Anny Cook's Blog, page 73

Details, details...

Details. There are only so many story tropes. It's the details that make it your story--or mine. Every writer has a working style. Some do elaborate outlines as they work out the story details in their mind. Some just sit down and write and work out the details as they go along. And then there are the hybrids--the writers like me who start writing what I call a jumpstart, and keep going until the details start popping up.

When they (the details) start intruding on the writing experience, it's time to stop and work on the synopsis/outline and research how the details will influence the story.

 The series I'm currently working on has been called "Fractured Faerytales at King Arthur's Court". The heroine in this book, Gardenia, has acquired a cloak (she was cold) and a staff (a handy weapon) and a pair of boots (we won't discuss what happened to her old ones.) One of the heroes has acquired a scarlet cap and two bronze wristlets.

Suddenly, I realized my characters had all this great stuff. Shouldn't it do something? Let's see. What could the boots do. Well, my character has already decided they are Merlin's magic boots. How do they work? What faerytale/familiar story would magic boots represent?

Ahhhh. Research time. So far, I've accounted for the boots, cloak, staff and hat. I haven't run across a story for the wristlets. I'll persevere.

In the meantime, each item will serve to move the story along. Did I plan it? No. But this is not the first time my brain has apparently been percolating along on its own, just waiting for me to have that ah-hah moment. With the synopsis/outline thingy more or less complete, I'll dive back into the writing.

I seldom stick to the plan--at least not closely. But it provides a springboard for other ideas. And with the Flowers of Camelot, that's pretty much the best I can ask for.

anny[image error]

Taking a Poop

Facebook. Something about it...makes some people lose all common sense. Seriously. I have peeves with Facebook. 
1) Copy and Paste Status. NO. Don't do that. I don't want to read a status that LIKELY has been stolen from some other individual. If it's not YOUR thoughts and words AND you've posted no attribution for someone else's thoughts and words, then...why would you post it? Copy and paste is the lazy way out. If you have something to say--say it. If you like the status of someone else, then comment on THEIR status. 
2) Do not click on any link from anyone you don't know. What is it about links? Why are people compelled to click on them? Why? Chances are high (very high) that the link will lead to a virus. Why in the world would anyone engage in such risky behavior? If you really want to know about the topic in the so-called link...GOOGLE it!
3) If something offensive shows up on your newfeed, message the individual it supposedly came from to inform them. Or notify the PTB at Facebook. Or just delete it. DO NOT CLICK ON IT--and then complain when you find out you've been hacked. How do you think such viruses proliferate?
4) Please don't post every single private step you take. I don't want to know how drunk you are. And I really don't want to know how many men/women you are busy bedding. There are certain things that should be private. When I was younger there was an expression "You had to be there...to understand why it was funny/profound/interesting/beautiful/etc." For most of the stuff on Facebook, that's still true.
5) I'm very concerned about people who post pics of their kids on Facebook. Pedophilia is a component of the top five or six current stories in the news. Why would anyone risk their child by putting their pictures on the internet? It worries me. If you want to show off your child to friends and family why not create a private photo site and post them there? Am I the only one bothered by this?
6) Big peeve...what is the purpose of "inviting" people to the release of your book? (See #7!) Am I going to buy it? No. I live in Baltimore (which is located on the east coast of the United States). I'm not likely to attend your booksigning at a bookstore in Idaho. Not likely. Nor am I likely to buy your book after I've had to take time to delete your event invitation. It seems to me...and perhaps I'm just wrong-headed about this...but if you can't take time to direct your announcement to the individuals on your friends list that live nearby instead of spamming friends who live too far to attend...then that demonstrates a certain disregard for your market.
7) Finally, I'm very sick and tired of people posting "buy my book/beads/herbal remedies/shoes/yarn/personal care products" on the general news feed over and over and over. Create a page for your products--yes, your books, too. I don't mind an announcement (My book Passion in the Pits was released today from Love Shack Publishing. Short blurb. See my page/website for details.) Trust me. If my interest wasn't caught the first time around, posting it seventeen more times is just gonna annoy me. Truthfully? I unsubscribe from that person if they irritate me enough.
Facebook, Twitter, MySpace, etc., etc., etc., are called social media. There is precious little socializing going on. Mostly, as far as I can tell, they're a hodge-podge of hawking products, political opinion pieces, and LOL comments. Sometimes an individual will exert that extra effort and ROFL. Wow...what happened to real words in real sentences?
anny[image error]

Fifteen Minute Challenge

For those of us who lead sedentary lives, there is a tendency to sit. Sit. Sit and only move when dire necessity strikes...such as an urgent need to visit the bathroom.

