Weekly Short Stories Contest and Company! discussion
Your Writing!
>
Paula's Books in Progress - Additions and edits not necessarily in order!- Guests welcome!
date
newest »
newest »
My memoirs are still coming along, and discussions in reference to them will be welcome in the future as the imagined release date nears (or not). Please forgive the mad ravings of a bedridden idiot for breaking the "fone topic" rule. I'm sorry, have pity. I'll try to be good as soon as my pelvis heals, and believe me, you don't want to know how it got that way. So, for better or worse here is Chapter One of my mystery novel about Maddy and Bert.CHAPTER ONE:
She thought that going home would put an end to a day that had been filled with enough crap to rival an overloaded septic tank. She forgot that home is also where crappy days begin, a fact she recalled when she saw the huge golden-eyed dog sitting at her front door. He was reading a dog-eared copy of "Marley and Me" and laughing. He looked up and said, "This is my third time through this claptrap and it gets funnier every time."
Noting her startled expression, he closed the book, stopped laughing for a moment and said, "I have a project in mind for you, Maddy. Your name is Maddy, am I right? Let's go get a beer and I'll tell you all about it. Believe me, you are going to love it!"
Maddy reached into her jeans front pocket and pulled out her keys. She nervously looked around to see if any neighbors were observing the absurd situation in which she found herself, and noticing none she asked the dog to come in. "And make it quick. I don't want anyone I know seeing us. Heck! I don't want anyone I don't know seeing us!" (Good grief! She thought to herself. You're talking to a dog, bigger than your Aunt Hannah's pajamas, who is sitting on your own front porch talking to you!)
As though reading her mind, the creature started laughing again, stepped inside and said, "Calm down, Maddy, you're the only one who can see me. Your nerves will draw attention if you don't settle yourself down. Also, you might want to take the keys out of the door. Leaving them in the lock is sort of a blanket invitation, don't you think?"
Swallowing hard, Maddy grabbed the keys out of the lock, and firmly shut the door and locked it from the inside. She threw the keys on the table by the door, and ran her fingers through her wind blown hair as she checked herself out in the large mirror over the table. "I'm alright. I'm fine. I've just been working too hard that's all. Otherwise I wouldn't be entertaining a giant dog in my own living room!" She suddenly realized she couldn't see the dog's reflection in the mirror. Breathing a huge sigh of relief, she turned around and headed for the kitchen to get a glass of water, better yet, wine; her relief was short-lived because she tripped and fell over the dog that was lazily splayed out on the floor of the hallway. Struggling to stand up she blurted out through her gritted teeth, "Am I the only one who can trip over you too? And why couldn't I see you in the mirror?" The dog stared up at her and gave out with a particularly long, drawn out and noisy yawn.
"Call me Bert," and noticing she was rubbing her wrist on which she had fallen, he added, "Are you OK? Need some ice?"
"What I need is a psychiatrist, or at least some nice men in white coats to take me away from here, andfrom you!"
"Neither one of those will do you any good, but perhaps the ice might. If not in a towel for your wrist, then maybe a little bit in a glass of scotch. By the way, do you have any beer? I'd love a nice cool one - a light if you've got it. I was hoping we could go out for one, but here will do quite nicely, unless you're expecting company? "
"As a matter of fact, my mother is bringing her most recent man friend - truth be told, he's probably just another boy-toy - around to show off to me. It seems to give her great pleasure to display her dates to me, her poor, lonely daughter. So, if you don't mind, I would appreciate it if you made yourself scarce. . .now!"
"Oh, don't worry about me. Remember, I told you, you are the only one who can see or hear me, and vampire-like, I have no reflection, but the similarities to one ends there, unless you count my canines; dogs have those too, you know. I am really quite harmless, and though I might be annoying you at present, I think you will discover that I can be your very best friend. Besides eating with my formidable canine teeth, I can nip or even bite someone if the occasion calls for it. Believe me - very soon now you are going to be needing me and my rather unique talents. So, I'll make myself scarce while your Mom and her friend are here, but do try and hurry them along. We've got a lot to discuss and plan."
