Movie Night at the O.K. Corral

By C.L. Beck
© 2007

“If you were an actor, in what movies would you have starred?” Shirley Bahlmann, our writing group moderator, adjusted her tiara as she posed the question. Anyone who’s met Shirley knows she’s a kid at heart. She said she wore the plastic crown because she’d been involved in something at the elementary school, but I’m guessing she really wanted to be princess for a day.

“Write your list of movies for next week’s assignment,” Shirley continued. She’s a lot of fun, but if she keeps giving homework where we have to write about ourselves, I’m going to insist that she turn in her crown.

I could hear my husband, Russ, groan under his breath. Was it because he felt the same way about the homework or was it the burrito he had before class? I’m voting on the burrito. They do it to him every time.

It’s early in the morning now. I haven’t had breakfast, much less a burrito, and I’m sitting here groaning, too. Is it because I hate writing about myself or is it because of the six Twinkies and chili-cheese dip I ate at midnight?

I’ll never tell.

But just in case you’re interested, here are the movies I came up with and the parts I would have played.

• Night of the Living Dead: I’ve heard I’m a dead (no pun intended) ringer for a zombie.

• Grapes of Wrath: It’s with the greatest humility that I say I could have easily won the part of a grape.

• The Muppets Take Manhattan: Hey, everybody wants to be a Muppet. I would have been Big Bird. Or Animal. Or Kermie. Or … ooo, ooo, me, me. Put me in as Miss Piggy. (I probably deserve the part after last night’s snacking episode.)

• The Sons of Katie Elder: Well, pilgrim. Let me get my boots and ten-gallon hat and I’ll play the Duke. Ok, wait, I realize there’s a gender issue here. How about if I play Maureen O’Hara? Aye, 'tis true, there’ll be none fairer than she in all the land of Ireland.

• The Old Man and the Sea: The way I’m floundering around with this, I’m sure I could have played a fish.

• Moby Dick: After that midnight snack last night, it would seem I’m perfect for the role of a very big fish. Now, now, let’s be nice. I never said I wanted to be the whale.

• One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest:

You’ll notice I left the reasons off on that final one. Why? Because they make a great last line. According to Russ, I should have starred in "One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest" because no one he’s ever met is more cuckoo.


(Give this exercise a try and see what you come up with. If you’d like, post your “movies” as comments so we can all enjoy them. You’ll be pleasantly surprised to find that the exercise really does stretch your imagination as a writer.)

Please Enter Your Number & Stay in the Line

By Keith Fisher

Have you ever wondered how the human race survived in a world without microcomputers, credit card numbers, and cell phones?

I have heard of a time when we were all people, before the George Orwellian society reduced us to a series of numbers. We should have seen it coming when the phone company gave out phone numbers that would ring eight or so houses in an attempt to reach the one person who wasn’t home. Perhaps we should’ve resisted the government when they issued nine digit social security numbers.

Recently, I was the butt of a joke. I choose to call it a joke. Otherwise I would run screaming into the night because of the loss of my mental faculties. Do you know how to dance to the digital Loonie Tunes?

The company I work for switched health insurance carriers at the first of the year, coinciding with my wife’s visit to a doctor. She gave them our health insurance card and they billed it to the old insurance. Without the correct insurance card they sent me the bill.

I couldn’t ask the insurance specialists at work to help because I now work Graveyard shift and they go home before I wake, so I called the insurance company.

I had to find their phone number and was put on hold. I had to give my SS number, my address, birth dates, and my company’s new name, (because they changed the name). They gave me an insurance card number and promised to send a new card to my address. (Wasn’t that nice?)

Armed with an insurance card number, I called the billing department for the doctor’s office and had to leave my phone number because the whole department had gone home early. I called back and got an operator and had to give her all my wife’s information, they also wanted MY information and discovered the records show that I still work at my old job. I corrected it and they wanted to know the name of the insurance (not just the company name).

It reminded me of the time I tried to convince a credit card company that the number they called was my private cell phone number. And no, I wasn’t the person who was on their records. And no, I don’t have a capital one card. And no, I don’t want one.

Small wonder that in this day and age, we all stress out. With all the numbers and passwords we must keep in order to function today, it’s a miracle we can remember the difference between a noun and verb. Let alone diagram sentences.

So if I use a password in my writing instead of an adjective please forgive and remember there are no periods in an email address. Uh . . . “I” before “E” except after uh . . . In order to verify your Identity, please tell me your mother’s maiden. You need a minimum of five characters for a pass . . . go or collect $200.00 . . . please enter the last four digits of your social security . . . In order to assist us in serving you, please enter your account number followed by the pound sign.

Do you remember the Porky Pig cartoon character? Bbbbb that’s all folks.

The Greatest Escape

By Nichole Giles

The world has gone mad. People shoot other people in shopping malls and schools. Suicidal maniacs threaten to blow themselves to oblivion with homemade explosive devices. Groups of extremists kill themselves and others in attempts to make a violent statement of political protest.

People aren’t even allowed to bring bottled water on an airplane anymore.

Day to day we live, hour-by-hour, minute-by-minute, making the best of our personal circumstances. But sometimes the crazy world becomes too much, and we find ourselves utterly distracted, our bodies become completely still; we stare at nothing while we wonder what will happen next.

Then we shake free of our musings and force ourselves to move forward again, one second at a time. We find ourselves longing for an escape from reality as we know it. Some people spend hours and hours and lots of money sitting in dark, sticky-floored movie theaters, one hand in a bucket of popcorn and another on a sweating paper cup, while giant images flash across an enormous screen.

Others prefer a more solitary escape. We pick up a book, one by our favorite, trusted author, and jump into a completely different day. For a little while, we become someone else, worry about something else, and live a different life. Perhaps our book sends us to a tropical island, solving a murder while we struggle to survive. Or maybe we are starting a new life in a new city after a major tragedy. We might even have the opportunity to save the world. Or, we might jump into a whole new world, and meet another species. Friend or foe? We must read on to find out.

Whatever road the plot follows, we jump in headfirst and submerge ourselves in the problems of a fictional character. Is this the only escape from the world we live in right now? The one in which children are no longer allowed to walk home from school because something terrible happened to someone down the street?

For some of us, it is the greatest escape. It is the break from life we use to help us catch our breath. The little nap during a hailstorm of gunfire. The charger that refills our batteries.

Religion helps us cope. It gives us the courage to take whatever comes at us. But fiction is the thing that takes us away and allows us to forget, for just a little while. And when we finish the book, we feel a hint of sadness mixed with satisfaction, like coming home after a great vacation. So, we pick up another book and start another journey. While we read, the world around us keeps on turning. But we emerge recharged, ready to face life in this century.

That, dear readers, is the priceless gift an author gives to readers. And if our author is really generous, kind and giving, maybe we will be able to face turning on the news.

Create A Treasure Map

By Connie S. Hall

I recently read an article by Shakti Gawain that suggests you create a treasure map for every single goal in your life. It will help your mind focus on your objective more clearly. The article also recommends that after you finish your map you need to look at it each day, which will cause your mind to think about your target.

Creating a visual picture of what you want to accomplish sounds like a good idea to me. Since most of you are probably more artistic than I am you would have fun with this idea. The next suggestion was that you draw yourself into the picture.

Since our group is focusing on writing this means you would make a colorful map with pictures showing you working on your novel, mailing off your completed manuscript, and it even advises you show yourself as the proud author of your new book.

As for me, if I drew a picture I would burst out in laughter every time I saw it, and I would never get any writing done. Instead of a treasure map, I have a few notes attached above where I spend most of my time writing. Make sure the slogans you choose are inspirational and uplifting, and help energize your goals. The verses could also be exciting, playful, or humorous, as long as it reminds you how important writing is to you.

Here are a few suggestions I borrowed, but since you are a writer you could make up your own:

“I can fix a bad page, but I can’t fix a blank one.”
"Everyday begins as a clean new slate I am free to choose what gets written there."
“Listen to the demands of your characters, who, as they begin to come to life, may insist upon a different fate than the one you planned.”
“The original writer is not one who imitates nobody, but one whom nobody can imitate.”
“Grab your reader by the throat from your very first sentence.”
“Cut out anything that doesn’t help the story complete itself.”
“If anybody can stop you from being a writer, then don’t be one.”
“You don’t have to blow out someone else’s candle to make yours glow brighter.”

The recommendation I liked best was that you don’t show anything negative. I suggest that whether you draw a picture or write a slogan to place above your computer that you make it as positive as possible. Do whatever it takes to keep motivated.

Valentines All Over the Hedge or Was That Edge?

By G.Parker

Do you remember when Valentines Day used to be an event? We spent the week before planning, pasting, cutting and marking our way into someone’s heart. Now we go to the store to buy pre-made little ditties that are usually based off some recently released movie for kids. And cards for adults? They cost over a $1 a card…and then they don’t usually come across with the message you want.

Enter the e-card world. I spent half the day today trying to find the right card to send to my husband. Something that was animated as well as fun and cute. Romance is nice, and I like romantic cards as much as the next woman. But my husband likes fun and something that makes him chuckle. Men can be romantic, but let’s face it; if we make them laugh, they’re going to be much more willing to put up with the romance we want.

There appears to be a lot of room out there for good greeting-card writers. I don’t think half of the existing ones are using imagination or creativity. I mean, just take a look at the selection I picked up for my son’s valentines for school. Taken from the Over The Hedge movie, they are cutesy little pictures of the Over The Hedge gang with dippy little phrases like: "I’m Hedge over Heels for you!" or "Have a Nutty Day" or "You’re Crazily Fun!" How about, "Have a Turtlelicious day!" Turtlelicious isn’t even a word!

