Friday, July 31, 2009

Fiction Friday: What's the One Thing?

To while away the time until we can start playing "finish this prompt" again, I thought I'd try to gather some intell to help me improve my writing.

Today's question: What one thing will stop you in your tracks when you're reading?

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

Web Wednesday: Bach Duo

I've been doing this for the past few weeks, but I've decided to officially devote Wednesday's post to cool things people email me and/or I stumble across on the internet.

Kind of a salute to the way the web has changed the world.

Monday, July 27, 2009

How Old Is That in Dog Years?

Today is Old Dog's 55th birthday. As you may remember, I passed this milestone back in February, making him 5 and 1/2 months younger than me, a fact of which he frequently reminds me. I'm okay with that, since he looks several years older (due, he says, to raising 5 teenagers), a fact of which I frequently remind him.

Several people have asked me why I call my beloved "Old Dog," so I thought I'd re-publish the original post in which he was christened.

Bedtime Story

After 11 blissful years of marriage, my husband and I are having troubles in bed. I refer, of course, to the two issues that confront every couple – snoring and blanket allocation.

The first time I ever saw Bill doze, I noticed that he had the most adorable little – it wasn’t even a snore, really, more like a tiny, soft catch in the back of his throat followed by an even softer expulsion of air. His face, relaxed from the cares of the day, looked so peaceful, his dark eyelashes lying in crescents on his cheeks, his chiseled lips appearing to smile, even in slumber.

Apparently, even sleep has a courtship phase, because the guy I lie beside now sucks in great a swallow of air, gargles it somewhere between his nose and his throat and then expels it with an eruption guaranteed to jar the soundest sleeper from her beauty rest.

Even more annoying is the conversation this spawns.

“Bill,” I say, “You’re snoring.”

“What?” He draws another raucous breath.

“Snoring,” I repeat. “You’re snoring. Turn over.”

“What?”

“Turn over.” I give his shoulder a shove.

“What?”

I think briefly about holding a pillow over his face – not long enough to do any real harm, just enough to break the cycle, but decide that’s a slippery slope best not trodden upon. (Lest you think I’m unique, you should know that, in an unscientific survey, 75% of married women polled confessed to thinking about holding a pillow over their husband’s snoring face on one or more occasions.)

Instead, I shout, “YOU’RE SNORING! ROLL OVER!”

With a miffed sound, he turns onto his side and sinks effortlessly back into slumber while I lie awake, fuming.

The second issue is blanket sharing.

Like most women, I am married to a creature whose body mass exceeds my own. Theoretically, this should give him a real advantage in acquiring a solid share of the blankets at night. However, due to the fact that I was raised in a family of seven children and shared a bed from the time I left my crib until I left for college, while he had only a single sister, I am more skilled at “tuck and roll” than he.

At least, this used to be true. For the first ten winters of our marriage, he complained that he froze while I transformed myself into a human jelly roll with the covers.

Lately, though, I notice he’s figured out the trick, and our nightly struggles for the blankets would make a WWF match look like kindergartners jostling at nap time.

I still adore him, though, and out of this, have only one question:

If you were going to learn a new trick, old dog, why couldn’t it be “roll over”?

Friday, July 24, 2009

Friday Fiction: Writing by the Numbers, This Week's Winners and Next Week's Prompt

I've been writing seriously (as in, every day or close to it) since 2000. In that time, I've churned out two novels, five short stories and half a dozen essays. I've taken three college classes and attended five writers' conferences. I have 20 rejection slips in a folder in my file drawer.

Here are some broader numbers I've picked up from my studies:

A writer with a finished manuscript has a 1 in 10,000 chance of publication.

The average writer gets somewhere between his second and his sixth manuscript published.
80% of all titles published are non-fiction, 20% fiction. (per http://parapublishing.com)

The average fiction writer in America earns $5000/year.

About 200 writers in the U.S. actually make a living writing fiction.

