GUTGAA Meet and Greet

I am joining Deana Barnhart's week of fun. To get in on the action, hop over to her blog at GUTGAA. Now for the meet and greet I will give you the rare opportunity to get to know me by answering her questions.

-Where do you write?

Where don't I write? I like to sit at the dining room table, kitchen table, or curled on my love seat, preferably with a little love dog by my side. 

-Quick. Go to your writing space, sit down and look to your left. What is the first thing you see?

I spy with my little eye a Millie dog stretch on the couch. That's right, she's not on my lap this time.

-Favorite time to write?

I like to write on week end mornings or at night. 

-Drink of choice while writing?

While writing, I'll occasionally sip a cup of coffee (mornings), water, or Crystal Light sweetened water. Currently I have nothing to drink and my mouth is a bit parched. Excuse me while I fetch a cup of water.

Ah. That's better, but now I have to–TMI. My Honey Bear dog likes to push the door open for a little toilet love. 

-When writing , do you listen to music or do you need complete silence?

I'm what you call adaptable. Sometimes I write in silence while at other times the TV drones in the background. If I'm in a serious writing mood or struggling to make progress, I'll dim the lights and wrap my head around a bit of classical music. 

-What was your inspiration for your latest manuscript and where did you find it?

When I was a child, my mother told me to never eat anything unwrapped on Halloween. Being obedient to a fault, year after year I passed up Mrs. Zimmerman's amazing homemade donuts because, yeah, they weren't wrapped. 

This gave me the idea of a child strangled in a cocoon of mother trying to break free into a fun but daring life. Not that my mom was overly protective, she wasn't, but I've known helicopter parents who breed children who can't do a thing for themselves. These kids need a story about too much mother love. Furthermore, a third grader with a spiky Mohawk and lots of personality gave me my main character's mentor and thus MRS. ZIMMERMAN'S DONUTS was hatched.

-What's your most valuable writing tip?

Replace "be" verbs with action verbs. I know it's basic, but I've see many writers ignore this beginning writing tip. Those who learn to strengthen verbs blossom to a whole new level.



 

Silly Sunday: Knock Knock Jokes

Would you like a knock knock joke this week?

Okay.

You go first.

 

For more fun, click on the link to 

Knock Knock Jokes.

Theme Thursday: Eyes

I know you think these smiling eyes belong to some great celebrity, and you may be right... but not yet. Mrsupole asks if one can smile with their eyes. I certainly believe it as proven in the above photo, but what do smiling eyes mean? Is the barer smiling because she is up to no good or perhaps she knows a secret that she dare not tell. Wouldn't it be great to be able to pop into anyone's head and know what they're thinking? Or perhaps the thoughts of others might not be so wonderful, especially when they're thinking how weird you are.

I've always been an eye girl. Some women like to stare at male six packs, booties, or beards, but not me. I'll take a pair of sexy peepers any day. As a result, my husband has great eyes. Round, dark pools of warmth snatched me early in our dating. I guess it was his eyes because he couldn't hold a tune even if it were hot glued to his hands. In fact, he sings so badly that his high school music teacher told him to shut up and lip sync. I guess that educator wasn't enticed by beautiful eyes. Neither was the wet fool next to the "malfunctioning" wave pool in the high school science lab. Tee hee.

Do you want to know why the eyes up top are smiling? Okay, I'll tell you. It's the result of repeatedly holding a camera phone to one's own eyes and snapping stupid picture after stupid picture. Glad no one was home to see that one!

Let's end this with a little celebrity eye game. Guess whose eyes and if I don't forget the answers by the time I tally up my responses, I'll tell you if you're right.

A.

B.

C.

#Wordless Wednesday: First Days

My daughter sent me this cartoon, and I could relate to it all too much. How about you?

#GBE2: Peace

In the midst of those noisy screaming matches, I always told my kids, "Parents don't want fair, they want peace." Apparently, we weren't the only ones wanting a little quiet now and then. After a visit to the Chinese restaurant, I found someone else out to get some peace. 

 

Now let's give this some thought, why would a cookie need sleep? They don't have eyes to see kids tugging over the same toy, ears to hear the "She looked at me cry," or even a sense of touch to feel the wrestling kids bump into it.

