The lovely president of ACFW, Cynthia Ruchti, tweeted about ways to celebrate National Authors' Day. With permission, I'm sharing her suggestions here. :-) Have fun!
1. Hug a bookshelf and thank the Lord for the authors who wrote so you could read.
2. Go to the author's publisher's website and leave a comment about a favorite book.
3. Write a note (the handwritten kind) to three favorite authors...and let them know you're praying for them.
4. Look at Christmas list. Cross off silly things. Substitute with books. Purchase immediately! :)
5. Enjoyed an author's book? Buy one for a friend...and let the author know why you did.
6. Moved by something an author DID in addition to what he/she wrote? Say so.
7. Stop in at your local bookstore just to say, "My favorite authors are..." and thank the retailer for stocking their books.
8. Spend some time alone with the Author and Finisher of our faith.
9. Tell an author, "I'm someone who knows it's a 'real' job. Thanks!"
10. Defy procrastination! Post a review in a prominent spot(s). Your fave author will be grateful you did!
11. Some author you know is fighting discouragement in writing, family, or career. Make a difference. Pray.
Showing posts with label Randomness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Randomness. Show all posts
11/1/10
10/30/10
Addiction
[Cue the alarm.] And then I woke up.
8/23/10
I'm Famous!
...And not for the reasons you might think. Remember the power line fiasco in December? If not, read about it here.
Anyway, here was a write-up in my employer's community newsletter:
Officer...Stewart was commended at the annual law enforcement awards ceremony and has been named Officer of the Year by [the community]. When a live wire fell across a resident's driveway and mailbox, he prevented the neighbor [well, that's supposed to be me--the neighbor's house cleaner. Close.] from exiting her car, which the wire was touching, and stopped the mail carrier from touching the mailbox, thereby saving their lives.
Thank you, Officer Stewart! You will end up in a novel soon.
Anyway, here was a write-up in my employer's community newsletter:
Officer...Stewart was commended at the annual law enforcement awards ceremony and has been named Officer of the Year by [the community]. When a live wire fell across a resident's driveway and mailbox, he prevented the neighbor [well, that's supposed to be me--the neighbor's house cleaner. Close.] from exiting her car, which the wire was touching, and stopped the mail carrier from touching the mailbox, thereby saving their lives.
Thank you, Officer Stewart! You will end up in a novel soon.
7/8/10
Slacking
I know, I know. I cheated last week with decorating stuff. And I'm late getting something up today. But I just want you to know that there's something in the works, and other things have been taking up blogging energy.
Those of you who blog, how do you get your ideas? Do you have a certain day you write and schedule all of your blogs for the week/month/quarter? What are the best tips you have to offer me? :-)
I'll have an interesting update for the three of you readers soon. But for now, here's a thought for the day:
"Never undertake anything for which you wouldn't have the courage to ask the blessings of heaven." ~G.C. Lichtenberg
Those of you who blog, how do you get your ideas? Do you have a certain day you write and schedule all of your blogs for the week/month/quarter? What are the best tips you have to offer me? :-)
I'll have an interesting update for the three of you readers soon. But for now, here's a thought for the day:
"Never undertake anything for which you wouldn't have the courage to ask the blessings of heaven." ~G.C. Lichtenberg
7/5/10
Summer Days
So far this summer I:
1. Ate at my favorite Japanese restaurant with my parents, who were down to pick up another piano. My dad is the only one I know that puts a piano in the back of his van.
2. Did research for vacation and ran across this description of a room at a B&B: Small, intimate room with rats. And they didn't even offer a discount!
3. Ate at the wonderful Cheesecake Factory with my younger brother and his wife, then people-watched at the mall. (My hubby and I did. My brother and his wife were normal and actually shopped.) The entertainment factor was high.
4. Helped my hubby move to an office. Which means I can play my music at home as loud as I want. Or I could if I hadn't busted my speakers.
5. Begged my hubby to pull up the garden, because the crackly bean plants and rotting tomatoes were so embarrassing.
6. Met the lovely author Rachel Hauck for lunch, although not on the day I posted about it on my blog. Oops.
7. Walked to the beach to write, but it was so hot and crowded that I scribbled one sentence before walking back home.
8. Worked on my non-fiction reading list. Almost done with one right now, and just saying that makes me feel so intellectual.
9. Joined a new writing blog. There's a new post up today, so check it out here. I'll be posting my first contribution on the 12th. And it's already written. Aren't you surprised? :-)
10. Started to clean out my email inbox. Got through maybe twenty emails and quit. But I'll do it before I hit 6000, I promise. Maybe.
11. Made strawberry lemonade for the first time. Easy recipe--10 oz frozen strawberries pureed, maybe a few kept whole to use for ice cubes. A tube of lemonade concentrate, thawed. Mix together with 4-1/2 cups of water (or more, to taste), maybe add a little sugar to the strawberries, and wa-la. Little tart, but pretty good.
So what about you? What have you been doing this summer?
1. Ate at my favorite Japanese restaurant with my parents, who were down to pick up another piano. My dad is the only one I know that puts a piano in the back of his van.
2. Did research for vacation and ran across this description of a room at a B&B: Small, intimate room with rats. And they didn't even offer a discount!
3. Ate at the wonderful Cheesecake Factory with my younger brother and his wife, then people-watched at the mall. (My hubby and I did. My brother and his wife were normal and actually shopped.) The entertainment factor was high.
4. Helped my hubby move to an office. Which means I can play my music at home as loud as I want. Or I could if I hadn't busted my speakers.
5. Begged my hubby to pull up the garden, because the crackly bean plants and rotting tomatoes were so embarrassing.
6. Met the lovely author Rachel Hauck for lunch, although not on the day I posted about it on my blog. Oops.
7. Walked to the beach to write, but it was so hot and crowded that I scribbled one sentence before walking back home.
8. Worked on my non-fiction reading list. Almost done with one right now, and just saying that makes me feel so intellectual.