Okay, I realize I’m coming down a little hard on a multi-million dollar industry that ranks third behind Christmas and Halloween in the amount of money spent on it…but it just rankles the writer’s heart. I know lots of people who could come up with better wishes than these.

I was going to have a contest for this, but we already have one going. Since we're also planning a couple for March, I’ll desist and wait to see if you leave samples in your comments. Anyway, for grins, here are some little verses I think would work for Valentine’s Day cards.

Roses are red

Violets are blue

Since we both hate candy

Let’s go buy some shoes

The balloons may pop

Tomorrow

The flowers may die

In three days

But the love that I have

In my heart

Will last for you always

Writing That Award Winning Novel

By C.L. Beck
© 2007

Writing can be a lot like baseball—at least for me. In baseball, the pitcher spits on his hand, wraps his fingers in some weird way around the ball, cranks back, and throws like heck. Who knows what’s going to come across the plate? It could be a slider, sinker, or a curve ball.

In writing, I don’t spit on my hand—that would make the keyboard all slimy. But I do wrap my mind in some weird way around an idea, crank back, and write like heck. Who knows what’s going to show up on the computer? It could be a mystery, a romance, or fantasy.

Or it could be a cross between a sinker and a slider, which I like to call … a stinker. I’ve run across several authors who’ve had great success getting those published, so if you think you’ve written a stinker, don’t throw it away. When you’re rich and famous, the reading public will want anything you’ve written, including your note to remember to buy new underwear. (If you were smart, you didn't write down the size. After all, what writer wants the whole world to know he wears a 52½ in undershorts?)

Most of us have heard stories of authors who’ve written their award winning novel on a napkin, in two hours, and with a quill pen. Doesn’t that amaze you? You’d have to have one mighty big napkin for a whole novel to fit on it. But wait … I’ve heard of people copying the Bible onto the head of a straight pin, so technically speaking, I guess it can be done.

I suppose the moral of the story is to write, regardless of where you are and what writing tools are available. You never know which is going to be ‘the one’ that will catapult you into fame. And don’t worry about the rejections. One way to guarantee you’ll never get a rejection is to write nothing. That, however, is counterproductive to winning awards and making millions off a book you wrote on the back of your napkin while at Wendy’s.

And now that I’ve made these suggestions, I really must go. A plethora of ideas have floated into my mind, and I need to go find my business card. No, not so I can send it to an agent. So I can write my next stinker on it.

Learning the Craft

By Keith Fisher

The other day, I struggled with a novel I found lying around the house. I say struggled because it was hard to read. The concept of the plot appeared to be heading in an intriguing way so I battled to keep reading it.

"What was so hard about the book?" you ask. I’ll tell you, but first, let me tell you a story.

About ten years ago I submitted a novel. It was a labor of love. It was a book everyone needed to read. It told the story of a family’s experiences in a way that would touch hearts and change lives. It was a good story.

Of course I got a rejection letter. But it was a nice rejection letter. I was told that it WAS a good story but perhaps I would benefit by attending a writer’s workshop somewhere.

Ten years later I look back on that experience and realize that the publisher was right. The story was told not shown, there were point of view problems, and the characters were flat. In short, my book wasn’t ready to be published.

At the same time, the other novel, (the one I struggled with), was submitted to the same publisher. I doubt it sold very well, at least I hope not, because it would explain why LDS fiction got a bad rap. If this sounds like "sour grapes" I suppose it is. But I’ve had time to learn about my mistakes and will eventually be a better writer when my book gets published.

It might be interesting to note however, a published non-fiction author wrote the hard book I mentioned.

While reading the book, I was reminded of everything I’ve read about not telling but showing, point of view mistakes and "head-hopping". The big problem was the author let the protagonist’s mind wander all over the place. Normally this can give depth to a character but I found myself skipping whole pages because the subject had nothing to do with the story and it went on and on. When a writer dedicates page after page to a character’s ramblings it becomes narration (not unlike non-fiction).

I read once that some non-fiction writers have a hard time crossing over to fiction because of the tendency to tell.

So what can we learn from all this? One lessen is, that it helps to know someone in the publishing business, but most important for me is to remember to get it right before it gets published. As much as I want to see my work in print, I also want to give my readers a wonderful experience, to help them come away with the realization that they have been reading for hours and didn’t notice time passing. I want them to buy my second book because they had a great experience with the first one.

Here are 2 writing tips I am learning. The first is about showing and telling from Sol Stein (a writer, editor, and publisher).

He was nervous. tells.
He tapped his fingers on the tabletop. shows.

As for point of view, if you’re writing about what’s in the head of a character and in the next sentence, you switch characters, it’s called head hopping and it’s confusing because the reader isn’t sure who’s head they are in.

My hope:

May all your creative writing, always prove to be perfect prose. As for the book in question, I finished it and the author never answered the story question that kept me reading. I might dig a deep hole and deposit it in the bottom. (Just kidding).

Saving Emotion

By Nichole Giles

“His wife is dying,” she said. “He cannot find the words to speak, so he writes them to us in beautiful, poetic emails.”

In a recent conversation with a dear friend of mine, I had a revelation. In times of great emotion, people often have a difficult time voicing their feelings. Sometimes, these people bottle them up inside, until they explode in unpredictable ways. But other times, writing about your experiences can be the balm for all of life’s worst hurts.

This same piece of writing can be key in coming back to that emotion—that moment of anxiety, fear, pain, anguish, joy, excitement or love—days, weeks, or months after it has passed. Readers love emotion, as long as it is believable. And what better way can a writer make it believable than going back through his or her own life and feeling that genuine emotion?

Be warned, however, I’ve heard that writing these things—however you fictionalize them—can be draining on the writer. Almost like living through that emotional phase of his or her life all over again.

Award winning author, Sue Monk Kidd, speaks of the importance of journaling. She mentions writing through all emotions, happy, sad, or otherwise. She writes all her life questions, and all her thoughts into notebooks. These notebooks never get thrown away, and she fills them frequently. By doing this, she is able to look back at her life, and see her own shortcomings and flaws, as well as accomplishments, as a person, a woman, and a writer.

I hope I can take her advice. I think I’m going to add one more goal to my list of resolutions this year. I’m going to start journaling my emotions. Or maybe, like the man whose best outlet of expression was through the internet, I could just print and save all my emails.

A Night Under the Dinosaur

By Connie Hall

A while back, there was a comment on my blog asking, “Do you also fiddle, or just do the serious stuff?” Sorry, I didn’t give an answer. It seems time got away from me.

If you are talking about the violin, because of the lack of practice the music I play is pathetic. It probably doesn’t sound serious or like a fiddle, just a bunch of squeaks-the type of sound a beginner makes. But, if you were referring to my life, I guess I do sound serious most of the time, but in reality, I’m not.

I take my writing, and life, seriously, but I live it to the fullest. Many people tell me I’m too busy, but I prefer it that way. I’m not letting my age slow me down.

Being busy gives me plenty of ideas to write about. I spent last weekend with a couple of grandsons sleeping under the belly of a bunch of dinosaur bones. It reminded me of the new movie, “A Night At The Museum”. Nothing came to life, but the shadows were a bit spooky, and I’m sure every child there had some interesting dreams, that is, if they slept. Even though they called the activity ‘DinoSnorzzz’, I didn’t hear many snores.

Of course, I took my trusty notebook, and many pens and pencils. I won’t say much about the hard, uncomfortable floor because I did have fun. Since I write mostly for children the ideas I collected on this adventure will come in handy.

I guess my advice this week is: keep busy. The ideas you collect along the way will benefit you in your writing. If you are always home nothing new will ever happen to you. The things you write about will always be the same. I love creative, original, and exciting adventures, and they do help with the ideas.

My First Review

By Darvell Hunt

The first review of any of my published writing has been posted on the blog: A Motley Vision: Mormon Arts and Culture. (http://www.motleyvision.org/?p=315).

My short story, Fatal Broken Heart, appears in the current issue of Irreantum, the official publication of the Association for Mormon Letters. While the mention on A Motley Vision was more of a short description of my story rather than a review, being mentioned at all when others were not was certainly encouraging.

I do know, at least, that somebody actually read what I wrote. After all, if you write a story and nobody reads it, is it really a story at all? (Sorry, I guess that’s a bad stretch of the tree-falling-in-the-forest-with-nobody-to-hear-it cliché.) I’m just happy that they didn’t tell everybody that my story stinks.

So now I will cautiously allow this tiny tidbit of fame to inflate my writer’s ego—which I mentioned in my last blog entry—so that I may have a little fuel in my sputtering engine as I write in my secluded lonely basement office.

Ah, the life of an overworked, under-appreciated writer—ain’t it wondrous and great?

Five Hundred Words at Five Cents a Word

By C.L. Beck
© 2007

Since good writers should be multi-faceted, I’ve momentarily turned to writing children’s stories. Believe me when I say it’s not easy.

Let me give you an example:

First, imagine you have this great murder mystery in mind. Oops, you’re already off to a bad start. Unless you want parents calling at two in the morning because you gave little Zu-Zu nightmares, “murder” is a four-letter word. Well, ok, not really. It’s a six- letter word that’s the equivalent of a four-letter word.

Throw out the murder, but you can keep the mystery. Next pick a setting. Let’s have it take place in … oh, I don’t know … how about an office?

Every great story has to have a protagonist (that’s the good guy), and an antagonist (that’s the bad guy). So, let’s make the protagonist a mouse, and the antagonist an unknown being.

