Musketeers, Vampires, and Fairy Tales, Oh My!

Finally. Finished. The Three Musketeers.

It took me over three months.

It wasn't boring. The plot was intricate and interesting, if not a little melodramatic in places. (Why are all the female characters biting their lips until they bleed? Has anyone in the world actually been that distressed? I actually tried biting my lip and realized it would take quite a lot of force to actually puncture the skin. Maybe people back in King Louis XIII's France had much sharper teeth than we do now?)

My biggest problem was that since I do most of my reading in bed at night, I kept falling asleep with the Musketeers. I'd be reading along and not even realize I'd dozed off until I woke up and still had the book open in front of me. And when you're reading a 627-page book with teeny print, you have to read more than a few pages a night to EVER finish.

Next, I read Twilight.

It took me less than three days.

Not because it was so suspenseful and wonderful I couldn't put it down. No, not quite. More like, "I really have to finish this book because I don't want to write anything while I'm reading it."

Have you ever noticed how much your writing is effected by the books you're reading? My own writing tanks when I'm reading a poorly-written book.

And, not to be mean to Stephenie Meyer who wrote it, but Twilight is ... uh ... not a book I'll be holding up as a paradigm of good literature. I can maybe see the allure to certain readers: infatuation with a bad boy, the forbidden fruit. There was a lot of emotion packed into the book, a lot of sexual tension, but for me it was just Ew.

So, after staying up late speed-reading Twilight, I glanced at the first chapter of the sequel, New Moon, which the publishers helpfully printed at the back of the book. "Thank goodness the sequel's not on my books-to-read list," was my only thought as I slammed it shut.

Then, I opened a YA book I picked up from the library yesterday: A Curse Dark as Gold.

Reading through the first few pages gave me a rush of satisfaction.

This is great writing.

This is the kind of thing I want to emulate: rich detail, deep characters. Plus, it's based on the Fairy Tale Rumpelstiltskin; I have a soft-spot for fairy tales.

It's the difference between being satisfied with Nestle-brand ice cream or paying a little more for the Dreyers.

Elizabeth C. Bunce is at the Dreyer's level, my friends. She's a scoop each of mint chocolate chip, cookie dough, and double fudge brownie. Fabulous.

I lay in bed, pea green, grinding my teeth and muttering, "Wish I could write like this."

Flawed

Here's a question for all you fiction writers out there.

How do you make a character likable, but still human? How do you include flaws without turning off the average reader?

I've been wrestling with this question because when it comes to my Up Lantau Running book, I've heard several times that people "don't like" or "can't relate to" my main character, Lila.

Here's a quote from an agent who recently read my query letter: "Lila ditching Rainbow killed my sympathy for Lila. She uses meanness to get a boy's attention?"

While I sincerely appreciate this agent's feedback (agent feedback is always golden!), the comment above did make me wonder.

Well, yeah. You're not supposed to get a big gush of love for Lila when she acts that way. But she's human. She makes mistakes, like we all do. This particular instance happens half-way through the book. Once readers get to this part, they already know Lila. They know she's making a mistake. But they also know why she's making it. (Hopefully.)

So what's the balance? Are some flaws okay, but some not? Is it all subjective or are there some big no-no's of which we should be aware?

What do you think?

WIP Wednesday: Finished Yet?

Last night I finished the first edit of my new novel, Any Day But.

I sat back in my seat after I typed that last word, staring at the computer screen, and let myself indulge in a moment of satisfaction at my accomplishment.

Then I shot off an email to my writing group: "I think my WIP is ready for you all to look at."

Well, that was premature.

I woke up this morning still thinking about my WIP, and I was suddenly seized with doubts. I remembered two or three threads that I hadn't wrapped up. And I also realized I still wasn't quite sure that all of my scenes were realistic. This story has a lot of medical emergency situations involved. Thankfully I have a resident doctor (my father-in-law) who doesn't mind answering my weird questions ... "So, if my anorexic main character has been running away from a crazed gunman all day, how would the paramedics treat her if she...." You get the idea.

Anyway, I realized that I might not be ready for my writing group to look at this thing yet.

That's the problem with writing: you always think you're done when you're far from being done.

I'm going to let my WIP rest for a few days. I'll verify the medical details I need to verify with my doctor-in-residence. And then sometime next week I'll read through it again, and keep hacking away.

What can I say? It's just a long process. *Maybe* in a few months it will be ready for my writing group. We'll see.

Tags

If you see my daughter Anna, age three, walking around with her thumb in her mouth and her other hand down the back of her pants, you might think, "That's gross." I don't blame you. She has a very weird habit.

But it's not as gross a habit as it may seem. Really, she just has a fascination with tags.

Yes. Tags.

Those things that stick out on the inside of your clothes, telling you the brand name and sometimes giving you washing instructions.

Anna likes to hold on to tags. Thumb in her mouth, other hand holding onto whatever tag is available: the one on her shirt, the one on her pants, the one on her underpants. Heck, even the tag on my shirt or Sophie's shirt will do. She's not too picky, as long as she's got a good grip on it.

Sometimes we're in the car and Anna will throw a screaming fit, all because, "I! Can't! Reach! My! Tag!" Her words are garbled because she doesn't take her thumb out of her mouth as she's screaming.

The other day I picked out a cute shirt for her to wear that she hadn't worn in a long time. "I don't want to wear that one," she said. "It doesn't have a tag."

Sure enough. The clothing designer, assuming tags bother most children, had printed the information on the inside of the shirt.

So, I picked out a new shirt. "Look, this one has a nice tag on it."

Anna smiled and was happy. I've learned that if I want her to wear a tagless shirt, I have to pick shorts with a very big tag so that she has something to hold on to.

Now it's your turn. I'd love you to tell me about a weird habit you know about. It can be your child's, your own, your mother's aunt's grandson's friend's.... Just help me out by letting me know my little Anna isn't the only one in the world with a weird habit.

Discovery in Three Parts

Before we left China, we read the story of Noah and the rainbow.

"Mom, are rainbows real?" Gabe asked.

"Yes, of course they're real," I said.

Gabe frowned. "Then why haven't I ever seen one?"

Last week, while playing in the sprinkler, Gabe saw his first rainbow. I watched his face break into a smile.

"Mom!" he yelled. "They are real!"

***

One day, back in China, Gabe and I were walking outside. Gabe ran to a nearby grassy enclosure and picked me a dandelion.

As he handed it to me, he said, "Mom, Carter thinks these are called dandelions."

I laughed. "They are called dandelions, Gabe."

"No, they're not," he said. "They're sunflowers."

"No, honey," I said. "Sunflowers are really huge and tall ... You'll see them this summer when we go to grandma and grandpa's in America. These little weeds are called dandelions."

Last night, sitting at the picnic table after dinner, Gabe saw his first sunflower peeking over the fence from the neighbor's yard. His eyes lit up.

So, that's a real sunflower.

***

When we were in China, Gabe liked to tell us one particular joke.

"What's a baby's favorite constellation?" he'd ask.

"What?"

"The big diaper," he'd say. "Get it? The big diaper, instead of the big dipper, the big diaper!"

While we were camping, Gabe got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom. As we were walking across the camp to get to the restrooms, I pointed up at the sky, crowded with stars.

"And that's the big dipper," I said.

Gabe tipped back his head. "That's the big dipper?"

"Yep, that's it."

"I've never seen the big dipper before. I just saw it in movies. I've never seen it in real life."

After we came back from the bathroom, I didn't feel hurried to get him back in bed. We sat in a chair with our chins tilted up, watching the sky.

And Gabe saw his first shooting star.

WIP Wednesday: Confessions of a Writing Fanatic

Many Wednesdays have come and gone since my last WIP Wednesday update.

That's only because of all the technical difficulties that made working on my WIP impossible. Truly impossible.

But last week my mother-in-law solved the last of the dilemmas by purchasing Windows 2007. Aaron downloaded it on this computer, and, voila, I could access my files again.

**enter mass choir singing Hallelujah chorus**

I'm about half-way through my first edit of my Valentine's Day novel. That's the novel I finished the first draft of right before we left China. I'm thinking of titling it Any Day But.

What do you think of that title? Does it make you think of butts? Do you like it? Do you hate it? Do you think it's stupid, weird, interesting? I'd love your feedback.

As much as I'm enjoying editing my WIP, I'm going to have to take a break for the rest of the week. We're going camping! Yes, the whole family, Aaron, me, the kids, grandma and grandpa, Aunt Christina, Uncle Benji, and all the cousins. We're going to head out to Clarkston in Southeastern Washington. Near Hell's Canyon. (It's hot there. That's why it's named after Hell.)

And I don't think they have Wi-Fi at the camp ground. (So, don't expect any blog posts from me.) Or electricity. But maybe I'll charge up the laptop and see how long the battery lasts.

Ah, confessions of a writing fanatic!

A Step in the Right Direction

Yesterday afternoon I sat down at the computer and saw a reply from an agent I'd recently queried. I didn't open it right away.

Aaron was nearby in the kitchen.

"Here it is," I said. "Here's that rejection I've been waiting for."