Suddenly, he was gone, Bart, Bret, Burt, Ernie - whoever, rather whatever, and she breathed another sigh of relief as she put some ice in a towel and wrapped it around her red and swollen wrist, then poured herself a large glass of pinot grigio. She sat down on the couch in her living room, trying to relax before her mother came by, but all she could think about was the general disorder that was her house in general, and though she knew her mother would be too polite to bring it up with a guest present, she was certain to get an earful - and then some, the next time they were together alone. Even though her deceased father's insurance supported her mother quite nicely, and gave her enough money to pay for a full-time maid and cook, she never seemed to take that into account when criticizing her daughter's own independent, frugal life style. She never considered Maddy's job as a private investigator as anything but a stop-gap measure until she settled down and got married. Sure, Mom, any day now, she planned on falling through that rabbit hole, or stepping through the looking glass and becoming what her mother wanted, which was exactly the opposite of who she was.
The fact is, Maddy became a P.I. because she was good at it. She was very good at reading people's faces, and also at following clues, knowing which ones were real, and which were only red herrings. She liked what she did, even though most of her cases involved little more than rescuing cats from trees, or returning lost dogs to their owners.
Barely one sip of wine had made its way down her throat before the front door opened. In walked Mom, throwing into her expensive new Marc Jacobs bag the keys she had Maddy make for her ("In case of emergencies, darling!" she had smiled when Maddy reluctantly handed over her second set), while simultaneously ringing Maddy's door bell. "Nice, Ma," she whispered to herself. "Glad you feel so comfortable barging in!"
"Hello, Maddy darling! Did you say something?" Eleanor Markham Thaiem Enbrandom glided over to the couch from which Maddy was clumsily dragging herself to a seated and more decorous position. Seeing the ice pack on Maddy's wrist, a look of concern flashed over her face.
"Darling!!! What happened?" But her concern was forgotten when she heard a quiet cough from the man who had walked in with her. "Oh, Lawrence! Please forgive me, dear! I want to introduce you to my favorite daughter, Madeleine Hatfield Enbrandom. Of course you know she's my only daughter - my only child. But she's still my favorite daughter," a fact she confirmed by the two air kisses she blew Maddy's way.
Before Eleanor could launch into the rest of her song and dance about how they were often mistaken for sisters, ("After all, I was only 17 when she was born!"), Maddy extended her left hand to Lawrence, smiled as realistically as possible, and said, "Call me Maddy. It's nice to meet you, Lawrence." Lawrence smiled, showing off what must have been expensive and extensive dental work. Nobody's teeth are that perfect naturally. They were so white,they would probably glow in the dark.
"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Your mother has told me so much about you! I've never met such a lovely and accomplished detective before. She has told me about some of your more interesting cases, especially about that recent missing person you found. You are quite the heroine!"
Maddy desperately flipped through her mental file of recent cases to try and decipher what overblown hype her mother had been feeding her latest escort (or whatever he was), when she remembered the chronic drunk that she had come upon behind his favorite bar a couple of weeks ago. Recognizing him as Farley, her neighbor's husband, she managed to get him into her car and drove him home to the bosom of his loving family. He was allowed in, with little thanks, by his over-tired, overworked, and thin-lipped wife. Maddy considered it a form of gratitude that she hadn't had the door slammed in her face.
She managed to pull herself away from that memory of her remarkable heroism in time to release Lawrence's hand, and invite him to have a seat.
(Continued on next comment.)
Very good, I can't wait to see what happens next.I have a feeling Lawrence is not like Eleanor's other boy-toys. It feels like he's going to throw some work Maddy's way, but only because he under estimates her and thinks she can be easily manipulated.
Thanks, Mandy! You are close, but not quite on the mark about Lawrence, at least from what Bert has told me so far. . .I guess we will both have to wait and see. . .
Paula, this had me smiling the whole time. And I, like Mandy, look forward to reading chapter 2.Small editorial notes:
Vampires don't suck blood through their teeth, and so their teeth are not hollow.
Usually you use the hyphen to separate sub-clauses within your sentences, and other times parentheses. My slight preference is to use the mdash, which can be created here using the html code ampersandmdash; (—). But probably less jarring to the reader is to use one or the other. I enjoy the sub-clauses, as I frequently write that way myself. But I suspect that 'proper' editors will suggest you reduce their use and simplify the complexity of your sentences.
I do like your play on the meaning of words. A very fun read.
Guy wrote: "Paula, this had me smiling the whole time. And I, like Mandy, look forward to reading chapter 2.Small editorial notes:
Vampires don't suck blood through their teeth, and so their teeth are not ho..."
Thank you so much for your wonderful and helpful response! Your thoughts are exactly what I have been craving! I had already figured out the vampire bit and changed it in my edits, but I thank you for that anyway! As far as my punctuation is concerned, however, you could not have been more on the money! I have often been advised about it, but old habits die hard. in fact, for one of my blog posts some years ago, I wrote about this peculiar and persistent anomaly of mine. For whatever reason, I just love punctuation. And it appears that as my mystery novel/novella progresses, I shall need a great deal of help in doing it properly. Might you volunteer for that job? I write slowly, so there won't be a lot of work at once. Please consider it, and I'll give you this poem explaining my affliction.
Thanks again, Guy. You are a prince among pirates!
I string my poetry's words together -
Run-on sentences, italics, dashes,
A parenthetical phrase that clashes
With the thought that I began with
So if, at last, you find the pith
It's as tough to chew as old-shoe leather.
And such stretches I take to the limit
Just to save a rhyme and shim it
Up, to stand alone, make sense
That even I can scarce commence
To write what I had thought profound
Knowing really, it should be
Both literally and figuratively
Used for litter at the local dog pound.
In fact, as you can plainly see
This poem has the best of me
(Not sure exactly where it took it -
Apparently it just mistook it
For what it thought was even worse -
The life of a poet can be a curse!)
And now I've lost the thread I started
Some random thing that has departed
To find a poem whose rhymes don't peter
Out, and lose the form or meter
That was originally my plan
(See how the lines in this poem scan).
If you but knew how often I change,
Start poems anew or rearrange,
The words in order to fit the schemes
(As if, I think, Yeah, in your dreams!)
You'd know now why I have insomnia
Thinking of ways that I can con ya
Into thinking I'm some great poet -
(Even I won't rhyme this line with "know it.")
So relax now, this is all a nightmare
For all of you, but not for me, see
I'm writing this at midnight in my night-wear
You're lucky you don't have to read and see me!
(Reading my "poetry" might be tough,
But I'll tell you when you've had enough. . .)
Wonderful start, Paula. You kept my interest the whole way through and left me keen to read more. A talking dog is a nice, quirky touch and, surprisingly, doesn't feel out of place here at all. I'm not sure why that is, but it definitely works!Your writing flows nicely and reads easily. There are some small grammatical errors that will need some attention down the track, but not enough to worry about in an early draft. I'd be happy to help you edit as you go if you need another set of eyes.
One thing I do need to point out is that dogs don't have fangs, they have canines. Bert seems to be quite a discerning chap and not the sort to confuse such an issue ;)
The standout for me so far is your humour, particularly in your dialogue. The wit is sharp and the banter flows very smoothly. Great job, Paula, I'm looking forward to more.
Ryan, thank you so much. I definitely do want your editorial advice - grammatical or otherwise. I tend to write like I talk, and sometimes I don't talk so good, ya know? (that's a joke, thnk. . .)I had changed out most of the fangs business, but it was left in by accident when I had more vampre crap in there. I am not a fan of vampire stuff, so I will mess up on things like that. Fortunately I don't think there will be much more, if any, reference to that sort of thing in future, but you never know.
Thanks again, and keep reading! :-)
Paula, your self deprecating anti-poet poem is delightful! Smiled and laughed the whole way through. Very very clever break in scan with self reference to it. Truly a clever poem. Please send it out to publishers. A prince, am I? Lol! No. A frog, more like. I am of French descent, after all.
Great read this morning! Still laughing.
Dear Guy:"Please send it out to publishers." That's my laugh of the day! Thank you! First of all, to whom would I send it? Second of all, the only poems I have ever sent in to reputable publications have been rejected out of hand as not suitable for their publication. (Too much profanity HA!. . .you know me!) The couple of things that have been published were in a Christian online mag. It was nice to be published, but, I am VERY skittish. I have this picture in my mind of some under-editor reading my stuff and guffawing (at my serious stuff) until he needs resuscitation. I guess I really am vain. I really shouldn't care if someone or anyone else likes my stuff as long as I like it, but being a full blown narcissist with a very deep low-esteem level makes it hard for me to do something so bold as to risk rejection, which I know is a part of it all - for everybody.
Seriously, though, where should I send it? I have found that I cannot afford to order copies of every publication that looks promising, because that is what is always suggested before sending something in, just to see if what I write is in sync with what they publish. I also want to know if there are any other of my poems that you have read (here in GR) or on my blog that would be sent in with it. I mean, I have some serious stuff along with other humorous ones that I might want to be considered too. Damn it! I wish I weren't so insecure! Which of my GR WSS poems do you like the most? Week after week I read the work of some of our other regulars and feel smaller and smaller. Jim, for one, blows me away every time I read his poetry. YOURS blow me away most!)(sorry about that!)of the time(especially your Haiku) The Wordsmith's Dilemma is one that I wrote that I love, and would be well coupled with the one I just sent you, but, who knows?
You are too good to me. I need more critical analysis from the likes of you and Ryan and Al, etc. I used to send my stuff to the "I Want Critique" site, but after a while I started getting really huffy, because the most talented of the poets there seem to think there is only one way to write a poem. Minimalist and all show, no tell. It got to the point where I was convinced that they didn't read them, just wrote their pro forma response - and then people quit commenting altogether. So much for helpful critique. I know that I have a problem with logorrhea, and I do believe that a lot (maybe most) of my things can and should be whittled down, but you should see some of the "re-writes" they suggested. They obviously hadn't a clue nor cared what I was writing about! I will say on the positive side that I did "meet" a couple of poets who were EXTREMELY helpful, and had a very good sense of what critique and editing is all about. I still correspond with them (privately) on occasion, but they generally do not have any extra time for the likes of me. Nor do you, I suspect.
I suggest that you retire, and take me on full time! What do you say to 20% of my take? With your help, that should put you in an entirely new income bracket, (higher, I hope, but. . .)
BTW, a long time ago I promised to send you a book. I have decided to order a used print copy that I can get from Amazon. I really do think that you will find it interesting and well-written, even if you don't agree with his premises. I assume your snail mail address is the same as the one you sent me back then.
Glad you liked the poem. Really! I will be working on the adventures of Maddy and Bert today, I think, so there will perhaps be more to read about them soon.
So long, my friend. I wish you enough. . .
Paula
P.S. What, may I ask is "Fremch?"
(Continuation of Chapter One)Her mother arched her left eyebrow, and asked Maddy if they might perhaps join her in a glass of wine. Blushing, Maddy said, "Of course! How rude of me! Mother, would you join me in the kitchen to help me get the glasses down? I'm afraid I sprained my wrist earlier today, and I might not be able to get them down from the shelf without breaking them,"
"Excuse me, darling," Eleanor said to Lawrence, and then put a motherly arm around Maddy's waist and walked her slowly to the kitchen. Such maternal solicitation was rather foreign to Maddy, but she did her best to carry on the "close mother-daughter" act for her mother's sake. She wasn't such a bad mother, just a bit self-consumed and prone to dramatics.
When the kitchen door closed behind them, Maddy whispered to her mother, "Missing person? Heroine? Accomplished Detective? What on earth have you been telling that man, and who is he really? Where did you pick, er. . .meet him, anyway?"
"Shush, Maddy! It so happens he's a very important up-and-coming insurance executive. I thought if he knew you were a successful detective, he might be willing to send a little business your way. Goodness knows you could use the money! Whew! What have you done to yourself? Did you hurt yourself hunting around for some deadbeat's mangy dog? It smells like a kennel in here!"
Seeing a dog's tail swish from the corner of her eye, Maddy croaked out "B-b-b-Bert! Get out of here!" Eleanor, startled, banged the wine glasses on the kitchen counter and turned around quickly looking for whoever Maddy was talking to. "Bert? Who's Bert? Who are you talking to?"
"Oh, Mother, I guess I was mistaken. I'm so tired, I must be seeing things."
Bert trotted over to a space between Maddy and Eleanor and looked back and forth at them with an enormous grin on his even more enormous face. This mother-daughter conversation seemed to amuse him a great deal. Maddy, not so much. Not any, really.She watched as a mixture of concern and annoyance form on her mother's face. Doing her best to look as exhausted as she felt, she turned her eyes to her mother and pleaded, "Mom, would you mind if we had our little get-together with Lawrence another time? I'm really tired, my arm hurts, and I'm not going to be very engaging company for your friend today. Please make any excuses you want, and I'll leave through the back hall to my bedroom." Without giving her a chance .to answer, she walked out of the kitchen. As she made her way back to her bedroom, she listened to the clipped tones of her mother's voice, along with a silky rumble from Lawrence as they walked out of the house. Maddy didn't relax until she head the door click shut.
Bert, however, had no difficulty being comfortable through the whole ordeal. He sat peacefully at Maddy's feet, with that big grin still evident, as he sniffed the glass of wine she forgot she still had in her hand.
"Thanks, Bert!" That's the shortest unbearable time I've had to spend with my mother in ages!"
"See? I told you I would be of help to you!" Bert answered with a snort.
CHAPTER TWO
Bert stood up and lapped most of the wine out of Maddy's glass. He seatd himseelf again, extending his large pink tongue to lick the saliva that had begun to seep from his jowls. He didn't want to upset Maddy anymore than she already was by leaving a wet spot on her floor.
Maddy lifted her feet off the floor and swung them around to lie down on her bed and take a long wished for nap. Bert didn't give her the chance to even close her eyes before he started firing questions at her, not giving her time to answer them as he went.
"Did you notice how old that Lawrence guy is? Did you see those teeth? I mean, who could miss 'em? Did your mother pick him up, or is it the other way around? How did your father die? Did he have a large insurance policy? What kind of estate did he leave behind?"
"Hold it just a minute there, Bert. Besides the fact that I am almost too tired to answer them, I'm not sure I would answer most of them anyway. They are, quite frankly, none of your business! And why on earth do you want to know any of that stuff?"
"When I tell you why, I'm sure you'll not only answer my questions, but you're going to have a few of your own," Bert answered, this time without his usual grin.Resigned to the fact that her nap would have to be postponed indefinitely, Maddy sat up, then walked to her bathroom and splashed some cold water on her face. She had the feeling that she was going to need to be wide awake for what she was about to hear. Upon returning, she silently nodded at Bert to follow her, and he followed her into the kitchen. When she had seated herself at one of the chairs, she arched her eyebrow, an art she had inherited from her mother, and said, "OK, Bert. Spill."
Bert sat down so he could look squarely into Maddy's eyes. "I'm asking because I have some information about your father's death that will likely be of significant interest to you.Your answers to those questions will tell me how much you may or may not have noticed, or at least wondered about since your father died."
"Alright. Here you go. If I remember your questions, the answers are, yes, I did indeed notice that Lawrence is older than he wants to appear to be. His day-glo, perfect teeth were the first give away. Add to that, the beginnings of gray roots at his hairline, and the obvious turkey wattle of his neck all made it obvious he is no spring chicken.
"Next, I can't tell you who picked up who, because I just met him, and Mom has yet to give me any details. But although she is usually the one to be the first to act out her wiles on a man, I can't remember her setting her sites on an older man. My father died in his sleep of either a massive heart attack or a stroke. We don't know for certain because no autopsy was performed. He had been on medication for cardiovascular disease for about a year. Daddy had a 2.5 million dollar insurance policy, one that he had purchased just after he was married, about 40 years ago. In addition to that, he left to Mother and me all of his estate which includes a large country estate sitting on 25 acres of prime real estate, about 25 miles west of town, and a luxury two-
bedroom loft apartment near the center of town. That's about it, except for a few treasury bondsa
"When I tell you why, I'm sure you'll not only answer my questions, but you're going to have a few of your own," Bert answered, this time without his usual grin.Resigned to the fact that her nap would have to be postponed indefinitely, Maddy sat up, then walked to her bathroom and splashed some cold water on her face. She had the feeling that she was going to need to be wide awake for what she was about to hear. Upon returning, she silently nodded at Bert to follow her, and he followed her into the kitchen. When she had seated herself at one of the chairs, she arched her eyebrow, an art she had inherited from her mother, and said, "OK, Bert. Spill."
Bert sat down so he could look squarely into Maddy's eyes. "I'm asking because I have some information about your father's death that will likely be of significant interest to you.Your answers to those questions will tell me how much you may or may not have noticed, or at least wondered about since your father died."
"Alright. Here you go. If I remember your questions, the answers are, yes, I did indeed notice that Lawrence is older than he wants to appear to be. His day-glo, perfect teeth were the first give away. Add to that, the beginnings of gray roots at his hairline, and the obvious turkey wattle of his neck all made it obvious he is no spring chicken.
"Next, I can't tell you who picked up who, because I just met him, and Mom has yet to give me any details. But although she is usually the one to be the first to work her wiles on a man, I can't remember her setting her sites on an older man. My father died in his sleep of either a massive heart attack or a stroke. We don't know for certain because no autopsy was performed. He had been on medication for cardiovascular disease for about a year. Daddy had a 2.5 million dollar insurance policy, one that he had purchased, with Mom as sole beneficiary, just after he was married, about 40 years ago. In addition to that, he left to Mother and me all of his estate which includes a large country estate sitting on 25 acres of prime real estate, about 25 miles west of town, and a luxury two-bedroom loft apartment near the center of town. That's about it, except for a few treasury bonds and a 49% share in the company he founded: Enbrandom Surgical Supply. He sold 2% of his shares to his employees just before he retired, which it turned out to be one year to the day before he died. The company is still doing well, and he intended for me to have his profits go to me as a regular income.
Mother thinks I'm nuts, but I've never touched one penny of that money, except to buy flowers for his grave every year on what was his birthday. She thinks I should find some nice young man, give up my "foolish doings," as she calls my business, and retire to live a life of luxury and be pampered by my loving, adoring husband. She talks about him as though I can find a man like that on any corner, even if I wanted to, which I don't.
"There. I've answered your questions. Did you find out what you needed to know?"
Bert was uncharacteristically silent for a long minute, and then said, "Do you happen to know where your mother and Lawrence met?" "I have absolutely no idea, and until you asked, I cared even less," Maddy answered. "She has dated or escorted so many men since Daddy died, that I have ceased to really care what she does, (most of which is to spend money), or who she dates. Mother has always sort of lived on the periphery of my life, but since Daddy has been gone, she is even more of a mystery to me. Now, will you please tell me what all these questions are about?"
Bert said, Maddy, has it occurred to you that there is something odd in all this business? Tell me, when was the last time your mother brought one of her dates to your house? Doesn't she usually invite you to some fancy restaurant for dinner, or for drinks at her loft apartment? And, one more thing, didn't she tell you she would only use her set of your house keys for emergencies?"
Dear Friends:My laptop computer has died. I cannot do edits on GR in the mobile version, consequently, errors made by my computer just before she died cannot be corrected. I will let you know when I can get my humor/mystery novel, Maddy & BERT, up in correct order. I have completed three chapters in it so far. Only been through one edit, so it's still rough. Thanks for your patience.
Hello Pauline. Finally a few spare minutes. I enjoyed the continuation. Very much. I've omitted commenting on obvious typos. Here are my editorial suggestions:
Dogs don't have the muscles to grin. I find it disconcerting to read about Bert's grin.
In the dog grinning paragraph, you flip the subject unexpectedly. Bert being amused by the conversation is fine. But the next sentence, beginning with Maddy, made me initially think that Bert was not amused by Maddy. I'm thinking you mean that Maddy is not amused by the conversation.
“She watched as a mixture of concern and annoyance formed on her mother's face.” [Tense conflicts with the sentence.]
… arm hurts (or wrist?)
… as she made her way back to her bedroom…. [drop ‘back’ - it put into my mind that she came out of her bedroom to meet her mother, which I don't think she did.]
Bert talks about Lawrence’s teeth. I suggest you include some reference to how Bert liked or not Lawrence’s smell. Dogs are about the nose.
Copy paste error - you have copied a bunch, around the comment from Bert about what Maddy may or may not have noticed about her father’s death, between the two posts. Around when Bert first mentions it to Maddy, and then after Maddy told him how much she knew.
Keep up the writing! And good luck with reviving or replacing the computer.
Thank you so very much for the comments, Guy! They are extremely helpful, and I will have a new chapter to add soon.However, I find it hysterical that you commented that "dogs can't smile," and dogs used scent more than sight. You realize of course that dogs are also not huge (human sized), invisible or visible at will, or talkers! This is a fantasy dog, and he can do whatever he bloody well wants to! :-D
(BTW - it's Paula, not Pauline! But it's an easy mistake to make since "line" is part of my maiden name, and is used as my middle name.)
Paula
LOL!Sorry about my adding an inappropriate line. (But you sure seem like a Pauline to me. Don't know why.)
As to the dog thing, if the dog is going to be totally imaginary, then to keep it believable, keep the it as doglike as possible. ;-) (Sorry, couldn't resist.
Although my pastor-husband is now retired, we lived the itinerant life (until his retirement) for about 35 years. My life has been a series of stories - most are funny, a few sad or bittersweet, and a few infuriating! I have not yet decided how to structure the book, and keep going back and forth on the way to approach it. Do I write it chronologically, or topically? For instance, I can write it in chronological order, starting with our marriage, and continuing to the present. Or, I can order it according to the types of events, i.e., "parsonage joys and woes," "some people," "cities and states," "the congregations," etc. What are your thoughts? I will share with you soon, the prologue of the book, which is basically written. I have several other chapters/stories drafted and/or outlined, but not yet ready for review.
I am also going to be posting here some of my poetry that I have moved beyond the first and second draft stage, and for which I am seeking input - not only to style/content/structure, but also for suggestions to what journals or mags they should be submitted. I am a very poor judge of that particular thing. I will read the poetry that a particular journal publishes and feel like my work would mesh well with it, only to be told that it doesn't. Some help in that area would be appreciated.
So - I will be getting some of my work to you within the next week. I just wanted to get this topic started for myself so that it would serve as a "push" for me to "get 'er done!"