Showing posts with label #muse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label #muse. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 23, 2018
Monday, May 15, 2017
Oxymoron 2.1 version
Oxymoron 2.1 version
In updating my blog labels, I ran across this old blog.
Folks - it's worth revisiting.
Truisms never go out of style. So, relive the truth from 2009.
"We are a people who spend money we don't have on things we don't want to impress people we don't like."
Okay, that is a seriously great line . . . especially with the ring of truism in it.
I'd like to take credit, goodness knows, I like good writing. I'd even like to give credit where it's due; however, this piece of wisdom belongs to the man who wrote, Why is God laughing?. Sorry, I didn't catch the gentleman's name during his Good Morning, America interview. The gentleman who did remind me quite a bit of Mahatma Gandhi, sans the big nose, spoke eloquently about the oxymora (or our common plural version - oxymorons) in our lives.
For those who need the dictionary lesson: Oxymoron
a figure of speech by which a locution produces an incongruous, seemingly self-contradictory effect, as in “cruel kindness” or “to make haste slowly."
Sometimes, an oxymoron is more than a figure of speech. Sometimes, it's life in action.
Case in point . . .
My husband, smart guy that he is, related another just a few days after I'd been turned on to this thought. While walking our dog -- sometimes it's more the dog walks us than we walk the dog -- but dog and hubby were getting along down the bike trail when my hubby dearest noted a guy out tilling his garden for spring planting. The oxymoron was the hacking and coughing up one lung this old boy was doing while puffing away on a ciggy for the other lung. Even more of an oxymoron is that this guy will be planting a garden, fruits and veggies one must assume -- as in the healthy stuff -- yet he's polluting his lungs at a rate far faster than the fruits and veggies can save. Yep, Gardener Man was definitely a life in action oxymoron.
Okay, don't get on the collective soap boxes and lecture me about smoking and the rights of smokers everywhere. I'm a reformed smoker so I get to point and laugh. However, the point is the oxymoron.
But there's more . . .
What about the folks who crave children, and then leave them to be raised by daycare and nannies? Okay, I understand that sometimes both parents have to work to make all the ends meet and right now the ends might not be meeting at all. But if honesty won out, many folks could live in a smaller house, drive less expensive cars, take less grand vacations and make the budget balance on one salary.
Watch that soap box . . . I'm simply pointing out the oxymoron. If raising kids was the the most important thing, why would it be left to strangers?
That same tangent could be eloquently stated for our current educational system. How can we, collectively, claim that education is the most important thing when we, collectively, don't lobby -- forget lobbying, how about storming the capitol -- and demand that teachers' salaries match the job we lay on them? Our oxymoron, collectively, is that we'll pay exorbitant prices to go watch athletes run around a field, high-powered cars drive in circles, etc. Point should be made, collectively speaking.
So perhaps Oxymora are a way of life.
For a 2017 update: Is your life filled with an oxymoron or two? A negative that needs to be turned into a positive? Chaos that reigns over focus of life? Are you spending money/time/energy on minutiae that you can ill afford/don't need/won't use to impress people who in the long run should never have the opportunity to 'run' your life? That's a weighty thought for Motivational Monday. Give it the serious attention that it deserves.
Do drop by the porch again.
In updating my blog labels, I ran across this old blog.
Folks - it's worth revisiting.
Truisms never go out of style. So, relive the truth from 2009.
"We are a people who spend money we don't have on things we don't want to impress people we don't like."
Okay, that is a seriously great line . . . especially with the ring of truism in it.
I'd like to take credit, goodness knows, I like good writing. I'd even like to give credit where it's due; however, this piece of wisdom belongs to the man who wrote, Why is God laughing?. Sorry, I didn't catch the gentleman's name during his Good Morning, America interview. The gentleman who did remind me quite a bit of Mahatma Gandhi, sans the big nose, spoke eloquently about the oxymora (or our common plural version - oxymorons) in our lives.
For those who need the dictionary lesson: Oxymoron
a figure of speech by which a locution produces an incongruous, seemingly self-contradictory effect, as in “cruel kindness” or “to make haste slowly."
Sometimes, an oxymoron is more than a figure of speech. Sometimes, it's life in action.
Case in point . . .
My husband, smart guy that he is, related another just a few days after I'd been turned on to this thought. While walking our dog -- sometimes it's more the dog walks us than we walk the dog -- but dog and hubby were getting along down the bike trail when my hubby dearest noted a guy out tilling his garden for spring planting. The oxymoron was the hacking and coughing up one lung this old boy was doing while puffing away on a ciggy for the other lung. Even more of an oxymoron is that this guy will be planting a garden, fruits and veggies one must assume -- as in the healthy stuff -- yet he's polluting his lungs at a rate far faster than the fruits and veggies can save. Yep, Gardener Man was definitely a life in action oxymoron.
Okay, don't get on the collective soap boxes and lecture me about smoking and the rights of smokers everywhere. I'm a reformed smoker so I get to point and laugh. However, the point is the oxymoron.
But there's more . . .
What about the folks who crave children, and then leave them to be raised by daycare and nannies? Okay, I understand that sometimes both parents have to work to make all the ends meet and right now the ends might not be meeting at all. But if honesty won out, many folks could live in a smaller house, drive less expensive cars, take less grand vacations and make the budget balance on one salary.
Watch that soap box . . . I'm simply pointing out the oxymoron. If raising kids was the the most important thing, why would it be left to strangers?
That same tangent could be eloquently stated for our current educational system. How can we, collectively, claim that education is the most important thing when we, collectively, don't lobby -- forget lobbying, how about storming the capitol -- and demand that teachers' salaries match the job we lay on them? Our oxymoron, collectively, is that we'll pay exorbitant prices to go watch athletes run around a field, high-powered cars drive in circles, etc. Point should be made, collectively speaking.
So perhaps Oxymora are a way of life.
For a 2017 update: Is your life filled with an oxymoron or two? A negative that needs to be turned into a positive? Chaos that reigns over focus of life? Are you spending money/time/energy on minutiae that you can ill afford/don't need/won't use to impress people who in the long run should never have the opportunity to 'run' your life? That's a weighty thought for Motivational Monday. Give it the serious attention that it deserves.
Do drop by the porch again.
Monday, May 8, 2017
Lure The Muse
Creativity is simultaneously a writer's best friend and most dreaded enemy. But why? Are we, as writers, challenged of casual creativity? Are we blind to the bare bones of original brilliance? Do we glue our eyes closed to simple genius?
Finding a writer's muse can often involve gritting teeth, severing of limbs (metaphorically, folks) or jumping off the proverbial cliff and hoping for wings of inspiration. But why must it be so difficult when often hidden wells of creativity lurk inside each of us?
What is the secret?
Lure the muse.
How?
I have discovered that most writers have a number of passions. Seldom does our creativity sequester itself in a solitary cell. Instead, creativity bubbles in many areas of our lives.
Do you garden? Maybe your home is surrounded by flowering perfection, filled with the whispering wings of butterflies or the gentle rush of hummingbirds. Is your garden pots of brightly colored vegetables and lush succulent herbs.
Do you paint? Not necessarily easel canvases. Perhaps, the color on your brush covers bare, boring, beige walls. Perhaps, the tint of walnut, or cherry, or maple fills your brush, sponge or cloth as you breathe new life into old furniture.
Do you cook? Not Iron Chef level, but do you tease your family and friends' taste-buds? Is your house the one with simmering spaghetti sauce that the neighbors always manage to visit?
Are you more than a shower Sinatra? A musical diva - maybe not The Voice quality - but no basement Betty either. Is there music in your soul that finds expression in the piano, the flute, the tuba? Drums with a real beat?
A car/antique/art aficionado? Devotion to beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Others may not pant over a '66 Fastback Corvette, or understand the glories of abstract art . . . but that doesn't make it less a form of creativity that begs for expression.
The final solution?
Free your muse. No reigning in budding brilliance. Use those areas of creativity as the bridge to your writing muse.
Never fear folding in aspects of your creative passions into your characters. Protagonist or secondary - all can benefit from the snippets of those passionate endeavors that fill your home and your hobby time.
Want to follow a new creative dream? Let your character take the ride with you.
From photograph to pottery
From aerial skydiving to aqua-farming
From calligraphy to cave-diving
From Frisbee-golf to foreign languages
Your life is the richer for every extension of your energy and talent.
So, too, will your character benefit from the magical journey.
Free your muse and the writing will follow.
Finding a writer's muse can often involve gritting teeth, severing of limbs (metaphorically, folks) or jumping off the proverbial cliff and hoping for wings of inspiration. But why must it be so difficult when often hidden wells of creativity lurk inside each of us?
What is the secret?
Lure the muse.
How?
I have discovered that most writers have a number of passions. Seldom does our creativity sequester itself in a solitary cell. Instead, creativity bubbles in many areas of our lives.
