I’ve been reading a lot of fiction lately. Some of it has been stellar, other titles okay to good.
My worst reading experience was years ago. I don’t remember the author or the title of the novel, but it was a best-seller and about a divorced couple who wound their way back toward each other. I invested hours into that book and the lives of the characters. It ended hideously with one of main characters sudden death. I hated that I invested my heart in the book, with not only an unsatisfying ending, but a depressing ending.
Read on….I asked others their thoughts on what they might change about a novel.
If you could change something in any novel, what would you change about it and why?
We're getting on dangerous territory. I better pick someone I don't know. Let's see. I loved Dean Koontz's, Door to December. It was a fantastic book but I remember being disappointed with the ending. It felt like he slapped one on in a hurry to get it turned in. I would have liked for a little more thought to that otherwise great book.
Gina Holmes runs the popular fiction writer's blog, Novel Journey and assists with sister site, Novel Reviews. She has interviewed many of today's greatest authors from Ted Dekker to Karen Kingsbury to Walter Wangerin Jr. She is wife, mother, writer, blogger and Registered Nurse. She is currently working on her third suspense novel. www.noveljourney.blogspot.com www.novelreviews.blogspot.com
Tomorrow Mary DeMuth will share her timely comments.
Thursday, May 18, 2006
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Scribbles and Scrambles - Parallel Parking Pat
I don’t parallel park.
That’s not entirely true. I will parallel park if there are two spots available so I can nose in and
straighten out.
I have issues.
You’ve heard of Pavlov’s Dogs. The guy – Pavlov, of course – trained the dogs to salivate by ringing a bell every time he fed them. Soon they salivated at the sound of a bell. After having a huge, slobbering creature dog (pun intended) my heels every time I set foot in my kitchen for seven years, I’m not so impressed. I think training dogs to salivate is kind of crazy, why not train children to do chores at the ding of a bell?
So this Pavlov thing factors into my parallel parking anxiety. When I see a lone parking spot that would require proper technique I break out in a sweat.
My father, Pat, taught me to parallel park.
He wasn’t the first to attempt. Let’s just say I was remedial.
I was chosen to take the actual physical driving test for the state because my Driver’s Education driving grades left a lot to be desired. If my instructor had been a little less spastic with the multiple usages of the passenger safety brakes I’d have done better.
Pat was irritated that I hadn’t mastered parallel parking. My brothers were in the car which always intensified Pat’s frustration level, not to mention mine.
Pat has this endearing quirk – he expects people to understand what he means with the minimum of explanation. When he gets a “duh” response he repeats the identical instructions with a bit more passion.
My brothers wrestled in the back seat as I jockeyed into parallel parking position. Poised, ready to go, I waited.
Pat said, “Turn the wheel.”
It occurred to me as cars whizzed past and a sweat beaded on my upper lip that there are two ways to turn the wheel. “Uh, which way?”
Pat sucked in a deep breath and forced a smile and explained with enough detail that I got step one nailed. Then said, “Turn.”
I looked at him, no doubt, like I assumed the strange word that popped out of his mouth was Swahili. He shot me a concentrated glare and increased volume. “Turn.”
It was a long afternoon.
I can announce proudly that I did learn to perfectly parallel park, once. And I left the Driver’s License Bureau with a card with a horrific picture of someone who was supposed to be me.
That’s not entirely true. I will parallel park if there are two spots available so I can nose in and
straighten out.
I have issues.
You’ve heard of Pavlov’s Dogs. The guy – Pavlov, of course – trained the dogs to salivate by ringing a bell every time he fed them. Soon they salivated at the sound of a bell. After having a huge, slobbering creature dog (pun intended) my heels every time I set foot in my kitchen for seven years, I’m not so impressed. I think training dogs to salivate is kind of crazy, why not train children to do chores at the ding of a bell?
So this Pavlov thing factors into my parallel parking anxiety. When I see a lone parking spot that would require proper technique I break out in a sweat.
My father, Pat, taught me to parallel park.
He wasn’t the first to attempt. Let’s just say I was remedial.
I was chosen to take the actual physical driving test for the state because my Driver’s Education driving grades left a lot to be desired. If my instructor had been a little less spastic with the multiple usages of the passenger safety brakes I’d have done better.
Pat was irritated that I hadn’t mastered parallel parking. My brothers were in the car which always intensified Pat’s frustration level, not to mention mine.
Pat has this endearing quirk – he expects people to understand what he means with the minimum of explanation. When he gets a “duh” response he repeats the identical instructions with a bit more passion.
