Most of the contributors of the Writer’s Retreat Blog participate in the weekly meme, Thursday Thirteen, so every Thursday we link to the individual sites of each writer’s TT. Hopefully, this helps you get to know each of us a little better. This week we’ve got:
A. Catherine Noon: 13 Things I’m Glad Are Over
The Elizabethan Collar: Thirteen Examples of Onomatopoeia
Passionate Fiction: My Name
Enjoy, and Happy TT!
Just the other day, I heard that my Jr. High English teacher passed away. I hadn’t thought about this woman for 20 years, but I find myself sad, just thinking about her passing. The world has lost a truly great teacher.
I didn’t always think she was so fantastic. When I found out that she was going to be my 7th grade Language Arts teacher, I was actually disappointed. Mrs. Miller was old – probably in her early sixties at that time – and she had a reputation for being the toughest teacher in the school. She expected you to do what you were supposed to do, and she didn’t accept excuses. Her class was hard. She taught grammar, spelling, and reading, and she demanded that no matter what else was going on in our hormonally imbalanced, adolescent minds, we must always honor the English language.
She didn’t use the standard text books, or follow the normal curriculum. We read books, magazines, and newspapers. We wrote essays every week, and whatever spelling errors were found in those papers became the next week’s spelling test, and heaven forbid you misspelled those words again. We were expected to tutor 3rd graders who needed assistance with reading or English skills, and we would have to research lesson plans and come up with teaching tools to help the younger children learn. But what stands out most in my mind about Mrs. Miller’s class was the way she taught grammar. She made us diagram sentences.
Our early forays into these diagrams consisted of simple sentences taken out of books or newspaper articles, but as we got better at it, the sentences became much more complex. She would have us diagram sentences out of financial contracts, or the fine print located in the bottom of an ad. She taught us that if you took the time to figure out what was being modified by each clause, and if you understood the object of each preposition, you could make sense of the most technical and seemingly unintelligible paragraphs.
I was lucky enough to have Mrs. Miller as my teacher two years in a row. She always pushed us to expand our minds, and never limited her class to things that were solely the property of the English Department. The project that I remember most from her class, was diagramming the Declaration of Independence onto those huge rolls of paper that you never find outside of a school. We ended up covering the walls of an entire hall with those diagrams. I have taken many history classes since then, and none taught me more about the mindset of the founders of our country than I learned in Mrs. Miller’s English class.
While I was thinking about this post, I googled sentence diagrams, and found that Mrs. Miller was not the only person crazy enough to try diagramming the Declaration of Independence. I was able to find an example to share with you of what the first sentence from the preamble looks like when it is diagrammed.
When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.
There were never many teachers like Mrs. Miller around, and in this world of teaching to the test and No Child Left Behind, there probably are fewer still. But I hope that at some point everyone encounters a teacher like her. Someone who challenges you. Someone who encourages you. Someone who you remember for the rest of your life.
Thank you, Mrs. Miller. I will never forget you.
Happy Wednesday! Today is my turn to do the Wiley Wednesday post, and I’ve decided to share a bit about Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way. I’m part of an online cluster going through this book. Basically, Ms. Cameron takes us on a journey to unblock our creativity. I want to point out that this is my first time with the journey, and I’m not through. However, there were some important lessons I thought I’d like to share with everyone. So here we go!
Morning Pages. These are 3 pages written longhand every morning. It’s a way to unleash all the negative so you can let loose the creativity and get the day rolling. I’ll be honest and say I’ve had a hard time getting used to it. I don’t write a lot at once, so three pages a day is quite a feat for me! I can tell that it’s getting the job done though. There are days were I sit at my journal and whine and complain for three pages. Other days I make lists of lists of lists. If you do morning pages long enough though, you’ll eventually let loose something you’ve been holding back. To me, it’s like cleaning a wound. We all have bad thoughts/feeling/experiences that have festered. Maybe you think you’ve dealt with it and moved on, and maybe you actually have. Most of the time though, we’ve just buried it. I’ve found that if I turn on my music, sit down with my journal and just feel, these thoughts and memories come pouring out in my Morning Pages. It’s cleansing getting all that bad stuff out.
Anger. Anger is not a bad emotion, it’s actually your friend. Ms. Cameron says that anger is our fuel. It shows us our boundaries and where we want to go. It shows just how far we can be pushed. She says that anger propels us out of our old lives and into the new life we create for our self . It’s not the action, but the actions invitation. If we can harness this anger and channel it into our creativity, great things can happen.
