Happy Wednesday.
Minterview - Mini Interview with Kathryn Mackel (feel free to use my clever word melding)
Kathy writes suspense/thrillers/sci-fi/fantasy. Her newest is The Hidden.
She played along and finished a story starter - see below.
My instructions were to build on the red italicized line with a couple of lines of her own.
She suggested I might be crazy, limiting a novelist to a few lines. Told me I was lucky I didn't get 40,000 words. The bold blue are all hers.
Hmmm. She also mentioned recovering from surgery. I suggested that the pain relievers might be hallucinogenic. Thanks for playing Kathy.
Check out The Hidden which I haven't read - yet. http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/asin/1595540377
But my review for the first book in her Outriders series is here.
http://novelreviews.blogspot.com/2006/02/kathy-mackels-outridersreviewed.html
Lauren stared at the clock. Eleven forty-five, if only it read ten forty-five. Everyone should be allowed one do-over hour in life.
“Do you really believe that?”
“Huh?” Lauren’s attention jerked to the tinny voice snaking up from her feet.
“You heard me.” A tiny man in top hat and black tie stared up at her from the bottom of the wastebasket.
Lauren resisted the impulse to jam a phonebook into her trash, and thus obliterate what had to be the corniest hallucination in history. “Who’re you?”
“Wrong question.”
She couldn’t even get her own phantasms right. “What’s the right question?”
The tiny man buffed his fingernails with a file the size of a pin. Someone so miniscule had no right to play hard-to-get. He took off his top hat, bowing with a strange grace. “In regard to the do-over?”
Maybe Lauren should just go to the ladies room and try flushing the last hour away.
Instead she leaned closer, swallowing back the notion that she was about to pull an Alice and plunge down a rabbit hole. With her luck, it’d be filled with snakes, spiders, and sad-eyed clowns.
“What about it?” she said, not displeased by her snappish tone.
“The correct question is—were you able to have a do-over…” The tiny man grinned, showing oversized eyeteeth imbedded with diamonds.
Lauren reached for the phonebook. She killed houseflies for less.
The tiny man straightened his lapels with a loud sniff. “The correct question in regard to the do-over is: what would it cost me?”
Lauren leaned back in her chair, trying to mask the pounding of her heart by bouncing on her fanny. “If I were interested in a re-do…and I’m not saying I am…but if I were.” She tried to stop her question but her throat was too clenched to swallow it back.
“What would it cost me?” Lauren winced at her own pathetic eagerness.
Suddenly he was in her face, still tiny yet impossibly overwhelming. Poised for this heroic moment of decision and destiny, in which he whispered.,..
“Only that which you have no use for anyway.”
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Scribbles and Scrambles - Conclusion - Swing Batter Swing – Fish Story
It was a long walk back to the car. Especially since Grandma hooted and snickered in a ladylike manner. My rotten friend and Grandma had bonded nicely on the way out to retrieve me, and their happy conversation buzzed around me like an annoying cloud of ravenous mosquitoes.
I’ve blocked out the discussion I had with the doctor. No doubt he asked me how I had managed to crack my collarbone. I believe if I strain really hard I remember my mother laughing, and the doctor attempting to swallow his amusement.
I got to wear a contraption around my shoulder for awhile. The details of this have been buried deeply with another personality, also. Suffice it to say it scratched and annoyed and made the usual steamy June even more unpleasant.
The high point of my convalescence came with an invitation to go camping with my said friend and her mother -- in a motor home. What a treat that was going to be. Of course, I wouldn’t be able to swim in the lake we were visiting, but that was okay.
We rumbled down the road in the RV and found a breezy tree-lined spot. This was going to be great. “Friend” did a lot of swimming. I passed the time with her mom or dangled my toes in the cool water, working on my positive attitude skills.
Finally, friend developed a great idea involving Styrofoam surfboards -- I don’t know the usual purpose of a Styrofoam surfboard, and why they would sell them in the Midwest – but the plan was to use one and just keep my torso out of the water. It was a great idea in theory. Did I mention that I lack coordination skills?
