So Write All Ready!

If You've Noticed a Change

2009-04-10T10:24:00.000-05:00

Thank you!!!

I'm developing this idea. Check back May-ish for a launch. In the meantime, send good vibes. :) Please!

~C

Thanks for coming, but I've moved!

2008-11-13T13:13:00.000-06:00

Sheesh. Writers..... Always on to another "scene." Find me here: http://carolyndekat.blogspot.com/

Go visit! Help yourself to NaNo vitamins! :)

~Carolyn

On Your Mark...

2008-10-31T23:51:00.001-05:00

I'm set....

I have my mascot (Snoopy), my uniform (NaNo T-shirt), my drink of choice (apple juice tonight) and I think enough working knowledge of Liquid Story Binder to not completely lose everything I type. And I have back-up: regular old Word 2003 and Google Documents. I will not lose a manuscript like I did last year. Will not let that happen.

Go NaNo!!!

I've moved

2008-10-30T09:42:00.000-05:00

I can't keep both blogs synchronized--I just don't have the time. So for now this one is going dormant.

Follow my blog at the new address: http://carolyndekat.blogspot.com/

There's NaNo pep talks going up daily now, and then once we hit November 1, you'll find daily "vitamins" and probably updates on my progress as the month proceeds.

See ya there!

~Carolyn

Disaster and a Dictionary

2008-10-21T17:20:00.001-05:00

Disaster and a dictionary=My grammy in a nutshell.

Example: "Brush your teeth, or you'll turn into a bidentate hick that no one takes seriously."

It drives me crazy.

Mom and Dad don't understand this. Mom lived with it all Grammy life; to Mom it's normal. Dad gets a glazed-over look in his eye after he's with Grammy for more than fifteen minutes, which means he's tuned out and is letting his mind take him on travels he wishes his body could follow.

Grammy--and I never, ever call her that to her face--has a unique way of taking the mundane actions of everyday life and turning them into something critical, with the most dire of circumstances surrounding lack of performance. Does she really think that if I go to bed tonight without brushing my teeth, a successful future will be impossible? I think at worst I'd have such a bad case of bad breath in the morning that I'd brush them just to be able to stand myself. Sure it could be the beginning of a bad habit. Let's save the prophesies of doom for the real issues. Or the already established habits that need breaking.

Bidentate? I have to look it up. What on earth is a bidentate? Context dictates it's not good. I'm sure she doesn't think I'll turn into a elegant or wealthy hick. It may have something to do with the teeth I'm supposed to brush--dentate and dentist and all that.

Yesterday it was eating vegetables. If I didn't finish the broccoli (nevermind that I like it and was eating it in balance with everything else she served) I would become a corpulent creature with no friends.

But you know, I shouldn't complain because if that's all about Grammy that drives me crazy, I'm one lucky dude. Paul Frank's grandmother kisses him constantly. Ugg. Grammy agrees that kisses are a rather germy way of showing affection. And she doesn't tell any of my friends that I sorta like classical music. And cook--wow! If Mom cooked like this, I'd surely turn into that corpulent creature. (I looked it up.)

Anyway, I guess I'd better go see if bidentate is spelled the way I think it is.

Stay Healthy

2008-10-21T17:17:00.000-05:00

Get out and obambulate.

Well that's cheating, but I am so miserably tired today. I just want to sleep. Except my big toe on my left foot is killing me! I can't figure it out. It feels like someone is poking it with an ice pick. Woke me up this morning it was so bad. Can't see anything wrong--no redness, no swelling, nothing in it, on it or around it. My favorite shoes failed me yesterday; we did a lot of obambulating and I managed to get a blister on the bottom of my foot on the pad where the big toe joins the foot. That hurt last night but seems to be gone today, so that's not what's giving me problems today. I wouldn't be as concerned if I could see what was causing the pain. Hurray for ibuprofen.

Went with my sissies to see Neil Diamond in concert last night. Wow. Another artist who has not diminished with age. I wonder if it's contributable to spending your life doing what you love to do?

------------
AWAD 10/19/08

Here's what's happening

2008-10-18T17:17:00.000-05:00

I have two identical blogs. For now.

