Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Pitch That Novel!


Not in the trash though. No, I want you to know what your pitch is so that if someone were to walk up to you and say, "Hey, what's your book about?" you'd be able to tell them. Right there on the spot.

You know how a movie has a little blurb when you look up its information, something like, Jenny Little gets lost in the forest and must find a way back to Strangerland. It doesn't tell you all the subplot or characters, just the meat of the story. I was working on a couple the other week for The Soul Seekers and here they are:

Seventeen-year-old Emma Shay must make a decision to leave small-town Springvail or stay and save the boy she loves, a ghost.


Seventeen-year-old Emma Shay is dying to get out of small-town Springvail, but after falling in love with a young man no one else can see, decides to stay and help get his soul back from a cult called the Soul Seekers.


I remember a while back when someone asked me what my book was about, I couldn't put together a proper description. They looked at me like I was pathetic, and my book was pathetic. I felt pathetic. But it made me think about being in that situation in the future and being able to tell a person, with complete confidence, exactly what this book is about.


Have you written yours yet?



Express

I was thinking the other day how much harder it is for me to speak than to write. I don't know why that is, but it just is. Even as a child, I preferred to write notes to people instead of telling them what was on my mind.

Piano was a great tool for me in my teens. I babysat in exchange for free lessons and learned The Maple Leaf Rag in a few weeks, with Malaguena coming after that and a piece by Katchachurian (can't remember which one!). But Beethoven was my favorite and I'd rush home from school just to get to that piano and play a sonata. Beethoven had a certain emotion in his music that I understood; it reached in and helped ease some of my fear and teen-age desperation. Many times Beethoven spoke for me when I had no ability to form words. Then came Lennon.

Art taught me that I could express myself in a completely unusual way and still say something without loss. If someone hated it, if I made a mistake, it didn't matter. Mistakes were good. There were no lines or notes to worry about, just execution, and that was completely subjective.

Writing leans on the technical side and can become frustrating at times. You'll never be the best writer, you'll never be the most creative, themes are never original, everything's been done before. But I love it. Words are beautiful and creating a world is an incredibly satisfying thing. I love where writing takes me. The characters, though formed from my own brain, become real and start to infuse my personality so that, at times, I must stop and remember who I am. A good thing for me as I can be too harsh on myself sometimes. It's good to escape.

Speaking of characters (and I'm completely sidetracking my own post) have you ever looked up your characters on Facebook? I have and it's surreal!!

Happy Tuesday night. Gotta go make dinner.

Sunday, June 27, 2010

Free Books Rock


I have to write this blog fast, because Liam has woken up early and is being an annoying monkey.

Okay, just wanted to remind everyone that there is a wonderful place called your local library. If you haven't yet check it out, I would suggest doing so. Ours are open on Sundays (I should know as I worked Sundays forever) and have all sorts of books on writing, publishing, marketing, etc. You can also get all those hot summer reads, though you might have to put your name on the request list. If you can handle it, sometimes your favorite books are available in Large Print (little library knowledge there hehe).

When I took the kids the other day, I found the new Writer's Market and also a great newspaper/magazine called BookPage. It features all the new releases with author interviews, etc. Epic find. You can go to their website: WWW.BOOKPAGE.COM. Yes, I still suggest going to the library and picking up an actual copy, but I know how it is, yo. Actually, if you go through the website, you'll want to go to your library, just to check out all the great books.

Liam is now dragging a bag of potatoes through the house. I gave him a banana but it's time to go make breakfast now. Peace.

Saturday, June 26, 2010

Thinking Thoughts

Have any of you gone through the entire Writer's Market yet? I can now proudly say that I have! I sat down and combed through every agent, publisher, small press, contest, etc. that exists on this planet and am now armed for query attack. Wish me luck.

At the end of each publisher profile there is a little tip section where they can list all their likes and dislikes for submission. One publisher wrote something along the lines of, "Writer must have, or be willing to create, a strong internet following. Writing quality not as important as fan base." Shocking. I completely believe in creating a fan base—it's a real talent and one I wish I possessed—but writing should not suffer for it. Tell me what you think. I'd be happy to hear everyone's opinions on this one.

There are auditions tonight for a Women of Rock revue show. Guess I'll go for it. Only, I'm slightly sad that it's only for women, maybe I could convince them to let me do Freddie Mercury as he was female-ish, you know? Otherwise, I want to sing Stevie Nicks, or Christine McVie, Dusty Springfield, Carol King, Janice Joplin, Tina (OMG- I was singing Tina in the car the other day and would love to sing What's Love Got to do With It)Turner. I don't know. It's up to them, not me. Again, wish me luck.

Many blessings. Have a great Saturday!

Friday, June 25, 2010

The Kitty Wars

Every morning, The Cat (sorry, but we've come to calling her this, poor thing) saunters into the bedroom and starts in on trying to wake me up. "Meow. Meow. Meow." She could go on forever, or at least until I get my butt out of bed and show signs of actually being awake. First, let me point out that her timing has pushed into a frightening early zone: around 5 am these days. I'm none too pleased.

After I get up, and wait for Henry the dachshund to shake himself awake, we all head down the hall toward the kitchen. The Cat continues her chant, "Meow, meow, meow," until I've reached the cat food sector. Then her chant gets louder and her little cat dance picks up so that I'm (still half awake) stumbling over her circling, weaving form with grumbly curses. She's louder, "MEOW, MEOW, MEOW."

Now here's where it gets dangerous. The Cat likes to get in front of me when I am carrying her food down the hall. It would be fine, if she didn't slow down to an insanely slow pace. It's almost as if she is languishing the presentation of her food; stopping time in celebration of her majestic existence. "MEOW, MEOW, MEOW!!!!" the chant goes on, despite the fact that I have already prepared her food and locked-in her breakfast as a sure thing. I move to the side, to avoid her slowdown, she moves to where I step. I move around again, she moves in front again.

Now it's time to lay down that food. I have to get there first. Why? I don't know. Dignity has taken over logic and if I don't get that food down before she jumps up and starts chomping away, I feel as if I've lost all respect as a human. So, for that last stretch down the hall, I cut across in a secret move and start to increase my sprint. Dammit, she's taken a shortcut behind the chair and is now about to jump up to her eating sector. NOOOOOOOOOO. I push forward and plop it down just in time.

I won. Dear God, I won. Again.

Now we've gone back to the usual status: she's eaten and has no need to speak to me for the next seven hours or so.

Time to feed Henry.


Thursday, June 24, 2010

Rambling Thursday Thoughts

Here it is, the middle of Summer and what have I accomplished? Well, I'm still working on that second book, I've started a collection of short stories, I'm doing art and website work for The Soul Seekers. I get up every morning to write, edit, or just send out queries.

Those are my writing accomplishments. The main part of my life is being a mom and aunt. Nephew Tommy has infiltrated my head with all his Spore Adventures (a computer game) and Mario Head videos (You Tube). The girls put together Littlest Pet Shop plays with Liam tagging along. We go to the pool a lot, where I keep watch of everything living. My skin is looking a bit too tan lately! Peanut butter cookies fly in and out of the oven, then disappear. Can I get you another glass of juice? Time for a nap.

On a personal level, I dream a lot and still want to be in that band and take that trip. Motherhood comes first. I want to read every book in Border's and run through the grass in every field. I want to fly, to scream, to dance, to make love, to paint big globs of color and watch it flow.

But first, coffee.

What are you up to today? How have your summer plans gone and what's still on your list to get done?

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Another sketch part 2



Okay, this one is very 1970's teen novel retro. A little messy, but I love it. I'll probably do a color rendition based on this outline.

Another sketch idea




You'll probably see a lot of these. I'm sort of brainstorming right now and this is all for the book website, promotion, when the time comes.

As you can see, I like to combine figures. Here William, the ghost, is peeking out behind Emma. He's got a little twinkle in his eye, don't you think?

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Soul Seeker Drawing

I've been doing a lot of sketches for promotional ideas concerning the book. This is kind of an early version of what I want. It's still not there yet. The lettering needs help. But in all, I like it. What do you guys think? It's very retro, which is what I want, and it helps show others the kind of feel the whole 70's era.


Sounds of Summer

This whole week is setting up to be very, very hot. A scorcher. It's almost akin to winter with everyone seeking shelter inside, only we still have night, and night is a beautiful world when summer has her wings around it. The stars, peeking through a denim sky, the moon and her milky glow spreading across every surface, the fireflies and their sparkling dance.

I haven't heard a locust yet. Or a cricket. But perhaps I haven't been listening. I'll make it point tonight, when the kids are out there running around, to pick out all the sounds of summer.