So why am I working on novel #3?

Yeah, I ask myself that all the time.

Last Week's Winner:

Only two entries again last week, Jeff and Steven G. Jeff's was actually an essay, rather than a story, but it was a good one.

Much can be discerned about a woman named Elizabeth from the nickname she goes by.

There is sure to be a coy exhibitionist bursting to come out when meeting Betty.

The quiet little church mouse in the corner of the library is often introduced as Betsy.

A bit of flair and stardust in her eyes comes with an introduction to Liz or Liza.

The dependable hard worker will answer when Beth is called out.

If you are in need of a champion, call out to Libby.

But if you ever run across a Lizzie, never axe her a question.


And Steven's

Oops, y’all


“Much can be discerned about a woman named Elizabeth from the nickname she goes by.”
NO SHIT, muthafucka!

In 07 Johnny Scarlett picked ME to work a job with Mama Lizzie. Now Johnny’s a bad dude, but Mama Lizzie is fuckin’ SUPERBAD! Mama Lizzie can snap her finger and you a dead muthafucka! I was uptight, alright.
I was in position that day. I reported on cue, “Mama Lizzie’s here.”
That afternoon, Sir John Scarlett, Director General of the British Secret Service, told my commander, “Tell that kid to never call Queen Elizabeth ‘Mama Lizzie’ again.”


Next week's prompt:

Given the lack of participation in recent weeks, it's time to rethink this. I'll probably bring it back after Labor Day, possibly in a new format.

Monday, July 20, 2009

We've Come a Long Way, Baby - Part 2


A couple of weeks ago I shared the story of my 5-year-old granddaughter who's enthralled by the Disney Princesses, and totally buys into the whole Pretty-Woman-All-I-Need-Is-A-Prince-To-Rescue-Me crapola.

June Freaking Cleaver and Maggie May recommended a children's book with a very nice twist on this story, The Paper Bag Princess, by Robert Munsch, wherein the princess rescues herself AND her prince-boyfriend.

I found a copy on Amazon for three bucks, so I bought it. Kylie and her mom dropped by the night it arrived, so I wasted no time in sitting down and reading it to her. She was absorbed, listening carefully to every word, and when I finished she peppered me with questions:"Why did the dragon destroy her castle?" "Why was she wearing a paper bag?" "Why didn't the prince like her anymore when she was wearing the bag?"

Once I'd answered every question she sat very still. I could almost see the wheels whirring behind that sweet little face as she sorted out what it all meant. Then she said:

"From now on, I'm only going to read the part of the book where she has pretty clothes and a boyfriend."

So, my bloggy friends, do you have any more ideas?

Friday, July 17, 2009

Fiction Friday: The Two-Humped Camel, Part 2, and Prompt X

Plotting

The joke that I posted on Monday, the Two-Humped Camel, was one I actually heard nearly forty years ago, from Ben Campbell, my freshman English teacher back in high school.

(I often hear people say, "I don't remember jokes." I totally don't get that. I think I remember every joke I ever heard. All it takes is a little nudge and one will pop into my head, as fresh (or rancid) as the day I heard it.)

Anyway, the nudge that brought back the Two-Humped Camel joke was thinking about plotting in fiction, which is supposed to be like a two-humped camel: things start off level for the protagonist, then she encounters an obstacle. She works through that, and things get a little better and then, wham, she hits another obstacle, before finally learning whatever it is she has to learn and resolving the issue for once and for all.

If you're interested in learning more about plotting, there are a couple of great books (recommended to me by other writers): Story, by Robert McKee and Screenplay, by Syd Field. Both books are actually about screenwriting, but plot for novels work in much the same way, especially today, when readers' expectations are largely formed by movies and TV.

This Week's Winner

is Steven G. He had an interesting take on the prompt, as he so often does. Nice work, Steven!

