Perceptions and Illusions

My brain needed a lot of stretching before it would work again, so I was unable to make myself write Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday.

But today I had success. Here is a section of what I did today. It is the first part of Chapter 1 of a new book. It is a rough draft. There will be a few rewrites before it is in the final form. The working title is "Fair Game".
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Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

"Not now!” Autumn muttered as she placed her foot on the first step of the staircase. “I don’t have time to dig through my backpack to find my phone. I don’t want to be late the first day.”

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

“Another one? It must be important. No one sends two texts in a row unless it is important.”

She paused at the bottom of the wide staircase and looked to the top. Once she got into the school, her cell would have to stay hidden in her backpack. The school had a strict policy about cell phone use within the building. If she were caught with her phone out, even if she were just reading a text, her phone would be confiscated.

“Maybe I should check. It could be important. I still have time. I won’t be late if I hurry—"

The backpack of a passing student slammed into her, making her twirl around and lose her balance. As Autumn spun on one leg, she tried to regain her balance by stomping the raised foot hard to the ground—right on the foot of a huge boy with frizzy hair.

The very same boy who had been so inconsiderate to slam into her.

The mass of muscles grabbed his foot and groaned. “What do you think you are doing, you klutz! That hurt.”

Autumn just stood there paralyzed. This boy could easily crush her like a bug.

“Aren’t you going to say you are sorry?” the mountain sneered, still looking at his aching foot.

Autumn gulped, and looked down to hide the fear that had begun to course through her body. Was she going to be trammeled on her first day of school? Autumn was not a fighter, and if this boy decided to start punching she wouldn’t have a chance.

“Well, where is your apology, little girl?” growled the angry giant. “You stomped on my foot!”

Autumn hated to be called little, but decided to let it slide. Every muscle in her body told her that she was in danger and needed to think her way out of this situation. She cautiously raised her head an inch to peek at the mass of students around her. Several were looking her way curiously, but none seemed prepared to help if it got ugly.

She was on her own. A rare occurrence for Autumn. She was the youngest of four.

Thinking quickly, Autumn remembered several books she had read that implied that a bully was a coward who was trying to convince himself, and everyone else, that he was a rough tough bad guy who was afraid of nothing. The trick was to stand up to the bully from day one so that he realized that you weren’t easy prey. If you showed fear, or any sign of weakness, you would become a prime target on the bully’s radar. A sure set-up for terror and fear on a daily basis.

But reading that bullies were cowards and acting on it were two different things—very different. What if she stood up to him and he punched her? He was twice her size, he could do some serious damage.

“So what’s it going to be little girl? Are you going to apologize, or do I need to teach you some manners?”

Autumn took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and looked the bully straight in the eye.
“You only got what you deserved, you big oaf. I was minding my own business when you knocked me over with your oversized backpack. Why don’t you learn how to watch where you are going?”

The bully stared at Autumn’s face for several minutes, no expression whatsoever showing on his face. It was as if all his thoughts had retreated into an inner fortress, possibly to regroup.

Without another word, the giant turned on his heal and continued up the staircase, shoving anyone unfortunate to be in his path out of his way.

Labels: Fair Game, writing

Yesterday I awoke with the desire to get out my computer and immerse myself in a new story. It was a glorious feeling, one that I have missed these last few months. I really haven't written since November--I have been going through a dry spell.

I find Sundays not good days for writing, so I pushed aside the craving to write and went about my day. Rather crankily, I must admit. Monday would be the day to begin again. Monday morning bright and early I could flex those mental muscles and dive into the wonderful world of imagination.

I could barely wait!

Well, today is Monday and my mental muscles remain unflexed. I simply cannot get started. I have been at my computer for over an hour and have not written a single word.

I have checked my email, read a few web articles, given my opinion about the worst book I have ever read--and updated this blog.

But the story--the one that is aching to be written--remains locked away.

To be honest, I'm not too awfully worried, yet. I have been through this before, so I know what to do. I simply need to stretch out those poor muscles that have been unused for the last few months. Loosen them up a bit. Do a little freewriting, brainstorming, or...or...or something.

Come on brain! You can do it! Get that circulation flowing. Move those thoughts around.

You have had a long enough vacation, it is time to get back to work.

There is a book to be written.

Labels: life, writing

I know November is not over yet, but I have reached the 50,000 word count, so I'm done with NaNoWriMo! I have never been so tired of writing in my life! I will most assuredly take a break for a week or so.

I almost didn't finish. Friday I pushed very hard and hit the 41,000 word count, only to be rewarded by a melt down. As I reread some of what I had written, I was horrified. My plot didn't flow, the characters were flat, and to up my word count I had started doing really silly things. The worst was having the main character of my story go to story time at a library, and then writing into my story what the character would hear.

When it hit me that I had trashed my first draft I almost cried. All I was doing was giving myself a lot more work to do in the rewrites. I decided that NaNoWriMo wasn't worth it. So I put away my computer, ran a nice warm bath, and decided to chalk it up to a lesson learned. I evidently was not capable of writing 50,000 words in one month.

But then, as I relaxed in the bath, a miracle occurred. I realized why the holes in my plot existed, why the characters were flat, and even better I realized what I needed to do to fix it.

I was revived and energized. I stayed up until 2 a.m. Saturday morning fixing my novel.

I am glad I did. I once again feel good about what I have written, so instead of being distrait, I look forward to finishing this novel.

But most important, I have silenced that little voice in the back of my head that tried to convince me that I was setting myself up for failure.

I would give an evil little laugh myself, just for the fun of it. But I'm too tired.

Labels: frivolity, life, myth or reality, writing

It is time for a little update on my progress with NaNoWriMo.

I have not finished writing for the day, but my current word count is 27,408. So take that, you sneaky little voice in the back of my head that said I couldn't do it! I did not get sick, and I am way, way past the 3,000 words you predicted.

Where is that evil little laugh now?

There it is! There is the laugh.

Why the evil laugh, when I just told you that you have failed? My writing is coming along just fine. I am right on target. Slightly ahead as a matter of fact.

Oh. I guess you are right, I am far from finished. But no, just because I took a few minutes to write on my blog does not mean I have given up.

Does not!

Sorry, got to go. I've got loads more writing to do. I am on a mission to prove that little voice wrong.

Labels: frivolity, life, myth or reality, writing

The oddest thing happened to me this morning. I got my cup of coffee, started my computer, and sat down to write.

Only, when I reread what I wrote the day before, I was horrified. WHAT HAD I BEEN THINKING! It was horrible, the worst I have ever written.

I know that because of NaNoWrimo I am rushing through, but it was almost as if I hadn't even written it myself. It did not sound like me.

Is that whispering I hear? Jupiterians, is that you?

Hello Jupiterians! I haven't seen you for a while, I thought you might be gone for good. I'm happy to see you back.

What do you mean, maybe I won't be so happy?

Why are you so upset? What do you need to tell me?

Oh.

Well, I can't say I am happy that you deleted everything I had written and rewrote it for me. I appreciate the sentiment, but I would rather you let me do my own writing.

I don't care if you think what you wrote is better. I have a right to do my own work.

Yes, that is how I want it!

Well, fine to you too.

