Last night I was watching a special news broadcast about the terrible famine in Africa. The most horrible part was the headline: 29,000 children under the age of 5 died of starvation in the last 3 months.
Twenty-nine thousand. That is an astounding number. All children, all under the age of 5 years old. That is 1/4...one quarter...of an entire generation, in terms of age. It's not something I can completely comprehend. The number alone...what about the children over the age of 5...how many of them are dead, dying, starving to death?
I was mesmerized by the pictures on the TV in front of me. The faces of the women...almost all of the adult refugess are women...and the children of all ages clustered around them...the hopelessness, the fear, and the grief on the women's faces, the pleading in the eyes of the younger children, and the emptiness on the faces of the older children who already know there is no life for them. I cried for those children and for their mothers.
The longer I watched, the more astonished I became. The camera roved over literally thousands of make-shift tents and huts being used as homes, it lingered on women lining up for what little food and water was being handed out by rescue workers, and it played gently upon the children of all ages...some who sat silently, others who tried to play with whatever ball or piece of a toy was near-by. Why was I astonished?
Because in all of that despair, the only DIRT was on the ground.
The women were dressed in the long dresses of their culture, all of which were neat and in one piece, and their hair was perfectly braided; the children, even those playing around on the ground, had clean faces, arms, and hands, and no matter how ragged their clothes were, they were also clean. The camera swung by many different tents, some with the occupants sitting inside, some were empty. The tents were clean, what few possessions the people had were all placed neatly on chairs or boxes, and if the owners were so lucky as to have a cot for a bed, it was spread nicely with a thin blanket. NO dirt, NO clutter. Amid all that fear and defeat, amid all that hunger, the refugees of Somalia were intent upon making their temporary...or permanent...homes a reflection of the kind of life they had once had...even as they knew they might never have that life again. Or indeed, life of any kind.
The camera left the refugee camp, and went to the borders where the rescue efforts of many different countries, the US included, were being stymied by members of the African Al-Qaeda who want to keep food and supplies away from the refugees. The fighting was horrible, especially considering why it was occurring in the first place. Many times men who inform the rescue people they are "friendlies" who will help deliver the supplies to the camps, merely turn them over to the Al-Qaeda troops who eat and use what they want, then wantonly destroy the rest. It is a crime against humanity, and little seems able to be done.
The camera swings back to one of the camps, and rests upon the face of a young woman who delivered her newborn son in the dirt along the heavily traveled road to this camp. She traveled this road alone, with no one to help in her pain and subsequent delivery. Her husband had been killed in the fighting she had fled. Now, her face is streaked with tears, but she holds this tiny infant, clad only in a piece of a thin...but clean...blanket, in gentle arms. I looked at them, and wondered how long this boychild would survive. Would it be weeks or months...or only days?
How can human beings do this to one another? How can genocide and starvation and the constant random killing and destruction of whole tribes, whole villages, be allowed to continue? What do we, the rational people, have to do to stop this? Or will we continue to be helpless in the face of the demented masses?
Last night I watched TV...last night I cried.
Until next time,
That's a wrap.
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Friday, August 5, 2011
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Wednesday's Wandering: Review of "As If Being 12 3/4 Isn't Bad Enough, My Mother's Running For President
Donna Gephart's debut novel, As If Being 12 3/4 Isn't Bad Enough, My Mother's Running For President, is a hilarously funny ( as in "snickersnort funny") story about an almost-teen who is having to deal with being the daughter of the Governor of state of Florida...her mother...and the fact that her mother is now campaigning for the nomination vote for President of the United States.
Vanessa Rothrock would like nothing more than to be just another ordinary student at Lawndale Academy. Instead, she is the only student there with a personal bodyguard, who won't even let her go to the Girls Restroom by herself. Not that he goes inside the restroom, of course, but he stands guard outside and refuses to let any other girl in until Vanessa comes out. That doesn't make for the greatest of popularity. As if that wasn't bad enough, she is followed through the day by news reporters and flash cameras, taking her picture at the most awkward and inopportune times.
Vanessa is also the County Spelling Bee Champ who will now go on to the Regionals...with or without her mother present. She wasn't present for the County Bee...she sent her Press Secretary to stand in for her. Is it so awful for her to want her mother to come to the spelling bees, or be home to play Scrabble with like she used to, or to be with her in the ER after she's broken her wrist in PE? Being the Govenor's daughter, particularly when said Govenor is campaigning, ranks very high in the Life Sucks department.
But Vanessa has more to worry about than the upcoming Regionals or even playing Scrabble. There is Reginald Trumbull, the handsomest boy at Lawndale, who Vanessa is in love with and hopes to someday bear his 2.3 children; there are her humongous feet, which automatically trip her whenever there is a news camera fixating on her...and of course will show her picture in all its gawky glory on the 6 o'clock news; there is the Boob Fairy who has not yet graced Vanessa with her presence, thereby making her practically the only 12 and 3/4 year old girl in all of Florida who does not need a bra; there is the fact that she has to make an appointment to see her mother, but her bodyguard is present 24/7; there are the secret love notes she's getting from an unknown admirer, whom she hopes and prays is actually Reginald; and there are those other notes she is getting...the ones that threaten Vanessa's mother with death if Vanessa doesn't talk her out of running for President.
This is a novel which deals with many teenage issues that most pre-teen girls will understand and identity with: mother/daughter relationships; first crushes; embarrassing moments; teenage insecurities and physical awkwardness; and the issue of a working mother who doesn't have time for her daughter, although she loves her very much. It is also a novel that deals with a daughter fearing for the life of her mother, and the sometimes unlikely things she does to "protect" her mother.
I really liked the story, but found some inconsistencies in it. I didn't see a lot of personal growth in Vanessa, until the very end. I think her character could have been developed a little more. One issue I felt was pretty much ignored was that Vanessa's father was killed in a plane crash, but that's all we know. How did she deal with such a tragic event? How did she get from that terrible happening to where her mother is Govenor and now campaigning for the Presidency? That was something I felt must have been a major issue in her life, and yet it was barely touched upon.
The other thing I got fairly bored with was that on practically every page, one of her spelling words, or any "big" word, was S P E L L E D O U T. That got to be a little A N N O Y I N G !
One other thing is that the book is recommended for teens, and I'm not sure how many older teen-age girls would be interested. The awkwardness, the first love, the spelling bees, all seem more appropriate for 9 to 12 year olds. However, having said that, there are certain concepts, like the "Boob Fairy" for one, that even a 9 year old might not be too familiar with. Over all, though, it is a good read, humorous and sensitive at the same time, and one I can highly recommend.
Until next time,
That's a wrap.
Vanessa Rothrock would like nothing more than to be just another ordinary student at Lawndale Academy. Instead, she is the only student there with a personal bodyguard, who won't even let her go to the Girls Restroom by herself. Not that he goes inside the restroom, of course, but he stands guard outside and refuses to let any other girl in until Vanessa comes out. That doesn't make for the greatest of popularity. As if that wasn't bad enough, she is followed through the day by news reporters and flash cameras, taking her picture at the most awkward and inopportune times.
Vanessa is also the County Spelling Bee Champ who will now go on to the Regionals...with or without her mother present. She wasn't present for the County Bee...she sent her Press Secretary to stand in for her. Is it so awful for her to want her mother to come to the spelling bees, or be home to play Scrabble with like she used to, or to be with her in the ER after she's broken her wrist in PE? Being the Govenor's daughter, particularly when said Govenor is campaigning, ranks very high in the Life Sucks department.
But Vanessa has more to worry about than the upcoming Regionals or even playing Scrabble. There is Reginald Trumbull, the handsomest boy at Lawndale, who Vanessa is in love with and hopes to someday bear his 2.3 children; there are her humongous feet, which automatically trip her whenever there is a news camera fixating on her...and of course will show her picture in all its gawky glory on the 6 o'clock news; there is the Boob Fairy who has not yet graced Vanessa with her presence, thereby making her practically the only 12 and 3/4 year old girl in all of Florida who does not need a bra; there is the fact that she has to make an appointment to see her mother, but her bodyguard is present 24/7; there are the secret love notes she's getting from an unknown admirer, whom she hopes and prays is actually Reginald; and there are those other notes she is getting...the ones that threaten Vanessa's mother with death if Vanessa doesn't talk her out of running for President.
This is a novel which deals with many teenage issues that most pre-teen girls will understand and identity with: mother/daughter relationships; first crushes; embarrassing moments; teenage insecurities and physical awkwardness; and the issue of a working mother who doesn't have time for her daughter, although she loves her very much. It is also a novel that deals with a daughter fearing for the life of her mother, and the sometimes unlikely things she does to "protect" her mother.
I really liked the story, but found some inconsistencies in it. I didn't see a lot of personal growth in Vanessa, until the very end. I think her character could have been developed a little more. One issue I felt was pretty much ignored was that Vanessa's father was killed in a plane crash, but that's all we know. How did she deal with such a tragic event? How did she get from that terrible happening to where her mother is Govenor and now campaigning for the Presidency? That was something I felt must have been a major issue in her life, and yet it was barely touched upon.
The other thing I got fairly bored with was that on practically every page, one of her spelling words, or any "big" word, was S P E L L E D O U T. That got to be a little A N N O Y I N G !
One other thing is that the book is recommended for teens, and I'm not sure how many older teen-age girls would be interested. The awkwardness, the first love, the spelling bees, all seem more appropriate for 9 to 12 year olds. However, having said that, there are certain concepts, like the "Boob Fairy" for one, that even a 9 year old might not be too familiar with. Over all, though, it is a good read, humorous and sensitive at the same time, and one I can highly recommend.
Until next time,
That's a wrap.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Tuesday's Teaser: Journey Into Writing: The Beginning
As writers, we are on a journey. It's a long trip, full of potholes, rough roads, traffic we often can't find an easy way through, signs saying "road closed," and most of all, frustration. The completion of that journey is publication, and is almost always worth that long and tiring trip. Where do we start the journey, and how did we get the impulse to put everything else aside, and...go for it? We all have different stories to tell, and this one is mine.
I was ten years old when I first published. It was a very long poem, not in rhyme, which told about the antics of my three kittens. I was living in a boarding house in Rock Creek, Maryland, with my parents while my father was stationed in Washington, D.C. ( It was during this time that I first saw Congress is action, but that is another story.) My mother thought the poem was great...of course!...so she sent it off to a long-since defunct magazine, The Children's Digest. It was published, I think I received a whole dollar, and I was an author!
