You're Hamlet!

by William Shakespeare

Something is rotten in your state. You don't know whether you would
rather live or die. And you keep speaking (unwittingly) in iambic pentameter. Even with
these setbacks, you have no idea just how awful life can get. With your whole family (fareakin' two whole family members) in
turmoil and your love interest soaked, there isn't exactly room for hope in your world.
No wonder you talk to yourself all the time!


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Today I did a number of writing type tasks. I organized and wrote and made notes and checked email. I edited and then I worked on several chapters of the thing, that ethereal, amorphous thing that we cheerfully refer to as “The Opus”. Writing a novel, especially when it is my first novel is much like trying to herd cats. Like trying to herd greased angry rabid cats. Like trying to herd greased angry rabid cats while blindfolded and hogtied- and on crack. To all those who say “I have a book, in my head” I say. Great. Leave it there. It’s easier. That is, indeed what I say in polite company. What I am thinking is something totally different.

I have a friend whom I love dearly. She has a friend that I am not so crazy about. This other friend – let’s call her Carmen for that is her name, had the cajones to suggest that Carol get me to help her write her book because her oh so tragic life raising a houseful of kids was oh such an interesting story that everyone would be jumping at the chance to see how she survived against such great odds as a divorced mother of four. I suppose you can guess what the answer to that request was.

Truly, the “I have a book in my head” statement is troubling, disconcerting and I wish it could be legally abolished from the English language, specifically when spoken by someone who is incapable of speaking a complete and coherent sentence without resorting to the time honored word substitute that we have come to know and (not) love – blah blah blah. I know how easy it is to be in that space between awake and asleep, the master of your unspoken words, where everything you want to happen is perfectly timed and if you could just get it on paper it would be such a great book! Yes! I know! I do it all the time!

I will defiantly and valiantly defend anyone and everyone’s right to write, without regard to talent – perceived or lacking, just as long as they are actually writing. Be it in quill and ink, crayon or pencil (remember those really thick ones in first grade? I wish I could have one of those right now. Remember that wide lined paper? Anyone got any?) Be it with the most elaborate computer system known to human. Be it fiction, nonfiction, prose or poetry. I applaud you for writing.  I applaud the sheer commitment, the sacrifice of your time and energy to attempt this hugely absorbing and strangely gratifying yet totally frighteningly lonely task of writing. I am reminded of a poem. http://www.certando.net/koch.html" title="http://www.certando.net/koch.html" target="_blank"http://www.certando.net/koch.... You Want a Social Life With Friends by Kenneth Koch.

So is it the writing or the being published that counts? It’s the writing. Yes, I dream of that star spangled day when I get the nod that something I have written is to be published. Yes, I writhed in agony when I found I didn’t even get honorable mention in a recent contest. Poor Boo endured mucho angst. But, in the famous words of Julia Cameron (The Artist’s Way), http://www.theartistsway.com/" title="http://www.theartistsway.com/" target="_blank"http://www.theartistsway.com/...  the point of the work is the work. With that in mind I wrote my three pages in the Morning Pages http://us.penguingroup.com/nf/Book/BookDisplay/0 " title="http://us.penguingroup.com/nf/Book/BookDisplay/0 " target="_blank"http://us.penguingroup.com/nf...,,0_0874778867,00.html  today – longhand. That being the case, wherein I have determined that it is the writing and not the commercial success that drives me I do confess to feeling a sense of accomplishment at hitting a minor, how shall I say, milestone. Yes, milestone works. I started an Excel spreadsheet in February after attending the Florida Suncoast Writers’ Conference http://english.cas.usf.edu/fswc/index.html" title="http://english.cas.usf.edu/fswc/index.html" target="_blank"http://english.cas.usf.edu/fs... and to date I have written 73,862 words. Two or three of them in a row make sense. The rest may be edited out. Now, that is a rough estimate. It does not include the dozens of writing exercises ( I do several a week, usually of 2 to 300 words each) nor does it include blog posts. Although on that note, I do take umbrage at those whose blogs contain mostly cut and paste stuff from other sources. That, to me does not entitle me to call it “my blog”.

 So now that I have meandered all over the pasture (again – see, this is where a blog comes in mighty handy. I can digress. I can meander. Try and stop me, I dare you!!! ). I will endeavor to my original series of thoughts. One of the things I do is set a timer for 20 minutes at a time and do writing exercises from Steering the Craft, Ursula K. Le Guin’s book  http://www.ursulakleguin.com" title="http://www.ursulakleguin.com" target="_blank"http://www.ursulakleguin.com Today I got all ridiculously silly. The exercise was to write a couple of hundred words of dialogue ONLY between two characters that would reveal as much about the characters as you could. Well, my two characters ended up being a woman and her brother in law, the father of her unborn child and the one that she had to tell about a bad case of venereal disease that would cause her to have to have a Caesarian section. He is an actor in soap operas…. at least until he has to tell his powerful and wealthy wife, her sister, that he has been dipping his pen in the family inkwell. Of course no one will ever have to endure reading these things but they are fun, and they provide much learning for me.

I also read and edited a friend’s short story called Daffodils and sent one of mine to another published author who read it and proclaimed it wonderful. I’ve become rather fond of the story, Chicken of the Sea. Pure fiction, it’s about a woman who finds herself pregnant rather late in the game. If you want to read it, let me know. I have advance copies at the ready.

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There was a moment in time when I thought it prudent to take up rollerblading. It was a serious lapse in Pudlin logic. I bought the skates. Now, I did some serious rollerskating when I was a kid. Seemed that rollerblades couldn't be that far off the mark.

The first time I tried them I went with a gal pal to Lake Seminole. We were whizzing along. I was doing pretty well.... until I rollerbladed over a small snake. I was so startled, upset, worried about the snake, grossed out and otherwise discombobulated that I threw in the towel and gave the skates to my girl. Ugghhhh.

Closing in.... I am closing in on the home stretch of Fish Stories, specifically, Snakehead. Generally when I write a short story I have an outline so I know where I am headed and how to get there. But as any of you who write short stories know, somethings just take on a life of their own. That is what has happened to Snakehead. It defies outlining. It has changed course any number of times. It is likely the most difficult piece that I have ever attempted.

Fish Stories started out being something totally different. It started out being titled "Tall Girls Who Worship Buddha" for one thing. Then I noticed that there seemed to be a recurring fish thing going on in all of them. So I went with the flow. Tall Girls got put on a back burner where the ideas are simmering.

For now I am writing Snakehead. Snakehead is currently sitting at 41 pages, 10,472 words, MOL. A snakehead is a nasty little predator fish who is not indigenous to Florida waters. It has a whole mouth full of sharp and deadly teeth and it can take down small mammals in its path. Sort of like a pirahna, but one that works alone. Generally what happens is that one is imported and soon outgrows the patience of the person who must provide it with an endless supply of goldfish. They release it in open waters where it grows and grows and grows. But here is the nastiest bit, a snakehead kills for the sheer joy of it. It will kill more than it can eat, because it can.

In my story, the Snakehead is a predator but the whole idea is that like the snakehead fish, it is its nature to be a snakehead. The snakehead is really a beautiful little killing machine. It is bright red and black and sleek and all those other fishy things that Flaring would appreciate in a fish. (P.S. Flaring, where the hell are you?????)

The only reason that I tell you all of this is that I am currently taking a little break from Snakehead and like many of you, I use this blogging mechanism to sort my socks, so to speak.

Snakehead is written from the POV of a guy, which is rather tough on me what with being a woman and all. I want Snakehead to be about the humanness of all of us. I want to show that someone is human has good and bad parts. There is a really sick part of the character who has developed Snakehead (which is not a human, but a computer program) and that is the whole reason that he developed Snakehead and then Snakehead starts killing more than it can eat and the dominoes begin to tumble and..... well I leave you with one paragraph:

It’s like those scenes in movies with the dominoes all carefully lined up in rows, spaced just so, going up and down ramps, in swirling patterns. The first one is toppled, it starts the chain reaction and the camera faithfully follows the action, follows as the long chain of dominoes fall. The camera never ever pans back to the fallen dominoes. No. The drama is in the falling. I should know.

It's a rainy Saturday on the west coast of Florida today, my friends. The trees are swaying in the high winds already and from what I can tell, Dennis hasn't even made it past the keys yet.

Now, you may recall that last hurricane season we got hit four times. Four times. Did I say it? Yes, four. Each time, I was rather blase' about it, until the one that knocked out power to my A/C for 2.5 weeks.... in August. The one before that took out my fence and placed a tree in my yard sideways. But THAT was ok because the new fence went in two weeks later.

I have lived in Florida for all but seven or so years of my life. I have been very lucky. I have a bad feeling that my luck is about to run out and that Dennis will be the one to break the good luck streak.

That said, I am hunkered down, insured and as ready as I can be. I am going to start tossing furniture in the pool as soon as the rain lets up. Really. So I suppose I should tape up the foot to keep me from bumping it anymore than necessary. O.K. Dennis, let's go.

From time to time I want a really good burger. Last night I watched Rachel Ray whip one up that looked particularly yummy, if a little over the top. She schmeared the toasted bun with pate’ mousse. Now I am a big fan of chicken livers and I am a big fan of burgers. I want them together as much as I would like sour kraut with sliced bananas. So I did my own take on Rachel Ray’s burgers. First thing is the meat quality. I like my ground beef lean, like as in sirloin. Less is more. I bought a small package, about ¾ of a pound. I chopped one half of a large shallot fine and mixed it quickly into the beef along with freshly ground pepper. I don’t add salt. I retain enough fluid as it is. I didn’t want to overwork the meat and get it tough. Then I popped it into a nonstick skillet drizzled with EVOO and let her rip. Meanwhile I toasted a French bun, slathered it with Dijon mustard and a slice of Vidalia onion.

Sides included a half a baked potato (that convection oven is wonderful) and a salad of fresh baby greens with walnuts and bleu cheese vinaigrette.

Speaking of food and Rachel Ray of $40.00 a day fame, I recently spent two weeks on the road. I have to say that the food was dreadful. I cannot think of any memorable meal. None. Nada. That seems unfair to Savannah to say that. The first evening I was there I skipped dinner. The following morning I had a most unmemorable omelet at Firefly. It was Greek, with plenty of feta and calamata but the egg was flat and lifeless.  There were more of scrambled eggs with ingredients than an omelet. Lunch was a terrible burger and good fries but I was on the fly.