Shark Attack

Is there a Great White swimming unfettered around the United States Postal Service?  Take a look at how my Writer's Digest magazine was delivered.  It's not just torn--it's mutilated.  And tell me it doesn't look like something took  a big honkin' bite out of my magazine. 

Really, we need to start paying our postal workers a bit more.

Pottery Queen

The middle-grade novel I'm working on takes place in a summer camp and one of the scenes is set around these 10-12 year olds doing pottery.  I've never touched a potter's wheel in my life and so decided it was time to engage in a bit of author research.

My friend Melody, who's very craftsy, hooked me up with a wonderful NC pottery artist named Susan O'Leary.  Susan teaches a class for 10-13 year olds at the Cultural Arts Center and was kind enough to invite me to sit in on today's class.

I have pages of notes.  Certainly I jotted down details about the space--how a white/orange haze seems to hang in the air and settle on tables and clothing. And how the recycled clay is produced in thick brown log shaped chunks.  And--my absolute favorite--how the plates that go on the pottery wheel are called "bats" and so Susan calls the metal cart that holds all these plates "the Batmobile."  Tell me that's not going to make it into the story!

But what I ended up scribbling down more than anything, was dialogue.

There were two boys in the class, age 10. ENERGY filled, they were.  Not having cause to spend any time around boys of that age, I had no idea they jumped around so much.  Just constantly in motion--hopping, swaying, balancing, leaping, running, ducking, diving...it didn't end.

And the dialogue was priceless. "Die, die, die!" exclaimed one, as he pounded a sculpting tool into a hunk of clay. Another one, while explaining a video game he played to me, said, "Yeah, I killed my dwarf at Level 10. It was cool." 

There were also some 12-13 year old girls in the class.  Much calmer. Torn jeans are apparently still big, as is writing on clothing - jeans and red tennis shoes were covered with colorful marker-made words and phrases.  One girl came in and had 5 small red hearts drawn on her knee, which you could see through her torn jeans.

So I scribbled like a madwoman. This is gold, baby. Then about an hour into class, Susan asks if I would like to throw my own pot on the wheel.  Never one to turn down clay and water, I agree.  So what you see here is my first thrown pot.  Susan helped, naturally, but I'm proud of it.  She had me write my initials in the side of it and said she fire it for me.  I'm quite pleased.

And exhausted.  I thought teaching adults was tiring...ha!  That's nothing compared to a roomful of kids, all doing different things at once.  And yet, Susan floated around the room, making sure everyone was engaged and working.  I took as many notes on her as the teacher as I did on the kids.

A very fun experience.  Thanks, Melody, Susan and kids!

Note to Cupid: Keep on Truckin'

Blair and I went out to eat on Saturday. "Have you bought my cards yet for Valentine's Day?" I asked as we exited the car.

"Nope," he replied, rubbing his hands together for warmth.

"Me either," I said. "Want to skip it?"

He paused, and looked up at the night sky. "I love being married to you."

"Ditto."

I've blogged on this before, but I must post again and reiterate my point.  Want the secret to a happy marriage? Not having to buy cards and gifts because the date on the calendar says so is an excellent start. 

From our first Christmas together, Blair and I agreed not to buy each other gifts for Christmas, birthdays, or anniversaries. It's THE BEST.  No worries about figuring out what he wants, or him worrying about size clothes to buy me that I won't find insulting. We just get to sit back and enjoy the day.

When we do give each other gifts (which is rare), it's because we want to or because we saw something we really thought the other would enjoy.  It means more, that way, whether the gift comes from Blair or a friend.

One of the best gifts I ever received came from one of my senior roommates in college, years after we had graduated.  Elie Wiesel (Nobel laureate  winner and author of Night, which is Oprah's current book club selection and which should be required reading for everyone on the planet) was doing a bookstore signing years ago of his autobiography. My friend, knowing my interest in the Holocaust, grabbed an extra copy, had him sign it to me and sent it to me.  All for no reason.  I almost fainted when I opened the book and saw he'd written my name in his own hand.  That was a good day.

Still, for those of you exchanging cards, candy, and flowers today--God love the romantic in all of you. Happy Heart Day.

The Ultimate In Writer's Discipline

I'm not sure I'm brave enough to do it.  But the fact that it scares the beejeezus out of me makes it think this might be worthwhile.

I'm talking about a  put up or shut up technique I read about in one of my on-line writer's e-zines. The concept is simple.  A deterrent is used to keep a writer writing. For example, let's say a writer such as myself has the goal of turning out 5 pages of new work a week. According to this article, I buddy up with someone who is my truth keeper. I.E., I have to turn in my 5 pages every week to them so they know I'm on track.  If I don't  turn in my work, I get something taken away from me. 

The example this article gave was that a die-hard liberal Democrat writer (such as moi) would have write a check to the Republican party if  the 5 pages aren't met on deadline.  The article cited a $500 check for each missed deadline, which seems a bit much to me.  But even a $50 check would deter me.  Frankly, a .05 cent check would make me blanch.  I'd sooner bleed to death than give money to the Republican party.  So I see it as a great motivator for getting the work done on time.

(And lest it be said I'm picking on the Republicans, just switch it.  If you're a die-hard conservative, imagine you have to write a $50 check to Hillary Clinton's Presidential campaign.  Hear the screaming in your head?  That's what I'm experiencing).

Rewards don't work.  I've promised myself clothes or shoes or whatever, but the fact is I don't care that much if I don't get those things, so it's not a motivator.  Having to write a check to the Republican party though...that would kill me.  Or rather, I think it would INSPIRE me to get done what needs to be done. Really, if it came down to the wire and I had to stay up to 3AM to finish my work or send $50 to the party I oppose, I'm pretty sure my butt would be up at 3AM. And I'm not doing that now.  Now, I think, "Eh, it's late.  I'll try to find time to work on that tomorrow." 

I'm embarrassed it may take such a strong incentive to get me to do work I'm supposed to WANT and LOVE to do. But I really think the deterrent is more a way to push past the fear.  It's easy to not do the work because I'm afraid it won't be good, I won't be able to finish it, I'll get stuck, etc.  And all that may happen.  But wonderful things may  happen too. The point is though, unless I start writing more, NOTHING will EVER happen.

So I'm close. The fear I feel at committing to this path is strongly tinged with excitement.  It's a challenge, and I like challenges. And I shouldn't be afraid.  This is do-able.  Plus, it makes me prioritize something I've been too willing to put aside.

Any thoughts?