To the wonderful men who
work hard,
sacrifice,
kiss boo-boos,
hug away fears,
play silly kid games even when they’re too tired to think,
read bedtime stories,
build forts,
clean up messes,
and a million other things dads are asked to do every day.
We see you. And thank you.
What you’re doing makes the world a much better place!
Happy Father’s Day!
I have a hole in my heart.
Yesterday Pepper,
the sweetest, cutest, most loving dog in the world,
my friend and companion,
breathed her last breath.
I will miss her. Always.
We will all miss her.
I like change. Perhaps too much. Sometimes I wonder if my family thinks I’m an uncomfortable person to be around.
Take for example, my furniture. I can’t help but rearrange it. Often. As much as I try to resist the urge, the urge to rearrange always wins.
And then there are new ideas and theories that cross my path. It doesn’t matter if the subject is science, politics, religion, history, physics, or whatever, before I know what’s happening, I’m deep in a rabbit hole, researching every angle.
I won’t even mention my inability to follow recipes. I always change those.
So, yeah, I not only like change, I crave it.
Yet as a full-time writer, the only way I’ll ever get anything done is to follow a routine. And to make sure I get work done, my routine looks the same every day. Every day I write, or rewrite, or edit, or proofread. Then I do it all again.
If I’m not careful, the routine could morph into boredom. Which would be disastrous, because no one wants to read what a bored writer writes.
So to mix things up, I set challenges for myself. Early on, the challenge was to shift back and forth between screenwriting and novel writing.
Recently, I set a timed challenge for myself. I wrote a screenplay (True Story of the Perfect 36) and adapted it into a novel, all in the space of a single year. I’m kinda proud of being able to do that. It certainly wasn’t easy, and I feel both the screenplay and novel turned out well.
Then last summer I challenged myself to write a Christmas thriller screenplay, which is how I came to write Minerva Claus.
The screenplay I wrote before that, Paranormal Rescue, was also the result of a challenge. I wanted to know if I could write a horror. I turned into a horror/comedy, but hey, a horror/comedy is still a horror.
My most recent challenge was to adapt six screenplays into novels. I even went so far as to rewrite one of them, Stone Woman, to the point it’s nearly ready to be published.
Which left me ready for a new challenge.
Then it hit me.
I’d write two separate screenplays, concurrently. To beat the challenge I’d have to write them in such a way that I honestly would not be able to say which screenplay is finished first.
It’s turning out to be much harder than expected. Just like any good challenge.
I suffered through two weeks of not being able to write anything. Then, yesterday, I had a breakthrough. The spigot of creativity turned back on and ideas once again began to flow.
Whew! That was close. For a moment I thought this challenge was going to be too much for me.
And the millions of other things mothers do each and every day. Your hard work makes little humans into the best kind of big humans.
You have the MOST IMPORTANT JOB ON THE PLANET. And the greatest!
Happy Mother’s Day!
“Mommy, Sari said her parents are essential and you’re not.”
“What?” I sputtered, shocked at the words coming out of my seven-year-old’s mouth. I put down the knife I had been using to chop potatoes and turned to face my child. She was the very picture of doe-eyed innocence, which made me suspicious. Less than a week ago I had peeked into her room and had seen her, in front of her mirror, trying out different innocent looks.
I took a deep breath to calm myself before using the time-honored brow-raise method to request more information.
“Sari, she’s in my class,” the munchkin explained in response. “She said her parents are important and you aren’t.”
I blinked several times as I thought through that statement. I knew many, if not all children, were having a tough time with virtual learning. It wouldn’t be the first time a child used bragging as a coping mechanism.
“Is Sari the pale girl with red hair?” I asked, as I mentally ran through the list of my daughter’s classmates.
“No, that’s Sara. I don’t know what Sari looks like. She says cameras make her twitch and she doesn’t like to twitch so no one is allowed to ask her to turn it on. She uses a drawing of a turtle instead.”
Instantly, a picture formed in my head. It was of a bratty girl, used to getting what she wants, when she wants it. A bully in the making, who would, of course, be frustrated that online school made it harder for her to gain full ascendency over her classmates.
“Does anyone call her turtle girl?” I asked, honestly curious.
“That would be bullying, Mommy,” my daughter answered with a roll of her eyes. “That’s not allowed.”
“But it’s okay to tell people their parents aren’t essential?”
“We’re studying history,” my youngster explained, and this time I could tell her doe-eyes were sincere. “Teacher said some people being essential and some not is a fact, so it’s okay.”
“I love you, munchkin!” I said as I pulled my little daughter into a hug. “But we need to talk.”
She was only seven, but she was smart. With a little patience, I knew I could help her understand the difference between virtual logic, and logic based on reality.
An important task for any parent.
Not essential. Not likely!
I’ve adapted Treasure Trove, a quirky sci-fi script in which two sisters rush around an amusement park as they thwart a budding robot apocalypse.
This is the beginning scene, but it’s a rough adaptation. Whatever I thought of while I was fixing the format ended up on the page, and I haven’t had time to do any rewrites yet. Who knows how it’ll change by the time it’s massaged into something that truly resembles a book.
“I can do this,” Audrey whispered.
At least, Audrey thought of it as a whisper. In reality, it was something else entirely. Whisper implied speech, the actual formation of words. To form words required action, which, in Audrey’s current state of mind, was a rare occurrence.
Instead, what Audrey had done was allow a fragment of each word to escape from her mouth as she breathed. Then, of their own violation, those fractions surfed Audrey’s exhaled breath like dolphins surfing the crest of a big wave. The result was a whisper of a whisper of a whisper. It had required no effort on Audrey’s part at all and was entirely too insubstantial to be heard by the human ear.
Which, if Audrey had had the energy to think about it, was fine by her. The last thing she wanted was for someone to hear her. Because even as whisps of air, those words were a lie.
She could not do it. She was nearly incapable of doing anything.
When it came to confidence, Audrey had hit rock bottom ages ago. She had no confidence whatsoever. Zero. Zilch. Nada.
For the past few years everything she tried had turned to do had ended. Sometimes in failure, but more often than not, it had simply been left unfinished. It was impossible to remember the last time she had been able to complete anything.
To the outside world she was twenty, smart, and could look forward to a great career when she finished college. To the outside world she should not have a care in the world.
Obviously, the outside world knew nothing about reality. Because here she was, her head against the door of the exam room she had just left, wondering if the heart-to-heart she had had with her doctor had been a waste of time. He wanted to put her on some pills that he claimed would help her control her depression and anxiety.
As if drugs could make her a success.
Take care!
True Story of the Perfect 36 is a lot of fun!
If life gives you lemons, you can either get pucker-faced trying to drink the sour juice, or you can scrounge around for sugar and flour and bake a pie.
I’m the pie making type.
Once upon a time, I was a librarian, and I was good at it. I started as a public librarian, and after a short break as a Research Strategist at the University of Washington I moved on to be the Head Librarian at a K-12 private school.
It was a blast! There was nothing slow or relaxing about that school library. Maybe because it was three libraries, not one, but whatever the reason, there was no downtime.
I started each day at a run and ended it the same way. It was a nonstop whirlwind of organizing, managing, scheduling, purchasing, labeling, and supervising, all while my staff and I provided topnotch customer service.
There was something unbelievably satisfying about creating order out of chaos, but my favorite part of the entire job was the people. It didn’t matter if it was students, parents, teachers, or members of the staff, if I could solve a problem for them it always made my day.
When my job as a Head Librarian ended, I took it as a sign that it was time for a change. I needed to add new ingredients. So, after doing a bit of research, I applied to Full Sail University, got accepted, and spent the next twelve months immersed in the joys and tribulations of screenwriting.
It was more challenging than I expected, but oh, so satisfying. When I graduated with an MFA in Creative Writing I was on top of the world.
I was ingredient ready.
Since then I’ve devoted myself to writing.
Yum! This pie is delicious!
I’m currently working on the Stone Woman novel that I adapted from my Stone Woman screenplay.
This is the first rewrite, and the novel needs a few more rewrites before it’s ready. This excerpt is from Chapter 19.
—
“Well this is interesting,” she muttered. Then she raised her voice a bit and said, “Michael, I can’t see anything. Where—?”
Without warning the memory of that plane dropping out of the sky, in flames, with Michael still on it, hit her like the proverbial freight train. There was no more Michael. He was gone. He was—
“No!” Nicole wailed as she dove into an ocean of despair and nearly drowned in grief. She sobbed uncontrollably for a full five seconds before another growl, this one somehow closer, shocked her quiet.
She sucked in her sobs—not an easy thing to do while guilt and anguish were warring for top place in her heart—and tightened her jaw. As quietly as she could she swallowed her tears and took a slow calm breath, then kicked her feet toward the ground. She needed to know how high in the hair she was hanging.
Unfortunately, the kicks told her nothing. All she met was air, air—and more air.
“Hey, cat! Make a little noise, why don’t you? I need to know where you are.”
But the big cat was a magnificent predator and remained silent.
“Now what do I do?” Nicole moaned.
As if in answer the moon came out from behind the clouds and shot a ray of light through the branches, past her parachute, to shine a spotlight on a bright yellow snake on the branch directly above her, slithering its merry way in her direction.
“Snake!” Nicole yelled, panicked. “It’s a snake!”
She wiggled and twisted frantically trying to get out of the harness. When that proved useless, she ran her hands along the harness. There must be a release mechanism, she knew there must. There would be safety regulations that—
The snake hissed menacingly and showed its forked tongue, as if warning her to be still. Nicole did what any person terrified of snakes would do, she froze in fear.
But she quickly thawed as soon as the serpent once again slithered in her direction. She swore she saw it lick its lips, which made her search for the mechanism with even more fervor.
Finding the button, she took a deep breath and pressed it.
Nothing happened.
“No, no, no. Come on, release!” she yelled as she stabbed at the release with her thumb.
She looked up at the dreaded snake, which was now close enough she could probably see herself in its beady little eyes. If she were stupid enough to look it in the eyes. Which she certainly was not. She had read about snakes hypnotizing their prey. Uh-uh. Not her!
“Release!” she demanded as she switched from stabbing with her thumb to slamming it with her fist. “Release! Come on!”
Without warning the latch released and Nicole plummeted what turned out to be thirty feet to the ground.
Only Nicole was in luck. Instead of the hard ground beneath her, there was a river. As she spluttered and splashed to the surface a low, guttural growl to her left caught her attention.
“Oh, no you don’t!” she roared into the darkness. “I didn’t escape that snake to be your midnight snack!”
The response she got sounded to her suspiciously like a frustrated snarl.
“Go do your shopping elsewhere. This grocery store is closed.”
She turned to the right and swam to the shore opposite of where she’d heard the big cat. As she dragged her exhausted body out of the water shivers racked her.
“I don’t think I like the jungle very much,” she said through chattering teeth.
__
Happy reading!
2021 is here.
Shhh!
Let’s keep it to a whisper for a bit. We don’t want to scare it away.