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.........

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.

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.

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.......

Serials and Scenarios – Comma(on) Rituals - Part !

I propose a charming new ritual – let’s delete Mondays. The extra hours could be turned into Saturday Jr.

Someone who’s really good with legalese or political double talk needs to draft a petition. I’ll sign it.

It should be a ritual to post on Monday, but I’m not quite ready to commit to the requirements of ritual as described below.

Rituals are defined as - A ritual is a formalised, predetermined set of symbolic actions generally performed in a particular environment at a regular, recurring interval. The set of actions that comprise a ritual often include, but are not limited to, such things as recitation, singing, group processions, repetitive dance, manipulation of sacred objects, etc. ...en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rituals

This explains Cheeseheads and half-naked, brightly painted, screaming men at sporting events.

And I’d paint my torso and wear dairy products on my head and dance if we could really and truly delete Mondays.

I’ve asked some writing buddies for their rituals. I’ll post a few over the next few days.

Though I’m not organized enough to have developed rituals, I’d venture a guess that cleaning out my e-mail files before writing would count as a not-so-productive one.

I suppose I should develop a happy comma success dance. I have trouble with commas. It may come from my less than positive experience with snakes, and what does a comma resemble, I ask you. So, pumped full of adrenaline at the sight of a snakelike comma, I often don’t know what to do with them, and I’ll admit I kind of lose it. Either I use commas as liberally as some use a pepper grinder, or completely randomly.

Fortunately, I have gotten better with careful teaching. Michelle, my first line go to ego stomper (technical term – critique partner) tells me my comma cancer might be in remission.

The best comma rule ever, came from Steve. He stated that words beginning with the same letter as the current month all received a comma at the end. I suppose it’s a reward thing -- good prose gets rewarded with happy little snakes. Kind of like stickers in Kindergarten – maybe.

I think Steve may smoke peppercorns, but it was amusing – don’t try this with editors!

Come back tomorrow for Comma(on) Rituals. : )

Scribbles and Scrambles - Scenes From My Life - Seussian Mom Moment

Now that you’ve read some of my formative events, I’ll share just a few scenes from the lives of my children.

In our home, terms of endearment are creative. And pretty much any word can become one.

When our middle daughter was at that excellent stage where babies laugh at anything and find delight in the strangest things, she did something silly and I called her a little geek. Our son, who was four at the time, burst into tears.

“What’s the matter?”

“You didn’t call me a geek.” So I did, and then he was fine.

Several years later, when said cute baby had grown into a middle schooler, (I refuse to make any statements that could incriminate me about this particular stage in life) she went to a football game with a group of friends.

Drama often accompanies hormonal surges in adolescence. The football game outing sparked and flared with melodrama like the pictures of the surface of the sun.

Said daughter returned home, disgust dripping off her facial features. A few well-aimed questions opened up the happenings of the evening. Apparently, a classmate, juiced on caffeine, sugar and aforementioned hormones, bothered the gaggle of girls all night.

While they watched the game, talked, ate – he was there – tormenting and teasing.

“Mom I was so mad.” She explained in great detail and ended with these lines.

“He ripped off my hat, and pulled out my hair,
And made me spill my chips everywhere!”

This undid me. The sing-song delivery, the cadence, the beauty of the rhyme, the visuals -- I dissolved in laughter. She, not knowing what I was laughing at, stomped her foot. Oh, that settled me right down. Ha.

I laughed myself sick while she gathered the rest of the family who then looked on like helpless, untrained monkeys.

For days, weeks even, I tried to tell this amusing anecdote but couldn’t. Occasionally puffs of airborne words filtered out of the full blown ha, har, ha, hee’s. Never enough for someone to actually understand the story. I could get two to three words out, but then I’d melt into a puddle of glee. The family member who was assigned to accompany me in public would try to tell the story. I heard several versions. Ah, but mine is the best. Wish you could hear it.

Years later, the perfect Seussian delivery still brings a chuckle, and a bubble of hysterical laughter lies just below the surface.

I suppose I should seek professional help…… but how would I ever explain my symptoms?

Scary and Sensational - Stay Tuned - Collins & Hines Summer Thrillers

Heather has thrown down a gauntlet. I now have a goal to make her wet her pants.

