Pretty In Pink
The first azalea of the season.
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I won! I'm a winner!
From Catherine J Gardner of The Poisoned Apple
Brian Regan
Agent Kristin Nelson Will Read Your Work
Okay, folks, the good people at WOW! Women On Writing have posted their new contest, which will be judged by literary agent Kristin Nelson. This is a good chance to get your work in front of a great agent. Hook her in five hundred words or less to win.
UPDATE: Yes, male writers can submit!
Here's the link: WOW! Women On Writing Flash Fiction Contest
Good luck!
JA Konrath
Teri at Verla Kay's posted a couple of links to JA Konrath's blog--don't leave your computer without clicking on these links:
How to Find an Agent and Sell Your Writing
A Newbie's Guide to Publishing (This is his blog; the link is also in my sidebar.)
Palm Trees and Giraffes
My sister says this looks like a giraffe neck:
It's part of this clump (the big W):
America's Next Top Writer
I just love America's Next Top Model--the crying, the backstabbing, the tension, and, oh, yeah, the photo shoots. I like Tyra Banks. She's offering herself as a mentor in a field in which she is a superstar.
I think there should be an America's Next Top Writer. Thousands of writers would compete for a $500,000 contract with a big name publisher, a profile in a magazine, and a free website. Big Name Writer would head up the panel, and writers like Sue Miller, Anne Tyler, Kate DiCamillo, Sara Zarr, Laura Lippman, John Sandford, Ann B. Martin and others would rotate on the panel.
Panel members cull the first thirty-six finalists from more than 45,000 queries. "You don't know how bad I want this," we cry into the camera upon hearing our names called. "I'll make my characters do anything." After this first cut, we're made to write outside of our comfort zone. The literary types have to write romance. Children's writers have to write gritty crime fiction. Crime writers have to write literary, and two of us must write in rhyme for adults. We lose sixteen writers as a result of this challenge; the rest of us are flown to the house in New York!
Cuts come rapidly after that. "Not enough personality," the panel tells us. "Too much chin. You keep using the chin." We're not allowed to smoke. Some of us don't smoke anyway, and we're secretly glad that our competitors are burdened with trying to quit while trying to win. We talk about each other, "She says she writes MG, but her characters are TOO OLD for MG!" And sometimes we help each other out, "You should use the cookbook to connect the past to the present." But we all hope to win.
During the flash contest, we're given twenty minutes--TWENTY MINUTES!--to come up with a flash fiction, five hundred words or less, that hooks the panel and makes them believe. Some of us don't make it; we've barely drafted a rough idea before time's up. Some of us have completed our assignment, and some of us feel like we've done it well. Then the panel reads what they say is the most brilliant piece produced during the session. As Big Name reads it, we look around at each other. Who wrote it? We shrug our shoulders. I don't know. Not me. Big Name reads the author's name. What? It's the writer we all hate! The pretentious one who insists upon wearing those black reading glasses she claims are prescription but one of us tried them on and they're just glass! No! This can't be happening! The world is so unfair.
Right before our meltdowns begin, Big Name peers over the top of the manuscript and stares at the writer in question. "Well-written," she says. "But you had an advantage over the other writers, didn't you?"
Our eyes lock onto the writer, her pale, unlipsticked mouth quivering. We turn like wolves on a wounded cow.
"No, no," she says, jerking her head erratically. "I . . . what are you talking about?"
"You wrote 'a lot'," Big Name says, "as one word."
The writer's mouth falls open. Her eye clear with realization. "No! NO!" She drops to the floor, a weeping heap of writer, and she's clutching the manuscript with which she'd hoped to win the 500k contract. With her tears blemishing the manuscript (she'll have to print a new one to send out now), she claws out a red pen from behind her ear. "I can edit it!" She sniffles. We like her now. We feel sorry for her. "Please!" she entreats them.
Big Name turns to the panel. With tight lips, panel member shake their heads. Big Name turns back. "Five hundred and one words. You failed to stay within word count." She lowers her voice to a dramatic timbre. "You must now return to the house, gather your belongings, and leave."
