tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28149865596142895172024-02-20T16:15:04.360-08:00W.K. EverhartA writer's testament
to process.WKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2814986559614289517.post-71881164422341787612018-07-04T08:35:00.000-07:002018-07-04T08:36:44.751-07:00Okay. Haven't blogged in forever. Haven't written in forever! My inspiration is at a standstill. What to do? What to do?<br />
<br />
First, I've decided I'll write something, anything. I'm hoping this spurs me on. My last publication was in 2008! Ten years is a long time to trunk your work. I should be flogged, I suppose. A good caning of my spirit might work, might force name to the keyboard. Whether anyone reads my work now or not, doesn't mean that it won't be read, that somewhere my poetry or pride won't appear in some stuff anthology.<br />
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The squirrels have planted a dozen walnut trees just across my backyard fence, and as I stare at their leaves dancing in the breeze, I wonder what happened to me. Why have I put my words into some self-confinement? Am I lazy or just uninspired?WKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2814986559614289517.post-23941650876677444252010-10-15T07:57:00.000-07:002010-10-15T08:33:35.156-07:00Imagine a writer, fingers poised above the keyboard, mind snapping away at whatever morsel of plot is defying description at that particular moment. Well, that's pretty much me, every day, or at least, what I would like to be doing every day. You see, I have this "day" job: college instructor. I emphasize the word "day" because no teaching job simply relegates itself to daylight hours. As a matter of fact, some of the most difficult parts of teaching occur at dusk. Yes, the teaching demons fear the light and like tiny vampires simply suck the life right out of educational practitioners. Those vampires try to destroy my love of teaching by forcing me to grade horrendous essays in which students continually confuse the meanings of words like "your" and "you're" or "there" and "their."<br /><br />Yes, I knew the job was dangerous when I took it; I knew that teaching takes more hours per day than say, plumbing. I knew the hours spent in "teaching" pursuits would reduce available writing hours; however, the longer I teach, it seems, the fewer hours I have available for writing. You'd think that by now, I'd be able to grade a paper in no time flat and then serve up a new chapter in the WIP before clearing the north forty. The truth is: students coming from today's public school systems are, for the most part, woefully unprepared for college level writing and have little to no formal training in grammar and mechanics, the popular theory of education being that students learn said grammar and mechanics from reading. Given this unpreparedness, it takes much more time to grade than it did twenty years ago. Education in grammar primarily comes from copious comments that explain why the student's comma usage is flawed or the difference between the meanings of "defiantly" and "definitely." More time grading equals less time available for writing.<br /><br />At least I can say I have a job, something that 9.6% of the American population can't say, and that's not taking into account the vast number of I'm-so-tired-of-looking-for-a-job-that-I'm-not-looking-any-longer individuals or those PhD's who've been reduced to bagging groceries at the Kroger. I can't complain about being employed, but I'm allowed to miss the writing hours I once enjoyed<br /><br />I keep telling myself I should sacrifice sleep or time with the grandchildren, but the use of the word "sacrifice" usually implies unpleasantness on some level. In the past, my writing time just popped up like the lovely jingle announcing the arrival of the ice cream truck on a hot summer's day. How utterly pleasant! I'd finish one task, take a peek at my clock, and suddenly discover I had an hour or so before I was due to attack the next chore of the day. I'd rush to the keyboard and read what I'd last written. Then I'd think, "Oh, what would (fill in a character's name here) do if that happened to her/him?" Words would come, ideas would flow, and I would be in writer's Heaven. Not so these days.<br /><br />These days I spend time plying my trade, not writing but teaching to write. I've heard the old addage, "Those who can't teach." Well, I suppose that's true, but not always for the reason the addage implies.WKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2814986559614289517.post-23421017380793409792010-09-25T17:12:00.000-07:002010-09-25T18:12:16.321-07:00So CloseI'm so close to being finished with <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">volume</span> one of the two-part series that I can smell the words "the end." In a way, it's sort of sad, leaving my main character for a while so I can beta then query the first book. Although I think it stands alone (emphasis on I think. We'll see what the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Dawg</span> Pack thinks), somehow I still feel it's one book not two. I find the concept of dividing a life slightly disturbing. Does that sound stupid or what?!<br /><br />Speaking in terms of word count, a life that say spans fifty years would take a lot of words. Add that three score and seven Biblical thingy and Va-zoom! Multiply that fifty-year-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">old's</span> life-words by 6.5. That's even more words. Are there limits on the number of words used in a novel? Sort of.<br /><br />One agent won't look at a first-novel with less than 85,000 words or more than 110,000. Words count. (Pardon the pun.) Not all agents are that particular, but if even one would toss your work in the circular file over word count, then word count must be watched closely.<br /><br />Some authors might disagree, even published authors, saying word count doesn't count as long as you submit quality work. I suppose there's some truth in that argument. In a perfect world, a good book is a good book no matter how many words appear between the words "chapter one" and "the end." However, the lack of perfection in this world is one of its most endearing characteristics.<br /><br />Very few publishing houses accept unrepresented manuscripts. Why? Because their slush piles of "to read" became so tall it seemed there was no room for desks and copiers and the like. Today, in order to get the eye of a legitimate publisher, the piece must be represented. If a would-be author takes a peek at a site displaying the names of literary agents, it seems the world is filled with potential representation. However, that would-be author must be careful because not all who claim the title "agent" are true author representatives. Some are more interested in representing themselves and will charge <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">innumerable</span> "fees" to Mr./Ms. Would-Be while the now "represented" novel languishes on some dusty desk.<br /><br />Just like any other industry based on dreams, there are people who choose to use the dreams of others to promote themselves, to pilfer a dollar at a time until dreams die and artists who might have had some measure of success with the right guidance toss their keyboards into whatever waterway is at hand. Dreams are like apples to some people, just something ripe for the picking. Writer beware.<br /><br />How do I know this? Me? An unrepresented author? I've made it my business to know. How? Researching. Asking questions. Reading blogs. Talking to authors who <em>are represented.</em> Checking out on-line contracts. Searching who and what agents have represented in the past. What's their track record? The business end of writing. If the business end includes advice on word count, I listen. If the business end includes the requirements of certain legitimate agents, I comply. It's business, the business of dreams.<br /><br />I'm not by nature a woman of business. I'm a little flighty and a lot disorganized. I often lose my car keys or can't remember exactly where I parked. My desk is riddled with papers, pens, and folders while my file cabinets are barren. I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">over-check</span> and overeat. I'm a mess, but I've listened carefully to others. I'm a member of Absolute Write Water Cooler (one of the best writers' boards). I read comments. I check out threads that offer warnings issued from other authors.<br /><br />In my life, I've been fooled. After all, I've been married three times: once to a cop, once to a criminal, and finally, to a psychologist so I could figure out why I married a cop and a criminal. That pretty much says it all. My dreams? Well, that's a different story. I treasure them, coddle them, nurture them. My work as a writer? Very much like children, my children, and I won't have my children misused. That's the truth of it.<br /><br />I'll seek representation, but I'll be wary as we all should be. I'll keep asking questions and looking to the experience of others. When I query, I'll query agents who've had successes with books like my own. I'll make sure I've identified the genre correctly, and I'll make sure that the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Dawg</span> Pack has hounded the piece thoroughly before I send the first letter to a would-be agent.<br /><br />There <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">endeth</span> the sermon for the day.WKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2814986559614289517.post-46262175291658583152010-09-16T10:10:00.000-07:002010-09-16T10:39:25.800-07:00DiscouragementDo writers get discouraged? You betcha. The need to write comes with a deep need for approval. I suppose that's true with plumbers or electricians or any profession, but <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">practitioners</span> of the arts seem to require more "ointment of appreciation" than do most. Yep! I'm guilty. I sometimes allow friends to read my work for the sole purpose of having someone, anyone, say, "Hey, you're pretty good at this."<br /><br />One of the greatest compliments I ever received came from my sainted mother. After reading one of my partial manuscripts, she said, "It's like it was written by a real author." From some perspectives, a comment like that might be vaguely insulting; however, to hear it from one of my hardest critics? Well, I'll remember that moment for a long time. Compliments are part of the salve required to soothe the nerves of a would-be author, but there are more important things.<br /><br />Constructive criticism from people the writer respects is like gold in the pocket. One of my betas (people who read and suggest revision to manuscripts) is tough, really tough. She doesn't sugarcoat anything. She doesn't pick and choose words to avoid wounded egos or injured psyches. She, to coin a tried yet true phrase, "tells it like it is." If a piece has problems, she's quick to point them out without the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">encumbrance</span> of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">euphemistic</span> terminology. "This sucks" are words she might use or perhaps, "I stopped reading here because it was terrible and I couldn't force myself to go on." Hard to hear? Again, yes, but each time I drag my deflated ego to the keyboard after one of her betas, my work gets better, so much so that even I can see the difference.<br /><br />Difference. Improvement. Polish. These are all words that go toward publication. My few and far between moments of publication are partly due to the fact that I submit very little work to potential publishers, but without voracious betas, even those few moments would be non-existant. In very short order, I'll be sending part one of my two part series off to be beta-ed, and I'm hoping to recieve the hard-hitting, ego-splitting responses that usually come my way. Discouraging? Sometimes more so than others. Helpful? More often than not, and help is what every would-be writer needs. Criticism works toward strenghtening any piece of writing as long as the author learns the value of that criticism. The publishing climate is always stormy and the stronger the manuscript the easier it is for the good ship "Get-Me-An-Agent" to find safe harbor.WKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2814986559614289517.post-33256393389778005682010-09-05T11:17:00.000-07:002010-09-05T11:46:16.692-07:00Love, Sex, and WritingOkay. So I'm not so good when it comes to writing love scenes. It's not that I haven't had a few 'love scenes' of my own. After all, I've been married three times. (That, however, is truly another story.) It's just that I don't feel comfortable writing sex scenes. I realize there's a difference between sex and love, but somehow, one seems to follow the other. Mostly, I just fade to black since I can't write a scene where music swells and the reader sees a field of daffodils.<br /><br />Maybe it's my fundamentalist upbringing or maybe it's simply not my forte. Either way, when the heroine falls in love, somethings got to give and usually, it's her. I'd be interested to know how other authors deal with this problem. I can write tender. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Tender's</span> not so hard, literally and figuratively. My characters brush a cheek with their fingertips. They stroke the hair of a weeping partner. They look deeply into someone <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">else's</span> eyes. I got the hang of tender long ago.<br /><br />I can't write down and dirty, that pulsing thump-thump, that sweat beading on the forehead, that heat beating its drum between the thighs stuff. Just as if I were in middle-school again, that stuff makes me giggle. I feel a tinge of guilt, a flash of fear, and then the heat stops beating its drum and I'm left with characters unfulfilled. Bad for them and bad for my work.<br /><br />Needless to say, my writer friends think of me as a prude. Maybe I am. Who knows? I, personally, don't think of myself that way. I'm a modern woman, albeit some of my ideas about how to live life run toward the archaic by 21st century, American standards. I've always thought a reader felt the burn from a hint more than from a club over the head. But let's face it, sex sells.<br /><br />From Suzanne Summers stint on <em>Three's Company</em> down to Beau and Hope between the sheets on <em>Days of Our Lives</em>, most people in charge of television programming believe that without a few naked bodies, the modern viewer would flick channels <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">faster</span> than Elizabeth Taylor flipped Eddie Fisher for Richard Burton. To make that clearer to the younger crowd, just substitute Jessica Simpson or Paris Hilton and their personal flavor of the weeks for Liz and her paramours of the past. I'm afraid the written word is no different. One very famous writer in my circle of acquaintances wrote a wonderful historical novel. He sold it to an agent who subsequently sold it to a publisher. The editor wasn't happy with the work as my friend had written it. The editor asked for the infusion of a love story, complete with that hot-and-bothered love scene. My friend complied with the editor's request, as do all clever writers, and $3.5 mil later, my friend no longer spends his days as a teacher. He's usually on the golf course or writing the next tome.<br /><br />I've read many steamy scenes in other authors' works. I've read steamy scenes in the books of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">yester</span>-year. I've watched ... well, I've watched movies noted for those scenes, but I still get giggles, guilt, and gut-wrenching fear of my inadequacies as a writer. I'm hoping all good things come with practice, practice, and more practice. Who knows? Some day I might venture into the world of Anne <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Rampling</span>/ Rice. It could happen. Right?WKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2814986559614289517.post-8561749371826053912010-08-29T13:54:00.000-07:002010-08-29T14:16:46.987-07:00Once More into the BreachOkay, so tomorrow is it....tomorrow is the first day of fall semester. I'm teaching three sections of Freshmen Comp...It's time to be afraid, very afraid. They're coming to my classroom and what will ensue only God knows.<br /><br />As each year begins, I've got another set of headaches. Most of the students are woefully unprepared for college level writing. It's not really their fault. Actually, it's the fault of all those hippies (I confess. I was one for a while) who grew up to change the structure of education in America. I can remember hearing someone say that all children could learn but each child learns at a different rate. What my generation failed to take into account is the basic laziness of ALL humans. We take the easy way out from the time we walk to the time we become a boxed lunch for the worms. That's right. From the cradle to the grave, we strive to do as little as possible.<br /><br />That little-as-possible thingy holds true. I've even experimented with the prospect, and I always come up with lazy as a result. There are a few students, very few, who contradict the principle, but their diligence is overshadowed by the majority of their peers. Learning stations, relaxed grading systems, re-vamped tests that "dumb down" the requirements for graduation and college admission...it all comes down to taking the easy way out. If a child resists learning, then by all means, make it easier for that child to pass so his/her parents won't be upset, so the statistics for a particular school look good on paper. You guessed it! This stuff really pisses me off!<br /><br />Did you know that if a prospective teacher doesn't have an education degree but wishes to take a job in public education and if that teacher took <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">SAT's</span> before 1990 and scored above 1000, then the prospective teacher doesn't have to take the first of the two exams required for state <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">licensure</span>. Since 1990, the SAT test has been revised to accommodate the weaker students graduating high school in the 21st Century. The tougher test of the 20<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">th</span> Century go a long way. Sad. Very sad.<br /><br />AS for writing...very few college freshmen can write a research paper. Heck, very few can write a cohesive paragraph. They have no understanding of basic grammar because the new pedagogy re-enforces the concept that grammar doesn't have to be taught. Students simply absorb grammar rules via osmosis as they write and read. Read? My experience tells me that they only read what they're forced to read with the exception of instructions on video games.<br /><br />I'm going into the breach once more, packing up my book bag, searching for things that my students might find interesting, and thinking of presentations that won't cause (as it did on one occasion..honest!) students to stand up and question my right to ask them to read a book. I'm teaching a class called "Literature in context of Culture." So far, 10 students have signed up. If I'm lucky, that's the cut-off number and my class will make. If I'm really lucky, all 10 students will know who Hemingway is and will have read more than the back of a cereal box.<br /><br />Whew! Glad I got that off my chest!WKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2814986559614289517.post-9323731598756365922010-08-22T08:21:00.000-07:002010-08-22T08:50:33.816-07:00As AlwaysAs always happens, my writer's mind has begun its usual diversionary track. Yep! While revising and expanding my work in progress, a new work or maybe a new series has reared its ugly head. Characters are begging me to create them, scenes are appearing in dreams, imagination is putting together settings, and I'm struggling to keep my mind on the task at hand.<br /><br />Some writers can handle multiple projects at one time. I can't. I'm a writer in focus. In other words, if I'm not in focus, not zeroing in on one piece, then nothing really gets finished. I may write character profiles for this new piece, and I most likely will attempt a general outline (something I never really adhere to).<br /><br />Outlines work for some but not for me. It seems that my stories begin and then write themselves, each scene appearing on the inside of my eyelids and then transferring through my keyboard onto the screen in front of me. I usually know how the story is going to end, but I seldom know how it'll get from point A to point B. If I outline, it is <em>very general</em>, meaning it has a few character names, where or if those characters survive to the end of the novel, and how the story climaxes. That's it. Nothing more.<br /><br />This burgeoning thing that is trying to distract me, as is true in all my stories, is founded in personal experience. I live in a region of the country served by the regional electric service monopoly known as <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">AEP</span>. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">AEP</span> serves the general Appalachian region most associated with "mountain folk" as defined by popular, national opinion. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Nevermind</span> that these "folk" earn almost 50% less than people living in urban areas. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Nevermind</span> that these "folk" have fewer job opportunities, cannot access public transportation, and are bereft of some of the services available in other areas like public water and sewage, trash pick up, and zoning. Regardless of these facts, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">AEP</span> has raised their electric service distribution prices almost 100% in the last 5 years. That's right. Cost of electric service has DOUBLED! Needless to say, the villain in my new book will be an electric company, a thinly <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">disguised</span> version of my nemesis, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">AEP</span>.<br /><br />That's all I'm telling right now. BUT my two-book series, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">WIP</span> MUST COME FIRST. I can't trunk it again, not while I'm making headway in character development and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">plot line</span>. This is when it usually happens...when I begin to rush toward the end, effectively disjointing the storyline and leaving my characters to perform deeds that seem foreign to the character I developed early in the story. This is when that virtue, patience, must take hold. Jumping from an unfinished novel into another not-yet-written piece will jumble my feeble brain and make both endeavors fruitless.<br /><br />Writer know thyself. That's been a little hard for me. I've learned about me and about how I write over time. I know that if I hurry to finish the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">WIP</span>, then the story will feel rushed and choppy. If I leave the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">WIP</span> to move to another story that is bubbling up through the curly strands of my brain, then the work in progress (a good story by all accounts) might never be finished.<br /><br />What is a writer to do? In this case, I'm pretty sure I've got a handle on it. I take notes. When the new story bubbles up, I wipe it from my brain by taking notes on possibilities as to how it might turn out. I keep the notes in a safe place. The <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">WIP</span> will be finished, to my satisfaction, and beta-ed by the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Dawg</span> Pack. After the pack has howled out its approval or disapproval, after the final edits are done, then I'll query the piece and keep my fingers crossed. While I'm querying, I'll slip out my notes and let all those collected bubbles of possibility breathe again. I'll write the first chapter of the next <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">WIP</span>, then the second chapter, and so on. When the agent who requests the full manuscript of the two-book series calls and says, "I'd like to offer you representation," I can say (after the screaming and fainting and shouting for joy, of course) "You know what? I've got two finished books on the old computer and I'm half way through a new one." Won't I be proud? :DWKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2814986559614289517.post-14199502430503265022010-08-12T11:06:00.000-07:002010-08-13T10:58:24.151-07:00Finally!Okay. I've finally made some great headway. The one thing my beta-readers found unsettling in the one-now-two books I'm working on was character development. It seemed I slacked up a bit when it came to almost everyone in the story. Yep! As Robbie the Robot (oops! dated myself) once said, "Error. Error."<br /><br />Character development appears in class number one of any writer's workshop. The key to success is to make the reader <em>love</em> at least one of the characters and have strong feelings about the rest, whether they're villains or heroes. When members of my writing group began the book, my main character was spellbinding. Well, that may be a little strong, but hey! They liked her a whole lot. When the book passed the half-way point, I began to hurry, letting my compulsive desire to finish overwhelm the characters, all the characters. Doesn't work. By the end of the book, most readers were glad the read was over, having seen the MC turn from strong and complicated to whiny and overbearing. Not good. Not good at all.<br /><br />This go around, I'm trying to be more patient, to read the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">un</span></span>-trunked volumes with an objective air, and through revisions, to tell readers what I already know: that the main character is indeed complicated, rootless yet strong enough to try to find a place in life to plant herself and grow. I'm hoping that all these revisions will work that magic and that by the time readers close the book, they'll want to open it and start again from the beginning. A good dream if I can pull it off.<br /><br />Harper Lee did just that in <em>To Kill a Mockingbird.</em> Dare I hope to achieve that success? Well, a girl can hope, but I'd be happy with simply writing a good book and finally have readers other than my long-suffering writing group. Of course, no writer writes just to see hundreds of unsold books stacked in a dusty warehouse. I, like all authors (I sometimes call myself 'author' just so somebody says it), want to be read and often. My name on a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">bookjacket</span></span> is a nice thought, but knowing that readers think I actually have something to say is a better idea.<br /><br />I'd certainly like to think I have something to say, that my work will not only entertain the reader but also offer insight into the human condition. I write literary fiction, so far mostly historical literary fiction. For some reason, looking back at what we've been seems more appealing than looking forward to what we might become. We learn from history, or so I've been told, and history has always shown me a new way to view the present. As a writer, I can re-write history just a bit, hopefully just enough to offer that 20/20 hindsight we've all heard talk about. Some write about a future that we may never see. Their imaginations send us to apocalypse or to a wonderland in which all things evil are overcome by good. A nice place if you can find it.<br /><br />My late husband was a visionary of sorts, even though, like John Milton, he was legally blind. He enjoyed <em>Star Trek,</em> not so much because of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">scifi</span></span> adventure but because the Trekkie world held cures for all diseases, hope that poverty would be eliminated, and laws that forbid the use of force except at times when Justice had been raped by burgeoning Injustice. Evil was always nipped in the bud, as Barney Fife once said. He liked to learn what visions writers had for the yet-to-come. To those who write <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">futuristically</span></span>, I doff my hat.<br /><br />As for me and the 1800 or so words I've added to the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">WIP</span></span>, I'm hoping my words give insight to the importance of personal history, to the idea that where we come from does as much to shape who we are as any other component of life. We're built, brick by tragic brick. We don't spring to life fully completed. Like the potter's clay, we're molded and shaped by circumstance, geography, and history, ours and the history of those around us. That's the point. We're born, yes, but then we must become.<br /><br />My main character is finally becoming. What? Well, should the book be published and if you're interested, you must purchase a copy or otherwise, wait for the movie. :DWKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2814986559614289517.post-49846760163849748662010-08-07T07:39:00.000-07:002010-08-12T11:06:19.108-07:00Running a Good RaceMy good friend, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Gini</span> Koch, is expecting. Her second book will be on shelves come December, 2010 (<em>Alien Tango</em>), and two more are scheduled to be out soon. If she and I were in a race, I'm running well behind the champ. However, as she often reminds me, it took her a while to get where she is on the publication track.<br /><br />I'm not so patient. You might even describe me as impatient (or so says <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Gini</span>). I started my attempted writing career rather late in life. That fact shouldn't surprise anyone. I finished my BS when I was forty-five, and although I went straight from under-grad to graduate school, I was the oldest graduate teaching assistant in university history (I really don't know that for sure, but it certainly seemed that way.) Getting out of the gate behind the rest of the pack is something I'm used to.<br /><br />Oh-Wise-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Gini</span> also reminds me that she worked hard at becoming a professional writer. She wrote countless <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">volumes</span> before she hit on just the right combination to catch the eye of her agent. She wrote hundreds of query letters and got almost as many rejections, some formula "I'm not interested" letters and some more personal. She's no novice, no got-an-agent-the-first-time-I-entered-the-race kind of gal. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Gini</span> is the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">consummate</span> professional, a hard-working writer who's not afraid to take a shot at her dreams no matter how long the realization of those dreams take.<br /><br />In this day and age when thousands of would-be writers are talking about the great books they're going to write, I'm told that only about 1% of those books are every really written. I've written three manuscripts. I hesitate to say that I've <em>completed </em>three novels because I'm not sure you can say that unpublished manuscripts are ever completed. I've even queried one of them with some success. I had several requests for full manuscripts from my query. That's why Ms. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Gini</span> calls me Query-Dog.<br /><br />Am I back at work on my latest efforts? You betcha. I can't wait to get the okay from the BIG <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">DAWGS</span> (writing group) to go ahead and query. My old impatient self might just want to query with the work I have, but rule one of the writer's handbook: Never query on only a partial manuscript OR on a manuscript with issues. I've got rule one down pat!<br /><br />Well, back to the race. I'm more like the tortoise than the hare. I came out of the gate rather late, but I'm ahead of the 99% of runners who never even finish the book. That's something, huh?WKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2814986559614289517.post-80729557252201809682010-07-22T21:45:00.000-07:002010-07-22T22:22:33.845-07:00Late NightsWell, it's 12:45 AM here on the creek. The moon is shining only half-full, and Buddy, my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">basset</span> hound, is sleeping on the couch, as per usual. Now and again, some wayward night creature howls or yowls from the woods behind the house, and I catch a glimpse of a deer making his/her way across the lawn and toward the water. Unlike the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">citizens</span> of Churchill, Manitoba (I'm hoping I got the province right), I'm not facing polar bears as they follow their migration route down main street; however, deer migrate from their hide-outs in the woods to open pasture at night.<br /><br />Why am I up? Well, normally I'm not, but my daughter is heading home from a business trip to Chicago. I thought I'd wait up to welcome her home and get some writing done in the mean time, but 'the best laid plans' and all that. I find that I do my best writing in short spurts not those long, laborious eight hour stints I used to pull. Oh, I got a lot of words in when I forced myself to sit in my relatively uncomfortable desk chair and write. Nowadays, I'm not doing that to myself. Nowadays, I'm writing when the inspiration strikes, and I don't keep pushing if that same inspiration dwindles away. It's called self-preservation.<br /><br />I still have the same desire to be published, but I'm not so willing to kill myself in doing it. I WILL get an agent. Of that, I am certain. However, I must exercise patience along with all that <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">perseverance</span>. Between the day job and the nightly sojourns into Creative-ville, I've allowed very little time for me to be me. Wisdom comes to those who wait.WKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2814986559614289517.post-10493243832731327012010-07-05T06:20:00.000-07:002010-07-05T06:29:07.039-07:00Withdrawls!Okay. I'm giving up on worrying, just like I gave up on guilt. Both practices are totally non-productive, as a wise man once told me. They serve no purpose except to steal any joy that might come. I'm not into allowing anyone or anything to steal my joy (it's such a rare commodity!)<br /><br />The fourth of July has come and gone, the fireworks have fizzled out, and I am back at my keyboard. Writing has been more challenge than joy lately, but as I said, I simply refuse to allow the joy I take in the written word to be pilfered by my own insecurities. As of yet, I am an unpublished novelist, but I have been published: Raving Dove, Raphael's Village, EXIT 109, and others. True. I've been published mostly as a poet, but I've sneaked in a few essays and short stories. My days as an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">AGENTED</span> and PUBLISHED novelist approaches. I refuse to have any doubts.<br /><br />One day, readers will stumble across this blog and discover that ALL writers have insecurities, fears that their work doesn't come up to muster, and doubts that they'll ever see their name on a book jacket. I sound bold and confident here, but just a few short posts ago, I was wallowing in the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">quagmire</span> of desperation. Comes with writing territory, I suppose. Keep up with me folks. Better days are coming. More words, more hope, and more works in print. Persistence wins the game, not that runner who shows well out of the gate but loses advantage in the long haul.<br /><br />Keep smiling. Keep sending up skyrockets, and don't spare the word count!WKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2814986559614289517.post-14868994626663918242010-06-24T14:02:00.000-07:002010-06-24T14:16:41.172-07:00Okay! Okay! So I need a job!It's summer, and the university where I work during fall and spring semester doesn't give adjuncts summer work. What does that mean? It means summers suck, at least, financially. No <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">worky</span>-no <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">earny</span>-no <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">earny</span>-no <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">buyee</span> (That didn't come out just the way I wanted it, but you get the drift!)<br /><br />I did pick up five weeks of work, teaching through a special program for disadvantaged high school students. I love the program and the kids, but it IS only FIVE weeks of work out of four months. Every summer, I tell myself, "You've got to get a real job." BUT every summer, I procrastinate because, darn it! I like to teach almost as much as I like to write. So what if being an adjunct means that I make very little money compared to other people who have <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">MA's</span>. So what, if I get no benefits from the state, and I have to pay for on-campus parking. So what if I spend Christmas vacation sweating it out as to whether I'll get a contract for spring! So what if public school employment possibilities are as dead as post secondary jobs! Teaching? What am I doing?<br /><br />I'll keep teaching. That's what I do, but I also keep hoping that writing becomes my job and teaching is just my hobby. That's why I can't believe I let myself get so far down that I couldn't write. If <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">anybody's</span> out there, if <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">anybody's</span> reading this: DON'T GET THAT FAR DOWN! (That's right. I shouted.) Writing gets under your fingernails and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">embeds</span> itself in the pores. It becomes as much a part of the writer as blood and bone. To punish myself by not hitting the keyboard is as bad as Van <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Gogh</span> cutting off his own ear (an event whose validity recently became a subject of debate)!<br /><br />I write. Writing is as much therapy as production. Remember that. Remember me, and for Heaven's sake, send me job suggestions! :DWKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2814986559614289517.post-14479237771282161982010-06-13T16:39:00.000-07:002010-06-13T17:00:19.240-07:00Might-Moan-AgainIt seems that moaning about my sad state might just have worked, ergo I might just moan more often. (Wow! That's a nicely alliterated sentence, if I do say so myself.) Anyways, after the moan, I found 1536 words, some not-so-evaporated editing skills, and two new chapters in my series. Not bad for someone who wanted to go to a cliff and beg God to have the rocks fall on her. See...it can happen. A writer who felt like she had no words left can find those words lurking in the most unexpected places.<br /><br />The way I see it now is that anyone who's thinking about suicide should write a suicide note, then sit, read, and think some more. First question: Who the hell would care that I was dead? Second question: How long would they care? Third series of connected questions: Did I play the lottery this week? What if my numbers won and <em>*gulp*</em> I had already checked out? Would the undertaker find the ticket in my pocket, collect my winnings, sell his establishment before my service, and end up on MY beach in the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Caribbean</span>? Fourth series of connected questions: Hey! Wouldn't that dead lottery winner/undertaker thingy make a great plot line for a novel? Should I write the novel or let that damned undertaker take something else that belonged to me? That undertaker! Who does he think he is? (But I digress.)<br /><br />See how it works? (Not connected to the above series of questions) Get sad. Okay. Everybody gets sad, and it's okay to be sad unless that "long barrel of despair" lasts longer than three weeks. (If it's that long-lasting, it's time for the doc and the happy pills. Depression, serious depression, is a serious matter with serious consequences unless taken seriously. I mean that!) The best solution for sadness that I've discovered is madness, not insanity but true anger. Don't be mad at others because the only person that can make you happy is YOU. There are no knights in shining armor, no surprise visits from previously unknown billionaire parents, no magic (other than the perfect sunset), and no one to snap your suspenders but you. In this case, ME.<br /><br />So...after the previous blogged moaning, I thought about what I always told my clients: "It's not the hand you're dealt in life. It's how you play your cards." (I'm sure that I'm not the first person to use that line, and so I bow to the original purveyor of that great wisdom.) I looked at my recently dealt hand and then asked for four cards. Quite a risk, huh? Well, I didn't get a Royal Flush, but I picked up at least a pair and am still in the game. I got some employment for July, only July, but hey, a month of salary is a month of salary. Know what I mean? When I flick the switch on my wall, I like to have the lights come on. Bills are bills and, as hard as this is to believe, people actually expect payment. Just saying.WKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2814986559614289517.post-56293660922766178332010-05-29T19:28:00.000-07:002010-05-29T19:52:51.691-07:00Everything Old is New AgainI've not been well...not so much physically as emotionally. My writer's muscle keeps freezing, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">storylines</span> keep evading me, and I'm looking down the long barrel of despair. Job. Economy. The heat of summer-yet-to- come. Whatever the reason, I've been struggling. Oh, I have moments, moments when I jump back on that keyboard and gallop away, but they've been few and far between. Let's face it. I haven't even blogged since March and it's now the end of May.<br /><br />I tell myself that I'm just in a slump, that the world will tick my way someday, and I'll get going. BUT the world never ticks my way. Hell, the world never really ticks <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">anybody's</span> way. It took months for me to realize that I had to wind my own clock, so to speak. Time doesn't wait, but it can sure leave you behind if you're not careful.<br /><br />This blog is supposed to be about writing, about my efforts to write the great American novel. Well, whether my book (books in my case) will ever see the light above the printing press, I don't really know. I know there are stories in me: scary stories, romantic stories, suspenseful stories, and stories about ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances. I know they're all there, waiting for my fingers to begin the rudimentary canvas on which each will be painted. (You guessed it I'm getting to another BUT) ...but...my dreams have gotten pressed between my health and my economic circumstances. Some are completely gone...shot to hell...others are still there, like that last tiny light just before the cigarette is pushed against the bottom of the ashtray.<br /><br />I write this here because I've come to believe that no one reads it anyway. Some of my friends used to drop by and give me a boost/comment, but since I've been so slow to post, they've found other places to comment. Who can blame them? I can't say that I won't ever finish the two book series. In fact, even in this great, deep funk, I actually did some edits, starting from the beginning and reading through again. (I like the book, but then again, I'm not an agent.)<br /><br />My computer was new in 2002. It's not so new anymore and it, like its owner, is showing its age. I've been getting lots of blue screen/disc errors and I've tried to back things up as much as possible, but soon and very soon, the old Gateway is going to give up its ghost. When that happens, I'll have to travel to write, and in order to travel, I have to have gas money. I'm hoping to finish at least the first book in the series before the thing goes "Ker-Plow", but who knows? The way my luck's been going lately, I'll probably do something <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">brillant</span>, then the screen will go blank, and it'll all be lost. (Knock on wood that that doesn't happen!)<br /><br />Well, I'm going to stop complaining. I'm down to my last four cigarettes, and I've got the urge to chain smoke.WKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2814986559614289517.post-67416737213629717382010-03-21T17:10:00.000-07:002010-03-21T18:26:57.686-07:00At It AgainNeither snow, nor hail, nor dark of night, or (in my case) disease shall stay the writer on her appointed keyboard. Yes. It's me again, and I'm sort of writing once more. Mostly, I'm reading, and from my perspective, that may very well be the best way to spur inspiration. My friend <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Gini</span> Koch's new book <em>Touched by an Alien</em> comes out on April 6<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">th</span>, and by the time I get through all the Patricia Cornwell I'm reading, I'll be up-and-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">at'em</span> for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Gini's</span> effort.<br /><br />My effort, the big book that turned into two books might even turn into three if <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Gini</span> gets her way. I'm not sure, but hey, I could do worse I suppose. My main character lives to be 104 years old in my story, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">soooo</span> it could work. I'm still leaning toward two spans: younger woman then older woman. I'm not sure I won't to talk about the middle-aged woman. I'm having enough trouble with that myself.<br /><br />Every time I say "middle-aged" I think of Spencer Tracey. The Hollywood folk threw him an enormous bash when he turned fifty. Tracey was throwing back a few drinks with his friends when one raised a glass and said, "Welcome to middle-age." Another so-called friend smiled, downed his Scotch, and responded, "Middle-age, hell! Who lives to be a hundred." Tracey took it to heart and stalked sullenly away. I'm not quite as sensitive as Tracey, but I don't really expect to live to be a hundred.<br /><br />As for the book...I've come to terms with one of my many flaws: the tendency to rush the story. I think I rush partly because I can see the finish line, and I want to make it there, at least with this one. It's well over 125000 words all together. :) Hey, there was a time when I only wrote poetry (some of which can be viewed in the on-line magazine <em>Raphael's Village</em> which contains a lot of good reading. I recommend it.) and poets don't usually write 125,000 words. Know what I mean?<br /><br />Anyway, back to the reading, the writing, and the hoping that this time I can slow down and let my characters catch a breath between scenes. There is something to be said for a quiet walk by the creek.WKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2814986559614289517.post-33473605581085821622010-01-15T18:11:00.000-08:002010-01-15T18:16:55.079-08:00BACK IN THE SADDLE AGAINOkay. I've been gone for months; that's true. You see, I had another stroke, not the usual TIA, a CVA (bleeding into the brain). All in all, it set me back, but speaking of back: I'm back in the saddle again. I'm not writing new stuff, but at the urging of a friend, I am revising again. As a matter of fact, it's not so bad. At first, I couldn't quite get the hang of it, but writing is like riding a bicycle, I suppose. I just hopped right in there and finally, after long suffering efforts, I'm at the revision of the last novel.<br /><br />As far as I can tell, I'm actually making sense, or rather, the novel is making sense. I put in a few extra words this week (like 1,000) and next week I might get a few more in. The absence from craft hasn't been bad for me. I'm seeing things I should have seen earlier and my excitement at the effort is growing stronger.<br /><br />For those of you who might actually read this: Thanks. And for the others, the ones who don't take a look at my site...:PWKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2814986559614289517.post-11795556964594241512009-10-28T21:10:00.000-07:002009-10-28T21:16:24.785-07:00Seriously Dry SpellOkay, so I haven't written in weeks. I know. I'm the one who keeps saying, "Write. Write. Write." But nowdays, I can't. I want to, but nothing I write makes it past that lovely, little key called 'delete'.<br /><br />I've written rougly 5000 words within the last two weeks, all of which are now floating somewhere in the digital cosmos of the forgotten and deleted. Nothing works for me. No short story. No poem, and certainly, no novel. :( Woe is me, to coin a phrase.<br /><br />I am now seeking encouragement. I need a writer's-soul hug, a kind word, or maybe an agent. Anyone listening?WKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2814986559614289517.post-52514516379378642522009-10-08T18:39:00.000-07:002009-10-08T18:50:43.492-07:00Working, Working, Thinking, ThinkingAll right. So, I said I had two books. Everyone said I had two books in the one manuscript. As I write, I'm not so sure. I've made a fateful decision, one of those make or break kind of decisions.<br /><br />I can't figure out how to break the book in two. I know where it should break...I think, but I can't figure out how to do it and make each book distinctly its own country. Know what I mean? Sooo...I decided to write one long book, a hellishly long book. When I get the flow right, make everything move quickly and effortlessly, finish the book with every section driving toward the next, then I'll think about the break. Good idea? You tell me.<br /><br /><em>Gone with the Wind, Silence of the Lambs, The Client, The Firm, Hawaii...</em>they were all long books...really long books. Well, maybe <em>Silence of the Lambs</em> wasn't that long, but it wasn't short. There's Tolkien. He wrote long books. In fact, the <em>Lord of the Rings Trilogy</em> was written as one long book. Tolkien's publishers decided it was three books, not Tolkien, himself. Tolkien wrote it all in one continuous volumn. I'm certainly no Tolkien, but...I've got one long continuous volumn. See what I mean?<br /><br />I really don't know what else to do, but I'm certainly up for suggestions. I've toiled these past weeks. I need help. Any (and I mean ANY) idea is welcome, barring wrapping the manuscript around a stick of dynamite. I can't help feeling that this one...this troublesome story...is THE one, the one that might prick the conscience of the agent! HELP!WKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2814986559614289517.post-1614988056129362282009-08-24T13:31:00.000-07:002009-08-24T13:42:50.859-07:00Twins?Okay. So, book number two has suffered through the beta read. Verdict? I've got twins! Not babies (God forbid. Having twins must be an absolute nightmare requiring far more organizational skills than I have!) No, not babies....books. It seems the mega project is really two books. It's either make it into a series of two or try to peddle a 200,000 word novel. Maybe...if I were John <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Grisham</span>, but not as an unpublished novelist seeking representation for her first book.<br /><br />Oh, well. (she sighs) This is good and bad. Good news first! (I always choose the good news first :D!) The good news is that most of both books is written. Book one? Starts when the heroine is around twelve and takes her through to adulthood and slightly beyond. With the division, I can flesh out characters that need fleshing and add chapters that need adding. The second half, or rather, the second book needs a little more work. I suppose the epic was getting a little long, and subconsciously, I rushed, barreled toward the end and left out a lot that needed to be said. I'm not thrilled that the betas didn't love it completely, but I am grateful for guidance. I tend to turn on the ignition before I check the road map. Know what I mean?<br /><br />Bad news? Trying to exercise patience, not one of my primary character components. The new timeline for submission is longer, but I can prove my worth as a writer by having two books ready and a third in the wings should a might-be-my agent wonders if this old girl can write another novel. "Sure," I'll say. "I've got the sequel and another piece itching to get out of that trunk."<br /><br />Well, back to the drawing board or "keyboard" in this case. I'm at it again fellow writers. With a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">vengeance</span>!<br /><br />See you when I've got two books in the can.WKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2814986559614289517.post-80971234777780816972009-07-21T20:18:00.000-07:002009-07-21T20:33:27.618-07:00Back in the Saddle?I'm having a rare night at home. Relatives are staying with Mother and I'm joyously sitting in my big green chair and (glory of glories) writing. Of course, I should be finishing up the grading of the 1200 writing assessments, but time at home is so unusual, well, you know.<br /><br />I once asked the question, "Are you a writer if no one reads your work?" Tonight I had an epiphany. The answer is a resounding, "Yes." My great moment came when I felt the need to rush to my keyboard and pound out a few words. I am a writer, whether a good one or a bad one. I need to spend time weaving intricate <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">plot lines</span> just like I need to breathe. That must mean that I AM a writer, no matter how many doubts I've had in the past.<br /><br />Time away from the thing you love does make the heart grow fonder, at least in my case. The absence of writing made me irritable. A psychological study of that long ago case of the railroad spike that somehow ended up in a man's head said that the spike made him irritable, so I guess he and I have something in common. Not being able to write gave me the same symptoms. Go figure.<br /><br />Although this particular blog has been touted by some, it's sort of fallen by the wayside. That is, it has fallen by the wayside since I've been unable to update frequently. I choose to believe the sparing entries are the cause rather than think my muse has slipped away and I've become uninteresting and boring. The multiple visitors that I once enjoyed with each entry have found other blogs to visit and I seldom get many hits these days. This doesn't stop me, however. I write. I write on this blog and a couple more. I comment on the blogs of friends and ,sometimes, strangers. I am a writer, whether I have the means to write or not. Undaunted by disinterest, I keep on plugging...writing away, commenting on the joy of the written word.WKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2814986559614289517.post-58723628685726072009-07-14T06:15:00.001-07:002009-07-15T19:51:14.283-07:00Alas, poor Yorik.I've been spending my downtime working. Not writing, unfortunately, but grading 1200 papers for the university writing assessment. Although tedious, I've found what the students have to say about writing very interesting. For example, almost all of the papers I've read so far say something to the effect that writing would be fun if there weren't so many "rules." I suppose that's true. If we never had to stop to insert a comma or indent a paragraph, if we could just keep going and ignore spelling and mechanics, everyone would enjoy writing. Alas, we cannot. We cannot ignore the basic rules of composition.<br /><br /><br /><br />When I'm teaching, I try to explain that the rules of grammar are in place for a purpose. I use this analogy:<br /><br />You've been invited to the party of the year and you've been given written directions: turn right at the second stop light, left onto Elm, go the the third stop sign, make a left onto Bird's Eye Ave, and the party's at the third house on the right. You put on your best duds, jump into the car and start out. Suddenly, you realize that there are no stop lights, no street signs. How do you find the party? You're hopelessly lost with no way to find the party of the year.<br /><br />I tell them that grammar and mechanics are like those roadsigns. They help the reader interpret the writer's work. Without those rules of grammar, no one would understand anything that's ever been written.<br /><br />There are rules, some can be broken by the wants/desires of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">agenting</span> and publishing community like that "single space between sentences" thing that's all the rage. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Cormac</span> McCarthy seldom if ever uses quotation marks during dialogue (but then he's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Cormac</span> McCarthy). The comma preceding a conjunction in a compound sentence is now dust on the publishing house floor. BUT (big but) most of us still cling to the rules, those grammatical roadsigns we so desperately need. To write, the would-be author must not only be good at spinning that fascinating yarn. He/she must be good at the <em>craft</em> of writing, the rules, the mechanics.<br /><br />Well, there's my two-cents worth, but then again, I'm an English teacher by avocation. Those rules of grammar work and they've provided me with one more semester of work as a member of adjunct faculty.WKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2814986559614289517.post-48582515476152591202009-07-06T06:38:00.000-07:002009-07-06T06:50:05.321-07:00Hello Again!It's been quite a while since I had time to post. My mother's injury requires that she have care 24/7, and for the most part, that's me. As for writing, it's in my head mostly. I seldom have time to spend concocting a storyline or adding to the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">WIP</span>.<br /><br />As for the novel that's with my betas, still no word. I don't know whether they've just given up on me, it's so bad they can't find the words, or if they haven't even opened the file. That's the way it goes. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Abscence</span>, my friends, does not make the heart grow fonder. All I have to work with when it comes to edits is the new <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">crit</span> partner. She rocks, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">btw</span>. She has given me a few suggestions as to how I might better develop some characters and she's pointed out a few grammar gaffs. If and when I get time, I'll work on those elements, all the while hoping that the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Dawg</span> Pack is chewing on my latest offering.<br /><br />I may write something about my recent experience with my mother. I'm not sure whether it will be a short or a novel length story. I've been mulling over lots of things. For example, when my late husband and father were involved in hospice care, one of the nurses told me a story, a story that <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">corroborated</span> an experience I'd had with both. My <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">conversation</span> with that nurse has sparked many a sigh and many long periods of deep thought. Now and again, it still pops to the forefront of my brain, and for some reason, I think my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">hind brain</span> is formulating something, a book or maybe just an essay on the event. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Whatever</span> is happening back there in the recesses has been bubbling up lately, maybe because I am once more a caretaker and maybe because <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">it's almost completed percolating.</span> Who knows?<br /><br />At this point, I'm just so tired I can't think straight. Ever been there?WKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2814986559614289517.post-14897168751093913912009-06-15T05:02:00.000-07:002009-06-15T05:19:01.274-07:00Life Rears Its Ugly HeadA little less than two weeks ago, I received that phone call, the one you never want to receive. My eighty-two-year-old mother had fallen from her front porch and broken her back. Not just her back, but both bones in her left arm and her left thumb. Needless to say, I dropped everything and went to her side.<br /><br />It's funny how things work out. We become so involved in our own lives that we often forget how many lives are entwined with ours. Our parents. Our children. Our friends. We laugh and say we don't like people. We chuckle at the 'idiots' on the road, but we forget that we're on the road and we are people, too. John Donne once proclaimed that "no man is an island." I've never been more certain that Donne is correct.<br /><br />Before I knew God had ordained that I be a writer, I knew I was a daughter. I looked into my mother's hazel eyes, asking for comfort or guidance. Now, I'm her comfort. Life is truly a circle.<br /><br />As Justice of the Peace, I've performed thousands of wedding ceremonies. In each ceremony, I raise the wedding rings and note that they are in the form of a circle with no ending and no beginning. I smile and say, "This circle, the symbol of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">commitment</span>, stands as a reminder that love has no end." That's the way it is with a parent. They shed their love like nourishing rain, hoping to water the healthy emotional growth of a child. Now, it's my turn, I suppose. Now, I can return the favor of love my mother granted me over the years.<br /><br />As she lays trapped inside the back and neck brace, I can show her what I have become. Although I wish it had happened in a less painful way, I have the opportunity to let her see what that nourishing flood of love she offered during my life has sparked. I have the opportunity to be kind and loving, to be supportive and encouraging. I hope I'm woman enough to catch hold of the opportunity.<br /><br />Mother's recovery will be long and painful, but in the end, the doctors say she will recover but not without scars. The active life she once enjoyed will be hindered by chronic back pain. Her garden and yard work, the things she most enjoys during warm weather, are completely gone from this summer and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">possibly</span> from the few summers she has left on this earth. I ask my readers for their prayers and, for those who do not pray to send good thoughts our way.<br /><br />My life is temporarily on hold. I have little time to write, but in not writing, I have ample time to think about what family relationships should be: the continuation of emotional nourishment. My mother's fall is a learning experience, and I pray that I can take advantage of this new opportunity for education.WKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2814986559614289517.post-42940862788784516952009-06-03T18:22:00.000-07:002009-06-03T18:40:05.479-07:00Once more into the BreachOkay. The new <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">WIP</span> is not working for me. I write. I delete. I write, and then I delete what I've written. I just can't seem to get where I want to go from where I am. What does that mean?<br /><br />It could mean that I'm too close, that I've included too much of me and not enough of my characters. I'm not letting them live, letting them become their own creatures. It could mean that I'm completely off track, that the world I've created isn't capable of carrying the storyline. It could mean that I'm writing crap and don't realize it. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Anything's</span> possible.<br /><br />Solution? Oh, yeah. There's always a solution. Trunk it. Wait a few weeks and go at it once again. Distance makes the heart grow fonder. What will I do in between, you ask. Well...since I had to open the trunk, I noticed a fully formed being lying right there in the bottom. The first book. The one that prompted an agent to suggest some changes. What changes? (my secret.)<br /><br />What I'm going to do is start from scratch, change the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">POV</span>, pump up the back story and make the plot a true tale of discovery. Vague, you say? Yes, maybe, but I can't stop writing. The creative muscle atrophies if you don't exercise it, just like any other muscle in the body. The more you exercise that creativity, the stronger it becomes. That's just how it works.<br /><br />I'm not a quitter. Never have been. I've fought my way through three marriages: a philanderer, a batterer, and a psychologist (my best move. I got better at picking partners as time went on.) I've fought through the death of my youngest child. I fought to finish my education even when I became what the university calls a "non-traditional" student, and now, I teach at that same university. I fought to become a poet, and I've become a pretty damn good poet, if I do say so myself. (Read some of my stuff on Raphael's Village, then you decide.)<br /><br />I won't quit, even though the current <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">WIP</span> has beaten me for the moment. When I finish my rewrite of the first book, whether it sparks a flame in an agent's eye or not, I'll open my trunk again. That's the way it works. I'll keep flexing my creative muscle until it's strong enough to lift that soon-to-become-my agent right out of his/her socks! (I also keep believing. Faith takes you a long way.)WKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2814986559614289517.post-13945003788720534122009-05-20T19:33:00.000-07:002009-05-20T20:02:01.993-07:00WaitingA member of my writing group tells a long-winded story about a jackass and his master trudging through the desert. She keeps repeating the same lines over and over as a test of her listener's ability to wait for the punch line. Even the most polite member of her audience finally gets itchy and tries to hurry her toward the finish, and of course, that listener IS the punchline when he or she has the repeated line pointed toward him/her: "Patience, Jackass, patience."<br /><br />I try. I really try to be patient, to wait humbly and silently for the group to finish their individual read <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">through</span> of novel number two. I work on other projects, read, or considering the season, garden. So far, I've planted ten oak trees (mostly because they were gifts from the forest service), two dozen Impatience, an <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Astrbilis</span>, three Azaleas, twelve tomatoes, an equal number of pepper plants, four rows of beans (Blue Lake to be precise), and six rows of potatoes. I've read four short stories, all rather <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">lengthy</span>, and now I'm starting on a Stephen J. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Cannell</span> mystery (I won the book in a poetry contest. First place). Tomorrow? I'm dying my hair red....again.<br /><br />See....patience isn't easy even when your brain keeps telling you it's all part of the process. Some time ago, I blogged about how the writer is very much like the hero in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Shawshank</span> Redemption, how we've all got our little rock hammer pounding against that concrete wall. I thought myself very wise when I wrote that, and now, I have to return to my words over and over again in order to reaffirm my own advice.<br /><br />Only one pack of cigarettes remains in my carton, a carton that I promised myself would be the last. I'm sweating. After I plant the rest of my Impatience tomorrow and dye my hair, I'm sure I'll head off to the tobacco store to get the next "last" carton.<br /><br />No one, and I mean NO ONE, is immune from worry. Although 'worry' is totally non-productive and, to the best of my knowledge, has never resulted in one, single accomplishment, we all do it. I worry about people who claim they never worry. I worry about the length of my dog's toe nails. I worry about the cat, the garden, the grandchildren, my truck. Now, I worry about that 120,000 or so words of mine that rest in the hands of my writing group.<br /><br />The late Rita Riddle, my friend and fellow poet, once confided that she worried, too. She said that her poems were like her children and submitting one of them was like putting her five-year-old on the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">school bus</span> for the first day of kindergarten. She knew what she had when she put the child on the bus, but she never knew what she'd have when the child got off the bus at the end of the day. Editors edit, and so do members of a writing group. It's all about trust. I trust my group, and I must trust that they will all operate in my best interests. They haven't failed me so far, so I've got the hair dye waiting in the bathroom and the shovel and gardening can are already by the flower bed.WKEverharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11342903231812097447noreply@blogger.com0