I paddled out with my good arm, and paddled, and paddled and rested. It was a little exhausting to keep one shoulder lifted away from splashes and yet manage to get where I wanted to go. A group of kids my friend had amassed came over to meet me. They’d heard all about me, obvious from the smirks on their faces.
One very kind young man even brought me a welcoming gift. A dead fish he’d found floating near the shore. The fish and I got very intimate as I tried to hang onto the surfboard with my good hand while removing the fish without getting my shoulder wet. A fun day was had by all.
Ah yes, the joys of growing up.
I’ve blocked out the discussion I had with the doctor. No doubt he asked me how I had managed to crack my collarbone. I believe if I strain really hard I remember my mother laughing, and the doctor attempting to swallow his amusement.
I got to wear a contraption around my shoulder for awhile. The details of this have been buried deeply with another personality, also. Suffice it to say it scratched and annoyed and made the usual steamy June even more unpleasant.
The high point of my convalescence came with an invitation to go camping with my said friend and her mother -- in a motor home. What a treat that was going to be. Of course, I wouldn’t be able to swim in the lake we were visiting, but that was okay.
We rumbled down the road in the RV and found a breezy tree-lined spot. This was going to be great. “Friend” did a lot of swimming. I passed the time with her mom or dangled my toes in the cool water, working on my positive attitude skills.
Finally, friend developed a great idea involving Styrofoam surfboards -- I don’t know the usual purpose of a Styrofoam surfboard, and why they would sell them in the Midwest – but the plan was to use one and just keep my torso out of the water. It was a great idea in theory. Did I mention that I lack coordination skills?
I paddled out with my good arm, and paddled, and paddled and rested. It was a little exhausting to keep one shoulder lifted away from splashes and yet manage to get where I wanted to go. A group of kids my friend had amassed came over to meet me. They’d heard all about me, obvious from the smirks on their faces.
One very kind young man even brought me a welcoming gift. A dead fish he’d found floating near the shore. The fish and I got very intimate as I tried to hang onto the surfboard with my good hand while removing the fish without getting my shoulder wet. A fun day was had by all.
Ah yes, the joys of growing up.
Friday, May 26, 2006
Scribbles and Scrambles - Swing, Batter, Swing! Part 3
I believe Common Sense missed a beat in the on-going battle. She must have gotten distracted, because she really should have suggested something along the lines of, “hey stupid, if you’re going to do this, at least slide halfway down so you’re less likely to break your neck.”
But she didn’t. So at the very top of the slide I grasped the sides, fueled by the “fun” I was going to have, and the burst of adrenaline that surged through my veins. I curled into the somersault, my right shoulder landing safe and sound on the sun warmed slide, my left shoulder and legs catching air.
The next few seconds blur together. There was a sensation of flying and falling – I suppose because I was. A fairly solid landing and a whole lot of pain followed.
A shocked friend face bent over and peered into mine. I was sitting at the time.
I suppose I executed a triple or something equally impressive. Or maybe I just landed on the most solid part of my anatomy.
My whole body hurt, especially my neck and shoulders. I managed to groan, “Go get my grandma.”
“I don’t know her very well!”
I did not embellish the above statement, nor was it a hallucination.
I used the rest of my stamina to argue, plead and beg.
Two kids sauntered past, stopped and stared. One asked, “What happened to her?”
“Oh, she fell off the slide.” The kids moved on. The breeze carried silence except for the distant sound of little league. As the innocent passers-by reached a respectful distance loud guffaws reached my ears. I can’t blame them, I laugh now.
My friend finally scurried off and returned a long time later with my grandma, who was laughing.
Is it any wonder I’m twisted? No hope for normalcy. None. Nada.
To be continued – one more time in - Swing Batter Swing – Fish Story.
This Monday I’m planning to skip – so see you on Tuesday. Have a great long weekend!
But she didn’t. So at the very top of the slide I grasped the sides, fueled by the “fun” I was going to have, and the burst of adrenaline that surged through my veins. I curled into the somersault, my right shoulder landing safe and sound on the sun warmed slide, my left shoulder and legs catching air.