Or possibly if the house is on fire.

Inevitably, this leads to all sorts of problems--real physical ailments, aside from tired eyes and fuzzy brains. Spinal issues, joint deterioration, and circulation issues are only a few of the things the sedentary lifestyle makes worse. A recent study concluded the number one way people can lengthen their lives is simply by standing.

Somehow, in this multi-tasking world, I suspect I am not the only one who lives in front of a computer, absently consuming my meals while typing madly, allowing hours to slip by with nary a muscled movement other than my fingers.

After some thought about ways I can improve my day-to-day life, I decided I will spend more time on my feet. I will also spend less time in front of the computer while still accomplishing what I need to do. I will eat with conscious deliberation, savoring the flavors in my food, rather than poking the food in while reading e-mail. And I will take up some of my former hobbies--partly because I miss them and partly because I plan to make some of my Christmas gifts this year.

But how to ensure I carry out my plan?

A) I'm designating "work time." The difficulty with working at home is there doesn't seem to be a starting-stopping time. Or lunch breaks. Or any type of breaks...

B) Out of every hour between 8 AM and 5 PM, fifteen minutes will be spent on my feet. Standing up. By the clock. Dishes count. Showering counts. Rearranging the books in the bookcases count. It's been surprisingly difficult to occupy myself for fifteen minutes every hour. With only the hunk and I around, my apartment can pretty much be straightened up in the first fifteen minutes.

C) I will stop and walk away from the computer at lunch. (Or any other meal.) Scientists have proven we eat more with less satisfaction when we eat in front of a computer or television. Since my food is measured, that means I'm really not enjoying the full experience of the food I'm allowed to eat.

D) Evenings will be reserved for those things I've enjoyed in the past. Calligraphy. Reading. Crocheting. And if those things are sedentary, then the fifteen minute rule kicks in.

It's going to be revolutionary for me. I'll let you know how it works out. If you want to take the fifteen minute challenge, let me know. I could use a buddy or two or five... :-)

anny

Land of the Brave

My earliest European ancestor came to Maryland in 1660, settling on the shores of the Chesapeake Bay. My most recent immigrant ancestor came to Pennsylvania in 1734. There might have been a Native American in there somewhere but it was so far back, we have no verifiable information.
My people were movers. Every generation the youngsters in the family moved on, settling in strange new territory. They were the pioneers—the ones who established new settlements, faced the dangers of wild animals, hostile tribes, and starvation and illness. They built small log homes, cleared land, and planted crops. They were the men who sat on juries, took their turns as the sheriff, and the women who reared children with little more than a washtub and an iron pot.
From the beginning, the men went off to war when they were called. Generation after generation they fought for the principles they believed in from before the Revolutionary War to the post 9/11 conflicts. According to the RW and CW pension records, they walked long distances, took part in battles, sometimes were wounded and received little recompense for their trouble.

In the early times in our country, there were no supply lines for the soldiers. Uniforms and weapons and food were provided by their family. Battles were fought on home soil in towns and across farmland where people lived. In the pension record for one ancestor, his actions are described. As a very young man (sixteen), he led British soldiers on a wild chase across the country-side so they wouldn't find the American soldiers sheltering in his barn overnight. They'd arrived the evening before to fetch fresh meat for their camp. If the British soldiers found them, they would also know his family was supporting the rebellion.

There is much talk today about soldiers and sailors, about our veterans who have kept our country safe. I just want to point out that courage doesn't always wear a uniform. Sometimes it wears a skirt or overalls. Without the families at home, keeping things going, there wouldn't be many veterans.

On this Veteran's Day, let us also remember the support team.

anny

Memory Chest

My friend and fellow writer, Tom Williams and I were talking about a gorgeous wood chest he made for his tools. I mentioned the hope chest my grandfather made for me and he suggested "Post a picture." As I thought about it, it seemed that wouldn't quite do the chest true justice. So I decided to write a short post about the real meaning of this chest.

When I was ten, our family decided to move from Arizona to Indiana. My mother had been collecting things for my hope chest. Since there was limited space in the truck (we were "moving" ourselves), she left my hope chest items with my grandparents.

