Is more and bigger necessarily better?

You know that sensation of being stared at? That if-I-don’t-look-maybe-it’s-not-there prickly feeling? On Friday, as I sat writing near the window in our family room, I was hit was that feeling. Slowly I looked up.

“What the heck is that?” A little critter stood erect on the deck, peering in at me. Now “little” is a relative term. “Little” is the chickadees that flit in for a midday meal at our birdfeeder, compared to the Steller’s Jays who swoop down with a screech to snatch at the sunflower seeds . “Little” is the six inch Douglas squirrels that frequent our bird feeder, compared to… well, compared to this cat-sized critter that continued to stare at me.

We’ve lived here sixteen years, and the intruder turned out to be the first black Eastern Gray Squirrel to drop in for a visit. As soon as he moved, his bushy tail came into sight and his species became obvious, but never had I seen a squirrel anywhere near this size — literally the size of a cat!

Most times if you asked me I’d say the  squirrels around here are cute. I don’t mind that they occasionally bully the birds at the feeder, or chitter anxiously at me if I step out onto the deck during their mealtime. But this… this behemoth… wasn’t cute at all. In fact, I did a bit of research and discovered he is considered an invasive species, and shouldn’t be in our area at all.

Eight Eastern Grey Squirrels were originally imported from New York in 1914 and introduced into Stanley Park, a 1,000 acre park  bordering the city of Vancouver’s downtown core, with the assumption they would remained hemmed into the area because of ocean on three sides of the park and the city on the fourth side. Heh! They shouldn’t have underestimated a rodent’s determination and ingenuity.

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The writing analogy I gleaned from this is that if a novel is good at 90,000 words it is not necessarily better at 150,000 or more words. One thing I’ve learned over the years is that beginning novelists either struggle to write a story of more than 50,000 words, or  can’t staunch the flow before 225,000. The first draft of my first novel was one of the lengthy ones, and my dear friend and mentor repeatedly urged me to pare it down.

At the time, I thought it was more important to write a good story and let the word count land where it might, but later, as I reluctantly cut away many bits of verbosity I began to realize that I had allowed my muse to run off at the mouth, thoroughly out of literary control! Proven authors might get away with it, but no agent I approached was likely to risk trying to sell anything over 90,000 words written by a debut author.

So, no, I’d say more words and bigger squirrels are not a good thing, at least not in my neck of the woods.

How long are the stories you’ve been writing? If you’re published, do you find successive books get longer, or is there a set word count for your genre or publisher?

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Still Saturday: Lily of the Valley

“Believers are beautiful, as clothed in the righteousness of Christ; and fragrant, as adorned with the graces of his Spirit; and they thrive under the refreshing beams of the Sun of righteousness.”

Matthew Henry’s Concise Commentary
(Initial thoughts on Song of Solomon 2:1-7)

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“I am the spring crocus blooming on the Sharon Plain, the lily of the valley[s].”

Song of Solomon 2:1 NLT

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Linking with Sandra and Deidra:

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Rhododendrons are happening!

No writing analogies today. Just sharing a bit of joy from our springtime garden.

Bursts of colour are beginning to punctuate the greenery around our property. Blowsy mops of red, pink, purple and white plate-sized blooms are displayed on the Rhododendron shrubs like extravagant decorations on Christmas trees. Smaller jewels emblazon the Azaleas, which are a subgenera of Rhododendrons.

Those in the front yard were already here when we arrived sixteen years ago and I can’t even guess at their names. I suppose that’s not surprising, since the Royal Horticultural Society’s International Rhododendron Registry records over 28,000 cultivars of these woody shrubs.

Although they prefer moist but well drained acidic soil, they survive in boulder-filled clay and drought conditions here. We’re on a well, so they have never been watered except when nature takes pity on them. (Now I suppose the truth is out. My rhoddies are to blame for all the rain we’ve had!)

“Earth laughs in flowers.”

Ralph Waldo Emerson
Hamatreya

“And in the woods a fragrance rare
Of wild azaleas fills the air,
And richly tangled overhead
We see their blossoms sweet and red.”

Dora Read Goodale
Spring Scatters Far and Wide

Azalea

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“And yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory
was not arrayed like one of these.”

Matthew 6:29

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What’s in a name (or a title)?

I refuse to use the common name of a favourite perennial. Calling it Great Masterwort doesn’t do justice to its delicate beauty. I prefer the botanical name, Astrantia Major. Its attractive leaves are some of the earliest to push through the winter-hardened soil and its exquisite blooms and seed pods last longer than anything else in our garden.

Astrantia major is native to Europe and is hardy here to Zone 6. This particular variety is “Sunningdale Variegated”. Its jewel-like blooms may be pink or white in colour, “each blossom an umbel of tiny flowers, framed by a collar of papery bracts.” It likes the dappled shade in our woodland garden and grows to about 60 cm.

(Please click to enlarge once or twice, if you would like to see more detail.)

I love it, but I really hate its name! If the nursery staff had recommended I buy Masterwort, I would probably have ignored the suggestion. Fortunately, I was shown a plant before I was told its name.

This says to me that what title we place on our novels can influence potential readers, regardless of the story’s appeal. Buyers have to get past the title before they pick a book off the shelf, before they read the back cover blurb, or carry it to the cash register.

What do  you think? Does the title affect whether or not you will pick up or buy a book?

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Word Games and the Writer’s Brain

That smile said he knew he was winning.

After more games than I’ll embarrass him by counting, my hubby finally won a round of Blokus. It’s a game of strategy using game pieces of varying shapes that must be fit together with only their corners touching. The player with the least number of pieces leftover at the end wins. There’s also a classic version for up to four players.

The product description says, “Blokus encourages creative thinking and has received a Mensa award for promoting healthy brain activity.” I’m not sure I’d want my brain analyzed before, during or after a game, but I’m for anything that may improve its health.

As a gamer, I don’t always plan many moves in advance, but as a novelist, I strategize while I’m working my way through scenes and plots. Thinking ahead. Figuring out moves that will thwart or mislead. Planning twists, turns and where to add conflict or drop red herrings. My brain can use all the help it can get!

Word games of various types are recommended as brain stimuli, and may even help slow down the advance of dementia.* I’ll sometimes fiddle with magnetic words to get creative thoughts moving. I play the occasional game of Scrabble, too, but my 90-year-old neighbour puts me to shame. Not only does she regularly play Scrabble on her computer, but she works on Sudoku puzzles and six to eight crossword puzzles every day. I don’t know what my mind will be like at ninety, but as the cliché goes, hers is sharp as a tack.

My hubby may not be eager for a re-match, resting on his laurels and all, but I’m ready for another round of Blokus anytime. My novels will thank me for playing.

How about you? Do you enjoy word games? Share your secrets for keeping your mind sharp.

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* Alzheimer’s Reading Room

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Still Saturday: Unfurling and Reaching

“…reaching out for Christ, who has so wondrously reached out for me.”

[Philippians 3:12b - Message]

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Linking with Sandra and Deidra:

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Paving the way to publication

Fifteen years with a gravel driveway conditioned us to get use to certain things. Like circles of reddened fir needles that collected under evergreen trees and were impossible to rake out of the rocks. Weeds and moss that regularly snuck in and took hold, even though we all know gravel is not a good growing medium. Holes in the housing of the snowblower from flinging pebbles along with the snow.

This is what our driveway looked like Wednesday morning.

This is what it looked like Thursday evening.

Yes, I’m smiling. Having a paved driveway was only a faint dream, but by doing our bit, plus receiving some help from a good friend in the business, and putting the job into the hands of a team of knowledgeable workers and their equipment, the dream has become a reality. Not without a lot of work, of course.

Over these past two days as I watched and photographed the twelve workers, five pieces of heavy equipment, two truck loads of gravel and three more of asphalt, it occurred to me this wasn’t unlike the process of writing for publication.

1. Doing the groundwork. ~ Making preparation for our writing. Trying out ideas.

2. Setting out the material. ~ Doing the research and determining what’s needed.

3.  Assembling the equipment we’ll need. ~ Plotting, planning, finding a pen and preparing to write.

4. Getting started on the real work. ~ Beginning the first chapter!

5. Persevering even when the task is long and tiring. ~ Um, yes… what I just said.

6. Adjusting and redistributing the material. ~ Revising and editing.

7. Inspecting and working on cohesion. ~ Reading the manuscript to critique for weak spots and inconsistency.

8. Compacting and smoothing the material. ~ Polishing words until they shine!

9. Paying the bills. ~ Yes, there are dues to pay in the publishing industry, too. Learning the craft, building a platform, querying, etc.

Fifteen years is a long time to wait for a dream driveway. It’s a long time to wait for a publishing dream to materialize, too. Neither just “happens” because we wish it would. But when I watch the grandchildren run their scooters down the driveway next time they come to visit, and when one day I hold my own published book, I’m going to be smiling again, because that planning, work, perseverance and payment are going to be so worth it!

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Are you actively working through the necessary steps to make your writing dreams a reality? What stage have you reached to date?

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Stereotyping the Sexes

Some bird species are monomorphic, with no easily identifiable differences between the male and female birds, but other species are dimorphic, which means there are visible differences in appearance.

Female and male Red-winged blackbirds

Reading that information in my bird guide led me to thinking about how we portray male and female characters in our writing.

Female Black-headed grosbeak

If we women need a reason to rationalize why we sometimes feel dowdy and unattractive, the birding world has the nerve to flaunt proof that it’s the male who’s meant to sport the gorgeous plumage and strut around challenging other guys and courting the gals. The females are “usually duller, with less distinctive markings that make it easier for them to blend in to the surroundings while they mind a nest or protect young birds.” *

Male Black-headed grosbeak

Men might  love this, but the women? Not so much. Then again, literature makes reference to men who strut like peacocks, displaying them as characters with vanity or overconfidence and suggesting, as scripture does, that “pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall. [Proverbs 16:18]

Ah ha! Maybe there is something about characterization in these birdy and biblical references that we can utilize in our novel writing. Or would that leave us open to accusations of stereotyping?

When you’re developing your characters do you layer traits that are specific to the sexes? How do you avoid typecasting?

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“Did St. Francis preach to the birds? Whatever for?
If he really liked birds he would have done better
to preach to the cats.”

Rebecca West

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“As a bird that wandereth from her nest,
so is a man that wandereth from his place.”

Proverbs 27:8

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“Yea, the sparrow hath found an house,
and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young
even thine altars, O Lord of hosts, my King, and my God.”

Psalm 84:3

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* about.com

The Precarious Part of Mondays

Monday. Ahhhh!

How many times have you heard me say I love Mondays? The promise of a new week, a fresh start, and a new page… the phrases may be clichés, but they’re all true… for me.

The problem is, not everyone feels this way. My exuberance can be grating for others.

Some people barely hang on through a week, desperately awaiting the arrival of Friday and a weekend break. When faced with the next Monday they heave sighs of resignation and begin the week’s countdown again.

It’s not just because of their ‘glass half full, or glass half empty’ outlook. For many people, life is filled with physical challenges, work-related stress and family anxieties. Or maybe it’s page after page on their calendar where every square is marked with a meeting, or some kind of church or parental commitment. Mondays mean returning to another round on the proverbial hamster’s wheel… the rodent’s version of a treadmill that goes on and on and never gets anywhere.

I’ve been there, but I admit to still loving my Mondays. It’s not that my calendar is totally empty now, despite being retired. Some days I still feel overwhelmed by life’s commitments, but I’ve learned to balance.

One year, somewhere between being a pastor’s wife, mother of four, owner/manager of a business and a member of various church and community organizations, I discovered the necessity of self preservation. Yes, God provides me with the resources to do all that He has commissioned, but He also created me human, not divine. I’m made with a body, mind and soul. My spiritual and mental selves need regular nourishment. My physical self needs certain things to function well, too, and my brain periodically has to step up and tell me when I’m depriving myself of those things.

A little TLC may feel self-indulgent, but it’s remarkable how the stability of my emotional and physical self tips precariously when I ignore the well being of any of my components.  I believe God expects me to take care of this vessel he created as his dwelling place, and to find the appropriate balance for my unique life. That balance has changed through the years, but in conjunction with time spent in God’s company, time spent in solitude has remained important.

Mondays are evaluation opportunities, chances to sort out the new week, its commitments, and my responsibilities. Beyond that, sometimes Mondays are do-absolutely-nothing days, sometimes they are full-to-the-brim days. Whatever they bring, Mondays are when I go into survival mode and make the choice of how I will cope with the rest of that week.

“When you have to make a choice and don’t make it,
that is in itself a choice.”

William James

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What affects your attitude about Mondays? Do you have a favourite day of the week? If you sometimes feel you’re balancing precariously what do/can you do to restore stability?  

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“My soul, be at rest in God alone, from whom comes my hope.”

Psalm 62:6

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Weekend Reflection: Light and Shadows

“In the right light, at the right time, everything is extraordinary.” 

Aaron Rose

“He reveals the deep things of darkness
and brings deep shadows into the light.”

Job 12:22

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Linking with Sandra and Deidra: