Lucky Number Seven Meme

I was tagged not one, but TWICE for this, so I figured that meant I should play along.  Here's the idea.

1. Go to page 77 of your current manuscript/work-in-progress (MS/WIP).

2. Go to the seventh line of your MS/WIP.

3. Copy down the next seven lines, sentences, or paragraphs, and post them as they are written.

4. Tag seven writers and let them know.

So, this is from my current Work In Progress, "Walk Me Home."

Russ pulled off his warm up jacket.  He'd left his singlet sleeves down, and that exposed the tape around his chest.  Parts of it were coming lose, and one area showed a tinge of red.

            Cathy drew in a deep breath.  "You're bleeding.  We need to get you re-taped.  I've watched this guy.  He's tough, and he's ready.  You need to be careful."

            She went with him to the team's athletic trainer, and stood by as he replaced the tape on Russ's chest.  Her eyes stayed on his face, darting occasionally to his injuries, but she still offered him nothing but words of encouragement.  As the trainer finished, he pulled his singlet up and flexed his arms a few times to see how it felt.  Better.  Not great, but better.

            "You know," he gave her a sidelong glance and smiled, "today you have went out of your way to be nice to me.  I don't know that I want to get hurt so you'll always be like this, but it is a pleasant side effect."

            She laughed and stuck out her tongue at him, but she grasped his hand as they walked to the mat.  He looked at the clock.  All he needed to do was hang on for seven minutes.  All he wanted to do was get out the door with two wins one loss.  The referee called him to the table for instructions.  He was shocked to see both coaches and his final opponent meet him.  "You want to forfeit?"  Both coaches asked him at the same time.

            The absurdity of the situation struck Russ as funny, and he started to laugh.  One look at the mass of tape surrounding his chest told him it might be the wisest decision, but in that moment, he knew the only way he was going off the mat was after the final buzzer--or after a pin.

Now, for who I tag...

Mary Unger

Bev Teche

Bryce Marin

Emily Judd

Phyllicia Spidell

Torie Taibemal
Jenny Bates.  

Have fun!

My Kitchen Floor is Shiny, and that's Not Necessarily a Good Thing.

My kitchen floor is clean--and this is not a good thing.  You would think having a shiny kitchen floor would make me happy, and usually this would be a fair statement .  But, the path to cleanliness is often messy.  Let me elaborate.

I decided I was hungry for chile rellanos.  A lady I work with is from Brazil, and she makes fabulous rellanos.  Since it would most certainly be an abuse of my authority as a manager to cajole her into making them just because I am hungry for them, I decided to make them myself. 

So, I broiled, skinned, and cleaned the guts out of the poblano peppers, then stuffed them with cheese.  After they were battered, I went to fry them.  Now, this is where the fun comes in.  Since the divorce, I live in an apartment.  An apartment with a tiny galley kitchen.  A tiny galley kitchen that is about 3.7 inches from the fire alarm.  I swear, I can't boil water without the alarm going off.  So, any time I cook, I have a big plastic cutting board at the ready to go wave fan-like in front of the stupid thing to direct the non-existent smoke the other way.  (I think it must be hungry, and it is yelling at me for not offering it anything to eat)

In any event, I was standing in front of the stove, frying the rellanos and even though I KNOW the alarm is likely to go off, I jumped about a mile into the air when it did.  In the process, I knocked the handle of the skillet, and splashed hot oil onto the burner.  You know what happens when hot oil gets on the burner?  You got it... FIRE!  Now, I grew up cooking on an amazing gas stove, and if you watch any cooking shows, you know that chefs aren't fazed by a bit of flame.  (Funny side-note, the alarm was eerily silent while there were actual FLAMES in the kitchen.  Odd, huh?)  I went to move the skillet off the burner, and do something I should have done in the first place, put it on the back burner.  Splash.  More grease, this time, on the floor. 

I wiped up the worst of the grease, and it really did make the floor shine.  Shine=Slick.  So, imagine me trying to finish frying the rellanos and not fall down on a floor that now has now become a shiny oil-skating rink. I am still in Physical Therapy for a knee injury from a recent car accident, so this in itself was a challenge. 

I finally got the rellanos all fried, and safely into the oven to bake, and I surveyed the kitchen.  No wonder I roll my eyes when my daughter asks me why I don't like to cook for her.  Batter covered counter, including the handles on the sink, flecks of flour everywhere, poblano pepper skins in the sink, and an oil slick on the floor.  Not even going to mention what the stove top looked like, not much gives me nightmares, but that might. 

I am happy to say that the kitchen is now probably cleaner than it has been in a while.  I guess that's a good thing, but wow, that was a lot of work just for a chile rellano. 

After you're done laughing at my cooking mis-adventure, I'm sure your next question is "What about the chile rellanos?"  Here it is.  Not as good as Maria's, but not bad, either!

Dating for Purses

I get into relationships with my purses.  I mean, serious, long-term relationships.  It starts with speed dating, which involves trolling the stores, comparing online sites, looking at fashion spreads...  

Like real speed dating, there are  some duds, and some you want to get to know more.  Once I've identified the potentials, I spend some time getting to know the creme of the crop.  You're going to potentially spend a lot of time with a purse, you need to bond with it.  Get to know it inside and out. 

Like human dates, every purse candidate will come with strengths and flaws.  You have to decide which ones are deal-breakers.  For me, deal-breakers are vinyl construction, lacking a zipper closure, icky straps, not enough pockets, and generally being ugly.  Oh, and ladies, back me up on this one--size matters.  There is a fine line between laughably too small, and painfully too large.  Like I said, it's a lot like dating.

 

Another thing that is a lot like dating?  If you snooze, you lose.  It is possible to find the perfect purse, and miss your opportunity because you hesitated too long.  Nothing, and I mean nothing, is as frustrating as showing up at a store, credit card in hand, to find out your potential soul-mate purse has been snatched up by some other purse-nabbing hussy.  

So, you might ask, what did I end up with?  Red leather, (matches my red leather briefcase) big enough to hold my stash of stuff for my upcoming trip to Los Angeles, nice straps and pretty hardware.  The print material inside was a bonus.  I love you my new shiny purse... at least for now.

