The official certificate arrived today in the mail,
accompanied by a letter welcoming me to “the world of award-winning authors!”
I like the sound of that.
I am so excited I could spit!
Or maybe I should laugh gleefully instead. Not quite so messy.
Why am I so excited?
Gray Zone won an award! Bronze, in the YA fiction category.
I’ve never won an award before.
I kinda like it!
A review was just posted for Gray Zone on Goodreads, and it’s fantastic!
I’ll give you a snippet, so you can get a taste. It’s worth going to Goodreads to read the entire thing.
I truly appreciate people who take the time to write reviews like this one!
I feared it would happen.
And it did.
The lovely little house I wanted so much–the house that captured my heart and imagination–will never be mine.
Sigh.
It belongs to another.
I’ll mourn it’s loss, oh, for another day or so. And then I’ll move on.
The house would have been a great place for my family to build memories.
One look at the place and visions of family dinners, celebrations, and backyard barbecues popped into my head.
No matter. Even without the house, we’ll still build great memories.
Just not in that house.
Goodbye little house!
It would have been fun.
I am enamored with a house.
It’s not the most beautiful house in the world. Or the biggest. But it’s for sale in my price range, and I want it!
As soon as I walked through it I saw it’s potential. It would make a wonderful home. A place we could snuggle in and create a whole new set of wonderful memories.
Who cares if the fireplace doesn’t work, or that it has only one bathroom? Fireplaces can be fixed, and bathrooms added.
Who cares if the window sills show signs they were at one time tiled and desperately need fixing? I know how to sand and paint.
Who cares if the kitchen has almost no cabinet space? A pantry would fit in perfectly, right over there.
Ooh! Maybe we could add a porch in the back, with some lovely stairs leading down to that big, wonderful, currently overcrowded basement that you can only get to by going outside.
It really doesn’t matter, because even if we can’t do those things, I’m still enamored.
It is a house with tons of potential.
What more could I want?
(Hmm. Maybe not to be outbid?)
I received coverage on my newest script, Haunting Engagement, the other day.
I’ll admit it. When someone critiques my work my first, gut response is to be offended. “Why don’t they get it,” is usually my first thought, followed by, “They didn’t read close enough,” and “How dare they!”
Which is understandable. After all, criticizing my writing is criticizing me. I created that story. It’s my brainchild, the product of my imagination. An intimate look into my very soul.
Fortunately, those thoughts only last a few seconds before my brain kicks into overdrive. Especially when I realize that the script reader’s comments are RIGHT. I could do a better job at character development. I did make a mistake by removing that character from the story too soon. The conflict could be ratcheted up to create more tension.
So even though I have one of those nasty colds that often visits this time of year, I’ve been busy rewriting. What else can I do when walking across the room tires me out like I’d just completed a 26 mile marathon.
Besides, now that I know the flaws exist, I have to fix them. I’m embarrassed at the thought that my script is out there but not really ready.
(There were some really good comments made also, but who can see those amidst the bad ones?)
So I spent eight hours on the script one day and five another. Then I reread the comments and reevaluated. Another few hours brought me to the point where I’d addressed all the comments and I felt the script was as good as I could make it.
For now, at least. The more I write, the more I learn. And the beauty of an un-produced script is that it can always be changed.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
As the New Year begins, remember
When LIFE gives
you LEMONS
Don’t just make LEMONADE
Make
LEMON MERINGUE PIE
Or
LEMON INFUSED CASEROLE
It really doesn’t matter what you make,
as long as you take whatever
LIFE gives you
And get CREATIVE with it!
Every few months I gather my dog’s toys together and wash them. So every few months my dog thinks I cleared out the old boring toys and brought in new, exciting ones. After all, if they smell different, they must be different!
So here she is, my dog, Pepper, after a rousing session with her ‘new’ toys. The one she’s using as a pillow gets chosen as her ‘new’ favorite every time I wash it. We’ve had it about four years.
Usually she’s a bit camera shy and makes it hard for me to get a picture. But today I guess she was feeling lazy, ’cause she just lay there, watching, as I snapped away.
The last novel I wrote took about four years. I don’t want a repeat of that so, to keep myself moving along at a good pace, I’ve set a goal of 500 words a day. It’s a very doable goal, and one that will have me completing the novel in about half a year.
In truth, I didn’t really think I needed a goal. I created the story, outlined it, and wrote the first 15,000 words a few years ago. I only put it aside so I could concentrate on completing my MFA.
Then I put it aside again when I realized I needed to solidify my screenwriting skills. Now that I’ve written five screenplays, I feel confident I can write novels again without forgetting how to write screenplays.
I’ve been chomping at the bit to throw myself back into this novel, but it’s proven harder than expected.
Silly me. I thought shifting back and forth between the two types of writing would be easy. I wasn’t taking into account that the type of writing needed for novels is almost a polar opposite from that of screenplays.
I guess the novel-writing brain muscles have become a little weak with disuse.
