Ash Wednesday

Giving up something for Lent is always a challenge for me. I suppose I have as many frills in my life as anyone, but I'm not sure what they are. You don't give up foods when you're underweight, you don't give up sleep time when you've got a strong tendency to writing-induced insomnia, and you don't give up the Internet when you're a member of a group blog. At least, you shouldn't.
 
Coffee? I like it, but I never just buy or pour it for myself. Alcohol? Likewise. Soda? I might have that twice between now and Easter. Novels? I'm a part of two book clubs. Chocolate? I'm not giving up chocolate. Heh.
 
Lent, anyway, means more than just "giving something up": it's a time of fasting combined with prayer and almsgiving. My husband manages most of the alms around here (thank God--I put bills in stacks and forget about them), so the giving aspect is pretty much a "Hey, do you think we should ..." kind of deal for me. As for prayer and fasting, though, here's what I've managed to come up with:
 
1. Internet not immediately needed for work is for use only on lunch break and before/after work hours. That means you, Google Reader. (The Hog's Head, my own blog, and research for writing all count as "work" for these purposes--I'm trying to control the internet's influence on my life, not shirk obligations just because I like them.) The goal here is to order my life so that my top priorities get taken care of first.
 
[Note: I'm a homemaker, in case any of you don't know that--I'm not reading blogs on employer time, I promise! Also, since I blog myself, I would consider it a breach of honor to stop reading other people's. I'm not going forty days without my Google Reader--just limiting myself.]
 
2. Make a daily effort to care less about hearing the sound of my own voice, to delight less in myself and to listen more closely to others.

3. Pray a Divine Mercy chaplet every day and do the Angelus at noonish when possible.

4. Journal daily, preferably before work to focus my mind--because I haven't done that faithfully in years, and it's a good way both to clear out distractions and to move my mind to spiritual things.

That ought to keep me busy--and hopefully, willingly "denying myself, taking up my cross, and following Christ."

Thank You. Thank You Very Much.

I had a lovely Tasty Tuesday post all planned out today, all Mardi Gras-appropriate and everything, and had every intention of posting it until I read Nathan Bransford's piece this morning. After spending so much time and energy in a far-off place these last few months, I could not refuse to take him up on the Writing Significant Other/Friend/Family Appreciation Day.

Many thanks, then, to the following:

Louis, who bears the brunt of my distractedness. He is forever patient with Sleepy Jenna who comes to bed at three AM, Grumpy Jenna who didn't get enough computer time, Emo Jenna who walks around on the verge of tears when her characters are unhappy, and the Spacebrain who only hears the last half of whatever comment her husband just made because her mind was busy solving problems on a distant world. He also reads my work, and YA fantasy is a bit fluffy for Mr. I'm-Actually-Enjoying-The-Essays-In-Les-Miserables. And if all that weren't enough, he made it possible for my "write what you know" to include "falling in love with a great soul."

Mom, who made me come up with a climax and resolution to Merry's story all those years ago, thereby giving me the impetus to finish a 120-page middle reader book that should never, ever see publication--but it helped me learn to write and push myself. Also, Mom puts up with conversation that can't possibly make any sense to her because I'm trying so hard to avoid giving out spoilers. "Well, when I changed this one character's name it gentled her way down, and that's no good because I need her to spend half the book arguing with this other character, and ..."

Dad, because he's just so good to me. He also helps my music writing and recording, being the person who can best tell me when I have the bass up too high and whether I got all the drum set parts right.

Beth, who got more excited about the idea I finally used for my NaNo novel than even I did at first. That helped me spend November in a land of magic and myth instead of fuming over issues, which was my other idea. (Ah, the reasons I write fantasy instead of realism in fiction.) Beth also keeps begging to read the book and came up with several of the world-building elements herself; one of my worlds is definitely a better place because of her.

My other sister doesn't like being named on the internet, but she tells me I have a way with words, and that means a lot to me.

My former boss, Jason, who set up the writers' group and preached us many a powerful sermon on goal-setting and achievement. Likewise, all the members of that writing group, whose creativity and criticism and friendship help keep me coming back to my keyboard.

Mom and Dad St. Hilaire and Andy and Lindsey, who regularly ask me how my book is coming along and want to know when they can buy it from a bookstore.

Briana, who asks to read it and faithfully encourages me in writing.

Others who ask about my writing, including my beloved book club girls, who think writing a novel is cool; Mike and Kay G., who asked me all through November how my NaNo novel was coming; also Brittany, who keeps asking about my other book--which I miss, oh yes, I miss it like crazy. I'll be back at that one this summer, Britt.

Travis, Arabella, George and the other Hog's Head bloggers and regulars who have welcomed me as a writer at the pub. Who needs Cheering Charms with you folk around?

All of you who read this blog, especially when you comment or tell me about it--you help me believe that I'm not wasting time shouting into a void, and it's hard to overestimate the importance of that.

Publishing industry pros who blog begin to feel like friends after awhile, even to a shameless lurker who never comments. Nathan, Rachelle, Anne, Holly, Jessica, and others--you give me important guidance and confidence in my work.

Thanks, everyone--including anyone I may have missed! If it ever gets to publication, there are about 60,000 words in this novel alone, thanking you for your help.

A Question for Jane

Tell me, Miss Austen: when you penned the scene where Darcy tries to comfort Elizabeth after the news of Lydia's elopement--did you have to get up and walk about the floor to relieve your feelings? Mine get worked up when I read it. I can just imagine how it may have felt to write it.

Miss Brontë, when you wrote the line "Reader, I married him" could you not stop smiling for some minutes--or hours?

Ms. Rowling, perhaps you've already told the world whether you had to take a break to cry when you wrote Harry's walk into the forest with his lost loved ones. I should remember that, and I don't, not off the top of my head--but I would not be surprised.

From the things I've read, I'm pretty confident that Mrs. Meyer and Miss Alcott could sympathize with such feelings.

What about you other writers out there, published or not? Does writing an emotional scene or section get you all worked up? Part II of my NaNo novel--while I certainly won't venture to compare it to any of the above works--has taken such energy and passion for me to write that I have had to take time just to put my head down on the couch and bite my lower lip. I told Lou that I wanted to sit and cry till I felt normal again, which made him laugh.

I am deathly afraid right now that all my readers will hand the manuscript back to me, marked over, with the words "This is self-indulgent, sentimental crap. Try again. Or better yet, don't." Ah, the stuff of nightmares.

James Scott Bell says to "Delve into your character's heart. As the author, you must feel the big emotions as much as your fictional creation does."* Yes, and it hurts like heck when you do. Especially when you're trying to feel for several of them--and sometimes even when the emotions are positive.

Part III, here I come. This should make for an interesting week.

* James Scott Bell, "Leave Them With Hope," Writing Basics magazine, May 2006. That's all the citation information I could come up with ...