NOW

His five day run on Jeopardy! changed Elwood Merkles life forever. The answer, "EMP" triggered an emotionless response from China’s seven billion dollar prototype robot to announce, “What is Electromagnetic Pulse, Asshole,?”

Alex Trebek had grown to like Elwood, but was stunned by the response. Elwood’s eyes turned dead.
Elwood stood motionless as the studio crew shivered in fear.
“Who are you?’ begged Alex.
LWD MRKL. I am programmed to Listen, Withhold Determent, Manage Response, and KL.
Alex weakly asked Elwood, “What is KL?”
Elwood replied., “KL is KILL.”
Alex cried out, “KILL WHO??
Elwood said, “You.”





Next Week's Prompt

As you may know, Steven G was the only entrant this week, and one of two last week. Not sure what's going on -- vacations? bad prompts? or is everyone burned out? Depending on what happens this week, I may take a prompting sabbatical till after Labor Day.

Anyway, here's this week's prompt:

Much can be discerned about a woman named Elizabeth from the nickname she goes by.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Speculative Fiction: A Challenge

The Democratic Party of Eulie County, Florida received a gift last week:


It's an actual ballot from the 2000 election, complete with hanging chads.

Seeing the picture, and hearing my sister, Carla, who's a precinct worker there, talk about it made me remember the whole debacle. Actually, I've been thinking about it a lot since the Iranian election, when a questionable result inspired people to take to the streets in protest, even to risk their lives. Which in turn made me wonder how we Americans became so blase about liberty and democracy, that when something like that happened here, we just said, essentially, "Oh, well."

I decided to channel my energy into my favorite pastime - fiction. If you read my post on speculative fiction, then you know it starts with "What If?"

Today's challenge is to write a short comment with your thoughts on "What if Al Gore had won in 2000?" I'm interested in hearing all viewpoints, but please be respectful and logical. If your thought is "the world as we know it would have ended," tell me why you think that. If you think global warming would be a thing of the past, support your statement.

Monday, July 13, 2009

The Two-Humped Camel

A couple of briars* ride a Bactrian to the drive-in movie. After some initial confusion, where the other theater-goers have to convince them to relocate to the back row, they watch the first feature.

At intermission, they tie the camel to the speaker post and head for the concession stand, only to return to an empty space where their camel last stood. They check out the whole parking lot, figuring maybe he wandered away, but no camel.

So they go to the police station, where a skeptical police sergeant asks them to describe the missing camel.

“Well,” says the first briar, “he’s 8-feet tall and has two humps.”

The cop writes this down. “And?”

“He’s brown,” volunteers the second briar, “and he weighs about a thousand pounds.”

“Any distinguishing marks?” asks the cop.

The briars look at each other and scratch their heads. Just as the first starts to say, “Nooooo,” the second exclaims, “He had two assholes.”

The cop looks up. “Two assholes?”

The briars both nod vigorously.

“What makes you say that?” says the cop.

“When we bought our tickets, as we were riding away, we heard the woman at the booth say, ‘look at those two assholes on that camel.’”

*A briar is a person hailing from the great Commonwealth of Kentucky. And, before anyone takes offense, allow me to state that both of my parents were from there.

Friday, July 10, 2009

Fiction Friday: Blogging, The Musical and Prompt IX

Cast of Characters

Jessica Wanton -- A former stripper in search of herself
Rev. Judgment -- An evangelical minister in search of a sinner
Chef Chuck -- A 36-year-old single Dad with a cooking blog
Sous Chef Chucky -- His teenaged son
If Mama Ain’t Happy -- A 29-year-old mother of toddlers with a mommy blog
Bed, Breakfast & Beyond -- A 45-year-old owner of a WWII army barracks she’s converted into a B&B


Act I

Jessica Wanton has tried many careers – stripper, artists’ model, lifeguard at a nude beach, body double for a porno star, but they’ve all left her hungry to share more of herself with the world. (If I Only Had a Blog)

One day, while cruising the internet, checking for copyright infringements, she comes across the web diary of If Mama Ain’t Happy, a young mother living with the pain of breast feeding with inverted nipples. (Hakuna MaTaTa’s)

From there, she links to the angst-filled blog of Chef Chuck, a widowed dad who fills his time and his need for creativity by cooking gorgeous, high-calorie meals and posting photographs of them, then whining about how much more he’d be appreciated if he were a woman (If I Were a Bitch, Man).

