by DAVID E. BOOKER
I will not put her in a box
I will not use one with a lock.
I will not bury her beneath the blocks
nor stuff her in the freezer with the lox.
I will not ship her far, far away.
I said I won’t, no, no not today.
But my patience is running thin
and should she try it, yet once again…
I will not be responsible for what I do.
My five-year-old could do it to you, too.
Return postage not included.
Filed under cartoon by author, poetry by author, Silly Saturday
The baaaad are everywhere.
“Listen up, boys,” the head sheep said. “We have one chance to get this right. The sow keeps all her money at the Piggy Bank on the corner. We show a little backbone and knock it over and we’ll never have to cower again. You with me?”
Filed under Photo Finish Friday
To sup with Satan /
use a very long spoon and /
remember nothing.
////
If the truth had horns /
the butcher could make stew of /
my feelings for you.
Filed under Haiku to You Thursday
ARE EXPOSITORY LUMPS CLOGGING YOUR STORY?
By Kirby Larson
Did you know that until about 1910, before bridges and train tubes, the only way to get to the Big Apple from most of the continental United States was via ferry? I didn’t either until I was digging around in history for my latest work-in-progress. Duh, Kirby: Manhattan ISLAND! (Never pick me for your team if geography is involved).
Captivated by this notion, I mulled over old photos of the ferries, and the dashingly suited men and glorious hatted women riding them.
My imagination had a field day. Just think of chugging across the North River (now Hudson River), all the while watching the Hoboken Terminal loom larger and larger into view.
I was so taken with this notion that, the next thing I knew, I wrote a ferry scene in my WIP (work in progress). I even tapped into all the five senses! Gosh, it was fun.
Until Story tapped me on the shoulder, rubbing its head. “Excuse me,” it said. “I was traipsing along my arc at a pretty good clip and suddenly I crashed into this.” Story pointed at an inky block of text. The ferry section. “Do you know where in the heck it came from?”
I blushed, shrugged. “I might have an idea how it got there,” I said.
“You put there?” Story asked, rubbing a goose egg on its forehead. “Right in my way?”
“But it’s fascinating,” I said. “Think about it: People couldn’t reach one of the biggest cities in the world without crossing a river!”
“And?” Story pressed.
“Well, think of the color. The smell of the river. The chug of the ferry engine. The grime of the coal powered steam engines.” I tried not to sound too defensive. “It’s part of history. Facts are good.”
“Okay. Sure. I’ll grant you that.” Story nodded. “Maybe I should’ve seen it coming. It’s not like this is the first time something like this has happened when you’re writing. But, to be perfectly honest, I’m having a hard time figuring out how this whole ferry scenario fits in.”
I stared at the keyboard, pondering my reply. I glanced back up at the monitor and re-read the ferry scene. Story was right. Simply because this fact about ferry travel to New York City was fascinating, it wasn’t fair of me to shoehorn it in. To put it right in Story’s way. “Can I leave it, just for a while longer?” I asked. I cringed at how whiny my voice sounded. “Maybe I can find a way to work it in so you won’t even know it’s there. This is only a first draft. Let me see what I can do.”
Long-suffering Story sighed. “I guess I don’t have any choice,” Story said. “Could you do me one favor though?”
“Anything.”
“I could really use an aspirin.” Story rubbed its head again. “And maybe a helmet. I know how you are with those fascinating facts.”
____
Kirby Larson
Filed under Writing Tip Wednesday
Who gives a sock?
I’m a writer and I don’t get no respect. The other day, a critic said of my latest work: “His story is as loud and useless as my worn-out socks.”
I wrote the critic and asked him how can worn out socks be loud?
He wrote me back saying he was taking poetic license.
I wrote back asking why he buys his socks from a poet? I must have said something adverse, because I haven’t heard back from him. But he did send me a bill for four pairs of socks.
Filed under Monday morning writing joke
Miley Cyrus did all she could do to promote twerking.
Anyway owning a smart cell(ular) (tele)phone with a front facing camera (And what self-respecting, self-involved dummy DOESN’T have one?) can engage in selfie-ism. Just pose, point, and click. Upload to your Facebook page, your blog, your Pinterest spot, your Twitter account, and anywhere else your digital self resides.
Personally, I am disappointed.
With all the work I have done to promote such new words as obsurd (obscure and absurd), face tedious (where you spend so much time on social media, commenting and in other ways inserting yourself, you become face tedious. Certainly, too many selfies can make that happen.), flib, and elastation just to name a few, why the judges lowered themselves to consider works like twerk and selfie is beyond me.
I can only surmise that their selection was some knee jerk reaction.
In honor of that, here is my selfie. My knee selfie. Take that, Oxford English Dictionary.
My knee selfie.
It’s a little hard to blog from a supine position. Additionally (though math is not my strong suit at this time), some of the medication I am taking renders me time and space challenged. Therefore and henceforth, to wit from this knee jerking wit, you will probably be reading fewer entries from me for a while.
But look on the bright side (or brighter side as the case may be), at least I won’t be out anywhere twerking. With a knee that swollen, I am not even able to shake a leg, let alone anything else.
Happy Holidays.
Filed under Silly Saturday, writing humor
The writing is sometimes on the wall.
Filed under cartoon by author, CarToonsday
Morning’s cold caress. /
Afternoon’s gentle embrace./
Evening’s parting kiss.
Filed under Haiku to You Thursday, Photo by author
6 Ways to Write Better Bad Guys
by Laura Disilverio
Luckily, transforming your antagonist from a one-dimensional paper doll into a force to be reckoned with—and remembered—is completely possible if you implement a few simple but powerful methods for creating antagonists and expanding their roles. You can build a worthy adversary during the outlining process or beef one up when you revise your already completed draft. It’s never too late.
Make your antagonists as interesting as your protagonists.
The antagonist must act to prevent your heroine from achieving her goals, whether that action is whispering reminders that she’s totally useless, plunging a knife into her back or anything in between. The type of action your antagonist takes will depend on his nature and the kind of story you’re writing. But your story must have an antagonist. (In some stories—Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde comes to mind—the protagonist is actually his own antagonist.) Without an active antagonist, your hero could take a leisurely Sunday stroll toward his goal. Lacking the obstacles a worthy antagonist would provide, he would also lack the opportunity for growth or the necessity to change, and his character arc would flatline (as would your sales).
With the following tips in mind, reread your manuscript with an eye toward making your antagonist as compelling as your protagonist. Some effort on your part could even put your villain in the heady company of Professor Moriarty, the White Witch, Simon Legree and Nurse Ratched.
1. Remember that Antagonists are people, too.
I stop reading novels in which the antagonist is obviously nothing more than a device to move the plot in a certain direction. If I can’t empathize with the antagonist, believe in her motives or understand why she’s dishing out evil, I put the book aside. Flesh out your antagonist. Give us an origin story (how she became the way she is) or show that she regrets something and might change if given a chance.
If working with a nonhuman antagonist, personify him at least a little bit. Think of Frankenstein’s loneliness, HAL’s (the computer in 2001: A Space Odyssey) jealousy or Shere Khan’s hatred of the “man cub” (The Jungle Book). Show the antagonist doing something nice. Even villains love their mothers or cockapoos, volunteer at soup kitchens or help snow-stuck motorists push their cars out of intersections. Do this early on. Give him believable, even laudable, motives.
Inspector Javert from Victor Hugo’s Les Misérables is a strong antagonist because his obsession with finding Valjean stems from his belief that stealing is wrong. How many readers would disagree with that? Javert’s insistence that theft is always, without exception, wrong, however, turns his crusade into persecution. His inability to believe that good and evil can coexist in a single man leads him to suicide. His death is one of the story’s tragedies because he has been so thoroughly developed as a character and because we have, from the beginning, understood his motives and his flaws.
Other was include:
2. Eschew the totally evil antagonist (except, possibly, in some horror or monster stories).
3. If you’re tempted to say your antagonist is a corporation, disease or war—don’t.
4. Make your antagonist at least as smart, strong and capable as the protagonist.
5. Keep the tension strong when the antagonist is a friend, ally or loved one.
6. If your antagonist remains hidden for much of the story (as in a mystery), give him proxies or let him work behind the scenes.
For more on these other steps, go to http://www.writersdigest.com/online-editor/6-ways-to-write-better-bad-guys?et_mid=636328&rid=239626420
Filed under Photo by author, Writing Tip Wednesday
Have critics said of your work: “He never gets to his last word.”? This is called Prattlitus or Prattlitous.
Or perhaps it was phrased this way: “His conclusion is longer than his discussion.” This is called Inconclusivity.
Or, when asked to write a summary of your latest novel, has you agent said to another: “His summary is longer than the original.”? And this is called Conclusionaires Disease.
If so, you may be a prime candidate for the Authors School of Pith, or ASP for short.
As ASP you will learn the two routes to pith: No! and Hell no!
We will tone your flabby vowels, strengthen your grammatical ganglia, and brief your brevity so that you can once again find your soul of wit.
So call today for your free 30-day trial. 1-888-ASP-WIPE. Try it, risk free, and see as we teach you the pleasure of the last word, how to conclude with brevity and dignity, and most important of all, we will teach you the value of summary when you see our final bill.