The last thing I’ll talk about is criticism. We’ve all had criticism before, good and bad. These are her rules for dealing with it.
1. Receive the criticism all the way through and get it over with.
2. Jot down notes to yourself on what concepts or phrases bother you.
3. Jot down notes to yourself on what concepts or phrases seem useful.
4. Do something very nurturing for yourself-read an old good review or recall a compliment.
5. Remember that even if you have made a truly rotten piece of art, it may be necessary stepping-stone to your next work. Art matures spasmodically and requires ugly-duckling growth stages.
6. Look at the criticism again. Does it remind you of any criticism of your past-particularly shaming childhood criticism? Acknowledge to yourself that the current criticism is triggering grief over a long-standing wound.
7. Write a letter to the critic-not to be mailed, most probably. Defend your work and acknowledge what was helpful, if anything, in the criticism proffered.
8. Get back on the horse. Make an immediate commitment to do something creative.
9. Do it. Creativity is the only cure for criticism!
I want to once again say that these are not my ideas. This is from the incredible Julia Cameron’s book The Artist’s Way. I would suggest that any struggling artist, or maybe one like me, that’s just starting out, needs to go find a copy of the book.
I’m sending out hugs to all! I hope everyone has a happy and creative day! 🙂
~Dawn
The Night Is A Harsh Mistress
Chapter 4
Rachel froze. Viktor Khrushchev sat at her desk, a cigarette in his hand and a smirk on his long-nosed face. His clear blue eyes laughed at her even though he made no sound.
“How the hell did you get in here?” she demanded.
He sat back and his smirk widened into a grin. His teeth flashed whitely against his face, too white for a smoker – but then, Viktor had had his teeth whitened last year, to fool ‘the ladies.’ She wasn’t impressed.
“I told you, Rachel, you should have changed your locks. At least get a Medeco.”
“I can’t get a Medeco without the Landlord’s approval and he’s got to be there with me,” she snapped. “Besides, would it keep you out?”
“It would be better than that crap you’ve got now,” he shot back, smile falling off his face with what should have been an audible thud.
Her stomach clenched. She finally let go the door handle when her hand cramped. “What are you doing here?”
He studied her. “Put your bags down, Raych. I’m not here to hurt you or something.” His tone was faintly disgusted.
She knew better. Khrushchev was a soldier for the local Russian mob and she knew of at least three murders he’d committed. The police didn’t even know his name.
She turned and set her toiletry case on the file cabinet and hung her clothes in the closet. When she turned back, Viktor was watching her carefully and she felt a chill tickle her spine. She shivered.
He smiled, seeing it, leaving his eyes cold and predatory. “Sit. Let’s talk.”
“About what?”
“Sit, Rachel,” he ordered, crossing one leg over the other. “Please.”
It was the ‘please,’ more than the order, that did it. She sat on the couch, grateful she’d made up her bed before going to get her shower. “What do you want, Viktor?”
“You are looking for a boy, a David Greene, yes?”
Rachel gaped at him, keeping her expression blank by sheer luck. She couldn’t figure out why the Russian mob would care. Nothing she’d found so far led anywhere near any kind of organized crime with the parents, and the boy was a model student. Until this incident.
“Please,” Viktor growled, losing patience. “I already know you are. What I want to know is, why.”
“Why?” she echoed, surprised. “You want to know why?”
He glared at her, a shadow of what must be his more threatening persona. He didn’t unleash it on her often but she got the same sick feeling in her stomach upon seeing it. “The parents hired me to find their missing boy,” she told that predator, in an effort to make sure it didn’t decide she was something that interested it.
“The parents.”
“Yes,” Rachel repeated impatiently, rummaging on her desk. “Doug and Constance Greene.”
He studied her without speaking for several moments. He’d shaved recently, his face was smooth and unblemished.
“Right here.” Rachel brandished the file over her desk.
Viktor leaned forward without warning and snatched the file from her hand before she even registered movement. She stared at him, unsettled. He ignored her, leafing through the file with a frown. He looked up and saw her staring at him.
“These people are not the boy’s parents.”
I recently had the pleasure of reading the Ellora’s Cave release Seven Sinners, by Red Garnier.
Here’s the blurb from Ellora’s:
Phillip Gaston Maxwell has been a vampire for one hundred years, a long life where hot sex has certainly not been lacking. But lately Phillip is starting to feel bored. Only his luscious friend Anna can truly fulfill him, but while Anna shares her body, her heart is locked tight. So Phillip’s attention has turned to his latest obsession, Daniel — but how can a bisexual vampire seduce a handsome, reportedly straight Incubus?
