I have no excuse.

Really, I apologize. That last post was...atrocious. Do over? Please? Thanks.

So I go to this writer's group every Friday night, and I love it. It's not a critique group. In fact, every time a new person joins the ranks, they are told, "This is a support group, not a critique group." Translation: "If you haven't got anything nice to say, keep your fool mouth shut or leave."

Here's the deal, though. I need a critique group. I have my great Friday night group to tell me, "You're doing so great! That was wonderful!" etc., etc., and that's okay. Because, if nothing else, I have a dedicated two hour time period every week where I get to write, read my stuff in front of other people in the middle of a book store (great experience), and discuss all things writerly. It keeps me sane. It even helps insofar as I'm continually exposed to others of differing styles and skill levels.

It does not, however, tell me what the heck I'm doing wrong. Yes, I do look into that on my own. I read books, I read industry blogs, I practice, practice, practice. But there is no way on this earth that I will ever be able to catch everything myself. I need a critique group.

There are no critique groups here. Scratch that; there are, but they're affiliated with professional groups of which I am not currently a part. I'm planning on changing that this fall (when I finish this manuscript), I just can't do it right now. So now I'm trying to figure out if I should join an online one. There are several reputable ones, Absolute Write, Critters, etc. The question is, how much of my time is it worth? Online groups take time to navigate, and at this point, that time would have to come at the expense of my writing time.

Is it worth it? Or should I just wait until fall when I can access a face-to-face group? Is there a benefit to doing both? I don't know.

What about you? If you're a writer, are you part of a critique group? Is it online or in person? How did you find it? Is it worth the time you put into it? Please share.

Questions?

You guys. My kids have been home on vacation for more than two weeks now and my brain, she is fried. I'm sure I've mentioned before that we live in Les Woods. I'm also certain I've mentioned how much I like it here in the quiet. Mostly.

Summertime is not the time for me. You see, living in Les Woods means there's no neighborhood to speak of. When I mention my neighbors, I'm talking about those people who live up the road, the ones whose house I can kind of see in the winter when the leaves fall.

This means that, during the summer, I must either drive them places, or they all stay home and drive me places...up the wall, insane, you get the drift. Now, since Me=Not Wealthy and Gas Prices=Unbe-freaking-lievable, insanity is winning.

Which is a really long, convoluted way of saying, I can't think of a blog topic to save my life. I know, after a year and a half, it was bound to happen. But still.

Therefore: I hereby decree this Ask Me Anything day. Leave your question, whatever it may be, in the comments, and I shall do my best to answer it. You know, during my periodic spells of lucidity. (Oh, and if you can think of anything you'd like me to blog about in the near future, I wouldn't object to suggestions. Pathetic. I know.)

The floor, such as it is, is yours.

Obsession and Proper Casting

Okay, here's how I know when a book has its hooks in me. No matter where I am or what I am doing, my one constant thought is, "I should be writing." Even as I write this blog, I'm thinking, "I should be doing real writing." Because this is, what...fake writing? The argument could be made that this writing is more real than any I've done so far, since it reaches more readers.

But that's not the point.

The point is, I can't think anymore. (Stop it, you. Yes you. The one about to make a crack about how I wasn't thinking in the first place. Don't be a wisenheimer.) I have to try extra hard to concentrate on real-life conversations, because my characters' conversations are too damn loud. Cooking, doing dishes, folding laundry (Hahahahahahahaaaaa! I kid, I kid. The laundry monster is alive and well.), my mind is elsewhere.

It's exhilarating and frustrating and awesome. I'm addicted. I'd say I'm obsessed, but I'm not sure which is worse. This story has slithered its wormy way into my brain and begun tickling the nerve endings with its minuscule hair-like legs. And, oh we likes it, Precious, yes we do.

That kinda just got weird, didn't it? Right.

On a completely unrelated note, I can see the casting of Donald Sutherland as President Snow in The Hunger Games, though I think Malcolm McDowell would have been a better choice. But Woody Harrelson as Haymitch? Really? Huh.

So, anything obsessing you lately? And who do you think should have played Haymitch? I'm thinking Michael Biehn. It's possible that I have a lingering crush on him from The Terminator, but still. (BTW, If your answer was, "What is The Hunger Games?" for the love of all that is good, get thee to a book store. Pronto.)

What say you?

A post for Magoo

It's summer! I don't know about where you live, but it's pretty obvious around here that the seasons have a-changed. The mountain laurels are in full flower. Frankly, even when they're in full bud they look like tiny botanical Sputniks, which is pretty darned cool.

Four leafed clovers are coming by to say Hi to me. They usually do. I'm tight with the clovers.

There are even a few five-leafers making an appearance, which is just showing off.

Strawberries were ready for picking, so we did.

Ripe strawberries lead to things like this...

Mmmmm. Sangria. They also led to strawberry shortcake, but it was completely wolfed down by the members of my household before I could snap a picture. Can't blame them, really. These strawberries were little red sugar-bullets. (Little Red Sugar Bullets is the name of my new techno-punk string quintet.)

Strawberries and wine notwithstanding, summer has gotten off to a nice start. What about you? When is summer, Summer?



Wait...was that a gnome?

Those of you who hang around here on a regular basis may be aware that I write mostly at night. I do try to write during the day, but it can be difficult whilst a four-year old climbs me like a jungle gym. It's not really a problem; it just is.

Most nights, I'm all by my lonely. I'm a hardcase when it comes to bed times, and Magnum's an early-to-bed-early-to-rise type. Again, I'm not complaining. I'm an introvert. To me, alone time = Yay!

So the other night, there I am, writing. The TV is on because I use it as a kind of an overgrown lamp/clock. If I look up and see a news anchor, I need to consider getting to bed. If I look up and see a late-night talk show, I need to pry my butt from the chair and redeposit it in the bed immediately. If I look up and see Carson Daly, tomorrow is going to be hell.

Right, so it's still early. I know this because I look up and see Howie Mandel, who, to the best of my knowledge, does not frequent Carson Daly's show. I go back to my writing. But, wait! I'm out of coffee. This is bad. I decide to take a combination coffee/bathroom break, because neither is important enough to make me get up all by itself. I place my computer gently to the side and look up to see...gnomes.

Seriously, gnomes. Five, enormous, man-sized gnomes are dancing around on my television screen and...I don't know -- lip-synching? I guess that's the closest I can come, considering they had giant, weirdly over-stuffed gnome mouths, so yeah -- lip-synching Ice, Ice Baby.

Now, I'm not gnome-phobic (apparently called gnomophobia, though this particular phobia is not recognized by the APA, much to the dismay of Chuck Sambuchino, I'm certain), and these were kind of funny, I suppose. But they were also kind of creepy in much the same way that those Carolers dolls are creepy. I mean, is it just me, or do they all look like they're screaming?

It's probably just me. Still. They're screaming.

Anyway. Large, hip-hop gnomes. Vying for one million dollars. The mind, she boggles. Please tell me someone else saw this and that I'm not hallucinating gnomes now. Because I really don't have that kind of time.

Hey everyone...

I remodeled again. Mainly, I do this to keep Julie on her toes. But I'm also trying to keep the blog in line with my goals, which are still sketchy, but definitely match this look better than the old one.

If you're having problems with anything, or plain old don't like it, let me know. Otherwise, whaddaya think?

On Character

I'm not normally the type to give writerly advice on this blog. It puts me into a, "Hey blind folks, come follow me!" type of situation. I try to avoid those, lest otherwise healthy people follow me off a cliff.

However (you knew there was going to be a however), I read something recently that got me to thinking, and I'm going to foist the photos of my chubby, wriggling brain-babies upon you. Because that's what I do here.

Recently, Lora referred the readers of her blog to this advice on becoming a novelist by Jennifer Weiner. I'm all in for the writerly advice, so I hustled my virtual butt over there to drink it up.

Her first two points are that good writers tend to be people whose childhoods and love lives have never gone especially well. She posits that those who never quite fit in have, in their efforts to do so, learned to observe. They've made a study of people and their habits, and it shows. She also mentions that those for whom life and love have never gone quite right are the ones who really understand grief and loss.

For me, this is the real crux of the matter. Empathy. Not just sympathy, not just, "Oh, I feel so bad for her," but, "I understand."

I firmly believe that, to write a compelling character, the author needs to know how to empathize, rather than just sympathize. You have to understand it and feel it in order to make it come across on the page. Perhaps those who were picked on in grammar school *eh hem* or snubbed by the opposite sex at prom time *choke* have an easier time with this. But I think it's something we all have to some degree (unless you're sociopathic), and can, to some degree, be enhanced.

To that end, I have developed a simple exercise. I know, who am I? Donald Maass (whose Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook is fantastic and you should go buy it toute de suite)? Uh, no. Not even close. But I do think it has merit, so listen up.

What I'd like you to do is pick yourself a nice, controversial subject. Make it juicy. Got one? Okay. Grab a piece of paper and draw a little chart. Come up with reasons why someone might be For or Against this particular thing. Done?

Right. If your chart looks like this:

You fail. All right, perhaps fail is a bit harsh, but really, you haven't gone far enough. Not even close.

Speaking strictly in terms of this example, there are folks out there who are on the For side who have no real interest in women's rights or health. Likewise there are people on the Against side who are not particularly religious. In fact, there are many shades between the For and the Against (for in some situations, against in others), and the whys and wherefores are as varied and individual as people themselves. As a writer, it's your job to find them.

Dig. Dig into the character's psyche. You need to know not only what the character thinks, but how. You need to know their thought processes, how they arrive at their conclusions. What exact path leads them to the choices they make? You need to understand. You need to empathize. It's the only way to create a rich, multi-layered character.