Throw those all together, with the antagonist moving around the mouse's most prized possession and what have you got? Voila! A story about a mouse who’s mad because someone moved his cheese.

If you’d come up with that idea 20 years ago, you’ve be rolling in the dough because you would have authored “Who Moved My Cheese”, an adult self-help book that is loved by corporate executives. You’d be rich and famous … with everybody but the kids.

I’m sure you can now see my frustration. Like I said, it’s not easy to write children’s literature. And just think, I’m doing it in hopes of making $25 a story. I must have rocks in my bats. Or belfries in my head. Or whatever.

But I’m not going to give up. I’m going to try until I get it right—at five cents a word, for 500 words.

I know. What if I create an adventure story, on the high seas . . . with a captain . . . and a great white whale?

A Long Stem Red Rose, Dinner, and a Box of Candy

By Keith Fisher

According to Wikipedia, in about 496 BC, Pope Gelasius I proclaimed a feast to be celebrated every year on February 14. This was to honor three martyred saints of ancient Rome. One of them was allegedly Saint Valentinus. The feast was slated to replace an old Pagan holiday of Lupercalia that had been celebrated for many years on February 15.

In the Middle Ages, the legends and the feast became associated with romantic love.

William Shakespeare (or was it Marlow?) gave us Friar Lawrence who in his compassion married the star crossed lovers and set into motion events of woe that young girls swoon over.

Ah love, at this time of year we (husbands) are once again, brought to the brink of insanity by the uncertainty of the moods of our dear sweethearts.

What type of bribery, trinket, or dead flower will please our true love? What kind of maniacal, sadistic punishment will we be forced to endure if we (heaven forbid) forget?

But what about receiving? Is it harder to find the perfect offering, or graciously accept a gift that you would never buy for yourself? In fact if you received it from anyone, (other than your true love), you would hide it in the dark recesses of the downstairs closet, never to be seen again?

Is this the kind of behavior inspired by true love? Well, if we use the example of Romeo and Juliet, then yes it is. What causes this behavior and leaves men sleepless, wallowing in a cold sweat, well into the night?

Ah love. I have heard it said that it is "a many splendored thing". (Try that word on your spell checker) It’s what causes mouths to go dry, dinner to go uneaten, and teenagers to plot their imaginary suicides, knowing they will never be allowed to show their faces in public again.

You may have guessed I am not a romantic fiction writer. If I were, I would write pages about the beauty and wonder of the day we have set aside for expression of the evidence of that knot in the pit of our stomach.

I implore you, in the interest of sanity, let’s go back to having a feast on February 14. Of course it means that we (husbands) will have to remember to express our love, everyday, in everything we do. We will have to start courting our wives again and go back to the time when we, as teenagers . . .

Uh, Never mind. It’s Saturday dear reader, barring Sunday you now have three days to get something for your true love. Try to avoid the last minute rush when white-faced husbands invade the local department store, settling for the last teddy bear and a chocolate bar.

If the unavoidable happens, try to repress the anger that rises because of the chuckles of the female store clerks who just know their sweetheart has already purchased a valentine that will knock their socks off.

Don’t tell them you saw their sweetheart at the other store, the one that was sold out of everything.

CHECK YOUR VITAL SIGNS

By Connie S. Hall

A good time to look at your present vital signs is the beginning of every year. Reflecting on your accomplishments will help you know what direction you must head. Decide the goals that are important to your writing pursuits.

Studying and staying on top of current market requests is very important in being able to have your works published. My vital signs have been a bit sluggish the past couple of months. I’m still studying and watching the world’s trend in books. I’ve even sent for a couple of new books to help in my studying because I think I need to learn a few new techniques.

Two weekends ago, I went on a writing retreat. This was just the ticket to get me back on track. I actually completed six short stories. Some I had been working on for months. Since Nichole has done a lot of prodding, I don’t dare put them in a drawer. With her encouragement, each one found its way into the mailbox.

I’ve never tried to write a mystery, but I’m going to enter the Highlight Mystery Writing Contest this month. Since it’s only 800 words, I should be able to whip out a good story. My chances are slim since I’ve never seriously tried to write mystery, but since I love to read them, I think I should learn to write a fun whodunit book. Another thing in my favor is I love to write for children.

To me trying something new is always a challenge, but I love new things. This should be just the obsession to get me back on track. Maybe my vital signs will be normal again. That is if anything can be normal for a writer.

The Doctor Will See You Now...

G.Parker

I have a favorite movie that my family likes to quote: Princess Bride. One of our favorite parts is when Inigo Montoya says, "I hate waiting." I would guess that's probably a common complaint, especially with mothers.

On the other hand, a writer will tell you that 'waiting' is an opportunity 'waiting' to happen. Those moments of time spent waiting, can be filled with writing. I've decided, as one of my determinations this year (I don't believe in resolutions), I'm going to follow that adage. In fact, that's what I'm doing right now – waiting for my daughter at the doctor's office.

Normally I would use this time to read; catch up on all the magazines I don't get at home, read all the latest gossip about Hollywood that I don't allow in my home, and look through all the recipes that I can't wait to try. I take the chance to read every time the opportunity presents itself, especially when I've been too busy to read.

But today I had to remind myself that I'm a writer–trying to be a serious as well as freelance one–and that means I need to write in any spare time I have, not waste it. While playing Bejeweled on my cell phone is sometimes more entertaining, (and at times more fun) than researching how to make rubber stamps for a current article, I have to remember that playing on my phone won't get me what I want; namely, being more productive and earning an income as a writer, which writing while waiting will.

My daughter's finished, and amazingly enough, so am I. I just hope I have time to get this transferred to the computer before I lose the notes...

Have You Ever?

By Nichole Giles

Have you ever read a book that was so well written that you became emotionally involved in the outcome?

Have you ever found a plot written so intricately, so completely simple, yet unpredictable, that the outcome not only shocked you, but made you slap your forehead in amazement and say, “Of course! It had to be him.”?

Have you ever admired a character so much you felt connected to them? Whose actions were so enviable, that when you came upon difficult situations in your own life, you searched your memory asking, “What would that person do?”

Have you ever been so completely entertained by a simple sentence, that you laughed until you cried?

Have you ever been so affected by a work of fiction that you had an insane urge to share the story with everyone you know?

Have you ever read something that gave you a profound desire to do something good?

Have you ever waited in line for hours, fighting hordes of fanatical fans, to buy the newest installment of a popular series that you love?

Have you ever become so engrossed in a story that you read 1,500 pages in three days or less? (In which case, you probably put real life on hold to see what happens next.)

I don’t have to tell you that this is the kind of author I want to be. I want to stand and say proudly to the world, “Look, I created that! It came from my heart, but go ahead and gaze upon its beauty.”

I know I’m not alone in this desire. This is the desire of all writers, but it takes a great deal of work. A lot of people can write; some degree of writing is required in almost every aspect of life. But an author puts a great deal of time and thought into every word, wrestles with every sentence as an individual, yet critical element of the whole story.

Authors have the ability to create from nothing the stories that push us forward in life, the stories that shore us up and give us courage in times of fright, comfort in times of trial, and laughter in dismal weather. And when we feel as though hope has deserted us and our own situation becomes too much for us to bear, we beg our favorite authors for respite and lose ourselves in the worlds of their creation.

This is what we strive for, what we work toward, and for some of us, the deepest desires of our hearts. Someday, I will be the author of someone’s favorite story. And every second I spent writing that story will be worth it.

Have you ever written something that really mattered?

License Plate Frame Slogans (And a Contest!)

By C.L. Beck
© 2007

If you want to see how important writing is, just take a look around. Words are everywhere. For example, there are tee shirts with all kinds of sayings. One of my favorites (in light of having reached the ripe old age of plenty-nine) is “I’d rather be over the hill than under it”. Appliances all have instructions on the boxes. Steam iron manufacturers now list the caution, “Do not use while wearing clothes”. I find that advice to be a little ambiguous. I can't decide if it means you should iron naked, or you shouldn’t iron the clothes while on your body.

Luckily for writers, the written word is in our mail, on our televisions (oh, yes, you know you’ve been reading that little ticker tape at the bottom of CNN), as well as imprinted on our sunglasses and license plates frames. Hey, it’s even in our underwear! For the moment, though, I’d like to ignore the underwear (not wearing it, just writing about it) and concentrate on the advice given on the rear of vehicles.

The other day, my husband, Russ, and I were driving along reading the license plate frames of passing cars, and we came up with our own list of original slogans:

If you don’t like my driving … get off my windshield.

This vehicle powered by 350 horses … watch out for exhaust.

Mountain Heights Hospital … your link to eternity.

My lawyer’s smarter than your lawyer … go ahead and hit me.

My grandkids … are kinda homely. Can I have one of yours?

Pass with caution … blind driver.

He who dies with the most toys … has toddlers at home.

My child is a proud graduate … of the Utah State Correctional Facility Cooking School.

How do you expect me to soar like an eagle … when I’m a big chicken.

Friends don’t let friends drive … over other people.

(And my personal favorite, which only women would understand.) You toucha my car, I breaka you … fingernail.


I’m sure all these slogans have inspired at least one for you, so I’m running a contest. Submit your own, original slogan(s) as a comment on this blog. The best entry—as determined by me; my husband, Russ; my dog, Corky Porky Pie; and whomever else I designate—wins a genuine, almost two inches tall, never-before-used-in-a-bathtub, RUBBER DUCKY!