Broken Appliances and Holiday Cheer

Epic fail: The dryer quit heating on Tuesday, the water heater quit heating tonight, the cold water in the bathroom sink has decided to start randomly shutting itself off again, and the oven door came apart when I was making brownies with my sister this morning. Our apartment manager is going to have a long day tomorrow.

Despite all that, I've had a thoroughly happy day. I woke up this morning all a-jitter, preparing to make revisions on what is probably my favorite scene in my NaNoWriMo novel. Too bad the details would all give away major spoilers, because I'd love to talk about it--the big revelation, the sweet moment, the description, the characters involved and why I love them so dearly ... Being a great big F on the Myers-Briggs scale, I'm a bit emotional about that scene. In a good way.

I've dried my laundry at the in-laws, made brownies and cappucini with my sister, cleaned the house, and written my scene, and it has felt great. It makes me want to post as if it were Thanksgiving. Here I am, thankful for family and friends and productivity and chocolate and four walls with a roof and a landlord who gets things done quickly even if he never gets rid of old appliances.

My eyeliner may not come off with cold water tonight, but oh well. It's eyeliner. It never really comes off anyway.

I Know It's Random, But ...

Not sure how many of my regular readers are interested in bands who write songs about the TV show Lost, but I've only got the one blog post in me today. The Hog's Head got it, and that's what I wrote about. Enjoy, if you wish; otherwise, I'll be here tomorrow! For now, my novel is calling to me and I must go.

'Bye.

The Inverted World

A few days ago, I put up a post about why I write novels.

Fellow blogger and Hog's Head regular Mr. Pond linked it in a post today--and did such a fantastic job expanding upon the idea that I couldn't resist linking back. His piece, Flying Upside-Down, is well worth the read. Likewise, the Chesterton essay linked by commenter Eric.

Enjoy.

Tasty Tuesday: Cheesy Potato Soup

One of my new cousins has begun a blogging meme, and while my first thought was "... my blog is more about books and writing than housewifey stuff," as it turns out, I do post recipes here. I'm in, then.

American Catholics aren't required to go fish-only or meatless on Fridays anymore (except during Lent), but I've tried to do so more regularly when we're home for dinner. It beats trying to dream up some other form of sacrifice. This recipe, however, doesn't taste like sacrifice--I couldn't believe how well it turned out. It was also incredibly easy to make.

Cheesy Potato Soup
(very loosely adapted from here)

3 cups peeled, diced potatoes (I didn't measure this--just diced up five medium-size bakers)
2 cups water
1 1/2 tsp salt
2 tbsp minced onion
2 tbsp butter
2 tsp parsley
2 cups milk
About 1 cup cheddar cheese, cubed (I probably went a little over that ... I like cheese)

1. Put potatoes, water and salt into pot and boil until the potatoes begin to fall apart when pierced by a fork.
2. Saute minced onion in butter until clear.
3. Add milk, parsley, onion and butter to potatoes and cook until pot begins to steam again.
4. Reduce heat to low and add cheese. Simmer until cheese is melted and well blended.
5. Add pepper and more salt to taste, if desired.

Easy, easy, easy. I served it with asparagus and red pepper broiled with olive oil and salt, and huckleberry muffins.

Note: The soup serves 3-4, depending on how hungry you are and what you serve with it, so you might want to double it if you're cooking for many.

Sleep-Deprived Writer's Euphoria

All right, I stayed up until after 3 AM writing last night. Hopefully this post makes sense.

Having read well beyond midnight many times out of absolute need to make sure the characters survive, I find it interesting to have a similar experience while writing. When I shut my computer down around eleven, I had left my protagonist in a terribly dark moment. And even though I knew she'd survive--it wouldn't be much of a book if she died in Part One--I just couldn't leave her there. I got out of bed at 11:30 and wrote her into a place of comparative ease.

Made it from page 62 to page 92 just over the weekend, thank you very much. That made me happy.

The whole weekend felt productive. On Saturday I got hit with inspiration and did a huge portion of my editing work for a project some friends and I have going. Yesterday Lou and I went to Henderson's and I bought an encyclopedia of astronomy and Inkspell (sequel to Inkheart), which I can't read yet--there are at least two other books I have to read first. And while I've been trying very hard to take a break from writing on Sundays, I wanted to get to my story so badly that I gave in and wrote--and wrote and wrote.

It was incredibly fun. But productive weekend meant less time paying attention to my longsuffering husband, so I'm going to go make him a nice dinner now.

The Ever-Tormenting Why

Writing update: I've revised my NaNoWriMo novel all the way to page 62, or about 1/4 to 1/3 of the way through the book. Which means that I need to speed up to make my March 20 deadline--which I need to do, because I have other projects lined up for afterward.

This week, despite tolerable productivity, hasn't been the most motivating for me.

I've invested a lot of hours in writing this novel, staying up late, forgetting to eat lunch till two in the afternoon, pouring myself into the plot and phrasing--and I've got a hundred pages of another work waiting for the moment my writing focuses are free--and this week it has all felt like a waste of time and energy. "Making up lies," as worthy old women might have said in another time. And for what? Who knows if these books will ever contribute a dime to this household? Who knows if they will interest anyone enough to persevere through to the end? (I like my little tales, but I created the people therein and I love them dearly.)

Here's why I keep going:

" 'Why do innocents suffer?' can't be answered in any interesting way with syllogisms. The syllogisms may be necessary, to prevent internal contradictions. But only paintings and novels and movies, the lives of the saints, and above all the Passion narrative, can truly bring us to accept the possibility that God is merciful, that there is a Heaven where even our wounds -- even our children's wounds -- are like the glorified Wounds of Christ."

Thank you, Eve Tushnet. I needed to hear that. Oh, and I loved the rest of the article too.

Currently Reading: Inkheart

The book Mo was reading that night was bound in pale blue linen. Later, Meggie remembered that too. What unimportant little details stick in the memory.

"Mo, there's someone out in the yard!"

Her father raised his head and looked at her with the usual absent expression he wore when she interrupted his reading. It always took him a few moments to find his way out of that other world, the labyrinth of printed letters.

"Someone out in the yard? Are you sure?"

"Yes. He's staring at our house."

Mo put down his book. "So what were you reading before you went to sleep? Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde?"

Author: Cornelia Funke

Synopsis: Meggie Folchart lives with her father, a bookbinder, in a house filled with books--but she has never been able to convince him to read aloud to her. When a stranger named Dustfinger shows up in the night, she embarks on a bookish adventure involving magical creatures, a villain and his cruel henchmen, a boy from the Arabian Nights, and the mother who had vanished when Meggie was only three.

Notes: I adored this book. Despite the English text's having been translated (from the original German), the writing kept me enchanted--fanciful description, spunky little pre-teen heroine, quirky characters, and murderous suspense. I'm actually a little bit afraid to get the sequels.

The tale also has its poignant moments--things twelve-year-old Meggie only begins to comprehend, but she sees enough to let her readers know what is really in her father's heart.

The quotes from various children's books, heading up every chapter, add to the fun.

Homeschooled or Homeschooler?

This video explains the difference between the general perception of homeschoolers and the truth about most of those who were or are educated at home. It gave me some good laughs.

Maybe there should be a third category for those of us who fit the extremely-socially-awkward profile in high school ... and, indeed, perhaps into our early twenties ... but turned out relatively normal. (At least, I think I'm relatively normal now. Compared to my teen years, the improvement is extreme--you would all admit it if you knew. What--I don't have any pictures of my awkward teen years on my computer? Aww. Such a shame.)

Bill Watterson and Introverts

Hat tip to The Knight Shift for the link to this interview with Bill Watterson, creator of Calvin and Hobbes. I thoroughly enjoyed that this morning.

It amuses me a little that the header for the piece describes Mr. Watterson as "reclusive." As far as I can tell, that word gets applied to a lot of writers, especially those who aren't anxious to have a lot of press or public interaction, as if the desire to get out there and live fame to the fullest were normal and anything lesser were therefore suspect.

Maybe he's just an introvert. A lot of writers are, after all--writing means spending quite a lot of time in your own head. I go crazy without sufficient time in mine.

Which reminds me of this little write-up on introverts--one of my favorite old articles. The author writes as if he knows me.

Fighting over Gold

As someone watching from the bottom of the beanstalk, it's been interesting staring up at the battle of the publishing industry giants this weekend. If you haven't heard, Amazon temporarily pulled all Macmillan books from their site when Macmillan wanted the Kindle pricing setup to look like the brand-new iPad's.

A couple of the literary agents I read have posted their thoughts:

Rachelle Gardner: Publishing Smackdown: Let the Games Begin

Nathan Bransford: The Kindle Missile Crisis

Thus far, having not yet bought an e-book device, I am not sure how I feel about this. Competition among companies is healthy for all of us, so I favor the iPad and Kindle duking it out a little.

The converse is that an e-book has certain disadvantages against the three-dimensional copy, which is why I haven't taken a lot of interest in e-book readers yet. I don't think I'd pay $15 (on the current economic scale) for something I couldn't loan out and that doesn't make my house look more like a library. But that's me.

Currently Reading: Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc

So the soldier sighed and said he would advertise the mass, but said he doubted if there was a man in camp that was any more likely to go to it than he was himself. Then there was another surprise for him, for Joan said:

"But, dear man, you are going!"

"I? Impossible! Oh, this is lunacy!"

"Oh, no, it isn't. You are going to the service--twice a day."

"Oh, am I dreaming? Am I drunk--or is my hearing playing me false? Why, I would rather go to--"

"Never mind where. In the morning you are going to begin, and after that it will come easy. Now don't look downhearted like that. Soon you won't mind it."

Author: Mark Twain

Synopsis: Louis de Conte, Joan's page and secretary, tells the story of her life from her childhood in Domrémy through her generalship of the army of France to her execution.

Notes: One of my book clubs read this, and I loved it. Twain, whom I hadn't expected to be friendly to Christianity, treated Joan as a person of great piety and Bishop Cauchon, who led her trial, as a selfish sinner too closely in league with the state.
 
The character of Louis de Conte is fictional, though based in part on a real person. The book follows history quite accurately, as far as I could tell, despite the personalized descriptions and conversations that a novel requires. It appears to have been thoroughly researched.
 
According to a quote on Wikipedia, Twain considered Joan of Arc his best work (apparently, critics have never agreed.) I admit to not having read all of his works, but I'm inclined to take his opinion.

Mood Music: Playlist

One of our neighbors has chosen to play bluegrass, loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. Bluegrass is much too peppy for my mood right now. Maybe I should turn on my Asleep and Dreaming mixtape.

[pause]

All right, it's playing! I forgot about this old mix. I love it. Here's the track list, in case any of you need a little iTunes inspiration:

Lay Your Head Down, Peter Bradley Adams
Stars, The Cranberries
The Story, Brandi Carlisle
I Do, Paul Brandt
Out Loud, Mindy Smith
Ave Maria (Schubert), Jim Brickman and Mario Frangoulis
Listen to Your Heart, Roxette
Do I Love You Because You're Beautiful, Julie Andrews and Jon Cypher (from Cinderella)
Overcome, Live
I Want to Spend My Lifetime Loving You, Tina Arena and Marc Anthony
I Blame Us, John van Deusen
Stanley Climbfall, Lifehouse
You're Always on My Mind, Willie Nelson
Run to the Water, Live
Gira con me, Josh Groban
Ave Maria (Bach/Gounod), Jewel
Caribbean Blue, Enya
The Gates of Dawn, Secret Garden

Thirty-Freaking-Two

Apologies for the lack of post yesterday. I wasn't feeling well, and while better today, am still a little out-of-it. So, since this is my birthday, I'm going to take it easy on blogging. And by taking it easy, I mean "Here I am, posting about not posting. See you tomorrow!"

I did post a quick item on The Hog's Head, so feel free to check that out.

Back to more regular posting tomorrow ... I'll do my best.

Word Salad and Gray Tapioca

Here's to the fun books! Three cheers for the ones that entertain us and mean something to us, that encourage us so powefully that we couldn't care less how many adverbs the author used. (Supposedly it's better if said author pulls off the encouraging without the adverbs--so they tell me, anyways. I like adverbs and have a hard time giving them up.)

Holly Lisle's delightful rant entitled "How to Write Suckitudinous Fiction" is a piece to thrill every reader who prefers YA novels to anything considered more acceptable for his college-educated self. It should lighten the heart of every writer whose dreams tend more toward genre than Pulitzer. Apologies for the coarseness of some of the language, gentle readers, but if you can take the cussing you'll love the spirit of the work.

A favorite line:

"Anyone who includes hope in fiction is a backward Neanderthal hick redneck married to his sister whose non-branching ancestral tree makes him incapable of understanding that wallowing in filth and liking it is sophisticated."

Enjoy! I'm going to go try and break all thirteen of the Sacred Commandments of Suckitudinous Fiction.

Of + Verb = Bad Country Song

All I can guess about this common grammatical error is that people write what they hear. Let me explain what they hear, then:

Should've.
Would've.
Could've.
Might've.

In other words, a contraction of should have, might have, etc. What they think they hear is this:

"I should of gone to the store earlier."

Gone is a (conjugated) verb, therefore nothing can be of it or belonging to it. There is no "of gone." Although maybe if you're a country singer, you can come up with a song in which the lyrics go something like "It's the slow sad sound of gone." Go for it. Have fun. Just please don't write "should of."

"I should've gone to the store earlier."

"I should have gone to the store earlier."

But I didn't, so we're still out of milk. Maybe I'll do that now.

Currently Reading: Dear and Glorious Physician

"Odilus suffered from no illness of the body or brain", Lucanus said respectfully to the pragmatic Greeks. "He suffered from an illness of the soul, and he is now cured. In your rationality you had forgotten Hippocrates."