You may even wish to do this with all of your characters. Pick a few hot-button issues. Religion, politics, abortion, the death penalty, etc. Understanding why people feel the way they do about the big issues often leads to insight into more mundane ones. Create a chart. Force yourself to go beyond the obvious reasons (a.k.a. your own personal reasons), then apply your results to what you know of your character. Is she against abortion, but for the death penalty? Why? What, for her, makes one death different from the other? Think about it, try to understand it, to feel it. Argue both sides as if you own them.

Then write. Because none of this is any good unless you put the words on the page.

Huh. I thought it was Wednesday.

Even during the best of weeks, I have trouble keeping track of what day it is. It's a fundamental hazard of being a stay-at-home mom. I no longer go to work every day, have deadlines to meet, look forward to days off, etc. I'm here. Always.

Oh, sure, I have to do stuff with the kids, but that only gets me so far. It's not uncommon for me to be in the middle of Tuesday and thinking it's Wednesday. Quite often, I'm surprised to find that I've reached the weekend and my husband will be home in the morning.

Now that summer is here, I'm in for it. I won't even have school days to keep me on track. And I have a deadline.

No, I don't have a job. Well...not a paycheck-generating one, anyway. But I do have a deadline. I have set September first as the date by which I'd like to have the first draft of my next manuscript done.

With the kids being home for the summer, it will be a touch on the difficult side. Besides the constant interruptions, I've never been a fast typist and this one has started slowly. That's okay, though. I think a good deal of my difficulty in getting started is that I've done my homework this time around (unlike the my first MS where I didn't know what the heck I was doing and floundered around in the dark for years trying to figure it out) and I'm aware of my missteps. There's been a lot of backing up so that I can fix them, which...okay.

So now I'm going to have to figure out a way not to let the summer slip away from me. I have to establish my routine, which I know I can do because I've done it before. I allowed it to slip for a while, writing on a catch as catch can basis, but that was a mistake. It felt...wrong. Plus, I work better on a deadline. It gives me a goal, a finish line to cross so that I'm not just talking about getting it done on that nebulous some day, I'm doing it now. I'm pretty sure it will be fine.

Actually, I think it will be more than fine. I'm excited about this book and these characters. They've been keeping me up and talking my ear off for a while now, and -- AND -- I do believe I've got a solid plot. It's going to be fun. Plenty of work, but fun. It really is a joy watching these people come to life.

Just, please, every now an then, will someone remind me what day it is?

The Dragonfly Army

I live in a relatively rural town. It consists of roughly eighteen hundred people and, at nine acres, our piece of land is the smallest on our street. We've got wildlife out the wazoo.

In the past ten years, we've had personal visits from black bears (chased my car and broke my bird feeders), moose (damn things ate my apple tree), deer (both the living and the dead), fisher cats (mean little suckers), turkeys (idiots), pheasants (tasty), the more common raccoon (sneaky, trash-picking bastards), and the less common mink (shiny).

But of all the animals Mother Nature has seen fit to throw our way, perhaps my favorite is the noble dragonfly. They've just begun to show up. Some are dainty and gossamer-winged, some are flying tanks, but all make my weensy little heart go pitter-pat.

Why? Because they're skeeter-eaters, and most of our land is swamp. It's like the Poconos for mosquitoes. I swear at night you can hear them out there, playing Barry White while they lounge and flirt in itsy-bitsy champagne-glass shaped hot tubs.

And then, like a wee, winged miracle, the dragonflies come. I'm pretty sure it's the Barry White that draws them. A sexy, baritone dinner bell.

When they finally descend on the mosquito buffet, my world changes. Suddenly I can say, "Hey kids, get outside," and there are no more valid excuses for them to disobey that command. No three-inch layers of Deet. No complaints of the bugs being too bad. Just blessed silence.

And turkeys.

Turkey in my yard last week.
It kept ducking in and out of the ferns, thinking I wouldn't see it anymore.
They really are idiots.

Welcome, summer.

Crazyness

This week has been a whole bucket load of nutso, culminating on Wednesday night when we were under tornado watch.

For those who don't know, I live in New England. Tornadoes are not even close to commonplace around here. But Wednesday afternoon, there it was. Tornado watch.

By evening, watch turned into warning for many areas in Massachusetts. One of those areas happens to house my mother, sister, brother, nieces and nephews, and friends.

Fortunately for them, but unfortunately for many others, the tornadoes that did form, and there were several, formed to the south of them. Four people were killed.

Photo from Examiner.com

I'm relieved and grateful that my loved ones were not exposed to anything more than severe thunder storms. I am also tremendously saddened that other families can't say the same, and that places I've known since childhood are now completely devastated.

If you can find it in you, please spare a thought or prayer for those affected. Thanks.

I hope all of your loved ones are safe and warm.