Don't cry, Jupiterians. I don't hate you. I can fix it.

Yes, I promise I can. I always save a copy outside of my computer every day I write. I can retrieve that one and start exactly where I left off yesterday.

Ah, the sound of giggles. Everything is back the way it should be.

Labels: frivolity, Jupiterians, myth or reality, writing

I was told it could happen, but I didn't think it was true.

I was warned about it, but ignored the warning. In my ignorance, I believed it could never happen to me.

Yet it did.

My little baby book, the newborn creation that I began just yesterday, already has a will of its own. A strong one.

It took me two full years to write my last book, mainly because I wrote it in first person, and it was hard! So when I finally finished the last word, I vowed to stick to the much more intuitive third person. I never again wanted to struggle with those strange verb tenses that rear their ugly heads with first person writings.

Yet, as I reread what I wrote yesterday, I noticed that it just didn't flow. Something wasn't right. The voice, well, the voice was missing. Which, I suppose, is okay, since it is just a rough draft. Only...well...why not make even that first rough draft as good as it can be.

Especially since, as I thought about the story I planned, I realized that I didn't need to try to give the story a voice, it already had one. I could hear it loud and clear. It was talking directly to me.

So today I rewrote yesterday's writings--in first person. It slowed me down a bit, and I'll have to scramble a bit more to reach my 50,000 words in one month goal, but it was worth it.

Wish me luck!

Labels: life, myth or reality, world, writing

I just finished my first day of writing.

word count: 2470 (not bad!)

I created an outline, so I know basically what will happen in each chapter, and exactly how the story will play out. I also began the first chapter.

I'm satisfied--for today.

P.S. I haven't seen hide nor hair of the Jupiterians for a while. I hope they keep their distance until the end of November!

Labels: life, myth or reality, writing

It's almost 8 am, November 2, and I am now officially beginning NaNoWriMo.

Why the late start? Why did I not begin on November 1st?

Well, it just didn't seem right to start on a Sunday. Sunday is family time, and long ago, in a far away land, when I first began to be serious about writing, I promised that I would never neglect my family for my writing.

So my additional challenge is to get most of the 50,000 words done during the week days. I might cheat a few times and sneak in a little writing on the weekends. But only a little. To make up for Thanksgiving.

Yum! I love a good challenge, and a good turkey.

Let the writing begin!

Labels: family, life, writing

November is almost here, and so is the National Novel Writing Month. Every year I say I'm going to participate, and every year I don't remember about it until halfway through the month.

But this year is different. This year I'm all signed up and ready to go.

Except...well, I have discovered one problem. I'm a chicken.

Every time I've mentioned to my family that I plan to write 50,000 words in one month, a little voice in the back of my head does one of those evil laughs. You know, something like 'bwa ha ha ha ha'.

It is so distracting. And scary. It is like having Vincent Price living in my head.

I hate to admit that I'm afraid of that little voice in the back of my head. Although I shouldn't be, it is a powerful little voice, and it has had a lot of practice telling me what I cannot do.

I suppose I should be thankful that the voice is now focused on NaNoWriMo--it seems to have forgotten about all the other parts of my life. Yesterday it said, "you'll never be able to write 50,000 words in one month, why even try?" The day before it told me, "anything you write that quickly will only be trash, so give it up now and don't waste your time." Today it is saying, "you'll be sorry if you try it, you'll get all cranky and you'll only write 3,000 words and you'll get sick."

Hmmmm. Now that I think about it, the voice seems to be getting desperate, like it believes it will fail. And if it fails, that means...

50,000 words, here I come!

Labels: events, frivolity, myth or reality, world, writing

I'll be at the Seattle Bookfest tomorrow for several hours. Hope to see you there!

http://www.seattlebookfest.com/

Labels: Behold the Eye, Braumaru, Cerulea, events, publishing, Viridia, writing

Done!

Just half a minute ago, I finished rewriting the last word on the last page of the last chapter. Of the Department of Temporal Adjustment, of course! Possibly to be known as the DTA, possibly by some other title.

I am ecstatic, jubilant, and so, so happy.

The sun is shining brightly--at least in my head. As I look out the window all I can see are clouds.

Go away, naughty clouds, I don't want you around today. I am too happy to put up with your depressing grayness.

Let that glorious sun shine through.

I don't need it personally, I have loads of internal sunshine.

I would just like to share this feeling with the rest of the world.

Labels: DTA, life, world, writing

Tuesday, October 6th 2009, I learned something wonderful. I learned that my husband truly believes in me.

He's always been supportive, but being supportive isn't the same as truly believing. Especially since he has known me for more than 25 years, and he is well aware of each and every flaw I possess.

When I began to write, my husband supported me in my 'little hobby'. He helped me carve a little time out of the week, bought me a computer, and listened as I talked of plots, characters, and sentence structure.

After I completed the first book writing was no longer a hobby to me, but a passion. To my husband, it stayed my 'little hobby'.

But yesterday he said four wonderful words that let me know he has had a change of heart.

He was telling me about his class. At the start of the year he had written a letter of welcome to all his students, and on Tuesday he decided to check to see how carefully they had read it.

After asking various questions and receiving the appropriate answers, he asked his class, "What does my wife do?"

One bright student answered, "She's a writer!"

My husband paused in his story to tell me that he told the student that the answer was correct. Then he went on to say, "I never even told them you are also a librarian, you've made the transition."

Have you ever heard four more beautiful words? You've made the transition! My wonderful, smart, not-easily-impressed husband now thinks of me as a writer.

I am happy. He believes in me.

Labels: family, life, world, writing

Labels: frivolity, life, myth or reality, writing

Success! (Or at least, half success!)

This morning I reached the halfway mark. I am now officially halfway finished with the last rewrites I need to do of the DTA. I was beginning to feel I'd never get here.

So much for finishing them all before the end of summer.

I don't understand what has slowed me down so much, but every time I start work the phone rings, or the dog barks, or my computer won't work, or something else happens to keep me from progressing like I should.

Giggles? Do I hear giggles? Jupiterians, are you here?

What do you mean, you hope I liked your jokes? What jokes?

You were the ones who called me on the phone and hung up as soon as I answered? You made the dog bark? You made my computer suddenly shut down? Why?

I see. They were great jokes. I can tell you really have enjoyed the pranks you've pulled.

What is that? They weren't just pranks, they were for my own good? How so?

Well I appreciate your concern, but I really don't see how getting the manuscript finished sooner rather than later will hurt anything.

You want to make sure I don't publish until next year? Well there is no fear of that now. But why will 2010 be a better year than 2009?

You say it is because of 20 divided by 10. And what exactly does 20 divided by 10 mean to you?

Yes, well, it is 2 for me too.

Laugh away, Jupiterians. Laugh away.

It must be a cultural thing.

Labels: DTA, frivolity, Jupiterians, myth or reality, publishing, writing

Most people can’t hide their true characters for any extended length of time—Jason Mesnick certainly couldn’t.

Oh, I’ll admit that in the beginning, he had me fooled just like everyone else. I saw in him what so many others saw, a clean-cut, successful, fun-loving, eligible bachelor. I wondered how he was holding up after the heartbreak he endured when he was rejected by DeAnna. I pitied him, having to rear his poor, motherless three year old son by himself. I wanted him to find happiness.