Newton's Laws of Motion

Newton's Laws, and Yes, This About Writing!

                My formal educational background is not in writing--or any liberal art.  I spent my collegiate formation as a scientist.  Hard, cold facts, and immutable laws of  physics.  And, believe it or not, some of that science background has come in quite handy, and in more ways than you might imagine.  So, I am going to break down  Newton's Laws of Motion, and how I think they relate to writing.

                Rule #1: Every object in a state of uniform motion tends to remain in that state of motion unless an external force is applied to it.

                There are two statements about this law that are important.  The first states that a body at rest will remain at rest until acted on by some force.  What this means is you will never, ever write anything unless you apply some force to the chair and start writing.  Thinking about writing, dreaming about writing, wondering about writing... nope.  You. Must. Write. 

                The second is that a body in motion will remain in motion until acted upon by another force.  So, great, you are writing.  Wonderful.  Words and ideas are making their way onto the page.  What force might cause that to cease?  In the physical world we live in, we usually will think of things like gravity, even air resistance.  Oh, I understand resistance in writing.  What things tend to get in the way of writing?  Work, family, chores... the list is endless.  Even more insidious are the forces of apathy.  Inner doubt.  That kind of resistance is sometimes even harder to overcome.  So, be aware of it when  writing starts taking a back seat.  Write anyway.  Make it a habit.  I have a sheet of paper on my writing board that is divided into 365 squares, each numbered.  Every day I write, I can mark through that day in red.  My goal is to fill that page with red marks by the end of the year.  An object in motion remaining in motion.

                Rule #2: The relationship between an object's mass m, its acceleration a, and the applied force F is F = ma. Acceleration and force are vectors (as indicated by their symbols being displayed in slant bold font); in this law the direction of the force vector is the same as the direction of the acceleration vector.

                Take a deep breath.  This isn't as complicated as it might seem, or at least not where writing is concerned.  Basically, Newton's Second Law says that acceleration is increased by force, and decreased by mass.  Okay, so let's consider mass as the size of the story.  A short story is perhaps easier to get in motion, and keep in motion, than, a novel the size of War and Peace.  But, the key here is that we are talking about acceleration.  So, the more force (butt glued to chair, writing) you apply, the faster it goes.  Yes, writing picks up speed the more you write!  You will get to know your characters, you will become more familiar with the world they inhabit, and your writing skills will grow.  I like this law--a lot!  It's like training to run a marathon.  The stronger your writing muscles become, the easier it is to finish the race.

                Rule #3: The mutual forces of action and reaction between two bodies are equal, opposite and collinear.

                Another way this Law is stated is; For every reaction, there is an equal and  opposite reaction.  Hmmm.  What does that mean for writing?  Oh, you are going to LOVE this one.  If you write long enough, things won't remain the same.  They change.  For example, you find yourself getting things like this.

And this:

                Well, that's it for my physics lesson today.  I am back to writing, because I want to accelerate towards other goals.  Like some of these. 

                Until next time, apply some glue to the chair, and get to work on some physics--I mean writing!

Can't You Smell I'm Writing?

Writers all have different little tricks they use to help them get into the mood of a story, or to connect with a character.  On my desk, I have plenty of little knick-knack items, most related to a story or character.  Things I can pick up, fiddle with, throw if I'm having a really off day, and generally remind me of what I'm working on. But those things don't really do much to help me when the words simply aren't flowing the way I want.

I'm one of those writers who loves to engage all of the senses in my writing.  I want to immerse you in a scene.  Sights, sounds, taste, tactile, and aroma.  And I have found that one way I can call my creative muse is by the use of scents.  I search out smells that evoke the mood I want to create.  The perfect candle, or just the right incense--sometimes even the right cologne can transport me directly into the ambience I need to make the words flow from my soul onto the page.  I don't know why it works that way for me, but it does.  Probably a Pavlovian response of some sort.  Smell the candle, write the words.

 

Yes, I write horror, and other dark fiction, so you might be wondering if I have a stash of blood-scented candles, and the answer is no, I don't.  But, in one story, I have a demon, masquerading as a woman--a rather beautiful woman.  For her, jasmine and orchids set the mood.  Exotic, and a little dangerous.  Sage, bergamot, musk, those all evoke an image of the unknown for me as well.  Especially the sage.  I even own a bottle of a deep, rich men's cologne.  One spritz is all it takes for me to channel the character I imagine wearing it. 

When I need inspiration, I'll go wander in a candle shop, or certainly the candle aisle in my store.  I have a literal treasure trove of candles, incense, essential oils--and each evokes a different emotional response.  Even more, once a scent engages my muse, my writing becomes more descriptive in the use of all of the senses.  I have a candle called Angel Whispers.  It's a clean scent, almost like a gentle spring rain, mingled with flowers in bloom.  It takes my writing in a much different direction than the deep musky sage and bergamot candle.  That one is mysterious--dangerous.  I used that one when working on "The Hunt," a story filled with magic and mayhem.  When I was working on the scenes with the Minister in "The Hunt," I found burning incense was helpful, even though incense is more of a Catholic thing, and my minister is Lutheran.  My Catholic brain didn't care one iota. It's all about the mood I, the writer, associate with the smell.  All I know is that for me, it works.  So, if you see me wandering the candle aisle deep in thought, it's all research, me attempting to appease the muse without destroying the budget in the process.  I always end up with so many scents that pique my imagination.

 

I'd love to know what works for you?  Music, sights, smells, touch, taste?... How do you USE your senses to add layers of meaning to your writing? 

Write on!!

Lisa

Star Wars, you Rule-Breaker!

Last night I watched arguably one of the most famous movies ever to prepare for a plotting talk I'm going to be doing in October for Pagan Musings podcast.  "Star Wars, Episode IV, A New Hope."  (Not that we knew it was episode IV in 1977, it was just "Star Wars")  I chose this movie because it is so universally recognized, and it also fits the basic plot paradigm I want to cover.  Or so I thought.  But, as I analyze my notes, what I find is how many of the current screenplay conventions George Lucas broke in this script. 

Yes, Star Wars absolutely fits the paradigm I'm going to use in the podcast.  So, if you want to know how, you'll have to tune in to find out.  October 22nd, 7-9pm CST, on  www.blogtalkradio.com/Pagan-Musings or on iTunes at http://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/pagan-musings-blog-talk-radio/id343159333.

