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Friday, March 30, 2007To Infinity And BeyondGo ahead. Ask me how many times I've heard that phrase uttered in the past twenty-four hours. Yesterday my sweet Spencer turned eight. And his special gifts on this occasion? The original, 1995, new-in-the-box, Disney-produced Woody and Buzz Lightyear from Toy Story. What was I thinking? Well, yes, I was thinking that my son, who is obsessed with Pixar in all its glory, whose party theme was The Incredibles and whose wish list included a remote control Lightning McQueen from Cars, would love his very own Woody and Buzz. Because Toy Story 2 is his favorite of all the Pixar gems. Because his imagination is beyond anything I've yet experienced in a child. And because I absolutely adore him. So, I enlisted the help of Eric the Snipe King and snagged a good deal on the dolls on Ebay. Spencer hasn't stopped playing with them. Which is a good thing, really. If I hear the words, "I'm bored" even once after yesterday's outpouring of nifty presents (including the remote control McQueen), it will not be pretty. Know what's cool, though? Spencer wants to produce CG movies when he grows up. I'm not surprised, really. When he was only three years old, he used to hold his hands in front of his face, fingers spread, and raise them slowly above his head while singing various sound-tracky melodies. Yep, he was doing the "credits" for a movie. (Took me a while to figure that one out -- at first it was looking a bit autistic to me.) So I keep telling myself that I've invested in my child's creativity, in his future. His ability to make up stories and act them out with dolls, stuffed animals, or himself, is endless. All right, it's almost scary. I guess I can handle the constant Buzz Lightyear chatter. After all, "To infinity and beyond" isn't such a bad motto. Happy birthday, little guy. Wednesday, March 28, 2007Tra La LaSo. I've been asked to conduct a choir at church for Easter Sunday. Now, this isn't new ground for me. I founded and conducted a choir way back in 1990, which then morphed into a sixteen-voice chamber group. We performed twice a year, springtime and Christmastime, for several years. I adored it. And yeah, the leadership thing. That's part of who I am, too. Hand me a microphone, a podium, a baton, or anything else that remotely hints at standing up front, and I'm there with bells on. It's not a problem. Except this time, I'm nervous. This time, I'm watching the clock as though I were counting down an appointment with the guillotine. And I'm thinking...what's with this? After much soul-searching, I've come to conclusion that I simply don't get out in front of people enough anymore. I don't mean girl dates and other fun, one-on-one things. I mean, well, groups of people. Because writing is a solo act, and that's what I've been pouring my passion into for several years now. The last time I stood in front of a group was at my sister's wedding in 2002. I gave a toast at the reception. And I stressed over it like you wouldn't believe. Mind you, once I had that microphone in my hand, I was good to go. I love talking to people, making them laugh. And I wanted everyone in the room to know how thrilled I was with my sister's choice of husband, so the words just flowed. That was over four years ago. And now this choir thing. I'm worried about the dumbest things. Like, the singers won't like me. I won't get enough accomplished. My pants will fall down. Seriously. My belly isn't quite big enough for the maternity capris I'm wearing today. I've been hoisting them up all day. And I'm having visions of...well, I'd rather not go there. So that's where I'll be this evening -- leading about thirty singers, most of whom I've never met, in a rehearsal at church. Fortunately I've roped Eric into singing tenor. (Convenient being married to a tenor, it is -- do you know how hard it is to find a good tenor?) Oh. And one of the pieces we're doing is the Halleluia Chorus from Handel's Messiah. Can you imagine the effort I'm going to have to put into training a mixture of Yankees and Southerners to pronounce the word "Halleluia" the same way? Hopefully the Yankees will have bigger mouths (we usually do). Gulp. Labels: life Monday, March 26, 2007Fastest Rejection In the WestI don't normally post about the inner workings of my pursuit toward publication. This blog isn't a place for me to bellyache about the ups and downs of the elusive Agent Search. When the good news comes, I'll post it. In the meantime, know that I'm hard at work on the "business end" of this writing thing, and that it surely does take a lot of time and energy -- emotional energy, mostly. But I can't let this one incident slip by. You see, I just received a rejection letter in nine minutes flat. I sent a