I need to pump them up. Get them working at optimum level again.
Lift that word!
Pull that paragraph!
Toss away that bad sentence!
Build that scene… I mean chapter! Build that chapter!
Much better.
I can feel those novel-writing muscles growing.
I’m having a little bit of trouble transitioning back to novel writing. So this morning I played around and wrote in novel and screenplay format simultaneously. Both are just places to start and rough, very rough. But I’ll be brave if you will!
Screenplay version:
INT. VANESSA’S BEDROOM – DAY
Sunshine pours in through the open curtains of a medium sized bedroom. VANESSA, mid-thirties, blonde, sleeps peacefully on her back on one side of the bed. On the floor are a set of jacks. A doll and a stuffed koala bear are on the pillow beside her tucked into the covers. Several toy cars line the headboard making a zigzag pattern. A Barbie doll wears two toys cars as skates on the bedside table. A bright red ball sits in the middle of Vanessa’s chest.
PHONE RINGS. VANESSA groans. Without rolling over Vanessa reaches over and grabs a cell phone from the bedside table and brings it to her ear.
VANESSA
(rasps)
Hello?
INT. NURSE’S STATION – DAY
DR. BROWN, 50s, overworked, clean-cut, with a scowl, talks on a corded phone. The busy hospital has up-to-date equipment. Male and female doctors, nurses, and military personnel calmly help patients.
INTERCUT phone conversation.
DR. BROWN
Is this Mrs. Rossi?
Vanessa closes her eyes and sighs.
VANESSA
It is. Who’s this?
Novel version:
“Hello,” I rasped into my cell
phone, my voice still as asleep as my brain had been ten seconds before. It was
10 o’clock on a Monday morning, and for the first time in years my children had
decided to let me sleep late.
phone, my voice still as asleep as my brain had been ten seconds before. It was
10 o’clock on a Monday morning, and for the first time in years my children had
decided to let me sleep late.
Not that I had been allowed to
sleep in solitude. As I glanced toward the door I realized that the room was
littered with evidence of a visit from my two youngest children. Zoe’s favorite
baby doll and Audrey’s stuffed koala were on the pillow beside me, tucked
neatly under the covers. Half a dozen toy cars were parked in a zigzag pattern
along the headboard, while a Barbie doll was on the bedside table wearing two
additional cars as skates.
sleep in solitude. As I glanced toward the door I realized that the room was
littered with evidence of a visit from my two youngest children. Zoe’s favorite
baby doll and Audrey’s stuffed koala were on the pillow beside me, tucked
neatly under the covers. Half a dozen toy cars were parked in a zigzag pattern
along the headboard, while a Barbie doll was on the bedside table wearing two
additional cars as skates.
And then there was the bright red
ball that one of my jokesters had decided to perch on my chest. How I had
managed to answer the phone without dislodging it I’d never know.
ball that one of my jokesters had decided to perch on my chest. How I had
managed to answer the phone without dislodging it I’d never know.
I must have been pretty exhausted
to sleep through the playtime represented by the plethora of toys. Too bad I
wasn’t tired enough to also sleep through the ring of the phone.
to sleep through the playtime represented by the plethora of toys. Too bad I
wasn’t tired enough to also sleep through the ring of the phone.
Especially since I wasn’t expecting
a phone call, so it was probably just a sales call.
a phone call, so it was probably just a sales call.
I hated sales calls. They always
came at an inconvenient time and were usually irrelevant.
came at an inconvenient time and were usually irrelevant.
Got a rare chance to sleep late? Ring! Surprise! There’s someone on the
phone with a great deal on carpet cleaning. Too bad you only have hardwood
floors.
phone with a great deal on carpet cleaning. Too bad you only have hardwood
floors.
Got a spare moment to finally start
that book you’ve been dying to read? Ring!
Someone is there on the phone, letting your know that there’s a sale on new
windows in your area. Too bad you’re a renter!
that book you’ve been dying to read? Ring!
Someone is there on the phone, letting your know that there’s a sale on new
windows in your area. Too bad you’re a renter!
It’s a conspiracy against parents,
I know it is. As soon as my children cut
me some slack and let me sleep late, the rest of the world steps in and picks
up that slack. To keep me on my toes, I guess.
I know it is. As soon as my children cut
me some slack and let me sleep late, the rest of the world steps in and picks
up that slack. To keep me on my toes, I guess.
“Is this Mrs. Rossi?” a man’s voice
asked.
asked.
I sighed and cringed as I realized
that he had called me by my name, which meant this was worse than a sales call,
it was a request for a donation.
that he had called me by my name, which meant this was worse than a sales call,
it was a request for a donation.
I really wasn’t awake enough to handle
a donation request. But I’d answered, and once I answer I have no choice but to
listen. At least for a few minutes.
a donation request. But I’d answered, and once I answer I have no choice but to
listen. At least for a few minutes.
“It is. Who’s this?”