What You Might Least Expect

Over the Christmas holiday a friend of ours asked us to babysit his wife's two poinsettia plants.  My husband's first response was, "Does he know?"  I knew exactly what he was talking about.  Our friend had no idea that we have black thumbs.  We can kill any plant within a half mile radius.  After I had said, "Sure, we'll watch your plants," I explained out lack of skill in that matter.

To his credit as a friend, he still trusted us with his wife's beloved poinsettias.  I'm not sure it was a wise move, and I hope that his wife will eventually forgive him.

Now, amazingly, the plants are still alive and even apparently thriving!  Who knew?  I've even been enjoying their beauty.

I always thought the poinsettia plant was somewhat interesting.  The "flowers" aren't actually blooms; they are just more leaves, but of a different color.  It is and isn't what it appears.

How many things in life are like the beautifully colored poinsettia leaves?  How often does something appear to be one thing while actually another.  But in the end, does it matter that the colorful "flower" is not made from petals, but from leaves?  It may not be what we expect, but the end result is still the same.

Maybe at this time when a year is ending and a new one beginning, we can take the time to look at those around us.  Are the perfect?  Do they do things the way we would like them to?  Probably not.  But are they still beautiful individuals?  Do they have strengths and talents and characteristics that we admire?  Then let us focus on those.  That sounds like a great resolution to me!

So, with that thought, I wish you all a Happy New Year!

The Importance of a Satisfactory Ending

The more books I read, the more I come to accept that for me it's all about the ending.  I have read books that were hard to put down, but then I got to the ending only to be sorely disappointed.  That conclusion was enough to turn my opinion upside down about the whole book!

In life, what I hope for most, and strive to accomplish, is a happy ending.  When all is said and done, will my life have been one that brought more happiness or more misery to others?  Will I be able to stand before my maker and look Him in the eye, or will my gaze be downcast instead?

When I am crafting a book, the ending is one of the first things that I imagine.  Then everything in the book builds, leads, grows to that conclusion.  I believe I have taken the same approach in life!

Patience

Patience, it is said, is a virtue.  I am not a patient person.  For instance, once I decide on a course of action, I want to do it and be done with it.  But much of life requires us to be patient.

I'm sure you can think of a myriad of instances where patience is necessary.  Often, because it is necessary, we learn to be patient.  What alternative do we have?  The real question is will we let that patience work in us or will we let our impatience ruin the moment.

Writing a book is one of those areas for me that requires patience. It takes time to write that many words to start with, but it is more than that.  To say that I had all of the details of my story worked out in my head before I began writing would be an out and out lie.  It has taken time to discover my characters, their thoughts and feelings, and the experiences they will have.  It cannot nor should not be rushed.

I have read books by well-known authors who got impatient with later works, not taking the time to properly edit or work out the kinks in the story.  It shows - impatience has ruined the moment.  Fortunately, that is the exception and not the rule.  If anything, I usually notice a greater maturity in later works.  Patience with one book and then multiple books has performed its work and deeper, richer books are the result.

I don't know about you, but I don't like the process of learning to be patient.  However, I like who I become when that learning is done.

Ice Storms

Much of the country has been encased in ice sometime during the last week.  Amazingly, something so simple as frozen water can shut down airports, close schools, cause accidents and create general havoc.  Simple things, when brought together under the right circumstances, become anything but simple.

Isn't life like that?  There are so many things that seem little to begin with, but given the right set of circumstances, they completely overturn our lives - sometimes in positive ways and sometimes not.

In works of fiction, seemingly little things are wonderful tools to play with - a misplaced key, a strange phone call, a small patch of ice.  I must say I enjoy messing with character's lives in these ways in a book.  But with real life, maybe not so.  Probably, simply because I can't control the outcome.

Gratitude

Thanksgiving was just here and with it came many thoughts of what we are grateful for.  I am certainly thankful for big things like family, but I am also grateful for the little things like playing games and doing puzzles with that family, or "I love you" spoken from my mother to my father.

There are those in this world who are good at being thankful for the small things that occur every day of their lives.  They remind me to stop and pay attention to those things.  We don't always notice the bird's nest in the tree or the baby birds inside.  We may not notice the way the sun reflects off the snow in winter, making everything sparkle.

One of the joys (and challenges) of writing a book is being able to put in those small things we might not notice.  I get to write about the sunset and the sound of birds in the morning.  Setting the scene might include describing tree-lined boulevards and children laughing in backyards.  Stepping into a kitchen can bring with it pleasant aromas and the memories they evoke.

These little things add richness to a book, just like they add richness to our lives.  May we both - writer and not - remember to notice them.

Tethered Lives

It is a delightfully windy day.  Fallen leaves chase each other across my yard and down the street, twisting and turning at the whim of the breeze.  One lone tree still holds tightly to it's yellowing leaves, steadfastly refusing release.  Twirling in their tethered dance, those leaves reach for freedom, not knowing the cost.

The screen door beside me bangs and howls in the wind, fighting the lock that holds it fast.  Out back, the wooden shed's locks are not so strict, and allow rebellious doors to fly on creaking hinges, back and forth with abandon - yet neither are they free.

I suppose to authentically write teenagers, it helps to have been one and also to have been on the other side having raised a few.  But teenagers also get a bad rap.  Don't we all at some point in our lives want freedom from what restricts and binds us?  Do we watch others, and covet their experiences?

The more I observe others and talk to them about their lives, the more I am grateful for my own trials that tether me to my life, yet make it my own.  No one's life is free from trouble, disappointment, or stumbling blocks.  When I read books and write them I have to remember this truth.  If I am to be honest with my readers and true to my characters their lives will not be idyllic.

But life is what we make of it, how we deal with those trials and setbacks.  We can dance our tethered dance, yearning to be free, or we can enjoy the feel of the breeze and the beauty of the dance while it exists, while it allows us to embrace our challenges and make them strengths.

Happy Accidents

I have experienced lately some wonderful "happy accidents."  I'll call them blessings.  I recently found it necessary to change one aspect of my book.  During some brain storming with my daughter about how to adjust the plot we came across some hidden meanings within a character's name.  Those meanings lent themselves perfectly to the needed changes.  All things came together, just as they needed to.

These "happy accidents" are certainly not the exclusive right of writers, but they happen to us as we go about our day.  We can't make it to the store one day, only to find the item we were looking for went on sale the next day when we were finally able to go.  Or even looking at more mundane matters - my child may not have made it quite to the toilet before throwing up, but at least he wasn't still in his bed in the midst of dozens of stuffed animals and toys.  (That would not have been fun at 1 in the morning!)

This journey of life is full of challenges; I won't deny that.  But there are many things along the way that make things bearable if not better.  For those things I am grateful.

Life is a Journey

Today's blog is actually about my blog.  Just over a year ago I started down a new path - being a writer.  Don't get me wrong, I had always been a writer at heart, for as long as I can remember.  But never before had I chosen writing as a career.  It has been a wonderful and enlightening year.

Part of that journey has been this blog.  I first started it for two reasons.  Reason #1 is that it's just something you do these days to get your name out there and promote what you do.  Reason #2 is that the act of writing something, this blog, got my fingers moving and my thoughts flowing.  By the time I was done blogging I was ready to start writing on my book.  While I have written much over the course of my life, I had never written all the time, consistently from day to day.  There had never been a need before.

So, now a year later I need to stop and examine my reasoning.  Reason #1 is still valid today, but Reason #2 is no longer necessary.  When I sit down to write, I am usually ready to hit the ground running, as they say.  Given that understanding, I have cut back to blogging once a week.

But I also reevaluated Reason #1.  I was recently reading about blogging for writers.  The point was made that you need your blogs to have a point.  Initially the point of my blog was to catalog my writing journey, but I believe now that my point is actually much broader than that.

I am turning 50 in a few weeks, and despite that, I started a new career for myself just one year ago.  I have learned so much about writing and life in general this past year.  Isn't that what life is all about?  It's about what we learn along the pathway of our experiences.  I'm not going to change the name of my blog, because it is about "my crazy writing adventure."  But it's really about all of the crazy adventures we pursue in this life.

Life is a journey.  What are you learning along the way?  What am I learning?  How does that shape what we do and who we are?  These are questions for everyone, not just writers.  I may take the things I learn or observe and use them in my writing, but someone else could take those same learning moments and apply them to their parenting or teaching or artwork.  Maybe by observing the patterns in nature a computer scientist will see how to organize his or her latest program.   (Fibonacci numbers, named for the mathematician who wrote about them, mimic patterns in nature.  I use them when I make quilts, to make them more pleasing to the eye.)

So, from here on out, think about your journey and I'll think about mine.  Then as I blog about those thoughts maybe they'll echo familiar to you, and we'll see that we're all really on the same great amusement ride where our vehicle is the earth and the ride is titled life.

Flames

This morning, because of a furnace malfunction, I sat in front of our fireplace watching the flames of a warm fire.  We talk about flames in so many ways in literature.

