I lost my love for reading.  Not now, but years ago.  After so many years of reading what people told me to read I started to get a little jaded.  I was sick of talking rabbits and men who took potions that made them crazy, and it seemed that all the contemporary books I got for Christmas were fun, but the magic didn't last. So, sadly, I read only what I was required.

And then, one day, I sat at the Harold B. Lee Library at a little desk against a window.  I was too tired to study my zoology anymore and I definitely didn't want to work on my geology paper, so I threw everything aside and took a chance.  I was in the general fiction area and I randomly chose a Steinbeck novel, purely because the "S's" were so close to me.  The book I selected was Cannery Row (probably because it was short).  I laughed aloud for the first time in ages.  I read it quickly and chose another of his works, then as I finished that, I chose another, then another, before long I had read just about everything Steinbeck had written.  From there I moved on to other authors and actually changed my major from biology to journalism because I realized I couldn't get along without reading or writing about my world.

I owe just about everything I love to John Steinbeck.  In fact, I think I married my husband just because he's from Steinbeck country.

The Desire to Communicate

The other day I took my one year old daughter, Rosie, with me to run errands.  The black top steamed and the Texas air was thick with humidity.  Rosie cried and squirmed in my arms.

"Settle down, Rose Pose," I said, "We're almost ready to go home.  Just one more store and then we're through."


She yelled bloody murder.  


"Calm down," I said.


She scrunched her nose and frowned.  Then she blew-as if she was blowing out her birthday candle-onto my cheek.  Or as if I was blowing onto her hot bowl of oatmeal at breakfast.  ("Hot! Hot!" Blow.  Blow.  Is how it usually goes.)  Finally it dawned on me, poor little Rosie was hot.  

"Oh, you're hot?" I asked.

She smiled.

"Me, too, baby girl," I said and kissed her cheeks.  I reached into my purse and pulled out her sippy cup.

"Mmm," she said, kicking her chubby little feet and letting me know that water was just what she needed to cool down (and the ice cold air-conditioning in Target helped, too. I'm sure.)

Just like a baby struggling to tell me she is hot. I struggle to communicate through my stories.  Questions go through my mind as I rewrite, "What was I really trying to say here?"  and sometimes I just say, "Huh?!"  Especially when I find a half written paragraph to nowhere.  But each time I rewrite I get closer to what I really want to say.

From our first cries that say "LEAVE ME ALONE!" to our final words as we die, everybody desires to communicate.  Everybody wants to be understood.

I'm rewriting now, so don't talk to me.  Leave me alone.  I'm trying to communicate. :)

I just finished my third, and almost final, draft of my new novel.  It feels good.

Rules of Living #30981

You're feeling a little put out, so you want to get a little snippy in an email--just to show 'em.  Put him in his place, so to speak.

Don't do it.  I repeat.  Don't do it!!!!  You will spend the night worrying and wondering how you were going to approach the correspondent.  You will lose precious hours of sleep and wake with large bags under your eyes.  You will have to apologize.  This means admitting you were wrong.  This is difficult, especially when you are never wrong, so don't have much practice in the area.

So don't do it!  Just be kind.  Always.

That's all I have to say on the subject.

Are you Furreal?

I never grew up with pets.  My mom was "allergic" and my dad didn't want us to cry when it died as they all ultimately do.  So because of limited exposure as a child, I'm not too fond of animals.  Besides, I have enough poop and pee to clean up without an animal in the mix.  But, like all children, my kids beg for furry friends.  Rosie pants when the neighbors German Shepard strolls by and the others love, cuddle, hug every animal that will let them.  Jonny tugs at my heartstrings when he bats his puppy dog eyes and says, "I'd be much happier with a dog to love.  Every boy should have a dog."

We all know I'm a pushover and can't stand my ground. So meet the newest member of our family.  Her name is Kitty and she purrs when you rub her back.  She is especially happy when Hayden combs her fur.  The best part about our pet is that she doesn't eat which means no excrement to clean up.  The kids love our new pet!

Samurai Time

"The time to begin writing an article is when you have finished it to your satisfaction.  By that time you begin to clearly and logically perceive what it is you really want to say."  Mark Twain

For me, editing is the most exciting part of writing.  This is when a decent manuscript becomes good.  The characters become dimensional and theme emerges.

I have read through Awakened (my working title) at least ten times not including the dozens of times I have read through each individual section.  I did a final read through.  I called it done...for now.  I set it aside, there was a wedding and then a cruise.  I needed to finish Hayden's quilt.  Weeks went by and I was content with my second draft.

Cruise finished and quilt bound, I found some time to edit. I pulled out my (proverbially) dusty manuscript for some minor editing and fact checking.  After two hours I had only managed twenty-six pages.  The next morning was spent on the same twenty-six pages.  I moved forward but meandered back to the beginning again.  And heaven help me, those are the best twenty-six pages in the whole novel and I fully expect to go back to them to make them even better.

Editing tip #1

If it bores you, it's going to bore the readers.  Don't be afraid to cut.  Cut. Cut. Cut.  Use that little scissor icon to your heart's content.

If you are so deeply attached to a bit of writing that you don't want to get rid of it, open a new file and paste it in there.  You can delete that file later when you realize it really was that boring.