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High-calorie phraseology…

 

     I read somewhere that while writing your rough draft, you should have fun and play with it, pander to yourself.  Use those flowery phrases and long descriptions you enjoy.  However, when you do your rewrite be brutal and cut to the bones of the story. 

     Heck, I wish I had the habit of overwriting.  My rough drafts are too tight.  I spend too much time in rewrites adding things.  I long for more meat and fat to cut.  Instead, I need to flesh out the bones.

     Sometimes I think I listened too well to all those sessions where they told us to keep it simple.  I have to learn to play with my writing more and listen to my little editor less when I do a rough draft.  I need to change my writing diet and quit curbing my appetite for high-fat phrases. 

     Would a diet of high-calorie phraseology and fat-laden metaphors and similes smooth the progress of my writing?  Do the bones need to have more flesh in the rough draft?

Cucumber bugs in the melon patch

 

     It’s time to buy some insecticidal soap.  I found cucumber bugs nibbling on my cantaloupe plants tonight.  However, they are leaving the cucumber plant alone, which makes one wonder why the have the name cucumber bugs.  I’d rather they’d leave my melon plants alone thank you very much.

     Since I didn’t have any insecticidal soap on hand, I picked off the bugs and dropped them into a jar of hot soapy water.  It killed them.  I may have to continue this method for a few days.  Right now, it looks as though there aren’t many in my veggie garden.  I checked the potted veggies too and they seem to have escaped any bug damage. 

     My neighbors must think I’m crazy when they see the light from my flashlight bobbing around the yard at all hours.  Although, if I hadn’t been checking plants at such an odd hour I might never have seen which bugs were snacking on my plants.

     I am pleased to see so many little cucumbers and peppers on the plants.  All the tomato plants have flowers, there are a few little patty pan squash growing, the eggplants have flowers now, and I have a few teensy acorn squash.  Now all I need to see to make my heart go pitty-pat would be some cantaloupes and watermelons starting.

G now holds the title of Queen Klutz

 

     Do you remember when I sprained both ankles after taking the tumble on the uneven sidewalk in our back yard?  Then all the other Klutzy things I’ve done?  I have been dethroned.  I bow down to my dear friend G.  She outdid me on Thursday night. 

     G and a friend went to a local college theater to see the Mikado.  She was going to tell me all about it today, but when I didn’t hear from her, I thought I’d go over and visit.  As I normally do, I walked through her back gate, up her deck steps, knocked on the screen door, and gave her a ‘yoo hoo!’  Imagine my surprise to see her limping to the door.

     “What the heck did you do?”  I stared at her.

     “I tumbled down some steps.”

     “What steps?”

     “Over at the college by the theater entrance.  I didn’t get to the play.”

     “Holy crap, woman.”

     “Yeah, I did a real good job falling.”  She began to point out her injuries.

     Her badly sprained, very swollen ankle, the cut on the outside edge of her eyebrow, the beginnings of a hell of a shiner, her left wrist—wrapped in an ACE bandage, and the shinbone on the other leg was looking quite colorful. 

     “Geez and I thought I held the record for klutziness.”

     “I think I’ve got you beat.  There’s more.”  She showed me the bruise on her elbow and her chipped glasses.

     “Egads!  I do believe you’ve taken the title from me.  Do you want me to get you a couple of fresh ice packs?  Want to borrow my crutches?”

     “No, I just iced everything.”  She showed me a cane.  “My hands are both so sore I have trouble using this so I don’t think crutches would help.”

     “I don’t suppose they would.  Can I get you anything?”

     “No.  I’m fine.”

     “You let me know if you need anything. 

     “I will.” 

     “You know you’re my blog post tonight.”

     “Gee, thanks.”

     “Anything for you.”

     “Yeah.  Anyway, they were very nice to me at the college.  They wanted to call an ambulance but I said no.  They even exchanged our tickets for a later show.  We’re going to try to see the play again, next Thursday.”

     “Stay away from those stairs.”