How quickly good ideas degenerate into the earthiness of humanity. sigh.

I may share my Dr. Seussian mom moment – that could do it. I’ll have to swirl that one around in my sieve-like brain to see if anything falls out. (Pun intended – like a disposable diaper circa 1973.)

While I’m stewing on that let me share a differently slanted thought.

I’ve decided that Christian fiction writers are some of the neatest, and most talented individuals you could ever hope to meet.

Not only have I been blessed enough to have a group of extremely talented and encouraging critique partners, but I’ve somehow gotten into the enviable place where I occasionally get to read an ARC. Advanced Reader Copies look like the novel, sound like the novel, smell like the novel, but aren’t quite cooked yet. Kind of like entering the kitchen and inhaling baking chocolate chip cookies, oh so close, but you gotta let them cool so you don’t have to seek treatment for severe throat and lip burns.

I have in my possession two very excellent reads that haven’t quite dinged the timer. So, I’ll just dangle these in front of you for just a few seconds.

Brandilyn Collins new series – Kanner Lake – debuts with Violet Dawn. If you love her, you’re going to love this book. If you haven’t read her, and you like suspense, and strong characters – ditto. Suffice it to say that I only stopped reading because my eyes crossed with exhaustion and I couldn’t make out the words. I’ll post a review on Amazon and CBD, soon.

T.L. Hines is a newbie novelist. His Waking Lazarus is -- wow – you’ll be hearing his name thrown around a lot in the next few months. Again, I’ll be posting some reviews. My husband, who does not read a lot, and rarely fiction, picked it up one night and couldn’t put it down. So I was thrilled when he had to work late the next night so we didn’t have to wrestle for it. I so hate it when he begs! Another compelling, eye-crossing read.

I’ll see if I can muster up something for Heather tomorrow. Hmmm.

Scribbles and Scrambles - Twisted Formation - Aunt Har Har Comes to Visit

* some names not mentioned to protect the innocent.

My aunt is only ten years older than me. So when she came to babysit my younger brothers, I got to be her sidekick. As I aged, she babysat only on evenings my parents would be out late. One of her last visits rolled around. I was eleven and almost ready to take over all of the brother wrangling.

Earlier that afternoon my baby brother toddled around the house in the disposable diapers of the seventies. Disposable was the big sell at that point, they didn’t have elastic around the leg holes or cartoon characters emblazoned on them, they were just pretty much disposable, which, if you’ve ever used cloth diapers, you would probably agree made them a very good thing. A friend of mine, Kim, was over hanging out, which is what we used to call playing. She and I went into the living room as bottle clenching toddler buns disappeared into the kitchen. Dad jogged down the stairs intent on some errand, and the three of us met up in the hallway. Kim’s eyes darted to the corner, and mine followed. A small dark olive green object sat at the edge of the entrance to the kitchen. As if magnetized, she leaned closer, and then her body followed her eyes. Dad now had noticed and we watched her bend over and scoop the object up.

Her knit eyebrows screamed confusion, I think she almost scratched her head in bewilderment. “What is this?” She finally asked. By then she was just a foot away from us.

I screamed and Dad laughed one loud guffaw. “It’s a turd!” He chortled and gasped. “From the baby’s diaper!”

I will never forget the scene. Kim launched the disgusting little gem and fled from the room. Dad and I laughed so hard that neither of us wondered what happened to Kim. A flash of white got my attention. I wiped the water from my eyes and watched Kim bend over the offending object with a paper towel clutched in her fist. She scooped it up and raised it high over her head in victory.

Enter Aunt Har Har. The boys were scrubbed and drugged or whatever they did to get rowdy boys to sleep in the seventies. My bedtime neared. Aunt Har Har offered to tuck me in. I think she was just bored. But as we were chatting I remembered the excitement of the flying turd.

She sat on the edge of my bed and I told the story with great relish. She laughed, and then laughed harder. I should mention here that I had a bedside light, not on a table, but on the floor next to my canopy. As I described Kim’s realization and actions. Aunt Har Har bent over double and laughed, “har, har, har, har” into my lamp. And I laughed so hard I peed the bed.

Sigh.

Those were the days.