Cookies are never up late at night worrying about the kid who missed curfew or even bothered by dogs barking at the squirrels outside. Even a pesky fly wouldn't bother a fortune cookie. I'd say they're dead, but doesn't one need to live in order to die?

Throughout this stressful life, I have come to the conclusion that I will never truly be at peace until someone throws dirt over my dead body. If a dirt nap is the only way to truly be at peace, I guess I'll pass.

Watch the Pink Panther in his quest for peace.

Silly Sunday: Designated Drivers

 "Would you date a twenty-year-old?" she asked.

"Sure! That way I'd have a designated driver."

Her face turned crimson while her smile faded.

As if that wasn't enough of a controversy, he continued. "One day I'll get hitched, knock the girl up, and have nine months of a designated driver."

In comes the peanut gallery, "Of course if she nurses, you could have years."

Theme Thursday: Promises

On my honor,

I will try,

to do my duty,

to God and my country,

to help other people

at all times, 

and to obey the Girl Scout Laws.

We recited that promise before every meeting, yet I doubt if any of us truly knew the meaning of what we were saying. 

Honor means to fulfill an obligation when used in this context, but to a kid it means squat. Kids hear about "Honor Roll," that certificate one gets when achieving high grades, or calling a judge "your honor," but what is "on my honor" to a kid? Is that like sitting on a high bench like a judge or meaning you promise to make high grades. Reciting "On my honor" could have been the same as talking about cadavers–beyond kid vocabulary.

When saying I'd do my duty, I always got a chuckle because it sounded like going doo doo. I wonder if any other Girl Scouts giggled over that one. I never even knew what my duty was, so why promise it?

Doing doo doo to God sounds ominous, whereas Doo doo to my country sounds like I'm gonna fight a war. Yep! Little innocent children carried bombs to soldiers during Vietnam. I'm glad us green skirted girly girls weren't called upon to "do our duty." If we're not talking war time, how does a little girl "do duty to her country?"

"Helping other people" sounds like a keeper phrase, but at all times? What if the adult doesn't want help? What if the little girls just get in the way? Is it really necessary to help other people at all times?

Finally, we promised to obey the Girl Scout laws. What the heck were those laws? I don't think I ever knew.

Since this little promise is pointless, I'm going to present my own.

I promise

to try

to listen to the troop leaders

and not be a brat at meetings,

to help other people when they want my help,

and to learn the Girl Scout Laws. 

Then I'll find the lameness of them too and have more fun.

Wordless Wednesday fits GBE2's "Snapshots"

I'm back from my niece's fabulous wedding and here are some of my favorite pictures.

My sister in green.

I never knew New York was so beautiful.

Ahhh, the kiss.

I like the way they look at each other.

I was terrified when lifted in the chair on my wedding day. Not these two!

Silly Sunday: Alladin in Real Life

Hello, Readers. Sorry I'm a bit late with my Silly Sunday post. I'm in New York for my niece's wedding. I'm having a great time visiting with relatives and gathering new silliness for future posts. Remind me to tell you about Anna and the frogs. Until then, here's a fun YouTube video that you're sure to enjoy. Then we're off to West Point. Maybe I can get my daughter to transfer there. Now that's funny!

Theme Thursday: Aromas

What's funny about aromas? Nothing, but head into a Bath and Body Works and you might find some humor in what they name their fragrances. I can only guess what these delicious flavors must smell like.

Autumn: This must be a collection of rotted pumpkins or Halloween candy. Put some behind your ears and hope the mosquitoes are gone for the season.

Caribbean Escape: A mixture of sea weed and dead fish with a floral base.

Dark Kiss: The smell of DEATH! Isn't that what Harry Potter's dementors did when they sucked all the joy out of their victims?

Green Grass: Allergy sufferers need to watch out for this one. Guaranteed to make your nose drip and eyes water.

Island Colada: This aroma is only for those of legal age.

Kitchen Lemon: Pucker up because this aroma makes one round those lips... and it's not to whistle.

Sage Cucumber: Really? I never thought to mix sage with cucumbers and then wear it!

and finally...

P.S. I Love You: What would love smell like? Probably the sweetest aroma of all!

Wordless Wednesday: Clowning Around

My daughter has been clowning around with her boyfriend.

 

#GBE2: Two Perspectives of My Mob Story

This week's challenge is to write two separate, but related pieces. I have chosen a scene from my unpublished young adult manuscript, BEING BOMPSY CARLETTA. For those who don't know, I started this blog because I am an aspiring author. I've written five novels but haven't published any of them. Time to send out some queries.

My first passage is from Fiso Carleffa’s point of view. Fiso is the mob boss father who had recently been united with his fifteen-year-old son after twelve years of believing the kid and his mother had died in a car wreck. The story was originally written in Ben Smith's, aka Bompsy Carleffa’s, first person point of view.

 

          Bompsy's eyes widened then a bewildered expression covered his face. What had his mom been feeding him all these years? Mac and cheese? He didn’t look malnourished, but he certainly wasn’t used to eating gourmet either. “Do you like the gazpacho?” I asked.

            He dropped his spoon and looked at me like I was feeding him poison.

            “Eat it. It’s good for you.” I twirled my spoon in a circular motion until he finally took another sip. That's when I realized my own son was afraid of me. I guess I'd screwed up when I ordered his beating, but what else could I have done after he cursed and punched me? I’m his own father and the kid didn’t even know me, nor at least respect me.

            Gil brought us our pallet cleansers and once again Bompsy scrunched his brows together while staring at the sherbet.

            “You look confused.” I pointed to Bompsy's plate. “That’s a palate cleanser.”

            He clearly didn’t understand.

             “Your mom sure didn’t show you the finer things in life.” How will I ever make this boy feel at home? Maybe I should apologize for the whipping.

             “Can I be excused?” he said.

            “Now? You haven’t had dinner.”

            “I’m not up to eating.” He stared at his hands. Poor kid had chewed his nails off completely. I wanted to spend more time with him, but he obviously couldn’t wait to get away from me.

            “Very well, but learn to call this home. Who knows, maybe one day you’ll even love me like I love you.” If that boy’s mom lives, it won’t be for long.

Brent Turner

This is how I picture my character Ben/Bompsy, so this young actor can play him if he doesn't have gray hair by the time my book gets published and becomes a movie. The next bit of text is the original wording from my novel. Please read the same scene told from Ben/Bompsy's point of view and hopefully you'll see the humor in it that Fiso didn't catch.

           When I sipped the soup, I was shocked. Cold soup? All this money, and these people couldn’t heat the soup.

            “Do you like the gazpacho?” Fiso asked.

            I dropped my spoon on the table. Why would he mention the Gestapo? What was he, a modern day Nazi? Sure, doesn’t everyone like murderers? Sick. This guy’s really sick!

            “Eat it. It’s good for you.” Fiso twirled his spoon in a circular motion.

            Not wanting another beating, I forced the soup down my throat. I was a spineless wimp doing whatever that Nazi demanded. The soup left a spicy, hot taste in my mouth so I drank more water. Gil put a small scoop of sherbet in front of me. I stared at the lime mound. Dinner must’ve been over since he’d already brought dessert.

            “You look confused.” Fiso pointed to my plate. “That’s a palate cleanser.”

            I didn’t get it.

           “Your mom sure didn’t show you the finer things in life.”

            How was this a finer thing? What was I supposed to do with the light green lump? I lifted a small sample to my tongue and choked the sweet, icy food down. My full mind didn’t want to feed my empty stomach. “Can I be excused?”

            “Now? You haven’t had dinner.”

            “I’m not up to eating.” I lowered my head and stared at my fingers. I wasn’t a nail biter, yet somehow had chewed my nails down to the pink on the way to St. Louis.

            “Very well, but learn to call this home. Who knows, maybe one day you’ll even love me like I love you.”

            Love? How could that monster talk about love? He had his brother kidnap me, Mom killed, and my back scarred, but I was supposed to love him?

 

If any agents or editors are visiting my blog, BEING BOMPSY CARLEFFA is available for publication, and I will send it to legitimate agencies upon request. I have also written a sequel to this novel and three other original works for children and/or teens, as well as a published story in AppleSeeds magazine. Furthermore, I am an active member of SCBWI and have completed course work at the Institute for Children's Literature.