"Daddy," said the little boy, "how can we go fishing when there's no water?"
"We'll make water," the father explained. "Watch and you'll see."
The sand in the desert stretched long and flat, barren of any tree or bush. The father put down his saddlebag and took out a trowel.
"Now watch," he told his son.
He scooped up a clump of dirt. As the trowel hit the ground, there came a mighty crack and the earth split open. Sand fell away in a round circle; a deep crater appeared in the once-flat land. The little boy's eyes shone.
"Watch," the father said again.
He took a flask from his saddlebag and poured a single drop into the crater. A fountain sprang up from the sand, spraying white jets into the sky. The little boy laughed. Soon deep blue water filled the crater.
"Watch."
The father picked up a single egg, luminescent as a pearl, and dropped it into the water. A huge rainbow fish leapt out of the lake, its scales shining like oil swirls in puddles. The little boy clapped. Other fish followed the rainbow giant, frisking and splashing all along the surface, churning the water into waves.
"It is done." The father smiled and closed his saddlebag. "Now we fish."
--April 6, 2013
I wrote this story in about five minutes based on a photo of a boy and a man with fishing poles out in the desert. This was a prompt for my writer's club.
Monday, May 6, 2013
Friday, May 3, 2013
Weekly Update: 5-3-13
A funny thing happened around rejection #20. My story actually got a critique. By now, I'm so used to getting generic "We're-not-interested-but-thanks-for-submitting" that getting actual feedback from (several) editors rather took me by surprise. Of note was that they felt my main character did not have much of an emotional center and that he didn't fully realize he was making a deal with the devil until it was already done.
All in all, I take this as a good sign. I'm making progress.
As the messiness of April gives way to May, I'm trying to get myself back onto a routine. But to be honest, what I really want right now is a vacation. I feel restless. I want to travel. I want to play. My mind keeps calling up images of far-off lands and I wonder if I'll ever get there or if my one chance to go abroad has already been spent. Although, at this point, I'd settle for a week without writing. I'm coming to the end and I really, really just want to be done, throw my papers in the air, and scream, "School's out forever!" How I wish.
All in all, I take this as a good sign. I'm making progress.
As the messiness of April gives way to May, I'm trying to get myself back onto a routine. But to be honest, what I really want right now is a vacation. I feel restless. I want to travel. I want to play. My mind keeps calling up images of far-off lands and I wonder if I'll ever get there or if my one chance to go abroad has already been spent. Although, at this point, I'd settle for a week without writing. I'm coming to the end and I really, really just want to be done, throw my papers in the air, and scream, "School's out forever!" How I wish.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
NaPoWriMo Bonus: 5 Haikus
Small Poem
I'd teach you how to
write a personal poem
if I knew myself.
Snail
Anticipating
a light touch, your head trembles
back inside your shell.
Seeds
Every time I puff
a dandelion's white head
I forget to wish.
Writing Poems
Writing poems eases
anxiety. Tomorrow
suffering returns.
Last Year's Blossoms
Already the charms
of last year's cherry blossoms
have been forgotten.
--April 4, 2013
These are poems I wrote earlier this month that I never got to post.
I'd teach you how to
write a personal poem
if I knew myself.
Snail
Anticipating
a light touch, your head trembles
back inside your shell.
Seeds
Every time I puff
a dandelion's white head
I forget to wish.
Writing Poems
Writing poems eases
anxiety. Tomorrow
suffering returns.
Last Year's Blossoms
Already the charms
of last year's cherry blossoms
have been forgotten.
--April 4, 2013
These are poems I wrote earlier this month that I never got to post.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Reflections on NaPoWriMo '13
It's hard to know how I feel about the end of NaPoWriMo, because I'm still not entirely sure why I decided to commit to it. It was sort of a lark. My aunt was doing it, and so I thought, why not me too? But I've never felt like I truly had the soul of a poet. To be honest, I still don't. There's a certain sensetivity of words and beauty, a certain deep cutting truth that I don't think I possess. Mostly, though, I'm not infatuated with poetry. My first love is stories.
That said, even if I don't feel like a "poet," I do have a little more faith in my ability to write poetry. In truth, I'm only a little surprised I made it through the month, but I'm astonished that most of my poems had enough internal integrity not to collapse on themselves like an under-baked souffle. Now at the month's end, I have thirty little poems, like crisp new calling cards. That's something, right?
NaPoWriMo #30: Storm
The storm leaves
on giant bat wings.
It flies blind
over mountain and farm
with thunderous flaps
and suddenly stops.
on giant bat wings.
It flies blind
over mountain and farm
with thunderous flaps
and suddenly stops.
--April 30, 2013
Prompt: Choose a poem and re-write it by putting in as many opposite words as you can.
Original:
Fog
by Carl Sandburg
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on
Monday, April 29, 2013
NaPoWriMo #29: Four Seasons with Japanese
Spring
Para-para, para-para
Raindrops sprinkle pink sakura
Petals overflow the gutter
Summer
Kira-kira, kira-kira
Sun hits lake and shines like glitter
On stones matsu needles gather
Fall
Para-para, para-para
Crimson leaves blow hither-thither
From momiji, shadows scatter
Winter
Chira-chira, chira-chira
Snowflakes hit the ground and wither
Ume's budding, I wait eager
--April 29, 2013
Prompt: Write a poem incorporating at least 5 words in a different language. (I, of course, picked Japanese.)
Japanese Glossary
Para-para: The sound of a light rain or of leaves dropping
Sakura: Cherry
Kira-kira: Light shining off a reflective surface
Matsu: Pine
Momiji: Maple
Chira-chira: The sound of snow lightly falling
Ume: Plum
Para-para, para-para
Raindrops sprinkle pink sakura
Petals overflow the gutter
Summer
Kira-kira, kira-kira
Sun hits lake and shines like glitter
On stones matsu needles gather
Fall
Para-para, para-para
Crimson leaves blow hither-thither
From momiji, shadows scatter
Winter
Chira-chira, chira-chira
Snowflakes hit the ground and wither
Ume's budding, I wait eager
--April 29, 2013
Prompt: Write a poem incorporating at least 5 words in a different language. (I, of course, picked Japanese.)
Japanese Glossary
Para-para: The sound of a light rain or of leaves dropping
Sakura: Cherry
Kira-kira: Light shining off a reflective surface
Matsu: Pine
Momiji: Maple
Chira-chira: The sound of snow lightly falling
Ume: Plum
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Book Review: The Skull of Truth
Title: The Skull of Truth
Author: Bruce Coville
Genre: Children's Middle Grade Reader, (Sub)Urban Fantasy
Summary
Charlie Eggleston, known as a liar to friends and family alike, is already having a bad day. His beloved swamp will soon be paved over, he's being chased by bullies, and he's about to be latetor another uncomfortable family dinner. But when he stumbles into Mr. Elive's magic shop and steals the Skull of Truth, things go from bad to worse. The wise-cracking skull curses those around him into telling the truth--starting with Charlie!
Review
The cover of the book promises a lot more magic and adventure than are actually in it. Although the Skull of Truth is important as both a character and a catalyst, the bulk of the plot has to do with untangling a bunch of real-world issues, which include environmentalism versus job creation, the secrets families keep, childhood cancer, etc. Most importantly, the book examines the many faces of honesty: the good, the bad, and the ugly. Bruce Coville does a great job of showing the complexity of feelings and never paints any issue as black-or-white, good-or-bad. And yet all the problems are handled with deftness, maturity, and grace.
A child reading this review would probably conclude that the book is boring. But that's not true. I found it compelling, and I read it all the way through without putting it down once. Most of it is clear, not overly wordy, with good characters, constant conflict, and a nicely tied-up ending. I liked it. But the fantasy was not as strong as expected, which was a slight let-down. The very end got abstract. The setting was murky, it was hard to see what was going on, and the allegory was pretty thick. Overall, it was a solid book, but not the best Bruce Coville has to offer.