A bachelor party — with Anna willingly providing “entertainment” — and a little help from a concoction called Sin may just produce the excitement he’s looking for.
This story is a very quick, very hot read. There’s just enough setup for you to have a good idea who all the characters are, and then no delay before diving into non-stop sex. As Ellora’s warns, there is male/male interaction, group sex and forced seduction. Phillip and Anna are very likeable and sexy characters. Daniel is too, although he left me wanting to know more about his life and what his future held at the end of the story. Red Garnier also introduces several other characters that get little page time, but who seem to have stories of their own waiting to be told.
I would recommend Seven Sinners as a quick, steamy read. And, am hoping Ms. Garnier decides to write more from this cast and world she sets up so well in such a short time.
Enjoy!
Iron Man
The film ‘Iron Man’ opened Friday and I will admit that I’ve been waiting eagerly to see it. Being a self-confessed Comic Book Geek that’s not surprising. I spent my childhood reading the latest
editions of Conan the Barbarian, Justice League of America and Superman. Iron Man wasn’t one of my favorites, but when it comes to summer blockbuster movies any comic book hero calls to me.
The director, Jon Favreau, has done a great job of giving us a complex and believable lead character in Tony Stark. Stark is a genius, the son of one of the men that worked on the Manhatten Project. He inherited his father’s arms manufacturing business at an early age and has designed most of the weapons it sells. His reputation as a womanizing, hard drinking, spoiled playboy has gained him celebrity as his face adorns the covers of magazines like Time and Newsweek.
On a business trip to Afghanistan to promote his new bomb, the Jericho, Tony is taken hostage by terrorists using, ironically, his own weapons bought on the black market. Held for three long months, he is forced to build a bomb for them from bits and peices of other arms they have available. Seeing for himself first hand the actual face of war, death and destruction that his business is indirectly causing creates a significant change in our hero. After escaping from his captors, he announces that his company will no longer sell armaments. His friends, business partners and even his personal assistant/love interest, Pepper Potts, all question his
unlikely change of heart and new-found conscience.
In secret, Tony builds a suit of metal that he uses as a weapon to help in his vigilante efforts to find the terrorists that held him and attempt to undo some of the damage he feels his weapons are responsible for. He just begins his crusade to help others when he is blindsided by problems closer to home and the real action begins.
This movie is not for children; torture, realistic war scenes and violence made me wonder how they managed a PG-13 rating. It is a mature film that will appeal to adults with its character development and is paced accordingly, it’s not just a roller coaster ride like ‘Transformers’ or ‘Die Hard’. Expect to enjoy yourself immensely, but don’t leave your brain at home, there’s plenty here to keep it busy despite the action and special effects.
Adrianna stripped down to her chemise, and hung her dress over a nearby branch. She slipped into the water and let out a contented sigh; this was exactly what she had needed. Time to just be alone and relax, to be herself again. She certainly didn’t feel much like herself when she was around their visitor. No, every time she was around the Earl of Hollingsworth she seemed to forget how to speak. It was horribly embarrassing, but then again, so was walking into things, and she’d done quite a bit of that lately as well. Thank God he didn’t seem to notice much! It was beginning to go past embarrassing to just plain annoying.
She was normally a very smart person, and she’d never had any problems talking. If anything, she talked too much, according to her mother. So why was she suddenly struck with this awkwardness? A man. A big, handsome, strong, rich man. It was really all his fault, who could blame her? The man was too perfect, and if she could only find the flaw, she was sure she could get her head back together and act like a normal person around him. She was known for her beauty and wit and brains, all she had to do was embrace that side of herself again. She would not keep acting like a lovestruck idiot every time the blasted man came around.
A sound made her look to the shore, where who else but the Earl of Bloody Perfection stood there staring at her. When she saw him she tried to stand up, slipped and went under. Suddenly he was in the water dragging her up.
“Are you alright, my lady?” he asked worriedly as he held her close.
“Wha-What are you doing here?!” she sputtered, horrified that he had once again witnessed her embarrassment.
He sighed and ran a hand through his wet hair. “You have avoided me all bloody week! I can’t get within twenty feet of you in the castle, so I followed you out here.”
“And what is it you so desperately wish to speak of?” She was painfully aware of the wet chemise clinging to her skin and his hard body pressing against hers.
He lifted her face till she met his eyes and saw the hunger there. “I find that I’m no longer in the mood to talk,” he murmured before his lips found hers.
The kiss was gentle and a bit coaxing. After a moment, she felt his tongue lightly brush her lips. She gasped. He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. At the same time she felt his hand slide up caress her breast. In her excitement, she couldn’t seem to breathe! When she pulled her mouth away he slid his mouth down to her neck and across her collarbone.
He picked her up, walked to the bank and laid her down. He kissed her again as he slid his hand down the front of her body. She shivered as he lightly cupped the spot between her legs. As he started to rub he let out a small groan and dragged his mouth down her neck and to her chest.
“Adrianna? Adrianna, are you still out here?”
Adrianna jerked upright in horror. “Oh! Hurry, you must hide. Quickly man! Do you want to end up married?” She looked at him in bewilderment. She could hear her cousin making her way towards them. If he didn’t react soon that was exactly what would happen. Instead of moving, however, he just sat there looking at her.
“That’s exactly what I want, darling,” he grinning wickedly as he pulled her to him for another smoldering kiss.
I have been considering what to write for this blog and up until today, things were looking grim. I haven’t written much in the last week. Today is the first day that I have really been able to put words together other than for the purpose of just making it through the day or making myself understood.
My head has been disconnected in some way from the part of me that writes, admittedly only briefly, but ouch. I know that sounds a bit crazy and it has only been for a few days. But it is a horrible feeling – never knowing if and when you will write something spontaneous and worthwhile again. I have had things roaming aimlessly in my head and things that have insisted I write them, but really; nothing I could call a satisfying write of any kind, until today!
I did write something as my Walking in this World exercise this week and I am glad I did take the time to do this exercise. Often I miss doing them due to lack of organizing my time carefully. But this week I needed my Morning Pages like my next breath.
The exercise took the form of a ‘Letter to Myself’. I hope you find the result of this exercise interesting. If you don’t and you are dead bored, I know you will forgive me, because you love me.
2/05/08
To Me,
When it comes right down to it what are you afraid of?
That you have no talent? That someone won’t like you, will laugh at you? It doesn’t matter what other people think – it is what you think of yourself, accept yourself, love yourself for who you are, not who you think others will want to see. How did you get to be 55 with the many experiences in your life and still be so unsure? Seven children, seven births, how can you underestimate yourself so?
You have a voice, use it, with humility and love and watch yourself grow and put those fears into perspective and eventually lay them to rest. Trust in GOD to lead your life. Trust in yourself to hear his still, small voice.
Love from me.
I wanted to tidy this letter up before I posted it, correct the grammar; check the spelling and the punctuation. But I decided against that, because I wanted to show this note exactly as I wrote it to me. I wanted to show what came out of me, to me, in my Morning Pages. Unfiltered and non- expectant of any other eyes on it besides mine, at all.
I don’t know if any one will gain anything from this post, but I am. I am putting me out there for anyone who cares to look. In the raw, unaltered state this letter is in, I am vulnerable. And you know what, that is actually okay!
Eaton 🙂
Most of the contributors of the Writer’s Retreat Blog participate in the weekly meme, Thursday Thirteen, so every Thursday we link to the individual sites of each writer’s TT. Hopefully, this helps you get to know each of us a little better. This week we’ve got:
A. Catherine Noon: 13 Ideas for Artist’s Dates
Gwen Mitchell: I Didn’t Say It…
Kathleen Oxley: Drugs in Music
Tess Miller: CD’s Currently Getting Playtime In My Car
Unhinged: Let There Be Light
As the old cliche goes, you only have one chance to make a first impression. This is true in business, this is true in relationships, and this is especially true in writing. People may or may not judge a book by its cover, but you can be sure that they do judge a book by its first line. An author has mere seconds to set the tone of the story and connect with the reader. If the first line doesn’t grab attention, chances are good that the rest of the story will never get the opportunity to try.
Some first lines are so powerful that they become a part of our cultural literacy. Consider the works of Charles Dickens for example. He is not one of my favorite authors, but he has an amazing ability to write an opening line.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times,
Even people who have never read a single word from A Tale of Two Cities recognize this beginning – although the actual sentance goes on far, far longer than these simple phrases.
Marley was dead, to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that.
Dickens beatifully sets the tone of A Christmas Carol with these simple sentances, proving that writing does not have to be poetic or overly descriptive to catch the reader’s attention.
But Dickens is not alone in this ability to capture the imagination with a single sentance. Here is a list of some of my favorite first lines of books. Look at the list and see how many of these you can identify, then post a comment to let the rest of us know. I think most of these are fairly easy, despite my eclectic taste in books, and I can’t wait to see how many people get 10/10.
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Answers: