50 First Dates

Adam Sandler and Drew Barrymore's 50 First Dates is one of DH's favorite movies. (Ironically, The Wedding Singer is one of mine.) I picked up a copy in a certain store's $5 bin, and we watched it during our date night. (Stupid FTC regulation compliance notice.)

Yes, I know 50 First Dates was a decent hit. Yes, I know most critics thought it was sappy, stupid and/or gross. Yes, I know the medical experts say there's no such thing as Goldfield Syndrome. But the movie strikes a chord with DH and me.

Why? Because Henry and Lucy's situation reminds us of several elderly relatives, one spouse watching the other deteriorate under the effects of some medical condition, ususally Alzheimer's. Can one person's memory of the love he or she shared with the significant other be enough when the significant other can't remember? I think it can.

I just pray it's a very long before I have to put my belief to the test.

Still Watching Over Us

I remember the night, watchingWalter Cronkite on the evening news. He cried when he said Rev. King had been shot. I was too young to understand why people hated those whose skin was different. All I knew was my favorite uncle studied to become a minister, just like Rev. King. All I could think was would they shoot my uncle too.

When I asked my mom why anyone would want to kill a minister, she had no words.

Anger Management

Why is it women in our society aren't allowed to get angry?

Seriously. Kids driving you crazy? You're a bad mother. See an injustice? You must sympathize with the perpetrator's horrible childhood. Screwed over? You must have deserved it.

A few years ago I wrote a short story where the heroine's mad about her co-worker/boyfriend dumping her and stealing credit for her project in one swoop. At the time, I was in a critique group with a guy and two gals. The guy commented that every woman he knew would blame themselves for the break-up. I looked at the other two women and asked if they've ever been angry over getting dumped.

(Insert crickets chirping.)

Maybe it's the difference in the type of women I hang out with compared to this gentleman and the other two ladies. My best friend was pissed as hell when she caught her boyfriend in bed with his ex-girlfriend two days after he'd asked my friend to marry him. And she laid the blame solely where it should have rested--the guy.

On another blog, a different slant on female anger came up. One of the commentators made a good point. (The following is paraphrased.) All humans fear feminine rage because we don't want to tick off the person we rely on for food and shelter.

In other words--I brought you into this world. I can take you out.

Any one else have a theory?

Oops! and Yea!

Okay. I had the intent to blog consistantly. It disappeared under the mash of semi-bureaucratic end-of-last-year/beginning-of-new-year red tape. If I could make a voodoo doll out of a quasi-government agency, I would. Or maybe I will. I know your name, Mark in Customer Service. I know your name. (Insert evil Margaret Hamilton cackle.)

On the plus side, I took a calculated risk and submitted the gigantic application for a university writing fellowship. I don't have a M.A. in Literature, but darn it, I'm actually earning money writing non-fiction right now. My fingers are crossed the judges will consider real world experience when they look at my application.

Then again, maybe I should skip the whole writing thing and set up a voodoo doll shop. (That's Mark in Customer Service you hear screaming. . .)

On the Road Again...

Got a few pages done today. Yea!

The only real problem is the climax wall. Whenever I start writing the climatic finale, I hesitate. I really don't want the ride to be over. These characters are so much fun I don't want them to leave.

*sigh*

Thank Djehuti for sequels. . .

Back in the Saddle

2010 is still a little infant new year, and I'm trying to get back into the writing groove.

I'd so looked forward to December. Homeschooling for the fall semester would be done, and I'd planned to use the extra time to get a first draft done. I was so close--only 10K to go!

Alas, between judging a contest, proofing a crit partner's manuscript, day job getting bumped from part-time to full-time thanks to extended hours (can't complain about the extra money though!), emergency dog sitting for a writing buddy, and a godawful cold that I'm finally shaking, the glorious holiday month ran away, laughing at my ambitions.

On Sunday, DH, ever the encouraging husband, asked, "So when are you sending more queries out? And when are you going to finish ZW? I want to find out what happens next." (He just finished Lilith Saintcrow's latest Jill Kismet book, Flesh Circus. Can you tell he's bored?)

So, I'm inching forward on ZW. Hey, 100 words so far this week is a start! The question becomes how much more can I get done before the chocolate martini party on Friday at classy Christie Craig's house to celebrate the completion of her 10th book?

Best Version of Twelve Days

I finally get back on track with blogging everyday, only to be felled by some weird virus. Heck, if Cthulu produces as much mucus as I have in the last four days, I can understand why he's in a dark mood.

Here's a cool version of The Twelve Days of an Urban Fantasy Heroine's Christmas by the ever-talented Jaye Wells.

The Golden Rules of Judging

One of the reasons I love talking to Nancy (current friend, former critique partner) is the myriad topics we can cover in a long lunch.

One of the things we did discuss was constructive criticism. We've both had experiences with folks who . . . Well, let's just say they didn't follow the Golden Rule.

Since I'm entering judging season (there are two contests I volunteer for every year around this time), I'm going to list my Golden Rules of Judging Writing Contests.

1) Treat the contest entrant with respect at all times.

2) Don't judge a genre you are unfamiliar with or your refuse to read recreationally. You're not doing the entrant any favors.

3) Find something the writer has done really well and praise it.

4) If the manuscript is not close to professional readiness, limit criticisms to the three major things that need improvement.

5) If the entrant seems to have used a word or concept improperly, LOOK IT UP before making a comment. You may be wrong.

6) Don't count off for the one typo found in the manuscript.

7) Flag that one typo and suggest the entrant fixes it before she starts submitting to agents or editors.

8) Never, EVER, make personal comments about the entrant. Only focus on the writing.

9) Suggest, don't command.

10) Give the entrant feedback on what affected you as a reader. That's part of why the entrant shelled out her hard-earned cash to enter the contest.

To all writers I'm about to judge, I salute you.

When Good Critique Partners Go Bad

A couple of weeks ago I had lunch with my friend and former critique partner, Nancy.

Yep, that's right. Former critique partner. And still a friend.

I hear so many stories about folks whose critique groups implode, either through mismatch of personalities, callous behavior or downright nastiness. In most cases, folks stop talking altogether.

Here's a clue - it takes adult behavior to make a critique group work. It takes even more adult behavior to recognize when a critique situation isn't working and handling everyone's feelings with finesse.

In our case, Nancy and I had such opposite writing styles and genres--hers is light, innocent young adult and mine is snarky, violent urban fantasy--that we weren't really helping each other. And we knew it.

This doesn't mean we don't encourage each other, commiserate with the rejections and cheer on the baby steps toward publishing. It just means we can't give the hardcore feedback the other person really needs to grow as a writer.

So we take pleasure in each other's company occasionally while dissecting the latet bestseller over lunch.

Okay, we also drool over Taylor Lautner's abs.

Don't tell our husbands.

Stuck in the Mud

Sometimes the words don't flow. Sometimes they come out in a muddy trickle and are absolutely crap. Sometimes they hiccup and gurgle and refuse to some out at all.

Why?

Maybe it's because the well's going dry. It's been overused. Or maybe proper maintenance hasn't been performed on the plumbing. Maybe there's a break in the water line.

In my case, I think it's a little of all of the above. If you want to make it in this business, you have to take care of the writing equipment. I don't mean your computer or writing chair or dictionary. I mean your body. Your health. Your soul.

A lot of my normal care slid to the wayside in the wake of some personal things hitting the fan. And I forgot what's really important.

Until a friend's situation reminded me. She has a family member facing a pretty awful surgery out of state, and her regular pet sitter was unavailable. I volunteered to watch her darling pups, but I told her she's actually doing me a favor. I'll have her house to myself.

On my day off.

And I know a little rest, relaxation and ball playing will restart my stuck pump.