Please note that, despite the photo shown above, your ducky will not have been sitting in a mud puddle. The ducky shown is a professional model/actor who has been hired for this photo shoot.

Contest is subject to rules and regulations as governed by the great State of Utah … blah, blah, blah ... contest ends February 28, 2007.

(I’m sorry I won’t be able to respond to every entry personally, but be assured that in my heart, I’m laughing at yours.)

Hobnobbing With the Upper Class

By Keith Fisher

I put in my paperwork. I’m planning to attend the LDStorymakers Writers Conference again this year. Even after forced changes in occupation, I have been scrimping and saving to make this possible.

You might ask why I would take a vacation day, spend all my money, and go to all the trouble of attending the conference. I’ll tell you:

I am not the writer I want to be. I know you’re shocked, you thought I was perfect. The truth is, I manage to put words together on these electronic pages every week and I fake my way into believing I can write, but the reality is; I have more to learn than most, and who better to learn from, than published authors.

If I were wealthy, I’d attend every writer’s conference there is and perhaps come away with great improvements in my craft. It couldn’t hurt to network with great writers and publishers either. Yes, if I were wealthy, I would perhaps attend so many conferences that I wouldn’t have time for writing.

So why LDStorymakers? I can explain it with the words of the late Ben Bracken. I have mentioned this story before in this blog but I think we can still learn from it; last year, I attended the class taught by Tristi Pinkston titled: Using Believable Inspiration in Fiction. I heard someone ask Ben about the class and he said with a tear in his eye, "It was like attending church."

For those of us who have chosen to write LDS Fiction it’s like a breath of fresh air to hobnob with other writers who have the same beliefs. To be with those who have the same struggle with appropriate words for a story, those who endeavor to write the spark of inspiration that we know will touch the heart of someone seeking guidance from Deity.

This Year I will attend the writer’s boot camp again. I love the smell of red ink in the morning. It’s quite an eye opener to have someone critique your wonderful manuscript and realize how much editing you must do. I once read about the concept of the boot camp in a book on writing and wished I could afford to travel back east and attend one. Last year I was thrilled to be part of one and this year I get to do it again.

That’s what makes this conference so special for me. Hope to see you there.

Helpful Favorites

By Nichole Giles

Somewhere in the vague recesses of my mind lay fragments of several different conversations about writing books. I am not talking about the writing of books, by us, the authors, but instead the reading of books about writing by other people…also authors.

Everyone has a favorite—one certain book—containing pertinent information that we believe is going to help us write the next bestseller. Or, failing that, this book will at least give us pointers, tips, and secrets that will surely send us straight to publication.

The truth is, even if our favorite writing book cannot catapult us into fame and fortune, or even publication, it can steer us in the right direction. One thing all of these books have in common is that they are all written by published authors, editors, or agents—lets face it, if we are buying it, they are published—so whatever they have to tell, whatever information they may impart, will be useful to us…as readers and as writers. After reading several writing books, I asked other people about their favorites. The following is a list of favorite writing books, and the people who recommend them.

Recommended by myself, Nichole Giles:
Word Magic for Writers by Cindy Rogers
On Writing Well: The Classic Guide to Writing Nonfiction by William Zinsser
The Forest for the Trees: An Editor’s Advice to Writers by Betsy Lerner

Recommended by Connie Hall:
Creating Character Emotions by Ann Hood
American Dialects by Herman and Herman
You Can Write a Mystery by Gillian Roberts

Recommended by Keith Fisher:
Stein on Writing by Sol Stein
Publishing Secrets by the LDS Storymakers

Recommended by author BJ Rowley:
Self Editing for Fiction Writers: How to Edit Yourself into Print
by Renni Browne and Dave King

Recommended by author Martine Leavitt:
Story by Robert McKee

Recommended by Darvell Hunt:
On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft by Stephen King

Recommended by C.L. Beck (and nearly everyone else on this list, including myself):
Writing Secrets: A Comprehensive Guide to Writing Fiction & Nonfiction in the LDS Market by LDS Storymakers

If just one person learns just one something great from only one of these books, then my work for today is done.

Happy Reading!

Aren't Games Fun!

by Connie S. Hall

I was planning to post something else this week, and I already had my little piece written and critiqued by the group, but it’ll wait until next week. Since the tagging game got me, I guess this is what I get to do.

Games remind me of parties. If there is a party, I want to be there, so please invite me. If you don’t then I’ll have my own party. Since games are usually part of a party, and I love to play games, we must begin.

I guess I'm supposed to write five things about myself that you don't know. This task should be easy because you have no idea who I am. Anything I choose to tell you would probably be okay because you wouldn’t know if it was true or not. After all, I’m a writer.

1. I have four children, two boys, and two girls, all grown now. When my daughters were teenagers we toilet papered many homes. To their surprise my mother, also helped shuttle them and their friends to many homes to make someone happy. They never had to wonder where I learned my joking ways. I will never be too old to participate in such fun. Of course, when our home was toilet papered in retaliation, my daughters had to do the clean up.

2. I was born in the small farming town of Spanish Fork, Utah, but I didn’t live there until I was in the 5th grade. Most people think that small towns are dull and boring. Believe me; it wasn’t because we made our own fun. If it were today most of us would have been jailbirds since stealing watermelon was high on our list.

3. My parents taught me to live life to the fullest. We always had fun. No Dullsville for our family. They taught me to love music. I took lessons, and played the violin for years. Now it sits under my bed waiting for me to pick it up and sometimes if I’m alone, I do pull it out of the case and play.

4. My mother has served for almost 40 years on the Days of ’47 Committee, and for all those years, I have been by her side helping. I have met many famous people (all the LDS church prophets) and participated in activities that would never have been possible without this experience. I always know the months of June and July are spent helping my mother with any tasks she feels necessary. At the age of 86 she is still involved, and that means I’m still busy.

5. My mother and I were both Relief Society Presidents at the same time. Our wards met in the same building at different times. It was a fun experience.

Now I get to choose someone else to play the game. My choice is our fearless leader Darvel.

Five Things About Me That You Never Knew You Wanted to Know...

G.Parker

It's been loads of fun reading the stuff at Six LDS Writers and a Frog. Stuff I would never have dreamed of. LOL. It's also been fun to get to know my fellow bloggers. My life, I'm afraid, is not all that exciting, but I'm sure I can come up with five things. I just hope they're as entertaining as everyone else's has been.

1. My dad dropped my mom when he was carrying her out to the car while she was pregnant with me and going into labor. I know, many of you are now nodding their heads and saying, "OH...that's what's wrong with her!" LOL. She was fine, and apparently no permanent damage to me, but I still shake my head when my brother talks about it.

2. I love to cook. Perhaps I should say...I like to experiment with recipes. My favorite thing is pasta with mushrooms and chicken and veggies and homemade Alfredo sauce. Mmmm. I guess my next challenge is to learn to make pasta from scratch. My daughters tell me they are intimidated to attempt cooking because they don't think they'll be as good as me. My husband and I both tell them it just takes practice–like writing! (grin)

3. I am a closet reader. I have stayed up till 3 am reading a book just to get to the end. I haven't done it since I've been working, but I used to. My husband thinks reading should be taken off the school curriculum. LOL (Just kidding! My children are all addicted to the written word.)

4. I too (Rob--this is for you--I’m going to watch for your entry this year!) have won ribbons at the state (and county) fair for painting. Most of mine are in watercolor since it's the cheapest medium to do.

5. I'm a mystery shopper. A common date for my husband and I is watching the trailers for movies. Sometimes we stay and watch when the theater is mostly empty. We also get to eat out sometimes and get reimbursed for it–anyone for bowling?

And just for good measure: I didn't have to change my name when I got married. My husband used to have people guessing while he was on his mission that he was married. He would tell them that he'd been in the sealing room with a woman that was not related to him but had the same last name. One of the women in a ward he served in had the hardest time knowing if he was telling the truth or not. Go figure.

And the beat goes on....Tag to Karen!

And the Reason Is?

By C.L. Beck
© 2007

The universe is filled with weirdness, and it only seems to be getting weirder. I came to that realization the other day after eating some mixed nuts. It prompted me to make a list of the illogical things in life.

1. I can buy peanuts in a jar. Why, then, do they insist on filling the can of mixed nuts with mostly peanuts? Hey, if I wanted peanuts, I’d go buy peanuts.

2. A stop light turns yellow to signal it’s going to turn red, and drivers should prepare to stop. Why, then, does it only stay yellow for a tenth of a second? Even Mario Andretti couldn’t stop a car in that amount of time.

3. I spent years listening to the television telling me to get an education. Now that I’ve gotten one, everything uses symbols. What … they think I can’t read? And exactly what does a rectangle with a big X through it really mean?

4. The dials and knobs in my car are part of my safety features. Why, then, do they contain symbols the size of a gnat? I’d need a magnifying glass to see them. By the time I hauled it out and got the symbols in focus, I’d be upside down in a ditch.

5. Laptop computers sound like they should sit in your lap. The other day my husband, Russ, was working with it in his lap and the computer overheated and locked up. It took hours to get the thing to shut down. Re-reading instructions, we found out that a lap is soft and covers the cooling vents, so the machine is supposed to sit on your knees. And reason they call it a "laptop" is …?

6. Toasters used to cook the bread so it was golden on both sides. Now it comes out brown on only one side. How could something as simple as toast get goofed? Maybe the engineers didn’t have a magnifying glass to decipher those little gnat-sized symbols that told them how to build it.