query letter and sample pages via email. Nine minutes later -- nine minutes -- I received a standard form rejection. It's got to be a record. I mean, most agents warn you ahead of time that it will take two to three weeks for a response. Sometimes six weeks. Sometimes two months. And sometimes, they only respond if they are interested in reading more of your material. And that is the stinkiest kind of response there is. But not this time. Nope. I got slapped upside the head in nine minutes. Never fear. This is part of the game, part of the process. A writer who can't handle rejection needs to just give up and walk away. I'm used to it. And I've got "good stuff" in the wings right now, too, so this is just one more "tick" on the rejection side of my leger. But holy cow. Nine minutes? It begs the question, "Did she even read it?" Ah, well. That one wasn't meant to be. On to the next. Writers must never put all their eggs in one basket. Anyway, I'm amused. And if I can be amused by a rejection letter, then I've definitely grown as a writer -- and as a person. One can only hope. Labels: writing Friday, March 23, 2007A Friday Meme: ONE BOOKI know, I know, I don't "do" memes. But I really like Tarie, and this meme is LITERARY! So here goes (with thanks to Tarie for tagging me): 1. One book that changed your life Hmm. Well, God's Word has changed my life and continues to do so, but for the sake of this meme I will stick to fiction. I would have to say that it was probably Deryni Rising by Katherine Kurtz. Her books are the ones that propelled me into the world of fantasy novels. And since that's what I'm writing now, I guess that would be fairly significant. 2. One book you have read more than once Just ONE? Well, I'll have to choose Pride and Prejudice, then, since Jane Austen is my favorite author. But for the record -- I've read most of my favorites at least twice. I mean, that's what favorites are for, yes? 3. One book you would want on a desert island Assuming I'd feel like reading in that oppressive heat, it would have to be a one-volume edition of the entire Lord of the Rings. That would keep me busy for a good, long time while I waited to be rescued. 4. One book that made you laugh. Okay, now I'm breaking my own "fiction only" rule, but I'm going to have to say Eats, Shoots, and Leaves by Lynne Truss. 5. One book that made you cry Well, I've mentioned this before, but I cry every time I read The Christmas Miracle of Jonathan Toomey out loud to my children. Every time. 6. One book you wish had been written I wish that Jane Austen had lived long enough to complete Sanditon. I have read the novel as it was completed by another author, but it was horrible. It wasn't my Jane speaking. I would like to know how she would have fleshed out the book herself. 7. One book you wish had never been written Wow. There's an awful lot of stinky schlock out there for middle graders and young adults. I wish there were more quality children's authors, like Diana Wynne Jones and Kate Constable. 8. One book you are currently reading I'm reading (slowly but surely) Wives and Daughters by Elizabeth Gaskell. 9. One book you have been meaning to read I've never read Anne McCaffrey and feel as though I ought to, being a fantasy reader/writer and all. Except that, every time I go to Borders and start reading her jacket flaps, they don't draw me in. So I haven't begun. I've got some Dickens on my "to be read" list as well, but I have to be in a particular sort of mood to read Dickens. Okay, dear readers, it's your turn. I refuse to tag anyone, so here's my request: Take a few moments and answer the meme right here in the comment box! I look forward to reading your responses. Happy Weekend! Wednesday, March 21, 2007When the Cat's Away.......the mouse makes pancakes for breakfast and buys huge blueberry muffins at the market for tomorrow morning's treat. Yes, well. That's what he gets for booking a 6:00 am flight and absolutely destroying my sleep last night. I swear I woke up continually, just waiting for that alarm to go off at 3:00. And of course, once it did go off, I couldn't just roll over and go back to sleep while Eric showered and clunked around in the bathroom. No. I stayed awake, gave my good-bye hugs in the kitchen, and subsequently lay awake in bed until past 4:30. I mean, who in their right mind books a 6:00 am flight for a pleasure trip? Those are the flights meant for "have-to's," like unexpected funerals and mandatory business meetings. And leaving the country quickly because you've committed a crime. Ugh. If I can make it to 7:00 this evening without crashing, I'll be amazed. Know what will happen then? Eric will forget the two-hour time difference and call me on my cell phone. You wait and see. Ranting aside, I really have had a good day. I got