Fire and flames lend themselves well to metaphor.  They easily can represent passion, but just as easily destruction.  Anything we think of that involves heat both figurative or literal can be described in terms of flames.

But, I suppose as I watched the fire this morning, besides being grateful for it's warmth, I was intrigued by it's dance.  It may be an overused descriptor for fire, but dance is what a fire does.  Each flame follows it's own course.  It is alive with twisting and turning, sometimes reaching high while at other times staying low and more controlled.  It is not predictable for we cannot see the air currents and how they move it this way and that.  We cannot see the fuel and how it feeds the hungry animal.  We only see the fire, alive, dancing, dancing, never stopping, forever dancing.

I can see why it excites us, why it scares us, why we write about it.

Diversity

We hear a lot about diversity these days.  It is usually along the lines of - we're all different and we need to accept and love those differences, 'cause we're all in this together.  This blog is not about that kind of diversity.

What I'm talking about is the "thank goodness we're all different!" kind of diversity.  I have a friend who loves to read horror novels - think Edgar Allan Poe or Stephen King.  That's not my favorite genre.  I like literary classics or a good mystery.  (And yet, she and I were able to swap short stories we had written to critique each other's work.)

As I write, and wonder what readers want, I am grateful for all the genres out there.  I know not everyone is going to want to read my book, but I have hope that, because of our diversity, there will be some who will.  And my book crosses many genres - think mystery, romance, chick lit and you're getting warm - so hopefully, there will be a wide audience out there for it.

On the other side of things, I'm also thankful for all of the different books I can read.  I do have my favorite type of books, but I like to mix it up from time to time as well.  Fantasy isn't my first choice, but a good fantasy novel from time to time is fun.  And despite what I said earlier, Edgar Allan Poe can intrigue me at the right time.

It is a wonderfully diverse world, and much of it is positive.  Thank goodness for that!

Sudden Changes

A good novel of suspense will be full of sudden changes, twists we call them.  They keep us on the edge of our seat.  But it is not just the novel that does this.  Life is full of unexpected twists.  

Saturday evening I listened to an excellent speaker.  On Sunday morning I had the opportunity to listen to the same speaker on a different topic.  He spoke off the cuff, sharing with us that the previous evening, after his speech, he spoke with his son on the phone.  This son is married with a couple of small children.  The speaker could tell something was wrong with his son.  The son finally admitted that they had just been to the doctor where they learned his young son, the speaker's grandson, had an incurable disease.  He was going blind and there was nothing they could do about it.

We felt of this man's anguish for his grandson and that child's parents.  Life changes on a dime.  But unlike in a book, these things affect us to the core.  They change the course of our lives.  They expose our true character.

Much as I like writing and reading novels, none of them will compare to the true life drama going on around us.  Not all of the sudden changes are bad, many are good.  The bottom line is that the only thing that doesn't change is that change is inevitable.  Life is all about how we respond to that or how we create positive or negative change in our lives and the lives of other.  How will you respond?

A Book Worm Family

It’s that time of year when the weather forces us to make a transition from being outside to cozying up to our indoor activities.  So, while reading is a great pursuit all year, it lends itself well to the cooler months that are soon upon us.

We have a family of readers.  And while some of us have had phases of non-reading, we all come back to those books in the end.  My oldest child couldn’t get enough books.  We read to him when he was little, and before long he was reading books himself.  Then along came my daughter.  She was happier climbing and running than sitting down to listen to a book.  So, I’m sorry to admit, after a while I stopped offering.  But eventually she discovered that books were pretty amazing, as well.

The three boys that followed have all fallen in love with one type of book or another.  When they have gone through those stages of being reluctant readers, I have been grateful to discover series that might catch their interest.  These can be the series that have stood the test of time like Lord of the Rings and Lion, Witch and the Wardrobe or the more recent Harry Potter, Hunger Games, Lightning Thief, and even (although I cringe) Captain Underpants.

      My youngest is in that stage where noises emanating from various body parts is his favorite thing in the whole wide world!  Can I just say here that it isn’t mine?!  So, he’s gravitating towards books that highlight such things.  I’m torn.  But, I remind myself he’s reading and it’s not actually that bad, just mildly annoying.

I’m also torn about when my children read.  It’s not in the afternoon when they’re bored.  No, it’s at night when they are supposed to be going to sleep!  Having been a member of the flashlight-under-the-pillow brigade myself (my husband included) I’m even more conflicted.  Quite honestly when it’s really late I say something, but often I turn a blind eye.  (Don’t tell my kids!)

Our family has some great memories surrounding books.  Charlie and the Chocolate Factory was an early favorite of our oldest and youngest because, even though it was a long book, we read it out loud to them when they were small.

        Later on we all discovered the Harry Potter series.  By the time the fifth book came out my kids and I were hooked.  We bought Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix the day of its release.  Since we all wanted to be the first one to read it (and I wasn’t about to buy four copies), we read it out loud together.  Everyone could hardly wait to finish chores or jobs so we could all gather together for as long as my voice would hold out or until it was way, way past bedtime.  We experienced all of the surprises and twists together.  It was delightful.  This same scene was repeated for book six.  We even speculated together who the mysterious R.A.B. might be.  By this time our oldest was off to college, but we even discussed our theories over the phone with him.  When book seven rolled out my husband joined in, having watched the movies or read the books leading up to the last one.  We experienced the heart break and the joy of this book together.

       As my kids have gotten older reading had remained a connecting force.  Three of us read the Hunger Games series at the same time, literally.  We read the first and second books one right after another.  My son bought the third book when it came out.  I would read it while he was at school.  Another son, being homeschooled at the time, would swipe it when I set it down, and then when the actual owner of the book returned from school he would pick it up.  We managed to have multiple bookmarks in the book at the same time.

Now that three of my children have left the nest we still talk about books.  My daughter recently read a book I recommended and loved it like I did.  She returned the favor by recommending a couple of books to me that she was about to read.  I liked the one she liked and disliked the one she disliked – for the same reasons.  One of my favorite books, The Book Thief (not a book for young children), is also one of my children’s favorites.  And I read it because he recommended it to me.

I have been working hard on my first novel.  In the process of editing and publishing I need a lot of readers’ feedback.  I've only let my daughter have a look at it.  It probably doesn't make any sense, but I don’t want the others to read it until I've got a publishing contract in hand.  I guess I’m afraid they won’t like it.  Oh well, such is the foible of being on the other side of things.

Note: If you have a reluctant reader, try reading a book together by taking turns reading every other page.  It makes the book seem not so daunting.  Also if you can find a popular series or author, it can hook them and keep them reading.  Our Cuyahoga Library is one of the best in the country, and the librarians always have great book suggestions.

To Blog or Not to Blog That is the Question

Isn't it great that you immediately recognize the phrasing from my title?  You can thank Shakespeare for that.  Some other famous quotes from Shakespeare are:

- To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man.

- Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.

- Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.

What a wonderful tribute to a writer, that we remember his or her words, and use them as part of our vernacular.

Connections

My oft blogged about seven-year-old likes to make "connections."  His first grade teacher last year taught him to look for connections in what he was reading - maybe something he related to or had in common.  So, every once in awhile he will excitedly point out that "he has a connection" to whatever we're reading or talking about.  It's a great way to engage him.

I wasn't taught in that same manner, but I recently made a connection.  You know, one of those "Aha!" moments.  If you will recall, I recently blogged about my hickory tree and the edibility or inedibility of the hickory nuts.  Well, I discovered (with a little more research and a taste sample) that the nuts landing all over my yard are indeed edible.  (I just have to fight the squirrels for them.)

Here's my connection and a nod towards my age.  I recall as a child Yule Gibbons, a naturalist, hawking for Grape Nuts cereal.  I thought I remembered him saying the cereal reminded him of the taste of wild hickory nuts.  To check that memory I found an old commercial on youtube, and that's exactly what he said.  At the time I didn't have a clue what a wild hickory nut even was.  But now I do!  It seems like such a simple thing, but it was great to make the connection!

(And by the way, I don't agree.  A pecan is a type of hickory, and my hickory nuts are also a soft nut and taste a lot like pecans.  But who knew?)

Word Definitions

I spent the better part of the day at the hospital yesterday while my husband was having same-day surgery.  (To start with - it wasn't really the "better" part of the day - I can think of a lot of "better" things to have been doing!  And same-day surgery?  Aren't all surgeries done in the same day?)

Are you getting a sense that my blog is about the way we use our language?  Well, my specific issue is the meaning of the word "privacy."  When we arrived at the surgery desk, we were met with a sign telling us to wait at that spot until we were called by a receptionist to check in, for the sake of the privacy of the patients.  So far so good.  I can understand not hovering behind someone while they talk about what body part is going to be worked on, etc.

