The Lyon's Tale

Writing Journey: Part XX

2009-07-10T09:41:00.005-07:00

Wowzers: Part Twenty!

So as you probably figured out from last time (well, THIS was really last Friday, but you know what I mean), even though I turned in the deployment book in October of 2008, it wouldn't be out fall 2009. Instead of a lag time of roughly 9 or 10 months, it would be about twice that.

Originally the release date was "spring" 2010 (which was hard to hear, because that could mean several different months and you have no clue what to plan for), but I now have an official release date for that book: this March.

I don't yet have an official title, but for the first time in ages, I submitted a manuscript with a title. I'm calling it Band of Sisters. (Get it? Like an army "Band of Brothers"? Their wives at home are a "Band of Sisters"? It was my husband's idea.)

So far, my editor and I are still calling it that, but I have no idea if the committee is really giving it that title or whether it'll change. (I'll post that info here when I find out.)

Right about the time I was finishing up Band of Sisters (and getting ready for edits on Tower of Strength . . . remember how the time lines of of all these stories really overlap?) my husband and I took a trip to visit my parents on their latest mission when they had a two-week break for temple maintenance closure.

You can see our trip in all its glory on this blog HERE, but the short version is that my parents are the first president and matron over the Helsinki, Finland Temple and we got to see all the great sites in the area. What long-time readers may know is that I lived in Finland for three years when I was a kid while my parents presided over the mission there.

I hadn't been back in over twenty years, but even so, Finland has always felt like a second home to me, and returning even for those few days was life-changing. I really felt in so many ways like I'd come home. Smells and sounds and tastes bombarded me, bringing with them memories and emotions that had been buried for over two decades. I even got to see a dear friend a couple of times. (And we're both all grown up! How did that happen?)

I simply didn't want to leave.

One result of the trip was writing-related (of course, or I wouldn't be writing about it on this post). My dad used to teach Finnish literature classes at BYU, and because of that (and also likely because Mom's a Finn and we'd lived there), I'd learned bits and pieces of the Finnish mythology, the Kalevala.

Also, in the Finnish National museum, I'd seen the ceiling murals depicting four of the stories from the book, and I even mentioned one of them in At the Water's Edge. When I was younger, we had several decorative plates showing scenes from the Kalevala on the living room wall.

During our trip to Finland last fall, I had this gut feeling that I had to finally read the whole Kalevala myself once and for all (the one good English translation; I knew I wouldn't understand the original Finnish well enough anymore).

A second thought followed right behind the first: after reading it, I needed to novelize one of the folktales in it, much like Shannon Hale's Book of a Thousand Days or Jessica Day George's Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow. I left Finland absolutely compelled to do something similar. I just had to.

The trick was first finding a copy of the Kalevala. My sister and I searched our parents' house for Dad's copy, to no avail. Copies are hard to find, and online they run about a hundred bucks. Ahem. Not exactly in the monthly budget.

But about two weeks later, a package arrived in the mail. My husband, knowing I had this burning drive, had secretly bought me a copy online. After giving him a massive hug and smooch, I dove into it.

Before writing anything new, I had to finish my Tower edits and polish up Band of Sisters and then get through the holiday rush, but after that, I wrote a young adult novel about the Aino story very quickly. It was so much fun to write something totally different.

I hadn't dipped my toes into fantasy since my son was a baby (he'll be in 9th grade this fall). It felt good. Even better, my critique group loved it (and a couple said it might be my best work ever . . . that felt even better).

One tiny issue: This book is nothing Covenant would ever in a million years want to publish. It's just not something that would appeal to their target audience. That means to get it published, I'd have to start the national agent query and rejection process.

(We'll not discuss how many rejections I've received so far.)

Right around the time I was finishing up the Kalevala book, which I'm currently calling Song for Aino, two other projects landed on my lap because others asked for them.

Here I had a book about to be released in March (Tower of Strength, if you're keeping track) and with it a blog tour and other promotion to coordinate. And yet . . . since I have a habit of not saying no when it comes to writing stuff, I said yes to both projects.

Plus, I was on the Whitney Committee. And the LDStorymakers Conference Committee.

Spring would be a bit busy.

WNW: Conversational Pause Lengths

2009-07-08T09:10:00.004-07:00

One of the most interesting things I learned in my English 223 class (you know by now who taught it, right?) was about conversational rules and pause lengths in particular. It was also the first place I heard the name of Deborah Tannen (I've mentioned her before . . . read her! She literally changed how I view myself).

One thing Tannen mentions in her work is pause lengths in conversation, cues as to when it's someone else's turn to start talking. Most of the time, we aren't aware of these kinds of things as we talk, but all of us have our own internal "clock" that tells us when someone's done saying something and we're allowed to take the floor with our own thoughts.

The interesting thing is that everyone has their own pause lengths. Genders tend to have different pause lengths. So do different cultures. For some it's half a second, for some it's two seconds, for someone else it's a length in between.

And, as I've read some of Tannen's books, I've realized that even families have their own conversational styles and rules and pause lengths. The one I grew up in would be one of them.

In one of her books (I believe it's That's Not What I Meant!) she describes a male/female work team who often gave presentations together. The woman was deemed not "aggressive" enough in her approach, while she felt her partner just railroaded over her and never gave her a chance to get a word in edgewise.

Someone mentioned to her the idea of pause lengths and suggested the idea that maybe she was just waiting to long to jump in, that perhaps her partner was speaking up during what he perceived as a silence needing filling because he thought the silence had gone on a fraction of a second too long when it was her turn to speak, so he jumped back in and kept talking.

She took that advice. As uncomfortable as it was for her to jump in when he'd barely stopped talking (to her it felt like interrupting him), suddenly their presentations started going great. Instead of being offended at her "interrupting him," his respect level went up like nothing else, and she started getting rave reviews.

All because she'd previously been waiting possibly as much as half a second longer than she needed to before she spoke up.

In general, I think women have slightly longer pause lengths than men.

That's definitely not the case in my family (which consists of mostly women), nor in the family I married into (which consists mostly of men).

The first time my husband-to-be came to a dinner at my parents', I think he felt like a deer in the headlights at how fast and furious the female conversation flew around the table. Based on a lifetime of experience, it was no big deal to me; I could follow it and knew how the turn-taking worked. I don't think my poor (then) boyfriend got a word in edgewise, because there wasn't a pause length long enough for what he was used to.

(After fifteen years of marriage, he's learned how to get a word in, but most of the time, he, my brother, and the other brothers-in-law just watch us three sisters jabber. It's almost a sport, we're so good at it.)

To this day, I have to be aware of other people's pause lengths and try to reign myself in, because without even realizing I'm doing it, I can easily go on a chatty rant and roll right over someone trying to talk. To me, the pause length was short enough to indicate that it was my turn to talk. But it wasn't a long enough pause length for them.

It's a delicate balance, and I often wonder how many people I've offended based on growing up with short pause lengths.

Our "Exciting" Fourth

2009-07-06T09:17:00.004-07:00

We spent the weekend up at my in-laws with all four of the Lyon siblings who are in Utah. (The other two are on opposite coasts, alas.)

I cannot explain how much more enjoyable these kinds of visits are to me now that my kid are older. On my side of the family, there are several older grand kids, and I remember chasing my toddlers and walking the floor to comfort babies or having to leave the grown-up table conversation to deal with an owie or just nurse a baby or whatever and being so jealous of my sister-in-law, whose boys were old enough to just run off and play. I couldn't wait for the day I could do that.

Well, MY kids are the oldest grandchildren on the Lyon side. A few years ago, I was on the opposite side of the table. Several grown-ups were playing a board game, and every few minutes, a mom or dad jumped up to take care of a toddler or baby crisis. But I was never one of them. I got to sit and smile as I watched them. My kids were older now and happily playing amongst themselves. Even better, I wasn't pregnant in the heat of the summer.

A new stage of parenthood. Aaaaaaah!

So these kinds of trips really are enjoyable to me now. They aren't the WORK they used to entail.

Grandma Lyon went to a lot of effort to create some fun activities for the grand kids: quite a feat when you realize that they range in age from about a year and a half to about 14. There was swimming and water balloon fights and a treasure hunt and more.

During the treasure hunt portion, the kids were still sporting swimsuits.

And here's where it got "exciting." The neighbors to the west (relatively new to my in-laws, as they've moved into this house within the last year) have two large dogs: a black lab and a massive brown mastiff.

The two dogs, who were obviously not leashed, jumped the pathetic excuse for a fence and decided to "play" with my son (remember, he was wearing nothing but swim trunks). Fortunately, there wasn't any majorly broken skin, but across the back of his torso, my son ended up with several deep claw marks and two or three areas that are clearly bruises from dog teeth.

And now he's (understandably) freaked out about dogs.

The owners swear their dogs are up-to-date on their shots, but we aren't taking their word for it. We made some calls. The mastiff is in a kennel until we know for sure. (I don't think there's a real problem, since the wounds aren't deep enough for something like rabies to be an issue, but the owners deserve losing their dog even temporarily.)

Turns out they were doubly cited: first for not keeping their dogs leashed, but second because the mastiff wasn't licensed. I laughed with a cackle only mothers can appreciate.

My son's had a couple of scary run-ins with dogs, so he's developed a bit of a phobia. Not a cool thing. But the thing that ticked me off the most about the situation is that what if the dogs had decided to "play" with some of the younger cousins, like my youngest (who is 6) or worse, the one who is a year and a half old? We could be talking an ER visit here.

