Her interviews are always a blast to read, and I was thrilled to be part of the weekly tradition. I'll be sure to link over Friday, but for now, be sure to check out her blog. Sarah's a total riot as a person plus an excellent writer. I was first introduced to her work when her book Seeking Persephone was a Whitney finalist last year. (A much-deserved honor, by the way. I loved that book.)
Friday, February 26, 2010
Here's Where It Gets Fun
Her interviews are always a blast to read, and I was thrilled to be part of the weekly tradition. I'll be sure to link over Friday, but for now, be sure to check out her blog. Sarah's a total riot as a person plus an excellent writer. I was first introduced to her work when her book Seeking Persephone was a Whitney finalist last year. (A much-deserved honor, by the way. I loved that book.)
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
WNW: Reader Peeves
One of these words in a verb, and the other is (almost always) a noun. In a handful of cases it's a verb, but usually in formal situations, so probably not when you're writing a blog or a novel.
These are both people, but they have very different definitions. Take the "OR" off the end, and you can figure out what the meaning is for each.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Personal Wagons
Life isn't perfect . . . for anyone.
That's simply a fact, no matter what someone's life looks like from the outside. No human being will escape this life without their share of trials, unwelcome surprises, and burdens.
But somehow, we either forget that, or we don't realize it, or, often, we simply don't believe it.
I've had people say to my face that I must have no clue what stress is like, that gee, I should be so grateful for having such an easy life . . . all because they see just a little piece of my existence from the outside.
While I might not have experienced their particular trial (one such commenter was divorced, and no, I've never been through that), I do have trials of my own. Everyone does. Just because I don't proclaim mine from the rooftop in neon lights doesn't mean they don't exist.
The same goes for other people. I continue to be stunned when I hear about long-time friends who have gone through this or that trial, really big things I never knew or suspected. But I shouldn't be surprised, because no one is immune to this thing called mortality, and most trials aren't obvious to the casual observer.
Instead, our private burdens are just that: private, personal and between us and the Lord.
About twelve years ago, when I had a 2-year-old and a baby, a neighbor apologized for not calling earlier about something, explaining she'd had a crazy, stressful day. I said, "Don't worry about it. I totally understand being stressed out."
Her reply: "No you don't. I have four kids. You have two."
In shock, I stood there with the phone to my ear with no clue how to respond. She had no right to assume anything about my life and its stresses, regardless of the number of children I had at the time. (So now that I have four children can I say I understand stress? Puhleese.) To this day, I can't think about her with warm fuzzies.
I had something similar happen recently, only it wasn't cruel like that other situation; it was simply an offhand remark from a friend who didn't know what she was talking about. I was with two friends, and they were commiserating about the problems their teenagers were wreaking on their families. One turned to me and said something like, "None of your kids are like this. Aren't you glad that the only thing you have to worry about is promoting your new book?" It was all I could do not to cry. As it was, my eyes stung, and I made some flippant remark before leaving.
Yes, I know I am very blessed. I know I have some things many others yearn for (among them: a publishing contract. Trust me, I don't take that for granted). But that knowledge doesn't mean, by any stretch of the imagination, that I don't have trials. Daily ones. HARD ones. I just don't broadcast them. I'm willing to wager that any blogger who appears to "have it all" . . . doesn't. NO ONE DOES.
Some days, I envy bloggers who can dump their problems freely into posts. I can't really do that, because this blog, while very much an honest part of who I am, is only a slice of me. That slice is the professional writer/editor, and sometimes the mom. This isn't a forum where I put my problems out for the world to see. But that doesn't mean they don't exist. I believe it's unfair for anyone to compare trials.
"What I'm going through is so much harder than what she's dealing with. She has it so easy." You know what? You can't know that. Only God can know the burden each person pulls in their wagons. They may have dozens of trials you haven't ever considered.
And even if you happen to know what all their trials are (which is unlikely if not impossible), what is excruciatingly heavy for one person to bear might not be so hard for another, but that doesn't discount the suffering the first person is going through. Viktor Frankl, a Holocaust survivor, once compared suffering to a gaseous substance. He said that a gas will fill up any container it is placed into, regardless of size, and suffering is the same: no matter what type of suffering we're dealing with, the pain fills the person completely.
This means that if one of my daughters has trouble with her school friends, it might rock her world just as much as something so-called "bigger" rocks mine. As her mother, a more mature adult, I can look at her problem and see it as trivial or small (it would be small if I were to magically be a fifth grader again with the maturity of a 36-year-old). But to her, it's not trivial. It is a heavy burden, and the pain fills her completely.
As I said, this idea has been on my mind a lot in recent years, so I suppose it shouldn't have been a surprise when it showed up in Band of Sisters. Several of the women in there assume things about one another and about their individual struggles, or supposedly the others' lack of problems. But the reader sees behind the curtain and knows that each and every woman in the story has a heavy load she must pull in her wagon, even though each burden is of a different stripe.
In real life, we don't have the luxury of seeing behind one another's curtains, but perhaps we can be more compassionate and give one another the benefit of the doubt. As they say, if you assume that everyone you meet is going through a difficult time, you'll almost always be right.
Friday, February 19, 2010
When Is Writing Work?
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
WNW: Dangling Participles
So what is a dangling participle?
Try these sentences on for size:
Joe went on the ride with my sister called The Raging Flame of Death.
Hmm. That's not a sister I'd like to hang out with. Oh, wait! The ride has that name. In that case:
He went on the The Raging Flame of Death ride [or the ride called The Raging Flame of Death] with my sister.
Other funny examples:
Two computers were reported stolen by the high school principal.
(That's one unethical principal . . .)
The anchor reported a coming lightning storm on the television.
(Get AWAY from that television!)
Please look through the contents of the package with your wife.
(Must be one huge package if she fits in it.)
James hadn’t meant to let it slip that he wasn’t married, at least to his boss.
(Wait. His boss is Mrs. James?)
Quiet and patient, her dress was simple, yet stylish.
(Let's hope her dress wasn't loud and impatient.)
At the age of five, her mother remarried.
(Um . . . doubt that's legal in any state. And she certainly wasn't a mother then.)
These little nasties are painfully easy to drop into your work without you even knowing it. They happen when you've used an action and then the subject that belongs to the action is put into the wrong place.
The result is most definitely a meaning you didn't intend.
One of the most common forms is relatively easy to spot: look for sentences that open with an "ing" phrase:
Turning the corner on a bike, a huge dog startled him.
(Apparently that's a dog with serious coordination skills.)
Driving through town, the grocery store appeared on the right.
(Freaky store. And just how big is its car?!)
And here's one of my favorite dangling participles (which I found in a New York Times bestseller that shall remain nameless, even though it was just too funny):
Being my father, I thought he'd be more upset.
(Now THAT is one amazing genetic trick . . .)
You get the idea.
Dangling participles can sound scary and intimidating, but in reality, they're easy to fix. Just make sure the action in your sentence is really attached to the person or thing doing it.
For the writers reading this, it's something you don't need to worry too much about in the drafting stage. It is, however, one of those things you should try to catch in the revision stage.
One great way is to read your draft aloud. The stresses and pauses will make you recognize when something doesn't quite sound right. Pick some trusted readers to ferret out these kinds of bloopers as well.
Your future lack of embarrassment is most definitely worth the effort.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
A Happy List
Friday, February 12, 2010
A Valentine Post from #3
1. It's stupid
2. It's Idiotic
3. It's dumb
4. It's worthless
5. It's all mushy gushy....BLAH!
6. It's REALLY stupid
7. It's REALLY idiotic
8. It's REALLY dumb
9. It's REALLY worthless
10. It's REALLY all mushy gushy...BLAH!
CUPID!
That dumb little baby that was , "Sent from heaven above" is such a brat! First of all I think most people don't know the difference between heaven, and the underworld. (I've been studying Greek Mythology...) That little kid is flying around with arrows-Which may I add, so shouldn't be given to a 2 year old!-Shooting whoever he spots and then BOOM, they're in love. BLAH I say! BLAH! Why does he get to decide who gets to like who? Aren't we smart enough to choose? Or are we...I don't know I just hate that kid! I think I'm gonna go give him a piece of my mind. (It's piece not peace. I don't want to make peace I want to make that baby into pieces.) Well off I go!
1 HOUR LATER:
Okay, the whole Cupid thing didn't go as planned. I "accidentally" grabbed his arrows and shot him, thinking he would fall in love with the rock in front of him. But no... Apparently the arrows don't work on him. With most people they are love arrows, with Cupid himself, they are death arrows....
Is it to late for sorry?
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
WNW: Hopefully Unthawing
This one is so chronically misused that it's pretty much taken on the wrong definition in casual conversation. That said, I'd be hesitant to use it that way in professional writing.
This submission confused me at first. Why would anyone mix them up? But when I thought about them a little longer, I realized that I have heard the two words mixed up myself, someone using concord when they mean concur:
I learned a lesson on this one. I was so sure that champing at the bit was wrong and that chomping on the bit was correct.
Saturday, February 06, 2010
Motherhood: Rocking It Out
Tuesday, February 02, 2010
Exciting Things Are Afoot.
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