Guide to Writer’s Workshops

You’ve signed up for your first workshop, and you are freaking out. You have no idea what to expect, except a vague idea that your work will be shredded and you’ll be found out as a complete fraud. OR you’ve been told that your work is amazing so many times that you secretly expect an ego stroking, though you won’t admit this to anyone. Unless you are in a really crappy workshop, both expectations are faulty. As former Editor-in-Chief of my alma mater’s literary journal and former President of the Creative Writing club, I’ve run my share of workshops. As a MFA student at Spalding, I’ve been to my share of workshops. Here are some tips on how to prepare for (and what to expect at) writer’s workshops.

1. Writers spend more time agonizing over what piece to workshop, and with reason. You don’t want to take a piece that isn’t good in your own eyes. You also shouldn’t take a piece that you consider finished (unless your only reason for going is the aforementioned ego stroking). Like Goldilocks, you want a piece that is just right – good but not too good. My advice? Find a piece that has a problem that you can’t put your finger on. The group may be able to help you identify the problem.
2. Proof your work. I’ll say it again, PROOF YOUR WORK. It’s the hugest insult to the people in your workshop if you turn in shoddy work for critique. You will be embarrassed. Trust me on this. I’ve seen it. And the people in your workshop will talk about how shoddy the work is. One more time for emphasis – Proof your work.
3. Some workshops require you to turn in your work in advance. You swap with the other writers. If you are lucky enough to get the work beforehand, read it three times. First, read it to enjoy it without making comments. Second, go through the piece and make margin notes. You should also read the work AND your notes the day before the workshop to make sure the piece is fresh in your mind. As with a beta read, your comments should include a mix of what the writer does well and where their piece needs some work.
4. If you don’t turn in or receive the pieces until the workshop itself, bring enough copies of your work for everyone, including the instructor. It’s difficult to listen to a piece, and remember what to comment on. A printed copy gives your readers something to make notes on. You cheat yourself if you forget the copies.
5. Most workshops ask the writer to read a portion of their piece aloud. It may be only a page. Practice reading your selection out loud. Sometimes you will hear mistakes or a problem with pacing. If you practice ahead of time, you have a chance to make changes. It’s embarrassing to read a work aloud and find your dialogue sounds unrealistic, even coming out of your own mouth.
6. A good workshop doesn’t jump right into what’s wrong with a piece. The workshop leader will generally set the tone, though, and I’ve been to a lot of workshops that went down this path. It’s not a good scene. While you can’t control the workshop, you can control what you say. Remember that it’s easier to swallow a criticism if you can see the reader has spent time with your work. If you like something the writer is doing, point it out. THEN, move on to something you thought could be fixed. Don’t ego stroke, but be honest. Be specific. Vague comments make me think a reader hasn’t read my work that thoroughly.
   1. Example: You have a gift for writing dialogue that sounds both gritty and true to the rough nature of your character. You might want to work on the pacing in this section, though. It undercuts the work you’re doing with the dialogue and the exposition slows things down.
7. The BEST workshop I’ve ever been to required us to analyze the work like it was Shakespeare before we dared to criticize it.* Can you imagine how amazing it is to have someone spend time reading your work for the symbolism you achingly laid in place? If you analyze the work from this place, the workshop discussions are deeper. The workshop opened with, “Tell me what you saw at work in this piece” or “What devices did you notice this writer using?” The discussion naturally brought out where the piece was strongest AND weakest without stripping the writer’s soul in front of the group. This type of reading takes time, but it is worth every second for the respect it shows respect the writer. Try this in a beta read, too, and see what a difference it makes.
8. Worst. Comment. Ever. Award goes to “I liked it.” This comment is the kiss of death in a workshop. It has three translations. First, I didn’t read your piece and can’t possibly comment on it. Second, I hated your piece and can’t think of anything nice to say. Third, I have no confidence in my opinion/ability to critique and am hoping this will get me off the hook. All three of these are a cop out. Don’t say you liked something unless you can back it up with solid reasons why.
9. Don’t be afraid to go against the popular opinion. Sometimes an alpha appears at a workshop. This is the person who knows everything, talks more than their share, and speaks with authority on EVERYTHING. This person can sometimes sway a group’s opinion on a work. Don’t be a lemming. Stand by your belief. After all, you’ve read the work three times, you’ve made notes, and you’re insanely prepared to comment.
10. Most workshops require you to remain silent while your work is discussed. With good reason. While you STAY silent, make notes on everything that said about your work. It gives you an excuse to be invisible while you die a thousand times inside. Don’t filter your notes – write both the good and bad down even if you don’t agree. These come in handy when you’re back home and thinking revisions.
11. After your work has been discussed, the floor is generally yours for a couple of minutes. This is generally meant for you to answer any specific questions or ask questions about comments you didn’t understand. Don’t use this time as an opportunity to make excuses or be defensive. It’s an insult to the people who spent time reading your work. Have some class, be gracious, and then go whine to your friends at home.