I want to talk about a couple of the "screenwriting rules" George Lucas chose to ignore when he crafted "Star Wars."

Rule:  Never open with an information dump, or in other words, disguise your exposition. 

Hello, that iconic scroll at the beginning?  You know how it goes, "A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away..."  Not to mention, why a long time ago?  Doesn't that mean the people I'm supposed to cheer on and care about are DEAD???!!!???  And why far, far away?  These are some scary bad guys.  Shouldn't this story be happening RIGHT NOW, and so close these bad guys are just one hyper-jump to light speed away from Earth, where they can wreak some real damage?  But the crawl at the beginning of each movie--information dump! 

Rule:  The story question must be posed in the first ten minutes of the film.  This sets up who is the "Good Guy" and who is the "Bad Guy", and ultimately, the question of who will win. 

Oh, man do we get a great glimpse of the bad guys.  When the huge Imperial ship chased down Princess Leia's ship in the opening sequence, the sound in the theatre rumbled.  It was massive, powerful--unstoppable.  Then Vader enters.  The breathing alone, coupled with the black mask and cape... then the guy kills someone with ONE HAND.  Hello, I don't think anyone--or anything can take him out.  And that's before he chokes someone out with his MIND.  But, where is our "Good Guy?"  Is it the lady with the cinnamon-rolls on the sides of her head?  How about the weird little robot that doesn't even talk, only beeps??  Uptight gold robot?  I don't know.  Ten minutes pass, and Luke Skywalker hasn't even hit the screen yet.  But, when Luke finally hits the screen, we know immediately that this immature, whiny kid is going to either have to defeat Vader, or die trying.  We just don't see how it is ever going to be possible. 

I could cover a lot of territory in how the script fits or doesn't fit standard conventions, but this would be a book, not a blog entry, so I'll end with one final "rule" Lucas breaks in "Star Wars."

Rule:  The Good Guy (Luke)  needs to control his own destiny, and defeat the Bad Guy (Vader) on his own merits.  (No one can rush in and save him at the last second.) 

Yes, Luke controls the Force, he flies into insurmountable odds and aims at the target.  But hold on a moment.  Vader is about to blast him out of the sky.  He's right on his tail, we're waiting for Luke to make a move against him... and no.  Han Solo to the rescue, and it is HAN who blasts Vader into the nether-regions of space.  Now, we know that there are a five more episodes to this story.  George Lucas knew he had way more story than he could fit into one movie.  But, he had to fight to greenlight "Star Wars," and the studio had no intentions of promising him anything until the first movie delivered.  Heck with a  working title like, "Adventures of Luke Starkiller, as taken from the Journal of the Whills, Saga I: The Star Wars." it's no wonder the studio balked (Okay, so that's Rule #4, you need a short, amazing, and compelling title, but since the film came out as "Star Wars," I'm not going to harp on it.)  My point is, in 1977, Lucas had no idea if he would ever see the completion of his vision, and his hero just let the sidekick clobber the bad guy.  Typically a fail as far as scripts go. 

"Star Wars," was one of those films that made an indelible mark on my psyche.  I lost count of how many times I saw it during the summer of 1977.  Why?  The characters, the story, the ground-breaking uniqueness of the film itself--I still love every frame of it.  When I look at the overall arc of the six films, I am so impressed at the craftsmanship--and Lucas's ability to successfully bend the screenwriting rules to give us a story that spanned a nearly three-decade time frame, from May, 1977-August 2008. Heck, I struggle to maintain continuity for a two-hour (120 page) script.  I bow before the Force. 

Have I captured your interest?  Don't forget, October 22nd, Pagan Musings Podcast.  It will be archived on the Blogtalk radio site, and on iTunes if you miss it.  Just in time to get your opus plotted for National Novel Writing Month 2011.  November 1-30.  I'll be leading the charge, and updating every week on how the Lincoln Region is doing on Pagan Musings.  Come be part of the magic!  www.nanowrimo.org!  

Editing 101: Search and Destroy Mission; FELT

A recent facebook discussion on the use of the word “felt” brought about an idea to demonstrate how I go about editing my own work.  The book “Dead Reckoning” from the Sookie Stackhouse book series created the discussion, so I am using a page from it to show what I’m talking about.  In general, “felt” is telling.  It deprives the reader of sharing the experience.  Also, I'm adding some photos from the HBO television series, "True Blood," based on the books.

 

Book selection:  “Dead Reckoning,” by Charlaine Harris, 2011.  Page 107.

I highlighted the words “feel” and “felt, and the word “that.”  Passives also abound, as highlighted in blue, but I am going to cover passives in my next blog, so I highlighted them as a matter of practice.  I also highlight –ly words, and “just,” but again, I’ll save those for future editing exercises. 

Here’s the page:

She might have judged herself, but now that I’d gotten over the shock of seeing my grandmother as a woman, I didn’t judge her.  Who was I to throw stones?  The preacher had told me that all sins were equal in the eyes of God, but I couldn’t help but feel (for example) that a child molester was worse than a person who cheated on his income tax, or a lonely woman who’d had unsanctioned sex because she wanted a baby.  I was probably wrong, because we also weren’t supposed to pick and choose which rules we obeyed, but that was the way I felt.

I shoved my confused thoughts back into a corner of my head and picked up the cluviel dor again.  Touching its smoothness was pure pleasure, like the happiness I’d felt when I’d hugged my great-grandfather—but times about two hundred.  The cluviel dor was about the size of two stacked Oreo cookies.  I rubbed it against my cheek and felt like purring. 

Did you have to have a magic word to open it?

“Abracadabra,” I said.  “Please and thank you.”

Nope, didn’t work, plus I felt like an idiot.  “Open Sesame,” I whispered.  “Presto change-o.”  Nope.

But thinking of magic gave me an idea.  I e-mailed Amelia, and it was a difficult message to phrase.  I know e-mail isn’t totally secure, but I also had no reason to think anyone considered my few messages of any importance.  I wrote, “I hate to ask, but besides doing that research on the blood bond for me, can you find out about a fae thing? Initials c. d.?” That was as subtle as I could get. 