Do you garden? Maybe your home is surrounded by flowering perfection, filled with the whispering wings of butterflies or the gentle rush of hummingbirds. Is your garden pots of brightly colored vegetables and lush succulent herbs.
Do you paint? Not necessarily easel canvases. Perhaps, the color on your brush covers bare, boring, beige walls. Perhaps, the tint of walnut, or cherry, or maple fills your brush, sponge or cloth as you breathe new life into old furniture.
Do you cook? Not Iron Chef level, but do you tease your family and friends' taste-buds? Is your house the one with simmering spaghetti sauce that the neighbors always manage to visit?
Are you more than a shower Sinatra? A musical diva - maybe not The Voice quality - but no basement Betty either. Is there music in your soul that finds expression in the piano, the flute, the tuba? Drums with a real beat?
A car/antique/art aficionado? Devotion to beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Others may not pant over a '66 Fastback Corvette, or understand the glories of abstract art . . . but that doesn't make it less a form of creativity that begs for expression.
The final solution?
Free your muse. No reigning in budding brilliance. Use those areas of creativity as the bridge to your writing muse.
Never fear folding in aspects of your creative passions into your characters. Protagonist or secondary - all can benefit from the snippets of those passionate endeavors that fill your home and your hobby time.
Want to follow a new creative dream? Let your character take the ride with you.
From photograph to pottery
From aerial skydiving to aqua-farming
From calligraphy to cave-diving
From Frisbee-golf to foreign languages
Your life is the richer for every extension of your energy and talent.
So, too, will your character benefit from the magical journey.
Free your muse and the writing will follow.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Fine Living magazine cocktail quiz
On a long car trip, you're listening to:1)Pop hits on the radio
2)'80s hair metal
3)Spanish language tapes
4)Smooth singers like Frank Sinatra
**I'm a Pop Hits sorta gal.
On Saturday night, you can be found:1)Pushing my way to the front of the crowd at a rock show
2)Getting down in the center of the dance floor at a club
3)At the opera house watching La Boehme
4)Enjoying classic movies on a blanket in the park.
**Well, Saturday nights are not normally night this exciting for me. HOWEVER, I'd be the enjoying classic movies, WITH hubby, on a blanket in the park, if we could combat the mosquitoes and keep each other awake.
Your favorite dish is:1)Chocolate mousse with whipped cream on top
2)A spicy bowl of chili
3)Homemade macaroni and cheese
4)Pad Thai noodles
**I cheated on this one because I've already revealed my favorite sin in white chocolate, Macadamia nut cookies, but if a gal must decide then I'll go with homemade mac and cheese.
If you could be a movie star, you would be:1)Salma Hayek
2)Jennifer Aniston
3)James Dean
4)Fred Astaire
**Definitely, Fred Astaire. Hey, don't anyone tell my hubby that I'm channeling a man. Really I want to channel his dancing shoes. I would love to be able to move with rhythm and style.
Your dream vacation would be:1)Visiting Cape Cod for a tour of famous lighthouses
2)Relaxing on the deck on an all-inclusive Caribbean cruise
3)Hopping on a motorcycle for a cross-country ride
4)Traveling to Japan to experience
**Okay, this one is easy. Ever seen my house? Some have and it's drenched in lighthouses. I love them, and taking a tour to visit lighthouses would be completly up my alley.
The clothing item you can't live without is:1)A pair of yellow kitten heels
2)A leather bomber jacket
3)The perfect merino wool sweater
4)A flowing silk scarf
**Where's sweat pants on this list? All right, maybe they didn't intend writers or moms or women who want to be comfortable to take this test. Whatever . . . I'll go way with the flowing silk scarf. Goes better with my Fred Astaire impersonation. It would certainly look great in the lighthouse pictures.
What did you dress up as last Halloween?1)A pirate
2)A cowgirl (or cowboy)
3)A belly dancer
4)A flapper (or gangster)
**This would have to be none of the above. However, I did go as a Fallen Angel (all in black and no halo) once, which would put me somewhere between belly dancer and flapper.
Your dream house is:1)A mansion in Hollywood Hills
2)An apartment in the East Village
3)A low-slung midcentury-modern home designed by Frank Lloyd Wright
4)An adobe casa in the Southwest
**Definitely the adobe casa in the Southwest.
If you won the lottery, you would:1)Buy a custom-designed wardrobe
2)Head up the fan club for your favorite band
3)Fill your garage with vintage cars
4)Spend a year backpacking across Europe
**Oh, let's be real. How about pay for my kids' college tuition? Or re-carpet my house? This one is so far beyond my realm of reality, I just pushed a button.
Of these inventions, which do you find the most exciting?1)Hair extensions
2)Frequent flier miles
3)Crossword puzzles
4)Guitar Hero
**There must be something twisted in this personality quiz. Of all the 21st century inventions, these are the choices? In the end, I had to go with Crossword puzzles. Too much of a word smith not to appreciate that choice.
So what's my favorite cocktail?
Vodka Gimlet
The phrase "don't change a good thing" was practically invented for you. You love the classics, like movies, cars and, of course, cocktails. Our Vodka Gimlet is made with high-quality vodka and lime juice, shaken in a cocktail shaker just like they've always been.
Well, I've never had a Vodka Gimlet, but I do like Gray Goose vodka, so I'll try this out next time.
Want to take the quiz on your own?
Head over to Fine Living for a bit of entertainment. Do share your results.
Have a lovely Saturday and drop by my back porch again.
Until then,
~Sandra
Monday, February 8, 2010
Monday Morning Muses
So, who watched the Superbowl? Okay, I watched about an hour of it. 
Nope, not the end, but the first hour. Watched with hubby for awhile, but I'm not a football-enthusiast -- even though I live with two -- I can take it in small doses, then I'm done. By this point in the season, I'm done. So, hooray for the Saints, and I'm sad for the Colts -- my daughter is a huge fan.
To all those who have kept the loops alive with Macillian/Amazon updates -- thanks. I always love a great publishing scoop and this one has definitely been big news.
Go to: ABC Video
or
Sun Times report
or
CBS news
I just read a recent update from Macmillian to their agents and authors . . . very nice, nice between the two lions on the Savannah, according to the letter. Bottom line: apparently they've worked toward a resolution and all things Macmillian should be back up and running on Amazon.
Onto something . . . well, lighter!
Giving Up Wine
I was walking down the street when I was accosted by a particularly dirty and shabby-looking homeless woman who asked me for a couple of dollars for dinner.
I took out my wallet, got out twenty dollars
and asked, 'If I give you this money, will you buy wine with it instead of dinner?'
'No, I had to stop drinking years ago', the homeless woman told me..
'Will you use it to go shopping instead of buying food?' I asked.
'No, I don't waste time shopping,'the homeless woman said. 'I need to spend all my time trying to stay alive.'
'Will you spend this on a beauty salon instead of food?' I asked.
'Are you NUTS!' replied the homeless woman. I haven't had my hair done in 20 years!'
'Well, I said, 'I'm not going to give you the money.. Instead, I'm going to take you out for dinner with my husband and me tonight.'
The homeless Woman was shocked. 'Won't your husband be furious with you for doing that? I know I'm dirty, and I probably smell pretty disgusting.'
I said, 'That's okay. It's important for him to see what a woman looks like after she has given up shopping, hair appointments, and wine.'
Made you laugh! Thanks for my friend, Bob, who sends me 'stuff' to keep me smiling even when I'm gritting my teeth.
Now, for that whole health craze I'm on . . .
Watch out for corn syrup, especially the High Fructose Corn Syrup. Maybe you're thinking, I don't indulge in all those sweet treats, so no worries.
Ummm . . . not quite true.
Flip your ketchup bottle over and read the label.
Go on. I'll wait.
Find it? Read the label? Notice one of the first ingredients?
Yep, High Fructose Corn Syrup.
BTW: it won't matter what brand of ketchup is in your cabinet or frig, unless it's Organic, they all have it. At least, all the major brands I've found in Texas.
Now, try your salad dressing.
I mean, even those spritzer brands.
Yep, High Fructose Corn Syrup is tucked in there as well.
Ask the nutritionist. Any nutritionist. They know the HFCS dangers.
Biggest down-side: your body doesn't know how to get rid of it. One of those sugars that Mother Nature never intended in the digestive tract. What does the body do with sugars it can't process? STORES THEM! Oops, past the lips and straight to the hips.
Why is it tucked inside all types of foods? Because it's the cheapest sugar to process and add. Simple as that.
Hope everyone has a great Monday. It's a bit rainy on the back porch. Well, actually, it's a lot rainy. But not to complain. I've seen the snow drifts up north. Here's wishing for a quick turn towards spring and a fast thaw.
Do drop by again.