another request for material from an agent, I got my laundry room thoroughly cleaned, I got a good deal on a pair of maternity capris on Ebay ($5.oo, new with tags -- who could beat it?). And to top it all off, it's warm and sunny and breezy and absolutely SPRING. A perfect "first day," in my opinion. And the icing on the cake? Jonathan called me from Arizona. Yes, indeed! My fourteen-year-old sweetheart called his mama, just because he wanted to. He even said "I love you" before we hung up. I'm in love with that boy. With that, I'm off to finish making supper. Happy FIRST DAY OF SPRING (or FIRST DAY OF AUTUMN, as the case may be)! Labels: life Monday, March 19, 2007Spring BreakA ridiculous term for a homeschooling family, really, since we're not on any sort of "school district schedule." But since the girls have the week off from ballet, and Jonathan doesn't have his Physics class -- well, why not? And, oh baby, am I ready for it. I'll be dragging loads of "stuff" to Good Will, spring cleaning my laundry room, enjoying free time with my chickens, and WRITING. Ah, the joy of writing without having to worry about the responsibilities of homeschooling. Words cannot express! I'm currently working on a new project -- a rhyming children's book. I needed a mental break from Book Two, and this is something I've been tossing around in my skull for the past few weeks. It's fun, it's different, and it's a wonderful little gem of a project to work on during spring break. Yes indeed. Eric and Jonathan are flying out to Arizona on Wednesday, so the house will be quieter and the food will last longer. The thought of one pan of baked macaroni and cheese actually stretching to two full meals is pretty...exciting. Not to be cavalier about the trip, though. I will miss my Big Man and my Not-So-Little Man while they're gone. I love that they're spending dad/son time together, but I hate that they're leaving. Everything feels wrong when one of them isn't here. Well, that's me for today. If I'm not around much this week, you'll know why. Friday, March 16, 2007For Lack of Anything Better To Share...Here are some things that you probably don't know about me (and perhaps would rather not): 1. I am a classical pianist. I won almost every award and scholarship available for pianists and music education majors at my college. That's not as impressive as it sounds, though, because I went to a teeny-tiny liberal arts college. 2. I fold everyone's underwear except my own, which I simply toss haphazardly into my top drawer. I'm still trying to figure this one out. I mean, I even fold Eric's boxers. 3. I hate phones. I hate answering the phone when I don't know who it is, and I hate making phone calls -- even to friends. Even when someone is expecting my call. If it weren't for email, I would be a complete recluse. 4. My feet are two different sizes -- a 5 and a 5.5. They used to both be a size 5, but then one of them grew. I can't remember which one. 5. When I was in college, I vowed that I would never marry a musician. Then I married a musician. 6. I'm afraid of heights. I don't have any problem climbing up -- I just can't get down again. Once, in San Francisco, I was standing up on a cement platform in order to take some pictures of the trolley. I got "stuck" up there. Eric had to come and lift me down. 7. I once hid from the police on the rooftop of an apartment building. 8. I prefer even numbers. I've always been glad that my birthday is on the 24th of April. When I was 10, I was dreading my next birthday because I didn't want to turn 11. 9. I adore all things British, and want nothing more than to spend three weeks touring England -- with a side trip to Ireland, of course. On my "to see" list: The final home of Jane Austen, the Tower of London, the filming locations for As Time Goes By (Holland Park) and the A&E Pride and Prejudice, the birthplace of William Shakespeare, anything and everything Tudor, and as many castle ruins as possible. 10. When I was in eighth grade, a boy in my class looked at me across the cafeteria table and said, "Why are you so damn ugly?" Those acrid words helped to shape my self-image over the next decade. 11. From the age of thirteen until I graduated from high school, I got paid to play the organ at funeral masses. 12. While on a marching band trip to Toronto, I accidentally overdosed on Dramamine (because of an irrational fear of being sick in public). I had to go back to my hotel room and sleep it off while everyone else attended a competition. 13. My favorite flower in the whole world is the lilac. And that's because of the lilacs that bloomed in our back yard when I was a girl. That, and the way my daddy always brought in bouquets of freshly cut lilacs for the kitchen table. 14. I can't stand the sound of people chewing gum. I really can't stand the sound of people cracking their gum as they chew it. I like Singapore's idea of outlawing chewing gum. 15. I type roughly 95 words per minute, but I never learned to touch-type the top row on the keyboard (numbers). That's because our excellent typing teacher took a sabbatical during the second half of that year, and our class was then taught by a string of substandard substitutes who offered no continuity. But at least the school district saved money by not hiring a qualified, full time teacher. 16. I grew up living roughly ninety minutes from New York City, but never once stood on top of one of the Trade Towers. 17. The bodily secretions of my own offspring have never bothered me. But the poop, pee, boogies, drool, and various other baby-and-toddler slime emanating from non-offspring children make me sick. (Changing the diapers of my sister's children is the exception.) 18. I read the book Alive when I was in seventh grade. That's the one that tells the true story of the plane crash survivors who staved off death in the Andes by eating the bodies of those who had perished. Looking back, I find myself wondering why a seventh grade teacher would have a book like that on her shelves in the first place. 19. I have a photograph of myself with Hugh Wolff from my college days. That was back when he was the conductor of two local orchestras, and I had the privilege of being his rehearsal accompanist for a performance of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. Now that Mr. Wolff has hit the big time, I'm wondering what that photograph might be worth... 20. I feel loved when someone calls me "Jilly." That's because the people I love the best have always called me "Jilly" -- and still do. Labels: life Wednesday, March 14, 2007On Good Writing and the Notion of ConflictI've ranted before about the poor writing examples in my son's grammar book. Mind you, the actual grammar is impeccable. It's an excellent curriculum and I'm glad I chose it. I have no argument with the grammar content. It's the writing part. You know, the part where they teach about writing descriptive sentences, using figurative language, and varying sentence order. That sort of thing. And the deeper we get into Writing Territory, the more nauseated I become. We're talking Bad Writing 101, or How To Write If You Never Want To Be Published. I know, I know. Most teenagers who are learning to write do not have aspirations toward professional writerhood. But it's an irrefutable fact that good writing is a valuable life skill, and youngsters are done a vile disservice when they are not taught to write cleanly, sharply, and as brilliantly as they can. Want an example of what I mean by Bad Writing In A Top-Notch Grammar Book? Ahem: "The bear's heart turned to water, and he fled like a frightened rabbit." (On figures of speech) "A large oak spread its branches protectingly over a small cottage." (On descriptive sentences) "An owl called enticingly from the woods as we followed Father out into the soft moonlight. A cool breeze fanned my cheeks and left the dampness of dew. Another breeze came to tease my hair, bringing a tempting whiff of peppermint from the tea bed." (On descriptive composition) Now, you may call me a Writing Snob if you'd like. In fact, you might be thinking, "If my teenager wrote sentences like those, I'd be thrilled." Well, if your teenager were writing sentences like those, he'd obviously been trained in the Bad Writing school along with his fellow classmates. I mean, come on! "Fled like a frightened rabbit?" "Spread its branches protectingly?" Protectingly?? Needless to say, I don't mince my words with Jonathan when something really stinks. Fortunately, he agrees with me almost every time. "Spread its branches protectingly" is too many words -- too clunky -- to be truly effective. How about "embraced?" Or "stood guard?" "A large oak embraced the small cottage." "A large oak stood guard over a small cottage." Still not deathless prose, to be sure. But definitely a step in the right direction. The point of this particular sentence was, of course, the use of personification. A tree cannot truly "protect" or "embrace" or "stand guard," but that's the beauty of the exercise. It just peeves me that the writers of this grammar book couldn't have done a better job with the actual writing. Ugh. The good news is that, despite the substandard writing examples, Jonathan has developed a love for creative writing (read: for making Mom laugh with strange stories). A short composition last week was a bit on the rambly side, reading more like a list of events with no purpose or direction than like a story. So, like any responsible writer, I introduced the concept of conflict. "Your story needs conflict," I said. "You need to come up with a problem that has to be solved. There needs to be a climax and a resolution." And like any responsible fourteen-year-old boy, Jonathan followed my directions and added conflict to his next short story. He created a villain named Will Conflict. And there you have it. Bad writing examples aside, Jonathan's innate sense of humor (and gift for irony) is going to carry him beyond anything I might impart. Test next Thursday. Labels: homeschooling, writing Monday, March 12, 2007So This Is My MondayI had to run to the grocery store before lunch because, well, I was a bit dimwitted this weekend and neglected to do the weekly shopping. Feeding all these children is a full time endeavor. So I parked the van and walked around the back of it, on my way into the store. And that's when I saw the stuffed dog. He was attached to a makeshift leash, which was clipped onto the wiper on my back windshield. That's right. I had just driven all the way to Publix dragging a stuffed dog behind me. (Dog lovers across the world are breathing a sigh of relief that I don't own a real pet.) Honestly, how was I supposed to know that Spencer had attached his puppy to the van? That's not exactly something I check for before hopping in and driving off. It's a good thing that Publix is only three minutes away. I can't imagine what would have happened to the poor stuffed thing if I had driven on the highway. As it was, Caramel (that's his name) got fairly dirty, but he's still in one piece (and is currently enjoying a good, hot swish in the washing machine). I found out, much to my chagrin, that Spencer had seen me driving away with his beloved Caramel in tow -- and had cried. Imagine my poor child standing at the window, tears running down his face, as his hapless mama drives off with his stuffed puppy scraping along the road behind her. I can hardly wait until Eric finds out about this one. He'll confiscate my car keys. Oh, the joy of Mondays... Friday, March 09, 2007Dumbed-Down SpellingI was driving the down the road with Spencer, on our way home from dropping the girls off at ballet. Spencer must have been busy reading signs as we passed them, because he suddenly said, "Bar -- B -- Q." Pause. "Bar--B--Q? I thought it was BARBARA Q." I choked back the giggle in my throat. "Barbara Q?" "Yeah, that sign says Bar-B-Q instead of Barbara Q." "Spencer, it's BARBECUE. They just spell it that silly way." "Ohhhhhhhhhh." Pause. "What's barbecue?" "It's that stuff you eat, you know, like pork barbecue?" Okay, so it's been a while since I've made pork barbecue. I'm not sure where "Barbara Q" fits into this picture. Spencer has trouble with the "Drive Thru" sign at the Walgreen pharmacy, too. He insists that "thru" is pronounced with a short "u" sound. "Thruh." "That says DRIVE THRUH." (For the hundredth time.) "No, it says DRIVE THRU." "That's not how you spell 'through.'" "Yes, I know that. They just spell it that way. It's slang. You still say DRIVE THROUGH." "No, it's DRIVE THRUH." Whatever. I'm not even going to explain "doughnut" versus "donut." Even Eric has trouble with that one. I wonder what it feels like to live in a society that actually spells words the right way. And I don't care what anyone says. It's dumbing down, plain and simple. "Qwik." "Nite." "Lite." "Draft" beer. Try raising an extremely literal child in the midst of all this word slaughtering. It's maddening. Of course, I still have no idea where Barbara Q came from. Maybe she's the one who thought up all these ridiculous spellings in the first place. She might be on to something. "Jill Bome" is a lot easier to pronounce. I'll have to ask Spencer what he thinks about that. Labels: parenting Thursday, March 08, 2007"Hey, Can We Do Grammar Today?"No, I'm serious. That's a verbatim quote from fourteen-year-old Jonathan. I'm still in shock. Let me explain. I've set up our schedule so that we do grammar lessons three days a week, Monday-Wednesday-Friday. That means that today -- Thursday -- is a grammar-less day, a day of great freedom and rejoicing in the lives of certain Boehme offspring. But this morning Jonathan accosted me in the hallway and said, "Hey, can we do grammar today instead of tomorrow?'' And in his eyes I saw -- enthusiasm. A twinkle, even. And then I knew. It was because yesterday's lesson was a writing lesson -- a lesson on descriptive sentences and paragraphs. And Jonathan prides himself on his ability to impress me -- and make me laugh -- with his writing. He didn't want to wait another whole day to show me his assignment. So he asked for a grammar lesson. I dropped everything and sat down with the kid immediately. I mean, what semi-sane homeschooling mother would do otherwise? The beauty of this is that I'm a writer. And my teenaged son enjoys creative writing. Does it get any better than this? Well, yes, I'm sure it does. He's a pain in the butt when it comes to other subjects, like Latin and Algebra. (Fortunately, I don't have to be directly involved in either, since he uses computer software for both.) I'd love to see this kind of enthusiasm across the board. But we're not wired that way, are we? We come to life when our passions are stoked. And oh! to think that my son's passion is stoked by the thought of writing. Writing! Mind you, Jonathan's writing is a bit -- avant-garde. Okay, it's downright weird sometimes. But he's the only person I know who can take a ridiculous, nonsensical topic and create a well-constructed sentence: The starship crashed into the lively skyscraper, which was gaping in the breeze. Although it was midday, the stupid rooster kept squawking and coughing his ugly sunrise song. When the spines from the rather unlucky stickleback penetrate his throat, anti-puncture force fields are immediately placed into effect. One day, while the summer breezes were toasting the June bugs, a fine, dandy chap came trotting down the old path. To add even more fun to the experience, Jonathan enjoys writing the opposite answers for his review exercises. It's his way of saying, "This is easy, I get it already." And I, being a savvy, quick-witted mom, keep pace with him by reversing the answers in my head, telling myself that "wrong" means "right." I am the only person on the planet who could teach grammar to this boy. At least he keeps me on my toes. And reminds me that learning is more fun when we allow our creativity -- and sense of humor -- to take flight. And keeps me humble. And he's cute, too. That counts for something on the bad days. And he knows it. Labels: homeschooling, writing Wednesday, March 07, 2007Things I'd Rather Not Do While Pregnant...but that I've had to do, anyway: 3. Crawl around on my hands and knees picking up minuscule bits of garbage from Spencer's bedroom floor. And I didn't even deal with the half-inch strips of masking tape stuck all over the carpet. 2. Vacuum. Well, I'd rather not do that, anyway. Actually, I'd rather not do anything remotely related to cleaning. It's just that being pregnant is an excuse to whine about it. 1. Have the dreaded This-Is-How-Babies-Are-Made talk with an inquisitive, grossed-out child. "So, when is the last time that you and Daddy did....that?" 'Nuff said. Labels: pregnancy Monday, March 05, 2007Emergency?Eric and I have a little "thing" on Saturday mornings. We go out for breakfast. Yes, I know, that sounds very "retiree" of us, but it's actually a romantic, adorable way to start the weekend. And it's just the way I like it -- nice and early. We have to be back by 9:00 so that I can take Maggie to her Modern dance class. So this Saturday I was running a bit late in the bathroom and asked Eric if he'd mind running to Publix for milk and honey (rather Biblical of me, don't you think?). He was a dear and said he'd run right down. Happily, I finished up my bathroom routine and started to make the bed. That's when Rachel knocked frantically on my bedroom door. "Mommy," she said, handing me my cell phone. "It's Daddy. He's says he needs to talk to you, it's an emergency." Well, that didn't sound too good. I thanked her and took the phone. "Hello, sweetie?" Nothing. "Hello? HELLO????" A great time to lose connection. I hit the "off" button on my phone and rushed down the hallway to find Rachel, my mind spinning. What could possibly have transpired in the ten minutes since Eric had left? Did the car die? Was he hurt? "Rachel, the phone cut out. What did Daddy say?" Rachel's expression was matter-of-fact. "He said something about being at the check-out line and not having his card." Oh. Right. That was the "emergency." My darling had gone down to Publix without his wallet. I sighed theatrically and ran downstairs to grab my coat and bag. The cell phone rang. "I'm on my way." I think I heard sheepish laughter before I hung up. Three minutes later, I walked into the store and found my husband standing at the self-check lane. He was casually reading a copy of People magazine. Sitting on top of the scanner was a Styrofoam cup of coffee. Oh, that I would have brought my camera. "I'm so glad you saved all this time for me," I said sweetly as I handed him my bank card. Is this a Guy Moment or what? I mean, realizing you don't have money at a check-out counter is something that can happen to anyone. That's life. But considering the fact that Eric's bank cards and driver's license are in his wallet, I fail to understand how he can walk out the door without it. Yet he does it with alarming frequency. And yes, this was actually the second time I've had to bail him out at Publix. Why, he's driven all the way to his office in Nashville without a wallet. I'd love to hear him explain that to a police officer pulling him over for a traffic violation. "My license? Ur, I was just going to call my wife, Officer Nabme. She always brings me my wallet when I forget it. Can you wait just a few minutes?" Ah, well. I love the man. And breakfast was good -- French toast stuffed with cream cheese. But I'm thinking I need to buy some sort of Gothic chain to attach Eric's wallet to his pants. Then again, that would only ensure that his wallet would go through the wash. And that, of course, would be my fault for not having checked his pockets. The next time I send Eric to Publix, I'm going to turn my cell phone off and let him fend for himself. Labels: marriage Friday, March 02, 2007How To Make A Story BetterSeveral months ago, I handed the then-second draft of my current novel to the son of a dear friend of mine. Nicholas is twelve years old, an avid reader of science fiction and fantasy, and he's in my "target audience." I thought it would be a good idea to get some feedback from somebody other than my own children. Last Friday, I finally got a chance to sit down with Nicholas and discuss his thoughts on my novel. "I liked the story," he began, "but some parts were a little boring." Do tell. I smiled and waited for him to continue. "Well, I think there needs to be more action and, like, blood and stuff. Like when he throws that woman, you know?" (Editor's note: There is no "woman throwing" in my novel. I have no idea what he was talking about.) "Well, you should describe how she gets hurt and all the blood and stuff." This was getting interesting. I asked Nicholas to continue. "Well, I think that they should all carry weapons. And I think that Kate should stab him in the heart with a big knife, and he should stagger back and go, 'Aaaaaaaaaaa,' like that. You know." Right. And here I thought I was writing young adult fantasy, when all along it was a horror story just waiting to break out. "So, what you're saying, Nicholas, is that my story needs more BLOOD." Nicholas laughed. "Yeah." Okay, maybe I didn't exactly pick the right beta reader. Nicholas and I began to talk about the books he's read recently, and they are definitely of the bloody, limb-severing type. I mean, the kid has read both Eragon and Eldest. Now, I thought Eragon was a dreadful display of immature, rambling prose, with no less than three episodes of broken bones for the unfortunate protagonist, and a slew of beheadings, stabbings, dragon-munchings, and various other gory deaths. Nicholas also enjoys reading psychological thrillers -- one of which evidently included a chainsaw murderer. Yep. Lots of blood in the pages of Nicholas's reading history. "Well," I told him, "it's easy enough to add more action, shorten dialogue where it's too boring, and things like that." (I carefully refrained from mentioning the addition of extra blood, since it's not on my agenda.) "But I want to ask you an important question." I then proceeded to ask Nicholas if my ending had surprised him, or if he had guessed it ahead of time. "No, I was totally surprised," he said. "I suspected..." And he went on to explain who he had suspected and why. Success! That's what I really wanted to hear. Bleeding, dying characters aside, the one thing I want to be sure I've got nailed is my ability to throw my readers off so that the climax really makes them say, "Wow!" Nicholas is a tough cookie, and if I was able to pull it off with him, well, the possibilities are endless. I had already finished my third draft before chatting with Nicholas (sans extra blood, I'm afraid), and I think I've remedied some of the parts that he probably found a bit too slow. Except, I think I'd better find a less blood-minded reader for this draft. He did praise the one death scene in my book, though: "That was cool." Words of high praise from a bloodthirsty twelve-year-old. (He's an awesome kid, by the way. I knew it was going to be an enlightening experience to listen to his views on my story, and I wasn't disappointed in the least. I just had to be careful not to let him see how amused I was.) So. I'm in the midst of chapter 4 of Book Two, and find myself wondering, whose arm should I twist off? Who should get stabbed in the stomach? How many characters can I kill off without losing plausibility? What sounds does a person make while he's being strangled? Then again, maybe I'll just stick to my original plan. I'll leave the bloody tales to someone else. Labels: writing |
About Me
I am: Mother to five stunningly individualistic children... Writer of young adult fantasy... Passionate advocate for Women At Home... Madly in love with my husband... In need of Organic Gourmet Chocolate on a regular basis. I've got a Paypal account if you'd like to contribute to the cause....
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