I was THRILLED that the neighbors were cited twice. The idiots.

Moving onto a lighter note . . .

That night we watched fireworks from two different cities from the comfort of the backyard (knowing we were safe because the lab was leashed and the mastiff was kenneled). We didn't have to deal with traffic or anything and had a great light show. And that was after the traditional Lyon pyrotechnics, where the Lyon brothers take those tanks and pimp them out with other fireworks to see how big and flaming they can get them. (Safety first, right?! The Lyon brothers are all engineers of some kind, and it shows.)

The last thing of note that happened was before bed when my darling little 12-year-old daughter stared and stared at my forehead. I knew what she was looking at and said, "Sweetie, stop staring at my zit."

"But Mom," she said. "It's so . . . BIG!"

Yeah. Thanks, babe. Just wait a couple years, and your forehead will be FULL of them.

I'm excited for next year's Independence Day, as we'll be spending it with my parents.

(Less than four months until they're home from their latest mission!)

Not that I'm counting down or anything . . .

Thoughts on My Writing Journey

2009-07-03T08:00:00.000-07:00

Today's post is a bit different (sorry for last time's cliff hanger ending; I'll resolve that next week).

Something's been bouncing around my brain as I realized that some people who are not in the publishing industry might view some of these posts in a light that I never intended, especially if they haven't read all twenty posts in the series (or whatever number we're at now).

First, a story. I promise, it's relevant.

Back when I had several tiny kids, I was part of a neighborhood book club. We got together once a month and, of course, talked about whatever book we'd read. Inevitably, as happens when you get a lot of women together, discussion often meandered into motherhood.

No mother in the group had a teen yet; we were all in the grade school or younger era, most with babies. So we had lots of talk about sleep deprivation and potty training woes and colic and vomiting and trying to get crayon off walls and how to unclog toilets after kids had flushed down a variety of things, and so forth.

One woman in the club wasn't a mother, but not for lack of trying. She and her husband had yearned for years to have a child, and every time talk veered into the whining and complaining about sleepless nights or tantrums, I could see her stiffen and her jaw clench. She never said anything aloud, but I could just read her thoughts.

She would have given anything to have a month of sleepless nights if it meant she had her own baby. She would love to have an uncooperative toddler to potty train. Crayon on the wall? Bring it on. How dare we complain about what she wanted so badly?

But here's the golden question: Did we not appreciate motherhood?

At moments, perhaps. Did we not want it? Of course we did. If you took any of those women aside and asked them what their most precious possession was, I think each one of them would have given the same answer in a heartbeat: "my children."

We loved our kids. We adored them. We were grateful for them. Perhaps we at times took them for granted, but we would never, ever give them up or devalue them.

On the other hand, motherhood, while one of the most rewarding things ever, is hard. Children are a sacrifice. Motherhood comes with problems that, going in, you never could have anticipated because you've never been there.

It's common for people to compare publishing a book to giving birth. I'm going to take that analogy a bit further.

Aspiring writers are sometimes like that woman in our book club, wanting so badly to have what the others around her do: a contract. And they can be shocked when they hear a writer complaining about their agent or the marketing department or whatever else. They'd kill for an agent or [fill in the blank].

But here's the thing: publishing is very much like parenthood. It doesn't end when you sign that contract on the dotted line (or when you bring the baby home from the hospital). You're embarking on a brand new journey you know very little about, one that has ups and downs you cannot fathom yet, because you haven't been there and have no clue what you're in for.

It's so much more than getting a book on a shelf.

I spent EIGHT YEARS submitting and getting rejected. You can believe me when I say that I don't for one second take for granted the place I'm in. If you've read this entire series, I think you know that. I scraped and clawed my way to where I am. And the view here is fantastic.

But at the same time, I'm no longer in the place of "aspiring writer." I'm a published writer. It's now a job and a career. It's work. I have a whole new host of issues to grapple with. Much like the mother who has her child grow from six months to six years to sixteen yearsof age, I have new problems and difficulties pop up with each stage of my career.

Back to the mother in our book club. Through the miracle of modern medicine, she was able to have two little girls. While they were still toddlers, she tried for another baby. AND GOT QUADRUPLET BOYS.

I have a sneaking suspicion that she had her moments of complaining . . . just like (horror!) we'd complained.

Surely, if anyone had sleepless nights, she did. Not to mention constant diaperings and feedings and so on. I imagine potty training in that house three years later was interesting to say the least.

I'm guessing she developed some empathy for the rest of us mothers in that group who just needed a little validation that, at times, mothering is hard work.

Did this woman not want those children after years of infertility? Of course not. Did she love all of them and passionately adore them? Yes, absolutely. But that doesn't mean that raising them was a cakewalk or that she didn't have her moments of whining even though having a passel of kids was exactly what she'd wanted for years.

In publishing, when you finally get that contract, you won't live life in a jetted tub, eating bon bons as you type your next Great American Novel because your life is now perfect.

I'll never, ever forget the work it took to get where I am. I still remember the exact spot I was standing when I got that acceptance phone call for my first book . . . and the way I squealed like a three-year-old when I hung up. I appreciate every tiny thing my colleagues, editors, and publisher have done to help me along the way.

But I'm still working. The journey is not over. And that won't change, no matter how grateful I am that I have another book coming out in March, no matter how thrilled I am that I just published another article or got hired to do another freelance edit. There's another hill to climb or another pit that's in my way, some new river to cross, a difficult decision to be made.

I challenge anyone to find the perfect career (including motherhood) that doesn't have those blips and difficult moments.

As you likely know, I belong to the LDStorymakers, which is essentially a guild for LDS writers. We have nearly 100 members now. We celebrate one another's successes just as greatly as our first ones, because they still mean that much to us.

But you know what? There are a lot of problems popping up regularly (I'd say close to daily) on our e-mail list. We help each other through those as well. It's not all sunshine and rainbows.

I love what I do. That's why I do it, even in the harder moments.

For the aspiring writers out there, just be prepared for it: the hard times will come even after you sign on the much-anticipated dotted line.

It's called life. But that doesn't mean you aren't loving it and appreciating it.

WNW: Speech Acts

2009-07-01T14:22:00.004-07:00

This post goes back to my favorite professor and class from BYU whom I've raved over enough that I'll stop embarrassing him by pointing him out by name. (*cough* Dr. Oaks *cough*)

Actual definitions of what a "speech act" is varies from linguist to linguist, but the basic idea is what is being accomplished by what a person says when they're speaking.

The list we got in class included the following speech acts:

Statement: John is a doctor.

Question: Are you sleeping?

Apology: I am sorry.

Directive (Order): Go outside.

Threat: I'll kill you.

Promise: I'll come back at six.

Okay, so here comes the fun part. A direct speech act is pretty obvious.

The form follows the function. Basically, with a direct speech act, if it looks like a statement, it's a statement. If it looks like a question, it's a question. The form tells you what kind of speech act it is.

So a question in a direct speech act would always has a question mark after it:

Are you sleeping?

This is a simple question asking exactly what it appears to be asking.

Indirect Speech Acts, however, get a little trickier. Form doesn't always follow function here. And this is where people often get confused and miscommunicate, assuming someone said one thing when the other person meant something else entirely.

It's fascinating to me to watch families and the degree of indirectness they get in their communications.

(If you like this kind of stuff, I highly recommend reading Deborah Tannen's work, especially That's Not What I Meant! and You Just Don't Understand. She's a sociolinguist who studies conversational styles, including indirect speech acts. She changed the way I view a lot of things.)

Here's an example showing form not following function in an indirect speech act: a question mark after something that really isn't a question:

Can you pass the salt?

The speaker here is actually giving a directive (an order), but it's indirect so it sounds more polite than just telling someone to give them the salt.

Other common indirect speech acts we see take place in the dating world.

"So, what are you doing Friday night?" is a common way for a guy to enter into the waters of asking a girl out. They both know it, but he's not actually committed to asking her out yet.

So if she says, "Oh, I have a big midterm to study for," he can save face because he never put himself out on a scary limb of potential rejection in the first place.

And neither said anything directly. He never asked her out, and she never directly rejected him.

We all do this kind of thing all the time.

A couple of years ago I noticed a similar thing at a family reunion at Disneyland (I notice these things because I'm a total word nerd. We know that, right?). The Lyon clan was in line at a ride and trying to decide where to go next.

My sister-in-law piped up loudly so everyone could hear, saying, "We were thinking about going on X ride next."

That was the end of the the discussion. As a word nerd, the moment fascinated me. What she'd said looked like a commentary or a suggestion. In reality, it was a statement of a plan. Basically, "Unless someone else has an objection, this is what we're doing next." And that's exactly what the family did.

What she'd said was an indirect speech act, and the family's communications were such that they all understood that.

Other examples of indirect speech acts:

You left the door open.

Form = Statement.

Function = Directive (Close the door.)

Do you know where the bathroom is?

Form = Question.

Function = Directive (Tell me where the bathroom is.)

Get out of here!

Form = Directive.

Function = Showing disbelief. (Think Elaine on Seinfeld.)

Here's a fun speech act: Answering a question with a silly question.

The form is a question, of course, but the function is to affirm the original question.

Examples:

Do birds fly?

Is the pope Catholic?

Performative Speech Acts are where you actually DO something by SAYING it.