Then I returned to my admiration of the cluviel dor.  Did you have to be a pure fairy to open it? No that couldn’t be the case.  It had been a gift to my grandmother, presumably to use in case of dire need, and she had been completely human.

I wished it hadn’t been far away in the attic when she’d been attacked.  Whenever I remembered how she’d been discarded on the kitchen floor like offal, soaking in her own blood, I felt both sick and furious.  Maybe if she’d had time to fetch the cluviel dor, she could have saved herself.

Now, here’s how I would reword it:

Perhaps my grandmother judged herself, but after the shock of seeing her as a woman subsided, I didn’t.   Who was I to throw stones?  The preacher said all sins were equal in the eyes of God, but in my opinion, a child molester ranked worse than someone who cheated on their income tax, or a lonely woman who engaged in unsanctioned sex because she wanted a baby.  Wrong?  Maybe, since he also said not to pick or chose which rules to obey.

I shoved my confused thoughts into a corner of my mind and picked up the cluviel dor.  My fingers ran over the smooth object, about the size of two stacked Oreos.  Cats purr when stroked, and as I rubbed it against my cheek, I understood why.  Happiness flooded through me, reminding me of hugging my great-grandfather, only magnified a couple hundred times. 

Maybe magic words opened it?

“Abracadabra?”  I held my breath a moment, then continued, “Please and thank you.”

Nope, didn’t work.  Not to mention, horribly cliché.  I paused.  Oh well, why not?  “Open sesame?”  I rolled the cluviel dor in my hands.  “Presto change-o?” 

Nope.

But, thinking of magic gave me an idea.  So, I e-mailed Amelia.  It took some time to come up with the phrasing.  Even though I doubted anyone considered my messages important, e-mail isn’t exactly secure.  “I hate to ask, but while you’re researching the blood bond for me, could you find out about a fae thing with the initials c.d?”  Subtle, right?

I hit send, then returned to admire the cluviel dor.  Maybe only a pure fairy could open it?  No, Fintan gifted it to my completely human grandmother, presumably to use in case of dire need.

I remembered my grandmother’s body, left discarded on the kitchen floor like offal, soaking in her own blood.  Bile rose in my throat and my nails bit into my palms.  Maybe if she had the cluviel dor with her, she could have saved herself.

Notice NO felts, thats, and look at the reduction in passives.  This goes to show, I’m not saying ALL passives are bad.  Now, I hope you’ll add your thoughts or edits.  Plus, I hope you enjoyed the eye-candy!

Powerlessness and Letting Go

I started my "writing half of the week," with a full list of things I wanted to accomplish.  That's not anything new and unusal, all professional writers set goals--and work to meet them.  But, sometimes life gets in the way, and not always in ways we can predict.

In December of 2010, a little over a year ago, my now three year-old granddaughter Abigail was diagnosed with Idiopathic Thrombocytopenia Purpura, an autoimmune blood disorder that causes her body to destroy her platelets.  She's done well with treatment, even though she's required regular blood product transfusions.  To date, over 6,000 donors have helped keep this little Princess alive. 

About a third of kids with ITP will have only one episode of the disease, about a third will have recurrences that subside within a year, and about a third will have life-long problems.  Since Abigail is past the one year mark, it is likely she is in the chronic category.  Another constant concern for kids with ITP is the risk of it developing into Leukemia or Lymphoma. Last week, Abigail's blood showed some things that raise the concern of this happening.  Yesterday, they drew more blood to repeat the smears.  If they are also abnormal, a bone marrow biopsy will be the next step.   

Waiting for lab results is always difficult.  But, today, with all these "things" I want to get done, I found myself looking up at a photograph of Abigail on my wall and dissolving into tears.  It hit me, this is the first time in the year Abigail's had ITP that I have cried.  It's never been my nature to break down, something I think has a lot to do with my nursing background.  But today I am not the nurse, I am a grandmother and a mother. I can't DO anything to change what she's going through, all I can do is love and support my daughter and son-in-law, and of course Abigail as they face the unknown. 

And I dont like it.

In my last blog post, I talked about why I write horror, and how I plumb the depths of my own soul when I write.  What I realize today is that I am terrified of not being in control.  From nursing and medicine, to being a retail manager, and even being the future president of the Nebraska Writers Guild, I gravitate to roles that allow me to shape my own world.  Think about it, don't fiction writers do this every day?  My rules, I make them up.  I tell my characters what to do, I create every detail of my story worlds.  I don't want to bow to God's will, I want to BE God. 

It's Holy Week, and I contemplate Christ's surrender as he faced his death.  The taunts, "If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross." 

As I search for solace, I recall Christ's words, "Father, if it is your will, let this cup pass from me; yet your will not mine be done."

As a grandmother, I pray that this cup pass from our family.  I can't make myself finish the sentence.  I'm praying for the grace to be able to finish it, and to have the conviction to back it up.  Is that me wanting to be God?  Absolutely.  It's my character flaw. 

I'm working with the plot for a short story, and in big letters on my notes page is the word, SURRENDER.  I'm not quite sure how I'm going to use it yet, but salvation will either be had or lost over that one word.  Writing truly is self-analysis on the page.  I'll let you know how it works out. 

As for Abigail, check out Abigail's Angels (ITP Support) on Facebook.  My daughter Megan, and Abigail are changing lives.  They are much better at this surrender thing than me.  You guys are my heroes! 
http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1192173510#!/pages/Abigails-Angels-ITP-support/140680835987109

 



     

Horror. Why we love to read it, and why I love to write it.

April 8-10th will be the 2011 Nebraska Writers Guild Spring Conference.  One of the many things I'll be doing to help with this conference is having a table to display information about speculative fiction.  What's that?  Speculative fiction encompasses the darker side of literature.  Subjects ranging from pure horror to science fiction and fantasy.  To prepare, I've spent a lot of time thinking about horror.  Why are people drawn to it?  Why do I write horror?

Horror writer Douglas Winter says it very well. " Horror is not a genre, like the mystery or science fiction or the western. It is not a kind of fiction, meant to be confined to the ghetto of a special shelf in libraries or bookstores. Horror is an emotion."

