If you stuff yourself full of poems, essays, plays, stories, novels, films, comic strips, magazines, music, you automatically explode every morning like Old Faithful. I have never had a dry spell in my life, mainly because I feed myself well, to the point of bursting. I wake early and hear my morning voices leaping around in my head like jumping beans. I get out of bed to trap them before they escape.
--Ray Bradbury
The rule of the writer is not to say what we can all say but what we are unable to say.
--Anais Nin
The world I create in writing compensates for what the real world does not give me.
--Gloria Anzaldua
One of the reasons a writer writes, I think, is that his stories reveal so much he never thought he knew.
--Cecelia Holland
A common thread in all of these quotes...all of them make me think of the emotion thing I've been working on in my fiction. Funny thing is, as I'm going through my ms, asking "what is going on emotionally here?" I know, can sorta feel what the characters are feeling. The hard part is putting it in words, and even harder is putting it in fresh, non-cliche words.
My family didn't do emotions. They were messy, so we just weren't going to have them Later in life, my mother allowed herself to have feelings, and she would also tell us how we felt. Always helpful. Of course, she wasn't on the bullseye, in fact the ol' arrow didn't even hit an outer ring, just went whizzing by. So, when it came time to get married, our pre-marriage counselor gave me a full sheet of little faces with feeling words underneath, like Happy, Perplexed, Depressed, Satisfied, etc. I wore the durn thing out. Now I need to find another copy, for my little characters to use. Can't hurt.
Monday, February 20, 2006
Sunday, February 19, 2006
More great quotes
Otherwise known as what I will be pondering as I go run this afternoon....
Everyone has talent. What is rare is the courage to follow the talent
to the dark place where it leads.
-- Erica Jong
Risk! Risk anything! Care no more for the opinions of others, for those
voices. Do the hardest thing on earth for you. Act for yourself. Face
the truth.
-- Katherine Mansfield
Typos are very important to all written form. It gives the reader
something to look for so they aren't distracted by the total lack of content
in your writing.
-- Randy K. Milholland, Something Positive Comic, 07-03-05
Something for everyone!
Everyone has talent. What is rare is the courage to follow the talent
to the dark place where it leads.
-- Erica Jong
Risk! Risk anything! Care no more for the opinions of others, for those
voices. Do the hardest thing on earth for you. Act for yourself. Face
the truth.
-- Katherine Mansfield
Typos are very important to all written form. It gives the reader
something to look for so they aren't distracted by the total lack of content
in your writing.
-- Randy K. Milholland, Something Positive Comic, 07-03-05
Something for everyone!
Friday, February 17, 2006
Once more, with feeling...
I am starting another full run through of edits of "Practical Flying". My crit group, bless their little hearts, continue to say that my writing is fine, just utterly devoid of emotion. Yeppers. Story of my life there. So, I instigated a two step plan of action. The first step is to read books that contain said emotion. Step 2 involves writing at 4:30 in the morning. I'm finding that it's easier to write emotion before the brain is fully awake. And I can even ignore the dog snoring now.
I know the characters and I know what they are feeling, when I actually stop to think about it, but I'm not getting the work done. I'm still not able to get the reader to feel it as well. I'm too afraid of telling the reader what to think and feel, because I hate that in books. I like the E.L.Doctorow quote, to the effect of don't tell the reader it's raining, let him feel the drops. Wait, I'm on line, no reason not to get the quote exact...
If you did not write every day, the poisons would accumulate and you would begin to die, or act crazy or both -- you must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.
--Ray Bradbury
A writer is like a bag lady going through life with a sack and a pointed stick collecting stuff.
--Tony Hillerman
Planning to write is not writing. Outlining a book is not writing. Researching is not writing. Talking to people about what you're doing, none of that is writing. Writing is writing.
--E. L. Doctor
Nope, those aren't it, but I just found them and I like them. Here is what I was looking for : "Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader--not the fact that it is raining, but the feeling of being rained upon."
E.L. Doctorow
That's what I want to do. Back to the saltmines...
I know the characters and I know what they are feeling, when I actually stop to think about it, but I'm not getting the work done. I'm still not able to get the reader to feel it as well. I'm too afraid of telling the reader what to think and feel, because I hate that in books. I like the E.L.Doctorow quote, to the effect of don't tell the reader it's raining, let him feel the drops. Wait, I'm on line, no reason not to get the quote exact...
If you did not write every day, the poisons would accumulate and you would begin to die, or act crazy or both -- you must stay drunk on writing so reality cannot destroy you.
--Ray Bradbury
A writer is like a bag lady going through life with a sack and a pointed stick collecting stuff.
--Tony Hillerman
Planning to write is not writing. Outlining a book is not writing. Researching is not writing. Talking to people about what you're doing, none of that is writing. Writing is writing.
--E. L. Doctor
Nope, those aren't it, but I just found them and I like them. Here is what I was looking for : "Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader--not the fact that it is raining, but the feeling of being rained upon."
E.L. Doctorow
That's what I want to do. Back to the saltmines...
Thursday, February 16, 2006
Fat Bodies, Thin Lives
"It is only by following your deepest instinct that you can lead a rich live, and if you let your fear of consequence prevent you from following you deepest instinct, then your life will be safe, expedient, and thin.
Katherine Hathaway.
Funny, but Hathaway here shares the same last name of one of the great "thin" characters of sixties/seventies television - Miss Jane Hathaway, the banker's secretary on Beverly Hillbillies. She does seem to embody this quote.
I read it this morning in a cluster of quotes sent by email and it got me to thinking about American obsessions with celebrities and sports heroes. Is our cultural fascination with these folks stemming from the fact that we perceive them to have "thin bodies and fat lives?" The paparazzi does portray them as being and doing everything that a person could want, and most interviews include words to the effect that they are living their dreams and doing every thing they always wanting to do. How many in our real everyday lives can say that?
I come from a people of safe, expedient, lives. Thin lives, where conversations dwell on the lives of others.And most of the women eventually pushed the scales to two hundred and fifty or more, none over five foot three. My aunts and grandmothers would constantly talk about others, and tear them down. I can still remember cringing when I heard them critizing yet another family member or public figure, kind of the "who does she think she is?" kind of thing. And wondering if I was the topic when I wasn't there. (Apparently, yes.)Looking back, it was so they could feel better about the choices they made, or lived by default, this I see now.
That may be the main point. That fat lives, and thin bodies, neither can be live by default in our society. Choices must be made, both at key moments and ordinary times. The easy way, to accept the defaults, lets the blame for poor decisions appear to belong to others. But it's still the fault of the defaulter, not the one who set up the defaults.
Yet, everything around me insists the key to life is to be safe and expedient. Insurance ads, fad diets, new laws and products are all screaming that life can and should be safer and thus more satisfying. There are no ads in print or television telling you how to follow your passions, only how to make more money working from home on the internet. Of course, one other option is offered. Numbness.
Which came first? Fat bodies or thin lives? Is one the result of the other? I could see where either could be the first, but I'm starting to think maybe the obesity epidemic we're facing in kids could be the result of the thin lives they are witnessing and living. "If that is what life is going to be like, pass the Twinkies..." There is no place to run, explore, have adventures, except for sports and video games. And unless a child is extremely talented, they are not encouraged to continue to play sports after a certain age. No one plays for fun anymore.
I love novels where this is the character's struggle, to accept the defaults or choose to follow his or her heart. Even the old Austen and Bronte books deal twith this, the choice between expediency and societal norms or to live in line with one's heart. I'm starting to see that the characters I write about have no problem with living according to their passions, it's almost second nature. Maybe, since role models have been so few, I'm just making up my own.
Katherine Hathaway.
Funny, but Hathaway here shares the same last name of one of the great "thin" characters of sixties/seventies television - Miss Jane Hathaway, the banker's secretary on Beverly Hillbillies. She does seem to embody this quote.
I read it this morning in a cluster of quotes sent by email and it got me to thinking about American obsessions with celebrities and sports heroes. Is our cultural fascination with these folks stemming from the fact that we perceive them to have "thin bodies and fat lives?" The paparazzi does portray them as being and doing everything that a person could want, and most interviews include words to the effect that they are living their dreams and doing every thing they always wanting to do. How many in our real everyday lives can say that?
I come from a people of safe, expedient, lives. Thin lives, where conversations dwell on the lives of others.And most of the women eventually pushed the scales to two hundred and fifty or more, none over five foot three. My aunts and grandmothers would constantly talk about others, and tear them down. I can still remember cringing when I heard them critizing yet another family member or public figure, kind of the "who does she think she is?" kind of thing. And wondering if I was the topic when I wasn't there. (Apparently, yes.)Looking back, it was so they could feel better about the choices they made, or lived by default, this I see now.
That may be the main point. That fat lives, and thin bodies, neither can be live by default in our society. Choices must be made, both at key moments and ordinary times. The easy way, to accept the defaults, lets the blame for poor decisions appear to belong to others. But it's still the fault of the defaulter, not the one who set up the defaults.
Yet, everything around me insists the key to life is to be safe and expedient. Insurance ads, fad diets, new laws and products are all screaming that life can and should be safer and thus more satisfying. There are no ads in print or television telling you how to follow your passions, only how to make more money working from home on the internet. Of course, one other option is offered. Numbness.
Which came first? Fat bodies or thin lives? Is one the result of the other? I could see where either could be the first, but I'm starting to think maybe the obesity epidemic we're facing in kids could be the result of the thin lives they are witnessing and living. "If that is what life is going to be like, pass the Twinkies..." There is no place to run, explore, have adventures, except for sports and video games. And unless a child is extremely talented, they are not encouraged to continue to play sports after a certain age. No one plays for fun anymore.
I love novels where this is the character's struggle, to accept the defaults or choose to follow his or her heart. Even the old Austen and Bronte books deal twith this, the choice between expediency and societal norms or to live in line with one's heart. I'm starting to see that the characters I write about have no problem with living according to their passions, it's almost second nature. Maybe, since role models have been so few, I'm just making up my own.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
It's day 2 of the great 4:30 am experiment...
and the hardest thing about getting up at 4:30 in the morning is not the actual getting up, but the going to bed at a reasonable hour. The whole world seems to be conspiring against it. There are meetings, soccer games, etc the rest of the week. Which in themselves are fine and dandy things, but they do go on! But on the plus side, no one really emails at that hour and the rest of the cyber world is silent as well.
Now, if only I could actually get some bona fide work done. I mean, I spent yesterday morning dinking with Yahoo Briefcase, so I could more easily move the working copy from laptop to desktop. Too many places to work on it. But that pretty much shot the whole morning yesterday. Oh, and a couple of blog entries. But blogging actually helps get the ol' writing muscles primed. Or so I believe...
Now, if only I could actually get some bona fide work done. I mean, I spent yesterday morning dinking with Yahoo Briefcase, so I could more easily move the working copy from laptop to desktop. Too many places to work on it. But that pretty much shot the whole morning yesterday. Oh, and a couple of blog entries. But blogging actually helps get the ol' writing muscles primed. Or so I believe...
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
It's 4:30 am...do you know where your brain is?
I know where mine is...it's still in bed sleeping.But since my life has been declared a disaster area, the only time I can find for writing lately is either at four thirty or midnight. For some reason, I am actually more creative in the morning lately. Midnight, the only thing I want to to is watch Clint and Stacy redo wardrobes on What Not to Wear.
So I am sitting at the old desk, it's dark outside, and the dog is snoring. At least I have coffee. Lots of it. I have my file open. Another plus. And I am avoiding the act of figuring out which file is more current, the laptop version or the PC version. But as far as actual writing, it's not quite happening yet. At least not the fiction. I do have a couple of essays that need writing, so maybe I'll at least crank out a draft on one of those. Something, even,hey, a blog entry will justify getting up this early, right?
What I really want to do is search on line for a new house. Because our house, the one we are living in right now, the one we built while Dad was dying, now has a contingency contract on it. So we are technically homeless. Or as my brother says, I'm his unemployed, homeless older sister. I could use this in a memoir, couldn't I? I could use a "little" creative license and say we were homeless with 2 children, three guinea pigs and a dog for months. That's the latest rage in memoirs, fictional embellishment. I could really dig up some sympathy. But I really need to dig up a house. One that doesn't have a room falling off and sinking into the front yard, like the one we looked at yesterday.
So I am sitting at the old desk, it's dark outside, and the dog is snoring. At least I have coffee. Lots of it. I have my file open. Another plus. And I am avoiding the act of figuring out which file is more current, the laptop version or the PC version. But as far as actual writing, it's not quite happening yet. At least not the fiction. I do have a couple of essays that need writing, so maybe I'll at least crank out a draft on one of those. Something, even,hey, a blog entry will justify getting up this early, right?
What I really want to do is search on line for a new house. Because our house, the one we are living in right now, the one we built while Dad was dying, now has a contingency contract on it. So we are technically homeless. Or as my brother says, I'm his unemployed, homeless older sister. I could use this in a memoir, couldn't I? I could use a "little" creative license and say we were homeless with 2 children, three guinea pigs and a dog for months. That's the latest rage in memoirs, fictional embellishment. I could really dig up some sympathy. But I really need to dig up a house. One that doesn't have a room falling off and sinking into the front yard, like the one we looked at yesterday.
Friday, February 03, 2006
A quote I can relate to...
The trouble with being punctual is that nobody's there to appreciate
it.
-- Franklin P. Jones
When I was about sixteen, my father gave me a watch for Christmas, although he was quite adamant that it wouldn't do any good. He said I didn't need a watch, I needed a calendar and a keeper. I think he knew this not because I was always late, but because he was the same way. Mom, on the other hand, was always at least thirty minutes early. Even when she was in her fifties, she would not do ANYTHING in the morning if she had a lunch date. She didn't want to be late. That meant no running errands, even at nine, for a noon lunch.
See, opposites attract. Or compulsive people bring out passive aggression in others. One of the two.
it.
-- Franklin P. Jones
When I was about sixteen, my father gave me a watch for Christmas, although he was quite adamant that it wouldn't do any good. He said I didn't need a watch, I needed a calendar and a keeper. I think he knew this not because I was always late, but because he was the same way. Mom, on the other hand, was always at least thirty minutes early. Even when she was in her fifties, she would not do ANYTHING in the morning if she had a lunch date. She didn't want to be late. That meant no running errands, even at nine, for a noon lunch.
See, opposites attract. Or compulsive people bring out passive aggression in others. One of the two.
Wednesday, January 25, 2006
I know where I want to live....
Today, while my third graders were taking a "practice" version of the standardized test that will decide their futures, I glanced up and saw where I want to spent the rest of my life. It was printed right there on the stack of maps hanging above the chalk board....Rand McNally's Simplified World.
Doesn't it sound peaceful and euphoric? I spent the next fifteen minutes imagining what life was like in Rand McNally's Simplified World. I bet for starters, there were no border wars or land disputes. Because everthing was spelled out right there in vivid primary colors. You really can't argue about the big solid black lines that emphasize the permanence of boundaries.
I don't think there will be standardized tests in the Rand McNally Simplified World, because the one thing I have learned about standardized tests is that there is nothing standard about them. There are so many exceptions and other issues...
There will be no complications in Rand McNally's Simplified World. I guess that would be pretty obvious, but think about all the things that complicate life and imagine them gone. Like illnesses. Demands on time. Conflicting soccer schedules. Not a problem in RMSW. All computer programs will be compatible with all computers, regardless of age and operating systems. All video games would likewise work in any system sitting around the house. There would be NO free agency in football, baseball or basketball, and Most Importantly, the American League would match their rules to the National League and get rid of those pretty boy DH's. Pitchers would be well rounded ball players once again. AND, there would be no BCS computers telling us who the number one team in College Football is. It would already be known, because the pollers would all agree. The point system for the Ryder cup team might also be a bit more understandable. Hmm, did you notice how the most complicated things in life revolve around war and sports. I'm starting to wonder if there are any men in RMSW.
There are some days that this would sound boring. But this week does not contain any of those days.
I'm going to pack. The place may not exist, but hey, at least I have a map...
Doesn't it sound peaceful and euphoric? I spent the next fifteen minutes imagining what life was like in Rand McNally's Simplified World. I bet for starters, there were no border wars or land disputes. Because everthing was spelled out right there in vivid primary colors. You really can't argue about the big solid black lines that emphasize the permanence of boundaries.
I don't think there will be standardized tests in the Rand McNally Simplified World, because the one thing I have learned about standardized tests is that there is nothing standard about them. There are so many exceptions and other issues...
There will be no complications in Rand McNally's Simplified World. I guess that would be pretty obvious, but think about all the things that complicate life and imagine them gone. Like illnesses. Demands on time. Conflicting soccer schedules. Not a problem in RMSW. All computer programs will be compatible with all computers, regardless of age and operating systems. All video games would likewise work in any system sitting around the house. There would be NO free agency in football, baseball or basketball, and Most Importantly, the American League would match their rules to the National League and get rid of those pretty boy DH's. Pitchers would be well rounded ball players once again. AND, there would be no BCS computers telling us who the number one team in College Football is. It would already be known, because the pollers would all agree. The point system for the Ryder cup team might also be a bit more understandable. Hmm, did you notice how the most complicated things in life revolve around war and sports. I'm starting to wonder if there are any men in RMSW.
There are some days that this would sound boring. But this week does not contain any of those days.
I'm going to pack. The place may not exist, but hey, at least I have a map...
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
They should call it Job Security
If you read the article referenced above, you'll see it's a study by cardiologists. They were studying the effects of a low calorie diet on the heart and longevity. Not a temporary, weight loss low calorie diet, but a lifestyle of eating well balanced nutrient dense food, but less of it. Like 1400 to 2000 calories a day. The typical Westerner eats from 2000 to 3000 calories a day.
They found that the hearts of those who ate less were about fifteen years "younger" than the regular eaters. Hmm. Interesting, but that's not what got my attention.
After stating all the benefits of this lifestyle, they say it is NOT recommended for the general public. Instead, normal people should just moderately cut calories and exercise moderately. My cynical self says, Well of course the cardiologists don't want Americans being healthier longer. It seriously impacts their abilities to own and feed their Hummers.
But someone pointed out to me that perhaps they make the recommendation because they don't think Americans would do the healthier thing. It's not part of the American dream to want less. It's too hard.
Hogwash. This is America. We don't do ANYTHING moderately. I think the moderation would be harder. We are an all or nothing people. We don't moderately jog, we run marathons. We don't do anything small when we could do bigger and better.
Maybe the truth is, with low calorie eating, people would be hungry, and grouchy. Can you say immoderate Road Rage? And then, no one would have a calorie budget for McD's and other window foods, (food that passes through more than one window before consumption) so there would be millions of high school students unemployed and unable to purchase bling and baggie jeans and computer games. The entire economy could collapse, all because some cardiologist studied the heart.
Well, all this talk about food makes me hungry...
They found that the hearts of those who ate less were about fifteen years "younger" than the regular eaters. Hmm. Interesting, but that's not what got my attention.
After stating all the benefits of this lifestyle, they say it is NOT recommended for the general public. Instead, normal people should just moderately cut calories and exercise moderately. My cynical self says, Well of course the cardiologists don't want Americans being healthier longer. It seriously impacts their abilities to own and feed their Hummers.
But someone pointed out to me that perhaps they make the recommendation because they don't think Americans would do the healthier thing. It's not part of the American dream to want less. It's too hard.
Hogwash. This is America. We don't do ANYTHING moderately. I think the moderation would be harder. We are an all or nothing people. We don't moderately jog, we run marathons. We don't do anything small when we could do bigger and better.
Maybe the truth is, with low calorie eating, people would be hungry, and grouchy. Can you say immoderate Road Rage? And then, no one would have a calorie budget for McD's and other window foods, (food that passes through more than one window before consumption) so there would be millions of high school students unemployed and unable to purchase bling and baggie jeans and computer games. The entire economy could collapse, all because some cardiologist studied the heart.
Well, all this talk about food makes me hungry...
Saturday, January 14, 2006
Quote of the Day
You know it's really bad when the only reason you log onto your very own blog is that you want to read the quote of the day. As if the eight that get emailed straight to me each day aren't enought. I am a quote junkie.
I started a word document a few years ago of assorted writing quotes, mostly fun and inspirationl. It's up to about fifty pages now. And I still open it up and read around. Since it's Saturday, thought I'd share a few of my favorites. Then I'm going for a nice six mile run, because it's just too pretty outside to sit in the cave all day.
I call my office a cave. It was my mother's bedroom when she was alive, but now it has my desk and file cabinets and her $3,000 adjustable bed (with massage unit) that seems to be unsellable. But it's a great place to stack things. The room is a cave because it's 16x16 with one (ONE!) window, the smallest allowed by the building code. CAVE!
I promised quotes:
"Every compulsion is put upon writers to become safe,
polite, obedient, and sterile."
--Sinclair Lewis
"Nothing gives an author so much pleasure as to find
his works respectfully quoted by other learned authors."
--Benjamin Franklin
Autobiography is an unrivaled vehicle for telling the truth about other
people.
-- Philip Guedalla
People who throw kisses are hopelessly lazy.
-- Bob Hope
Traditions are group efforts to keep the unexpected from happening.
-- Barbara Tober
Nothing much happens in Jane Austen's books, and yet, when you come
to the bottom of the page, you eagerly turn it to learn what will
happen next. Nothing very much does and again you eagerly turn the
page. The novelist who has the power to achieve this has the most
precious gift a novelist can possess.
--W. Somerset Maugham
I'll post some more the next time I have nothing good of my own to say.
I started a word document a few years ago of assorted writing quotes, mostly fun and inspirationl. It's up to about fifty pages now. And I still open it up and read around. Since it's Saturday, thought I'd share a few of my favorites. Then I'm going for a nice six mile run, because it's just too pretty outside to sit in the cave all day.
I call my office a cave. It was my mother's bedroom when she was alive, but now it has my desk and file cabinets and her $3,000 adjustable bed (with massage unit) that seems to be unsellable. But it's a great place to stack things. The room is a cave because it's 16x16 with one (ONE!) window, the smallest allowed by the building code. CAVE!
I promised quotes:
"Every compulsion is put upon writers to become safe,
polite, obedient, and sterile."
--Sinclair Lewis
"Nothing gives an author so much pleasure as to find
his works respectfully quoted by other learned authors."
--Benjamin Franklin
Autobiography is an unrivaled vehicle for telling the truth about other
people.
-- Philip Guedalla
People who throw kisses are hopelessly lazy.
-- Bob Hope
Traditions are group efforts to keep the unexpected from happening.
-- Barbara Tober
Nothing much happens in Jane Austen's books, and yet, when you come
to the bottom of the page, you eagerly turn it to learn what will
happen next. Nothing very much does and again you eagerly turn the
page. The novelist who has the power to achieve this has the most
precious gift a novelist can possess.
--W. Somerset Maugham
I'll post some more the next time I have nothing good of my own to say.
Monday, January 09, 2006
Maybe I should make it Monday and Wednesday.
Lesson learned. Sunday's aren't good nights to plan on blogging. If someone were paying me and it were a job, I suppose I could make it more of a priority. But it's the NFL playoffs. The final feast of football before the famine known as basketball and hockey season. And the Olympics. I am probably the only person in America who cannot stand to watch the Olympics on television. Now if I were to be given tickets, good seats, etc, I could be persuaded to watch in person. But I'm just not a spectator lately. It's like life is too short to watch everyone else have all the fun. I have things I want to do. And people to do them with.
But we're supposed to be spectators, aren't we? Isn't that why there is such a glut of fan paraphenalia out there? Even things we could do ourselves every day, like Nascar. I know, we can't drive 200 miles an hour in circles everyday, but we drive. We just don't get paid obscene amounts of money for people to live vicariously through me.
I would rather get my vicarious living for free. Checked out of the library. Or at Barnes and Noble. I'm just waiting for my Pride and Prejudice action figures. Mr. Darcy rides and swims.
But we're supposed to be spectators, aren't we? Isn't that why there is such a glut of fan paraphenalia out there? Even things we could do ourselves every day, like Nascar. I know, we can't drive 200 miles an hour in circles everyday, but we drive. We just don't get paid obscene amounts of money for people to live vicariously through me.
I would rather get my vicarious living for free. Checked out of the library. Or at Barnes and Noble. I'm just waiting for my Pride and Prejudice action figures. Mr. Darcy rides and swims.
Wednesday, January 04, 2006
Today my Spam name is Restful Waters...
No, I promise, this won't spur on another blog. I have my 4.8 blogs to keep up with. I don't write enough on the one's I have, don't need any more, thank you kindly. But I am experiencing a Restful Waters feeling of peace.
I've been rewriting a huge chunk of the WWII book and it's finally all coming together. There have been at least four different endings, with different combinations of marriage and children and it finally dawned on me. The story ended about thirty thousand words before I typed the words the end.
Can you say, Not Good?
Like figuring out how to start a book, I think figuring out the end of a book is just as hard. I guess for mysteries, it's not that hard, you solve the crime and book done. But for something like this, where I have the stories of the main characters mapped out for the next twenty years, it came as a shock to learn that the story I'm telling in this book ended oh, before the war.
So, with that in mind, I finally figured out the way to get all the main characters together for a great ending that didn't sound too phony or forced. It brings in all the skills of the characters that I have been cultivating and showing off all through the book. I guess I just wasn't paying attention to my own fiction.
I've been rewriting a huge chunk of the WWII book and it's finally all coming together. There have been at least four different endings, with different combinations of marriage and children and it finally dawned on me. The story ended about thirty thousand words before I typed the words the end.
Can you say, Not Good?
Like figuring out how to start a book, I think figuring out the end of a book is just as hard. I guess for mysteries, it's not that hard, you solve the crime and book done. But for something like this, where I have the stories of the main characters mapped out for the next twenty years, it came as a shock to learn that the story I'm telling in this book ended oh, before the war.
So, with that in mind, I finally figured out the way to get all the main characters together for a great ending that didn't sound too phony or forced. It brings in all the skills of the characters that I have been cultivating and showing off all through the book. I guess I just wasn't paying attention to my own fiction.
Monday, January 02, 2006
Yeah, I needed another blog like I needed a hole in my head...
Yep. I couldn't even keep my resolution to blog on Sunday's and Tuesday's but I found time to start another blog. Oh well. It's a place to store my funny spam stories. And put things out for one of my online groups. But if you want to look, feel free.
I have finally figured out all the things wrong with my World War II novel and am hard at work fixing them before my crit group meeting this week. I'm hoping that I can get my edits caught up to where they are in the story so I don't have to back track too much. But then again, it's like the book has changed so much since they started I have to give them all credit for keeping up as well as they have.
I have finally figured out all the things wrong with my World War II novel and am hard at work fixing them before my crit group meeting this week. I'm hoping that I can get my edits caught up to where they are in the story so I don't have to back track too much. But then again, it's like the book has changed so much since they started I have to give them all credit for keeping up as well as they have.
Tuesday, December 27, 2005
New Year's Revolutions
There are two kinds of people in the world. Those who make New Year's resolutions and those who don't. I am one of those who does. Sure, a lot of them get broken, some even before the end of our annual New Year's party. I don't, however, get carried away with them, like the famous New England Preacher, Jonathan Edwards. http://www.reformed.org/documents/Edwards/j_edwards_resolutions.html
I think he got a bit carried away, like he did with most things. Like spiders. http://www.jonathanedwards.com/text/Spider.htm
But there has to be something about the new year, the fresh slate, that gives up hope that this year will be the one. The one that is better-stronger-faster and helps us jump higher and run swifter. Like looking ahead to spring even though there are two months left of winter gray.
I have learned a few things about resolutions. They're just goals with a holiday decoration. Here are my tips for keeping New Year's Resolutions.
1. Never make them on New Year's Eve. In front of a lot of people. After the champagne.
2. Have an end point. 12 weeks is a much better time period than a full year. You can do anything for 12 weeks. Really, ask anyone who's ever done a 12 step program.
3. Tell a few people about them, to keep yourself honest. If they fall over laughing, then you might want to rethink your plans.
4. Some things are best not resolved. Especially if they involve other people. Only make resolutions where you can control the outcome. (Note to self, forcing children to make beds daily is not a new year's resolution. It is a pipe dream.)
Notice, there is nothing there that says you should blog your resolutions out into the universe. Or shouldn't. The only one that I will put out here is that I have set myself some artificial deadlines. I will blog here on Sunday's and Tuesdays. If Blogspot will cooperate. That's not always a given lately. And then I'll update the reading blog as needed. I have a lot of reading to do to get seventy five this year, so off I go. See you next year.
I think he got a bit carried away, like he did with most things. Like spiders. http://www.jonathanedwards.com/text/Spider.htm
But there has to be something about the new year, the fresh slate, that gives up hope that this year will be the one. The one that is better-stronger-faster and helps us jump higher and run swifter. Like looking ahead to spring even though there are two months left of winter gray.
I have learned a few things about resolutions. They're just goals with a holiday decoration. Here are my tips for keeping New Year's Resolutions.
1. Never make them on New Year's Eve. In front of a lot of people. After the champagne.
2. Have an end point. 12 weeks is a much better time period than a full year. You can do anything for 12 weeks. Really, ask anyone who's ever done a 12 step program.
3. Tell a few people about them, to keep yourself honest. If they fall over laughing, then you might want to rethink your plans.
4. Some things are best not resolved. Especially if they involve other people. Only make resolutions where you can control the outcome. (Note to self, forcing children to make beds daily is not a new year's resolution. It is a pipe dream.)
Notice, there is nothing there that says you should blog your resolutions out into the universe. Or shouldn't. The only one that I will put out here is that I have set myself some artificial deadlines. I will blog here on Sunday's and Tuesdays. If Blogspot will cooperate. That's not always a given lately. And then I'll update the reading blog as needed. I have a lot of reading to do to get seventy five this year, so off I go. See you next year.
Saturday, December 24, 2005
Warning...political rant....
The date on this post should be yesterday. I wrote it and blogger swallowed it whole. Oh well.
Ben Franklin once said, They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.
You can go ahead and skip this if you're not in the mood for politics. I'm not really, but I need to get this out of my system, so I don't bore my family and friends with it all holiday. Excuse me, Christmas. There was a letter to the editor in our local paper today, someone blamed the whole flak about the War On Christmas on some folks trying to get the attention off of other topics, like indicted Congressional Leaders, Thirty Thousand jobs gone at GM and the fact that Iraq and Afganistan were staring to have better infrastructure than New Orleans and the Gulf Coast. Amen. But I digress...
Point the first....America is not safe. No place is safe, not since we broke the lease in Eden, if you read Genesis. Hundreds of years ago, immigrants came to the shores of North America, not because it was safe, but because it was free.There was death on the ships, there were less than welcoming Natives, there were unfriendly tourists from other countries. As well as imported criminals. Nope, not safe at all. If safety was the goal, people stayed put.
But now, we're obsessed with safety. A safety that never existed. If there is an accident, a militant mob forms with the expressed intent of "THIS WILL NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN." As if tragedy isn't a detriment enough, new laws, regulations and products come into being to insure safety.
Yesterday, one of the local letter to the editor contributors responded to the fury about the illegal spying. She said she had nothing to hide, they could spy on her all they wanted.
Um, darling, that's not the point.
The point is that democracies do not spy on their citizens. The point is that there is a consitutional set of checks and balances to make sure one branch of the government does not get more uppity than the others.
Our country's core value has changed. Core values, all the rage in board rooms and church leadership meeting. Companies and congregations ask "what is our core value, what is most important to us?" Now there is a spoken value, what people say out loud, and then there is the hidden core value, what really is important. So take a hypothetical church. The spoken core value is that following Jesus is primary. The hidden core value adds, as long as it isn't too weird. Don't rock the boat. Accept Jesus and be like us.
Once upon a time, when Ben Franklin was only dreaming of his electricity and printing press joining together and forming Blogdom, freedom was the core value. One man would not be in charge.
It's changed. Now safety is supreme. From "Let Freedom Ring" to "Let's build a wall to keep out the riff raff." You know. a wall worked so well for Berlin, we OUGHT to build one across the southern border. In fact, there are some pieces at the George HW Bush Library that could be used.
What makes me sad is that our military men and women are fighting for our "freedom." And it's being lost not on the deserts of Iraq, but in the halls of Congress and the airwaves of Foxnews.
Ben Franklin once said, They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety.
You can go ahead and skip this if you're not in the mood for politics. I'm not really, but I need to get this out of my system, so I don't bore my family and friends with it all holiday. Excuse me, Christmas. There was a letter to the editor in our local paper today, someone blamed the whole flak about the War On Christmas on some folks trying to get the attention off of other topics, like indicted Congressional Leaders, Thirty Thousand jobs gone at GM and the fact that Iraq and Afganistan were staring to have better infrastructure than New Orleans and the Gulf Coast. Amen. But I digress...
Point the first....America is not safe. No place is safe, not since we broke the lease in Eden, if you read Genesis. Hundreds of years ago, immigrants came to the shores of North America, not because it was safe, but because it was free.There was death on the ships, there were less than welcoming Natives, there were unfriendly tourists from other countries. As well as imported criminals. Nope, not safe at all. If safety was the goal, people stayed put.
But now, we're obsessed with safety. A safety that never existed. If there is an accident, a militant mob forms with the expressed intent of "THIS WILL NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN." As if tragedy isn't a detriment enough, new laws, regulations and products come into being to insure safety.
Yesterday, one of the local letter to the editor contributors responded to the fury about the illegal spying. She said she had nothing to hide, they could spy on her all they wanted.
Um, darling, that's not the point.
The point is that democracies do not spy on their citizens. The point is that there is a consitutional set of checks and balances to make sure one branch of the government does not get more uppity than the others.
Our country's core value has changed. Core values, all the rage in board rooms and church leadership meeting. Companies and congregations ask "what is our core value, what is most important to us?" Now there is a spoken value, what people say out loud, and then there is the hidden core value, what really is important. So take a hypothetical church. The spoken core value is that following Jesus is primary. The hidden core value adds, as long as it isn't too weird. Don't rock the boat. Accept Jesus and be like us.
Once upon a time, when Ben Franklin was only dreaming of his electricity and printing press joining together and forming Blogdom, freedom was the core value. One man would not be in charge.
It's changed. Now safety is supreme. From "Let Freedom Ring" to "Let's build a wall to keep out the riff raff." You know. a wall worked so well for Berlin, we OUGHT to build one across the southern border. In fact, there are some pieces at the George HW Bush Library that could be used.
What makes me sad is that our military men and women are fighting for our "freedom." And it's being lost not on the deserts of Iraq, but in the halls of Congress and the airwaves of Foxnews.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Spam verification
Well, I added a couple new things to the ol' blog. I like the nifty quote at the top and yes, it does change every day! Too fun! Then, because of all the spam bots putting weird comments on my blog, I had to turn on the word verification.
Another site I like to visit, Query Letters I love, uses word verification and the folks leaving comments all make up a fun definition for their word verification word. So, if you want to leave a comment, go ahead and test your creativity. I dare you.
Another site I like to visit, Query Letters I love, uses word verification and the folks leaving comments all make up a fun definition for their word verification word. So, if you want to leave a comment, go ahead and test your creativity. I dare you.
Monday, December 05, 2005
Life Motto
I actually wrote this a few weeks ago, but the ol' blogger system was too bogged down to post it.
My main character, Jane, found her new life motto while shopping in the Lack's furniture store. Huge red banners hung from the rafters. "No interest until 2007," they proclaimed to anyone who would look up at then. She looked at them carefully then approached one of the sales staff.
"Would you sell me a banner?"
"They're adverstising signs, what do you need them for?"
"I only need one. For my mother. I want to hang it in my kitchen and whenever my mother comes over and starts to talk about fixing me up, I'll be able to point to it to explain my current personal policy about dating. No Interest 'til 2007."
My main character, Jane, found her new life motto while shopping in the Lack's furniture store. Huge red banners hung from the rafters. "No interest until 2007," they proclaimed to anyone who would look up at then. She looked at them carefully then approached one of the sales staff.
"Would you sell me a banner?"
"They're adverstising signs, what do you need them for?"
"I only need one. For my mother. I want to hang it in my kitchen and whenever my mother comes over and starts to talk about fixing me up, I'll be able to point to it to explain my current personal policy about dating. No Interest 'til 2007."
It's no longer November....
And that means NaNoWriMo is over and life will assume some normal routine that doesn't depend on writing four thousand words a day to "Catch up." Finished the thing, with about sixty five thousand words when all was said and done. Does it need work? You betcha. Lots. But not until January.
But for your reading pleasure, here's a short exerpt:
“Can you tell me how much longer the turkey has until it’s done?” Maura sighed, a long, loud, self-pitying sigh. “Your father used to cook the turkey. I never did learn how.”
“Well, I usually just read the directions and I do allright,” Jane said as she walked over to the oven and took the orange and brown turkey-shaped oven mitts off the counter. She slipped them on her hand and saw Caleb coming into the kitchen. “Gobble gobble,” she said, using the mitts as puppets. Caleb laughed.
“You go on back to the kids room, Caleb. There’s hot stuff in here and I wouldn’t want to you get hurt.” Maura warned.
“I want the toy-key puppet,” Caleb said. He held out his arms to Jane.
“The turkeys have to work right now. They can come to the playroom and visit when they get home from work.” Jane smiled as she said it.
“You can’t give those to him to play with. They’re oven mitts. We’ll need them after dinner for the pies.” Maura shook her head, clearly exasperated. “When you’re a mother you’ll understand these things.”
“Funny, nothing I learned in college biology classes told me that pregnancy causes the control freak hormone to gush out of control,” Jane muttered under her breath. “They’re just oven mitts, Mom, he can’t hurt them. Even if he did, we got them at Wal-mart. You could get an exact duplicate tomorrow for half price.”
“I shouldn’t have to pay any price, since I already have them here.”
Clint said nothing during this entire exchange. He was programming phone numbers into his new cell phone and whistling whenever the voices around him grew louder.
Jane pulled the turkey out of the oven and uncovered it. She stabbed it in the thight with the meat thermometer and waited for the red needle to creep up to the internal temperature. Still lacking a hundred degrees. She recovered the pan and shoved the whole rack back into the oven, then adjusted the temperature slightly higher.
“Your father always cooked the turkey at 300. Turn it back down,” Maura ordered.
Jane looked at Lisa for help. “Dad also started cooking at five am. We started at ten. Unless I turn this thing up a bit, we’ll have a few more days until dinner.”
“It’ll be fine, Mom,” Lisa said. “The kids and Clint are getting hungry.”
“Would you rather we hurry it up, Clint?” Maura asked.
Clint’s eyes went to his wife’s face, then back to Maura. “Yes, ma’am. I’m starving. Lisa wouldn’t let any of us eat anything all day, said we’d spoil our appetitites.”
Lisa smiled her approval.
Maura hurried over the the golden yellow side by side refrigerator. “Here,” she said as she opened the right hand door and pulled out an enormous tray. “I made this to snack on while we waited.”
Snack on? Jane thought, Three families could feast on this alone. There were heaping mounds of brocoli, cauliflower, black olives, green olives, midget dill gherkins and sweet midget gherkins. A bowl of ranch dressing sat in the center. Each section was separated from the others by stalks of celery and sticks of carrot. Jane picked up a carrot and dipped it into the dressing.
“Jane, that’s not fat-free dressing.” Maura said. Her left eyebrow arched slightly.
“I know, I don’t eat fat-free,” Jane said. She put the carrot in her mouth and let the creamy sour cream based dip melt on her tongue.
“I’m just saying maybe you should think about it. You had a little pouch on your tummy the last time you wore those black slacks. You’re not some twenty year old kid anymore. You need to start watching.” Maura took an olive an popped it into her mouth.
There was something wrong about being lectured about diet by someone with diabetes who has the shape of an Idaho baking potato. Raw, not after it’s been turned into French Fries, or as Maura now called them, Freedom Fries. Her postition as the Social Secretary for the Republican Women’s group made it important that she stood strong on important issues. Like what to call fast food. Normally, Jane would let it roll off her back more, then later, she’d have a beer with her dad and they would compare all the snappy comebacks they would have said if they weren’t so diplomatic. Without Dad around to release the pressure valve later, Jane was starting to wonder what would happen if some of her thoughts actually leaked out of her head. For sure, she would be demoted from the grownup table in the dining room to the children’s table in the kitchen. The problem was, Jane was starting to think it would be a good thing.
“So, Jane,” Clint said, “How are things in dodge ball land?”
“Silly, Clint, she can’t teach dodge ball anymore. Too violent.” Lisa said, rubbing Clint’s balding head.
“I could, if I found away to connect it to the standardized tests. I think dodge ball and No Child Left Behind are made for each other, myself.” Jane said.
“Hey, we finally agree on something political! Who’d guessed?” Clint smiled.
“You’re right. Both are barbaric, based on old ways of thinking.”
“Whoa, that’s not what I meant...” Clint stammered.
“I think we should leave politics and religion out of Thankgiving,” Maura said.
“Neither one belongs on a family holiday.”
Lisa and Jane looked at each other. Every now and then, Lisa showed signs of seeing the insanity that emitted from Maura’s mouth. Lisa grinned. “Ok, no God and country will be mentioned any more today. What about grace?”
“Who’s Grace?” Maura asked. “I can put out another place.”
But for your reading pleasure, here's a short exerpt:
“Can you tell me how much longer the turkey has until it’s done?” Maura sighed, a long, loud, self-pitying sigh. “Your father used to cook the turkey. I never did learn how.”
“Well, I usually just read the directions and I do allright,” Jane said as she walked over to the oven and took the orange and brown turkey-shaped oven mitts off the counter. She slipped them on her hand and saw Caleb coming into the kitchen. “Gobble gobble,” she said, using the mitts as puppets. Caleb laughed.
“You go on back to the kids room, Caleb. There’s hot stuff in here and I wouldn’t want to you get hurt.” Maura warned.
“I want the toy-key puppet,” Caleb said. He held out his arms to Jane.
“The turkeys have to work right now. They can come to the playroom and visit when they get home from work.” Jane smiled as she said it.
“You can’t give those to him to play with. They’re oven mitts. We’ll need them after dinner for the pies.” Maura shook her head, clearly exasperated. “When you’re a mother you’ll understand these things.”
“Funny, nothing I learned in college biology classes told me that pregnancy causes the control freak hormone to gush out of control,” Jane muttered under her breath. “They’re just oven mitts, Mom, he can’t hurt them. Even if he did, we got them at Wal-mart. You could get an exact duplicate tomorrow for half price.”
“I shouldn’t have to pay any price, since I already have them here.”
Clint said nothing during this entire exchange. He was programming phone numbers into his new cell phone and whistling whenever the voices around him grew louder.
Jane pulled the turkey out of the oven and uncovered it. She stabbed it in the thight with the meat thermometer and waited for the red needle to creep up to the internal temperature. Still lacking a hundred degrees. She recovered the pan and shoved the whole rack back into the oven, then adjusted the temperature slightly higher.
“Your father always cooked the turkey at 300. Turn it back down,” Maura ordered.
Jane looked at Lisa for help. “Dad also started cooking at five am. We started at ten. Unless I turn this thing up a bit, we’ll have a few more days until dinner.”
“It’ll be fine, Mom,” Lisa said. “The kids and Clint are getting hungry.”
“Would you rather we hurry it up, Clint?” Maura asked.
Clint’s eyes went to his wife’s face, then back to Maura. “Yes, ma’am. I’m starving. Lisa wouldn’t let any of us eat anything all day, said we’d spoil our appetitites.”
Lisa smiled her approval.
Maura hurried over the the golden yellow side by side refrigerator. “Here,” she said as she opened the right hand door and pulled out an enormous tray. “I made this to snack on while we waited.”
Snack on? Jane thought, Three families could feast on this alone. There were heaping mounds of brocoli, cauliflower, black olives, green olives, midget dill gherkins and sweet midget gherkins. A bowl of ranch dressing sat in the center. Each section was separated from the others by stalks of celery and sticks of carrot. Jane picked up a carrot and dipped it into the dressing.
“Jane, that’s not fat-free dressing.” Maura said. Her left eyebrow arched slightly.
“I know, I don’t eat fat-free,” Jane said. She put the carrot in her mouth and let the creamy sour cream based dip melt on her tongue.
“I’m just saying maybe you should think about it. You had a little pouch on your tummy the last time you wore those black slacks. You’re not some twenty year old kid anymore. You need to start watching.” Maura took an olive an popped it into her mouth.
There was something wrong about being lectured about diet by someone with diabetes who has the shape of an Idaho baking potato. Raw, not after it’s been turned into French Fries, or as Maura now called them, Freedom Fries. Her postition as the Social Secretary for the Republican Women’s group made it important that she stood strong on important issues. Like what to call fast food. Normally, Jane would let it roll off her back more, then later, she’d have a beer with her dad and they would compare all the snappy comebacks they would have said if they weren’t so diplomatic. Without Dad around to release the pressure valve later, Jane was starting to wonder what would happen if some of her thoughts actually leaked out of her head. For sure, she would be demoted from the grownup table in the dining room to the children’s table in the kitchen. The problem was, Jane was starting to think it would be a good thing.
“So, Jane,” Clint said, “How are things in dodge ball land?”
“Silly, Clint, she can’t teach dodge ball anymore. Too violent.” Lisa said, rubbing Clint’s balding head.
“I could, if I found away to connect it to the standardized tests. I think dodge ball and No Child Left Behind are made for each other, myself.” Jane said.
“Hey, we finally agree on something political! Who’d guessed?” Clint smiled.
“You’re right. Both are barbaric, based on old ways of thinking.”
“Whoa, that’s not what I meant...” Clint stammered.
“I think we should leave politics and religion out of Thankgiving,” Maura said.
“Neither one belongs on a family holiday.”
Lisa and Jane looked at each other. Every now and then, Lisa showed signs of seeing the insanity that emitted from Maura’s mouth. Lisa grinned. “Ok, no God and country will be mentioned any more today. What about grace?”
“Who’s Grace?” Maura asked. “I can put out another place.”
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Crafty Peaches
I don't know what scares me more. The fact that some spammer or his/her spambot has christened me "Crafty Peaches" or that I'm actually thinking of adopting the name as a user id for my spam email addresses. You known, the free email addresses you set up so you can go to some website and sign up for the newsletter and keep the surveys and "you won!" emails from getting mixed up with your real emails. Like the ones from Flylady and Sitemeter. I've been known to use character names, family names, dog names, but talented fruits? This is an area I have somehow missed. Crafty Peaches says so much more than Tranquil Waters (or was it Nyquil Waters?) Like fuzzy on the outside, then sweet, then poison at the core??
All I can say is that Crafty Peaches sure is popular! I get at least a dozen emails each day, all wanting Crafty Peaches' opinion on politics, softdrinks and televisons shows. And, Crafty Peaches is offered many discount pharmaceuticals. Some obviously for personal use and some to share with friends. And Crafty Peaches is invited to visit all kinds of websites. I wonder if Artsy White Grapes is ever invited.
Perhaps I can come up with a talented fruit id generator for my friends. There's Conniving Pears. Radical Oranges. Durable Apples. Yeah, that's a great userid. I can see the spam now...Hey, Durable Apples! Your Opinion Counts!
I guess it's better than Spoilt Persimmons.
All I can say is that Crafty Peaches sure is popular! I get at least a dozen emails each day, all wanting Crafty Peaches' opinion on politics, softdrinks and televisons shows. And, Crafty Peaches is offered many discount pharmaceuticals. Some obviously for personal use and some to share with friends. And Crafty Peaches is invited to visit all kinds of websites. I wonder if Artsy White Grapes is ever invited.
Perhaps I can come up with a talented fruit id generator for my friends. There's Conniving Pears. Radical Oranges. Durable Apples. Yeah, that's a great userid. I can see the spam now...Hey, Durable Apples! Your Opinion Counts!
I guess it's better than Spoilt Persimmons.
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
A journey starts with the first step...
And a novel starts with the first sentence. I'll playing with it, but here is the beginning thus far...
Rose Franklin found out she was conceived out of wedlock in the Walmart parking lot. Not that the actual conception happened there, but for some reason, her mother decided to reveal Rose’s history at the Navasota Walmart, next to a large dirty Ford F-150 that smelled like it had been hauling manure that morning. For a moment, Rose imagined her mother’s shopping list:
Walmart:
Laundry detergent
Paper turkey centerpiece and matching napkins
Tell first born daughter she’s a bastard
anti-perspirant
hemorroid cream
trash bags
“Gee, your dad and I got drunk, and three months later, I realized I was carrying you,” her mother blurted out, as if she were asking what aisle the soap was on. “I hope they’re not out of those turkeys. Alice had one at her house last year and it looked so cute on her table.”
Rose shook her head. Only her mother would think a paper turkey would be the perfect classy Thanksgiving centerpiece. After all, the woman hated fresh flowers. The F-150’s horn alerted her that it’s driver was ready to go get more manure and if she didn’t get out of the way, her life would end, fittingly, in the Walmart parking lot. Her mother was already in the doorway of the store, probably miffed that the retired shop teacher that welcomed shoppers wasn’t quite quick enough with the buggy. She had no idea that telling your daughter she was the product of a night of binge drinking wasn’t something you did while walking through a parking lot. It had to be difficult to be that inappropriate, yet at the same time, but hyper-concerned about what everyone thought of you. It was the dichotomy that defined Maura Kean’s life. And therefore, Rose’s as well.
Rose Franklin found out she was conceived out of wedlock in the Walmart parking lot. Not that the actual conception happened there, but for some reason, her mother decided to reveal Rose’s history at the Navasota Walmart, next to a large dirty Ford F-150 that smelled like it had been hauling manure that morning. For a moment, Rose imagined her mother’s shopping list:
Walmart:
Laundry detergent
Paper turkey centerpiece and matching napkins
Tell first born daughter she’s a bastard
anti-perspirant
hemorroid cream
trash bags
“Gee, your dad and I got drunk, and three months later, I realized I was carrying you,” her mother blurted out, as if she were asking what aisle the soap was on. “I hope they’re not out of those turkeys. Alice had one at her house last year and it looked so cute on her table.”
Rose shook her head. Only her mother would think a paper turkey would be the perfect classy Thanksgiving centerpiece. After all, the woman hated fresh flowers. The F-150’s horn alerted her that it’s driver was ready to go get more manure and if she didn’t get out of the way, her life would end, fittingly, in the Walmart parking lot. Her mother was already in the doorway of the store, probably miffed that the retired shop teacher that welcomed shoppers wasn’t quite quick enough with the buggy. She had no idea that telling your daughter she was the product of a night of binge drinking wasn’t something you did while walking through a parking lot. It had to be difficult to be that inappropriate, yet at the same time, but hyper-concerned about what everyone thought of you. It was the dichotomy that defined Maura Kean’s life. And therefore, Rose’s as well.
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