Examples of these kinds of verbs include:

bet
nominate
apologize
promise
resign
baptize
testify

And so on. If you can say, "I hereby . . ." and add a verb to it, then it's a performative speech act. You do it by saying it.

"I hereby resign the presidency . . ." or, "I testify that I saw the defendant at the scene . . ." or "I nominate Joe for the position."

In a performative speech act,the speaker does what they're saying by saying it. You can't argue with it, saying, "No you don't," because the speaker has already done it. It's not a matter of opinion. They nominated or apologized or resigned or whatever. Whether they have the proper emotion is another story, but you can't say they didn't do the act.

A final bit: One of my favorite speech act quirks relates to the PROMISE and the THREAT.

Think about it: There is NO DIFFERENCE between the two except for what the listener wants. If the listener wants the thing to happen, it's a promise. If the listener doesn't want it, it's a threat.

Generally speaking, "I will kill you," is a threat. If it's Dr. Kevorkian talking, it's a promise.

I don't remember where it came from, but shortly after learning this, I saw this very idea used in a cute way (I have no memory where, alas).

One character said, "I'm going to kiss you."

And the other responded coyly with, "Is that a promise . . . or a threat?"

Cute line, but probably more so for word nerds like me than anyone else.

For those interested in this stuff, go back to last week's WNW, at the end of which I mentioned I'd be talking about speech acts this week. Scroll down to Jordan McCollum's comment (#3). Do you see why I giggled at it?

And another plug for Deborah Tannen's books. Read them. They are AWESOME.

Your Perfect Summer Read

2009-06-29T08:25:00.004-07:00

Almost exactly ten years ago, a woman I had met but barely knew, Lu Ann Staheli, called me. I remember where I was during that call: sitting on the lid of the toilet as my two children took their baths. Lu Ann had found my name in the League of Utah Writers directory as living near her and wondered if I'd like to be part of a new critique group.

Heck, yes! But see, I was also 8 1/2 months pregnant and serving in the Young Women presidency. I couldn't, not right then. The presidency had been in almost 3 years, so I was pretty sure we'd be released soon, and I thought that when baby was a few months old, maybe I could swing it, so I asked if they'd hold me a spot. They did.

I joined up in January of 2000. It was terrifying, to say the least, but the group wasn't quite full. A dear friend mentioned an aspiring writer she knew, and we met at a League chapter meeting. She became the next member of our group.

To this day, Michele Paige Holmes seems surprised that I was so "generous" in inviting her to the group, because, according to her, she was a terrible writer. (Don't let her fool you; she was never, ever, a bad writer.)

But the truth was, none of us was great; we were all learning and hoping to some day be published. Eventually, we all were.

Week after week, Michele brought brilliant chapters to the group. It was hard not to be envious of her skill, especially when she'd say, "This is really rough; I just wrote it an hour ago." Then we'd read it, it was freaking brilliant, and I'd go home with my chapter dripping in red ink.

Michele is good at what she does. So it was hard to watch her struggle to publication and constant rejection. It was with true joy that I heard of the acceptance of her first book, Counting Stars, which won (most deservingly!) the Whitney Award for Best Romance in 2007.

I was lucky enough to be the one who read off her winning name the night of the awards gala, and I cried tears of joy for her.

The road between her first and second published books has been a longer one than her fans hoped for, but her next novel is now out, and the wait has been worth it. All the Stars in Heaven is now in stores.

It's what some people call a "spin-off" novel, in that it takes a minor character from Counting Stars and tells his story. But this book stands alone completely; there's no need to read the first one before picking this one up.

Counting Stars dealt with heavy issues and emotions and had me weeping and laughing, often on the same page.

This book is a bit different. It did have me crying and laughing, but it has an element of suspense and action; it has you on the edge of your seat as Jay and Sarah get pulled into (and need to escape from) a drug ring with their lives.

It's an exciting read, one I highly recommend.

I'm already excited for her next book. Since I'm in her critique group, I've gotten to read a few chapters, and I'm already laughing and giggling. It's gonna be good.

But you'll just have to wait for it.

Writing Journey: Part XIX

2009-06-26T09:23:00.005-07:00

I had gotten into a rhythm of turning in manuscripts mid-December and having the book released the next September. I turned in Tower with the same time frame: I submitted it December 2007 and assumed, should it be accepted (with it being the fourth in the series, I had faith it would be), that I'd see it on shelves fall 2008.

A good friend and I shared the same publishing time frame for several years; we often swapped manuscripts each fall to edit one another's work before we both turned in our stuff. Then each fall, we both had our new releases at the same time.

She got her September 2008 release. I didn't. Mine was pushed back to the next "spring," whatever that meant (a window of about three or four months: February through May).

It also meant I wouldn't have a book out in 2008.

For most of my career, I'd worked hard to get that book out every year, and except for the gap between books 1 and 2 (which, if you've read this entire series, you know wasn't because I wasn't working my tail off, but because LWY had an unusually quick push through the pipeline), I'd done it:

Lost Without You: 2002

At the Water's Edge: 2004

House on the Hill: 2005

At the Journey's End: 2006

Spires of Stone: 2007

And then . . . 2008 . . .

At first I was a bit irked, especially when my dear friend got her usual slot. But, then, I couldn't blame her for a marketing decision. The following is purely my conjecture as to why the decisions were made, but here's my guess: her books simply sell more books than mine do. This is a business, and her books are money in the bank for the publisher, much more than mine are.

Fall is the prime release slot, and she's more of a sure thing. Spires didn't have the sales it should have, and in this business, the past predicts the future. That's why I think I lost the slot.

Plus, with the stupid economy the way it is, all publishers are putting out fewer books each month. As a result of that, a lot of books are getting release dates that are farther out. It didn't affect her, but it affected me.

It's complicated. On the other hand, I knew of some writers whose books were being pushed back several times (a few months and then a few more months and then a few more months) or canceled altogether because of the economy.

So I stopped whining. Sure, I didn't get a 2008 release. And yes, by the time Tower of Strength came out, it was almost 2 years old. But at least I still had a book coming out!

One big result of all of this is that I volunteered to be on the Whitney Awards Committee. The rules might be changing soon, but at least for last year, if you were on the committee, you were ineligible for an award.

I was ineligible anyway since I didn't have a book released that year, so I figured I might as well help out. And I'm so glad I did; serving on the Whitneys was a fantastic experience, one I'll never forget.

Moving forward: When it came to the deployment book and its timeline, Kirk gave me serious hope. If I could turn it in by Halloween, he would try to push for a fall 2009 release. It the powers that be went for that, it would mean Tower would come out spring 2009, and the deployment book would come out fall 2009.

I'd have TWO books out in 2009! That would make up for not having a book out in 2008.

How cool would that be! Yes! But I'd have to get it in quick for a shot at that happening.

I worked hard finishing it up. It was truly a joy to work on; I learned to love the women in the story, and I really feel that I learned a lot about women and female friendships in the process. I turned it in, as promised, on Halloween.

And then waited and waited to hear back. Eventually, I did, although it took longer than I expected. But it was accepted, and that was a thing to celebrate. But the timeline?

Let's just say . . . head + wall = lots of banging thereon.

WNW: Subjunctive Mood

2009-06-24T07:00:00.000-07:00

FIRST, AN ANNOUNCEMENT:

Tonight (Wednesday, June 24) I'm speaking at the Provo Library, 7:00 pm. It's for the Utah Valley Chapter of the League of Utah Writers. Copies of my grammar book will be available at a discount.

I'll be talking about using archetypal characters and plot concepts to create fresh stories using what's called "The Hero's Journey." Whether you're a League member of not, please come! Everyone is welcome.

Now, back to business:

I'm sort of cheating on my Word Nerd Wednesday post today, but for good reason: I've been buried under crazy busy stuff. (Summer slow-down? Ha!)

As a result, we've got a double-dipper post.

You know how sometimes you wonder whether to use was or were in a sentence?

Like:

If she was/were home, she could tell her mom about it.

He wondered if his date was/were cold.

One of those sentences needs was and the other needs were.

Do you know which is which? AND why?

If not, take a gander at my Writing on the Wall post today. It's all about this very thing: subjunctive mood, a section adapted from my book There, Their, They're.

Next week, I hope to have the time to put together something fun about speech acts, something true word nerds can appreciate.

If you can come to the League meeting tonight, I'd appreciate it. It's always nice to NOT talk to a bunch of empty chairs. :)

Would You Take the Pretty Pill?

2009-06-22T07:00:00.000-07:00

Pretty matters. It's a reality that's unfair, but it's real.

The first encounter with it that I recall was around eight years old while taking dance classes. One girl, Erin, I think her name was, was the teacher's pet. He treated her better than anyone else, always putting her on the front row and fawning over her, giving her far more compliments and attention than anyone else.

She was a good dancer, sure, but there were plenty of other great dancers in the class. I remember thinking how unfair it was that we didn't get anywhere near the same adulation, nowhere near the same encouragement or commentary. And even with the hindsight of almost thirty years, I can honestly say I was as good as she was. It made no sense.

I complained to my mother. I described Erin. Mom raised an eyebrow, having a clue as to what what going on.

See, Erin always arrived at class with really cute dance clothes, hair in curls and ribbons. I think she had earrings, and quite possibly a thin layer of lip gloss.

Mom's eyes narrowed as she came up with an experiment. For my next dance class, I wore a brand new leotard and tights. We put my hair in darling curls with bows. Mom even added a slight, natural-looking touch of blush on my cheeks, and maybe even a tiny bit of eye shadow.

Mr. Dance Teacher couldn't give me enough attention.

It felt good at the moment (Ha! Mom's experiment worked!), but afterward, I was hurt. The only thing that had changed was my appearance. I looked cute, so my teacher acted differently. Mom was irate but not at all surprised.

It was my first experience with the reality of the world we live in. There are times we all deal with it: we dress up for a job interview, we put on nicer clothes for church. But in day-to-day interactions, yes, we're also judged. And people treat us accordingly.

But here's the important thing: no matter how we change on the outside, we're still the same people inside.

Recently I came across a blog post that brought this issue center stage for me. It posed a question: If you could take a pill that made you physically thinner and prettier . . . but stupider . . . would you take it?

The comment section stunned me: the overwhelming response was yes, the readers (mostly female) would take such a pill in a heartbeat.

The responses made me want to cry. Yes, the Erins of our world may get treated a bit differently. But do these reader really think that being pretty and skinny in and of themselves make you happy?

REALLY?

They DON'T.

For someone seriously overweight, this may hard to swallow; they feel as if they'd do anything to be thin, and if they were, they'd finally be happy. But you know what? That's not how it works. I know plenty of people (many close to me) who have lost 40 or 50 or more pounds, have looked fantastic at reaching whatever size . . . but then gained it all back. Why? Because being skinny didn't change them on the inside.

Having a new dress size didn't change their mental and emotional thermostat, the way they respond to life events and stress, the way they see the world. The same things that made them sad and happy and stressed and overjoyed before still did.

A lower number on the scale didn't change those things.

Consider this: I know plenty of people (and I bet you do, too) who have never struggled with weight issues but who are still unhappy and possibly even clinically depressed. (If being skinny makes you happy, explain that one.)

Newsflash: Skinny does not equal happy.

I've lived through this pill experiment (inadvertently, but literally). You can read that whole post here, but here's the nutshell version:

I was on a preventative migraine medication that made me lose a lot of weight. I ended up very thin (nearly 10 pounds lighter than I was at high school graduation) and looking great.

However, I physically ill all. The. Time. I felt no joy in life.

On top of that, I became, literally, stupid. One side effect basically made my brain fall out of my head. I found myself trying to focus on what my kids were saying to me and asking them to repeat themselves several times.

Once (not making this up) I had to count 3 + 6 on my fingers.

I was skinny. I was stupid. I was miserable.

As I weaned off the medication, I decided to wear a dress I could finally fit into after a good 15 years or so of being too big for it, knowing that the minute I was off the medication I'd never fit into it again. Because yes, I did enjoy being thin.

But that size did NOT make me happy. There is a distinct difference.

That medication period was a very dark, miserable time.

I had exchanged a physical improvement for the loss of my mind and intelligence.

I couldn't write then. I had a hard time reading, because frankly, I wasn't smart enough (couldn't focus enough) to follow. I was stupid, skinny, and utterly depressed.

I doubt I'll ever again be as thin as I was during those few months. While it's a nice pipe dream to think I could be, I recognize that if I ever fit into that peach-colored dress again, it'll be a fun moment, but it won't be the greatest source of my joy in life. The greatest sources of joy in my life are a lot more significant than a stupid dress.

During that time (and even since), I cannot count how many people have said they'd love to try that pill for the weight loss, even if it made them stupid. I always want to shake some sense into them, make them understand that losing who you are while being thin doesn't bring happiness.

Really, it doesn't. Happiness comes from within, not from a number on a scale, and not from a dress size.

I try not to care about the Erins among us, although I admit to being intimidated by drop-dead gorgeous women who look like they just walked off a Vogue cover. But here's the catch: I doubt they're happier just because they're skinny and pretty. They surely have their own life challenges.

No one escapes this life unscathed, curls or ribbons notwithstanding.

I'm not sure what the point of this is, exactly. On the one hand, I'm very aware that appearance is significant and that how I look affects how people treat and view me. It's an odd line to walk.

So I'm always sure to wear something a bit businessy-dressy for author appearances and the like. I wear casual clothes (jeans, sweats, t-shirts, and [who am I kidding?] pajamas) around the house. I refuse to visit the salon every few weeks to color my hair and get my nails done or to follow fashion trends. While I know it's important to make a good impression, I don't want to be an Erin.

There's a part of me that whispers that trying to be one of them will only make me miserable, because I can't be perfect. I can't be the most pretty. I can't be the skinniest.

But I can be smart. And I can be me.

No stupid and skinny pill for me, thanks.

The trick now is trying to teach my three daughters that balance: value your appearance. Present yourself well, but don't chase after perfection, thinking it'll make you happy, because it won't.

Never, ever, give up part of who you are for someone else.

I'm currently a bit chubby, but I'll stick with that if it means I'm smart and happy. Yes, I'm trying to lose weight (mostly so I don't have to buy bigger clothes, plus it's a healthy thing to do, and because exercise keeps my mood more even).

But no way would I ever again exchange smart and happy for something as shallow as thin or pretty.

WNW: The Ellis Island Myth

2009-06-17T08:00:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite Word Nerd books I borrowed from my good friend Lu Ann Staheli, who knows just what a freak I am about these things. She knew I'd love it, and I did. I still haven't bought my own copy, but I really, really need to, because the book is so dang cool.

It's called Word Myths, by David Wilton.

The author did a ton of research to track down the sources of many things we think we know about English and English phrases, but many of which are downright wrong. Some of these are often seen in e-mail forwards and some of which even get passed down in university English classes as truth.

He digs around and then find the truth, where possible. In many cases, he debunks the myth. Then he tells us where a phrase really came from.

In some cases, he debunks the myth and then has to admit that we really don't know where a phrase originated. Such is the case with phrase, "the whole nine yards." There are a good dozen possible explanations, and he debunked every one. None of the theories holds water. The source of that phrase is an ongoing mystery.

One of my favorite debunked myths from the book dovetails with history (shocker, huh, being that I'm both a word nerd and a history junkie).

We all know that during the Ellis Island years that a lot of family names were changed, generally made more easily pronounced by American standards. That often meant spellings were altered and sometimes entire names were changed.

Because of this, we see sad, identity-crisis moments portrayed in such movies as An American Tail, where Fievel and his family end up with all new first and last names (which, of course, makes finding each other later that much more difficult when they're separated in the film . . . sniff).

My own (maiden) last name is an Americanization. My grandfather and his parents came to U.S. in the early 1920s from Switzerland. Their last name at the time was Lűthi. It was changed to Luthy.

But here's the catch: WHEN did the name change occur?

According to Wilton, NOT at Ellis Island, because here's the thing (and frankly, it makes a lot of sense):

The U.S. agents running Ellis Island lacked the authority to change people's names.

Duh. What kind of government would allow that kind of thing? The records they took matched the ships' manifests and other records. Nothing was ever changed.

So then how did all those names get changed?

The people did it themselves later on. Many immigrants came to the U.S. looking for a fresh, new life. They wanted to feel American. As a result, they changed their own last names after arrival to look and sound more American. To feel like they belonged.

Doing so was their choice, and it always took place sometime after their visit through Ellis Island.

There were no sad, tragic moments of families losing their identities. Name changes were their own choice, a sign of embracing their new homeland.

(There were plenty of other sad, tragic moments at Ellis Island, like sending back a sick family member so a disease wouldn't spread to the U.S. or turning away someone because they couldn't read, but those are for someone else to post about.)

I tend to be a bit opinionated (shocker, huh?), and I get excited when I learn new things.

Shortly after I read this book, a brother-in-law started telling me about how his family name had been changed at Ellis Island and how sad that was. I jumped in and told him that nuh-uh, he'd been told a fake story his whole life.

Yeah. I think I took the wind out of his sails a tad.

I really should shut up sometimes. These kinds of trivia bits belong on blog posts, not at family reunions.

The Clueless, Smart Girl

2009-06-15T13:29:00.004-07:00

To this day, I'm somewhat surprised I got married, let alone at the age of 20.

Back in eighth grade I was convinced I'd never marry because I was painfully shy, and see, marrying a guy would entail speaking to one first, and like that was ever going to happen.

Fortunately, I broke out of my shell a bit in high school and ended up with lots of guy friends. So that issue resolved itself.

But I never, ever learned to flirt.

It's this void in my female psyche. A gene I lack. Or something. I seriously don't get it and never have.

I had a friend back from our high school years (rival high school, but I loved her anyway . . . bulldogs, schmulldogs . . .) who was so brilliant at flirting to the point that she often didn't realize she was doing it.

We were both in Into the Woods together. She had a boyfriend. Yet she constantly flirted with the guy who played Jack. Jack, poor kid, had no prayer of ever winning her heart, but she flirted with him so much that he hung on for the entire show, thinking that maybe, just maybe . . .

More than once I had to tell her to knock it off, she's doing it again. But I watched in open fascination. How does one do that flirting thing? It was almost a scientific phenomenon to me at that point. I could identify that she was flirting, but I couldn't figure out how such a thing was accomplished.

Later, as BYU freshman, she and I had a class together. On one of the first days of class, she pointed to a guy in the back of the room and said, "By the end of the semester, he's going to ask me out."

Yeah, right.

HE DID.

Talk about stalking prey. I was stunned and amazed.

But also a bit disgusted. Because I knew one ingredient to her flirtiness, and I wanted none of it: she pretended to be stupid. She was actually exceedingly intelligent. She got several 5s on AP tests, including on the Calculus test her junior (not senior) year. She was a Stirling Scholar. And so on. But in front of guys, you'd think she couldn't count to 20 with her shoes on.

I knew there had to be more to flirting than acting dumb, but I never did figure it out. And I never believed people when they said that the first few days of university classes were a waste because of guys and girls checking each other out.

Me? I was checking out the syllabus.

About ten years after getting married, a friend of mine said she'd gone back to BYU campus for something and was sad that the guys no longer checked her out, that she was obviously an "old" lady now.

My brow furrowed. Yet again, my lack of some feminine gene was apparent. I was never aware of guys checking or NOT checking me out. Guys actually DID that? I wish I'd known to look for it. Maybe if I'd noticed some guy checking me out, I wouldn't have felt like such a dork.

When walking across campus, I was always thinking about my term paper or (very likely) actually reading one of the many books I was assigned. (I got rather good at avoiding people and navigating stairs and the like while reading.)

So it's no surprise, really, that I didn't meet my husband in a flirty environment. As cha cha partners on a summer ballroom dance team, we had two months of becoming friends before our first date.

When I realized I kinda liked this guy, I decided to test him. We were chatting in the hall outside the practice room when he mentioned an assignment that had him worried. It was a big part of his grade, and if he didn't get a good enough score, he might lose his scholarship.

Really? Man, tough. . . . And then I worked the fact into the conversation that I had a scholarship TOO, just to see his reaction. See? Your dance partner is a smart girl. Whaddaya think of that?

Didn't phase him. That's, I believe, the closest I ever got to actual flirting.

It's also the first big point he got in my book.

The second was when he quoted Shakespeare.

Writing Journey: Part XVIII

2009-06-12T10:30:00.003-07:00

Catch up on the rest of this series HERE.

After publishing that military wives article, the topic wouldn't go away. I had pages and pages of thoughts and feelings and events these five women had poured their souls into. I felt as if they'd let me into a corner of their hearts and lives. It was an honor that a mere 1200 words didn't do justice to.

It just wasn't enough. I had to do more with it. I was driven to do more. Other people needed to understand what deployment was like for those at home. I hadn't had a clue until I interviewed these remarkable women.

Maybe I could write a longer version of the article and sell it to a bigger magazine, I thought. But even that didn't quite sit right. I wasn't sure what I should do, but I had to do something.

About that time, I had difficult moment during a Christmas Enrichment night. I ended up in the lobby feeling a bit sorry for myself, and what happened over the next few minutes turned on my writer brain.

I suddenly had an entire scene about a woman, Brenda, going through a deep depression during the Christmas season while her husband was deployed. The entire scene unfolded in my head and demanded to be written.

Keep in mind, I was still researching the Vernal Temple and fully expecting to write novel about that, although no story was really popping out at me yet. Finding one was sure taking a long time (I had a few elements floating around my brain, but nothing really solid yet), but I wasn't in panic mode. The story would come, I figured. It always does.

But Brenda's scene itched to be written. It wasn't the beginning of a story. If anything, it belonged somewhere in the middle of a book. But I sat down and wrote it.

Since I'd recently submitted Tower, I had nothing else to read at our weekly critique group meetings, so I brought that scene.

In no uncertain terms, they told me, "You have to write this book."

On one hand, I was flattered. But on the other . . . what about the whole temple series thing? Well, maybe I could do both.

I kept researching Vernal and writing this deployment book on the side. I ended up with five different women whose lives come together when their husbands are deployed together. Each has her own stage of life, her own weaknesses and trials. The story went into their friendships and support of one another. The result was something unlike anything I'd written before, something that not only shows a glimpse of deployment but also what real female friendships are about.

But when it was more than half done, I still had no story about Vernal.

It was late spring when my trusty editor Kirk told me that first of all, Tower was accepted for publication. (Yay!) But then he said the committee was asking me to do something else after that . . . something not temple-related. They thought maybe the temple series idea had run its course now that I'd done all four of the old Utah temples.

I was taken aback, because I'd had plans for Mesa, Alberta, Hawaii, Nauvoo . . . but okay, I'll put the Vernal book on the shelf and let it gather dust.

But then Kirk asked if I had any ideas for writing something else.

And I had to smile. Because not only did I have an idea, I almost had another book ready. Something that sort of spilled out of me.

I told him about the deployment manuscript. It's not a romance, I told him. It's not a historical. It's "women's fiction." And it's not remotely like anything I've done before. But I love it.

Kirk thought the idea was great and very timely and asked how quickly I could get it to him.

I bit my lip and wondered just how fast I could get it to him.

I made a leap. "By Halloween?"

Kicked out of the Young Club

2009-06-08T10:44:00.003-07:00

I'm not sure how it happened. One minute I was a mommy with a bunch of little tykes. I regularly read parenting magazines and books and could tell you exactly at what age each of my kids got every tooth, when they sat, scooted, crawled, and had their first tastes of different foods. I lived and breathed the baby years.

Those years are gone, yes, but I'm still a mommy, right?

Okay, fine. I do throw my head back and cackle with glee when I push my grocery cart past the diaper aisle. No more of those. Bwa-hahahaha!

But apparently, I'm not really a mom anymore.

See, I signed up at a site that links to giveaways and deals for moms. (Note that it's not for "mommies." MOMS.) Right up my alley, right? I'm a mom. (I've got the strewn backpacks, mountains of laundry, and stretch marks to prove it.)

But then I started getting their e-mails.

Um, I have no need for a stroller anymore, thanks. Same goes for hair bands (you know, the kind bald baby girls wear)? Last time I bought those was probably 8 years ago. Onesies? Rattles? Baby quilts? Baby girl dresses? Infant car seats?

Are you kidding me? Since when does "baby years" mean "mother"? Giveaways for moms should also include stuff like poster boards in bulk for last-minute school reports, a gas card for all the taxi driving we do and maybe even a gift certificate to buy shoes so I can get a pair that both fit my son's honkin feet and the clothing budget. And a spa certificate.

Then I got kicked out of another club.

In my continual efforts to be frugal, I signed up at yet another site that links to bargains every day. But then I noticed on the site in big, bold letters that they cater to women in their twenties.

I didn't care at first. After all, my twenties weren't that long ago . . . I didn't think.

But then I did think.

And, um, I'm leaning toward 40. The target audience of that site was being potty-trained when I graduated high school. Ahem.

It's getting downright depressing, this age thing. On some surveys I've had to fill out lately, I'm in the next age bracket. You know, if you're 18-23 check this box, 24-29, check this one 30-34, that one.

I'm in the NEXT BOX. The one that says 35-40. That sounds so much older than 30-34. Or is it just me?

I had no problem turning 30. I was actually quite happy about it, because it felt like I might get a bit of validation. I look so stinking young for my age (stupid, baby-fat face) that people don't always take me seriously. I thought that maybe have that 3 in front of my age would help.

But now . . . being on the other side of my thirties, where you round UP to 40? Hmm. Not enjoying that so much.

Especially when it means I don't belong in the mommy club on one site and most certainly don't belong on the 20-something site.

Another sign I'm getting old? I don't recognize half the popular band names that are out right now. The Today show's summer concert series? American Idol guest stars? I don't know more than half of them. (Gaga who?)

That's pretty much the touchstone right there: not knowing the current music. Yep. What can I say? I'm a member of Generation X. That used to be a hip term. Now that X means all the things I used to be.

What a truly odd sensation.

On the other hand, I'm at a great stage. My kids are more fun now than they've ever been, and I can do things now writing-wise I couldn't before simply because my life doesn't revolve around nap times, feeding times, and pooping times. Oh, and I get to sleep through the night on a regular basis.

There's also the fact that I can look back at all the things I've learned since I was 20.

And you know, I don't think I'd want to go back there. 20 wasn't as bad as junior high, granted (few things could be worse than 8th grade), but today I know more about who I am and what life's about than I did 15 years ago.

I guess this aging thing isn't so bad. I just hope I look as gorgeous at 65 as my mom does now.

Now that I could totally handle.

Writing Journey: Part XVII

2009-06-05T14:52:00.005-07:00

Catch up on the rest of this series HERE

I opened up the hard-copy edit, grabbed my trusty red pen and stack of sticky flags, and settled in for what I thought would be several long sessions of going over the revised and now edited manuscript of Tower of Strength. (By this point, it had a title!)

Two and a half hours later, I was done.

What?! I could hardly believe it. I'd never gone through an edit so fast.

For days (weeks?) I ping ponged between two reactions:

1) Crap. Kirk has a light touch as an editor, and he doesn't want to hurt my feelings, so this thing really sucks, and I'll never know it.

2) Wow. This must be the most brilliant thing I've ever written. It hardly needed an edit.

The reality, of course, was neither end of the psychotic-writer emotional spectrum.

The book had been quite thoroughly gone over by members of my critique group. The rewrite process was majorly streamlined with that phone conference, so at this point, there was less to worry about. And Kirk and I think similarly; I like his editing style, so I didn't have to STET much.

Plus two other factors weighed into the whole thing:

FIRST:

When I was doing revisions and edits on Spires, I was on a medication that basically made my brain fall out of my head. (You can read the whole post on that HERE.)

