Random Musings

Hello,

It’s the day before Thanksgiving (we’re not going to have a traditional Thanksgiving dinner; we’re going out to eat at a restaurant that’s supposedly haunted, but that’s another story). It’s been a day filled with housecleaning and working on the novel (and deleting a bunch of junk from it that didn’t add to the story). Packing is another thing that had to get done today, due to me heading to Wisconsin for the weekend. But I digress…

Some old (but new) news today is Desperate Housewives “hunk” Jesse Metcalfe getting verbally massacred by a female fan after he disses her. Back in the olden days (2003-ish, to be exact) I had a crush on this guy, but he seems to have developed massive ego problems after his stint on Desperate Housewives. Then came the stories about how much of a dick he is, how arrogant, blah blah blah. Thus I wasn’t surprised to see the video of him pointedly ignoring a fan.

That people still consider him a hunk is worth of a good head scratch.

Hmmm:

 Henry Cavill

or

Jesse Metcalfe

Definitely Henry Cavill.

Other news is the release of the second book of Lauria Faria Stolarz’s Touch Series – Deadly Little Lies. It continues where Deadly Little Secrets left off, from Ben’s ability to see things by touching people to Camelia’s suspicion that she might also have psychometry. Add to this some threatening notes, a new hunk in town (I’ve been using the word hunk a lot in this post, haven’t I), and quite a bit of mistrust. Although I, personally, was a little let-down by the end, I look forward to reading the next installment, Deadly Little Games.

And last, I’m relenting. I’m finally getting a Macbook. The PC I’m currently worked on has served me okay during the year I’ve had it, but it has too many damned problems to list.

Such is life, I guess.

Trilogies

I’ve attempted to expand my Civil Rights story a few times, but to no avail. To be fair, I wasn’t utilizing the historical material and I was Quite Immature, therefore a miniseries had been more daunting to me than I’d realized at the time. I didn’t have the chops (or the interest).

But now that I’m older and wiser, I’m finding myself having all this story. I’ve been inspired by other miniseries, by other authors who’ve done it well, and, through research, I’m finding all this great stuff out about Wisconsin’s history than what is known by most people. It feels great to be this inspired. Of course I’ll have to see how it all plays out.

Now while I can’t claim to be an expert on writing trilogies (I’m far from it; I’m still working out the plots for the other two books that have come to fruition), but what I do know is garnered from other trilogies and miniseries. Read on:

1. Don’t use up all your juice in the first book – I know you can’t wait to get Catherine’s story down in the first novel, but please, save some of those “aces in the hole” for the next two books, otherwise why would the reader want to keep on? And how could you possibly have the energy to finish the trilogy? That’s why it’s recommended you save some of your “aces in the hole” for the other two books. Don’t pile them all on the first.

2. Have your main character learn and grow as the series progress – If Catherine doesn’t grow or learn anything, then what’s the point?

3. Make it so his/her main problem can’t be solved in just one book – Take a look at Mildred D. Taylor’s Logan Family books. The Logans are a black family in Mississippi in the early part of the century who hold dear their land and family. Their problems with racism and love aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. If Catherine comes from a family that happens to be feuding with her boyfriend’s kin, it easily can expand beyond one book.

Those are only a few points. There are many more things to keep in mind when writing a trilogy, but this is what I know off the top of my head. Write on.

Yet Another Damned List

What’s rocking my socks this fine, early-Monday morning (1:18 a.m. to be exact; don’t ask why I’m awake at this hour) are some underrated celebrities who I never would have heard of had I not been a history/old movie/old music buff. Dean Stockwell is one, as you can plainly see, but there’s a few others I’ve been looking into via Wikipedia and Internet Movie Database. Onward:

Esther Williams

Nancy Kwan

Claire Trevor

Heather Sears

Diane Varsi

Virginia Field

Robert Horton

Bradford Dillman

Walter Pidgeon

Marshall Thompson

Farley Granger

Richard Long (He sometimes went by the shortened form of Dick. Don’t believe me? Look at imdb.com!)

Vignette from Riverwest book

Note: I’ve been tinkering with a series of interconnected stories lately. The book has that kind of connected-short-story-Jesus’-Son-Olive-Kitteridge kind of thing going on, but it takes place in the Riverwest neighborhood of Milwaukee. Now for those who haven’t been there, Riverwest is a unique neighborhood in and of itself. There’s police on horseback now (which I’ll definitely include in this book) if that tells you something. Ah, and should you ever travel there, go to Closet Classics (great vintage clothing and costumes) and Alterra (great coffee). You’ll be happy you did. Read on…

         Elliot planned on hanging out at the Art Bar. He intended to drink away the sour memory left by a semester’s worth of shitty grades, no thanks to Henry and Alma, to wondering about himself as a man and what it meant to be a man. But when Elliot steered his car into a “rock star” parking space, he peered into his rearview mirror and saw his plans weren’t to be.

            There, skulking behind other parked cars, was what looked to be a teenaged boy – baseball cap, oversized hooded sweatshirt, and a grimace fashioned by God knows what. He’d pop his head up every now and again, dark eyes pinned on Elliot’s Pacer. He’d disappear from sight. It was like a whack-a-mole game.

            Elliot swallowed. He knew what would happen if he stepped out of the safety of his car. He’d heard about the Riverwest muggings, of course, both from acquaintances and friends. Zack was held up at gunpoint last week. Stan’s coworker was mugged a few blocks from campus. If Elliot didn’t do the skedaddle, he might wind up surrendering his hard-earned tips.

            Fuck this. Elliot twisted the key in the ignition. He could scoot on over to Shorewood where the crime level was low. They’d just opened a tavern where the seafood restaurant used to be. Oakcrest Tavern supposedly had good food. Elliot could guzzle a few beers and eat a basket of fries. He could slum with the Northshore folk and watch a pride of soccer moms shove strollers down Oakland. 

            He pulled away from the curb just as the boy reached his car.

            Once upon a time, Shorewood was a booming neighborhood. The best restaurant closed a few months back and there were rumors that the bookstore was going out of business as well. True, there was a Starbucks and a locally-owned coffee shop, but there was only so much java one could drink to keep themselves entertained. Not to mention all the hair salons and spas. How fun would it be for a twenty-two year old bachelor to live in this neighborhood?

            Not very, Elliot thought as he guided his car up Capitol Drive.

            Anybody who wanted a good time found themselves on Brady Street, raving it up on Water Street, or ambling around Bayview. Now that the bookstore shut down and the restaurants were losing business as well, Shorewood was practically a ghost town.

            Elliot swerved his car into another “rock star” space. He shut the car off, popped open the door, slid onto the pavement. He took a deep breath of crisp, autumn air and congratulated himself for the idea. Sure, Shorewood was, essentially as square as square could get when it came to slumming, but it would do. Oakcrest was a safe bet with its three televisions showing the Packers game and wood-paneled walls.

            He shut the door, locked it.

            Something hard pressed into his backbone. Instinctively he straightened up, remembering his mother’s pushing her thumbs into his back so he’d fix his posture. He started to turn.

            “Don’t look at me, you motherfucker. Just hand over your wallet.”

            His knees weakened. It wasn’t his mom forcing him to stand up straight. It was someone ramming a gun into his back.

            Shit.

            His hands felt as floppy as gelatin as he fumbled in his pocket for his wallet. All of his hard-earned tips, all of that money barely earned from hours at John Hawke’s Pub, all of those leering businessmen in their fine suits whose faces he wanted to throw a pie at when they didn’t tip him enough.

            He extracted the twenty and three singles and handed them over.

            The gunman snatched the money, removed the gun from Elliot’s back, and took off running. He turned around, hoping he might recognize who’d ever robbed him, but the asshole wore the stereotypical ski mask of any television robber, rendering identification impossible.

            Elliot collapsed against his car.

            Son of a bitch. What the hell was he going to do?

Rage

I have a hot temper. It doesn’t take much for me to blow my stack. Whether I’m tripping over headphones and breaking toes or I realize I forgot the take the garbage out after I’ve gotten on a Milwaukee-bound train, it doesn’t take much to anger me. Now don’t get me wrong. I don’t believe in violence. If your rage is making you violent, I do suggest seeking a Good Therapist, not taking it out on an innocent bystander.

Unless, of course, that innocent bystander is a character. If something makes you seethe inside, I suggest getting it down on paper. Work it out via your characters. Make them rage about it and figure out a way to solve it. It can beat going to a therapist, no? And it can beat getting arrested for domestic abuse, correct? Correct. And heaven knows it’s better for your health than eating an entire batch of cookies, chain-smoking, or drinking in excess.

Take, for example, this: I loathe being called ‘ma’am’. There’s nothing pretty about the sound and, in my humble opinion, it’s something I call my grandmother. It conjures up middle-age and lack of sexual appeal. I know, I know – I’m being extraordinarily sensitive to a name that’s considered part of polite society (though I prefer being called nothing at all, but that’s a story for another day, I guess). So what do I do? Take it out on the middle-aged woman who called me that? Bitchslap the man who said it as he was brushing past me?

Nay!

I’ll work my annoyance out in story form!

I have this middle-aged woman who’s obsessed with this handsome man in his twenties. She’s a little bit of a tragic character, as she’s never been in love except with the men she’s seen on television or in magazines, and she falls madly in love with this man to the point of building a shrine of his artifacts. Unfortunately for her, he has a girlfriend and has zero interest in pursuing a relationship with Karen. Add to that the fact that he addresses her as “ma’am”. Argh! Does this enrage her! So I vented this rage via Karen. It was fun! It was joyous! And heaven knows it’s better than being Unreasonably Nasty to someone who Means Well.

So go ahead. If you’re annoyed by folks driving and talking on their cell phones at the same time, write about that. Write about the bad tip you received the other night. Write about your evil stepmother or your wretched father-in-law. Write, write, write, and prosper!

Au revoir!

Things I’m Enjoying

Since I’m only writing for school now (I don’t have much time for pleasure-writing, not with how much I’ve been writing and rewriting the work I’m about to unleash upon my poor classmates), I’ve been finding random things I’ve been enjoying. Here and there and everywhere.

Dean Stockwell – I always enjoy a good Dean Stockwell flick, especially from his younger years. Take a look at this fine specimen of man and tell me you don’t think he was a handsome young fella! I dare you! He’s gorgeous!

Then of course there’s the underside of a catloaf. If you don’t know what a catloaf is, it’s when a cat tucks all its appendanges under its body so it looks like a loaf. Here’s a picture of my cat loafing:

Here’s a funny picture I found of the underside of a catloaf:

Old news is still funny news. Instead of writing a paper, I was looking up old Days of Our Lives episodes online and found out the old Shawn Brady (Jason Cook) was once upon a time busted for pot. In a lot of publicity pictures I’d seen of this fella, he wears a cross necklace. Ironic, but it’s kind of funny. Should Jason Cook ever stumble upon this sight, I don’t mean offense. He’s a guilty pleasure I keep secret from my mother (she knows about Dean Stockwell and makes fun of me for this; I don’t tell her about a lot of my movie star crushes because I know she’ll call them ugly or something along that effect. Ah well, I don’t find Tommy Lee hot, so shoot me).

I’ve been encountering some great music lately, too. Camera Obscura is one (I love the songs “Lloyd, I’m Ready to be Heartbroken” and “Tears for Affairs”). The Unicorns, Dead Cowboys, Laura Marling, and Loney Dear are others. Check ‘em out. I’ve also been introduced to The Handsome Family this year. Check out their songs “My Friend”, “Weightless Again”, and “Bury Me Here”. And, for a little chuckle, download some hair metal. The hair-metalist hair metal you can get your hands out. Play it when building Sim houses, when pedaling your bike around town, or wherever! Ha! But download the aforementioned groups. And get a hold of Duffy, too. She rules. Her voice is vintage-cool.

I’m reading Olive Kitterige. At first, I was a little reluctant to read it. I thought, “Ah, it’s about a retired schoolteacher! How the hell can I relate to her as a character?” I’ve got about sixty pages left and am loving it. I’m consuming it like I would Really Good Wine – slowly. Pick it up. Bask in Strout’s words and her delicious stories.

Then there’s Henry Cavill. Ah, Henry Cavill. The most beautiful man from The Tudors and supposedly Stephenie Meyers’ first choice for Edward Cullen (I don’t see it, but whatev. I’d love to have Jena Malone play Jessamyn from my Feud Trilogy, but, again, whatev). I keep up to date on Henry’s activities like a good fan, but I found a picture of him that was rather unsettling in some ways. He looks like a hipster. Or like an overly literary type. Glasses are hot on a man, but this picture…I don’t think I’m liking it. I think i’m preferring the one beneath:

 

 

Random Acts of Rudeness

Is it just me or are people getting ruder as the years pass?