A well-crafted horror story posesses the ability to grab my attention, and forces me to confront some part of my psyche I'd rather not face.  Yesterday, I was talking to a fellow writer about writing dark fiction.  (Hi Emily!)  I made the observation that if I am not squirming in my seat when I'm writing horror, I'm not digging deep enough inside the recesses of my own soul.  In a very real way, writing horror is a window into the author's being.  In gifted horror writer Joe Hill's story, "You will Hear the Locust Sing," Francis, the main character, turns into a giant bug, who then proceeds to eat his father.  It doesn't take much to realize that Joe just might be having some major daddy-issues with his rather famous horror writer father, one Stephen King. 

Yes, writing horror is catharsis, therapy, and if done well, something that alters the way the reader views the world.  I challenge readers of Alice Seibold's, "The Lovely Bones," to come away unchanged.  The best-selling Tim LaHaye/Jerry Jenkins "Left Behind"series fits this definition as well.  Disagree with me?  The Horror Writers of America don't!  They even list the Bible as a horror book.  Demons, plagues, apocalypses... Yep, that fits my definition for horror.

I sometimes wonder what readers of my stories will infer about my innermost thoughts from reading my work.  My co-authors, D. Anthony Brown, Brian Thomas, and Johnny Houser's demons will end up on display too.  Or at least they will if we do our job as writers well.  Because, if it doesn't make me squirm in my chair when I'm writing it, I can promise you won't squirm in yours when you are reading it.

I'll leave you with this, and I hope you'll take time to add your own stories as comments.

I remember the very first real horror book I ever read.  I was in seventh grade, and staying overnight at my friend Renee's house along with friends Sandy and Lynnette.  I was wearing a white flannel nightgown, with white lace on the yoke, laying on the floor in a sleeping bag, and even though the rest of the girls had drifted off to sleep, or were gushing about boys, maybe some of both.  I picked up this book, and from the title, it was about a girl.  A girl in High School. So, I started reading.  And I could. Not. Stop! The book was "Carrie."  I read the entire thing, cover to cover, that night by flashlight, curled up in a ball in that sleeping bag on Renee's hardwood bedroom floor. 

Notice how detailed this memory is.  It was one of those PROFOUND moments, one that changed my life forever.  Yes the details of the story scared the bejezus out of me, but the emotional impact was much deeper.  I couldn't stop thinking about that poor Carrie, how many horrific things she'd endured, and how she'd managed to fight back against everything and everyone that oppressed her.  I was a geeky, sometimes bullied junior high student, and it resonated with me.  It was more memorable than losing my virginity.  (No, I'm not sharing that story.  Sorry.  Maybe, just maybe it will show up in a future story.  I do write horror... bwahahaha) 

Now it's your turn.  What was YOUR first horror story?  Did it change you?  How?  Thanks for playing along!

Today I like my hair!

I woke up this morning and fixed my hair.  That usually sets the tone of the day.  Ladies, you are probably nodding about now, and the guys are most likely scratching their heads going "huh?" It's true!  The routine is the same, but the results may vary.  You never know until you start running a comb through the curls exactly what's going to happen.  It is either bliss, or agony.  Usually not a lot of middle ground either, and if my hair isn't playing nice, the rest of the day seems to follow suit. 

I went to bed late last night/early this morning after working on revisions on the screenplay adaptation of my story "The Hunt."  I'm short a good 20 pages, and I was more than a bit fed up with the whole thing when my head hit the pillow.  So, this morning, I decided I was going to take a break from it, get a little distance and perspective before I dived back in. 

Keep in mind that I am a disciplined writer, and I am not advocating procrastination.  What I decided to do instead was finish reading a book on screenwriting I'm almost finished with.  (Studying is a constant part of my life as a disciplined writer as well!) What I ended up with after a few hours of reading was a dozen sticky notes with ideas that came to me about my stunted script while I was busy doing something "else."  Ha! 

I also had a back-to-the-basics "duh," moment when it hit me that what I really need to do is look at the beat sheet and determine where I need them to be page-wise, and then compare that to where they actually are.  Is the inciting incident where it needs to be?  How about Plot Point 1?  Plot Point 2?  You get the idea.  Doing some simple math will give me the number of pages I need to add, and more importantly, will tell me exactly where I need to add them.  Hello, targeted revisions! 

I am very fortunate in that my story follows along extremely well with the basic story paradigm already.  That's because I have a decent foundation in setting up the story structure, which is a direct result of that studying I mentioned. 

For those of you who have read 'The Hunt," no worries, I am not changing the storyline at all. The screenplay follows the actual story very closely.  What I'm adding now are details, little things to help make Wuden Hollow a living vibrant world that will shine on a movie screen.  Little details and scenes that add to the lasting imagery. 

For example, I'm adding a brief moment where a little girl approaches Reverend Michael after the first sermon in the opening of the movie.  The wind catches her hair ribbon and blows it into the woods.  I'll use that ribbon in the woods when Michael is deciding which direction to run when being chased.  He can either go toward town, or deeper into the woods.  Then again at the end, when he sees the girl again, and he gives her back the ribbon.  Does anyone remember the girl in the red dress in "Schindler's List?"  

Plus, I'm now back to hair, which is where I started this post.  Not bad, huh?

 

wii fit:Needs Some New Options

I have a love-hate relationship with my wii fit.  Love it when the graph shows I am losing weight, and HATE it when it bounces back up, and then my mii character gets FAT!  What's up with that, anyway??? What about promoting that svelte body image that I am aspiring for?  Have the creators of the wii fit software platform not read "The Secret?"  Stop manifesting a body that I am sooo not visualizing for myself.  I am not only believing it is possible, but taking the actions needed to bring it to fruition.  I think that ought to count for something! 

One thing the wii fit does is ask you to select a reason why you think you might have gained weight.  Which makes sense, but the reasons they list are STUPID!  Some are really self explanatory; like "I ate too much,"  "Late night snacking,"  and "Not enough exercise."  I scratched my head at "I have indigestion," but I suppose that is a polite way of saying, "Hello... I am constipated," because let's get real.  If your weight went up three pounds because you need to BURP, you have some serious health issues.  There is an "I don't know" option, but if you use it, the wii trainer comes on and shakes his finger at you and tells you to figure it out. 

I'm going to go out on a limb here, and say that the majority of people who use the wii fit are women.  I know that sounds a bit sexist, but most of the guys I know prefer hefty weight lifting, kickboxing and other forms of mixed martial arts, or other gym related activities, not a little step-stool on their living room floor.  We women are obsessed with not showing up in a gym until we have attained the svelte figure we already envision ourselves with.  We are realists when it comes to that.  No one wants to see me huffing and puffing away in a spandex suit.  Including me.  Ergo, we like the ability to trim down in the privacy of our own living room with a virtual trainer who won't snicker behind our backs at the rolls of fat under our baggy sweat suits. 

But, back to the options when it comes to weight gain.  Going with the premise that there are a lot of women using the product, and it did ASK me my gender after all, I am going to suggest a few additional categories for weight gain.

"This week will be bad, I have a visitor.  Thanks for noticing that I'm cranky too."  Hello?  This is the most obvious one out there.  And it sure makes more sense than "I have indigestion."

"Just broke up with my boyfriend."  We have all been there.  Bring on the chocolate, and pull out a box of tissues.  Unfortunately, the weight gained by the chocolate is NOT offset by the volume of tears going out.  Wish it was, but not so much.  Another related reason?  "My best friend broke up with her boyfriend."  We all know that sympathy chocolate is essential to the recovery process, right?

"My stupid doctor refuses to give me enough thyroid medicine to make this weight go down."  I've been there, done that!  After a bout of mononucleosis, my body decided that my thyroid looked a lot like the mono virus and killed it off too.  My weight jumped 80 pounds in six months before we figured it out.  Easy enough, I thought.  Give me enough thyroid hormone replacement to put it in overdrive for six months, voila!  Not so much. 

"I'm female.  I'm hormonal.  Deal with it or die."  Kind of related to the first reason, but we all know which days I'm talking about here. 

And my favorite reason of all, "Ask me again and I will throw you and your stupid virtual trainer into the trash."  I use the male trainer (duh!).  Didn't this guy get the message that polite gentlemen do not ever ask or comment on a woman's weight?  Yeah, that's what I thought.  You should be ashamed of yourself, virtual wii trainer!

Well, I'm off now, I have a date with my wii fit.  If you see a white board in the dumpster tomorrow, you'll know what happened.

Twas the Night Before Christmas at Walmart

I haven't updated the blog in a while, even though I have plenty to blog about.  Oh well, it will make it onto my New Year's resolutions.  In the mean time, here is my take on a holiday classic.

Twas the Night Before Christmas at Wal-Mart

‘Twas the night before Christmas at Wal-Mart, and all through the store,


Not a shopper was stirring; we chased them all out the door.

The last few hours spent helping customers on last-minute shopping sprees,

Hunting for video games and for big screen TV’s.

As closing pages were made, shopper’s faces filled with dread,

“Help me find a present for Great-Uncle Fred!”



The merchandise flew out the door with great speed,

Along with wrapping paper and food for the Great Christmas feed,

Panic showed in the faces of the last straggling few,

As they searched for a gift, not knowing what they should do.

The cashiers were ready; they knew what to say,

“A gift card will be welcome under the tree Christmas day.”



At last we were finished, the shoppers sent away,

The money locked in the safe, and the shopping carts rounded up, not leaving a single stray.

When in the lounge arose a cheer, one would wonder what was wrong,

But it was just me breaking the CD that played Christmas song after song.

One would think Christmas music playing would be so much fun,

But it’s been on since Halloween, and we’re glad that it's done!



As the last cashier and greeter waited for their ride,

My partner Dusty stepped back inside.

The registers lay silent, no bells and no beeps,

He let out a yell as he made his final security sweeps,

His voice echoed off of the now empty walls,

Not even a walkie-talkie answered his calls.



He punched in his alarm code, and looked at the clock,

Then hurried outside as I turned my key in the lock.

The alarm arming tone sounded as we drove away,

Dusty leaned in and said, “Aren’t you glad we aren’t working on the Big Return Day?”

A few snowflakes fell as I drove out of sight,

Merry Christmas to all, and from Wal-Mart, good night!

Setting your Babies Free

Tonight I read the ending of my newly-completed novella, "The Hunt," out loud at the Nebraska Writers Workshop.  There's something amazingly satisfying about reaching the end of a good story.  And something even more satisfying if it's the end of one of YOUR stories.  Now that's not to say I'm finished, there are still edits, submissions, and in this case, a screen treatment of the manuscript to undertake. 

I don't quite know how to explain the rush of emotions that a writer goes through with the completion of a mansucript.  When I wrote "THE END" on the page, I was sitting in a conference room at Mahoney State Park, as part of the NWW fall retreat.  I plowed my way through the big climactic fight scene, and tied up all the loose ends before centering my cursor for those final two words. "THE END".  So final.  The picture that comes into my head is the end of a Bugs Bunny cartoon.  "Ebeday, ebeday, ebeday, that's all folks." Cue the target circles closing, and the Looney Tunes theme song. 

You'd think the first thing I would do would be to spring from my chair and proclaim to the world my triumph.  After all, I was in a conference room with a group of WRITERS.  People who understand the strange affliciton of those posessed by a story, unable to yield to anything but the drama unfolding within our mind, until the words have poured themselves from the soul and onto the page. 

But I sat there, starting in shocked silence at the words in front of me.  "THE END."  I've grown attached to these characters.  I've dreamt their dreams, spoken their words, heard their thoughts.  And now it's finished.  I like these people, and a part of me feels like I've lost my best friends.  I know by those two little words on a page, I'll never view the world through these characters' eyes quite the same again.

So, instead of wanting to jump from my seat and proclaim victory, I felt more like throwing up.  An overwhelming sense of...loss.  I think to be a good writer, you need to love your characters so much that you do mourn the fact that starting now, you won't be spending all of your time with them anymore. 

So, I sat there, in my chair and stared off into space for a while, choked back some tears, then on October 16th, at 4:13 pm  typed, "First draft of 'The Hunt' is FINISHED" onto my facebook page. At 4:19, fellow NWW writer and friend Rhonda Hall types back, "Yeah, I'm sitting next to you, and this is how I find out?" 

It's an odd thing how we writers give birth to our stories.  Sometimes, we're yelling and screaming to the rafters.  Sometimes, the peck of computer keys is all we can get out.  It actually took a few deep breaths before I could announce it to the assembled room full of writers. 

A couple weeks have passed, and I've taken some time to rewrite portions of the story.  There is still much work to be done.  Polishing the gem takes a much gentler hand than mining the raw stone.  I think of editing as "head work," and the first draft as, "heart and soul work."  Tonight I read the ending aloud at the NWW meeting.  It's nice to hear a collective sigh of satisfaction as my fellow writers appreciate the end of a journey as well. 

Another of the retreat writers, the wonderfully talented Aaron Lloyd, read the ending of his novel right before me.  His journey with the characters of his novel has taken him over two years.   That's about the length of four Hollywood marriages.  Before we entered into the meeting room to share our endings, we talked a little bit.  For both of us, there was some trepidation, a sense of "Now what?" A lot of joy, and a little sadness, as we send our babies out into the world to stand on their own, to sink or swim on their own merits.     

Why do Writers LOVE Conferences?

October 1st and 2nd I attended the Nebraska Writers Guild annual Fall Conference in Grand Island, Nebraska.  Had an outstandingly amazing time, got to catch up with many friends in the Nebraska writing community, and made many more. 

For those who are not writers, or those who are forced to endure those of us who are writers, the question arises as to why we go to these things anyway.  I kind of understand the thinking, as I've endured my fair share of work-related conferences.  Boring, dull, and...and...and... Yeah, boring and dull. 

But here's the deal.  For the most part, writing is a lonely, solitary endeavor.  We writers spend hours staring at our computer screens, a splotch of paint on the wall, or out the window, trying to twist the thoughts in our head into the perfect combination of words on a page.  Trust me, it's not as easy as it seems.  If you'd like to try for yourself, National Novel Writing Month will kick off on November 1st, and I invite you to come join in for the fun.  But all in all, when I'm writing, it's me and the computer.

Writing conferences give me the opportunity to interact with other people who think the way I think.  Who else "gets" it but another writer?  I absolutely thrive on having the opportunity to join forces with other writers.  Usually, there is an opportunity for members to share readings from their various works-in-progress, or their latest publication.  I truly love getting to hear all these great stories.  It's broadened my literary horizon so much by getting hooked on stories I've heard read at a conference.  There's a huge validation when someone comes up and talks to you afterward about what you've read as well. 

We commisurate, lament, console, cajole, and generally encourage each other on our quest to the perfect agent/publisher/contract, and so on.  Haven't been applying the butt to the chair and actually putting words on a page?  You hang around enough writers, and they will kick that butt.  Which is a very good thing, I might add.  I write more when I'm going to a conference or writing group.  No way am I showing up empty-handed! 

Probably the most important reason to go is to recharge your writing battery.  I have yet to come away from a conference without at least one new idea.  And really, that's the most important thing.  A writer without an idea, is not writing much. 

Last night, a group of us stayed after the conference and hung out at the motel bar to socialize.  Loads of fun, lots of laughs, and great company. 

Until the wedding dance down the hall got out of control. 

The resulting melee spread from the room where the dance was held into the bar area where we were, and out into the motel parking lot.  It did not take more than a few seconds for the writers to break camp and disperse, either to their own motel rooms, or to their cars. 

As I drove from Grand Island to Lincoln, I had time to reflect on the situation.  First of all to feel a little sorry for the poor bride and groom.  No bride wants a brawl at their wedding dance.  But, I'm a writer, so of course, the plot-wheels start turning.  On the hour and a half drive back, I hatched a whole new plot. 

Six writers go to a bar...

More to follow~!

9/11 Remembrance. A guest blog event

I posted a question on my facebook page.  What were you doing when you heard the news about the 9/11 attacks.  The responses were so touching, I've decided to share them as a blog.  So, thanks to everyone who commented, and it's not too late.  I'll post any additional comments, or you can add your comments directly after the blog.  We shall never forget.

Lisa Baucke Kovanda I was waiting to pick up my son Damian Cooper from the airport. He had just gotten back from a year-long deployment with the Navy in the Far East. I didn't have the TV on, and was cleaning house when I got a call asking me where I thought... Damian might be. I looked at my watch and said, "I don't know, Phoenix maybe?" She said, "Oh my God, turn on your television!" We didn't know where Damian was until almost 1am. The Shore Patrol rounded up the guys from his ship at the airport. They were still battle-ready, so back to sea they went.

Mindy Slater sitting in my room at college getting ready to go to my morning class and the girls across the hall came over and told us what happened.

Shelly Palmer I was getting ready for college classes and BFF's place. It was her birthday. I saw the news as I walked through the living room getting ready. I immediately got in my truck and SPED to school, broadcasting major you see. I continued to spend the next 12 hours searching for every detail on the event I could and broadcasting from the college radio station....

Sally J. Walker Waiting for lab draw at Cancer Center, watching TV coverage when second plane hit. Then waiting for radiation treatment watched coverage of the towers collapsing. Sobering horror all the way around.

Rhonda M. Hall First day back at work after attending the Maui Writers Convention. Riding my exercise bike & watched the news. Charlie Gibson voice broke when he said, he would never believe a pilot did it intentionally. Went to work, & security guards... searched our purses. A fellow employee was outraged & indignant. I thought, "Get over it- there's alot worse going on." All our work was cancelled. Qwest/USWest only allowed employees in their bldgs. So, no competitors could get their stuff done. Complete stand still. One employee's husband worked at Offutt. He called her & told her when President Bush arrived. Covered head to toe in bomb gear. He said you could only see his eyes. (That's never been on the news.) Chilling day, then when I drove home the streets were crazy. Every church I passed was packed. I went to my mom's & remembered 6 months b4 when I made reservations, they said stay the weekend come home on Tuesday, it's cheaper. I said no, my mom's birthday is the 9th. I thought she should be home for her birthday. I'm so glad.

