The Lemonade Stand

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Yesterday a person I’ve never met tore out my heart and nailed it to the wall. I had no way to change the situation, so I decided to process the pain by writing a story about it.

Here is The Lemonade Stand. The names, and events, have been changed to protect the innocent.

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Once upon a time there was a girl named Sammie who really wanted a dog. Really, really wanted a dog.

Her parents never understood where this love of dogs came from, since Sammie had rarely been around any dogs. Sure, there was the neighbor’s poodle, Fluffy. But Fluffy had a tendency to bite, so Sammie was kept well away from the little beast.

But Sammie loved dogs nonetheless. Her first word was dog, her favorite stuffed animal was a Huskie, and when she played with dolls, she pretended that they crawled around on all fours growling and barking.

So when Sammie turned 12 her parents made a deal with her. Since their main gripe about pet ownership had been the cost, they agreed to let Sammie have a dog if she footed all the bills.

Summer had just started so Sammie agreed enthusiastically and started right away to earn the cash. She spent the first week building a stylish little lemonade stand, and then decorated it with a red and white striped awning she had sewn herself. The wooden part of the stand she painted white, and then livened it up with bright yellow lemons. The stand had only cost her the price of the fabric for the awning, since her dad had allowed her to use whatever materials she could find in the backyard shed.

She then moved to the next stage. With the little bit of money she had left over from her last birthday she bought the ingredients she would need for her lemonade. She experimented with several mini batches until she had the perfect recipe. It was time to go into business.

The next day she sat up her stand in front of her house, and was thrilled with the success of her enterprise. Customers came, paid, drank, and then came again. Weeks went by and it became clear that Sammie’s lemonade stand was a success. Every night Sammie counted up her earnings and dreamed of the day she could go to the shelter and claim Pepper, the cute little Schnoodle she had seen there, as her own pet.

July rolled around and Sammie felt sure she would soon reach her goal. As she looked up and down the street to see if any of her regular customers were around she noticed a teenage girl watching her from the distance. After a few minutes of inaction, the girl walked over to Sammie.

“So, how’s business?”
“It’s good,” Sammie replied. “Would you like some lemonade?”
“I might,” the girl said slowly, “but what I think I really would like is to help you out.”
“Help me?”
“Sure! I have lots and lots of friends. You give me a couple glasses of lemonade today, and I’ll tell all my friends how great it is. You’ll have so much business you won’t know what to do.”
“Well, I don’t know….”
“Come on, you’ve got nothing to lose but a little lemonade.”
“I don’t understand why you want to help me. What’s in it for you?”
“I like to help people,” the girl said with a shrug. “And besides, I’m thirsty and I don’t have any money with me.”

Sammie thought a moment, and then decided that the girl was right. She could afford to give away a little of her lemonade if it meant she would get new customers. She filled up the biggest glass she had and gave it to the girl. The girl drank it down, gave a satisfied smile, and waved goodbye.

The next morning, Sammie skipped out of the house, a pitcher in each hand, ready for another successful day of money-making. The pitchers crashed to the ground and shattered, lemonade soaking her from the knees down, as her eyes were assaulted by the sight before her. Instead of a lemonade stand there were small pieces of red and white fabric stuck in bushes and trees, and piles of yellow and white sticks carefully laid out to spell “YOU STINK”.

Heartbroken, Sammie sat down on the sidewalk and cried. All her hard work–gone. How could she earn enough money for that cute little Schnoodle without a stand? And she needed to hurry, because Pepper was one of the cutest dogs in the pound. If she didn’t adopt her soon, someone else probably would.

Out of the corner of her eye Sammie saw a piece of paper stuck under the sticks that made up the letter “S”. With a shaky hand she reached out and gently pulled it to her. Turning it over she read:

This will teach you to trust strangers. I hate you, I hate all you stupid kids that think you can just put up a lemonade stand whenever you want a little pocket change. I would never help you sell your stinky lemonade. If you want to make money get a real job.
The Avenger

Sammie crumpled up the note and shoved it into her pocket. She looked up and down the street but there was no one in sight.

“I’ll show her!” Sammie muttered as anger replaced sadness. “I don’t know what would make a person be so mean–to destroy just because she can–but I won’t let her stop me. I built that stand once, and I can do it again!”

Sammie jumped up and energetically began to gather up the remnants of her lemonade stand. She had no time to lose. After she piled the mess in the backyard she ran over to the shed and jerked open the door. There were still quite a few pieces of unused wood, and an entire can of white paint. She could rebuild. She would rebuild.

And so, just a few days after a mean spirited bully took it upon herself to try to destroy the dreams of one girl, the lemonade stand was back in business.