The next few seconds blur together. There was a sensation of flying and falling – I suppose because I was. A fairly solid landing and a whole lot of pain followed.
A shocked friend face bent over and peered into mine. I was sitting at the time.
I suppose I executed a triple or something equally impressive. Or maybe I just landed on the most solid part of my anatomy.
My whole body hurt, especially my neck and shoulders. I managed to groan, “Go get my grandma.”
“I don’t know her very well!”
I did not embellish the above statement, nor was it a hallucination.
I used the rest of my stamina to argue, plead and beg.
Two kids sauntered past, stopped and stared. One asked, “What happened to her?”
“Oh, she fell off the slide.” The kids moved on. The breeze carried silence except for the distant sound of little league. As the innocent passers-by reached a respectful distance loud guffaws reached my ears. I can’t blame them, I laugh now.
My friend finally scurried off and returned a long time later with my grandma, who was laughing.
Is it any wonder I’m twisted? No hope for normalcy. None. Nada.
To be continued – one more time in - Swing Batter Swing – Fish Story.
This Monday I’m planning to skip – so see you on Tuesday. Have a great long weekend!
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Scribbles and Scrambles - Swing, Batter, Swing! Part 2
So there I stood faced with a dilemma. Kind of like the angel/devil shoulder depictions we’ve all seen. I had a very persuasive friend on one side of me and simple common sense on the other.
The friend’s volume intensified with each chant of, “Come on. Do it. It’s fun!”
Common Sense whispered. “Remember dear, you just finished gymnastics in Physical Education class, and you haven’t mastered any of the skills. Your somersaults are crooked. Don’t even think about doing this crazy stunt.” Her voice sounded a lot like a mix between my mom, grandma, and all my female Sunday school teachers past and present. Had I looked over at the bleachers all the women would have sensed my dilemma and stood in a pre-popular wave like formation and gravely moved their heads from side to side. But I didn’t look.
Nor did I listen.
The slide had grown while I debated my fate. It was at least two stories high now. I began to climb. Clang. Clang. For whom does the death bell toll? It tolls for me…. Clang. Clang. I paused at the top. From there my cousin and grandparents were tiny, colorful ants. I sat, and the sun heated metal melded to my body.
My “friend” shielded her eyes and squinted up at me. “Go on. It’s really cool.”
I shook my head. “I do crooked somersaults. I’m going to kill myself.”
Well, maybe I had listened to Common Sense.
Another squint from the devil down below and, “just hold on to the sides. It’s going to be really fun.”
The grass looked pretty soft, actually. And if I held on, I’d be fine. I took a deep breath and prepared to have a blast.
To Be Continued …. Again…..If you are really concerned take peace in the fact that I am telling the story so I obviously survived…….
The friend’s volume intensified with each chant of, “Come on. Do it. It’s fun!”
Common Sense whispered. “Remember dear, you just finished gymnastics in Physical Education class, and you haven’t mastered any of the skills. Your somersaults are crooked. Don’t even think about doing this crazy stunt.” Her voice sounded a lot like a mix between my mom, grandma, and all my female Sunday school teachers past and present. Had I looked over at the bleachers all the women would have sensed my dilemma and stood in a pre-popular wave like formation and gravely moved their heads from side to side. But I didn’t look.
Nor did I listen.
The slide had grown while I debated my fate. It was at least two stories high now. I began to climb. Clang. Clang. For whom does the death bell toll? It tolls for me…. Clang. Clang. I paused at the top. From there my cousin and grandparents were tiny, colorful ants. I sat, and the sun heated metal melded to my body.
My “friend” shielded her eyes and squinted up at me. “Go on. It’s really cool.”
I shook my head. “I do crooked somersaults. I’m going to kill myself.”
Well, maybe I had listened to Common Sense.
Another squint from the devil down below and, “just hold on to the sides. It’s going to be really fun.”
The grass looked pretty soft, actually. And if I held on, I’d be fine. I took a deep breath and prepared to have a blast.
To Be Continued …. Again…..If you are really concerned take peace in the fact that I am telling the story so I obviously survived…….
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Scribbles and Scrambles - Swing, Batter, Swing! Part 1
Baseball season – ahhh, the memories that flood over me at the sound of the crack of a home run and the cheering crowds.
Yep. One is the memory of being chosen pretty much last for PE forced ballgames. And the church mixed gender softball league, when as an adult they asked me to play once….
I’m sure there are great benefits from being able to hit little white balls and beat the pounding enemy feet to the base – unless they’d reached up and scooped the beautiful hit right out of the air, so we could switch sides and I could attempt to catch the ball. Yeah, no claims of sport prowess here at all.
My most memorable ballgame was during the spring season of my eleventh year. I didn’t play, but a friend and I rode along with my grandparents to watch my cousin’s little league team.
I believe I mentioned I’m not a big fan of baseball/softball, right?
Boredom set in quickly. Across the adjoining football field stood a playground. Late afternoon sun glinted off the peeling equipment. I think I may have heard the song of the sirens luring me…. With insistent cajoling and begging, we got permission to go to the playground.
At first it was great. Okay the equipment didn’t shine quite so beautifully, but hey, we were cynical kids and we pretty much expected that. My friend, I hesitate to give her real name, was a bit of a girl jock. Somehow, as she slid down the huge slide, her jacket hooked something and she executed a perfect somersault and gracefully finished her descent.
She jumped up, arms in the air with the universal sign for victory. “That was really fun. You should do it.”
All moisture left my mouth, traveled south and gathered in my bladder where I suddenly felt the need for a run to the bathroom. “No way!”
“Come on. It’s really fun.”
Did I mention that I have no athletic prowess or instinct? Did I or didn’t I? To be continued…..
Yep. One is the memory of being chosen pretty much last for PE forced ballgames. And the church mixed gender softball league, when as an adult they asked me to play once….
I’m sure there are great benefits from being able to hit little white balls and beat the pounding enemy feet to the base – unless they’d reached up and scooped the beautiful hit right out of the air, so we could switch sides and I could attempt to catch the ball. Yeah, no claims of sport prowess here at all.
My most memorable ballgame was during the spring season of my eleventh year. I didn’t play, but a friend and I rode along with my grandparents to watch my cousin’s little league team.
I believe I mentioned I’m not a big fan of baseball/softball, right?
Boredom set in quickly. Across the adjoining football field stood a playground. Late afternoon sun glinted off the peeling equipment. I think I may have heard the song of the sirens luring me…. With insistent cajoling and begging, we got permission to go to the playground.
At first it was great. Okay the equipment didn’t shine quite so beautifully, but hey, we were cynical kids and we pretty much expected that. My friend, I hesitate to give her real name, was a bit of a girl jock. Somehow, as she slid down the huge slide, her jacket hooked something and she executed a perfect somersault and gracefully finished her descent.
She jumped up, arms in the air with the universal sign for victory. “That was really fun. You should do it.”
All moisture left my mouth, traveled south and gathered in my bladder where I suddenly felt the need for a run to the bathroom. “No way!”
“Come on. It’s really fun.”
Did I mention that I have no athletic prowess or instinct? Did I or didn’t I? To be continued…..
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Scribbles and Scrambles - Monday Defined
Monday snuck up and slapped me upside the head again. I’m going to have to prepare Monday’s post on Thursday or Friday so this doesn’t happen anymore. I always have great intentions scrawled on my mental to-do list and then reality greets me at the door.
To begin this process of wrestling Monday into submission, I think I need to get a good handle on exactly what Monday is. There are the obvious things. First day of the work or school week. Yuck. It follows activity filled weekends. Which is probably why I need to suck down several cups o’joe before I begin to feel human.
If you recall from a previous post – I took many years of French language training, and when given the opportunity to use it, managed to squeak out a “Merci!” But I do remember Monday being Lundi and a discussion of the meaning of the word having to do something with the moon.
http://www.answers.com/topic/monday#after_ad2 gives all the information you might ever want on the origin of Monday's name, and many useless facts, too. I am thrilled to announce that this write-up includes the French word for Monday and I remembered and spelled it correctly. (excuse me while I clap for myself).
Happy day after Monday to you all.
To begin this process of wrestling Monday into submission, I think I need to get a good handle on exactly what Monday is. There are the obvious things. First day of the work or school week. Yuck. It follows activity filled weekends. Which is probably why I need to suck down several cups o’joe before I begin to feel human.
If you recall from a previous post – I took many years of French language training, and when given the opportunity to use it, managed to squeak out a “Merci!” But I do remember Monday being Lundi and a discussion of the meaning of the word having to do something with the moon.
http://www.answers.com/topic/monday#after_ad2 gives all the information you might ever want on the origin of Monday's name, and many useless facts, too. I am thrilled to announce that this write-up includes the French word for Monday and I remembered and spelled it correctly. (excuse me while I clap for myself).
Happy day after Monday to you all.
Friday, May 19, 2006
Serials and Scenarios - Change-Ups - Mary DeMuth
I thought today was an appropriate day to share Mary's thoughts. Thanks, Mary.
If you could change something in any novel, what would you change about it and why?
I would change the horrific dialogue in the DaVinci Code. Here’s something I wrote about it:
Living in France, where the DaVinci Code is THE thing, I needed to know what all the hubbub was about.
So, I read it.
Here’s my take.
The first part of the book was suspenseful and had a unique premise, but halfway through I got very bogged down. My big beef (besides the fact that Brown needed my editor-who would have hung me out to dry for some of his lapses) was his terrible use of dialogue, particularly when the main characters are chatting in the library. He uses something called Author Convenience: telling readers information through narrative or dialogue that sounds preachy or didactic.
Here’s my take on the way he uses Authorial Convenience. (This is not from his book, just my tongue and cheek rendition):
“Hmm, tell me, what Jesus really Mary Magdalene’s husband?”
“Well, yes,” the kindly professor pulled a book off the shelf. “It’s been my life’s work. You see, I’m an EXPERT, so you must listen to me.” He leafed through some pages of the rather large book. “It says it right here on page 459 of Why Everyone Knows Mary and Jesus Were an Item. George Longwind, distinguished professor of Heresy at Norbridge asserts that Jesus and the Divine Feminine had to be one. And that for God to truly redeem mankind, Jesus had to have offspring.”
“No kidding? It says that in the book?”
“Yes, and if you turn to page 985, you’ll be assured this view is widely held by Leprechauns.”
“I don’t believe in Leprechauns.”
“Well, you should, because according to my research, Leprechauns invaded Ireland and invented the potato. It’s right here on page 25 of Why We Can Thank the Leprechauns that Ireland is Green.”
“I don’t believe in Ireland.”
“That’s illogical. You need to study Anselm’s ontological argument, and then you’d understand everything. Just like me.”
“Um, well, do you have a bologna sandwich?”
“I do. But first let me tell you about the origin in bologna.”
OK, so I’m a bit weird, but you get the idea. Dialogue should not be used to parrot information back and forth. The only time you would write dialogue that way is if your character were off-the-charts prideful and wanted to boast of everything he knew. Find other ways to get large pieces of information to your reader.
Bio:
Mary E. DeMuth has been crafting prose since 1992, first as a newsletter editor, then as a freelance writer, followed by a fiction and nonfiction author. Mary’s articles have appeared in Marriage Partnership, In Touch, HomeLife, Discipleship Journal, Pray!, Bon Appetit, Kindred Spirit, P31 Woman, and Hearts at Home. For two years she penned a lifestyle column for Star Community Newspapers in Dallas (circulation 100,000). Mary’s books include Ordinary Mom, Extraordinary God (Harvest House, 2005), Sister Freaks (Time Warner, 2005, one of four contributing authors, Editor Rebecca St. James), Building the Christian Family You Never Had (WaterBrook, 2006), Watching the Tree Limbs, and Wishing on Dandelions (NavPress, both novels releasing in 2006). In 2003, she won the Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference’s Pacesetter Award. Mary loves to speak about the art and craft of writing as well as the redemptive hand of God in impossible situations. She’s spoken in Munich, Vienna, Amsterdam, Portland, Dallas, Seattle, Florence, Monaco and San Jose. A thirty-nine-year-old mother of three, Mary lives with her husband Patrick in the South of France. Together with two other families, they are planting a church.
Mary E. DeMuth
Christ Follower. Novelist. Freelance Writer.
Author: Building the Christian Family You Never Had
and Watching the Tree Limbs: A Novel
Blog. Website.
If you could change something in any novel, what would you change about it and why?
I would change the horrific dialogue in the DaVinci Code. Here’s something I wrote about it:
Living in France, where the DaVinci Code is THE thing, I needed to know what all the hubbub was about.
So, I read it.
Here’s my take.
The first part of the book was suspenseful and had a unique premise, but halfway through I got very bogged down. My big beef (besides the fact that Brown needed my editor-who would have hung me out to dry for some of his lapses) was his terrible use of dialogue, particularly when the main characters are chatting in the library. He uses something called Author Convenience: telling readers information through narrative or dialogue that sounds preachy or didactic.
Here’s my take on the way he uses Authorial Convenience. (This is not from his book, just my tongue and cheek rendition):
“Hmm, tell me, what Jesus really Mary Magdalene’s husband?”
“Well, yes,” the kindly professor pulled a book off the shelf. “It’s been my life’s work. You see, I’m an EXPERT, so you must listen to me.” He leafed through some pages of the rather large book. “It says it right here on page 459 of Why Everyone Knows Mary and Jesus Were an Item. George Longwind, distinguished professor of Heresy at Norbridge asserts that Jesus and the Divine Feminine had to be one. And that for God to truly redeem mankind, Jesus had to have offspring.”
“No kidding? It says that in the book?”
“Yes, and if you turn to page 985, you’ll be assured this view is widely held by Leprechauns.”
“I don’t believe in Leprechauns.”
“Well, you should, because according to my research, Leprechauns invaded Ireland and invented the potato. It’s right here on page 25 of Why We Can Thank the Leprechauns that Ireland is Green.”
“I don’t believe in Ireland.”
“That’s illogical. You need to study Anselm’s ontological argument, and then you’d understand everything. Just like me.”
“Um, well, do you have a bologna sandwich?”
“I do. But first let me tell you about the origin in bologna.”
OK, so I’m a bit weird, but you get the idea. Dialogue should not be used to parrot information back and forth. The only time you would write dialogue that way is if your character were off-the-charts prideful and wanted to boast of everything he knew. Find other ways to get large pieces of information to your reader.
Bio:
Mary E. DeMuth has been crafting prose since 1992, first as a newsletter editor, then as a freelance writer, followed by a fiction and nonfiction author. Mary’s articles have appeared in Marriage Partnership, In Touch, HomeLife, Discipleship Journal, Pray!, Bon Appetit, Kindred Spirit, P31 Woman, and Hearts at Home. For two years she penned a lifestyle column for Star Community Newspapers in Dallas (circulation 100,000). Mary’s books include Ordinary Mom, Extraordinary God (Harvest House, 2005), Sister Freaks (Time Warner, 2005, one of four contributing authors, Editor Rebecca St. James), Building the Christian Family You Never Had (WaterBrook, 2006), Watching the Tree Limbs, and Wishing on Dandelions (NavPress, both novels releasing in 2006). In 2003, she won the Mount Hermon Christian Writers Conference’s Pacesetter Award. Mary loves to speak about the art and craft of writing as well as the redemptive hand of God in impossible situations. She’s spoken in Munich, Vienna, Amsterdam, Portland, Dallas, Seattle, Florence, Monaco and San Jose. A thirty-nine-year-old mother of three, Mary lives with her husband Patrick in the South of France. Together with two other families, they are planting a church.
Mary E. DeMuth
Christ Follower. Novelist. Freelance Writer.
Author: Building the Christian Family You Never Had
and Watching the Tree Limbs: A Novel
Blog. Website.
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