LITTLE-KNOWN
FACTS ABOUT . . .
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Volume
4,
Issue 6
August 2006
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Welcome to The VERB! To get away from the hellish summer heat, we’ve been spending our free time at the local theater. Pirates of the Caribbean 2 was an especially rip-roaring good time. To have to look at Johnny Depp for two and half hours wasn’t too painful either, but I digress. Point is, our college boy works part time at this theater and receives free passes with every paycheck. So we get to see movies for no more than the price of a tub of popcorn. As if that's not sweet enough, he was recently promoted to the projector booth upstairs. So we also get to glance over our shoulders, while we're munching popcorn, and see the ol' boy loading up the film. (The ten projectors he oversees vary in size and style, and almost every one is laced up differently. Some are new, some are used, two are remnants from old drive-ins with xenon arc lights that will burn right through the film if it doesn't keep moving. And the reels--they aren't like the ones I remember in school. No, these puppies lie horizontally beside the projector on round metal plates like gigantic pizzas, same diameter as the tire on an eighteen-wheeler!) Brings tears to a mom’s eye to see her filmmaker son climbing the cinematic ladder. I hear Hitchcock started out this way. Big congrats and hugs to ReadingWriter Ruth Mark who just gave birth to a boy on July 2 in the Netherlands. She and hubby named him Matthijs. Isn’t that a great name? Finally, as I sit inside my cool comfortable office and sip a cool frosty drink, I want to send out a special thanks to the late great Willis Haviland Carrier. He’s the genius engineer who invented the modern air conditioner. Here’s to you, Mr. Carrier. ~~~ FOR YOUR RESEARCH – Look Who’s Talking My high school English teacher Mrs. Taylor was a piece of work. She wore thick glasses, bright floral dresses and Navy nurse shoes from World War II. She also had a red pen permanently attached to her right hand, and she wasn’t afraid to use it on our papers or our tongues. The woman literally corrected our conversations in the lunch line. We feared her, loathed her and absolutely cringed when she called our name. Yet this same woman taught us to enunciate, to communicate and to appreciate our native language in all its glory. So she did her job well. Still, by the time I began to write seriously I discovered the lining of my creativity carried a pretty thick residue from her caustic training. Everything I wrote read like a formal textbook, and I couldn’t seem to shake it. That’s because deep down I thought if I wrote the way I wanted, Mrs. Taylor would fly out of the walls and whack me with her pen. So there I was, savvy to the rules of written communication, but ignorant to the sound of my own voice. Is that a big deal? It is if we want to be read. The first thing agents and editors notice is our prose. By the end of the first paragraph, they’re already thinking one of two things: Wow, this writer has a unique voice. Or Wow, this writer sounds like a hundred others I’ve read this month. Let’s look at the opening paragraph of our current project. Read it out loud. Let’s then find someone we hold dear to our heart and tell them the same thing. Do the two instances sound even remotely the same? If our answer is no, we aren’t expressing ourselves. We’re trying to please our English teachers. We’re trying to prove to the literary world we can spell and punctuate and conjugate a verb. Problem is, in the writing world the goal is not to pass a test, but to get noticed. Grammatically-correct prose will never stand out for the simple reason that nobody, aside from a few anal-retentive academicians, talks that way. The style is a permanent resident of Snoozeland, Yawnsville and Dull City. Here’s something I wrote a long time ago: Here’s how I’d write it today: That’s my voice, warts and all. Few in the world, if any, would use the same phrasing. At least that's what I hope. So yes, our voice is a big deal. And contrary to what we may think, our voice isn’t so difficult to find. It’s there inside us, it’s always been there inside us, but we’ve convinced ourselves it isn’t good enough to come out and speak. We dress it up in stiff fancy clothes and tight glassy slippers, stuff that’s never seen the inside of our writing closet, just to get a ticket to the Literate Ball. Never mind that we’re putting the real world to sleep. Remember, agents and editors are highly skilled readers. They’ve seen it all. They can easily distinguish a clueless amateur from a rebellious professional. As long as we know the writing rules, thanks to the Mrs. Taylors of the world, we have every right to break them. It’s what sets us apart. IN A NUTSHELL
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| SARAH WEINMAN My desk is entirely too small. My laptop - or the Monstrosity, as I term it, because it's 9 pounds and is really one of those "desktop replacements" instead of something portable - dominates the space, with a box of pens, the inevitable bottle of water and stacks of papers on each side. Underneath is the printer, the
file folder holding important documents (taxes, sigh) and other
random slips of paper. Sometimes I'll even put books on the
desk, mostly review copies that I need to refer back to when I'm
getting the next column ready. And even though it probably
doesn't really look all that cluttered, it feels that way.
Sarah
reviews crime fiction for the Baltimore Sun, is one-half of the
publishing industry news blog Galleycat, and can be found blogging
about crime & mystery fiction at Confessions
of an Idiosyncratic Mind |
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© 2006 Elizabeth Guy |
SAY WHAT? Commonly Misused Words
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Poise
- a state of balance; composure; a particular way of carrying
oneself. "Strike a pose." |
A MOMENT IN THE HISTORY OF WRITING
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Frank, who had survived a miserable childhood in Limerick, Ireland, chose to write about the pitiful bed he and his four brothers had to share. The mattress had a deep sag in the middle. As soon
as the boys crawled in, they rolled to the center and then fought their
way to a sleeping spot. They also wet the bed, so the mattress reeked of urine and had long ago lost its spring. And then there were the fleas.
The professor was so moved by the composition, he not only gave it an A+, he asked Frank to read it to the class. The young writer refused. “No, no,” he
said. “I’d be too ashamed. They’d be too disgusted.” He did, however, say the professor could read it aloud if he promised not to name its author. Afterward, Frank noticed his classmates, especially the pretty girls, began to look at him differently. But none appeared disgusted. After graduation, Frank went on to become a teacher. But he never forgot that bed essay and the effect it had on others. Throughout his teaching career, he made notes about his horrible days in Ireland, although he wasn’t sure what, if anything, he’d ever do with the information. Retirement brought the answer.
When Angela’s Ashes hit print in 1996, it climbed to the New York Times
bestseller list and stayed there for 117 weeks. It also began to accumulate awards, including the Pulitzer Prize.
At the age of 67, Frank McCourt conquered his shame.
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After serving two years in the Korean War, a young man named Frank took advantage of the GI bill and went to college.
One of his first assignments at NYU was to write about a single thing from his
youth. LITTLE-KNOWN FACTS ABOUT . . .
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TRUMAN CAPOTE Born: September
30, 1924
"To me, the greatest pleasure of writing is not what it's about, but the inner music that words make."
~ Truman Streckfus Persons was born in New Orleans, Louisiana. ~ His mother was a former beauty queen. His father, a salesman and a restless soul, never held a job for long. He left town so much, looking for new opportunities, that his marriage ended when Truman was four. ~ The young Truman was sent to live with relatives in Alabama, where he met neighbor Harper Lee. She would eventually portray him as Dill in her novel To Kill A Mockingbird. ~ In 1933, Truman’s mother remarried a successful businessman in New York. Truman moved in with them and adopted his step-father’s surname. There, he wrote for the school’s paper until he left school at the age of seventeen. ~ Capote got a job at The New Yorker, cataloging cartoons and news clips. Later, he moved up to writing for the column "Talk Of The Town." Between 1946 and 1950, nine of his travel articles were published by the magazine. ~ His early short stories were also published in magazines. In June 1945, Mademoiselle published his short story "Miriam" which won an O. Henry Award. ~ While in Europe, Capote began his work with the theatre and films. ~ During this time, he also developed an unusual style of interviewing that he would later use to great success in his masterpiece In Cold Blood. ~ Capote liked to first tell his subject about himself, reversing the role of interviewer and interviewee. This tactic, Capote felt, caused his subjects to lose all inhibitions and to openly share their story. ~ Back in the United States, Capote wrote Breakfast at Tiffany’s, which was later made into a successful film, starring Audrey Hepburn. ~ When Capote read about the horrible murders of the Clutter family in Holcomb, Kansas, he decided to write an in-depth piece for The New York Times. He and Harper Lee traveled to Kansas to interview the local townsfolk. Inspired to expand it to a novel, he also interviewed the killers and became emotionally attached to one of them. This part of his life is played out in the 2005 film Capote. ~ Truman Capote died of phlebitis and drug abuse in Los Angeles, California. He was buried in Westwood Village Memorial Park Cemetery.
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 The VERB is brought to you by ReadingWriters |
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White space. The eye naturally seeks it out on the page. When found, the eye lingers. A feeling of airy lightness abounds. The printed message promises to be a leisurely read. Long claustrophobic paragraphs make the eye cross. Bad news for the writer who has stashed something of vital importance in the middle of it all.
EXAMPLE: CLEANED UP: He smiled. No gloomy weather could obliterate the glory of this place. The mere sight of the immaculate Victorian conjured as many memories for him as an old song. The spooky attic. The breezy porch. The woods in back where he and Walker built that lopsided tree house. And where he first encountered those damned eight-legged terrorists. One spastic move into a web on a warm summer day had launched a week of nightmares and a perpetual hatred of spiders. But they couldn’t keep him out of the woods. From that time onward, he simply carried a big stick. How long had it been since he'd walked those wooded trails? Or carried a big stick?
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Whet
their appetite! Rather than post your entire first chapter on
your site, stop in the middle of an action or a conversation that
leaves readers wanting more.|
Do you consider self-publishing an option? |
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PREVIOUS SURVEY
Spring - 19% "My story takes place in the summer -- murder on the beach at the height of the tourist season." - Anthony Lind "Summer. Love is in the air." - Dawn Shirrell "I chose fall. It's my favorite time of the year." - Cathy Spencer "Winter. I'm writing a novel about a dysfunctional family who get together at Christmas. It also progresses to the spring, summer and fall of the following year, so I guess it's an all-weather story." - Evan Wilkes |
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INSANITY My computer is my critic. It stares me down. Says nothing when I struggle. Locks up when I produce. Nothing positive comes from this hunk of parts. But I come in here everyday and sit before it like a worshipping fiend ...
