Eating My Words

I know, I know. I said I wouldn't go on Facebook, but now I have. Of course, as is always my luck, now there are major concerns about Facebook's security. So, I am keeping all my personal info to a minimum. Anyway, I'm there. Check it out if you want, but you'll get a quicker response if you email me.

On the writing front, I took a serious and critical look at my first manuscript. This resulted in some serious slashing and cutting. But, after comparing the current version to earlier versions, this is SO much better.

Writer's Net Down Again!

*Sigh* Writers Net was back up, but is now down again. Just as I'm starting to feel good enough after my surgery to check-in regularly again, it's not there.

Demise of Writers.Net

I have been a member of a forum, Writers.Net, http://www.writers.net/ for over a year. A little over a week ago, it disappeared.

Writers.net was formatted differently from all the other look-alike forums. I preferred the format and it was easy to use. Other than minor annoyances; there was no way to delete a post, spell-check it, or correct it after posting, I enjoyed that forum. There were writers and posters from all over the world. I miss talking and arguing with those people, a lot. What I learned about writing and the advice I received from many was invaluable.

It was originally created by NetConcepts. But then NetConcepts was sold to Covario. Once that happened, forum moderation - always a hit-or-miss probability - disappeared completely.

Now the forum itself has disappeared. Not that it was unlikely to happen, but Covario could have done the right thing and announced on the forum itself that they were taking it down. But no, they just took it away. Sounds like many other large, cares-only-about-the-big-bucks corporations, doesn't it?

A Perfect Day

I don't know why I'm feeling so good today, but it's the greatest feeling in the world to have enough energy to actually enjoy moving around and getting things done, even if it is just around the house.

It's my perfect kind of day, too. The sky isn't just overcast, but has been dark with threatened rain all afternoon. The wind is just strong enough to blow my hair about my face - making me feel like a young girl again. It's a gently warm breeze with just enough cool in it that you can feel the coming rain. The lights are on in my kitchen, and it feels cozy and safe.

Days like these, as well as perfect spring days, are so wonderful and so rare that it should be against the law for anyone to have to work on these days. You don't get many of them and they should be enjoyed to the fullest like any other rare and intangible joy. You can't hold onto to these gems, they can only be enjoyed when they happen.

On New Year's Eve it came to me that this year is going to be a wonderful year. I've haven't felt that way about an upcoming year in over a decade. One reason, I'm finally going to have my surgery and then I can get my life back. To be able to once again walk, run, stand up and anything else I want to do without any discomfort will be a blessing.

Men Like Romance Novels

I joined up with several beta readers/romance writers to critique each other's work. A few of them are guys. I was leery of sharing my MS with them because I didn't think they'd get it. They gave me a quick education about men and romance novels.

I have learned that reading romance novels is a guilty pleasure for a lot of men. Which makes sense, given how many times I've had to move around the guys standing in my way in the romance aisle of my nearest Barnes & Noble. I admit, at the time it annoyed me and I thought to myself, "Why are there MEN in my way - they don't belong in this section!"

Men especially like it if there is some erotica (which there is in the second half of my MS). Their critique summary was they liked it, especially since there is also some action/violence incorporated into it.

I wrote the story from two POVs, the female's and the male's, which allowed them to identify with the main male character. It surprised me to find out that men long for romances written from the male POV. As one critiquer put it, "I'm tired of reading books where the male is nothing more than a hard cock. I want to read books with strong male characters who aren't afraid to act like real men." He also pointed out that guys need to be able to read and empathize with strong male role models.

When I asked what genre they thought it fell into, their answer was "Romance for Straight Men." Unfortunately, at this time there is no such genre. But maybe there should be. That would save me from categorizing my manuscript as "Cross Genre - women's fiction/romance" and it would be a lot less words, too.

Back to Writing

I'm back, but I've been wondering if this is a good idea. I know blogs work for some people, especially if they're already published. But I'm not. Yet.

To be honest, if I do all the daily reading and blogging that some agents have suggested as necessary to becoming a published writer, I'd never get back to my manuscript. I know, because I have been following all the blogs that I'm supposed to follow and I do interact in one forum, Writers Net, where I will continue to participate. But in doing this, I've lost track of my work. So I am giving up on following any, except for a couple of humorous and/or very informative agent and editor blogs, limiting it to 1-2 times a week. So now I can get back to my work. Yeah!

As for this blog, I will add to it whenever I feel the need to espouse my views, but I'm not going to make myself write here just because others have said I must have a blog. I'd prefer that if someone is going to read something I write, then for God's sake - read my BOOK. Once it's published, that is.

Here's a list of other things I'm not going to do at this time:

• I'm NOT going on Twitter - I'm not twitter-pated. And I'm just enough of a private cave-dweller that I don't want people to know what I'm doing all of the time. This is something that would irritate me to have to do, which means I would probably be very snarky. And I don't like to be snarky, unless someone's been rude to me first. I admit, in those instances, I do enjoy giving a little snarkiness right back at 'em. I've always found it fun to have a contest of wits with someone who has no wits.
• I'm not going to set up a website - at this time. I know how to set up a basic site, but when I do have one, I want it to be awesome. In other words, someone's going to be paid big bucks to set me up with a really great site.
• Forget Facebook and MySpace. I will be willing to relook these sites in the future if a need comes up, but not now. Again, they would detract from my writing.

I don't want to come across as rude or uncooperative. I'm decisive and strong-minded, but nice, most of the time. For those times when I'm not - a PEEP marshmallow chick (or two) thickly coated with dark chocolate would not be amiss.