To make a long story short, I wandered into this bodega-type store right around the corner from my house. I’d just spent 40 minutes on the elliptical machine and planned on going home to give my house a good scrubdown. But first, I needed paper toweling. I was checking out when this greaseball wanders in. While I’m paying for my paper towel, he gets all close. I’m stuffing the remaining bills into my wallet when he says, “Get out of my way.”

Get out of your way?

Did your mother not teach you any manners, Dirtbag? Are you so hard-up to get your cigarettes that you have to resort to rudeness in order to get them?

I’m tempted to find this gentleman…err, dirtbag (because gentleman doesn’t apply to rude people) and hand him a copy of the Etiquette Grrls’ Things You Need To Be Told book. He would benefit.

Argh.

He’s lucky I was on workout high, otherwise I might’ve told him to get a life.

Battered Words Clinic

So, I was prepping a story to hand in to my professor for this week’s advising meeting and I noticed a little gem of a slip-up while I was rewriting the thing. I used the wrong form of their/there/they’re! Dun Dun Dun! It was supposed to be there, but I put their instead. Thank God I caught it in revision or I might have earned myself a much-deserved scolding from said professor. Very likely she would have wondered how I got into an MFA program in the first place (it’s something I often wonder, as I’m a procrastinating, sensitive thing! Maybe too damned sensitive for this career!).

But I digress!

There’s some words that are just abused and misued to no end. Two/to/too and their/there/they’re are easily some of the most abused words in the dictionary. Not to mention affect/effect. And then there’s the precious semicolon. All of these are mistreated.

Let’s take a look at them, shall we?

Their/there/they’re

Their – is an adjective meaning a) belonging to them and b) belonging to him or her.

Ex: Is that their house?

There – an adverb with many, many uses. It can used to a) indicate a place, b) on that matter, c) a successful point, d) used to identify somebody or something emphatically, e)  introduction to a sentence, and f) a means to express feelings.

Ex: I don’t plan on going there for the holidays.

We’ll get there when we get there.

There’s Atticus Finch!

There, now! Don’t be upset. Edward is just a fictional character.

They’re – a contraction of they are.

Ex: They’re not home.

Then there’s Two/to/too

Two – a number.

Ex: There’s only two different flavors of ice cream? Weak!

To – preposition/adverb indicating a direction, destination, or position of somebody or something.

Ex: I’m going to K-Mart tomorrow.

I want to see the KISS concert.

Too – an adverb meaning a) as well, b) more than is desirable, c) extremely, d) very, and e) indeed.

Ex: The Untouchables were too moral to give into Al Capone’s bribes.

Sarah wasn’t too thrilled about a green Christmas.

I’m intelligent too! You just don’t see that!

And then there’s the sad case of affect/effect.

Affect – it means a) to influence somebody or something, b) stir emotions, or c) cause someone to have a disease.

Ex: The negative critique affected Jacob so that he had insomnia for an entire week.

Mississippi Burning really affected Judith.

Effect – is a noun meaning a) result, b) power to influence, c) impression, d) cause or production of impression, e) special sound or lighting, f) scientific phenomenon.

Ex: The effect of Jacob’s massive insomnia and depression was getting the flu.

The special effects in The Wizard of Oz are remarkable for their time.

And then there’s the semicolon. It’s used to separate two parts of a sentence that have a relationship to each other. For example: We have an icebox in our kitchen; it’s just for show now that we have a refrigerator.

But it’s been my experience that semicolons are generally frowned upon. A girl I knew said something along the lines of “semicolons are used to show you’ve been to college”. It doesn’t help that they are abused as often as the words mentioned above. So I would recommend not using one unless you really know how to work it. Even my icebox/refrigerator example isn’t the greatest example to show how it should be done.

So there you have it. Treat these words (and punctuation mark) with kindness!

On Fan Fiction

What I’m about to say will anger a lot of people, but I don’t really care. I’m going to say it anyway. I’ll channel the asshole-ness of Marvin Bushmiller on Art School Confidential, so listen closely, Cats and Kittens, because this needs to be said (at least in my opinion).

