Three-Minute Fiction

My dad, a talented photographer, always told me that a photograph should tell a story, evoke some type of mood. Sadly, I never mastered the art of photography. I am still trying to figure out what button to press to capture a photo. The result hasn't been very good, but still, I try. I do like to use photos for writing prompts. If the photographer has been successful, the photo evokes some type of reaction. The image might spark another image or a memory or an emotion. In the past, I've recommending looking through old photo albums. Choose several photos and do a fifteen-minute freewrite on each. Flip through magazines that are rich with photos and choose one to do a freewrite. It doesn't have to lead to a larger work or anything at all. The importance is that you've written something. Don't throw it away. Tuck it in your notebook. Maybe someday down the road, when you're flipping through your notebooks, it'll lead to something else. If it doesn't, that's okay, too.

Speaking of photographs...NPR is sponsoring round three of their Three-Minute Fiction contest. This time around, they're giving you a photo on which to base a 600 word story. The contest is free to enter, and you can enter online. Here are the links:
Three-Minute Fiction Round Three

Official Rules: Three-Minute Fiction Round Three

Good luck and keep writing!

Moments of Agony

This past week I spent 24 hours in the emergency room for a mysterious pain that had me doubled over and rendered non-functional. It made me delirious, and it got to the point where if the doctors couldn’t find and fix the source, I wanted to die. When you have pain like that for 3 days, it chisels away at everything, including your will to live. I eventually got through it (obviously, because I’m writing this blog entry today) as I have gotten through other moments of agony. There’s the agony of childbirth. It’s one of the worst pains, but once you get through it you get to hold your perfect, beautiful baby. There’s the agony associated with illness, like the time I had pulmonary emboli, which caused my right lower lobe of my lungs to collapse. That was worse than the pains I experienced in childbirth, in my opinion. Then there are the agonies not associated with illness but still render you non-functional. Deaths of loved ones. The realization your marriage is over. The loss of a child. There’s the agony of waiting. Waiting for answers. Waiting for something to pass. We handle our agonies in different ways. Sometimes we manage to get through it. Sometimes we get through it, but it’s not something that goes away.

Think about the moments of agony in your life. What situations or problems made you feel so bad that you didn’t think you could get through it? What did you do? When doing your freewrite, avoid adjectives like “overwhelming” and “painful.” Be specific. State what was overwhelming and painful. If it helps, leave your emotions out of it and describe it using only facts. Use who, what, where, why and how. Once you get it all down, you can insert your impressions and feelings. What is your perspective on it now? If you are still dealing with it, describe how. This may be a difficult exercise. You might want to start by setting your timer for 5 minutes. It may take several freewrites to get it all down. The important thing is to get it all down. Push through the pain and keep writing…

Everyone Has an Opinion

Each week our local talk radio show has a “Gripe Friday.” There is no predetermined topic or format. Listeners call in and gripe about whatever is on their minds. One calls in about tractor trailer trucks clogging the parking lots to shopping centers. Another calls in about the lack of customer service at restaurants. Someone complains about coverage on cable news, the war in Iraq. The calls have a snowball effect. The phone lines become clogged with listeners waiting to add their two cents. The responses range from, “That happened to me, too,” “I agree,” to passionate opposite opinions. The result is always entertaining. Sometimes my own blood pressure goes up.

Everyone has an opinion. It’s just that some of us are noisier than others. Some clam up and keep their opinions to themselves. (I’m not one of them.) Others begin letter writing campaigns or make phone calls. We can shout about those things to whomever will listen. Or at no one. We can write a letter to the editor of the newspaper or dash off an email to the producers of an offending television show. Or we can do nothing. It’s our choice.

How many times have you shouted at the television or at something you’ve read? What has irritated you lately? What are your pet peeves? Make a list of these things. Think about the times you disagreed with someone or spoke passionately about an issue. When I say issue, it doesn’t necessarily mean politically or socially motivated. Interpret it in any way you want. If you want, skip the list and go right to the freewrite. Write about whatever is rubbing you the wrong way, raising your blood pressure, making you swear. Get it all out. When you’re finished, take a deep breath and pat yourself on the back. What you do with your freewrite is your choice.

“Sometimes I am asked, ‘Is it true you should write what you know about?’ I say, ‘No, write what you care about.’ If you don’t know, you’ll find out. But if you don’t care, why should anyone else?”
~ Anne Perry

What I Didn't Do On My Summer Vacation

It’s Labor Day weekend, and even though summer doesn’t officially end until later this month, people are having their final summer picnics and closing their pools until next season. Around here, the kids have already completed their first week of school. Where did the summer go? While I love autumn and football games, I’m sorry to see the summer end. It seemed to go by in a blink. I didn’t get to do what I had hoped or had planned to do.

I didn’t get to the beach as I had hoped. I heard about others’ beach trips, and I watched my co-workers and neighbors getting tanner. I didn’t plant any flower boxes. I didn’t quit smoking. I didn’t finish my novel. I didn’t read all the books I ordered from the book catalogues that kept coming in the mail. My summer sounds so boring and bleak. But even though I spent most of the summer working, there were some lovely moments. Originally for this week’s exercise I was going to ask you to do a twist on the Natalie Goldberg freewrite “What I did on my summer vacation,” and change it to “What I didn’t do…” But that sounds so negative and full of regret. There’s enough negativity around us. Instead, I want us to continue focusing on the positive, on hope.

I didn’t get to do a lot of things I had hoped, but for the most part, I had a great summer. My favorite memory is of the time my daughter and I went to the county fair. We walked through the rows of farm animals. We watched baby chicks hatching. She had her picture taken with a cow. We watched a live elephant show and went to the petting zoo. We fed the baby goats and a llama spit on her. I couldn’t convince her to ride a camel. When a guy in one of the booths approached us, he asked if we were sisters. We told him we were cousins transplanted from Pittsburgh. Daisy and Lola. I told him a story about how Daisy’s mom was an F. Scott Fitzgerald aficionado and named her after the Daisy in The Great Gatsby. You think that would have scared him away, but instead, he asked us for our number. We gave him the number to the Rejection Hotline. We ate traditional fair food and listened to the live bands. The air was filled with the smell of frying funnel cakes and French fries (the vendor called them Freedom fries, and I went into a rant about how French fries have nothing to do with France). From a distance we watched the dust clouds and heard the roaring engines of the tractor pull. We got caught in a downpour and ran through the rain, laughing. Mostly from that day I remember we laughed a lot.

