WeWriWa - Slater to the Rescue

Weekend Writing Warriors

Check this fun hop out at: 

http://www.wewriwa.com/

Those who tuned in last week learned about my little guy being blamed for Slater's fart in class. Things weren't as glum as they looked because Slater came to Knob's rescue.

☝☝☝☝☝☝☝☝

“I confess!” He [Slater] dramatically flung his hands in the air and then slapped his head on both sides. Ignoring Ms. Benson’s squinting eyes, he said, “It was me and those Country Bean’s sausages my mom cooks. Completely nutritious and delicious, but oh, the consequences of eating them.”

Everyone broke out laughing. Even Ms. Benson cracked a slight smile for a moment before returning to her business-like tone. “Slater, class time.”

“Sorry, Ms. Benson. I promise not to eat any more sausages before school.” 

☝☝☝☝☝☝☝☝

Weekend Warrior Writer's - Middle Grade

Weekend Writing Warriors

Check this fun hop out at: 

http://www.wewriwa.com

After attending an SCBWI conference, it looks like middle grade is what's selling, so I'm going to switch focus to another unpublished manuscript, MRS. ZIMMERMAN'S DONUTS. It's the story of a fifth grade outcast taken under the mismatched wings of a new boy in town. Is that cruel not to answer the door from last week? Sorry.

Here are my first eight lines. Please tell me if you'd keep reading––actually that may not be the right question since many of you write dirty romance novels and wouldn't turn the page of any kid's book, but humor me. I'm looking for an honest critique that will help me bring my work up to the publication level. Thanks!

CHAPTER ONE

 

            Randy slammed into my shoulder with a “Move it, Will,” on his way to Harrison Zimmerman’s desk. Telling me to move was better than putting an /L/ in on my forehead and getting the class to chant loser until Ms. Benson's face turned red. The kid bounced on his toes while kissing up to Harrison, who had the power to share glazed, creamy, chocolaty, or powdery treats. 

“Keaton told me your mom’s making a new kind of donut.”

            Harrison’s tongue swept across his upper lip like a fat frog grabbing his fly––not the zipper. “It's called The S’More––Chocolate, marshmallows, and gram crackers.” His beaming meant­ his stupid end-of-the-week party with the The S’More as the guest of honor. On Monday guys will boast about Mrs. Zimmerman's homemade donuts dipped in chocolate sauce or gooey cherry filling.

Back From The Future

Hosted by Nicki, Suze, and M Pax.

I'm participating in the Back From the Future Blog Hop.

Here are my Instructions:

You're up before dawn on a Saturday when the doorbell rings. You haven't brewed your coffee so you wonder if you imagined the sound. Plonking the half-filled carafe in the sink, you go to the front door and cautiously swing it open. No one there. As you cast your eyes to the ground, you see a parcel addressed to you ... from you.

You scoop it up and haul it inside, sensing something legitimate despite the extreme oddness of the situation. Carefully, you pry it open. Inside is a shoebox -- sent from ten years in the future -- and it's filled with items you have sent yourself.

What's in it?

**∑´®ƒ¥¨ø**

As I look out the window, I spot my neighbor waving from her driveway and heading my way. I open the door to see what she wants.

"I met the future you looking for your house to deliver that package," she points, "but you forgot where you live," she says.

"Do I move in the future?" Not that it would matter since I've lived in my house for twenty-two years.

"No. You're just even more forgetful than you are now."

Great. I thank her, close the door, and open a Stinga shoe box, a future best selling brand that sports "kick me" across the heals. The box reveals a half eaten donut with teeth digging into it. Under the donut clutching teeth is one smiley-face sock with a purple note sticking out of the top.

I snatch the note for a quick read.

Dear Me,

     The 2013 economy is in a rut, so I've included something valuable to help you out. If you look closely at our teeth, you'll find gold fillings in the molars. As for the sock, I couldn't find the mate in 2023, so I figured I'd send it back to see if you have it.

Love,

Me

 

I take the teeth and start for the door, but I forget what I'm supposed to do with them.  Oh well. At least I still have half of a tasty donut. I take a bite only to remember that I stopped eating sugar years ago. Darn! I guess I should give up artificial sweeteners too.

Writer's Post: Ghosts of Halloweens Past

Once upon a Halloween, I was a kid who didn't need parents to escort me from door to door, nor did I wear expensive store-bought costumes. After someone brought me a poncho from Mexico, I was a Mexican Hat Dancer for three years. Of course being a hat dancer meant planning a routine because someone would always ask me for a trick. 

Get it? "Trick or Treat." In the St. Louis of the 1960s that expression meant exactly what it said. Kids rang the doorbell, said "Trick or Treat," and gave the homeowner a choice: Give candy immediately or ask for a trick. As a Mexican Hat Dancer, I did a dance. In other years, I wandered the neighborhood with a joke to tell. 

When I mention this tradition around Memphis, people look at me cross-eyed. That's not the only Halloween culture clash from moving 300 miles south. The first time my husband left to take our son trick-or-treating, he came home and asked, "Did you give out a candy?"

My kids: Halloween 1995

I said, "Sure. I gave out lots of candy. One to this kid, another to that."

He said, "But did you give out a candy?"

I hadn't a clue that he was trying to find out whether or not we had candy left. Go figure. We've yet to give out a candy, except for the year that the neighbors threw a huge party with gazillion kids, but didn't tell anyone they were coming.

Another Halloween memory of mine was Mrs. Zimmerman's Donuts. Every year, David's mom made homemade donuts that she'd give to all the children. I never ate one. 

Kids can be quite literal, and that I was when Mom always said, "Never eat anything unwrapped." So year after year I'd skip those sweet smelling snacks that all the kids would go out of their way for. If I could go back in time, I'd eat one of her donuts on Halloween; but, it's not all bad. The memory of skipping donuts inspired my latest novel. I wonder if this manuscript would even exist if I'd eaten a donut. I also wonder if her son, who grew up to be a chef, bakes these donuts on Halloween. If he does, I just might have to go to St. Louis and ring his bell.

Writer's Post: The Road Block to Donuts

Here I am once again facing my biggest road block when I should be working on Mrs. Zimmerman's Donuts. Will, my ten year old character, wants to be invited to the weekly donut party at Harrison Zimmerman's house, but to get an invite, he must be part of the in-crowd. For a kid like Wimpy Will, this could happen–like never.

But life changes when along comes Slater, a clever fifth grader with a pointy Mohawk on top of his rounded head. Slater is eager to teach Will how to transform into Knob, the cool tough soldier; but in order to succeed, Will must pass several tests.

He certainly could do this if I'd spend more time on the novel and less time on the blog! So what do you think is my biggest road block?

Below is my opening couple of paragraphs. The first draft manuscript is almost totally complete, but it feels like a young dog: bony and lanky. I need to go back and add some meat.

Mrs. Zimmerman's Donuts

by

Yours Truly

            Every Friday after school, Harrison Zimmerman invited popular boys over for a stupid end-of-the-week celebration. His mom would fry up homemade donuts dipped in thick chocolate sauce. My mouth watered as we passed his house and I breathed in the scent of those gooey pieces of dough.   

Mom usually fell into a tantrum at the thought of me swallowing anything slightly junky. She fussed over eating healthy as if my gut would explode if the tiniest bit of sugar or grease tickled my insides. But the real reason I’d never eaten the donuts: Harrison had never invited me. Actually, no one had ever asked me to go anywhere.

Things were about to change.… if my author will get off the internet already. I'm a desperate boy in need of serious help! ARGGGHHH!

 

Meet Knob

Jeannie Campbell is hosting a blog hop and contest about getting to know our characters. So please meet the main character of my Work in Progress. Then you may buzz over to her site and meet other fictional people. How To Connect With Your MC


Knob's formal name is William Donald Donellson, but he received the nick name of Knob after Slater announced that his shaved hair made his head look like a door knob. Knob is a respectable name for an amazing, tough soldier. Unfortunately as the butt of the fifth grade, Wimpy Will has never felt like a tough anything.

Thanks for the interview. I'll answer the questions as best I can because I always do.

Question 1: What is your greatest fear? 

Gee, that's a tough one because I'm scared of everything. My brother died from falling off a bicycle and bleeding to death. I know, it sounds weird, but he had a disease called hemophilia and the doctors couldn't save him. Although I don't have the disease, you'd think I did by the way my mom hovers over me. I guess I'm scared of getting it. They say it's hereditary, so what happens if one day I catch hemophilia, start bleeding, and can't stop it?

Question 2: What is your biggest accomplishment?

I'm smart. Two years ago I won my age group in The Under the Arch Chess Tournament. I almost won again last year but a girl named Haley beat me. She's the only one who can beat me at chess, and I'm a little knock kneed at the thought of going up against her this year in the ten-year-old's category. Okay, I confess, I kinda like her, so scratch out my answer to question one. I'm most afraid of Haley--which is probably why I lost the tournament.

 

Question 3: What is your biggest regret?

I regret letting Randy bug me all the time in class. He always bullies me, but I've never stopped him because I'm kinda chicken. If I tell him to leave me alone, he might punch me, make me bleed, and do it in front of Haley. So on second thought, I guess I'm most afraid of Randy Butcher.

You didn't ask me what's been bugging me, but I'm going to tell you anyway. No one has gotten to meet me because my author has not gotten my story into query shape. It needs a lot of revisions. Here's the start of my story, MRS. ZIMMERMAN'S DONUTS by Joyce Paull Lansky. If you like it, tell your agent or editor friend about her because I want to be famous. Err, maybe not. It might be scary.

Mrs. Zimmerman's Donuts

            Every Friday after school, Harrison Zimmerman invited popular boys—not me, over for a stupid end-of-the-week celebration. His mom, the best chef in St. Louis County and co-founder of Zimmerman’s bakery, would fry up homemade donuts dipped in thick chocolate sauce. My mouth watered as we drove down Aberdeen Avenue and I breathed in the scent of those gooey pieces on a bed of powdered sugar.            

By the age of ten most guys had wolfed down seven-dozen pastries or more, but I’d never even tasted Mrs. Zimmerman’s donuts. I convinced myself that it was because my mom would’ve fallen into a tantrum at the thought of me swallowing anything slightly junky. She usually made a fuss over eating healthy as if my gut would explode if the tiniest bit of sugar or grease tickled my insides. But the real reason I’d never eaten the donuts—the fact that bothered me even more than Mom’s obsession over food, cleanliness, and safety—was that Harrison had never asked me to come to his stupid party. Actually, no one had ever invited me to go anywhere; but things were about to change.
  

That's what's been bugging me, but it's okay. Slater moved to town,

and he's going to help me be cool. See ya later.   ❧ Knob

                                                                

Mrs. Zimmerman's Donuts #AtoZ

If I ever wish to get published, I guess I need to spend less time blogging and more time working on my manuscript, "Mrs. Zimmerman's Donuts." I was inspired to write this book from Halloween memories as a kid. My mother had repeatedly told me not to eat ANYTHING unwrapped. Being ridiculously  obedient, each year I skipped gooey pieces of grease on a plate of powdered sugar. Boy was I a dumb kid!

Years later my mom said, "Well, you could have eaten something unwrapped from Mrs. Zimmerman."

Why didn't you tell me that sooner, Mom? Since it's too late for me to go back and down a donut--having moved to another city and given up sugar--I invented a character named Knob. He wears a buzz cut that makes his head look like a door knob. Unlike me, Knob has a wild Mohawk wearing buddy who will teach him how to break the rules with style.

I hope one day you'll be able to visit your local bookstore and pick up a copy of "Mrs. Zimmerman's Donuts." Until then, read my blog.

Thanks for sticking around for the AtoZ Challenge. Tomorrow I will be participating in the six sentence Sunday. Now what am I supposed to write about throughout the rest of May? Please come back because I know I'll figure something out.