Thoughts on Mick Jagger and Other Tidbits from Parade Magazine

Parade Magazine and the Style section (which includes the books reviews) accompany my little donut and cappuccino every Sunday morning.

Mick Jagger graced this weekend's cover. Make all the old-guy jokes you want to--this guy's still cooking. I watched a documentary on VH1 in which Mick took the reporter into a room in his house that contained tapes of all the Stones' recordings. The walls were lined with boxed reels.

The reporter commented that Mick must be very proud when he enters that room, to which Mick responded something like, "Well, I'm not like . . . " and then he puffed out his chest like a rooster.

On the trailer for Shine a Light, the new Stones' rockumentary, a clip shows Martin Scorsese sitting at a desk when Mick calls. Mick expresses concern over Scorsese's use of cameras, particularly one that "swoops over the audience" and around the stage. He said he thought that would be annoying to the audience.

Humor and attention to detail--I like those qualities; I guess I never thought of someone like Mick Jagger being sort of like a regular person. Though I do not listen to the Stones, the film looks interesting. I especially think it's funny when Scorsese is totally stressed because the Stones won't pin down the set list for him.

No-Guilt Desserts--I didn't even read this article. No-guilt means the same as no fat, which equates to no flavor.

I did not know that Ping-Pong is an active trademark--did you?

The magazine closes with a feature on John Krasinski, who plays Jim on The Office. Apparently, his original goal was to be a scriptwriter, but another writer told him to go for acting instead, saying, "Don't even try making it as a writer. It's too tough."

Geez, now you tell me.

A Small Gesture Changes Everything

As I passed a side road today, I glimpsed a woman sitting on the sidewalk, legs splayed out. A group of ladies stood in a close circle in front of her.

Just exercising, I thought. After all, they were near a gym and they all had shorts on.

But then something happened, something small happened that caused me to see the scene a different way: One of the ladies leaned down and put her hand on the woman's shoulder. Though I was half a block away, the compassion in that gesture was clear.

Among other things, it made me think how powerful a single gesture can be in our writing. In the scene above, a little gesture transformed friends exercising together into women concerned for a hurt friend. I was amazed when I thought about the impact of that one small movement.

We probably all use this concept instinctively in our writing, but seeing it in action and recognizing it enables us to use it deliberately and with precision. We can build a scene and then with one swift movement, lade it with meaning.

Orlando Has Clean Air!

We have the mouse, we have the whale, and now we have clean air! According to a recent Yahoo! article, Orlando took fourth place in the list of US cities with the cleanest air. Oh yeah! O-town rules! Listen, I've got no swampland, but for a small fee, I will send you a vial of our fresh air. You cannot get this stuff anywhere else. (Well, maybe three other places. If you live in those three other places, I am not talking about you.) Hurry now, supplies may be limited.

Doing Donuts and Time

One winter up north, snow fell for three days. My friends and I were tired of being cooped up.; we decided to go out for lattes. We loaded into my car, an old beater that was as strong as a tank. I drove cautiously on the ice-slicked roads, and we admired the white branches and icicles on houses as we passed.

It was early yet; there were hardly any cars in the plaza when we arrived. I still don’t know what came over me, but I pressed the accelerator and raced to the empty side of the parking lot.
“Danette!” my friends squealed. Expertly, I cranked the wheel hard to the left. Whee! We spun around in a sharp donut. Hitting the gas again, I cranked the wheel to the right. We screamed in delight—even me—the thrill of almost losing control overtaking me. I hadn’t lost the technique I’d perfected in high school. Laughing, I whipped the car around a few more times, and then decelerated to a demure fifteen mph to park in front of the coffee shop.

But a policeman stopped me before I got to my spot.

“You endangered other people and vehicles,” he admonished as he wrote me a ticket for careless driving.

A ticket? “I’m going to fight this,” I said.

He nodded. Apparently he’d heard this before.

When my day in court came, I sat in the judge’s chambers trying to look like the law abiding citizen I was. “But it was private property, and that parking lot was basically empty,” I wheedled. “Besides, it was an accident.” Okay, I don’t know how that slipped out, but I still didn't think doing donuts meant doing time (or even getting a ticket).