For this week’s freewrite, write about your favorite summer memory. It doesn’t have to be from this most recent summer. Start your freewrite with, “When I think about summer…”Set your timer for 15 minutes and write without stopping, without censoring yourself.

What I've Left Behind

It’s been a few months since I’ve moved, and I think I’ve finally settled in, finally feel like it’s home. (The cats seem less traumatized and are settling well, too.) But some days I make myself crazy trying to find things, wondering if it’s something else I’ve left behind. Just this morning, I wanted to look up something in a book, but for the life of me, I couldn’t find it. I tore through piles of books I have scattered throughout my home. No luck. Did I have it at my last residence? Yes. So I know it’s not in storage in my ex’s house. Have I picked up the book since I’ve moved? Yes. So I know it’s not in the boxes of books I have stashed in my closets. When was the last time I read it? I couldn’t remember. Did I take it to work? Is it in my car? Did I throw it in a drawer? I was wasting too much time trying to find it. Time to move on and do something constructive.

Back in 1937, when the original Sloppy Joe’s Bar moved from 268 Greene Street to its current location on Greene and Duval Streets, patrons picked up their glasses and whatever fixtures the could grab and walked down the street to the new location. Business was not disrupted and continued with hardly a blink of an eye. Moving could not be any easier.

Moving is never easy, but the best part is starting with a clean slate, starting over. Finally having a place of my own, to arrange things the way I want to, no one to second guess why I’m doing this or that. I feel like I’ve taken back control I’ve lost over the years. Yes, I like that.

But then I have days I when I discover something I’ve left behind. It’s usually something insignificant like my favorite paring knife, the potato masher, some other kitchen gadget. All that is replaceable. Sometimes I think about the other things I’ve left behind, not replaceable. My childhood home. Before that, being physically a part of my kids’ lives. Leaving was a difficult but necessary decision, and a day doesn’t go by that I don’t feel guilt or heartbreak. We stay in touch via text and phone and email, but I miss the daily closeness and routine. I miss not being able to just reach out and hug my daughter when she’s had a bad day at school, or when she’s sad because the boy she likes dropped her from his MySpace friends list. Or just grabbing and hugging them for no reason at all. I miss the clatter in the kitchen and the clutter and noise that comes with a house full of teenagers. I even miss the nagging about homework, computer time or laundry. I’m missing the arguments about who gets to use the car or whether the things they’re doing to fill their time will enhance their college applications. I hope someday they’ll understand. Meantime I let them know as often as I can that I love them, I have and always will, no matter what.

For your freewrite this week, write about the things or people you’ve left behind. Set your timer for 15 minutes. Don’t stop and don’t censor yourself. Take a deep breath and go deep…

Time and Balance

I’m discouraged today. After a burst of writing energy over the last couple weeks, I’ve hit a block. It’s not Writer’s Block. I’ve had a flurry of ideas which is evident by all the folders and tablets containing various stages of stories and articles on my desk, on the floor, on my diningroom table. What has discouraged me is time—the lack of it and how to balance the time I have. I’m grateful for this unending flow of writing ideas. A lot of writers I know complain about not having enough. But how to manage it all?

This week I think I’ve set unattainable goals and unrealistic deadlines. I have a growing to-do list and not enough time to accomplish it all. That’s only my writing to-do list. I haven’t even mentioned how I’ve been neglecting the housework, neglecting my loved ones, my friends, my cats. I haven’t turned on my phone yet today. I’ve been doing nothing but writing all day, but I feel like I’ve accomplished nothing, that I’ve been spinning my wheels.

I was working on an article I’ve been excited about getting to all week. It started with writing one article about Ernest Hemingway, one of my favorite authors, and before I knew it, I was outlining one topic after another. The thing with Hemingway just snowballed. The more I researched him, the more I wanted to learn about him, the more I wanted to write about him. It’s almost become an obsession. I want to know about his life, his loves, his cats, how he wrote, so I can learn more from him. It has me sidetracked. I haven’t written a word of fiction for I-don’t-know-how-long. My novel-in-progress has sat in the same spot for weeks. Fiction has been my first love when it comes to writing. Someday I’d like to make a living doing nothing but churn out novel after novel. Today I kidded myself thinking I could spend part of my day working on articles and set aside a block of time to work on my novel. It’s hard for me to shift into fiction writing mode once I’ve been in non-fiction mode. How do you switch off one mode to focus on another? How do you find a balance and make enough time?

Normally I can find some encouragement or some writing advice, but today, I’ve dug deep down and came up with nothing. I don’t have an answer for this. I need to hear what works for you. For now, I’m going to walk away from my desk, breathe and call my daughter.

This week your freewriting exercise is to write about “time.” Set your timer for 15 minutes and write whatever comes to mind…

The Mother of Mother's Day

This year marks the 100th anniversary of the observance of Mother’s Day. While Anna Jarvis is credited with the observance, Julia Ward Howe was the first to suggest a national observance.

Anna Jarvis was known as the Mother of Mother’s Day. She never married nor had children. Ms. Jarvis was inspired by her own mother, Anna Marie Reeves Jarvis, who expressed a desire to pay tribute to all mothers, both living and dead, for all their contributions. Anna’s mother was a community activist and a social worker. Most noted were her efforts to heal the divide between north and central West Virginia after the Civil War by organizing Mothers’ Friendship Day. In her community she fought for improved sanitation. For 22 years she taught Sunday School at Andrews Methodist Episcopal Church. She was a popular public speaker, uncommon for a woman in those days. When she died in 1905, the church bells tolled 72 times in her honor.

After her mother’s death, Anna Jarvis became more resolved in establishing a Mother’s Day. She distributed white carnations during a church service at the West Virginia church. She chose white carnations because carnations were her mother’s favorite flower, and white because she felt it represented the purity of a mother’s love. She and other supporters lobbied for an official observance of Mother’s Day. West Virginia was the first state to recognize it as a holiday. In 1914 President Woodrow Wilson approved a resolution to designate the second Sunday in May as Mother’s Day.

This should have pleased Anna Jarvis, but instead, the observances upset her. She argued that Mother’s Day had turned into a commercialized event. She became notorious for her criticism of those who purchased greeting cards and accused them of being to lazy to write personal letters to “the woman who has done more for you than anyone in the world.” Before her death in 1948 Jarvis publicly protested a Mother’s Day celebration in New York City and was arrested for disturbing the peace. She was bitter and angry about what the Mother’s Day observance had become. She said she “wished [I] had never started the day because it became so out of control.”

In your writings this week, think about things you were initially passionate about, but in the end did not turn out as you intended. Maybe as in Jarvis’ case, things got out of control. You might want to start with a freewrite with “I am passionate about…” or “I want…” or “I wish…” Another suggestion is to freewrite about things going out of control. Freewrite for at least fifteen minutes and see where it takes you. As always…have fun with it!

Joyce Maynard, one of my favorite authors wrote a touching essay on Mother's Day. Here's the link: http://www.joycemaynard.com/home.shtml
[Note: Scroll midway down the page until you see "Letter From Joyce.]

Using the Mundane

Millersville University and California State University, Fullerton, co-host a website called The Journal of Mundane Behavior·, a journal devoted to “those aspects of our everyday lives that typically go unnoticed by us.” The articles cover topics like paperclips, cell phones, and bubble wrap. On the surface, these subjects are boring to most people, but even those ordinary things we take for granted each day can be valuable sources of writing ideas.

Many people think they can’t write if they don’t have unusual or exotic lives. They’ve never left their hometown, nor do they have glamorous jobs. Their families are pretty ordinary and without the conflicts that become topics of shows like Dr. Phil and Jerry Springer. You don’t have to live exotic lives to be able to write. Flannery O’Connor said if we’ve survived our childhoods, we have enough material to write about forever. Many published authors like Eudora Welty and Raymond Carver wrote stories about basic human condition. They were set in ordinary places. The characters were ordinary people. Their stories aren’t filled with exotic locales or glamorous people.

Make a list of seemingly mundane events or places. For instance:
taking a bath
brushing teeth
eating a meal
watching television
pumping gas
standing in line
shopping
reading mail

Choose one of the events from your list. Use it to create a scene where you make something interesting happen. Provide a twist. Perhaps someone gives in to the temptation to do something funny or outrageous. For instance, while brushing her teeth in her boyfriend’s apartment, Ashley decides to decorate the bathroom with toothpaste. While watching television, a 10-year-old boy calls Cleo the psychic and discovers that his life is about to change. Ask “What if?” Write your scene in any point of view. Feel free to be outrageous.

Once you create the scene, you may have a new story idea. See if you have a conflict that will carry the story. Outline possible conflicts and plot lines. This is your chance to do something you’d never do. Have fun with this. Don’t worry now about whether or not the scene is enough to carry a full story. Like all other exercises, this is practice. Tuck the scene away for another time. Who knows where you might be able to use it?

Here’s a variation of the exercise. Instead of listing mundane situations, make a list of ordinary objects you’d encounter in a typical day. Don’t think too much. List the objects as fast as they come to you. For instance: bubble wrap, instant coffee, door knob, dog biscuit, loose change, etc. Now write five actions associated with each object. For example:
1) A middle-aged man stomps on bubble wrap.
2) A mother wraps an urn with bubble wrap.
3) A child buries her dead hamster in a bubble wrap coffin.
4) A teenager wears a bubble wrap dress to the prom.
5) An interior designer makes bubble wrap ottomans

Choose one of the actions that stands out for your. Write for fifteen minutes without thinking or editing. Don’t worry about plausibility or logic. If you want, flesh it out with details, action, and dialogue. Let yourself go. Give yourself permission to have fun.

Smelling and Tasting Your Memories

Our culture is visually oriented. If it weren’t, magazines wouldn’t have large cover photos to entice the readers to pick them up, and editors wouldn’t spend so much time on layout. Many, if not most, stories rely on visual details. Readers want to see the character or landscape.

Author Rebecca McClanahan wrote in Word Painting, “ . . . ignoring the other senses in your writing is like sitting in a gourmet restaurant, wearing ear plugs, work gloves, and a surgical mask over nose and mouth.” You see the candlelight flickering in your water goblet, the waiters bowing to patrons and balancing trays on their shoulders. If you disregard your other senses, you can’t hear forks clinking against the china or a popping champagne cork. You can’t feel the bubbles tickling your nose, nor smell sautéed garlic and fresh basil. When the dessert tray comes, you’ll be able to see the glazed fruit adorning a cheesecake wedge, but you won’t feel the creamy texture inside your mouth or taste a hint of lemon."

Out of all our senses, our sense of smell has the best memory. It’s probably the most neglected in writing. Using smells in your descriptions will bring another dimension to your writing. Think of the different smells you encounter on a typical day. What smells evoke memories for you? Dove soap reminds me of my grandmother. Chantilly perfume reminds me of my mother and all the women my father dated after her. Magnolias remind me of my high school prom.

I started burning scented candles long before the aromatherapy craze. I like bringing the scent of lilacs and gardenias indoors, or filling the house with vanilla and cinnamon, when I haven’t baked in weeks. Now one can buy candles scented like chocolate cake, coffee, cookies, and even mown grass.

Smells don’t always evoke pleasant or relaxing memories. What about being in a room with two wet dogs? The Polo cologne an old boyfriend wore—the one who cheated on you? Or the container of General Tso’s chicken you left in the refrigerator two weeks ago and now has a green fuzz? Milk a week after the expiration date? A cancer patient’s room? A house filled with sixty cats, and the elderly woman found inside three days after her death? (This recently happened in my home town.)

If you notice, most of the smells I’ve described were in terms of how it makes one react. Writer Diane Ackerman (A Natural History of the Senses) refers to the sense of smell as “the mute sense, the one without words.” It’s much harder to describe smells, because the connection in our brains between the smell center and the language center isn’t as strong as the connection between our visual and language centers.

Make a list of smells you’d encounter on a typical day. If it helps, go to various rooms and locations and close your eyes. Concentrate on the smells around you. What connections can you make? Freewrite whatever comes to mind.

Without smell, you can’t have taste. Seventy-five percent of taste comes from smell. When we put something in our mouths, molecules that make up specific smells and that trigger our smell receptors, travel to the olfactory receptor cells. These specialized cells are located in your nasal cavity. If it is blocked, so is your ability to smell. That’s why children pinch their noses before taking bad tasting medicine, or things seem to have no taste when we have a cold.

Like smell, taste is another “mute” sense. We usually describe it in terms of how it makes us feel. Sometimes naming the food is enough. Mashed potatoes. Apple pie. Chocolate. Spinach. These food names conjure unique memories. Atmosphere is important in describing food. Ice cream consumed in an old-fashioned ice cream parlor tastes different from ice cream consumed alone in an apartment on a Saturday night while watching “Sex and the City.”

Taste isn’t limited to only food. After being punched in the nose, a man tastes blood. A teenager tries a cigarette for the first time. A woman diagnosed with cancer smokes her last one. The wheat paste our desk mate ate in kindergarten. Crayons. Pencil tips. A kiss.

Spend a few minutes jotting down as many foods you can name. Then make a separate list of non-food words you’ve tasted. When you’ve finished your lists, look over them and see what memories they evoke. Freewrite about them as time allows.

Here’s another variation: Choose one of the items (food or non-food) from your lists. Then list five different atmospheres and situations for each. Refer to the ice cream and cigarette examples to get you started.

The next module of the free course, Creating Memorable Characters, is posted. This one discusses sympathetic and unsympathetic characters. Go to the main CS Writing Workshop page and scroll down to access the link.

In addition to Diane Ackerman's A Natural History of the Senses, I recommend reading An Alchemy of the Mind. It's a fascinating look at the brain, its functions, and memory. To see what else I've been reading, check out the Buried Treasures Bookstore.

Your Local History

In his novel, Absalom, Absalom! William Faulkner included a map of Yoknapatawpha County, Mississippi, a fictional place where fourteen novels and most of his short stories were set. The county is 2400 square miles and bordered by the Tallahatchie River to the north and the Yoknapatawpha River to the south. Before settlers began arriving in the 1800s, Chickasaw Indians inhabited the area. Through his fiction Faulkner readers become intimate with the histories and conflicts of the characters. Yoknapatawpha County developed its own history with landmarks including Sutpen’s Hundred and Frenchman’s Bend. Faulkner drew from his own experiences and history of Lafayette County where he lived.

Other authors have familiar places in their works. Gibbsville, Pennsylvania was the fictional setting for much of John O’Hara’s works. It was based on his hometown, Pottsville. Garrison Keillor actually grew up in Anoka, Minnesota, the inspiration for his Lake Wobegon. Stephen King modeled two of his fictional towns, Derry and Castle Rock, on real towns in Maine. They are Bangor and Durham, respectively. My own novel, Living in the City, is set in fictional towns based on towns where I’ve lived. Kiehlton County is was inspired by Annville, Hershey, and Lebanon—towns in Central Pennsylvania. Kiehlton County has become the setting of most of my short stories and my current novel-in-progress. Like Faulkner’s Yoknapaptawpha County, my fictional town is developing its own history and residents who appear in more than one story.

None of these locales are particularly exotic. Each has some universality, and they’re populated with people you might find in your own neighborhood. You don’t have to wander too far from your own backyard to find interesting stories. Every town has a history; some of it comprised of rumors and legends as well.

Draw a map of your town. This can be your own hometown, a fictional town, or a combination of both. Name the streets, streams, buildings and landmarks. Add whatever details you like. Write a history of the town. Who settled there? Who were the prominent families? Are the streets named after significant figures? How long has the hardware store been there? What was in the building before Starbucks arrived? To gather ideas, visit the library or local historical society. Ask older residents what they remember. Freewrite about whatever comes to mind. You can mix and match details from your research. What you don’t know, you can make up. The town is yours.

The fourth module of the free Creating Memorable Characters workshop is posted. You can find it on the main page of the CS Writing Workshop.

One of my friends at myLot.com is hosting a writing contest. There is no entry fee. Check out the contest at: http://onestopwriteshop.com

Where Were You When...?

On September 11, 2001 I was walking the last half mile of my morning walk on the cross country course. That morning on my headphones I was listening to a local talk radio station. The host and callers were discussing a freak accident at a nearby amusement park where a teenage boy fell off a rollercoaster to his death. The radio host interrupted his caller saying, “Ohmygod! We just got word that a plane hit one of the towers of the World Trade Center. What a freak accident.”

I shuddered, thinking, “What are the chances of that happening?”

The host broke in again with, “It was not a fluke. Another plane just crashed into the World Trade Center. It is a confirmed terrorist attack.”

I began running, panicked. Nonsensical thoughts flashed through my mind. It hadn’t quite registered, and I had many questions. The questions ranged from wondering about the safety of the people in the towers to wondering about the safety in our own small town hundreds of miles away. Should I pull the kids from school? Where was my husband?

At home I turned on the TV and switched between news stations. I sat frozen and stunned as I watched the World Trade Center collapse. I saw crowds covered with dust running in the streets of New York City. I heard screams. Crying. Sirens. Breathless reporters updating information while plumes of smoke rose in the distance. Years later the images remain fresh in my mind. I doubt I’ll ever erase them.

How many times have you heard people relay their experiences regarding significant and/or tragic historical events? They remember every detail of where they were or what they were doing when Kennedy was shot or Armistice was declared. Some of us may not remember what we ate for dinner two nights ago, but when exposed to a tragic event, our brains seem to record every sensory detail.

It’s your turn. Recall any historical events of your life. Write about the moment you heard the news. Where were you? What were you doing? Record sensory details. Describe the weather. What thoughts and physical sensations did you experience? Don’t worry about fact checking or the correct order of events. Focus on how it related to you. This is your experience.

I've added the next module of the Creating Memorable Characters workshop. You can access it from the main page at CSWriting Workshop.

Goodbye Shadow...

My son was about three years old when he saw the movie, Homeward Bound. After watching it countless times, he announced he wanted a “Shadow Dog.” His dad and I told him how much work a dog would be, and if we got him a dog, he would be taking care of him. He said he was ready, but we kept putting him off, thinking it was a phase, that eventually he’d stop asking. Our determined son did not forget. Two years later we took a beautiful hour and fifteen minute drive to Juniata County to a clean farm/kennel owned by an Amish family. We spent a long time examining and nuzzling the various puppies. When we saw our Shadow, we knew concurrently that he was “the one.” I can’t think of anything else to say except to use the cliché, “love at first site.” We instantly fell in love with his big brown eyes, floppy ears, and gentle nature. We eagerly signed all the adoption papers, and I carried him to the care over my shoulder like a beloved teddy bear. At the time, he was barely ten pounds. Within two years, he grew to be 120 pounds but was oblivious to his size.

That was almost eleven years ago. Today at 5:15 p.m., he was at the vet’s office to be put to sleep. Even though we were doing the right and humane thing—he was riddled with tumors and in pain though he never complained or moaned—it was hard to say goodbye.

Shadow raised his head from the gurney as I nuzzled him and said goodbye. Initially my son said he would be with his dog until the end, the way Shadow had always been there for him. But he couldn’t make it that far. He said his goodbyes at the car. We burst into tears when Shadow lifted his head in response to my son’s voice. He tried to scoot closer, but it was too painful for Shadow to move. In the end, the rest of our family and I only made it as far as the door. In tears, the vet told us it would be quick and painless, and she would be there with him. She choked, “He must have been a great dog.” All of us broke down.

Shadow was a great dog. That’s an understatement. He was gentle and loving. He lived to please us. When one of was sick, he’d lie on the floor beside the bed or sofa. Occasionally, he’d pop up his head as if to say, “How are you doing?” He knew if one of us was sad or hurting. He’d nuzzle us. To say he was a constant companion is almost cliché, but it’s true. We used to complain and laugh how he was always in the way or underfoot, but it was only because he loved our company. If only everyone could have a friend like that. The mere presence of you lit him up, made his tail wag.

It didn’t take much to please him. Freeze pops and slices of bread were treasures for him. He loved his car rides. It got to the point when we had to spell c-a-r-r-i-d-e, and even then, he knew what we meant. He’d begin dancing and talking and his thick fringed tail knocked everything near him. In the car, he’d stick his head out the window and in the mirror I’d laugh and watch his jowls flap in the wind. That teeth-baring smile of his told me he had reached doggie Nirvana.

Shadow loved the snow. He enjoyed taking walks. He loved the attention he attracted. People always stopped to pet him, to tell us he was a beautiful dog. And he played it up. Even more than taking walks, he loved rolling in the snow and catching snowballs. Once he became so rambunctious that he head-butted me and gave me a gash just below the eye that required 8 stitches and a tetanus shot. Everyone loves to the story about how I earned that now almost invisible scar.

One of my favorite memories of Shadow is when the kids were small and still had paper routes. The Sunday papers were back-breaking for the kids. Even though they used a wagon, it was hard for them to pull. Their father made a harness for the dog, so he pulled the wagon for them. It was comical seeing him trotting like a show dog—except that his tongue was always hanging out of the side of his mouth. He stopped traffic. People stopped and hung out their car windows to pet the dog. Shadow hammed it up. The kids got a real treat at the end of the paper routes. They climbed into the wagon, and Shadow cantered all the way home. And of course there was always a doggie biscuit or Freeze pop waiting for him.

Shadow was the perfect dog. He gave us 11 years of joy. He will be missed by everyone who knew him.

If you haven’t tackled the last freewriting exercise, try it now. Freewrite about a family pet. If you’ve ever lost or have had to say good-bye to a pet, freewrite about that. Write a eulogy. Write through the sadness and pain. For more starter ideas, I suggest reading Marley & Me or, if you're a cat lover, A Scattering of Cats. Both are beautifully written memoirs.

My apologies for those who had been following the free character writing workshop. As I mentioned in my last blog entry, my dad had a serious accident which caused a temporal lobe injury. He has been moved out of the hospital and is in a brain injury rehab. I appreciate all the notes and prayers. When things aren’t so hectic, I’ll start posting more notes and exercises for the character workshop. In the meantime, browse the other articles and writing exercises at the sister site: CSWritingWorkshop. Also, if you’re interested in earning some extra money, I’ve added some links to the Earn Money page. Again, I appreciate all the notes and prayers. It means so much.

Family Pets

In addition to a dog, we always had cats when I was growing up. Most memorable was our white Persian, Frosty. He was a purebred. Both his parents were show cats but to us, he was Frosty, a member of our family. We didn’t care about his pedigree. My sister and I dressed him up in doll clothes and wheeled him around the neighborhood in a baby carriage. Ah, we loved the reaction of people when we let them take a peek inside. We ignored the strict diet prescribed by the breeder and fed him from our plates. He liked Doritos®, cheese and spaghetti. Whenever we cooked spaghetti, we always made a plate for him. He devoured it, licking his plate clean. When he finished, his beard was stained orange. It always made us laugh. Despite the violation of his dietary restrictions, he lived until he was seventeen.

Now I have a dog and five cats. Each has a distinctive personality. We have a curmudgeonly cat who is growing more affectionate with age. He snores, has only three teeth, and he has a torn ear because he has escaped death numerous times. Our dog is a beast who loves freeze pops and snowball battles. Then there’s our kitten we call “stupid cat.” My son rescued him one November night from the brink of starvation and frostbite. Stupid Cat became immediately attached to the dog. They’re both gold, so I think the cat thinks the dog is Mommy. Or Daddy. I could fill a volume with stories about these animals. They’ve given me a lot of laughter and few frustrations over the years.

Freewrite about your family pets. Write about the day you brought them home, the things they ate, the toys they played with. Write about leaving them for the first time. Or the time you had to put it to sleep.

If you’ve never owned any pets, write about the neighborhood dog the kids in the neighborhood were afraid of or the cat lady down the street. (There always seems to be one in every neighborhood.) Or maybe it was the chipmunk you fed Cheerios on your windowsill. The rabbit that nibbles your flowers. The class hamster or snake. Write about the pets you wished for. The pugs pressed against the pet store window. The bird you wanted to teach to sing show tunes. Write about the pets you’ll someday have.

I've posted week two's notes and exercises for the free Creating Memorable Characters Workshop. If you haven't been there yet, surf over to the CS Writing Workshop page. I'll be adding new notes and writing exercises each week.

As always...have fun with your writing!

Family Stories

Every time I get together with my dad, he tells the same story. I’ve heard the story a million times, and even if I say, “Dad, we’ve heard it before,” he tells the story again.
Here’s the story:

When I was two, we had a German shepherd named Winnie. My dad wanted to train her to pull me in a sled, so he began by harnessing the dog to a stroller. To add weight, he put his toolbox on the seat. The rattling tools startled the dog, so she would bolt in effort to escape whatever horrible thing was chasing her. Eventually she became used to the noise and developed a rhythm. When there was snow on the ground, my dad harnessed Winnie to the sled, again weighted by the tool box. Confident that the dog would pull me all right, my dad strapped me to the sled. Winnie pulled the sled smoothly away from the house. She trotted and wagged her tail and stayed alongside my father. However, on the way home, it was a different story. When Winnie saw the ranch house at the end of the street, she raced toward it like a thoroughbred. I screamed and hung on. My dad ran behind us shouting commands at the dog and told me to not let go.

Winnie bolted around the bend and onto the driveway. The sled overturned, dumping me into a pile of recently shoveled snow. I cried, and Dad brushed the snow off me. I don’t remember if my dad ever tried it again.

Whenever he tells the story, my dad laughs until he’s in tears. I’ve heard it so many times that I just roll my eyes. So far my kids haven’t tired of the story and encourage their PopPop to tell it.
Think about your own family stories. Do you have an annoying relative who tells the same stories over and over again? Do you listen politely or leave the room? What stories about your parents and grandparents have you heard? What stories would you like passed down through the generations? Write down these stories. Flesh out the characters. Add dialogue and action. Share them...

I've added a new section the the CS Writing Workshop page called Creating Memorable Characters. It's a course I used to teach, but now I'm offering it on my website for free. Each week I'll add new notes and exercises.

"Minor" Characters

Minor characters appear in books and films to add flavor to the story and setting. Though they appear only for a few minutes, usually they’re memorable. Zuzu Bailey (played by Karolyn Grimes) had only two spoken lines in It’s a Wonderful Life. Most memorable is the one at the end of the film, “Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.” And who can forget Prissy (played by Butterfly McQueen) and her squeaky voice in Gone With the Wind? “Please Miss Scarlett, I know all about birthin’ babies!” Or Mammy’s frequent looks of consternation and the bright red petticoat, a gift from Rhett Butler, swooshing underneath her dress.

Minor characters offer a laugh or add to the drama and add reality to a scene so the story does not exist in a vacuum.

Recently I had a discussion on MyLot about the minor characters we run into daily. Sometimes we don’t give them much thought. We may not even know their names. On a typical day I’ll banter with the Indian men who run our corner store. At the other end of the counter the same hopeful elderly man buys his daily lottery tickets and promises to share his winnings with us. Walking to work, the man who wears a red bandana and biker shirt always stops to pet my dog and tells me he wishes he could switch places with him. The mail carrier hands me the mail and as I feign anger, he apologizes for giving me a stack of bills or junk mail. After their brief appearances, they vanish from my life for the rest of the day.

Most of the minor characters in my novel, Living in the City, were loosely based or were compilations of my colorful neighbors. For instance, Junior, "the entrepreneur," was based on an annoying and crusty man who lived across the alley from me. He owned a rusted blue ice cream truck and sold cotton candy and carnival toys. When I created Junior, I didn't like him much. But he kept inserting himself into scenes, and the more I spent time with him, the more I laughed, and the more I loved him.

Make a list of the people you meet in a typical day. Include those with whom you’ve never exchanged a single word. Those whom you pass without a second thought. Those who irritate you or make you smile, even for a brief moment. Those you’ve seen only once, those you’ve passed on the street, the one in front of you at the check-out line. Maybe they’ve made an impression on you—either positive or negative. Or maybe you hardly remember them, as they passed in a blur. Really make yourself remember. Hone in on at least one detail.

Now choose one and do a freewrite. Describe his or her appearance in detail by going from top to bottom. Start with the hair, the eyes, his build, what he’s wearing. Describe the way he walks and talks. His smell. What he’s carrying. If you can’t remember these details, make them up.

Give this person a name. Create a back story. Where did this person come from? What did he do, or what is he about to do? What is he thinking? What does he want most in life? Give him a life. Write about a typical “day in the life of…”

For an additional challenge, choose two or more from your list and make them interact. As you come across more “minor” characters in life, add them to your list. Freewrite as time allows.

Independence Day

Happy Independence Day to all my American Readers!

When I was a little girl, every 4th of July, my Dad took my sisters and me to Coleman's Park to watch the fireworks. We'd find a spot under the knotty magnolia trees to spread our tartan blanket. Whilw we waited for dusk to arrive, we picked up magnolia petals and put them in our hair. I remember that the petals were soft and sweet-smelling. We pushed ourselves on the rickety wooden swings, trying to see how high they would go, while at the same time, we prayed they wouldn't break. Sometimes we were allowed to have ice cream. Someone was always roasting hotdogs on the charcoal grills by the pavilion.

For most of the fireworks display, I squeezed my eyes shut and covered my ears. I didn't like how the big booms made my stomach go fluttery. The magnolia smell became obliterated by the gun powder smell. The bruised magnolia petals fell out of my hair. One or two would be found on my pillow later. After the fireworks, we fought traffic all the way home.

I didn't know the meaning of Independence Day then. Fourth of July seemed to be a big pain in the neck. Later, though, I would be striving toward my own independence. Writing played a large part of it. With that came an understanding of why our country celebrates Independence Day.

How do you celebrate your independence? Freewrite for fifteen minutes about independence. What does it mean to you? When did you first feel independent? How did you get there?
More prompts for freewriting:

• fireworks
• magnolia trees
• ice cream
• swinging
• hotdogs

I've added a new link in the links list on the right-hand side of the blog. It's not writing related, but it's a way I earn some extra cash between waiting for checks. Check out the EARN MONEY link.

Father's Day

Happy Father's day to all fathers out there. I want to wish a special Happy Father's Day to my nephew Nate and to my niece Sapphira who recently had a baby boy!

Father's Day brings up a flood of various emotions. My Dad wasn't the perfect man expressed in Hallmark cards. It would be difficult for me to find a card for him today. For a long time, all I could remember is a strict and mostly stoic man. He was highly critical of me, and no matter I what I did, I could never please him. He said many cruel things to me, as I did to him.

It wasn't always that way. I do have some good memories of riding the ferryboat each Autumn and eating ice cream along the Susquehanna River. We had camping trips that turned into adventures. We hiked along the Appalachian Trail, and he'd tell me the histories of the towns we saw below us, and he knew all the names of the trees and wildflowers.

But then my mother left, and he became a different man. At 10 years old I was expected to take her place with the chores and the disciplining of my 2 younger sisters. What a rift that caused, a rift that almost didn't mend. My father spent less and less time at home, and we had to fend for ourselves. Sometimes we had no food in the house. I felt worthless and unloved most of the time. And lonely. I couldn't wait to leave home. I ended up dropping out of college to do it.

Things changed recently. I received a midnight visitor telling me had been missing. He had never shown up for his Wednesday night chicken pot pie dinner. At first, I thought my elderly visitor was being a nervous Nellie, blowing things out of proportion. My father was the type of man who disappeared for days and broke promises.

I didn't sleep that night. I didn't know whether to be angry or worried. Arriving at his home the next morning, it was obvious he hadn't been home. I panicked. The local police and fire department broke into the house. My sister and I had no keys. The house was in more disarray than I last remembered. The police were able to find him. My father had been in a near-fatal car crash and was taken to the nearest trauma unit. He had been unconscious and couldn't give any information about next-of-kin.

Upon arriving to his hospital room, I was shocked. He had been taken off the vent and was free of IVs and was cracking jokes with the nurses who doubled over with laughter. This little 78-year-old grey-haired man behaved so child-like. He brightened over an offering of vanilla ice cream. He was not the father I had left behind. Normally a very active, strong man, he winced as he hobbled around the hospital room. How long would it be before he could tend his gardens again? He had planted the most beautiful gardens, so that something was blooming year-round. The azaela bushes were trimmed to perfect spheres. The flowers lining the walk never had a dead head. Oh, and I can't forget the horseshoe pit in the backyard. He brags that that it is regulation sized. He was both intimidating and inspiring.

I had to laugh when during his period of lucidity, he asked about his camera. I've never seen him without a camera. I remember being in the car with him at times, and he'd suddenly pull to the side of the road to capture a rainbow or a beautiful sunset. Once we chased a hot air balloon to its landing, and he took a series of pictures of the landing, the folding of the balloon. He also had an annoying habit of taking pictures of me when I looked my worst. He said he liked things natural, not fake.

We told him that the car was totalled in his accident, that it was unlikely his camera survived the accident as well. The next day, my sister brought him his camera. We took turns taking pictures of him. After we left him, he chased down the nurses and snapped pictures of them.

Later, I learned he had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease. The symptoms became more apparant the more time I spent with him. Sometimes he did recognize me. I stopped moaning about the picture-taking.

He's been home for months and has gotten back to his normal activities. Photography field trips. Roller skating Tuesday nights. Polka and Square dances with his friend, Minnie. Evening bike rides. Hiking. He now calls me more frequently, but usually, he has forgotten that he had called me yesterday. I listen to the same stories and jokes. I laugh along with him, but inside I am crying. I listen and hold those storiesclose to my heart because one day he'll completely forget me, and all those stories he's fond of repeating will be locked inside him.

I wrote two stories about father/daughter relationships. They were written at different points of my life. "Rose Petals in a Jar" is written by an angry daughter. "The Roaring Bull and Electra" was written years before I'd know my dad would be diagnosed with Alzheimer's.

Now for some writing prompts:
*Freewrite using the prompt "These are the facts about my father..."
*Write a good memory about your father. Develop it into a scene. Use dialogue and all your senses.
*Write the opposite. Create a scene with conflict. The worst fight you had, a disagreement, something that caused you misery.
*Write about the things your father has taught you.
*Write about the things you wish you had said or cannot say

These exercises are not supposed to be easy. Take a deep breathe and let go...

Family Albums & Dreaded Yearbook Pictures

During the last days of school, my classmates and I passed around our yearbooks and took our turns signing them. Later, locked up in my room I read the inscriptions. Each was individual in their writing style and handwriting. I remember the Sylvia Plath style narrative a friend wrote on the entire back cover. It was without clichés like “embarking on a new future.” Rather, it was dark and more of a cautionary tale about life. How did this teenager know so much about life and the real world beyond the doors of our high school? I remember how tickled I was to see written, “You’re a beautiful and talented woman,” from one of the jocks who had spent most of high school teasing me about my nerdiness. Others signed with catch phrases that were popular then.

I’ve since thrown out my yearbook. Not to mention the horrible yearbook pictures of me, some of the inscriptions were too embarrassing reread. When I tossed out my yearbook, there was a lot I wanted to forget. Some of the inscriptions revealed things about me I didn’t like. Yearbooks tell a lot of stories. They’re a piece of history.

Dig out your own yearbook. (Assuming, unlike me, you’ve kept yours.) Read the inscriptions. What do you remember about the authors of those inscriptions? What type of relationship did you have with each? Where were they in the hierarchy of students at your school? Spend ten minutes freewriting about them.

Below are more ideas. Freewrite for ten to fifteen minutes on each. Use sensory details. Include dialogue if it applies.
· Your prom. Did you attend your prom? Why or why not? Describe what you and your date wore, what you ate, what music played.
· Who was awarded “Most Likely to Succeed” or “Best Dressed” or “Class Clown?” What do you remember about them? Were there others whom you felt deserved the awards instead? What has happened to those students? If you don’t know, make it up.
· What extracurricular activities were you involved in? Write about specific incidents.
· Who were your favorite teachers? Which ones did you dislike? Describe their physical appearances, speech patterns, habits.
· Were there any class bullies or anyone who intimidated you in one way or another?
· Who was your best friend? Describe the things you did together. Compare your similarities and differences.
* Write about school pranks
· Write about a class reunion. Describe who showed up, who changed, who stayed the same. If you’ve never attended one, write a fictional reunion.

If yearbook pictures aren’t embarrassing enough, dig out any family albums you can find. Spend some time looking at the pictures. Don’t think about writing yet. Note the feelings you experience as you turn the pages. What sensory details do you remember? Specific events? Choose a few photographs that evoke some type of emotion. Write about what happened the moment the flash bulb went off. Note everyone’s body language and facial expressions. Observe what is in the background. What are the subjects looking at? No go a bit deeper. What was each person thinking? Write from the perspective of each person in the photo. If you don’t know, make it up. Let your imagination take over.

More family album exercises:
· Freewrite about the members of your family. Go beyond their physical descriptions and describe them moving through their world. Describe their beliefs, mannerisms and quirks, favorite figures of speech. Try one of these prompts to get you started:
1) The last time I saw my mother (or father, grandfather, sister, etc.)
2) These are the facts about my father (or mother, etc.)
3) Grandma (or mother, father, etc.) always said

· Draw a floor plan of the house (or houses) you grew up in. Describe each room in detail as well as any memories you’ve associated with them. Describe the wall color, furniture, mementos. Write about what your fantasy bedroom or house was then.
· Write about the smells of your grandmother’s house (or kitchen or wherever else), your parents’ car, the back porch, the garage. List the sounds you heard in the morning and the ones that kept you up as well.
· Write about the changes that occurred within the family (i.e. births, deaths, marriages, divorces, etc).
· Write about leaving home, about moving and packing.
· Write about the nicknames of family members and how they earned them.

Use these exercises for the yearbook and vice versa. These should keep you busy for a while.
For more writing exercises please visit the CS Writing Workshop.

Last Days of School

As I write this, my kids’ last day of school is days away. While I begin to worry about how I’m going to find quiet time to write or how to keep them off the computers and Xbox, convince them to clean out the cat box and run the vacuum, I also start thinking about my own last days of school.

In elementary school, the last day meant Popsicle and bubble gum parties, and eating lunch on the lawn. I’d stuff my book bag to overflowing with art projects and workbooks, papers. At home I’d spend hours reading over my old papers. I loved the workbooks, because we never seemed to finish them during the school year. I finished them over the summer. The end of the school year also meant half empty composition books that had to be filled up.

High school was a bit different. I couldn’t wait for the last day to arrive, for all my finals to be finished. Summer vacation meant being carefree. Long walks, going to the library and writing until the wee hours.

What do you remember about your last days of school? Did your summer vacations live up to your expectations? Did it mean you’d not see some friends? Did it mean escaping the class bully, at least until the next term? Did you go away to camp? Start with your earliest memory of your last day of school and freewrite for ten minutes. What sights, sounds, smells, etc. do you remember? Do your freewrite again about high school or college. If you have children, write about their last days. Note the physical sensations you experience as you write. I’ll bet you’ll be surprised about what you remember.

For exercises on the craft of writing, please visit the sister site, CS Writing Workshop. What does the CS stand for? Loosely translated, it means "writing disease." Check it out!

Grammy's Pickle Dish

My mother-in-law has a crocheted bedspread on display in one of her guest bedrooms. It has a story we enjoy telling. A few years ago she was digging through the cedar chest in that room for something she wanted to show me. I don’t think she ever found what it was she was looking for, because she was distracted by something else. In the bottom, wrapped in tissue paper, was a thread crochet project her mother had started about fifty years ago. She died from breast cancer before she was able to finish it. Along with the crochet project was the original spool of crochet thread, still in pristine condition. My mother-in-law is a super talented quilted and knitter, but she admitted crocheting was not her forte. She gave me the crochet project and thread saying I should finish it, maybe for my daughter’s bedroom.

I considered myself a novice crocheter then. After much protesting, I accepted the project. Never one to turn down a challenge, I set immediately to work. I took one of the hexagon motifs, and through trial and error, I figured out the pattern. But I didn’t know what the intended project was supposed to look like in the end. Was it supposed to be a bedspread? A table cloth? I did some research and found that popcorn patterns were popular in the 1950s for both table cloths and bedspreads. But I still didn’t know how the pieces were to be sewn together. I wrote experts, but no one had a pattern that came close. On and off for months, I crocheted the pieces and hoped eventually I’d find the answer. The writing process can work the same way.

I’ve always said that my grand-mother-in-law’s spirit must have been guiding me. I can’t think of any reason I managed to finish the project. I did run into problems that held up its completion. First, I ran out of the original thread. For weeks I tried to find a match. I even had some special ordered, but it wasn’t close. Discouraged, I almost abandoned the project. My sister-in-law said she thought it would be neat to mix the old thread with new, even though the colors weren’t an exact match. Eventually, she did convince me to finish it. I pieced the sections together, framing the old thread with the new. Fittingly, when you held up the bedspread, all the pieces formed a kaleidoscope pattern. I finished it with a lacy border that I made up as I went along, and to this day, I haven’t been able to duplicate. Instead of giving the bedspread to my daughter, I returned it to its rightful owner. I gave it to my mother-in-law as a belated fiftieth wedding anniversary gift.

Think about your family heirlooms, pieces of furniture, or even that dreaded yellow pickle dish that seems to make an appearance at every family reunion. Who owned it originally? How was it obtained? To whom was it passed down? Everything has a story.

Try clustering (or freewriting) for fifteen minutes. Write “heirloom” in the nucleus. Before starting, take a deep breath. Close your eyes and think about the dishes, kitchen utensils, furniture, tapestries, jewelry, or clothes that have significance either to you or to someone in your family. It doesn’t necessarily have to have material value, nor does it have to be very old. It doesn’t even have to be beautiful. When you feel ready, start clustering.

If you write fiction, create heirlooms for your characters. The back story of the heirlooms can reveal more about your character and her motivations. In my novel, Living in the City, Grammy’s pickle dish keeps reappearing. In the beginning of the novel, Cari (the protagonist) tries to throw it out as she is weeding out all the junk before she packs up to move. Her mother has given it more sentimental value than Cari has, so she digs it out of the trash. Later, when Cari doesn’t put out the chipped yellow dish during Christmas dinner, her mother questions its whereabouts. I didn’t intentionally start out that way. The pickle dish kept wanting to make an appearance.

When you create heirlooms for your characters, use items from your own life or make it up. For ideas, ask family members for the story behind an object. Watch an episode of “Antiques Road Show.” Browse E-Bay. Or use pure imagination.

For more writing exercises, please visit my sister site: CS Writing Workshop