Extended Day Off: Give away on Monday

I had such a good time Friday, I extended my day off through the weekend! So, I'll be back to work on Monday.


I want to stop in to let you all know that Adnan Mahmutovic's new book "Thinner Than a Hair" is released and he is on Blog Tour. So tomorrow, I am going to have some sort of Give Away. Adnan is a beautiful writer and a good friend. He's a "Bosnian turned Swede" and teaches at the University of Sweden.


Friday I jogged/ran 5 1/2 miles- my personal best! That set up the day for energy, and calorie deficits *laughing* Then GMR and I drove to Asheville where we ate lunch at Atlantic Bread Company - they have sandwiches with fresh "homemade" bread and with all its windows, it's a nice bright place to eat. After that, we tooled around here and there; I touched and oohed and ahhed over things and here and there purchased a little something or other. We then drove back to Haywood County and to Main Street Waynesville, where we walked around the sweet little main street; I had my Ketel One and tonic and something else to eat. We tottered around; I admired this/that. We then drove out of our way to the Dairy Queen because all those commercials about Blizzards had me wanting one - I ate an entire Strawberry Cheesequake Blizzard: it had chunks of strawberry and cheesecake in it! It was worth the "ohhhhh my gawd I'm gonna be sick" feeling *haw*

My day off sounds pretty durn boring, but it was just that "tootle around as we go, la la la tee dah" feeling that I needed.


I fiddle dee dee'd around yesterday, too. And today I'm going to la tee dah again today. I think this extended "day off" will refresh me for the work I need to do next week. Ahhh!


Hope you are all having a wonderful weekend. Adnan and I will see you tomorrow where I'll figure out what to do for the book give aways. I have a copy of Adnan's "Thinner" and I'm considering pairing it with another book or books.


Now, on to finish my coffee...ahhhh.

What are you doing this weekend? Relaxing or working?

(photo image - my brother Tommy's and my shadows)

THERE'S A BIG OLE ROUND BALL OF PEOPLE OUT THERE, she said

Me: I'm thinking of taking a day off tomorrow.

The sky rips open and a light beams through . . .

GMR: Huh? . . . did you say . . . *trails off ... knows his wife has said this before*

Me: I have a craving for a Panini or some kind of good sandwich, and ice cream - or gelato!

GMR: I could prepare those for you! And I could go to the store and get ice cream! *he starts to make a list--GMR makes lists -- Kat does not make lists*

No no GMR, food on the street, food in restaurants or diners or little holes in the wall; food that comes from people we don't know, food that is ordered and served, where little tickets are handed out at the end and you pull out cash or credit cards to pay for it! - OUT THERE kind of food!

Me: Yes, yes you could make a list and check it twice . . . Orrrrrrrr . . . we could actually GO OUTSIDE!

Gasp!

GMR: You want to. . . ? You want to go outside . . . !

ME . . . . Go out in the world out there . . . you know, that big huge teeming round ball of LIFE! We could walk down mainstreet Waynesville, or go to Asheville, or both! We could eat out and then get ice cream! People are out there! Real Live People! What am I missing *kat looks out of the window* - what's out there? What's going on? Oh! oh! I'll leave all this sitting here-my laptop, my stories, my characters, my deadlines! SOMEWHERRRRRE OVER THE RAINBOW!...LA LA LAAAAA!

Clouds are parting, sun is shining, rainbows are somewhere . . . and somewhere over them is . . .

GMR: *blinks* . . . You want to do that! .... ? ....*he's still not sure it's going to happen*


Me: Yes! I'm realizing how much of a work-aholic I am! I never thought I was before, because every job I've ever had I H A T E D! Detested. Bored out of my mind. I've always been a hard worker, but never a Work-A-Holic! Wow! Huhn. So this is what a workaholic does--they never take a danged day off! They never stop working. They never stop THINKING ABOUT WORK....on and on and on and on it goes! *pant pant pant* I'm STRETCHED THIN! . . . *pant*


GMR: We could do *this and that and whatever else he says or maybe he didn't say anything and it's only my mind going we could do this and that I can't remember or else I am not really sure since my brain is weird* He puts away his list. But he is making lists in his head.

Me: Yes, I think I'm a little tired, need a day to do nuffin! I've been reading signs wrong you know.


GMR: Huhn?


Me: In front of that church we walk by at Lake J, I saw "Apartheid" and the word was really "Ampitheater" and driving down Soco Road, at the florist shop, I saw "Burgers" when the sign read "Flowers" and stuff like that - a lot...it's been happening A Lot!


GMR: *doesn't answer because he never knows how to answer stuff about my strange black hole weird brain besides, he's still making lists in his head*

ME: So...yeah...a day off. A good sandwich, maybe some fries! Some ice cream or gelato! Yeah. A day off! A day off . . . imagine that.


GMR & KAT walking off into the sunrise, sunset on A Day Off to see that ROUND BALL OF PEOPLE OUT THERE -real live people!. . . *cue music* . . .

BUT WAIT . . . who is that little shadowed figure to the left, above them! Oh dear . . . is it one of Kat's characters come to follow her? Can she really really take a day off? Can she? Oh oh can she....

(photos are my own photograhs - sky photos taken from airplane-shadows at oregon beach)

"A picture's worth a thousand words"

As writers, we create images that places pictures in a reader's mind. If we see an object, a person, a place, a thing, we can take our "thousand words" and create the scene(s) beyond the image, and as well, we create thought and character and mood and scene to attach to the images.

A rose is a rose is a rose in a photo, but: Who took the photo of the rose; who stands behind the camera, and why that rose? Who tended the garden of this rose, loved it, cared for it? Will a finger be pricked by its thorn and draw blood? Will the rose be plucked from the garden and given to someone, or put on a grave, or placed in a vase in someone's kitchen, or taken far away from its home. Will the rose grow older, begin to brown at its edges, and finally, all the petals all to the ground, gone. Will next spring and summer, the rose return--again and again--always without fail the rose returns. The rose is the most beautiful it has ever been and will never be again and it knows it, uses its beauty to its advantage. The rose is among so many other roses, how will it ever be noticed? The rose is; that is how it will be.

These images here today can speak for themselves or you can create the words, the story, behind them. I am now going to go work on SWEETIE. Deadline approaches fast for Melissa and Sweetie's story, which will be released this November (and for those of you who ask about The Graces Saga III - it is scheduled to be released next summer). Enjoy your day!

Who is your character? (How We Write.)

Here’s a secret: I don’t have a clue what Virginia Kate’s favorite flavor of ice cream is. If I thought about it, maybe I’d have her go into the ice cream parlor and she’d step up to the counter and she’d order a . . . *kat thinks* . . . chocolate dipped cone. There. She doesn’t like pistachio like I do. She’d eat strawberry, though, yeah; we both like strawberry with real chunks of strawberries in there.


Sometimes authors make detailed “character sketches.” They know their characters so well, up to the minutetednest detail—their favorite foods, their favorite movies, how they look from the top of their head to the souls of their feet—every detail about their physical appearance. They know every like and dislike, every nuance, every place the character has been or worked or gone to school, etc etc etc.


When I first began writing fiction, I thought there was This Way I was supposed to write and think and do and be, and if I wasn’t This Way, then I wasn’t a Real Writer. I might as well have put thick gloves on my hands and tried to write that way. For thinking “what we are supposed to do” versus “what is comfortable and real and instinctual” for us creates boundaries where there should be free space.


For me personally, when it comes to character, I learned I have to discover my character(s) as I write, and even in that discovering, just as it is with meeting real people, I never know every detail about them, and may never ever know every detail. Even now, with two Virginia Kate (Graces) books written, I am still discovering who Virginia Kate is. If I have an ice cream scene, that’s when I find out what flavor she chooses and likes (chocolate dipped cone or Strawberry! Now I know!). Maybe she’ll talk about her favorite movie and then again, maybe she doesn't have one or doesn't know herself or doesn't care. I know she loves books, and has a special place for her Black Stallion and Black Beauty books, but what does she read as an adult? Well, I don’t know yet. She hasn’t had time to read because she’s going through her families’ archives (their letters, journals, photos) and storytelling their lives.


Writers love to give advice—heck, that’s what I’m doing here. We do it because we want to tell you “it’s all okay; really!;” we want to support you and help you; we want to give you guidance; we want to perhaps make things a bit easier on you where we had to muddle our way through; and we want to talk about the craft, the language, because it is important to us and we love it so.


How you write; how the process is for you is an individual decision. If you like to discover your character as you go along, or if you like to write detailed character descriptions, or somewhere in between—who can tell you/us which is “right or wrong” because no way is “right or wrong.” If you read how a writer does his or her thing and then you try to duplicate that and in that trying to duplicate you hit wall after wall—your character becomes wooden, or doesn’t seem real to you, or something just isn’t right about this character dang it all!—then take off the gloves and feel the flexing of your own fingers, the feel of the keys, the freedom of ungloved hands.

Ain't they sweet? Mini Me's and all...

This is my nephew's girlfriend, and my great neice and great nephew, and me . . . in Louisiana. Aren't the kids cute?





and what is this look on Norah Kathryn's face? Laughing!

Bed Head! This morning, GMR said "Now I know where Norah Kathryn gets her hair..." I said, Huhn? He laughed and said, "Your hair looks just like hers in that picture you showed me where she's in her stripped pj's . . ."

And upon inspection, it did *laugh*

The looks on Norah Kathryn's faces above -priceless!

I love love this photo of Norah Kathryn- it's like a mini-me!

Lil Boop! Just like her granny kat!

laughing!

And HAPPY FATHER'S DAY TO YOU DADS OUT THERE!

Staying our Hand (letting the unsaid words speak loud in our manuscripts)

There comes a time—maybe as you become older, or more settled—that you learn to, well, just Shut the Hell Up. When I was younger, I felt I had to say what I had to say and if I didn’t say it, I felt I’d just explode with all the unsaid words I needed to say. It was as if I’d eaten a HUGE meal and needed to vomit it out—the physical sensation of discomfort was real. Open mouth—Baalauuggghhh! I felt I needed to be Understood. And to be Understood, I needed to release lots of words.


But, as I grew older, I began to see the wisdom in holding back, waiting, weighing the words a little better and if they were heavy enough, and if I needed to release those weighted words, then I would, and all the superfluous or empty or light words would dissolve away. Or, as I found, sometimes even the heavy words needed pruning away. I would not explode if I didn’t get rid of all the words. I could sometimes not say anything at all and that said more than any words could. A simple action, a simple look, a simple walking away, a simple white space of time can say more than words can.


There is the considering, even in anger. I never regret this. If it’s important enough, it will find its way to be said, and if I do it smartly, then the importance of the message comes through better and more effective/affective than if I’d just spewed out all these words words words—the message mixed up in a bunch of blah blah blah blah blah blah blah me me me me you you you blah bleah blork bleep bloop.

The same kind of thing happens with writing. Sometimes I have to stay my hand. Luckily, in writing one can delete words -unlike in real life when words are out, they are out, and can't be taken back, can't be deleted. Lucky writers! We have the power to UnDo the doing!

If I don’t stay my hand in the first draft, I will go in and get rid of words. Sometimes lots of words. It becomes easier and easier to do this. It wasn’t always so, for just as I said above, I felt if I didn’t get out all those words words words, I’d explode. Oh sure, I’d heard “kill all your darlings,” and the like, but while the concept made sense, I found I wasn’t really doing that so much, not as much as I thought. I’d read my work and think, “But that HAS to stay in there;” or, “but if I take that out, the reader may not understand;” or maybe I just had fun saying it--whee! Look what I wrote! How fun! How cool is that? ooooo~!


Now I better understand. I better understand that if I look at something, and I mean really look at it, pause on it, skip on it, think about it, then it may be something I need to take out because I am NOTICING it. I better understand that I don’t have to give the reader every little thought or every little nuance. I better understand that sometimes the unsaid things are as effective/affective as the said things. Sometimes saying/writing something simply, or not saying/writing it at all, speaks louder.


Sometimes the staying of my hand comes with who is narrating the story. When I wrote the first Virginia Kate book, Tender Graces, it begins with VK as an adult and she slips back into time to storytell her life and her family’s life. When Virginia Kate is a young girl, I wanted to keep her voice in the age she was in and slowly let her grow up, and as she did, slowly let her voice/the language change to reflect her growing up. Many times I wanted to say something in one way (beause it was easier, or frankly and honestly, because it sounded lovely-oh the manipulation of language! *pant pant*!), and then I'd have to realize it was too sophisticated, too grown up, for a young girl to say and I'd have to remember who my character is --forget my ego and tell the truth of the character.

It meant sacrificing a little—staying my hand—creating a world of a young girl with “not so sophisticated language.” In Secret Graces, VK is older, and I felt freer with "grown up" language; although, VK has her own way of speaking and I'm not allowed to slip in my own way of speaking. It is her story, after all. She is the storyteller.


When we write, we have to let go of our ego, and sometimes that may be difficult, because we may not always be aware of our ego. But I believe the more we write, the more we understand ourselves and our style (and characters and their voices), the more practice we have, the more we mature as writers, the more we let our characters be who they are and not worry about how we are sounding as writers, then the better our books/stories will be--and this doesn't mean "perfectly written masterpieces" because we are human and we aren't perfect - this means TRUTHs. And everyone recognizes Truths.


That's all we can really do as writers: Be honest, and, forget our egos. Everything else is subjective.


Now, I’ve said too much.

Conversationus Interruptus . . .Living with this writer & her weirdness . . .

Picture it: Summer, 2010, a pleasant afternoon. A man and woman, husband and wife as it turns out to be, are sitting on the couch, watching television. The man watches the images. The woman seems to be doing so, but if one were to come closer . . . closer . . . one would see a glaze to the eyes, an inward glossiness, a far and away deepness. But, if not upon close inspection, there is simply a husband and wife watching television. And so it goes thusly:

During a commercial, GMR says: “. . . something something something . . .”

Me: Looking startled and slightly indignant, says, “Huhn…what? . . . What did you say . . .” and she is stretched tight in her brain, synapses ground to a faltering halt, and thinks, how RUDE of him to interrupt! But then she catches herself—interrupt? Wait . . . wait . . . the room rearranges, the synapses snap crackle pop, there is a click, a whir, the living comes into full focus. GMR is there, with that wiped clean expression.

GMR says, nonchalant, something to the effect of, “Never mind.”

I say, “No no, what did you say? What was it?”

“It was nothing.”

Me: *sigh* - “just tell me what you said; I’m listening” –I don’t add, “Now” because I wasn’t listening before. In fact, I know I heard a mumble mumble something something coming from a few feet away, but I was listening to another conversation. One that GMR could not hear or know about.

For you see, GMR sees two people in the room: Himself. Me.

I “see” more than two in the room and am following a conversation that goes on only in my pea-headed brain. It could be a couple characters talking something out. It could be I’m watching some bit of flash of action and then images slide by in a series of boom boom booms. It could be I’m standing among the characters as they blah blah blah didity boom de blah. Whatever is going on, only I can hear it and it is sometimes unordered and chaotic. Sometimes the images are wild and uncontrolled and other times it is an actual full-fledged conversation working out between two "people." And, it happens more times than GMR realizes, or for that matter, maybe other people I interact with realize.

GMR simply doesn’t see the others in the living room.

And while I’m listening to the characters or watching the images of those who are unreal (but sort of surreally-real to me), and GMR says something, it is as jarring as though I were standing in a room of people and we were conversing or I was listening to someone talking and GMR walked right up and tapped me on the shoulder and began yappity do dah daying! There is the flash of irritation, the moment of “how rude!” the startled feeling of having to tear one’s thoughts away from what has one’s attention and bring it round to something or someone else.

To explain how real these inner worlds can become at certain times would perhaps cause GMR hesitation, a pause, a looking askance at the being his wife is and think, “Who and just what is this person I married? She hears voices? She imagines people in the room?”

But his real question I think instead may be, “Where do I fit in with all of this? All of these, these . . . these people and places and things she has swirling in her brain? Where am I in all of this?”

And the answer to that question is startling. The answer to that question is . . .

. . . too complicated to answer.

Or is it? I must consult the Others. Ask them what they think . . . am I kidding? Ah, I’ll not tell! Haha! But, perhaps I do not want to admit the answer? Perhaps the answer picks at my innards with a pinch.