MONDAY, FEBRUARY 20, 2012

I’m going to print it and post it on my bulletin board. And bookmark it. And do whatever else is necessary to find it when I need it. And if I hang around long enough, am persistent enough, believe enough, and find a fairy godmother, I might just need it.

Here it is:

Janet Reid’s Updated List of Dictionary Terms

Have a great weekend.

~ Kay

As all folks of a certain age who are in a long-term relationship know, it’s difficult to conjure up something creative and wonderful for every gift-giving occasion. It just is. I’d decided to download a bunch of episodes of Car Talk to Hubby’s iPod for some upcoming trips until, out of the blue, an idea washed over me.

Last week we were getting pedicures at our usual place. Our normal routine is he’ll get a deluxe pedi, while I get a regular one because it takes so much longer to finish my manicure. Anyway one of the components of his pedicure involves this gelatin like substance, about the consistency of smushy Jello, only it’s hot. It’s made from a powder (like gelatin), but it beads up into finger-tip size nuggets that would resemble Jelly Beans if Jelly Beans were smaller and softer. He loves this part and always raves about it.

Before I go any further, you need to know how much we enjoy baths. The first “project” after we moved into this house was to pull out the standard-sized tub for two (which was maybe a tub for two children) and put in a giant soaking tub. While we were at it we ripped out the tile and placed heat coils under its replacement flooring. Yummy.

Anyway, as I was saying, we like our baths and we like to take baths together. It’s where we decompress after a tough day. It’s a place to work through issues, to discuss the kids, to reconnect.  We’ve found it’s easier to have heart to heart talks in the tub for whatever reason—I guess it’s harder to have our defenses up with only bubbles between us. There’ve been times we’ve become waterlogged we’ve stayed in so long. And occasionally we’ve even had dinner in the tub. It works well—no need for napkins.

Back to the story … You can see where I’m going with this. I approached the owner of the Mani/Pedi shop about buying some of the ingredients they put in the pedicure bowl for our bathtub. After I talked them into it, four consultants and I tried to figure out how much we’d need if they used half a packet for a pedicure. (They cautioned me to only use a few inches of warm water.) We settled on ten packets, which I purchased, brought home and hid.

Hubby came home from work last night with flowers (he knows I don’t want flowers on V-Day—they cost too much—but he brought home roses and irises anyway) and a gift bag of goodies. We went out for dinner—nothing fancy, just a neighborhood Mexican restaurant. We got home an hour or so later and I suggested he change into his robe (his usual ritual) and wait in the den for his gift.

This is where the comedy of the evening began. I filled the tub with about an inch of hot water, then dumped two packets in. I’d brought a long spoon from the kitchen and started stirring. You can imagine how that worked. It set up fast and I couldn’t reach the whole tub, so I stripped, added more water, another packet, and got in to stir with my feet. Well. It seemed like a good idea.

You know, you how you never stand up during a pedicure. There’s a reason. I stepped in and my feet flew out from under me. (I didn’t get hurt, but blue pellets flew everywhere). I stood back up and held on for dear life as I stomped around. I probably looked like Lucy and Ethel in the grape smashing episode of I Love Lucy. I turned off the water and sat down as I tried to mix the concoction with my hands. I’d mix one side and the other would solidify. Eventually, I was stirring with my hands and with my feet as I spun round and round on my butt. All the while it was setting up and I felt like a giant piece of fruit in Jell-O. I called for Hubby, but he couldn’t hear me over the TV. After all, I’d turned the volume up and closed the doors in between so he wouldn’t hear the bath water running. I was flailing, yelling and about to start wailing when he finally came to check on me. Thank goodness.

He also slipped getting in (but wasn’t hurt either). After I covered him in the gunk (think mud bath), I was ready to get out and shower the stuff off, but that presented a whole new problem. I had to now get out of the tub. Somehow I managed … and so did he a while later after he’d played in it some more. The sludge even went down the drain. Well, mostly. I’m still working on that.

Hubby appreciated my resourcefulness but agreed I could add this to our “picnic list” — things that sound a lot more fun than they actually are. And no, I do NOT have pictures!

Did anyone else have a V-Day adventure they’d like to share? I’ll let you guest blog if you contact me.

~Kay

The reading was at Parnassus Books, Nashville’s newest bookstore, opened late last year by best-selling author Ann Patchett and publishing guru Karen Hayes. In Greek mythology, Mount Parnassus was the home of literature, learning and music and the intent of this independent bookstore is to support local writers and artists and provide a venue for writers to connect with readers and readers to connect with books. This complements and adds to the rich cultural environment of Nashville, also known as the Athens of the South. But I digress…

The space for the reading was packed. All of the chairs were filled and people stood as far as I could see behind the stacks. (Of course I was sitting in a nice comfy chair.) Jaden began right on time (gotta love that!) and talked about the book and her process. She was articulate, funny, and smooth in her presentation. The passages she chose to read made me want to read the book–immediately–and I started it as I sat in the car while Hubby ran into the grocery for a few items. I finished it the next day.

It was a page-turner with a great story and a plausible plot. The characters were believable and because it was set in Nashville, I didn’t have to imagine what the settings were–I knew. It was a great read I’d recommend for any lover of mysteries–or any lover of a good story, for that matter.

But for me, as a writer, the book was much more than “a story.” From the page one, it was obvious how well written the book was. There was a hook. The first page drew me in. Backstory was done in small, succinct segments and carefully layered in. Character descriptions were brief and vivid. Her similes and metaphors weren’t overdone, but when she used them they were brilliant.

One of my favorite passages was, “Old habits die hard. Look at the metric system.”

The subplots were weaved into the plot in such a way I could hardly tell which was which. She touched on some socially sensitive issues and dealt with them in a respectful and responsible way. I could go on and on, but I won’t.

Will the author be offended I could spot these elements to recognize them as the great examples they are? I hope not. I’ve trained myself to search every book I read, and I usually locate this in one and that in another. Although I’ve tried, I’ve not found one single book possessing most, if not all, of the characteristics of a good novel…until now. This one won’t go on the shelf with my mysteries, but will be next to my writing reference books.

In conclusion, the book was a delightful read. However, the real value for me were its lessons on content and structure. Thank you, Jaden. Thank you.

~Kay

RACING THE DEVIL is available at Amazon or your local bookstore.

Jaden Terrell’s second book, A Cup Full of Midnight is available for preorder and will be released in August.

Fortunately, I seldom encounter such a work, but occasionally, I do. If it’s someone I’ve never critiqued before, perhaps it’s a fluke and I can say, “This doesn’t resonate with me. I don’t understand what you are trying to say.” That states my truth without being mean or discouraging.

If, however, it’s someone I’ve been writing with for a while, a critique partner, for instance, and they are ignoring every bit of advice I give, maybe the answer is to part ways. That might be the conversation to have instead of a critique. “I see you are still doing xyz though I’ve suggested for the last three weeks you try abc. Can you help me understand your rationale?” I will have to determine if I want to spend my time offering suggestions that are going to be completely ignored.

A critique needs to be specific. Instead of saying it didn’t work for me and is filled with clichés, it has to say “It didn’t work for me because…” or “Such and such is a cliché.”

I’ve gotten some brutal critiques, some which made me cry and stomp around sulking for a bit. But you know what? These are the very critiques that have helped me the most. And I know I can trust those readers. So if she says something is funny or cleaver or good I can take pride in that because it is.

A critique is an opinion—one person’s opinion and the author is still the author. The author is in control and has the final say. If the author disagrees she leaves it as is. But if there are multiple critiques pointing out the same thing, or saying the same section has a problem, even if different readers are identifying it as different problems, the author has a problem whether or not she wants to admit it. Boy, did I struggle with this one! But, once I accepted it and made changes, I could see the truth in their words.

The most important part of critiquing, in my opinion, is honesty—even when you know it will hurt. I know it’s much easier to write a glowing “this is great” critique, but that’s doing the author no favors (unless it really is great) and while it might be a momentary ego boost, it won’t help her further her craft like a candid critique will.

