Why I Don't Need Entertainment

I don’t need sit-com entertainment in my life. I have children. Here’s what it’s like:

  

1.   Matt: “Hey, Mom, your horoscope says don’t make any financial decisions that would rock the boat.”

     Me: “Why do I care?”

     Matt: “So where’s your wallet?”

2.  Matt to Luke: “You’d better watch out. Or I’ll sneak up behind you with my love and kill you.”

3.  Matt and Ariel: “Movies are rated R for two reasons. Lack of clothes. Or, lack of skin (gore).”

4.  Ariel: “My prof said math proofs are like dresses. They have to be short enough to be interesting and long enough to cover the subject.” (It was a class full of girls, and they thought it was hilarious.)

5.  Ariel (scanning Netflix looking for something to watch): "So there’s this cooking show, and it’s rated R. Does it involve disembowelment?"

6.  Matthew: “I’ve decided that Jezebel (our dog) has a bad case of Stockholm Syndrome.”

7.  Matthew while eating lunch: “You are what you eat…I hope that doesn’t apply to PB&J.”

8. Matt: "Cynicism?! I don't believe in cynicism!"

Boom!

Ever since I can remember, my kids have liked the idea of things blowing up.

When Jacob was two, I found him playing in the kitchen with matches, and I asked him what he was doing. He said, “Making a bomb.”

 I thought this would pass. I was wrong.

Now my kids watch Brainiac: Science Abuse. (I’ve learned that thermite is very cool.) And the Slo-Mo Guys.

I’ve learned about the Chemistry Dept. picnic where one professor’s claim to fame is a very dangerous mixture of Mentos, soda and his mouth. And I thought tying a cherry stem into a knot in my mouth was a cool party trick. (Seriously, the Mentos/soda thing is very dangerous. Do not try it.)

My son Luke who’s in his senior year of a BS in chemistry had a giddy look on his face the other day. I asked him what was up. He told me he was doing Grignard reactions. They’re exothermic and have the potential to go “boom.”

Yesterday, Luke and Jacob were discussing engineering. Jacob is a freshman in college studying engineering. The subject came around to nuclear engineering. My daughter Ariel sighed happily and said, “Nuclear engineering uses partial differential equations.” I said, “And?” Her eyes lit up. “You know, oscillations nearing infinity…well, boom!”

Even my daughter likes “Boom!”…okay, I like booms too. I get giddy in thunderstorms. And my dad’s been known to go tornado chasing. I once got a phone call from him when he was hiding under an interstate overpass, watching a tornado. So I guess the kids come by it naturally.

BTW, if you aren’t familiar with Brainiac or thermite, this is for you.

Shy Writers and Big Girl Panties

Yesterday, I emailed a group that reviews books, asking them to consider reviewing Screwing Up Time. I’ve known about the group for a long time. I’d had them bookmarked for almost as long. But I never asked for a review. Not until I asked myself “why.”

Or a better question would be “why not.” Here’s my dialogue with myself:

Bold me: Why not ask for a review?

Shy me: Uh, I’m an introvert by nature. The idea of drawing attention to myself is anathema.

Bold me: As a writer, whether self or traditionally published, you don’t have that option anymore. Next excuse.

Shy me: What if they hate my book?

Bold me: The book has some great reviews. It was an ABNA quarterfinalist and a Publisher Weekly reviewer liked it.

Shy me: Someone might still hate it.

Bold me: So? Suck it up, girl.

Shy me: They might never even look at it. They have so many other books. They only review books they’re interested in.

Bold me: And your point is….

Shy me: I don’t know.

Bold me: Honey, “put on your big girl panties” and send that email. (You gotta love those Southern phrases.)

Shy me: Okay, I’m emailing right now.

BTW, if you'd like to find out the title for the sequel to Screwing Up Time, click here to find a game that gives you the answer

Autumn

It’s still way too hot to feel like summer is almost over. But autumn is on the way. I’ve seen a few leaves starting to turn color so it can’t be long.

Here are my favorite things about fall.

1.  How the afternoon light turns pink from all the colored leaves. It’s like wearing rose colored glasses.

2.  Life is back to a schedule. As much as I love the freedom of summer, it’s good to be back in a routine.

3. The weeds in my flower beds will soon be dead. (Of course, Round-up helped too.)

4. My sequel to Screwing Up Time will be out this fall!

5. Big bushes of chrysanthemums

6. Apple pie, mashes potatoes, gravy, and turkey

7. The crunch of fallen leaves under my shoes

8. The nip in the air that makes cheeks and noses pink

9. Taking wool sweaters out of the cedar chest and nestling in the scent

10. Hot spiced apple cider that’s mulled all day in the crockpot.

Can’t wait!

Stump a Grammar Snob

I’m not much of a normal collector. I don’t have a hundred salt and pepper shaker sets. Or ceramic figurines. Or stuffed animals.

But I do like words and grammar. I have several thesauri, multiple dictionaries (even two that are identical—that particular dictionary is my favorite, so I have to have a backup), and I have scads of grammar books, everything from the Chicago Manual of Style to Grammar Snobs are Great Big Meanies: A Guide to Language for Fun and Spite.

And I read them for fun. (Okay, I see you out there—you read them for fun too. Raise your hands. Now we’ll all sing “Kumba Ya.” Just kidding.) I also read phone books for fun. But that’s another story.

Anyway, Grammar Snobs is a sort of layman’s guide book to zingers for dealing with grammar snobs. Okay, I’ll admit to being a grammar snob. But only in dealing with my kids when they were little. “May asks for permission. Can refers to native ability. Say ‘May I have a candy bar.’” (Though my kids will probably mutter that neither usage got them a candy bar.)

In any case, I found a delightful tidbit in Grammar Snobs. One that almost everyone gets wrong. Are you ready? What is the shortened form of the word until? Think.

Are you one hundred percent sure? Okay. The shortened form of the word until is till. Yeah, I know. No one uses it correctly. Go look it up in your dictionary. I did and was shocked. I thought it was ’til. I know the rule that says when you abbreviate something (anything), you use an apostrophe to mark the spot where the letters have been removed. I thought it was a carved-in-stone-never-to-be-altered rule. But there’s an exception. 

What makes it even weirder is that the abbreviation for until is the same as the word that means “to plow the soil.”

So now you have it. A new party game. Stump your grammar snob friends.

BTW, I’m now off to do a global search of my novel for the errant ’til. Just in case.

And here's a link to the book on Amazon if you can't wait to get your hands on another grammar book. 

Inspiration and Teen-aged Boys

Last night, my husband asked the kids what they learned in school today. Matt said, “Nothing.” He typically says this. And since I’m his teacher I just roll my eyes and smile.

Then Cal asked Jake, who’s in his first year of college. Jacob said, “Well, in my engineering class, I had to write a two page paper on ‘What inspired me to study engineering.’” Everyone exchanged glances. And then laughter.

Then someone (I think it was me) asked Jacob, “Uh, is your prof a girl?”

Jacob: “Nope.”

Luke: “Did they specify font size?”

Jacob: “Yeah.”

Me: “So what did you write?”

Jacob: “I asked the girl next to me what I should write. She gave me some great suggestions.”

Me: I smile and say nothing. But I’m not entirely surprised. I’ve taught teenaged boys for years. They have no idea what inspires them. Except maybe food. That’s it—Jake was inspired to be an engineer so he could get a job and buy food for himself.

Cal: “So how long was your paper?”

Jake: “Almost a page and a half. I asked the professor if that was okay. He said, ‘Whatever.’ I got the impression that he thought the assignment was dumb too.”

Yep, that prof’s been teaching teen-aged boys for a long time. I’m guessing that paper is a departmental assignment much along the lines of elementary school’s obligatory “What did you do over the summer?” first day of school writing assignment. 

Next up, a quiz on the physics of engineering--that's much more to Jacob's liking.

Say It Ain't So

Lately, I’ve been getting lots of nudges about my sequel. Usually, the nudges involve throat clearing, pleasant smiles, and words like “So is the sequel almost done?” Those sweet questions encourage me on so many levels. One, it means you liked the first book. (Yay!) And two, it means you’re eager to read the second. (WooHoo!) The nudges help me finish the book when all I want to do is hit my head against a table or throw darts at the manuscript.

But as a reader, I’m sure you can’t imagine what’s taking so long! After all, I finished the first draft a long time ago. The only thing that’s left to do is editing. So here’s a peak behind the curtain at the three stages of editing.

Stage One: Substantive Editing (Also known as Rewriting)

After I finish the first draft and celebrate, I start editing everything that I know is wrong with the novel. Plot holes, increasing/decreasing the roles of certain characters, etc. A lot of writers, me included, leave notes for themselves in the first drafts. Stuff like: “This is horrible, fix it later.” “What happened to character X—he hasn’t shown up in six chapters?” “Set the groundwork for this plot twist in an earlier chapter.” “Does this even make sense?” So all that gets fixed first.

Once the major things are fixed, I work on voice. Making sure that each character’s speech and actions makes sense. Miranda’s words and actions can’t sound like Mark’s. In first drafts, I’m always tempted to use words that I like. But if they aren’t words that Mark would use, they have to change. Then, I check narrative voice (the voice that I choose to tell the story in) and work on consistency and tone.

After I’ve finished all of this, I send the novel to my beta readers. These sainted people are my writing friends who scour the text looking for all the big things that are wrong. This means several sets of experienced eyes are reading the text for plot holes, believability, etc. And guess what? One of my betas found a big issue. Something I couldn’t believe I’d overlooked. Thankfully, even though it was substantial (I was kicking myself that I missed it), it was contained. So I didn’t have to go through the entire text changing things. The problem was limited to a few chapters at the end, and a week of furious rewriting fixed the problem. End of stage one. Sort of.

Stage Two: Line Edits (also called copy edits)

I give my bright and shiny manuscript to my copy editor, who whips out her red pen. Gleefully. (Okay, she probably isn’t gleeful, but it seems that way to me as I hand her my baby.) She looks for smaller things—awkward phrasing, poor word choice, grammar, etc. And those are the only things she’s supposed to find. But they aren’t. She finds something more substantive.

My response? NO!! She must seriously be wrong. I finished the Sub Edits. I know that I if I have to do any more of those, I am going to die.

After I treat myself to a few consoling Haribo raspberries (the European kind that are tangy and not too sweet), I ponder the fact that the line editor might be right. She’s probably wrong, of course. But I should check up on the issue. So I email one of my betas and ask about the issue. Beta agrees with line editor! No! Say it ain’t so. Please!

Don’t get me wrong. I love this story. My betas love the story, even better than the first book. But I’m so tired of it. I want to move on to the shiny new story that’s seductively calling to me in my mind.

So this is where I am. The line edits are 2/3s done. And I’ve hit a snag. Honestly, it’s not that big. And it’s contained, so it should be an easy fix. It’s just that I hoped to be done with line edits by the end of the week. Sigh.

Now I’m sitting with my pages and my gummi raspberries, trying to decide where to begin.

After this, the final stage is proofreading. That’s its own special torture where I sit with the Chicago Manual of Style and obsessively look up things that probably don’t really matter. I’m trying really hard not to think about that. Time for more raspberries.