9. Joined a new writing blog. There's a new post up today, so check it out here. I'll be posting my first contribution on the 12th. And it's already written. Aren't you surprised? :-)
10. Started to clean out my email inbox. Got through maybe twenty emails and quit. But I'll do it before I hit 6000, I promise. Maybe.
11. Made strawberry lemonade for the first time. Easy recipe--10 oz frozen strawberries pureed, maybe a few kept whole to use for ice cubes. A tube of lemonade concentrate, thawed. Mix together with 4-1/2 cups of water (or more, to taste), maybe add a little sugar to the strawberries, and wa-la. Little tart, but pretty good.
So what about you? What have you been doing this summer?
6/17/10
All About Blogging
I'm trying to do better with the blogging. I've been posting twice a week. My husband and I have another blog idea that I need to start working on. And I maybe be joining one or two other writing community blogs.
All this for a bad blogger. Scary, eh?
The blogging experts say if you want to be a good blogger, build your audience, you need to have a focus for your blog. Something the readers will come to expect when they open your blog. I'm not exactly the most focused person in the world, and you know, I think I'm okay with that. But it does make me wonder if there's anything YOU, my two faithful readers, would like for me to talk about, a subject you want me to address, whatever. Come on, folks, I wanna know.
If you blog, what helps you come up with topics? What are your favorite blogs to read? Give this bad blogger a little help. :-)
All this for a bad blogger. Scary, eh?
The blogging experts say if you want to be a good blogger, build your audience, you need to have a focus for your blog. Something the readers will come to expect when they open your blog. I'm not exactly the most focused person in the world, and you know, I think I'm okay with that. But it does make me wonder if there's anything YOU, my two faithful readers, would like for me to talk about, a subject you want me to address, whatever. Come on, folks, I wanna know.
If you blog, what helps you come up with topics? What are your favorite blogs to read? Give this bad blogger a little help. :-)
6/7/10
Summer Projects
Ah...summer. Since my husband is a teacher, I still live the whole school year schedule thing, and I have to say I like it. Well, most of the time. Last year it meant moving in with my parents for a month while Jason and I did some major work on our own home.
As you probably know, I love to make lists. And...fortunately or unfortunately...it doesn't kill me if I don't get to cross everything off.
My summer project list is up to 14 so far. I have some decorating I need to finish, a collage I want to make (scary, eh?), a gift I need to put together, a conference to save for, a new blog to work on (details coming sooner or later, maybe), a class reunion to attend (sort of), a shower (probably) to plan, some research to do, some organizing of files, a ton of writing...ah, the list goes on.
Do you have a summer project list? What's at the top? What's the just-for-fun item on your list?
As you probably know, I love to make lists. And...fortunately or unfortunately...it doesn't kill me if I don't get to cross everything off.
My summer project list is up to 14 so far. I have some decorating I need to finish, a collage I want to make (scary, eh?), a gift I need to put together, a conference to save for, a new blog to work on (details coming sooner or later, maybe), a class reunion to attend (sort of), a shower (probably) to plan, some research to do, some organizing of files, a ton of writing...ah, the list goes on.
Do you have a summer project list? What's at the top? What's the just-for-fun item on your list?
6/3/10
A Because-I-Don't-Feel-Like-Blogging-But-I-Will-Anyway Post
Since we're into the whole gardening thing now, and cilantro is the only edible thing at this point...I made salsa, of course. Lovely thing, homemade salsa. I ate it on chips and also in a burrito and in a taco and mixed in liberally with rice and beans. And I'm trying to make you hungry, because I'm going to give you the recipe, since I don't feel like thinking about this blog post. (But I'm still posting!!!) So here you go:
Mom’s Salsa
Ingredients:
4 chopped tomatoes
½ cup chopped onion
2 Tbs. sliced green onion
1 and 3/4 Tbs. jalepeno, seeded and minced
2 Tbs. chopped cilantro (or more to taste. Definitely more to taste. I think I ended up putting maybe 1/3 of a cup or so in there? I felt oh-so back-to-nature-ish. ha)
1 Tbs. lime juice (1 lime)
½ tsp. sea salt
Directions:
Combine and refrigerate before serving. (It's best to let it sit overnight so the flavors have time to combine.)
Enjoy! And hey, if I can keep a cilantro plant alive, you can, too. :-)
Mom’s Salsa
Ingredients:
4 chopped tomatoes
½ cup chopped onion
2 Tbs. sliced green onion
1 and 3/4 Tbs. jalepeno, seeded and minced
2 Tbs. chopped cilantro (or more to taste. Definitely more to taste. I think I ended up putting maybe 1/3 of a cup or so in there? I felt oh-so back-to-nature-ish. ha)
1 Tbs. lime juice (1 lime)
½ tsp. sea salt
Directions:
Combine and refrigerate before serving. (It's best to let it sit overnight so the flavors have time to combine.)
Enjoy! And hey, if I can keep a cilantro plant alive, you can, too. :-)
5/31/10
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?
5/26/10
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. :-)
"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. :-)
5/7/10
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/.
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/.
4/11/10
My Hero
A while back I asked what you loved about your own personal hero. Well, today is my hero's birthday, so I figure it's my turn to talk about him. So here are a few things that I adore about my husband:
1. I never have to fill up the gas tank. Seriously. How spoiled am I? And he knows I hate to drive, so on trips he's at the wheel while I relax and pick the music. If I have to go somewhere I haven't been before, he'll sit me down with google earth and walk me through every turn. And I don't think it's JUST because he wants his truck to come back home.
2. He makes up songs and stories, does different voices and styles and makes me laugh so hard I'm almost crying. I guess we need to have children just so someone else can truly appreciate his "Blacky the Green Dragon" tales when they can't sleep.
3. He is so amazingly talented. I didn't have a form for potential suitors to fill out during my dating years, but looking back, I think I would have put website designer as a necessity on the application. :-) It's fun to watch him create, and to see how he uses his talent to help others. And he makes sure my computer and whatever other gadgets I need are in working order.
4. He believes my love language is gifts, so there has been more than one trip where he had a gift and/or a card for me to open every single day.
5. He takes my writing seriously. Insists on sending me to conferences even when we can't really afford it. Talks out a certain aspect of the plot I'm struggling with. Tells me he's proud of me. Tells other people he's proud of me. And he actually read my debut novel without me asking him to.
There are many more things I love about him, of course, but he's going to kill me, and I don't want to freak his students out any more than I already have. :-) But he takes care of me, and he makes life fun. And he has a heart for God. I'd say I'm very lucky, but I'm not sure I believe in luck. So, thank you, God. Very, very much.
Happy Birthday, Jason. I love you. And even if Brogan's picture is on my computer background, you're my true hero. :-)
1. I never have to fill up the gas tank. Seriously. How spoiled am I? And he knows I hate to drive, so on trips he's at the wheel while I relax and pick the music. If I have to go somewhere I haven't been before, he'll sit me down with google earth and walk me through every turn. And I don't think it's JUST because he wants his truck to come back home.
2. He makes up songs and stories, does different voices and styles and makes me laugh so hard I'm almost crying. I guess we need to have children just so someone else can truly appreciate his "Blacky the Green Dragon" tales when they can't sleep.
3. He is so amazingly talented. I didn't have a form for potential suitors to fill out during my dating years, but looking back, I think I would have put website designer as a necessity on the application. :-) It's fun to watch him create, and to see how he uses his talent to help others. And he makes sure my computer and whatever other gadgets I need are in working order.
4. He believes my love language is gifts, so there has been more than one trip where he had a gift and/or a card for me to open every single day.
5. He takes my writing seriously. Insists on sending me to conferences even when we can't really afford it. Talks out a certain aspect of the plot I'm struggling with. Tells me he's proud of me. Tells other people he's proud of me. And he actually read my debut novel without me asking him to.
There are many more things I love about him, of course, but he's going to kill me, and I don't want to freak his students out any more than I already have. :-) But he takes care of me, and he makes life fun. And he has a heart for God. I'd say I'm very lucky, but I'm not sure I believe in luck. So, thank you, God. Very, very much.
Happy Birthday, Jason. I love you. And even if Brogan's picture is on my computer background, you're my true hero. :-)
3/23/10
If You Had To Choose...
Obviously, reading is something I think about maybe a little too much. Sometimes my husband catches me gazing at my bookshelf and likes to make fun of me. Usually I have a reason--I'm trying to decide which books to take to someone who's asking for something to read, or I'm trying to decide what I want to read next. Plus, they're just so beautiful... :-)
Anyway, if you had to choose your top five favorite books--of all time, or over the last year or two--which ones would make your list? I'll narrow it down for you--they have to be fiction, and they can't be Double Take because I'll know you're just trying to win a prize if I give one out. :-)
I honestly don't know if I can do this. Just five? So if you have more than five, feel free to go a little overboard. :-) Maybe you guys will add to my must-read list.
Anyway, if you had to choose your top five favorite books--of all time, or over the last year or two--which ones would make your list? I'll narrow it down for you--they have to be fiction, and they can't be Double Take because I'll know you're just trying to win a prize if I give one out. :-)
I honestly don't know if I can do this. Just five? So if you have more than five, feel free to go a little overboard. :-) Maybe you guys will add to my must-read list.
2/10/10
To Whom It May Concern
In light of two recent incidents, I have to write this, or I'm not going to be able to sleep. :-) Twice this week, I've heard or heard about speakers trashing novels...or calling them trash. One at a marriage conference a friend attended, and one at a service I listened to. Obviously, I have an opinion on this. So here we go--me on my soap box. Take a picture; this doesn't happen very often.
I've been writing stories since first grade. I wrote all through elementary, took a lengthy correspondence course throughout high school, signed up for advanced English/grammar classes in college. I've saved piles of old story ideas and rejection letters. I've paid to go to conferences and enter contests, spent hours critiquing and being critiqued. I've hunted for the right verse to speak to my character or to provide a theme. I've typed prayers on my computer in moments of frustration or when I needed direction or when I wanted to praise God for speaking to me through one of my projects.
Years of work. My life's calling. A deep desire that SOMEONE put inside of me...to write stories. Fiction. Novels. Ones that glorify God or teach a truth or just provide clean entertainment.
And you call this trash?
I don't think so.
Besides all of the above, here are some of my thoughts on the subject:
Stories capture attention and hold it in a way that laying out the facts often cannot. They draw in the reader, make them involved, and allow them to see and feel things from a different perspective or in a clearer light.
Through reading novels I have seen God's love for fallen man a little more clearly. I have witnessed the transformation of the demon-possessed man at the tombs when Jesus stopped by. I've laughed over funny situations and had my mood lightened after an escape into a world crazier than my own. I have been challenged to love my husband more, and have realized once again how much God loves me. I have cried over the plight of the underground church and have been burdened over the orphaned children in Africa. I've prayed to be less selfish like the pastor who gave what he had even when it meant his own children might not eat that night.
Yes, it's fiction. The stories didn't really happen, or at least not exactly like I read them. But they still touch lives. They've touched my own, stuck with me. They reach many people who would never pick up an intense self-help-type book. The words can convict, heal, entertain, show God's love, teach how a Christian should respond to situations, show that there's forgiveness when we fail. Share verses appropriate to different situations. Even include mini Bible studies through the story itself or the discussion questions often included at the end.
How can you call that worthless? How can you dismiss it with a careless word? A word that may influence many others? that could make them think they are doing something wrong by picking up a novel? that could make them repress their own calling to write, to share truth through fiction?
Jesus Himself used stories to teach truth. Parables. Fiction.
Trash?
I don't think so.
I've been writing stories since first grade. I wrote all through elementary, took a lengthy correspondence course throughout high school, signed up for advanced English/grammar classes in college. I've saved piles of old story ideas and rejection letters. I've paid to go to conferences and enter contests, spent hours critiquing and being critiqued. I've hunted for the right verse to speak to my character or to provide a theme. I've typed prayers on my computer in moments of frustration or when I needed direction or when I wanted to praise God for speaking to me through one of my projects.
Years of work. My life's calling. A deep desire that SOMEONE put inside of me...to write stories. Fiction. Novels. Ones that glorify God or teach a truth or just provide clean entertainment.
And you call this trash?
I don't think so.
Besides all of the above, here are some of my thoughts on the subject:
Stories capture attention and hold it in a way that laying out the facts often cannot. They draw in the reader, make them involved, and allow them to see and feel things from a different perspective or in a clearer light.
Through reading novels I have seen God's love for fallen man a little more clearly. I have witnessed the transformation of the demon-possessed man at the tombs when Jesus stopped by. I've laughed over funny situations and had my mood lightened after an escape into a world crazier than my own. I have been challenged to love my husband more, and have realized once again how much God loves me. I have cried over the plight of the underground church and have been burdened over the orphaned children in Africa. I've prayed to be less selfish like the pastor who gave what he had even when it meant his own children might not eat that night.
Yes, it's fiction. The stories didn't really happen, or at least not exactly like I read them. But they still touch lives. They've touched my own, stuck with me. They reach many people who would never pick up an intense self-help-type book. The words can convict, heal, entertain, show God's love, teach how a Christian should respond to situations, show that there's forgiveness when we fail. Share verses appropriate to different situations. Even include mini Bible studies through the story itself or the discussion questions often included at the end.
How can you call that worthless? How can you dismiss it with a careless word? A word that may influence many others? that could make them think they are doing something wrong by picking up a novel? that could make them repress their own calling to write, to share truth through fiction?
Jesus Himself used stories to teach truth. Parables. Fiction.
Trash?
I don't think so.
1/4/10
My World
I just had a moment that showed me once again how pathetic, how out of touch, a writer can be. I'm sitting here, reworking a scene. Hear the mailman pull up and stop at our mailbox. And wonder if the package my hero is waiting for has just arrived...
12/15/09
It Could Only Happen To Me
So…today I was on my way to work. Singing Revelation Song along with Philips, Craig and Dean. Trying to decide whether to do Wendy’s drive-thru for a root beer. It was raining, so I passed on by.
I should have stopped. I could have used a drink.
Minutes later, I pulled onto my employer’s street. Her front door was wide open. A cop car sat on the street nearby. Had someone broken into the house? Or was someone in the family hurt? I glanced from the house to the cop (who seemed to be watching me) and back to the house again. The car was there. She must be home. So I pulled into the driveway, moved toward my designated parking spot, froze when I realized the cop was yelling and honking and waving his arms at me.
Oh boy. What did I do this time?
I stared at him, a bit wide-eyed, I’m sure. He was pointing somewhere. I looked back. There was a rope dangling from the tall shrubs lining the drive…and it attached itself to my truck somehow.
Okay. So I was about to pull down a tree or something? Fine. I’d try to dislodge it. So I put the truck in reverse and backed up a few paces. The cop started yelling and honking and motioning again. This time I saw the neighbor across the road. He had a slightly shell-shocked expression as he held a cell phone to one ear and raised his free hand to do that same stop motion. Okay. So I’d stop. I put the truck in park and just sat there. I looked in my rearview mirror again.
It wasn’t a rope, and it was not attached to a tree. It was a downed power line. I shut off the vehicle.
They were still staring at me, still motioning. My employer stood in her doorway. She yelled to ask me if I had my cell phone. I nodded and raise it. She went back inside, then reappeared a moment later with the house phone in her hand.
“Jenness,” she said over the line, “that’s a hot wire. Don’t get out of the car. Just stay there, okay? I don’t want you to die.”
Really? Me either, come to think of it, especially right before Christmas.
“A fire truck is on the way. Do you have a book with you?” she said, offering a smile.
I glanced at my purse. “No. But I have a notebook.”
She hung up and I looked over at the cop again. He was making me nervous. Apparently I made him nervous, too, because he shook his head, doing that whole stop motion, and said, “Stay there. Don’t get out of the car.”
I’m staying here. I’m not getting out of the car.
“Did you hear explosions?” the cop hollered to my employer.
She nodded. Apparently I’d managed to blow two transformers. That wasn’t helping my panic levels. Or my ego, for that matter. I felt pretty stupid. How could I have run over a power line? How could I have gotten it stuck on my truck?
This is why I’m a writer, because these things could only happen to me. And what would I do with this material otherwise????
I sent a text to my husband, and a couple others for good measure. I was a little scared to talk on the phone. All I knew about electricity was that it powered my computer. If I talked on the cell phone, could it somehow spark something and set the whole shebang on fire? I’m a writer. I don’t know these things. I figured I’d stay off the phone just in case. Actually, I was more afraid that talking to my husband, telling him exactly what was going on, would make me think about it a little bit too much. It was almost Christmas. I wanted to see him open the crazy off-his-list gift I ordered for him. Talking to him could set off, not a fire, but my tear ducts. So…no cell phone.
I pulled out the notebook. I should have worked on judging some contest entries I was supposed to finish today. Or maybe write a scene for my new book. But Jake and Raymi stayed far away, and the cop was still giving me that look. So the first words that came out were: Cop keeps doing the “Stop” motion.
Fine. I’d take notes. This was definitely story material.
A siren wailed briefly, then the fire truck came into view. The policeman directed it, and the truck planted itself in the middle of the road, blocking traffic. The policeman drove off, apparently to set up a detour. Three firemen got out, dressed in full gear, sans helmets.
“Stay inside the truck, ma’am!” one called. He did that same motion with his hands.
Next time you see me, don’t wave. Don’t raise your hands. Don’t motion or point. If you do, I just might go into full panic mode, and it probably won’t be pretty.
I nodded and mouthed okay. The truck was my little bubble of safety. A warm bubble, and growing warmer. But it was safe. And maybe it was getting a wee bit damaged? We could have used a new one. Would insurance cover this?
I had a flip cam in my purse. My husband would have been so proud of me if I took it out and started recording. The first vlog for his dream youtube channel. I wimped out. Electricity and all.
By this time I’d been sitting in the driveway for twenty minutes or so. The firemen had been there about five. They still stood in the middle of the road, far away from me, talking and pacing. I hoped they were waiting for FPL to cut off the power or something. If not, it didn’t seem like they were coming up with any ideas of how to get me out of the truck. Alive, anyway.
It was starting to get hot, but I didn’t know if I could do anything about it without blowing anyone (um, mostly me) up. Maybe I should have paid more attention in science class…
I looked at my purse again. My mp3 player rested inside, so I could have music at least. If these were going to be my last moments on earth, which song should I go out on?
One of the firemen yelled for me again. “You doing okay, ma’am?”
Peachy.
He made a motion—a different one!—with his hand. I could roll down the window. Damp air rushed in as I manually opened it. If I stuck my nose out, would it have gotten zapped? This was all such a shocking experience.
Har har har.
“It’ll be about twenty minutes, ma’am. FPL’s on its way.”
He reminded me of someone. I couldn’t figure out who. But then I started wondering: if they couldn’t do anything—only FPL could—then why were they there? Just to block the road? Or maybe to put out the fire if I blew up? Or for CPR if I got electrocuted?
No, I wasn’t freaking out. Not really. I just tend to be a tad morbid. My nerves were pretty bad, though. Almost as bad as when I gave that devotional at the conference…but not quite.
By this time I’d been there for thirty-five minutes. I’d have had my employer’s kitchen cleaned by then. Instead I had some material for a scene to put in who knew what story. Should it be a comedy? The hero could be a firefighter—
—Who did that guy remind me of?—
—and he could talk the heroine through it. Maybe crack some morbid jokes, flirt, exchange
phone numbers or something.
Or I could up the tension and put it in a romantic suspense. Decisions, decisions.
I was on my second page of notes now, and I was calming down. I had a new scene for a new story, some fresh air flowing through, paper and a pen and words. But yeah, I definitely should have stopped for that root beer.
Still in the truck. Still having morbid thoughts. If the cop hadn’t been there, I would have gotten out of the car. If I’d been electrocuted and died, did I have any regrets, anything that wasn’t in order?
Well…my husband’s work clothes were lined up and ready for the next month or so. That was good. I’d swept and taken out the trash. The dishes were clean and most of the laundry done. Christmas gifts were bought or at least figured out, although not wrapped, and a couple needed an explanation, but that was okay. Jason’s coffee was even ready to go. Not bad. A pat on the back…As for my writing, there were some documents that needed to spontaneously combust in the event of my death. Anyone know where I could get a program to do that?
There were some things I wished I’d done better. But all in all, I think it would have been okay. Of course, that could have been the shock speaking…
I should have been recording this. I waited until the firemen weren’t looking, then snapped a picture on my phone. I could at least have that. I sent it to my husband. He got that one first—an image of the fire truck and firefighters outside the truck window—then the text that started out “I’m stuck in the car…” I’m not sure if he was more concerned about me or the fact that I should have taken the other vehicle—the one we needed to total. When he found out what really happened, his main question was, "How did you...?"
All I can say is, only me…
My brother saw the picture and texted back: “They’re staying awfully far away.”
That they were. But then the familiar-looking one stood at the edge of the lawn again.
Brad Johnson. The actor. That’s who he reminded me of.
He said, “We’ll get you out in just a minute, ma’am. FPL is here. You okay?”
Fine.
A big truck from the power company rounded the corner, and the fire truck made room. It had been forty-eight minutes.
I knew this was a scene worthy to go in a book. But was it newsworthy? I hoped not. This wasn’t exactly the kind of press I wanted.
Moments later, the power was off and a guy in jeans and a t-shirt sauntered up to the truck, while the firefighters in all their gear still kept a safe distance. The FPL hero untangled the now-dead wire from my bumper, and I was good to go.
The firemen and cop and my boss gathered around. I gave information for their report. I told them they’d all end up in my novel. The cop apologized for yelling at me. He’d only wanted to make sure I stayed in the car. I said I was sorry for the trouble. The shorter fireman with the mustache gave a happy smile and said, “These things happen.”
I wanted to ask, “To who?” But I knew the answer to that one already.
He said he was just glad it turned out this way. Because what could have happened was…and he proceeded to tell me a little about electricity and the wet cement and the metal car and me frying myself.
I’m glad it turned out this way, too. I think maybe I owe some people some Christmas cookies.
The moral of this story: Do not drive over a hot wire. Or…don’t go anywhere without a book. Or…just go ahead and ask the Brad guy if you can take his picture, because he saw the one you tried to sneak anyway.
I should have stopped. I could have used a drink.
Minutes later, I pulled onto my employer’s street. Her front door was wide open. A cop car sat on the street nearby. Had someone broken into the house? Or was someone in the family hurt? I glanced from the house to the cop (who seemed to be watching me) and back to the house again. The car was there. She must be home. So I pulled into the driveway, moved toward my designated parking spot, froze when I realized the cop was yelling and honking and waving his arms at me.
Oh boy. What did I do this time?