My brothers wrestled in the back seat as I jockeyed into parallel parking position. Poised, ready to go, I waited.
Pat said, “Turn the wheel.”
It occurred to me as cars whizzed past and a sweat beaded on my upper lip that there are two ways to turn the wheel. “Uh, which way?”
Pat sucked in a deep breath and forced a smile and explained with enough detail that I got step one nailed. Then said, “Turn.”
I looked at him, no doubt, like I assumed the strange word that popped out of his mouth was Swahili. He shot me a concentrated glare and increased volume. “Turn.”
It was a long afternoon.
I can announce proudly that I did learn to perfectly parallel park, once. And I left the Driver’s License Bureau with a card with a horrific picture of someone who was supposed to be me.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Snippets and Sound Bites - Dying
Sometimes the melancholy moments of life make me pause and consider.
Today is one such day. If you’re looking for a laugh – you probably won’t find it here unless you’re one sick puppy.
A friend of a friend lies dying. One of those long drawn-out, pain-infused deaths. Adding to the angst is the huge hole she’ll leave behind in the lives that will continue beyond her passing, two children who’ve barely reached adulthood, a grandchild, a husband and countless friends and family members.
Why am I haunted by the fact that hospice is delivering a bigger bed so that her husband can sleep with her? Tears scald my eyes when my friend describes the tender actions of the seventeen-year-old son who realizes that he will graduate, and marry, and raise his children – without his mom. Her bravery in calling friends and relatives inviting them to come and say good-bye leaves me with a lump in my throat that no amount of swallowing minimizes.
Wars, tragedies, disease – this is so not what life is supposed to be.
We’ve been praying for this family even though that seems so cheap and easy. After all, I’m not holding her head while she vomits or watching the rise and fall of her chest, waiting for it to cease. This dying woman who is reaching out to loved ones has asked my friend to come. My friend wants to make sure that this dear woman who faces eternity within hours, knows where she’s going to spend it, and that she’s not only leaving a place where she is loved, but could choose to go to a place where she is loved.
Last month, a delightful friend of my family died. She was talented and beautiful, exotic and intelligent. She, too, fought cancer and lost. Death claims us all, doesn’t it?
I shared my testimony of faith with her, as did my parents, and aunts and uncle. My family is unable to spend much time together without talking about what God has done in our lives. Of course, we also get a little goofy -- we’re great that way – zooming from profound depth to the depths of poor taste -- but I digress. Several family members get together and pray regularly, and tears fall as our hearts and concerns are taken to the throne of the Creator of the Universe. This woman spent many months in our prayers.
She said she could not believe in a God as close minded as ours.
I wonder if my pain and my sorrow are just a hint of what God must feel when someone enters eternity without entering into Jesus.
Today is one such day. If you’re looking for a laugh – you probably won’t find it here unless you’re one sick puppy.
A friend of a friend lies dying. One of those long drawn-out, pain-infused deaths. Adding to the angst is the huge hole she’ll leave behind in the lives that will continue beyond her passing, two children who’ve barely reached adulthood, a grandchild, a husband and countless friends and family members.
Why am I haunted by the fact that hospice is delivering a bigger bed so that her husband can sleep with her? Tears scald my eyes when my friend describes the tender actions of the seventeen-year-old son who realizes that he will graduate, and marry, and raise his children – without his mom. Her bravery in calling friends and relatives inviting them to come and say good-bye leaves me with a lump in my throat that no amount of swallowing minimizes.
Wars, tragedies, disease – this is so not what life is supposed to be.
We’ve been praying for this family even though that seems so cheap and easy. After all, I’m not holding her head while she vomits or watching the rise and fall of her chest, waiting for it to cease. This dying woman who is reaching out to loved ones has asked my friend to come. My friend wants to make sure that this dear woman who faces eternity within hours, knows where she’s going to spend it, and that she’s not only leaving a place where she is loved, but could choose to go to a place where she is loved.
Last month, a delightful friend of my family died. She was talented and beautiful, exotic and intelligent. She, too, fought cancer and lost. Death claims us all, doesn’t it?
I shared my testimony of faith with her, as did my parents, and aunts and uncle. My family is unable to spend much time together without talking about what God has done in our lives. Of course, we also get a little goofy -- we’re great that way – zooming from profound depth to the depths of poor taste -- but I digress. Several family members get together and pray regularly, and tears fall as our hearts and concerns are taken to the throne of the Creator of the Universe. This woman spent many months in our prayers.
She said she could not believe in a God as close minded as ours.
I wonder if my pain and my sorrow are just a hint of what God must feel when someone enters eternity without entering into Jesus.
Friday, May 12, 2006
Scribbles and Scrambles - Pat and the Thanksgiving ABC's - Part 2
Did I mention Mom has a touch of Irish?
Cleaning the pantry cupboard was not okay with her. Pat proceeded to unload the cupboard contents onto the kitchen table that was being used for Thanksgiving preparation.
Did I mention Pat has a penchant for danger?
Most of the interaction between the two that morning has blurred into fuzzy, amusing memories, though I do remember seeing several lightning bolts shoot from Mom’s eyes.
Thanksgiving set-up took twice as long. We either had to wait until a can laden Pat scurried out of closet toward the table, or we went the back way around. I stopped asking “what?” when I realized Mom’s mutterings were probably best left as mutters.
The pantry cupboard sure started looking nice. Pat’s running commentary was unnecessary, though, except for his personal danger/adrenaline factor. He felt the need to point out odd or out-dated things, often with a laugh or wisecrack. To this day, I am impressed that Pat doesn’t walk with a permanent limp.
As was usual, the project got a little more involved. Apparently, Pat was inspired by the pristine shelves. He disappeared. Mom and I took advantage of the lull in cross traffic and rushed to the china cabinet to retrieve the serving dishes. Pat returned with an El Marko.
“What are you doing now?” Her knuckles clenched white around the turkey baster.
“Organizing.”
Mom’s mutterings increased in quantity and volume. I hummed happy songs and looked nervously between the two of them.
Pat grinned, turned around and got to work.
He finished about the same time the little temperature button popped on the turkey. And brandishing his victorious El Marko, he disappeared into the bathroom.
Mom’s pantry cupboard is alphabetized and organized. A shrine to her husband’s near loss of limb or life.
The woman deserves a great Mother’s Day.
Happy Mother's Day to all...
Cleaning the pantry cupboard was not okay with her. Pat proceeded to unload the cupboard contents onto the kitchen table that was being used for Thanksgiving preparation.
Did I mention Pat has a penchant for danger?
Most of the interaction between the two that morning has blurred into fuzzy, amusing memories, though I do remember seeing several lightning bolts shoot from Mom’s eyes.
Thanksgiving set-up took twice as long. We either had to wait until a can laden Pat scurried out of closet toward the table, or we went the back way around. I stopped asking “what?” when I realized Mom’s mutterings were probably best left as mutters.
The pantry cupboard sure started looking nice. Pat’s running commentary was unnecessary, though, except for his personal danger/adrenaline factor. He felt the need to point out odd or out-dated things, often with a laugh or wisecrack. To this day, I am impressed that Pat doesn’t walk with a permanent limp.
As was usual, the project got a little more involved. Apparently, Pat was inspired by the pristine shelves. He disappeared. Mom and I took advantage of the lull in cross traffic and rushed to the china cabinet to retrieve the serving dishes. Pat returned with an El Marko.
“What are you doing now?” Her knuckles clenched white around the turkey baster.
“Organizing.”
Mom’s mutterings increased in quantity and volume. I hummed happy songs and looked nervously between the two of them.
Pat grinned, turned around and got to work.
He finished about the same time the little temperature button popped on the turkey. And brandishing his victorious El Marko, he disappeared into the bathroom.
Mom’s pantry cupboard is alphabetized and organized. A shrine to her husband’s near loss of limb or life.
The woman deserves a great Mother’s Day.
Happy Mother's Day to all...
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Scribbles and Scrambles - Pat and the Thanksgiving ABC's
In honor of Mother’s Day, I’d like to share another Pat story.
This one is about a special holiday. Not the one we are celebrating this weekend, but the warm and wonderful family Thanksgiving.
Procrastination, in Pat’s hands, is an art form. The closer the deadline, the more exciting the prize. Like some who keep scrapbooks of amazing accomplishments, Pat has a mental scrapbook of white-knuckled near misses.
All of my memories of events include stealth Pat as he runs up the stairs to the shower as the first guest arrives. Pat is fashionably late to all the parties at his house, because he begins party hygiene as he hears the crunch of gravel signifying the impending visitors arrivals.
Kind of like an elusive woodland creature, Pat skulks around cleaning, repairing, painting – whatever needs to be done – while the rest of the party planners lay out the final touches. I liken him to a woodland creature because his hair worried and teased by his frantic deadline angst, looks a bit like a black and silver poofy skunk pompadour.
“Where’s Pat?” is a common first question after the friends and family members arrive.
The answer, “in the shower.” Sometimes the project du jour warrants further explanation, followed by shaking heads, laughter and comments by all.
Thanksgiving is at Mom and Dad’s. The dining room and kitchen adjoin and we use both rooms to seat twenty plus people. In between the dining room and kitchen is a small pantry closet. With the door open, it blocks the passageway between rooms. Thanksgiving for twenty plus requires all the china, which lives in the dining room, and requires two fully set tables, and serving dishes for each table.
One Thanksgiving morning while Mom basted and stuffed and I chopped and washed, Dad decided to clean out the pantry cupboard. This is where Dad’s penchant for danger becomes crystal clear. Did I mention my mom has a touch of Irish?
Mom stood with hands on hips. “You’re cleaning what?”
Dad ran a hand through his bristly, perky hair. “It won’t take long.”
to be continued.........
This one is about a special holiday. Not the one we are celebrating this weekend, but the warm and wonderful family Thanksgiving.
Procrastination, in Pat’s hands, is an art form. The closer the deadline, the more exciting the prize. Like some who keep scrapbooks of amazing accomplishments, Pat has a mental scrapbook of white-knuckled near misses.
All of my memories of events include stealth Pat as he runs up the stairs to the shower as the first guest arrives. Pat is fashionably late to all the parties at his house, because he begins party hygiene as he hears the crunch of gravel signifying the impending visitors arrivals.
Kind of like an elusive woodland creature, Pat skulks around cleaning, repairing, painting – whatever needs to be done – while the rest of the party planners lay out the final touches. I liken him to a woodland creature because his hair worried and teased by his frantic deadline angst, looks a bit like a black and silver poofy skunk pompadour.
“Where’s Pat?” is a common first question after the friends and family members arrive.
The answer, “in the shower.” Sometimes the project du jour warrants further explanation, followed by shaking heads, laughter and comments by all.
Thanksgiving is at Mom and Dad’s. The dining room and kitchen adjoin and we use both rooms to seat twenty plus people. In between the dining room and kitchen is a small pantry closet. With the door open, it blocks the passageway between rooms. Thanksgiving for twenty plus requires all the china, which lives in the dining room, and requires two fully set tables, and serving dishes for each table.
One Thanksgiving morning while Mom basted and stuffed and I chopped and washed, Dad decided to clean out the pantry cupboard. This is where Dad’s penchant for danger becomes crystal clear. Did I mention my mom has a touch of Irish?
Mom stood with hands on hips. “You’re cleaning what?”
Dad ran a hand through his bristly, perky hair. “It won’t take long.”
to be continued.........
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Serials and Scenarios - Comma(on) Rituals -Day 3 - Deb Raney & Susan Meissner
Though Susan is admittedly aided by caffeine -- I doubt that either of these women put teacups on their heads.
Some out there in writing land have strange rituals. Share yours.
Oh, definitely rituals... Before I can start writing for the day, the bed has to be made, dishes have to be done and house has to be at least straightened up, if not spotless. (Just don’t look in my closets!) Then, I select music for the CD player based on what type of scene I’ll be writing that day (I usually write to movie soundtracks or classical music.) Then I light some scented candles. Then I brew a nice pot of coffee. Then I clear off my desk. THEN I can start writing—unless it’s lunchtime by the time I get all that accomplished! ; )
Deborah Raney Newly updated reissue of A VOW TO CHERISH coming in JUNEOVER THE WATERS, Steeple Hill, RT BOOKclub Reviewers’ Choice Award nominee From WaterBrook Press, HOLT Medallion Winner A NEST OF SPARROWShttp://www.deborahraney.com
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0373785623/sr=8-3/qid=1144348398/ref=pd_bbs_3/102-7286102-5764904?%5Fencoding=UTF8
Some out there in writing land have strange rituals. Share yours.
I need to have all my ducks in a row before I begin a new writing project. The plot, the chapter outlines, the research, the character sketches — that all has to be done before I begin. I’m a lost puppy without them. A Diet Coke with Lime is also required. And an occasional handful of Jelly Bellies.
BIO:
Susan Meissner is the author of four contemporary fiction titles, including "A Window to the World," named to Booklist's Top Teen Fiction for 2005. Her fifth novel, "A Seahorse in the Thames," will release in July 2006, followed by "Widows and Orphans," the first of three mystery novels, in October. Her current release is "In All Deep Places," now on bookstore shelves. She lives with her family in rural Minnesota and enjoys good coffee, real cheese and the occasional malt ball.
I'll see what I can scare up for tomorrow.
I have a deadline looming, and it's sapping my creativity.
Maybe something will knock loose, you never know what will trip into your path and crack you on the funny bone.
Some out there in writing land have strange rituals. Share yours.
Oh, definitely rituals... Before I can start writing for the day, the bed has to be made, dishes have to be done and house has to be at least straightened up, if not spotless. (Just don’t look in my closets!) Then, I select music for the CD player based on what type of scene I’ll be writing that day (I usually write to movie soundtracks or classical music.) Then I light some scented candles. Then I brew a nice pot of coffee. Then I clear off my desk. THEN I can start writing—unless it’s lunchtime by the time I get all that accomplished! ; )
Deborah Raney Newly updated reissue of A VOW TO CHERISH coming in JUNEOVER THE WATERS, Steeple Hill, RT BOOKclub Reviewers’ Choice Award nominee From WaterBrook Press, HOLT Medallion Winner A NEST OF SPARROWShttp://www.deborahraney.com
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0373785623/sr=8-3/qid=1144348398/ref=pd_bbs_3/102-7286102-5764904?%5Fencoding=UTF8
Some out there in writing land have strange rituals. Share yours.
I need to have all my ducks in a row before I begin a new writing project. The plot, the chapter outlines, the research, the character sketches — that all has to be done before I begin. I’m a lost puppy without them. A Diet Coke with Lime is also required. And an occasional handful of Jelly Bellies.
BIO:
Susan Meissner is the author of four contemporary fiction titles, including "A Window to the World," named to Booklist's Top Teen Fiction for 2005. Her fifth novel, "A Seahorse in the Thames," will release in July 2006, followed by "Widows and Orphans," the first of three mystery novels, in October. Her current release is "In All Deep Places," now on bookstore shelves. She lives with her family in rural Minnesota and enjoys good coffee, real cheese and the occasional malt ball.
I'll see what I can scare up for tomorrow.
I have a deadline looming, and it's sapping my creativity.
Maybe something will knock loose, you never know what will trip into your path and crack you on the funny bone.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Serials and Scenarios - Comma(on) Rituals - Gina Holmes
Some out there in writing land have strange rituals. Share yours.
I sometimes clap for myself when I write something well or my characters surprise me. Not like a 'bravo' clap but like a happy, yey clap. And sometimes I get caught acting out the action scenes. (Nothing like having an audience when your pretending to kick in an imaginary door.)
Gina Holmes runs the popular fiction writer's blog, Novel Journey and assists with sister site, Novel Reviews. She has interviewed many of today's greatest authors from Ted Dekker to Karen Kingsbury to Walter Wangerin Jr. She is wife, mother, writer, blogger and Registered Nurse. She is currently working on her third suspense novel. www.noveljourney.blogspot.com www.novelreviews.blogspot.com
If this seems odd to you. Check out the following question and answer. I think it will put a whole new slant on things.
I also asked Gina the following question....
If you could ask any person, living or dead, a random question -- what question would you ask of whom?
I'd ask Ane Mulligan why she puts tea cups on her head.
I sometimes clap for myself when I write something well or my characters surprise me. Not like a 'bravo' clap but like a happy, yey clap. And sometimes I get caught acting out the action scenes. (Nothing like having an audience when your pretending to kick in an imaginary door.)
Gina Holmes runs the popular fiction writer's blog, Novel Journey and assists with sister site, Novel Reviews. She has interviewed many of today's greatest authors from Ted Dekker to Karen Kingsbury to Walter Wangerin Jr. She is wife, mother, writer, blogger and Registered Nurse. She is currently working on her third suspense novel. www.noveljourney.blogspot.com www.novelreviews.blogspot.com
If this seems odd to you. Check out the following question and answer. I think it will put a whole new slant on things.
I also asked Gina the following question....
If you could ask any person, living or dead, a random question -- what question would you ask of whom?
I'd ask Ane Mulligan why she puts tea cups on her head.
Being a curious individual - I sought out Ane and posed this strange question.
She provided the following answer....
LOL – well my brain needs caffeine for creativity. The closer the source, the quicker the fix … right?
Ane Mulligan www.anemulligan.com Book Reviews: www.novelreviews.blogspot.com
Alrighty then, see you tomorrow.......
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