After the Tower edit, I had to remind myself that even though the Spires revisions and edits were intense, they were made far worse by the medication's side effects. I could sit at the computer for three hours trying to write and have absolutely nothing to show for it. It was both frustrating and scary.

While drafting, revising, and editing Tower of Strength, I wasn't on funky meds.

AND SECOND:

Maybe, just maybe, I've finally, finally learned how to craft a story half-decently the first time.

But still . . . two and a half HOURS? Not even DAYS?

I sent back the edit and soon after got yet another request from Kirk for a phone conference about my editorial notes.

I couldn't fathom why.

My old editor, Angela, would e-mail me massive lists of notes with literally dozens of things like, "on page 42, the second paragraph, who do you mean by 'he'? It's unclear in context."

You'd think I would have learned by now that Kirk just works differently. He's a phone guy, not an e-mail guy.

Our second phone conference lasted about three minutes. He had (not kidding here) a total of four questions for me. And THREE involved punctuation. Seriously. But he wanted to be sure I was okay with whatever changes were made there.

After hanging up, I think I did a jig.

Close to this time, two significant things happened.

First, I figured it was about time I research on my next temple. I decided to do Vernal, because it's the only other "old" temple in Utah, even though it was originally a tabernacle and was refurbished into a temple later. I dug up a huge, honkin' (rather pricey) book about Vernal and Uintah County and began reading.

The second thing that happened would affect my future writing path in ways I never imagined. A magazine I often freelance for was planning a patriotic issue and wanted to focus on our soldiers. A very good friend was in the middle of a deployment at the time, and I had the idea of interviewing her and some of her Army wife friends via e-mail and then writing an article about what deployment is like for the families at home.

That article was one of the hardest things I've ever written; the five women who shared their stories with me sent pages and pages of material that touched my heart and had me weeping. I was supposed to turn all of that into 800 words (about 3 pages double-spaced). No way could I do that. The editor granted me 1,200 words: still not enough to do them justice, but better than before.

You can read the final article HERE.

After the article's publication, the topic nagged and nagged in the back of my mind. I couldn't let it go. I'd shrug it off and return to my History of Uintah County book.

Move, on, lady, I told myself. You write historical temple novels.

WNW: Why "Second"?

2009-06-03T16:34:00.005-07:00

Last night I had this thought that I should write up my Word Nerd Wednesday post then just in case I didn't have time for it today. I didn't. I should have. But it's still Wednesday, right?

Some time ago, a writer friend from the LDStorymakers e-mail list asked a question that made me start digging in my happy Oxford English Dictionary on CD (again, I say it's one of the best birthday presents I've ever gotten!).

For those who aren't familiar with the OED, it is the ultimate English-language dictionary. In printed form, it takes up over two dozen volumes unless you get the condensed version that has four pages printed on one. (They send along a magnifying glass so you can read it. Not kidding.)

Among other things, the OED cites the earliest known printed instance of a word, so it's particularly useful for writers like me who need to know if a historical character can eat a "cookie" in 1889 or whatever.

It also has a fun word-of-the day feature. (Today's: rhodochrome.)

I don't recall who asked the question, but I do remember that it took me severalsearches and reading a bunch of printed examples of the words and other stuff onscreen to sleuth out the answer.

The question: Why does the word second mean both "the one after first" as well as a unit of time?

Disclaimer: I'm not a linguist, and I'm not a etymology expert. This is just what I've gathered from my amateur digging.

From what I found (and like I said, it took a lot of back and forthing, cross-checking and reading lots of definitions and examples), it looks like when dividing up the hour, they first used the term minute, meaning both a small, trifling size as well as the first of something.

So the first break-up of the hour is the first or minute one.

And the second section of time that breaks up minutes is the second one, or second.

Hence, minutes and seconds. Isn't that cool?

A great book about the creation of the OED is called The Professor and the Madman. It's absolutely fascinating, not only for word nerds like me, but for people who enjoy intrigue.

(Like how the OED couldn't have been possible without an insane, convicted murderer secretly helping . . .)

Next Word Nerd Wednesday: Blasting the Ellis Island myth

(Remember to drop by Mormon Woman to see my profile today.)

My Visit at Mormon Woman

2009-06-02T10:44:00.003-07:00

There's a relatively new site that is really neat. It's called Mormon Woman, but it's not for LDS women. It's for those outside our faith to get a glimpse into what real LDS women's lives are like.

Here's why I'm mentioning it: my own spotlight will be up tomorrow. Be sure to drop by there!

Mormon Woman was put together to combat the huge number of misconceptions out there. The founders hope that this site might be some people's first impression of Mormon women instead of something akin to the FLDS polygamous compounds and the women wearing pioneer garb and poofy hair (um, no . . . that's not us, and that's NOT my life or my beliefs!) or any of the many, many, other anti-Mormon sites that are so easy to land on.

Mormon Woman is a site geared toward non-LDS people to see, even just for a moment, what real Mormon women are like. The whole purpose is to just show the truth as to what we are instead of having our critics define us.

The majority of the participation they want from female Mormons isn't for networking or socializing with each other. There's nothing wrong with those things . . . there are just plenty of other places for that. (Like this one.)

Instead, Morman Woman wants individual testimonies and experiences. They want to show the differences and similarities of Mormons worldwide, to show how we stand together. To show the world that we aren't cultish or evil or even weird.

That we are strong, wonderful women with myriads of life experiences living in all kinds of situations. And that we believe in Jesus Christ just like other Christian women.

They'd like Mormon women to submit their talents, photos, essays, pictures of artwork (or quilting or cooking or other talents), videos, music, etc. etc. so the site can be a collective work that represents real, live Mormon women.

There are so many negative sites out there portraying us in negative and totally inaccurate ways. Maybe this site can make a dent in that impression. I hope so.

So come on over on Wednesday to see me!

Locks of Love and Cuteness

2009-06-01T09:53:00.002-07:00

It's no secret that my three daughters all have gorgeous red hair, that if we go anywhere with all of them, we pretty much stop traffic.

My middle daughter has had the longest of the hair this school year, and there's a reason for that. She had plans to donate her hair to Locks of Love.

I felt split in half over the decision: I was very proud of her wanting to do something like that for children who have lost their hair (and guessing that red hair is probably in high demand, that it would be a very welcome donation), but on the other, she has such pretty, pretty hair!!!

Thursday was the big day. She picked it because Friday was the last day of school, and she wanted to show off her new 'do to her friends before summer vacation.

Before pictures:

And after:

The hair they cut off:

I still have a tiny ache when I see all the hair missing, but her bob is so darn cute that it's hard to not love it anyway. And it will grow back.

One slight problem for this mommy: She looks older with the bob.

One big benefit: No more daily tears over trying to get out tangles. Yippee!

I rarely post pictures of my kids, but with such a special occasion, I'm making an exception.

I'm proud of you, girl!

Writing Journey: Part XVI

2009-05-29T07:00:00.002-07:00

Catch up on the rest of this series HERE.

So I waited nervously for my big, scary revisions call from my new editor, Kirk.

The phone rang. I answered, my heart picking up its pace. He asked how I was doing, shooting the proverbial breeze for a few minutes. I wasn't so good at shooting the breeze. My leg was bobbing up and down with nerves. I grabbed a pen in a death grip then found some paper to take notes with.

And then things got interesting.

See, with my publisher, each manuscript gets three readers evaluating it, and each reader fills out a gigantic form (something like 12 pages long) about the manuscript. I still have the evals from my first five books.

Kirk didn't send me the evals for this one. I still don't have them. I've never laid eyes on them.

Instead, we discussed them over the phone. I wasn't sure what I thought of that at first. On one hand, it's nice to see directly what someone said about the manuscript, to get criticism or praise from the horse's mouth, as it were.

On the other, getting criticism is harder from a nameless entity than it is from my critique group (friends I'd trust my life with) or my editor (someone I know is out for the best book we can make together). And sure, every so often, an eval will have a random comment that feels personal and sticks with you like a burr.

So in hindsight, I'm glad I've never seen the evals for Tower of Strength. Kirk and I discussed what needed discussing, and I heard both the good and the bad from him.

The conversation went something like this:

"Two of the readers thought such-and-such. What do you think?"

He actually had me weigh in on every topic. Often I agreed that the readers had a point.

He'd follow-up with, "Do you have any ideas for how to change it?"

Hmm. Let me think. We brainstormed together, and quite often I'd come up with a solution that we both agreed would work.

Each topic went about the same way. Very much, "Here's an issue. What you do think about it?"

In one or two cases, I outright disagreed with an eval and didn't want to change anything about the issue. Kirk was good with that. In those cases, he could totally see my point. So we moved on to the next thing.

Once he mentioned a reader comment that he disagreed with it and that I should ignore. Rock on. (By this point, I was really liking Kirk . . .)

At the end of the conversation, I had one-page list of notes (which I really didn't need to take; Kirk e-mailed me the same list later that day). Only one note would even remotely take time or much thinking. (And that one did make me do a lot of thinking and reworking, but it was so worth it.)

I loved how Kirk really cared about my opinion. A couple of times when I expressed a reason for why I'd written something a certain way that went against the evals, we worked together to find a way to make the book better while still keeping my original vision in the process.

I could tell he was in my corner the whole way. I hung up the phone in a fantastic mood. Kirk got me and was willing to work with me not only to make a better book but to make me happy as well. Yes!