*I have to give credit where it is due. The leader of this particular workshop was author and Spalding faculty member, K.L. Cook. If you see a workshop led by him, sign up immediately. Do not pass go. Seriously.

How to Beta Read

“A beta reader (or betareader, or beta) is a person who reads a work of fiction with a critical eye, with the aim of improving grammar, spelling, characterization, and general style of a story prior to its release to the general public.”  (Source: http://www.fanfiction.net/betareaders)

Your first foray into beta reading can be an uncomfortable process as you step into unchartered territory. Armed with the knowledge that writers can be thin-skinned and defensive about their work, you may be loathe to offer criticism. And then there is the little devil sitting on your shoulder asking you, “Who do you think you are to offer criticism to another writer? Like your writing is so perfect!” In fact, you may have volunteered only to return the favor of someone who has offered to do a beta exchange with you. Regardless of your reason, you can learn a lot about your writing when you beta. You learn to see your mistakes in the works you are critiquing, which somehow makes them less invisible in your works.

Here are ten tips a valuable beta read.

1. Before you even open the document, you need to squash that devil sitting on your shoulder. Many newbie betas apologize in advance for the quality of their critiques, sure they will have no value to the writer. Not true. First and foremost, betas are readers, and writers are usually voracious readers. One of the greatest things a beta can offer is their honest reaction to the work. You know when you like or dislike something. Have confidence in your opinion. That’s where a good beta begins.
2. Read the work twice. On the first pass, allow yourself to get lost in the work – be a reader. On the second pass, offer your critique. Why read twice? Often, a lot of questions are answered as you delve further into a work – a writer doesn’t generally give everything away in the first chapter. Also, if you know where the road ends, you will be better prepared to put up hazard signs when the writer strayed from their path.
   1. Example: Say you are beta reading a mystery and the writer reveals who the killer is in the final chapter. Maybe you guessed who the killer is in chapter three. Armed with this knowledge, you can  point out places throughout the work where the writer gave too many clues too early on. Without that first read, your comments may not have been relevant or useful to the writer.
3. Most of us remember terms like tone or POV from high school English. Perhaps the authority with which writers bandy them about can be intimidating to newbie betas. The solution? Get a glossary or a writer’s guide. If you’re going to beta, you need to learn what the terms mean. Better yet, if you’re going to write, you sure as hell need to learn what the terms mean. I’m not saying you need to bandy the terms about like you’re waving a flag to say, “See what I know?” I’m saying that you should know the building blocks of a good story. Tone, characterization, POV, dialogue, pacing, imagery, symbolism – if you don’t know what they are, how will you ever use them properly? I’ll admit that when it’s obvious my beta reader knows the basics, their stock goes up.
4. Understanding your own reaction is key to knowing how to critique. Did you hate a character? Were you confused about why they did something? Ask yourself why. The answer often points to a problem at play in the work. Pay attention to your reactions – they will guide you.
   1. Example: If you were just dumped and find yourself hating the male MC who happens to be a manwhore, that may be telling you more about yourself than the work. BUT if you’re not understanding why said manwhore has a sudden newfound desire to be celibate, the writer may have not done the work to lay in the foundation for their character’s metamorphosis.
5. Line Edits vs. Overall Commentary – A line edit is just what it says – you go through the work line by line and offer critiques where you think they are needed. Some writers will ask for this to check for grammar or continuity mistakes. Other writers ask for your take on the whole work in a brief commentary – say a page of typed notes. The writer will tell you what they’re looking for, and if they don’t, you should ask. I believe in doing both, but I recognize time doesn’t always allow for this. My compromise? I do line edits as time allows and include a few quick summary notes at the end of each chapter to give my overall reaction.
6. Ask Questions. Sometimes your comments will come in the form of questions. If you don’t understand something, throw the question out there. Sometimes a theme will develop in the questions, and this will help you – and the writer – to identify a problem with the work.
   1. Example: Say the manwhore from above is acting like a saint, and my gut tells me it doesn’t fit with his character as the writer described him. I might ask “Why is the character reacting this way?” or “What happened to make the MC act like this?” A series of these questions appear, and I know the MC’s motivation hasn’t been explained.
7. Don’t give false praise. Smart writers see through this, and you’re not doing anyone any favors. The worst workshop comment you can make is, “I liked it.” Unless you can describe in detail, what you liked and why, it will be obvious that you are lying. This may come from a place of discomfort because you are struggling to find something, anything to like. You don’t want to rip the story apart, and so you fall back on faint praise. Don’t. The point of a beta read is to help make the work better. Take the time to find a way to tell the writer what you thought could be better.
8. On the flip  side, too many betas focus on all the negative. This isn’t that helpful, either. Find the things you admire, and point them out. A writer needs to know what they do well, in addition to areas they can improve. A beta is about balancing these two things – the good with the bad. It’s really rough to get back a beta that’s full of criticism. I’ve been left wondering if there was anything they liked about the story only to find out later that they actually loved it. I think this is where that general commentary is important.
   1. Example: Going back to our manwhore, if you love his voice and it makes you laugh – say so. Point out the passages that you particularly enjoyed. A simple LOL in the margins can go a long way with the writer.
9. A Note on Writers Directing the Beta – Some writers will ask you to read for a particular issue they’ve identified. I’ve done this, and I’ve found it’s not particularly helpful. Say the writer is worried that the pacing is off, and they ask you to focus on this during your reading. The problem is that this kind of direction is prescriptive. You basically agree or disagree, but that may not get at the root of the problem.
   1. Example: The pacing may not be the issue at all, but the writer may be too close to the work to zero in on the problem. Maybe the problem is that they are writing in third person when the story is begging to be told in first. They make the POV shift and the narrative comes alive with the MC’s voice. Suddenly pacing is a non-issue. I find that regardless of what the writer asks, I treat the beta like any other. The writer doesn’t always know best.
10. Watch the tone of your comments. Most betas are done digitally – many writers never even have a phone conversation with their readers. It’s easy to misinterpret a comment. Remember, sarcasm and self-deprecation don’t always come across in writing. Treat the work as you would hope to have your work treated – professionally and with respect.

Go forth and beta!

Editing, Wordles, and the Color Gray

I am editing.

Pause.

I. AM. EDITING.

If you haven’t written a novel, you have no idea how tedious this process is. On the plus side, my agent’s changes have been minimal. On the also-plus side, I have taken this opportunity to hoover my manuscript. I am tightening up every line, removing unnecessary words and phrases. The times I was lazy and told the reader what my character felt instead of showing it – deleted. This terrible habit I have of overloading my descriptions with a train of adjectives – picked one and made it stick. That little sub-plot that didn’t move the story but amused me – had to go.

Here’s where I congratulate myself.

As my manuscript progressed, I noticed I had to kill less. My writing was cleaner, more concise as the story deepened.

Here’s where I berate myself.

I created a supernatural world with two sets of opposing beings, and I did not adhere to the rules I created. Oh, I built Microsoft Word tables to show how A interacts with B, which changes A to X and B to W. Believe me, I had tables that broke this down by chapter. BUT I didn’t stick to them. I let myself fall into gray areas because that’s where my story wanted to go. All I did, though, is create confusion and a headache for myself as I correct this laziness. My editing tip for the decade: Avoid gray areas – they make for bad plot continuity.

Here’s where I took a break from editing to make art out of my manuscript.

Kate introduced me to Wordle, and I decided to try it out to see which words I had abused. I LOVE my Wordle. At least 90% of the words on it should be on it. Character names – check. Relationship names – check. Verbs and nouns inherent in my MC’s world – check. This is a book of self-discovery and creating relationships and making connections. If I take out the innocuous verbs and prepositions (which I ruthlessly will do), I’m left with words that I would use to describe my novel’s theme. That’s a win-win to me.

My Quote for the Week:

The work was like peeling an onion. The outer skin came off with difficulty… but in no time you’d be down to its innards, tears streaming from your eyes as more and more beautiful reductions became possible.

By Edward Blishen

On Her Birthday

Mom and I in Solvang, CA when I was 16

Come sit with me, and I’ll tell you about my mom. She’s not somebody you know. In fact, you’ll probably never meet her. Not the easiest person to know, she’s guarded and often grouchy, especially if you interrupt her while she’s watching her Dodgers. She never calls, and she spends way too much money on me every Christmas. She can seem hard, but she takes in stray people and gives them a home when they have nowhere to go. A waitress for most of her life, she’s been working in cafes and diners serving people for 47 years. Think about that. Forty-seven years of carrying plates, refilling salt-and-pepper shakers, and wearing a welcoming smile, even when her feet ache and her back feels broken and your kids are running rampant through the restaurant making a mess she will have to clean later. On days like today, I remember how she worked two jobs and every Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve to put food on our table, and how time keeps passing us by. On days like today, I wish that I knew her better, and I hope I’ve inherited her strength. This one is for my mom.

——-

My Mother’s Body

My mother’s body curves and folds in bold

and bounteous beauty. Her legs are blue-

green webs of spider veins, war badges few

can claim they earned from years they spent on cold

and lonely fronts. Her hands are bent, wrinkled

and pruny from washing ten-thousand loads

of dirty dishes, laundry, and commodes.

Her arms are blanketed with skin crinkled

and white from plate after hot plate that burned

in service to others. Her muscles ache,

bones snap-crackle-pop, keeping her awake.

She can’t see what I see. Her scars were earned

in place of mine. Her sacrifice is there

in lines on her face and gray in her hair.

How I Got My Agent

Full confession. I am a Twitter addict. Since I succumbed to my obsession in November, I have surreptitiously been following AKA stalking fellow writers, editors, and agents. One particular name would set my heart beating a little faster when her address would pop up – @bradfordlit. Last year, she requested my full manuscript with the kindest handwritten note that has since owned serious real estate on my fridge between the Paris magnet and the New Orleans magnet.

Then, one evening last week, Laura Bradford of Bradford Literary Agency tweeted this:

I had a vague thought that maybe she meant my full before dropping off to sleep. The next morning, while riding the bus to work, I read these:

Knowing my manuscript might be considered too long, I experienced a higher pitched twinge of maybe-it’s-me. As you can imagine, I was constantly refreshing Twitter as the day went on. These tweets came next:

I watched as Laura’s followers began to get in the game. At this point, I was madly DMing my pal, Kate, asking her if I was crazy to think I could be the subject of those tweets. Then, Laura realized the author of the manuscript was following her on Twitter. She really began to tease.

Okay, at this point, I am FREAKING out. I’m talking shaky hands and an inability to string two words together. Not an easy feat for a person who deals in words. After all, I did print on heavier paper, and I am a “she.” I am obviously cool under pressure, so I dare to ask:

Her answer?

Kate’s response?

I’m texting my sister with eight thumbs. Kate and I are jumping up and down, sure that smiley face screams my name. My coworker, who has noticed my inattention, is grinning. We’re all excited. And then I remember with abject horror: I never sent Laura my new San Francisco phone number. I dash off a very sheepish email to her because, hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained. I ask her to please disregard the puddle of humiliation at her feet if she is, in fact, discussing a complete stranger.

Two minutes later, my phone rings. It’s Laura, and she’s offering me representation. And she’s even more phenomenal than I thought she would be. I can’t think of a better, more heart-palpitating way to have received an offer. The months of sending queries. The eight agents who requested my manuscript. The agonizing wait. Highs. Lows. A rollercoaster to hell and back. And then, ONE PERFECT DAY. Totally worth it.

As for Laura… She’s my agent. Happy sigh. : – )

UPDATE: The response today has been overwhelming! I can’t thank everyone enough for all the warm wishes. I am completely bowled over.

Teaser Tuesday

More of a WIP, Interior of a Heart…

Chapter One

Facebook status: A witch, a witch! Burned at the stake.

Fourteen, mouth girded in a dental chastity belt, a black nest of hair even a rat wouldn’t sleep in, and gawky as hell – that’s how I looked the first time Carey Breen kissed me.  Me, Sophia Topper Quinn. A NOBODY of epic proportions.  Forehead stamped: LONER, LOSER, LEFT BEHIND.

I’d loved Carey forever. Even before his brown body sprouted muscles that would fly him right out of Sweethaven and on to grander things. Even at thirteen, any backwoods idiot could see he was meant for more. A damned fool hero. That’s what the town called him when he stood up to that drunk bastard, Jim Winterburn, for beating the crap out of his little girl. Everyone in Sweethaven Cafe saw Jim backhand Jamie when she tripped into him.

Jamie had grown faster than the other girls in our fifth grade class, and she teetered around on her foreign limbs like she walked around in her mom’s glittery, four-inch high heels. Every day was Roulette Day with Jim Winterburn. That day, the wheel stopped, the Ball of Destiny dropped into the Pre-teen Clumsiness slot, and Jamie’s cheek lit up.

People say Carey was lucky to walk away from that fight. Jim had fed on bitter hatred so long that the blood pulsing through his veins had turned to petrified liquor. Hate for the government, hate for the war, hate for the town he’d returned home to shy one arm and a chunk of his intestines. My father said Jim never really came home from Desert Storm, but I’d bet Jamie and her red, white, and blue body had begged to differ.

Carey seemed to agree with me. Jim’s hand had struck Jamie, but it was like he flicked a match on a fire burning inside Carey. He called Jim a “yellow-bellied coward” – the worst insult you can toss at an ex-marine, aside from outright calling him a traitor. Unfortunately, Jim had fifty pounds of muscle and a decade of pissed-off on thirteen year-old Carey.

Twenty adults watched in shock as Jim tried to pound Carey into the cheap linoleum floor of the diner, until my dad and the sheriff finally put a stop to things. Blood had turned Carey’s dark brown hair black, and one of his plush brown eyes already threatened to swell shut. He’d never raised a hand to defend himself, but a triumphant Carey laughed in Jim’s face as the police hauled him away.

Years later, he confessed he’d done it on purpose, letting Jim swing away. The Sweethaven townsfolk might not step in the middle of a PRIVATE domestic violence situation, but they couldn’t ignore a public attack on the sheriff’s son. That’s the kind of guy he was. He couldn’t stand seeing a little girl hurt, so he’d done what he had to. Nobody could take a hit like Carey.

Damned fool hero Carey. SOMEBODY Carey.

So, a few years later, when he caught me behind the gazebo at the town’s Fourth of July picnic and kissed me crazy, I thought it must be on a bet and punched him in the face. For crushing my feelings and the blush of love swirling in my waking heart.

Of course, my scrawny arm didn’t have the impact I’d hoped, and my mad glanced off him. Carey just laughed and hugged me and whispered that he’d loved me forever and would I be his girl?

Would I be his girl? Stupid, lonely, ugly me be his girl?

He saw the disbelief like he saw everything about me. To Carey, my guts had been turned inside out, sliced open until no secrets remained. His hand trembled in mine, and he brushed his lips against my knotted fist. He knew my fear like it was his, as if the same monster lived and breathed in him.

“I won’t ever let you down,” he promised, his voice cracking a little.

And I believed him. Doubt crawled away when he kissed me again.

Hooyah!

Christmas, Drugstore.com, and Nut Clusters

This post is so late coming, but its arrival was delayed by a sinus infection inhibiting my ability to breathe and a serious homework deadline inhibiting my will to live. Lucky for me, I took notes about my vacation back to LaLaLand for the holidays. Here is another top ten list.

1. Shopping=Hell – Okay, I like shopping. I love going to the store and picking out a lovely outfit or a nice gift for a loved one. It is an occasion. My sister and our friend, Lesa, consider shopping more of a vocation. One that requires long hours, dedication, and good orthopedic shoes. At one point I asked if we could please find some other hobby to do together. Like Parcheesi. Or poking our eyes out with sticks. They merrily laughed and dragged me through another mile of stores. I really hate them. Like I hate orthopedic shoes.
2. Paranoia Abounds – My sister’s recurring role in my blog has made her somewhat nervous. She is afraid to say anything that might be repeated to my audience. Whenever she and her husband bickered (as most couples do at the holidays) or she said anything embarrassing, she would point out that it might end up in my blog. That was obviously my cue to take notes. Which I did. They are locked in my safe as ammunition to be taken out at some future point when only blackmail can get me out of another shopping expedition.
3. My Niece and Nephew Playing in the Bath – He’s five and she’s three. They actually play quite nice together. Then crying and screaming ensued. My sister chastised them both. From the living room, we heard my nephew hiss to my niece, “See what you did? You got us in trouble.” Ah, sibling love. I can’t wait to hear that in a decade when they’re both teenagers.
4. Faulty FSA – This year I made the error of putting a ton of money into an FSA. I am single, no dependents. Come December, and I have a ton of money that’s going to disappear into the ether if not used. My solution? Drugstore.com. My family gets Nyquil, blood pressure monitors, and thermometers in their stockings. The only problem is that the order doesn’t arrive in time. I cried like a little baby when I realized I didn’t have any presents to hand out Christmas morning. My family cared not one bit. They were just happy I came home. It’s too easy to lose sight of what’s important.
5. My Nephew on Christmas Morning – He was way into the wonder of Christmas this year. I was sure he would dissolve into tears after shredding through his gifts and realizing he’d opened them all. Instead, upon opening his fifth Lego set, he exclaimed to his mother, “I’m so embarrassed I got so many Legos.” My sister makes great kids. She should really have more.
6. Airport Mishaps – This is to be expected, I guess, except that this was my first time every traveling at the holidays. My flight in San Francisco was delayed two hours due to ice on the wings. In California. Ice on the wings. Then, going from LA to San Francisco, security stopped me. I was sure it was due to the 3 laptops I was traveling with (I had to work over the holiday – Don’t ask). The very nice security man proceeded to pull every gift I’d received out of my tote and discuss them with me. While my fellow passengers boarded my plane. It was awesome.
7. Sherlock Holmes/Sees candy – These are two separate items, but they kind of tie. We went to see Sherlock Holmes on opening day, which I loved. And we ate 2 lbs of Sees nut clusters, which I also loved. Robert Downey, Jr. and chocolate. ‘Nuff said.
8. LOL charm – As you may recall, I blogged about the abuse of LOL. My sister gave me a silver LOL charm in my stocking. Because she’s hilarious and has a whacked sense of humor. I frickin’ heart her.
9. The Gift that Keeps Giving – In November my brother-in-law asked to read my book. He wanted me to email him the file so he could read it on a flight to Florida for one of my nephew’s skateboard competitions. He lied. He spent 8 hours formatting the manuscript and sent it off to be bound and printed. He gave one copy to me and one to my sister. Now, I have no desire to self-publish. I want the agent, the editor, the publishing house, the whole shebang. Still, it was a top 5 gift to see months of my life bound and gracing my name on a hardback cover. I cried. My sister cried. The airport security guy who scoured my bag nearly cried. Yeah, I have a really amazing brother-in-law. If you only knew.
10. The Puke Tree – The same brother-in-law of above also gave us one of our best Charlie Brown Christmas memories. EVER. As Christmas approached, my family noticed an odd smell coming from the area around the tree – a smell like puke that had been sitting in the sun. My sister found a spot of spoiled milk, and we thought problem solved. Oh, no. It got worse. Come to find out, my brother-in-law had run out of tree preservative and had read somewhere that molasses can do the trick. WRONG. It spoiled. Then, when using the Shop Vac to suck out the spoiled puke water, he accidentally sent it spewing all over the presents sitting under the tree. That’s right. We had presents that smelled like puke. And a Christmas tree that smelled like pine/puke/Febreze. I truly frickin’ heart my bro-in-law.

Feel free to share your Holiday Mayhem.

Road Trip Wednesday: My Real YA Writings

Okay, if the goal of YA Highway’s Road Trip Wednesday is to shamefully embarrass ourselves with our youthful writing, I am so in. Here are two snippets of two of my eighth grade efforts, which I believe can fall into the YA category. Double the pleasure. It was so hard not to edit this for the thousand obvious errors, but half the fun of this Road Trip is seeing how far we’ve traveled. Welcome to 1990, and forgive me for punishing you with my 14-year-old musings!

“Hallow’s Eve”

I sit at the kitchen table, staring out the window. I watch the big orange globe that is the sun sink slowly from its place in the sky. There is a sheen of gold over everything, as if the sun wants to touch all objects one last time with its warmth before it disappears. Slowly, the shadows start to creep over the land like fingers snatching away the light. Abruptly it is pitch black. The full moon is ht eonly source of light.

I finally shake myself from my hypnotic state with the realization that it is Hallow’s Eve, the night the spirits roam the earth and come back to visit their loved ones and haunt their enemies.

I think about the ghosts that will haunt their enemies, and I wonder if Megan will decide to visit me again. Megan was my little sister, and she hated me. It’s been four years since her death, and she still hates me enough to haunt me every year. I can’t say I blame her, though. After all, it was my fault she died in the first place. I was the one who was diriving the car when it went off the highway. Megan, the innocent passenger, died whiled I rolled out of the car before it went over. I came out of the accident unharmed. I know Megan wants revenge. She haunts my house in hopes of driving me insane.

Suddenly, through the stillness in the houase, I hear the laugh of a little girl. I know it is Megan, and I have a feeling that she just might drive me mad this year. Wanting to escape her, I run from the house. I get into my car and rive towards the highway. The more distance I travel the better I feel.

Then out of nowhere, a puppy runs out onto the highway. To avoid running it over, I swerve the car and almost in slow motion, I feel the car drive off the highway and down towards the canyon far below. In midair, there is a stillness, a pause of all activity,  except for the haunting laugh of a little girl. I realize Megan has had her revenge and because there is little else for me to do, I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the final impact.

Now, if that spooky bit of brilliance didn’t make your blood run cold, this next one definitely won’t. This baby was an exercise in English class. As I recall, the teacher challenged us to write a quick paragraph playing with alliteration, and I conquered the letter D like I’d been spoonfed Sesame Street.

“Donna and Dan”

Disagreeable Donna was a dairymaid who lived in Denmark. Her demeanor was disgusting and deliberately dreadful. She had no dignity, diplomacy, or discipline. She was disgraceful, dull, and downright dumb. Then one day she met Darling Dan. Darling dan was a dreamy Duke. Darling Dan was dashing, daring and a Don Juan. Darling Dan dared to demand a date with Disagreeable Donna. They danced, dined, and drank until dawn. Disagreeable Donna had such a devine day that her dreadful disposition deteriorated. Disagreeable donna became Delightful Donna. Darling Dan and Delightful Donna were destined to date forever. Delightful Donna the dairymaid and Darling Dan the Duke died together in Denmark.

ETA: I agree with Amanda. This post may mysteriously disappear in the next couple of days.

101 in 1001: Better than a New Year’s Resolution

The Mission:
Complete 101 preset tasks in a period of 1001 days.

The Criteria:
Tasks must be specific (ie. no ambiguity in the wording) with a result that is either measurable or clearly defined. Tasks must also be realistic and stretching (ie. represent some amount of work on my part).

Why 1001 Days?
Many people have created lists in the past – frequently simple goals such as New Year’s resolutions. The key to beating procrastination is to set a deadline that is realistic. 1001 Days (about 2.75 years) is a better period of time than a year, because it allows you several seasons to complete the tasks, which is better for organizing and timing some tasks such as overseas trips or outdoor activities.

Start Date: Friday, January 1, 2010
Deadline: September 29, 2012

Bold – Completed Item

Writing/Reading/School

1. Write a second book
2. Write a third book
3. Get an agent
4. Submit poetry to 5 journals (0/5)
5. Submit short story to 5 journals (0/5)
6. Go to a writer’s conference
7. Post interviews with at least 10 authors (0/10)
8. Join or start a YA writers meetup group
9. Meet fellow AWers in person
10. Get a book published
11. Blog 2-3X a week
12. Read 100 books (7/100)
13. Write my ECE essay for school
14. Finish year two and year three of MFA (0/2)
15. Do a semester on campus instead of abroad
16. Enter 5 writing contests (1/5) – Won YA Highway’s First Line Contest 1/22/10
17. Host a guest blogger
18. Guest blog at least once
19. Triple my blog traffic
20. Beta read for ten people (0/10)
21. Write an essay and submit it for publication
22. Create a website
23. Start or join a book club

Cooking

24. Take a cooking class
25. Cook a new recipe each month (1/33) – Roasted Garlic 1/10
26. Make a Tarte Tatin from scratch
27. Make Gazpacho from scratch
28. Cook an Indian meal from scratch
29. Make a Blackout Cake from scratch.
30. Make a 5-course meal for friends
31. Shop at the Farmer’s Market and cook a fresh, organic meal
32. Make a tomatillo salsa from scratch
33. Make the recipes from my WIP, Elsinore
34. Have an English tea with scones and clotted cream
35. Grow an herb garden

Travel/Playing Tourist

36. Visit Italy
37. Go hiking in Presidio
38. Walk the Golden Gate bridge
39. Go to Alcatraz
40. Road trip to Portland
41. Go wine tasting in Napa
42. Try (5) restaurants I’ve never been to before (2/5) - Palomino 1/12/10; Greens 1/30/10
43. Eat at Foreign Cinema
44. Play a geocaching game
45. Show my family San Francisco
46. Go on a cruise
47. Drink champagne in a hot air balloon
48. See the Northern lights
49. Take a trip by train
50. Go to Yosemite or the Olympic Peninsula
51. See a Shakespeare in the Presidio show
52. Have a picnic at the Palace of Fine Arts
53. Travel to 3 states I’ve never been to (0/3)
54. Explore my area at least once a month to get to know area (1/33) - Point Reyes 1/23/10
55. Go to a professional football game

Home

56. Transfer my videos to DVD.
57. Learn to compost
58. Clean house at least once a week.
59. Draft a living will
60. Organize and file all paperwork
61. Make a purse out of an old book
62. Keep a monthly budget and stick to it
63. Learn to crochet or knit a scarf
64. Organize my photos into albums
65. Print and frame photos for my home
66. Frame my diplomas

Health

67. Go vegetarian for one month
68. Lose 20 pounds
69. Work out 3x a week
70. Take a dance class
71. Take vitamins every day for at least one month (to get into habit) (0/30)
72. Take lunch to work for one month straight (0/30)
73. Get laser eye surgery
74. Get an hour long massage
75. Drink 8 glasses of water every day for at least one month (to get into habit) (0/30)
76. Get a pedicure at least once a month
77. Be asthma-free for three months (0/3)

Personal Growth/For the Fun of It

78. Watch a meteor shower
79. Fall in love
80. Let an injustice go
81. Use Franklin Covey system at work for one month (to get into habit) (0/30)
82. Attend Giselle ballet
83. Attend Les Miserables for the first time
84. Write a letter to my future self to open in 10 years
85. Send a card/letter by snail mail once a month (1/33)
86. Learn French
87. Take a sailing lesson
88. Read the entire Bible
89. Stay up all night talking to someone
90. See my dad again, before it’s too late
91. Learn to play a musical instrument
92. Take a singing lesson
93. Find a church in my area
94. Meet my neighbors and not be a stranger
95. Avoid getting anymore parking tickets – so far so good. Knock on wood.

Pay it Forward

96. Donate blood once each year (0/3)
97. Release 10 books into the wild (0/10)
98. Pay it forward on the Bay Bridge
99. Send books to soldiers overseas 3x (0/3)
100. Buy coffee or a meal for a stranger 5x (1/5)
101. Start a new 101 in 1001 list when this one is completed.

FUN Day: Or Fricking UNcomfortable Day

Like most families, mine practices the ancient art of dysfunction, and my mother is our shaman. By the time I was fifteen, she’d been married five times with my father holding the glittering crown of Lucky #2. Of course, he was a prince, my mother being his second princess, after which he moved on to marry Princesses #3 and #4. That makes – count them on both hands – four dads and three mothers and a smattering of siblings in a pear tree.

Now, add in a sprinkle of abandonment and a splash of bitterness, and you’ve got a serious recipe for FUN at the holidays. I’m talking the kind of FUN that shows up to the party with a bottle of Southern Comfort and dances on the table until somebody gets a black eye.

Even though we are manic well-adjusted adults, nobody comes home for FUN Day without their matched 6-piece Louis Vuitton WalMart special 3-pieces-for-$99 luggage set.

For example, say you haven’t seen your mom in a few months, and she hasn’t bothered to call you in all that time to see if you’re alive. After an obligatory hello, she proceeds to pretty much ignore your existence like you are a zit on the backside of society.

At said moment, you may unexpectedly experience an odd sensation – the welling of three decades of disappointment, love, and salty bitterness clawing its way up the back of your throat and trying to escape out of your mouth in the monstrous form of a verbal tongue-lashing that would make the Terminator weep. The evil Terminator, not the reprogrammed one in the sequels. You clamp your lips shut, biting them bloody to hold the monster at bay. Because you are a mad pissed-off secure woman.

And, lo and behold, who is this knightess coming in to save you from yourself? Your sister, gleaming in all her jewelry and the pair of boots she thinks her husband doesn’t know she bought. She swoops in, tosses a kid at your hip, and distracts you with a sparkly, snide comment. The witchy monster melts under a deluge of laughter and disappears.

Later, you tell you your sister, “So remember FUN Day? Yeah, I was kind of hating on Mom. Not the real kind of hate, but more the I-momentarily-regressed-to-a-little-girl-why-can’t-she-love-me-the-way-I-want kind of hate.”

And she says, “Really? I didn’t even notice,” and you say, “That’s cause I’m a garbage compressor, and I have the mad ability to stuff my emotions down like yesterday’s trash,” and she’s all, “Seek therapy,” and you eye her all judgey and knowingly until she says, “Yeah, you’re right. You’d never fit in with the family if you were, like, normal” and you sit back, feeling all mighty and vindicated.

Then she smiles and says, “At least you have me,” and you’re all, “Yeah, you’re a prize,” and she says, “Shut up, jerk,” and your eyes meet with all the love you don’t always say out loud cause it’s the kind of love that saves you from witchy monsters and things that go bump in your childhood.

Instead, you go shopping for more boots your sister will hide from your brother-in-law and hit the MAC counter to have them do up a day look that looks more like FUN’s night look. And under all the laughter, you’re both thinking the same thing. “Woo! Christmas is coming! Let’s hear it for FUN Day.”