Seven Reasons WhyMo

In today's No, Seriously. Just Try It I encourage you to make your families hate me even more than they did when I convinced you to spend all summer inside reading.


Why try NaNoWriMo?*

1. Because practice makes perfect and even if nobody ever sees a word of what you write, you'll have learned something.

2. Because you're like me and you do your best writing when you trick your Inner Editor into shutting down because you're "just messing around."

3. Because even if you're not a writer you always wanted to write a novel and you know deep down it's never going to happen unless you do it fast.

4. Because you can be my writing "buddy."

5. Because "I must finish my novel!" is a great way to get out of Thanksgiving dinner clean up.

6. Because there are absolutely zero consequences for signing up and failing to finish.

7. Because it's so much fun.


No, seriously. Just try it. Who's in?


* National Novel Writing Month. NOT just for professional writers. Click for more info.

Fairies Live in There

"Fairies live in there," Tink whispered when she saw our backyard this morning.

And for just a minute, I forgot to be a grumpy grown-up and think, "And weeds, and mosquitoes, and I think a skunk" and I could see the fairies. Can't you?

Writing Like Butter, Part One

In which I tackle lumps in your writing porridge.

It's like Hanukkah early in my house. I'm about to finish the book I'm reading (more on that later), and was wandering the bookshelves, wondering what I should read next. There, tucked away with old baby books and my Japanese text from first year of college, was Wallace Stegner's Angle of Repose. Which I have never read, and which I had totally forgotten The Mighty Thor and I had bought ourselves cheap at a local indie one day.

I love Wallace Stegner. Crossing to Safety is on my top ten novels list.* So I grabbed Angle of Repose and fondled it like the last piece of candy in a plastic pumpkin months after Halloween but well before Valentine's Day.**

"Yum," I thought, reading the first paragraph. "Smooth."

"Smooth" is a word more used for brandy and pick-up lines than writing. But it's what I'm thinking about today.

I want my writing to be smooth. I want it to go down so smooth the reader forgets he's reading. I want him so into the story and the character that years later he'll start to relate something he thinks happened to him and only halfway through the story say, "Wait, that was a book."

I do not want my reader to be interrupted by lumps in my writing porridge. You know the lumps. The ones where, in the middle of losing yourself in literary deliciousness, you stumble, and look up, and say, "What?!" and remember that someone sat in a chair in some Starbucks and made up everything you've been taking so seriously.

Today, the lump on which I'm choking is the unnecessary or ridiculous metaphor. An okay metaphor makes the reader say, "Yes! I never realized the connection there. I understand perfectly." A great metaphor slides along with the rest of the story into the reader's subconscious where it deepens his understanding or makes him smile or reflects the main character's take on the world around him, all without the reader really noticing.

A bad metaphor makes my reader say, "Huh?" and look up and realize, yeah, maybe he should mow the lawn after all.

This week, the New York Times ran an article on an infection that's defying antibiotics in kids. It's a pneumoccal infection, the article told us in pretty scientific language, of which there are many kinds. Researchers are hoping to find a common link between the pneumococci, "in the way a quiche, an omelet and a custard pie are all versions of eggs."

What?! I don't even get the metaphor. A quiche is a "version" of an egg? Like Quiche = Egg 2.0?

Two other examples I read recently (quoted with permission):

"Her head hung low like a sock with a tennis ball inside." Huh? Her neck was stretched three feet and made of wool?

"He stumbled, flipping like a dead leaf dancing down the street in the autumn wind." Okay, I made that one up to make a point. Dead leaf dancing = nice visual image, though overused. Doesn't fit a guy falling at all. Also, if your metaphor takes longer than what it's supposed to be illuminating to read, something's wrong.

My advice? Cut them all. All your metaphors. Put back in the ones whose absence seriously diminishes the voice, or without which the visual image is not as clear. Oh, and same goes for similes, okay?

Now, go write like butter.

Stay tuned, soon, for more lumps. In the meantime, if you want to read more fabulously bad metaphors, click here.

* Along with about 19 other novels.
** Yes, I know that's a terrible metaphor. Keep reading.

Lumpy the Turtle and the Golden Spurtle

This week's Thursday News of the Absurd Will Someone Please Write This Book Inspirational Moment (TNoftheAWSPWTBIM) means no offense to lovers of porridge.

From the Golden Spurtle press release:

"Porridge enthusiast, Ian Bishop beat off tough competition to take the title of World Porridge Making Champion 2008 as expert porridge makers from far and wide gathered in the Scottish Highland village of Carrbridge on Sunday to compete for the coveted Golden Spurtle* Trophy."

Apparently, Mr. Bishop, who finally won after 15 years of trying, attributed his victory to his secret ingredient: "the water he uses which comes from a bore hole tapped 100 feet down into an underground river."

River water? Not a magic pot?

Do you think the judges go down the line of porridge bowls tasting and muttering, "too hot" or "too cold" until they find the winner that is "just right?"

Has the contest ever been interrupted by guys in bear suits running through screaming, "Mine! Mine!"? Because that's what I would do. And then I'd get beat up by porridge enthusiasts. And next year's "specialty" category champion would be Porridge Con Guts de Jacqui.

Okay, I know there's a great way to make this a picture book, but I need help.

One idea: Lumpy the Turtle is living a normal turtle life until a porridge enthusiast begins draining Lumpy's home for his "secret ingredient." Curious, Lumpy tries the porridge and falls in love. Now Lumpy devours porridge. More, he makes the best porridge in the world. But the Golden Spurtle competition is only open to humans. How can Lumpy convince everyone his porridge deserves to compete and to win the grand prize, a t-shirt that proudly reads "Porridge: Thicker Than Gruel"?** I want Lisa Campbell Ernst's fabulous Sam Johnson and the Blue Ribbon Quilt. But with a turtle and porridge instead of gender bias and quilting.

Meh. I know you can think of something better. Lumpy need not appear. I just find porridge hilarious. Will someone please write me this book?

* A spurtle is a utensil for stirring porridge. Not what comes out when the water fountain is broken. Or a Spanish turtle.
** Oh, how I would love to spend the rest of the day coming up with advertising slogans for porridge:
"Keep some porridge in your storage."
"Don't forage. Eat porridge!"
"Porridge, because look what comes with curds and whey."
"Featuring Mama Bear's Po-riginal recipe!"

Monkey Me!

A Respect the Mighty Picture Book feature aimed at the two and under crowd.

In Captain Destructo, jealous of the attention his sister and father have received lately, tells you about his three favorite picture books.*


1. Monkey Me!
(Monkey and Me, by Emily Gravett)

Bat! Kang'roo! Effant! MONKEY! No, mo' monkey page. Mo' monkeys! MO' MONKEYS! Heh heh. Monkeys. Heh heh. Yogurt. Again.**





2. Tuck Go Bumpa!
(A Truck Goes Rattley-Bumpa, by Jonathan London, illus. Denis Roche)***

Bumpa! Bumpa! Tuck go bumpa!

(the first morning after we return the book to the library): "Bumpa? Where go Bumpa?!" (throws every book out of book box) BUMPA! (screamed not unlike Brando screamed "Stella!")

"Honey, we returned it to the library so other babies could read it."

"Baby? Bumpa. Sigh."

(every morning since then): "Bumpa? Baby all done? Bumpa? Ovver baby done! All done! BUMPA!" (tears and stomping ensue)


3. Guh Guh Guh-Guh
(Goodnight Gorilla, by Peggy Rathmann)
Monkey open door! Li-yuh out! Effant out! Go to house! Wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up! Back to zoo you.

"Say thank you, Destructo."

"Tank-ooh! B'bye!"


* And you know I wouldn't let him blog about them if I didn't love them too.
** For an actual summary, click on the link and listen to Emily Gravett herself talk about the book.
** Also reviewed by Destructo at Goodreads

Sonnet #116: Ode to the Mighty Thor

In which I confess to The Mighty Thor, who loves me anyway. There should be a line in there about spending all my time blogging, but Shakespeare failed to anticipate the need for that in our time.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it dirty laundry finds,
Or when it notes dustbusters filled with goo.
Oh, no! It is an ever-fixèd mark*
That looks on tantrums and is never shaken;
Through waist-high grass it mows well after dark,
Though at 5:30,** both the kids awaken.
Our diapers, pipes, and shingles all have leaks,
Which in inspector’s searches did not rise;
The boxes will be closed and packed for weeks,
But bear with me, e’en as I do revise.
I swore I’d work, but must confess, my One:
I never writ, nor errands did I run.

* Not unlike the ever-fixèd mark shoes make on walls when hucked them in frustration
** That’s a.m., people.

Why Fight the Evil Grobs?

In which I ask you to forget you like your main character and really stick it to him.

Today's episode of No, Seriously. Just Try It was sparked by a conversation on the playground.*

Everything in this conversation was screamed at full blast.

MRS. TUTTLEBUM:** (sitting on bench at outskirts of playground) Joey!
JOEY: (running across playground away from said bench) What?
MRS. T***: Joey!
JOEY: What?
MRS. T: Aren't you cold?
JOEY: What?
MRS. T: Do you want your coat?
JOEY: What?
MRS. T: Your coat. Do you want it?
JOEY: What?
MRS. T: (sigh) Never mind.
JOEY: (running to his mom) What?
MRS. T: It doesn't matter.
JOEY: (reaching his mom, panting) What?
MRS. T: Never mind. It doesn't matter.
JOEY: Then why were you screaming?!

Indeed. If it wasn't that important, why go through all the trouble?

We all know good characters have to want something. They have to be motivated. And any good pre-writing exercise has "What does your character want?" as one of the first questions. Today, I want to talk about WHY your character wants it.

"My character wants to be prom queen." "My character wants to have freckles." "My character wants to find the one true Stunstone that can defeat the evil Grobs."

Why? Well, who wouldn't want to be prom queen or have freckles or defeat evil Grobs? But is that enough?

The question for you today is this: how can you make the motivation even more important to your character?

Answer me these questions (no reading ahead before answering, okay?):

1. What does your main character want?

2. Why does she want that?

3. So what? What could make her want it even more? List three ideas.

4. Nah. I still don't care. What could make her want it even more than that? List three more ideas.

5. I know. You're out of ideas and into "I'd never really write it like this" territory. But I still don't care. What's the one giant thing that could make getting what she wants the absolute most important thing in the world, more important than anything else she's ever wanted, even oxygen?

6. Okay, now go write it like that. No, seriously. Just try it.


In case that makes no sense, here are sample answers:

1. What does your main character want?
She wants to defeat the evil Grobs.

2. Why does she want that?
Because they're enslaving her people.

3. So what? What could make her want it even more? List three ideas.
She has something she has to do that she can't do from their prison

4. Nah. I still don't care. What could make her want it even more than that? List three more ideas.
The something she has to do is go back and rescue somebody. Her younger sister. Who's happily waiting for her in their hiding place, expecting her to come back with dinner.

5. I know. You're out of ideas and into "I'd never really write it like this" territory. But I still don't care. What's the one giant thing that could make getting what she wants the absolute most important thing in the world, more important than anything else she's ever wanted, even oxygen?
Her sister will starve without her. Her sister has no idea the Grobs are advancing on the hiding place. Oh! Her sister wears the Stunstone around her neck; the Grobs will try to steal it, which will rip her chest open, exposing her entrails, which the Grobs find delicious. Her sister will die a gruesome death thinking all along that my character's abandoned her.

Oh, wait. That's The English Patient. Sort of. You get the idea. Now, go and write.


* and adapted from an exercise in D. Maass's revision workbook Writing the Breakout Novel, and lots of other places.
** Names have been changed to keep parents at my playground from knowing I eavesdrop on them constantly protect the innocent
*** Anyone else picturing Mr. T in drag? No? Oh. As you were, then.