Will Rogers (November 4, 1879 – August 15, 1935): American humorist, performer, commentator.
“The 1928 Republican Convention opened with a prayer. If the Lord can see His way clear to bless the Republican Party the way it’s been carrying on, then the rest of us ought to get it without even asking.”
Substitute the date “2012” for “1928” and you need change nothing else. Some prospects are not altered by time.
Filed under 2012, Will Rogers
The blathering idiot wanted to take a photo of the new mascot of the Pro-Accordion Party, but he didn’t know how to work the camera on his smart phone. After fumbling and trying for nearly half a hour, Xenia offered to help and had the photo taken in less than five minutes.
“How can the man running for the biggest office in the land not know how to operate the camera on his phone? You do know how to use a computer, don’t you?”
The blathering idiot felt Xenia’s eyes on him.
So, this must be what it’s like having the eyes of the world upon you, waiting for your next word, you next action. A tingle darted up his spine.
She stared at him a little more, squint here eyes slightly.
Finally, he said, “When elected to the highest office in the land, I will have people to do that for me.”
“Am I your people?”
“If you want to be.”
She paused for a moment and he stared at her.
Finally, she said, “I’ll think about it. It won’t interfere with my homework, will it? My mom won’t let me do anything after school that interferes with my homework.”
“I promise, it won’t.”
#
Lydia was not as taken with the photo of the mascot, or the mascot idea itself. She looked at the screen on his smart phone, then looked over at the blathering idiot.
“You sure you want to be the candidate for the PAP?”
“More than anything,” he said.
She looked at him a little while longer.
He felt sweat running down the back of his neck and down the back of his shirt.
“And I have people now.”
“As long as it doesn’t interfere with homework,” Xenia said.
The blathering idiot smiled. “Just think. Our slogan could be: ‘We get there, eventually.’”
Lydia frowned.
“Or … or we may pull back, but we never pull out.”
She frowned even more. “Are you sure—”
“I have people now.”
She closed her eyes and moved her lips without saying anything.
A prayer? The blathering idiot wasn’t sure.
She opened her eyes and asked, “May I?”
He nodded and she took his cell phone into the meeting in the small conference room in the middle of the small storefront on a not-so-busy street.
Just like before, there were loud voices. Then there was table pounding. Then somebody pounded on the wall.
After a while, the pounding stopped and then the voices went quiet.
The door to the conference room opened and out walked Lydia. She wasted no steps in walking straight up to the blathering idiot. She handed him his smart phone back.
After he had it back, she said, “It was close, but it’s either you or the mascot. One of you has to go.”
“But—”
“One of you has to go. And to be honest with you, if I had spent any more time in that room, I might have voted with those wanting to get rid of you both.”
Pro-Accordion Party mascot and slogan: We may pull back, but we never pull out.
The blathering idiot almost couldn’t meet Lydia’s gaze. It was hard deciding to give up on an idea he cherished. It was one of the most difficult things he had had to decide on in a long time, maybe even.
The blathering idiot sighed.
This running for the highest office was a lot harder than it looked.
(To be continued, more or less.)
Filed under 2012, blathering idiot, Photo by author, Pro-Accordion Party
By Dianne de Las Casas
When I am at book signings or doing school visits, I often hear the question, “What advice do you have for someone writing their first
picture book?” People are eager to learn the “secret” to writing a runaway best-selling picture book.
There IS a definite art to writing a picture book. For me, a perfect picture book is a seamless integration of pictures and
words. They fit together like peanut butter and jelly. The words and the pictures might be good alone but they are GREAT together.
1. A Universal Theme
Contrary to popular belief, picture books do not have to have a message although they often do. If there is a message in a picture book, it should be subtle and left for the reader to decipher. What is important is a universal theme, a theme that readers can relate to: love, bedtime, friendship, teamwork, etc. Even humor can work as a theme. THE DOT by Peter Reynolds landed in USA Today‘s Top 100 Children’s Books because of the book’s universal theme of creativity.
2. The Page Turn
Never underestimate the power of the page turn. Every good story needs to take a breath or have a moment of suspense. The page turn can be that quiet pause or that dramatic reveal. New York Times Bestselling book PETE THE CAT by Eric Litwin has an extremely successful use of the page turn, building the readers’ anticipation for the next moment in the story.
3. Think Visually
If you are not the illustrator, think (don’t write) visually. The story can be rich and full but there must still be room for the illustrator to work, stretching the confines of the story. Often, the subtext of the story can be found in the illustrations. Tell your story adroitly with an economy of words. Leslie Helakoski and Henry Cole demonstrate this perfectly with their book, BIG CHICKENS GO TO TOWN.
4. The Read-Aloud
Picture books are meant to be read aloud… in classrooms, in library story times, and at bedtime. Read your story aloud. Have others read your story aloud. Does the rhythm work? Is the story too long? Too short? How do others react to the read-aloud? Remember that you are writing for children and their keepers (parents, teachers, and librarians).
Your book must sound good to everyone hearing it. Maurice Sendak’s WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE is one of the greatest children’s books of all time. Read it out loud and you’ll know why.
5. Jacket Flap Copy
Finally, write your jacket flap copy, that brief synopsis inside the dust jacket of the book. Even picture books, as short as they are, need to be summarized. Can you sum up your book in 1-2 sentences? Every author needs to be able to tell people what their book is about.
Okay, here’s a bonus tip. Have fun! Play with your words and have a ball. Remember that once in print, your picture book is forever. You are leaving a legacy. If even one reader is touched by your message, you are making a difference.
Dianne de Las Casas is an award-winning author, storyteller, and the Founder of Picture Book Month, an international literacy initiative that celebrates the print picture book during the month of November.
Visit Dianne’s website at http://clicks.aweber.com/y/ct/?l=O8uEK&m=IjnT4bn0sFLsQz&b=blYlm3YP2bSes8q3ckH7gg and
Picture Book Month’s website at http://clicks.aweber.com/y/ct/?l=O8uEK&m=IjnT4bn0sFLsQz&b=RXU9K3zNzvjYbP.bFLhkmQ.
Follow Dianne on Twitter: @storyconnection and Facebook: fanofdianne
Filed under 2012, Writing Tip Wednesday
Lydia walked up the blathering idiot and said, “We have a problem.”
The blathering idiot had been sitting quietly in a folding chair outside the small conference room in the storefront headquarters of the Pro-Accordion Party. Lydia had told him that his being selected the new PAP candidate was just a formality.
The simple formality had been going on for over two hours now, behind closed doors, with voices raised and what sounded like fists pounded every now and then.
The door was finally back open and Lydia was now standing and then sitting beside him, telling him there was a problem. This did not sound good for him going back this evening and impressing Zoey with his new-found status as candidate for high office, the highest office in the land, in fact.
“It’s like this,” Lydia said. “I didn’t anticipate that there would be a faction of the Pro-Accordion Party that believes we need to hold another nominating convention and nominate our new candidate that way.”
While he could understand the faction’s desires in this area, he also felt disappointed. I guess that showed on his face, because Lydia placed a hand on his arm as if cheer him up.
“The fight … I mean … discussion is not over yet.”
He nodded. He wasn’t sure if there was something he was meant to agree with.
“There is one thing you could do that would help and also bolster your chances of being the next candidate.”
“Name it.”
“We need a mascot,” she said.
“A what?”
“The other parties have mascots. One of them has a donkey. The other an elephant. We need an animal mascot. Other third parties that have tried to break into the election world have failed because they don’t have a mascot, an animal that people can readily identify with.”
“And if I find one—”
“Then I’m sure you will be the new candidate for the Pro-Accordion Party.”
The blathering idiot immediately headed out to find a mascot. But first he had to go to play golf. He had promised Xenia, Zoey’s daughter, a round, and since golf seemed to be a game the winners of the election were expected to play, he took it as a sign that he was destined for this highest office because he had, two weeks ago, scheduled this event. Or, rather, Xenia had scheduled it with him.
#
One of the holes at Sir Goony’s Go Karts and Minigolf. The snake is not the mascot.
Sir Goony’s Go Karts & Minigolf: Now Open Daily was bracketed by Prodigal Son Primary Care on one side and Exodus Chiropractic on the other. It was a slopping landscape of grass, concrete, fake grass, and fiberglass: rocket ship, Humpty Dumpty lokk-a-like, giant ape, and a very big, yellow, polka-dotted snake that arced above ground in a couple of different spots.
“So,” Xenia asked, “can this animal be dead or does it have to be alive?”
The question, coming suddenly, caused the blathering idiot to hit his ball too hard and it bounced around inside the small blue shelter, but did not go into the cup.
After thinking about a minute more, he said, “I don’t think they’ll be parading a live version animal around the campaign trail.”
He walked inside the structure and scrawled on the wall were the words: “Rich Folk Ain’t Bad if U Cook Them Right.”
Rich folk just can’t catch a break, except maybe in the kitchen. These missionaries of wealth and just like the missionaries of old who might have been eaten by the cannibals. But like the cannibals, the poor gotta eat somethin’.
“Well done,” he said to no one in particular.
Xenia stared at him for a moment, then moved up to take her shot.
At the next hole, the blathering idiot dropped his pencil. It rolled into the grass and as he bent over his shirt hiked up and his pants slumped down. He quickly straightened up and did his best to make sure Xenia didn’t see his red heart underwear.
She looked at him and cocked an eyebrow. “Are you ready for the tough campaign question?”
The question startled him again and he messed up his shot. The shot bolted into the fiberglass cave and ricocheted off the bumpy walls and one stalagmite. He had yet to break par on any of his holes. He hoped the tough question wouldn’t be about his golf game.
He turned and looked at this ten year old who was sometimes his ally in getting along with her mother and sometimes his general tormentor.
“And what question is that?”
“Do you wear boxers or briefs?”
“No.”
“Yes. Mom said that question was asked of guy who ran for this office.”
“Really?”
She nodded.
Zoey, Xenia’s mother, was not above a little bit of humor, but somehow this felt like a real, true question.
“And what did he say?” the blathering idiot asked.
Xenia shrugged her shoulders. “Mom didn’t say. I wasn’t supposed to be listening to the conversation anyways.”
The blathering idiot sighed.
“So, what would you say?”
The blathering idiot messed up his second attempt to get the ball in the hole in the cave. The hole was up a slight mound, like a big ant hill. Since it was a small cave and open at both ends, there was enough light. He never remembered seeing a hole like this on TV when they played golf.
He walked back out of the cave, past Xenia, but did not answer her question. What was next to his body was nobody’s business, up to and including even if he was going without any. Something he rarely did. This campaigning might be harder than he thought.
“You’re turn,” Xenia said.
It was then, as the blathering idiot came out of his deep thinking, and was pivoting to head back into the cave that he spied the mascot for the Pro-Accordion Party. It was standing right there beside, big eyes, sort of a cryptic smile on its face, and it even, already, had a red, white, and blue striped hat on its head.
(To be continued, more or less.)
Filed under 2012, blathering idiot, Story by author
Maybe it was the full moon the night before … or maybe it was his girlfriend Zoey.
Maybe it was the full moon the night before, it being a blue moon, or maybe it was his girlfriend Zoey telling him he would never amount to anything, but the blathering idiot was out walking when came across a bumper sticker that read: “Pro-Accordion & I Vote!”
He saw one, then another, and another. It was the parking lot in front of a small storefront, but each of the cars had that bump sticker on it.
The blathering idiot looked up and in the store front window was a banner that said the same thing, and below it was a hand lettered signed that said: “Come join the party.”
It was the middle of the day, but the blathering idiot could use something to lift his spirits, and maybe a party would be it.
He opened the swinging front door. The bell above the door tinkled.
Everybody inside was hunched over his or her computer. There was one accordion in the room. It was up on top of a bookshelf.
A young woman with a clipboard trotted up to him. “Are you here to join the Accordion Party?”
She stepped even closer, the bottom of the clipboard pointed toward him. He surmised that either meant he was supposed to sign the paper on the clipboard or she was using it to shove him back toward the door.
“This is the Accordion Party?”
The blathering idiot saw them on several cars int he parking lot, and banner in the window proclaiming “Pro-Accordion and I Vote!”
“Pro-Accordion,” she said.
She pointed to the bottom of the sheet. “You need to sign here and print your name, address, and way to contact you there.”
“Why?”
“We have to keep track of our volunteers.”
“For the party?”
She nodded. The name tag on her turquoise blouse said: “Hi, my name is Lydia.”
“The accordion party?”
“The Pro-Accordion Party,” she said.
“There are no snacks?”
She shook her head.
“No music?”
“If we win.”
“Win?”
“The campaign.”
“Which one?” he asked.
“The big one.”
“Okay. Who’s your candidate?”
She sighed. “Our original candidate dropped out. Said he couldn’t fit it in around his busy schedule of playing weddings and polka dances, graduation parties and such.”
The blathering idiot had never heard of accordion music at a graduation party, but it had been a few years since he graduated and maybe things had changed.
“So, what are you going to do?”
“For a candidate?” she asked.
The blathering idiot nodded.
“We’re looking for one right now. Would you like to be it?”
He thought about that for a moment. Zoey had challenged him to do something.
“But I don’t know how to play the accordion,” he said.
“Doesn’t matter. You can learn as you go.”
“But I’ve never run for elected office before.”
She shrugged. “You can learn that, too, as you go.”
“Who will teach me?”
The young woman paused. She had large, wide set eyes and dark hair. “Probably, I will.”
If doing this made Zoey a little jealous, there might not be anything wrong with that, either.
“Okay,” he said, “I’m in.”
(To be continued, more or less.)
Filed under 2012, blathering idiot, Photo by author, Story by author
Suppose one morning you woke up, and over breakfast opened the morning paper to find this ad thanking you for services rendered?
Would an advertisement such as this flatter you? Notice the heart border?
Such was the case for Mr. George Brownridge because of a shopping rip he arranged for some women. Something done every year. Some details here: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2178757/George-Brownridge-thanked-pleasing-15-women-entire-day-hilarious-newspaper-ad.html
Once made aware of their possible … ah … screw up, the ladies had this ad published:
An apology for any misconstruing of information.
No word as to whether Mr. Brownridge felt appreciative or deflated by the apology.
Filed under 2012, Ripped from the headlines
[Editor’s note: Every now and then, I get e-mails about writers’ conferences, most of which I have never gone to. I have not been to the one below, but thought I would pass along the information. Before you go, check it out. I’m not saying this conference or any other is trying to take advantage of you, just that not every conference will be right for you, and it is best to find that out before you sign up. Certainly, if you attend this or have attended any others and you would recommend it, send the information my way.]
Crested Butte Writers Conference — June 22-24, 2012
Source: http://crestedbuttewriters.org/conf.php
Intimate:
A small conference designed to be friendly and cozy with the caliber of a large conference
Casual, small-group workshops encourage personal connection
A Pie in the Sky book signing where fans share dessert and conversation with favorite authors
Sandy Contest finalists share their experiences on a panel at the awards luncheon
Genre-Specific Informal Get-Together
Readings at Elevation Hotel lobby – We gather one evening to kick off our shoes, sip a drink, while sitting back and enjoying short readings from our Sandy Finalists and local poets and talented writers.
Interactive:
Pitch & Pages – unique efficient method of granting agent/ editor appointments
Advanced Read and Critique Masters Add-on Class – Thursday afternoon critique opportunity with attending agents and editors as well as other class participants
– New!
Plenty of free time to network and explore the area while making new writing friends
Opportunity during the Saturday Readers in the Rockies Day to interact with readers
Enthusiastic and accessible agents, editors, and guest authors
Inspiring:
Nestled in the beautiful West Elk Mountains of Colorado
Affordable
Gourmet Meals. Check out our menu choices before registering.
Comfortable as well as affordable accommodations
Group discounts – Groups of five or more friends/members of a writing group or complete strangers sign up together for the Conference, receive a $50 per person discount
Filed under 2012, writing conference
Mary Christmas, wherever you are.
Let us Harold in a New Year.
Commentary: in case you are wondering, this is an actual sign in the small city where I live. I could not win a spelling bee if thrown into one, but I do know that Merry can be Mary, and Mary Christmas could be the name of somebody, but usually it Merry before Christmas, and maybe after Christmas, too. I also know we all have our crosses to bare, and some of them can be more of a bear than others, but sometimes we bare our crosses in ways that might make Mary merry, especially with Harold around. Here’s hoping we can all find a dictionary in 2012 when we need one.
Some suggestions for bringing in the New Year
Japan: Omisko, New Year’s Eve, has been celebrated for several centuries, often with the ringing of a bell 108 times. This symbolizes repenting for each of the 108 bonno (moral desires) identified in Buddhism. (I didn’t know I had that many.)
Russia: In Moscow and probably other cities, many folks spend the final moments of the old year in silence. They write down wishes for the new year, burn them, pour the ashes into a wine glass, pour champagne in the glass, then drink the ash-infused wine, ensuring the wishes will come true. Bottoms up!
And if that is not enough of the grape for you, you can, as they do in Spain, eat twelve (12) grapes at midnight, one for each chime of the clock. This is supposed to bring good luck to each month of the coming year. There might still be time to go out and buy some grapes.
Then, when done with all your celebrating, be a mad Dane and take your plates to the homes of the people your love and break your dishes in their lawns. For full effect, you can recite some of Hamlet’s soliloquy: “To be a (broken dish) or not to be (a broken dish), that is the question….” Despite the apparent madness of this gesture, if you wake up and find a lot of broken dishes on your lawn, it is, in Denmark, a sign that you have many friends, or at least people who don’t want to do their dishes. This is, of course, hard to do with paper and plastic plates. But instead maybe you can set fire to them, after you write wishes on the bottoms, then drink to your friends’ health, and leave the empty plastic wine glass on their lawns. Toss in a dozen grapes for good measure, ring a bell 108 times outside their bedroom windows, and you might have all the bases covered for a wonder-filled 2012. After all, that’s the American Way.
Happy New Year!
Filed under 2012, celebration, humor, New Year
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