The writer doesn't get up, so grammar police grab her and escort her out. "I coulda been a contender!" she shouts as they push her forever out.
We snicker amongst ourselves. A cliche! Never use a cliche in front of the panel!
There's a feeling of relief at the house tonight. We've survived the first two challenges. Some are content enough with that and they flop onto their beds and fall asleep. The rest of the house is dark, illuminated only by laptop screens and the faces that reflect the light in front of them. We hear one writer ask another, "Is my participle dangling?"
Hack Job, Harriet the Spy, and Don't Even Ask
I find myself unwilling to give up an hour or so to go to the beauty salon for a haircut. So I chopped my own hair a few days ago. Yesterday, someone I barely know said, "I LOVE your haircut!"
Harriet the Spy: How did I go all my life without reading this book? I started it a couple of nights ago, and I'm savoring every bit of it. Harriet is one of my favorite types of characters--independent, adventurous (all that breaking and entering!), and smart. The interior dialogue is thoughtful and analytical.
Insomnia has returned over the past few nights, and I was still awake at 1:30 am. I groped for my book light and opened Harriet, forcing myself to read slowly. It took great discipline for me to save the last thirty pages for tonight.
Here's my favorite quote from the book: "Writers don't care what they eat. They just care what you think of them." (Sport to Harriet regarding his dad.) HA! So true! Especially since I understand it as "They care only how you esteem their work."
Sometimes people ask how's my writing going. I still love saying, "I sold my book!" which is how I say it. But here's how I think it: OMG! I sold my bookISOLDMYBOOK! These same people ask a few innocent questions, and then I'm off, giving them my two sentence pitch, telling them how I always wanted to be a writer, how I used to be a technical writer (at this point, I'm telling myself Shut up, already! yet I don't--I'm too excited about the whole thing--I have to hear it again!). I told my sister Don't even ask me about the writing unless you have an unscheduled block of time.
That's all for now. Hope all your writing is going well.
Snowman, Lizard, and Copyedit
Back to your routine? I am. The snowman is in, the bells are down; no matter these things are standing in my living room, the neighbors can't see them, so they think I'm all packed up like they are.
I had a bit of a problem bringing the snowman in--I didn't know it, but a lizard had stowed away and clung to the snowman until we got into the house. He waited until I closed the door before he jumped off. Screaming comes naturally to me. Some reactions people verbalize only when others are around, such as laughing at a TV show, but for me, screaming works with or without an audience.
Part of getting back into the routine includes organizing and cleaning. I've done the easy part. I've bought stuff to organize and clean with. That counts, right?
I finished the copyedit for Violet Raines Almost Got Struck by Lightning, and FedEx is taking it up to New York today. This being my first novel, it was also my first copyedit. I knew it wouldn't involve the broad suggestions of the editorial letter or the turning of phrases in the line edit, but I wasn't really sure what to expect. Here's what the copyedit addressed: a few word changes, a few tense changes, mechanical issues (punctuation, italics/Roman, compound or hyphenated words), and some queries to confirm the material. The copyeditor did a great job; I learned a few things and I might have to pass my Danette-the-Dictionary crown (acquired in sixth grade) to her. She also left smiley faces on the manuscript here and there--you can't beat that!
Write It Down! Pen and Paper Do Not Forget
We forced one of my brothers to go with us to hit the boutiques last week. He and I got caught up in some discussion while my mom and sister traipsed ahead. And that's when I said it, something brilliant:
Brother: That's brilliant!
Me: Really?
Brother: Yeah, that's really good . . . so true. [He begins to expound upon my brilliant point.]
Me: Maybe I'll save it for one of my stories.
We catch up to Mom and M.
Brother: Hey, listen to what Danette said: Lkdjjf 9e kdkjkjfhgidanv, and so lkdi ncien kdfjjiaodfn andinn eienfirumey.
[Mom nods. M is awestruck by the sheer wisdom of my words.]
I was thinking about this last night. Mainly because I cannot remember what I said. My brother does not remember what I said either. I know better than this--I keep a notebook by my bedside and parts of Violet Raines were written on the backs of grocery receipts--I should have written it down! Whatever I said was enough to impress my brother, and he's a tough audience. Now mankind is forever bereft of that piece of brilliance. I guess John Bartlett will not be calling me after all.