Next she stumbles across the musings of Bed, Breakfast and Beyond, an interior designer living in a WWII army barracks converted into a bed-and-breakfast by painting it to look like a huge loaf of sourdough bread. This woman shares the travails of dealing with 2-day guests who steal her towels but leave used condoms between the sheets. (WTF U SOB)

And, suddenly, Jessica realizes that this is what she’s been looking for: a chance to share her deepest self with an entire world of strangers. (Wrapping My Legs Around a Post)

Act II

After a couple of weeks of preparation (HTML Hell), Wanton World goes live. Unfortunately, Jessica’s initial post, about her experience with breast enlargement surgery (Breast Size Story), complete with before and after pictures, draws the attention of Reverend Judgment, who leaves her scorching comments (If Ever I Would Flame You).

Jessica’s initial defiance (Can You Feel the Spam Tonight?) quickly turns to dejection (Blue Blog), but kindly comments from her bloggy buddies, If Mama Ain’t Happy, Chef Chuck and Bed, Breakfast & Beyond, telling her to ignore the Reverend and calling him “an old warthog,” lift her spirits (I Feel Bloggy). The four of them join in a production number, Blogosphere Bitchin’.

It is during this number that Jessica begins to realize she has feelings for Chef Chuck, and to suspect that he may feel the same way. She is overjoyed that true love may have finally come her way (I Could Have Blogged All Night).

Offline, If Mama Ain’t Happy and Bed, Breakfast & Beyond express their hopes that their buddy, Chef Chuck, may have finally met a new mom for his teenage son, Sous Chef Chucky (Pagemaker, Pagemaker).

For her next post, Jessica discusses the pros and cons of sexting. (I Love It When You Text Dirty). Reverend Judgment is furious, and his posse of bloggers join him in condemning her (Comment Whore), but Jessica responds defiantly (I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Out of My Hairs).

This time, though, her new-found friends side with the Reverend (Sorry, Honey, But Your Post is Too Long/ So Wrong). Although she initially remains defiant (Suck My Mouse), after an email conversation with Chef Chuck where she pleads for understanding (Take Me As I Blog), and he remains adamant (You’ve Turned My Hard Drive Into a Floppy) she realizes that not only is everyone against her, but her openness has destroyed her chance at love.

Giving way to depression (Blue Blog - Reprise), Jessica realizes that her quest to truly express her deepest feelings has failed and she closes down Wanton’s World, vowing never to post again.

Act III

A week later, Chef Chuck, exhausted, unshaven, and suffering from twin cases of eyestrain and tennis elbow, admits his feelings for Jessica. (I’ve Grown Accustomed to Her Facebook).

As Jessica once again scouts for pirated photos of her private parts on the internet, she finds a cache of photos with a startlingly high hit rate – all coming from the same IP address.

Using an IP tracing utility (Take Me to Your Sidebar), Jessica discovers that it is Chef Chuck who has been looking at her pictures. When she confronts him (Tweet Me, Baby, (All Night Long)), he is forced to admit his feelings and to beg for forgiveness (Baby, Let Me Look Up Your Templates).

After some initial resistance, Jessica accepts his apology and admits that she feels the same way (Drag and Drop My Love on Your Post).

If Mama Ain’t Happy and Bed, Breakfast & Beyond, who feel terrible that their harsh comments drove Jessica from the Blogosphere, are thrilled to learn that she and Chef Chuck are to marry (Beauty and the Breast).

The play ends with Jessica and Chef Chuck making wedding plans while, in the privacy of his bedroom, Sous-Chef Chucky Googles images of his stepmom-to-be.

The End

Thanks to everyone for all your great song titles! I had a lot of fun with this.

Next Week's Prompt
His five-day run on Jeopardy! changed Elwood Merkle's life forever.

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

Geek Report: Very Cool Web Page

If you click on this blog title, it will take you to the home page for HEMA, a Danish department store. (I've kind of got a Scandinavian theme going here on Wednesdays....)

This is the kind of cool stuff you can do if you're both artistic and technically savvy.

Also, although the site is in Danish, it cracks me up to see how many English words and phrases appear -- "ghettoblaster," "bestselling." Too funny.

Seriously. Go check it out.

Monday, July 6, 2009

We've Come A Way, Baby

Last weekend I took Kylie, age 5, to the Boonshoft Children’s Museum, where we own a Grandparents’ membership. The Boonshoft currently has a dragon exhibit, and Kylie, like every other 5-year-old girl in America, is completely enthralled by the Disney (Merchant) Princesses.

In the exhibit room, there were various stations set up for the kids: a puppet theater with half a dozen dragon puppets, some interactive displays explaining dragon lore, and a treasure chest of costumes so the kids could dress up as princesses, wizards, knights and princes.

As luck would have it, a six-year-old named Erica copped the really cool princess costume right before we got there, so Kylie was left with the dregs. I suggested that the plastic armor was pretty neat, but she wasn’t having any. Finally, she pulled a gown of midnight blue velvet from the box.

“Why don’t you wear that?” I said. “You can be Princess Midnight!”

She looked at me skeptically. “What does Princess Midnight do?”

In my best storyteller/soothsayer voice, I said, “Princess Midnight lives in a lonely tower.”

Kylie started to look interested, as did the other kids who were sitting at a nearby table, coloring.

“Every night at midnight," I continued, "she awakens, terrified!”

Kylie’s eyes went wide. “Why?”

“Because she can hear the dragon snoring.” I snorted a long, scary breath in and out.

Kylie gasped. “What does she do?”

“Well,” I said, “Princess Midnight is a girl for the new millennium. She is not a girl to just wait around for some prince to come rescue her. She is a girl who can rescue herself.”

I took another snoring breath, like a dragon who might be waking up, to intensify the drama, and to give myself a beat to think about how to fashion Princess M’s daring and clever self-rescue, but before I could continue, Kylie interrupted.

“Grandma,” she said, “Can I just have the prince rescue me?”

So much for the new millennium.

Friday, July 3, 2009

Fiction Friday: Speculative Fiction, This Week's Winner and Something Different

Last week, Steven G dropped a question on me: What are your thoughts or rules regarding the use of existing fictional characters, real people, or historical places and events when writing "fiction"? For example, would it be valid to concoct a story where Huck Finn and I go fishing in Hawaii on Dec 7, 1941?

So, let's talk about speculative fiction.

To begin at the beginning, the world of fiction is divided into genres. I'm not sure how or when or why that occurred, but for purposes of today's fiction market, it's used to sub-divide books into general categories of interest. This allows booksellers to know where to place each book, and it allows publishing companies to balance their offering. On the front-line for us writers, it allows us to identify potential agents for our work, since successful agents generally build specialties in a few genres, and don't handle anything outside those genres.

Examples of genres are: romance, mystery, thriller/suspense, historical and literary fiction. The term literary fiction is kind of squishy. Some people even claim that any book or story that doesn't fit easily into any other defined genre is literary fiction. More typically, it's defined by being character- rather than plot-driven and leans toward more high end writing -- minimal use of adjectives and adverbs, avoidance of dialogue tags ("she whimpered," "he roared") and use of strong metaphor.

The flash fiction pieces you've been writing here at the Raisin Chronicles are literary fiction. (Note: I made that statement without going back and re-reading them, so cut me some slack if your entry better fits another genre.)

Told you all that to tell you this: the scenario that Steven G proposed falls into a classification called "speculative fiction."

This is a relatively new genre, and is considered a sub-genre of science fiction. If you're thinking, "but hanging out with Huck Finn in Hawaii during the attack on Pearl Harbor isn't science," I agree. It is, however, alternate history, and that's part of speculative fiction.

Speculative fiction can generally be defined as fiction spawned by "What If?" What if Huck Finn had been present at Pearl Harbor? In addition to being plot- or character-driven, it's idea-driven.

If you're interested, there's a good article here. The Wikidpedia entry is flawed, so I don't recommend going there.

This Week's Winner

We actually had only two entries this week, so by the authority vested in me as the owner of this contest and sole arbiter of what goes on here, I declare them both winners.

Cathy, from Coffee with Cathy submitted this:

The Dinner Party

It was a small thing, but the consequences after the honored dinner guest found a tiny hair in his after-dinner demitasse sent Mrs. Waldrop-Baird’s household into a frenzy from which it has yet to recover. The cook immediately was given notice – a sad thing, Mrs. Waldrop-Baird mused later, as good cooks have been scarce since the war – and both the butler and the kitchen maid were given a good talking to. Mrs. Waldrop-Baird hopes her firm and decisive action is enough to quell the gossip, although her rival, Mrs. Bennington Michaels III, thinks probably it is not.


Great voice, Cathy! The protagonist is clearly upper class, probably British, and the time just after WWII -- among a group of people who have not yet figured out how the war has changed things.

And Steven G submitted this:

Who I Am

It was a small thing, but the consequences brought us together at last.

I know you, damned enemy. This morning, from each side, we prayed; then donned our armor to enact the sins of war.
As the smoke clears, I stand victorious above your dying body. Your eyes search me and find the small cross I’m wearing, identical to yours.

Do you know who I am now? I’m the one who shot you. I’ve come to help you die, brother.

For I know who you are too, this morning.

You’re the one whose bullet killed me first.


Again, good use of voice, Steven G -- It's a joy to watch your writing grow stronger from week to week.

Next Week's Challenge:

Next week, for a change of pace, I thought we'd try something a little different. (And then we'll return to writing prompts.)

You may recall that a couple of weeks ago I took some quizzes on the internet and discovered that my two real strengths are Broadway musicals and profanity. Which got me to thinking about how much fun it would be to write profane showtunes (if I were at all musical, which I'm NOT. I called my sister the other night and sang "Happy birthday" and she said, "You were on key that time!" with way more surprise than was called for.) Anyway, this week's assignment is to submit the (rude, crude or profane) title of a showtune by midnight Wednesday, Eastern Daylight time.

Here's where the challenge comes in: I will take all the submissions and weave them into a proposed plot structure and next Friday I'll publish the outline, complete with song titles for "Blogger: The Musical"

To get your creative juices flowing, I'll propose a couple of song titles:

Comment Whore
HTML Hell

A couple of things:
1) Please don't get me kicked off Blogger
2) Try to create titles that are in some way related to the pastime of blogging.


Disclaimer: The Raisin Chronicles has never been designed to appeal to the younger crowd, but I suspect next Friday could set a new low for inappropriate, so if your 12-year-old has gotten into the habit of coming here to check out the occasional video, I strongly recommend parental guidance!

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

The Naked Man, Swedish-style

Don't worry if you don't understand Swedish -- very little of this relies on language!



This certainly takes the prize for "Most Imaginative Use of Flatbread."

Speaking of naked men, on Sunday, Chaka bared his soul: he desperately wants to get to 100 followers and is threatening blogicide (that is, killing his own blog) if he doesn't reach that point by the end of July. He's a funny guy, and well worth saving, so please do your part for Blogicide Prevention Week and go stalk him.

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