Mark Schlamann It was about 7:45 when I heard of the first attack. I had the radio on by my bed and was contemplating getting up for the day. When I heard that the second plane had hit, I got out of bed and turned the TV on. I was living in North Dakota at the time, and since I had to get some work done in the study, I had KFGO on all day for updates

Rebecca McKillip at school scared for my brother who was in the Navy but he was safe and sound. They got send out to sea also.

Sandra Spidell I was at work at Earl May's, every cusomer who came in was in denial. "I dont believe, ... followed by, you should see..." So my boss and I closed the store, and walked next door to the hotel, who let us use a room to watch it on TV. By then both planes had hit, and about a half hour later we watched in horor as the first tower fell, later followed by the second. We did go back several hours later and opened the store, we both knew we had to, but we couldnt pry ourselves away from the TV.

Greg Hall Lived in Calif. at the time, so it was a little after 5:30 in the morning. On an elliptical machine at 24hr fitness in downtown Pasadena... a couple of the TV's were on the news. At first I thought it was some sort of commercial for a disaster movie, but it stayed on the screen & then the 2nd plane hit. Over the next ten minutes, all of the TV's in the gym switched to the coverage.

Caredy Pennington Hopped up on oxycodone and recovering from back surgery. Thought it was all a dream

Ashley Mitchell Sitting in English class they turned the TV on and we all watched the coverage. We saw the second plane hit and everyone was crying, screaming cursing, praying. We sat there and didn't move to the next class when the bells rang we just coul...dn't pry ourselves away from the TV.

One of my classmates got pulled out of class because her dad was in the Pentagon and worked in the section that had been hit. He was ok thank God.
It was like watching a bad movie. 9/11 was our Pearl Harbor and JFK we will never forget what happened and where we were.

Debra Christenson I was just waking up in a hotel room in Kansas City after moving there for my husbands new job. I turned on the TV shortly before the 2nd plane hit.

Lisa Baucke Kovanda I saw the second plane hit, and watched the towers fall. All I could think was "Where is my son??" At that moment he should have been mid-flight, and there were reports of planes missing all over the country. A moment of bad humor here, but it's been 9 years, and I still have to ask where my son is most of the time. (Damian, you could call, or leave a facebook message...)

Elizabeth Rodenburg Punko I was getting ready for work (Fairbury Walmart) when i heard it on the radio and thought it was a joke until i saw it on the tvs at work....

Bradley Mueller i was getting ready for class my room mate cane in said that class was cancelled and turned on tv to show me

Cathy Johnson Couch I was shopping in the old wal*mart in Seward and everyone was talking about it. I heard about the 2nd plane hitting on the radio while driving home.

Dave Scanlan I was getting ready to take my wife to the dentist and I turned on the tv and heard the news. It all seemed very surreal!

Dee Ann Williamson Monday went out of town for business-didn't have to go to work on Tuesday till 11 AM. Sat on the couch eating breakfast and was horrified when I watched the entire event unfold on the news. I went into work numb.

Mary Unger I was working at my desk at school. Rachel came blasting in upstairs shouting that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. We didn't have TV reception at the school, so it was hard to get news until our para went home and brought back a little TV with an antenna. It was so horrible. I can still feel the gut-dropping feeling I felt then

Jennifer Brym- Bates I was teaching English to seniors in Elba, Nebraska when a girl came in and said a plane had hit the World Trade Towers. I figured she meant one of those small, two-seater planes and thought 'that's too bad, now let's get back to work'. Th......en the principal came around and told us what was going on. We only had one tv in the school (tiny k-12 school) so a secretary went across the street to her house and brought over another one. We spent the rest of the day in the two rooms with tvs, watching, while the principal, who had a friend in NYC gave constant emails about the situation. She later told about seeing bags of grapes from someone's lunch on the ground next to things I won't mention. It was a horrific day. One I'll NEVER forget.

Hilary Kassik I was a freshman in high school sitting in my world history class watching it on tv....wow time flies but seems like just yesterday

Deb Soucek Was working in the Staplehurst bar making breakfast for 1 of the guys and someone come in and told us of a accident. We turned the t.v. on and couldn't beleive what we were watching and then the other 1 hit. We all knew it was no accident at that point!!!

Ronnie Slater I was in my Citizenship Issues class watching the morning news, when they broke in with the news. School stopped... everyone just sat there and watched in horror

Cara Heacock I was in seventh grade. I went from my second period shop class to my homeroom where the teacher had the TV on. The first tower had collapsed by then; the second was still burning. At first no one explained to me what was going on; I thought the Woodmen Tower in downtown Omaha was on fire. Then when I found out it was the twin towers in NYC, I had never heard of them anyway.

Lisa Lakin-Neff I was waking Stephan up for school when we lived in CA. My neighbor came up pounding on the door (Alberto) and told me. Then my mother called and told me to keep Stephan out of school for the day just in case. Then turned the TV on to watch it just in time to see the second plane hit! I cried and cried more when I saw the buildings fall.

Paula Markuson Working at my desk in downtown Omaha. No TV coverage there. It seemed so surreal until later in the day when I left to do a home visit. No planes in the sky except for Air Force One flying over on the way out of SAC. Saw the video at my client's house. Then it became gut wrenching.

Muffy Vrana I sat in my night clothes watching the television, thinking it was a rerun of Orson Welles and/or "War of the Worlds." It took quite a while to realize that this was REAL, this was NOW, and not some fiction. I still, to this day, have trouble realizing it was real, and that now my world (my safe world) has changed forever.
Connie Crow I was at work at an engineering firm when the first plane hit. All the staff gathered in the conference room to watch. When the second plane hit we all shuddered together. No one moved. The engineers started calculating how long the towers ...could stay up based on heat concrete etc. Then the first tower started down. Everyone just froze.

By the time the second tower came down the phones were ringing of the hook. Engineers from all over the country were contacting one another, trying to figure out why the towers came down. All other work in the office stopped. I was allowed to go home early. Driving home, they were guessing where the president was on the radio. I saw air force one on final to Offut (I live near there) I called the station and told them he'd just landed. They aired confirmation about 5 minutes later.
 
 
My thanks to everyone who took time to comment.  For the men and women who lost their lives in the attacks of 9/11, and those men and women who serve our country, we owe you a debt that can never be repaid.  --Lisa Kovanda