Happy New Year!
Happy New Year!
It wouldn't be New Year's without THE New Year's icon, Dick Clark. We rang in 2008 with Dick, Ryan and all those other people in the Big Apple. While we were waiting for the ball to drop, before the one minute countdown, we kept switching back to Beneath the Planet of the Apes. Nothing like a little post nuclear holocaust to foreshadow the new year.
It's been such a great holiday season--I'm not ready to return to normal doings, are you? It's still Christmas in my house, at least until this weekend's over, anyway. Then I'll take off my hat.
Let the Games Begin
The family is here for Christmas--let the games begin.
Note: Not head games; real games, the kind you can win.
What better way to spend time together with family than by smearing them into the ground with your superior game-playing skills? Here are the games that will be played in the Haworth house: You Don't Know Jack, Yahtzee, and Scrabble.
You Don't Know Jack is a computer trivia game that feels like a live action game show. I AM THE UNDISPUTED CHAMPION. People I've beaten include one of my brothers, my mom, my sister, my sister's friend, and my husband. My husband thinks I win because I'm faster than he is, but really it's cuz I'm smarter. I win every time I play. I AM THE CROWNED VICTOR and no one even comes close. At the start of the game, players must enter their names; everyone else enters their given name. I enter W-I-N-N-E-R. I figure that saves everyone a little time at the end.
Yahtzee--what can I say? We love this game. It was my dad's favorite. We love to rattle the dice and jar non-playing visitors with the noise.
Scrabble--You're talking serious stuff here, folks. Long before I was even thought of, my mom and dad stayed up many late nights with my grandma playing Scrabble. Grandma had only a sixth grade education, but she'd win with words like c-a-t. Somehow she always hit the specials.
I do not always win at Scrabble, but I like to make my opponents think I do. Again, I list my name as "Winner." Others are intimidated by the fact that I own a regular board and a travel board as well. (You do not want to get caught without your Scrabble board.) I employ the power of the Challenge, something your less hearty players will not do; they think they're in it just for the fun. My brothers and sister and I know better: we play to win, and we play cutthroat. We are equally as good and my trash talk doesn't work with them because we've all got the same mom.
In any case, the gang's all here (except for you, little bro). Let the games begin! MERRY CHRISTMAS!
Trees that Decorate Themselves
In Florida, we don't get snow or those other elements that let you know it's Christmas time, but we do have trees that hang their own ornaments:
Orange trees--edible ornaments!
Ilex holly--don't the berries look like little tomatoes?
I don't know what this one is called, but I made a psychedic version of it, too!
New Brian Regan!
Today, I used the remainder of last year's Amazon.com gift certificate to buy presents and one thing for myself--the Brian Regan Live CD. The playlist includes his Flipper bit, something I had to have. I just can't say enough good things about Mr. Regan.
Hey, Brian! Danette Haworth loves you! (In a comedian-audience member sort of way.)
Here's the latest clip added to YouTube.
Battle of the Bands: Bruce Springsteen VS Jackson 5 performing "Santa Claus is Coming to Town"
Vote in the comments!
Bruce Springsteen--THE BOSS!
Jackson 5
Writing News, Bugs, and Lizards
In writing news, Fandangle Magazine published my poem, "Home is Not Too Far," which was inspired by my windshield wipers. Click here and scroll to page nine to read it. Also, the copyedited manuscript for Violet Raines is scheduled to arrive on my doorstep by Friday! I cannot believe how fast this process is going--it's like dog years.
In other news, I'm on my way to a big box shopping center. I only hope I don't have Ello's experience. She's doing well; the bruises have almost faded.
While decorating, we opened one of our boxes to discover tiny black bugs creeping among my favorite decorations. This is the box that holds most of my snowmen, the Christmas plaque (which is made of fabric), and the silk poinsettia topiary I like to put by the stairs. My husband thinks we should spray a bunch of paper towels with bug spray, put it in the box, and seal it tightly.