Again and again, I thought, “Poor man! All he wants is to find a good woman to make his family whole again. A woman who will be a loving mother to his cute little son, Ty.”

By the third episode The Bachelor had become a family event. All activity halted as we watched Jason struggle to uncover the true personalities of each of the 25 bachelorettes while maintaining a decorous distance. It was a difficult task, to keep the girls from throwing themselves at his feet, but he handled himself very well as he pruned away those he knew had no chance of becoming his own true love.

Immediately after the end of the show the phone calls would begin. “Can you believe how that girl acted?” “How can those girls be so desperate, don’t they have any pride?” “Poor Jason, having to put up with that kind of behavior!”

Yes, all we could think about was poor Jason. He was a man in a million, a glowing example of how we women wanted the men in our lives to act.

But as I said before, a person’s character can only remain hidden for a limited amount of time. Jason’s true colors showed as soon as Molly, Melissa, and Jillian had been given their roses, and all the other bachelorettes had been booted from the building.

I don’t know what happened. Maybe a strange wind blew in from the wrong direction bringing with it pollen from the Nasty tree. Maybe there was a full moon, and Jason decided he needed to howl.

All I knew was that suddenly, I no longer felt sorry for Jason—my pity had transferred to the girls. Or maybe I was just embarrassed for them.

What kind of respectable man made out with multiple girls on national TV, one right after the other? He said that he wanted to marry one of these girls, yet he viewed each with equal lustfulness.

Had he no shame? Did he not know the meaning of respect?

I began to wonder about his ex-wife. What exactly had broken up their marriage? Was he really only concerned about his son, as he said?

By the last show, I really wasn’t surprised when Jason dumped Melissa for Molly. I now viewed Jason with disgust; and his actions validated my belief that he was the type of guy who would ‘love ‘em and leave ‘em’.

I was, however, momentarily surprised that Molly would take him back. Until I remembered that this seemingly sweet, confident girl had subjected herself to the humiliation of dating on national television.

Come to think of it—they were the perfect couple. They deserved each other.

Labels: blogging, life, myth or reality, writing

I was working on my rewrites this morning when I discovered that I had somehow neglected to 'really' write Chapter 7.

Not that there are no words, there are plenty of words. It is evident what happens. But it is just raw dialog with no details, no frills, no...anything! How could I have overlooked an entire chapter?

Well...to be honest, I know how I neglected an entire chapter. I originally wrote Chapter 7 before I had decided exactly how I was going to handle my character's time in the future. Chapter 7 is the character's first run-in with time travel.

I wish I was able to buckle down and spend some quality time, but life keeps getting in the way. But I will finish by the end of summer. I will! I will!

Labels: DTA, writing

It's odd. I am in the point of my book that I hate--when I have to check that everything flows and that I use the right tenses consistently throughout. It can only be termed as grunt work, because it's hard, it's time-consuming, and it does not require very much creativity.

Yet this morning, I had fun. I really enjoyed the hours I spent revising the DTA.

It makes me wonder...am I doing something wrong?

Oh no! What if the Jupiterians are playing some sort of cruel joke on me that I have not yet discovered? Will I find all my hard work erased tomorrow? Will my computer crash? Will the sun continue to shine so that I cannot remain indoors? (Okay, the Jupiterians really have nothing to do with the weather.)

I might as well stop worrying about it. Time will tell.

And the sun is calling!

Labels: DTA, Jupiterians, myth or reality, writing

The time has come for me to begin at the beginning of the "Department of Temporal Adjustment" and read it all the way through, making changes as I go.

I guess some people take a shortcut and call it 'revising'.

I will paste this morning's work below. If you want to compare, here is the link to the previous version.
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Chapter 1