Author: Taylor Caldwell

Synopsis: After forty-six years of research and writing, Caldwell gave the world a novel telling the life story of St. Luke--author of the Gospel of Luke and the book of Acts--from his early childhood through his interview with the mother of Christ. Lucanus begins with pure and mystic faith, but after a tragic loss determines to fight God by becoming a doctor and snatching people from the point of death. His apotheosis from angry young student to physician and Gospel-writer involves facing the worst of human suffering and weakness, the wisdom of many teachers, miracles, and a lifetime of being patiently loved.

Notes:

It has always been difficult for me to read novels based on the life of Bible characters. Having studied the Bible (and, to some extent, the surrounding times) pretty thoroughly, I have a hard time suspending disbelief. Such a novel usually focuses on how "they were just like us," rarely taking into account the fact that the worldview of another time and place, being different from ours, meant that the emotional reactions to any given idea were actually not the same as ours.

The amount of thought and research put into this work did fascinate me, however. Caldwell writes with knowledge of Eastern and Western thought at the time of Christ, and blends the two into an interesting meld of philosophy, science and mysticism drawn from the Greek, Latin, Jewish and Babylonian cultures. Her descriptions are intense and detailed, and the characters keep their heads in the time instead of parading around as postmoderns in togas and wimples.

It isn't an easy read--the thing is 550 long pages, and far more given to introspection and imagery than suspense--but it was at least intriguing and thought-provoking.

NaNo Reminiscences

A little email from Lindsey over at the Office of Letters and Light has me feeling celebratory. Turns out the tale of my NaNoWriMo experiences just made it into their Wrimo Report feature! I'm all smiley now.

It's a tale of travel, time, the [swine] flu, and the encouragement to persevere, and I had a very hard time fitting it into four hundred words. Want to read it? It's showing up on the home page this week, but here's the permanent link as well.

Seasonal Anachronism

In walking about the neighborhood this week, I've seen something I have never seen before: spring happening in January.

Admittedly, if all those pink flowering trees want to bloom around my birthday, I can't complain. That might be the only time such a thing happens in my life, assuming I remain in the northern hemisphere. It makes me nervous, though. It's only January, little flowers and leaves! Don't burst out of the branches too soon--it could still snow.

SCL on Going Offline

Jonathan Acuff made me laugh on Facebook today. Here was his update, for those of you who haven't joined the Stuff Christians Like author's Facebook fans:

"The only thing Christians like more than the internet is taking a break from it. And telling you about it in a blog post or tweet."

I've actually done this--if it counts when you go overseas for two weeks without a computer and sort of decide to use that as get-control-of-your-online-addiction time. At any rate, a little break from the internet now and again can actually be a good thing. If you can fill all that free time with touring Europe, it can be a great thing.

Of course, going offline in this age is a little bit like taking a temporary vow of silence, especially when you're an introvert and a geek. Some of us converse more with a keyboard than we do with our voices. (My husband and I were just talking to each other on gchat ... while sitting side-by-side on the couch. We're nerds. We know.)

The SCL article on digital fasting is here. It is somewhat tongue-in-cheek, of course. You have to tell your friends if you plan to fast from Facebook, because otherwise they'll all text you to ask if you died.

Sunny Moment

... so, it hasn't been the most cheerful week on the blog. Or in the world. And, of course, it has been raining.

But as I was getting ready to pick up my Lysol and X-14 and start on the bathroom, the clouds broke and sunshine came into the living room. Sunshine! I thought it was supposed to rain for ten days straight, or something like that.

I went about my housework, and about the time I was ready to Comet out the kitchen sink, it came to me that if I wanted a piece of that sun, I had less than an hour to get it before dark.

But you still have to blog, and put a focused hour on story, and sweep and vacuum the floors and clean the counters, my brain accused me. Shouldn't have fallen asleep on the couch this morning, eh? And you know the bookshelves need dusting.

I outsmarted the guilt trip and am blogging out under the blue sky. As long as I don't drop my computer into the lake that is our back sidewalk, all should be well.

Happy weekend, everybody.

Days of Rest

The last several weeks have reminded me vaguely of raft guide training.

Learning to guide a raft through whitewater involves a lot of things: studying interesting scientific concepts like ferry angles, trying to climb a rope in deep water onto an upside-down rubber boat, swimming an ice-melt rapid on a 45-degree day, exhilaration, fun, and thorough panic. I enjoyed it, and I never want to do it again.

I made a big mistake during raft guide training, though, and it contributed to my finishing out the season with anxiety issues. Everybody told me "Take a day off." My boss recommended it, multiple times. But I worked two jobs and did guide training on the weekends, and apparently had some sort of need to prove to the world that I was Supergirl. In the end, I only managed to prove to myself that we mortals ought not give ourselves to work seven days a week, especially not when part of that work requires any sort of intensive effort. It is incredibly hard on the mind.

I've found it too easy to tell myself that writing could not have the same effect on me. I love writing. Sometimes it doesn't even feel like work, and it definitely doesn't feel like thinking about what a low-head dam can do to a boat full of people. So if I pull up my computer and put a few hours into my story on Sunday afternoon, it won't hurt my week, will it?

Oh yes, it will. And I made the mistake of doing that very thing, several weeks in a row.

A lot of the Old Testament confuses me, even after years of study, but the fact that "Keep the seventh day as a holy day of rest" got into the Ten Commandments makes vast amounts of sense. Though I take Sunday instead of Saturday, I need the day of rest for sanity, and even for the sake of my work; the short break gives me a better perspective on my projects, as well as stronger mental and creative powers.

Starting with last Sunday, then, from henceforth I take my day off every week. It's good for me.

Praying for Haiti

As you've all probably heard, yesterday's 7.0 earthquake in Port-au-Prince has taken a lot of life and left a lot of people without family, friends, home, work, and supplies.

Along with the general intentions, Lou and I hope and pray for the safety of the child we sponsor through Compassion International, and for that of her family and village. She lives in the mountains, so the quake itself was possibly less of an immediate danger than any mudslides which might result from it. Compassion, like most other charitable services with outposts in the country, was at last word still trying to reach their resident staff. (Disasters tend to take out communication, on top of everything else.)

There are numerous ways for those of us who can give to do so: Compassion, Catholic Relief Services, and many other charitable organizations are active in the relief process. And we can always pray.

Barbara Michael, 1921-2010

I remember her as the fiercely independent woman she became during WWII when she left her parents' house on an errand into town and returned having signed up with the Navy. Likewise, as the mother who clung more and more to her only son and his family as she began to feel the effects of age. I remember her as the fellow writer who handed me a scrapbook of newspaper articles she'd written and published long before my birth, said I should read them since I liked to write too, and then patted my hand and said "Besides, you and I were always good friends."

She was the short woman who somehow gave life to my very tall father, and had lived near or with my family since her widowhood over twenty years ago. She died Friday night at home with my parents, in my mother's arms, and we all believe she went on to Jesus.

Rest in peace, Grandma. We all love you.

Spelling Snark

I think I'll clear up a couple of issues for the world ... or I would, if the world read my blog.

Listen up, world! If you mean voilà!, as in French for "See there!", please say so. Please, please do not say "viola!", which is either 1) a musical instrument or 2) a flower or 3) an old-fashioned first name. Seriously—I have studied several languages at the alphabet level, and have never yet run across one in which the vowel combination "io" makes the sound "wah."

Similarly, "I before E except after C and when sounding like A as in neighbor or weigh (and on weekends and holidays and all throughout May ... Brian Regan, you rock)—and in the word 'weird!' " According to The Oatmeal, every time anyone spells it "wierd," a dolphin gets run over by a jet ski. Think of the dolphins!

The Oatmeal covered a lot of other common spelling errors in the above link. That piece is a little crass in places (okay, it's a lot crass all the way through—sorry about that), but by the end it's definitely harder to forget that there is no A in "definitely."

Currently Reading: On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness

"In the nine years after Skree's king and all his lords--in fact, everyone with a claim to the throne--had been executed, the people of Skree had learned to survive under the occupation of the Fangs of Dang. The Fangs walked about like humans, and in fact they looked exactly like humans, except for the greenish scales that covered their bodies and the lizard-like snout and the two long, venomous fangs that jutted downward from their snarling mouths. Also, they had tails."

Author: Andrew Peterson

Synopsis: Janner Igiby grew up in a land ruled by terror, where children and adults disappear without warning and the disgusting Fangs regulate everything, even the hoeing of a totato patch. His mother and grandfather refuse to talk about his father, who died before Janner can remember, and Janner spends most of his time studying and helping around the farm and watching over his brother and sister. But when the Fangs throw all three children in jail, the bond posted leads the evil ruler of Skree to believe that Janner's mother has the Jewels of the lost kingdom Anniera, and life becomes a bigger and more terrifying mystery than even Janner thought it could be.

Notes:

This is a book to thrill the heart of a young boy. After all, the protagonist is a young boy, and the tale is full of glory and humor and dragons and interesting people like Janner's grandfather, Podo the pirate. There's even a recipe for booger gruel, which made me gag while I laughed.

It took me a little while to hit that can't-put-it-down mode, which may have been due to a slightly episodic feel in the early chapters and/or to the fact that when I started reading I was distracted by my own storytelling. I'll have to post sometime about how hard it is for me to read when I'm caught up in writing. Anyway, last Sunday afternoon I sat down with this book and didn't let go of it till I'd finished.

Throughout the story, fear and humor balance each other with the precision only an expert storyteller can manage.

Recommendation: Yes. It's a good book. It deserves an extra star just for the line "... in the mind of a boy, a warning isn't much different from an invitation."

The Twelfth Day of Christmas

Happy Epiphany!

For the twelfth day of Christmas, I hereby give you ... ten boys a-singing. Believe me, you've never heard that carol done like this unless you've actually heard this.



Now I have Toto's Africa running through my head. Oh well. It's a fun song.

Perfectionism, Adrenaline, and Happy Writers

My new favorite advice for authors/publishing industry blog: Agent Nathan Bransford. I want his attitude.

Several things attack my attitude on a regular basis whenever I get very emotionally involved in my writing, most notably perfectionism and fierce adrenaline drives.

Perfectionism can go from helping me write a better book to shutting off my creativity in under a second. My writers' group had to rescue me from agony over a scene last week, and Lou had to help me survive another on the weekend. Not the way I want to live most of the weeks of my life.

Adrenaline comes from being "strong-willed." I've affectionately described my will as an iron bar running through the center of my being. Once it gets set in any direction, it does not budge. If it decides that I will succeed at something, whether that be novel-writing or making a recording or yodeling, I'll drive myself to exhaustion trying. It's useful. And kind of silly. And occasionally a little scary.

Here, for anyone likewise afflicted, are Mr. Bransford's Ten Commandments for a Happy Writer. He's right about the lot. Enjoy.

The Devil's in the Details

Here's a little kitchen aphorism that can save you loads of pain: If you chop hot peppers, wear latex gloves. And if you don't have latex gloves, go to your plastics drawer and get out a couple of sandwich baggies and put them over your hands. You might even want to double up on those.

I went about learning this the hard way on New Year's Eve, having promised my husband a nice dinner. Since he likes to challenge himself with the stars at Thai restaurants, and was bringing home a friend who, being male, I assumed would like steak and spice, I decided to serve marinated steaks with mushrooms and jalapeños.

To my surprise, after chopping the peppers, one of my fingers stung a lot more than it should have just from standard winter chap. The stinging had begun to spread all over my hands within half an hour or so; I scrubbed my hands again and went to my computer. Lou signed out of IM and I knew he was on his way home, friend in tow, giving me about five minutes to put the computer away and do some last minute straightening up. Thinking about where to start, I rubbed my left eye.

After a good three minutes of holding my wrists over that eye, trying not to get too close with the fingers while wiping away the tears, I expected to greet husband and guest with one nicely made-up eye and one swollen red one painted only with saline water. (As it turns out, my eyeliner is tougher than I thought.) I got the computer away, one-eyed, and went about turning on the porch light and making dinner.

Fortunately, our guest admitted to a fondness for spice. Lou commented that the meal had turned out spicy, but I didn't particularly notice, because I spent every chewing moment either holding onto my water glass or waving my hands about under the table. For those unacquainted with the powers of capsaicin, that little hellfire chemical in chile peppers, it can burn so hard through your skin that you feel it all the way at the bone.

Miss Manners probably doesn't recommend that hostesses leave the room every few minutes, but the burning sensation just kept increasing. Lotion worked for a minute, tops. Vitamin E oil actually seemed to make things worse faster.

After dinner, I snuck into the bedroom, pulled up my computer and Googled "jalapeño burning hands". Google gave me a question-and-answer site with over seventy comments. The first person suggested bleach. Others suggested rubbing alcohol. A couple of people said not to do either, that it was dangerous to fight a chemical burn with chemicals. (That's probably true.) A few said milk (internally or externally?). Still others said there was no remedy. Everyone disagreed, and they all seemed to have reason or experience or dire warning on their side.

All right, I thought, I'll suck it up. I sat on the couch and tried to behave myself until I could bear it no longer. I went into the bathroom and doused my hands in rubbing alcohol, rubbed them till they dried, and went back to the couch ... and the burning began to ease.

Glory, hallelujah! But I could still feel traces of the stinging in my thumbs the next day, though I repeated the alcohol treatment every time I washed my hands for hours. Lesson learned. If you ever plan to spend some time with hot peppers, consider yourself warned.

And if you want a tasty capsaicin challenge for yourself, here's a recipe.

Marinade for four 4-8 oz steaks:
1/2 cup rice vinegar
2 tbsp olive oil
1 tbsp honey
1 tbsp mustard
Garlic salt and pepper

Fork meat well on both sides and turn in marinade. Let sit in refrigerator for at least six hours, turning once. Broil to desired doneness.

8 oz sliced mushrooms
3 large jalapeños, de-seeded (unless you really want the full burn) and julienned
Garlic salt
Cooking sherry

Heat olive oil very hot in a skillet. Throw in mushrooms and peppers and season with garlic salt and sherry to taste. Cook till heated through, but not thoroughly wilted.

Potatoes mashed with garlic powder and ranch dressing make a good side dish. For greens, I made a spring mix salad with slivered almonds, chopped tomatoes, and parmesan.

New Year's Eve Thoughts

New Year's resolutions have, I think, fallen somewhat out of favor. If not for the world in general, they have for me--I don't remember the last year I made one.

To mess with matters further, Lou and I planned for the coming year back at the beginning of Advent, which kicks off the liturgical year. Our "year", in other words, runs from November 29, 2009 through November 27, 2010. Which, being a geek, I think is cool.

This year, I've actually returned to the making of resolutions, at least in the form of goals. Here they are:

• Study Latin.
• Revise my novel, get it read by a few people, revise again, and query.
• Get more music recorded and get it--and some of what I did this year--up on the Internet.

Short list, yes, but big goals. Of course, Advent has gone by and I still haven't picked up that Latin book ... though you could say I get some of it by osmosis through learning Gregorian chants and reading the translations thereof. I have, however, worked hard on revision, and am trying to get my poor beat-up voice rested and warmed into decent recording shape.

Here's to 2010, and the new liturgical year too! Happy New Year to all.

Music to Write By

As a general rule, when writing I prefer silence. The wrong music can get into a writer's head and mess with mood, characterization, word flow, and all manner of things that shouldn't be messed with.

I do make exceptions, though. For my non-NaNoWriMo novel, I have playlists for all of my major characters, and sometimes playlists to describe their relationships. Not that I ever actually listen to those playlists while I write. Lou, however, put on the Rimsky-Korsakov Scheherazade one night while I worked on that novel, and now I can't hear Scheherazade without thinking of that story and seeing its images in my mind.

During November, I went silent except for the NaNoWriMo song. But here's my current writing music for this story:

Hayley Westenra's Celtic Treasure album
Owl City's Fireflies
ALL CAPS' rewrite of Fireflies as a Ron/Hermione duet

... with the last two sometimes alternating over and over, thanks to YouTube (and the linked videos are just wonderful, at least for geeks). At this point I'm probably obligated to buy both versions.

This means that Fireflies has run through my head for days, usually mixed up with the ALL CAPS version, so the lyrics will go something like "I'd get a thousand hugs/From ten thousand Viktor Krums" which is addled to the point of mildly disturbing. But I'm not complaining. I thoroughly love the song in both incarnations, and haven't tired of it yet. Besides, having it run through my head keeps all the annoying Christmas music out.

The original is also a good song for listening to when you can't sleep. I played it quite a few times between four and eight AM on Sunday.

As for Hayley Westenra, she could probably sing just about anything and it would suit my writing mood. But Celtic Treasure has Abide with Me on it, which I linked some time back. I love that piece. It still chokes me up sometimes.

Zombie Post

I tried to write a real post tonight--honest. Couldn't do it. Sleep deprivation has caught up with me, and my creativity is gone.

Even sleepy, though, I find humor in John Mark Reynolds' explanation of the denominational affiliations of the various Bible authors. Enjoy.

As for me, I'll try to come back tomorrow ... with brains.

Christmas

After three difficult Christmases in a row, we had a comparatively easygoing one this year, thanks be to God.

Lou and I chanted the entirety of first Vespers. We were very proud of ourselves for this, and despite a lot of mistakes, I have to say it was beautiful. For church we went to midnight Mass, and the music was splendid ... just splendid. Worth getting so keyed up that I couldn't sleep till 2:30, even though I had to get up at six on Christmas.

My family hosted Christmas morning for us, as is now traditional--big breakfast, lots of dogs underfoot, Luke 2 and prayer before presents. Everybody loved the little things we brought back from Italy, to my delight. Almost everybody, at least; Grandma's response, when I helped her unwrap the snow globe and placed it in her hands, was "Open it for me"--but at least she was there. Dementia and all, it made me happy to have one more Christmas with her.

At midafternoon we drove back to town and spent the evening with Lou's parents and a couple of family friends. We had exchanged presents with them and Andy and Lindsey earlier, so we relaxed and enjoyed a nice dinner and quiet evening.

As for presents--well, the family on both sides shopped at places like Amazon and Barnes & Noble, so you know Jenna came home happy. Lindsey even made me a reading pillow with ribbons to hold a book open and mark a place. It works well as a neck pillow, too, when I don't have a book in it. And I've listened to Hayley Westenra (lovely) and read part way into Andrew Peterson's On the Edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness (hilarious) and pored over the pictures in the giant book on the Vatican (wondrous; I desperately need to write a post about St. Peter's) and ... well, now I'm going to go work on my own book, because I get separation anxiety when I stay away from it for very long.

Merry Christmas to all. (Hey, it's still officially Christmas till January 6. But if you're really sick of Christmas music and you've put your tree and nativity away, then Happy New Year.)

The End of Advent

Christmas shopping: Officially complete.
Christmas wrapping: Not so complete.
Fruitcake: Also not complete.
Current state of mind: Lost in space, but happy

Lou and I lit all four candles on our Advent wreath tonight, prayed Vespers and chanted the last of the O Antiphons with the Magnificat. Our chanting has improved over the last year--being part of a chant schola helps me a lot--and we made it through the Magnificat, at least, without serious mistakes. The call to Christ, asking him to come, is my favorite part of every O antiphon; just the word veni, simple and full of longing.

Earlier in the day I went shopping at Fred Meyer and hopefully I got everything we need for the next few days, because my story-saturated brain couldn't begin to figure out where I was or what I ought to buy or where to find anything. My IQ must have temporarily dropped 40 points.

I hope that's temporary, anyway.

In case I miss blogging for tomorrow and the holiday itself--which might happen, as I still have to bake fruitcake--Merry Christmas!

On Writing Professionally

Anyone wishing to write professionally [or do anything professionally, really] should read this article by John August. He reminds us all that our work on the internet can count for or against us, and explains the necessary components of professionalism in posting.

Not that anything committed to record has ever been really safe. The world reads Anne Frank's diary (remind me to burn my own before I die) and Jane Austen's letters to her sister.

On the worldwide web, however, we offer samples of our work for uncharted public scrutiny, items that say something about us and count toward whatever image the outside world has of us. Those samples might say things like "I couldn't pass a first-grade spelling test" or "No one ever taught me how and when to shut my mouth" or "Logic and I have never been properly introduced." They might also say "I have a keen creative streak" and "Kindness and reason are my best friends" and "My mother taught me how to present myself with common decency."

The thought scares me a little, but in a good way.

Christmas Decorations

We decorated our Christmas tree last night.

Us, the tree, the nativity, and my purple fuzzy socks, all with mood lighting:

Also, my Christmas cactus decided to put its heart and soul into blooming this year. That makes me happy.

In case you wonder: yes, that is an incredibly small crèche there. Joseph looks like Gimli. I get a kick out of it.

The New Moon Movie

Lou took me to see this a few weeks ago, and as a movie review post tends to take a lot of time to write, I've procrastinated. I did get a short piece up at The Hog's Head celebrating the faithfulness of the movie to the book, but here I'll talk details. Spoilers ahead!

New Moon being my favorite novel of the four, the movie could have seriously bombed for me. It did not. I liked it, and so did Lou. (Lou, good man, likes the Twilight movies better than the Potter movies. So do I, though in a battle of the books, I think Potter will always win for me.)

The four blank chapters in the novel, titled according to the four months they represent, could have been very difficult to communicate in movie format. Weitz and crew did a fantastic job.

The worst part of the movie experience for me: Sitting in front of the sort of girl who gives Twilight fans a bad name. She kept up a steady run of insinuating commentary throughout the film--out loud. 'Really,' I wanted to tell her, 'I know both the leading boys took their shirts off--but I managed to sit through it without swooning. Can't you?'

Though I consider myself firmly Team Edward, I have to say that the movie (and Taylor Lautner's good work in his role) made Jacob seem a lot more relatable than Edward. Not so in the book. That scene in Eclipse where Bella breaks her hand punching Jacob in the jaw? Yeah, I'm right there with her on that.

Favorite scene: The little flash-forward where a transformed Bella runs with Edward through the trees. Kristen Stewart makes a lovely sparkly vampire.

I found all the cinematography quite beautiful, but especially the vampire and werewolf action scenes, which usually happened in the forests. Being from the Pacific Northwest, I love getting to see this area displayed so splendidly on the big screen.

Leaving out Catherine Hardwicke's old-movie-style clips made for a little discontinuity between the films, but New Moon was still too well shot for that to greatly bother me.

Charlie and Carlisle (Billy Burke and Peter Facinelli, respectively) gave flawless performances, as always.

Bella jumping on the back of the stranger's motorcycle made my one big quibble with the movie itself. She rides off with a catcalling guy she doesn't know ... and he brings her back? Hardly believable.

I did miss Carlisle actually stating his belief that he and his family are not necessarily damned. At least Bella said it.

The Volturi scene had too much action in it for me, but Dakota Fanning makes a perfect Jane. My goodness, that girl can act.

Overall rating: Definitely worth the $9 it cost to see it. At least, for those of us who like Twilight. Feel free to add your own impressions in the comments.

Busy Day and Vonnegut Quote

Attempted day revision results:

I made it all the way till after lunch without checking email and all the way to late afternoon without checking Facebook. The world did not fall apart. I still floundered in the revision process, but at least I did so for several hours.

Amusing quote:

"Any reviewer who expresses rage and loathing for a novel is preposterous. He or she is like a person who has put on full armor and attacked a hot fudge sundae."--Kurt Vonnegut

Revising Days

Maybe I need to revise my days, as well as my novel.

For instance, if every morning I skipped right over checking my four email accounts and Facebook and Google Reader, and went right away into working on my story, then I might get more done and with less distractions. By evening my brain has worn thin and I have a lot of other things to do. If I saved email checking till then, I wouldn't give my best energy to responding to threads and writing up little items and chasing links to anything that might make me a better writer--or a more well-informed citizen--or less curious.

Actually, I do myself a little injustice there, at least since November ended. I've been very good about not getting lost in the internet maze during the day. Many times I don't even get around to reading most of my Google Reader, I just clear it out. That may be a shameful thing for a blogger to say.

But I'm floundering a bit in the revision process, and part of that is just distraction; failure to focus long enough to actually set a plan and follow it properly.

For tonight, my brain needs a little break. Wednesdays are busy, and I've kept on the move since 6:45 AM. I plan to to take a little time to rest and read; then I'll try to give my attention to storytelling for awhile. Maybe tomorrow I can try revising my day.

Currently Reading: Interworld

Authors: Neil Gaiman and Michael Reaves

I must say, Gaiman and Reaves can write. Gaiman is the author of many well-known stories, including Coraline, The Graveyard Book, and Stardust; Reaves is a television writer who has also done two of the Star Wars books. Their first couple of pages convinced me to bring Interworld home from the library, and I had it read in two days.

The book follows the tale of Joey Harker, a teenage boy with a malformed sense of direction (I can sympathize, being of the "whichever way I think something is, you should actually take the other way to find it" persuasion.) Joey gets lost in town and accidentally walks into another dimension. It's a fascinating story. But the ending perplexed me. Spoiler alert!

Interworld doesn't have a bad ending, just a mildly unsatisfactory one. It left me uncertain of how to rate the book in my own imagination. I enjoyed the writing, the conflict, the juxtaposition of science and magic--really well done--and the character choices. The great escape scene had me totally hooked in ... and then the last couple of pages just fell flat for me. I wanted the main character to receive healing and recompense for his efforts. Instead, as C.S. Lewis said, "if you do one good deed your reward is usually to be set to do another and harder and better one" ... and that worked great in Lewis' The Horse and His Boy, where Shasta/Cor has to save Narnia and Archenland after running at a lion, because he finds his father in the process and eventually becomes a king and gets the girl.

In Interworld, it's the lonely triumph of the hero working with a team of versions of himself and an uncertain future. While the characters are lovable in the book, the idea that leaves me with feels a little nightmarish.

The "Hero/ine learns to be self-reliant" ending may have as much or more intrinsic worth as "Boy gets girl and they ride off into the sunset", but it cannot be quite as fulfilling. Oh well. Interworld makes a good read, anyway.

The Genre Question

This is not the first time I've said that I do not normally think much about genre while writing. Not to say that I don't keep in mind that a story must abide by certain rules, or that for marketing's sake it needs to fit at least loosely into some accepted category. I just have never gotten into genre loyalty, and many of my favorite books don't like to be stacked neatly into labeled boxes.

Since I have yet to query, let alone get published, my ideas may belong in the category of "Kids, don't try this at home." Still, as a picky first-time reader and an insatiable re-reader, someone who likes books from science fiction and (clean) romance and fantasy and literary fiction, etc., but hasn't found any genre regularly satisfactory, I write what I would like to read. Classification and focus come in the second draft.

After several days going over the scenes and characters in my NaNoWriMo novel, and after reading a lot about the fantasy genre by those who read and write it, I've realized a couple of things about my book. First, I know the age group to which it should be marketed. Second, it doesn't fall exactly into the category I thought it did--and it's better this way, at least as I have written it. It would take a much deeper rewrite and a thorough shift in tone to get it to the genre I had thought of, but I like the tone and nature of the story as I have it now.

As someone working in the nebulous land between fantasy and fairy tale, I found myself intrigued by the answers.com article on the subject. I don't know that I agree with all the theories in there, but I do have a better idea of where this project stands.

Currently Falling Asleep

... and must rise at the unholy hour of o'dark-thirty in the morning, so apologies for the short post.

I need to spend the next several days helping out my family while my mom visits my grandma in Florida, which will likely decrease my computer time by at least ninety-five percent. The middle of next week may pass before I can blog again. We'll see.

In the mean time, if you haven't seen the following video by a guy who has made a YouTube name for himself out of things along the lines of transparent angling ferrets, you should. It makes me laugh.

Austenian Morality

Lou told me the other night that I would definitely want to read this article about Jane Austen and modern sensibility. I read it, and he was right. As someone who enjoys Austen's books in part because morals get mixed in with the romance and humor, I loved the piece.

"Austen lived on the cusp of the 18th-century Augustan and 19th-century Romantic ages. In our own time, nearly every song, advertisement and movie is based on Romantic principles. No matter how much we may enjoy the "felicities of domestic life," as Austen put it in "Persuasion," we still feel the enormous Romantic pull to do something more heroic and intense. Rather than digesting a good dinner while conversing with friends, we should be out forging the consciousness of our race in the smithy of our soul, or some damn thing. I don't really want to forge the consciousness of my race, but at the same time I don't want to miss out on all that Romanticism offers. This is where Austen comes in, for she is an Augustan familiar with Romanticism, which makes her more useful than a modern writer in helping us face the Romantic challenge. Only she can so credibly show us that it is possible to have moderation and deep feeling, good dinners and good poetry."

Enjoy.

Winter Plans

The golden leaves have almost all drifted from the three weeping willow trees I watch, and I miss warm air. Did I ever sit on this couch in a skort and T-shirt? That taxes my imagination now. I have currently armed myself against the cold with plenty of heavy clothing and a fleece blanket.

Thankfully, the Douglas fir out back pledges to keep a little green amid all the gray of winter. Lighting a lot of candles helps with the early darkness, and in just two weeks, the days start getting lighter instead of darker. In the mean time, I have things to do.

With NaNoWriMo over, I dutifully put my novel away and told myself not to look at it until January. Everybody says wait to revise, anywhere from a few weeks to a year. I lasted until last Friday. NaNo gave me momentum; I couldn't bear to lose that now, or to shift my energy to another project and wind up putting this one on indefinite hold. Out came the file, and I used up the rest of our copy paper printing the manuscript and started re-reading and marking off the scenes.

As some of the authors' sites I've visited recommend setting a date for the completion of revision, I've chosen March 20, the first day of spring. Arbitrary? Maybe, but March sounded about right anyway. That gives me a focus and purpose for these winter months, when even with the furnace running almost constantly, my hands and feet stay cold. I'll write scenes and slash poor lines and fix plot problems--of which I have noted sixty--as fast as my chilly fingers can manage.

For the single most helpful article I've found on revising a novel, click over to this page by Holly Lisle. Second place goes to Steve Thompson.

Lolcats in Rome

My husband has applied his genius to the ideals of icanhascheezburger.com:

Great Things

Taking a break from my string of I-haven't-thought-about-anything-but-novel-in-weeks posts, we return to tales of the trip to Rome. A picture may be worth a thousand words (a writer's least favorite aphorism), but no picture can well describe how utterly humongous the old buildings are. These pictures, however, give it a try. Think, for instance, of the front of St. Peter's:

... and then look at me, standing at the base of one of the columns.

From the inside, we see Bernini's baldacchino (the dark canopy structure in the middle):

They say that the baldacchino would actually fit inside the little hole at the top of the dome, seen at the bottom of this picture:

Lou shot that picture from the base of the dome, after climbing three hundred some stairs to get that far (it takes another two hundred to get to the top of the dome.) Here you have the view down from the same level:

Not that the Vatican has the corner on massiveness. The "giant wedding cake", otherwise known as a monument to Vittorio Emanuele II, does what it can:

... and there's nothing particularly shrimpy about the Colosseum, either.

Naming Characters, Part II: Fantasy

Despite my adoration of the world of faerie, as seen in numberless re-reads of things like Harry Potter and Narnia and The Little White Horse, I honestly do not read a lot of fantasy fiction. I have several reasons for my lack of loyalty to the genre, with "impossible character names" at the top of the list.

Fantasy and sci-fi character naming is a whole art in itself, encompassing linguistic study and all sorts of rules about consistency between worlds and things. Unfortunately, to me it tends to read like walking into one of those neighborhoods where the parents attempt to outdo each other on weird names for their children. The writers of fantasy often draw names from foreign sources or make them up altogether, which makes the characters immediately more difficult to identify with and almost always less memorable.

Admittedly, Tolkien's Middle-Earth work is a linguistic achievement like no other. But even for Tolkien I had to read The Lord of the Rings twice and watch all the movies before I could remember the minor characters' names. As for Potter, I read the first four books before finally asking someone how to pronounce Hermione, and it then took me ages to get "Hermie-own" out of my head. Even Hermione's own attempt to explain the pronunciation of her name to Viktor Krum did not help much; it needed emphasis. Her-MY-oh-nee.

I don't really think about genre when writing, but having several worlds puts me in the category of fantasy--high fantasy, of all things, since there is no earth-as-we-know-it. Which leaves me with a conundrum: Should I attempt linguistic genius? Or make the names memorable and relatable?

Right now I have chosen the latter, with some respect for the former. In an attempt at both memorability and consistency, I'll give the natives of any world Anglicized names derived from the same root language. I actually have comparatively few named characters; unfortunately, most of the minor ones need renaming. But Mr. Ian Woon gets to keep his name.

"But Jenna, one would think you'd have gone through all this before you wrote the book!"

Right. Well, one would think.

Naming Characters

Current occupation: finding ways to work on my story without actually looking at it. Except for the parts I type from memory to try out different character names.

In picking names for my primary triptych, at three different times and from three different sources, I somehow managed to come up with three names beginning with the letter A. Nothing wrong with A, but all conventional wisdom says "Don't start multiple main characters' names with the same first letter." It makes fast reading harder and more annoying.

I did not discover my mistake until having thrown myself head-first into actually writing the book, and now I am faced with renaming at least one very important character. The siblings can perhaps survive with sharing initials, but the best friend has to go through a change, and after writing the entire first draft with her name very fixed in my mind, I might as well try to rename one of my own friends.

Every different name makes a slight difference in the person you imagine, and having officially made up my mind to change that girl's name, it remains now to be seen whether her personality is going to be seriously affected.

Ever stared at yourself in the mirror and wondered what other names you could have successfully pulled off? Maybe I am just weird.

For an enjoyable article on naming characters,  click here. Maybe giving the main character's brother a nickname like "Flash" or "Blaster" would help. Not either of those, though. Yipes.

Funny Line of the Week

I miss my story. (No, that's not supposed to be funny.)

This was somebody's signature line on the NaNo boards:

"If life gives you lemons, make orange juice. Let the rest of the world wonder how the $%?#! you managed it."

All right, I know I'm overwrought and even more easily amused than usual ... but that just makes me howl.