My First Short Story

This is the first short story I ever wrote, a narrative essay for a college literary class I had to take. The accident really happened. It was 1964 and I was six-years-old. A side note to this story: In 1964, seatbelts weren't normally used.

The Car Wreck

I was excited that day because my brothers and I were going to get to watch our father race that night. I was six-years-old and had no premonition I should feel otherwise.

We drove to the speedway without incident. Our station wagon was packed with people; my mom and dad, both of my younger brothers, myself and my parents' friends John and Verna along with their two kids. We were towing my dad's stock car on a trailer behind us. It was fun being a part of such a loud, laughing group. The race went without any surprises. Other than my dad not winning, I can't recall anything else about the race.

We left for home right after the race as it was late and my mom wanted to get us kids to bed. I was in the front seat between my dad and John. I think John had his oldest son sitting on his lap, but I don't remember for sure. I was getting sleepy sitting there listening to the two men as they talked about the race.

Suddenly I was jolted awake by the spinning of the car as it flipped over several times. The strangest part was sensing myself just hanging in mid-air as I watched the dashboard spin wildly in front of me. I was thrown against John when the car settled onto the passenger side and at the same time heard one of the women yell, “Fire!” Then I was lifted up and through the driver's door window. I was set on the roof and pushed towards the ground just as if I were on a really steep slide. It wasn't until I was on the ground that I looked up and saw it was my dad who had pulled me out. I don't know how he got out so fast, I hadn't even had time to realize what had happened and he was already in action.

My dad yelled at me to get away from the car. As I moved away I looked back. The car had fallen into a narrow ditch on the side of the road and big, bright flames were licking all around the underside. Verna, in her haste to save her baby, had lifted her arms through the window and threw him out of the car and onto the road.

Immediately after my mom got out she guided me and my youngest brother, Vance, across to the other side of the road and away from the flames that were now all over the car. I could see the flames were already starting to come through the backseat into the interior of the car. The image the fire cast through the glass was eerie. My parents were checking with John and Verna to make sure all of us kids were out. That's when my mom discovered my five-year-old brother, Scott, wasn't with us. My dad ran back across the road, jumped up onto the side of the car and lowered himself down through the driver's side window. All I could see now was the fire, it had completely engulfed the car and was making a huge roaring sound.

The ambulances and police arrived while I waited to see if my dad would come back out of the car. I was looking at the car and even though I knew my dad and my brother were in there, I felt nothing. My mom ushered me and Vance into an ambulance right away, while yelling to the policemen that my dad and brother were still in the car. My mom wouldn't let me look out the windows, every time I propped myself up on my knees to look out the window she would tell me to sit back down. I kept asking her if dad and Scott were back yet, but she wouldn't answer me. I didn't feel any worry or fear, I just wanted her to answer my question. It seemed like me and Vance sat in that ambulance for an eternity before my mom and Verna got in with the driver and we went to the hospital. I asked her again if dad and Scott were okay and this time she said yes, but I got the feeling she just said it to quiet me down.

When we arrived at the hospital I finally got to see my dad and brother. Dad's hair was singed in the front and smelled funny. Scott's hair was singed all over the top of his head and he had a bloody nose. I heard my dad tell the doctor, as he examined Scott, that he had been trapped down between the front and back seats. The backseat had been on fire, and it was so close and hot that he couldn't see. He had blindly felt around until he found Scott's arm. He grabbed his arm and yanked him into the front seat, then pushed him out the window. Right after my dad carried Scott across the road, the gas tank exploded.

Everyone was okay. My mom had huge bruises going up the sides of her legs and Verna had a bloody cut on her calf, but those were the worst of the injuries. Verna's baby was fine, not a single cut or bruise from landing on the road was evident. Vance, who was only three at the time, was crying because one of his brand-new cowboy boots had fallen off and he hadn't been allowed to go back to the car to get it.

I remember sitting in the lobby of the emergency room after I was examined. I was looking at my brothers when I suddenly started to cry and couldn't stop. I didn't understand why I was crying. I still wasn't feeling anything, not fear, not sorrow, none of the normal emotions that usually made me cry. But I knew I didn't want to cry or worse yet, have anyone see me crying. So I walked over to a big window and stood there with my back to everyone, pretending to look out the window, and cried.

We went home after everyone was checked out. I don't remember how we got home; if the police took us, if we rode in an ambulance, or if a relative came and got us.

The next day we had to go to the junkyard to see what remained of the car and so my dad could give a statement of what happened to the insurance investigator. A policeman was also there waiting for us, looking very concerned. He asked how many had died in the accident and my dad said, “No one.” The officer was amazed and said he had never seen such a bad accident before with so many people in one car and everyone came out alive.

Vance was stubbornly trying to get to the car and see if he could find his boot. I overheard my mother say that her purse had burned up, while at the same time trying to keep my brother away from the still-smoldering car.

My dad's race car that we had towed behind us was fine, not a single mark on it. While our car had flipped over and then landed in a ditch, apparently the hitch had allowed the trailer to stay upright while we were spinning. It didn't go into the ditch with us.

The insurance inspector came out to view the car while we were still there. After he looked it over, I heard him tell the police officer and my dad that it appeared the wreck had been caused by the right rear tire coming off the rim. When the rim hit the pavement it created sparks that flew up into the undercarriage and also caused the car to completely flip the first time. It flipped the second time when we came down on the side of the ditch. The ditch was deep and narrow, which had prevented the car from rolling over a third time onto the roof.

I can still remember not feeling anything; not fear, anger, sorrow or wonder at what had happened to us. But I learned that an accident can happen no matter how careful you are. If it's meant to happen it will, but I always hope I will be as lucky as all of us were that night.