Bear with me if I ramble. Yesterday I had a root canal. My first. Preferably my last.
Oh, it's not that the root canal itself was unpleasant.
No, I had a nice time. Got a short nap in.
Once the novacaine and laughing gas wears off...O. U. C. H. Fortunately, my dentist gave me a painkiller prescription. Sweet. But being all doped up makes me dizzy and droggy. Everything is kinda a blur.
On Thursday night, hubby watched an episode of THE OFFICE. He started catching episodes a monthish ago to fill the time between SMALLVILLE and LOST. Which is kinda odd now that I think about it because I have no idea of how much attention he pays to SMALLVILLE or LOST.
Sometimes I watch THE OFFICE, sometimes not because I try to use that hour to get some writing done. Lately work on Touched by Love contest stuff. Anyhoo, on Thursday he wondered who watched the show, who "got" the show.
Long discussion short, I told him what made the show different was that it didn't rely on sexual humor to drive the laughter. It's a thinking man's comedy. Not with the wryness of British comedy but closer than most network sitcoms.
Next came on 30 ROCK. After about 10 minutes, hubby changed the channel to DON'T FORGET THE LYRICS. Yes, I said he quit watching an Emmy-nominated show to watch kareoke (sp?). Why? Well, right after I made my comment about THE OFFICE, the next scene on 30 ROCK was Tracy (a guy) telling Liz (the producer) of his woes with his porno video game. Yeah.
One of the next scenes prior had Jack (network guy) in Washington starting his political life. Witty scene even though it belittled the current presidential administration and economic "crisis." I actually wished that scene had gone on longer. Why? The next scene was vulgar. Tracy had his actors doing the voice-over work for his porno video game.
No person watching that scene had to use any congnitive ability to process the humor.
What if network producers told sitcom producers that they couldn't have any sexual humor for their show's/shows' entire season(s). How funny would those shows be?
I doubt Emmy-nominated-worthy funny.
Besides THE OFFICE, is there a sitcom on tv that doesn't rely on sexual humor and sexual situations as the basis for the show's comedic status?
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Friday, May 09, 2008
Help, my liver ran away!
My kids think I can’t cook.
Well, maybe not that I can’t cook, but more like that I can’t cook good. I’m really not sure why they think that. I’m a great cook. Someday they need to start tipping the chef/waitress/hostess of the Welborn Café. And they need to stop groaning when I say we’re having dinner at the Welborn Café.
Uggh, children. Gotta love ’em…I guess.
Every night for dinner and for lunch on Sunday, I always put a tablecloth on the table, give all six of us matching Longaberger luncheon plates, set Oneida Kenwood silverware in the correct spot, and fill our Mikasa goblets (okay, the kids normally get Tupperware cups) with a chilled--and often--iced beverage.
I’m soooooo channeling Martha Stewart.
The only thing I don’t have on the table is candlesticks because…well, boys and fire are combustible.
Does it matter that macaroni and cheese makes a wonderful side dish with practically anything? Why can’t they see how I take care not to have all orange foods or all white foods? Will they ever notice that I strive to ensure the meal food colors, shapes, and textures vary (except on the days when we have cereal for dinner)?
In my 14 years of being a mom, I’ve discovered that you don’t have to follow a recipe exactly. And if you don’t have baking powder, you can substitute baking soda mixed with cream of tartar. Or is that the other way around?
I made a coffeecake once using a yellow cake mix (mixed according to box instructions), butter, and crushed Oreo cookies. And it tasted darn good. Of course, no one wanted to eat it until my hubby guinea-pigged through the first piece.
Okay, I’ll admit I’m not a great cook. I’m no Martha Stewart. But I do watch Iron Chef of American. Yes, it’s to see Bobby Oh-Please-Flay-Me, but as I’m watching, I’m absorbing great cooking skills because I recognize that I’m a visual learner.
When we were first married, my hubby decided to make some chocolate chip cookies all on his own. I heard him banging around in the kitchen for days upon days.
Finally, he yelled, “Honey, if your cookies are kinda runny, what do would you do?”
I said, “Add more flour.”
Minutes later he said, “More flour isn’t working.”
“How much extra did you add?”
“Two cups.”
With my Julia Child-shocked-expression, I headed to the kitchen. I picked up a container. “You added this to the dough?”
“Yes,” he said, glaring at me as if I were not Julia Child.
Controlling my laughter, I said, “This is powdered sugar, not flour. Couldn’t you smell the difference, see the difference, taste the difference?”
Let’s just say he wasn’t too pleased with my comment. Uggh, husbands. Gotta love ’em…I guess.
I’m good at some things, but not all things. And in my crit group, each of us are good at some things, but not all things. As one of my CP so eloquently said this week, “We each bring something different to the table.”
Another way of saying that is “We each have a part, a job, a skill, a strength that benefits someone else.”
The human body has many parts, but the many parts make up only one body.
What your foot said, “I’m tired of only being a foot. I want to be a hand so I can touch things or an eye so I can see Bobby Flay cook”?
Or liver: “I’m sick of processing toxins. Lemme be the tongue so I can taste the food before it turns nasty.”
Or ear: “Two’s a crowd. I’m leaving so I can be the only ear.”
Or butt: “I’m tired of people’s crap. I want to be a mouth so I can enjoy Bobby Flay’s barbeque.”
I believe God placed each part of our bodies in the prime spot for them to do the exact things for which they were created to do. And even the parts of the body that seem weakest aren’t purposeless. Imagine not having a thumb. Or no hair in your nose. That hair has a purpose. Not a purpose I really want to think about at the moment, but a purpose nonetheless.
Fortunately, in a human body, each part does its job. A heart can only pump blood and not chew Twizzlers. And if it doesn’t do what it’s supposed to do, you need a new heart or you’re dead.
In a family, a crit group, or even a writing organization, sometimes the wrong part is doing the wrong job, which causes stress and discouragement because the part isn’t doing what it was created to do. Square peg in a round hole. And sometimes a part is letting another part do its job.
Is it time you stepped back and let someone else have the spotlight? Or is it time you stepped up and took a more active role?
Now who has detective skills? My liver ran away to Vegas.
Well, maybe not that I can’t cook, but more like that I can’t cook good. I’m really not sure why they think that. I’m a great cook. Someday they need to start tipping the chef/waitress/hostess of the Welborn Café. And they need to stop groaning when I say we’re having dinner at the Welborn Café.
Uggh, children. Gotta love ’em…I guess.
Every night for dinner and for lunch on Sunday, I always put a tablecloth on the table, give all six of us matching Longaberger luncheon plates, set Oneida Kenwood silverware in the correct spot, and fill our Mikasa goblets (okay, the kids normally get Tupperware cups) with a chilled--and often--iced beverage.
I’m soooooo channeling Martha Stewart.
The only thing I don’t have on the table is candlesticks because…well, boys and fire are combustible.
Does it matter that macaroni and cheese makes a wonderful side dish with practically anything? Why can’t they see how I take care not to have all orange foods or all white foods? Will they ever notice that I strive to ensure the meal food colors, shapes, and textures vary (except on the days when we have cereal for dinner)?
In my 14 years of being a mom, I’ve discovered that you don’t have to follow a recipe exactly. And if you don’t have baking powder, you can substitute baking soda mixed with cream of tartar. Or is that the other way around?
I made a coffeecake once using a yellow cake mix (mixed according to box instructions), butter, and crushed Oreo cookies. And it tasted darn good. Of course, no one wanted to eat it until my hubby guinea-pigged through the first piece.
Okay, I’ll admit I’m not a great cook. I’m no Martha Stewart. But I do watch Iron Chef of American. Yes, it’s to see Bobby Oh-Please-Flay-Me, but as I’m watching, I’m absorbing great cooking skills because I recognize that I’m a visual learner.
When we were first married, my hubby decided to make some chocolate chip cookies all on his own. I heard him banging around in the kitchen for days upon days.
Finally, he yelled, “Honey, if your cookies are kinda runny, what do would you do?”
I said, “Add more flour.”
Minutes later he said, “More flour isn’t working.”
“How much extra did you add?”
“Two cups.”
With my Julia Child-shocked-expression, I headed to the kitchen. I picked up a container. “You added this to the dough?”
“Yes,” he said, glaring at me as if I were not Julia Child.
Controlling my laughter, I said, “This is powdered sugar, not flour. Couldn’t you smell the difference, see the difference, taste the difference?”
Let’s just say he wasn’t too pleased with my comment. Uggh, husbands. Gotta love ’em…I guess.
I’m good at some things, but not all things. And in my crit group, each of us are good at some things, but not all things. As one of my CP so eloquently said this week, “We each bring something different to the table.”
Another way of saying that is “We each have a part, a job, a skill, a strength that benefits someone else.”
The human body has many parts, but the many parts make up only one body.
What your foot said, “I’m tired of only being a foot. I want to be a hand so I can touch things or an eye so I can see Bobby Flay cook”?
Or liver: “I’m sick of processing toxins. Lemme be the tongue so I can taste the food before it turns nasty.”
Or ear: “Two’s a crowd. I’m leaving so I can be the only ear.”
Or butt: “I’m tired of people’s crap. I want to be a mouth so I can enjoy Bobby Flay’s barbeque.”
I believe God placed each part of our bodies in the prime spot for them to do the exact things for which they were created to do. And even the parts of the body that seem weakest aren’t purposeless. Imagine not having a thumb. Or no hair in your nose. That hair has a purpose. Not a purpose I really want to think about at the moment, but a purpose nonetheless.
Fortunately, in a human body, each part does its job. A heart can only pump blood and not chew Twizzlers. And if it doesn’t do what it’s supposed to do, you need a new heart or you’re dead.
In a family, a crit group, or even a writing organization, sometimes the wrong part is doing the wrong job, which causes stress and discouragement because the part isn’t doing what it was created to do. Square peg in a round hole. And sometimes a part is letting another part do its job.
Is it time you stepped back and let someone else have the spotlight? Or is it time you stepped up and took a more active role?
Now who has detective skills? My liver ran away to Vegas.
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Pet of the Day
My neighbor has a goat.
Well, not my neighbor neighbor. Not anyone who lives in my actual neighborhood.
No, I'm talking the guy who lives in one of the older homes outside my neighborhood and just a bit up the road. I'm guessing they're on acre lots.
Yet instead of walking his goat around his acre lot, he walks the goat up and down the winding road that divides the six or seven neighborhoods between Nuckles Road and whatever that street next to Car Max is called. Hey, I have five kids. I can't be expected to pay attention to street signs.
So he's walking his goat, and I say to my son as we pass, "He's walking his pet goat." (BTW, we were in the car. I was driving.)
My son Matthew14 says, "Pet goat?"
"Yeah. Like pet dog, pet cat, pet pig."
"Pet pig?"
"Son, where have you been all your life? Yes, people have pet pigs."
"Then why doesn't that guy have a pet pig instead of a pet goat? No normal person has a goat for a pet."
"But having a pig means you're normal?"
"Mom, shouldn't you watch where you're driving?"
At this point, I had to focus on the road. No more time to think of goats and pigs. We had to get to the library to pick up a couple books on hold, then go to Wal-mart to get medicine and pet food (we got chocolate too), and finally stop at Four Eyes to have a screw put back in said son's glasses. And we had only an hour before "American Idol" came on.
Okay, I can understand owning a goat. But taking it for a walk?
That's just too weird for me.
But then again, I'm sure if I had a goat and it needed a walk....
So after our errand trip and some good and bad singing on "American Idol" (poor Jason, he's going home tonight), I figured I ought to check my e-mail because it'd been a few hours and some really imporatant e-mail might have arrived.
In my mailbox was another thank you note from one of my Genesis entries. I'm three for five on getting TYs back. Either the other two entrants didn't care for my comments or they're slow at letting their judges know they're appreciated or they hated the comments or they're just not polite enough to say thanks.
Anyhooo....
Wanna know what the entrant said? Of course you do.
I'm thinking about contacting her, except that I'm a coward at heart. Then again, I'd love to see how she incorporated my suggestions.
I freely admit I like TYs from contest entrants. Over the years, the number I receive have increased, which is likely becuase I've become a better, more tactful, more encouraging judge.
Oddly, I suck at sending Christmas and other time gift thanks.
Hmm.
Guess that makes me a hypocrite.
Great.
Goats, pigs, and hypocrites....I'd better shut up and let you go.
Well, not my neighbor neighbor. Not anyone who lives in my actual neighborhood.
No, I'm talking the guy who lives in one of the older homes outside my neighborhood and just a bit up the road. I'm guessing they're on acre lots.
Yet instead of walking his goat around his acre lot, he walks the goat up and down the winding road that divides the six or seven neighborhoods between Nuckles Road and whatever that street next to Car Max is called. Hey, I have five kids. I can't be expected to pay attention to street signs.
So he's walking his goat, and I say to my son as we pass, "He's walking his pet goat." (BTW, we were in the car. I was driving.)
My son Matthew14 says, "Pet goat?"
"Yeah. Like pet dog, pet cat, pet pig."
"Pet pig?"
"Son, where have you been all your life? Yes, people have pet pigs."
"Then why doesn't that guy have a pet pig instead of a pet goat? No normal person has a goat for a pet."
"But having a pig means you're normal?"
"Mom, shouldn't you watch where you're driving?"
At this point, I had to focus on the road. No more time to think of goats and pigs. We had to get to the library to pick up a couple books on hold, then go to Wal-mart to get medicine and pet food (we got chocolate too), and finally stop at Four Eyes to have a screw put back in said son's glasses. And we had only an hour before "American Idol" came on.
Okay, I can understand owning a goat. But taking it for a walk?
That's just too weird for me.
But then again, I'm sure if I had a goat and it needed a walk....
So after our errand trip and some good and bad singing on "American Idol" (poor Jason, he's going home tonight), I figured I ought to check my e-mail because it'd been a few hours and some really imporatant e-mail might have arrived.
In my mailbox was another thank you note from one of my Genesis entries. I'm three for five on getting TYs back. Either the other two entrants didn't care for my comments or they're slow at letting their judges know they're appreciated or they hated the comments or they're just not polite enough to say thanks.
Anyhooo....
Wanna know what the entrant said? Of course you do.
Dear Judge RSJ12,
Thank you for taking the time to judge my contest entry. I was truly amazed at all the in-depth feedback. Wow! :-) You really made me think, and I'm STILL thinking about the best way to work some of your ideas in. I really can't thank you enough for the wisdom you shared. I really appreciate all the effort you put into it. I know it will make my story much stronger. God bless.
ENTRANT NAME HERE
P.S. I wasn't trying to be sneaky with the lack of a synopsis. LOL. It's called last-minute entry by an SOTP author. :-) I do have a better idea what's going to happen now, so if you can't sleep at night wondering how it ends... :-)
ENTRANT WEBSITE HERE
I'm thinking about contacting her, except that I'm a coward at heart. Then again, I'd love to see how she incorporated my suggestions.
I freely admit I like TYs from contest entrants. Over the years, the number I receive have increased, which is likely becuase I've become a better, more tactful, more encouraging judge.
Oddly, I suck at sending Christmas and other time gift thanks.
Hmm.
Guess that makes me a hypocrite.
Great.
Goats, pigs, and hypocrites....I'd better shut up and let you go.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
The Jinx is Real!
I’m not superstitious. Nope, not at all.
I’ve opened umbrellas indoors, walked under ladders, and own a black cat. Of course, I tell people we have the cat in case we decide to become Satanists and need a quick sacrifice. My husband says the cat is in our family because he wanted to give our oldest daughter (when she was two and sick of her newborn brother) something to love. Oh, puh-leeze. My story is so much better.
But of course, I hate our cat and he doesn’t.
Maybe I don't really hate her. Maybe I just don't love her.
Okay, I’m feeling a little guilty because I kinda, sorta, a little wee bit am superstitious (no guilt about disliking the cat). I didn’t believe in the curses that supposedly damned the Red Sox and White Sox even when they supposedly broke them. No, those things are for fanatics looking for excuses for poor play.
My two superstitions are real.
Quick, grab a Bible, place you left hand on it, raise your right, and repeat after me:
“If I am ever on Survivor, I will not take the car.”
I feel obligated to tell you none of car winners have not won the million dollars, although one of the car winners married a millionaire. Don’t be stupid. Don’t take the car. The curse of the car is real. Trust me, because I hate math so I often don’t speak mathematically. Go with the odds.
I’m happy to report that the “Sports Illustrated” jinx is real, too. A couple years ago, USC’s Reggie Bush and Matt Life's-All-About-Me Lienart were on the cover. The jinx doomed them. Actually, Vince Young doomed them, but I’m firmly convinced that if “SI” had put Texas on the cover that week instead of the week before, then the Longhorns would have been doomed. Granted a few people like Michael Jordan and Lance Armstrong have been immune to the SI Jinx, but, still, the risk of doomhood doesn’t outweigh the mere chance you are immune.
Grab a Bible, place you left hand on it, raise your right, and repeat after me...
“If I am ever offered the cover of Sports Illustrated, I will NOT accept...unless it’s the swimsuit edition and I look hot in a painted-on bikini.”
I’m not really sure where I’m going with this so I think I’ll go throw away my daughter’s poopy--and smelly--diaper and clean house. Don’t go anywhere.
Okay, I’m back. Trust me, I don’t work quick. Hours and hours passed during that literary blank line. Hmm, I’m still not sure what my point is so I’ll ramble for a while until I can figure something out or I get bored and decide to watch Monster Garage.
Another curse I’m almost ready to believe in is the Madden Curse--gloom and doom for any NFL player after being pictured on the cover of the John Madden football video game. Donovan McNabb (2006’s cover boy) experienced the curse. In years prior, Michael Vick, Marshall Faulk, and Daunte Culpepper experienced the jinx.
As an almost avid football fan and formerly avid Survivor-ite, I know all about these very valid curses. You should trust me. Go with the odds.
Ever heard another writer tell you that her way is the right way so you should “trust her”? With “experts” coming out of every desk drawer, it’s frustrating to know who is right and who is wrong.
I’ll give you an easy answer: Listen to me.
Hey, there’s no need to laugh. And you can just tell the office boy who is reading over your shoulder that he better save his chuckles for when he’s undressing. I’m almost an expert. I told you all about the curses you should watch out for. I made you swear. Only an expert makes you swear.
Not too long ago, I watched Kingdom of Heaven with my husband. The movie interested me until the hero, Balian, did something that violated his internal and external story goals: to find forgiveness for his sins and to be a good knight. What did he do? He committed adultery.
Yes, I know he’s the average hunky joe and average hunky joes have needs. If the director had justified Balian’s reason for violating his goal for a nice shag in the feather mattress, then I would have had no problem with Balian’s doinking Sibylla, Princess of Jerusalem. But Balian had no motivation other than lust, and that he at least didn’t struggle with his lust made me think that his goal wasn’t that important to him.
But let’s say he had a momentary lapse of judgement. Then I say the director and writer needed to show him dealing with additional guilt. He didn’t. I wonder how dire his beginning-of-the-story sins were (we know he committed murder) that he felt he need forgiveness from then but none for adultery.
*sigh*
But you know the worse thing about the movie? They deliberately changed history, and I only needed to read a handful of encyclopedia articles to learn the truth. The historical writer in me needs to rant.
Balian of Iberlin, defender of Jerusalem, never had been a blacksmith in France. But he had been married to Maria Comnena (Princess Sibylla’s step-mother) and had two sons by her. And historical evidence suggests randy Sibylla had had an affair with Balian’s brother (Baldwin), never left her husband Guy, and died in Tripoli, unlike her having a HEA in France with Balian as the movie depicted.
But I could look past the historical inaccuracies and obvious directorial political agenda if Balian’s fictional character had not violated his internal and external story goal.
Hello, what were the writers thinking?
Or what this purely a case of the director wanting to tell his story his way? Good writing is more than telling your story your way.
Grab a Bible, place you left hand on it, raise your right, and repeat after me...
“In 2008, I will read at least one new craft of writing (CoW) book.”
If you don’t really get into CoW books or have never read one before, then begin with something simple, something easy to understand, something that won’t overwhelm you with large, writerly words.
I like You Can Write a Romance by Rita Clay Estrada and Rita Gallager
As founders of Romance Writers of America, I think their grasp of romances is something to listen to. Too many times, I’ve critted chapters or judged entries and wondered “why is the hero doing this,” “what does this heroine want out of life,” or “why should I care about what happens to these stupid people?” Hello, sympathetic characterization, believable motivation, and strong external and internal story goals are kinda nice to have. How does your writing stack up?
BTW, you never want a judge to think "stupid" in relation to anything on your entry.
I know Craft of Writing books are expensive. If you’re like me, you don’t have a money tree in your yard, so I’m going to give you another option.
Grab a Bible, place you left hand on it, raise your right, and repeat after me...
“Every month for the rest of this year, I will read at least two craft of writing articles by RWA teaching guru Alicia Rasley.”
See, that wasn't so painful.
Unlike a jinx.
I’ve opened umbrellas indoors, walked under ladders, and own a black cat. Of course, I tell people we have the cat in case we decide to become Satanists and need a quick sacrifice. My husband says the cat is in our family because he wanted to give our oldest daughter (when she was two and sick of her newborn brother) something to love. Oh, puh-leeze. My story is so much better.
But of course, I hate our cat and he doesn’t.
Maybe I don't really hate her. Maybe I just don't love her.
Okay, I’m feeling a little guilty because I kinda, sorta, a little wee bit am superstitious (no guilt about disliking the cat). I didn’t believe in the curses that supposedly damned the Red Sox and White Sox even when they supposedly broke them. No, those things are for fanatics looking for excuses for poor play.
My two superstitions are real.
Quick, grab a Bible, place you left hand on it, raise your right, and repeat after me:
“If I am ever on Survivor, I will not take the car.”
I feel obligated to tell you none of car winners have not won the million dollars, although one of the car winners married a millionaire. Don’t be stupid. Don’t take the car. The curse of the car is real. Trust me, because I hate math so I often don’t speak mathematically. Go with the odds.
I’m happy to report that the “Sports Illustrated” jinx is real, too. A couple years ago, USC’s Reggie Bush and Matt Life's-All-About-Me Lienart were on the cover. The jinx doomed them. Actually, Vince Young doomed them, but I’m firmly convinced that if “SI” had put Texas on the cover that week instead of the week before, then the Longhorns would have been doomed. Granted a few people like Michael Jordan and Lance Armstrong have been immune to the SI Jinx, but, still, the risk of doomhood doesn’t outweigh the mere chance you are immune.
Grab a Bible, place you left hand on it, raise your right, and repeat after me...
“If I am ever offered the cover of Sports Illustrated, I will NOT accept...unless it’s the swimsuit edition and I look hot in a painted-on bikini.”
I’m not really sure where I’m going with this so I think I’ll go throw away my daughter’s poopy--and smelly--diaper and clean house. Don’t go anywhere.
Okay, I’m back. Trust me, I don’t work quick. Hours and hours passed during that literary blank line. Hmm, I’m still not sure what my point is so I’ll ramble for a while until I can figure something out or I get bored and decide to watch Monster Garage.
Another curse I’m almost ready to believe in is the Madden Curse--gloom and doom for any NFL player after being pictured on the cover of the John Madden football video game. Donovan McNabb (2006’s cover boy) experienced the curse. In years prior, Michael Vick, Marshall Faulk, and Daunte Culpepper experienced the jinx.
As an almost avid football fan and formerly avid Survivor-ite, I know all about these very valid curses. You should trust me. Go with the odds.
Ever heard another writer tell you that her way is the right way so you should “trust her”? With “experts” coming out of every desk drawer, it’s frustrating to know who is right and who is wrong.
I’ll give you an easy answer: Listen to me.
Hey, there’s no need to laugh. And you can just tell the office boy who is reading over your shoulder that he better save his chuckles for when he’s undressing. I’m almost an expert. I told you all about the curses you should watch out for. I made you swear. Only an expert makes you swear.
Not too long ago, I watched Kingdom of Heaven with my husband. The movie interested me until the hero, Balian, did something that violated his internal and external story goals: to find forgiveness for his sins and to be a good knight. What did he do? He committed adultery.
Yes, I know he’s the average hunky joe and average hunky joes have needs. If the director had justified Balian’s reason for violating his goal for a nice shag in the feather mattress, then I would have had no problem with Balian’s doinking Sibylla, Princess of Jerusalem. But Balian had no motivation other than lust, and that he at least didn’t struggle with his lust made me think that his goal wasn’t that important to him.
But let’s say he had a momentary lapse of judgement. Then I say the director and writer needed to show him dealing with additional guilt. He didn’t. I wonder how dire his beginning-of-the-story sins were (we know he committed murder) that he felt he need forgiveness from then but none for adultery.
*sigh*
But you know the worse thing about the movie? They deliberately changed history, and I only needed to read a handful of encyclopedia articles to learn the truth. The historical writer in me needs to rant.
Balian of Iberlin, defender of Jerusalem, never had been a blacksmith in France. But he had been married to Maria Comnena (Princess Sibylla’s step-mother) and had two sons by her. And historical evidence suggests randy Sibylla had had an affair with Balian’s brother (Baldwin), never left her husband Guy, and died in Tripoli, unlike her having a HEA in France with Balian as the movie depicted.
But I could look past the historical inaccuracies and obvious directorial political agenda if Balian’s fictional character had not violated his internal and external story goal.
Hello, what were the writers thinking?
Or what this purely a case of the director wanting to tell his story his way? Good writing is more than telling your story your way.
Grab a Bible, place you left hand on it, raise your right, and repeat after me...
“In 2008, I will read at least one new craft of writing (CoW) book.”
If you don’t really get into CoW books or have never read one before, then begin with something simple, something easy to understand, something that won’t overwhelm you with large, writerly words.
I like You Can Write a Romance by Rita Clay Estrada and Rita Gallager
As founders of Romance Writers of America, I think their grasp of romances is something to listen to. Too many times, I’ve critted chapters or judged entries and wondered “why is the hero doing this,” “what does this heroine want out of life,” or “why should I care about what happens to these stupid people?” Hello, sympathetic characterization, believable motivation, and strong external and internal story goals are kinda nice to have. How does your writing stack up?
BTW, you never want a judge to think "stupid" in relation to anything on your entry.
I know Craft of Writing books are expensive. If you’re like me, you don’t have a money tree in your yard, so I’m going to give you another option.
Grab a Bible, place you left hand on it, raise your right, and repeat after me...
“Every month for the rest of this year, I will read at least two craft of writing articles by RWA teaching guru Alicia Rasley.”
See, that wasn't so painful.
Unlike a jinx.
Monday, May 05, 2008
The Best Excuse in the World
“Sorry, I don’t have my receipt. My 9-month-old ate it.”
Oh yes, the customer service chick (actually she was more of a hen) believed me, but why wouldn’t she? I didn’t lie. Niley really ate the receipt for the lightbulbs I was returning. Well, she ate half of it before I reminded her that paper is not one of the seven major food groups.
What’s sad is blaming things on Niley’s need to put everything in her mouth has worked for my older kids too. But I’m a good parent so I figured I needed to come up with a more viable excuse for life’s ills, woes, blunders, failures, and needs to shift the blame. Put down your mocha latte and open your mind to what I’m saying. Work with me. Here it is…
Global Warming.
Given time, I’m convinced the immigration issue will be blamed on Global Warming because Mexico is so darn hot. By hot, I mean temperature. Not smoking bodies on the beach, although I’m sure there’s some there.
In fact, I’m so confident Global Warming is the best excuse in the world, that I told my oldest, Matthew, he ought to consider using it.
He did.
In school.
For some wacko reason, his teacher didn’t find it funny. I’m guessing she was on her period and a no-carb diet and still fuming over the writer’s strike that ended months ago. So I decided to scratch the whole Global Warming excuse. Some people offend just a way bit too easily.
Yet I’ve been on the lookout for the next great Best Excuse in the World because we have to quit blaming things on Niley. Sure enough, I found it without really trying. Put your Diet Coke down (I’ve offended all the mocha latte drinkers with my Global Warming comments so I’m talkin’ to the rest of you.) and open your mind to what I’m saying. Work with me.
Here it is…
I looked at a blonde and she made me stupid, so I forgot to (fill in detail here).
Not only is that a freakin’ fantabulous excuse, it’s totally REAL. No joke.
See, according to a study published in the Journal of Experimental Psychology, “otherwise intelligent men performed below par on general knowledge tests after viewing photos of blonde women.” The researchers tested people by showing them pictures of women with different hair colors, and exposure to blondes resulted in the lowest score.
In big scientificky words, “There’s a decrease in performance after an unobtrusive exposure to a stereotype about a people who have the reputation to be cognitively impaired.” I can’t believe I spelled that right.
For the blondes reading, let me simplify: We think you’re stupid, so when we’re around you, we become stupid, too.
No offense intended to any blondes reading.
Well, being the wonderful non-blonde mother I am, I shared this information with my 8th grade son who’s been having some problems in his geometry class. Come to find out, his teacher is a 100% natural blonde woman. He’s doomed to cognitive impairedness. Did I mention how wonderful of a mother I am? Well, I uber-am, so I suggested he put a picture of me in his wallet and look at it before taking his next test. No, this isn’t an ego trip; I’m merely confident my brunette roots will infuse him with cognitive brilliance.
Either that or he needs to ask his teacher to wear a wig.
What’s just as interesting about that these same researchers found in other studies that the mere knowledge of a stereotype can influence our behavior. Don’t believe me? Ever walked slower or talked louder around an elderly person, regardless of how well you know him? Ever used simpler word choices around a child? Ever stuttered around a stutterer? Ever fidgeted around a fidgeter? Ever looked suspiciously at a man of Middle Eastern descent traveling alone on a plane? Ever kept your eye on a group of teenagers clustered together in a store?
Hey, put me in a room of folks with hick accents, and I'm talking like them too.
Whether we want to admit it or not, we ALL have stereo-typical views. I’m not saying that’s right. I’m not saying that’s wrong. I’m merely saying that’s human, and as writers, we need to be aware of human tendencies, human characteristics, human flaws, human virtues.
Burnt-out cop.
Prostitute with a heart of gold.
Hypocritical preacher.
Fem-nazi.
Bored stay-at-home mom.
A Prius owner (the same one who stopped reading this article by the fourth paragraph.)
An erotica writer
An inspirational writer
Odds are your work-in-progress or latest manuscript has a stereotypical character or five. How many of you have a heroine with a gay best friend who knows her better than any girl could?
Hey, I’m not dogging having a gay best friend.
If I had one, I'd dress better and have stylish hair.
But if there’s nothing about that character to make him different, to make him unique, then he’s a cliché. And if he works in a flower shop, a beauty shop, or does anything clothing related, then he’s an uber-cliché. Although, now that I've done some thinking, I really really could use a gay best friend.
Neil Simon once said, “If no one ever took any risks, Michelangelo would have painted the Sistine floor.”
Use stereotypes to your advantages. Begin with one, then change it up in a way the reader didn’t expect. But first go find the nearest blonde, hug her, and tell her you don’t think she’s cognitively impaired. If she asks you what that means, tell her it’s scientificky talk for “has no fashion sense.”
Oh yes, the customer service chick (actually she was more of a hen) believed me, but why wouldn’t she? I didn’t lie. Niley really ate the receipt for the lightbulbs I was returning. Well, she ate half of it before I reminded her that paper is not one of the seven major food groups.
What’s sad is blaming things on Niley’s need to put everything in her mouth has worked for my older kids too. But I’m a good parent so I figured I needed to come up with a more viable excuse for life’s ills, woes, blunders, failures, and needs to shift the blame. Put down your mocha latte and open your mind to what I’m saying. Work with me. Here it is…
Global Warming.
Given time, I’m convinced the immigration issue will be blamed on Global Warming because Mexico is so darn hot. By hot, I mean temperature. Not smoking bodies on the beach, although I’m sure there’s some there.
In fact, I’m so confident Global Warming is the best excuse in the world, that I told my oldest, Matthew, he ought to consider using it.
He did.
In school.
For some wacko reason, his teacher didn’t find it funny. I’m guessing she was on her period and a no-carb diet and still fuming over the writer’s strike that ended months ago. So I decided to scratch the whole Global Warming excuse. Some people offend just a way bit too easily.
Yet I’ve been on the lookout for the next great Best Excuse in the World because we have to quit blaming things on Niley. Sure enough, I found it without really trying. Put your Diet Coke down (I’ve offended all the mocha latte drinkers with my Global Warming comments so I’m talkin’ to the rest of you.) and open your mind to what I’m saying. Work with me.
Here it is…
I looked at a blonde and she made me stupid, so I forgot to (fill in detail here).
Not only is that a freakin’ fantabulous excuse, it’s totally REAL. No joke.
See, according to a study published in the Journal of Experimental Psychology, “otherwise intelligent men performed below par on general knowledge tests after viewing photos of blonde women.” The researchers tested people by showing them pictures of women with different hair colors, and exposure to blondes resulted in the lowest score.
In big scientificky words, “There’s a decrease in performance after an unobtrusive exposure to a stereotype about a people who have the reputation to be cognitively impaired.” I can’t believe I spelled that right.
For the blondes reading, let me simplify: We think you’re stupid, so when we’re around you, we become stupid, too.
No offense intended to any blondes reading.
Well, being the wonderful non-blonde mother I am, I shared this information with my 8th grade son who’s been having some problems in his geometry class. Come to find out, his teacher is a 100% natural blonde woman. He’s doomed to cognitive impairedness. Did I mention how wonderful of a mother I am? Well, I uber-am, so I suggested he put a picture of me in his wallet and look at it before taking his next test. No, this isn’t an ego trip; I’m merely confident my brunette roots will infuse him with cognitive brilliance.
Either that or he needs to ask his teacher to wear a wig.
What’s just as interesting about that these same researchers found in other studies that the mere knowledge of a stereotype can influence our behavior. Don’t believe me? Ever walked slower or talked louder around an elderly person, regardless of how well you know him? Ever used simpler word choices around a child? Ever stuttered around a stutterer? Ever fidgeted around a fidgeter? Ever looked suspiciously at a man of Middle Eastern descent traveling alone on a plane? Ever kept your eye on a group of teenagers clustered together in a store?
Hey, put me in a room of folks with hick accents, and I'm talking like them too.
Whether we want to admit it or not, we ALL have stereo-typical views. I’m not saying that’s right. I’m not saying that’s wrong. I’m merely saying that’s human, and as writers, we need to be aware of human tendencies, human characteristics, human flaws, human virtues.
Burnt-out cop.
Prostitute with a heart of gold.
Hypocritical preacher.
Fem-nazi.
Bored stay-at-home mom.
A Prius owner (the same one who stopped reading this article by the fourth paragraph.)
An erotica writer
An inspirational writer
Odds are your work-in-progress or latest manuscript has a stereotypical character or five. How many of you have a heroine with a gay best friend who knows her better than any girl could?
Hey, I’m not dogging having a gay best friend.
If I had one, I'd dress better and have stylish hair.
But if there’s nothing about that character to make him different, to make him unique, then he’s a cliché. And if he works in a flower shop, a beauty shop, or does anything clothing related, then he’s an uber-cliché. Although, now that I've done some thinking, I really really could use a gay best friend.
Neil Simon once said, “If no one ever took any risks, Michelangelo would have painted the Sistine floor.”
Use stereotypes to your advantages. Begin with one, then change it up in a way the reader didn’t expect. But first go find the nearest blonde, hug her, and tell her you don’t think she’s cognitively impaired. If she asks you what that means, tell her it’s scientificky talk for “has no fashion sense.”
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