A Story A Week: Arabella Twirls

There is a story this week, but it's in a Word document and not here. I'm not quite ready to post it yet because I like it and I think I might ... maybe ... when it's ready ... try to get it published as a picture book. (NOTE: Aggh, that sentence was confusing. (Thanks, Myrna!) What I meant to say was, I'll only post this story in the future if I decide *not* to submit it to agents or publishers. I don't recommend posting stories you are considering submitting for publication on your blog, or anywhere else on the internet for that matter. Publishers don't like it if they're trying to sell something that you've offered up for free elsewhere.)

Because there can never be too many books for little girls about ballerinas, right? I know I've been shelling out money lately for books about ballerinas because I have two ballerinas in my house. And they like to read books about other little ballerinas. And there don't seem to be enough of these books in the entire world to satiate their craving.

So, I wrote Arabella Twirls, about Arabella, who can't twirl without falling over. The recital is coming up and Arabella's nervous. Will she learn the secret to the perfect pirouette in time?

I sent the text to a writing friend I found on Verla Kay's Blueboards. She critiqued my gecko story and I've critiqued a couple of hers too. I sent her Arabella to see what she thought.

She had great advice for me, but one of her comments struck like a bolt of lightning: "Maybe try and make Arabella more proactive about overcoming her obstacle."

Hmm. Yes. Yes. Hmm.

See, this critique partner is GOOD. No, no, that was an understatement. She's AWESOME. She not only found the root of my problem in this short story, but the root of my problem in EVERY SINGLE STORY I WRITE, including novels!

I don't know how to make my characters proactive. This is a handicap, people!!

I think it is because I have a problem being proactive myself. So my characters invariably limp around trying to find other people to help them.

What can I do to overcome this? Will this doom my writing career? I think it could. And I'm serious. Lack of proactivity is a like a disease. It spreads through the plot and ruins EVERYTHING.

I need to get proactive and overcome this obstacle. I need to figure out how to write outside myself, to let my characters do things I would never dream of doing. My characters need to be smarter, more creative, more ingenious than I.

How in the world can I make that happen? Maybe identifying the problem is the first step towards a solution.

All I know is, if I ever figure out a way to overcome this, it will be by the grace of God. I'll keep you posted....

Montana

What's cooking? It's fajitas tonight!

This morning I took the little girls with me to the post office to mail a package.

ANNA: Why do we need to go to the post office?

ME: Because I need to send my friend in Montana a present for her new baby.

ANNA: (incredulous) What? People in Montana (pronounced "Ontana") don't have babies! They're just kids!

ME: What are you talking about? Of course people in Montana can have babies. They're people just like all of us. There are mommies just like Mommy and babas just like Baba....

ANNA: But they're just kids! I saw it on a show on TV!

ME: Do you mean Hannah Montana?

ANNA: Yeah, Hannah Montana.

Note: Technically watching Hannah Montana is a no-no in our house, since I don't generally buy into shows with themes such as "kids always know better than their parents because parents are idiots." But I have a feeling there's some subversive Hannah Montana watching going on in our house. I have now become vigilant.

Thank you for thinking that Hannah Montana is a show about Montana, Anna. You have done well, my small spy.

It's Fake

What's cooking? Well, nothing at the moment, seeing that it's past midnight! (Yes, I'm on my way to bed.)

We had a family night out tonight. Grabbed some Arby's, went to a Lady Mustang's basketball game, and stopped at Dairy Queen on the way home.

My kids tried fake cheese for the first time.

GABE: Why is there mustard all over my sandwich?

AARON: It's cheese.

Later....

OLIVIA: I'm getting a stomachache. I think it's from the cheese because sometimes dairy products make me sick.

AARON: That stuff won't make you sick. It's fake.

GABE: Fake cheese?!?

AARON: Yep. Come on, you kids need to like this stuff! I'll tell you what, this summer, we're eating nothing but convenience store nachos and Velveeta Mac until you guys get used to it.

The kids look at him -- stunned, horrified.

OLIVIA: (starting to cry) I don't want to eat fake cheese all summer!

ME: (hugging her) It's okay, honey, Baba's just kidding.

Yeah, is it obvious my kids aren't real Americans.

They also had another first tonight: Dairy Queen Blizzards. They didn't complain about those. Except Gabe, who had opted for an ice cream cone. When he saw the Blizzards he said, "I didn't know we could get those!"

He'll know next time.

Yum Yum

Literary Agent Kristin Nelson begins every one of her posts answering the question: "What's playing on the iPod right now?"

I think it's marvelous. I want to copy her. Problem is, I don't own an iPod. In fact, since we've moved, my only music listening device is our clock radio in the bedroom. Pathetic, I know.

So, I'm going to steal her idea, but give it my own little stay-at-home-mom twist. From now on you'll notice all my blog entries will begin with me answering the question: "What's cooking?" Then I will tell you what I'm making for dinner that night. Because it's soooo interesting and I'm sure you're all dying to know, right? Of course, right!

So here I go.

What's cooking? Sweet and sour chicken and broccoli beef with Thai Jasmine rice. (It won't taste like Tianjin's or Hong Kong's heavenly cuisine, but at least it will be something sort of like Chinese food, which my entire family perpetually craves. We are reduced to Kikkoman seasoning packets that say "Quick and Easy" across the top! *sniffle*)

What are you having for dinner?

Inspiration Thursday

"Mommy, I'm going to be a writer when I grow up!"

Note: The "laptop" on which Anna is typing is of the McDonald's Happy Meal variety -- basically a plastic mini-binder that opens and shuts. Olivia started calling it "her computer" long ago and the identity stuck.

WIP Wednesday: Spring and Other Stories

Look what popped up in our front yard yesterday.

I think it means Spring has come to Central Washington State. And to celebrate, Sophie learned how to say "flower."

In other news, my official word count on my most recent WIP, Back, is 49, 172, which means I'm getting closer. But of course, when writing a novel, one is always getting closer. Word count on a first draft gives no real indication of how close to finished one actually is, because one might have to rewrite the entire novel if one realizes at some point that it's diarrhea on paper. Still, one is closer. Is that encouraging, or not?

I'm still tinkering with V-Day. I'm being very patient. I have the urge to query (similar to the urge to push when delivering a baby), but I'm holding back because I know I'm not yet ready to enter those dark waters again. I have a new critique partner who is drilling into the thing chapter by chapter and there's no way I'm querying again until either she quits or she finishes the entire manuscript. She's very thorough and I'm very appreciative! There have been so many times when I've been ready to throw in the towel with this particular manuscript. I keep thinking there's too much to fix. The fixing will never end. That's when I remind myself that writing a book is work. I used to be the first one to giggle and coo and say how much I loved revisions and editing. That was my first book. I was obviously very naive and didn't know the real meaning behind the word "revising." I'm wiser now. Definitely less giggly.

If you're a fellow writer, how are those WIPs going?

A Story A Week: Ditch and Sky

In this week's story I wanted to focus on voice. It's experimental.

I guess I saw him settling down a few different times before it registered he was there every day. I’d come round the east side of the barn pretty early and see him walkin' through the neighbor’s field with the shovel on his shoulder, strike the dirt with the sharp end so it stood up straight. Then he’d lay down in the grass where I couldn’t see him no more.

After a few times spotting him I started wondering what he was doing there.

So, one day I up and walked over the field to talk to him. Caught him staring at the sky with his hands tucked behind his head.

He scrambled up when he saw me standing there. “This your land?” His voice sounded scared.

“Nope. Belongs to the neighbors,” I says. “I doubt they’ll give you any trouble. You ain’t hurtin’ nothin’. Guess you’re welcome to stay if you can stand the bugs.”

“Aw, only a few grasshoppers. I don’t mind their hoppin’.” He stood there staring at me with his big hands limp at his sides.

“I seen you come out here a few days now,” I says. “Got a good, sturdy shovel there. You lookin’ for work?”

The man shrugged. He was older than me, white hair growing out of his ears. “No sir. Just left a good job shovelin’ a new road.”

“You need a meal?”

“Nope.” The old man wagged his head. “I don’t need nothin’. Just a place to lie.”

“You got a home?”

“Yessir.”

“A missus?”

“Yessir.”

“Does she know you taking time lying around another man’s field?”

“She don’t know nothin’ about it,” he says. “I tell her every night I go home I’m still out workin’.”

“You lyin’ to your missus?”

“Don’t want her worryin’ about me, see?” The old man blinked pale blue eyes.

I snapped off a blade of tall grass and put it between my teeth. This conversation was getting particular strange. “Well, that don’t make no sense. An able bodied man like you.”

“Not what I seem.” He sat back down in the dry grass with a huff. The sun got higher. A sheen of sweat showed up on his wrinkled up forehead. “The doc told me I’m dyin’. Could go any time.”

“Any time?” I kept on chewing that grass blade, watching him. “That’s a shame. Your missus know that?”

“Nope,” the old man says. “And I’m not gonna tell her.”

“Don’t you want to keep workin’ hard, so she’s can have some money to live on when you’re gone? Instead of lyin’ around in a field wasting your last days?”

“Nope, she has folks. Besides, she’s younger than me, still a pretty little thing. She’ll find another man to take care of her, no question.” He settled back in the long grass again. “I figure I spent enough of my life lookin’ down into ditches. Not enough time lookin’ up at the sky.”

After that I let him be.

In the days after, I knew the old man was there when I saw the shovel stickin' out of the ground. But after a few days, I didn’t see him no more. Checked the paper for the obits, wondering if there’d be a picture. Lots of obits, almost any one of them could’ve been him, except the females of course.

When he never showed up again, I figured he was done diggin’ ditches forever. Someone else had gone and dug one for him.