            I was poking around on a message board a few weeks ago. Some newbie writer asked if they should write fan fiction or create their own world.

            Ah…no…

            Turn back the clock a little bit, Dear Reader. I used to write fan fiction myself when I was a zit-studded thirteen year old who wanted to be the next Jane Austen (or maybe it was VC Andrews back in those dark old days). My mother wasn’t impressed when I showed her my story featuring a mishmash of Saturday Morning cartoon characters battling a hillbilly mad scientist. Neither was my father. Both wondered the same thing, “Why can’t you create your own story? That’s plagiarism?”

            I was crushed. Parents are supposed to be supportive of their kids’ effort, no matter how bad the results! Right?

            I grew up. I used my bad fan fiction for firewood one afternoon and have no regrets. It was terrible. True, I told my mother that it was “good practice” for when I started to create my own world and characters, but was it really? Other newbies might agree with me. But nay, they shant!

            Why?

            Because if you’re writing about someone else’s characters and worlds, the creation is all done for you. How are you going to get good practice with world and character building if you’re writing about someone else’s characters? And besides, you don’t know everything there is to know about Frodo or Bella Swan, so there are great chances you’ll make great mistakes. I know for a fact that I couldn’t write a Frodo story. I don’t know his entire history, his likes and dislikes, or how he acts in certain situations. I don’t know the complete laws and history of Middle Earth. I do, however, know how my character Jessamyn will act in a sticky situation. I know why she sticks with Algernon as a boyfriend despite his being kind of a schmuck. I know her history. And I certainly know her town, Truman, like the back of my hand. I know which rivers run to the north, which highways run to the south, and where, exactly, Helmut’s Tavern is located. Plus, I won’t have authors angry at me for raping their world.

            I don’t agree that fan fiction is “good practice”. It’s laziness. You’re writing about someone else’s characters, someone else’s world, and what fun is that? Isn’t writing about creation, for goodness sake?

            I do realize some people write fan fiction for fun. Good for them. But if you’re going to be a serious writer, I think you should get practice world and character-building by writing your own stories, because fan fiction isn’t going to do that for you. Some writers don’t appreciate people writing fan fiction of their stories.

            And if you do have trouble creating your own worlds, check out Holly Lisle’s site. She has a great world-building workshop on there. I believe she might have an e-book about the subject, too. And of course there are great books on the market about character creation. For the latter, however, you could always hang around the neighborhood coffee shop or other places where traffic is high. People watching is free and you can gather great character traits that way.

            Go to it!

            Merrily create your own worlds and characters! It’s fun! And, besides, it’s a little like playing God. Who doesn’t love playing God?

And (finally) a Game! YaY!

My friend and I play this game when we have writer’s block or when we need a good laugh. It doesn’t have a great name, necessarily, but a product of this game is called a Captain Poem. Now what is a Captain Poem? It’s a type of poem based on the schlock one of my villains writes. He thinks he’s a great writer, but his stuff is beyond shit. A new word needs to be invented to describe just how shitty his work is.

A Captain Poem, outside of the story, is a purposefully-written bad poem. Ideally, it should have a rhyme scheme, but it doesn’t necessarily need it. Nature or dogs or something trite is an ideal theme, but my friend and I have been known to write some pretty silly stuff. We’ve written poems about frozen pizza, war, earwax, and a badger smashed on the side of the road. It’s fun! Two or more players are required, otherwise there is no competition to see who can write the worst crap. Also, every poem has to end with the phrase “I love you”.

Example:

Bark of the Canine

In my sleep I hear

The bark of a canine so near

Sends chills down my spine

At half past nine

So I leave the house

Quiet as a mouse

To see the dog

O’er the log

It sits there

Barking without a care

And makes me smile

So carefree that dog, while

I try to sleep

So I make not a peep

As I go back to the house

Quiet as a mouse

And fall asleep with a smile

I Love You

 

So there you have it, Cats and Kittens, a shitty poem. Write your own! Write in the style of William McGonagall and the other bad writers of times past! Make it rhyme or erase letters! It’s up to you! Get drunk if you wish!

Just please, please, please don’t mention I came up with this idea…