I stared at him, a bit wide-eyed, I’m sure. He was pointing somewhere. I looked back. There was a rope dangling from the tall shrubs lining the drive…and it attached itself to my truck somehow.
Okay. So I was about to pull down a tree or something? Fine. I’d try to dislodge it. So I put the truck in reverse and backed up a few paces. The cop started yelling and honking and motioning again. This time I saw the neighbor across the road. He had a slightly shell-shocked expression as he held a cell phone to one ear and raised his free hand to do that same stop motion. Okay. So I’d stop. I put the truck in park and just sat there. I looked in my rearview mirror again.
It wasn’t a rope, and it was not attached to a tree. It was a downed power line. I shut off the vehicle.
They were still staring at me, still motioning. My employer stood in her doorway. She yelled to ask me if I had my cell phone. I nodded and raise it. She went back inside, then reappeared a moment later with the house phone in her hand.
“Jenness,” she said over the line, “that’s a hot wire. Don’t get out of the car. Just stay there, okay? I don’t want you to die.”
Really? Me either, come to think of it, especially right before Christmas.
“A fire truck is on the way. Do you have a book with you?” she said, offering a smile.
I glanced at my purse. “No. But I have a notebook.”
She hung up and I looked over at the cop again. He was making me nervous. Apparently I made him nervous, too, because he shook his head, doing that whole stop motion, and said, “Stay there. Don’t get out of the car.”
I’m staying here. I’m not getting out of the car.
“Did you hear explosions?” the cop hollered to my employer.
She nodded. Apparently I’d managed to blow two transformers. That wasn’t helping my panic levels. Or my ego, for that matter. I felt pretty stupid. How could I have run over a power line? How could I have gotten it stuck on my truck?
This is why I’m a writer, because these things could only happen to me. And what would I do with this material otherwise????
I sent a text to my husband, and a couple others for good measure. I was a little scared to talk on the phone. All I knew about electricity was that it powered my computer. If I talked on the cell phone, could it somehow spark something and set the whole shebang on fire? I’m a writer. I don’t know these things. I figured I’d stay off the phone just in case. Actually, I was more afraid that talking to my husband, telling him exactly what was going on, would make me think about it a little bit too much. It was almost Christmas. I wanted to see him open the crazy off-his-list gift I ordered for him. Talking to him could set off, not a fire, but my tear ducts. So…no cell phone.
I pulled out the notebook. I should have worked on judging some contest entries I was supposed to finish today. Or maybe write a scene for my new book. But Jake and Raymi stayed far away, and the cop was still giving me that look. So the first words that came out were: Cop keeps doing the “Stop” motion.
Fine. I’d take notes. This was definitely story material.
A siren wailed briefly, then the fire truck came into view. The policeman directed it, and the truck planted itself in the middle of the road, blocking traffic. The policeman drove off, apparently to set up a detour. Three firemen got out, dressed in full gear, sans helmets.
“Stay inside the truck, ma’am!” one called. He did that same motion with his hands.
Next time you see me, don’t wave. Don’t raise your hands. Don’t motion or point. If you do, I just might go into full panic mode, and it probably won’t be pretty.
I nodded and mouthed okay. The truck was my little bubble of safety. A warm bubble, and growing warmer. But it was safe. And maybe it was getting a wee bit damaged? We could have used a new one. Would insurance cover this?
I had a flip cam in my purse. My husband would have been so proud of me if I took it out and started recording. The first vlog for his dream youtube channel. I wimped out. Electricity and all.
By this time I’d been sitting in the driveway for twenty minutes or so. The firemen had been there about five. They still stood in the middle of the road, far away from me, talking and pacing. I hoped they were waiting for FPL to cut off the power or something. If not, it didn’t seem like they were coming up with any ideas of how to get me out of the truck. Alive, anyway.
It was starting to get hot, but I didn’t know if I could do anything about it without blowing anyone (um, mostly me) up. Maybe I should have paid more attention in science class…
I looked at my purse again. My mp3 player rested inside, so I could have music at least. If these were going to be my last moments on earth, which song should I go out on?
One of the firemen yelled for me again. “You doing okay, ma’am?”
Peachy.
He made a motion—a different one!—with his hand. I could roll down the window. Damp air rushed in as I manually opened it. If I stuck my nose out, would it have gotten zapped? This was all such a shocking experience.
Har har har.
“It’ll be about twenty minutes, ma’am. FPL’s on its way.”
He reminded me of someone. I couldn’t figure out who. But then I started wondering: if they couldn’t do anything—only FPL could—then why were they there? Just to block the road? Or maybe to put out the fire if I blew up? Or for CPR if I got electrocuted?
No, I wasn’t freaking out. Not really. I just tend to be a tad morbid. My nerves were pretty bad, though. Almost as bad as when I gave that devotional at the conference…but not quite.
By this time I’d been there for thirty-five minutes. I’d have had my employer’s kitchen cleaned by then. Instead I had some material for a scene to put in who knew what story. Should it be a comedy? The hero could be a firefighter—
—Who did that guy remind me of?—
—and he could talk the heroine through it. Maybe crack some morbid jokes, flirt, exchange
phone numbers or something.
Or I could up the tension and put it in a romantic suspense. Decisions, decisions.
I was on my second page of notes now, and I was calming down. I had a new scene for a new story, some fresh air flowing through, paper and a pen and words. But yeah, I definitely should have stopped for that root beer.
Still in the truck. Still having morbid thoughts. If the cop hadn’t been there, I would have gotten out of the car. If I’d been electrocuted and died, did I have any regrets, anything that wasn’t in order?
Well…my husband’s work clothes were lined up and ready for the next month or so. That was good. I’d swept and taken out the trash. The dishes were clean and most of the laundry done. Christmas gifts were bought or at least figured out, although not wrapped, and a couple needed an explanation, but that was okay. Jason’s coffee was even ready to go. Not bad. A pat on the back…As for my writing, there were some documents that needed to spontaneously combust in the event of my death. Anyone know where I could get a program to do that?
There were some things I wished I’d done better. But all in all, I think it would have been okay. Of course, that could have been the shock speaking…
I should have been recording this. I waited until the firemen weren’t looking, then snapped a picture on my phone. I could at least have that. I sent it to my husband. He got that one first—an image of the fire truck and firefighters outside the truck window—then the text that started out “I’m stuck in the car…” I’m not sure if he was more concerned about me or the fact that I should have taken the other vehicle—the one we needed to total. When he found out what really happened, his main question was, "How did you...?"
All I can say is, only me…
My brother saw the picture and texted back: “They’re staying awfully far away.”
That they were. But then the familiar-looking one stood at the edge of the lawn again.
Brad Johnson. The actor. That’s who he reminded me of.
He said, “We’ll get you out in just a minute, ma’am. FPL is here. You okay?”
Fine.
A big truck from the power company rounded the corner, and the fire truck made room. It had been forty-eight minutes.
I knew this was a scene worthy to go in a book. But was it newsworthy? I hoped not. This wasn’t exactly the kind of press I wanted.
Moments later, the power was off and a guy in jeans and a t-shirt sauntered up to the truck, while the firefighters in all their gear still kept a safe distance. The FPL hero untangled the now-dead wire from my bumper, and I was good to go.
The firemen and cop and my boss gathered around. I gave information for their report. I told them they’d all end up in my novel. The cop apologized for yelling at me. He’d only wanted to make sure I stayed in the car. I said I was sorry for the trouble. The shorter fireman with the mustache gave a happy smile and said, “These things happen.”
I wanted to ask, “To who?” But I knew the answer to that one already.
He said he was just glad it turned out this way. Because what could have happened was…and he proceeded to tell me a little about electricity and the wet cement and the metal car and me frying myself.
I’m glad it turned out this way, too. I think maybe I owe some people some Christmas cookies.
The moral of this story: Do not drive over a hot wire. Or…don’t go anywhere without a book. Or…just go ahead and ask the Brad guy if you can take his picture, because he saw the one you tried to sneak anyway.
11/11/09
Christmas Book Project
I'm woefully behind on my blogging, but what's new, right? Anyway, I love this time of year. It cools down some here in South Florida, reminding us why we love it here. And...Christmas is around the corner! Which means hot apple cider and wish lists and shopping and decorations...I love it.
Anyway, last year I did something different for one of my Christmas presents. I'm not an arts-and-crafts type person. I like that kind of stuff but usually don't have the patience. Scrapbook when I can be reading? Are you kidding? But my sister-in-law is very much into the cardmaking/scrapbooking scene, and she comes from a family that highly prizes handmade gifts. The more sentimental, the better. So instead of getting her the usual assortment of scarves, candles, bath stuff, etc., I decided to try my hand at making an altered book. I mean, it's a book, right? I love books--any kind of book. I also thought it might be cheaper, but don't tell her that.
She has a couple of Yorkshire Terriers, so I decided to make a photo album/quote book for her. She'd have to add the pictures, of course. But at least I had a theme.
Step 1: I found an old hardcover book about that particular breed on eBay. It had some cool pictures of the dogs, some interesting information, and a lot of other stuff that she'd never read.
Step 2: I kept the book for a while. Looking at it. Looking at altered books online. Trying to figure out what in the world I'd gotten myself in to and where in the world was I going to start.
Step 3: I ran across some cool craft paper. Bought it. Looked around some more. Ended up with four different colors of paint, an ink pad, a stamp, a collection of alphabet stamps, a thick pad of frames/phrases/etc. for scrapbooking, paint brushes, craft glue, chipboard embellishments, an exacto knife, etc.
Step 4: I stared at the book for a few weeks longer.
Step 5: I looked through the book, marking the pages I wanted to keep as they were.
Step 6: I dared to cut a page of a book. That was hard. Especially when the exacto knife thing cut a few more pages than it was supposed to.
Step 7: I lost the pages I had marked to save.
Step 8: I spread everything over the coffee table.
Step 9: The pile grew until it covered the counter.
Step 10: We bought a table to put in the study and moved the mess there.
Step 11: I looked up quotes about dogs. Lots of quotes. I picked out my favorites.
Step 12: I painted some stuff, glued on some letters, let the pages dry, stuck the brushes in the air conditioning unit to dry, and painted some more pages. Cut some more. Ripped some more. Glued some more. Let dry some more.
Step 13: Got paint on a favorite skirt. Had brushes growing out of my air conditioner. Stained my ramekins from using them as paint holders. Got turquoise and brown and black and white paint dots all over my kitchen sink.
Step 14: Tried to clean it up. Sort of.
Step 15: Worked on the book some more. Ran out of paint. Ran out of ink in my calligraphy pen. Started to run out of ideas. Left a whole chapter as it was, supposedly because it was interesting. Mostly because I ran out of ideas.
Step 16: Took pictures of every page. Showed my family the book. Showed my husband the book. More than once. Showed my dog the book. Showed my best friend the book. Showed it to her mom, too. Her dad pretended interest. He's a good guy.
Step 17: Wrapped it up. Put it under the tree. Waited.
Step 18: My sister-in-law tried to guess what it was. Failed. Big-time.
Step 19: Christmas time came. She opened the present. She cried. Ahh...success. :-)
Step 20: Tried to come up with a new idea for Christmas 09. Failed.
Step 21: Have contacted my sister-in-law for a wish list for this year.
Here's some pictures of the project. Anyone else have any fun gift ideas having to do with books?
Anyway, last year I did something different for one of my Christmas presents. I'm not an arts-and-crafts type person. I like that kind of stuff but usually don't have the patience. Scrapbook when I can be reading? Are you kidding? But my sister-in-law is very much into the cardmaking/scrapbooking scene, and she comes from a family that highly prizes handmade gifts. The more sentimental, the better. So instead of getting her the usual assortment of scarves, candles, bath stuff, etc., I decided to try my hand at making an altered book. I mean, it's a book, right? I love books--any kind of book. I also thought it might be cheaper, but don't tell her that.
She has a couple of Yorkshire Terriers, so I decided to make a photo album/quote book for her. She'd have to add the pictures, of course. But at least I had a theme.
Step 1: I found an old hardcover book about that particular breed on eBay. It had some cool pictures of the dogs, some interesting information, and a lot of other stuff that she'd never read.
Step 2: I kept the book for a while. Looking at it. Looking at altered books online. Trying to figure out what in the world I'd gotten myself in to and where in the world was I going to start.
Step 3: I ran across some cool craft paper. Bought it. Looked around some more. Ended up with four different colors of paint, an ink pad, a stamp, a collection of alphabet stamps, a thick pad of frames/phrases/etc. for scrapbooking, paint brushes, craft glue, chipboard embellishments, an exacto knife, etc.
Step 4: I stared at the book for a few weeks longer.
Step 5: I looked through the book, marking the pages I wanted to keep as they were.
Step 6: I dared to cut a page of a book. That was hard. Especially when the exacto knife thing cut a few more pages than it was supposed to.
Step 7: I lost the pages I had marked to save.
Step 8: I spread everything over the coffee table.
Step 9: The pile grew until it covered the counter.
Step 10: We bought a table to put in the study and moved the mess there.
Step 11: I looked up quotes about dogs. Lots of quotes. I picked out my favorites.
Step 12: I painted some stuff, glued on some letters, let the pages dry, stuck the brushes in the air conditioning unit to dry, and painted some more pages. Cut some more. Ripped some more. Glued some more. Let dry some more.
Step 13: Got paint on a favorite skirt. Had brushes growing out of my air conditioner. Stained my ramekins from using them as paint holders. Got turquoise and brown and black and white paint dots all over my kitchen sink.
Step 14: Tried to clean it up. Sort of.
Step 15: Worked on the book some more. Ran out of paint. Ran out of ink in my calligraphy pen. Started to run out of ideas. Left a whole chapter as it was, supposedly because it was interesting. Mostly because I ran out of ideas.
Step 16: Took pictures of every page. Showed my family the book. Showed my husband the book. More than once. Showed my dog the book. Showed my best friend the book. Showed it to her mom, too. Her dad pretended interest. He's a good guy.
Step 17: Wrapped it up. Put it under the tree. Waited.
Step 18: My sister-in-law tried to guess what it was. Failed. Big-time.
Step 19: Christmas time came. She opened the present. She cried. Ahh...success. :-)
Step 20: Tried to come up with a new idea for Christmas 09. Failed.
Step 21: Have contacted my sister-in-law for a wish list for this year.
Here's some pictures of the project. Anyone else have any fun gift ideas having to do with books?
8/23/09
The CushTop
I'm not much of a SkyMall shopper, but I was on my way home from a writers' conference a couple years ago when I saw this lapdesk in one of the magazines on the plane. As a writer (and an email addict--yes, I'll admit it), I use my laptop. A lot. In fact, my computers are members of my family. I've even named them--Iggor and Hyacinth. Anyway, I put this on my Christmas list and my husband very kindly obliged and found it at Best Buy.
So this is Belkin's CushTop Notebook Stand. I had my old laptop at the time, and it had a tendency to run hot. Now, my husband does usually freeze me out, so a personal heater is appreciated, but not when it scorches my legs. Using this really helped. It's lightweight, and since the bottom isn't cushioned like the last lapdesk I had, it stays cool. I don't use it much since getting a different laptop, but it's nice to have on hand.
So this is Belkin's CushTop Notebook Stand. I had my old laptop at the time, and it had a tendency to run hot. Now, my husband does usually freeze me out, so a personal heater is appreciated, but not when it scorches my legs. Using this really helped. It's lightweight, and since the bottom isn't cushioned like the last lapdesk I had, it stays cool. I don't use it much since getting a different laptop, but it's nice to have on hand.
8/15/09
How Did You Meet?
In case anyone is wondering, I'm pretty much a seat-of-the-pants writer. Which means I don't have the story all outlined beforehand, don't do major character sketches and plot points and timelines and whatever else. Instead, I have a situation or a character or a dream that intrigues me, and I just write. Sometimes that results in a little backtracking or touching up during another draft as I get to know my characters better, but that's what works for me.
So...here I am, writing along and someone asks one of my ladies a question. How did she meet the guy who's (sort of) in her life? And I stopped, because I'm not sure how they met. So I googled how people met their future husbands, read a few interesting tales, and now I want to hear yours. So...if you're married or dating, tell me how you met. Help get my creative wheels turning. If you don't have a significant other, or you think your story is too boring--make up a scenario. You never know, I just might use it. :-)
Besides, it'll be fun. :-)
So...here I am, writing along and someone asks one of my ladies a question. How did she meet the guy who's (sort of) in her life? And I stopped, because I'm not sure how they met. So I googled how people met their future husbands, read a few interesting tales, and now I want to hear yours. So...if you're married or dating, tell me how you met. Help get my creative wheels turning. If you don't have a significant other, or you think your story is too boring--make up a scenario. You never know, I just might use it. :-)
Besides, it'll be fun. :-)
7/3/09
Fun Sign
I was shopping yesterday for our newly remodeled home (okay, remodeled is a slight exaggeration, but we did repair and repaint...), and I came across this sign I thought was fun.
"So it isn't Home Sweet Home...Adjust."
:-) Happy Fourth of July, y'all. Have a great one.
"So it isn't Home Sweet Home...Adjust."
:-) Happy Fourth of July, y'all. Have a great one.
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