Category Archives: A question

What should I get George?

A question, Holidays, Musings, , , , , , ,

I have probably the best, wittiest, and most intelligent husband in the world.  I would say “sexiest” but I write the sweet books and don’t want to shock  anyone with that word.  ANYWAY, he is also, as I mentioned in my last post, wonderful at choosing gifts that I’d never have thought I needed.  He’s also creative, choosing gifts I’d never have guessed what they were before I opened the package.  For example, one Christmas he gave me a stuffed animal–a cocker spaniel because we had several live ones as pets-with a radio in its tummy.

But I’m terrible at thinking of great gifts for him.   He has plenty of T-shirts and has told me to buy him no more University of Louisville or Houston Texans shirts.  We’re retired so his supply of ties from  when he was a minister is sufficient to last until at least 2050, should we–and the earth–still be around.   He orders and reads whatever books he wants on his Kindle.   He’s not a smoker or a drinker and has plenty of Bibles and commentaries and meditations.    He refuses to wear those onesies retired men wear and prefers sweatpants.    He plays games on his computer and hates puzzles and does make stuff.  Keep in mind we live in an apartment and have little space.

He does like chocolate but there’s a  limit to how much I can get him.  The one present I give every year is food.  I go to a store with a nice display of gourmet foods and get him cheese and pickled treats and sardines.  He has mentioned he’d like a new mattress but that’s not very Christmas-y and it’s hard to wrap.

Time is getting short.  Please help me or George may find no packages for him under our tree!

Craft Tuesday: Character Driven Plotting

A question, Craft Tuesday, Writing, ,

People always ask me, “Where do you find your ideas?’

After swallowing several snarky answers, I say, “They just come to me.”  Sorry if that sounds as if I’m still being snarky but it’s the truth.  And usually—nearly always—what comes to me is the character not the plot.  After the idea comes to me, often the beginning of the novel with the main characters fairly firmly created and in place, I build a plot for those characters to wander around in.

For me, this is the definition of character driven plotting.  It works best for me because I am able to wrap the plot around the character not forced to shove characters into the plot, often against their wills and come up with odd motivations and conflicts which don’t come from the characters but from the writer.

In my opinion, you can tell if the novel is plot driven or character driven if the heroine has to rationalize and explain why she’s doing what she’s doing—often over and over.  If her action comes from who she is as a character, we KNOW why she does this because the writer has introduced us to her and her traits.    If the action doesn’t fit this, if it is a twist on her character, a line or two will have us accept it.  If, however, the author has to have her act this way to promote the plot driven story, there will be several explanation and, to me, this interrupts the plot of the story.  On the other hand, if the characters drive the narrative, there may be some holes in the plot but–we believe–the characters are so charming the reader won’t care.  At least, that’s our excuse and our hope.

For example—and this is completely made up:

PLOT DRIVEN:   Mary is a grade school teacher who discovers a body on her front porch and decides to find the killer.  WHY?  I read this so often.  Most of us call the police and allow them to take over.   What motivates her?  Curiosity  and stupidity seem to be the answers but the author needs this to happen or she has no book.  The motivation really belongs to the writer and her dedication to the plot.  Over and over, friends tell her this is dangerous but Mary gives many reasons she give for doing this, none of which come from who she is but the plot.  Without her investigation, there is no story.

CHARACTER DRIVEN:  Mary is a grade school teacher who discovers the body of her best friend on her front porch and decides to look into this because the police have written this off as suicide.    She has no plan to find the killer but she knows her friend isn’t suicidal and wants to know what happened.   The investigation is more or less forced upon her.   What motivates her?  Love for her friend, the desire to know the truth, traits we already know because we’ve met Mary and observed her with her friend.  We know as a teacher, she’s not a daring type—I say this as a teacher—that she usually plays by the rules and respects authority so she must have a good reason to do this—not just take off on a lark.

What does the writer need to do if he/she wants to build a character drive plot? 

1)         Get to know the character and let her lead the way. 

2)         Introduce the character to the reader with some short scenes so the motivation makes sense.  