It's a good idea, but we've got natural solutions right here in the house--a lizard (a gecko like on those Geico commercials but not cute and not Australian) lives in my computer room, and a different one was last seen Tuesday under the Christmas tree at 11 a.m. I tried to catch them, but they were too smart for my paper cup trap. I say we open the bug box of decorations and let the lizards do their job.
My Mother Killed Someone
The story that originally appeared here was a bit too somber for the season! But what happened was this: My mom told the second-grade me there was no Santa. Grief was quickly followed by indignation that my sister had been filling the stockings for years.
I should have been onto the whole thing by that last bit of evidence--my stocking always had way too many nuts in it and not nearly enough candy.
Hear Me Roar!
Stephen Parrish has named me (among others) for the Roar for Powerful Words award from The Shameless Lions Writing Circle. Thank you, Stephen. I consider it an honor to have not only the award, but visitors who leave their funny and clever comments.
As part of the award, I am to name five others bloggers who write powerful words, but like Stephen, I feel five is an awfully small number. Without further ado, the next winners of A Roar for Powerful Words are: Courtney Summers, Virginia Lee: I Ain't Dead Yet, Linda (Just Like the Nut), Mary Witzl, Brenda's Page, Ello, (Kathleen) A Thoughtful Life, Sheri (Goading the Pen), Linda (Jumbled Ramblings), Cate (The Poisoned Apple), and Angela Mackintosh and the blogging team at WOW! Women on Writing. Church Lady, Stephen, and Charles Gramlich receive honorary lions since they've already received their badges of honor. Visit The Shameless Lions Writing Circle to get your award.
The Latest News: I've Been Tagged!
No, not toe-tagged. Though that would be interesting, because that would mean I was writing from the grave. Nope, I've been tagged by Rachel to provide five random things about myself. Here we go!
1. In high school, I was an assistant manager at a fast food and as such, I got free food. I drank one milkshake of each of their four flavors every single day I worked. I gained fifteen pounds that summer.
2. I sat on David Cassidy's lap in the 1990s. I hung the photo on my bulletin board at work and told everyone he was my boyfriend.
3. When I saw Brian Regan this September, I made my husband hang outside the stage door with me until Brian came out. Brian gave me a hug, signed my program, and let me take a picture with him. It's all here.
4. In junior high, I signed up for the play just to get out of classes. I was the turkey.
5. I played drums starting in fourth grade. My career ended in eighth grade when I was constantly relegated to the bass drum or the cymbals, while the boys got to play the snares. I'd lost interest by that time, anyway--my drumroll was rather staccato, and those 10 lb cymbals were awfully hard to hold ("Hold them UP, Danette!) at football games.
In other news, my little mommy is leaving earlier than expected--she and new hubby have found houses on Florida's west coast they like. So, she leaves in the morning, but if all goes well, it'll then just be a two hour drive instead of that 24 hour drive to Michigan!
Hmm, almost forgot . . . who to tag, who to tag? So many victims friends to choose from. TAG! You're it: Courtney, Church Lady, Ello, Charles Gramlich, and Stephen Parrish. You'll still be my friends, right?
Violet Raines, Van Won't Start, Shopping (Yuck), and Garage Sales!
The revisions on Violet Raines Almost Got Struck By Lightning have been accepted and the manuscript is now in copyediting! How exciting! Other bloggers have recently posted about seeing their cover art for the first time. I can't wait to see mine. It'll be interesting to view another person's interpretation, or what they feel best represents the book. Things are moving along!
In other news, my van would not start today. I feel well-versed in certain mechanical problems such as alternators, CV boots, and brake pads. I don't know how to fix them, but I know what they sound like, thanks to the cars I owned during my singlehood. When I called my husband and described the problem, he said alternator, which was exactly what I had diagnosed. Ha!
I plan to shop over the Internet today. I haven't started my shopping yet, can you believe it? Decorating, yes; shopping, no. Don't tell anyone, but I don't like going to the mall. Aack! There! I've said it! I hate shopping. And even over the Internet, it can take hours trying to review similar products and get customer reviews (since you aren't actually handling the item). But such is my assignment today.
The other big news is that my little mommy is in town! I have loaded up on one dollar bills and quarters so we can hit the garage sales this Friday. (She leaves Friday night.) No one beats my mom at a garage sale; click here to read about the master at work.
Sneezing and Driving Don't Mix
"Sneezing," I said, having just sneezed, "is dangerous." I adjusted the rear view mirror so I could talk with her directly. "Remember we read that it's impossible to sneeze without closing your eyes?"
She nodded.
"That makes sneezing a hazardous activity to do while driving."
"Not for a person with no eyelids," she said.
Ah, good point. Good point indeed.
Resolutions
I'm not waiting till New Year's to make my resolutions. I already know what I need to do:
1. Eat right.
2. Sleep right.
3. Exercise right.
If I do all these, I think everything else will pretty much fall into place. Also, unlike most people, I'm not planning to stick to this forever--one week would be good enough. I figure if the one week goes well, I could try it again for a second week. Today I had a healthy breakfast, so guess what? I've already started! Just six and three quarters of a day to go!
Road Rage, In Which I See a Man Spit on Another Man
It was just a simple traffic error at a four-way stop: The van in front of me pulled out a little when it was really the silver car's turn to make a left in front of him. The van stopped, allowing Silver Car to go, but Silver Car was mad. Silver Car blocked the intersection, stopping right in front of VanMan. For a moment, we all sat there. And then we sat there and sat there and sat there.
VanMan started jerking his shoulders and chopping the air with his hands. This was sign language for Hello, my good man! I believe it might be prudent for you to move your automotive unit from the intersection and allow the good people of Orlando to drive through. Okay, that's the British version. I'm not allowed to use the words he really meant.
Silver Car did not like the sign language. The driver's door opened, and a short older man with furious eyebrows came out yelling. Again, I'm not allowed to use those words, but I'm sure you can fill in the blanks.
He stalked around the car up to VanMan's window and got right in his face. VanMan buzzed his window down. I know VanMan was a little shaken, because even though he was yelling back, he recoiled from SilverMan.
SilverMan had white hair and was small, but he looked powerfully built. He was not feeble. He kept yelling at VanMan. He started to walk away, then he turned around and spit right at VanMan.
As he walked to his car, he glanced at me. I suddenly realized I had my hands to my mouth and my eyes were wide and shocked. His eyes shone with anger. I was like No! Do not look at the woman in the gold van. She didn't even honk at you!
SilverMan hopped back into his car and sped off, with VanMan right on his tail. I just happened to be going the same way, and I saw that VanMan was now on his cell phone. Was he reporting this guy for battery? I don't know, but it was a good performance in any case.
At one point, they slowed down and pulled over to the side. I thought they were going to duke it out, but no--Silver Car went straight, and VanMan turned left.
It was quite an exciting drive.
Just Me and Cheese, Tidbits from the Grocery Store
Writers are often advised to sit in malls or other public places and eavesdrop--you know, get a feel for what real people say, maybe even write some of it down.
Here's what I overheard at the grocery store:
Man: Just me and cheese, that is my desire. Me and cheese.
* * * * *
Man: C'mere! Look at all this yogurt! They have cherry, strawberry, banana--you can have any flavor you want.
Kid: I want this one.
Woman: No! You'll just waste money.
* * * * *
Kid: Mo-om! He scratched me.
Woman: What is the rule? What is the rule?
* * * * *
Woman: Horseradish and mayo . . . horseradish and mayo. [Okay, this one was me. I tend to recite my list out loud once I've relinquished my mind to the grocery store zone.]
* * * * *
Kid: Hey, Mommy--
Woman: I'm not buying that.
* * * * *
Man: We spent Thanksgiving at my mom's. She did the cookin' and I did the peelin' the potatoes.
* * * * *
Man: Paper or plastic?
Dolly Parton's Here! (In the Sidebar, Anyway)
Dolly Parton is performing "Sleigh Bells Ring" in Summer Friend's Clip of the Week. Just scroll down a little. I couldn't find any live versions that also had good sound quality, so just imagine the perky Dolly Parton as she moves us into the Christmas spirit.
Other news:
For those of you who may have lost sleep over this, the Battle of the Bands is over--The Monkees won.
Also, I tried to make it snow on Summer Friend and ended up zeroing out my blog! Can you say "insta-stress"? The template I'd downloaded couldn't be uploaded and I spent a very long time rebuilding it.
But I'm back. Regular posts resuming tomorrow.
Black Friday, Green Thursday
Don't look for me at the mall. I will not be there.
Green Thursday is not a Gore-inspired phrase--it describes me yesterday. I was sick! I never made it to the Thanksgiving table, which was out of town. Sleep was the balm that soothed, and I awoke just in time to catch MY FAVORITE HITCHCOCK MOVIE, Rear Window.
It's been years since I've seen that film. Who knew Jimmy could be such a charming rogue? The only thing I didn't like, which I hadn't noticed before, was when Grace Kelly's character was being thrashed by Raymond Burr and she calls out "Jeff!" "Jeff," and instead of returning her shout, LB Jeffries (Jimmy Stewart) backs his wheelchair to hide in the darkness. I know his leg is broken and all, but I would have liked to see him make some kind of attempt to help her, maybe shout back and fall out of the wheelchair as he tries to get up. (I know he called the police, but that was before the thrashing began.) BTW, the cast on his left leg supposedly jumps to his right leg halfway through the movie. I never caught the switch.
Then I watched Mean Girls. Tina Fey is such a good writer and I like how loyal she is to all her SNL comrades. One thing I noticed about Mean Girls is that even though it's a contemporary film (2004), technology played no part in it. Nobody was texting. Nobody was emailing. Nobody was using cell phones. Surely one compromising picture would have been snapped via cell phone in all that meanness. (There were two three-way calls, but I wouldn't call that new technology.)
I have to conclude that Ms. Fey left technology out on purpose. Perhaps she did so to prevent the movie from becoming dated--technology moves faster than fashion. Maybe viewers are more lifted out by old-fashioned technology than they are by plaid pants.
How much technology is safe to include if you want your story to have a long shelf life? That's a hard question. Even texting lingo has changed over the years. What's your opinion?
Tidbits from Sunday's Paper
So I've just now sat down with yesterday's paper. Here's the news:
The Off Key Krooners are looking for volunteers. Finally! A musical group who would appreciate my talents.
People with bigger noses do not have superior smelling abilities. I'm sure we can all rest easier knowing this important controversy has reached its end.
The paper is running a read-along using the book The Cricket in Times Square. Who can resist that title? I've got to get this book.
More dog books on the scene--one sounds a bit like Marley and promises to be just as heart wrenching: Good Dog. Stay by Anna Quindlen.
A woman is being sued over comments she made in her blog.
I'm innocent, I tell ya! It wasn't me, it was some other blogger, yeah, I ain't no stoolie, I won't snitch.
Be careful, my cyberspace friends. But if they do throw you in the pokey, contact me immediately--I know how to bake cakes with files inside.
HEAD, the 1968 Movie Featuring The Monkees, and Battle of the Bands
I recently watched Head, the 1968 movie featuring the Monkees. Man, talk about weird! The movie is comprised of vignettes strung together in an odd way that makes sense and leads to the ending. Jack Nicholson cowrote the screen play. This movie is not for everyone--there are clear drug references and the fragments give the movie a weird, dreamlike quality. For me, the movie was strange and literary. I'm still thinking about it.
If you like all things sixties/seventies, if vintage is you, if you use words like dig and groovy, this movie is for you. Head intrigued me enough to Google it. When the movie first came out in 1968, it failed, but it has a strong cult following, even now. Proof: Cameron Crowe used the Porpoise Song to close Vanilla Sky, the 2001 movie featuring Tom Cruise. The Porpoise Song also closes Head.
Check out the Porpoise Song in my new sidebar feature: Clip of the Week (scroll down a little). But before you go, please leave a comment and vote in Summer Friend's first ever Battle of the Bands: The Monkees VS Smash Mouth, performing "I'm a Believer."
The Monkees
Smash Mouth
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