Until then,
~Sandra
Nope, not the end, but the first hour. Watched with hubby for awhile, but I'm not a football-enthusiast -- even though I live with two -- I can take it in small doses, then I'm done. By this point in the season, I'm done. So, hooray for the Saints, and I'm sad for the Colts -- my daughter is a huge fan. To all those who have kept the loops alive with Macillian/Amazon updates -- thanks. I always love a great publishing scoop and this one has definitely been big news.
Did you miss the controversy?
Go to: ABC Video
or
Sun Times report
or
CBS news
I just read a recent update from Macmillian to their agents and authors . . . very nice, nice between the two lions on the Savannah, according to the letter. Bottom line: apparently they've worked toward a resolution and all things Macmillian should be back up and running on Amazon.
Onto something . . . well, lighter!
Giving Up Wine
I was walking down the street when I was accosted by a particularly dirty and shabby-looking homeless woman who asked me for a couple of dollars for dinner.
I took out my wallet, got out twenty dollars
and asked, 'If I give you this money, will you buy wine with it instead of dinner?'
'No, I had to stop drinking years ago', the homeless woman told me..
'Will you use it to go shopping instead of buying food?' I asked.
'No, I don't waste time shopping,'the homeless woman said. 'I need to spend all my time trying to stay alive.'
'Will you spend this on a beauty salon instead of food?' I asked.
'Are you NUTS!' replied the homeless woman. I haven't had my hair done in 20 years!'
'Well, I said, 'I'm not going to give you the money.. Instead, I'm going to take you out for dinner with my husband and me tonight.'
The homeless Woman was shocked. 'Won't your husband be furious with you for doing that? I know I'm dirty, and I probably smell pretty disgusting.'
I said, 'That's okay. It's important for him to see what a woman looks like after she has given up shopping, hair appointments, and wine.'
Made you laugh! Thanks for my friend, Bob, who sends me 'stuff' to keep me smiling even when I'm gritting my teeth.
Now, for that whole health craze I'm on . . .
Watch out for corn syrup, especially the High Fructose Corn Syrup. Maybe you're thinking, I don't indulge in all those sweet treats, so no worries.
Ummm . . . not quite true.
Flip your ketchup bottle over and read the label.
Go on. I'll wait.
Find it? Read the label? Notice one of the first ingredients?
Yep, High Fructose Corn Syrup.
BTW: it won't matter what brand of ketchup is in your cabinet or frig, unless it's Organic, they all have it. At least, all the major brands I've found in Texas.
Now, try your salad dressing.
I mean, even those spritzer brands.
Yep, High Fructose Corn Syrup is tucked in there as well.
Have you seen the commercial where the gal is eating a Popsicle and offers one to her beau? He declines because of High Fructose Corn Syrup and what 'people' say about it. Princess Popsicle ask for specifics on HFCS dangers. Beau can't provide any and that's the end of the commercial. By implication we (the viewers) are suppose to believe that because Beau can't come up with a reason not to eat HFCS then there must not be one.
Ask the nutritionist. Any nutritionist. They know the HFCS dangers.
Biggest down-side: your body doesn't know how to get rid of it. One of those sugars that Mother Nature never intended in the digestive tract. What does the body do with sugars it can't process? STORES THEM! Oops, past the lips and straight to the hips.
Why is it tucked inside all types of foods? Because it's the cheapest sugar to process and add. Simple as that.
Hope everyone has a great Monday. It's a bit rainy on the back porch. Well, actually, it's a lot rainy. But not to complain. I've seen the snow drifts up north. Here's wishing for a quick turn towards spring and a fast thaw.
Do drop by again.
Until then,
~Sandra
Monday, January 18, 2010
Pop in for the new year
Hello to all in blogger-land.
I have all sorts of exciting ideas for my blog this year. Great things and I'm ready to get started . . . however, I've been busy getting my house in order. Didn't want to wait on spring cleaning, so I've jumped in to reorganize 'stuff' now. Came across these pics from one of my critique partners, and as I'm into ROOM reorganization, they completely distracted me. I had to share them. Hope they make you smile.
Final room is a bit of a change. The smoker's lounge. This could well be the best money any company ever spent to lower the percentage of smokers at their firm.
Happy Monday to all.
Do drop by the porch, anytime. Believe it or not, we're back into the 60s. Gotta love Texas.
Until then,
~Sandra
I have all sorts of exciting ideas for my blog this year. Great things and I'm ready to get started . . . however, I've been busy getting my house in order. Didn't want to wait on spring cleaning, so I've jumped in to reorganize 'stuff' now. Came across these pics from one of my critique partners, and as I'm into ROOM reorganization, they completely distracted me. I had to share them. Hope they make you smile.
Toliet in downtown Houston. Okay, I like the mirrored look. Nothing that says, PORTA-POTTY here!
Now, this is from the inside looking out! One-way glass so you can still feel in the center of things. No Way! Not today. Not tomorrow. No way could I take care of business with people strolling by. They were called 'Water Closets' for a reason, folks. It's because they were in a CLOSET! Talk about voyeurism.
This one is in a skyscrapper. 10th or so floor. Floor being a figuarative term in this case. You go first!
Final room is a bit of a change. The smoker's lounge. This could well be the best money any company ever spent to lower the percentage of smokers at their firm.
Happy Monday to all.
Do drop by the porch, anytime. Believe it or not, we're back into the 60s. Gotta love Texas.
Until then,
~Sandra
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
All Things English . . .
I'm not ignoring all my blog friends, but writing to the end. Long days, and some fairly long nights have dragged (yep, that's the verb I want) my current work in progress (WIP) across the threshold of writerly 'hold' and into the close-to-finished stage. Presently, Trickle of Lies is sitting at 84K on the word count, showing a 397 on page count -- lots of dialogue in this manuscript. So, I'm close, really close. The way to finish is not go on the Internet, so I've banned myself from the fun stuff I love.
However, that said, the following "English Rules" was sent to me in an email -- yep, even those are far behind -- but as most who visit my site are lovers of the English language, I hope you'll enjoy.
There isn't anyone to give credit to this compilation of English wonder. So, if you know where it started, do make sure to comment and fill in the rest of us.
Happy Wednesday to you all.
Stop by the porch again.
Until then
~Sandra
THIS CRAZY ENGLISH LANGUAGE!
THIS TOOK A LOT OF WORK TO PUT TOGETHER!
Read all the way to the end.............................. !!!
1) The bandage was wound around the wound.
2) The farm was used to produce produce .
3) The dump was so full that it had to refuse more refuse.
4) We must polish the Polish furniture.
5) He could lead if he would get the lead out.
6) The soldier decided to desert his dessert in the desert.
7) Since there is no time like the present, he thought it was time to present the present .
8) A bass was painted on the head of the bass drum.
9) When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.
10) I did not object to the object.
11) The insurance was invalid for the invalid.
12) There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row .
13) They were too close to the door to close it.
14) The buck does funny things when the does are present.
15) A seamstress and a sewer fell down into a sewer line.
16) To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.
17) The wind was too strong to wind the sail.
18) Upon seeing the tear in the painting I shed a tear.
19) I had to subject the subject to a series of tests.
20) How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend?
Let's face it - English is a crazy language. There is no egg in eggplant, nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in pineapple. English muffins weren't invented in England or French fries in France . Sweetmeats are candies while sweetbreads, which aren't sweet, are meat. We take English for granted. But if we explore its paradoxes, we find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.
And why is it that writers write but fingers don't fing, grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham? If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn't the plural of booth, beeth? One goose, 2 geese. So one moose, 2 meese? One index, 2 indices? Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend? If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it?
If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught? If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat? Sometimes I think all the English speakers should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane.. In what language do people recite at a play and play at a recital? Ship by truck and send cargo by ship? Have noses that run and feet that smell?
How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites? You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by filling it out and in which, an alarm goes off by going on.
English was invented by people, not computers, and it reflects the creativity of the human race, which, of course, is not a race at all. That is why, when the stars are out, they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are invisible.
PS. - Why doesn't 'Buick' rhyme with 'quick' ?
You lovers of the English language might enjoy this .
There is a two-letter word that perhaps has more meanings than any other two-letter word, and that is 'UP.'
It's easy to understand UP, meaning toward the sky or at the top of the list, but when we awaken in the morning, why do we wake UP ?
At a meeting, why does a topic come UP ?
Why do we speak UP and why are the officers UP for election and why is it UP to the secretary to write UP a report ?
We call UP our friends.
And we use it to brighten UP a room, polish UP the silver; we warm UP the leftovers and clean UP the kitchen.
We lock UP the house and some guys fix UP the old car.
At other times the little word has real special meaning.
People stir UP trouble, line UP for tickets, work UP an appetite, and think UP excuses.
To be dressed is one thing, but to be dressed UP is special.
A drain must be opened UP because it is stopped UP..