3)         Know the characters so deeply that they interact without the intervention or explanation of the writer.   This step came as a complete surprise to me in THE WEDDING PLANNERS OF BUTTERNUT CREEK, the third book in the Butternut Creek series–no cover available yet.  I introduce Janey Firestone in the first book,  THE WELCOME COMMITTEE OF BUTTERNUT CREEK  and Hannah Jordan in the third book.  Somehow, Janey becomes the catalyst for the changes that takes place in Hannah.  I hadn’t planned that.

If your characters don’t surprise you with their actions, then you haven’t written a character driven plot.  If your characters don’t take over the story and lead in another direction than you had chosen, you aren’t listening to them. 

In a character driven plotting, the characters really do take over.  Let them!

 

 

 

 

What’s in a name?

A question, Musings, , , , , ,

I started Kindergarten with the name Monica Jane Perrine.   Monica was the name of my mother’s best friend and Jane was the name of my father’s mother although they called her Jennie.   Mom hoped I’d be called Monica Jane but the school quickly disabused her of the possibility of using a double name so I was enrolled as Monica.

I hated the name because from Kindergarten on,  my classmates called me Monica the Harmonica.  I hope I do not insult any of you who believe a harmonica is truly the sound of angels;  however, I’m not fond of harmonica music unless played by  Johnny Puleo and his gang.   I decided at the beginning of fourth grade to become Jane.  I didn’t tell my parents, just made that change.  Mom didm’t know until parents’ night at school when  she walked into my classroom the mother of Monica Myers and left as the mother of Jane Myers. 

What I didn’t realize back in fourth grade was that people make fun of everyone’s name.   The joke about “Jane” that I hate most is when someone says,  “Me Tarzan.  You Jane,” then laugh and laugh as if this is the most creative joke ever made.  To be polite, I’d smile even though I’d  heard that hundreds of times.  Fortunately, the population is aging and the younger generation doesn’t know about Tarzan and Jane.  

Another nicknames I’m not fond of is Plain Jane.  Go to an on-line bookstore and search for titles with “Plain Jane” in them.  There are dozens and dozens but I will never buy one.  I’ve had people in conversation say something like, “Just use a plain Jane envelope,” and I wonder, “What’s wrong with saying a PLAIN envelope?”   And, although you may think “Jane the Brain” would be acceptable, you know if you’ve seen a picture of a brain, they are not attractive.  

All right, all right!  I’ll stop complaining.  Now it’s your turn.  What nickname do people use with you?  Do you like it or not or just learn to live with it? 

What would you take with you?

A question, Pets, , ,

When Hurricane Hugo headed toward Savannah, GA, George and I packed up and evacuated.   When we left, a direct hit was forecast.  While we drove west on the packed interstate, Hugo took a right turn and hit Charleston hard.

What fascinated me was how easy it was to decide what we needed to take with us.  The two cocker spaniels, of course.  Computers, televisions, our photo albums, and a couple of suitcases.  That was it.  That was what was important.  Anything other than the dogs and the photos, we could replace.  

If you had to evacuate and could take only one or two irreplaceables, what would they be?  Or, if you have evacuated, what did you take?  I like to know.

Where do you get your ideas?

A question, Butternut Creek, Musings, Writing, , , , , , , , , , ,

Over and over, I’ve been told, “Write what you know.”   I’ve never agreed.  If authors stuck to writing what they knew, no historicals would be in print because the author  wasn’t alive to witness those events.   Agatha Christie would never had written her mysteries because, as far as we know, she never killed anyone.

 I wrote two historicals that took place in Regency England in 1812 and another that took place in Texas 120 years ago.  Had to do a lot of research to do that.

Then I started writing the Tales from Butternut Creek series and realized I was writing exactly what I knew: a minister in a small town church. The Palm Sunday donkey running away with his rider? I was one of the group that grabbed the animal before he could toss the boy off. A minister’s fear of counseling a member of the congregation? Been there and survived and the woman I counseled did as well. The group of women who run the church? I’ve met them in every church either my husband or I have served and readers tell me they know a Miss Birdie. All the stories, all the embarrassing and funny situations we lived came together in these books and I’ve had such a great time writing them.

Sometimes the memories make me laugh. But members of a congregation suffer, too, and I cried with them. Those hard times made the books, too.

 Of course, I didn’t live through or actually witness everything I wrote. We never lived in a huge Victorian parsonage but I’ve always wanted to—if I didn’t have to do the housework. And I expanded on some of the scenes. In Butternut Creek, the donkey took off down the highway with the kid hanging on his back. In reality, he ran only ten yards although I imagine the boy riding him thought it last far longer.

Have you had an experience you think should be in a book? I’d love for you to share.

East versus West by Diane Perrine Coon

A question, Guest blogger, , , , , , , , ,

I’m an Easterner.  Having lived East of the Mississippi my entire life, I am used to many broad rivers laced with hundreds of creeks, lanes that wind along old Indian trails, mountains that prefer ice precipices rather than broad snowfields, broad-leafed oaks and maples and elms that turn vibrant colors in the fall painting a scene against the deep green firs behind them, seacoasts pulling a north wind nipping in the air even in August,  lakes where the frigid cold layer hits the bottom of your feet in July, and houses that date back to 1680 and are so firmly built they will last another two hundred years. The riverbanks in the East are thick with lush vegetation and small wildlife, the fields swarm with game, and the lakes jump with fish unless some industry dumps its wastes into the streams.

However, I have traveled extensively in the West and I am always awestruck by the hugeness of the Western sky. I loved the majestic Rockies at Boulder, the sea otters and kelp at Monterey, the enchanted harbor and hills of San Francisco, the vastness of the Nevada desert, the great cactus gardens of Tucson, bluebonnets and Indian paintbrush of the Texas hill country, the amazing smell of freshness of Mount Shasta.

But of all the contrasts, it was at Bryce Canyon, in southern Utah, that taught me the most about East and West. Tucked high above the rock face of the canyon wall was a tiny tuft of grass serving as a bird’s nest. All around me was dryness and rock. A guide stated that water from the infrequent rainfalls seeped down through the rock taking hundreds of years to reach that little outpost of avian life form.   

Up in Wyoming they told us it took five acres to support the water and feed needs for one cow. 

With that statistic, I envisioned the broad Ohio River with its placid waters over twenty feet deep passing cornfields and hay fields and barns and houses and horses and cows, coons and possums, bear and deer and flooding over into nearby fields in the spring freshet.  

And now I’m worried. The last three winters in Kentucky were extremely warm. Spring in both 2011 and 2012 were unseasonably hot, and the early summer has posted temperatures over 100 degrees for two weeks, I have become very nervous that our water-filled East was becoming like the West. Of course we think we have hundreds of years before we become a desert. Right now it is just steamy. We need snowfall like those wonderful two-foot snows in Connecticut, we need those old March rains in Cincinnati when it was raining when you left for school in the morning, raining when you came home and pouring down rain on the roof all night. We need summer lightning storms that save the corn and soybeans from damaging heat. We need the deep, deep soft snows of Vermont and Maine that start in late November and go through to April. We need to replenish the earth around our enormous cities.

What are your thoughts?  Where do you live?  Do you prefer living in the East, West or in the middle?  Do you worry about the heat and drought of this summer?

Diane is my sister-in-law and a respected historian.   She’s an expert on  the undergound railroad in and around Kentucky and country stores in Kentucky.   She recently appeared as a historian on the Syfy Channel’s Haunted Collection.

 

 

Why are these women so happy?

A question, Confession, Musings, , , ,

When I was looking for clip art of a woman cleaning a stove for my last blog, I discovered that, by and large, most of the photos which feature women cleaning show really happy smiling women doing a multitude of chores.  Cleaning a toilet has never made me as happy as the woman on the left.  In fact, I can’t think of a time when I beamed at the toilet brush.

Nor have I ever danced and sung with the mop.  

My thought is that I’m not doing housekeeping correctly.   I don’t smile while cleaning.  I have always considered it a chore, one to be approached only when one cannot get through the hallway or the odor threatens to asfixiate all inhabitants.   Although I don’t hate loading the dishwasher and hate washing clothes less than that, I cannot think of a single household chore I like–much less one that makes me smile or dance.  In fact, about the only way I get through them is by having the television on so I don’t have to notice I’m cleaning

Which brings me to this question:  what do you do to make housekeeping fun?   I mean, while sober.   

Thank you.

Passion

A question, Writing, , , , , , , , , , ,

I hate using sports as a metaphor for life:  it’s too easy and too cliched.  On the other hand, I love sports, watch every minute of the Olympics I can find, buy packages for our cable service for college basketball, watch live events on my computer.   Many years ago, before we could get University of Louisville basketball games on cable, my husband and I drove around Big Spring, Texas, searching for the clear channel coverage from nearly two-thousand miles away.

So, I rationalize.  I do NOT use sports as metaphors for life.  I use sports as EXAMPLES of just about anything.

For example:   Last year, when American gymnast Sam Mikulak dismounted from a  routine, he hit the mat so hard he broke both ankles. This year, he competed for and made the US Olympic team.  That is  PASSION! He must love gymnastics and competition to return to the sport which caused him such pain and months of rehab.   On top of that, his ankles never had time to completely recover so there’s always pain, always the chance his ankle will go out.

Is there anything you love that much? Not me. Two broken ankles and I’m pretty much over that.  Actually, a sprain would discourage me.

Well, that’s not completely true.   I love to write.  Because of scoliosis, sitting at a desk can be painful.   I prop myself up on a pillow in a comfortable chair and have a jerry rigged foot rest–a pillow on  top of a box–to lift my feet.    Recently we purchased a wonderfully comfortable and supporting  reclining chair with ottoman where I edit.  Due to carpal tunnel, I have an ergonomic keyboard, a mouse pad with a soft  cushion for my wrist, and a couple of wrist braces.  And still I hurt but I have to write!  I tell people I write so I don’t have to clean the oven and that’s partly true.  I have no passion for wiping down counters or vacuuming but I do for writing.  

What is your passion?  What do you love to do more than anything else? 

What’s the stupidest thing you’ve seen?

A question, , , ,

Here’s my candidate for the title of stupidest act I’ve seen, at least recently: 

When we were driving home from church Sunday, there was a traffic jam on a divided residential road bordered by apartments.   Looking ahead, we could see a truck with a flat bed trailer had pulled out on the street and stopped, sticking out over the two lanes of traffic nearly to the curb on the other side of the street.   We waited, not very patiently because patience isn’t one of our many virtues, and grumbled a bit.  Finally the driver turned.  Slowly, slowly, he headed down the street followed by  the trailer.  Immediately, the truck pulled over to the right side of the road followed by a car–also driving very slowly–with blinkers on and another car with blinkers on, all going very, very slowly. 

The procession confused us until George pulled around into the left lane and passed the last two vehicles.   The flatbed of the truck was filled with furniture which came up the the two-feet rails of the bed.  Obviously, someone in the caravan was  moving.   The movers had placed a bookcase on the top of the flat load of furniture.  It lay above the rails and was not tied down in any way.  Then I saw him.  A man tottered on the narrow back edge of the flatbed with nothing to hold onto because the rails were too low.   His mission was to keep the bookcase from sliding out.  

When we watch America’s Funniest Home Videos–much of which is men doing manly stuff that ends up with great crashes and probably greater pain–I ask my husband, “Don’t they even think of the law of physics?”  Obviously they don’t, especially the one about an object in motion staying in motion.

ELEMENTARY PROBLEM OF PHYSICS:  What happens if one stands on the back edge of a flatbed balancing a six-shelf bookcase which is not tied down and the truck stops.    Answer:  the bookcase will slide backward, hit one, throw one off the back of the flatbed, and land on top of one.

We pass them quickly and headed home because we couldn’t stand to watch that unfold.

Have you seen a stupid act you’d like to share?  Love to hear them.