Fred and Pete at the Beach

I can't remember if I've said this before, and I'm too lazy to look, but you should all read the above mentioned picture book by Cynthia Nugent. And I'm not just saying that because she's my friend, or because she was just over at my house for tea, cookies, cheese, crackers and hamantaschen. No - I'm saying it because it's a lovely book, and perfect for the child in your life, especially if the child likes dogs, bright colours, happy endings and has a sense of humour. So if you happen to be anywhere near Hager Books or Vancouver Kidsbooks, buy a copy or order it if they're all sold out. Of course, you might not live in Vancouver, but I'm sure that wherever you do live there's a bookstore somewhere. If not, you really should consider moving to another town!
For those of you who want to write and illustrate a book - Cynthia did both with Fred and Pete at the Beach. So look, learn and enjoy. Cheers!

Too Much Writing, and Not Enough Editing, Can Numb the Bum

I'm reading a murder mystery by a very good writer, but this particular book is driving me batty. 'Why batty?' you ask. I'll tell you. First of all the editor was asleep on the job. (Not like my second to last editor. She sends me emails when I make typos on this blog. "Thank you Cindy!") When a sentence tells me that a character sat down, or opened a door 'a crack,' I'm thrown completely out of mental alignment when a paragraph or two later the character sits down AGAIN (without having had a chance to stand up first), or opens the door 'a crack' AGAIN. But that's not all. There's a bit too much repetition in this book. It's like watching a reality show where people just live day to day doing ordinary things and not much happens for far too long. We have two murders to solve here! I should be on the edge of my seat but I'm simply thinking, 'get on with it, for heaven's sake!' Now I'm getting worried that there won't be a surprise or shock at the end. That it will fall flat. I read for about three hours solid last night (I told you I'm a slow reader, didn't I?) and actually began to notice, for the first time, that the window seat is harder than I thought, and my bottom was getting a bit numb.
Let's make a note, fellow writers. Never give our readers a numb bum. Or at the very least, they shouldn't notice the numbness.

I did it!

Self discipline won the day. This evening I worked on the dog story - the one I started writing ten years ago. I've got a few disconnected chapters and they are finally connecting. Some were written in third person, some from the point of view of one character and some from the point of view of another character. I wanted to see which would sound best. My witty husband asked me, "Are any chapters from the dog's point of view?" No, though it is a thought. But I have finally decided from whose point of view it will all be written. The sailing should be smoother from now on.
I still haven't abandoned the notion of writing a story from three or four points of view. Just not this one.
What do you think of a book that's composed of three diaries? All three reflecting different ways of seeing the same situation. It could be interesting.
And so to bed.

The 'D' Word

That awful word keeps popping into my head. 'Which word?' you ask. Discipline, of course. Without it nothing gets done. And when it comes to writing fiction, or even non-fiction, the poet was wrong - Man/Woman IS an island. I mean, no one else is going to do it for you.
Do you remember when someone taught you to ride a bike, and they held on to the back and then let go, but you didn't know they'd let go, until you started talking to them and they didn't answer? Because they were at the other end of the street. And you turned around to see what was going on, and there was the person who'd been keeping you safe - waving from MILES away? So now you were on your own, keeping yourself safe (or not). How terrifying is that? Well, in a way, Discipline, ie; self discipline, is like trying to stay upright on a bike while it's speeding down the hill, and no one's holding on to the seat. It's terrifying.
At school your teachers tell you that you have to finish your work at a certain time or on a specific date, or you don't get a mark - well, maybe an 'F.' Not the kind of mark you want. Your parents tell you that you have to do something and if you don't do this thing there'll be no ice cream, or trip to the zoo, but if you do this very important thing, great riches will be yours. Do your homework and you'll get a better mark than if you didn't. Practice accordian three hours a day and you can play sea shanties to entertain the neighbours for hours, or until they beg you to stop. Somehow, between teachers and parents, you are kept on track, working towards worthy goals. Someone is teaching you self Discipline in preparation for the day when it's just YOU. Then, one day you go off to college and there's no Mom or Dad to remind you to spend two hours on your essay, or to explain to the prof. that the goldfish ate your homework, or that Grandma lined the canary's cage with it, by mistake. The prof. doesn't care. S/he just wants to see results. No one is holding the seat as you peddle down the highway of life. No one is reminding you. No one is saving you. Well, so it is with writing. You are on your own - which is really the way it should be.
So, now back to ME. At this moment my head is full of all the possible twists and turns in the plots I'm working on. Or, actually not working on, because I'm in 'low self discipline' mode, as in, not actually writing anything down, or using my computer to its full potential (finishing a story, working on one of the short novels, etc.) This is the problem we all face. On the positive side my trouble isn't Writer's Block. As usual, it's just the opposite. My head is so full of stories, plots changes of direction that I can't quite focus on one. 'This too,' you are probably saying, 'will pass.' I know it will. I just needed to imagine I heard someone say it.** However, when the chips are down it's up to me. Right now I need to go to bed, but tomorrow night, after I get home from work, the gym and grocery shopping, I'm going sit right here at the computer and write what's in my head, for at least two hours. Because if it stays in my head, well what's the point?
Discipline, Joan. Discipline!
And that goes for the rest of you out there.
p.s. **Let's imagine we hear our parents or teachers of yesteryear, telling us to, 'switch off that t.v. and get working!'

Discovering The Railway Children

When I was very young I loved the Famous Five series by Enid Blyton. Naturally, when my son was young I wanted to share the experience with him. I began reading one of the books to him at bedtime, but to my amazement we both found the story a bit plodding. How come I hadn't found the prose plodding when I was nine? I thought, 'Okay, maybe it's because they were written in the 1950s, and I had a better attention span then.' But then later my son and I started reading the Just William series of books by Richmal Crompton, written in the 1920s, '30s and 40s. Not plodding at all! In fact my son and I found them hilarious and clever, despite some extremely difficult sentence structure. In fact the complexity of the prose is partly what makes the stories so funny, as if they'd been written by P.G. Wodehouse and Oscar Wilde.
Now that my son is 19, and won't let me read to him anymore - more's the pity - I've been reading The Railway Children, by Edith Nesbit, to myself. I'd never read it before because years ago I'd seen it on tv. I know it's a classic, and I should be ashamed of myself, but I'm already ashamed of myself for never being able to get past page three of War and Peace without falling into a deep and dreamless sleep. So there's no room for more literary shame. However, now that I'm so old that I can't remember much about the tv series of The Railway Children I've finally picked up the book. It was first published in 1906, and, surprise, surprise, it moves at a good clip. In fact the pacing is perfect. It's funny and poignant and almost modern in parts. Timeless, I believe one might say. I don't find myself muttering, 'Come on, get to the point.' I've been reading it on the bus, the train, and in the waiting room at the doctor's office. You know you're reading a good book when you're on the bus and almost miss your stop.
Now I'm not denying that Enid Blyton wrote good stories. Obviously her Famous Five books once inspired in me a love of reading. Also, Noddy in Toyland was the first book ever read to me, and I loved Noddy so much I collected the entire series. What I'm saying is that the best books stand the test of time, so it really doesn't matter when they were written.
To be honest, I'm glad I'm discovering - late in life - some of the books I didn't read years ago. It's like travelling in a new and interesting country.

Raining Cats and Dogs

Well, of course, this is Vancouver, so naturally it's raining. But the cats and dogs are actually characters in a story I've had on the back burner for a few years. I might have mentioned it before, I'm too lazy to check my previous blogs. If this looks like a repeat, you can sign off. I won't be offended. The story mainly involves one dog and one cat (and a fish, if you must know). In fact, I've had their story on the back burner for so long, that the dog(s) and cat in question are, I regret to say, now deceased. There was no fish, at least not in recent history. I might have to get one for inspiration. About fifty years ago, or more, I had a goldfish named Billy. I kept him in a small bowl. The bowl was so full of 'toys' that poor Billy had no room to swim, poor chap. No wonder he always looked a bit glum. He was followed by Genevieve and Oscar. Also glum.
I'm sure you've all had a pet at one time, or your neighbours have. Did you notice their personalities? Odd habits maybe? Quirks even? My mother in law's two dogs gave me the inspiration for this particular story, but for my story I blended the two dogs into one dog. A couple of years, or months, will go by, and then, as happened this week, a burst of inspiration will send me to the computer and off I go again, back to the dog story that never ends.
So here's your writing exercise. Watch your dog, fish, cat or rabbit - or someone else's. Make notes. Put one of them front and centre in a story.
Quirky creatures to inspire you: My husband has relatives in Greece who kept chickens. The chickens actually flew up into a tree to sleep at night. My uncle had a dog that would begin to bark as soon as her master got off the bus - three blocks away. And there was a parrot in the Athens National Gardens that, many years ago, taught my son rude words!

It's 2010. Resolution: Read More/Write More

Happy 2010 everyone! May it be a year of good writing and inspiring reading for all. For those who didn't buy a copy of 'Sadie the Ballerina' when they had the chance, you can still find it in the special Scholastic Canada collection 'Merry Christmas: A Canadian Keepsake Collection.' Five stories in one big book. Rush out and buy it if you haven't already.
Today is New Year's Day and last night, instead of being a party girl, I re-worked a short story I'd written many years ago. I also did some work on my ongoing smuggling story. Then my husband called upstairs to inform me that the hockey game on tv was over, and it was safe for me to enter the tv room. We watched a couple of black and white, Thin Man movies. Love them.
Today I visited a friend who is now 95 and lives in an old age home. She's one of the most interesting people I know, and always has something to tell me that could one day be useful in a story. In fact, another friend phoned me this morning to wish me happy new year, and she also told me something about her family history that I've put in a little drawer in my head. It's all material. I can never stress that enough. Every conversation you have with someone contains a story starter - or finisher.
It's going to be a busy year. I've finished the final draft (well, maybe there'll still be tweaks) of the picture book that's due to be published in the Fall of 2011. The publishers have not found an illustrator yet. I'm also hard at work on the story I'm adapting for a short children's play. The pressure is on, but maybe that's what I need to motivate me.
Right at this moment I'm being creative in another way. I'm baking a turkey breast for Shabbat dinner, but I've smothered it in some kind of Indian sauce (I do this to fool guests into thinking I'm terribly inventive in the kitchen. I might have mentioned this before, but my son once said, "Mom, when I say we should have something different, I don't mean just change the herbs on the chicken"). I really have to put that in a story one day.
I'm reading two books (not at the same time). Just finishing 'Bootleg' by Alex Shearer - a very funny kids' book, with rather an important message, I think. And I've just started a murder mystery about the intrepid librarian Helma Zukas, who solves crimes in between helping library users. This one is called 'Catalogue of Death,' by Jo Dereske.
Read, write and be merry. Yours in creative blogdom - Joan