We open UP a store in the morning but we close it UP at night.
We seem to be pretty mixed UP about UP !
To be knowledgeable about the proper uses of UP, look the word UP in the dictionary.
In a desk-sized dictionary, it takes UP almost 1/4th of the page and can add UP to about thirty definitions.
If you are UP to it, you might try building UP a list of the many ways UP is used.
It will take UP a lot of your time, but if you don't give UP, you may wind UP with a hundred or more.
When it threatens to rain, we say it is clouding UP .
When the sun comes out we say it is clearing UP...
When it rains, it wets the earth and often messes things UP.
When it doesn't rain for awhile, things dry UP.
One could go on and on, but I'll wrap it UP, for now my time is UP, so........it is time to shut UP!
Now it's UP to you what you do with this email.
However, that said, the following "English Rules" was sent to me in an email -- yep, even those are far behind -- but as most who visit my site are lovers of the English language, I hope you'll enjoy.
There isn't anyone to give credit to this compilation of English wonder. So, if you know where it started, do make sure to comment and fill in the rest of us.
Happy Wednesday to you all.
Stop by the porch again.
Until then
~Sandra
THIS CRAZY ENGLISH LANGUAGE!
THIS TOOK A LOT OF WORK TO PUT TOGETHER!
Read all the way to the end.............................. !!!
1) The bandage was wound around the wound.
2) The farm was used to produce produce .
3) The dump was so full that it had to refuse more refuse.
4) We must polish the Polish furniture.
5) He could lead if he would get the lead out.
6) The soldier decided to desert his dessert in the desert.
7) Since there is no time like the present, he thought it was time to present the present .
8) A bass was painted on the head of the bass drum.
9) When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.
10) I did not object to the object.
11) The insurance was invalid for the invalid.
12) There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row .
13) They were too close to the door to close it.
14) The buck does funny things when the does are present.
15) A seamstress and a sewer fell down into a sewer line.
16) To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.
17) The wind was too strong to wind the sail.
18) Upon seeing the tear in the painting I shed a tear.
19) I had to subject the subject to a series of tests.
20) How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend?
Let's face it - English is a crazy language. There is no egg in eggplant, nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in pineapple. English muffins weren't invented in England or French fries in France . Sweetmeats are candies while sweetbreads, which aren't sweet, are meat. We take English for granted. But if we explore its paradoxes, we find that quicksand can work slowly, boxing rings are square and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.
And why is it that writers write but fingers don't fing, grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham? If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn't the plural of booth, beeth? One goose, 2 geese. So one moose, 2 meese? One index, 2 indices? Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend? If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it?
If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught? If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat? Sometimes I think all the English speakers should be committed to an asylum for the verbally insane.. In what language do people recite at a play and play at a recital? Ship by truck and send cargo by ship? Have noses that run and feet that smell?
How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites? You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by filling it out and in which, an alarm goes off by going on.
English was invented by people, not computers, and it reflects the creativity of the human race, which, of course, is not a race at all. That is why, when the stars are out, they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are invisible.
PS. - Why doesn't 'Buick' rhyme with 'quick' ?
You lovers of the English language might enjoy this .
There is a two-letter word that perhaps has more meanings than any other two-letter word, and that is 'UP.'
It's easy to understand UP, meaning toward the sky or at the top of the list, but when we awaken in the morning, why do we wake UP ?
At a meeting, why does a topic come UP ?
Why do we speak UP and why are the officers UP for election and why is it UP to the secretary to write UP a report ?
We call UP our friends.
And we use it to brighten UP a room, polish UP the silver; we warm UP the leftovers and clean UP the kitchen.
We lock UP the house and some guys fix UP the old car.
At other times the little word has real special meaning.
People stir UP trouble, line UP for tickets, work UP an appetite, and think UP excuses.
To be dressed is one thing, but to be dressed UP is special.
A drain must be opened UP because it is stopped UP..
We open UP a store in the morning but we close it UP at night.
We seem to be pretty mixed UP about UP !
To be knowledgeable about the proper uses of UP, look the word UP in the dictionary.
In a desk-sized dictionary, it takes UP almost 1/4th of the page and can add UP to about thirty definitions.
If you are UP to it, you might try building UP a list of the many ways UP is used.
It will take UP a lot of your time, but if you don't give UP, you may wind UP with a hundred or more.
When it threatens to rain, we say it is clouding UP .
When the sun comes out we say it is clearing UP...
When it rains, it wets the earth and often messes things UP.
When it doesn't rain for awhile, things dry UP.
One could go on and on, but I'll wrap it UP, for now my time is UP, so........it is time to shut UP!
Now it's UP to you what you do with this email.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Sunday Muses . . .
On board with TWITTER. I needed to join in order to keep up with the kiddo at Texas A & M. Not specifically her, but the campus as a whole. After the Virginia Tech incident, A & M launched their Code Maroon alert program. Students, staff, employees and parents, who had emails on file, were notified of any emergency situation through text and email messages. This year A & M changed to TWITTER. Students still gets the emergency text, but parents must follow TWITTER. So as I'm on TWITTER, if you want to follow me, just search my name, and then send a TWITTER alert to me. If you're already Tweeting, then watch for LoneStarMeander . . . yep, that's me. I'm not totally sure that short burps (and yes, that's the right word for it) about my day are exactly exciting, but I decided if I was on-board I might as well play the whole game. It is fun to keep up with some of my favorite authors (Rosemary Clements-Moore, Candy Havens, and Geralyn Dawson-- several tweet on and off during the day. It's kind of like living in their backpocket without being creepy about it.
Chapter 19 (TRICKLE OF LIES) is done and in the completed pile. I'm really pleased with the finished result. I had the basis of the chapter when I sat down yesterday, but so much needed to be filled out. The plot is turning very tight at this point so every revelation is massively important. Not to mention the internal turning points. Yes, I know that there are only 3 or so real turning points (excluding black moment) in each novel; however, there are a massive # of small internal turning points -- rising and falling points. To me as the action ratchet up another notch, then the TPs must happen quicker and with as much precision as possible. Surgical precision, if you will.
As this is more of a Sunday morning ramble, I'll digress onto my dreams last night. Lady Muse decided to visit about my completed chapter, which is totally OK, but she didn't show up as I drifted off to sleep. That lovely land where writers can still pry their eyes open and jot down the notes. Oh no, she showed up literally in my dreams, layers deep in REM sleep. Short of nightmares, I've never managed to extricate myself from REM for note-taking. I tried for 4 years in college and believe me, if I was going to master the technique it would have been then. So, I took the dog for a long walk, hoping to recapture any part of the dream. Unfortunately and fortunately, it's raining in Texas -- kinda all over the state, which is awesome considering our drought status. So despite my desire to drift along in oblivion while the doggy did her duty, I was too busy negotiating rivers of run-off and soggy shoes. Maybe I'll try a long hot shower after breakfast and see if any part of the dream comes back. Worst part -- is that the additions were really perfect. Even in sleep I can remember thinking, "That's exactly what I want to happen."
Happy Sunday all. It's cooler on the porch this morning. Perfect but for the Texas mosquitoes, which are hatching in the droves. I actually think they're feeding on my supply of OFF.
Until next time
~Sandra
Monday, August 24, 2009
Monday Madness . . .
I'm well aware that Mondays are insane, especially if you're in the MOM,-I-CAN'T-FIND-MY-SHOES-MY-BACKPACK-MY-LUNCHBOX-MY-HEAD-BEFORE-I'M-LATE-FOR-SCHOOL group . . . however, if you can spare a little over seven minutes, I promise to make you smile.
As I've never met a mom who couldn't use more laughter in her life -- no, I'm not talking about the hysterical, I've reached the edge kinda laughter, but the real deal, hold your sides kinda laughter. That's what this clip on 'truism' will provide.
Happy Monday!
Drop by the porch again,
Until then,
~Sandra
As I've never met a mom who couldn't use more laughter in her life -- no, I'm not talking about the hysterical, I've reached the edge kinda laughter, but the real deal, hold your sides kinda laughter. That's what this clip on 'truism' will provide.
Happy Monday!
Drop by the porch again,
Until then,
~Sandra
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Procrastination is an art form . . .
How do I know? Watch a kid. They're professional stallers.
As a mom, an older mom whose kids show know better (there's the disclaimer), I've decided I shouldn't be required to answer stupid questions. After all, I got them to this age, successfully -- which means they still have all their appendages, can talk in full sentences, read full sentences, fuss with their siblings, and are intelligent enough to want a job that requires saying more than, 'Paper or plastic?'.
Stop! Don't send me hate email about how many of you worked in a supermarket. Face it. That's not a job any of US would want to repeat, nor would we want our kids stuck there.
All that said, stupid questions have been banned in my house.
Image my surprise the other day, when I was the guilty culprit of Stupid 101 and asked my kiddo why she'd procrastinated over a summer reading project until the very END of summer. She muttered around a half of dozen answers when I was suddenly hit by the figurative V8 hand and heard 'Duh!' rattle around my brain. She'd put it off because IT WAS EASIER. (Now, you understand the V8 thunk.)
Procrastination is an ART FORM because it's simply easier to put things off than do them immediately.
Does this revolutionary theory apply to kids only? If you answered, 'yes', V8 thunk yourself.
Who wants to rush into the kitchen after dinner and wash that sinkful of soaking pots and pans? Certainly not me. I've left pans soaking so long even the metal has pruned. ART FORM.
Who wants to swing into high gear and become the dusting fairy? Oh, please, if you do, email me straight away and I'll give you directions to my house. I've waited long enough to dust that my kids could use my coffee table as a chalk board (no chalk needed, just write in the dust) to figure their math problems. Not too depressing when it was simple math, but when there's enough dust for Calculus then procrastination has become an ART FORM.
If finally hit me squarely the other day when I tried to deposit a few royalty checks I'd been nesting on. My justification for bank-delay was that the checks weren't huge in monetary amount so no rush. Here's a banking tip: they really mean that whole we won't deposit a check that's more than 6 months old. And they're totally fussy about checks that were written in past years. Who knew? Oh wait, the bank said they'd supplied the answers in a pamphlet marked, 'Welcome to our bank. How to avoid extra fees, use the ATM and generally avoid doing anything stupid.' Yeah, I know I have that little treasure tucked away somewhere. I was about to read it. Really. I've only banked at this institution for twenty years -- give or take. Oops, ART FORM.
Tiny tip: the banks procrastinate, too. Deposit a check and try to get all your money at once. Ooooh no, they're waiting for funds to clear or the planets to align, whichever happens last by the way, before they'll dole out your own money. ART FORM!
All of this revelation has lead me to the conclusion that stupid questions can't be banned in my house. Inevitably, as projects follow summer, and kids procrasinate until the last minute, I'll be asking, 'Why did you wait so long?'
Psst, my kids don't know about the whole check issue. Let's just keep that on the DL (down low). It's not good for kids to know too much about their parents. It confuses them. That's my story and I sticking to it.
Happy writing every one. And if you're not writing today, 'Why did you wait so long?'
Drop by the porch again.
Until then,
~Sandra
Monday, June 8, 2009
Phones in Churches . . .
Several of you have probably seen this one, but it sums up the attitude I love about being a-born-and-bred Texan, so I hope you enjoy the read.
A man in Topeka, Kansas decided to write a book about churches around the country. He started by flying to San Francisco and started working east from there. Going to a very large church, he began taking photographs and making notes. He spotted a golden telephone on the vestibule wall and was intrigued with a sign, which read "Calls: $10,000 a minute."
Seeking out the pastor he asked about the phone and the sign. The pastor answered that this golden phone was, in fact, a direct line to Heaven and if he paid the price he could talk directly to GOD.
The man thanked the pastor and went on his way. As he continued to visit churches in Seattle, Phoenix, Salt Lake City, Denver, Oklahoma City, and around the United States, he found more phones, with the same sign, and the same answer from each pastor.
Finally, he arrived in Texas, upon entering a church in Fort Worth, and, behold – he saw the usual golden telephone. But THIS time, the sign read "Calls: 35 cents." Fascinated, he asked to talk to the pastor. "Reverend," he said, "I have been in cities all across the country and in each church I have found this golden telephone and have been told it is a direct line to Heaven and that I could talk to GOD, but in other churches the cost was $10,000 a minute. Your sign reads only 35 cents a call. Why?"
I love this part.............................
The pastor, smiling benignly, replied, "Son, you're in Texas now...You're in God's Country. It's a local call."
American by Birth - A Texan by the Grace of God.
A man in Topeka, Kansas decided to write a book about churches around the country. He started by flying to San Francisco and started working east from there. Going to a very large church, he began taking photographs and making notes. He spotted a golden telephone on the vestibule wall and was intrigued with a sign, which read "Calls: $10,000 a minute."
Seeking out the pastor he asked about the phone and the sign. The pastor answered that this golden phone was, in fact, a direct line to Heaven and if he paid the price he could talk directly to GOD.
The man thanked the pastor and went on his way. As he continued to visit churches in Seattle, Phoenix, Salt Lake City, Denver, Oklahoma City, and around the United States, he found more phones, with the same sign, and the same answer from each pastor.
Finally, he arrived in Texas, upon entering a church in Fort Worth, and, behold – he saw the usual golden telephone. But THIS time, the sign read "Calls: 35 cents." Fascinated, he asked to talk to the pastor. "Reverend," he said, "I have been in cities all across the country and in each church I have found this golden telephone and have been told it is a direct line to Heaven and that I could talk to GOD, but in other churches the cost was $10,000 a minute. Your sign reads only 35 cents a call. Why?"
I love this part.............................
The pastor, smiling benignly, replied, "Son, you're in Texas now...You're in God's Country. It's a local call."
American by Birth - A Texan by the Grace of God.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Cliches
As writers we're cautioned again and again to avoid cliches in our work. Something close to the kiss of death, the publishing community warns. So, I try to ignore those tasty little tidbits, and come up with my own more creative twists when a catchy phrase is needed.
However . . .
In a recent Reader's Digest issue the subject of TIME was raised, and a number of cliches were listed. My critique partner, LA Mitchell, writes fascinating stories about bending of time, slipping through time . . . well, you get the jest. So, I studied the cliches closer, thinking to send them to LA and allow her convoluted mind to ponder them. What would she do with them? Turn the trite diatribes into dialogue? Universal themes?
Then it hit me . . .
Each of these nuggets described a personality trait. As a student of human behavior (something every writer should ascribe to), I wondered how effective a cliche could be in filling out the character sketch.
For each cliche, I could name at least one person I know, say fairly well, who could tattoo these words on their foreheads as a life's motto. Don't worry. Names have been eliminated to protect, well, me, from retaliation.
Better late than never. This one definitely struck close to home for anyone who knows my family. Certain members believe, nay, cherish the opportunity to make the mantra of 'better late than never' into gospel. These are the individuals who have never been punctual, indeed, can arrive thirty minutes to an hour late and still consider themselves on time.
Sound familiar?
Now, step beyond the personal and take it to a character level. Would this particular flaw round out a formally flat or static character? Or could this trait be reminiscent for the hero or heroine? One that he/she dealt with their entire life and made certain to emulate the complete opposite behavior? Could this be a source of fun in a romantic comedy between the hero and heroine?
Is it possible to take this cliche and tweak it and actually use it as a theme? Are some things worth waiting for? Even the things that show up late? Really late? Perhaps almost beyond patience?
History repeats itself. This cliche is all to often a hard and cold fact. Ever met someone who's married more than once? More than twice? More than three times? Talk to them about their exs. Chances are there will be startling similarities. What about the person who constantly changes jobs? Always on the move, seeking greener pastures? Again, personality traits are clear with this type of behavior and this cliche.
Considering that the human body regenerates itself with new cells every seven years, perhaps it's inevitable that we can't remember all our mistakes and kill the 'bad-choice' repetition. Or perhaps, life really is a circle and we end up where we began. Whatever the fault in the gene pool, this is a wonderful opportunity for writers to exploit, and yes, that's the correct verb, in order to humanize their characters. Writers are required, should be by a univeral writing law, to use every tool at their disposal, which includes observing and then committing to page the faults and follies of the human race.
Each cliche is more than a song verse. Even more than just a simple cliche.
By studying underlying meanings of these phrases and applying to human tendencies, characters can be enriched. Depth is what makes each of us fascinating. The same is true -- more than true -- it's mandatory for characters. Without layers, backstories, idiosyncrasies, flaws, blemishes, and assets characters are, look-out here's the 'B' word -- BORING!
More than any cliche has ever been the kiss of death, a boring character will execute a good story -- perhaps even a great story.
Could you use one of these cliches to broaden the horizons for a character? Used another familiar cliche?
Share.
Do stop by the porch anytime. I'll be here, swinging on the porch swing and studying a cliche or two.
Until then
~Sandra
However . . .
In a recent Reader's Digest issue the subject of TIME was raised, and a number of cliches were listed. My critique partner, LA Mitchell, writes fascinating stories about bending of time, slipping through time . . . well, you get the jest. So, I studied the cliches closer, thinking to send them to LA and allow her convoluted mind to ponder them. What would she do with them? Turn the trite diatribes into dialogue? Universal themes?
Then it hit me . . .
Each of these nuggets described a personality trait. As a student of human behavior (something every writer should ascribe to), I wondered how effective a cliche could be in filling out the character sketch.
For each cliche, I could name at least one person I know, say fairly well, who could tattoo these words on their foreheads as a life's motto. Don't worry. Names have been eliminated to protect, well, me, from retaliation.
Better late than never. This one definitely struck close to home for anyone who knows my family. Certain members believe, nay, cherish the opportunity to make the mantra of 'better late than never' into gospel. These are the individuals who have never been punctual, indeed, can arrive thirty minutes to an hour late and still consider themselves on time.
Sound familiar?
Now, step beyond the personal and take it to a character level. Would this particular flaw round out a formally flat or static character? Or could this trait be reminiscent for the hero or heroine? One that he/she dealt with their entire life and made certain to emulate the complete opposite behavior? Could this be a source of fun in a romantic comedy between the hero and heroine?
Is it possible to take this cliche and tweak it and actually use it as a theme? Are some things worth waiting for? Even the things that show up late? Really late? Perhaps almost beyond patience?
History repeats itself. This cliche is all to often a hard and cold fact. Ever met someone who's married more than once? More than twice? More than three times? Talk to them about their exs. Chances are there will be startling similarities. What about the person who constantly changes jobs? Always on the move, seeking greener pastures? Again, personality traits are clear with this type of behavior and this cliche.
Considering that the human body regenerates itself with new cells every seven years, perhaps it's inevitable that we can't remember all our mistakes and kill the 'bad-choice' repetition. Or perhaps, life really is a circle and we end up where we began. Whatever the fault in the gene pool, this is a wonderful opportunity for writers to exploit, and yes, that's the correct verb, in order to humanize their characters. Writers are required, should be by a univeral writing law, to use every tool at their disposal, which includes observing and then committing to page the faults and follies of the human race.
How about these cliches?
Consider these:
Let bygones be bygones
Time and tide wait for no man (or woman)
To every thing there is a season
Each cliche is more than a song verse. Even more than just a simple cliche.
By studying underlying meanings of these phrases and applying to human tendencies, characters can be enriched. Depth is what makes each of us fascinating. The same is true -- more than true -- it's mandatory for characters. Without layers, backstories, idiosyncrasies, flaws, blemishes, and assets characters are, look-out here's the 'B' word -- BORING!
More than any cliche has ever been the kiss of death, a boring character will execute a good story -- perhaps even a great story.
Could you use one of these cliches to broaden the horizons for a character? Used another familiar cliche?
Share.
Do stop by the porch anytime. I'll be here, swinging on the porch swing and studying a cliche or two.
Until then
~Sandra
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Sniffing our way to good writing . . .
A few days ago, hubby dear and I were strolling the dog when the scent of potent Tar, from a nearby road project, filled the air. Tar -- is not a good smell to me; it's normally one that makes me want to hold my nose. Okay, if it's strong enough, I will hold my nose. Stinky Tar became our conversation focal point. We walk a long way, all right? My hubby shared that he loved that smell, quite a shock to me for in the 20+ years we've been enjoying wedded bliss, I was none the wiser that Tar could make him yearn.
When hubby was a youngster, dear old dad worked in the oil field as a drilling superintendent. Dad was out at the platform for long hours, but occasionally, my hubby in kid-form went along. My father-in-law was a big man, with the most enormous hands -- real workman's hands -- I'd ever seen. He was strong, and in-charge, and more than likely larger-than-life to my hubby. These were precious times, stolen away from the demands of a busy job and my hubby remembers the smell of Tar, of strong oil, which is apparently the same scent, quite fondly. In fact he loves the smell of Tar.
Here's the connection to writing:
It's not the scent of Tar or not Tar that's the question. It's the motivation behind the Tar which makes the scent important to writing, to any potential story.
A quick trip down research lane, and I discovered that our noses are capable of sniffing between 4,000 and 10,000 odor molecules. The younger the nose the more molecules it can sniff. In addition, all Olfactory Receptor Neurons are contained inside the nasal cavity, measuring an area no larger than that of a postage stamp. Pretty compact for all those different scents. Even more interesting, is that each ORN (Olfactory Receptor Neuron) works like a lock and key. Each of the millions of receptors can latch onto only a specific odor molecule. When you smell spaghetti sauce, you don't think it's scrambled eggs, or corn beef on rye because those ORN's have latched onto the specific odor molecules which tell the brain that it's spaghetti for dinner. With this explanation, it certainly enlightens as to why the sense of smell is so pure, and can be used to help deepen any writing.
Sniff chlorine! Most of us immediately think -- pool. That could be a great smell for the character if summers and swimming were major family activities. However, it could be equally black if the character worked as a lifeguard until a kid in the pool drown on his/her watch. Now, that would be a smell to turn a character's world upside down in an instant.
How about asphalt? To me, it's memories of long, hot, fun-filled summer days at a major theme park. Great childhood memories. HOWEVER, consider the same theme park, but now what if the character remembers it as the last scent before overheating from a secret teenage pregnancy and passing out in front of the church youth group?
What about popcorn? A friend recently shared that she'll sit through any movie for the joy of theatre popcorn. And apparently, it's the smell she can't live without. How could a food be used to deepen writing? Folks who work in donut shops, cookie factories, even chocolate stores will attest that the smell quickly becomes something to tolerate, and not the great scent of the masses. By giving a character an abhorrence of anything sweet, backstory can be revealed. If the character worked in a chocolate factory to put a younger sibling through school while giving up that opportunity for themselves, and then the sibling throws away the education -- the smell of chocolate could well make the character sick.
For something contained in an area no larger than a postage stamp, the right smell can deliver great emotional punch to a manuscript.
Any smells that get your nose sniffing?
Feel free to share. And make sure to drop by my porch anytime.
~Sandra
When hubby was a youngster, dear old dad worked in the oil field as a drilling superintendent. Dad was out at the platform for long hours, but occasionally, my hubby in kid-form went along. My father-in-law was a big man, with the most enormous hands -- real workman's hands -- I'd ever seen. He was strong, and in-charge, and more than likely larger-than-life to my hubby. These were precious times, stolen away from the demands of a busy job and my hubby remembers the smell of Tar, of strong oil, which is apparently the same scent, quite fondly. In fact he loves the smell of Tar.
Here's the connection to writing:
It's not the scent of Tar or not Tar that's the question. It's the motivation behind the Tar which makes the scent important to writing, to any potential story.
A quick trip down research lane, and I discovered that our noses are capable of sniffing between 4,000 and 10,000 odor molecules. The younger the nose the more molecules it can sniff. In addition, all Olfactory Receptor Neurons are contained inside the nasal cavity, measuring an area no larger than that of a postage stamp. Pretty compact for all those different scents. Even more interesting, is that each ORN (Olfactory Receptor Neuron) works like a lock and key. Each of the millions of receptors can latch onto only a specific odor molecule. When you smell spaghetti sauce, you don't think it's scrambled eggs, or corn beef on rye because those ORN's have latched onto the specific odor molecules which tell the brain that it's spaghetti for dinner. With this explanation, it certainly enlightens as to why the sense of smell is so pure, and can be used to help deepen any writing.
So how does this help?
Sniff chlorine! Most of us immediately think -- pool. That could be a great smell for the character if summers and swimming were major family activities. However, it could be equally black if the character worked as a lifeguard until a kid in the pool drown on his/her watch. Now, that would be a smell to turn a character's world upside down in an instant.
How about asphalt? To me, it's memories of long, hot, fun-filled summer days at a major theme park. Great childhood memories. HOWEVER, consider the same theme park, but now what if the character remembers it as the last scent before overheating from a secret teenage pregnancy and passing out in front of the church youth group?
What about popcorn? A friend recently shared that she'll sit through any movie for the joy of theatre popcorn. And apparently, it's the smell she can't live without. How could a food be used to deepen writing? Folks who work in donut shops, cookie factories, even chocolate stores will attest that the smell quickly becomes something to tolerate, and not the great scent of the masses. By giving a character an abhorrence of anything sweet, backstory can be revealed. If the character worked in a chocolate factory to put a younger sibling through school while giving up that opportunity for themselves, and then the sibling throws away the education -- the smell of chocolate could well make the character sick.
Smelling is about more than mere sniffing.Before any character loves the smell of gardenias, consider why this particular fragrance could deepen intimacy between the characters; how this one smell could turn or alter the plot; or this one scent could be used to reveal emotional character backstory.
For something contained in an area no larger than a postage stamp, the right smell can deliver great emotional punch to a manuscript.
Any smells that get your nose sniffing?
Feel free to share. And make sure to drop by my porch anytime.
~Sandra
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Oxymorons
"We are a people who spend money we don't have on things we don't want to impress people we don't like."
Okay, that is a seriously great line . . . especially with the ring of truism in it.
I'd like to take credit, goodness knows, I like good writing; however, this piece of wisdom belongs to the man who wrote Why is God laughing?. Sorry, folks didn't catch his name in his interview on Good Morning, America. The gentleman who did remind me quite a bit of Mahatma Gandhi, sans the big nose, spoke eloquently about the oxymorons in our lives.
My husband, smart guy that he is, related another just a few days after I'd been turned on to this thought. While walking our dog -- sometimes it's more the dog walks us than we walk the dog -- but they were getting along down the bike trail when my hubby dearest noted a guy out tilling his garden for spring planting. The oxymoron was the hacking and coughing up one lung this old boy was doing while puffing away on a ciggy for the other lung. Even more of an oxymoron is that this guy will be planting a garden, fruits and veggies one must assume -- as in the healthy stuff -- yet he's poluting his lungs at a rate far faster than the fruits and veggies can save. Yep, Gardener Man was definitely an oxymoron.
Okay, don't get on the collective soap boxes and lecture me about smoking and the rights of smokers everywhere. I'm a reformed smoker so I get to point and laugh. However, the point is the oxymoron.
But there's more . . .
What about the folks who crave children, and then leave them to be raised by daycare and nannies? Okay, I get that sometimes both parents have to work to make all the ends meet and right now the ends might not be meeting at all. But if honesty won out, many folks could live in a smaller house, drive less expensive cars, take less grand vacations and make the budget balance on one salary.
Watch that soap box . . . I'm simply pointing out the oxymoron. If raising kids was the the most important thing, why would it be left to strangers?
That same tangent could certainly be pushed to the educational system. How can we, collectively, claim that education is the most important thing when we, collectively, don't lobby -- forget lobbying, how about storming the capitol -- and demand that teachers' salaries match the job we lay on them? Our oxymoron, collectively, is that we'll pay exorbitant prices to go watch athletes run around a field, high-powered cars drive in circles, etc. Point should be made.
So perhaps Oxymorons are a way of life.
What are some you've noticed?
Drop by the porch again
~Until later,
Sandra
Okay, that is a seriously great line . . . especially with the ring of truism in it.
I'd like to take credit, goodness knows, I like good writing; however, this piece of wisdom belongs to the man who wrote Why is God laughing?. Sorry, folks didn't catch his name in his interview on Good Morning, America. The gentleman who did remind me quite a bit of Mahatma Gandhi, sans the big nose, spoke eloquently about the oxymorons in our lives.
My husband, smart guy that he is, related another just a few days after I'd been turned on to this thought. While walking our dog -- sometimes it's more the dog walks us than we walk the dog -- but they were getting along down the bike trail when my hubby dearest noted a guy out tilling his garden for spring planting. The oxymoron was the hacking and coughing up one lung this old boy was doing while puffing away on a ciggy for the other lung. Even more of an oxymoron is that this guy will be planting a garden, fruits and veggies one must assume -- as in the healthy stuff -- yet he's poluting his lungs at a rate far faster than the fruits and veggies can save. Yep, Gardener Man was definitely an oxymoron.
Okay, don't get on the collective soap boxes and lecture me about smoking and the rights of smokers everywhere. I'm a reformed smoker so I get to point and laugh. However, the point is the oxymoron.
But there's more . . .
What about the folks who crave children, and then leave them to be raised by daycare and nannies? Okay, I get that sometimes both parents have to work to make all the ends meet and right now the ends might not be meeting at all. But if honesty won out, many folks could live in a smaller house, drive less expensive cars, take less grand vacations and make the budget balance on one salary.
Watch that soap box . . . I'm simply pointing out the oxymoron. If raising kids was the the most important thing, why would it be left to strangers?
That same tangent could certainly be pushed to the educational system. How can we, collectively, claim that education is the most important thing when we, collectively, don't lobby -- forget lobbying, how about storming the capitol -- and demand that teachers' salaries match the job we lay on them? Our oxymoron, collectively, is that we'll pay exorbitant prices to go watch athletes run around a field, high-powered cars drive in circles, etc. Point should be made.
So perhaps Oxymorons are a way of life.
What are some you've noticed?
Drop by the porch again
~Until later,
Sandra
Monday, October 13, 2008
Things aren't always what they appear . . .
SIDEWALK ART . . . WHAT'S REAL AND WHAT'S NOT!
I tried to be terribly creative and ground these images to how I work as a writer. The whole 'words are big and needed to be reduced to size to fit our page', or 'this is how I feel when I write my characters into a corner and need my muse to throw me a life-line', etc. But how about this . . . I simply love sidewalk art. It speaks to the artist trapped inside me -- the one who will never get free because I can't draw a straight line without the help of a ruler. I'm always in awe at the images folks can create with a box of chalk and an load of imagination.
So in the end: Enjoy the talents of the artist below. I did.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Snap shots
Sorry to have been out of touch. My family is experiencing a state of emergency, and I haven't been by the blogs in awhile. Promise to do better.
However, I went through one of my 'many' journals yesterday and found a great writing exercise.
Now, it can be done with any of our senses, but the point is to take a moment -- one that you're experiencing -- and list sights, sounds, smells, . . . well, you get the picture.
Two years ago, my son was admitted for an emergency appendectomy. They sent us home, then he developed complication and we returned to the hospital for another 72-hour-stay.
While all was quiet and my son was sleeping, these were the sounds that surrounded me.
Wheels on the floor -- gurneys, trays, and monitors.
The steady slap of tennis shoes against the squeaky clean floor.
The rise and fall of voices.
Clattering of metal trays.
The ever-persistent beep of the IV units. The occasional squall of an IV alarm when the bag empties.
The quick squeak of voiced announcements over the PA system.
The humming trill of the nurses' phones.
A child's protesting wail.
A toddler's piercing scream.
A muffled moan of pain
The ripping of plastic bags as syringes, medicine and needles are feed.
An occasional laugh.
I discovered that hospitals are anything but quiet and still. Constant motion, constant noise.
Take a snapshot today and tell me what you saw, smelled, heard, tasted or felt.
It's raining today. Can't wait to get out on the porch for a little cool weather. Maybe I'll take a snapshot there.
~Until later,
Sandra
However, I went through one of my 'many' journals yesterday and found a great writing exercise.
Snapshot!
Now, it can be done with any of our senses, but the point is to take a moment -- one that you're experiencing -- and list sights, sounds, smells, . . . well, you get the picture.
Two years ago, my son was admitted for an emergency appendectomy. They sent us home, then he developed complication and we returned to the hospital for another 72-hour-stay.
While all was quiet and my son was sleeping, these were the sounds that surrounded me.
Wheels on the floor -- gurneys, trays, and monitors.
The steady slap of tennis shoes against the squeaky clean floor.
The rise and fall of voices.
Clattering of metal trays.
The ever-persistent beep of the IV units. The occasional squall of an IV alarm when the bag empties.
The quick squeak of voiced announcements over the PA system.
The humming trill of the nurses' phones.
A child's protesting wail.
A toddler's piercing scream.
A muffled moan of pain
The ripping of plastic bags as syringes, medicine and needles are feed.
An occasional laugh.
I discovered that hospitals are anything but quiet and still. Constant motion, constant noise.
Observations are the basis for a good writer.
Exercising those senses is necessary to be a great writer.
Take a snapshot today and tell me what you saw, smelled, heard, tasted or felt.
It's raining today. Can't wait to get out on the porch for a little cool weather. Maybe I'll take a snapshot there.
~Until later,
Sandra
Saturday, September 20, 2008
The Original Computer
Many of you have probably already enjoyed this tidbit. Me? I'm a little late to the party occasionally, and haven't seen this before. However, I'm old enough to truly understand this bit of wisdom.
Drop by the porch soon. I'm writing like crazy -- less than 50 pages from the end of my WIP (work in progress) and it's started the rounds with my critique partners. Spare time is precious these days and mainly spent pouring over pages. Stay tuned for the big finish. I'll be hosting a party on the porch.
Until then
~Sandra
Memory was something you lost with age
An application was for employment
A program was a TV show
A cursor used profanity
A keyboard was a piano
A web was a spider's home
A virus was the flu
A CD was a bank account
A hard drive was a long trip on the road
A mouse pad was where a mouse lived
And if you had a 3 inch floppy...
You just hoped nobody ever found out!?!
Drop by the porch soon. I'm writing like crazy -- less than 50 pages from the end of my WIP (work in progress) and it's started the rounds with my critique partners. Spare time is precious these days and mainly spent pouring over pages. Stay tuned for the big finish. I'll be hosting a party on the porch.
Until then
~Sandra
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Two days deep into school and what's happened?
My three not-so-munchkin-sized kids started to school this week. Everyone hit the academic buildings on Monday morning -- okay, the college student doesn't start until noon on Mondays. That seems so wrong in the real world, but makes perfect sense in the college environment. So this year it was two high schoolers and one collegiate preppy.
What changes when the kids hit that higher level of learning?
Did I buy fewer supplies?
The requirement is for fewer boxes of crayons, but more map pencils. The glue in the bottle stage has passed, as it's on to the all important glue stick mania. School note: there is no such thing as too many glue sticks in the house. Fewer spirals, the cheap 100 page ones are obsolete, but more of the 3 to 5 subject variety. Of course, those are never on sale -- ANY WHERE! No construction paper or Manila paper, but colored pens are a must and some must be fine point, while others are medium point and just for good measure, please throw in a Sharpie or two. Still need book covers, dividers, scads of 3 X 5 and 4 X 6 cards. Oh, and never mistake that buying only one size of note cards will suffice. Ah contra, if 3 X 5 cards are purchased, then the demand will be for 4 X 6. Same with three-ring binders and the color choice. If last year every band and choir student for the entire region was required to purchase a navy 3-ring binder, then rest assured the entire stack secreted away for a smooth school start will not be this year's color choice. The note will say black or red or fuchsia, but guaranteed it won't be the stocked color.
Did I spend less money?
Are you nuts? I said two high schoolers and one college student. There is never enough money set aside! NEVER. Did I point out never?
Was the first day less stressful? No, but at this point of fifteen odd school years, we've grown so accustomed to the controlled chaos of morning insanity that it almost seems natural.
Is the school drop easier?
For the first time in many years, actually for the first time ever, I need only see my dumplings to one school building. The college student would take serious umbrage if I tried to walk her to class. So, it's one drop at the high school then I'm home again, home again, like pinky pig.
Did the house seem empty, lonely even, after they'd left? Absolutely. Some things, such as missing a child, is a constant in a parent's life. The minute my oldest moves back to college, even knowing that she loves her university and is geared for learning, I miss her. When the high schoolers were safely ensconced in their home away from home for seven daily hours for the next 178 school days, the house seemed too large, strangely silently, and definitely lonely.
As for the first two days of school . . . well, we're all still standing and that's something important. No one absolutely HATES a teacher, YET! Everyone has someone to eat lunch with, to walk the halls (campus) with, and the work load looks overwhelming as it always does at the beginning.
The best part is that they always come home at day's end -- I do need to wait for 'non-football' weekends to get my college student home, but they're here for dinner and conversation, sharing parts of their day and more importantly, parts of themselves.
My 6'5" son has dubbed me 'Mini-Mom. I'm not exactly sure when I became the smallest in my house, but short I am compared to the gentle giants that I raise. Short or not, I feel a thousand feet tall when they rush in the house to tell some terrific tidbit about their day. Some things don't change at all.
What changes when the kids hit that higher level of learning?
Did I buy fewer supplies?
The requirement is for fewer boxes of crayons, but more map pencils. The glue in the bottle stage has passed, as it's on to the all important glue stick mania. School note: there is no such thing as too many glue sticks in the house. Fewer spirals, the cheap 100 page ones are obsolete, but more of the 3 to 5 subject variety. Of course, those are never on sale -- ANY WHERE! No construction paper or Manila paper, but colored pens are a must and some must be fine point, while others are medium point and just for good measure, please throw in a Sharpie or two. Still need book covers, dividers, scads of 3 X 5 and 4 X 6 cards. Oh, and never mistake that buying only one size of note cards will suffice. Ah contra, if 3 X 5 cards are purchased, then the demand will be for 4 X 6. Same with three-ring binders and the color choice. If last year every band and choir student for the entire region was required to purchase a navy 3-ring binder, then rest assured the entire stack secreted away for a smooth school start will not be this year's color choice. The note will say black or red or fuchsia, but guaranteed it won't be the stocked color.
Did I spend less money?
Are you nuts? I said two high schoolers and one college student. There is never enough money set aside! NEVER. Did I point out never?Was the first day less stressful? No, but at this point of fifteen odd school years, we've grown so accustomed to the controlled chaos of morning insanity that it almost seems natural.
Is the school drop easier?
For the first time in many years, actually for the first time ever, I need only see my dumplings to one school building. The college student would take serious umbrage if I tried to walk her to class. So, it's one drop at the high school then I'm home again, home again, like pinky pig.
Did the house seem empty, lonely even, after they'd left? Absolutely. Some things, such as missing a child, is a constant in a parent's life. The minute my oldest moves back to college, even knowing that she loves her university and is geared for learning, I miss her. When the high schoolers were safely ensconced in their home away from home for seven daily hours for the next 178 school days, the house seemed too large, strangely silently, and definitely lonely.
As for the first two days of school . . . well, we're all still standing and that's something important. No one absolutely HATES a teacher, YET! Everyone has someone to eat lunch with, to walk the halls (campus) with, and the work load looks overwhelming as it always does at the beginning.
The best part is that they always come home at day's end -- I do need to wait for 'non-football' weekends to get my college student home, but they're here for dinner and conversation, sharing parts of their day and more importantly, parts of themselves.
My 6'5" son has dubbed me 'Mini-Mom. I'm not exactly sure when I became the smallest in my house, but short I am compared to the gentle giants that I raise. Short or not, I feel a thousand feet tall when they rush in the house to tell some terrific tidbit about their day. Some things don't change at all.
Monday, August 25, 2008
Monday morning and you survived the summer with your kids!
Okay, it's treat time. Take yourself to lunch. Eat an ice cream cone you don't have to share, or simply sit in the quiet and enjoy the nothingness.
However, if you're feeling a little sad and blue because your play buddies have disappeared for several hours each day, enjoy these laughs.
They aren't mine. I've heisted them from Reader's Digest, September '08 edition. Okay, with due credit offered, here are the ones that made me laugh.
FAMILY:
My 50-something friend Nancy and I decided to introduce her mother to the magic of the Internet. Our first move was to access the popular 'Ask Jeeves' site, and we told her it would answer any question she had. Nancy's mother was very skeptical until Nancy said, "It's true, Mom. Think of something to ask it." As I sat with my fingers poised over the keyboard, Nancy's mother thought for a minutes, then responded, "How is Aunt Helen feeling?"
You laughed, you know you did because there is someone in your family just like this.
OUT OF THE MOUTHS OF BABES:
On the way back from a Cub Scouts meeting, my grandson asked my son the question. "Dad, I know that babies come from mommies' tummies, but how do they get there in the first place?" he asked innocently.
After my son hemmed and hawed for a while, my grandson finally spoke up in disgust." You don't have to make something up, Dad. It's okay if you don't know the answer.
MORE CHILDREN:
We rushed our four-year-old son, Ben, to the emergency room with a terrible cough, high fever, and vomiting. The doctor did an exam, then asked Ben what bothered him the most. After thinking it over, Ben said hoarsely, "I would have to say my little sister."
THE TRUTH:
I am feet feet three inches tall and pleasingly plump. After I had a minor accident, my mother accompanied me to the emergency room. The triage nurse asked for my height and weight, and I blurted out, "Five-foot-eight and 125 pounds.
"Sweetheart," my mother gently chided, "this is not the Internet."
HUSBANDS:
For some reason, the bookstore clerk couldn't get the computer to recognize my preferred customer card. Peering over her shoulder at the screen, I said, "There's part of the problem. It shows my birth date as 12/31/1899.
"That's right," my husband chimed in. "She was born in June, not December."
Family can be soooo much help -- as in the temptation to help them right out of a moving car can be overwhelming, but it does make for funny moments.
Hope you found your chuckle today.
Enjoy the day of freedom, and be sure to drop by my porch anytime. The yard's mowed and flowers watered. All in all, looks pretty grand.
Until later,
~Sandra
Monday, June 30, 2008
Redneck Tree Swing
Note the chic nylon suspension ropes and the Tiki torch for ambiance! Gotta love this decorating style.
Town doesn't matter. State doesn't matter. Region of country doesn't matter. Just pick any backwater Hicksville then drive oh, about 30 miles any direction, turn onto a gravel road follow until it turns into a dirt road, through the muddy bottoms, round the curve and there you'll have it. Or have this, I mean.
Every family has the relative who would or who has displayed something totally ridiculous in their front yard. I'm not referring to a pink flamingo (unless they put a whole flock in their yard.) No, this is a serious infraction (known in the country as an eye-sore) of decorating sense. Being from Texas and sporting our share of small towns, I've witnessed washers and dryers in the yard -- no, not hooked up to electric -- just in the yard, sometimes straight up, sometimes on their sides, and once upside down; decapitated campers; collapsed tents; RVs with flat tires; RVs with no tires; just the tires and no vehicle; rocking chairs; dining room tables; old suitcases; and bird baths of every description even one that looked like old boots.
So for those of us who have the relative that we're certain was abducted by aliens then returned for reasons everyone in the family can understand . . . know that you don't stand alone. The Redneck Tree Swing is all the evidence you need that there's a passel of hillbillies anywhere you go in the country.
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