It used to be a lot of fun to sleep out on someone's screened-in porch on a summer night; like camping, but not as messy. We tried to have a seance once, but I freaked out and broke the circle, typical. We'd each named the person that we wanted to come through to speak to us: Kelly had John Wayne, my sister had Elvis, and I had Marilyn Monroe. Kelly, who seemed to be the expert in all things occult, started the seance, saying with stern expertise that the circle must not be broken or our ghosts would be set loose, and mad for having been woken out of their death sleep, follow us around forever. I didn't like the sound of that and started to plan an escape from the obviously-not-mom-approved ceremony. Kelly started to chant, and then called on each spirit, "Are you there John Wayne?" We listened patiently to hear a southern drawl to come out of nowhere. I swallowed hard, and started to wiggle my fingers nervously in each girl's clasp. No John Wayne. "Are you there Elvis?" Oh god, surely Elvis was too busy for some stupid girls from Kansas. We hadn't even brushed our teeth yet! No Elvis. "Are you there Marilyn?" I'd already lucked out twice, and didn't want to risk the rest of my human existence with this last taunt of the ghost stockpile. I yanked my hand away from the girls and then sat on my knees, penitent but relieved. "Sorry."
Kelly shrugged. "It's okay. Nobody was coming through but my grandmother anyway."

"Your . . . your grandmother?"

"Yeah. Hey, who wants to tell scary stories?"

That was the first rule of summer sleepovers: a certain level of fear must always be created and kept until each person had had enough or fallen asleep. Mosquitos rammed into the screen mesh, hungry. Brothers snuck around out in the darkness, contemplating pranks. Moms ate cookies and watched Dallas, while the air-conditioner whirred away in the front living room window.

Trains wailed by across the miles, like ghosts, true ghosts, fading into the night.

Sunday, June 20, 2010

Clean up time

I was at my mom's house yesterday to help her with some computer transactions, and she gave me a past issue of Writer's Digest. It has some really great tips for creativity, I'm digging it. Mom self-publishes, and is very happy to do so. She has received a couple of honorable mentions, one recently with 2nd honorable mention, and one from Writer's Digest itself a couple of years ago. Go Mom!

Anyway, just up the block from her house someone had a 1970 Camaro sitting in their driveway. You don't know how hard it was to keep myself from pulling over and going up to knock on that person's door. Sweet Jesus I wanted to get in that car. Oh well. Breathe.

I've worked really hard this weekend on editing the first three chapters, because they're the ones most looked at by agents whether through a query submission, or a partial request. They look good. I changed the very first paragraph because it always bugged me a little—it was good before, but needed work in my opinion. So, clean chapters, clean opening, nice synopsis and query letter. I'm going to really hit the market this week. For the first time ever I don't have that nagging feeling of, "Maybe this part needs work, or maybe my query is confusing . . ." This girl worked hard and hard work makes me feel confident.

Happy Father's Day to all you wonderful daddies out there!

Friday, June 18, 2010

No judgement


TGIF! This week has had its ups and downs, but I really am enjoying my time with the kids. "Bicycle" by Queen has become our official going to the pool song. When it's over, they all start clapping and then ask for me to hit repeat. They also love "We Are the Champions" and a few others as well so it's a well-balanced glam rock thing I provide.

On the writing front, I worked very hard this week on tightening up both my regular and short synopses. I also revamped my query and feel it's looking pretty darn good. I'm going to re-edit the book this week-end and ask for some Beta help from a few library colleagues. Like I said earlier, there's a reason for everything. So no shame in finding a few mistakes and fixing them.

Also, there's no shame in feeling down once in a while, in failing, in feeling defeated. And there's no crime in finding new avenues to happiness. John Lennon once said, "Whatever gets you through the night, is all right, is all right," or something like that. While I don't agree with doing literally anything, I do think that a path to happiness is paved with freedom, namely, freedom of choice and freedom of expression. So if that's your anything, then go for it. You'll still be loved by me. This is what I hope to teach my children. Especially with Julia having a sensory disorder, there are going to be many rough days ahead for her, something which makes me want to cry on a daily basis. But I will teach her that no matter what, she is loved. And that true success is not being successful, but being able to love yourself at the end of the day. And if you can't, try again tomorrow.

Did any of that make sense? Haha. Ah well, it's Friday and I'm really tired. I'll be up early tomorrow to do edits. Again.

Peace.




No coincidence in synchronicity

I believe that everything happens for a reason. So, despite being depressed once in a while, I am really happy for the tough times of querying because they always bring out some problem that I didn't know existed: some mistake in the manuscript, a better way to phrase some passage, an idea for a better query, a revamped synopsis.

Best of luck and good wishes to all my blogger friends today.

Liam and I love this song. I seriously can't not dance when it's on the stereo.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Bless You

I just want to thank all of my friends who are emotionally supporting me through this tough time of querying. I hear submission is hell, and querying is nothing so geez, I should be strong and quit whining.

I believe in being honest, though honesty sometimes has its negative effects. Bring it on. I need whatever kick ass criticism I can get so don't hold back. If you hate me, if you love me, bring it on and I will use it wisely.

Bless you and your journey toward publication as well. I love you guys and thank you so much for being here during all times, both good and bad.

Blah

Okay, so now I'm experiencing the opposite kind of day. Today I feel very down about myself as a writer. Perhaps I've been reading too many people talking about what good writing should look like, because now all I can think is that I'm just horrible, will never make it, and should just stop wasting so much time with this. Then add the hell of querying and rejection after rejection. Part of me is saying that it just isn't ever going to happen. No one is ever going to publish my book.

But I am a fighter. So . . . I'm going to keep trying. I keep telling myself that this is a school assignment and finding an agent is the exam I have to pass. No excuses.

I hate it when I get like this. It's one of those times when I really need a friend around to kick me in the butt, you know? Sometimes I just get so down and I feel so worthless.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

The Sweet Life

Today was a good day. It had a few tough moments, but in all I'd rate it as beautiful. Started off with me getting up early to write: I always have to feed the cat and dog and wait for my coffee to percolate first though. Then I sit down and wait for my brain to wake up for edits or writing (writing is harder than edits early in the morning). I really treasure this time and try to get as much done as I possibly can. As usual, I find myself squandering my time looking up music. I have to have that perfect song to write, you know!

Liam can wake up at any time, and when he does I calmly get him pushed toward something to eat and drink and a good cartoon. I have to be careful on the days that he's in a bad mood, because making him mad means a tantrum, and then no more writing for me. If he's in a good mood, I can get another half-hour of writing in before taking a shower. Then Julia wakes up and it's time to make eggs. She loves eggs.

Fast forward through all sorts of exciting kid stuff and cleaning and walks and books, etc, etc. Then an afternoon break finds me writing again or dreaming of writing; tea and hopefully a nice chocolate cookie in hand. I'm very ritualistic. Boring.

Today was nice because I made cookies and listened to a few favorite records and also I finally revised one of the most important scenes in my book—ever. Whew am I proud.

Tonight is pasta night and wine. The Buddy Holly Story and Car Wash. Popcorn and my kids.
It's a good time to be alive.

Monday, June 14, 2010

Saturn Nights

This is my favorite song right now. Sigh. Gotta go, another busy day waits for me.


Saturday, June 12, 2010

Folks on the Hill

I'm busy writing and editing, so here's a really old post that not that many people have gotten a chance to see. It's one of my favorites and will probably be my main short story submission (when I get to that adventure!). Take care.

Up on the top corner of Franklin stood a one-story surrounded by a large yard with lilac bush out by the ditch. Every spring Mom made us kids sneak over there to steal armloads of blossoms; the bush was large enough that we were well-hidden, and our house smelled great for a few days, making it well worth the risk.

Eventually, the inhabitant—a widow—moved away, leaving the house open for a short time before a family of three moved in. A few glances out of our salmon-colored curtains showed two girls about the same age as Cathy and I, and a mother in faded bell bottoms. Her hair was scraggly; a cigarette dangled from her right hand as she watched the girls running around the yard. A couple of trips up the street on our bicycles allowed fate to connect us, and we found out the older girl's name was Rhonda. She had fluffy curls of honey blonde and a sweet disposition. Christy was not so well-behaved, with layered brown hair hanging over a face more boyish than we had noticed all the way across the street from behind smudged glass.

Mom said that the Therman's mom was a stripper—it was the only excuse for her late night leavings and early morning drives back home. This information had the effect of drawing us closer to the chaos. Saturday afternoons would find us over at their old abandoned car, crawling all over its blue roof, sitting inside and pretending to steer through imagined streets far beyond our own not-yet-paved Franklin.

"Hey!" Christy popped her head in one cloudy afternoon, eyes wild. "You gotta come see what I found out in the back yard. A real live grizzly bear!" Her voice was as rough as granite, hands dirty from pulling indian grass out by the fence. She was the epitome of a tomboy, perhaps going one step further than perviously defined.

I looked at the steering wheel in front of me, and then my partner in the passenger seat: John Kennedy Jr., Spring Hill's wild child that I was secretly in love with, and in complete fear for my life. "Nah. I'm still driving." He was silent next to me; we never really talked.

"Oh come on! I killed it with my own two hands. I'll give you some licorice if you come with me."

I didn't want the licorice. If she actually possessed any, it was most likely half-chewed and covered with grime. But I said yes regardless, avoiding the incessant begging I knew was to come. When I crawled out of the open driver's side window, John slid over to my empty seat and pretended to rev the engine. He gave no good-bye glance or even a hint that he was sorry for my departure. Long sand-colored hair hung over his face, hiding the eyes I was always too scared to look into.

Christy dragged me up the hill toward the south part of the back yard, stopping just past the broken sled she'd stolen from our yard and smashed apart with a big rock. Then she held her arms out and pretended to be holding a rifle. "You never can be too sure with these bears. He might have come back to life. Okay, I think it's safe! You step over there and I will go first just to make sure you're safe."

I watched her step ahead, then turned fast to check the front yard again. A new group of neighborhood kids had just arrived, ambushing the car John was still occupying. I recognized my brother and his group of boys—the oldest on the block. Then I saw my sister sitting with Rhonda by the ditch. They were always so quiet, sharing secrets I would never be allowed to know. Though we'd all heard the most important one. A late-night walk up the road with a boy in her former town, fresh pavement, new car with stealth tires. The boy was gone, leaving Rhonda behind with a crooked walk and memories she refused to speak of, yet which she was never allowed to forget. Startled by accident, she would fall to the ground in a set of wretched screams. Christy had a lot of fun setting her older sister off into these flashbacks, while the rest of us would stand back to watch in horror.

"Hey! You're missing it. The bear just had a pack of babies. We can each take one home and raise them for the circus."

I turned to view the invisible scene, wishing I could somehow escape Christy's stupid games. She was always singling me out, asking me to pretend the most ludicrous things. If only she wanted to pretend something that had to do with being a girl, then perhaps I'd have more interest. As usual, I humored her just to move things along and get back to the car.

"Didn't you say it was dead? Whatever. I'll take the dark brown one."

"No, no. That one's mine. You can have the red cub that's missing a back paw."

"Sure, okay."

"Haha! We'll join the circus and live together for the rest of our lives." Christy was always saying weird things like that. It just figured no one in Spring Hill knew I existed, except for this one girl who thought she was a boy.

I had to get away. "My mom just waved through the window, she must need me. I'll see you later Christy!"

She grabbed my arm, holding me tight with those dirty, tanned fingers. "But you can't go. We have to raise the bears!"

I felt suffocated in her touch, wishing there was someway to tell her I just wanted to be alone. If only she knew of all the times I'd been trapped, scared, unable to speak loud or even dance in my own home. I just wanted to be free.

"No . . . I really gotta go. See ya later!" I ran back down the hill toward the abandoned car, frowning when I saw John was missing; his seat replaced by the loud throng of sixth-graders, including my brother, who refused to acknowledge my presence. Christy was yelling for me by the fence, but I kept walking, heading up the street in pursuit of something I couldn't put into words. A few blocks on and I saw him, standing at his front door, leaning against it in a rebellious waste of time. When he saw me approach, he flipped the hair out of his eyes and turned away. Then, the rain started.

I made it back to the hill in enough time to witness all the kids of Franklin scattering away from the car and rushing to their front doors; mothers waiting with worried glances and stained aprons. My steps were slow, calculated, sad. I saw the empty car and crawled inside, listening to the pattern of rain above my head like little pebbles falling from an angry hand. The steering wheel and its chrome accented vinyl fit snugly in my freckled fingers, moving slightly as I turned it to my right. That was the direction of the highway, stretched out for miles beside long fields, broken of their gold.


Thursday, June 10, 2010

Book's Worth

I was at another bookstore last night, to have a look at their much larger YA section. There was a teen girl trying to decide which couple of books she might be able to buy—she was really thinking hard. And it hit me, all of a sudden, how important it is that a writer give these teens their money's worth— that the quality be good; story and characters relatable. I remember being a teen and spending babysitting money on some books (probably because it was cheaper than paying my library fine) and then going home only to find out that the writer had a dry tone, or that the first few chapters were the best part, and the rest had gone off track never to return. But then there were the times when I found a book that really reached in and touched me; changed me forever. I hope this is the kind of book that I have written. It's been my intent the whole time.

But darnitt, this agent stuff is so hard! I wish I had a magic wand. Or better yet, the knowledge of who would be my best fit. I need someone who loves the 70's, small town America, ghosts, cars, satire, romance, a little of time travel, and let's see . . . caves, haha. Oh, where are you dream agent????

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

I can't wait . . .

To get an agent. For people to read my book. To know it's getting published. To do book readings. To do book signings. To hear someone say they love the characters. To go to Indiana and see the town I kinda sort of based the book off of. To see it in the bookstore. To twitter its arrival. To show my kids what their mommy accomplished.

What are your 'I can't waits' ?

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

A little time; a lot of information

I spent an hour in Borders last night looking at all the current and best-selling fiction. Most of my time was spent in YA, reading the first few pages, back covers, publishers, page count, etc. Then I moved on to the publishing section and tried to read whatever I could on the business of querying. It was a good hour! I left with a copy of the Writer's Digest special issue on how to get an agent. Lots of really good information in there.

But the best thing I read last night was for free. Someone on Absolute Write wrote about how their novel kept getting rejected, and a meeting with an agent at a conference told her why: her main character is too old. Apparently agents will not touch a story with a college age MC. Of course, that's what mine is—Emma's 18. Or she was 18. I changed her to 17 this morning without hesitation. I was going to make her 17 when I first started writing the book anyway, so it's not a big deal. Emma is now 17 with a birthday coming up. It actually makes more sense to me and I really like the change! And if it helps, then yay.

I also bought chocolate. You know how Borders is—they trap you in that weird lane and surround you with tons of impulse items: little toys, cool bookmarks, pretty journals, sparkly pens, Twilight stuff, cookbooks with great pictures, Burt's Bees products, and tons of chocolate. But it was good. The chocolate. Yes.


Sunday, June 6, 2010

Relax. It's Just JOY

This morning was the first in a long while that I felt myself actually being in the scene that I was writing about. It was great. I love it when I get lost in the story! Believe when I say, though, that it was after many days of forcing myself to come up with something—anything at all. A year ago I would have said I was a horrible writer and should just stop, but now I know it's just part of the process, and that writing isn't always going to be easy.

What are everyone's writing goals for the summer? I want to finish this second book, start writing a collection of short stories, get some memoirs published, and keep working on the website for The Soul Seekers—and querying of course.

Here's an early John Lennon recording. Ooooh, such a sexy voice.

Saturday, June 5, 2010

Snail, paper, rock

You can see that I've been blogging less with all this summer stuff going on. I'm hoping that once things settle down, I will be able to find more time to get in the blogging groove again.

I have a question for all you fellow query people: Did you use a personalized greeting for each agent, or did you just use a standard introduction? Also, did you find snail mail or electronic submissions to be the most effective route? I'm hearing now that snail mail is better as an agent will actually sit and read the material. With email, it's too easy for them to reject a project. Having kids means I've been sending out a lot more email submissions, and now I'm worried that it was a bad idea. To tell you the truth, I kind of like the idea of sending off paper submissions—it's very Jo March.

Here's something nice for all of my friends with writer's block. Write a page or so in the morning, or before your usual writing session—just random stuff, like a journal. Write out all your stress and worries, cravings, work problems, family issues. Get it all out and don't worry about if it's good writing or not. You don't even have to save it. The purpose of this exercise is to get rid of all the toxic stuff that keeps you from being able to concentrate on your current project. It also helps to move your locked brain into more of a flowy state.

Good Luck and Happy Saturday!

Thursday, June 3, 2010

Laura Ingalls Wilder and The Bloody Benders

Carrie, Mary and Laura Ingalls

Okay, so I thought I knew everything about Laura Ingalls Wilder. Until today. I just read that her family was exposed to The Bloody Bender family when they lived down in Independence, Ks. I guess Laura felt it was inappropriate to include such topic in any of her books, widely distributed for children. This is another reason why they are still categorized as fiction, even though the material she wrote was based on real-life events.

The Benders, for those of you who don't know, were a family of killers who lived along the Osage Trail on southern Kansas. Laura spoke about it in 1937, and the speech was later printed in The Saturday Evening Post.

There was the story of the Bender family that belonged in the third volume, Little House on the Prairie. The Benders lived halfway between it and Independence, Kansas. We stopped there, on our way in to the Little House, while Pa watered the horses and brought us all a drink from the well near the door of the house. I saw Kate Bender standing in the doorway. We did not go in because we could not afford to stop at a tavern.

On his trip to Independence to sell his furs, Pa stopped again for water, but did not go in for the same reason as before.

There were Kate Bender and two men, her brothers, in the family and their tavern was the only place for travelers to stop on the road south from Independence. People disappeared on that road. Leaving Independence and going south they were never heard of again. It was thought they were killed by Indians but no bodies were ever found.

Then it was noticed that the Benders’ garden was always freshly plowed but never planted. People wondered. And then a man came from the east looking for his brother, who was missing.

He made up a party in Independence and they followed the road south, but when they came to the Bender place there was no one there. There were signs of hurried departure and they searched the place.

The front room was divided by a calico curtain against which the dining table stood. On the curtain back of the table were stains about as high as the head of a man when seated. Behind the curtain was a trap door in the floor and beside it lay a heavy hammer.

In the cellar underneath was the body of a man whose head had been crushed by the hammer. It appeared that he had been seated at the table back to the curtain and had been struck from behind it. A grave was partly dug in the garden with a shovel close by. The posse searched the garden and dug up human bones and bodies. One body was that of a little girl who had been buried alive with her murdered parents. The garden was truly a grave-yard kept plowed so it would show no signs. The night of the day the bodies were found a neighbor rode up to our house and talked earnestly with Pa. Pa took his rifle down from its place over the door and said to Ma, “The vigilantes are called out.” Then he saddled a horse and rode away with the neighbor. It was late the next day when he came back and he never told us where he had been. For several years there was more or less a hunt for the Benders and reports that they had been seen here or there. At such times Pa always said in a strange tone of finality, "They will never be found." They were never found and later I formed my own conclusions why.


Doesn't that just give you the creeps? You can see why she'd never include it in a book. But I have to say I'm so intrigued by this that I think I'll go to the bookstore today to see if they have anything to read on this topic. I love Kansas history, even the horrible stuff.


Oh! I wanted to point out the last line of Laura's speech, that her father remained mysterious about the Benders' disappearance. It is thought that her father was part of the posse who most likely killed the Bender family for their crimes.

Wednesday, June 2, 2010

My Super Awesome Favorite Show of the Universe

My favorite show is The Middle. It stars Patricia Heaton who so perfectly portrays Frankie Heck—mother of three and used car salesman, er, woman. She barely escapes getting fired by her sexist boss every week, thinks a hot dinner comes with packets of free ketchup, dreams of a romantic anniversary getaway to buy some new carpet for the master bedroom, and sometimes even discount shops with a stray curler stuck in her hair. Her idea to fill a used car with jelly beans for customers to count, almost landed her a promotion. But it was a really hot day and things got sticky.

I love the show so much because everyone in the family, despite all this craziness, really loves and supports each other. The daughter, Sue Heck, is hilarious. She has to have every school picture re-done three times because she somehow always messes it up—though it never makes it into the yearbook anyway. Axel Heck walks around naked all the time, bemoaning everything and everyone. And poor little Brick loves to read so much that there's just no time for social activities, something which lands him in the special kid therapy at his elementary school. When his library fine spills over one-hundred dollars, his card is chopped and he is forced to read Frankie's romance novels.

There are so many quotable lines in this show. I have all the episodes on my DVR and watch them a few times a week with Liam and Julia. Frankie Heck is my hero! Go Frankie!

Oh, it's in a fictional town in Indiana. Yay!

Well, anyway . . . I'll let you decide.



A Millennial romp through Jane Austen

  A few years back I wrote this story about a fifteen-year-old girl named Frankie drudging through a very complicated life in a fictional sm...