I wish I could write. I wish I could find the words to express what I’m feeling. I know I should write. I sit down at the computer with that intent, but nothing comes but these ramblings. Moments of sheer terror when I realize I cannot shape a story anymore. What’s worse, I can’t find an idea. I am utterly frozen. I
know deep down where I don’t like to go, that this is caused by my
emotional chaos. If I could straighten out the broken
things in my life, I could once again write. But the chaos in my
life is brought about by other people. How do I control them? The
obvious answer is to kick them from my life, but when you love
someone with your whole heart and soul, you don't kick them out of
your life. It would be easier to pull your heart out of your chest. Staring at the screen. Watching the cursor watching
me. Waiting. Stressing at the emptiness. The silence. I should
really be making some money. I have bills to pay. Obligations. But
my heart doesn’t care. My muse is silent. Stunned by the cruel
world around her. My computer is my critic. It stares me down. Says nothing when I struggle. Locks up when I produce. Nothing positive comes from this hunk of parts. But I come in here everyday and sit before it like a worshipping fiend and give it my time and devotion. It‘s the writer’s tool, after all. You aren’t hip without one. But what good does
it do me? Freeze up at the most
inopportune time. Eat my manuscript in the middle of printing. Or
tell me it doesn’t want to do that anymore and has to
close. Sorry. And by the way, whatever you were doing was so
unimportant, I’m not even going to let you save it. A hammer would be too civil. A stick of dynamite would too kind.
Something that plays with emotions so easily should be strung up in
the town square so all the people could dress up in their
Sunday’s best and slick down their kids' cowlicks and come down to
watch the spectacle and say, See? That’s what happens when you try
to become a writer. You go all crazy in the head and kill
whatever’s around you.
©
2006 Annette Grindle |
Here's a chance to show off your
writing! |
ARE
YOU A PUNCTUAL PUNCTUATOR? Punctuation, smunctuation. Who cares about that? Writers are artists. Visionaries. Creators of
other worlds. They can't be bothered with the silly little things surrounding the art. That's the editor's job.
1. Okay i spoke with harrison he said snapping the locks on his briefcase sounds like hes loving the ranch life did he tell you hes breeding llamas 2. In 1997 he told me later we started with nothing there werent even enough chairs for my student 3. Brad also sniffed the air when he walked in hey what are you cooking he asked as if cooking were a common thing to be doing in an office 4. Remember we was working second shift she said fort payne late at night like now sitting at the kitchen table like now whipping up peanut butter cookies and waiting to hear if dale got the job 5. Car license plates in quebec which includes the magdalen islands bear the legend je me souviens meaning i remember 6. Excellent jeff dropped his hands to his thighs then its settled 7. Thats right hes hold on ill find out when hes coming
1. "Okay, I spoke with Harrison," he said, snapping the locks on his briefcase. "Sounds like he's loving the ranch life. Did he tell you he's breeding llamas?" 2. In 1997, he told me later, "we started with nothing. There weren't even enough chairs for my students." 3. Brad also sniffed the air when he walked in. "Hey, what are you cooking?" he asked, as if cooking were a common thing to be doing in an office. 4. "Remember we was working second shift?" she said. "Fort Payne. Late at night, like now. Sitting at the kitchen table, like now. Whipping up peanut butter cookies and waiting to hear if Dale got the job." 5. Car license plates in Quebec, which includes the Magdalen Islands, bear the legend, Je me souviens, meaning "I remember." 6. "Excellent." Jeff dropped his hands to his thighs. "Then it's settled." 7. "That's right, he's ... hold on, I'll find out when he's coming."
© 2006 Elizabeth Guy |
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When the mail coach stopped in the small north Georgia town of Marthasville, a twenty-three year old army lieutenant got out and stretched. Boarding again, William Tecumseh Sherman rode the short distance on to Marietta, where he reported for six weeks of duty in February and March, 1844. In his weeks at Marietta, Sherman rode up Kennesaw Mountain often. He took long horseback rides alone, looking at the rolling land of north Georgia. When he returned twenty years later, he was Major General Sherman and little Marthasville was Atlanta, "the turntable of the Confederacy." The Civil War had turned Atlanta into a bustling city of great importance, but that very importance made it a target. Two decades after he visited Marthasville, Sherman was on his way back. And this time he was not alone.
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J.L.
McDonough & J.P. Jones
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© 2006 ReadingWriters. All rights reserved. This ezine is a labor of love, so spread the love by sharing The VERB in its entirety with all your friends. But if you reproduce sections without permission, we'll have to hunt you down like a dog. All correspondence should be sent to Elizabeth Guy. |