Ampyra formerly known as Fampridine

 

     Ampyra was FDA approved back in January.  Today the neurologist’s physician assistant talked to DH about putting him on Ampyra.  Funny, when I mentioned to his neurologist the last time I was along, he didn’t seem to know WTF I was talking about then.  To me this means I’m probably one-step ahead of him.

     DH is the love of my life, my soul mate.  Do you think I don’t try to keep on top of everything out there for MS?  I do daily research.  I read articles on MS treatments from all over the world.  I keep track of the progress of clinical trials and any new drugs that show promise. 

     They list 14 of ‘the most common side effects’ of Ampyra.  Yes, a few of them are scary but then his secondary progressive MS is overwhelmingly terrifying.  To DH it’s a case of choosing between struggling to walk and improved walking.  He wants to walk.

     He isn’t taking it yet.  They are checking to see if his drug plan covers it or not before prescribing it.  Knowing his drug plan, he’ll probably have to fight for it. 

Surprise! A new look.

 

     I thought it was time for a change.  I hope you like it.  One thing I noticed was the print is larger, which I like.  However,  it is lighter, which I don’t like. 

     I may have to play a little.

     The Blogrolls are now on the bottom of the page along with everything else that isn’t a post.  Not sure if I like that, but we’ll see.

     This is going to take some getting used to.  I hope you all like the changes.  If not, let me know.  I do want your opinions.

Are we sanitizing ourselves into oblivion?

 

     When we were kids, we used to go outside and play…in the dirt.  We’d come home so filthy you couldn’t tell us from the neighborhood boys, or the boy cousins, if we were visiting our grandfather’s farm. 

     Mom was lucky if we really washed our hands before dinner.  We went swimming in lakes and stagnant ponds and went wading in drainage ditches and creeks. 

     There was no such thing as sanitizing wipes or antibacterial soaps.  Do you remember the two-second rule for dropped food?  Don’t forget to blow on it too.

     We rolled in the grass, rode our bikes all day, played in the rain, and we seldom caught colds.  Allergies?  The closest I came to one as a child was a reaction to eating way too much fresh pineapple—I got a rash that went away the next day.

     I have a novel idea…for the entire summer put away the kids’ computers, game boys, WIIs, X-boxes, cell phones, and other paraphernalia and take them outside to play.  I mean really play and get filthy.  They might get healthier. 

     In fact, moving around and doing something outside would do adults a lot of good too.

Consistency in writing or brain farts can happen to the best of us

 

     I sent Dave a chapter to read where I must’ve been channeling my Grandmother because I used her first name instead of a character’s name.  I have no idea why or how she popped in there.  I’m glad Dave caught it so I could change the name to the right one. 

     I am writing several books at once.  It isn’t unusual for me to have an ‘oops’ now and then.  (Okay, Dave I admit it isn’t infrequent for me to oops it.)  That’s why I have people such as Dave read and comment on my work. 

     Name errors aren’t the worst of it.  I’ve managed to screw up time lines, had an entire chapter go missing, and other things too.  I know I’ve truly goofed up when a chapter comes back to me with a large question mark and the comment WTF on the top of the page.

     Brain farts can happen at the best of times.  Mine happen when I have too many trains of thought derail in one day.  The choo-choo can only go off the track so many times before there’s nothing left but rubble.

Time management

 

     You have to be kidding.  Me manage time?  I wish.  That’s as much a pipe dream as organizing the house.  I’ve tried to do both and have yet to succeed.

     It never fails to amaze me that no matter when I get up, the day doesn’t have enough hours in it for me to do the things I’d like to have done around here.  Maybe if I could clone myself…

     I’d need more than one clone.  However, that would pose another problem.  Where would I put my clones?  This house is tiny.  How would I feed them?  If they eat like I do that would put a hurting on our food budget.  Clones won’t work.

     This, in turn, brings us back to time management.  How does one manage time?  I have no idea.  I remain clueless.  I’ve tried making schedules but between DH, his mother, and the dogs schedules don’t work.  Something always comes up to scotch it.

     I would try delegating chores and projects but when there’s no one else to delegate those things to, that doesn’t work either.  I need more hours in the day, or in my case, the night.

     How do you manage time?

Garden update

 

     We’ve had enough rain to get the veggies and melons off to a great start.  I have tiny peppers on most of the pepper plants.  The tomato plants all have flowers now.  I have to go out and find another sugar baby water melon plant because I foolishly bought only one and should have purchased two.  The one I have is growing like crazy but without another to cross-pollinate I doubt I’ll get any fruit.

     The eggplant plants have tripled in size but no flowers yet.  I finally have dill growing tall and happy without the nasty earwigs chewing the plant down to the roots this time.  Planting it in the pot worked well.  The squash plants are loaded with flowers and a couple of them have teensy squash on them.  The bush cucumber has flowers but no sign of any cukes yet.  I’m not very certain that the plant was marked correctly because the plant certainly isn’t a bush.

     G gave me some cannas the other day and I planted them.  I hope they come up.  The black elephant ears are beginning to look good.  The ones in the pot are bigger than the ones in the garden.

Oh, the carnage in a rewrite.

 

     As writers, we all write phrases, similes, or metaphors that we find irresistible.  We are in love with them.  However, when we have someone read our offering and they say those certain phrases we hold dear suck, well that’s when we realize that no one else likes our attempts at cute, humor, or brilliance. 

     In that case, we need to slaughter them.  (No, not the readers.)  We need to kill those phrases, similes, or metaphors the readers find that take them out of the story.  We must put our fingers on the delete key and get to work. 

     Yes, ouch.

     Then again, you may want to keep those babies of yours because you find them to be brilliant.  Remove them from the story anyway and store them elsewhere.  Weeks, months, maybe years down the road, you’ll go back, re-read them, wonder why you found them to be so fantastic, and then be willing to let them die a dignified death.

     We mustn’t fall so profoundly in love with our writing that we refuse to let our stories evolve. 

     I’m doing three different rewrites right now and you wouldn’t believe the carnage.

Poor little kitten in mittens

 

     I wish I knew what possesses people to dump animals.  G has a kitten that someone dumped in her yard.  He’s about 4 to 6 months old.  The little guy is staying on her deck and in her yard.  He is a brown tabby with four white mittens and a white bib.  He has beautiful green eyes and a wonderful personality—very loving and outgoing.  G can’t take him in because she already has three cats and they have already protested his presence in her yard.  She doesn’t want to take him to the shelter because it is a kill shelter.  All the no kill shelters are full and they won’t take him.

     I can’t take him because Patty and Gavin don’t like kitties.  We are trying to find him a home.  Visually, he’s healthy no ear mites or fleas.  As far as other health problems such as feline leukemia, we have no idea.

     At least the weather is warm and G has a gazebo over her deck so he can stay dry.  He’s been eating as if it has been weeks since he’s seen food. 

     If you live in Eastern PA and want him, let me know.  I’ll put you in contact with G.  The word is out.  All we can do is sit back and wait for someone who wants a young cat.

Toss out those adverbs

 

     “Use strong verbs.”  My little editor says.  “Don’t be such a wimp.  Become a verb superstar.” 

     “Yeah, you would say that.”  I delete a verb and try another.  “It’s not as easy as you think.”

     “It’s not as difficult as you feel it is.  Dig deeper.  You can find the right words.  Think of it as a treasure hunt, the stronger the verbs the more gold in your writing.”

     “In other words go word mining?  Do I get a verb detector?  One of those hats with a light on it?  How about a pickaxe?”

     “You don’t get the toys but that’s the idea.  You need to find the right words.”

     “I know, I know but remember this is the rough draft.  I’m only getting the story down I can fix things later.”  I continue typing.

     “It doesn’t hurt to start good and finish great.”

     “Now you sound like my father.”

     My little editor makes an elaborate bow.  “I am honored to hear you say that.”

     “Yeah, but he also told me to work smarter not harder.”

     “Haven’t you noticed?  Your writing is getting better all the time.  You are working smarter because you’ve been listening to me.”