~ Kay

I didn’t discover her until last month, but it seems in November of last year a new undercover sleuth, code name, Cupid, joined the blogosphere with Cupid’s Literary Connection. Miss Cupid specializes in bringing talented writers together with astounding literary agents in not so romantical but magical ways. It says so right on her website. She hosted her first event, Love Triangle, in January.

I discovered her site when one of the agents, whose blog I follow, was a judge for the inaugural contest and couldn’t resist trash talking with the other agent judge. Of course I hopped on over there (before I read another blog) and saw this Cupid chick was hosting an even bigger, better, badder contest in February. Yep! Cupid’s Blind Speed Dating. Be still my heart!

I have to tell you this is too cute for words. She took 100 entries during two extremely competitive windows of opportunity. I was sitting at my computer with my finger on enter waiting for the computer clock to change to get my query and first 250 words in as fast as possible. It wasn’t long before I got an e-mail telling me to sit back and relax, I’d made the cut-off. Whew. One hurdle.

The next round was judged by Cupid’s Bouncers. Four authors (Gennifer Albin, Anne Brown, Gabriela Lessa, and Marissa Burt) choose who makes it to the agent round by leaving a comment that contains the words, “You’re in.” The authors were given super-duper bouncer-code names so I don’t know which one passed me through, but a great big hug to the undercover judge Iheartbooks. The other code names are Blue Nimbus, Bookish Handygirl and Dorothy. Dorothy? That’s an undercover name? I can’t wait to hear the thought process on that one.

Fifty entries went up this week and 50 more will go up next week, then the agents will get involved after that. In the meantime, anyone is welcome to comment. My entry is #27, but read lots of them and comment often. You’ll find some good writing in the bunch.

After the two weeks of comments, judging and #TTT (Twitter Trash Talk), the AGENTS get will involved. Miss Cupid has a heart attack (her words) line up of twelve awesome agents: Laura Bradford, Vickie Motter, Sarah LaPolla, Meredith Barnes, Sara Crowe, Sara Sciuto, Weronika Janczuk, Halli MeInitsky, Molly Ker Hawn, Brooks Sherman, and Victoria Marini. All have websites and are on twitter and several have blogs.

Cupid hasn’t announced them yet, but the agents will also get undercover names (well, duh!), and won’t know who’s who. (That cupid has a wicked sense of humor.) Then, they’ll each get ten arrows — but not all at once. On Monday, February 20th, they’ll start with four and get two a day after that through Thursday for a total of ten each.

At this point, the agents will begin to reveal their archery skills. They may request a partial with one arrow, but no entry is allowed to have no more than two partial requests. If they want to request a full, they deplete their arrow supply by three. Of course, there is a twist: full requests can’t be be made until the last day (Thursday) and on that day partials go up to two arrows. By the way, a full request trumps any partial requests so those arrows will have been wasted.

Then on Friday, all will be revealed–winners, author and agent identities (but not Cupid’s) and Cupid will prepare for March Madness.

I guess I better wipe the dust off the manuscript and get out the polish in case I get an arrow or (wouldn’t it be wonderful?) three. See you Friday. Don’t forget you can check out all of the entries at Cupid’s Literary Connection.

~ Kay

]]> http://www.kayelam.com/blog/2012/02/08/cupids-blind-speed-dating-and-im-in/feed/ 1 http://www.kayelam.com/blog/2012/02/06/roof-walkers/ http://www.kayelam.com/blog/2012/02/06/roof-walkers/#comments Mon, 06 Feb 2012 17:58:31 +0000 Kay http://www.kayelam.com/blog/?p=5247 After a hammerless weekend of testing our new roof through plenty of rain, I’m posting photos today, as promised.

Unfortunately, the only picturess I could find for “before” don’t showcase its color, only its pitch, but that’s the primary point. These guys were walking around up there like they were on level ground.

Here are some “during” pictures where you can see the old roof color (brown) as well as the steepness bravery craziness of the guys doing the work.

After they took off the old shingles, the sharp pitch seemed even more obvious. It gave me vertigo, just looking up.

                                             

At least someone is using a rope!

 

Putting on the new green tile. Some pictures are dark because they worked for an hour after sunset.

   

Imagine looking up and seeing this!

 

 

 

Here it is. The new green roof.

 

 

 

 

Got to go. The guy’s here to put more insulation in the attic. I hope he also vacuums.

~Kay

The men say they are replacing my roof, but there’s enough noise to start a migraine convention.

Currently, there’s a thirty-foot ladder outside my front door and an even taller one outside my office window. On the one by my window, they have a contraption where they can stack shingles to carry them from the ground to the roof, saving them many, many trips up and down the ladder. I may have to move to the basement. This is their second day on the job and I’m not sure my sanity can handle much more.

We’re about the thirteen or fourteenth house in our subdivision they’ve reroofed (is that a word) during the past few weeks. It seems a hailstorm we had back in the summer played havoc with our shingles, and although we have a hefty one percent deductible, the rest of the expense was covered by insurance. Also covered is a good bit of interior painting because we had a ceiling leak and there’s no clear line of demarcation between the walls and ceiling. You’ve got to love these open floor plans. At least painting is a quiet activity.

I went outside to check on the ruckus, but promptly did an about face. It looked like they were getting ready to bungee jump or climb the face of a mountain. Ours is one of the steepest roofs in the entire subdivision of about one hundred homes. To make matters worse, at the sharpest points, the ground slopes away from the house, making it that much higher. I suppose hope pray they know what they’re doing. I did make sure the roofing company had good liability insurance and got a copy of their rider.

As the crew replaced some of our neighbors’ roofs, Hubby pulled out his binoculars and watched from behind the blinds. I laughed and called him Mrs. Kravitz. Yesterday and today he’s had them around his neck as he’s walked around outside visiting with neighbors, comparing roof stories. I’m staying inside pretending I don’t know him. But if I look out and see him heading up a ladder, I’ll be out there in two seconds flat to get him and that new hip back on solid ground.

I’ll post before, during and after photos on Monday. I promise, no audio.

Oh, did I mention the roof is GREEN? The only green one in a subdivision of shades of brown, grey and black. With our red bricks, we’ll look like Christmas year round. Maybe the homeowners association won’t come after us.

I hope you have a good quiet weekend. Actually, I hope I have one.

~ Kay

I rarely know anyone featured in the paper anymore, unless it’s an obituary. In the newspaper that arrived yesterday, I saw my fourth grade teacher had passed away recently. RIP Mrs. Evans.

The newspaper is family owned and (at least) the third generation is now running it. The current publisher is a year older than me and produces not only this paper but a sister paper in DeFuniak Springs, Florida. He had three younger sisters, two the same ages as my sister and me. Being friends with the children of the local newspaper owner’s children was problematic from time to time.

Their mother wrote a column featured on the front page. Called “Just Ramblin,’” it was much like a personal or human interest blog today. Naturally, many of her stories centered upon her children (and their friends). If something was done or said that she thought was amusing, she might write about it, but other parents might not have been aware of the event … well, you can see the issue. There was the same problem with school. Students weren’t supposed to leave campus during lunch, but if a carload went home with her daughters during lunch and something happened like, I don’t know, the plumbing got backed up, and she reported it in her column, there had to be official punishment, even if the principal, their next-door neighbor, had been the one to remedy the problem in the first place, but had let it slide until the newspaper came out.

I remember once, at an “away” football game, the band marched in a monsoon. When we left the field my tiny majorette outfit was soaked and I was having chills. It just so happened, this columnist’s sister lived nearby, so she, her sister, and my mom took me to her sister’s nice, warm house, got me out of my uniform and wrapped my in blankets. It was reported (and probably true, I don’t remember) I wanted to put the wet uniform back on to return to the stadium to cheer my team on to defeat. I can’t imagine why.

For a couple of decades, she stopped writing her column, but several months ago began it again with the name Ramblin’ Rose. Positioned right there on the front page, it’s the first thing I read so I can learn how many tomatoes they’re planting, if any of their children (and now grand and great-grandchildren) have visited, or if she and her husband have fed any stray ducks (or dogs or cats) that week. Though sometimes reported elsewhere in the paper, you can count on her to let you know who has grown the biggest turnip or has an exceptional crop and she’ll relay who she’s seen or what she’s done in the prior week. Several times, I’ve thought about dropping her a note to tell her how happy I am she started her column again, but I’m afraid she’d put it in the paper as a letter to the editor. Similar note have ended up there or either been quoted in her column.

She doesn’t do include these things to be petty or gossipy as it might seem if others did it. When she reports things, no matter how minute, she somehow makes them seem like news. I can remember on the day the paper hit the streets hearing, “Wonder what ‘her first name’ has to say this week.” She is adored by the community.

The funny thing about small-town papers–they are mesmerizing. Hubby’s been to Florala half-a-dozen times and met a handful of people. Yet there are weeks when he reads the paper cover to cover and will ask if I saw where ‘a frequent letter writer’ had written another letter to the editor… He knows some of the people in my hometown (by reputation) better than I do. What’s really amusing is his largest client, a trucking company, runs ads in the classified section of this small weekly. But my favorite has to be the notice about a weekly AA meeting that, until recently, not only told where and when it would be held but also told who would be the speaker. Anonymous??? Not so much.

I have few connections to the town I spent the formative years of my life. But once a week, I get a reminder of those roots. And you know what? Every childhood friend I keep up with, who has moved away, has a subscription to The Florala News.. I guess you can take it with you.

~ Kay

Well, now that I’m almost finished with the task I see there would’ve been easier ways to’ve done it (much easier), but what’s done is done. Of course, I encountered many words I didn’t know. For example, did you know there’s a word for that fresh smell of the earth after a rain? Yep. It’s “petrichor.” That’s probably my favorite discovery.

While I did use my “jot words down” method, it became obvious the list wouldn’t be complete until sometime in the next decade if I relied sole only that method. For one thing, keeping up with all of those slips of paper–in the car, in my iPad, by the sofa where I read the newspaper, by my work chair … Therefore, I jumped straight where I was sent when I was a little girl and asked the meaning of something–the dictionary.

I began by looking up the words in a traditional, hard-backed dictionary and comparing that definition to an online one before composing one myself. Fumbling with the heavy book while balancing my laptop became too cumbersome, and the font in the book got smaller and smaller the longer I worked. I therefore abandoned the weighty volume for several online versions. Unfortunately, my increase in productivity by moving solely online was undermined as I was often distracted by fumbling with examples of LSAT, GRE, MCAT, and other diversions.

My favorite word-sources were the built in dictionary with my Macbook Pro, Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary and Thesaurus, and Your Dictionary-The Dictionary You Can Understand. I tried to used a “modern” American usage dictionary, but the profanity was too frequent to take it seriously.

After providing the definition, Dictionary.com presented a box that said “Abc is always a great word to know. So is xyz. Does xyz mean…” Then it would list two definitions. After I answered, another question popped up, over and over. Sometimes, I’d get so caught up in the quiz I’d forget to note the words on my spreadsheet. Oh, well.

Has doing this improved my vocabulary? Goodness gracious, I hope so. I probably won’t use many of the words in speech — it take all of my memory to remember the words I already know. But I think I’ll recognize them when reading and remember them when writing. I didn’t do the list alphabetically, though when I put it in alphabetical order to check for duplicates, there were less than a dozen because I’d either remembered the word or the definition I’d reworked. It was telling to examine my duplicate definitions to see just how close they were to each other. None were exactly alike.

It was an interesting project, but much more labor intensive that I’d have thought. I’m happy to help out Killer Nashville because the conference gives so much to the writing community. Remember registration is open and early registration ends March 1! I blogged about it a couple of weeks ago.

Back to my 366 words (it is leap year, you know).

~ Kay