The second time I published something, I was twelve years old, and living in Seattle, Washington, while my father was stationed there. We had just come back from Alaska, and before that, from the Philippines. ( yep, I was an Army brat.) I had a Quarter Horse mare, the first horse I'd owned since we left Texas and the ranch. I'd been training her to show, when suddenly she went blind. The vet had no idea why. I was heartbroken, but she was such a good mare, I refused to give up on her. So I continued her training with voice signals to indicate when she came to a jump, or when she needed to turn left or right to avoid running into the fences. I did show her about four months later, and she won several classes. After the show, I wrote an article about her, the training, and her success as a show horse. It was published in the local papers, the major Houston, Texas paper, and in a horse magazine. I guess in those days, "rights" were not a big issue like they are today.
Never in those childhood days did I ever think of writing as a profession. My dream was to become a Musical Theatre singer, which I did at the age of 13. In fact, it wasn't until I was in college that I ever wrote anything that could have been published. I took an Anthropology class, and one of our assignments was to do a project for one of the cultures we had been studying. I chose Japan, and wrote a 20 page book of Haiku poetry. I guess it was pretty good, because my professor had it published for the college library. That was the only other time I attempted poetry of any kind until later in life.
Writing was not even a hobby during the days I was raising my children, nor when I went back to college to finish my degrees. It wasn't until 1996 that I once again wrote something that could possibly be published...some day! I was sitting at the computer one evening in December, 1996, catching up on some horse-related work ( my husband and I had a ranch, and bred, raised and trained Appaloosas), when from out of the blue, an idea came to me about a cockatoo parrot and the North Star. Crazy, huh? But that idea turned in the first of a series of short stories about Great Father ( my name for God, Jehovah, Jesus, Allah, or whatever one wants to call their religious Supreme Being) and his Great Beasts...Lion, Elephant, and Cheetah. And of course, various other characters like Little Donkey, Keira the African Grey Parrot, Goofy the Goffin's Cockatoo, and so on.
There were stories like The Cockatoo and the North Star, my first one; Santa Claus and The Red Light Bird...where an African Grey Parrot with its red tail takes over for Rudolph who has a bad cold, and leads Santa and the reindeer on their Christmas Eve journey; Who Stole The Fourth of July?...where Goofy steals the July 4th day from the calendar, so the Beasts can't celebrate, therefore there won't be fireworks' noise to hurt Elephant's ears; The Search for The Rainbow...where the rain has disappeared from the Great Forest, taking with it the Rainbow, so all the flowers and grass and trees and birds are gone, and Great Father has to send Lion, Elephant, and Cheetah out to search for the Rainbow. There were a couple of other stories, including one about Halloween and the three Great Beasts meeting up with a little dragon who had been banished from his home because he couldn't spit fire, and a would-be ghost who had also been banished because he couldn't become invisible.
These stories were written over a couple of years, passed around to friends with kids...who loved them, but then, ALL little kids love stories about talking animals....and then were put away and for the most part, forgotten about.
Christmas, 2005...my daughter sent me a box of books for Christmas: How to Write and Illustrate Children's Books and Get Them Published; The ABCs of Writing For Children; The Writer's Guide to Crafting Stories for Children; and Children's Writer's Word Book. In this awesome gift, she also included a note which said ( paraphrased to be polite) Mom, get off your butt and start writing again!
In July, 2006, I took her...and myself...seriously, and signed up for the first of three courses with the Institute of Children's Literature.
My journey continues...
Until next time,
That's a wrap.
I was ten years old when I first published. It was a very long poem, not in rhyme, which told about the antics of my three kittens. I was living in a boarding house in Rock Creek, Maryland, with my parents while my father was stationed in Washington, D.C. ( It was during this time that I first saw Congress is action, but that is another story.) My mother thought the poem was great...of course!...so she sent it off to a long-since defunct magazine, The Children's Digest. It was published, I think I received a whole dollar, and I was an author!
The second time I published something, I was twelve years old, and living in Seattle, Washington, while my father was stationed there. We had just come back from Alaska, and before that, from the Philippines. ( yep, I was an Army brat.) I had a Quarter Horse mare, the first horse I'd owned since we left Texas and the ranch. I'd been training her to show, when suddenly she went blind. The vet had no idea why. I was heartbroken, but she was such a good mare, I refused to give up on her. So I continued her training with voice signals to indicate when she came to a jump, or when she needed to turn left or right to avoid running into the fences. I did show her about four months later, and she won several classes. After the show, I wrote an article about her, the training, and her success as a show horse. It was published in the local papers, the major Houston, Texas paper, and in a horse magazine. I guess in those days, "rights" were not a big issue like they are today.
Never in those childhood days did I ever think of writing as a profession. My dream was to become a Musical Theatre singer, which I did at the age of 13. In fact, it wasn't until I was in college that I ever wrote anything that could have been published. I took an Anthropology class, and one of our assignments was to do a project for one of the cultures we had been studying. I chose Japan, and wrote a 20 page book of Haiku poetry. I guess it was pretty good, because my professor had it published for the college library. That was the only other time I attempted poetry of any kind until later in life.
Writing was not even a hobby during the days I was raising my children, nor when I went back to college to finish my degrees. It wasn't until 1996 that I once again wrote something that could possibly be published...some day! I was sitting at the computer one evening in December, 1996, catching up on some horse-related work ( my husband and I had a ranch, and bred, raised and trained Appaloosas), when from out of the blue, an idea came to me about a cockatoo parrot and the North Star. Crazy, huh? But that idea turned in the first of a series of short stories about Great Father ( my name for God, Jehovah, Jesus, Allah, or whatever one wants to call their religious Supreme Being) and his Great Beasts...Lion, Elephant, and Cheetah. And of course, various other characters like Little Donkey, Keira the African Grey Parrot, Goofy the Goffin's Cockatoo, and so on.
There were stories like The Cockatoo and the North Star, my first one; Santa Claus and The Red Light Bird...where an African Grey Parrot with its red tail takes over for Rudolph who has a bad cold, and leads Santa and the reindeer on their Christmas Eve journey; Who Stole The Fourth of July?...where Goofy steals the July 4th day from the calendar, so the Beasts can't celebrate, therefore there won't be fireworks' noise to hurt Elephant's ears; The Search for The Rainbow...where the rain has disappeared from the Great Forest, taking with it the Rainbow, so all the flowers and grass and trees and birds are gone, and Great Father has to send Lion, Elephant, and Cheetah out to search for the Rainbow. There were a couple of other stories, including one about Halloween and the three Great Beasts meeting up with a little dragon who had been banished from his home because he couldn't spit fire, and a would-be ghost who had also been banished because he couldn't become invisible.
These stories were written over a couple of years, passed around to friends with kids...who loved them, but then, ALL little kids love stories about talking animals....and then were put away and for the most part, forgotten about.
Christmas, 2005...my daughter sent me a box of books for Christmas: How to Write and Illustrate Children's Books and Get Them Published; The ABCs of Writing For Children; The Writer's Guide to Crafting Stories for Children; and Children's Writer's Word Book. In this awesome gift, she also included a note which said ( paraphrased to be polite) Mom, get off your butt and start writing again!
In July, 2006, I took her...and myself...seriously, and signed up for the first of three courses with the Institute of Children's Literature.
My journey continues...
Until next time,
That's a wrap.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Thursday's Thoughts: Blogging and The First Amendment
I read something in the news today that really got me to thinking, plus getting under my skin. It seems that a high school teacher in Philadelphia was suspended for writing on her personal blog about how lazy, rude, obnoxious, and even dim-witted her students were. She wrote about them not listening in class, not wanting to learn, complaining about the grades they received, and so on. In other words, describing to a T how so many teens are today, specifically those in her classes. She did not name a single kid, but directed her remarks to them all. On her personal blog.
A couple of her students found the blog and reported it to administrators, who promptly suspended her. She retained an attorney, and is now getting her job back. The attorney apparently had to remind school officials that what the teacher says on her blog is protected by the First Amendment, particularly when she doesn't name any of the students.
The article brought to mind a couple of things, one being that this teacher is right on about a great many teens today. For the most part, they seem to all feel they are "entitled" to do or say anything they want to, and NOT do or say anything they don't want to. That includes being rude and obnoxious to adults, and not putting forth any effort to learn in school, yet feeling entitled to join the work force without the skills, knowledge and ability to do so. Having worked with young people for many years, I can see for myself the ways in which their attitudes and thinking have changed over the years, and I agree with everything this teacher said.
However, what concerns me the most is the fact that this teacher was suspended over what she said in her blog. A blog on the Internet certainly does not have any expectation of privacy, so there was nothing wrong with her students finding and reading it. But since when can we NOT say what we think and have opinions about in our own blogs? That's where the rub is.
The First Amendment grants us the right to freedom of speech, which carries over into the freedom to write whatever we want to write. (Given, of course, that what is written is not some kind of libel against someone.) However, sometimes it is also brought up as a diversion from the truth, or as an attack upon someone we don't want to hear or something we think should not have been written. That's when I believe it is misused.
When you blog, how often do you really think about what you are writing? By this I mean, do you ever "ponder" if what you are blogging about might be conceived as a violation of the First Amendment? How could it be, when we are guaranteed the right to say anything under that very same amendment? So when this teacher blogged about her opinions of her students, how could she have been suspended by the school board? Obviously, they believed that she did not have the right to state, on her blog, her opinions of the students she tried to teach on a daily basis.
I wonder what this means to us, as writers, would-be book authors, searching for agents and publishers? Should we think twice about what we post on our blogs? It goes without saying that no professional person, published or not, should ever carry on a contentious conversation on their blog about a run-in with an agent or publisher, or how terrible an editor is because she sent back a "bad" rejection letter, or any of the other "mishaps" we all have along our journey to find representation and/or a publisher.
The First Amendment protects our right to say anything we want to say. But how far does that take us in posting on our blogs? On the Internet, everything is out in the open for anyone to see; we certainly can't say that we expect our private thoughts...when we post them...to remain private. I've read some blogs that are really disgusting...in my opinion, that is...with language right out of the garbage can, on any number of subjects, some equally disgusting, and even people. The only option I have, since these same blogs are protected, is to never read them again, and of course, I don't.
Then there are the politically extremist blogs, full of hate and self-righteous indignation towards our present President, as well as those presidents in the past. Do they have the right to spew out their racially charged expletives, their lies, their vicious and venomous remarks? Apparently, they are also protected by the First Amendment, regardless of how decent, intelligent, and objective people feel about them.
Think about it. Do you ever post anything that could be taken as offensive to someone? Not necessarily someone in our literary profession, but by anyone? The First Amendment gives you that right, but with rights, comes responsibility. Many blogs today abuse the rights this amendment gives them, most of them intentionally. How far can a blog go, before that same amendment will no longer protect it? Or, in this country, where freedom of speech is the FIRST freedom we all espouse, will that amendment never recant that freedom, no matter how radically or extremist the speech, written or spoken, becomes?
Where do "rights" end, and responsibility begin?
Think about it. I'd love to hear your opinions.
Until next time,
That's a wrap.
A couple of her students found the blog and reported it to administrators, who promptly suspended her. She retained an attorney, and is now getting her job back. The attorney apparently had to remind school officials that what the teacher says on her blog is protected by the First Amendment, particularly when she doesn't name any of the students.
The article brought to mind a couple of things, one being that this teacher is right on about a great many teens today. For the most part, they seem to all feel they are "entitled" to do or say anything they want to, and NOT do or say anything they don't want to. That includes being rude and obnoxious to adults, and not putting forth any effort to learn in school, yet feeling entitled to join the work force without the skills, knowledge and ability to do so. Having worked with young people for many years, I can see for myself the ways in which their attitudes and thinking have changed over the years, and I agree with everything this teacher said.
However, what concerns me the most is the fact that this teacher was suspended over what she said in her blog. A blog on the Internet certainly does not have any expectation of privacy, so there was nothing wrong with her students finding and reading it. But since when can we NOT say what we think and have opinions about in our own blogs? That's where the rub is.
The First Amendment grants us the right to freedom of speech, which carries over into the freedom to write whatever we want to write. (Given, of course, that what is written is not some kind of libel against someone.) However, sometimes it is also brought up as a diversion from the truth, or as an attack upon someone we don't want to hear or something we think should not have been written. That's when I believe it is misused.
When you blog, how often do you really think about what you are writing? By this I mean, do you ever "ponder" if what you are blogging about might be conceived as a violation of the First Amendment? How could it be, when we are guaranteed the right to say anything under that very same amendment? So when this teacher blogged about her opinions of her students, how could she have been suspended by the school board? Obviously, they believed that she did not have the right to state, on her blog, her opinions of the students she tried to teach on a daily basis.
I wonder what this means to us, as writers, would-be book authors, searching for agents and publishers? Should we think twice about what we post on our blogs? It goes without saying that no professional person, published or not, should ever carry on a contentious conversation on their blog about a run-in with an agent or publisher, or how terrible an editor is because she sent back a "bad" rejection letter, or any of the other "mishaps" we all have along our journey to find representation and/or a publisher.
The First Amendment protects our right to say anything we want to say. But how far does that take us in posting on our blogs? On the Internet, everything is out in the open for anyone to see; we certainly can't say that we expect our private thoughts...when we post them...to remain private. I've read some blogs that are really disgusting...in my opinion, that is...with language right out of the garbage can, on any number of subjects, some equally disgusting, and even people. The only option I have, since these same blogs are protected, is to never read them again, and of course, I don't.
Then there are the politically extremist blogs, full of hate and self-righteous indignation towards our present President, as well as those presidents in the past. Do they have the right to spew out their racially charged expletives, their lies, their vicious and venomous remarks? Apparently, they are also protected by the First Amendment, regardless of how decent, intelligent, and objective people feel about them.
Think about it. Do you ever post anything that could be taken as offensive to someone? Not necessarily someone in our literary profession, but by anyone? The First Amendment gives you that right, but with rights, comes responsibility. Many blogs today abuse the rights this amendment gives them, most of them intentionally. How far can a blog go, before that same amendment will no longer protect it? Or, in this country, where freedom of speech is the FIRST freedom we all espouse, will that amendment never recant that freedom, no matter how radically or extremist the speech, written or spoken, becomes?
Where do "rights" end, and responsibility begin?
Think about it. I'd love to hear your opinions.
Until next time,
That's a wrap.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Friday's Fare: First Impressions
Do you remember when you were a kid and your mother used to say, "You only have one chance to make a first impression"? Like it or not, that holds true today in our writing more than anything else. Especially for those of us who write for kids and teens, nothing is more important than that first sentence, paragraph, and page. If we don't capture their interest immediately, they won't continue reading and the book goes back to the library or on their bookshelf where it will gather cute little dust bunnies for the next decade.
So how do you start that first page? What makes a first sentence exciting? How many of you have read Charlotte's Web?
"Mama, where's Papa going with that ax?"
Now there's a first sentence to grab you by the throat ! Many writers do begin their novels with dialogue, but it has to be something that is startling, humorous, frightening, or in some other way grabs the attention of the reader and doesn't let go. For example:
First the colors. Then the humans. That's usually how I see things.
Or at least, how I try.
HERE IS A SMALL FACT.
You are going to die.
Okay, not just a single sentence, but this is how The Book Thief, by Marcus Zusak,
begins. Now wouldn't that hold you interest, and make you continue reading? It sure did me !
Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood.
A half-blood? A half-blood of what or who? The first line of The Lightning Thief, by Rick Riordan. A few sentences down, Riordan goes on to say that ...being a half-blood is dangerous, it could get you killed. (Paraphrasing here.) That will get any kid's attention, right?
I'm going to give you the first sentence of an adult book by Virginia Woolf, and tell you what that sentence says to me. Compare my thoughts with what you may have thought about it.
Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself.
Here is what the sentence says to me:
1. Question: who is Mrs. Dalloway, and who is she buying flowers for?
2. It tells me that buying flowers herself is not the usual way she does things, so there must be some special reason for her to do it now. I wonder what that reason is?
3. The sentence indicates someone is talking about Mrs. Dalloway to someone else. Who, and why? It's almost as though Mrs.Dalloway has servants, one of whom usually buys her flowers, so that servant is talking to another one because it is unusual for Mrs. D to buy her own flowers . ( May or may not be true.)
4. I get the feeling that there is something mysterious or very different about this simple act of buying flowers, and it makes me want to read on, and find out why Mrs.Dalloway is doing what she's doing.
Did any of the above thoughts occur to you? think about it, and decide why or why not.
Here are some ideas about things to look for and think about in writing your first sentence ( or 2 or 3), always keeping in mind the age of the children or teens you're writing for:
1. Will the make the reader ask questions that can only be answered by reading further?
2. Does it give the impression that something mysterious, or exciting, or dangerous, or very funny is going to happen in the coming pages?
3. Does that first sentence ( or 2 or 3) hint at some kind of goal to be accomplished or conflict to be overcome in future pages?
4. Do you believe your reader will find an immediate emotional connection to your character, or be fascinated by the scene or bits of dialogue you've created?
Now I'm going to give you some first sentences, not all of which come from published novels... some you will recognize, some you may not. Read each one separately, and think about it for a minute. Then ask yourself the above questions, and see if any apply to your feelings about the sentence. If they do, write out the sentence, and then write what you think or feel about it. Keep it for reference when you write your next first sentence, or revise the ones you have now.
1. Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday. I don't know.
2. This is what happened.
3. I don't know why she thought the plan was hers. It wasn't. It couldn't have been.
4. I am invisible. I am flesh and blood, but I am invisible. People see right through me; they walk right past me. They don't hear me crying.
5. Murder never sends out a calling card, so why was it different this time?
I hope you have fun with this, but also, that it helps some in writing those all important "first" sentences...or 2 or 3!
Until next time,
That's a wrap.
So how do you start that first page? What makes a first sentence exciting? How many of you have read Charlotte's Web?
"Mama, where's Papa going with that ax?"
Now there's a first sentence to grab you by the throat ! Many writers do begin their novels with dialogue, but it has to be something that is startling, humorous, frightening, or in some other way grabs the attention of the reader and doesn't let go. For example:
First the colors. Then the humans. That's usually how I see things.
Or at least, how I try.
HERE IS A SMALL FACT.
You are going to die.
Okay, not just a single sentence, but this is how The Book Thief, by Marcus Zusak,
begins. Now wouldn't that hold you interest, and make you continue reading? It sure did me !
Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood.
A half-blood? A half-blood of what or who? The first line of The Lightning Thief, by Rick Riordan. A few sentences down, Riordan goes on to say that ...being a half-blood is dangerous, it could get you killed. (Paraphrasing here.) That will get any kid's attention, right?
I'm going to give you the first sentence of an adult book by Virginia Woolf, and tell you what that sentence says to me. Compare my thoughts with what you may have thought about it.
Mrs. Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself.
Here is what the sentence says to me:
1. Question: who is Mrs. Dalloway, and who is she buying flowers for?
2. It tells me that buying flowers herself is not the usual way she does things, so there must be some special reason for her to do it now. I wonder what that reason is?
3. The sentence indicates someone is talking about Mrs. Dalloway to someone else. Who, and why? It's almost as though Mrs.Dalloway has servants, one of whom usually buys her flowers, so that servant is talking to another one because it is unusual for Mrs. D to buy her own flowers . ( May or may not be true.)
4. I get the feeling that there is something mysterious or very different about this simple act of buying flowers, and it makes me want to read on, and find out why Mrs.Dalloway is doing what she's doing.
Did any of the above thoughts occur to you? think about it, and decide why or why not.
Here are some ideas about things to look for and think about in writing your first sentence ( or 2 or 3), always keeping in mind the age of the children or teens you're writing for:
1. Will the make the reader ask questions that can only be answered by reading further?
2. Does it give the impression that something mysterious, or exciting, or dangerous, or very funny is going to happen in the coming pages?
3. Does that first sentence ( or 2 or 3) hint at some kind of goal to be accomplished or conflict to be overcome in future pages?
4. Do you believe your reader will find an immediate emotional connection to your character, or be fascinated by the scene or bits of dialogue you've created?
Now I'm going to give you some first sentences, not all of which come from published novels... some you will recognize, some you may not. Read each one separately, and think about it for a minute. Then ask yourself the above questions, and see if any apply to your feelings about the sentence. If they do, write out the sentence, and then write what you think or feel about it. Keep it for reference when you write your next first sentence, or revise the ones you have now.
1. Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday. I don't know.
2. This is what happened.
3. I don't know why she thought the plan was hers. It wasn't. It couldn't have been.
4. I am invisible. I am flesh and blood, but I am invisible. People see right through me; they walk right past me. They don't hear me crying.
5. Murder never sends out a calling card, so why was it different this time?
I hope you have fun with this, but also, that it helps some in writing those all important "first" sentences...or 2 or 3!
Until next time,
That's a wrap.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Wednesday's Wanderings: Dog Days of Summer
It's hot! Temperatures are rising all over the country, including here on the Pacific Coast. Our Mid-State Fair begins today, and historically, that's when our temps begin to reach 100 plus degrees.
The Dog Days of Summer...have you ever wondered where this name came from, and what exactly it means? I have, so I did some research and this is what I found:
In Webster's Dictionary, "dog days" are define as the period between early July and early September when the hottest and most sultry temperatures of summer occur in the Northern Hemisphere. But what does the term really mean and where does it come from?
Long ago, in the ancient times where the beauty of the night skies was not obliterated by artificial lights and smog, the stars were at their brightest. Ancient peoples in different lands drew pictures in the sky by connecting the stars with dots, which is how our present day constellations were born. These pictures, however, were dependent upon the cultures, as each society saw the stars and the images they created differently. The Native Americans saw one picture, the Chinese saw another, the Europeans still another, and so on.
The images they created were of bears, (Ursa Major and Ursa Minor), twins, ( Gemini), a bull, (Taurus), and of course, many others including DOGs ( Canis Major and Canis Minor.)
The brightest of all these stars in the night sky is Sirius, also the brightest in the constellation of Canis Major. Sirius is called The Dog Star. It is so bright that the Ancient Romans thought the earth derived its heat from this star, but of course we've learned through time that this isn't the case.
Anyway, how did the Dog Star come to be associated with the term "Dog days of summer?" Well, in July this star rises and sets with the sun, and the ancients believed that because it was so bright, during this period of time it added its own heat to the sun, resulting in the hottest and most sultry period of time on earth. So they called this period time, from 20 days before this conjunction to 20 days after, the "Dog Days of Summer." This usually means the Dog Days of Summer range from July 3rd to August 11th.
So this is your astronomical/historical "lesson" in what the Dog Days of summer are, and how they got their name ! But more importantly...how do these days affect you? Are you more tired during this period of time? Cranky and crotchety? How does your writing go during this time, do you write more, less? Do you think your creativity sort of "shrinks" up in the heat?
I hate summer! For me, it's a period of sheer isolation. I don't handle the heat at all, so when it's so hot and humid, I hibernate in the house with the a/c on. Unfortunately, I'm also claustophobic, so being in the house with all the doors and windows closed will drive me up a wall after a while. Consequently, my creativity takes a holiday, but it doesn't take me with it !
How do you handle the Dog Days of Summer?
Until next time,
That's a wrap.
The Dog Days of Summer...have you ever wondered where this name came from, and what exactly it means? I have, so I did some research and this is what I found:
In Webster's Dictionary, "dog days" are define as the period between early July and early September when the hottest and most sultry temperatures of summer occur in the Northern Hemisphere. But what does the term really mean and where does it come from?
Long ago, in the ancient times where the beauty of the night skies was not obliterated by artificial lights and smog, the stars were at their brightest. Ancient peoples in different lands drew pictures in the sky by connecting the stars with dots, which is how our present day constellations were born. These pictures, however, were dependent upon the cultures, as each society saw the stars and the images they created differently. The Native Americans saw one picture, the Chinese saw another, the Europeans still another, and so on.
The images they created were of bears, (Ursa Major and Ursa Minor), twins, ( Gemini), a bull, (Taurus), and of course, many others including DOGs ( Canis Major and Canis Minor.)
The brightest of all these stars in the night sky is Sirius, also the brightest in the constellation of Canis Major. Sirius is called The Dog Star. It is so bright that the Ancient Romans thought the earth derived its heat from this star, but of course we've learned through time that this isn't the case.
Anyway, how did the Dog Star come to be associated with the term "Dog days of summer?" Well, in July this star rises and sets with the sun, and the ancients believed that because it was so bright, during this period of time it added its own heat to the sun, resulting in the hottest and most sultry period of time on earth. So they called this period time, from 20 days before this conjunction to 20 days after, the "Dog Days of Summer." This usually means the Dog Days of Summer range from July 3rd to August 11th.
So this is your astronomical/historical "lesson" in what the Dog Days of summer are, and how they got their name ! But more importantly...how do these days affect you? Are you more tired during this period of time? Cranky and crotchety? How does your writing go during this time, do you write more, less? Do you think your creativity sort of "shrinks" up in the heat?
I hate summer! For me, it's a period of sheer isolation. I don't handle the heat at all, so when it's so hot and humid, I hibernate in the house with the a/c on. Unfortunately, I'm also claustophobic, so being in the house with all the doors and windows closed will drive me up a wall after a while. Consequently, my creativity takes a holiday, but it doesn't take me with it !
How do you handle the Dog Days of Summer?
Until next time,
That's a wrap.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Friday's Fare: Review of The Book Thief
I'm finally back, after a prolonged absence I wasn't counting on. Hopefully, all those pesky little physical problems are gone, and I can get back to business.
If you have not read The Book Thief, by Marcus Zusak, you should, because you are missing out on one of the GREAT YA books of all time. Not just my opinion, as this book has won 12 awards, including Book Sense Book of the Year Award for Children's Literature, Michael L. Printz Honor Book Award for Excellence in Young Adult Literature, ALA Top Ten Best Book for Young Adults, and nine other prestigious awards.
The year is 1939. The place is Molching, a small town in Nazi Germany. The narrator is Death, who tells you right off that you have nothing to be afraid of, because if nothing else, he is fair. The main character is Liesel Meminger, 9 years old, sent to live with a foster family in a working-class neighborhood after the death of her younger brother. Her father has been taken to a concentration camp for being a Communist, and her mother has disappeared.
Death meets Liesel for the first time when he comes for her little brother at the railroad station. For reasons he himself cannot explain, Death becomes fascinated by this small girl as she stands rigidly by the body of her brother, and allows tears to freeze on her face. This is Liesel's story, but it is Death's story, too.
Death observes Liesel stealing a book she finds laying on the ground at her brother's funeral, and he gives her the name, The Book Thief. It is The Gravediggers' Handbook, and even though she cannot read, she is determined to keep this book. It is Liesel's foster father who reads to her every night out of The Gravediggers' Handbook, when she is having nightmares about her brother, and it is this book from which Liesel eventually learns to read.
Liesel realizes that words are what keep her sane, and one book is not enough, so she sets out to steal as many books as she can. First comes the one from a Nazi book-burning, but that is only the beginning. She meets the Nazi mayor's strange and reclusive wife, who invites Liesel into her library to read, and then allows her to steal books by pretending she knows and sees nothing.
Over the next few years, Death observes Liesel with her friend Rudy, a neighbor boy who teaches her to steal more than books, and especially Max, a young Jewish refugee who takes shelter in the basement of Hans and Rosa Hubermann and while there, literally whitewashes pages of old newspapers in order to write his own book for Liesel. Books are the spine of this novel, and they become not only Liesel's own salvation, but diversions from an Allied bombing raid gone awry, and the ultimate hedge against Liesel's grief and despair.
Death is a formidable voice in this book. At times he is quite dispassionate, but at others, particularly in the beginning of the story, you can almost feel his own grief at his workload.
Death is also very observant of colors. Every death has a color...he prefers chocolate, dark chocolate, but finds every color is available at the moment of death. Especially, in Nazi Germany, red. As he says, in his line of work, he needs a distraction, and that comes in colors that he makes a point of noticing. You might ask, what does Death need a distraction from? In his words...the leftover humans. The survivors with the wounded hearts no one can heal. That's when he seeks out the colors most of all.
This book is about Death, about heroics and grief, hope and despair, about courage in the face of a known but unseen enemy, about life and love and death. It is about the words that kept a young girl alive, but it is far more than that: it is about the unbeatable spirits that are kept alive in the midst of tragedy and the violence of an unspeakable war. It is a remarkable book that offers both teens and adults in our world today not only hope, but the realization that there are alternatives to any rigid political or societal ideology, and that even the most voracious amorality of the times can be overcome.
The Book Thief is not a book you can sit down and read through in a single sitting. You must take your time, savor it, understand it, and ultimately, fall in love with it. It is a book about words, the beauty of them, the good they can do, and the evil they can cause. It is brilliant, powerful, grim, sad, and yet, overflowing with a kind of inner spirit and courage you may never encounter again.
A MUST read. You won't regret it.
Until next time,
That's a wrap.
If you have not read The Book Thief, by Marcus Zusak, you should, because you are missing out on one of the GREAT YA books of all time. Not just my opinion, as this book has won 12 awards, including Book Sense Book of the Year Award for Children's Literature, Michael L. Printz Honor Book Award for Excellence in Young Adult Literature, ALA Top Ten Best Book for Young Adults, and nine other prestigious awards.
The year is 1939. The place is Molching, a small town in Nazi Germany. The narrator is Death, who tells you right off that you have nothing to be afraid of, because if nothing else, he is fair. The main character is Liesel Meminger, 9 years old, sent to live with a foster family in a working-class neighborhood after the death of her younger brother. Her father has been taken to a concentration camp for being a Communist, and her mother has disappeared.
Death meets Liesel for the first time when he comes for her little brother at the railroad station. For reasons he himself cannot explain, Death becomes fascinated by this small girl as she stands rigidly by the body of her brother, and allows tears to freeze on her face. This is Liesel's story, but it is Death's story, too.
Death observes Liesel stealing a book she finds laying on the ground at her brother's funeral, and he gives her the name, The Book Thief. It is The Gravediggers' Handbook, and even though she cannot read, she is determined to keep this book. It is Liesel's foster father who reads to her every night out of The Gravediggers' Handbook, when she is having nightmares about her brother, and it is this book from which Liesel eventually learns to read.
Liesel realizes that words are what keep her sane, and one book is not enough, so she sets out to steal as many books as she can. First comes the one from a Nazi book-burning, but that is only the beginning. She meets the Nazi mayor's strange and reclusive wife, who invites Liesel into her library to read, and then allows her to steal books by pretending she knows and sees nothing.
Over the next few years, Death observes Liesel with her friend Rudy, a neighbor boy who teaches her to steal more than books, and especially Max, a young Jewish refugee who takes shelter in the basement of Hans and Rosa Hubermann and while there, literally whitewashes pages of old newspapers in order to write his own book for Liesel. Books are the spine of this novel, and they become not only Liesel's own salvation, but diversions from an Allied bombing raid gone awry, and the ultimate hedge against Liesel's grief and despair.
Death is a formidable voice in this book. At times he is quite dispassionate, but at others, particularly in the beginning of the story, you can almost feel his own grief at his workload.
Death is also very observant of colors. Every death has a color...he prefers chocolate, dark chocolate, but finds every color is available at the moment of death. Especially, in Nazi Germany, red. As he says, in his line of work, he needs a distraction, and that comes in colors that he makes a point of noticing. You might ask, what does Death need a distraction from? In his words...the leftover humans. The survivors with the wounded hearts no one can heal. That's when he seeks out the colors most of all.
This book is about Death, about heroics and grief, hope and despair, about courage in the face of a known but unseen enemy, about life and love and death. It is about the words that kept a young girl alive, but it is far more than that: it is about the unbeatable spirits that are kept alive in the midst of tragedy and the violence of an unspeakable war. It is a remarkable book that offers both teens and adults in our world today not only hope, but the realization that there are alternatives to any rigid political or societal ideology, and that even the most voracious amorality of the times can be overcome.
The Book Thief is not a book you can sit down and read through in a single sitting. You must take your time, savor it, understand it, and ultimately, fall in love with it. It is a book about words, the beauty of them, the good they can do, and the evil they can cause. It is brilliant, powerful, grim, sad, and yet, overflowing with a kind of inner spirit and courage you may never encounter again.
A MUST read. You won't regret it.
Until next time,
That's a wrap.
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