Rant (Spoiler Alert)
Now, two decades later, my mind has been so stuffed with education, I can't stop analyzing a story if I try. The first thing I noticed was the set-up: swamp about to be destroyed--that would have to be stopped by the end of the book; bullies chasing Charlie--that provided the first tangible point of conflict; have to be home for dinner--that provides a deadline, imbues the story with a sense of urgency.
I also noticed a lot of "grown-up" issues being set up: the swamp being paved over to set up an industrial park, the uncle with a close roommate, the friend who had been sick for months and was now returning to school bald. On the one hand, I felt in awe of Bruce Coville for handling such hot-button topics in a fantasy children's book. On the other hand, the conflicts were starting to pile up and I had no idea how they'd be resolved.
Beautifully, as it turned out. One, two, three, all the problems were confronted and resolved. This was the point in which the analytical part of my brain shut off, and I just started to enjoy myself. When the book ended, my overwhelming feeling was to sigh happily and marvel at the beautiful simplicity.
Simplicity. Funny. As an adult, I value the simple more than I ever did as a child. As a child, simple would cause me to wrinkle my nose in disgust. Simple meant predictable. Simple with boring. And, as a child, I would have never thought to call Bruce Coville's books simple. Because, to a child, they're not simple. To a child, they're complex.
A paradox. Perhaps.
The points of conflicts, the themes, the underlying emotions are not simple. But how they're presented and how they're dealt with contain notes of grace. Little time is wasted on unnecessary worry or angst. The bad thing happens, the character reacts. The solution is simple and oft times symbolic, creating maximum impact for the least amount of fuss. As soon as the issue is resolved, the character moves on.
For example, Charlie's friend Gilbert, who has clearly been undergoing chemotherapy, arrives at school bald. Gilbert asks Charlie how he looks. Charlie, under the truth-curse, replies, "I think it looks totally doofy. And I hope to god it never happens to me." Gilbert is hurt. The children ostracize Charlie, the adults guilt him.
Charlie gets angry with the skull and feels guilty and uncertain, but knows he has to do something. He consults with wise adults. He apologizes to Gilbert. As he talks to him and starts to empathize, he comes up with an idea. Charlie shaves his head. He saves his friendship with Gilbert. Others shave their heads to show their support. The story moves on.
Earlier this week, I read in Tia Nevitt's blog about how reading different genres can help writers work on different elements of their craft. For instance, fantasy teaches world-building, mystery teaches plot, romance teaches visceral pov, etc. Though not listed, I believe that children's literature teaches simplicity.
Simplicity, I believe, is something that fantasy writers in particular should work on. And yes, I do include myself in that category. My automatic instinct is to make things more and more complicated, believing somehow that it makes the story more interesting. It is only lately that I've begun to look hard at the benefits of doing a simple thing really well. It's frightening because without all that razzle-dazzle noise, you no longer have a means of distracting the audience.
Either it's interesting or boring.
Anyway, this rant has gotten very personal, but let me return to the Skull of Truth and point out a few glaring problems, which, while they don't really bug me that much, I do feel inclined to point out. First of all, there's a lot of "something wicked this way comes" foreshadowing at the start of the book. The skull all but shivers at the coming doom and the shopkeeper alludes to a mysterious danger. As it turns out, all this comes to nothing. And I do mean nothing.
The true climax of the book is the city meeting over the swamp. That has it all: cunning plots, the gathering of allies, twists, acts of courage, confrontation, and, as to be expected, the revelation of truth. After that, it's all down-hill. The resolution of the skull is pure anti-climax. The author basically uses an allegorical character to expound on the nature of truth. It's surprisingly abstract and also really hard to visualize. If not for the illustration, I'm pretty sure I'd have no idea what was going on.
That aside, I really did enjoy the book. It made me feel refreshed and thoughtful, as a good book should. I may criticize books, but I always tip my hat when I come across authors who can do what I still aspire to. So I tip my hat to Bruce Coville. And I hope one day, I'll be able to master the paradox of complexity and simplicity as deftly as he does.
Author: Bruce Coville
Genre: Children's Middle Grade Reader, (Sub)Urban Fantasy
Summary
Charlie Eggleston, known as a liar to friends and family alike, is already having a bad day. His beloved swamp will soon be paved over, he's being chased by bullies, and he's about to be latetor another uncomfortable family dinner. But when he stumbles into Mr. Elive's magic shop and steals the Skull of Truth, things go from bad to worse. The wise-cracking skull curses those around him into telling the truth--starting with Charlie!
Review
The cover of the book promises a lot more magic and adventure than are actually in it. Although the Skull of Truth is important as both a character and a catalyst, the bulk of the plot has to do with untangling a bunch of real-world issues, which include environmentalism versus job creation, the secrets families keep, childhood cancer, etc. Most importantly, the book examines the many faces of honesty: the good, the bad, and the ugly. Bruce Coville does a great job of showing the complexity of feelings and never paints any issue as black-or-white, good-or-bad. And yet all the problems are handled with deftness, maturity, and grace.
A child reading this review would probably conclude that the book is boring. But that's not true. I found it compelling, and I read it all the way through without putting it down once. Most of it is clear, not overly wordy, with good characters, constant conflict, and a nicely tied-up ending. I liked it. But the fantasy was not as strong as expected, which was a slight let-down. The very end got abstract. The setting was murky, it was hard to see what was going on, and the allegory was pretty thick. Overall, it was a solid book, but not the best Bruce Coville has to offer.
The first Bruce Coville book I ever read was The Ghost in the Big Brass Bed. I think I got it as a present. I remember that the title and the illustration did not particularly impress me. I must have been around ten or so, old enough to start devouring chapter books on my own, but still young enough that my mom would read to me before bed. Somehow, she chose this one and started to read it.
I was hooked after the first chapter. That was unfortunate, because I kept asking for more and my mom kept falling asleep. At last, I wrenched the book from her hands and finished it myself. That same night, I think. It taught me an important lesson: NEVER read books before bedtime. You will not sleep!
After that, Bruce Coville became one of my favorite authors. I read whatever books he wrote that I could get a hold of, but as these were the days before amazon.com really took off, my selection was limited to what I could order on scholastic, what I could buy at Walden's or B. Dalton, and what I could dig up at the library.
Interestingly, I had never heard of the Skull of Truth until I happened upon it at the library bookshop, some twenty years later. I volunteer at the bookstore every Thursday, which means I get first scan at the books. When I saw it was Bruce Coville, I snatched it up. This was partially out of nostalgia, partially because I wanted a book that was quick to read and satisfying.
It was that. But I must say, the experience of reading Bruce Coville as a kid and the experience of reading him as an adult is very different. When I was a child, reading was simple. If the story was good, I kept reading. If it was bad, I stopped reading. Books were feelings, not thoughts. I felt excited or I felt bored.
I also noticed a lot of "grown-up" issues being set up: the swamp being paved over to set up an industrial park, the uncle with a close roommate, the friend who had been sick for months and was now returning to school bald. On the one hand, I felt in awe of Bruce Coville for handling such hot-button topics in a fantasy children's book. On the other hand, the conflicts were starting to pile up and I had no idea how they'd be resolved.
Beautifully, as it turned out. One, two, three, all the problems were confronted and resolved. This was the point in which the analytical part of my brain shut off, and I just started to enjoy myself. When the book ended, my overwhelming feeling was to sigh happily and marvel at the beautiful simplicity.
Simplicity. Funny. As an adult, I value the simple more than I ever did as a child. As a child, simple would cause me to wrinkle my nose in disgust. Simple meant predictable. Simple with boring. And, as a child, I would have never thought to call Bruce Coville's books simple. Because, to a child, they're not simple. To a child, they're complex.
A paradox. Perhaps.
The points of conflicts, the themes, the underlying emotions are not simple. But how they're presented and how they're dealt with contain notes of grace. Little time is wasted on unnecessary worry or angst. The bad thing happens, the character reacts. The solution is simple and oft times symbolic, creating maximum impact for the least amount of fuss. As soon as the issue is resolved, the character moves on.
Charlie gets angry with the skull and feels guilty and uncertain, but knows he has to do something. He consults with wise adults. He apologizes to Gilbert. As he talks to him and starts to empathize, he comes up with an idea. Charlie shaves his head. He saves his friendship with Gilbert. Others shave their heads to show their support. The story moves on.
Earlier this week, I read in Tia Nevitt's blog about how reading different genres can help writers work on different elements of their craft. For instance, fantasy teaches world-building, mystery teaches plot, romance teaches visceral pov, etc. Though not listed, I believe that children's literature teaches simplicity.
Simplicity, I believe, is something that fantasy writers in particular should work on. And yes, I do include myself in that category. My automatic instinct is to make things more and more complicated, believing somehow that it makes the story more interesting. It is only lately that I've begun to look hard at the benefits of doing a simple thing really well. It's frightening because without all that razzle-dazzle noise, you no longer have a means of distracting the audience.
Either it's interesting or boring.
The true climax of the book is the city meeting over the swamp. That has it all: cunning plots, the gathering of allies, twists, acts of courage, confrontation, and, as to be expected, the revelation of truth. After that, it's all down-hill. The resolution of the skull is pure anti-climax. The author basically uses an allegorical character to expound on the nature of truth. It's surprisingly abstract and also really hard to visualize. If not for the illustration, I'm pretty sure I'd have no idea what was going on.
That aside, I really did enjoy the book. It made me feel refreshed and thoughtful, as a good book should. I may criticize books, but I always tip my hat when I come across authors who can do what I still aspire to. So I tip my hat to Bruce Coville. And I hope one day, I'll be able to master the paradox of complexity and simplicity as deftly as he does.
NaPoWriMo # 28: Rosemary Bread, Lavender Tea
Rosemary bread, Lavender tea
Juniper soup, Lemon candy.
The vittles of witches, oh what a treat.
But they are not good for a mortal to eat.
Rosemary bread, Rosemary bread
Baked by the good witch of Scarpetta Breeze.
Just one big bite will make your head light.
Your cheeks will swell up as though stung by mad bees.
Lavender tea, Lavender tea
Brewed by the good witch of Viola Cay.
One mild sip will make your nose drip
You'll walk in a daze in the moonlight of May.
Juniper Soup, Juniper Soup
Stewed by the good witch of Forrester's Thorn.
One smacking slurp will cause you to burp.
Your belly will roil like waves in a storm.
Lemon Candy, Lemon Candy
Made by the good witch of Sunny Day's Cough
One little suck will make your heart buck
You'll run so fast both your legs will fall off.
Rosemary bread, Lavender tea
Juniper soup, Lemon candy.
The vittles of witches, oh what a treat.
But they are not good for a mortal to eat.
Juniper soup, Lemon candy.
The vittles of witches, oh what a treat.
But they are not good for a mortal to eat.
Rosemary bread, Rosemary bread
Baked by the good witch of Scarpetta Breeze.
Just one big bite will make your head light.
Your cheeks will swell up as though stung by mad bees.
Lavender tea, Lavender tea
Brewed by the good witch of Viola Cay.
One mild sip will make your nose drip
You'll walk in a daze in the moonlight of May.
Juniper Soup, Juniper Soup
Stewed by the good witch of Forrester's Thorn.
One smacking slurp will cause you to burp.
Your belly will roil like waves in a storm.
Lemon Candy, Lemon Candy
Made by the good witch of Sunny Day's Cough
One little suck will make your heart buck
You'll run so fast both your legs will fall off.
Rosemary bread, Lavender tea
Juniper soup, Lemon candy.
The vittles of witches, oh what a treat.
But they are not good for a mortal to eat.
--April 28, 2013
Prompt: A poem based on color.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
NaPoWriMo #27: Writing Excuses
The faeries hid my pens away
And so I cannot write today.
Pixies all my pencils stole,
Hoarded them like they were gold.
And if, by chance, I found a spare
It'd do me little good I fear.
The only sharpener I own
Was smashed by dwarves upon a stone.
Should I then my finger cut
And write this poem in my own blood?
But it were useless, too, I think.
My notebook's eaten by a Sphinx,
Who left me but the metal wire.
And all the elf-lads did conspire
To tear my loose leaf, one by one,
Until their wretched work was done.
And while I flapped around the room
To save my paper from its doom,
The shine of my computer screen
Attracted the hobgoblins' greed.
They took it, plus my best keyboard.
They dragged my mouse out by its cord.
Harpies in my printer nest.
A dragon has burned down my desk.
I wish to leave but can't go far.
A giant skateboards on my car.
Burdened with these pests and blights
How can a poet hope to write?
Brownies stomp upon my head.
I think I'll read a book instead.
--April 27, 2013
Prompt: Pick a common saying and search the Internet for ideas. (I didn't like this prompt, so I didn't write it.)
And so I cannot write today.
Pixies all my pencils stole,
Hoarded them like they were gold.
And if, by chance, I found a spare
It'd do me little good I fear.
The only sharpener I own
Was smashed by dwarves upon a stone.
Should I then my finger cut
And write this poem in my own blood?
But it were useless, too, I think.
My notebook's eaten by a Sphinx,
Who left me but the metal wire.
And all the elf-lads did conspire
To tear my loose leaf, one by one,
Until their wretched work was done.
And while I flapped around the room
To save my paper from its doom,
The shine of my computer screen
Attracted the hobgoblins' greed.
They took it, plus my best keyboard.
They dragged my mouse out by its cord.
Harpies in my printer nest.
A dragon has burned down my desk.
I wish to leave but can't go far.
A giant skateboards on my car.
Burdened with these pests and blights
How can a poet hope to write?
Brownies stomp upon my head.
I think I'll read a book instead.
--April 27, 2013
Prompt: Pick a common saying and search the Internet for ideas. (I didn't like this prompt, so I didn't write it.)
Weekly Update: 4-27-13
I officially ended my run at NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) yesterday with a grand total of 57207 words. That means I finished approximately 7000 words and 5 days ahead of schedule. Intellectually, I was pretty satisfied with the work I'd done. But I was so drained. I didn't want to celebrate. I wanted to sprawl on the couch and watch T.V. until it rotted out of my brain.
This week had not been nice to me. Maybe I worked too hard last week or something, but this week I crashed. I got a bad case of insomnia on Sunday night, Monday night, Tuesday night, and partially on Wednesday night. I felt mildly depressed for a good half a week. I'd let chores and other tasks pile, but I had no discipline to spare. And my sinuses were haywire.
Gradually, though, things are getting back to normal. My insomnia and depression has passed and the sun has returned (literally, as it was cloudy all week). I got some good reading done yesterday, having finished Bruce Coville's The Skull of Truth. If I can get some writing an corrspondence done this weekend, I'll be in good shape.
This week had not been nice to me. Maybe I worked too hard last week or something, but this week I crashed. I got a bad case of insomnia on Sunday night, Monday night, Tuesday night, and partially on Wednesday night. I felt mildly depressed for a good half a week. I'd let chores and other tasks pile, but I had no discipline to spare. And my sinuses were haywire.
Gradually, though, things are getting back to normal. My insomnia and depression has passed and the sun has returned (literally, as it was cloudy all week). I got some good reading done yesterday, having finished Bruce Coville's The Skull of Truth. If I can get some writing an corrspondence done this weekend, I'll be in good shape.
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