can you keep a secret?  Hopefully not for too long.

Perspective

I had every intention of writing a different blog today.  I really did.  But when I arrived at the library this morning, "my" chair was askew, 90 degrees askew and swapped with the table!  Those of you who have been following my blog will remember the day "my" chair was taken by another.  Oh, the horrors!

My first thought was to right everything.  Given the cramped space, this would not be an easy task.  "Why not try it this way?"  crossed my mind, "It will provide a different perspective."

And so it has.  I now face nothing but windows, a fuller view of the outside than ever before.  It is a bright, inviting, crisp morning.  The direct sun is blocked by an outside column, yet it cannot be contained.  It spills out on either side.  It is encouraging, yet taunting.  I like this new perspective.

My thoughts have been diverted as well.  My back is now to the rest of the library.  One might approach me unawares, peek over my shoulder, invade my space and shake me from my reverie, no doubt frighten me.  It is an uncomfortable feeling.  Maybe I can better empathize and care about my characters, made victims by my pen.  Will I write them more realistically?  Will I identify with them?

Will I give myself nightmares?  I suppose, in an odd way, that if I do, I am succeeding.

Moving On (short story part 3)

How do you move on, shift from one focus to another?  Is it easy or challenging?  I suppose it depends on what you're changing from and going to.  When my children transition from school to summer vacation, easy doesn't begin to describe it!  Not so of the reverse.  In the late summer, moving from relative ease and freedom, sleeping in until Mom insists you get up and "do something" to alarm clocks, quick showers, running to catch school buses and that dreaded homework - now that's hard!

What about a change of scenery - a new job, a move, or even literally a change of season?  Some of these we welcome, but they still require adjustment on our part: making new friends, finding new doctors, pulling a sweater out of a box.  I have finished bringing life to my short story characters.  Their tale is told as much as a short story (or I) will allow.  And so, other than edits and revisions, they are gone.  They are finished.

Can I leave them so easily, now that they have become my friends?  I must, there are others waiting.  And yet, I wonder how they are faring now?  How is life treating them?  I think I'll send them a Christmas card.

Getting A Running Start (short story part 2)

A good running start makes long jumps longer and high jumps higher.  Starting a car early on a winter's morning warms up the engine for a better drive.  This blog is my warm up to writing each day.  It starts the fingers moving and the thoughts flowing.  But, today, my motor is already running.  The characters I referenced yesterday are almost fully fleshed out.  They are alive and real to me.

So, this is short today, because they call to me.  No blog need be my running start today, my characters are already that, and they are waiting ...

Left Hanging . . . (short story part 1)

Yesterday I took a departure from my typical writing plan.  Instead of working on my book, I stopped to write a short story.  It had a different feel to it and became intoxicating.  Time passed quickly, too quickly.  Other duties called and I knew I had to leave these new found characters behind, but I longed to stay.  Like real family members they have occupied my thoughts ever since.  They retired for the night with me, awakened in the midnight hours by my side, and arose with me from bed early this morning.

I am troubled by them.  They are in only half told form, missing elements that I already know exist which are not as yet penned.  And I know that until those events are pinned down, they are fleeting, merely hopes on the wind, dreams maybe not to be realized.  Will I recall all that has passed through my imagination?  Will I do them justice on the page?  Will they realize a full life and not a shallow one?

I do not know.  I can only hope.  And now, if you will excuse me, I need to write.

"Opinion" Piece

While recently completing a crossword puzzle I was interested by the clue leading to "blog."  It used the word "opinion" as part of the definition.  I must say I've always thought of blogs as personal online journals or topic based collections (think cooking or writing, for instance).  But "opinion" was not what came to mind.

When I think of opinions I think of letters to the editor or heated discussion, even arguments.  But when someone writes their thoughts, surely those are opinions, are they not?

That thought naturally leads to the conclusion that what I do - write - is very much founded on opinion.  This is not like math (i.e. 2+2=4 and always will).  Something very different is at work here.  What about a non-fiction book?  Isn't it still compiled and written according to the writers viewpoint and tastes?  This must be so or you wouldn't have different biographies of Lincoln, for example.  Only one would be needed, as it would have exactly the same information and conclusions of any other.  What a boring existence to not have opinions!

And since there are opinions in the way writers write, there are also opinions in the way readers read.  I have published articles in magazines.  Obviously an editor liked them enough to pay me money and then print them.  But has everyone had the same opinion?  I highly doubt it.  I am currently writing a book, a loose memoir, if you will, about mothering.  Generally my feedback has been positive, but there are those who do not care for my writing.

What to do with such opinions?  I imagine if the reviews are universally bad, one should take a hint!  And one can learn from criticism.  But what is your overall opinion of your own writing?  One must find the positives and push those through.  Find the publisher who likes your book, or rewrite the weak parts without discarding the whole manuscript.  Even J. K. Rowling's very popular and successful Harry Potter was rejected by twelve publishers before it found its audience.  (And now "Rowling" is so well known her name does not show up as a misspelled word!)

I may never aspire to write great literature, but I am writing stories that I like to read, and hopefully others will like to read as well.  And since not everyone thinks like me, I expect to have my detractors.  That is the nature of this game.

And that is my opinion.

Thick as a Brick

Writers, good writers that is, see the extraordinary in the ordinary, or more precisely they create the extraordinary from what is not.  Use the brick for example.  What can be made of a brick?  Below, are just a few thoughts.  Add your own in the comments and other suggestions, if you like.

1- A history lesson.  My husband's grandfather, a chemist, invented the red color that we see in the ordinary brick.  What a story.  It could be the true tale of how he used the royalties from this to pay for his medical school or a fictionalized version with plots to steal the formula and profit from it, or maybe it's like the artist that never realizes his due while alive only to achieve fame posthumously.

2- As a murder weapon.  This may be an obvious choice.  The reddish brown color of blood might go unnoticed on a brick for weeks before its startling discovery.

3- As a symbol of construction, both literal and figurative.  Few things speak of stable, conservative construction like a brick house or a brick foundation.

4- Density.  Is someone slow witted?  They are thick as a brick.  Will an idea float?  No, it sinks like a brick.  Is the bread light and fluffy, or is it a brick?

5- To strengthen meaning.  Would a speech delivered from a brick platform carry more "weight" than one delivered from a hastily built plywood stand?  Would a mason's advice to his friend be stronger when delivered during a brick laying session?

6- Sayings.  Any number of sayings utilize bricks, for example: running into a brick wall, building something brick by brick,  or it's just another brick in the wall.  These may be overused and cliche now, but the first person to come up with them was really using his brick.

Wearing Red Today

Some days you just don't feel like writing.

Election Day

Now, let's get this clear.  This is a writing blog not a political one.  But can you really resist capitalizing on  election day for a tightly contested presidency?  I'm not even going to try.

So, how does this relate to writing?  I have begun to muse on how much of oneself does an author actually put into his or her writing?  Surely our experiences shape what we write, our views on certain issues, even what settings we may employ.  With all of that, can the author retain some anonymity?  Do she even want to?

Here then is my question.  If you don't know me, can you tell from what I have written who I would prefer for president?  Are there any clues along the way?  I can assure you I am not a fence sitter on this issue.  I definitely have a preference.

If you think you have picked up on any clues in my writing, I would love to have you comment.  Tell me who you think my choice for candidate is and why you think that.  Even if you do know me, can you discern anything from the written word?  What do you think my writing reveals.  I will respond to comments . . . tomorrow.

Just the Facts, Ma'am

There is a time and place in writing for just including the relevant facts, being succinct and directed.  Who wants the wandering sidebar that adds nothing, for instance?  Do you like all of the political rhetoric in Les Miserables and just want to get back to the story, or are you one who enjoys that?  Maybe there is a place for the irrelevant in books.

When I, personally, set out to accomplish a task I am focused and determined.  I don't want to be distracted from what needs to be done.  This is my biggest hurdle with writing, writing the meaningless, the distractions. In reading Emma by Jane Austen there is a character who is so talkative that she bores Emma as well as the reader.  But that is the whole point!  You see this character as a real person.  Who doesn't know someone who is a real talker?  As you read her dialogue you feel with Emma the impatience.  You understand.