7. Let’s not neglect the writing world. Using a computer saves an author precious time, which can then be used for writing that award winning novel. Oh wait, see number 5 above.

8. I’ve often heard it said that "Jesus saves, and so should you." I chose to do just that. I saved this blog to my computer and for double insurance decided I should print a hard copy. I clicked a button displaying a symbol that I hoped meant "print". The machine made a click and paper scrolled through. (Wow, did I really guess the right button?) Then the paper jammed, the machine clunked, and it squirted ink everywhere.

And the reason they call it a printer is…?

Believe It

By Keith Fisher

We have great neighbors on our block. Each Christmas we receive wonderful goodies from them and gifts that usually help us remember Jesus and his part in our lives. This past Christmas one of them brought us a sign.

It was made of block letters cut from a piece of pine, sanded and painted. The letters are mounted on a horizontal piece of wood that help them stand vertical. The letters form the word, "Believe".

This word can have many connotations, believe Christ, believe in the Book of Mormon, or believe the sun will come up tomorrow. I want to write about a kind of believing that writers need most. Some feel they have it, others feel it is beyond their grasp and others feel it can only come through osmosis, absorbing it from another. Depending on your prospective, all of these are correct.

Mark Twain, one of my favorite classic writers said, Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel that you, too, can become great.

As writers we congregate with those who demonstrate the most support of our efforts. We love to hear how good we are but we tend to doubt the truth of it.

For some, belief is hard. When we put our heart and soul into our work and have it rejected only to see our peers find success, it breaks a heart. The belief is still there, but we dig a hole and bury it deep in the forgotten backyard of our cherished hopes and dreams.

I have noticed that in our Authors Incognito group there are many of them who are truly great. Those who go out of their way to build another, to help another, so that they too can believe. The great ones dig in our yard looking for our cast off hopes and dreams. They work all day and sometimes into the night planting the seeds of belief and then when one seed takes root they care for the seedling until it becomes strong and grows into greatness.

If we are graceful (and wise) we will offer words of encouragement and support for our peers. Thereby working on our quest to become really great.

I once listened to a speaker tell about a bucket of crabs that caught his attention. He watched, as one crab began to climb out of the bucket. It struggled to get the edge and almost freed itself when another crab grabbed onto it and pulled it back down into the bucket. The observer saw this occurrence repeated time and again with different crabs playing the roles. The fisherman need only to leave the bucket alone and his catch would stay in the bucket.

How wonderful it would be (but not for the fisherman) to see a crab get to the edge, turn around and start pulling his fellow crabs out of the bucket and then to see groups of crabs holding onto each other as they all climbed out together. Such is the nature of our writers group.

Thanks to all of my fellow bloggers, and especially those people who leave comments, for helping me believe. I hope I have helped you believe too.

PS If you are one of those writers for whom belief is hard, Please know this, There are millions of people on planet earth. Most of them never have a desire to write. Many cannot understand the need you feel to do so. For whatever reason, God has given you this desire. For some of us it means continual practice to become better, for others it is easier. Please do not offend the giver by shunning the gift.

If you only believe . . .

Five Things You Never Knew About Me

By Nichole Giles

With the recent game of tag circulating among the bloggers, I figured it was only a matter of time before I get tagged. Luckily, I had this blog ready when both Keith and Wendy decided to tag me.

As it turns out, hearing about the game has re-activated some of our long-lost bloggers—I suspect we will be reading about some of them in the very near future. So here it is, my contribution to the game, given willingly for the good of writers everywhere.

1. I was born in Nevada, but lived in many interesting places between Utah and Arizona. Since I lived in the areas surrounding Mesa, Arizona for most of my school-going years, I tell people I grew up in Arizona. I went to a different school every year of my young life—except 7th-8th grade. I only went to one Junior High school.

2. When I was sixteen, I fell off a stage (which I wasn’t supposed to be on at the time) in the pitch-black darkness of an empty theater, severely spraining my ankle. This happened one month before our high school musical production of “Oliver,”—in which I had a fairly large role—and two months before I jetted off to New York with my choir group for a once in a lifetime performance in Carnegie Hall. It was a killer hoofing it around the Big Apple on a still throbbing ankle, not to mention dancing around the stage during the play. But I did both, and the audience never knew.

3. When I was a little girl I read the book “Cheaper by the Dozen” and loved it so much that I told everyone who would listen that I was going to have twelve children when I grew up. Since my husband didn’t share my love for that particular book, we’ve settled on the number four. Hallelujah!

4. I met my husband when I was working in the toy section of a local department store. He was the security guard on duty. We talked less than five minutes and then he left so I could return something for a customer. I was so distracted that I completely botched the return, and my manager made me go into a training session so I could re-learn how to do returns. He came back and asked me out before the end of my shift.


5. I am a romance junkie. Movies, books, short stories, real life, any and all of it. I love a good romance with flowers and fluff and a really good conflict. But I don’t write much of it. For now, my writing tends to lean more toward children’s fantasy. That way, the romance genre can remain a personal indulgence rather than a pressure to step up and compete with all the brilliant romance writers of our time.

Well, there are my five things. Now I’m looking forward to reading more about everyone else. This has been fun. Whoever started this game, (I think Jeff Savage?) thanks. It’s been a blast. Let’s see…Connie Hall…Tag! You’re it.

5 things no one knows...

by W.L. Elliott
Blogger Emeritus


5 things no one knows about me....

That’s a really hard assignment. I have no room for secrets in my life. I’m a very open person; what you see is what you get and if you don’t like it, you can look the other way!

It took hours, but I finally managed to come up with five things that may or may not be known, depending on who’s reading this.

1. I keep a statue of Buddha above my computer monitor. No, I do not worship it. It is the miniature version of a statue I was very fond of as a child. When I found it in the store, it brought back all sorts of good memories, so my husband bought it for me.

2. I hate peppermint. I don’t like the smell or the taste. I love every other kind of mint; wintergreen, spearmint, etc. But I loathe peppermint.

3. I’m incredibly shy by nature. People never believe me when I tell them this, but it’s true. I was so painfully shy as a kid that, when anyone came to the house, I would hide in my bedroom. It took a patient home teacher who always had candy in his pocket to get me out of that habit. He would slip a piece of candy through the bedroom door that I would only open an inch. To this day I have a very hard time in crowded places. When you meet the outgoing, talkative person at the writers’ conference, it’s years of acting classes and moving every year as a kid. Without those experiences, I'd be cowering in the back of the room under a table.

4. I have two middle names. No, I’m not telling you what they are. Both names are for my grandmothers.

5. I almost turned down my mission call to marry a Pentecostal minister. It came right down to the night before I mailed in my acceptance letter, I laid in bed for hours after everyone else was asleep, mulling it over. Thankfully, I made the right choice and, as a result of my wonderful mission, I met my very best friend, who later introduced me to my husband, who I married in the temple.

So now you know.

“My life is an open book, I see.”

So who’s next?

Nicole Giles! Come on down! You’re the next contestant!

Special Tag

Because of a huge oversight, Nicole hasnt been tagged yet. So . . . may I have a drum roll please? . . .
Nichole Giles? . . . Tag you're It.

One Day At A Time

By Connie S. Hall

Genesis 1:31 “And God saw every thing he had made, and, behold, it was very good. And the evening and the morning were the sixth day.”

The scriptures tell us that it took God six days to create this earth and its heaven and all forms of life, and that he rested on the seventh day. I wonder why it has taken me so long to learn the Lord didn't do it all in one day, so why do I think I can?

I’ve always been big on setting goals every year. I usually plan each day right down to complete details. I have given class after class on time management and I know that it is an important thing to do. This year I am sitting back and just waiting. I haven’t failed to plan my time since 1982. Wow, that’s 24 years. I’ll get around to it, because I still think it’s important, I just don’t want to do it now.

This year, as I read the goals that Nichole and Cindy in our blog group set I felt guilty. I didn’t set any such objective. I didn’t want to. I know I’ll eventually give in and set some goals, but right now, I don’t want to think about such things. Maybe it’s rebellion, but in a few weeks I’m sure my time management will be back on track. Meanwhile I’m taking a break.

I haven’t given up writing. I actually started a new short story. One day this week, I revised a story I had wrote and submitted to a contest last year. It only took a couple of hours. I am starting at the top of all the stories on my computer and revising them, making them more marketable. I will follow my writing group’s advice and get them in the mail (next month).

This coming weekend, I’m going on a writing retreat. I will leave Friday night and not return until Sunday evening. I will have a room of my own and will hibernate there. I hear there is no internet so I’m trying to do my research now and I’m saving it on my computer. There is electricity, so I get to take my lap top and of course my Alpha Smart. I’m also gathering the writing books I’ll need.

Since I’m a writer, the story ideas keep swimming in my head. No matter how much I want to quit I can’t. I wonder if I could get by leaving my cell phone home. If I did, I would probably have an angry husband, but one can wish can’t they? Maybe he’ll only call once a day.

I’m seriously thinking about the idea that God didn’t do it all in one day so I don’t need to. I really am taking it one day at a time. I don’t try to do everything in a day, but after years of practice, it’s hard to slow down. I’m trying to enjoy the moment. I’ve not done that very often over the years.

Yes, I’m still doing the things required of me such as my church calling in the stake and I still go to my job every day. In fact, after I was there on the 15th I was asked, “What are you doing here? It’s a holiday.”

I told my boss, “Since I’m already here I’ll take a day off in a few weeks.”

My house is still clean. Even after having an extra three people staying last week it’s still clean. I spent the weekend cleaning out a file cabinet. There really must be something wrong with me. I’m just going to keep saying, “You don’t have to do it all in one day.”

Writer’s Ego vs. Dreams of Failure

By Darvell Hunt

I didn’t sleep well the other night. I don’t think it’s a Freudian hang-up or anything, just that things in my life are changing. One of my dreams (from when I did find some sleep) wasn’t a particularly pleasant one: it was a dream of failure.

I was attending a writing class taught by a published author—a writer that I don’t think really exists outside of my own dream world. She had been excited to read a new novel I had submitted to her because she had seen other samples of my writing. I think she was somehow hoping to ride a wave of success by discovering me as a new best-selling author.

In my dream, my instructor became depressed—even angry—when she discovered the low quality of my submitted novel. Her dream (which is funny, because she’s a dream character herself) of discovering the next J. K. Rowling had been dashed, and because she apparently wasn’t a very good writer herself, saw her chance at real fame going down the drain along with mine.

I think dreams of failure like this—or at least the fear of failure—is what keeps many of us writers from walking out on a limb and taking a chance. It takes a big ego to be a writer. It’s scary to be told that your writing is garbage and that you might be better off to find a better “hobby” in which you actually have some skill.

Fortunately for me, my writing is not garbage and my nocturnal writing class was just a stupid dream. At the risk of sounding egotistical, though, I must admit that I survived the experience with a healthy Writer’s Ego—which is good, I believe: if the future is anything like the past, I think I’m going to need it.

The Game's Afoot

By C. L. Beck
© 2007

The game of tag is going around and has made its way to our blogging site. I was so anxious to play that I wrote this blog before anyone actually tagged me. Some might say that’s crazy, but I have faith in my blogging friends. Plus, I begged and pleaded to play. And if all else fails, we’re a small group and eventually I’ll be the only one left and someone will have to tag me. In light of all that, I'm thinking I can get away with just pretending to be tagged.

In this version of the game, you’re supposed to tell things that other people don’t know about you. So here goes.

1. I can not sew. I've tried and the garments would either fit an elephant or an ant, but not me. I do have a sense of humor though, which is why I don't mind telling you that the hem on my jeans is glued. (Ok, all two of you who read my profile know that I can't sew, but I wanted to mention it again so that no one asks me to hem their pants.)

2. I am barely computer literate—as evidenced by the fact that this list indented itself when I wrote it (which I didn't want) and then unindented itself when I posted (which at that point, I no longer wanted, either).

3. When I was in my late teens, I drove through the suburbs of Washington DC ringing the bells of an ice cream truck. I think I ate more of the frozen confections than I sold. It was a defining moment in my life when a guy offered me drugs for ice cream. It made me realize just how dumb a drug user had to be to trade something with a street value of twenty-five dollars for a fifteen-cent popsicle. The second most defining moment came when another guy came out to the truck and offered to teach me to sell drugs. He had a flashy Camaro obtained from pushing dope, but I figured I had the better deal—a truck full of ice cream.

4. I once walked over a creek and its steep, rocky falls (Great Falls, MD) on the handrail of the bridge. My best friend squealed on me, and my high school sweetheart (who eventually became my husband) was not happy to hear the news. To this day, he refuses to let me do anything fun, like skydiving or bungee jumping, unless he’s there to take me to the hospital afterwards. Apparently he doesn’t have faith in my ability to bounce when I hit solid objects.

5. Usually I keep this a secret, but since I blabbed it in a column I’m writing for the newspaper, I’ll tell you as well. I have a degree in Entomology. Yes, that’s right … bugs. However, I do not like all bugs, just the pretty ones. I’ve asked my friends not to bring their bugs to me for identification, because I have enough bugs of my own that I can’t identify. However, if you’re really nice and you coax me, I’ll be happy to teach you how to pet a bumblebee.

Note: As of Saturday, I was officially tagged. Wahoo, I'm 'it'. Thanks, Keith. And I tag ... W.L. Elliott and G. Ellen. Twice the tags for twice the fun!

Tagged, I’m It

By Keith Fisher

I was planning to write something else this week but I got tagged in a game I didn’t know I was playing. Jeff Savage started the game on the Six LDS Writers and a Frog site. Tristi Pinkston continued it on her site and tagged me. So here I am.

OK, as I understand it, I’m supposed to write something about myself and reveal my secrets. The task may be easy because you probably don’t know anything about me. After all I’m not a famous writer like the rest of them. Then again, it may be harder than I thought to dredge up things that may be best left in the past.

1. I once spent the night with a girl who wasn’t my wife . . . it was on a freeway off ramp in Pensacola, Florida. The girl was my cousin. We became separated from our caravan and had to cross the United States by ourselves. She was sixteen and I was seventeen. Luckily, my uncle left his credit card on the dashboard. We used it for gas and didn’t dare eat. You know I still can’t figure out why, but it never occurred to us to just call home. Kids can be so stupid sometimes.

2. My wife was literally a gift from heaven. We were in a high school drama class and her friends pushed her from the stage. She landed in my lap. We dated and were forced to break up. We were reunited after a nine-year separation and we were married Four-months later.

3. I’m a Dutch oven cook.
Okay, I admit it! It looks like a fixation. I own 35-40 Dutch ovens (I don’t know the exact number because I stopped counting 5 years ago). My wife and I have spent many years in competition, teaching, and catering our family and ward events. You might say we have cast iron flowing through our veins.

4. I was arrested once for driving the car in a drive-by shooting . . . and the victim was a police officer . . . okay, actually there weren’t any bullets, and no one was really shot. My friend and I were scheduled to do a skit for drama class in high school. We had to work up a scene showing conflict and a fight. We ended the scene with my pulling a starter’s pistol from my boot and shooting my friend with blanks. On the way to school, another of my friends stuck the gun out the window, pointed it at the campus policeman and fired. The officer who was a city policeman wasn’t amused. If it had happened today instead of 1975, they would’ve locked us up and thrown away the key. We convinced the officer (who luckily was our friend) that we wouldn’t do it again, begged him to let us keep the pistol for our skit and everything worked out great. Oh, and we got an "A".

5. I can’t think of anything else that may be of interest except I still haven’t read Harry Potter and I think Mark Twain was a wise man. He was the original Will Rogers I know he said some things about Mormons but considering where he was born and raised, I’m surprised he turned
out as good as he did.

I’m going to save the rest of my story for when I’m rich and famous and I write my memoirs. If that never happens then I guess my secrets may have to go to the grave. Are there any publishers listening? Do you want to hear more? Just kidding, well maybe . . .

I am honored in the extreme to be tagged to do this challenge. I name one of my fellow bloggers for the next round. So step up Inky, I know you’re itching to give it a shot. Tell us some secrets that will knock our socks off.

Brain-Freeze Prevention

By Nichole Giles

Everyone I’ve talked to lately seems to have the winter blues, (also described as the winter blahs) myself included. I suppose we all have our ways of combating this depressing, gloomy season. We exercise, we shop, we read, we clean, we eat. A few of us write. But not always.

There are days when I don’t feel like doing any of these things. I shouldn’t admit to it, but there are days when all I want to do is curl up and go back to bed. Or put on my most comfy clothes and curl up in front of the TV and stare at the nothing that is on. And I really don’t like TV. What is wrong with me?

When I do turn on that wicked waste of time, reports of record breaking cold, ice storms, and blizzards that shut down airports and close roads flash across the screen repeatedly, along with commercials for medicines. There is a medicine for everything—every kind of cold, flu, or allergy—because in this kind of cold, it can’t be prevented. But make sure to keep a pen handy. If one of those medicines does you harm, the ad for a lawyer follows close behind.

Even my story is suffering. The one that has been building up in my head for the last year, anxiously awaiting its turn to be written. I’m wondering if my characters have fallen asleep, or if time in the land of no name (because I haven’t come up with a good one yet) has stopped, waiting for winter to pass in my world. Every time I turn on my computer intending to start working on this particular story, I can’t seem to string two thoughts together. The weather is freezing my brain. So, what do I do?

Well, I’m not going to claim to have the solution to my own dilemma, nor the dilemmas of anyone else whose work is suffering because it’s January. Instead, I’ll offer a suggestion.

To prevent brain-freeze, keep your brain moving.

Many people have problems with broken water pipes during the coldest winter months. Pipes that are run through outside walls are at risk of freezing unless someone either diverts heat toward them, or runs water through them. Some people set up space heaters, or open their cupboard doors to let the warm air get to the pipes; others turn on the faucet and let it drip all night long. All good suggestions.

The same concept can apply to our over-chilled brains. At a time when you least desire to write, do it anyway. It doesn’t matter what you write, or how. Apply all your neurotic behavior, sit at your laptop, or Alpha-Smart, or grab pen and paper and write one single word. Then let drip another word, then another, and another, until you have written at least one sentence. Then try for another sentence. And so on and so forth, for at least ten to fifteen minutes. If at the end of that time, you still feel utterly uninspired, go ahead and stop. Maybe the writer in you just needs a little break. And he or she is perfectly entitled.

Sometimes, it’s okay to wait a while. We are writers. Writing is in our blood, it’s in our brain, it’s in our hearts. So go ahead and give ‘the writer’ a short vacation. Don’t worry. He/she’ll be back. In the meantime, the parts of us that live in the real world will get by. Even if it is only day-by-day.


Borrowed from “The Pocket Muse Endless Inspiration” by Monica Wood. “Today, write about the last piece of something and the two people who want it.”

Survival For the New Year

By Connie S. Hall

Last year did your year run smooth or did you sometimes have a hard time keeping it together? Sometimes I found it hard to stick with it, and keep writing. It wasn’t always easy to feel motivated when I wrote.

I wish I had a secret formula to relight your fire when you feel burned out, but I don’t. There weren’t any smoke signals in the air for me. I simply stopped writing. I felt drained and had nothing more to give. I couldn’t even think of five things that gave meaning to my writing. There was nothing that inspired me.

Sometime I made the excuse there was too much to do, and too little time. I soon grew tired of all the days I didn’t feel like writing. Once I realized this, I knew I needed to find new direction and meaning in my writing. I needed to re-evaluate my goals and think about what I want to achieve. The things that used to motivate me just seemed like too much crap to deal with.

I’ve always felt it was okay to take a day off and do the most fun thing I could think of. A day is good, but weeks soon turned into months. (I bet you all thought I always wrote, but I fooled everyone because I had written my blogs months in advance.) My plan of escape wasn’t working for me. I reached a day when I knew it was time to get back to work. My father taught me that you finish what you start. I will finish my stories, but this time I’m going to be careful and not bite off more than I can chew.

It’s going slow, but finally my mind and fingers are working. I have never been a person who could work on only one project at a time. When I feel stuck, I move on to another story. I give myself permission to temporarily skip a problem in one story and move onto something that won’t make me frustrated. When the cobwebs clear out then I’ll go back to the first story.

I still haven’t figured out how to get a burst of energy on the days I simply don’t have any, but one problem at a time. I might not write every day because some days are just too hectic, but I’m going to write every week. I’m going to survive this New Year by stepping up to the plate and writing. There will be no more jumping the ship for me.

Blisters on My Mittens

By C. L. Beck
© 2007

Everyone has their own method for shoveling snow. Some get out their blower, others retrieve their shovel from the garage. I get out a ratty ol’ broom with bristles that are four-inch stubs. It’s not that the broom is superior to a snow shovel; it’s that my dog, Corky Porky Pie, thinks the broom is a wild animal and loves to chase it. For every foot of concrete that I brush snow off, he kicks two feet back on, and the neighbors are treated to the sight of me swinging a broom with a 30 pound dog attached by his teeth.

After twenty minutes of sweeping, Corky is usually too dizzy to hold on anymore so I put him in the house, where he barks at full volume to come out. Already my muscles are tired, because sweeping with a 30 pound dog attached is like sweeping with a bowling ball—and just about as effective.

Determination sets in though, and despite the stitch in my side and the ache that radiates across my chest and down my left arm, I continue to sweep and push snow. Halfway through, I pull out my cell phone and consider calling the ambulance but no … by golly, I’m not giving up.

I take a breather, and wonder if all this cold air is destroying my bronchial tubes. Why do I keep going, when I could be inside eating chocolate cake and drinking hot cocoa? I ask myself. Because eating cake for breakfast isn’t very nutritious, I answer. It seems that me, myself and I are quite good conversationalists.

Back to sweeping I go, and the stitch in my side feels like an appendicitis attack, but I will not let the snow win. I am determined. I am sweeper, hear me roar.

An hour later, the job is done. My mittens have blisters, my nose is frozen and my boots are encased in ice, but I have triumphed. The front step is cleared. There are only two sidewalks and the driveway to go, but those can wait for another day. I feel like a returning hero … and my cake and hot cocoa are calling to me.

I’ve decided that writing is very similar to shoveling snow. Everyone gets out the tool that works best for them. Some use a computer, others use an Alpha Smart. I use a pencil. Not because it’s the fastest way to write, but because it has an eraser. After twenty minutes of staring at a blank page, my eyes are already tired. The going is so slow that I feel like my pencil is filled with lead. Determination sets in and despite the pain in my wrist and the pounding in my head, I go on. Halfway through, I pull out my cell phone and consider calling in a ghost writer, but no … by golly, I’m not giving up.

I take a breather and wonder if the dust from all the erasing is clogging my bronchial tubes. Why do I keep going, when I could be eating Twinkies and drinking chocolate milk? I ask myself. Because too many Twinkies give you hips like an elephant, I answer.

Back to writing I go, and the ache in my wrist feels like carpal tunnel, but I will not give up. I am determined. As a co-blogger, Keith Fisher, says, “I am writer, hear me roar.”

An hour later, the job is done. My fingers have blisters, my vision is blurred, and my feet feel like they’ve been encased in ice for lack of movement, but I have triumphed. The first paragraph is written. There are only thirty chapters and a title to go, but those can wait for another day. I feel like a returning hero … and my Twinkies and chocolate milk are calling to me.

The Learning Curve

By Keith Fisher

I had to make a change in occupations lately. It wasn’t by choice, I assure you. I was learning to be a typesetter when they canceled our project. Now I've moved to a different position in the company, making less money and I've been banished to the early morning hours of the graveyard shift. It’s quite an adjustment to sleep during the day and adapt your lifestyle to the vampire’s realm.

I wouldn’t want you to think I’m totally inept at adapting or uninformed about the other side of the daily clock. Let me explain.

When I was younger I worked straight graveyard shifts. My wife worked days and we never saw each other except in the golden hours between five and ten each evening. I caught a few hours of sleep here and there and life was good, but I was younger then.

Besides the sleep deprivation, I have been experiencing another awakening. (Get it? No sleep . . . awakening?) Anyway, I’ve been learning yet another computer function and working at becoming proficient in another process that has nothing to do with writing or what I set out to be almost 35 years ago.

In my short fifty years on the planet I have worked at many occupations and learned many professions. I had designs that most of them would become my life’s work, my career, or my magnum opus. Now after all these years I find I am, to coin a cliché, Jack of all trades—master of none.

To make matters worse, I was told by a kid one night that people over thirty can’t understand computers. He was kidding of course but I immediately retorted, "You do realize don’t you, that everyone of those responsible for the internet and the information age, the very inventors of the microcomputer, are all over thirty. Some of them are even over sixty."
His answer was, that was before they were thirty, after thirty they got stupid and stopped keeping up. Okay, I’ll give you a minute to gasp in disbelief. Those of you under thirty can agree with him but try to keep it to yourself.

So here I stand at the crossroads to eternity with one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel, being forced to learn new things, resisting with every breath and hoping for and receiving divine help. I have launched yet another career and with the help of Geritol and a splash of cold water in my face. I may be able to overcome the opinions of my new peers who have pegged me as a no-nothing, over-the-hill codger with digital knowledge acquired in the dark ages. I’ll get by, and maybe I can share a little wisdom, the kind learned through hard knocks and a loving father in heaven.

Just so you don’t think I have forgotten the subject of our blogck: the magnum opus I spoke of, I decided about 15 or so years ago that my life’s work, the thing that would be the measure of my life would be my children and my writing. The job I go to each night (at ungodly hours) is a job. My career is writing fiction with a little non-fiction thrown in for good measure.

Good luck in overcoming your challenges. Some of you may recognize a quote from Red Green "Remember I’m pulling for you . . . we’re all in this together."

What is Your Nerosis?

By Nichole Giles

“Writers love to worry. By their very nature they are neurotic. And they tend to exhibit the gamut of phobic behaviors from nervous tics and insomnia to full-fledged paranoia and delusional episodes.”
—Betsy Lerner
“The Forest for the Trees”

I got some new writing books for Christmas, and I was so excited that I dove right into them. One of the books is Betsy Lerner’s “The Forest for the Trees, an Editor’s Advice to Writers,” which I am currently reading in my spare minutes.

Lerner spends an entire chapter talking about the neuroses of the literary greats, and then goes on to mention the neurotic behaviors of many of the writers she—as an editor—has worked with. I found this information not only enlightening, but also somewhat inspiring because this editor seems to be convinced that it is our neuroses that not only make us write, but force us to write well.

I cannot logically enter the entire chapter into a blog, nor would I attempt it. So instead, I thought I’d share a few of the neurotic behaviors exhibited by some of the world’s great writers. Read on, and see if Learner mentions something YOU can identify with.

“When I’m writing I feel it’s the only time that I feel completely self-possessed, even when the writing itself is not going too well. It’s fine therapy for people who are perpetually scared of nameless threats as I am most of the time—for jittery people. Besides, I’ve discovered that when I’m not writing I’m prone to developing certain nervous tics, and hypochondria.”
--William Styron

“My schedule is flexible, but I am rather particular about my instruments; lined Bristol cards and well-sharpened, not too hard, pencils capped with erasers.”
--Nabokov

“I write my first version in longhand. Then I do a complete revision, also in longhand…then I type a third draft on yellow paper, a very special certain kind of yellow paper.”
--Capote

“Jackie wrote on Pink paper, and she apparently had not yet discovered the ‘Shift’ key on her typewriter (a pink IBM Selectric): she wrote everything in capital letters, like a long telegram, and added revisions in a large, forceful circular hand, with what looked like a blunt eyebrow pencil.”
--Michael Korda
(Describing the habits of Jacqueline Susann.)

Hemmingway was said to have sharpened twenty pencils before he started work.

Dame Edith Sitwell reputedly lay in an open coffin before beginning her day’s work.

Lerner goes on to say, “If you become successful as a writer, these ritualistic behaviors will become known as your ‘process.’ Then, all the quirks of character become part of what makes you tick.” However, Lerner admits there is a downside to these and other eccentric habits. “Should you fail to achieve success, all these behaviors look only like excuses or sick behavior.”

Whatever your neurosis, habit, phobia, ritual, or superstition, chances are most editors are ready to deal with it because Lerner admits, “…Neurotic behavior gives a shapeless day structure.” And habitual structure is the thing that forces us to produce.

Do you have a ritual? If not, maybe it’s time you got one. It is, after all, the process used by some of the greatest literary minds of our time. Not to mention the writers on our blogck.

Smooth Sailing

by Connie S. Hall

What can help us writers through the rough waters on our journey to have our stories published? I wish I knew. Even when all my writer friends are pulling together to make this writing voyage as smooth as possible, there are still many storms ahead.

Sailing isn’t as easy as it sounds. There are at least six types of boats-sloop, cutter, catboat, ketch, yawl, and schooner, and the mast is different on each one. Don’t ask me what a mast is because I have no idea. Other words I don’t understand are fractional rig, masterhead rig, headstay, jib-headed, square, gaff, mainsail, junk, boom, lateen, sliding gunter, lug, wishbone, and marconi. I haven’t even got to the sails yet which include main, mizzen, and head. With deeper reading and more studying, I may be able to understand all the foreign words.

I guess this is what it’s like for many of us learning to write. There are hundreds of ways to write – some of them work and some don’t. To help me every few weeks I usually read at least one of the "Fifty Tools Which Can Help You in Writing" by Roy Peter Clark. He says, "You will become handy with these tools over time."

So far, it hasn't helped me as much as I was hoping. It's not his fault; I take full responsibility, since old habits are hard to break. There’s lots of good information and he even says, "Eventually, they will become part of your flow, natural and automatic."

I certainly hope with practice that it will become automatic and natural to me. I particularly like #50 - The Writing Process, the part about collecting evidence. This is my favorite part of writing. I love collecting details and facts. I enjoy all the research. I guess that is why I love historical fiction.

The more we learn about sailing or writing, and the more we practice the better we will be. If you are anything like me, you need to get help from wherever you can.

Metafores and Asimiles

By C. L. Beck
© 2007

I’m sure I’ve never met a fore or a simile that I didn’t like. That is, if I could remember what a metaphor or a simile is. There’s a composition and grammar book sitting on my desk that I refer to constantly, but when I went to look those terms up, my glasses had gone into hiding and the words looked like little ants. However, my less than 20-20 vision did tell me I could learn about meta-sores and similax in the book. (This might also explain why my biscuits are as heavy as bricks and just as tasty when I follow a recipe without wearing my glasses.)

Eventually the glasses turned up in the laundry basket and after putting them on, I immediately started on matters of high priority. I opened my email and found the joke of the day from the "Good, Clean Funnies List". That's when I discovered I'm not the only one who can't tell a metaphor from a semaphore from Connect Four.

Thinking you would enjoy these, I've pasted the email below for your reading pleasure. It’s a safe bet the analogies listed are metaphors ... or maybe similes. It’s not a safe bet that they're good ones.

----------------------------

These are actual analogies found in high school essays.

- John and Mary had never met. They were like two
hummingbirds who had also never met.

- Even in his last years, grandpappy had a mind like a steel
trap, only one that had been left out so long, it had rusted
shut.

- The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But
unlike Phil, this plan just might work.

- The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from
not eating for a while.

- He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck,
either, but a real duck that was actually lame. Maybe from
stepping on a landmine or something.

- The Ballerina rose gracefully en pointe and extended one
slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.

- It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids
with power tools.

- He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard
bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.

- Her eyes were like limpid pools, only they had forgotten
to put in any pH cleanser.

- She walked into my office like a centipede with 98 missing
legs.

- It hurt the way your tongue hurts after you accidentally
staple it to the wall.


(Brought to you by GCFL.net: The Good, Clean Funnies List
A cheerful heart is good medicine... (Prov 17:22a)
Mail address: GCFL, Box 100 , Harvest , AL 35749 , USA
The latest GCFL funny can always be found on the web at
http://www.gcfl. net/latest. php)

Mission . . . Very Possible

By Keith Fisher

"Good Morning mister Phelps." What we will attempt today will both delight and astound you. We will enter into the realm of the unimaginable, the unbelievable, we will cross over into the . . . TWILIGHT ZONE.

But before we go where no man has gone before and listen to a story about a man named Jed, we must admit that we love Lucy and that life is a holiday on primrose lane.

Now if you were born on a mountaintop in Tennessee, or lost in space, you must realize that there is danger, Will Robinson. If we climb every mountain we can laugh at the danger with a spoon full of sugar. Don’t worry little buddy you can take great comfort in knowing that father knows best and that Darby O’Gill is holding the king captive in a sack.

So before we say goodnight John Boy, or help Alexis out of the fountain, let us remember that when you wish upon a star, all your days will be happy days. You can take comfort in knowing that there are a million stories in the naked city and suicide is painless but there will be truth or consequences. The price is right and the days of our lives will be free from a visit to the General Hospital.

When Andy whistles or Fonzie says "Ayyy," take comfort in knowing that Hoss and Ben will help Joe and Adam out of the bear trap. None of them will ever get married and break those family ties.

Before you ask, "What you talkin ‘bout, Willis?" Let me explain:

Like many of you, I was raised on media. Most of us can remember plots from Leave It To Beaver, Gilligan’s Island, and Mash, only to name a few. We remember Eddie Haskell’s classic saying: "I tell Lumpy’s mom the same thing but I don’t really mean it Mrs. Cleaver." We ask ourselves, why did the Howell’s bring luggage on a three-hour tour? We cried when Henry Blake was killed. We even felt sorry for Frank when Hot-lips married someone else.

If you are like me you have a hard drive in your head, filled to overflowing with cliches and tunes, metaphors and characters that dictate who you are and why you react the way you do to certain stimuli. When I whistle the tune to the Andy Griffith Show, I bet your mind wanders to a laid back time. A time when walking in bare feet all summer was okay and night games were played with all the neighborhood kids.

Even if you were born in a later decade, you will think of Andy and Floyd sitting on a bench watching people go by and One Bullet Barney, up to his shenanigans.

When I say Shazbot! What do you think of? When I raise my hand high into the air and say, "ew ew" who am I imitating? When I talk about Tom and Huck in the graveyard at midnight, can you tell me why they were there? Why was Romeo standing outside looking up at a window? It’s all in your head and whatever you are is a result of your programming.

As writers we are bound by what we can write. When we use a metaphor we can’t say, Adam was selfish and self-centered like JR Ewing in Dallas. But we know what the character was like. We can’t say the castle looked like Hogwarts in Harry Potter. Our metaphors must be clean with our own language but the reference is in our brain. We remember what JR was like and we know what Hogwarts looked like, so we can describe it.

We live in the 21st century with the hard-drives in our heads full of the metaphors of our youth. A lifetime of seeing things on TV and in movies. Of reading descriptions and listening to stories. We are better off than the great writers of the past. We have all those memories to draw from. Add our own personal experiences to the mix and our understanding of language, and we are invincible. We are writers, hear us roar.

T'was the Week After New Years...

By Nichole Giles

Dear reader, in case you decide to believe that the following story is anything other than fiction, I feel inclined to assure you that it is simply a daydream—my own wishful thinking.

T’was the week after New Years
And all through the town
The neighbors, they scrambled
To take Christmas down.

Big piles of Santa’s, wreaths,
Garlands, and bows
All shoved into boxes
Next to socks with huge toes.

The children high-tailed it
To play with their friends
Just in time,
See, their mother was at her wit’s end.

And Father with his duct tape,
And Mom ready to snap.
Considered the floor
For a short little nap—

When in through the door
There came such a racket,
Mom sprung from the floor yelling,
Hang up your jacket!

Away through the kitchen
She flew like a flash.
“Now, stomp off your boots.
Muddy shoes bring in trash.”

Moonlight on the crust
Of the filthy black snow
Reminds her,
Three months more of winter to go

When what to a frustrated soul
Should appear,
But a dirty white mail truck
Through ice quite severe.

With a spunky young driver
Who was bundled up thick,
And coughing and wheezing
As though he was sick.

More rapid than snow melts in heat,
Mother ran.
Bare feet, and no coat,
With the mail key in hand.

“Now Mailman,” she said—
As her breath he could see—
“Please give me a hint,
Is there something for me?”

He rifled the letters
And gave her a stack.
Then he winked and he smiled
Before turning his back.

And then with a sigh,
Mother turned to go in
And she ran through the door
Happy face and big grin.

The contract she’d waited upon
Had arrived.
The publisher’s rejection pile
Her book survived.

The clean up would wait,
And she felt like a sinner,
But this night the family
Would go out to dinner.

This New Year,
Her story would be bound and glued.
And that mother,
She felt like a righteous young dude.

But she wouldn’t forget,
Those who helped her this far.
She stopped to click send,
Then she got in the car.

When her friends read her thanks,
All her joy they did hear.
She said,
“I will be throwing a party this year!”

Imagination

By Connie S. Hall

As a writer, have you ever wondered why you see the world that surrounds you the way you do? To every writer of fiction it is vital to be able to imagine yourself in another person’s place. Something magical happens when you let your thoughts wander and let your imagination take over.

The dictionary says imagination is: ”The act or power of forming a mental image of something not present to the senses or never before wholly perceived in reality.”

Fairy tales and fiction stories are usually the result of this process. Writers imagine images seen with the ‘mind’s eye’. A good writer invites the reader to pretend such stories are true.

Writing fantasy keeps my creative juices flowing, and I love creating make believe settings because they don’t need to resemble the world we live in. When people read the things I’ve written, I love hearing comments such as unique, inventive, creative, original, impressive, and fascinating. Keep your mental images flowing and let your thoughts wander as your imagination takes over in your writing.