Stayin' Alive

In April, my husband got this brilliant idea to plant a garden. I don't know why, because our houseplants are hanging on by a tiny thread. But the weather was gorgeous, so we decided it might be fun. Maybe.

So we bought wood and soil and tomato cages and plants (no seeds for us!) and fertilizer and sprinklers. We built a raised bed with a mini irrigation system, sort of. And we planted...stuff. And then we watched them...closely.

Here's the garden status, about one month later:


1. Our strawberries were cute, but when I went out to get the couple ripe ones to garnish some chocolate pudding...they were gone. Along with all the unripe ones, too. The jury is still out on whether a mouse or squirrel or maybe a neighbor ate them. The plants are still growing, though, so maybe there's a chance we'll get a few more.

The Culprit?

2. Three different kinds of tomato plants. All three are doing pretty well, especially the Roma tomatoes. Most of them are still green, but we did pick one midget roma--just enough to garnish some fajitas! We hope the little thief doesn't beat us to the rest of them.

3. The beans are growing nicely. Which is kind of a shame because, believe it or not, I don't like fresh green beans. No matter how long you cook them. Wrong, I know.

4. The acorn squash = dead.


5. The bell pepper = dead.


6. The green pepper = dead.


7. But the cilantro is thriving, and has been used for garnishes, etc. Very nice. The thief apparently is not a fan of Mexican food, so my herbs are safe!

I think we're going to try a fall garden, too. What should we plant then?

Graduating

It's that time of year. I can hear the sedate march music, see the robes in various states of wrinklehood, smell the bouquets of roses. Graduation time is here.


I don't remember graduating from kindergarten. I'm not even sure that I did. In eighth grade, they did kind of a talent show type thing along with the ceremony. I played the clarinet and was so nervous my tassle shook the entire song. My high school graduation was sad but exciting. My class had become pretty close, but we were ready to move on. Most of my classmates went into the medical field. Still trying to figure out how that happened. I'm officially afraid to go to the ER, because I just might know the person poking me with needles, might have seen them drooling on their pillow during class trip or something.


I graduated from college...twice! I was definitely ready to be done. I'd rather choose my own topics to research. Like women fighting during the Civil War or what '68 Camaros look like or what the daily schedule is on death row or how to make a murder look like a suicide. Doesn't that sound more fascinating than a comparison of Longfellow and Frost or something? :-)


So I'm out of school. Not wearing the gown this year. BUT in some ways I guess you're never really done, are you? In the writing world, there are four levels of writers, according to Randy Ingermanson (aka The Snowflake Guy). But even those who have graduated still attend writing conferences...and take notes! I've heard of beginning writers finding themselves sitting next to pros, like one who said she watched Francine Rivers at a conference, dutifully taking notes.

Life is like that, right? No matter how much you think you know, there is still so much more. That's what keeps things interesting. True, it can overwhelm at times, but it's invigorating when something new clicks, giving you an amazing Ah-ha! moment. And we can learn from people, no matter what their grade in life. I was a contest judge last fall and found myself wanting to copy down some phrases in one entry's action sequence. Here I am, the judge, and this entry was giving me new ideas when I'd hit a wall in my own writing. (Don't worry. I didn't plagerize.)

Never be too proud to listen, to learn. If you ever think you've arrived, well...maybe it's time you went back to school.

Oops...

While I have discovered the wonders of using the schedule post option on blogger--writing a month's worth of blog entries on one day and then forgetting about it--I, um, discovered one of the pitfalls, thanks to a text message from a friend.

"How was lunch?"

That's it. And I stared at my phone, thinking over the leftovers I'd made into a sandwich, and wondering why exactly she cared. So she texted me back.

"I read your blog about going to lunch with writer buddies."

Oh. Yeah. That.

Well, while all those sentiments still stand about the amazing bond, etc., etc., the lunch had to be postponed. We're hoping to do it next week. BUT I forgot to delay my post. So while I was supposed to be having a fun lunch, I was staring at a stack of papers, taping them randomly on walls, and trying to figure out how exactly to organize this monster writing project of mine. :-)

Leftovers were okay. Lunch with writer buddies will be much better. And I'll try to remember to check my blog more often. :-)

Writer Friends

Today I'm going to lunch with a couple of writer friends. We'll eat (probably something chocolate), we'll laugh, and we'll talk about our own little made-up worlds. Probably figure out how to kill somebody off (while scaring any eavesdroppers away), or what the perfect black moment would be (in other words, how to make the heroine's life so wretched, she hits rock bottom and maybe a little lower), or...well, can't give any spoilers now, can we?

And we're going to drive for an hour and a half to do this.

Is it just me, or is there a very unusual bond between writers, especially Christian writers?

I exchange crazy and encouraging phone calls and texts with one writer. We met on a forum, and our writing careers have sort of parelled so far, making us confidantes. We've met in person three times.

I chat online, almost daily, with an amazing critique partner who lives in a different country. We did that before we actually met in person. We're hoping to have a little writing retreat this summer, if I can find the right priced airline ticket.

At two different times, I agreed to be roommates with two lovely writer ladies I'd never met before. Stayed up till 2 or so talking about...well, everything with one of them. Goofed off in the hotel hallway with the other and became a huge fan of her writing.

And there are so many more who have reached out and walked alongside me during their own writing journeys. I hardly know these people in their real lives. But I can't tell you how much they mean to me. They've prayed, brainstormed, critiqued, shared chocolate, gave fashion advice, answered random story-related questions, uplifted, bemoaned the process, and just been there for another writer, not expecting anything in return.

Is this just a writer thing? Or do other groups find these amazing connections as well? You scrapbookers, speak up. Does discussing little photo corners and cropping tools (um...can you tell I don't do scrapbooking???) create bonds that could last the rest of your life?

Writer friends, I'm so grateful for you. Thank you for being a part of my life.

Now, it's your turn. Yes, even you non-writers (aka Normals). Who is an unlikely friend God has placed in your life?

Did You Think I Forgot?

So...maybe I forgot for a few days, but I've actually just been putting off deciding who to send a copy of the illustrious GRIT magazine with my first paid published piece. (Can I work any more p's into that paragraph? Maybe I should try again...)

See, I've recently discovered this whole scheduling posts thing and it's just lovely forgetting about blogging for a month but still reaching my Resolution-Required one post a week minimum goal.

But here I am now, picking up the pieces and doing this giveaway. I know you've been waiting on the edge of your seat!

So the copy of GRIT goes to...

...

...

...

Beth Vogt! Aren't you just totally thrilled????! Ha. Thank you for being one of two faithful rambling readers! ;-)

First Lines 3

As you know, I tried my hand at writing bad poetry...again. I didn't even get a mention this time. I'm not sure if I'm offended or relieved. The winner was just lovely, along with many other entries. Check them out on Chip's blog if you haven't already!

There's another "worst of" contest that I have not entered, but it looks like a lot of fun. It's called the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, and I believe it was begun the year I was born. Please tell me that's not a sign...Anyway, for the contest, you submit a horrible first line for a novel. (Your own, of course. You don't want to get an author angry at you. Trust me.) Here are a few of the winners from over the past 20 years or so. Are you ready for this?

1. The bone-chilling scream split the warm summer night in two, the first half being before the scream when it was fairly balmy and calm and pleasant for those who hadn't heard the scream at all, but not calm or balmy or even very nice for those who did hear the scream, discounting the little period of time during the actual scream itself when your ears might have been hearing it but your brain wasn't reacting yet to let you know.
--Patricia E. Presutti

2. "Ace, watch your head!" hissed Wanda urgently, yet somehow provocatively, through red, full, sensuous lips, but he couldn't you know, since nobody can actually watch more than part of his nose or a little cheek or lips if he really tries, but he appreciated her warning.
--Janice Estey

3. The moment he laid eyes on the lifeless body of the nude socialite sprawled across the bathroom floor, Detective Leary knew she had committed suicide by grasping the cap on the tamper-proof bottle, pushing down and twisting while she kept her thumb firmly pressed against the spot the arrow pointed to, until she hit the exact spot where the tab clicks into place, allowing her to remove the cap and swallow the entire contents of the bottle, thus ending her life. --Artie Kalemeris

4. A small assortment of astonishingly loud brass instruments raced each other lustily to the respective ends of their distinct musical choices as the gates flew open to release a torrent of tawny fur comprised of angry yapping bullets that nipped at Desdemona's ankles, causing her to reflect once again (as blood filled her sneakers and she fought her way through the panicking crowd) that the annual Running of the Pomeranians in Liechtenstein was a stupid idea.
--Sera Kirk

5. On reflection, Angela perceived that her relationship with Tom had always been rocky, not quite a roller-coaster ride but more like when the toilet-paper roll gets a little squashed so it hangs crooked and every time you pull some off you can hear the rest going bumpity-bumpity in its holder until you go nuts and push it back into shape, a degree of annoyance that Angela had now almost attained.
--Rephah Berg

6. Gerald began--but was interrupted by a piercing whistle which cost him ten percent of his hearing permanently, as it did everyone else in a ten-mile radius of the eruption, not that it mattered much because for them "permanently" meant the next ten minutes or so until buried by searing lava or suffocated by choking ash--to pee.
--Jim Gleeson

7. The corpse exuded the irresistible aroma of a piquant, ancho chili glaze enticingly enhanced with a hint of fresh cilantro as it lay before him, coyly garnished by a garland of variegated radicchio and caramelized onions, and impishly drizzled with glistening rivulets of vintage balsamic vinegar and roasted garlic oil; yes, as he surveyed the body of the slain food critic slumped on the floor of the cozy, but nearly empty, bistro, a quick inventory of his senses told corpulent Inspector Moreau that this was, in all likelihood, an inside job.
--Bob Perry

8. Dolores breezed along the surface of her life like a flat stone forever skipping across smooth water, rippling reality sporadically but oblivious to it consistently, until she finally lost momentum, sank, due to an overdose of fluoride as a child which caused her to lie forever on the floor of her life as useless as an appendix and as lonely as a five-hundred-pound barbell in a steroid-free fitness center.
--Linda Vernon

Okay, I have to say this next one I cringe to paste onto my blog. I actually deleted it. Then put it back on, because it was so horribly bad that I guess it deserves it's place here. Right? Brace yourself. I apologize in advance...

9. Professor Frobisher couldn't believe he had missed seeing it for so long--it was, after all, right there under his nose--but in all his years of research into the intricate and mysterious ways of the universe, he had never noticed that the freckles on his upper lip, just below and to the left of the nostril, partially hidden until now by a hairy mole he had just removed a week before, exactly matched the pattern of the stars in the Pleides, down to the angry red zit that had just popped up where he and his colleagues had only today discovered an exploding nova.
--Ray C. Gainey

(Still cringing...) I know, I know. Painful, eh? But you know you want to try it. :-) So stay tuned--I just may host my own bad first lines contest soon!

First Lines 2

Still talking about first lines, here. I looked through my bookshelf and picked out a dozen first lines. You like?

1. The first time it happened, I had pins sticking in my back.
~ from Leaper by Geoffrey Wood

2. It was raining the night he found me.
~from Demon: A Memoir by Tosca Lee

3. The blow came like the torrent below, hard and swift and unexpected.
~ from Freefall by Kristen Heitzmann

4. PJ Sugar had been born to sneak up on people.
~ from Double Trouble by Susan May Warren

5. The past couldn't have picked a worse time to find her.
~ from Flee the Night by Susan May Warren

6. Ten years ago I was a dead man.
~ from Scared by Tom Davis

7. Whistling a tune from Fiddler on the Roof, I used my tweezers to work a piece of Gloria Cunningham's skull out of the sky blue wall.
~ from Hazardous Duty by Christy Barritt

8. My thighs were at it again.
~ from Dreaming in Black and White by Laura Jensen Walker

9. Five months ago I raised Gary and Mary Andrews from the dead.
~ from Quaker Summer by Lisa Samson

10. On Monday, I uncovered a drug ring in South Minneapolis.
~ from Symphony of Secrets by Sharon Hinck

11. Bad hair ruined my life.
~ from She's All That by Kristin Billerbeck

12. Kate O'Malley had been in the dungeon since dawn.
~ from The Negotiator by Dee Henderson

What are some favorites from your shelf?

First Lines

The first lines of a story are often the hardest to write. Many times the first paragraph in a published novel are last words the author writes. They come back to it. Tweak it. Move sentences around. Cut paragraphs. Spend way too much time on it, trying to find the magic formula to draw the reader in.

It can be a tricky balance--you need to be interesting enough to keep them reading, but you also need to make sure they get enough information up front that they're not totally lost as to what's happening to who and where and why. It needs to set the tone for the story. Witty? Serious? Thoughtful? Suspenseful? Maybe even the time period and the setting. Or maybe just create enough of a "huh?" moment that they have to keep reading to find out what you meant.

No wonder I like to skip this part.

Here are some "official" greatest first lines, compiled by some literary group.

1. It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.
~ from Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen, of course.

2. Call me Ishmael.
~ from Moby Dick by Herman Melville

3. It was a bright cold day in April, and the clocks were striking thirteen.
~ from 1984 by George Orwell

4. It was a wrong number that started it, the telephone ringing three times in the dead of night, and the voice on the other end asking for someone he was not.
~ from City of Glass by Paul Auster

5. They shoot the white girl first.
~ from Paradise by Toni Morrison

6. There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it.
~ from The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C.S. Lewis

7. Most really pretty girls have pretty ugly feet, and so does Mindy Metalman, Lenore notices, all of a sudden.
~ from The Broom of the System by David Foster Wallace

8. Granted: I am an inmate of a mental hospital; my keeper is watching me, he never lets me out of his sight; there's a peephole in the door, and my keeper's eye is the shade of brown that can never see through a blue-eyed type like me.
~ from The Tin Drum by G nter Grass

9. Vaughan died yesterday in his last car-crash.
~ from Crash by J.G. Ballard

10. Of all the things that drive men to sea, the most common disaster, I've come to learn, is women.
~ from Middle Passage by Charles Johnson

Do you agree with this selection? Do they make you want to keep reading? Which one do you like best?

Bad Poetry

I don't really do poetry, although Poe blows me away with some of his. However, there is one time of the year that I love to read poetry. Truly bad poetry.

Agent Chip MacGregor hosts a bad poetry contest every year around his birthday. The winner (chosen by an impartial jury, I'm sure) gets a really stupid book as a prize, plus the distinction of being the worst poet ever.

I entered in 2007 with a poem I wrote in 7th grade--Froggy Man. I think I got disqualified because he thought I cheated by writing it under the influence. This year, after reading two amazing entries by Amy and Aimee, I got talked into trying again this year. So here it is. Are you ready???

Cactus Man

An arm, twisted toward the sun
That is baking down, hot and well, really hot
Against the desert sand.
I am cactus man.

A tall, looming, spiky, water-saving (does that make me green?) being,
Providing shade and sustenance
For lost travelers on this forsaken plain.
I am cactus ma(i)n.

My princely head, green against blue
(Referring to the sky) should wear a sombrero.
Arriba, arriba!
Alas, I cannot roll my r's,
So my head remains barren
Like this land.
I am cactus man.

Here I stand till I'm shriveled.
Maybe in heaven I'll wear a sombrero,
Or maybe an eye patch.
Or maybe there's no heaven for me.
Because I sometimes envision a frying pan
(Maybe a mirage?)
With slivers of me sizzling like green beans.
Nearby is a man in the sombrero
(Who probably can roll his r's,
But it's too late for me to learn), as I sizzle in forlorn loss of spikiness,
The murderess above me humming a Spanish lullaby
As she stirs me with her hand.
I am no longer cactus man.

I am dinner.

The End (literally)

All right, you know you wanna try your hand at it now. :-) Go to Chip's blog at http://www.chipmacgregor.com/.

If I Had To Choose...

A while back I asked for your top 5 favorite books. I refrained from answering, because I just couldn't choose. Still can't, so now I'm changing the question. :-) If I had to choose five (fairly recently published) novels to take with me to a deserted island, I think these are the ones...along with explanations, and in no particular order:

1. Suspicious Minds by Christy Barritt
A light-hearted mystery, the second in the series. I'd take this one along, even though it's short, because it's a fun read. But more than that, because there is no third book in the series, yet. (Which about breaks my heart, by the way.) I want to know which guy the heroine gets, how she decides to give Jesus a try, and what disaster she falls into next. So I could spend much time on the island analyzing the story, remembering the first in the series, and coming up with a choose-your-own-ending type third book.

2. Sons of Thunder by Susan May Warren
A historical romantic suspense set during WWII. Why this one by Susie, of all the millions she has published? Because it's about the only one I haven't read yet. I've been waiting for some uninterrupted time to sit down and devour it. A deserted island may be just the place. Plus I could take along some of the notes from the retreat I attended in February hosted by Susan and Rachel (Hauck), and break down the book to see how she practiced what she preached.

3. Wrapped in Rain by Charles Martin (...that is, if I could find my copy. eh-hmm...)
Contemporary fiction. Because I'd have to have something by Charles Martin, and I haven't read this one in forever. Charles Martin has an amazing way with words--leaves images in your mind that don't leave you for years. Plus he has zany secondary characters and a hint of romance. But mainly just moving stories that are beautifully written.

4. The Restorer by Sharon Hinck
Fantasy. This is a fun story of a soccer mom who gets thrown into a world where she has to carry a sword. It also serves as a reminder about the importance of worship and thinking on things that are pure, etc. Always a good lesson to remember. And...maybe the story give me inspiration to work-out on the island instead of lounging on a hammock. I could swordfight with a palm tree or something.

5. Demon: A Memoir by Tosca Lee
Speculative? Not sure what genre exactly this would go in. It's a book that makes you think. Give you kind of a different perspective on God's love for mankind. I have a feeling I'd have a lot of time to think. This might spark quite a few ideas for journal entries. Plus the author once asked which actors her readers would cast in the different roles in the movie version. Coming up with options might help kill some time. :-)

6. Flabbergasted by Ray Blackston
Contemporary fiction. This is my bonus pick that I just couldn't leave out, because really, if I'm on a deserted island, I'm going to need a beach book. And this one is zany, quotable, and laugh-out-loud funny. If I'm reduced to writing poetry in the sand, this book already has one I can warm up on.

All right. I cheated and did six. I'm quitting now, though, before I think of any more. I might have to do a Desert Island Round 2...