Quirky or Quacked?

This really elegant post of Elizabeth Mueller's yesterday reminded me of an experience I had not so long ago... it is so funny, because Elizabeth's post was touching and warm and fuzzy.  This experience was... not that... in fact I'd venture to say it fit well for Delusional Thursday...



So picture the lovely fall day in Ann Arbor... the sky is blue, the air is brisk for no coat but too warm for a coat... the Tart, always erring on the side of fewer clothes, has her coat hanging from her backpack and is reading a book (Mockingjay, I think).



A little old man who looks marginally professorly says, "Oh, is that a good book?" as she passes.



The Tart, knowing she is overly reclusive, and loving the book, slows to tell him a little about it.



"Oh, I don't really read much."



pause



"I write."



AHA!  So the Tart thinks she has found a kindred spirit and asks him what kind of writing he DOES.

He proceeds to pull a notebook out of his coat pocket. Two by three inches, I swear.  He opens it and pulls out one of those little pencil stubs you can imagine GOING with said notebook.  Then he OPENS the notebook to show me he does indeed WRITE in it... Weather.  Things he bought.  Things he needs.



Can you see me dying a little?  I don't want to OFFEND this little old man, but that was NOT what I was thinking!

So anyway, I hope all of your Thursday delusions are more satisfactory, and if all else fails, you KNOW what Thursday is for! 



GET NAKED! NOW!

HEAR ME!

So today I am also at Burrowers, Books & Balderdash, reviewing some dozen or so books I've never read (as it's Delusional Thursday and all), so I'd love you to come by THERE for some reading recommendations!

But for HERE...



So there is a point of confusion I have, and I thought maybe we should talk about it. We ALL know Adverbs are evil, ne? We carefully perform an Adverbectomy on our very first rewrite... adverbs are TELL, not SHOW. Got it. That isn't the part that confuses me.



What confuses me is MANY agents and publishers say that for dialog tags, they ONLY use said or asked. I've read several blogs to this effect—I swear I'm not making it up. And I want to know

WHY!?!?





I thought maybe I'd review a list of synonyms of 'said' and we could talk about what the heck is so wrong with them, because I don't get it.



Synonyms when I looked it up: Added, continued, stated, announced, asserted, commented, declared, observed, remarked, reported.



Okay, I take it back. For THESE, I get why we stick to said. These mostly seem like they are trying too hard, but what about:



Whispered: This is a word that gives an indication of mood, tone... it is a pretty darned descriptive verb.



Shouted: I suppose in some situations, I suppose an exclamation point will suffice, but when a name needs to be paired, the 'said' is just STUPID when shouting is meant.



Muttered (I have characters in EVERY book who want to mutter!) What the heck is WRONG with muttering! It is a personality indicator!

*cough* Okay. I'm calm now...





Oh, now HERE is a nice list... from a CLASSROOM, no less! Teachers teach kids to VARY their words. Why the heck are writers not supposed to?



And NOW, A Delusional Thursday twist, because, THAT is what I do... Some dialog with my FAVORITE of the verbs on the list.







The Colonization of Spankmenow



For the uninitiated, Planet Spankmenow is a rather pleasant place, filled with Cabana boys, fruity rum drinks, and lots and lots of laughter (founded by the spaz, to be introduced soon). One arrives there by traversing the portal, otherwise known as 'the veil at the dais, in the Deathroom in the Ministry of Magic—this is a Harry Potter reference, people. And YES, you heard me. Sirius Black LIVES. And we have him in handcuffs. But I digress.

So a Queen, A Tart, A Cat, A Spaz, and Giraffe, go through a veil...



“Tail!” The cat hissed.



“Couldn't help myself,” the Spaz teased.



“You're old enough to be my mother!” the cat spat.



“Who isn't?” the Tart quipped.



“I'm not,” the Giraffe dared.



“Me neither,” the Queen sassed.



“You catching this?” the Spaz telepathically transmitted.



The Tart nodded and the two speculated the punishments of the wee ones non-verbally.



“Spare the Queen; she made our lovely outfits,” the Spaz pleaded.

“Yes, but her years of leadership ought to have taught her better!” the tart insisted. The Tart waved her wand and the lot of them were turned to newts.



“Sorry,” the Cat-Newt whimpered.



“Did you know we can climb walls like this!?” the Giraffe-Newt marveled.



“I have some really juicy gossip on the Tart if you change me back, Spaz,” the Queen tempted.



“Well...” speculated the Spaz.



“Okay, Sketchie,” the Tart reasoned with the Spaz, “Do you REMEMBER a certain Cowboy, Rockets lost weekend circa 2006?”



“Nup. Not bargaining!” the Spaz admitted.

But then the Tart, being a benevolent dominatrix, returned all to their original forms.



“Next time, kitty, Ix-nay on the other-may with your oddesses-gay... erm... or something like that...” the Tart angled-may.





So there you have it. Did you MISS 'said'? Can't it be more fun without?

Home Alone

Woot Woot! This NEVER happens. At least not for a solid several hours. See, at MY house, I'm the one who disappears to work for 40 hours a week (compounded by my hour each direction walk—or nearly that). The hubster is usually here, other than treks to the grocery store, hardware store or walks with the dog, none of which lasts more than about 90 minutes. Then evenings and weekends, the kids are usually here.



Not today. Hubby is at his class... which yesterday I informed you was a CNA class and it was annoyingly auto-corrected to a 'can' class—whatever the hell THAT implies *rolls eyes*.



So what am I going to do home alone? DUH? PAH-TAY!



Okay, so maybe not so much. I do have a couple things in mind though.





MY MUSIC



Anyone with teens understands that I don't get to choose what is played very often. At the moment, (because it is 9am) I have REM playing—an old CD that I like, but honestly, one even I don't usually pick because when it's my choice I've put in something loud like Jane's Addiction. But for blogging (as opposed to bathroom cleaning) I don't actually need Jane's adrenaline. 10,000 Maniacs is next in the pile... the stuff I used to listen to when I was being mellow that sort of feels like old friend music.



I'm even going to make a REAL pot of coffee, instead of this decaf crap left by the OTHER adult. And I've brought my laptop out of the cave so I can even sit with some sunlight...

Mother Issues



Then it's time to address the letter my mother finally sent. I've been avoiding this. I sent her one about mother's day detailing how to get THERE from HERE, and it took a while for her to get back. See, the trouble is she doesn't deal in reality. Her version of events are delusional, and if I try to present reality she gets defensive and shuts down (that is what led to this whole thing—she cut me off because I insisted we had to TALK about it—can't have THAT!). My mother's day letter said basically, sometimes the only way PAST it, is THROUGH it.



So at least now I know what SHE thinks reality is. I have some time to conquer this letter BACK to her.





Spreadsheets!!!!



Yes, I actually put exclamation points after the word spreadsheets. I'm a geek that way. I am creating two of them, one to keep track of my characters for my BuNoWriMo novel—When I write long hand, I have a notebook with all this, but I am going to be writing both at the computer AND longhand (so there will surely be a notebook involved to go back and forth) but when I'm on the computer, the quickest way to find facts (most often keeping names of secondary characters straight) is just to open my handy doc.  Besides, next to my computer, the stacks of paper are substantial already.



The SECOND spreadsheet is my wordcount one. With working on both a long hand and Word Doc, I need a quick, handy way to COMBINE the two to figure out how many words I've written on a given day and what my cumulative is. I know my longhand is between 250 and 300 words a page, so I am counting those as 250—yes, when I type it up, it translates almost to the page in my one inch margin, double spaced typing.



But besides the spreadsheet, I am also making a couple graphs, which I'm sure you'll get a screenshot or two of.





Powerwalk



I do this every Sunday (and Saturday) but it IS on the agenda, so don't want to leave it off the list. Normally Sunday is my pancakes day, so that 'no cooking' thing gives me a little extra time—heading for the hill. (Yes, there is only one substantial hill in the entire state of Michigan). I would walk this route every time, but it is far enough that it is a 90-minute walk to include it.

RIP Dennis Hopper



Nobody did evil wack-job quite the way Dennis Hopper did evil wack-job. I only hope I can infuse my bad guys with half of what he did. This beer snob may even have to go buy a Pabst Blue Ribbon. Thank you for chilling me to the bones, Dennis; you'll be missed!





Loose Ends



And we're no longer talking about my butt... Tomorrow I have a guest author, so this is my last Blog before BuNoWriMo starts, so I thought I'd give my heads up. I think I have 6 or 7 guest authors blogging in June, which is very handy, timing-wise. I will continue to have a (mostly) daily blog, but they probably won't be as long most of the time. I will also probably not hit as many blogs per day reading—I will make a serious effort to spread them out, so I hit the ones I hit at least a couple times a week, but the writing is going to suck me under to some degree. PLEASE don't think I've abandoned you. I will come out the other side, go into editing mode, and need all of you more than ever!

Round the Bend

Yes, I’ve had the accusation a bazillion times, and it is probably one of the few things y’all agree on about me, but this is a WRITING bend. I’ve been running against the wind for MONTHS now to make any progress on CONSPIRACY. Every word was painful. But FINALLY last night I think I have the wind at my back again.





Metaphors that DON’T Work (Okay. Maybe a bit)



I did NOT crest the proverbial hill… it is NOT now smooth sailing. I won’t coast or glide into home. I have to keep working my tail off (and hopefully as I work my tail off, I will also work my tail off… gotta keep that Book Tour Fitness Plan in mind!)



So this doesn’t mean we are home free and clear, folks… only that…

Okay, you know how you have a tube of lotion you haven’t used for a while, and you are trying to put some on, but it is the tiniest trickle… then SUDDENLY the dried crusty stuff unplugs and you get this squirt of lotion that you aren’t even sure what to DO with because it’s so much? THAT is what happens. It’s not a pretty metaphor though, naked tart dripping lotion everywhere because there just isn’t enough skin surface to put it on. And I HATE wasting…



You know, normally… if I NOTICE the lotion is plugged, I can stick a pin in there and clear out the gunk, but when I do that, I think I push as much gunk back IN as I clean off, so the SAME gunk comes back to haunt me later.  Seems that might be the case with the writing too... better to just let the rush happen.



(have I stretched this absurd metaphor too far now?) But it’s TRUE!





A Matter of Motivation



If there is a main difficulty I have with my writing, it is in motivating the bad guys. It is NEVER on my list first and unlike most of it, it is something I just can’t force, no matter how hard I try. Oh, sure… I have had art thieves intent on getting rich, but I needed to make this PERSONAL. I’ve been working under the premise that they were mad at people trying to stop them, but I’ve FINALLY got it, and it is better than that!



It’s funny, because I ran into the same thing with CONFLUENCE, have it to some degree in ILLUSIONS (the second of this trilogy) and it has been a problem with my as of yet unnamed and unfinished murder mystery… of my 6 books I’ve finished or written significantly on, it has been a problem for 4. Maybe I need to spend more time with bad guys… always thought I had it covered with my bad boy fetish, but mostly they’ve only ever been naughty.





So the News



I am THANKFULLY back to writing… sure, it just really got in the groove yesterday, but there is idea enough for at least the next few chapters, and I’ve never worried about the ending, anyway, so I think I should be able to stay on track (hopefully finish by the end of March).

LEGACY, the first in the trilogy, has had clean-up number one (there are two places with notes for additions, and then the third place to incorporate this new motivation thing—but as a draft, it is cleanish) and I sent that to first readers.



In April, when CONSPIRACY is done, hopefully ILLUSIONS is typed so it is fresher in my mind, and I have feedback, then I will do the LEGACY rewrite… and in a dream world, query in May.





Watch List



In the meantime, I’m being paranoid… I’ve checked out half a dozen or more books now on art theft… hopefully that hasn’t put me on a watch list. It is yielding some interesting and useful stuff, though no where near as interesting as the how to be a spy stuff. So if I am arrested for art espionage, I might need to call on you to testify that it is all for the sake of writing books…

Spy School

Much as I adore Joris, I sometimes hate to admit it when he suggests something and I resist, and then it turns out he’s right… it’s that Know-It-All thing… I’m one. He’s one. Inevitably there is a power struggle (or some pudding wrestling). The image in my head is of a mama cat smacking down a kitten that won’t leave her be… probably because he periodically meows at me, but in reality, the exercise is good for me.



For those of you who don’t know, Joris is my Dutch Boy (everybody needs one)… and okay, fine, he’s not entirely MINE, except if you were to use it in the form of MY friend, and he isn’t technically a BOY anymore—you’re 20, yes, Joris? But when I met him, he was only 16, so there’s my excuse. He does a ton of fabulous graphics things for me (which I am extremely thankful for because I ADMIT knowing nothing on THAT topic), frequently without even being asked, because he’s thoughtful (and I suspect likes to do graphic stuff when he’s avoiding term papers).



But I am the writer… (spelling mistakes corrected, fine, typos, okay… actual WRITING…. ME!)



This Particular Lesson



You may remember my requesting some reading on art thievery and spy training… I wanted fiction. I got some book recommendations.



Joris:  “if you’re doing research, why would you want fiction?” (this would be where the mama cat smacks him)



Me: “er… because it’s more interesting to read?” (aren't I articulate?)



It’s true. I am painfully intolerant of the fact list version of things most non-fiction has. I like a nice story woven in or frankly, I just can’t maintain my attention span.



So I read my two Iain Pears’ Art Theft books first… (and enjoyed them!)





By Way of Deception



From the PROLOGUE this book has been teaching me stuff I need for my NaNo novel. When Joris is right, he’s right. And what’s more shocking, it is a FASCINATING read. I’m only on about chapter 2—not very far in, but already I’m a mini-spy!

And YOU can be a Spy Too!



1) Never do everything if you can find MINIONS to do it for you! (look at my nice minions!  Okay, so they aren't so much minions as co-conspirators, but you see what I mean)

2) CONSTANT VIGILANCE! (which of course would go without saying, but it's so much FUN to say!)

3) Definitely carry a bar of soap when you go in a strangers house so you can copy their keys while they are getting you a snack.  You never know when you'll need to re-enter to copy documents or plant a bug, and you can't count on being that sexy stranger selling perfume more than once.

4) Never use the same route going anywhere because the people following you will otherwise figure out where you are going!

5) And this I’ve been saying for a long time… people will do pretty much ANYTHING if you are really nice and get naked.



Seriously though, I am getting great fodder for the part of my book that felt so difficult to grasp before—the stuff I never knew anything about and so was so jilted in writing…



So Joris, THANK YOU!

Tart Endorsement

Brought to you by NAKED THURSDAY!

And dedicated to the GURU of Snuggie, Kevin.



I’ve been on the fence for a long time on the Snuggie. As a dedicated nudist, I hold firm that clothes, particularly PANTS are evil (I even recently joined the pants as a swear word group on Facebook!—you can join too!), but I have to be honest. I run cold. I particularly run cold when I am trying to eat fewer calories than I burn (read: diet).

And it’s the dead of winter… the odds are stacking against me; can you feel it? So I look for options, if youknowwhatImean.

This just in! Slippers and Mittens are NOT Clothes!

They are ACCESSORIES, and therefore, okay by me. Though you should always be sure not to choose slippers that clash with your tiara.



So for some time now, slippers and a blanket have done this nudist just fine, except the blanket has these GAPS at the side that let cold air in! Man, I hate that—being 90% warm and having a strip up the side of my thigh freeze because the blanket has gaped.





Enter Snuggie Option



Now the benefits to this are obvious… It is enclosed on all sides except the head and arms… and it seems to me I see people walking in them, so perhaps the feet can exit when necessary.



But I was a skeptic… I mean REALLY, if you are entirely covered, isn’t that almost like CLOTHES?



And so, while holding warmth as GOOD and clothes as BAD, I have remained undecided about the Snuggie, until now.



SnuggieSutra —your answer to getting around all that fabric… to taking advantage of one of NUDITY’s advantages from the comfortable warmth of you Snuggie.



I could hardly withhold an endorsement with this new information, so there you have it… the Tart’s first official product endorsement. The Snuggie is Naked World Domination Tour friendly and strongly preferred to clothes.

Argument for Delusion

There are people all over the world who would argue delusion is a bad thing. These are the same stuffy people who always color in the lines, have never streaked and make their beds every day. The world is, in reality, more random than these people would like to believe, and it is easier to cope if we are just a little bit nuts.



Today my argument, is for delusion as a writing tool.

First… How it can help you keep going…



Delusions of the gorgeous men you keep locked in your basement can cheer you from any slump.



Delusions of eventual fame and fortune fit fabulously with thoughts of revenge when you receive rejections.



Delusions of muses dragging their trunks back up your front walkway can set you back on track after a slump.



Delusions of fanciful romps with porn stars can just go straight into the book.





But the real strength of Delusion…



You see… it’s an exercise… Let me e’splain…





Once upon a time, on a forum not so terribly far from here, I met a band of marauders… LADY Marauders… set on taking over the world. They initiated me into their membership… okay, so possibly I was among the founding members if we are getting technical… with a mission of total world domination (the nudity was my idea *waits for gasps of shock*). This is where the basement dungeon idea was first communicated, and then I learned about Planet Spankmenow, and life has never been the same.



Delusional Thursday: A History



Anyway… we got to thinking about our reign… how we could influence others… and you know how people are hesitant to say… move somewhere without visiting first? Take on a religion without investigating the required practices? Start writing a book with no clue... Well I thought (yes me… this is my marketing background *puffs up*) maybe BABY doses… a little TASTE of it all… might help people dive in and embrace it.



I chose Thursday because… well… I was born on a Thursday. Isn’t the saying ‘Thursday’s Child is Loony as all get out”? You know the saying I’m talking about, right? So Delusional Thursday was born.

Now this forum was for ‘predicting what would happen’ in the final Harry Potter book (but it doesn’t need to be—y’all know I’m a geek that way, but the lesson holds anyway). And my premise was, on Thursday, anything goes—no matter HOW far out and nuts it was, Thursday predictions were for entertainment and stretching our imaginations. It was to shake things up and keep things fresh.



And do you know what was born out of Delusional Thursday? A writer. (at least one). Because that process of trying to rationalize the absurd, fit in the bizarre so it was believable and plausible was an incredible lesson in what is fresh and interesting. It led me to some theories I may never otherwise have voiced, and trying to PROVE them (never mind I originally professed them as delusional) resulted in the first long stories I ever wrote.



Reinforcements



I spent some time at a website yesterday reading ‘successful query letters’ and then the agents reasons they thought the letters were so good. Do you know what the most stand-out feature was of those letters? Some KNOCK YOUR SOCKS OFF strange idea. Somebody had thought of something so INCREDIBLY novel, and written a book about it.



Now I’ve read some books based in these very strange ideas and the ideas aren’t always so strange when you get down to the BOOK, but they are fresh and interesting because they are tales we haven’t seen before. I’m coming to believe that is how you break in… nailing a normal story onto a very strange idea… Or at LEAST including enough really unique elements—things that make a reader sit up and take notice.



So I am advocating for the practice of spending a little time each Thursday thinking of really bizarre things and then ways those could actually fit into a REAL story…



Go on. Delude yourself.  It's good for your soul.  It will make you laugh.  And while you're at it... it may just give you your next great idea.

Escape to the Meadow

All are lunatics, but he who can analyze his delusion is called a philosopher.
- Ambrose Bierce

This Victorian print, as interpreted by me, an amateur critic with an attitude problem, tells a sad story. The scene pictured is – to me – an allegory, each object representing a particular characteristic and fraught with dark symbolism. Consider this picture from the point of view of a person immersed in the scene.

The pink flower in the middle foreground is a passion vine, and contrary to what I thought, the name wasn’t chosen to invoke passionate emotions. It refers instead, to the euphemism used to describe the crucifixion of Christ. The name derives from one of the many scary visions of St. Francis of Assisi (1182 – 1226). He saw this vine growing upon the cross, hence the name Passion flower. Named by missionaries to South America “Flor de las cinco llagas” (Flower of the Five Wounds), the parts of the vine are said to represent the five wounds of Christ on the cross. The 16th century Jesuits who named the flower thought the ten petals represented the ten faithful apostles (two didn’t make it to the last passion of Christ). The corona symbolizes the crown of thorns, the five stamens the five wounds etc. Pretty gory, but those Jesuits spent a lot of their free time converting heathens using “extraordinary means” (a more contemporary euphemism for “torture”), so pretty flowers heavy with meaning probably helped them sleep at night.

In this picture, I think pink passion flower vine beckoning anxiously overhead represents something, or someone, clinging and trying to hold the person back. Unseen, but growing louder behind this person, I imagine the snarling hounds of hell, breathing loudly and coming closer. The vine symbolize a need that cannot persuade, and seeks instead to impose control.

The person is stuck in the swamp, perhaps on their hands and knees. The swamp in the lower foreground represents worldly responsibilities weighing the person down, and the other inescapable demands of the world, assaulting the person’s feet of clay. He is mired in the muck of the everyday.

Then, the person gazes into the distant meadow - seen in the background. He struggles, stands up. No longer mired in the swamp or held back by the anxious vines, the person breaks free suddenly, and runs across the grass. There he is, tiny, wearing a purple shirt, softly playing a small flute, his back turned to the clinging vines and the sucking swamps.

When one is mired in a swamp and literally choked by overbearing vines, what more peaceful place to visualize than a miniature model of a quiet pasture, amid placid sheep?