And Sammie, well Sammie was more determined than ever. And a little wiser.

eGawkers beware!

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Unless you live in a cave deep in the earth–with no Internet, no television, no newspapers, and no radio–you must have heard about Charlie Sheen’s latest antics. It is very clear that the poor man is no longer slipping into insanity, he has climbed right past the Wall of Reality and is executing a swan dive into the Pit of Delusion that would warrant a 10 in the Olympics.

Now here’s the thing. I don’t understand eGawkers. I was blown away to hear that over 2 million people began to follow Charlie Sheen on Twitter after he began his great descent. Talk about sending the guy the wrong message!

I’ve seen gawkers before, with the worst offenders usually clogging the highway while trying to get a glimpse of every little fender bender.

But 2 million! 2 million in less than 2 days!

Curiosity is one thing, but as these 2 million plus followers inhale the breath of insanity they signed up to receive, I wonder how many of them understand how the brain uses the information it encounters? Do they understand that their reality is built on the building blocks they provide through their daily interactions with the world?

In other words, do they understand that a steady stream of insane rantings…

Over 2 million. My, oh my!

Adding spice

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As I approach the halfway point of the rewrites–

What?

Yes, I said rewrites.

I know, I know. I mentioned earlier that I was finished with Gray Zone, but I lied. Well, not really lied, I had just forgotten about these last, necessary, rewrites.

I agree. All rewrites are necessary, but these are particularly so. Now is when I add the spice, fine tune the flavor.

Let me explain. As I do these rewrites, I go chapter by chapter, paragraph by paragraph, sentence by sentence, word by word.

In each case I look for places where I should make cuts, where fewer words would be better.

Then I look to see if the scene is well-built. Did I leave out anything that is important? When the reader reads this scene, will he see in his mind the scene I intend?

What about the dialog? Do the words coming out of the characters’ mouths run true to form?

This particular rewriting phase requires me to read aloud. I listen to the words as they roll off my tongue. I spice it up with vivid words, colorful language, and pithy sayings. Because really, who wants to read a bland book!

In many ways, this is the hardest of the rewrites. It requires intense concentration, dedication, and patience.

But it is worth the pain…I mean effort. You see, without this particular rewrite, Gray Zone would be a pleasing Sunday Brunch, while with it, it is more akin to a gourmet meal fit for the most discriminating tastes.

It is all in the technique, and the spice!

Okay, okay. So it is me, calling it a gourmet meal. Why don’t you read it for yourself and find out?

I dare you!

Worry

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I added a new app to my phone Saturday night. It is a cute little thing that provides me with my horoscope on a daily basis.

I have always found horoscopes fun. Especially since they are usually written in general enough terms that everyone can find something that applies. I love to speculate about different scenarios and figure out how they would fit.

Sunday morning I awoke early, so I clicked open the app as I was drinking my coffee and read an inspirational message about how worrying does no good. The ‘scope of the day said that I should put all those things that are out of my control out of my mind. It only wasted brain power (or words to that effect).

Right. As if I could stop worrying just because a paragraph written by a person I have never met suggested it. I had legitimate things that I needed to worry about. Big things. Things I could not just push aside.

About an hour later my family and I were dressed and ready for church. I will admit that I wore my cloak of worry to church, and was only able to fold it and lay it aside as the first prayer was said. I felt lighter without that suffocating cloak, and more able to enjoy my surroundings.

My mind drifted a bit as I watched green, blue, and purple dots of light dancing around the church. Even though I knew that the effect was caused by a combination of wind, trees, stained glass, and the sun I could not help but watch.

By this time the homily was in full swing. I might have drifted through the whole thing in a dot-dancing fog if a single word not caught my attention. Worry.

I shifted forward a little and listened carefully, only to discover that the topic of today was worry. Worry was useless. Worry could only do harm. Worry distracted us from the things that were really important. We needed to put away thoughts of things that we could not change and focus on those we could.

Gulp. Two times in two hours from two different sources I had received the exact same message. Well now, I didn’t think I needed to have a third message sent my way before I got the point.

As I left church I also left behind that old cloak of worry. And if it finds a way to follow me home I will pack that cloak of worry away in the attic, where it can end its days as all attic dwellers do, forgotten among the dust and spiders.

The Letter

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A few weeks ago I received one of the best things an author could get (other than a royalty check)–a letter from a fan.

But I haven’t answered it yet. Yes, I am ashamed to say that I read the letter, I have placed it in a place of honor, but I haven’t written back yet.

I’m not really sure what is holding me back. I know that I want to thank the child who wrote to me. He did not have to write. Instead of playing outside with his friends or watching TV he actually took the time and effort to find paper, write his message, put it in an envelope, find where to send it, add a stamp, and place it in the mailbox.

I truly appreciate the effort. I really do. I applaud his thoughtfullness.

Maybe I am hesitating because as soon as I respond, as soon as I write him a letter and send it off, the thrill of receiving my first real fan letter will be over. I will need to move the letter from that oh-so-prominent “to do” list to the “done” list, which no one ever sees. I will be forced to file away that glorious letter. Forget about it. Move on.

But I don’t want to move on. I’m not ready. I am thrilled to the core that he not only likes my books, but he hopes I’ll write more.

Could there be anything better? I mean honestly, think about it.

Even the royalty check comes in second place. Way in second place.

Cold sweat

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I awoke this morning to the tingling sensation of terror zipping along the highways of my veins, making pitstops only at the furtherest appendages–my toes, my fingers, my nose. I lay there in a panic, my head fuzzy with fear, my arms covered in cold sweat, my fingers clenched into a fist.

The first full minute after I regained consciousness all I could hear was the labored breathing of some poor tortured soul gasping for breath. It sounded painful, it sounded terrifying, it sounded…to be honest, it sounded like me.

I filled my lungs with oxygen and clamped my mouth shut. Sure enough, the tortorous rasping stopped. As I released the air slowly I tried to remember what it was that had put me into such a state of uncontrolled terror.

It had been a dream. A dream in which I was a member of the mob and we were undergoing a regime change. The new kingpin was bloodthirsty, vindictive, and willing to use any means to create an environment where he was thoroughly feared. I had awoken just as he had turned his cruel eyes in my direction.

I shiver as I think of what I would have gone through if I had not awoken at that moment.

Here’s the funny part. I don’t typically read about, talk about, or watch movies about the mafia. Sure, I’ve seen the random TV cop show and heard about them at various times in my life. But not lately. Absolutely nothing lately.

I am one of those silly people who closes my eyes whenever violence erupts onscreen. If I come across it in a book I am reading I simply skip ahead a few pages until I am well past the bloody parts. Yuck!

So the questions is–why the dream?

February 3rd – National Cloud Day

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As I look outside on this dark and gloomy day, I have to ask myself, why is it always rainy and gloomy on February 3rd? Throughout my entire life I can remember very few sunny February 3rds. And I do pay attention, since it is my birthday.

I remember last year. Here in Seattle we had an entire week of gloriously sunny days, one day of rain, followed by another week of warm and wonderful sun. The one rainy day? February 3rd, of course.

Now, please don’t think that I am a gloomy person just because my birthday tends to be gloomy. I am not. No indeed! I love to laugh, and I enjoy life.

Really, February 3rd is cloudy so often I hereby proclaim it National Cloud Day.

Wait! What is that I see out my window? Is it, could it be…

It is! I can barely believe it! There, peeping out from the heavy clouds, is blue sky! A virus of fluffy white clouds has infiltrated the dark gray field of storm clouds. The good thing about those cotton ball clouds is their propensity to bunch up to let the blue show through. Fantastic!

Spread, little white clouds, spread. Take over the sky!

Now, if I could just convince that shy sun to make an appearance, I would have a most unique birthday!

Routines

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Having a routine can be comforting. It can create a structure that clears away the debris–you know, all those pesky moments when your brain power is consumed by the necessity of making decisons–so that you have a clear field to do what you really want to do.

I have a wonderful routine that helps me write. I wake up, go straight upstairs to my computer, and dive right in. I don’t eat, I don’t talk to anyone, I just write. After about 30 minutes or so of writing I am so into the story that it is safe for me to run downstairs and grab a bite to eat and a cup of coffee.

The problem with a routine such as this is that any little thing can throw it off. If anyone talks to me before I have those first 30 minutes in, I’m lost.

Which is why I am writing this blog instead of working on my book. I conversed this morning. The routine is worthless for the day.

Note to self: I need to create a secondary routine, one that can be used on days the primary routine will not work. I must discover a way to dive into writing even after human interaction.

The only alternative is to become a hermit and live in a cave, which I don’t think I would enjoy because I detest dank, dark places where a rock-slide might trap me forever.

And, to be perfectly honest, I like talking to people. I would go crazy all alone with only moss as company. And a few bats.

Step into writing

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I joined a writer’s group on LinkedIn the other day. One of the first questions I received in my email was about how to keep writing when you really don’t feel like writing. It seems the questioner had a short story he was trying to turn into a full blown novel, but he just wasn’t getting anywhere. He has been working on it for a couple of years but just keeps erasing it all and starting over.

Eeek! The horror of that might give me nightmares for life! Erasing it all and starting over is one of the worst things a writer could ever do. It is akin to a baker putting the flour and sugar into a bowl, then deciding to toss it in the trash because he wants a chocolate cake rather that a vanilla one. What a waste!

When I first began to write novels I too was unsure how to begin–and how to progress. I read every book about writing I could get my hands on and became even more confused. Each person who wrote about writing seemed to have a different process, a unique method that took her from idea to finished product.

And so began the long tedious trial-and-error period, a period I hope never to see again. I did my share of polishing each individual word as I wrote, writing chapters as individual stories so I could shuffle them around, writing whatever came to my head, and so on. I used index cards, a bulletin board, and multiple computer programs that are designed to help the author maintain the structure of the story.

It was a struggle. I was like a blindfolded driver with a sick child that needed to get to the store as quickly as possible to buy medicine so that I could lower my child’s fever before the excessive heat of the fever could cause permanent damage to my child. I felt I needed to rush, but I had no clue, absolutely no clue, where to go or how to get there.

I perservered and finally uncovered my own method. Here goes:

MS Word is my tool of choice, not any of those fancy writing programs.
Step 1 – Create a vague outline that runs to full length of the book. Result is usually 1 page long.
Step 2 –  Flesh out outlilne, creating chapters. Make sure there is a logical beginning, middle, and end.
Step 3 – Start with 1st chapter. Write a few paragraphs about what will happen in chapter. Go to next chapter.
Step 4 – Continue building chapters. As each chapter is finished, it will not be revisited until the next stage unless a change is made in the story that makes it absolutely necessary. (Change of character, etc.)
Step 5 -Finish last chapter and quickly look over the entire thing, making sure it makes sense. All chapters now have a couple of paragraphs of explanation, and the result is 5 – 10 pages long.
Step 6 -Time to begin really writing. Start with first chapter. Read the couple of paragraphs of explanation, and make it into a story. I let the movie in my head play, and write down what I see. Do not get up until the first chapter is done.
Step 7 – Each day of writing equals a chapter. I complete the chapter, highlight where I left off, and start the next writing session at the highlighted area. I do not revisit writing I have already done because I need to keep moving forward. Can only go back to change a detail like a name, date, time, etc.
Step 8 – Worked all the way through and have completed last chapter. Set aside for a few days to give brain a rest.
Step 9 – Begin again at the beginning. Always attempt to complete a full chapter in each setting. Focus on details and flow. Refine dialogue. I again see the movie in my head…I write the movie in my head.
Step 10 – Plug through. Persistence is the key. The book will never be finished if it is not worked on.
Step 11 – This round done. Set aside for at least a week.
Step 12 – Read all the way through. Set aside.
Step 13 – Begin the entire process again with chapter 1.
Step 14 – Rewrite, rewrite, rewrite. Remember to keep moving forward.
Step 15 – Done! Read, check again for flow and mistakes. Get feedback from someone. Begin the rewriting process again if necessary.
Step 16 – Enough already. I am now thoroughly sick of this book and ready to move on to the next.

The length of time this process takes varies by book, as does the number of rewrites. Braumaru took 2 years (extra time needed to work out the process). Cerulea and Viridia each took 1 year. DTA (Department of Temporal Adjustment) took nearly 3 years. Gray Zone has taken about 1 year so far. I do my work primarily on Saturday mornings and holidays, since I either have a full time job or am pursuing one.

Just an FYI–this works for me. But if it sounds overwhelming, just remember to keep moving forward. Always forward!

Life is a ride on a ferris wheel…

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…and I am currently slap dab at the bottom of the circle. Really, I don’t know how many more things can go wrong.

Almost every aspect of my life is currently low. Everywhere I look everyone is sick; I was just told yesterday that my contract job that was scheduled to end June 30 will instead end January 21; money…well, we won’t talk of money; social time with friends is nonexistent; I received an email today from a reveiwer who told me she “just could not get into” my book; and much, much more.

Don’t get me wrong, I know I have a good life and that many people have it much harder. There are people out there that have horrible things happen to them, and I am thankful that I am not in their position.

It is just that even though one at a time each of the items are just little irritations, they unfortunately didn’t come one at a time. They ganged up on me. They feel huge and overwhelming.

But I will take heart. I have been at the bottom of this old ferris wheel before. I may not be able to see it from this vantage point, but I am sure there are good times ahead.

The best thing about being at the bottom is that there is no way to go but up.

I know, I know, the descent has been scary and painful. But once the nadir is reached I only have the ascent to look forward to.

Up. Up. Up.