“Left!” I yelled, unable to keep my voice low. “There’s the sign! This is it, turn right here!”
My husband quickly moved into the lane to turn right, and I realized that he must not have heard my directions clearly. I frantically tried to correct his mistake before we had to waste more time turning around yet again.
“No, no, no! I said left, turn right here!”
“That’s what I’m doing,” Tony said through gritted teeth with what appeared to be ultimate patience, “we are turning right.”
“You’re not listening,” I said in the calmest voice I could manage. “I said to turn left right here.”
“I don’t think you are listening, since that doesn’t make the least bit of sense,” Tony responded in a voice tinged with frustration. “We can’t turn left and right at the same time. Do we need to turn left, or right?” He seemed to be a bit distressed, but I couldn’t figure out what he was getting so upset about. All he had to do was drive the car and follow my directions—nothing complicated about it!
“Left, at this next road coming up…right here!”
“Just point.”
I pointed to the left, and Tony swerved into the left hand lane to make the requested turn.
Finally, we were heading in the right direction. I turned to smile at my husband and realized that in my excitement to get where we needed to go, I had probably handled the whole exchange the wrong way. My poor Tony was the perfect picture of the harassed husband, with his clinched jaw, tense shoulders, and that death grip on the steering wheel.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell,” I admitted sheepishly. He glanced in my direction and I cringed at the expression on his face. He was not a happy camper.
I glanced toward the back of the car to see if my loudness had upset the children who were being suspiciously quiet, and was relieved to find they had all fallen asleep.
“I am just so frustrated,” I continued quietly. “Do you realize we have been driving over half an hour, and we still cannot find that stupid road?”
“We’ll find it, don’t worry,” Tony consoled. “How are we doing on time?”
“We still have another half hour before her appointment,” I admitted, “but that doesn’t take into account that we are supposed to be there 15 minutes early to fill out paperwork. So in reality we really only have 15 minutes to find this place.”
I turned again to look at the sleeping children in the backseat. This wild goose chase of a drive had come about because my oldest daughter, Becca, struggled with chronic asthma. When I had heard that a neighbor’s child had been all but cured by one of the local doctors, I had immediately called to make an appointment for my child.
The receptionist had firmly but calmly informed me that the doctor was no longer taking new patients, and that there was a long list of people who were waiting for an opening. Pride had flown out the window as I had begged and pleaded, and had somehow managed to convince the receptionist to find room for my child.
I knew that it was paramount that my family arrived for the appointment on time. If we blew this chance there was no way any amount of begging and pleading would win a second one. Which was why I had allowed a full hour for a drive that should have only taken about 10 minutes.
Should have. Unfortunately, the directions given to me by the office staff had proven to be confusing, unclear, and just plain wrong. Half the streets I had been told to drive past had never materialized, and it seemed that the streets we were supposed to turn onto were elusive enough that I was beginning to suspect they had either been renamed or they had never existed at all.
I held on tight as my husband quickly made a right turn at my urging. But somehow, nothing looked quite right. We should have been in the middle of a series of medical offices, and this street could only be termed residential. It only took a few minutes of driving to realize that we must have made another wrong turn.
“Darn it! Sorry, I must have misread the sign,” I sighed. “As much as I hate to admit it, I think we might as well give up and go home. We’ll never make it there on time, and there is no way they’ll give us another appointment if we’re late to this one. Why would they give such bad directions?”
Tony made a block through the residential area and pulled back out into the main road. He drove for a couple of minutes, looking all around to get his bearings.
Tony was one of those rare people who had the most amazing sense of direction. No matter where he was he can always find his way. Put him in a city he has never seen, tell him where you want to go, and he’ll somehow miraculously get you there.
If he were a superhero he’d be Map Man, or the Right Direction, or, or…well, he’d be something that instantly identified him as the man with an infallible inner compass who always knew the right way to go.
But every Superman has his Kryptonite, and I’m afraid for my Map Man, it’s me. I must have my own personal magnetic field, because I seem to have an amazing talent for confusing directional issues.
Tony, tired of driving around aimlessly, pulled into a half-empty parking lot and turned off the car.
“Okay,” my husband said more calmly than I deserved, “tell me again the directions they gave you.”
“They said to turn left out of our driveway, and then take another left…”
“Wait, wait wait! The doctor’s office told you to take a left out of our driveway? How did they know that we would need to take a left?”
“Oh, they didn’t. I added that part. I knew we’d need to take a left.”
“So leave out the part you added, and read to me exactly the directions they gave you.”
“Well, to be perfectly honest I didn’t exactly write them down. I mean, you know how people around here say go north until this road, and then go west, or east, or north by south west. It is so confusing. So when I wrote them down I converted them.”
“What does that mean, you converted them?”
“You know, got rid of all that north, south, east, west stuff.”
“You converted north, south, east, and west to right, left, and straight?”
“Yes, it was easy. I just remembered that if you face north, east is to your right, south behind you, and west to your left.”
My husband closed his eyes for a moment and seemed to be muttering to himself. I couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying, but I’m pretty sure I heard something about the ‘lack of common sense’, ‘how can someone so smart be so dumb’, and that ‘it might be true that blondes are airheaded’.
I was beginning to get a bit miffed as he mumbled under away under his breath, but I decided that I should pretend I couldn’t hear him and keep my mouth shut. After all, if Tony put his mind to it he might be able to get us to the appointment on time. I evidently couldn’t. I could only get us more and more lost.
Tony stopped mumbling and pulled himself together. “So,” he asked in a voice he probably thought was kindly but I found patronizing, “what is the address again?”
“It’s on 15th,” I said, looking at my notes.
“Is that 15th Avenue or Street?” I could tell that he was trying his hardest to keep his frustration in check.
“Um, I didn’t write that down. I only wrote down 15th N.”
Tony slammed his hand down on the steering wheel, startling a pedestrian who just happened to be walking by as the horn beeped. Tony smiled and waved an apology to the pedestrian, and then turned to me.
“Sweetie, I think I know our problem. I know why we couldn’t find the streets we’re were supposed to find.”
I hated it when he called me sweetie in that particular tone of voice. It made me feel that he thought I had the brain of a 3 year old.
“How could you possible know why we were having so many problems just by hearing the name of a street?” I challenged. “I mean, we’re on 15th right now!”
“Very true. But we’re not on 15th N. We’re on 15th NE.” His response was smug, as if he knew something that I couldn’t possibly comprehend.
“15th N, 15th NE, what’s the difference. It’s the name of the street, 15th that counts, right?”
“Not quite. 15th NE and 15th N are in different parts of town. 15th N is on the other side of the highway. I’m pretty sure it’s in Greenwood.”
“Greenwood? I just don’t get it. How do you know what part of town by the N, S. E, W thing?”
“NW is West Seattle, S is south of downtown, NE is over here near Northgate...,” Tony looked at my face and sighed. I must have looked as confused as I felt.
“I’ll explain later,” he said patting my leg. I hated it when he treated me like a child. “We have to hurry if we want to get Becca to the appointment on time.”
I decided to let the ‘treating me like a child’ thing go for now. Tony evidently thought he can still get us to the appointment on time. I’d deal with his attitude later. Maybe. After all, I probably was the reason we had gotten lost in the first place.
Tony took a moment to get his surroundings and I could see the exact moment when his internal GPS system kicked in. He must have blocked my magnetic field and gotten his compass working again, because Map Man was alive and well and ready to save the day. Amazing!
“If we go this way....” Map Man began, but I grabbed his arm to stop his words.
I had seen a most unusual sight.
“Tony,” I whispered, “do you see those men? The ones right over there?”
“Why are you whispering,” Tony whispered back, “no one outside the car can hear you.”
“Over there, across the street.” I gripped Tony’s arm tighter. “Those three men who are dressed like old-timey aviators. They are walking like they have steel rods stuck in their back. All three of them. Do you see them?”
“Yeah, I see them. But even though they are strange, I think there’s nothing to worry about. We’re pretty near the U district. It’s probably a fraternity prank, or they have to walk around like that because they are being hazed.”
“I don’t know,” I said as I wondered if I could convey the weird feeling I had about these men to my level-headed husband. “They look somehow beyond U district strange....they look like, well, like they are straight out of an old sci-fi movie.”
“Don’t worry about it. Like I said, they are probably trying to join a frat. We need to get moving, or we’re going to be late.”
And again, the condescending pat on the leg.

Labels: DTA, publishing, writing

I'm happy to say that this morning I finished the Department of Temporal Adjustment (working title)!

It is such a satisfying feeling to complete a book. This book represents 2 years worth of hard work, 2 years of Saturday mornings spent on my computer, and 2 years of fun!

Okay, okay, I'll admit it. The hard work isn't really over yet. I now need to let it "brew" for a few months, and then I need to read it from start to finish. Again. I'm sure I'll make a few changes here and there.

And then the publishing process will begin.

In the meantime, I have two more books fighting to get out of my brain. One is a picture book, and the other is a YA novel.

I wonder if I can work on both at the same time?

My, my, my. Haven't I got a lot of fun times ahead of me!

Labels: DTA, publishing, writing

Sometimes, it is very difficult to separate fact from fiction.

There is a part in my new book where the main character gets trapped in a room. No matter how hard she tries, she just cannot open the door to leave the room.

I was writing that segment the week before last. I finished, put away my stuff, and went to the door to open it.

It was thoroughly stuck. The knob would not turn. No matter how hard I tried, I could not get the door to open.

Lucky for me my husband heard my calls and succeeded in releasing me from my prison. Good thing too, since I'm a tad claustrophobic, and the only other way out of the room is through the window, the room is on the second floor, and I also have a fear of heights.

This week as I wrote, my character was again dealing with doors, and was very pleased that she was able to go through doors that were partially open. So she was careful to not fully close the door of whatever room she was in.

I looked over at the door of the room where I do my writing, and had to chuckle. I had not closed the door all the way, fearing that it would become stuck again.

So which way is it...is fiction grounded in fact, or do our real lives somehow mirror fiction?

It makes you think, doesn't it?

Labels: life, myth or reality, world, writing

I just love the creative process!

Day one: Overhear something on the news that sparks my interest. Would love to write about it, but it doesn't fit my style. Decide to forget about it.

Day two: Idea won't leave me alone. Decide to work up a plot anyway. Frantically write down as many ideas as possible, but I'm frustrated that things just don't gel. Decide again to forget about it.

Day three: Spring awake in the morning with the plot fully worked out. It seems that my brain didn't want to accept defeat and so kept working on it all night while I slept!

Only problem, now I have the plots for five , maybe six, books I want to write! I'd better hurry and finish the one I'm currently working on.

Labels: dreams, life, myth or reality, writing

Just for the fun of it, I'm going to share the entire first chapter of the book I'm currently writing, "The Department of Temporal Adjustment". This is a very rough draft, and aren't I brave to post it unedited! I'm sharing it at this early stage because even unedited you can get the flavor of the story. I've had so much fun writing it, I hope you enjoy it!


Chapter 1

   “Look! There’s the sign! This is it, turn right here!” I yelled.
   I realized that yelling in an enclosed space like the car probably wasn’t a good idea as I watched my husband jump at the sound of my voice. He swerved to the right to make the requested turn, and then turned to look at me with astonishment. I am usually much calmer than this.
    “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell,” I admitted sheepishly and cringed at the expression on my husband’s face. I glanced toward the back of the car to see if my loudness had upset the children who were being suspiciously quiet, and was relieved to find they had all fallen asleep.
    “I am just so frustrated,” I continued quietly. “Do you realize we have been driving over half an hour, and we still cannot find that stupid road?”
    “We’ll find it, don’t worry,” Tony consoled. “How are we doing on time?”
    “We still have another half hour before her appointment,” I admitted, “but that doesn’t take into account that we are supposed to be there 15 minutes early to fill out paperwork. So in reality we really only have 15 minutes to find this place.”
    I turned again to look at the sleeping children in the backseat. This wild goose chase of a drive had come about because my oldest daughter, Becca, struggled with chronic asthma. When I had heard that a neighbor’s child had been all but cured by one of the local doctors, I had immediately called to make an appointment for my child.
    The receptionist had firmly but calmly informed me that the doctor was no longer taking new patients, and that there was a long list of people who were waiting for an opening. Pride had flown out the window as I had begged and pleaded, and had somehow managed to convince the receptionist to find room for my child.
    So I knew that it was paramount that my family arrived for the appointment on time. If we blew this chance there was no way we would be given a second one. Which is why I had allowed a full hour for what should have been a 10 minute drive.
    Should have been. Unfortunately, the directions given to me by the office staff had proven to be confusing, unclear, and just plain wrong. Half the streets I had been told to drive past had never materialized, and it seemed that the streets we were supposed to turn onto were elusive enough that I was beginning to suspect they had either been renamed or they had never existed at all.
    I held on tight as my husband quickly made a right turn down a street that could only be termed residential. Another wrong turn.
    “Darn it! Sorry, I must have misread the sign,” I sighed. “As much as I hate to admit it, I think we might as well give up and go home. We’ll never make it there on time, and there is no way they’ll give us another appointment if we’re late to this one. Why would they give such bad directions?”
    Tony made a block through the residential area and pulled back out into the main road. He drove for a couple of minutes, looking all around to get his bearings.
    Tony is one of those people who never truly get lost. He has the most amazing sense of direction of any man I have ever met. Put him in a city he has never seen, tell him where you want to go, and he’ll somehow miraculously get you there.
    Unless I’m with him. Somehow, I seem to have a talent for confusing directional issues.
    Tony pulled into a half-empty parking lot and turned off the car.
    “Okay, tell me again the directions they gave you,” my husband calmly asked.
    “They said to turn left out of our driveway, and then take another left…”
    “Wait, wait wait! The doctor’s office told you to take a left out of our driveway? How did they know that we would need to take a left?”
    “Oh, they didn’t. I added that part. I knew we’d need to take a left.”
    “So leave out the part you added, and read to me exactly the directions they gave you.”
    “Well, to be perfectly honest I didn’t exactly write them down. I mean, you know how people around here say go north until this road, and then go west, or east, or north by south west. It is so confusing. So when I wrote them down I converted them.”
    “What does that mean, you converted them?”
    “You know, got rid of all that north, south, east, west stuff.”
    “You converted north, south, east, and west to right, left, and straight?”
    “Yes, it was easy. I just remembered that if you face north, east is to your right, south behind you, and west to your left.”
    My husband closed his eyes for a moment and seemed to be muttering to himself. I couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying, but I’m pretty sure I heard something about the lack of common sense, how can someone so smart be so dumb, and that it might be true that blondes are airheaded.
    I was beginning to get a bit miffed as he mumbled under away under his breath, but I decided that I should probably pretend I couldn’t hear him and keep my mouth shut. After all, if Tony put his mind to it he might be able to get us to the appointment on time. I evidently can’t. I can only get us more and more lost.
    Tony stopped mumbling and pulled himself together. “So,” he asked in what I could tell was supposed to be a kindly voice, “what is the address again?”
    “It’s on 15th,” I said, looking at my notes.
    “Is that 15th Avenue or Street?” I could tell that he was trying his hardest to keep his frustration in check.
    “Um, I didn’t write that down. I only wrote down 15th N.”
    Tony slammed his hand down on the steering wheel, startling a pedestrian who just happened to be walking by as the horn beeped. He smiled and waved an apology to the pedestrian, and then turned to me.
    “Sweetie, I think I know our problem. I know why we couldn’t find the streets we’re were supposed to find.”
    I hate it when he calls me sweetie in that particular tone of voice. It makes me feel like he thinks I have the brain of a 3 year old.
    “How could you possible know why we were having so much problem just by hearing the name of a street? I mean, we’re on 15th right now!” I challenge.
    “Very true. But we’re not on 15th N. We’re on 15th NE.” His response was smug, as if he knew something that I couldn’t possibly comprehend.
    “15th N, 15th NE, what’s the difference. It’s the name of the street, 15th that counts, right?”
    “Not quite. 15th NE and 15th N are in different parts of town. 15th N is on the other side of the highway. I’m pretty sure it’s in Greenwood.”
    “Greenwood? I just don’t get it. How do you know what part of town by the N, S. E, W thing?”
    “NW is West Seattle, S is south of downtown, NE is over here near Northgate...,” Tony looked at my face and sighed. I must have looked as confused as I felt.
    “I’ll explain later,” he said patting my leg. I hate it when he treats me like a child. “We have to hurry if we want to get Becca to the appointment on time.”
    I decided to let the treating-me-like-a-child thing go for now. Tony evidently thinks he can still get us to the appointment on time. I'll deal with his attitude later. Probably. After all, I probably was the one who made us get lost in the first place.
    Tony took a moment to get his surrounding and I could see the exact moment when his internal GPS system kicked in and he figured out the best route to take. Amazing!
    “I think if we go this way....” my husband started to say, but I grabbed his arm to stop his words.
    I had seen the most unusual sight.
    “Tony,” I whispered, “do you see those men? The ones right over there?”
    “Why are you whispering,” Tony asked, “no one outside the car can hear you. And what men?”
    “Over there, across the street.” I gripped Tony’s arm tighter. “Those three men who are dressed like old-timey aviators. They are walking like they have a steel rod stuck in their back. All three of them. Do you see them?”
    “Yeah, I see them. But even though they are strange, I think there’s nothing to worry about. We’re pretty near the U district. It’s probably a fraternity prank, or they have to walk around like that because they are being hazed.”
    “I don’t know,” I say, wondering how I can convey the weird feeling I have about these men to my level-headed husband. “They look somehow beyond U district strange....they look like, well, like they are straight out of an old sci-fi movie.”
   “Don’t worry about it. Like I said, they are probably trying to join a frat. We need to get moving, or we’re going to be late.”
   And again, the condescending pat on the leg.

Labels: DTA, family, life, writing

A funny thing happened to me yesterday. I had spent most of the day preparing for my talk at the Olympia Timberland Library, stressed about those 10 tiny minutes as if they were 10 long hours.

After several hours work I was pretty proud of myself. I had finally come up with what I wanted to say, and I had almost nailed down how I wanted to say it. And how long was this wonderful speech? All of 7 minutes.

Can you tell I don't like to speak in front of strangers?

So anyway, I was still short 3 minutes. But what is 3 minutes! It had only taken me several hours to come up with those precious 7 minutes. No problem, right?

My husband, who is going to Olympia with me, wanted more information about exactly what was going to happen while we were there. So I immediately went to the library website to see what they had published.

I was a little surprised, but not concerned, to see a blurb stating that some of the authors were giving 20 minute talks. They must be the authors who enjoy public speaking. I was satisfied sticking to my 10 minutes, it was probably all I could handle.

But my husband wanted even more information. With a sigh, I dug out the email I had received so that he could read for himself the schedule for the day.

I almost fainted.

I am slated to give a 20 minute talk.

Maybe I can talk really, really slow.

Labels: Behold the Eye, Braumaru, Cerulea, family, life, Viridia, world, writing

I've just added myself as an author to the GoodReads site. It looks like a really good place to go to find new things to read.

I'm both excited and nervous about the upcoming bookfair at the Olympia Timberland Library. I know it's silly to be nervous about the little 10 minute talk I'll be doing. After all, I get up in front of people and speak almost every day.

But this is different. This will be a chance to speak from my heart about my books, something I passionately believe in. Which is probably the problem. I've already discovered that I am always nervous when I talk about my own books.

It could be that the more emotionally involved a person is with a topic, the more emotionally charged their speech will be.

Good grief! If I break out in tears I'll be horrified! I can imagine myself up there in front of the audience, blubbering away. Some people will be embarrased for me, and will look anywhere but in my direction. Others will get up and leave. Still others will snicker, glad that they aren't the idiot at the podium. At least one kind soul will bring me a tissue.

Enough of that nonsense! That is not the scenario that will play out! I will not focus on the worst that can happen, I will instead plan for the best. I'll wow them with my description of Braumaru, enthrall them with the concept of dream travel.

And, oh yes, I will somehow remember to breath.

Labels: Behold the Eye, Braumaru, Cerulea, life, publishing, Viridia, writing

1. Buy the books for yourself (apparent, I know, but sometimes it really doesn't hurt to state the obvious. You would not believe the number of people who have asked me for a free copies of the Behold the Eye trilogy, even though I have to pay for the books just like everyone else)

2. Buy the books to give as gifts.

3. If you have ever purchased anything on Amazon.com, you can write a review. So go ahead--write one! (You could start with Braumaru) You don't have to use your real name, the author does not need to know that you are the reviewer. (I wouldn't, I promise!) The more reviews posted, the more popular the books seem, the more popular the books become! (People love to read what is popular, no one wants to feel left out of the know)

4. Make a list on Amazon.com that includes the books, and include other already popular books of a similar nature. You know the old saying, birds of a feather flock together!

5. Talk about the books to friends,acquaintances, and random people you meet on the street. (you might get the right person interested, and suddenly, the books are to be made into a movie. I can see it now, everyone will be talking about my trilogy. The bright lights of Hollywood, the...oh, sorry, I got a little carried away)

6. Teachers often read novels to their class. If the books are appropriate for school, like my Behold the Eye trilogy (5th grade and up), ask a teacher if he/she would read it to his/her class. Or, be still my heart, use it as a classroom novel!

7. Request the books at your library. Most public libraries welcome purchase suggestons, there is usually even a form online. (You do all have library cards, don't you?)

8. Ask bookstores if they carry the author...they probably don't now, but you never know, they might start.

9. If you come across a site that allows comments about books, don't be shy! Use every opportunity to get the word out about the books. There are a lot of people out there who would probably love the books (i.e. Behold the Eye trilogy) if they only knew about them. Spread the word! Spread the word! (You might even post a link to the author's site, which will also help.)

10. Books like the Behold the Eye trilogy are not backed by a big New York publishing budget. As a matter of fact, the small publisher who published the trilogy has an exceeding slim budget, one of those typically called shoestring. Since I want the books to do well, I have to do the marketing work myself. Alas I, like everyone else in the world who works fulltime and has a family, am very busy. So any and all support counts for a lot. If you want to help my books, it would be a very friendly gesture if you just let people know about them. Maybe we can find out if word-of-mouth advertising really works! (I struggled to come up with a really good metaphor about how knowledge of the trilogy could spread, but I somehow kept mixing growing flowers with exploding stars. It didn't work, so I'll just spare everyone and leave it out.)

Labels: Behold the Eye, blogging, Braumaru, Cerulea, family, librarian, life, publishing, Viridia, world, writing

This mornings writings (draft):

The first thought I become aware of when I regained consciousness was that I must have bumped my head on something as I entered the janitor’s closet. No matter that I had no memory of doing so and no pain, nothing else could account for the fact that I was lying on a cold hard surface with visions of flying saucers and ice cream running through my head.

I decided to keep my eyes closed for a few more seconds. The light filtering through my eyelids was blindingly bright. Or, to be perfectly honest, I supposed it would be blinding if I were foolish enough to open my eyes and let it in full force.
Which I had no intention of doing quite yet, since chances were that bright lights plus a bumped head would equal a raging headache. I hated headaches.

Gingerly I reached up and carefully ran my hand over my head to assess the damage. Encouraged by the lack of wetness I conducted another search, this time for sore spots.

No bumps. No gashes. No bruises. No blood.

But loss of consciousness, how could that be?

I’d have to think about it later. For now it was time to pick myself up, dust myself off, and head for the comforts of home.

Home. Safety, comfort, family…a soft warm bed. The perfect place for glorious sleep that I desperately need.

All I have to do is gather enough energy to open my eyes, rise from the floor, and drag myself to my car. Once I get to my car I can rest a few minutes.

No, no more thoughts of resting. I refuse to sleep in my car, on the floor of the janitor’s closet, or curled up under a bush somewhere between Denny Hall and the parking lot.

The sound of voices, a lot of voices, interrupts my internal pep talk. Instantly, adrenalin laced fear banishes the lethargy.

Were the weirdoes returning to the closet? Now, while I’m laying here vulnerable, half-conscious on the floor. I’ve got to find a place to hide.

Headache or no headache, it is time for action. My eyes fly open and I scan the closet looking for the perfect place of quick concealment.

Only, it’s not the closet I see.

Labels: DTA, life, writing

Everyone who writes has one. The little ritual that a writer will follow to get into the right frame of mind to write. Don't get me wrong, writing can occur if the routine isn't followed, but it won't be as efficient or satisfying.

Somehow, I've created an awkward ritual for myself. One that I can only follow if I have the buy-in of my family.

For me to have optimal writing time, I need to wake up in the morning, make a cup of coffee, and begin writing. The trick is, no one can talk to me.

It all began years ago, when the only time I could write was early in the morning while everyone else slept. So I got into the habit of rising early and immediately throwing myself into my task, usually before I even became fully awake.

Lately, everyone's schedules have changed and my former routine no longer works. I've resorted to other methods of carving out writing time.

Take this week for example. I'm lucky enough to have this week off of work, and lucky enough that other members of my household do too. So how to write?

Thursday night, a not-to-be-named person in my house really wanted a popsicle. So much so that this person agreed to make it easy for me to write this week, if I would go to the store and buy the desired treat. You had better believe I had the car keys in my hand and was out the door in a flash.

What is a short drive to the store compared to a blissful week of writing? There is no comparison, let me tell you!

Labels: family, life, writing

I love to write. To me, it is like going on a long walk in the fresh Spring air, with birds singing, the wind gently blowing, and the glorious sun shining. A walk like that usually leaves me invigorated and refreshed.

I love my family. They are funny, intelligent, wonderful, witty people---every single one of them. I adore spending time with them, chatting, laughing, and exchanging stories. Time spent with my family leaves me feeling loved and safe, like all must be right with the world.

So life must be perfectly grand, right? I mean, here I have too different aspects of my life that I absolutely adore, so if one isn't available, the other must be waiting on the sidelines.

If only it were that simple, but unfortunately family and writing clash horribly. It is my own fault really, because I can only write in a quiet environment with little or no distractions. Probably because the scenes I'm writing play out in my head like a movie.

So when a member of my family enters, the movie abruptly switches off. Ideas scurry away like a mouse from a cat. Thoughts disappear like smoke in a windstorm. My ability to write melts away like ice on a hot skillet.

Well, you get the drift.

Such is the life of a writer with a family, and frankly, I wouldn't give up any part of it!

Oh, by the way:

Viridia is now published! Look how fabulous they all look together on the Amazon page.

Labels: Behold the Eye, family, life, publishing, Viridia, writing

Time moves so slowly. Especially when I'm waiting for my proof to arrive.

Viridia, Viridia...when will you arrive?

Labels: Behold the Eye, Viridia, writing

I was so happy yesterday! I ran a report to see which books have been checked out most in the last 30 days in my library, and was totally shocked to see Behold the Eye: Braumaru listed as #1! I ran another report, but this time for most checked out in 1 year. Braumaru was #4. Not bad for a book that has only been published about 8 months!

Then I got home, and waiting for me was a rejection letter from a contest I had entered Braumaru. Not only had I not won, but the reviewer thought that the book was too complicated for kids in Middle School, so they would become frustrated and not finish it.

Listen, I know that not everyone who reads my books are going to like them. This is a fact. I can live with it. I expect it.

But I would much prefer for the reviewer to state that s/he did not like my book rather than say that the middle school/young adult crowd are not smart enough to understand my books. That they would not be able to follow the storyline.

It makes me wonder if the reviewer actually reads fiction written for this age group. Does s/he not understand that books that have been dumbed down are quite often mundane and boring? Is it possible that s/he is not aware that the young mind is perfectly capable of handling and detangling complicated plots? Could it be that s/he does not know that a book that challenges while it entertains is a powerful encouragement to continued reading? Books need to be fun!

I am a mother, a librarian, and a writer.

As a mother, I've watched the reaction my children have had to various stimuli. And after watching, I made a conscious decision to be involved in what they were exposed to. Yes, I will admit it. I made careful selections (aka censoring) of my children's computer use, television viewing, and book choices. But my choices were never to dumb things down, only to keep out the inappropriate.

As a librarian, my job is to choose reading material that will encourage the love of reading and learning. I spend hours every day evaluating books to that end. What age group do I evaluate for you ask? Kindergarten through 12th grade. And to do this I ask a lot of questions of the kids, about what they like in a book, what keeps their interest, what makes them think!

As the writer of the Behold the Eye trilogy my goal was to write a story that I, as an adult, would enjoy reading, and that I could read aloud to my child.

Which is why I know some people will not like my books. The Behold the Eye trilogy has no vulgarity, no vampires, and no scenes that would make a person blush.

They are complex, interesting, and fun!

Labels: Behold the Eye, Braumaru, Cerulea, family, history, librarian, life, publishing, Viridia, world, writing

Rrrrrrip, scratch, scratch, shuffle, shuffle, shuffle.

The strange noises broke through to my consciousness. But I'm tough. I shook my head to clear it, refocused on my computer screen, and resumed my writing. Whatever was making that noise could wait until I reached the end of the chapter.

Rrrrrrip.

Scratch, rip, shuffle.

The noises continued, but for me they were only background static. I was in my story, fully focused, totally oblivious to the world around me.

Until I heard the high-pitched squeal of a puppy in pain. The sound of a creature in pain is unmistakeable, and impossible to ignore.

But where was she? I knew she was in the house, somewhere.

The squeal alerted my daughter to possible trouble, and she began to search for her pup.

Rrrrrip, scratch, scatch, shuffle, rrrrrrrrip.

There was that annoying noise again! But now my daughter was on the trail and she had discovered that it was coming from under the stairs, the same place she suspected the puppy was hiding.

My daughter investigated, and reported her discovery. Now there is yet another fact my family can add to the "things I didn't know about puppies" list.

Did you know that puppies can chew holes through walls?

Labels: family, life, writing

Okay, you Jupiterians. I know you're out there. Why don't you pick on someone your own size?

What do you mean, you are tiny compared to humans? Did I ever say you were bigger than humans? Or even than my dog, Pepper? Do you think that your small size makes it okay to not play fair?

Besides, where did you get the idea that "pick on someone your own size" only applies if the tormentor is bigger than the victim. Germs are tiny, and most humans would prefer if germs picked on someone their own size, like maybe other germs.

What? Of course I know it was you! Don't be silly.

Prove it? No, I can't prove it, but I know your style. You like to be sneaky.

Why do I believe you are the culprit? Come on! Why else would Pepper come running and screaming through the door like she did. I looked outside, and there was nothing out there that could have scared her, and she didn't have a scratch on her.

Ah ha! So you admit it, do you? That's good. That's a start.

But let's get this straight. If you want to slow down my writing, pick on me. Leave my dog alone!

Labels: family, frivolity, Jupiterians, myth or reality, writing

Writers are often asked what process they go through when writing.

Me, I rely on multiple rewrites, which each change the text quite a bit.

For example, this morning these paragraphs:

     I opened my eyes and looked at my husband lying beside me. Memories of wonderful times we have had together flooded my mind, and tears began to stream down my face.
     What in the world had happened to me yesterday? What tragic event had occurred to make me forget the most important people in my life? There were no humans on this earth who were more valuable to me than my family.
     And I forgot their existence for an entire day.

Became these paragraphs:

     As the light of morning sun hits my eyelids I decide it must be time to leave the land of slumber and start a new day.
     If I could convince my eyes to open, that is. They really don’t like that transition period when they are forced to leave the relaxing darkness of night to be assaulted by that bright orb which sometimes shows itself in the morning sky.
     My eyes tell me that they find the whole process extremely unfair!
     I convince them to open a slit, and both my eyes and I (or should I say the three of us?) are pleased to discover that there is no pain waiting to sneak in with the sun’s rays.
     A little at a time I persuade my eyes to open, until they are finally fully open and ready for a new day. Now all I have to do is roll over, sit up, and get out of bed.
     But my movements are arrested as my eyes decide to focus on the man sleeping beside me.
     As if someone had started playing 20 different movies in my head at the same time, memories flooded my brain, engulfing me with a kaleidoscope of images made up of the wonderful times I’ve shared with this man. Interspersed among the picnics, movies, berry picking and long walks were discussions about everything under the sun. Discussions I have enjoyed very much.
     My heart swells with love as the realization hits me that I truly enjoy being with this man who is my husband. It swells even more as I think about how amazing it is that I can talk to him about absolutely everything.
     Tears pour down my cheeks as my heart becomes overfull with emotion. This man is not simply my husband—he is my best friend!
     I’m such a sap.
     What in the world had happened to me yesterday? What tragic event had occurred to make me forget the most important people in my life? There were no humans on this earth who were more valuable to me than my family.
And I forgot their existence for an entire day.

And who knows what the final text will be after a few more rewrites!

By the way, it feels really good to be writing again. I've been so busy that I've barely written for about a month and a half. I think I was having withdrawal pains.

I told you those Jupiterians would find a way to slow me down!

Labels: DTA, writing

The book I'm currently working on is not written for the same audience as my first three books. While the Behold the Eye trilogy books were written for the middle grade/young adult group, this new book is more for adults.

Why the change?

Well, probably because I enjoy trying new things, finding new ways to do the same thing, and pushing myself to grow as a writer. My goal is "test the waters" in different genres by writing different types of books. I currently have the beginnings of a mystery, a series of ghost stories, and a science fiction.

Of course, the only one nearing book quality and length is the science fiction. I enjoy writing it, and it is coming along rather well. It is now 120 pages long and....

Uh oh, did you hear that?

When will I ever learn to keep my mouth shut! Now the Jupiterians know about the next book, and they'll never let me get any peace.

Sigh. Here I go again!

Labels: DTA, life, writing

I am working on my newest book, and I just cannot decide if I want to write it in first or third person. I originally wrote it in third person, I then converted to first person, and now I've converted it again into third. I need to make up my mind soon.

So here is the same text, in different 'persons':
********************************************************************************
“Look! There’s the sign! This is it, turn right here!” I yelled.

I realized that yelling in an enclosed space like the car probably wasn’t a good idea as I watched my husband jump at the sound of my voice. He swerved to the right to make the requested turn, and then turned to look at me in surprise. I am usually much calmer than this.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell,” I admitted sheepishly and cringed at the expression on my husband’s face. I glanced toward the back of the car to see if my loudness had upset the children who were being suspiciously quiet, and was relieved to find they had all fallen asleep.

“I am just so frustrated,” I continued quietly. “Do you realize we have been driving over half an hour, and we still cannot find that stupid road?”

“We’ll find it, don’t worry,” Tony consoled. “How are we doing on time?”

“We still have another half hour before her appointment,” I admitted, “but that doesn’t take into account that we are supposed to be there 15 minutes early to fill out paperwork. So in reality we really only have 15 minutes to find this place.”

I turned again to look at the sleeping children in the backseat. This wild goose chase of a drive had come about because my oldest daughter, Becca, struggled with chronic asthma. When I had heard that a neighbor’s child had been all but cured by one of the local doctors, I had immediately called to make an appointment for my child.

The receptionist had firmly but calmly informed me that the doctor was no longer taking new patients, and that there was a long list of people who were waiting for an opening. Pride had flown out the window as I had begged and pleaded, and had somehow managed to convince the receptionist to find room for my child.

So I knew that it was paramount that my family arrived for the appointment on time. If we blew this chance, there was no way we would be given a second chance. Which is why I had allowed a full hour for what should have been a 10 minute drive.
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“Look! There’s the sign! This is it, turn right here!” Vanessa yelled frantically.

Tony jumped at the sudden loud sound of his wife’s voice, swerved to the right to make the requested turn, and then turned to look at her in surprise. Vanessa was usually much calmer than this.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell,” Vanessa admitted sheepishly as she noticed the expression on her husband’s face. She glanced toward the back of the car to see if she had upset the children who were being suspiciously quiet, and was relieved to find they had all fallen asleep.

“I am just so frustrated,” Vanessa continued quietly. “Do you realize we have been driving over half an hour, and we still cannot find that stupid road?”

“We’ll find it, don’t worry,” Tony consoled. “How are we doing on time?”

“We still have another half hour before her appointment,” Vanessa admitted, “but that doesn’t take into account that we are supposed to be there 15 minutes early to fill out paperwork. So in reality we really only have 15 minutes to find this place.”

Vanessa turned again to look at the sleeping children in the backseat. This wild goose chase of a drive had come about because her oldest daughter, Becca, struggled with chronic asthma. When Vanessa had heard that a neighbor’s child had been all but cured by one of the local doctors, she had immediately called to make an appointment for her child.

The receptionist had firmly but calmly informed Vanessa that the doctor was no longer taking new patients, and that there was a long list of people who were waiting for an opening. Vanessa had begged and pleaded, and had somehow managed to convince the receptionist to find room for her child.

So Vanessa knew that it was paramount that her family arrived for the appointment on time. If they blew this chance, there was no way they would be given a second chance. Which is why Vanessa had allowed a full hour for what should have been a 10 minute drive.
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I have to choose the person before the next rewrite, because it is time to choose a path.

In first person I can be friendlier and let the reader really know what is in the Vanessa's head. But I won't be able to give other people's points of view.

In third person the reader will be kept at a greater distance, but can see from more angles.

What to do, what to do!

Labels: DTA, writing

Writing has opened my eyes in a way I never expected.

I have been known in the past to get so caught up in a book that I could not hear any noises around me. A train could be barrelling down the track, me sitting on the rails, people screaming for me to get out of the way, and I would continue to calmly read. The train, the screaming people, imminent death--all of that would have become the fictional world, and the book in my hand the only reality.

But now I read differently. Now I notice how the plot is structured, how dialog carries the story along in a way that pure text never could, where the author utilizes foreshadowing in just that perfect manner.

But most of all, my eyes have been opened to exactly how much of the author is embedded in the story. How old hurts, joys, thoughts and dreams appear on the pages and become part of the story.

As soon as I began to write seriously, as soon as I realized just exactly how much an author must give up of themself, I knew that there were certain types of stories I would never be capable of writing. Not that my imagination is not rich enough to write a psycho-thriller or a horror story, but my life experiences are fortunately lacking in that arena.

And that is just the way I want to keep it!

Labels: writing

I've always been a writer. I can remember that as a child I would write poetry for anyone who would be kind enough to read it. I particularly liked to make birthday cards, because then I knew I had an audience who would read and (I hoped) enjoy what I had to offer.

The plans of my childhood were to make writing my career, and I decided it was time to act on that plan shortly after my marriage 23 years ago.

That is, of course, until I was blessed with the birth of my first child. At that point, my world shifted and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, more important than my family. Writing could wait.

Labels: history, writing