The entire conversation lasted about 25 minutes and was probably the most painless call it could have been.

I got the rewrites done in all of two (easy-going) weeks. Then came the waiting and the waiting for the edit to arrive.

I was about to take a trip, and the edit would be ready about the same time. Kirk asked if I'd like to have it with me to read on the plane. I declined, preferring not to work during a vacation and promising to get right on it when I got home.

When I returned and opened the package, I was prepared for the usual editing process: take out my red pen and those sticky flags to mark anything I disagreed with and/or wanted changed (or changed back, as the case may be . . . remember my STET-craziness with Spires?). I assumed I'd spend several days, maybe even a week, going over the entire manuscript to read every red mark and note with a fine-toothed comb.

Once again, Kirk surprised me.

WNW: The Ryon's Tale?

2009-05-27T08:26:00.003-07:00

Funny story connected to an interesting linguistic phenomenon.

First, the language part, then the story.

It's commonly known that many Asian languages (such as Chinese and Japanese) don't have the typical [r] and [l] sounds that we have in English, and that native Asians learning English as a second language often mix up the two and/or struggle to make them sound different at all. Many can't even hear the difference.

This fact is often used for jokes in television and movies, such as a Japanese person intending to say, "clap" but who instead says, "crap." There are cruder examples, but I'll spare you.

According to our favorite online encyclopedia, the Japanese R is pronounced much like a soft Spanish R, where you flap your tongue against the palate behind your teeth. It's not at all like the English R. Plus, Japanese has no comparable L sound.

The article also states that the Chinese "R" really isn't one in the English sense. Instead, it's a "voiced retroflex fricative," which means it's more of a [zh] sound than an [r] as we'd know it. So again, Chinese people have no context for the English [r] and [l].

If you've lasted this long, you get to have the funny story part:

My maiden name is Luthy. (Pronounced like "Lucy" with a lisp. Not Lutchy. Not Loochy. Not Lutty. LUTHY. Got it? Good.)

As I've mentioned probably six hundred times, my dad has a Ph.D. in linguistics and taught at BYU until his recent retirement. He often had foreign students in his classes.

An Asian student once turned in a paper on this very concept: the difficulty in pronouncing [r] and [l] for Asian speakers of English.

I have no idea how good the paper itself was, but this student apparently also struggled with the problem and needed to brush up on distinguishing between the two sounds . . .

because the top of his paper listed his teacher as "Dr. Ruthy."

I'm a Nerd Elsewhere, Too!

2009-05-26T13:28:00.004-07:00

I first "met" Jordan McCollum in bloggy land. I learned a lot about blogging and her philosophy on motherhood (one close to my heart) from her personal blog, MamaBlogga (see the link below).

Not long after, I got to be the guest-judge for Scribbit's monthly Write Away contest. The judging was totally blind; I was sent the entries without any author names on them. As I read through them and marked them up, putting them in various stacks (maybe, definitely no, etc.), one entry stood out from all the rest. I deemed it the winner.

I found out later that the winning entry was Jordan's. Dude, the girl can write.

Shortly thereafter, she came to one of my book signings and kept me company for a good half hour. (So did Wonder Woman . . . thanks for that! It was so fun!).

I discovered during our chat that Jordan was an actual linguistics major (Hello!!! One of my favorite subjects ever . . . even though I'm an amateur and don't have a degree in it).

Then I about passed out when she mentioned knowing about the Kalevala (a book near and dear to my heart, the collection of Finnish mythology/folktales). Who in the world knows about the Kalevala (besides J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis and other folks who are into Norse mythology . . . like Jessica Day George? Oh, and Burt Wilson, who began the entire BYU folklore program because of the Kalevala, but I digress).

At BYU, Jordan had even heard my dad lecture about the Kalevala. (When I was a freshman, Dad was the Linguistics chair and had a nice, big office with a couch. I took a few naps there when I was wiped, since most of my classes were in the humanities building anyway.) Dad retired as Associate Dean of Humanities. So I think I went up a coolness point or two when Jordan realized I'm his daughter. (And that was a really cool lecture, Dad.)

Jordan herself went up a few coolness points for me when I found out her dad also went on a mission to Finland like mine did, which was part of the reason she became interested in linguistics, and that she can pronounce Finnish words almost perfectly.

In addition to being a great blogger (check out MamaBlogga when you need a boost as a mom), she's also a writer, professionally and otherwise. She's working on some novels right now, so at that book signing, I convinced her to come to the LDStorymakers conference in April.

While at the conference, she asked me to guest post on her new writing blog, specifically on her May theme: verbs. I said sure! I'd love to!

But then my brain froze, taking a post-conference vacation somewhere along the way, because it took me three weeks (or so) to come up with something interesting to say about verbs that would be Jordan-worthy. (She'd already covered passive versus active and modals and all kinds of good stuff. Not that I was intimidated or anything. Not at all . . . nope . . .)

Today my guest post is up! It is about verbs, but specifically about verbs in dialogue tags, so I think it's a good refresher for all fiction writers out there.

Check it out here!

(In it, I refer to a horrid, self-published book, but not by name, because I'm not cruel. I still have the book more than a decade later. It's like a train-wreck I can't stop looking at. I flip through it when I need a good laugh or when I need to remind myself that yes, I do know a few things about this craft.)

Sherrie's Soothing Sounds

2009-05-25T07:45:00.002-07:00

Update: If you tried to enter Sherrie's giveaway but couldn't get the comment form to work, try the new link below!

My first contact with Sherrie Shepherd was through her blog. I think I found her through Motherboard, but I don't remember for sure.

She is an absolute doll. Extremely talented, gorgeous, skinny, and even a marathon runner. (And I love her anyway! You can't avoid adoring Sherrie.)

My first contact with her music was when I was looking for something to use on my book trailer for Tower of Strength.

All the free music sites I was listening to just didn't hit the spot, and some other sites I found just had bad recordings. Nothing quite worked. And then Sherrie gave me permission to use her arrangement of "Come Thou Fount/If You Could Hie to Kolob" on the trailer (it's cut short on

the trailer, but it'll give you an idea):

Bingo. It was perfect. I became an immediate fan.

I pre-ordered her new CD of inspirational piano solos, Solitude. Thanks to her pre-release promotion, I got to download the sheet music of one piece, "On the River." My son is the best pianist in the house, and he was thrilled to get it. (The piece has lots of triplets, which will provide just the right challenge for him.)

When my copy of the CD arrived the other day, I popped it into the CD player. No joke here: within seconds, all four of my kids were gathered around, sitting on the floor, listening intently.

My son went on about how he wants to learn to play them all. He also wants to put the songs onto his iPod.

Next child down, a daughter, said the same thing about wanting to play the music herself (she might be a couple of years away from that level, though). I promised that when Sherrie releases a book with all the sheet music, we'll be sure to get a copy.

Next daughter raved: "That is so pretty, Mom! Let's listen to all the songs." (She then proceeded to look over the list and keep changing the one we were listening to. "Let's try this one! Okay, now this one!") I had to stop her and say, "Let's just listen to the whole CD straight through, k?"

Meanwhile, my youngest was happily swaying to the music. She's six, and even she was enthralled.

Let's just say it was a hit in the Lyon household.

Sherrie's doing a blog giveaway where you can get up to NINE entries. So hop to it!

If you win, give the CD as a gift. Because you know you're going to want to BUY one for yourself anyway!

Do so HERE.

Writing Journey: Part XVI

2009-05-22T12:00:00.001-07:00

(I'm not going to link all the other parts anymore. Just click on the "Writers Journey" label to read them!)

Last time in this series, I talked about when the idea for Tower of Strength hit me like a bolt of lightning . . . and then how I had to wait a week to begin it.

For this book, the original drafting was pretty enjoyable. I had a lot of fun writing about Tabitha and Samuel individually as well as together. They both had some fascinating issues that I'd never explored before.

As always, though, a few moments crept in that gave me fits when my critique group saw them. I remember having to rewrite one scene (the one where Will sort of wrecks the printing room) several times to make it work. I've since heard from several readers that it's one of their favorites. (So yay for revisions!)

One big problem I ran into is something I've mentioned several times before, but THIS POST was my biggest rant over it.

This challenge began when I discovered (yes, I discovered it . . . I didn't make it up) that a horse would be a major part of the story.

Holy hannah.

Might as well tell me to write about the life of the jellyfish.

I remember sitting on the couch next to my husband, feeling pale-faced, and telling him, "I just found out that I have to do a ton of research for my new book. Crap!"

(He's used to living with a weird writer. This didn't phase him. I believe he patted my knee and said, "Good luck.")

So I hit the Internet for research with a vengeance. Many a time, I consulted a friend who grew up with horses.

I swear, those horse scenes gave me the biggest stress of the entire book. I rewrote and rewrote and rethought and at times had to restructure and replot, and at times wanted to torch the whole darn thing. But that part of the story became integral to everything else. I couldn't cut it.

Plus, one of the last horse scenes came to me very early on (the one where Samuel comes into the stall when Tabitha's already there . . . trying not to give spoilers here). I wrote it right away and then the rest of the drafting worked toward that scene. It belonged in the book.

Okay, then. Horses it is.

My horse-guru friend told me several things one day that she read weeks later in draft form and insisted were wrong. But I didn't invent them; there's no way I could have, because I didn't know a lick about horses. I'd gone off what she'd told me. But it was still wrong. I had to rewrite. Again.