I decided that I wanted any potential readers to have the option of subscribing to my blog via rss feed. Turns out that's not possible with the blog that is linked to my personal home page. The feed is available through Blogger, so I imported the old blog into a new one.

Somehow I ended up with two of each post, so I'm deleting the extras little by little. You haven't missed 500 posts. :)
As of this moment in time, my intent is to duplicate posts. I'll continue to post here on my website for those who have the site bookmarked. But if you like having blog updates delivered to you, now you can subscribe from the copy on blogspot. Eventually if the traffic moves here and there is none at the other blog, I may use that blog and/or page for a different purpose.

Things change.

Condescention?

2008-10-05T23:34:00.003-05:00

"One should count each day a separate life."

Why did he have to find that particular quote just this week? Maybe it was time to unsubscribe to the quote/new word thing, if it was going to cause this kind of trouble.

Except the e-mail didn't cause the current state of affairs. It just trained a magnifying glass on it.

He watched her squint at the newspaper, knowing that she'd given up trying to remember where she'd put her glasses. How long would it be before she found a word too long to make the rest of the story worth reading?

She must have felt his eyes on her because she glanced up at him, a question there in her baby-blues about what he was doing. He gave her a half-grin which seemed to satisfy her.

Why? Why not instead ask her if she'd ever considered Seneca's words? What sort of answer would she come up with? Any? Or would she simply melt him with a dimpled smile and turn the conversation to designer fashion?

She was utterly charming. Wifty but wonderful. He wanted to reach out and touch the blonde silk of her hair. That would lead away from this less satisfying train of thought.

He'd feel less guilty. He was taking advantage of her. And he was growing bored because there was nothing intellectual about the relationship. Intellectual girls made him crazy too though. They were too tough to lead; the constant power struggle was wearing.

Where was the balance? There had to be some happy medium between a girl who started life over again every day because she couldn't remember the previous ones, and one who started life over again every day because of the curiosity that drove her mind.

"Can you drop me at Dillards on the way to work?"

"Of course." But how would he drop her out of his life?
----------
Prompted by AWAD 10/1/08 and a recent phone conversation.

Unveiled

2008-10-03T07:36:00.003-05:00

It was a difficult truth to contemplate, but it stood in front of him now like Mount Rushmore, larger than life, impossible to move. Evan let himself wander down that path--a more easily contemplated one. How many of those men were different than what they appeared? Maybe they had guilty secrets too, even though to the world they were great leaders. They were fathers, not only to their own children (did they have any?), but to an entire country. And they weren't perfect.

So the trick probably was then, to overlook his father's faults and concentrate on the good things he did. Didn't Dad stop everything and throw the football for close to an hour last night? Hadn't he helped--just enough--with the science project that pulled in that glorious A+? Not to mention they had a nice house, and Red who even though he was sleeping, still thunked his tail against the hardwood floor. They had plenty of food. He took good care of Mom. A kid couldn't throw that all away just because his dad might be a greedy person.

Evan screwed his eyes closed, slapped the dictionary shut and pounded on the cover, wishing his curiousity hadn't gotten the better of him. Then the thought flitted across his darkened mind. What made him believe her? Mrs. Horton was just a nosy old neighbor. So what if she told old Mr. Heinz that his father was a gormandizer. Did her word--a haughty, uppity one at that-- make it so?

But even his dark mind wouldn't stay closed. Somewhere in there, it knew. No matter what he wished, or what he wished he didn't know, Evan had to deal with this reality. How?

Uh, About Those Roots

2008-09-29T23:23:00.002-05:00

They have withered up.

I have become a tumbleweed.....

I must study the nature of tumbleweeds. There must be a reason for their tumbling. When do they find a place again?

This tumbleweed will. November is coming. I have been over to the NaNo website and felt instantly at home. Each year at the end of November, I swear that's the last time I'll put myself through such insanity. I have to quit being so silly. I need to remember how hungry I'll be for it the next time November rolls around. It compares to having children. Labor pains are just a small part of an bigger, infinitely rewarding project.

September was an awesome month in all the ways that really count. October is going to be one long stretch of numbers: making sure all the books are in order for upcoming taxes. I might as well combine that with something equally as exciting: purging junk from my house. My treat for all that hard work: time here and there to play around with characters, maybe even outlines, all in an effort to scare up a good story that needs telling.... Because come November 1st, I start writing.

So how was that?

2008-09-06T22:00:00.000-05:00

I decided to go back to my roots. Today's words...As They Spill. The initial blog post here was a tidbit prompted by a new word. And this blog was intended to be writing practice. Practice. Nothing special, nothing polished, but practice.

I remember typing practice in high school. There were days I was spot on and could type an accurate 70 wpm. The next day I'd come in and my fingers would tangle helplessly or my mind would reach for keys meant for a foreign language. But you know, even those hopeless days when my accuracy put me back to dismal wpm scores were still practice. They still contributed to smoothing those connections between mind and fingers. They contributed to the next day when my fingers flew even faster.

And it is true with the writing. Because sometimes in these splatterings of words that land on a page there's an element, a person, a plot, and resonance that begs for more, and that is where the next story lies. It's best to show up every day, give it some effort, let the skills build.

I'm making no promises. There will be lots of drivel, maybe some gems, but I aim for nothing in particular. I'm just recording Today's Words...As They Spill.

That being said, it will probably be the 9th before there's any more spillage. :)

Okay, What's Going On?

2008-09-05T10:00:00.000-05:00

Did she not go to North Carolina?

Or did she go and find a computer connection there?

Yes and no.

This week's posts are courtesy of Blogger's posting options which allow me to schedule future posts.

But I bet you knew that and I didn't have you fooled for a minute.

Some of these posts had assignments for you to do. Please use the comments to do your work! :)

Thanks for reading.

Things That Are Sapid - For Me

2008-09-04T22:00:00.001-05:00

Mint
homegrown, fresh from the plant/tree fresh fruit
strawberries
peaches
watermelon
raspberries
oranges
apples, particularly Pink Lady or Granny Smith, sometimes small Jonathans
almond extract
cinnamon
kahlua
orange zinger tea
Slow cooked beef stew with lots of sweet onions
chili
salsas
smoked meat
tomatoes--again vine-ripened, still warm from the sun
kiwi
pineapple

------

Lists can be lovely. This one was written thanks to Early to Rise, Word to the Wise, August 27, 2008: Sapid
Something that’s "sapid" (SAP-id) - from the Latin for "to taste" - has a strong, pleasant flavor.

What would you add to the list?

Don't Go Quietly

2008-09-03T22:00:00.001-05:00

"Mother?"

The hardest thing Rose had done in recent memory was not laugh out loud. It wouldn't have gone well with June in her current state of discovery shock. Oh, it was hard watching her daughter squinting, folded over to the level of the car window, making her way down the driveway like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. The worst part was Rose hadn't parked in the driveway for this very reason.

"Mother!" Now June stopped, turned as though she was going back to the house, then turned back again, speechless.

"Are you coming or are you not?" Rose asked her, trying to keep the laughter out of her voice

"Mother! What have you done?"

"I have retired."

"I know that. Have you also gone crazy? Where did you get this?" Karen stood beside the car now and ran her fingertips across the paint just outside the open passenger side window. Her fingernails were the same color.

"From some kid who couldn't afford the insurance after his third wreck, according to his parents. Good deal."

"What are you doing buying a wreck? There could be all sorts of problems. Not to mention, a convertible? For an ex-librarian?"

"He wrecked his parents' car. Junie, I loved my work. But it didn't fill every dream of mine."

"And your hair, Mother! Is it a different color?"

"Why don't you just get in and you'll be able to see better."

"I need my purse, my keys."

"Is Nathan home?"

"Yes."

"Then you don't need a thing. Call him on my cell and tell him I've kidnapped you for the day."

"I can't get in the car with a crazy woman!"

"Oh, but you should. You really should."

--------------
From the prompt:

http://writingfix.com/right_brain/Serendipitous_Character1.htm

"A dazzling...""...retired person...""...waiting in the car..."

Longing to Learn

2008-09-02T22:00:00.003-05:00

The air smelled of water. Not rain. More like a stagnant pond, close, silent, almost bubbling with its warmth. Humidity pressed in from all sides, making small curls stick to my forehead and to the nape of my neck.

The weather stole a summer frock earlier than usual this year. I knew Grams and Momma Sara were nowhere near ready for the summer retreat to the mountains, though days like today would add fuel to that fire. Sara would go into panic mode. Malaria wasn't a game. She wasn't going to battle it. I believed her. Sara refused anything having to do with pain, inconvenience or lack of control. Sickness was just one of the many things on her list that she simply did not allow.

I took a moment longer, a few more sways of the porch swing before I figured I was pushing my luck. Sara didn't take kindly to anyone else being in pain or being an inconvenience either. Besides, if we were going east soon, I had things that I needed to do as well. If I was ready when it was time to pull out--or way ahead of that--then no one would question my decisions as to what I was bringing along and what I wasn't.

Truthfully, our traditional austral migration stirred in my veins early this year, and I wondered for the briefest of moments if the sheer intensity of my desire had brought on this untimely hot spell. Some rampant uneasiness gripped every adult I knew, young, old, white or Negro, slave or free, it didn't matter. They all commiserated in hushed tones that went silent when I came within earshot. I suppose had I been stubborn enough, I would have found a way to listen unseen. I was too bored. I longed for a change of scenery the way a new baby wants its mother. Tired of the draping mosses on crooked oaks, and rigid schedules, I wanted to be where those oaks blended with pines and junipers to become a dense green blanket that covered the mountains as far as I could see. In that place all constraints were loosened, and I could really learn, simply by following a curious mind and an exhuberant heart. Mine or Mr. J's.

-------------------
Snippet courtesy of A.Word.A.Daywith Anu Garg
austral
PRONUNCIATION:(O-struhl)
MEANING:adjective: Southern.
ETYMOLOGY:From Latin auster (south). That's why Australia is so named, but that does not apply to Austria, in central Europe. Austria's name is a Latinized form of its German name Österreich (eastern empire, referring to the eastern boundary of the Frankish Empire at one time).

Ambling Rambling

2008-09-01T22:00:00.002-05:00

The day sparkled; it was as pristine a day as this achy old man could ask for. Air clear and crisp, saturated with the usual buzz and chirp, and over it all the gravel making a satisfying crunch under my walking shoes. Even Mannford enjoyed a calm and unharried amble; not once did my lumbering mastiff pull against his leash to urge me to move a bit faster or in a different direction.

Oddly enough Patsy popped into my head. What was she doing today? Was she doing it for herself? I hoped so. She certainly earned endless hours to spend on whatever her life's passion was. I should have known what that life passion was, as much time as the woman spent under our roof. How long ago had it been now since she'd shown up earlier than the dawn at our kitchen door, efficient and sufficient to fill any need. Eight years? Ten? Too cowardly to do the math, I pulled away from that thought and re-focused.

Dear Patsy fetched and cleaned for us back when we lived on the outskirts of Atlanta and stayed too busy or laden to venture to the inskirts. Patsy was like today. Always well put together, never out of sorts, always wearing the proper demeanor along with well-pressed clothes. It made me proud to have her representing us, though I doubt she informed the grocer that she was actually shopping for someone else. But if someone ever did ask, she was an asset to our cause.

But I divagate.

The way the day started bore no similarity whatsoever to the way it ended up.
------------------

Go ahead! What happened?

Snipped courtesty of The Miriam-Webster Word of the Day for August 03, 2008 is: divagate • \DYE-vuh-gayt\ • verb : to wander or stray from a course or subject : diverge, digress

Savory Moments

2008-08-31T22:00:00.001-05:00

A prevenient joy swirled around the old man's heart. The car hummed beneath him; because there was only the dimmest promise of dawn outside his dark window, he closed his eyes and willed the miles to slip by faster. He never knew his daughter was such a competent driver, the ride so smooth he almost felt he was on a train. What a gift she was giving him.

In his mind he saw the vaporous wisps hovered above the lake, rising into the sky. A breeze, sharp, would begin to stir, leaving the tiniest of ripples where it swept over the trees and dipped its fingers in the water before painting small spots of color on his withered and pale cheeks. It, together with the rising sun, would send the veil away, and the scene would change. He would savor every moment of it. No camera, no sketch pencils, just the gift of his mind. The wonderous, unexpected gift of a clear and lucid mind.

How different from the panic that gripped the same heart just a few short weeks ago. Because of that wayward heart he was confined, shackled by tubes and machines. When he closed his eyes on the horror of them, he heard continuous wheezes and blips, and it was almost more than he could bear, because there was no way to stop up his ears. He remembered telling himself to calm down, to breathe, but he had never contemplated that his last view would be the putty color of a curtain pulled between his bed and the door, as if there would be no escape.

He was so relieved when his Karen came and he could focus on her face instead. She promised he would be okay. She gave him the courage to prove her right.

---------------

From Miriam-Webster: The Word of the Day for July 26, 2008 is:prevenient • \prih-VEEN-yunt\ • adjective : antecedent, anticipatory

Bequest

2008-08-30T22:00:00.000-05:00

Sissy tiptoed up the stairs to the attic. Why she chose the attic over the basement she wasn't sure. And she laughed at the unuttered pun.

The stairs were unlike most--pull down, temporary things that descended out of the ceiling with a puff of dust that smelled of baked heat. They wound up behind the chimney from a small door just outside the sitting room. They were solid, reassuring, and not a bit creaky. That was the key. The basement stairs sang.

It would be a simple thing, this obvelation. She couldn't bring herself to destroy what she didn't want her husband to know. That was crossing a line that was strangely gray. This would hurt him. It wasn't like there was some long-lost fortune at the end of this black rainbow. Or a better life, an extended family that would wrap him in everything that was lacking in his life. No, this was better packed away, where his parents would have--should have put it--instead of in that safety deposit box.

Oh, and wasn't it such a twist of fate that had her retrieving the contents instead of Michael. It convinced her all the more that this was the proper course of action, that last thing that her inlaws wanted her to do for their beloved son on their behalf.

----------
What exactly is she hiding???? Finish the story!!!!

From Word to the Wise: Obvelation
"Obvelation" (ob-vuh-LAY-shun) - from the Latin for "veil" or "shroud" - is the act of concealing.

Forgot to record the date it arrived, but I'm pretty sure it was July.....

Sinister. Forget the Ambi-

2008-08-29T22:00:00.000-05:00

"Forgive me, Child. I have always been ambisinister."

He looked it too.

Gregory retrieved the pen the new schoolmaster had dropped. Naturally it had rolled obediently to the toe of his own shoe. He prayed the ink would not drip where it shouldn't as he stretched out his hand to return it.

"Sir..." was all he could think of to say. That's okay sounded too familiar. Think nothing of it sounded way too mature. What exactly does all-over sinister have to do with dropping a pen? would just highlight his ignorance.

It was easy to not concentrate on the pen. The man was like a train wreck. Gregory couldn't take his eyes off of him, but the man was not exactly easy to look at. He wore the closest thing to a stovepipe hat Gregory had ever seen. It was lopsided, and his clothing was completely dark, long. If he just had a long face and a beard he could have passed for Abraham Lincoln. But his face was more oval, and not up-and-down oval but side-to-side oval as though he had a permanent case of the mumps. And his eyes were beady green, like marbles that might just shoot out of his head and put lumps on his.

"I imagine a young man like yourself tends to be ambidextrous instead."

Gregory squirmed. What was the man trying to do?

"I wouldn't know, Sir."

"Truly? Do you write with your right hand or your left?"

"My right, Sir."

"Then if you teach yourself to use your left hand just as proficiently and you'd be ambidextrous."

"I see." Then what exactly did ambisinister mean? Gregory was beginning to think it had nothing to do with the man's ability to slide into a villian's role without a thought.

"Now, let's get on with this form so that I can get your first day started off right."

Too late.

------------------------
This flat attempt doesn't do justice to the 8/21/08 AWAD offering:
ambisinister
PRONUNCIATION:(am-bi-SIN-uh-stuhr)
MEANING:adjective: Clumsy with both hands. (Literally, with two left hands.)
ETYMOLOGY:From Latin ambi- (both) + sinister (on the left side).

Whose Adventure?

2008-08-28T22:00:00.001-05:00

The tingle of anger started behind her left ear where it always did. She closed the folder. Then she opened it again and ran her finger down the page to where she'd left off reading.

How dare he.

The rage spread into her neck and up through her cheekbones until her forehead felt like a fever from inside. His sophistry was unbelievable. Unbelievably convincing. If he went to her father with this, no one would ever believe that she was the innocent one. Well, the more innocent one.

She closed the file again and willed the heat to leave her brain so she could think this through. How to catch the cunning in his own trap? Hoist him on his own pole, the Haman!

Some distance, for just a moment, might help. She crossed to the water cooler and filled a cup, letting the point rest for a moment on her palm so she would feel that more than the heat of her anger. She downed the water, then turned the cup upside down to let the last of the droplets land on her forehead. She listened for a sizzle.

"Honestly!" This was absurd. Back to reality.

Make copies. But the copier had a counter. Take it out to make copies. But if she came back in early to put the file back, the entry pad would show that. And the world knew she never came in early even when it was mandatory. Maybe it was time for a good, old-fashioned bomb threat. Take the file now. Have the call made in the morning just after her arrival, and who would know in the evacuation melee that it took her a few extra steps, a few extra minutes.

"Yes!" She crumpled the cup and almost threw it away. Instead she slipped it into her skirt pocket. She always worked late. She never drank water. And who put wine in a pointed paper cup? Now her mind was functioning on all cylinders and it was time to take the folder and begin his adventure. And what was an adventure but a simple act of bad planning?

----------
Courtesy: Merriam-Webster's Word of the Day August 26th:
sophistry • \SAH-fuh-stree\ • noun
*1 : subtly deceptive reasoning or argumentation
2 : an argument apparently correct in form but actually invalid; especially : such an argument used to deceive

and a quote: Adventure is just bad planning. - Roald Amundsen

And the suspect is....

2008-08-27T22:00:00.000-05:00

"A clear dactylogram on the apograph is just the period at the end of a long line of conclusive evidence which proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that the plagiarist is indeed the killer."

----
This bit of high-brow speak courtesy of AWAD, 8/25/08 and 8/24/08

You get to imagine the lawyer.... :)

In Memoriam

2008-08-26T22:00:00.001-05:00

In just a few short years she had etched in our lives a paean to the potential in every moment, to the gracious offering of each sunrise, to the conquering spirit of good over evil. Our thanksgiving song will rest right there in our hearts alongside the love that will someday welcome her back again.

From the Word to the Wise segment in the June 14th issue of Early to Rise: A "paean" (PEE-un) is a song of praise, joy, or triumph.

"After all, tomorrow is another day."

2008-08-25T15:04:00.002-05:00

Things can do dramatic turn-arounds. I need to have more faith. I'm learning.

I'm focusing on packing now. Will be back sometime after September 8th. I have a NaNo character who has started living in my brain. She wants very much to find her setting in North Carolina....

Could be a very interesting trip. My sisters are a hoot. They always do me good.

Later!

Toothless

2008-08-23T00:37:00.004-05:00

I officially have no more teeth for life to kick me in them. . . . Figuratively speaking of course.

Make sense of that!

Sometimes the only thing to do is put one foot in front of the next, and try to let the good habits take over till the numb wears off. I guess. And hope there's no strength to keep up the bad habits? Crumb.

Sleep! That's it! Oh, it sounds scrumptious. So what am I doing here?

Bye.

Fill-The-Well Day

2008-08-07T09:50:00.003-05:00

I am officially declaring Thursdays

Me Day

It sounds incredibly selfish, but I'm trying to get used to it.

What Me Day is not:

It's not a day to feel unproductive.
It's not a day to feel guilty.
It's not a day to think I'm lazy.
It's not a day to ban work.
It's not a day to be completely frivolous (though frivolity and jocularity are encouraged).
It's not a day for persistent negativity.

Me Day is:

A day to wake up naturally, no alarm clock.
A day to spend on the computer as much as I want, when I want.
A day to read.
A day to garden.
A day on which my NowDoThis list is minimal
A day when spur-of-the-moment activities are encouraged.
A day to set goals, long- and short-term.
A day to concentrate on being thankful
A day to take long walks (with my camera).
A day to brainstorm.
A day to write.
A day to connect with friends, family.
A day to bake, cook, crochet.
A day to be spiritual.
A day to be a human be-ing instead of a human do-ing.

For further reading: