Betty Adams's Blog, page 120

Hunting for the Right Words

Finding the correct word or words to express an idea is often a challenge for an author. There is an image, an idea and it needs to be expressed in as few syllables as possible. 
For example. 
A small child pours out the contents of his piggy bank to help his unemployed father. 
A grandmother with failing knees crawls up a set of stairs to bring her sick daughter a bowl of chicken soup. 
A small puppy lunges to its masters defense against a powerful dog.

There is something in the self-sacrifice of a character lacking in ability that stirs strong emotions in observers. The need to be useful, to serve others despite what their own infirmity might be is inspiring. But what do you call that reaction? The stirring of powerful emotion in the hearts of the observers? How does and author describe that dynamic?  

A Good Sad Book

An excerpt from a twenty year old story that hasn't been written yet.

"You are hurting my arm," she protested in the absent tone that she used to comment on the ambient lighting in her lab.
"I believe the proper term is 'ask me if I care'," the blond man snapped back. 
He didn't release her but he did alter the angle he held her arm as she led him down the corridor.
"I still don't see what you are so mad about," the woman protested, arranging her long white coat. 
"My wife is weeping her eyes out in our apartment because of what you did!" He snarled, his pale Germanic face flushing red.  "I have tried everything to sooth her but nothing works. I thought-" he pulled her to a stop and glared down at her. "I had thought that our differences were between us!"
The woman stiffened and glared up at him. "I would never take my issues with your behavior out on your sweet wife." She said fiercely. 
"Ah yes," he muttered. "Your American honor. Then why?"
"Look," the woman sighed and shook her head. "I know very well that you don't trust my judgment, let alone my honesty. Let's just get to the lounge. and find an expert you trust on the matter."
"What aspect of the matter?" He demanded. 
"Why literature of course," she explained. 
He huffed but took the lead, dragging her along the corridor and through the irising doors. There was a brief stir in the officers and enlisted men sitting around the common area. They didn't react much but they did keep a wary eye on the man manhandling the smaller woman. The two approached a man sitting in a large, overstuffed chair reading a sheaf of printouts. 
"Heir Muller?" The woman asked.
The old man looked up and smiled uncertainly at her through his wire rim glasses. 
"Could you explain to him," she gestured at the man still holding her arm, "about women and sad books?"
"Ah, Fraulein," the man chuckled and eye them speculatively. "Did you give Frau Wagner a good sad book?" 
"I did," she confessed. 
"Was there perhaps,"  the old man asked steepling his fingers under his chin, "a dog in this book?"
"There was," the woman admitted. 
"And did?" He leaned forward and stared at her intently. "Did the dog die?"
"He did," She said.
"May I take this to mean," the man holding her arm said slowly. "That there was no verifiable malice in the gifting of the book to my wife?"
"Ah my boy," the old man said with true sadness in his face and voice. "You education was sadly negligent." 
"Hey," one of the watching soldiers spoke up as the man released the woman's arm. "You didn't  seriously give Frau Wagner a copy of "Old Yeller"?"
"Yup," The woman confirmed flexing her arm.
"Man my little sisters cried for days after we read that in school," he said. His face brightened. "Can I borrow it next?"
"You people are all mad," the blond man snapped. 

Thanksgiving Recipes

Today will be spent cooking and shopping. Not in that order. There will be pumpkins and turkey and stuffing galore. In explanation Thanksgiving happens this time of year because when it was formed the US was based in a location that experienced the richest portion of the harvest at this time. It was a final feast before winter started. An attempt to fatten up for winter if you will. 
What are some of your favorite Thanksgiving recipes? 

Spiders

[image error] While this author was typing away at this years NaNoWriMo effort a small (a very small) spider climbed down into the keyboard.
Well, there go my writing goals for this year.
Nope there it is again. It is just scooting out of the keyboard like it was done with some task....If communication stops after this I blame what the tiny spider did in there.

Questionable Skills

He came back through the door of the doctors office a moment later humming a soft song. The doctor glanced up in surprise from the half written receipt on the desk. The man placed a pair of bills in front of the doctor and smiled.
"There you go! All paid up." The man said. 
"That was quick," the doctor noted dryly, speculatively eyeing the  device in the man's hand. 
"Oh," the man said with a shrug. "I told you I was fast." He set the, apparently, still perfectly formed coat hanger back on the desk and smiled benignly.  "I am known for it. I am famous in the Salem school district janitorial staff for being able to brake into any car in under fifteen minutes. It really impressed those pot heads up in the city that I could unlock that rental car with nothing but a stick, a length of twine, and a staple." 
The doctor ran a critical eye over the bland and decidedly middle class young man who was practically oozing respectability. There was nothing to suggest that he had any skills outside of a cubicle in an office. The doctor shrugged and finished the receipt. Seeming to think that this required more explanation.
"I lock myself out of my vehicle a lot," the man explained. "I learned to adapt."
The doctor eyed him and shrugged. "I am sorry you had to develop that skill." 
The young man laughed and took his receipt. 

Writing Confusion

When writing a character who is sleepy, concussed, or ill an author has to put themselves in an altered state. 
How do you write to present a state of confusion or altered sensory state?
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Where is the Magma

[image error] Being an author is desperately needing to know where the magma is closest to the surface of the earth at 4:00 pm on  a Friday. Also what temperature is the lava? What temperature do silica crystals melt at? Questions. 

Writing Animals

How do you write an animal's mind? 
One way is to write them just like humans. This is a good device to use when writing a story with a moral. Good examples are the Grimm fairy tales. Some scholars think that the talking animals were simply a device used to portray the worst of human criminals. They aren't really animals at this point, but analogies. 
Another way is to represent them speaking with a verbal language but give them distinctly different points of focus. This is a good way to deal with the idea that these are animals without having to dig into a level of realism that can be off-putting to readers seeking an enjoying read. An example of this is the seagulls in "Finding Nemo".  
The third main way is to write the perspective of the animal with the best understanding of the species' psychology avaliable at the time. This is quite difficult as a writer for two reasons. The first is that it requires a lot of research. The second is that without dialogue it is very difficult to "show not tell" for a character. A great example of this is "White Fang" or "The Call of the Wild."

World Building Timeless or Timely

Are the cultural elements that the alien culture you are writing values considered timeless or timely? Does the cultural see morals as progressing from one thing to another or do they see morals as  a timeless monolith? 
Do the moral referees of your culture say, "You can't do that! It's [insert date]!" 
Do the moral referees of your culture say, "This is the way it has always been." 
Is your culture in a state of onward change or of cyclic repetition? 
Take all or some of these questions and apply them to any moral aspect; murder, theft, lying. See what happens. 

Excerpt From 2016 NaNoWriMo Project

Discovery Excerpt 
​
Drake arched his eyebrows. “Okay it sounds like you had a fun time one the beast coast.”
“Oh it was a beast,” Ama agreed. “Maybe even a bear.”
“Want to try some acetone?” Drake asked.
“I already did,” Ama said. “The shop had some fingernail polish remover.”
“May I be of any assistance?” Bard’s deep voice distracted them and they turned as the bear stepped out of the back of the semi.
He seemed larger than usual in the enclosed space and dim lighting and slightly rounder all over.
“You couldn’t form a proper internal support so quickly could you?” Drake hazarded.
“The system is sufficient,” Bard assured him. “But the vibrations of the engine combined with the peculiar position I was required to spend the drive in did preclude my forming a more detailed form at the present moment.”
“Fascinating,” Ama said in a dry tone. “Now if you want to be of assistance I have some pallets of paperwork that need to be moved over to that trailer.”
“Immediately,” Bard said with a happy tone.
He strolled over the the back of the trailer and lifted the tarp off of the cargo space, standing as he did so. He reached in and picked the pallet up in his forelegs.
“Do those count as arms or legs when he does that?” Drake asked with a grin.
“Well he is only using his rear legs for locomotion.” Ama said thoughtfully. “He is in his bear form but only nominally. They are forelegs on a bear no matter what the bear is doing with them and believe me I have seen them do some tricky stuff with their paws. They are the next thing to having opposable thumbs. Of course they look so unformed at the moment that they might be pseudo-pods.”
Drake kept a smile on his face as Ama went on. She was distracted from whatever she was so mad at him about, but who knew how long that would last. Bard had emptied out the trailer meanwhile and was looking around for something to do. Drake got up in the cab and Ama handed him up her laptop case.
“If you can get the last few loose boxes in the king cab of the jeep that would be great,” Ama informed him.
“Certainly,” Bard said turning to reach into the vehicle.
“Is it really a crew cab if it is a six passenger jeep?” Drake asked.
“I don’t know and I honestly don’t care” Ama said  reaching to scratch her head again. “I think I left my coffee cup in the cup holder though. Give me a sec.” She turned ad walked back around the hood of the jeep.
Drake glanced over at Bard and frowned. The bear was still head and shoulder in the jeep and his outer membrane was gradually turning from blues and greens to reds and oranges. It also looked like Bard’s head had sprouted a set of long rabbit ears.
“Bard?” Drake asked nervously. “What’s going on?”
Ama glanced up from where she was rooting around between the seats and pulled her hair out of her face.
“Is something wrong Bard?” She asked.
Bard’s gaze focused on the blue scrap attached to the base of her head and he flared a brilliant red over every inch of his membrane. Bard gave a sound that might have come from a tuba snarling in rage. His arm  stretched out and the paws at the end expanded and enveloped the back of Ama’s head.
“Bard?” Ama demanded. “What are you –“ Ama sudden stiffened and then screamed.
Drake’s heart leapt in his chest and he was darting around the jeep to his sister’s side. He wasn’t quite sure how he had gotten out of the truck. He reached Ama just as Bard released her. Ama’s scream cut off as she staggered into Drake but she was breathing hard.
“Oh sweet – it hurts. It hurts.” Ama gasped.
“Where?” Drake demanded.
“The thing,” Ama hissed out. “The thing in my hair.”
Drake pushed aside her thick hair and his stomach dropped  when his fingers touched something warm and sticky. When he saw the bright red welling of blood he snarled and let out a string of choice words. He yanked his hat off and shoved it against the blood of blood.