To be on the safe side, I sent the final manuscript to yet another horse person for verification, and they caught a few more minor things (thankfully, nothing majorly significant that required hair-pulling revisions) to help me get it right (at least I hope). Phew.

Then I had a couple of critique friends read the whole thing front to back. They pointed out some flaws and holes. As always, they were right; I needed to fill in a few spots. (It's complete in my head . . . why doesn't it just come out on the page that way?!)

I turned it in and hoped for the best. This time, I was particularly nervous, because I was in the hands of a new editor. He wasn't new at editing by any means, but he was new to me.

I'd been exceeding lucky in that I'd had the same, very talented editor, Angela, for five books in a row. I trusted her judgment implicitly. She'd held my hand and talked me off many a wall and went to bat for me lots of times.

Plus, I'm not a person who deals well with change. So as grateful that I was to be handed over to Kirk (who I'd heard great things about), I was anxious about what the editing process would be like with someone else.

After the book was accepted, Kirk called. He asked if we could schedule a phone conference to discuss revisions.

Gulp. I'd never had an editorial phone conference. I mean, sure, Angela had called a few times here and there to clarify sentences or to ask a question about something small, but we'd never had a . . . DUN-DUN-DUN REWRITES DISCUSSION.

Did this mean there would be massive changes to make? I didn't think my nerves could handle another round of major rewrites of the likes I'd gone through with Spires.

I tried to sound all chipper when we scheduled it, but inside, I was an inch away from freaking out.

Note:

Some people had trouble ordering There, Their, They're yesterday. Some had success waiting longer after hitting the "Buy Now" button. Others have found that the site works better through Firefox. If you can't get it to work, e-mail me directly. I can e-mail an invoice via PayPal so you can get it!

Some People Like Me!

2009-05-21T07:42:00.003-07:00

Two posts in the last two days have put smiles on my face. The most recent was from long-time friend Tristi Pinkston, whom I'm known for five or six years now. She's a riot, and I love being around her and even getting the occasional e-mails along the lines of, "Is this sentence using lay/lie right?" or "What about this comma?"

When my grammar book, There, Their, They're: A No-Tears Guide to Grammar from the Word Nerd, Tristi was the very first person to order it from the site. Her copy arrived yesterday, and then she posted one of the coolest things ever. Go check it out. It brought me much joy, even if the first paragraph is entirely fictional.

One piece of very good news for people wanting to order online:

My husband created a new e-store where you can get the book for about half the shipping costs as the "real" site. Instead of four or five dollars for shipping (on an eight-and-change dollar book, hello), it's only two bucks for shipping on our new site.

The site is called Lyfe Books. Since it uses PayPal, you can leave a note saying whether you want your copy autographed and/or what inscription you want in it.

The other cool post was yesterday, when I received a bloggy award from In Time Out at by the hair of my chinny chin chin:

Here's the purpose and instructions for the NENO'S Award:

*a dedication for those who love blogging and love to encourage friendships through blogging.

* to seek the reasons why we all love blogging.

* put the award in one post as soon as you receive it.

* don't forget to mention the person who gives you the award.

* answer the award's question by writing the reason why you love blogging.

* tag and distribute the award to as many people as you like.

* don't forget to notify the award receivers and put their links in your post.

Thanks so much! I'm honored!

So why do I love blogging?

I have always loved writing, and this is a great outlet for that. While my first love is writing novels and always will be, there's something intimate and immediate about blogging that you can't get anywhere else.

But possibly the best part is the friendships I've made--what a totally unexpected but wonderful thing! Some of them I've never met in person, but I consider them dear friends anyway. Blogging is truly an amazing thing.

I'm passing the award to:

Is it Just Me? A blogger who never fails to make me laugh and lift my day. Her Friday Flair posts are one of my favorite parts of my weeks.

Alison Wonderland Few people keep it as real as she does. She's made me laugh and cry. She's awesome.

Jordan McCollum A fellow word nerd. Need I say more?

Regarding Annie A great writer about motherhood, wifehood, and life in general. She's also a weekly newspaper columnist.

Summer's Nook A mom and a wife . . . and a survivor. She writes about some painful times with her health with such intense honesty that I can't help but stand in awe.

Happy Meets Crazy One of the first bloggers I met in real life, and she's downright awesome. She's got one funny personality, and she's very open about her struggles with things like depression . . . something I can relate to all too well.

Temporary? Insanity If you've read her blog for any length of time, you know why she's listed here. 'Nough said.

Novembrance One of my dearest bloggy friends. I doubt I'd be blogging as I am without her influence. (Her cookbook is now available! Go buy it!)

I could go on and on with a gigantic list, but I'll stop there.

(Remember, you can order There, Their, They're with far less shipping at Lyfe Books! Thanks again for the mention, Tristi! You rock!)

WNW: (Parentheses) and [Brackets]

2009-05-20T13:13:00.004-07:00

A little while ago, Heatherlyn asked two questions about parentheses.

1) How do you handle punctuation with parentheses, particularly with question marks?

The vast majority of the time, the punctuation will go outside the parentheses:

Jen accidentally dropped her cell phone into the toilet (no big loss; she hated her phone anyway).

The comment inside the parentheses is just that: an aside. It's not a sentence in and of itself but part of the larger one. Because of that, you end the big sentence with a period on the outside of the closing parenthesis.

With commas, put them on the outside. There might be a situation where inside is correct, but I can't think of one.

As for question marks inside or outside the parentheses, the answer to that is: it depends.

Ask yourself: Is the inserted (parenthetical) thought a question itself, or is the full sentence the question? That'll tell you where the question mark belongs.

A question mark goes INSIDE if the parenthetical is a question:

Jen accidentally dropped her cell phone into the toilet (didn't she hate that phone anyway?).

If the entire sentence is the question, the question mark goes OUTSIDE:

Didn't Jen say she dropped her cell phone (which she hated anyway)?

2) Can you do parentheses within parentheses?

Sort of, yes. You can definitely have a parenthetical thought inside another one.

But . . . when you do that, it's similar to when you're doing a quote within a quote: you use a different punctuation mark for the second set.

You start with regular parentheses, and then for the second set, use brackets. Be sure to close the brackets before you close the parentheses:

Jen accidentally dropped her cell phone into the toilet (no big loss [she hated the color anyway], but the phone was a gift).

Hope that helps!

Note for picky readers: Yes, I know that there's a misplaced modifier in that last example. I'm too lazy to fix it.

Bragging rights to readers who know what I'm talking about and can identify it!

Family Time: Priceless

2009-05-18T06:57:00.004-07:00

This weekend, we made the leap and bought an annual pass that will allow us to camp whenever we want without having to pay the fee to get up the canyon.

This was big for us. For a variety of reasons, we haven't camped in years. We used to go more, and I thought our older kids at least had happy memories from those times, especially the trips we took with my in-laws and the ones we went on with my dad. It was a bit startling when #3 said she had no memory of ever sleeping in a tent. She'll be ten soon.

What the what?

Then I remembered that one of our big camping trips was while my sister and I were both 8 months pregnant. I was pregnant #3. Of course she didn't remember sleeping in that tent. (Fun night of sleeping that was, let me tell you.) So yeah, it had been too long.

We picked an early weekend in the season mostly because we wanted to avoid the Memorial Day camping rush and because so many other weekends are already getting sucked up for the summer with things like Girls Camp (HOW do I have a daughter old enough for THAT?!) and Scout Camp.

But as the weekend approached, I started feeling guilty. Three of our kids ended up with party invitations for Friday, including my dear little kindergartner who'd never been to a birthday party for someone not in our neighborhood. This was a class friend inviting her. Wow! But we had to reluctantly RSVP our regrets.

Friday afternoon, we packed up the minivan until we were up to our gills, drove up the canyon, and picked out our site. We set up the tent as a family, hung out by the fire, read stories aloud, roasted hot dogs and made s'mores and did a bunch of other camping-type things.

No Nintendo DS interrupted the time. No iPods came along. I brought a book, but didn't open it. The time was purely hanging out with family. The kids were silly. They had a ball just hanging out with us and talking. They snuggled with Mom and Dad. They warmed up by the fire. When it was close to bedtime, we holed up in the tent and played a game of Outburst, Jr.

At one point early in the evening, we heard, "I'm so glad we came. This is a lot more fun than any party."

And the response: "No kidding! I don't understand people who say they don't like camping. It's so fun!"

The only negatives:

-Our youngest ran across the pavement in an eager rush to get somewhere, biffed it, and got a fat lip and a pretty good scraped across one cheek.

-In the tent, a plastic lantern fell and hit #3 on the head, giving her a goose egg.

-We picked a site next to a river. May nights are already on the cold side, but we learned that a river thirty feet away will make you FREEZE at night. Just a word to the wise.

I still have a bunch of supplies to put away and smoky clothes to wash, and all day Sunday, we were all kind of wiped, but it was a happy kind of wiped.

I can't wait to use our pass again. It was the best time we've had as a family in a long time.

And this time, they're all old enough to remember it!

Maybe next summer, Grandpa can join us, assuming he and Mom aren't given another calling the minute they get back this fall from their latest mission. (Let's all knock on wood really hard. Five years of straight service is enough to deserve a break, right? RIGHT?)

The best part for me: no distractions. No technology. No responsibilities. Just one-on-one time with family, talking and being together.

I think we'll be doing more of that. Just a guess.