Top Ten List for How Not to Teach a STOP Class

STOP...

Safety
Training
Option
Program

The STOP program is a way you gain forgiveness for a minor traffic infraction by enduring an 8 hour defensive driving course...and pay $85 to take said class.  However, in this case, the fine was less than the speeding ticket, and has the added benefit of clearing the ticket so it doesn't accrue points on my driver's license, or report to my insurance company.  So it seemed like a win.  Until the day of the class...

I'm a writer.  I have a grand total of nine writing projects underway, and a myriad of writing groups I have obligations to.  So, before I even set foot in the classroom, my mind is already ticking away.  Fine-tuning the plot for the next chapter of my novel, planning out agendas, making lists of tasks I need to accomplish for the Critique Ladies meeting on Sunday...

Enter the instructor.  Nice lady.  Pleasant, personable, voice is easy to listen to, seems enthusiastic.  This might not be sooo horrible.  My twenty-six fellow captive students settle in and prepare to have our driving education enhanced...or not?

It quickly became apparent that all was not well in STOP-land.  I was faced with two choices.  One, being to doodle, and perhaps drool the day away as some of my hellmates, or being a writer, I could come up with something to actually write about.  Guess what I chose?

The first thing I came up with was a cast of characters.  Why not?  I'm going to be stuck in a room with these wonderful captives all day.  Seems fair and reasonable.  Just like in fiction, sometimes you blend several people together into one character.  And in this case, I'll do the same.  I promise, no twenty-seven character sketches.

The Know it All:  Has extensive "experience", and insists on sharing it at every possible opportunity.  Often by talking over the instructor. 

The Storyteller:  Like the Know if All, this lady has been there, done it all, and she relishes telling each and every sordid detail.  I think she has some hearing issues, as not even the collective groans of her cellmates--oh, make that classmates seems to actually make it to her brain.

The Debator:  Another of the more vocal members of the group, he insists on debating the legality or wisdom of each and every fact or law presented in the group. 

The Snoozer:  Well represented in this group.  Broken into sub sets.  The Snorer, The Head Bobber, The Head on Tabler, The Sunglasses Insider. 

The Brown-Noser:  You know who you are.  Enough said.  Who brings the STOP class teacher an apple?  really??

The Eye Roller:  Now I kind of like this guy.  He is paying attention, and like me, his eye rollings are in response to the above listed characters in our room.

Then there is me, The Writer/Observer.

Now, on to the class itself.  Boring, boring boring to rehash the class itself.  Plus, if you too must endure the thing, I'd hate to spoil the surprises.  Think of how long the day would be if I told you everything you could anticipate now???  So instead, I came up with a Letterman-esque Top Ten List!

Top Ten List of How Not to Teach a STOP Class

10:  Don't take time to familiarize yourself with the equipment.  No one will mind that it takes you endless minutes to fumble with the laptop, the projector, or the powerpoint presentations.  It also isn't important to have actually LOOKED at the powerpoint before class.  You might as well be surprised along with the rest of us.

9:  Continue to remind us how you like the "old" book better.  Or, as a variant, how you like the book you use to teach the teenagers in your usual Drivers Education classes.

8:  Use the same references and punch lines that you use to address a room full of fifteen-year-olds.  We can all use a flashback to Driver's Education and High School.

7:  Plan the break times around when you are most lost and confused, not when there is a break in the material... or in any logical time sequence relative to the length of the class.

6:  Speaking of those break times... Don't actually use your break time to consume anything.  No one will mind if you eat your breakfast cereal while you talk.  Really.

5:  Learn your students names.  Have them write their names in nice big letters on a table tents, then call them by other students' names, or repeatedly massacre the same pronunciation you've flubbed up the last fifteen times you've tried to say it.  Keeps the class on their toes.

4:  Make no attempt to control the resident disrupters in the class.  We all love the tangential discussions, debates, and random stories.  Maybe next time you can just make it an open-mic day?

3:  Know there is a test over the material that MUST be passed in order to successfully complete the course and get credit?  Keep it a surprise.  Everyone loves pop quizzes!  It is also irrelevent that you might have perused the questions in advance and made some attempt to ensure that all the material been covered in the actual lessons.  It's all important, dammit!

2:  Oh, and it is absolutely not important to give all the lectures and videos before the test.  Everyone learns more when there is that one section on the test where you've never heard the material before.  And think how much better they will retain the useless bit of statistics once they'd stared at the question, then made a random guess, only to find it discussed at length in the unit you cover AFTER they've taken said test!  Likewise, they love hearing "I didn't know this was on the test,"  when you review the questions and answers with  them.

And (drum roll please)  The Number ONE Top Thing Not to do When Teaching a STOP Class:

1:  Have absolutely NO idea what the prisoners--I mean students--need to do after the class to ensure their fines and tickets are cleared.  Make it an information scavenger hunt.  Don't have a clue who we need to call and ask either.  It adds to the fun.  It certainly isn't YOUR job to provide such information, after all.

Hmmmm now that I've written about the STOP Class, I wonder if it now becomes a writing research expense? 

I'm still disappointed that the red lights and handsome Trooper with the handcuffs, nightstick, and firearm wasn't an elaborate set up for a stripper gag for my birthday.  Just saying...

Reaching for the sky

I made a vow on December 31, 2009.  2010 was going to be MY year.

 I pinky swore on it. 

You see, even though my writing found greater success in 2009 than I imagined possible, other areas of my life were--and still are--in shambles.  The easiest and probably most comfortable course of action?  Take the safe road.  Don't rock the boat.  Maintain the status quo. 

Not good enough!

I'm a true Gemini in so many ways.  On one hand, I'm still the unsure, awkward kid who never felt that she "measured up." 

Adopted kid syndrome? 

Perhaps.

Life hasn't always been easy either.  I grew up in a household filled with love, even though we didn't have a lot of money. My sister and I were both honors students.  My parents?  I remember the day I asked my mother to help me with my homework.  She pulled out her own report cards, and showed me. 

"I want to help you.  But I can't. I don't know how."

A Gemini understands how you can be both an intellectual superior to your parents, and yet a child seeking their wisdom.

My mother taught me to set my sights on a goal.  One so lofty I thought it could NEVER be achieved, and then find a way--any way--to ascend to the top.  She showed me that there were ways around nearly every road block in life, but that I needed to be willing to look for work-arounds.  Because of her I learned that the only true failure in life was to quit trying. 

That's good, because I've amassed quite a lofty list of failures.  Marriage?  Well, I have four beautiful children, and a wonderful assortment of step, half, and sorta-kids.  Some of them even seem to have mastered the art of marriage.  I applaud them!  Academia?  I spent a couple decades amassing a wide array of courses, degrees, and such.  Balanced classes with working a full-time job and raising said children.  At the end of the day, I failed to get the Medical School diploma I'd set my sights on.

The easiest thing in the world would be to let myself drown under the weight of the labels. 
Teenage parent.
Dropout. 
Failure.
Victim.

But here's the deal. I'm a fighter. Nobody has handed me anything in life.  I don't expect it, and I don't want it.  Work-arounds are a life-style choice.  And life's most important work-around lesson is to face your fears. 

Writing involves an extreme amount of vulnerability.  For it to move me, I need to throw my whole being into what I'm writing.  Scars, weaknesses--all of it.  Then I need to face my fears and share it with other people.  Talk about a risk! 

There is nothing in the world like facing a fear, and accomplishing something you never dreamed you could do.  I've tried three times to climb the observation tower at Mahoney State Park.  Never managed to make it one step higher than the third landing.  I'm terrified, as in really, really afraid of heights.  So, as part of my "Claiming 2010 as MY Year" campaign, I decided it was a moral imperative to make it to the top of this tower.  My own personal Everest... 

No way would I have made it to the top alone.  It took having someone hold my hand, nudge me along, and knowing if push came to shove, that's exactly what would happen! 

Writing is the same way.  I belong to some fabulous writing groups.  I write.  I read what I've written, and shut my mouth to listen to the feedback.  Let people who's only goal is to help me reach my goal nudge me to success.  Even when my knees shake, and the last thing I want to do is walk up to the front of a room and pick up the microphone, I do it anyway. 


Has it worked? Let's see. I won a writing award this year. AND...

I'm still scared of heights.  And I'm sure my knees will still shake when I walk up to the podium, or stage to read something I've written.  But the victory is sweeter than I anything ever dreamed.  Plus, you gain some amazing friends along the way.  Love you all!

What's next?  On the writing front:  Submissions!  Conquering fears:  Oh, how about spending the night in the haunted house Travel Channel has named,"The Scariest Place in America?"  Coming Aug 3rd!

   

The Quest for a Quest!

I've been struggling with a chapter of "Tales from Table Rock."  Which I find quite odd, since I KNOW the story.  I even have photographs of events from the trip.  So, why am I having difficulty getting this particular chapter to flesh itself out on the page? 

When I get stuck, I try a few different approaches.  First might be to put superglue in the chair and force myself to write.  (Not helping...you can play a lot of hands of Spider Solitaire waiting for a flash of inspiration)  Sometimes the perfect solution will appear in a dream. (With the Eclipse premiere less than two days away, my dreams seem to be filled with a rather buff,{Go Team Jacob!} underage werewolf.)  Sometimes I ignore it and hope it will go away.  (Nope, still there...)  Try writing another chapter?  (Dammit, all I can think of is *this* chapter!)  When all else fails... reach out to a trusted and sometimes captive friend to talk it through. (Okay, so it wasn't really my intent to talk it through, my intent was to complain about my  inability to write a coherent sentence.)

So, talking through the story, and a lightbulb went off.  It sounded like a "What I did on my Summer Vacation" essay.  BORING!  I know the story, but on some unconsious level, the reason I couldn't get this thing to come out, was that I had no reason for anyone else to care about it.  There was no conflict.  No quest.    Duh!

But... this is a historical novel.  It's not one of my Urban Fantasies, so I can't just kill someone to spice up the plot.  So, we talked out the plot from an internal standpoint.  Aha.... there IS conflict, and I now HAVE a quest for this trip.  A rather pivotal plot moment, if I do say so myself!  Oh I love it when this happens, I've got goosebumps just thinking about it! 

So, while I'd really love to stay and chat, I've got a chapter to write.  Pike's Peak, and Pacific Ocean, here we come!  Thanks, my captive friend... You know who you are!

Taking action in 2010!

2010 is nearing the half-way point, so I've been taking stock of my writing goals and thinking about course-corrections so I end up where I want to be by the dawn of 2011. Here's how it's going:


Goal: Finish "Tales from Table Rock," and start the publication quest.

Progress: Nearing completion of the manuscript, need some factual data to fill in the gaps. A short-story excerpt from the manuscript won the 2010 Bess Streeter Aldrich short-story contest, and I have a request for the full manuscript. WOOHOO! But, that leads me back to my goal of getting the damn thing done and out the door. So, what am I doing about it?

Action Plan: Ummm, write? Yes, I know this goes without saying, but it is really amazing how many times writers can sabotage themselves by not applying the butt to the chair and doing just that. I am no exception to this behavior. So, I add layers of accountability. I belong to three writing groups, The Critique Ladies, who meet about every two weeks, and do lots of e-mailing/cattle prodding if need be in between, the Nebraska Writers Guild, (the group many of my Nebraska literary heroes belonged to) and I recently added the Nebraska Writers Workshop, a group that will celebrate its 25th birthday on June 2nd. NWW meets weekly in Ralston, which is an hour away from Lincoln. Why do I belong to these groups? The reasons are many, but there are a couple of biggies. First of all, there is an exponential difference between good and great, so I depend on my fellow authors to provide an objective ear to polish the story. Another big thing for me is the accountability. I’ll be damned if I’m going to show up for a meeting without having something new written! (Back to the butt in the chair thing)

Research time and writing time are at a premium for those of us with families, and JOB’s, tend to get in the way. So as of 8 pm tonight, I am on a sabbatical. I’m using a week of vacation, plus my days off to give me a ten day block of time to focus on researching and writing. Yes, I’ll go cuddle the brand-new granddaughter while I’m off too, but I’m going to be trekking through Southeast Nebraska in search of history to fill the historical novel. Incredible, huh? I’ve even lined up some fellow-writerly assistance to help me ferret out information, and have a list of things I want to find out while I’m there.

The other important thing is to enjoy the ride. I’m quite goal-driven, and sometimes I forget to do this. So far in 2010, I’ve won an award for my writing. Held a book in my hands with my writing featured inside. Signed autographs. Done an interview with a reporter about my writing. Cashed a check payable to me as an author. Read a short story aloud to a packed room of fellow authors and had them gasp and laugh at all the moments I hoped they would. Read my name in a feature in the Broadside publication of the Nebraska Writers Guild, a publication that will end up at the Nebraska State Historical Society for perpetuity.

Wow. Even I’m pretty impressed writing that last paragraph. See, I told you I don’t usually take time to enjoy the ride. But trust me, I’m not ready to sit on my butt and do nothing. (Sitting on my butt to write, now that’s an entirely different thing…) I can see the finish line, which means it’s time to wrap up this goal, and start setting the next one. Revising and polishing the manuscript is a given,so I’ll use all the feedback from my writing groups to polish the prose until it leaps from the page and sears itself into a reader’s soul. Then on to marketing strategies. (I’ve already got some great ideas for this too) I’ve got seven other manuscripts awaiting my return, so we’ll start the whole process again.

Back to that accountability thing: I just told you all my goals and plans for the next six months. That means I give you permission to make sure that I’m holding up my end of the deal! Will it guarantee a book sale? Of course not. But it will mean I’ve done my part of making it happen, and that’s really what it’s all about.

There is a level of irony at play here. The woman who rolls her eyes and whines like a baby when told to write action plans at work just wrote an action plan—and even used that exact phrase! Okay, so maybe sometimes it does work…

The Hunt for Murrell Brannan

One thing about being an award-winning historical fiction author (yes, I still shiver when I think about that!) or for that matter, ANY historical writer, is that unlike pure fiction, this stuff is about real people.  Unfortunately, this entails a level of research, since it is somewhat--okay, REALLY important to actually research the details you put into the story.

Now, I am a Gemini.  This is the Zodiac's sign indicating those of us with tendencies that veer toward ADHD.  (Which also explains why I have EIGHT current manuscripts in progress.  Love those shiny new stories!)  Anyway, Gemini's do NOT excel at the tedium involved in historical research.  Nope, not my bag, I like to call the shots, and tell my characters what to do!

That brings me to the case of one Murrell Brannan.  One of the pivotal figures in "Tales from Table Rock," is the man my grandmother fell in love with.  The love that slipped through her fingers.  The man who she got misty-eyed telling me about when I was  young girl.

Unfortunately, while I know all about him from Grandma's stories, I had next to nothing to go on for actual facts about the man.  All I knew for sure was that his name was Murrell.  Or Merle, or Merrill... Last name Brannan, Brannon, Brandon... You get the point.  Date of birth?  Sometime at the turn of the century.  Birthplace?  Somewhere around Shubert Nebraska.  Or at least Southeast Nebraska.  Parents?  Kids?  Nope, I've got nothing.

Then, I got a packet of letters from my cousin Dan.  Grandma had written him some letters when he was away at college.  In them, she talked about Murrell, who in the twilight of their lives had re-appeared.  (I don't want to give all the story away.  You'll have to read the book!)  But, all Grandma called him was "Loverboy."  No help.  I tried Googling Loverboy.  Nope, not a thing to help me locate one Murrell Brannan.

I was lamenting my frustration in locating anything concrete about the man who was the love of my grandmother's life to my dear friend Sandra Spidell.  Sandy has put up with me since second grade, so she knows all about my fickle Gemini traits.  Lucky for me, she is a Sagittarius, and has a bit more tenaciousness than I will ever hope to possess.  I might also mention that Sandy is a Genealogy GOD!

Last night, while I was sitting at the computer typing some schedules at work, my smart phone buzzed letting me know I had an email.  Now, it doesn't take a Gemini to need distractions from writing schedules.  So, I snapped at the opportunity.  Here was a message from Sandy.  "Surprise, I found your Murrell Brannan."  She had a link to a genealogy site with all his family tree...and even a photograph of him as a young man.  About the age when he would have been sweeping my grandmother off her feet. 

I screamed.

Which brought half the store running to find out what I'd done--this time!  Literally, with tears streaming down my face, I read the information about him.  I now have dates, facts...(Noticed that he is four years younger than Grandma... I've always said my Grandma was two generations ahead of her time, and she was a cougar long before the term was coined... Go Grandma!) I know who his kids are.  (And, hell YES, I want to contact them!)

Then, I started looking at the information for his parents.  And their parents.  That's when I got chills down my spine.

You see, my OTHER Grandma?  She was born and raised in St. Deroin.  St. Deroin is now part of Indian Cave State Park, and the legends of St. Deroin get told every year as part of the Haunted Hollows hay-rack ride through the park.  I grew up hearing these stories.  Tales of half-breed Indians, polygamy, gunfights... real Nebraska lore.  I even have a file folder full of research on St. Deroin, and a first-draft of an article about the area.

Murrell Brannan is no less than the great-step-grandson of THE Joseph DeRoin of St. Deroin notoriety--and his great-nephew.  Like I said, there was some interesting polygamy, and wife-swapping that went on down there. 

I practically had Murrell Brannan in my files all along!  It only took the one missing piece to link everything together.

Now, all my stories about Joseph DeRoin getting shot over a disputed pig and getting buried upright astride his horse?  Yup, I get to use them all!

I would have written about Murrell in "Tales from Table Rock" whether I had ever "found" him or not, but oh boy, am I grateful for Sandy.  This is truly a story-tellers dream come true!  What a rush!  I might even foray into historical fiction again sometime in the future...but only if Sandy is willing to go along for the ride!

As for now, I have a manuscript to finish!

And my carpet is all nice and clean smelling.

What does the carpet have to do with Murrell Brannan?  Not a thing...but I am a Gemini...

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AWARD WINNING!!

You are now reading the blog of an award winning writer!  Wow!  I didn't know how wonderful it would feel to be able to say that!  It has been almost 12 hours since I opened the email congratulating me on winning First Place in the 2010 Bess Streeter Aldrich Foundation contest for short stories.  The glow still hasn't worn off, and I can still barely sit still long enough to force myself to type anything coherent. 

"Curls of Gold," is one of the stories my grandmother, Elsie Kovanda Baucke, told me when I was growing up.  It was one of my absolute favorite bedtime stories.  I've been compiling her stories into a novel, entitled "Tales from Table Rock."  I can almost smell the lilacs outside the window to the big front room where I would sleep in the huge sleigh bed when I stayed all night at Grandma's, and feel the patches on the quilts as she tucked them in around me as she asked me what story I wanted to hear before I went to sleep.  Grandma was a master storyteller--and I think she'd be proud today. 

My Aunt Aladeen told me about having to write a story for school.  Of course, Grandma helped her come up with a tale.  Aladeen got up and read her story to the class, and when she was done, her teacher crossed his arms, and commented, "I so love to hear your Mother's stories."

I agree!  And today is another step in bringing her storytelling to a new audience. 

Of course, I need to calm down enough to focus on writing! 

Award Winning.... It makes me shiver!

Plumbing the depths

2010 started off feeling rather like the doomsday predictions for 2012.  Borrowing from popular culture, my facebook status changed from "married" to "it's complicated."  That, combined with my granddaughter's ongoing battle with ITP, and my daughter's recent miscarriage I'm feeling raw, disjointed, and generally at odds with the world at large. 

Now, for a paranormal mystery ROMANCE writer, this is particularly discomfitting.  Venom and romance are not great bedpartners.  At least not in a traditional romance novel happy-ever-after way.  However, venom and romance do create a cauldron to brew some wicked horror.  I'm mid-write on a co-authored horror novel with an amazing writing partner, D. Anthony Brown.  Haven't heard of him?  Trust me on this one, you will.  My contributions to our co-authored "Forgotten Kiss" have most decidedly been adding the feminine romance touches to his dark horror.  Come to think of it, "Forgotten Kiss" is without a doubt at its core a romance gone horribly awry. 

But, I've never ventured out on my own into the horror realm.  Writers cope with life by--well by writing.  So, in that vein, I've been plumbing the depths of my pain and using it to fuel a series of short stories.  You know what?  I'm a writer.  Piss me off and you risk meeting a horribly slow painful demise in my next story or novel! 

What began as one short story for a challenge I issued to my writing group has grown into a series of short horror stories.  "Baby Steps to Perdition."  Isn't that how it always begins?  One bad judgement, followed by a series of progressively worse decisions, until whammo!  Think about it, in the aftermath of school shootings, terrorism, and domestic disturbances turned into bloodbaths everyone asks how it all began.  One baby step at a time.  That's how every heinous act begins.  One baby step followed by another, and another, and another, until the most horrible act seems like the only option.

I have no doubt that I'll go back to paranormal mystery/romances, and will finish "Tales from Table Rock," the historical creative non-fiction I've put on temporary hiatus.  And, I sense my writing will increase in depth for letting myself go to the darker parts of the human psyche. 

Thank goodness I write.  It beats the hell out of actually acting on all those dark feelings we all harbor from time to time. 

    

Mike's Writing Workshop post

This is a post I wrote for Mike's Writing Workshop on December 22nd. I thought it might be worthwhile to post it on my blog as well.

Merry Christmas to all,
Lisa Kovanda



It's now 11:35 pm, and I just finished a 13 hour shift at the big box retail store where I am a manager. In any event, it's fair to say that the next two days will be equally "pleasant." We are heading into a major winter storm here in Lincoln, Nebraska, so I can look forward to 3/4 of my staff calling in due to road conditions, but without a doubt, nearly all of the shoppers will show up.

As much as I lament the retail woes of holidays, this Christmas is different. Two days before her second birthday on December 7th, my granddaughter Abigail started getting huge bruises all over her body. Her mother is my 19 year-old daughter. She and her husband--also a 19 year-old--knew something was wrong, and carted her off to the doctor, even though they were terrified that not only would no one believe something was wrong, but that someone might think these awful bruises had been inflicted by them, and yank their daughter away from them.

Fortunately for them, and for Abigail, she saw the doctor that delivered her. He immediately called for lab tests, that showed Abigail's platelets dangerously low. She could have had a brain bleed sitting still they were so low. The "big word" for what she has is Idiopathic Thrombocytopenia Purpura. In English; she had a virus, her body made antibodies to kill the virus. Her anitbodies have also decided that platelets are viruses, and are killing them too. You can't just transfuse platelets, her body would simply destroy them.

By the time I met them at the hospital, she was in bad shape. Bleeding from her nose, mouth, and in her urine. Nearly every inch of her little body was covered in big, ugly bruises. I swear, it looked like she'd been beat with a ball bat. The nurses needed to start IV's to transfuse blood products to help stop the response, and as a former RN, I can tell you that sticking fragile two year-olds is not easy. There was lab to be drawn, and this poor baby couldn't clot to stop the bleeding from any of the needle pokes.

After all of the poking was done, and neon bandages were wrapped around her little arms, Abigail looked at the nurses and lab techs, smiled through her tear-swollen eyes and said, "Thank you."

Yes, I cried.

So did the big, burly lab tech.

She responded quickly to the immune globulin infusion, and we had high hopes she'd be one of the lucky kids who have this uncommon problem, but get over it with a single course of treatment. However, her platelet count has steadily dwindled. Today, she hovers right on the bubble of needing additional transfusions. Her condition could become a lifelong problem--if she survives to long-life. It's all a game of "if's."

To say that this adds stress to an already stressful holiday season is an understatement. It does force me to put things into perspective. My languishing manuscript will be there waiting for me to finish the polishing edits. I am fairly certain the big box retail store will keep on saving people money so they can live better no matter what I do. I didn't send out a single Christmas card, and everybody is getting gift cards this year. The holiday dinner might come from Stauffers, I don't care--it might just as easily come from the hospital cafeteria.

When my daughter, still a child herself, needs her mother's comfort, I'll be there. I'll be there when Abigail wants Nana to tell her a story. I'll be there when my son-in-law needs a friend, or when any of my other four children, assorted in-laws, or grandchildren need me. That's the spirit of Christmas in a nutshell.

My wish for all of you is a holiday filled with the important things in life. And economy be damned, that has nothing to do with the presents under the tree. I thank you for giving me a forum to share what wisdom Abigail's illness has taught me. I'm not ready to say "thank you" to the big things in life that poke me and make me hurt, but with some grace, I pray someday I'll be as noble as Abigail.

Merry Christmas.

Decisions, decisions...

Well, after finishing the story about the Christmas program, I sent it to a couple of my writing partners, and most trusted friends. The general opinion is that it's good, but another of the Table Rock stories is better as a stand alone. The problem is, that story happens to be 2,700 words, or about a third longer than the contest guidelines. Is it possible to cut a third out of a story and maintain the essence of the story? It is 2 am, and I just pared it down to 1962 words. Once again, for someone who likes to write long descriptive passages, paring a story down to the bare bones is damn hard work. Now, I'll get those trusted friends and writing partners to weigh in on the side by side stories before a final editing pass on the final selection. Either way, I now have another story to add to the novel, and one will go in for the Aldrich contest. I'll let you know which one it will be soon!

Ready to Edit

I'm working on a contest submission for a short story. I'm a novelist, so short is not something I do well, and this one is short. I mean really short, as in 2,000 words or less. It can take me that many words to just get rolling, so this will be a real challenge to keep within the guidelines, and still keep the essence of what I want to convey.

My story is the favorite of the bedtime stories my grandmother told me when I was growing up. It's a story of how a Christmas tree with real lit candles got knocked over in the schoolhouse where she was teaching.

I just finished the first draft, and I'm sitting at 2,065 words. Now for most writers, this might not be much of a problem, as their edits involve cutting words out. Unfortunately, when I edit, I tend to sometimes double my word count as I add in details. Emotions, sensory details, what does it feel like, look like, sound like, smell like... So, I guess that means I have my work cut out for me, as this is going to not be one of my "typical edits."

For now, it's blizzarding outside, and it's late. I'm going to pat myself on the back for finishing the story, and go get some sleep with a sense of accomplishment before I tear into the editing. Distance is always good as well.

The contest deadline is in February, so I'll keep you posted as I pare this story into submission shape.