Q: What is your date of birth?
A: July fifteenth.
Q: What year?
A: Every year.

Q: What gear were you in at the moment of the impact?
A: Gucci sweats and Reeboks

Q: This myasthenia gravis, does it affect your memory at all?
A: Yes.
Q: And in what ways does it affect your memory?
A: I forget.
Q: You forget. Can you give us an example of something that you’ve forgotten?

Q: What was the first thing your husband said to you when he woke that morning?
A: He said, “Where am I, Cathy?”
Q: And why did that upset you?
A: My name is Susan.

Q: How old is your son, the one living with you.
A: Thirty-eight or thirty-five, I can’t remember which.
Q: How long has he lived with you?
A: Forty-five years

Q: And where was the location of the accident?
A: Approximately milepost 499.
Q: And where is milepost 499?
A: Probably between milepost 498 and 500.

Q: Did you blow your horn or anything?
A: After the accident?
Q: Before the accident.
A: Sure, I played for ten years. I even went to school for it.

Q: Do you know if your daughter has ever been involved in the voodoo?
A: We both do.
Q: Voodoo?
A: We do.
Q: You do?
A: Yes, voodoo.

Q: Trooper, when you stopped the defendant, were your red and blue lights flashing?
A: Yes.
Q: Did the defendant say anything when she got out of her car?
A: Yes, sir.
Q: What did she say?
A: What disco am I at?

Q: She had three children, right?
A: Yes.
Q: How many were boys?
A: None.
Q: Were there any girls?

Q: You say the stairs went down to the basement?
A: Yes.
Q: And these stairs, did they go up also?

Q: Mr. Slatery, you went on a rather elaborate honeymoon, didn’t you?
A: I went to Europe, Sir.
Q: And you took your new wife?

Q: How was your first marriage terminated?
A: By death.
Q: And by whose death was it terminated?

~~~~~

Can you believe it? Teehee – anyone else heard such nonsensical interchanges in our courtrooms?

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Claaaass? I said QUIET!

Ahem. Now that’s more like it. Today I’d like to again discuss something we have covered before in this course, but needs more expanding on, that being using restraint in your writing. A sure-fire indication of an immature, novice writer, is the tendency to overwrite; to use extremes way too often in the descriptions of what is happening as the plot moves along. Think of it as – let’s use parenting as an analogy. You, the writer, are the parent, and your readers are the children.

If you are a parent who is quick to high emotion, easily excited, uses loud, harsh language and outrageous threats all the time to control your kids, well what happens, eventually, to your children? They become immune to the loud decibel levels, the constant haranguing, and all that … to the point where you have to hit them over the head with a frying pan to get them to sit up and pay attention.

If, on the other hand, you parent with controlled emotions, use an even, soft voice the vast majority of the time, and only threaten to exact punishment or disciplinary measures  when the real intent is there and then follow through on your word, well … those children, when you raise your voice just a little, will sit up with perked ears and exclaim, “Wow! Better pay attention … Mom almost never uses that tone of voice.”

Get my drift? Here’s an example of unrestrained writing …

~~~~~

John ran out the door as fast as he possibly could. Never in his whole entire life had he ever seen anything so horrible, so awful and terrifying. His blood pounded in his ears like it had never, ever, done so before as he raced with all his might down the street, demanding his legs to carry him away from the hideous scene as fast as they possibly could.

~~~~~

Trust me, I’ve edited books for freshman authors who shout out their prose just like that. So stop chuckling at my blatant overwriting over-exampling. (wink) And imagine an entire book where everyone and everything happening is the mostest, greatest, fastest, unbelievably this or that ever in the whole world or lifetime of the character. It gets you numbed. There’s no room left to kick it up a notch, no gas left in the tank when you really need to accelerate your story, hmm?

Okay. Here’s the same passage, toned down, but still getting the point across.

~~~~~

John fled out the door. Never had he seen anything so terrifing. His blood pounded in his ears as he raced down the street, commanding his legs to top speed, distancing him from the hideous scene.

~~~~~

Much better, hmm? Did we miss any story? No. Do I have room left to up the intensity later? Yes.

Okay class, I am again extremely happy with your good behavior – the best I’ve ever known you to behave in my whole, entire life! (wink).

So. Help yourself to a brownie, and … huh?

What’s that?

Oh yes, Ms. Flanders, sorry to keep you waiting, here I come.

Chow class, enjoy your treats, and blog back to class next Tuesday, be on time, too.

My, my, Ms. Flanders, you certainly look lovely today. Hm? What am I doing later this evening? Well, I was supposed to grade papers, but … why–what did you have in mind?

~~~~~

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Humble beginnings, but a giant first step toward eventual greatness. Our vision for the next five years is growing this business to where it will provide hundreds of cubic yards of the stuff to thousands of organic farmers and gardeners … spreading from SE Michigan at first, to then state-wide, then going all throughout the Mid-West, and eventually franchising it and taking it national.

It takes this kind of LOA visualization and ownership of greatness to be a successful writer, too, does it not? You start out, nobody has heard of you, and nobody cares you have written a book. But it’s a good book! You know it, and you believe in yourself. So you market it, you network, you sell, sell, sell yourself and your writing. Start a blog, build it up, do all the things you can to raise awareness. Little by little people get to know you, your book, and your readership grows. And you keep writing, believing, improving your craft, continuing to own and give thanks for what you know is yours to come: success, and the rewards of that success.

So in about two weeks the Old Silly will be at a farmer’s market hawking his modest amount of very fine organic compost. That will be at one end of the table. At the other end? Copies of his new novel, Beware the Devil’s Hug, and copies of my other books, too. Networking, communicating, making friends, and selling.

Humble beginnings, with greatness firmly in mind.

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Why did I resume eating meat? Well, my reasons for going veggie were those of not wanting to kill in order to be able to eat. But eventually I realized to live is to kill … you cannot avoid it. The pain and suffering is more obvious when we kill an animal in order to eat and live, but as I looked into and read and meditated about it, I realized that studies have proven plants have feelings, too. They have nervouse systems, they sense danger and communicate that danger to the other surrounding plants, even calling on animal life to come and help them. They suffer pain when we prune them and pluck their fruits, flowers, etc., and are scared sapless when we start cutting down their neighbors and are obviously moving toward them with the shears and knives. If you want to read more on this, just click here and here, and if you Google “Do Plants Have Feelings?” you will get pages of articles to peruse.

But enough of the heavy stuff. I meant for this to be a lighthearted poke at vegetarianism, not some persuasive argument for dietary regimens. Eat what you want, The Old Silly doesn’t care, just be grateful for the life taken in order for you to be able to live on. And in the spirit of lighthearted, good natured, acceptance of people of all dietary desires, please enjoy this less-than-two-minute especially funny and apt clip from Mitchell and Webb…

Thanks for blogging in, I’m off to the kitchen. Got a taste for some fried chicken with a side of honey-baked squash and some salad.

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Recently, while looking into biogas — part of a search we were doing on how to heat homes, make hot water, and provide electricity using compost as the energy source, we came across this amazingly innovative technology already being employed in France. Take 3 minutes to watch this clip. You will, I assure you, be quite impressed.

Pretty cool, hmm? And encouraging … one of the many resourceful ways to take natural materials around us here on this celestial body and use them to create harmless, renewable, cost-effective and envirnmentally not-only-friendly-but … nurturing energy and by-product materials. Without having to rely on burning fossil fuels.

Paying any attention, you egregiously profit-mad, uncaring and bullying oil companies? Soon we will not need you any longer … unless you wise up, and soon.

Okay, let me stop … this is turning into a rant, lol. That’s all today, folks, thanks for blogging in, chow!

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~~~~~

Three men, an Englishman, a Frenchman, and a Polishman, were best of friends. Now in their sixties, they had been chums and comrades since in their twenties at college. And every year for the past four decades they had taken an exotic vacation together. They had travelled the world over, but had yet to experience an African Safari. This was the year for that exciting adventure.

They arrived in Africa, went to the city of departure for the safari, and were soon deep into the heartland of Africa. On the third day of the tour, after breaking breakfast campfire, the group huddled around the head tour guide, who said, “Now listen carefully. Today we are going into the bushlands. There are indigenous cannibalistic pigmies out there. They do not attack large groups, so if we stay all close together, we are safe. Do not stray from the group! In single or small isolated numbers, strangers will surely be captured. I give you fair warning. Stay close to me, the group, and the other guides.”

The group set off on their trek, and for a while the trio of friends complied with the guide’s admonition. Soon, however, they became bored, wishing for some adventure of a more exciting nature. After all, they were very worldly, experienced men; all had fought in wars, they were confident in their ability to fend for themselves … so when the guides were not looking, they set off on a divergent path, figuring they would see the not-so-usual tourist attraction sights of deep Africa. They would catch up with the group later.

Within ten minutes of their brave sojourn, they were surprise attacked and surrounded by ferocious looking little men with spears pointing and jabbing at them from all angles. Completely outnumbered and unarmed, they had to give up. They were bound with hemp ropes, their hands behind their backs, led to the pigmy camp, and held captive in a bamboo cage. Their they awaited their fate … which did not look good.

After some thirty minutes of excited babbling amongst the inhabitants, they heard the loud voice of the Chief saying, “Bring me the Englishman!”

The Englishman was brought before the Chief, unbound, and forced to kneel in front of him with sharp pointy spears jabbed lightly against his neck. The Chief said, “Okay, here’s the deal. We’re going to boil you, eat your flesh, use your bones for cooking utensils, and make a canoe out of your skin. Do you have one final request?”

The Englishman thought for a moment, then said, “Yes—bring me a knife.”

The Chief nodded, and a knife was brought and handed to the Englishman. He rose, took the knife, and slashed his stomach left to right and up and down, disembowelling himself, and … slumping into a heap on the ground, he died honourably.

Then the Chief said, “Bring me the Frenchman!”

The Frenchman was brought and made to kneel in front of the Chief in the same manner. The Chief said, “Okay, here’s the deal. We’re going to boil you, eat your flesh, use your bones for cooking utensils, and make a canoe out of your skin. Do you have one final request?”

The Frenchman, proud of his English friend, and not wanting to be outdone, did not hesitate to say, “Yes—bring me a knife.”

The Chief nodded, and a knife was brought and handed to the Frenchman. He rose, took the knife, and slit his throat deeply through the jugular vein, and … slumping into a heap in the ground, he died honourably.

The Chief next said, “Bring me the Polishman!”

The Polishman was brought before the Chief and made to kneel in the same manner as the two previous men. The Chief said, “Okay, here’s the deal. We’re going to boil you, eat your flesh, use your bones for cooking utensils, and make a canoe out of your skin. Do you have one final request?”

The Polishman muttered and grumbled under his breath for a few bitter seconds, then sneered and said, “Yes—bring me a fork.”

The Chief looked puzzled, and murmurs of wonder and amazement spread throughout the assembled pigmies. For what would he want a fork? The Chief consulted with his head cook, who informed him they did have such an implement, so the Chief ordered it brought and given to the Polishman.

The Polishman stood, grabbed the fork, and while savagely stabbing himself all over his legs, arms, and torso, shouted defiantly, “To hell with your damn canoe!”

~~~~~

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Hey – I said, shush … NOW!

Ahem—that’s much better, thank you. Today we will be discussing two different aspects of avoiding redundancy in your writing. There are many sides to this issue, but for the sake of bloggy-brevity, we will limit it to two for today’s class. As you recall, we covered one aspect of this important subject in one of our classes a couple months ago. But let’s move on, hmm?

As writers, we are also people, and as people we have certain pet phrases and words we use often. And, oftentimes, we are unaware that we use them as much as we do. Others notice, of course, and friends and family will sometimes point that out, like, “Gee, Marvin, you sure do say ‘Oh, well, it’s all water under the bridge now,’ an awful lot” … to give an example.

We must be aware of our vocabulary and phrasing tendencies and make sure our characters—and especially not two or several of them—wind up sounding like us, the writer, talking. The reader picks up on this, and it has a jarring effect, pulling them out of the story while they realize it is you, the author, inserting your own voice rather than fastidiously developing your characters to the point where they have their own unique way of talking. I recently edited a book for a novice author who had an obvious propensity for the exclamation, “Sheesh!” And almost all of his characters used that same expression. Very annoying. Fully four of his main characters, one an educated Caucasian man, one a pretty, well-read librarian woman, one an Hispanic man with little education but strong headed and muscular, and another a ‘spirit-being’ God-in-the-making saviour type … and all of them exclaimed, “Sheesh!” when surprised or amazed at something. I was like, “Puh-leeeease! … can somebody say, ‘Oh, no!,’ or ‘Hells Bells,’ or maybe ‘Darn it!’?”

So that’s one area to watch for. Keep your pet phrases and words to yourself. If you want to choose one character who talks, thinks, and sounds like you, fine … sometimes that can work for inserting your personal messages into the story while staying in 3rd person character POV … but limit it to one and develop your other characters into completely unique people with their own speech and mannerism habits.

The second area of redundancy avoidance to cover today is repetitious words, used in close proximity. For this, I will give one of my world-famous example comparisons. Here is a dialog scene where you will notice my Thesaurus was apparently closed and my mental varietal capacities gone comatose:

John thought that Mary was so beautiful. He watched her, adoring the way she slowly brushed her hair, sitting at her vanity, her sinewy bare back so enticing in the dim light of their master bedroom suite this morning. He walked over, put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her cheek.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

She slowly turned around, smiled, and kissed him on the mouth, her tongue slowly playing across his lips. “Well good morning, handsome. Ready for some breakfast?”

“Mmhmm,” he said, and nodded toward the window. “It’s so beautiful today outside. Go for a walk in the park after, maybe?”

She looked, nodded slowly and appreciatively, and said, “That sounds wonderful, John.”

~~~~~

Are you about ready to upchuck if I use “so”, “beautiful”, or “slowly” one more time? I am, and that’s how any astute reader would feel, too. Now here’s the same scene with some synonym sense added to the story line:

John thought that Mary was so beautiful. He watched her, adoring the way she meticulously brushed her hair, sitting at her vanity, her sinewy bare back enticing him in the dim light of their master bedroom suite this morning. He walked over, put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her cheek.

“Good morning, gorgeous.”

She slowly turned around, smiled, and kissed him on the mouth, her tongue playing across his lips, languid and sweet. “Well good morning, handsome. Ready for some breakfast?”

“Mmhmm,” he said, and nodded toward the window. “It’s a stunning sunrise happening outside. Go for a walk in the park after, maybe?”

She looked, nodded twice in lengthy appreciation, and said, “That sounds wonderful, John.”

~~~~~ 

Much better, hmm? 

Okay, that’s it for today, thanks for behaving class, we’ll dismiss blog now, oh, and … remember Ms. Flanders provided us with these delicious brownies, so help yourself to one, and …

… huh? … what’s that?

Oh yes, Ms. Flanders, sorry to keep you waiting, here I come, my you look lovely today.

Chow class, enjoy your treats, and blog back to class next Tuesday, be on time, too.

~~~~~

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Last week my son and I built our largest pile of compost yet. While nothing compared to the volume and scale we have planned in the future once we are more capitalized and have the machinery we plan for our mass production operations, it is pretty darn big for our humble start-up business standards, some 8’ wide, 12’ long, and 4’ tall. We use a recipe of aged hay, horse manure (hot—the fresh droppings), fresh grass clippings, aged manure of all kinds, weed whackings, coffee grounds and kitchen food waste, primarily, plus small amounts of whatever else  we can get … basically whatever organic material that is no longer considered ‘useful’.

Out motto is, “Your trash is our cash.”

So you take all the unwanted ‘useless’ crap, layer it up, wet it to just the right moistness, it should be like a damp sponge—but one that does not drip when squeezed—then let it sit to start heating up. Once it’s got the microbes working, heating up to around 140+ degrees, usually takes two or three days, you start turning it every two to three days to mix and blend the ingredients, keep the microbes accessing all the material, ensuring a quickly done and nutritionally consistent throughout final product—that being, rich, black, organic fertilizer.

This morning we came back out to the farm, took the tarp off the pile and it was steaming away, looking like a smouldering brush fire if viewed from afar. Pretty cool. She’s cooking, for sure. And it is inexorably evolving, all the various components melding together and turning into one thing … a fine finished compost.

Is that not like fiction writing in many ways? Your plot idea is your recipe. You have to have all the elements, and a good variety of them, to make it heat up and ‘work’. You take various characters, places, happenings, conditions, etc., all of which by it or themselves would not make for a story at all, but when put together just right, mixed together, often twisting and turning the elements for better blend and outcome, and the book starts cooking—gaining momentum. Once it starts cooking, you can’t let it sit. Got to keep working it, turning it, blending it, keeping the heat and momentum building. And if it’s a really good story (recipe), with the right combination of ‘materials’, it builds a fire that consumes all the elements and breaks them down, melting them into one. One darn good novel—rich, compelling, entertaining, and intellectually and soulfully nutritious.

And that’s the Old Silly’s Monday Meandering Muse for this week. Blog back in tomorrow, I hear Professor Old Silly will be conducting his “Writing With Power in Fiction” Bloggyversity class. Should be a fun session. Chow, gang … got some poop to scoop and a pile of steaming crap to turn today, and then some characters and a red herring to add to my next book’s recipe later this afternoon. 

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First off, I’m pleased to announce that my publisher, All Things That Matter Press, just uploaded the finished manuscript of Beware the Devil’s Hug to mobipocket, from there it will also go to Kindle, and within two weeks it will also be available for sale in print format on Amazon, all major online bookstores everwhere, most major brick and morter bookstores (you may have to order at first, but you can), and of course ATTMP‘s own bookstore.

So – Hip-hip-hooray!

Pleased as punch to see this book finally about to be released to the world. If you’d like to get an idea what others are saying about Hugs, just go to the “Book Reviews” page on this blog, there are several sterling reviews already posted there, on top of the page.

Also, you will notice I’ve added a page to the blog, titled, “Hugs Therapy Virtual Tour 2010″. On that page you will find the tour lineup of blogs, hosts, dates, etc. Definitely make plans for some fun and entertaining blog-hopping and tour following in mid-October! Also on that page is the book trailer in case you haven’t checked that out yet. Soon I will be adding the reader’s contest for the tour, including all the prizes and giveaways I’m dreaming up. Fun stuff!

So on to this coming week. Stop in tomorrow for another “Meandering Muse” post – where I will compare the world of organic composting and gardening with writing – I have a new twist I’d like to share. On Tuesday, Professor Old Silly will be holding class again, discussing how to avoid the Department of Redundancy Department in your fictional writing. Wednesday is of course “Hilarious Hump Day” – drop by for a good laugh, and … the rest of the week?

Hey – cut me some slack, ok? I can’t think that far ahead, lol … but I’ll have something up of interest for your blog-hopping pleasure, entertainment, education, humor, and/or any or all of the above.

Chow gang, thanks again for blogging in, see y’all tomorrow here at Free Spirit.

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Dejected and morose, he drove to a faraway beach to walk the sand and meditate on his misfortune. He started skipping stones. One stone went particularly far out, bouncing seventeen times, until it hit something. Out of the waters rose a Genie – vaporous and grinning, clapping its hands with glee. It wafted across the waters and came to a hover above the man.

“I am so grateful to you,” the Genie said, “for thumping my urn with that stone. It released me from a thousand years of captivity. In return, I would like to bestow upon you three wishes, which I have the power to appreciatively grant.”

The man, taken aback at first, gathered himself and thought. After a while he said, “Well, okay, this is pretty cool. I would like to have a brand new Ferrari – deep blue, please.”

The Genie looked puzzled as it scratched its head. “I’m sorry,” it said, “I just got a message from Genie Control Center. Apparently I have to abide by a certain condition whilst granting your wishes.”

“Huh?”

“Yes, it is quite clear, the instructions, sorry, but I must comply … could lose my license, you understand.”

The man shrugged. “Well, okay … what’s the deal, then?”

The Genie sighed. “Well, it’s like this. I can grant you anything, yes, but … whatever I give to you, well …” he sighed again, apologetically, “… your ex-wife – she will get twice as much.”

The man snorted. “Figures. Oh hell, whatever, I don’t care. Can I still have the Ferrari?”

The Genie smiled broadly and clapped its hands. “Done!”

A brand new, midnight blue Ferrari appeared in sight, parked in the lot above the sands. The Genie said, “Of course you now realize your ex has two Ferraris.”

The man nodded, thinking.

“Your next wish?”

“I would like five million dollars placed in an account for me in an off-shore, tax-free bank.”

“Done!” the Genie said with another clap of its hands. It produced a holographic image for the man to see the bank account balance sheet with the just-deposited fortune.

The Genie winced and said, “But of course, you do realize–”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah … I know, my ex now has ten million. That’s okay, really. So I have one wish left?”

The Genie bowed graciously and said, “Yes, master … ask and it shall be granted.”

The man snickered. “I wish for you to beat me half to death.”

~~~~~

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