When it was our turn with the receptionist the only "private" information that was discussed was my husband's name and date of birth.  With identify theft, I guess this should be kept private.  I was also handed a slip of paper with a number on it.  This was my husband's assigned number for the day.  Using this secret code I could check his status on an electronic board hanging on the wall.  The board told me where he was - in pre-op, OR, or recovery 1 or 2.  I can certainly see why that info would need to be kept private.  (Really?)

I still can kind of understand this, in a general sense.  However, I lost all sense of the meaning of the word privacy when I was with my husband.  He was in a cubicle with a curtain partially drawn.  And although hospital gowns are better than they used to be, they still ain't much!

But the real kicker was when the surgeons would come out to talk about how the surgeries had gone.  All of us were waiting in one big, open waiting room.  The surgeon would explain to the family about the surgery.  They almost always started with, "It went well."  I know this because I could hear every single one of them that came out!

With my understanding of "privacy" I would think that the actual physical body and the intricacies of what was done to that body would be of utmost importance - not whether he was in the OR or the recovery room.  I'm thinking I need to go back to school and learn the politically correct meaning of some words, because they don't seem to mean what I think they mean.

And, by the way, don't even get me started on the meaning of "government shut-down" with congress members still getting paid!

Suspended animation

I noticed the following leaves a couple of days ago.  I did not take the picture as they were floating to the  ground.  They were just  hanging in the air like that.  If you look to the left side you can see the hints of the spider web that is making this possible.  But without that, I could not even see the web holding these leaves in place when I was staring at it.  

The world is so full of amazing mysteries.  It is a fascinating and wondrous place.

On Pins and Needles

I just finished writing a column that will appear in the December issue of a magazine.  It made me stop and think about Christmas.  I can still remember the excitement of waiting for Christmas - sitting on pins and needles - as the idiom goes.

When learning a foreign language idioms are those things you just have to memorize, and when you come across them unawares, they can throw you for a loop.  (Where does that idiom come from, I  wonder?)

Consider "pins and needles."  Is it referring to sewing?  Or does it relate to some medical procedure?

What about some of the other idioms we use on a regular basis.  Why is something that is easy a "piece of cake?"  Is cake easy?  Or why do we say something is "easy as pie?"  Pie isn't all that easy to make.

Well, hold your horses, because when it gets down to brass tacks, I may have hit the nail on the head.  If I just run to the store, I guess things could be as easy as pie.  After all, stores these days offer everything but the kitchen sink.  Now I know this came out of the blue and maybe it's just a bit over the top, but if I cut to the chase curiosity killed the cat.  What do I mean by that?  That I just better stop while I'm ahead because trying to understand all of these idioms might just drive us all batty!

Careful Writing

I started writing a very different blog today - related to the hickory tree in my front yard and the massive amount of hickory nut casings all over my yard.  In the process I stopped to look up hickory nuts to see if they are edible.

What I read caused me to shift the focus of my blog.  It highlighted the importance of editing our writing.

I came across an article that stated there are 17 different species of hickory trees.  It then walked me step-by-step through a process to identify which one I might be dealing with.  All of this centered around the nut - size, appearance, etc.

That was all fine and good until I came to step 4.  It stated:

"Taste the nut meat. Several hickory species yield a sweet, edible meat, while others yield bitter meat that one should not eat."

Do you see a problem here?  Need I say more?

Hints at Things to Come

I have been watching our very busy squirrels lately.  A large hickory tree stands in our front yard and seems to be the home of numerous squirrels.  Some can be seen scurrying around the trunk in apparent play or along the ground gathering, cracking or burying nuts.  When they can't be seen, they can still be heard either by their chittering or by the near constant sound of nut casing pieces being dropped to the ground.

We have been wondering if their behavior is predictive of a harsh winter.  If you following almanacs and old wives' tales it is.  Kind of makes us curious to see what's coming.

I have read many books of suspense over the years.  It seems you can take two different tacks.  One method is to lay out little bread crumbs, little hints of what is to come.  The other one is to totally blind side someone with a surprise they weren't expecting.  I think the first of the two is the harder one to successfully pull off as a writer.  After all, you are telling someone what is going to happen and yet, you don't really want them to actually figure it out.

I'm not sure which method I enjoy reading more.  There are benefits to each.  However, I am preparing for a hard winter.

Integrity

There are moments when my faith in humanity is restored.  Have you read or heard about the young Dairy Queen manager who witnessed a blind man drop a $20 bill only to have another customer quickly scoop it up?  The manager asked her to return the $20 to its rightful owner or he would refuse to serve her.  She objected and eventually left.  Then the manager approached the blind man and gave him $20 out of his own wallet.

The bad example of the female customer aside, the manager did what we would hope most people would do.  I wonder sometimes in these days of plagiarism and bullying where we are heading as a nation, as a people.  I have written a character in my book who tries to be impeccably honest.  I have wondered if readers would believe such a person could exist - should, yes, but could?

This 19-year-old manager from Dairy Queen didn't tell his own story, a customer observed what happened and wrote to tell Dairy Queen.  Not only does the behavior of the manager encourage me, but also that of the watching customer.  It tells me that really good people do exist, and that others want to see such behavior.

That is more important than whether my character is believable or not.  It gives me hope.

Books vs. Real life

I had a dream last night.  I don't always remember my dreams, but I woke up in the middle of this one so it stayed fresh in my mind.  At one point in my dream we were at a summer camp and the director felt it his obligation to scare us in the middle of the night with skeletons and ghosts.  I was somewhat disgusted and told him we didn't need the scare treatment.

Okay, so you're wondering where I'm going with this.  It's quite simple really.  In books we want suspense and surprises.  I recently read an article that suggested when writing a book there should always be tension.  This was coming from a screenwriter who knows what makes a good movie.

And it's true.  We want books to spur us on to the next page.  I have stopped reading boring books, but continued to read books that kept me guessing.  I have even kept reading books I didn't really like just to find out what happened in the end.

However, I don't know of many people who want unending tension in their lives or constant surprises around every corner.  I'm not sure why we think we are "escaping" into a book when so often it is not a life we would like.  In fact, our boring lives may seem pretty good after reading about the stresses our fictional heroes are under.  Maybe that's the point.

Involving all our senses

I must admit that I usually relish the quiet.  Those of my early followers will remember my many blogs posted while I wrote at the library.  I wrote there for the quiet it afforded me.

I'm trying something new now.  My sons have introduced me to some good music - what used to be called "easy listening."  (I'm sure they would cringe at the label!)  It is a modern version of folk music.  I am listening while I write.  It's new, but I like it.  It is relaxing and adds to the joy I feel when I write.

I may be getting older, but I can still learn a new trick now and then.

Sick Days

 Today is one of those early fall days - the air is crisp and the leaves are showing tinges of color - and my boys have colds.  School is back in session, so while learning abounds, so do germs.

I can't say that my youngest, the one staying home from school, is that sick.  He's not even the sicker of the two boys.  But when you are in second grade compared with tenth grade it's not that big of a deal to miss a few days of school.

So, he's home watching movies and playing sword fighter (with himself).  He appears to have more energy than I do (and I'm not the sick one).  He is an authentic seven-year-old and I am an authentic somewhat-older-year-old.

If you've read my blog much you know how much I love writing.  And this illustrates a little of why.  I get to write different people, some are young and some are old, some are kind and some are selfish, some are honest and some are devious.  It is fascinating and challenging.  But that's what makes it so rewarding!

Honoring

Today is September 11th, a solemn day of remembrance.  May I suggest we do more than remember?  Honor the memory of those who lost their lives, especially the fire fighters that did so trying to help others.  Honor them by giving service today.

It doesn't matter whether your service be great or small - help a neighbor, say "hi" to a shut in, make a donation somewhere of time or money.  Use your imagination.  But let this day's sorrow be swallowed up by our greatest strength - our ability to care about and for others!

When We Fall Down

Toddlers are such wonderful creatures.  At what other time of life do you see such persistent learning?  Toddlers will build a stack of blocks, knock it down, and build it again - and again - and again.  They walk on unsteady feet and fall down.  But they get up again - and again - and again.

How many of us as adults show such determination?  Life is full of times where we fail or fall.  The measure of our character is shown in our response.  Do we get back up and try again?  Do we quit?  Do we rant and rave about whose fault it is that we fell?

I don't suppose there are too many books where the first draft is what got published.  (In today's world, I might need to exclude the self-published arena from that.)  But it is the ability to learn, to reevaluate, to start over that sets people apart.  It is not easy.  After all, trying again is admitting that the first try was done incorrectly, that we were somehow wrong.  But that pain is washed away when a later attempt does meet our expectations.

Toddlers are eventually rewarded with completed puzzles and tall stacks of blocks and fluid walking.  If you keep trying, what will you be rewarded with?

Drops of Dew

Early in the morning, as if by magic, little drops of dew can be found resting upon blades of grass and porch railings.  While there was no hint of them the evening before, there they are.  And later in the day they will burn off leaving only a trace in our memories.

Little drops of inspiration come to me in the night.  I have no idea when these thoughts will come, and unless I find some way of keeping them in my memory, they will quickly dry up and disappear.  So, I keep a notebook and a pencil by my bed so I can capture them, remember them, use them.  

Much of my current book came to me in just such a manner.  In the morning, I was able to convert my scribblings into the full fledged thoughts they begged to be.  The chef I recently interviewed keeps a notebook handy for ideas he has.  I know of others who have thoughts and ideas blossom in the night. It's a wonderful gift, like manna from heaven.

Interpersonal Dynamics

I've been doing a lot of character studies of late, and my best material comes from real life.  I was part of a group of women who gathered for lunch today, and the dynamics were rather interesting.

This general group has gathered before but not with the exact same participants.  I choose to sit quietly, for the most part, watching what happened.  One woman dominated the conversation.  That was not the interesting part.  It was how the other women responded.  Most of them have been vital participants before, but they became silent observers instead.

So, I suppose when I create my fictional characters, it's good to remember that they might not always act the same way in every situation.  Maybe they will choose to listen and observe.  Maybe they will choose to stand up when they've had enough.  Maybe they will keep me (and you, the reader) guessing.

I imagine the trick to writing any character in a believable manner is to make him or her consistent but variable, consistent with who he or she is, but with the ability to choose to act one way or another.  It is, after all, what makes human beings interesting and yet difficult to totally predict.  Add to that our ability to change over time and we are fascinating creatures.  And maybe that, in and of itself, is worth writing about.

Lazy Days

Today is Labor Day.  In a way that is a misnomer because most of us choose not to "labor" on this day.  My kids are out of school and letting it be one of those days with no purpose.  I suppose I am treating it the same way.  You just need days like that every once in a while.  So, excuse me, but this blog will be brief - although not completely without point.

In the process of editing my book, my daughter pointed out that my dialogue only contained necessary information, not just the normal conversations that we have every day.  While she was not encouraging me to add a lot of inane dialog, she was suggesting I make the conversations that I already had more natural by adding some simple banter.  In other words, to make my book better, to add more flow, some of what is said and done needs to have no point to it.  This is also important since there is an element of mystery in my novel.  I was giving away the farm by only including relevant information.  It will certainly maintain more of that mystery, and be more realistic, if there is more distraction and misdirection and yes, more things that don't have a point.

Who knew a lazy day by being pointless could actually have a point to it?

Flawed Characters

As I have been writing lately I've had to stop to ask myself the question, "Are my characters flawed enough?"  That's a strange question to ask under normal conditions.  We don't ever say, "Is my spouse flawed enough?" or, "Are my children sufficiently flawed?"  So, why do we ask it of our fictional characters?

I think the answer is simply that our spouse and our children (and, oh no, ourselves!) are already "sufficiently" flawed, and we are well aware of that fact.  So, who wants to read about a character that makes us or those around us look worse by comparison?  If a hero or heroine is too perfect we might end up hating them for that fact rather than respecting and liking them as was the author's intent.  Or maybe they just won't seem real, and then we will view the book as more of a fairy tale.  Any message the author may then want to impart will be lost as not realistic or simply irrelevant.

But there is a danger here of going too far.  Many well respected books put forth such flawed characters that I, as a reader, struggle to like them at all.  I would not want to be friends with these fictional people.  So, if I wouldn't want them in my home, why would I want them in my mind?  If I get to a point in a book where I begin to ask the above question, that's usually about the same time I put the book down, and find a better use for my time.

That's not to say every character has to be likable, but there have to be enough characters that we view as friends.  That way we will care about what happens to them.

I suppose there is a message in all of this.  Yes, I know that I am a flawed "character," but am I too flawed?  Fortunately as an author, and as a human being, I can choose to change my character(s).

Hidden Sounds

My title may seem a little oxymoronic; things we see are hidden, not usually things we hear.  But bear with me for a few minutes and allow me to be literary instead of literal.

I was walking my son to school this morning, something I haven't done since last spring.  Usually we are greeted along the way by various animals - squirrels, dogs, and a huge variety of birds.  We saw none!  They were conspicuous by their absence.  However, before long we could make out the songs of various birds.  Even with that we still could not locate them with our eyes, but we were certain they were there.

A good novel will let us "hear" many things before we actually get to see them, just little hints and bread crumbs along the way, taunting us, teasing us, keeping us intrigued.  And eventually, we will see what we only believed to be there.

My return home after successfully depositing my child turned out to be different.  Before long I heard the call of a blue jay followed shortly by his actual appearance in my line of sight.  This was followed by my view of several small birds clutching a wire overhead.  My favorite though was the bush I passed that upon closer inspection was housing several small birds neatly tucked inside.

I had been teased and taunted, yes.  But in the end I was rewarded.

Lost Grammar?

I have to admit to my grammar pet peeves.  It really annoys me when someone uses "your" when he or she should have used "you're."  And I'm not too thrilled when someone confuses the use of "past" and "passed."  I have also noticed that the trend in novel writing is to commonly use fragments.  These things don't seem to be rocket science, and yet . . .

What really rankles is when one of my children's teachers makes silly mistakes.  How is my child going to learn the proper usage of words and appropriate grammar when even his teacher has problems?

I could continue on my rant about the loss of grammar skills in this day and age of technology and grammar and spell check.  I could, but I won't.

Are you familiar with the phrase, "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone"?  As I have been going through the editing process of my own book, this phrase has come to have more meaning.  It appears that I have my own grammar blinders - for instance, I like to split infinitives.  According to the internet, splitting infinitives is akin to starting a sentence with "and" or "but."  It is not a hard and fast rule anymore; however, the article I was reading added that you still shouldn't do it.

So, maybe I should take it easy on my son's teacher.  (But it's so hard not to cringe!)

Do you have grammar pet peeves?  Feel free to share what they are.

Disappointed?

I just finished reading a book (that will remain nameless).  It was long and somewhat drawn out.  Just as one character progressed, he or she would be dropped to introduce yet another new character.  You would then be presented with a whole life story of this new person in quick summary form.  I will admit they were interesting stories, but it felt like a long novel full of short stories.

I have come to appreciate flashbacks, the back and forthing continuously going on in many novels.  But this book did it in such annoying fashion!  Not only were you going back, you were changing characters, settings, themes and directions as well.  It didn't feel like you were building a larger story, but just constantly putting on the brakes, stalling the motor and needing to restart the engine.

So, I finished reading it last night.  And I was kind of mad at the ending, but not in the way you might think.  I really, really liked the ending!  I was all set to thoroughly hate the book.  I was ready to dismiss the whole thing.  But now I can't!  I've never been so disappointed or annoyed to like a book before.

I'm not sure how to feel.  I'm not sure whether to recommend the book to others or not.  And I'm annoyed at having such a quandary.

I suppose if I had been the author I would not have included quite so many side stories.  In fact many of those stories could have been developed into their own books, and they had the potential to be great stories all on their own.  But the point is, I'm not the author, and he choose to do it this way for a reason, just as I will choose to do things in my books for a reason.

You may or may not agree with the choices I will make for my books, just as I didn't agree with the choices he made.  In the end, I guess I really want you to like my books, but I especially want you to like the ending, to be satisfied by it.  Because in reality my favorite books are the ones with the most satisfying endings.

Is it that time already?

So many emotions exist these days around our house - and for those not accustomed to showing lots of emotions.  It's back-to-school time.  Doesn't that explain a lot?

It starts with the disappointed, "Oh, no!  Summer's not over yet, is it?"  But this competes with the feeling of excitement.  "Who's my new teacher or teachers?", "I can't wait to see my friends?", "Which new shirt will I wear the first day?"

I'm not sure which emotion is winning. Attempting to get everyone back in an up-early-in-the-morning routine this week is probably swaying them towards disappointment.  But there still is the undeniable (although they are trying hard to "deny" it!) sense of anticipation, an eagerness to push forward.

Conflicting emotions are present on my end as well.  I love having my kids home for the summer.  I love letting them sleep in, seeing them walk out of their rooms fully rested and happy.  I love playing lazy games in the afternoons and going places in the car together.

But . . . I do like the learning that goes on, the acquisition on new knowledge and skills, the budding maturity and self-assurance, the interactions with a wide variety of other kids.  I'm also looking forward to getting my writing time back, to have the routine of writing every day, to seeing real progress.  And now that I'm working through a major rewrite of the first draft of my novel, with the intent that the second draft is being sent off to agents and publishers, I'm impatient to have more time with it.

But when all is said and done, I'll be a little sad next week when my kids go out the door to spend most of their waking others somewhere else.

Summer In My Rear-View Mirror

School is starting up again in a matter of days, and while the calendar may say otherwise, that signals the end of summer to me.  Summer and children home are one and the same in my mind.

As far as summer goes, this one has been odd.  In some parts of the US it has been hot and dry, fueling the wildfires that are raging right now.  For us it has been unusually rainy.  And when it has rained, it's not the typical drizzle, it's a downpour producing four inches or so in an hour or two.

I have become attuned to the indoor sound and sense of the rain.  It comes on with an ominous feeling that gradually engulfs the room.  And only at the last do you realize what has transpired, prompting the light switch to be turned on and the curtains opened to discover the darkening skies beyond.

Before any sound reaches your ears you see the far off lightning, and the lines of rain playing dot-to-dot from sky to ground.  You know what's coming and you are powerless to stop it or avoid it.  You close windows and unplug computers.  You find flashlights to be at the ready, checking to make sure batteries still work.  And then it hits.

Even downstairs you can hear the drops pounding on the windows or the ground outside.  The gutters on the roof are overwhelmed and water pours straight down in large torrents.  From downstairs you check the windows for water and are relieved to see them hold.

And for me, when I know I am safe, I stop what I am doing to watch.  Sometimes I go to the front porch to see the flashes and hear the echoing thunder, drawing closer and closer with each bolt.  I feel the wet heavy air and even under the protective porch I still feel the rain as it splashes in front of me.  I am in awe.  I am powerless and small, and I marvel.

There is a Higher Power at work here.

Ever Learning

Life is a journey, and everyone approaches that journey in his or her own way.  I have seen people let time pass, and I have seen others grab hold of every opportunity.  I think I most admire those who approach life as if it were their own private university.

My great-grandmother lived to the age of 100, but her mind was active and alert up to the end, even after her body betrayed her.  She was always reading and learning, eager for any tidbit that might come her way.  At one time my brother went to Switzerland and Germany for an extended period of time.  Our great-grandmother charged him with learning to yodel so he could come back and teach her how to do it.

Two days ago (when, yes, I know I normally would have blogged, but didn't) I interviewed a local chef, who has gained national renown.  It was pleasant to hear about his history, what he did when.  But I was more interested, not in the stops along the way, but by how he approached those stops.  Part way through the interview, with various questions, I finally got him to move away from reciting his life to talking to me about his life.  I found out how he learns, how he develops, what he thinks.  I was learning about how he learns.  That was fascinating.

I spent the afternoon of that same day doing some hands-on research for my next book.  It was a lot of information to take in all at once, but as I go over more and more iterations of the same kind of thing, I'll understand it, and then I hope to convey what I have learned to my readers through one of my characters.  It was equally fascinating, but in a different way.

I don't know what kind of journey you are on, but I can tell you that I love being a constant learner.  The world is always fresh and new.  It is wonderful and mysterious, always whispering to you to ask, to learn, to grow, and then to ask again.

Senses

As a writer (and as a reader) I love descriptive passages where words paint such a vivid picture in one's mind that you feel as if you can literally see what's being described.  But I was thinking today about our senses other than sight.  Descriptive passages the involve one of the other senses aren't as common.

What made me think of this was my morning.  My husband and I awoke early.  And while it was still cooler outside than in, he cracked our bedroom window.  I lay there in bed in that fuzzy place between sleep and awake with eyes closed listening to the world around me.  Car engines, starting and stopping at our corner often drowned out the more calming sound of a bird's sweet call.

As the day changed right before my ears I could hear the sound of a lawn mower trimming our yard to a more acceptable height.  This was interrupted by the sput, sput, sputtering of an engine starved of fuel, followed by the sound of the kitchen door, followed still further by my teenage son's voice informing me about the empty gas tank and the empty gas can.

We use our five senses all of the time, but often because of that frequency we fail to appreciate them.  And maybe that's why we don't always think about writing them into our prose.  It's just food for thought or maybe I should say music for our ears.

Friday Musings

Today is Friday, which means it's a blog day.  But it's also a book editing day and a turn-in-an-article day and a play date day and a run errands day and a laundry day.  Sometimes writing can feel like the rifle shooting portion of an Olympic biathlon.  You hurry, hurry, hurry through the other activities of the day and then somehow need to slow your heart rate down, calm your thinking, and focus on the blank page in front of you.  And you hope what comes out on that page is lyrical and enchanting or heart-pounding and gripping or suspenseful and intriguing.

Just like the participants in the biathlon, it takes practice, with some days producing better results than others.  Some excel at rifle shooting but never in a context of doing it between skiing legs.  And I suppose many writers shut themselves off from the rest of life in order to write.  In fact, that is the recommended path to take.

Sometimes I'm able to write like that, most often when the kids are in school.  But today isn't one of those days.  My youngest sits a few feet from me playing an elaborate made up war game using the game pieces from Axis and Allies.  He carries on his own little conversations, complete with any number of sound effects.

Another child is in the kitchen washing up his dishes after a late breakfast.  My husband is gathering his things to run errands.  And while I am aware of these goings on around me, my mind is also on this blog and on my book, playing out the various scenarios of the elements I will be adding to it today.

I once read a different writer's blog who criticized authors who didn't write enough, using their life as an excuse.  It made me stop and think.  Am I letting the living of my life get in the way of my writing?  There are days when that is undoubtedly true.  But I actually plan for that.  I schedule days for working on other things with no intention of writing.  That way I seem to pack a lot into the day, but I also carry no guilt about not adding to the word count of my book.

Still, there are far too many days like today, when I am writing and living life at the same time.  I guess it's just the path I've chosen, and somehow it's working out.  It presents the challenge of time to devote to my writing, but I think it makes my writing better and more authentic.  Without it I probably wouldn't even be able to write.

The Best Writing Advice I Ever Heard

I've been thinking lately about this blog and what it's all about.  There are many writing blogs that put forth tips and ideas about writing, but this blog was started in an effort to chronicle my writing adventure.  However I've found I am learning tips along the way.  So, at what point am I credible enough to blatantly put forth writing advice?

I don't know, but I'm going to pass along a tip I picked up from someone else.  I need to set the stage a little first.  Several years ago one of my sons was beginning to show an interest in writing, in particular writing poetry.  My husband came across a notice that the poet laureate was going to be in town speaking at a local university and the public was invited.  My son and I eagerly attended and afterwards spoke with him briefly.  I asked for his advice for my son.  He said the best tip for writing poetry is reading poetry - lots of it!  My son took that advice and has continued to read, write and love poetry.  He recently completed his freshman year at Cornell University with a major in English.

I find I write best when I am including a regular diet of reading to go along with it.  Other writers, especially good writers, help me to be a better writer simply by letting me experience their words.  What I find interesting is that as I read writing advice I often find I am already doing what they suggest.  This isn't because I was naturally born to write, it's that every time I read I am being schooled in what to do, what works and what doesn't, what I like to read and what I don't.

It's pretty nice to be able to say "I've got to get some work done," and then curl up with a good book.  Just one of the perks of this job - even if I'm not getting paid by the hour to do it.

So Much Below the Surface

I have to admit I have the best job!  This morning I interviewed our city's fire chief for an article on the fire department.  It was so interesting!  How often do you get to visit with an official or business executive of your choosing for an hour and ask them anything you can think of?  All you have to do is rub the magic lamp of "I'd like to write an article about your company," and you're good to go.

Only one of these types of interviews left me frustrated.  In that case the statistics he gave me were incorrect and I wasn't able to glean much information about how their business does what they do for fear of industrial espionage.

But other than that one, they have been absolute fascinating.  I have learned so much more than I could possible include in an article.  I hear some of the best stories along the way as well.  Sometimes (as I mentioned in an earlier blog) I have to sample the product, such as the ice cream when doing a story on Mitchell's Ice Cream stores.

You may think you have a great job, but I don't know about that.  Unless, of course, you're a writer too.

Do What You Love

My husband has always been an advocate of finding your passion and pursing it for a career.  Until recently my career was my kids, and I was passionate about that.  I still am, but my children are getting older and leaving the nest so it doesn't take the same kind of time commitment that it used to do.

So, I have had the wonderful opportunity of having a second career, hence the writing.  At an earlier time in my life I wouldn't have embraced this the same way I do now.  I've always loved writing stories, but it was more of a hobby than anything else.

Now, it's different, and I'm not even sure why.  All I know is that I love it!  I'm writing feature articles and a column for a regional magazine, and I love that.  I'm working on my second novel, and I love that.  That book requires me to do a fair amount of research before I write too much, and that, surprisingly, excites me as well.

I started this blog when I started this second career of mine.  The first post was all about my excitement about the journey I was starting.  That excitement has not waned.  I thought it might, that I might get bogged down in all of the writing that needed to be done, but that's just not the case.  That's not to say that I don't have days where the writing just isn't "happening," but overall I love this.

I just spoke with a friend who admits writing is not her favorite thing.  But she is passionate about the nursing degree she is pursuing.  It would be a pretty lopsided world if we were all passionate about the same thing.  So, find the thing or things that interest you, and then do what you love and love what you do!

Is It Wednesday?

If it's a Wednesday than it must be a blog day.  Although what time of day I actually blog is erratic at best, I at least try to stick with the Monday, Wednesday, Friday format.  (You may not have noticed seeing that's more like a guideline than an actual rule - to borrow from Pirates of the Caribbean.)

I suppose that's kind of like my writing style.  There are authors that swear by the rule of writing so many words every single day or writing for a set amount of time each day.  I think it's like anything you pursue, you have to find what works for you.  

I definitely have to set aside time to write, and then jealously guard that writing time.  But I'm also a wife and a mother and a volunteer and a . . .  So, despite my best efforts to sabotage my writing with all of my other activities, I've managed to complete my novel in six months.  

During the school year my schedule is more solidified, but during the summer with kids home . . . lets just say it's not quite as structured.  I've written in the mornings or late afternoons or, after several busy non-writing days, all day long (with prior notice to all family members).  I've written in the middle of the night when all is quiet and I am left alone with my characters who have missed me.  

Quite honestly I didn't know if my haphazard approach was going to work.  But this is something I really wanted!  I wanted it so much I could taste it.  And somehow or other it has worked.  No one is more surprised than me, but no one is more pleased as well.  I said "worked," but that is a bit of a misnomer.  The work is not actually in the past tense.  There is much more ahead, for instance I don't have a publisher or agent yet.  But that will come too . . . somehow or other.

The Power of the Written Word

I talk a lot in my blog about writing fiction, or writing books.  But whether you are an author or not you use the written word all the time.  These days it is more likely in the form of a text or an email, but it is writing all the same.

In a departure from my typical blog, I want to focus on that writing we all can or should do.  I'll narrow it down even further to the writing that seems to be a dying art - the thank you note.

When was the last time you wrote a thank you note?  When was the last time you received one?  Some of the short but sweet notes I've received have been so precious that I have tucked them into pages of my journal.  It is such a pleasant surprise to receive a hand written note full of praise and appreciation, especially these days when it doesn't happen very often.

If you know how wonderful it feels to receive a thank you note, then write one today.  Be the sunshine in someone else's life.

Turning Over a Leaf

Have you thought recently about the phrase "turn over a new leaf?"  If you remember being a child, with all the wonder that a child embodies, you might remember turning over fallen leaves or rocks or logs only to discover a whole new world underneath.  Often bugs of all shapes and colors are exposed, completely hidden from view until the leaf was disturbed.

I just finished writing my novel, Apple of My Eye, including my first major edit.  I'm sure there are many more edits in the future, but for the moment I have set it aside awaiting editorial comments.  That left me free this morning to start my second novel.  I had many different ideas scribbled in notebooks and computer files that left me wondering which one to explore.

I was grateful for my scribbled notes, because the idea that caught my attention the most was one I had forgotten about.  And so early this morning I wrote 1000 words of a novel titled, I am Seven. (I'm sure I'll write more later today - it's calling to me.)  It's really like turning over a leaf and discovering a whole new little world since it is a huge departure from my other novel.  The narrator of this book in a seven-year-old boy.  It is not a young adult book, as you might think.  But it examines our lives and the challenges we face as seen through the eyes of a seven-year-old boy.

Because of that child-like wonder so apparent when turning over a leaf, I'm excited to put life in a whole new perspective.  I hoping my little protagonist takes me on an intriguing adventure!

It's contagious!

I realize since I've become a serious writer that I view the world around me differently, and I especially view books differently.  Never again will I read a book merely to be entertained.  I may be entertained in the process, but other motives are always afoot.

It doesn't seem possible anymore to read without analyzing.  Mostly it's not to criticize other writers, rather it's to learn.  However, when I'm not learning something, when the writing seems juvenile or sloppy, I usually can't find it in me to even finish the book.

My daughter recently recommend I read two books that she was about to read.  That way we could discuss them over the phone.  An interesting thing happened.  As she was talking to me about the books she kept describing things in terms of how they might be viewed by me, the writer.  She was ahead of me in my reading, but she urged me on with the first book because of the techniques that would be good for me as a writer.

The second book I put down after the first chapter, determined not to pick it back up.  My daughter had finished it by then, but agreed with my decision.  (She had finished it because of an agreement with a friend.)  She then told me why it was a good decision by critiquing the writing in the book.

Now, to be honest, she has always had an editor's eye, my being a writer has not changed that.  But the depths of analysis and the discussion of what would be beneficial to me is a new wrinkle.  I kind of liked it!  It's nice to know she's got my back.

Dear Blog . . .

Recently a family member experienced the dreaded "blue screen of death" - his computer died!  Very sad indeed!  I've been experiencing the "white screen of death" - the blank computer screen just waiting for my words of wonder.

It's not that I actually have writer's block - in fact I just finished writing my book!  (Woo Hoo!!!)  Of course I'm talking about the first draft, but even the modifications and additions are already going well.  However, it seems I'm only allowed so many free flowing ideas, and all of them seem to be going into my book.  So, this blog post page has been sitting open on my computer all day long, waiting . . . waiting . . . faithfully waiting . . . for me to actually pay serious attention to it.

I must apologize dear little blog - but this is all I have left.

Residue

I have a little sore on my foot.  It's small, but annoying so I put a band-aid on it a few days ago.  The bandage has long since fallen off, but the sticky outline of where it was remains.  It is interesting what thoughts that outline conjures up.

If someone were to see that outline, they would immediately know that a band-aid had once been there.  More than likely, without even realizing it, their eyes would wander to find the wound - the reason for the bandage in the first place.

In novels when you come across characters with old band-aid outlines, it makes you wonder what their original wounds were and what caused them.  The residue can take many forms: an unexplained sudden temper, nightmares or cries in the night, an air of superiority, or simply a dark cloud.  At times we don't realize we're looking at old bandage outlines, we think a character may be mean or timid by nature, and sometimes that is true.  But not always, and often the old bandage and the need for it are the whole point of the story.

Sirens

I was outside yesterday, weeding my vegetable patch.  (It's not big enough to call it a garden.)  And while bent over pulling weeds I heard the loud sirens of an ambulance and a fire engine as they raced past our corner.

We hear sirens on a regular basis; we figure it's because we live at a prominent corner of a neighborhood of young families and elderly ones.  But the wail was much louder to my ears, having no walls to interrupt or insulate the sound.

My curiosity got the better of me after a few minutes, since the noise had ceased shortly after passing our house.  Sure enough, when finding a better vantage point, I could see the emergency vehicles maybe a half dozen houses down the street.  Being fairly new to the neighborhood, I have not met those neighbors yet.  However, they have a life story and something significant was happening at that moment.

Shortly afterward the ambulance sirens sounded again leaving that residence.  I did not know what had happened, but I wondered - not in a rubber-necking kind of way, but in a what-just-happened-in-your-life kind of way.

Everyone has a story.  Everyone has a mother and father, whether they knew them or not.  Everyone has good days and bad.  I wonder sometimes walking past strangers on the street what their lives are like, what are their successes and what are their heartbreaks.  Letting one's imagination run wild can lead to novels, reading them allows us to glimpse what might be someone's life.

But still . . . I wonder what has happened in that home down the street.

The View From Up Here

It’s not often that you get a bird’s eye view of the world.  But today, I can see for miles.  The endless sky stretches over office buildings and churches, schools and apartment buildings.  Some rooftops are brown by design and others are so by neglect.  By observation, every shape and size of roof can be seen: domes, spires, peaked and flat.  I can see buildings with red brick and green, stone mixed with glass, decorative touches and merely functional ones.  People move about unaware of my watching eye above, hurrying along or sauntering slowly, beating their own rhythm on the sidewalk, even if I cannot hear it.  Cars are lined up in parking lots, neat and orderly as if at an auto dealership, their bumps and bruises invisible from this height.  Semis move about, stopping to discharge their contents, the life blood of whatever organization they are servicing.  Buses likewise admit riders while pulsing out others.  It is a living, breathing city, moving people about along various veins and arteries.

But then maybe I have a jaundiced view.  I’m observing it from a hospital room in the heart clinic.

Great Characters

Lately I have been focused on character development.  Various articles I have read about writing point out how critical great characters are.  Readers are drawn to (and will come back for) interesting characters.

When I think about this in terms of my fictional characters, I am reminded of one very real one, my great-grandmother.  We called her Grandmother Martha.  Anyone who knew her would quickly agree that she was an amazing and fascinating woman.

Grandmother Martha was a little bit of a woman in physical stature, but in every other way she stood tall.  She was ready with a smile and a word of good cheer.  She lived to be one hundred years old, and her mind was sharp until the very end.  She was constantly reading, and towards the end of her life we would search for large print materials for her.  I remember one time (she was probably in her nineties by then) when she related a joke she had either heard from her son, my grandfather, or read in the Reader's Digest, I don't recall which.  Later my grandfather told us the same joke.  She had related it word for word as he had, remembering it perfectly.  I can't do that and I'm half the age she was then!

Grandmother Martha, when I knew her, lived alone in a little apartment close to the center of town.  She would walk to town for what she needed.  I didn't think about where she got her groceries at the time, I can't even recall where the nearest grocery store was, but I do remember that she would walk to the post office to mail birthday cards.  She never forgot a birthday.

She was always encouraging and supportive.  I remember making homemade bread for the first time.  We shared a loaf with her, and she called to tell me it was the best bread she had ever had.  I was floating for days.

When you know more of her life you would be surprised that she was not bitter, but that is not a word she understood.  She married my great-grandfather and inherited a lot of work in the process since they ran a hotel for quite some time.  She was housekeeper for the hotel and cook for the accompanying restaurant.  One of my most treasured possessions is a "crumber" from the hotel.  It is basically a fancy dustpan with no handle.  It is painted with fancy designs and has a lacquer finish.  A long handled brush accompanies it, used to brush crumbs off the tables into the "crumber."  It reminds me of my loving grandmother.

She had four children, but one died too young because of a drunk driver.  Apparently she took it hard, but like with everything else she never let it dim her radiant spirit.

There is more I could tell you, after all, you can fit a lot into one hundred years, but this is just a blog not a book.  So, the last thought I will leave with you is about how much she loved.  I always felt loved in her presence and with her birthday cards and eating her snickerdoodle cookies.  It was so easy to love her because she loved so immensely.  Being the youngest in my family, when we would visit her the conversation would often be over my head, but I didn't care, I just loved to be in her presence.  And I will tell you I continue to feel that love from beyond the grave.  A couple of my children have had a great affinity for her, and they never met her in the flesh.  But they know she loves them; that is the power and immense circle of her love.

Great Literature

As I've become a full-time author I've thought a lot about what I hope to achieve.  Yes, I would love to sell books.  (Who wouldn't?)  But there is more.  I would like to write a book that makes people feel and think, one that stays with them, one that they tell their friends, "You've got to read this book."  

I would like to write a book that gets favorable reviews, but this is a tricky one.  This is such a subjective thing.  What has prompted this blog today is the current book I'm reading.  It is a Pulitzer Prize winner, and I hate it.  I have been trying to find redeeming features in it.  The language has a nice flow to it.  I'm not sure what else to say.  It has two running themes: suicide and adultery.  If this book were a true snippet of reality there is no marriage out there that has not experienced adultery at some point.  And suicide is something everyone considers on a regular basis.  

So, I guess if I can't see why this would be a Pulitzer Prize winner, I'll never be writing one.  Well, what a relief!  Now that I've accepted that fact, I need never feel disappointed by not achieving that level of success.

I do hope, however, that one day you will read one or more of my books and you might say to your friends . . .

Anti-Climax

My post today, like most days, is highly influenced by my life.  When reading a book, no one likes being jacked up, expecting something amazing and then having nothing real transpire.  It is a let down.  And while it can make a later revelation come with more impact (you're expecting nothing this time), doing it too often will disappoint a reader, possibly turning them off for good.

So, my son was supposed to get on an airplane early this morning, leaving home for two years.  We've been focused on this day for months.  We were ten minutes away from heading out the door, when we stopped to print boarding passes.  When I entered his confirmation number what came up was an entirely different flight!  And not only that it leaves this evening!  Apparently his original flight was delayed; however, it seems it's really being cancelled because the airline is rebooking everyone.  Now in the grand scheme of things, a half day delay is not a big deal.  But, at the moment it doesn't feel that way.  One is all ready to go and suddenly there is nowhere to go.

Oh, well.  What can you do?  Hopefully it won't be like that bad book where the let down happens repeatedly.  Here's hoping he leaves tonight without a hitch!

Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My! part 2

I last left you with tales of girl's camp and critters galore - most of them actually harmless.  The skunks and raccoons were also I suppose harmless, but they did create a fair amount of mischief and mayhem.

Since raccoons are common in this area, we knew to put any kind of foodstuffs in cars at night.  But that doesn't mean that sometimes someone didn't forget!  The first couple of nights were okay, but the next night one of my tent mates forgot about the trail mix baggie that had been passed out to everyone.  When she heard the raccoon right outside the tent, she suddenly remembered.  Plucking up her courage she hit the tent where the noise was coming from, with accurate aim to where the raccoon was on the other side!  He left and did not return.

I slept through all of this excitement.  But sometime around this time the skunks joined the fray.  I could smell them strongly, enough that it permeated my sleep.  I remember thinking how smelly they were, but I was in the tent and they were outside so I may as well sleep.  (Do you get a sense of how exhausted I was?)

The next morning revealed that we had forgotten to empty our late night garbage -now spilled and pillaged, and that we had left a few snacks inside the supply tent - also now pillaged and smelling strongly of skunk.  The front of the supply tent remained smelly for the rest of camp.

But the real excitement came the next night.  Some first-year campers had neglected to secure some beef jerky.  The raccoons sniffed it out in no time, and at least five of them joined the party!  Several 12-year-old girls in a tent together did not appreciate the raccoons outside of their tent!  They quickly became hysterical.  Their leaders were in a nearby tent, but could not get to them, being pinned down by the same raccoons.

The ensuing conversation (if you could call it that) could be heard all over camp.  The girls were screaming and screaming.  They begin to call for the male leader (we'll call him Mr. Brown) two campsites over.  Again and again we could hear, "Mr. Brown!!!!!  Help us!"  And then after a "1, 2, 3," all of them together yelled, "MR. BROWN!!!!!!!"  The problem was that for that evening another man had pitched his tent beside Mr. Brown's with the advance apology that he was a snorer!  So, Mr. Brown had put in ear plugs and was snoozing away, oblivious to anything transpiring.

The girls continued with "They're going to eat us!"  Followed by a calm leader voice saying, "No, they don't eat people.  It's okay, girls"  Then there was the, "Mr. Brown had a gun.  MR. BROWN, BRING YOUR GUN!!!!"  The leaders, in between trying to help calm the girls, were laughing hysterically by now!  The dialog went on in one form or another for a good half an hour.

Can you see now why the skunks and raccoons needed their own blog?  Skunks and raccoons, Oh My!  (And what good material to tuck away for later.)

Lions and Tigers and Bears, Oh My!

When I went camping a few weeks back, I met up with some interesting creatures.  I may have taken just a wee bit of literary license here with my title, but be assured we did have critters to contend with.  And if I may be so bold as to say it, in many ways they were more frightening than the above mentioned lions, tigers and bears.

To start with, there was the spider.  Now let it me known, when my husband is around, I call on him (in a very calm manner, of course) to squish any bug or spider I come across.  But at girl's camp I had to "be a man" so to speak.  On the first day of camp, one of the girls came screaming out of her tent about the horrific spider inside.  Leader that I was, a stoic face was necessary.  I went after the beast with only my shoe.  But it was not to be the epic battle you might expect.  Inside the tent was one of the teeniest spiders you've ever seen.  Okay, it was a bit of an anticlimax, I must admit.  But the young camper was truly terrified.

The next beast to appear only appeared in theory.  We were scheduled to take rafts down the river, but it was uncertain if we would be able to do so.  Rain had been plentiful of late and the river was deemed too high and swift to be safe.  Finally, right before our scheduled time, it was announced that we would be allowed on the river, but the campground wanted us to send as many adults with the girls as possible.  This was a problem for one of my fellow leaders.  Rafters from the previous year had informed her about the snakes in the river.  She and snakes were about as good a combination as the young camper and spiders!  But given the circumstances, this leader had no choice but to go, threat of snakes and all.  In the end, it was a similar anticlimax.  I kept my eyes pealed for snakes, knowing she was behind me on the river, and honestly, also knowing that snakes weren't my favorite as well.  To the relief of both of us, we saw no snakes!

Now, lest you think there were actually no terrifying creatures at all, let me tell you about the raccoons and skunks.  Or maybe I'll just save them for my next blog . . .

It's a Monday, but a good one!

I probably should start by asking you to forgive me for being a little personal, but I kind of tend towards that anyway, so I guess I'm a little late with that.  But I suppose that today is just a little more personal than normal.

I have a seven-year-old son.  He just had a birthday, so he's the six-year-old I've referred to before.  We just learned he has asthma.  It's not that uncommon these days, and it's probably not a big deal to a lot of people, but it is to us.  We have been dealing with a child who coughs for hours each night and can't fall asleep because of it.  Or he wakes up in the middle of the night coughing, and is awake for hours continuing to cough.  It has been hard to watch him struggling with what seemed like endless colds.

It is amazing to have four nights in a row with no coughing fits!  And then last night, for the first time since we started treatment he began to cough at bedtime.  My husband and I both wondered how many coughs added up to enough to warrant using his inhaler.  But as he coughed a little more, we recognized the pattern leading up to a bad night.  I gave him a dose from his inhaler.  He coughed once right after and once maybe an hour later.  That was it.  This may not seem like much to you, but I had a hard time choking back the tears.

