Page 15 of 16

Mom Knows Best

We’ve had this on-going argument over the size of the twins. Everyone, and I mean everyone, said Casey had passed Ireland in weight, length, general size, etc…and now, being the last born, Ireland was a true runt. “Casey’s a chunker!” people were known to say. “He’s twice her size,” others said. “He’s a lot bigger than she is now,” still others said. I think I said all three of these statements at one time or another or some variation of such. Everyone said this, except their mother Nina. She stood fast and steady that Ireland was still bigger although you could look at them side by side and see how much bigger Casey was than his “baby” sister. She just didn’t want to admit the truth.

Well, today was their four-month check up and yesterday, in preparation, I jokingly told Nina I’d bet her money Casey was going to be bigger than Ireland. I made her promise to call the second she got out of the doctor’s office.

Ireland’s happy she’s still in the lead

Betcha next checkup, Casey will take the lead

Ireland, the little chub, is a half pound heavier and half an inch longer than her older brother. Maybe it’s because Casey’s bald as a cue ball, does have a bigger head than Ireland, has that triple chin thing going, and eyes the size of small plates…he looks bigger. Whatever the reason, his mom knew which of her babies was bigger. Despite everyone else telling her she was wrong.

 

Lynn C Willis – Fiction Writer: Twin Telepathy

Lynn C Willis – Fiction Writer: Twin Telepathy: Still waiting on that “twin telepathy” thing to kick in. The twins, Casey and Ireland, are three-months old now and so far, nada. I don’t th…

Twin Telepathy

Still waiting on that “twin telepathy” thing to kick in. The twins, Casey and Ireland, are three-months old now and so far, nada. I don’t think they really even like each other. Of course they’re still doing a lot of that head-bobbing thing so you can’t tell if they’re ignoring one another or just not “bobbing” in the same direction. I do think Ireland likes Casey more than Casey likes Ireland. If you lay them side-by-side, Ireland will lick Casey’s hand if he flays his arm in that direction. Don’t know if she actually likes him or if she’s hungry. And they do cry together, sometimes. Okay, a lot of the time. Could be because they’re on the same schedule and want to eat at the same time? Or could it be that “twin telepathy” developing?

Nina with Casey (left) and Ireland (right). Yes, Ireland’s wearing one of Casey’s blue sleepers. She licks him and wears his clothes. Typical annoying little sister, even if it is by only twenty minutes.

How bad is too bad?

There was an interesting question posed today on WeBooks about how bad could your characters be before crossing the line to being too bad. After all, no one is perfect and your fictional characters shouldn’t be either.

Many many years ago I went out with a man that was super nice. He was sooooo nice and pleasant, a fine gentleman if ever indeed. And boring. I don’t mean just boring. I mean yawn-inducing, can’t keep my eyes open, will you please just SHUT UP boring. He drove me nuts! I went out with him a couple times until I finally just couldn’t take it anymore.

Was I secretly yearning for a Brando’ish “The Wild One”? No. Maybe just a happy medium.

So how bad is too bad? How bad can you make your character before your reader raises an eyebrow? You can make ’em bad as can be – but – they must have clear motivation, and show some sign of vulnerability.

* Motivation: What makes your character act the way he/she does? Why did he rob that bank? Was it to feed his five hungry kids at home? Or was it to take his trashy girlfriend to Disney World? Or maybe it was because he thrived on the excitement. Once you convey to your readers why your character acts the way he/she does, they too, can understand why a character acts in a certain way. They may even end up liking the bad guy a little more.

* Vulnerability: Even Dracula had his vulnerabilities. Find your character’s weak spot and exploit it. Bring him to his knees. In other words, make him human. Even cold blooded killers have a weak spot. It’s up to you, the writer, to bring it to your readers’ attention.

Happy writing!

My Little Corner of the World: One sentence at a time

My Little Corner of the World: One sentence at a time: “The problem with one sentence at a time is I write in short sentences. Ask my fellow scribes in my critique group. Very quick, to the point….”

One sentence at a time

The problem with one sentence at a time is I write in short sentences. Ask my fellow scribes in my critique group. Very quick, to the point. Explains why most of my work is very fast paced. So…if I’m going to tackle this problem of finishing this novel one sentence at a time…Book Two will have Gypsy in a nursing home!

Maybe I’ll shoot for one paragraph at a time. I promise, Gypsy – I’ll get you out of Sophia’s apartment soon. Not that you have a problem with being there (wink wink).

Coffee, Cigarettes & Writing

Years ago when I first got serious about writing, each time I sat down at the keyboard there was a “pattern”, a method if you will to the process. Coffee on the left, cigarettes on the right…and the words flowed. Page after page in one sitting. It might have been drivel but at least it was on paper.

Well, I smoked my last cigarette Oct 12 2010. As the year anniversary approaches, I feel inclined to document my progress:

1) I’m still working on the novel I started in February 2010. Three scenes away from finishing. I’ve been three scenes away from finishing for oh…a few months. I know the scenes by heart. I can recite the dialog. I can’t leave my characters hanging. I owe Gypsy a proper ending. I love him, fellow writers in my critique group love him – I can’t just let him “fade away”. But I won’t start smoking again for you, bud. We’ll work through this.

2) I still can’t breathe. Not from congestion or anything “smoking” related – but from the 20 pounds I’ve gained eating everything that’s edible. And sometimes, that’s questionable. The cigarettes and ashtray that used to sit to the right of the keyboard have been replaced with a bag of corn chips. Try chewing on baby carrots someone told me. Seriously? Have you ever actually tasted those things? But…I refuse to start smoking again. Nada. Not going to happen. I’m going to live smoke-free the rest of my life so I can embarrass my soon-to-be NINE grandkids by making all kinds of offensive old people sounds in front of their friends. Who cares? I can’t breathe so it won’t be me breathing in all those smells.

3) All the money I could have spent on cigarettes, I’ve spent on corn chips. And Mt. Dew. Voltage. Good stuff. It’s replaced the coffee that used to sit to my left.

Hang on, Gypsy. Once I find my “pattern” again, I’ll let you say all the things you’re wanting to say. Then it’s on to Book Two in the series. And more corn chips. Pass the Mt. Dew.

But I Don’t Want Sasquatch To Eat My Daddy!

I am so ashamed. Shamed to the core. I’ve betrayed every thing I believe in. Well, not everything but for dramatic purposes we’ll say everything. I contributed to a sexist lie. I was part of a plot to convince Ava (4) that girls don’t go hiking and hunting Sasquatch. That’s boy stuff. Girls go shopping with their mommys and grandmommys.
Okay, so the deal was this past Saturday Allen took Landon hiking and fishing. Allen’s been watching National Geographic again so he’s got this obsession with Sasquatch. Landon and Ava are learning a lot about the hairy beast. So back to fishing…Allen and neighbor Tony were taking their sons down to the lake for some fishing and maybe some hiking in the woods. Ava didn’t understand why she couldn’t go. Got to hand it to her – even being the little Princess she is, she wanted to to spend the day in the woods rather than go shopping. So Nina and I finally convinced her how much fun we were going to have at Target. And Nina promised to buy her something. Ivy tagged along with us because we had no choice – Allen refused to take his eight month-old daughter fishing.
Our mother-daughter-granddaughter(s) day started with an early bird dinner then on to Target. A couple hours later, it was now dark and Ava was getting tired. We were on our way home, it was dark inside the car, and the conversation went something like this:
Ava: Is Daddy home yet?
Nina: Not yet. He’ll be home in a little bit.
Ava: I want my daddy.
Nina: He’ll be home in a little bit.
Ava: Why couldn’t I go with my daddy? (the cool new shoes had already lost their appeal)
Nina: Because they were doing boy stuff today.
Ava: Like hunting Sasquatch?
Nina: (grinning) Yeah, they were hunting Sasquatch.
Ava: But I don’t want Sasquatch to eat my daddy!
Mommy and Grandma lost it. And I’m happy to report her daddy made it home safe and sound.

Back for good

I’m going to stop taking so much time between posts. I was reading over the last one and between it and the one before, we gained two new babies – Aiden and Ivy. Wellllll…we’re gaining two more. Yep, Nina and Allen are expecting again and this time it’s twins. Babies are due early December but doc says will probably happen mid-late November. Ivy’s too little to wear a “I’m the Big Sister shirt”!!!! The twins will bring the grand total (because it WILL end with these two) to NINE grandkids. Wow.

The goal was to write enough to earn mega bucks so I could pay the tuition of private school for my grandkids. That was when it was Jeana and Landon, and then came Emma and I had to scratch my head and rethink things. Then came Ava, then Paisley, then Aiden and Ivy. And now twins are coming.

Sorry kids – I had good intentions. But you’re on your own.

And the Angel of the Lord said " But I’m the Prettiest!"

Well we’ve got one show down and one to go. Tonight the CrossPoint kids performed their Christmas program for the residents and staff of Brookstone Haven Assisted Living Home in Randleman. Sunday, they’re performing for the church. Monday, Mindy, the director, is going to relax because it will all be over.

Tonight’s performance went very well. Only a few minor incidents, no injuries, and the three wisemen (Weston Stapleton, Jackson Stapleton, and Jacob Norris) refrained from shoving, punching, and generally acting silly. Wish I could say the same thing about the angels. And we only had two angels (well, two and half if you count Paisley who decided at the last minute she’d rather be an angel than the donkey, and who argues with a two year-old?) So we had two angels, Emma and Ava (ages 5 and 4), and at one point these two apparently forgot the whole “good-will” idea and were pushing one another out of the way so the other one could be out front getting more stage time.

“I’m the star!”
“No, I’m the star.”
“Huh-uh. I’m the star.”
“Well. I’m the prettiest angel.”
“I’m the prettiest angel!”

And the whole time, they’re elbowing each other out of the way, jockeying for front row position. Best friends forever. As long as the stage is a big one.

« Older posts Newer posts »
%d bloggers like this: