Let Me Count the Nerdy Ways

How do authors chill out after they make their revision deadline? Let me count the nerdy ways:

1)  We find a too-good-to-be true deal on an all-in-one printer, order it in haste, and then worry obsessively when it's delivered while we're gone to the North Carolina mountains for Thanksgiving and it (temporarily) disappears from our front doorstep. We hug our neighbors when we find that they have rescued the box from the rain and have our purchase safely stored for our return. We superstitiously "christen" it by printing out a poem as the first "print job," and then play with the features on our dream machine (it can print graph paper! it can wirelessly connect with my laptop! it can download pictures from a Bluetooth camera--if I had one!) and wish we writers also came with a "Remove Red Eye" button for those late writing nights.

2) We write villanelles with our Poetry Sisters, agreeing that we must use the words "friends" and "thanksgiving." We don't have to use iambic pentameter, but we do. We don't have to fiddle with it lovingly, but we do. We know that other people would think this homework, but we consider it fun, right up there with paging through food catalogs that sell gourmet bacon and licorice from Australia.  We  count the days until this Poetry Friday when all seven Poetry Sister villanelles will be revealed at once...

3) We read lists. We love ones with titles like "Over 200 movies about the writing life" (compiled by author Susan Taylor Brown.)  And "Bookish Holiday Gifts: A Selection of Finds From Etsy."

4) Instead of cleaning our desks, we blog about silly things (in a list format, of course.) Then we go clean our desks. Really. We do.

In which you see why I've always coveted my sister's hair

My sister was visiting . . .

. . . so of course we had to dig through old photos.  For your amusement:

Notice my Frankenstein hair.

Now my hair's been licked by a cat. 

Again with the sprout hair. 

I get smart and don a hat.

 But her bangs look better. 

Don't mind me and my armed mouse

Had some fun reading this article from the Washington Post Book World:

Authors Share Who They Would Spend a Beach Day With

And now, if you can move on from the spectacle of Emily Dickinson in a bikini with Garrison Keillor at her side (don't you think it odd that he thinks of her as a "fictional character")  I ask you: 

With whom would YOU share a beach day?  I grant you two answers, if you wish: one from all of literature, and one from children's literature.

I only have one answer so far: 

Reepicheep from the Chronicles of Narnia.  I hope I don't regret that choice when he sticks his pin-sized sword into some blowhard's ankle, but strolling along the beach with an armed mouse at my side seems the height of summer fun.

I hope someone cuts me off in traffic today

 . . . because I'm having waaaay too much fun with this Shakespeare insult generator.  

Thou dankish toad-spotted lout!

Thou puking fly-bitten gudgeon!

Thou lumpish tickle-brained flax-wench!

If no one obliges me by being rude on the road, I'll save myself for the louts/gudgeons/flax-wenches who leave their grocery carts smack in the middle of a parking spot.

Yes, that is my pet peeve. If you are able-bodied, your cart should go into the corral. Rain does not excuse you! Because, you know, then I have to get out of my car in the rain and MOVE your cart to pull into the spot.

Thou mewling idle-headed flap-dragon!

On a brighter note, Kelly Fineman will be posting about Shakespeare the entire month of June. 

Amuse moi

If you're going to get through a long draft, you have to learn how to entertain yourself.

When Laini Taylor wrote a post about "Surviving the Suck," I left a comment saying that sometimes I inserted things into my manuscript for my own amusement, even if later I had to take them out.  

What kind of things? 

Oh, for example, Random Moments of Beauty. Dang it, if I want to describe that ray of light bouncing in the window for three paragraphs, I will. Ditto for buying myself some tulips. 

Nicknames for characters. Mr. Large Knees.  Boy Runs-with-Scissors. Little Red-headed Herring. 

Theme songs for various sections.  "Staying Alive, Staying Alive!"  "You Can't Always Get What You Waa-aa-ant . . ."  

Outrageous metaphors.  I just twirl the dial and let the wild comparisons fly out, like a gumball machine. Yesterday I wrote one that involved dogs and a car sunroof. 

So that's my random writing advice for the day.  Consider it a gumball flying in your direction. Or a direct order to stop and smell the tulips.  I hereby grant you permission to amuse your own bad self, because really, if you don't, the suck's going get you. 

P.S. I loved Tanita's "One Shot Over the Fence" book recommendations today. She admits in full geek-out mode why "ancient, sexist science fiction" still has the power to make her happy.  And it was contagious. I found myself grinning through her entire post and itching to read about alien space station hospitals.  They should make an entire TV series out of these books, Tanita!  Yeah, we'll get the LOST writers to jump right on it when they wrap up the last season. (They could work out some of that sexism too.)

P.P.S.  w00t!  Just saw that Colleen's selection for the "One Shot Rec" is Connie Willis's Bellwether!  I share her "shameless adoration" for this title, as I mentioned here.  Colleen also has the full schedule of links to other "One Shot" bloggers. 

Poetry Friday: S is for Spring and Silliness

(Image courtesy of South Dakota)

It's spring! Finally! Let's get giddy and have a poetry contest. It works like this: I give you the first two lines, you complete them. 

Ready? Here you go---

Spring is sprung

the grass is riz . . .

Sara:

I wonder where

my refund iz.

the world was flat
but now has curvz.

the muse's fuse
feeds on sappy fizz.

Your turn! Post your verse in the comments.  One silly poet will receive this not-so-silly Whitman shirt, which reads:

"And our visions, the visions of poets, the most solid announcements of any."
— Walt Whitman

...and the submissions are rolling cavorting in!  I'm going to pull them from the comments and reprint them here.

Liz in Ink said...

Spring is sprung
the grass is riz

the squirrel eats birdseed
like it's hiz

The birds don't care --
they're in the treez

which, all a'bloom now,
make me sneeze

And so I trip
while skipping rope

but spring's eternal --
so iz hope

Sara: Hee! hiz majesty, the squirrel. And yes to eternal hope!

tanita s. davis said...

Spring iz sprung
the grass is riz

March madness croons
to herz and hiz

The sunshine shootz
Across the bowz
and highlights winterz
wobbly woez

Frisk some! Frolic!
Leap your fencez!
Let your Muse roam
And feed your sensez!

Sara: oh, my frisky feet, how I love the phrase "winterz wobbly woez."

susan said...
I can do sistagirl, funny, dark, but silly? I wish I could because I'd love to win the Whitman shirt. 

Sara:  YES, Susan, you can do any kind of poem you want. Come back and post in the comments.

jama said...

Spring iz sprung
the grass is riz

Sara's hippin' and hoppin'
with this poetry biz.

I tell you true
This ain't no lie
I used her refund
to buy a popcorn pie.

Sara: Jama, you sneak! But mmmm on the popcorn pie.

 
Jules at 7-Imp said...
I asked my daughter, five years old, who is sitting here painting a bird house for spring, to finish it:

"Spring is sprung
the grass is riz . . .

With birdies polka-dotted
Pink and purple

Tastes like peppermint
Fudgy sand

Every day
We go to the land

And by the sea
It tastes like pears

And the sun tastes like lemon
‘Cause it’s yellow as hemons."

Sara: jules, I'm floored.  "and by the sea/it tastes like pears"  I want to go all Stacy London and yell in dazed delight:  Shut up!  But that might scare your wee one.  And fudgy sand . . . oh my.

 
Neverending story said...

Spring is sprung
the grass is riz

down here it puts
me in a tiz

To be..(lieve)or not
to be ..deceived,
as tropical rain
invades my brain.

Snow, spring,
cherry blossom
don't they all
belong in fiction?

Sara:  puts me in a tiz, too.  Love the snow, spring/cherry blossom.

RM1(SS) (ret) said...

Spring is sprung
the grass is riz
And oh, how nice
The weather iz.

But sumer is
Icomen in,
And then will come
Autumn and win-

Ter, and spring
Again - what fun!
As the world
goes 'round the sun.

(WV: tinglys - those odd little feelings....)

Sara: oh, yeah, those creative line breaks--- you are leaping some fences.  Tinglys!

Tricia said...

Spring is sprung
the grass is riz
new leaves are hung.

Who's that strip-ed, flying whiz?
The buzzing bee
who steals sweet nectar
from the treez-

spring's bloomin' director.

Sara:  Tricia, I love the idea of a "bloomin' director."  I know you're in a play right now, so I hope it's all "sweet nectar" for you and the cast.

jacqui said:

Spring is sprung
the grass is riz
my son eats boots
that iz not hiz

on the branchlings
flowers bud
all the yard be
frozen mud

beasties wake from
hibernation
squirrely chews through
insulation

mother goose swims
with her brood
I haz a bad
attitude

cuz birdies twitter
beezies swarm
but it’s still not
getting WARM

Sara:  Hee. Would it be okay if your son ate hiz own boots? And I'm sorry about the not warm part. You Michiganites take it hard in winter.  Maybe if you stomped your feet a bit? :)

cloudscome said:

Spring is sprung
the grass is riz

my eyes are blurry
from this quiz.

The breeze is cold
the sun's a lie

the geese in circles
round me fly.

I'm stuck inside
this cold wet day

a poet's game
I'm doomed to play.

Sara:  oh, no. But games are FUN.  With friends, anyway. I'm glad you stayed in to play. 

Mary Lee said:

Spring is sprung
the grass is riz
hello spring break
goodbye to kidz.

Hello spring break
you'll cure my blahz
I'll sing to you
a week of ahhhhhz.

I'll sing to you
I'll get my restz
'cause we go back
to dadgum testz!

Sara:  Enjoy your ahhhhhz, Mary Lee. You deserve it!

Karen E. said:

Spring is sprung,
the grass is riz
I should be doing
cleaning biz

Instead I sit
and read these lines
ignoring dirt
and cobweb vines

Poetry Friday
always wins
I'm left confessing
a housewive's sins

'Twould appear I'm lazy
and lack ambition
but poetry-reading
offers nutrition

'Twill fuel me up
for the rest of the day
and stay with me
as I jump in the fray.

Sara: yes, poetry is verrrry nutritious, much more so than house cleaning. Besides, a few cobwebs are poetic anyway, right? 

Kelly Polark said:

Spring is sprung.
The grass is riz.
I pour my coke,
I feel the fizz.

Out on the porch,
I sip and smile.
First time I've done
This in a while.

Spring is sprung.
The air is sweet.
Warm sun is out.
An April treat!

Sara:  Hey! Now you have me craving a fizzy soda! Does your porch have a swing?

Little Willow said:

Spring iz sprung
the grass is riz

I try for sleep
and lots of zzzzs

With lots on my plate
and good things ahead

Spring has sprung
and off I ped

Sara:  I try for lots of  zzzzzzs, too. And I can't wait to hear about your "good things ahead," Little Willow!

The rest of you: Keep 'em leaping in.  I'll leave the contest open until midnight on Sunday. Then I'll put all the poets' names in a spring hat and draw out the winner, to be announced on Monday.

Poetry Friday is hosted by Elaine at Wild Rose Reader.

Before there were blogs...

...there were postcards. And that's all I have time to send you today. It's work, work, work for me!

(I respect myself for wearing that visor and large sunglasses. It shows wisdom and forethought, unlike allowing a parrot that close to my face.)

Your Name in Shoes

I think this is funny. Type in a woman's name at Zappos.com and see what shoe styles come up.

Alexis (identity issues.)

Gertrude is plainly a bootie and nothing else.

Fanny (who you might have expected to have bootie) is eccentric and fun.

Pippi isn't so Longstocking, but the clogs are cute.

Sara vs. Sarah. (hmmm. My spelling, "Sara," returns no loafers, thank goodness. But I kind of envy those "Sarah" Shane&Shawn racy numbers.)

I'm very sorry. More about writing next time.

Oh, wait! Shoes you can write on. Whew! I'm back on message.

In 1964, I woulda been HOT

Yearbook Yourself.

P.S. I apologize to all those who planned to get work done and now will not, due to playing with this. Could we call it "research into character development" and leave it at that?

Or...on second thought...is there a decade that you feel more at home in than this one? Discuss.

Gifts for Readers and Writers-Part IV

Part IV in my (sometimes silly) series of gift ideas for readers and writers.



Limited edition Rat Fink pen (Aren't all writers ratting out something or someone---if only ourselves---when we put pen to page?)





8 days a week planners (Now that's handy. Why didn't I think of just adding an extra "someday" to my work week?)











Melting Snowmen cannister set. (Show, don't tell? Okay, I'm pushing it with this idea, but I wanted to show you these!)







Hyperbole is the BEST thing ever! T-shirt (Isn't it, though?)








Thanks to Velocity for the first three items, the Mental Floss store for the last one.

Poetry Friday: Cake

I'm using this photo of my husband and me because it's the best cake one I have, and because it was our anniversary on Monday.

BUT... I want you to know that even though I'm posting the following funny poem for Poetry Friday, I don't consider my husband "impossible" in any way, except for impossibly supportive of me and my life's work.

A Slice of Wedding Cake did make me laugh, though, and then I found all sorts of other amusing cake and poetry links.

Let's celebrate the sweetness of laughter in our lives, shall we?

Why have such scores of lovely, gifted girls
Married impossible men?
Simple self-sacrifice may be ruled out,
And missionary endeavour, nine times out of ten.

Read the rest here, or better yet, listen to an audio recording of poet Robert Graves reading his A Slice of Wedding Cake.

And more on the cake and poetry theme...

Via Adam Rex's blog, Frankenstein finds his poetic inspiration:



Via the blog, Cake Wrecks, comedy at the expense of cake: (Thanks, Kelly, for pointing me to Cake Wrecks in the first place. Now it's my daily laugh.)






Poetry Friday is hosted today by Read. Imagine. Talk.

Monday, Monday...

It can't be Monday, can it?

Some of you read for 48 hours.

Some of you began to set summer goals.

Some of you launched campaigns to save hyphens and Capital Letters.

Me? I sweated, wrote, and looked at T-shirts:

Alternative Fuel

Geocentric

"Science! is dedicated to bringing you the finest in off kilter science t-shirts with a faux sarcastic nerd loving absurdist bent."

Now that's what we off-kilter faux sarcastic nerd loving absurdist bent word-herders live for, too, folks... a fine phrase like that. Must live up to the pressure...

Kissed by a Cow

How are revisions like being kissed by a cow?

Please leave your answers in the comments because as desperately as I would like to relate this post to writing or books, and as neck-deep in revisions as I am at this moment, and as recently as I have been quite close to some Holsteins---even I don't know the answer.

I just wanted to post this picture from my recent trip to Tennessee.




All that's missing is my devilish laugh.

Oh, wait! I thought of something bookish: Click, Clack, Moo: Cows that Type.

But you can do better. How, I ask you again, are revisions like being kissed by a cow?

What's in a Name?

I would write a blog entry today, but I have to entertain this crowd:


Pen Name: Lloyd N. Reepacheep

Blues name: Bowlegged Peaches Lincoln

Hobbit Name: Ruby Grubb of Little Delving

Elf Name: Merenwen Ar-Feiniel

Peculiar Aristocratic Title: Her Most Noble Lady Sara the Unique of Wimblish upon Frognaze

What should I feed them, Tadmack?

I still haven't found what I'm searching for....

Remember that series Liz and I did on "The Exercise of Writing"? It has given this blog a new cachet. I'm now found by readers who search on:

"hooter girls in a giant grocery cart"

"aerobic string leotard"

"Push ups are not helping"

I'm sorry about that last one. Perhaps if you tried doing them in a string leotard inside a giant grocery cart?