So what, you may ask, does this have to do with writing?  I guess it that's emotions can come from surprising sources.  And while you may not be choked up about my son have a normal night's sleep, if he had been the main character in my novel, and you had grown to know him and care about him, maybe you would be.  That is, if I had written it right.

Simple Pleasures

Sometimes in life we look for the "big" moments.  We celebrate graduations or weddings, for instance.  We do this as writers too.  What is the big reveal?  And these things are important; we look forward to them and think back on them.

But, in my latest travels and adventures I have one favorite memory that surpasses all others.  One day, towards the end of  my visit with my daughter, I took my granddaughter outside their apartment.  There in a little breezeway I blew bubbles with my sweet little girl.  I blew and she chased for probably fifteen minutes.  She would run and say "bubba" while reaching to pop the bubbles within her reach.  At times they would drift too high, but she would stretch as if by some magic they might get close enough to pop.  We were both smiling, lost for a moment in time.

Life would not be complete without these simple, but treasured, pleasures.  Hopefully my novel will have these simple, but treasured, passages that bring reality and humanity to my words.

Lights in the Dark

I have recently been traveling to various locales - my daughter's to paint her new apartment among other things and to a girl's camp, camping in tents in the middle of nowhere.  I promised to bring back material to write about, and I do have a lot to work with.  However, it is here, in literally my own back yard, that I find material for today.

Yesterday, we had severe thunderstorms pass through our area.  Even before the first storm actually hit our house, our power went out.  I won't bore you with details of what we did for the next seven powerless hours.  Suffice it to say we played lots of games by flashlight and tried to keep cool with open windows when it wasn't raining.

About four or five hours into our outage we discovered that most of our neighbors had power!  We were part of a small pocket of about six homes without power.   At that point I called the electric company to report our outage in case we had been missed.  Although I'm fairly certain they knew that information, it felt good to take some kind of action, pointless though it may have been.

About quarter to eleven last night two electric company trucks pulled up across the street.  It was an awe inspiring sight, and not just for the obvious reason.  Yes, it was nice to know that relief was close.  But it was more than that.

Imagine this scene if you will.  The houses are dark.  The streetlights are out.  Tall trees are everywhere.  And then shining like an alien being are truck lights and a spotlight shining up into the trees.  You can follow the light along the cherry picker that is raised until it disappears into the dense leaves.  It is accompanied by the loud sound of a motor that seems to gun every few minutes or so as it powers the bright lights illuminating the linemen's task at hand.

I walked out in the rain to get a closer look, but I still could not see where the light ended, could not see actual workers up in the air near the power lines.  All I could see were lights shining in the dark.    It was eerie and comforting at the same time.  I wonder what stories it will inspire?

Fireflies

Well, I'm finally back from my adventures.  And as anticipated, it was a great opportunity to gather material to write about.  The hard part now is deciding what to write about first.  So, I'll start with something small, something small in size: fireflies.

I grew up in the West and my only experience with fireflies was in the book Gus and the Firefly.  It was actually one of my favorite books as a little girl.  But it wasn't until I moved to the East Coast that I saw a firefly in person, so to speak.  I was entranced by the bit of florescent light that suddenly appeared and then just as suddenly was extinguished.

Every year when summer comes I am once again mesmerized by the lights that magically appear in my yard.  I can't help but sit and watch, often with a child by my side.  My kids have periodically caught one in their hands and we watch it turn its light on and off until it flies away.

Only a few days ago I was camping in a largely undeveloped part of Ohio.  One evening we had a program that took us on a walk in the evening.  We passed by a large field on one side and a gentle hill on the other.  As dusk deepened, the fireflies came out en masse.

Despite years of living in the East, I have never witnessed such a large gathering of fireflies.  They could be seen at the edge of the path, but also beyond and on both sides of the path.  Their glowing lights were flickering off and on.  It looked like a large Christmas light display of twinkling white lights.  It was more than beautiful, it was ethereal and heavenly.

I have written before about writing what you know.  And you really don't have to experience everything you write about, but some things are beyond our imagination.  I had seem fireflies before.  I knew what they looked like.  But I had never imagined a whole field of them and the mystical dance they would perform before my eyes.

Vacation?

This will be my last blog for a couple of weeks.  I will not be at home, and while I'll have my computer with me for part of that time, I won't have the time to write a blog.

You may think since it's summer that I'll be on vacation.  Well, not exactly.  I'm looking at it as gathering information, doing research, if you will.  To start with I'm going to see my daughter, her husband and my granddaughter.  I'm excited about that and one special day we have planned.  But the rest of the time we're going to be helping her either pack up her belongings and move them or clean and paint the new place.  Maybe I'll get to do both!

(I must apologize here.  Because it suits the purpose of my blog, I'm not presenting this in a very good light.  I actually volunteered to help my daughter with her move and I only wish I could be there longer to help more.  But putting it the other way makes for a better story, don't you think?)

So, after I return from my daughter's, I am home for a very short time, and then I get to go camping with a bunch of 12-17 year old girls!  I haven't been camping this century!  I slept in a cabin a decade ago, but a tent . . . I don't even recall!  (Okay, so I volunteered, but other than that, I'm not sure how to spin this one.)

In the end, let me assure you I'm not abandoning my "post" here.  The next couple of weeks will be interesting.  And in the end, I should have some great "material" (code for good stories and especially tired, dirty, etc. stories), and some I'll share here.   We'll see what turns up.

Schools Out For Summer

The last day of school in our area was yesterday.  It's such a magical time.  I can still remember the  exhilarating feeling of walking out of school for the last time that school year.  I felt so free, so alive, so unfettered!

Our kids are celebrating by sleeping in. Our youngest has plans - he intends to have more play dates than the number of summer vacation days.  His older brother has a plan also - basically to have no plans.  That's okay, we have plans for him.

You may remember those feelings of excitement when summer vacation arrived.  But how do you capture that feeling on a written page?  Do you bring up comparisons to draw upon your reader's emotional memories?  Do you describe it in detail?  Maybe a combination of both?  Maybe metaphors to sunrises or birds set free.

I think summer is epitomized by laying out by the pool with the sun warming your limbs while laughing and talking with your best friends.  This is the ideal.  The more common reality is lying around all day watching tv, eating cheetos, playing a game or two, and maybe reading a book.  Although, I'm beginning to think more and more that the ideal is reading a book!

Birds of a Feather

It's a short walk to my son's school, maybe a block and a half.  The two of us make this trek every morning and afternoon.  I noticed this morning the abundance of wildlife in that short distance.  I saw squirrels and chipmunks and half a dozen or more different types of birds.

It is interesting how species of birds vary in their behavior.  Some are small but noisy, sounding like a busy body talking to her neighbor.  Others are quiet and devoted, only seen with their mate.  Some birds were hopping along the ground while others flitted about in the air.  Many were colorful while others were plain, almost fading into the background.

I've also been keeping up on basketball.  The "Birdman" on the Miami Heat is an interesting species all by himself.  He reminds me of the truly awful film Sssssss made decades ago.  For some reason it has played on the TV multiple times over the years.  It's all about a crazy scientist (Dr. Stoner, interestingly enough) who turns people into snakes.  It's creepiness is highlighted when one of the "good guys" is discovered too late as half man-half snake.  I don't think we need to go to these physical extremes to demonstrate the similarities between humans and the animal world around us.

For instance, one of the birds I noticed this morning was a hawk.  He first made his presence known with his loud call.  I finally located him perched on the corner of a house right in front of me.  I have since identified him as a Northern Harrier.  Beautiful and majestic, this is actually the same bird I saw in the same place yesterday afternoon.  Only yesterday this large predator was being picked on by a blue jay.  The blue jay kept flying at him and chasing him off.

Isn't this world an interesting place?  How many "bird people" do you know that look completely human?  Gives you pause to think about it.  If you were a bird what species would you be?

The Great Kindergarten Graduation Riot of 2013

I've blogged before about the stranger than fiction aspect of our lives.  Here is yet another saga to add to that.  In the Cleveland area last week a kindergarten graduation was held.  Now, I won't even get into whether we need kindergarten graduations or not.  Suffice it to say, we live in one of the best school districts in the state and no one has felt it necessary to "graduate" from individual grades.  Anyway, back to my story.  Apparently at this graduation someone spilled punch on someone else.  Oh, the horrors!

Well, words were exchanged; more words were exchanged . . .  Apparently some teenagers got into it, and possibly some adults (accounts vary).  When all was said and done eight people were arrested for participating in a riot!  All of this from a kindergarten graduation!

What can I say?  What were these people thinking?  Was anyone around with a clear head?  What life lessons did those kindergarteners receive that day?

All I can really say is fiction is hard to write today when you have to compete with the absurdity of real life!