Title?

 

Two great guys (when Randy isn't throwing chili and Andy isn't wrtiing kids' songs that allude to cannibalism) on the collaboration process.

 In my inbox this morning:



:)

Happy Fourth of July!

Just a quick note on this, one of my very favorite holidays. And what's not to like? It's summer, a three day weekend AND.....it looks like Brenda might return to the 90210 remake as well! (Don't believe me? Here's my source.) I also saw Luke Perry on Regis and Kelly yesterday (sporting a kind of unfortunate mustache, if I'm to be totally honest) but he nipped any speculation about HIM returning in the bud. Been there, done that, was pretty much what he said. Which I can appreciate. But still. You never know, right? Dylan always was a little unpredictable.

On a completely unrelated note, I know I mentioned my Twitter addiction here last week. I've been having some issues with my account---for some reason a lot of follower requests weren't coming through, or something---so I've set up a new one. My username is sarahdessen, so if you're on Twitter and tried to follow me but it didn't work, please try again! I am following no one right now and kind of lonely. *sob*

Okay, not really that sad. How can I be? It's the Fourth of July!

I hope you all have a great, safe, food-filled, fireworks-blasting holiday weekend. Now, to make deviled eggs....

May there be strawberries and homemade whipped cream and homemade biscuits and parades and stilt walkers???? and ice cream and food off the grill and potato salad and potato chips and sparklers and glow sticks (no, not glow sticks, those must be deadly bad for the environment, right?) and laughing and staying up late with good friends and fireworks and sweet dreams for a better tomorrow for this troubled country, dreams that come true.

xo


~*~*~*~*~*~

halseanderson Daily 15 Keeping Myself Honest Check-In: 357 words

Today Americans celebrate the courage of the men and women of 1776 who, after a generation of frustration with British economic policies and military heavy-handedness, declared this land to be free and independent, and fought a war to make it so.

Yes, I said "and women." My newest book, INDEPENDENT DAMES: WHAT YOU NEVER KNEW ABOUT THE WOMEN AND GIRLS OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION examines the roles that women and girls played during the war.

Please read the Declaration of Independence out loud. Read it to your kids or your partner or your cats. This document is the beginning of our promise to ourselves: "that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness."

The men who wrote this document fell short of their own dreams, of course. They could not find the courage to grant freedom to people of color, or to recognize that women were equal and able partners. See my forthcoming book, CHAINS, (pub date 10/21) for my take on how the Revolution looked to a slave from Rhode Island.

But the Declaration was a magnificent start. We still have lots of growing to do, as a nation, but as a very smart man said, "America is the sum of our dreams. And what binds us together, what makes us one American family, is that we stand up and fight for each other's dreams..."

What does this have to do with out writing challenge? Everything.

Today's goal: Write for fifteen minutes. Don't judge, don't edit (yet!), just let the words chase each other onto the page.

Today's non-fiction prompt: Write your own Declaration of Independence. Declare to yourself and the world which old, unsatisfactory notions and habits (relating to your writing) that you are freeing yourself from. Write down how your former mindset was hurting you; stifling your creativity and strangling your dream. Post some of it in the comments section, if you want.

Today's fiction prompt: Historical fiction alert! Write down a scene from the interior of the Pennsylvania State House where the men of the Continental Congress were gathered to debate the Declaration, and possibly sign it, thus committing themselves and their families and fortunes to high treason against the King. (Don't worry about getting the historical details right (YET!). If you were to turn this into a polished piece, you would find all of those while researching.) Try to jump back and forth between the exterior action and dialog (the debate about the document and its consequences) and the interior thoughts of your main character.

Today's motivation: A lot of people died so that you and I could have the right to write and say what we want. Write for the ones who sacrificed themselves for our freedom. You can do it for fifteen minutes.

Think of me while you're eating potato salad today.

Scribblescribble....

 
This gazebo is downtown where I live. There are free concerts every Wednesday night in the summer here.

Happy Fourth of July!

I realize I'm really clogging the blog today, but it's only 73F (YAY!!!!) and my brain is slowly turning back on. The printer toner came (YAY!!!!) and er, now I just need paper. But I did get some stuff printed out to physically handle, which helps by leaps and bounds.

Anyway, on the side I'm looking for housing in our next place (Arkansas), and I just have to point out a few things that make me shake my head when I see them in the ads:

"on a quite street"  What is a quite street, anyway? Is it almost a street? Perfectly a street? What?

"fresh paint!"  Um, I hope that most places are either going to have fresh paint or at least clean walls.

"cozy"  Usually means it's so small you can touch all four walls at once.

"clean"  Look, people! NO ONE is going to rent a place that isn't clean. If you have to say that, and if that's the best thing you can advertise, you are in trouble. The only thing more basic would be to advertise that it has walls.

"executive"  I have no idea what this means

"cottage"  --that's 1600 square feet. Huh? I thought cottages were small.

And a few more things I don't appreciate:

Advertising houses for sale in the houses for rent column. If I want to buy something, I'll look in the for sale category. I'm looking for a rental for a reason, folks.

Advertising duplexes/apartments in the single family homes category. If I'm looking for a house, again, there's a reason for it. I don't care how special the duplex is, I don't want to share a wall with someone else.

Ads that don't list a price. Chances are, it's too high.

An important word you need to know in German: Spielplatz. It means playground. There are great ones here. This is what my kids call The Slide of Doom.



Other great things you can find at Spielplaetze are things like ripcords and high rope walks and rope-and-wood things that look something like medieval torture devices. And no, safety is not really the first priority. The playgrounds are really fun, though!

A couple of weeks ago, on the advice of my ever-fabulous agent, Rachel, I started writing down all of the things I liked to read about in novels, that I also liked to write about. They ranged from themes to tropes to silly things like Cold War espionage. The purpose was to help me work out the kinks in my YA proposals, to find that missing "it" factor, and I gotta say...worked like a charm. Rachel is a smart cookie, which I suppose is why I write the books and she tells me which ones will sell, and then proceeds to do so with aplomb.

Anyway, I took a picture of the big board in progress and am posting it here for...well...I suppose so you can get a snapshot of how my mind works. I apologize in advance for any scarring...

wordsrmylife  mentioned in yesterday's comments that the dry desert heat would be easier to deal with than the humid heats elsewhere.
Too true! Yes, walking outside in the summer is like walking into a pre-heated oven, but I know if I put a wet towel out, it'll be completely dry within minutes. No sign it was ever damp. My clothes don't stick to my body, my hair doesn't frizz like a clown, and there's absolutely none of this. 
                         
There is, however, something in the desert I'm not fond of.


When I was twenty-one, my boyfriend bought me one of these.

                                                         
I know. Disturbing, isn't it? But I was told Kachinas have deep meaning. Too bad the one he bought me (not this one) symbolized bad luck. Oh how right that little Kachina was. As soon as I got rid of him, the Kachina went too. *shudder*  Try sleeping with *that* looming over you.

I see it all the time in fiction.  You see it, too.   

A character is scared, angry, nervous, shocked, or feeling some other intense emotion.  And then... the character loses it.  And by "it," I mean... the contents of their stomach. 

In a late draft of TFM, I had THREE different scenes where Seth puked.  In the first, he was having this, like, emotional breakdown and crying all violently.  In the second, he was nervous.  In the third, he was drunk.  

My husband read the scenes and said, "Okay, what is up with this kid?  Does he have some kind of stomach disorder or what?  He's always getting sick."

I said, "No!  He's upset!  He's very, very emotional sometimes.  You know, because he's been trying so hard to suppress these emotions!  It all has to come out somehow."

"He's upset so he's puking his guts out?" he asked.  "Really?  When's the last time you were so upset that you got sick?"

It was a valid question, so I gave it some consideration.  

Yes, I thought about it long and hard.

I opened my mouth to speak.  

Then I puked.

No!  I'm kidding!  Kidding, kidding, kidding!  That never happened!

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came.  Because to my best recollection, I have never once in my life gotten sick because I was upset.  I've been upset because I was sick.  (Puking makes me cry every time.  I hate that feeling so much.)  And I've been nervous enough that's I've wondered if I might get sick.  (Like when I did karaoke at that bar that one time.)   I realized, though, that over the years I have experienced many real-life moments that might make a fictional character sick.  But my reaction to these moments has never come in the way of vomit.  

So, really.  Is puking as a result of being upset as common as we fiction writers make it out to be?  If not, why do so many of us write these scenes?  Because of the beauty of a good, literal purge in the midst of subtle symbolism?  

Have you ever written a scene like this?  Have you ever thrown up because you were upset?   Please tell me about it.  Because I really want to know!  


P.S.  After my husband pointed it out, I altered two of my three Seth-gets-sick scenes.  The only one that stayed was the drunk one.  Because that is a reaction I know very well.  And, most importantly, it fit the story and was the most meaningful for the character's arc.   A vomitous climax!  So lovely.

My friend and her two little boys, one who is Superson's bff are on holidays and we are on the fun tour. Today we drove two hours and did waterslides all day long. Yesterday it was Spruce Meadows (horse jumping) Tuesday a BBQ party from 3-11pm. Camping. Boating. We have no idea what day it is, and my back is still sunburned from being on hubby's boat all day long on Sunday in heat heat heat.

I have written nothing. But our kids are having fun and my friend and I are having lots of girl bonding time. So that's all good.

Camping in Dinosaur Park


Water fun

Oscar Wilde was, as I've noted before, an interesting guy. When he arrived in the United States on a tour, he was asked by US Customs whether he had anything to declare. His response? "I have nothing to declare, except my genius."

Say what you will about Mr. Wilde and some of his proclivities, yet I shall not allow you to insult his writing skills, which were superb. For this 4th of July Poetry Friday, I'm sharing a poem by a notorious Irishman.

Sonnet to Liberty
by Oscar Wilde

Not that I love thy children, whose dull eyes
See nothing save their own unlovely woe,
Whose minds know nothing, nothing care to know,—
But that the roar of thy Democracies,
Thy reigns of Terror, thy great Anarchies,
Mirror my wildest passions like the sea,—
And give my rage a brother——! Liberty!
For this sake only do thy dissonant cries
Delight my discreet soul, else might all kings
By bloody knout* or treacherous cannonades*
Rob nations of their rights inviolate
And I remain unmoved—and yet, and yet,
These Christs that die upon the barricades,
God knows it I am with them, in some things.

*knout: a heavy braided whip with multiple heads (think cat of nine tails, but with some wire bits added as well in the forms of rings and hooks)
*cannonade: heavy artillery fire

Those of you keen to spot sonnet forms will note that it follows one of the Petrarchan or Italianate forms: ABBA'A'CCADEFFED. Also, Wilde fudges a wee bit with his rhymes for "A", since "eyes" and "cries" doesn't actually rhyme with "Democracies" and "Anarchies". Still, one has to admire his juxtaposition of polysyllabic political jargon. This poem is from about 1880, and is one of several forays Wilde made into political poetry, having come from school at Oxford into the real world of his day and social class. Most of Wilde's political poetry of the time shows a softcore socialist bent, and this one is no exception.

Of course, for me, mention of the barricades immediately conjures the barricade scene from the musical Les Miserables, when the barricade spins and one sees the guy dead, hanging from his shoes (in the traditional position of the Hanged Man, a symbol of sacrifice). But it could just be me.

Enjoy your 4th of July. I hope it's filled with happier things like ice cream and fireworks. But don't forget how others earned our day of celebration.

I am sitting in an olive green wicker rocker on the screened-porch balcony of a condo located in a gated community called The Peninsula somewhere in Delaware. The view from the balcony is of a slim stand of trees, through which one can sort of make out the green for the first hole of the community's golf course. Or at least, one could when we arrived, and the sun was still a foot or so above the horizon. It set in a splendid, orange-pink haze after landing in the top branches of a tall tree about half a mile from here.

Now, it's quite dark here. The breeze is rustling through the trees, the sprinklers are sending water onto the golf course as if they were the side-rinse sprays at a car wash, and all over, near and far, small frogs in trees are playing tiny didgeridoos and tapping tiny vibraslaps (the instrument my marching band director used to refer to as a wanglebanger). One of them somewhere off to my left is even playing a small train whistle, undeterred by how different its high, clear call is from the more raucous calls of its confederates.

It is my idea of a slice of heaven, really.

I'm late, but here are some more photos from last December, taken on The Evergreen State College campus. Photos for Day 5 forthcoming!


A better view of the clock tower and the center of campus at night. Not sure why they had an odd light out.

( More photos... )

It has worked hard this year and has put in for some PTO. It wants to see the world, stretch out at the beach, do a little snorkling. I peeked in its suitcase and it is taking my Facebook, MySpace, Twitter, and RSS reader with it. I guess even blogs need companionship. It's leaving email home with me so I don't get lonely. Hopefully it will send a postcard or two so we don't miss it too terribly much, and it might have to do a little telecommuting to take care of business, but I have instructed it to truly relax for a change. Bon voyage, blog - and rest up, because it's going to be a busy fall!

I don't have a lot of ideas today for  cynthialord's daily photo challenge, so here's a very random tour of some local sights.

Twenty or thirty minutes from my house, there's a natural underground cavern, Inner Space Cavern in Georgetown, TX. Here's a picture of my oldest son there last year:

 

It has a funky retro sign outside with an eerie blinking light, which you can see from I-35 just north of Austin. They discovered the cavern when they were drilling to build an overpass for the highway in 1963.



And a place you should visit if you come to Austin is one of my favorite places to eat, Flip Happy Crepes. The crepes have been described as better than the crepes in France, but the ambience is a little more...um, Austin. (That's my husband at the order window, not looking very Austiny in his business clothes!)



The next picture is more to show off my baby (last year, much smaller than now) than the place, but note that Flip Happy Crepes was featured on Throwdown with Bobby Flay, and they won the throwdown!



You'll probably see more burnt orange here than anywhere else on earth. This is my middle son riding the Zilker Zephyr miniature train at Zilker Park.



Finally, since everyone loved my floppy squirrel photo so much, I figured I'd share the other my husband took the same day. Another lazy squirrel trying to beat the heat in downtown Austin:

 

Here’s a question for the plotters versus pantzers. I realize in reality most writers fall on a sliding scale and use anything from a detailed outline, to some or none. I know I’m in the middle somewhere with a big “subject to change” sign over everything I do.

However, o experienced ones, once you have a series of deadlines that demand quick and steady production, does that mean your position on that sliding scale moves toward more careful plotting up front?  Less plotting? Or do you advance-plan your books with about the same level of detail as before?