This adds realism to a novel.  Life is not without its distractions or its mundane.  For instance, dishes need to be washed and clothes cleaned, but do these add anything significant to your life story?  Not likely.  But add a little of these to a story and it seems more believable.

Additionally, what mystery would be complete without the irrelevant thrown in as red herrings along the way.  It adds to the mystery and suspense, not knowing what squeaks and sounds are relevant to the tale.

The danger comes with utilizing this too much.  If, in Emma, Jane Austen had continued for twenty pages some inane dialogue we would all lose patience and try to skip ahead or just set the book down.  It certainly wouldn't be a book that has stood the test of time.

I suppose, like so much of writing (and life), the secret is in finding the balance.

The Common Itch

Have you ever read a book that seemed to have an unresolved itch?  The boyfriend just seems a little too attentive or the cook's dinner bell a little too timely.  The author may or may not have drawn attention to this little detail, but it tickles the back of your thoughts; it is an itch that won't go away, yet cannot be scratched.  Is it just your imagination?  Or is it the secret that will blow the mystery wide open?

When the conclusion dawns and you were right, oh, what triumph!  Your itch has been assuaged (and validated).  But if your itch was unfounded are you disappointed?  Was it a purposely placed red herring or an example of your imagination run amok? (Or, heaven forbid, poor writing?)

How to place an appropriate itch is part of the writer's craft.  If carefully placed, it will draw attention, but only slight attention, like the absent minded scratch of the back of your hand.  If the itch is too strong it becomes a distraction - a very pesky mosquito bite that demands immediate attention.

Agatha Christie was the master of this, placing itches along the way that were only recognized in hindsight.  Other authors may fool you a few times, but become predictable when they use the same kind of itch in every book.  While we may feel self satisfied at figuring out the mystery before it was revealed, when it's too easy the fun is spoiled.  Finding the right balance for the reader is the trick.

But the itch also afflicts the writer.  Whether mystery or novel, do you want to reveal too much too early?  Are you eager to share all that is going on behind the scenes?  Or with literature, do you want to spell out your metaphors instead of letting them speak for themselves?  Understated itches will tease yet never torment. That is the goal.

May the itches be always in your favor.

A pause . . .

A few posts back (Embrace the Unexpected) I spoke of my writing corner in the library and its unwanted tenant, a large wasp.  My encounter with said wasp ended in the wasp's untimely death (or in my case - timely).  But, yesterday made me rethink that encounter.

It appears my corner has a wasp problem.  They seem to appear on a regular basis, sometimes in startling ways.  There was the day a woman was slowly flipping through a binder of reading lists.  As she thumbed through, a wasp suddenly rose from the next page.  She was a little unnerved, to say the least, and afterwards chagrined at having jumped.

This, along with other appearances, made me realize the wasps were around to stay, at least 'til cold weather "did them in".  So, what to do?  Should I find another corner?  Should I insist the library "do something" about it?   I was slipping into a decision by simply not deciding.

Yesterday, while writing, a familiar buzz interrupted my thoughts.  I shifted to an opposite seat so my back was no longer to the window, or the source of the sound.  I continued to write, a little wary, but still mostly focused.  Out of the corner of my eye, I did, however, keep track of the wasp's movements.  She (I have learned it would be a non-mating female) happily crawled around the window.  Window paint happens to adorn my corner window panes, and the wasp actually stopped to make a snack out of the paint.

I have decided that I will talk to the library about the problem, because even if they do die off in the winter, they will be back with warmer weather.  It is noteworthy though that I learned a lot by pausing before acting.  My wasp friend, or likely German yellowjacket, is an interesting creature.  I watched, I observed, I did a little internet research.  I gained by my pause.

Writing, I know, is about more than writing itself.  It is about reading and observing.  Reading has never been a problem with me, and maybe, just maybe, I can learn a little from my taking the time to observe.

Rain, Rain, ...

Rain is such a paradox, is it not.  It is refreshing on a hot day.  It greens the grass and feeds the trees.  It takes dry plants and makes them supple again.  It clears the smog and drowns the pollen.

But..., and this is big pause, it should only be taken in small doses.  Only we are not the nursemaid here.  With overdoses come floods and landslides, broken homes and broken dreams.  With it comes fear and uncertainty, sometimes gratitude and relief amid loss.

How does a writer use rain?  In all of the above ways and more.  Rain can signify spring and new beginnings. It can literally be life-giving and figuratively as well.  It's absence can bring the opposite.  However, it is more.  It is as tears of sorrow or ones of joy.  Rain clears and cleans body, mind or soul.  It reflects images and light.  It is the bringer of things precious or dangerous and yet still can carry all these away.  It is powerful, in the right hands.

It is definitely powerful in His.

To Storm or Not to Storm

The news this morning is all about Hurricane Sandy.  There are maps and figures, sound bites and dramatic footage.  Mostly there are a lot of predictions about what is likely to happen.  Add the ordinary person to the picture, and you will find the unworried, "I'll ride out the storm" to the well prepared, "I'm playing it safe and leaving with my kids," or "We've bought our water and our batteries, and we hope we'll be okay."  

I have mixed hopes for the next few days.  I truly hope that people are safe and that there is no loss of life.  I hope that people don't lose their homes and especially their memories.  I hope the storm is not as bad as they are predicting.

But part of me hopes the storm is exactly as bad as predicted.  (Don't judge me yet, hear me out.)  It is not, as you may think, a "rubber neck" response.  You know, how we all want to see the accident when we pass by.  Just how mangled were the cars?  No, it's not that at all for me.  My hopes for this storm are much more long term.  If this storm is as bad as it is being forecast, people will learn to take the warnings seriously.  Many already do.  But there are those that think it's just "calling wolf."  And if the storm doesn't deliver, next time more won't take it seriously.  One of these days, if that keeps happening, loss of life will be much worse than need be because too many people stayed in harm's way, causing damage to themselves and also their would-be rescuers.

For this same reason, I don't like it when media become alarmists and make dire predictions that just aren't realistic.  We have lived in areas where some local TV stations loved to put the scare on.  I believe that is more harmful than helpful.  In our current area we commonly have tornado warnings, but we also have a weather person who explains calmly and without panic.  She firmly warns when needed, and educates to diminish fears.  She is just who you want in your corner.

She is exactly who you don't want in your books.  If you are writing (or reading) a book of suspense, who wants to be calmed down?  Don't you want to be jacked up, sitting on the edge of your seat?  In books we want "storms" to be as bad, probably worse, than anticipated.  Readers should take writer's threats seriously!  If a book is anticlimactic will you read that author again?  I think not.   If a story "appears" anticlimactic, but then holds a surprise around the corner, then all is probably forgiven.

You may or may not agree with my concerns about Hurricane Sandy, but it's probably safe to say that in a work of fiction it's okay for things to be bad for awhile.  There is no risk to "real" human life, no "real" memories are being disheveled.  I suppose that's why I like writing fiction.  I can pick any ending I want, and any pathway to get there.

In all sincerity, may everyone out there in the "real" world be safe today and in the coming week.

I Couldn't See the Lightning for the Trees

I love thunder and lightning storms.  The lighting of a dark night or the crash followed by a scissor streak across the sky - drama at its best.  At such times, I can often be found on the front porch watching, oblivious to time.  We humans think we are so powerful, so in control of our own destinies.  But can you still think so when watching such majestic power inhabit the entire expanse overhead?  With awe, can you begin to understand your nothingness, not with resignation but rather reverence?  I will always view these displays with complete respect.

Yesterday as I sat in my library chair a storm passed by.  My chair is in a corner and both walls beside me are floor to ceiling windows.  I was privy to the sight of copious amounts of rain.  (Strange to see it so near and yet be untouched by its effects.)  I was startled many times by the low bass of thunder echoing on and on.  Yet, I could see no lightning.

There is a logical explanation for this.  Outside the library window is first a small patch of grass then a large stand of tall trees.  The trees were full of leaves, blowing in the wind.  Only a few had started to undress for winter.  I could not see past them.

I suppose this was a good thing.  Writing would have certainly been interrupted and upstaged by lightning.  But it does give one pause.

If you hear a dog bark without seeing it you can still picture a dog.  But imagine for a moment you have never seen a dog.  What would the bark mean to you?  What would be conjured up as the source of such a strange sound?

Writing, it seems, can make good use of both knowledge and the lack thereof.  The Jurassic Park tremors in the water puddles were startling because you knew what was coming, even if you didn't know how or when, kind of like a lightning strike.  But equally suspenseful can be the sound without an owner, our imaginations  inventing the worst.

And one last thought - different techniques for different times.  Today the trees are bare.  Yesterday's storm knocked all the figurative clothing off the line.  As a result I can see much farther today.  But I do miss the trees.

Writing Two Books at Once

I'm beginning to wonder if I should work on two major books at one time.  One may be a light hearted hopeful book and the other a sinister murder mystery or tragedy.  When I wake up in the morning I gauge my mood.  If I'm tired and cranky, then what better time to write about death and destruction.  When I'm cheerful, than my heroine wins the Nobel Prize.

I often marvel at Shakespeare and his ability to write delightful comedy and dark tragedies as well.  How do both genres exist in the same person?  Maybe he just wrote (or planned in his mind) whichever fit his mood for the day.

Bottom line is this, for fiction to be believable, to match the human experience, it needs to have both hope and harm on the same pages.  Nothing new, this really is a writing 101 concept.  But do we allow both to actually flourish together, or do we have a bias towards one or the other.

At times, I need to shed the bias I acquired from my start in writing children's literature.  Writing for children is a whole 'nother story, pardon the pun.  We want to protect our children.  They are not ready to dwell on the ugliness in the world.  They need more emotional tools in the tool box to handle it.  This is why human children live with human parents for so long.  It allows, and requires, us to teach and protect.

So, making that transition for me from happy child's book to up-and-down novel may require not writing two books but two very distinct characters.  I can pick and choose who I will write about each day.  And if my family keeps up on my plot, they only need ask who I wrote about that day to know when to avoid me.  I'm not seeing a down side.

Embrace the Unexpected

I arrived early at the library today intent on securing "my" spot.  (I'm not quite ready to deal with too much change as per my previous post.)  I determined on approach that I was successful; it was vacant!  Or so it seemed.  When I reached my actual chair I was alarmed to spot a very large wasp on the back of the adjacent seat!  Moment of decision - find some place else or deal with the large pest.

Desire is a powerful thing.  I really, really wanted to sit in my spot.  So, armed with a newly checked out The Brothers Karamazov, I raised my arm and took aim.  I knew injuring the wasp, thus making it "mad as a hornet" would not be a good idea.  Death was my only goal.  (May my children forgive me when they read this.)  Like "mighty Casey" I took a huge swing.  To my relief, I didn't strike out.  However, I realized I should have picked a book without a cloth cover, but a little too late for that.  I can just imagine the stories future readers of that particular volume will conjure up . . .

You know, I don't suppose that in our personal lives we always appreciate the unexpected.  But I imagine it's the stuff writers dream about.

Change - Maybe It's Good?

This morning, going out to the bus stop with my youngest, he and I noticed how beautiful the sky was.  It has been cloudy lately, making it just appear to be dark, almost still night.  But this morning the sky had wispy clouds that were painted pink.  When the eye followed the pink, it led to a bright orange spot where the sun would soon appear.  It was magical.  Even in that half light the autumn leaves look brilliant.

My son and I turned away from the eastern sky to watch for his bus.  So, it was about five minutes later when I turned again to the brightening sky.  It was completely different!  The sun was still not up and the clouds were still reflecting light, but now it was yellow.  The pink was entirely gone.  I was rather stunned.  It was so changed in such  a short span of time.

I should have seen this as a sign of things to come.  When I arrived at the library this morning, "my" spot was taken!  Well, not the actual chair I like to sit in, but the one next to it.  Personal space and all I was not going to sit in that one spot.  Can you spell "awkward"?

I walking around to explore my options (and make sure those options had plugs for my computer - old battery, new one came yesterday but it didn't fit - whole 'nother story!).  Anyway, found a different spot, not quite so nice as "my" spot, but oh, well.  After sitting down, I found my whole routine out of whack.  So, instead of blogging first, I tried other things.  But blogging gets my fingers and my thoughts going, making it easy and natural to write on my book.

I tried to move to the book - not happening!  I did some odds and ends and finally ended up reading, still not a waste.  But in the end, I still needed to write, and seemingly also to blog.  So, here I am.

I didn't think change would upset my rhythm so drastically.  Maybe I need to mix it up on a regular basis to change my perspective, to add freshness to my writing, to see my characters in a different light (maybe yellow instead of pink).  I'll think about it, but I'm still going to look for "my" spot tomorrow!

Writers Never Sleep

I'm beginning to believe that writers never really sleep.  I used to think that it was mothers that never slept, but this is different.   I find myself turning over in the night with just enough cognitive awareness to form a thought and then two.  Soon those thoughts are all about what to write or how to write something or maybe even a new topic or plot I'd like to explore.  It's hard to return to sleep because I want to follow my thoughts; I want to see where they lead me.  And that's just in the middle of the night.

When I'm falling asleep I start rehearsing whole conversations, scenes or plot twists.  I imagine what I will write first the next day.  I may be tired but I resist sleep as I don't want to stop the flow of my imagination.  But soon I force myself to set my characters or "adventures" aside, for only in the surrendering to sleep will the new day come (with any chance at productively, that is).

I think, however, that "writers never sleep" means more to me than the disruption of physical sleep.  It means that writers are always writing.  For instance, we are writing as we drive down the highway, either with our thoughts or observations - sights or experiences that will tunnel their way into our brain so that at some appropriate time later they can resurface and see daylight on our written page.

Imagine for instance the woman I met today.  I was helping with our local schools' PTA consignment sale.  It started today.  People are dropping off their items today by the literal truck load!  It's our job as volunteers to sort it and place it in it's proper place.  As a perk, we volunteers can shop today before the general public.  As I was sorting some clothing a woman started to help me.  I noticed that she had not picked up her volunteer name tag, but didn't think too much of that.  About an hour later she told me she was from a few towns over and had just come to shop for her grand kids.  But someone told her that only helpers could shop today, so, she started helping!  When my shift ended after three hours, she was still helping!  What an interesting lady.  I'll have to remember her for another time . . .

And with that thought, good night and sweet dreams.

October 15, 2012 Day 1

I can't believe that I get to be a writer!  Who knew!  I have done so many other things with my life.  I've been a computer scientist, a math tutor, and far and away most importantly, a mother of five.  But always, always I have come back to writing.  Even when I was heavily into computers, it was still there.  I was preparing to teach a class on data bases and spreadsheets.  As I prepared a somewhat creative exercise for the students my boss asked, "Have you ever considered writing satire?"

I suppose I always just thought of it as a hobby, not something that I could share with others.  I have published a couple of articles in the past and made a few attempts at publishing, but still, it was always a hobby.  "What changed?" you may ask.  Well, my youngest is in school full time.  I have time to have a second career.  I explored the typical avenues, but in the end none of them really panned out like I would have liked.  My husband suggested I go the writing route.  I tried to keep a straight face while he was talking, but inside I was jumping up and down like a little kid!

So, here I am, day 1.  It's not really day one on writing, after all I would have to go back to elementary school for that, to my early fanciful stories.  (I think my first was about a little, little girl that lived in a rose.)  And this isn't day one of my current writing adventures.  I started a book last year that I am trying to get published as we speak.  It isn't even the first day I started taking this seriously.

Okay, so what is it?  It's the first day of my new routine.  I realized I can't work at home, too many distractions.  So, I decided that every morning I would head off to the library, computer in tow, to have several uninterrupted hours all to myself.

I've only been here a short time and it is already eye-opening.  The library opens at 9 am.  I needed to stop by my son's school for some PTA business, so I arrived at about 9:10.  The parking lot was already quite full!  Who would have thought?  It is a great library, but still, who knew?  I wonder what they are all up to?  Hmmm . . . good writing fodder.

I happen to live in Cuyahoga county Ohio, home to one of the country's very best library systems.  And the branch I visit has been recently remodeled.  It has wonderful nooks and crannies that are perfect for hiding away for reading or writing in peace.  What's even better is that I am sitting by a wall of windows looking out on the beautiful fall foliage.  New England may get all the glory for fall leaves, but it couldn't be any better than what I see outside my window.

Could there be a better setting for starting my new, crazy adventure?  We'll see . . .