commas

Every few years, the powers that be change grammar rules.  Between 9th grade and the end of college, I think MLA format changed six times, and that is just one example.  The latest example that is driving me crazy is the lack of a comma before the "and" in a series or list.

Previously, we would write: "Today I woke up, read a book, and ate cereal."  Now it is written this way: "Today I woke up, read a book and ate cereal."

Here is a blog post that answers the reason why I still prefer the first way (in addition to the fact that I resist change at all costs):

http://allday.cc/blog/why-i-still-use-the-oxford-comma/

Mystery Solved!

Haha!  Triumph!  My first attempt at writing a mystery novel is almost complete!  The mystery has been solved, amidst much adrenaline-laced danger, and now onto the denoument.  I have to wrap it up concisely, which will be my undoing.  My attempt at NaNoWriMo writing -- 50,000 words in 30 days -- ended up (and not even finished yet!) pushing 150,000! 

Concise is not in my repetoire.

Still Writing

I am gearing up for my other job -- teaching.  School starts soon, and I have been very busy. 

I am still writing, though, working on the mystery novel nearly every day.  *Sigh*  It was flowing like Niagra River.  Now it's like the water at the bottom.  I can't say I am stuck, exactly, but fifteen pages a night are not dripping off my fingers the way they were three weeks ago. 

I am determined to finish.

NaNoWriMo

Several years ago, I was challenged by a friend to take the NaNoWriMo Challenge.  This stands for National Novel Writing Month.  Yes, such a thing does exist.  It is in Novemeber.  And for this challenge one pledges to write a complete 50,000 word novel in 30 days.  It is not as easy as it sounds.  It is quite difficult, in fact, because when you must write 2000 words a day, it seems you can't even come up with word number 1.

However, I started the mystery novel.  I don't know how many days ago, but I know it was after my trip to Mississippi.  It is now July 22 (I think), and I am 120,000 words in.  It is flowing fast and furiously, much like the Missouri overflowing its banks.  I am learning, however, that one should probably do some serious planning before writing a mystery novel.  Otherwise you stare at the screen asking yourself, "Does she already have that piece of infomation?  When did that clue come in?  I can't give that away yet." 

It is especially hard for me because I am a write by the set of her pants type of girl.  I write whatever comes, fix it later, and the characters become real and take over the whole show anyway.  Hard to do with a mystery because she CAN'T take over -- she doesn't know it all, much as she thinks she does. 

I will have to ask friends to do serious critiquing of this one, to make sure there is logical flow and the clues make sense.  But I am enjoying the process!

Loss for Words

I found out this morning that my favorite bookstore is closing. Across the country.  There are no other bookstores in NEPA, unless I want to drive to Wilkes-Barre, and I don't.  Want to.

What is the world coming to?  Fareneheit 451 predicted we wouldn't have books -- they'd all be burned.  Bradbury got it right on the whole house thing -- I call all of those cookie cutter houses that face inward and you drive by looking at their backside with no porches and no neighborhood camaraderie "Farenheit 451 houses" -- but he may be a bit off on his burning books idea.  They -- the ubiquitous "they" -- aren't burning books, they are digitalizing them. 

The effect is the same: no books.  Those eReaders have their place, no doubt.  But it is not the same as opening a new release, sniffing glue and paper, feeling the roughness of the page,seeing words indelibly left for generations to come, to read and analyze and ponder and laugh and share and enjoy.  eReaders? Read it, erase it, download a new one.

This will be the end.  The end of wall to wall bookshelves.  The end of rereading that favorite book because there was that ONE scene that the author did so well!  The end of purchasing classics for my nephews and niece, letting them turn the pages as we snuggle, as I once turned the pages when I snuggled with my favorite adults. 

Here's a question to ponder:  If Jefferson hadn't collected 1000s of books, how would we know what he read?  How would we know what influenced him?  How would we turn to those books ourselves to learn what he learned?  If future generations read only downloadables that unload when you finish them, how will we know what influenced the next great leaders of our nation?  How will they share those ideas, when they themselves cannot go back to reread that book for that ONE exquisite thought?

Don't worry, people, I'm sure when the time comes there will be an app for that.

The Process

Over the past several days, I have had ideas floating in my brain, ideas that I wanted to expound upon in this arena.  One was about the smell of mint, which led to the idea that fragrances take us to memories, which ended with the idea of childhood and a tall glass of tea -- mint, of course.  Another idea was about an old barn that I passed as I was driving, a white delapidated barn with shoots of something -- trees?-- growing in its gutters.  That idea led to another topic, that of the loss of the art of driving, and I still might write about that some day, so I won't elaborate now.

But then this morning I checked the blogs I follow; such a kind service these nice blogspot people provide, that the ones I follow appear in my dashboard!  One of the blogs mentioned a book called The Writer's Compass.  It describes a seven-stage process to help writers go from idea floating in Never Never Land to finished, edited, publishable work.  It looks very interesting and helpful, which is the key.  I may end up buying it, and I am writing about it here so that if I forget the title, I can look here and find it again!

This leads me to mention another book, Quitter.  This book describes how to go from job you work to put food on the table to dream job.  I heard the author discussing it on the radio.  One of the things he said is that you have to start working toward it now, and not by taking time away from your family: "Sorry, kids, we can't go to the park because I have to work on this dream job."  No.  If it is important enough for you to work at it at all, then it comes out of your time, i.e. early mornings or late nights.

I don't have family that needs my attention, but I do like my sleep.  This could be the catalyst that helps me --finally -- put action behind idea!  I already have my dream job; I teach at a Christian school and I wouldn't trade it for the world!  But I also want to be a successful writer, and I believe I have some talent.  It is just a matter of making that talent get off its butt!

Character Sketch

I have begun the mystery novel.  I am copy/pasting here some of the descriptions of characters.  Let me know what you think.

Tom Norton had worked his way up through the trenches; years of rock-turning and late nights and hours on hold had left him with permanent lines between his bushy eyebrows and around his mouth and a decided rightward tilt to his neck. His wife had left him a few years ago for someone younger and handsomer, but Molly had always thought Tom was relatively pleasant-looking, even if he was fast approaching retirement. He was tall and broad, but not paunchy, and he still had a full head of dark hair, though it was graying now, and blue eyes that glittered. Or, as right now, snapped.

Fern Haggerty sat at the desk. Of an age with Molly's parents, if they'd been alive, Fern had dyed red hair done up in a bee hive, black glasses to match the era, and clothes from a clam bake movie. She was one of those old bitties who always managed to be either a borough worker with access, a post office worker, or a waitress, and she let it be known that if it was worth knowing she knew it.

Police Chief Markus Oden was wedged behind his desk. Wedged, because the small room was barely big enough for a desk and two chairs, let alone his bulk behind it. He managed to stand and stick out his hand. His hazel eyes were full of sympathy, but he didn't mention it, and Molly was grateful. When he withdrew his hand, he ran it through gray hair that never made it to the top of his head and pulled on his earlobe. It was a gesture with which Molly was familiar, and it made her smile. Oden must have a lot on his plate.

All of these are secondary characters, but I really like the way I described them!