The judge frowned and flipped through the paperwork. She looked directly at me. “The officer reports that the driver and passengers could be seen smiling and laughing through the windshield.”

My mouth opened and closed. I drove carefully home after paying my fine and taking my points.

Bottom line: You can go out for coffee, but don’t do donuts.

The Blustery Day

It's a wonderfully windy day. The huge puddle in the unconstructed lot has whitecaps. A gust of wind pushed me into Target. (Okay, I was headed there anyway, but still!) Leaves skittered down the road in front of me in such multitude, it was a leaf marathon.

I love this kind of day.

Funny, Weird, or Scary Signs #4

More than flowers at the local nursery.

U23D

The world's greatest rock band received a meager attendance this Saturday at my local theater. My husband and I and four other couples had the place to ourselves when we donned our funky glasses for U23D. The hype promised me I'd feel like I was right there; I loved the film, but 3D didn't bring it for me.

Before anyone eggs my blog, let me state for the record I LOVE U2. I would enjoy their rockumentary in any D--my DVR is set to record all things U2 and Bono (which is how I caught Chastity Bono on Sell This House)--I'm just saying that the 3D effect didn't heighten my experience.

Settling into the beginning of the movie was the same as trying to see a 3D figure emerge from those weird prints in the 1990s. There weren't any affectations for the movie, which I was glad of; it was pure U2. I liked seeing common things, like Larry Mullen Jr.'s iced tea in a glass near his right elbow and a handwritten note taped to the top of Edge's keyboard. In fact, I would have liked to have seen more of this kind of detail. Who handed Bono his bandanna? Who kept refilling Larry's tea? What were they doing right before the show and where did they run to right after? Inquiring fans want to know!

The perspective from the stage was outstanding. Looking at the number of people in the audience and knowing that not one of them was a computer-generated being was overwhelming. Cell phones held in the air caused the arena to look like a perfect night filled with stars. (Sidenote: I once went to a concert where the couple in front of me had no cell phone or lighter. They lit paper matches and held them till the matches burned down to their fingers.)

Audience members' hands seemed to be right in front of me. I hate when anything obscures my vision--like those annoying girls who sit on guys' shoulders. You never see guys doing that. At least, that's what I thought until the film showed three bare-chested guys sitting on top of other guys' shoulders, swinging their shirts around, belting out the words. Wherever Bono went, hands stretched out to him, even from ten or fifteen people deep. At times, the people on the floor ebbed and flowed, like tides in the ocean. I can only imagine what it was like to have been there.

The show ended with Yahweh, a reflective, prayerful song. We stayed (and so did those eight other people) until all the credits rolled. No clips at the end. Just the feeling of wanting more.

Tagged! I'm Reading Bartlett's Familiar Quotations

CJ Ray has tagged me with a most creative meme: I must grab the closest book with more than 123 pages, turn to page 123, go five sentences down, and provide the next three sentences here.

How fortuitous that Bartlett's tome sits nearby; a book on bodily functions occupied a nearer space yesterday.

Here are the words from the required quadrant:

Modestus said of Regulus that he was "the biggest rascal that walks upon two legs."

There is nothing to write about, you say. Well then, write and let me know just this--that there is nothing to write about; or tell me in the good old style if you are well. That's right, I am quite well.

* * *

I included a bonus sentence because I like the flip voice of the speaker.

My tag is open--if you like this meme, show us what you've got!

In other news, Stephen Parrish gave me an E for excellence blog award. Thank you, Stephen! I'll add it to my sidebar.

Being noted for excellence is an inspiration to aspire to greater heights. I want to achieve excellence in all my endeavors. I want to be all I can be. Oh, wait, that's the Army. Get an Edge on Life, that's the Army, too, but the other slogan, Be All You Can Be is better. Here are a few more:

It's not just a job. It's an adventure! Navy slogan. I give it an E for excellent!
The Few. The Proud. Marine Slogan. SC for super cool!
Aim High. Air Force. O for okay.
Be Part of the Action. Coast Guard. B for boring. There's gotta be something better than that. Post your alternative in the comments!

This and That

People! Get organized--less than twenty-four hours till the new episode of America's Next Top Model!

The newspaper reports that a local congregation is praising their youth pastor for confessing to a homicide he committed some time ago. One person quoted in the article called this pastor a hero, their position being that not many would confess after getting away with murder.

My new curling iron came with a tag warning me that this product could burn my eyes. There go all my plans to stick it into my eye sockets.

U23D--have you seen it? I will don the funky spectacles this weekend. I can't wait!

The Best President Ever!

We take our politics seriously here at Summer Friend. The best president ever was Dana Carvey's George Bush, as seen in this historic moment:


I also like Phil Hartman's Clinton and his Reagan.

Darrell Hammond's Clinton is a write-in candidate. (I couldn't find any clips.)

In Which I Submit Short Stories and Find A Lizard

Just pass the tissues, will ya? I sent three short stories out into the world today. Brave little soldiers. As much as I love them, I hope they don't come back; time for them to find a new home, find their place in this world. I'm kicking everybody out of the nest. (Using up my stamps, too.)

In other news, I found the lizard that had been living in my computer room. I was cleaning Aaagh! Don't freak out! and organizing, and I dragged out a box and there he was. After the prerequisite scream, I realized the lizard wasn't moving.

When he first moved in last year, I couldn't stick my feet under my desk for fear he might leap on my toes. I grew used to tucking my feet up under my chair and to hearing the sound of him, rustling about in my day lilies.

Here's for you Mr. Lizard. You weren't bad, as far as roommates go.

Cover Art! (Well, Almost)

I've seen the preliminary cover art for Violet Raines Almost Got Struck By Lightning! It's fantastic!

My editor emailed me, and upon opening the attachment, I felt my heart lift! The image captures the spirit of the book--outdoors, fun, exciting. It's thrilling to see how another artist can interpret your work and project it in a different format. The cover art is spot-on.

I always thought when my book got published, my name would stand out to me, but it was the title treatment I couldn't take my eyes off of. The typeface conveys the very essence of Violet, the story's main character. It's spunky and unusual, not afraid to be different. The font is loaded with personality.

The designer is making his finishing touches to the cover. I can't wait to show it to you!

Super Bowl Commercials

Last night, I had to catch up on a few priority items. First up, Super Bowl commercials. That's right--I didn't watch the actual game. Call me unAmerican, but after years of growing up with the TV commandeered every Saturday and Sunday by my dad and brothers, I hate the sound of sports coming through the television. My sister and I were made to postpone our chores while games were on: couldn't vacuum--the males wouldn't be able to hear the game; couldn't leave--we weren't done with our chores.

In any case, if commercials could be anthologized like short stories, the Super Bowl would hold the cream of the crop. I still love that Willie Nelson/H&R Block commercial from a few years ago.

When I was younger, this sprightly guy on TV had an exercise show. He was so funny and energetic, I wished he could be my uncle. You know who I'm talking about--the always effervescent Mr. Richard Simmons! Bridgestone's "Headlights" commercial featuring Richard Simmons is my pick for Best SB commercial 2008. It's so funny how we come upon him already doing his jumping jacks. The driver, instead of braking as he did for the deer and Alice Cooper, speeds up for Richard; the car's headlights affect a fierce mad face as the car guns down toward Richard. Even after the car squeals away, Richard is still cheering us on with his mantra: I believe in you!

I give Bridgestone's "Squirrel" and Budweiser's "Rocky" second and third place.

Good thing the commercial writers got their work done before the strike; the best part of the Super Bowl wouldn't have happened this year!

Hello!

I feel like I've been away for so long.

My mother-in-law fell ill more than two weeks ago and has been in the ICU ever since. Yesterday, she took a good turn, and now conversation has turned to what sorts of physical therapy she might undergo and that sort of thing. It's been a very hard few weeks, but it feels like the clouds are parting.

Thank you for still visiting me. With sunnier skies ahead, I'll soon be back to regular posting and visiting, and I look forward to reading your clever blogs and funny comments.

Pretty In Pink

The first azalea of the season.

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?"

Funny, Weird, or Scary Signs #3

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!

Christmas in Florida

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.