It took almost all day to pack the truck, trailer, and car so it was evening when we finally started out. In New Mexico, near Lordsburg, out on a narrow two lane highway through the desert, she died in a car accident. I never knew about the things she'd collected for my hope chest.

We went on to Indiana and then Chicago, Illinois. I grew up and three weeks after I turned eighteen, I married the hunk. The night before our wedding, we were putting away the last of the things in our apartment when our landlady knocked on the door. A package was there for us.

Very excited, we tore open the box. Inside, wrapped in a wedding ring quilt my grandmother had made, was the chest in the picture. And inside the chest, were the cactus glasses in the top picture (among other things)! I still have the ten glasses my mom collected. Every year we use them for special dinners.

I'm ashamed to say I didn't know how to take care of the quilt and after some years, it disintegrated. And the chest, as you can see, has fallen on tough times. Twenty moves have not been kind to the chest my grandfather so lovingly put together for me.

I do find it interesting that every one of my children (even the single fellows) have put in their bid for the chest and glasses after the hunk and I are gone.

This month I'll turn sixty-two. And next month the hunk and I will celebrate forty-four years. It seems like only yesterday that we were eagerly exploring the secrets of the small chest called Hope.

anny

Down, out, finished

We live in a world where convenience is at every hand. We call, we Twitter and Facebook and e-mail. Lights come on at the touch of a switch. Water is available at the twist of a faucet.

Until it's not.

Yesterday, I had no internet for about twenty-four hours. I wasn't the only one. There are conflicting reports as usual, but at least my area code was down. From other people I heard the outage was more wide-spread than that. The powers that be aren't really discussing the extent of the outage. Naturally.

Today, my apartment complex is shutting off the water. Today and tomorrow. It seems there's a water main break within the community that has to be fixed. In theory the plan is to shut it down from 9 AM to 6 PM. Why? Because people will be gone to work. Except for those who don't go to work. Or have little kids. Or work a different shift.

The hunk is filling the bathtub so we can flush. We've taken care of our morning routine. Breakfast is almost finished. And then we'll settle in for the day.

There's an odd phenomena that kicks in when something isn't working. Even though you might not need the particular utility immediately, your brain knows something isn't right so your whole being takes on a waiting attitude. Restlessness sets in. You can't quite settle down because whatever is wrong subliminally disturbs you.

And then when it all finally goes back to normal it takes a little bit to settle back into life. I think an outage of whatever (water, electricity, internet) is a faint warning that the conveniences of modern life are fragile and not to be depended on. It takes very little for them to be gone.

How will we cope then?

anny

Milky Way Walk

 http://www.eso.org/public/images/milkyway/

About thirty years ago, my son and I stood on a lonely road in a silent campground. It was near two a.m. He woke me up, needing an escort to the bathrooms that were located about a quarter mile away. One hard and fast rule in our family was that none of the kids went to the bathrooms alone after dusk.

I couldn't find the flashlight so we set off in the dark. There was so little ambient light that I could bare discern his presence even though he was wearing a very light colored shirt. We hiked from our individual camp site out to the "main" campground road and then turned toward the restrooms. The little drive down to our camp site was hemmed in by trees, but the main road was clear and open to the sky.

I made some inane comment about the lack of moonlight and he looked up. And stopped dead in his tracks so I nearly ran him down.

"What is that, Mom?"

"That's the Milky Way."

We stood there so long we started shivering though the night was warm. As we stood on that deserted little gravel road, I pointed out the constellations I was familiar with. We talked about how I used to walk out into the desert with my father and look at the stars.

After a while, we continued our journey to the restrooms and eventually made our way back to the tent. He grew up as our children do and left home. Over the years whenever we've had the chance to get together, inevitably we will look at each other and say, "Do you remember?"

Yes, we remember that time out of time as we stood under the glory of the Milky Way, billions of fiery stars flung across the sky.

anny

Nobody will ever know...

Interesting philosophy. If nobody knows, then "it's" all right--whatever "it" is. Unfortunately, that seems to be the prevailing attitude in our culture. As long as no one knows what we're doing, then it is all right.

If you take this to the obvious conclusion--then as long as a serial murderer isn't caught, what he's doing is all right.

No?

Then where do we draw the line? With the easy anonymity of the Internet, people can be anybody they want to be, do anything, say anything with no perceived consequences. When the time arrives for the reckoning, they are always surprised and shocked. After all--nobody is supposed to know!

That is foolishness of the strongest sort. Better to assume that everybody will know. For sure--sooner or later--they will know your secret. Whatever it is, it will be revealed in the most embarrassing fashion possible.

Every so often, I'll be asked in an interview what my number one piece of advice for new authors would be. It's always the same.

Remember you are on stage 100% of the time. Whatever you say, do, write will come back to haunt you when you least expect it. There are no secrets on the Internet. Be polite and professional all the time. You never know when the person you are talking to will be a potential reader.

anny

Do you see me now?

Yesterday my beta reader returned Shadows on Stone. I've been re-reading it with her notes in hand. There were no major issues though she pointed out a couple continuity problems-- minor plot lines I started but never wrapped up.

After pondering the possibilities, I started at the beginning. Page one. With a red pen. Several hours later, I'm up to page sixty-six...out of one hundred and eighty two pages. I suspect it will be a while before I finish.

Every author I know will tell you they find cringe-worthy issues if they read their work after a considerable time period has gone by. Then, every error, stupid mistake, awkwardly constructed sentence will leap out at the author, seizing them by the throat and screeching, "Do you see me now?"

You might ask, why doesn't the author set the work aside, then? Why not allow it to simmer on the back burner? I suspect it has something to do with income. Lost income. If the book is sitting on the side, it's not earning money for the author. It's as simple as that. Could it possibly be a better book if it simmered a while? Yeah, probably.

But in the current publishing climate, a book that is sitting only generates a loss of income and a loss of face time. You know what that is--it's the presence of your book cover prominently displayed so your readers remember who you are! In the electronic book market, with zillions of books to choose from, a lull of several months between books can mean the difference between some sales and a lot of sales.

There is a reason some authors seem to be banging out book after book. Every new book places their name out there to remind readers of their books--not just the newest one, but their entire backlist--because in the electronic world, books never go out of print. They're always available.

Unless a writer has an enormous following (J.K Rowling and Nora Roberts, I'm looking at you), he or she will spend an inordinate amount of time battling for that precious face time. It might be on the social media such as Twitter and Facebook. It might be on Amazon, Sony, Fictionwise and other electronic bookstores. But wherever it is, it's more valuable than gold.

No one knows what the magic formula is. Some authors take part in blog tours. Some spam their "friends" on the social media. Some post excerpts from their books--or have special pages for their characters. Whatever they choose to do, none of it matters if the finished book is a hodge-podge of errors, typos, and even in one case, part of a chapter missing.

I could submit Shadows on Stone as is. But now that I am reading it, the occasional typos and errors and odd word choices are screaming. What are they saying?

"Do you see me now?"

anny 

Atonement

During the course of our lives, we have numerous opportunities to hurt our fellow man (or woman's) feelings--or just piss them off in general. For the most part, it's not intentional--at least from my perspective. I wander through life, spinning plates overhead while trying to balance a bottle on my nose and bounce a ball with one foot.

Occasionally, something falls.

A while back, a fellow writer (we'll call her Betty Lou) asked me to give her my opinion about something she'd written. Now let me say two things right off the bat: A) I always try to be unflinchingly honest when you ask me for my opinion. After all, why would you ask, otherwise? B) I do my very best to never give my opinion in a hurtful or belittling manner.

So. The story was a cute story. There was nothing wrong with it. It was simply less than the type of story Betty Lou usually wrote. Fluffy and light. I wrote to her with this observation. Immediately she wrote back siting stressful issues in her home life and commented she needed something light to balance those stresses out. I agreed. After all, I've utilized my own writing in the same way.To my way of thinking, I had fulfilled my part.

Fast forward to the next few months. Betty Lou gradually drew away, moved on to other friends, grew cooler when e-mailing, etc. While I couldn't figure out why, I also know we all go through ebbs and flows in our friendships. With a mental shrug I, too, moved on.

Then a little while ago another friend (we'll call her Irma!) mentioned in a casual conversation that I had really hurt Betty Lou's feelings when I stated my opinion about her story. I was a little dumbfounded. And taken-aback.

I've been thinking about this since my conversation with Irma. My friendship with Betty Lou has moved on. The past is the past. But it occurs to me that there are no doubt other people who may feel slighted or ignored--especially in the past year or so. I want to say to you, it was not intentional on my part. I should be a better friend. Really. Sometimes I just can't keep everything juggling at one time. And for that, I am sorry.

anny