May you have loads of lovely time with friends and family.
And watch all your favorite Christmas movies, of course!
I got coverage notes back for True Story of the Perfect 36 and now it’s time to do the rewrite.
The first thing I did, even though I didn’t really want to, was read the notes. They were thorough, thoughtful…and slightly painful.
But a writer has to have tough skin, so I read the notes a second time and let the words battle it out in my brain for several days.
Those words! They’re not always nice to each other. The battle got rather vicious at times. I put up with it as long as I could, but I finally had to slam the door closed. I couldn’t focus with all that noise!
Not that one flimsy little door blocks out everything. I had a rough weekend, with all those crashes and booms that let me know the war of the words was still alive and well.
Then this morning, all was calm on the battle front. So I took a deep breath, opened the door, and read the notes a third time.
Now, I have a plan. If all goes well, I’ll soon have a shiny new screenplay that can bring a sparkle to any eye.
All I need to do is write a new beginning, tighten up the middle, chop off the end, and revisit the dialogue.
No biggie.
Hmm.
I’m sure my plan will work, I really am.
But why does this rewrite feel like an avalanche waiting to happen?
Several years ago Amazon discovered a few authors who had posted, or paid people to post, fake reviews about their books. Glowing reviews, meant to entice readers to buy said books.
Amazon ruled it dishonest and did a thorough house cleaning. Thousands upon thousands of fake reviews disappeared practically overnight.
Great! Without all that clutter honest people, like me, have a chance of getting our books noticed.
Or so I thought. Until I realized Amazon had never heard the saying about not throwing the baby out with the bathwater.
‘Cause it didn’t take long for the raids to begin. Amazon special forces, probably dressed all in black, swoop in overnight, dig through my reviews, and snatch away any they deem not ‘honest’ enough.
They repeat this process every few months and have been doing this for years. I’ve lost count of how many reviews have been seized and destroyed. It’s a lot. The number of my books’ reviews that have mysteriously disappeared far outweigh those that have survived.
I’m a small player in the publishing world. My books are published by a boutique publisher with a small marketing budget, which means that I buy books to send to potential reviewers with the request that they write an honest review.
Sigh.
As a business model, it simply doesn’t make sense.
Why would Amazon want to make it difficult to sell books on their site?
Becca and Maddie, preteen sisters and unlikely experts of time travel, need adult supervision as they travel to Nashville in August of 1920 to fix the timeline. So they take along Philip, a time travel expert from the future who happens to be responsible for breaking the timeline in the first place.
But the only way to get from Seattle to Nashville is by train, and the time travelers arrive in Nashville too late to stop Douglas Whitfield, aka Mr. Selfish, from stealing a letter intended for one of the legislators. The theft of a single letter seems a small thing, except this particular letter plays a pivotal role in history. Without it, the Nineteenth Amendment is not ratified, and women never have the right to vote in the United States.
Amid a contentious backdrop that some have called the War of the Roses, and others the Perfect 36, Becca, Maddie, and Philip must fix what is broken before Mr. Selfish can break the timeline for good.
It isn’t easy, but the time travelers eventually succeed in setting history right. They capture Mr. Selfish and return to the portal to be reunited with their families.
Dirty!
This is not dirt!
This is my Halloween costume.
I’m a scarecrow.
Don’t you see it?
I must be easy to talk to ’cause people tell me things. All the time.
Today, my cashier complained that one of his coworkers bosses him around, even though she most certainly is not his boss. I wanted to make him feel better so I said I knew how he felt. In one of my jobs I was the boss, yet one of my employees decided to yell at me, in front of other people.
I went on to say that I didn’t yell at her, but I did take her to the side to discuss the inadvisability of yelling at your boss.
He said, “Yeah, that’s always the best way. If Kavanaugh would have kept his cool maybe someone might have believed him. On The View today they said…(insert The View’s rants here).”
While the cashier shared The View’s views, the bagger began bagging my groceries.
With a friendly smile on my face I said, “Funny how the whole innocent until proven guilty thing was ignored. I’m glad Kavanaugh stood up for himself. I’ve been accused of something I didn’t do. It’s a difficult position to be in. Think about it. How do you prove you DIDN’T do something?”
That’s when the bagger tossed my groceries back on the conveyor belt and stomped away. But she didn’t go far, only about 10 feet. There she began a whisper campaign with a fellow coworker.
You know the type of campaign I mean. Whisper, whisper, whisper. Point and nod toward the crazy person in the checkout line. Whisper, whisper, whisper.
The cashier finished bagging my groceries, ’cause the bagger certainly wasn’t going to do it.
After I paid, the cashier and I wished each other a nice day, and that was that.
But I was left with the thought that in Seattle, “I don’t like the customer’s political views” seems to be a perfectly valid excuse for not doing one’s job.
Then again, Seattle is called the Emerald City. Think Dorothy would let me borrow her shoes?
I wrote a new beginning for my newest script (code name True Story) this morning. I know I really should finish the script before I start messing with the beginning, but glimmers of this kept intruding into my thoughts, so I felt I’d better write it down.
Hope you like it!
******
The smoke of a train winds its way through a lonely countryside. Its distant WHISTLE BLOWS.
WOMAN NARRATOR (V.O.)
People think they know history. Facts, set in stone. Old. Boring. Solid. Dusty. Unchangeable.
Train takes an unexpected curve around a mountain.
WOMAN NARRATOR (V.O.)
But history doesn’t record everything. It can’t.
Train zips by a logging town from the late 1800s. No people, just buildings. Then on to more forest.
WOMAN NARRATOR (V.O.)
Take for example the day Tennessee ratified the 19th Amendment and American women, after 75 long years of struggle, got the right to vote.
Train goes over a bridge.
WOMAN NARRATOR (V.O.)
Boring you, am I? Think you already know this story?
Train goes into a tunnel.
WOMAN NARRATOR (V.O.)
Well, you’ve never heard this story. The real story. It’s not written down in any history book, anywhere.
Train shoots out of tunnel into bright light, WHISTLE BLOWING.
When I’m on task I have a well-defined schedule of writing.
First thing in the morning I write. I crawl out of bed, stumble to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee, grab my laptop, and find a comfy spot to write. The only thing allowed to get between me and my computer is that cup of coffee. Period.
There’s something about going straight from the land of dreams to the world of writing that works for me. It’s kinda magical.
When I’m on task, as soon as I see that screen waiting to be filled, a door in my mind opens and I dive right into the action, swim around an ocean of story, maybe even hop on the plot train to an entirely different story. I can outline, write, rewrite – all without missing a beat.
When I’m on task.
But to be on task I have to write on a regular schedule. And schedules are put aside during the summer and holidays.
So I have transition days. Days I tiptoe around, but only dip the tip of that toe into the sea of story. Instead of riding the plot train, I watch from the distance.
Because transition days are all about flexing those writing muscles and getting them ready for the heavy lifting.
It’s been a busy summer. I’ve enjoyed every minute spent with my family, but it’s time to get back to work.
Today is a transition day, and I’m okay with that. I’ll surround myself with the world of writing, without the pressure of writing. That way-
Oh, look! There goes the plot train, twisting and weaving it’s way to a new story.
Wow, that’s unexpected! I wonder…
Sigh. What a relief. I can feel the lure of story, and it’s a powerful one. I’ll have no trouble being on task tomorrow.
I might even take a quick dip today. The water looks great!
After I get another cup of coffee, of course!
Guest Post by Pepper Curious: 
Wow! What a day!
I leashed up my person and took her for a walk this morning. I heard from the weather report that it is supposed to get hot today, so I thought I’d walk her early, before the heat got really bad. She doesn’t handle the heat very well.
Anyway, something happened on my walk today. For some reason the beauty of the day got to me, and I forgot all my troubles–lost bones, caring for my family, cats–none of it mattered anymore. All I could think about was the sun, the wind, and wonderful smells.
I think it was the smells that got to me. For the first time in ages I just enjoyed myself. Everywhere I went there were glorious, wonderful, fantastic smells. The smells were so wonderful I couldn’t help but take them with me!
Eight, count them eight, spots to roll in I found today. It has got to be a world record!
Glorious, wonderful smells. Life is good!
“A god you can comprehend is a god not worth comprehending.”
It was said during the homily, one sentence among many. But this particular sentence planted itself in my brain and took root.
Days went by, then weeks.
But the sentence wouldn’t budge. There it was, front and center.
So I grabbed the little fella and looked it over. What about this sentence was so special?
Then it hit me. It was the BEST definition of faith EVER!
Rarely is something so complicated so succinctly defined.
Now I’m glad that little sentence took root. There’s a lot I can learn from it.