I talk like this. It's ridiculous, really. Maybe it's part of that query funk I get into that has nothing to do with the rest of my personality.

My finger lingered on the mouse without clicking the email open.

"You know what would just be awesome," I said. "You know what would make me just so happy?"

"What?" Aaron asked.

"If this weren't just a form rejection. If it were a little bit personalized. That would be a step in the right direction." I laughed, and then I clicked open the email and read:

Dear Ms. Sonnichsen,

Many thanks for your email regarding your novel UP LANTAU RUNNING, which sounds intriguing. I’d be delighted to read more. Please send me the first five chapters and a complete synopsis as Word document attachments by email. I’ll do my best to respond to your partial within two months.

I look forward to receiving your material.

Now, I'm not saying this is a breakthrough. But it's a first.

Partial requests from agents are like first dates when your goal is to get married. It's not reason enough to start trying on wedding dresses or buying honeymoon plane tickets. But when you've never had a date before, a first date is something special. Something to blog about.

For me, it's a step in the right direction.

A Whole New Kind of Dog Doo

You're not going to believe this.

Or maybe you will.

If you've lived in China for any length of time, you'll definitely believe it.

And I predict the trend will hit the Big Apple soon ... if it hasn't already.

Provision 2

I told you that my husband Aaron (a.k.a. Golden Boy) recently landed a high school teaching job.

I didn't tell you the story behind the job.

Every summer we came back to Aaron's hometown, we inevitably ran into prominent people in the community, like the superintendent and the high school principal, for instance. And every time we ran into these prominent people they made comments like, "Anytime you need a job, Aaron, just let us know!"

So, Aaron believed they meant exactly that. When he needed one, he'd have a job in Prosser.

That was before the country slipped into a recession.

That was before last summer.

When Aaron went to see the superintendant last summer, knowing there was a good chance we'd be moving back after one more year in China, there was no job on a silver platter after all. The word on the street was, "We've got a math position and a fifth grade position open, and no inidication that we'll have anything else to offer next school year."

Aaron is a science teacher. Nope, no science positions available. Sorry, buddy. Try your luck elsewhere.

So, we tossed around the idea of him going back to school. We thought about getting him emergency certification in math. None of these were ideal options, but we figured we didn't have a choice. There were no science jobs in Prosser.

Meanwhile, Aaron's brother moved to town with his family. He left a football head coaching position on the west side and came to Prosser with the intention of taking over the head football position in Prosser when the current head coach stepped down.

The Prosser head coach's sons were going on to college to play football and he wanted to have his Saturdays free to watch them play. He told Aaron's brother that he wanted him to have the head coaching job when he resigned. So, Aaron's brother packed up and came. He planned to spend a year as an assistant coach and step into the head coaching position the following year (this year).

Then the unthinkable happened. The head coaching position opened. Aaron's brother had to apply for the job ... along with everyone else.

His jaw dropped, but he dealt with feelings of betrayal. He put all his effort into the interview and landed the job all on his own.

The other finalist for the head coaching job happened to be a high school science teacher. When he didn't get the head coaching job, he decided to leave. He packed up and moved to another town.

And left ... a science job open behind him. For this year. Ninth grade physical science and tenth grade biology.

We arrived back in the States just in time to complete the application and go to the interview. And now Aaron's a science teacher here in Prosser.

Perfect.

Only $19.95!

I had this conversation with my seven-year-old philosopher Olivia this morning. (I think she may be watching too much TV in the mornings before I wake up.)

She was in the bathroom with me when I was about to shave my legs.

"Mom," she said. "Did you know you can get the Shaving Wonder* and you don't need to use a razor? You just put this thing on your legs and rub it and the hair comes off. And you don't need to use a razor because sometimes when you use a razor you are doing it when all of a sudden -- 'Ow!' -- you cut yourself."

"Wow, Livi," I said, "that sounds interesting. I wonder if it really works."

"Yeah, I wonder too."

"Because a lot of that stuff you get on TV, you get it and then it turns out to be garbage."

"Yeah," she said. "You could get it in the mail and then you try it and it doesn't work and you're like, 'This doesn't work. Why did I spend my money on this?'"

"Yes, exactly."

"You'd better not get it, Mom."

"Yeah," I said. "I've never really had a problem with just using a razor."

"Don't get it Mom. It's probably garbage."

"Okay, Livi. I won't."

I love being a mom. I just hope she keeps listening to me like this when she's a teenager. Otherwise, our house is in danger of being filled up with every $19.95 promotional product on TV.


*product name has been changed to protect the innocent

We Ain't In China Anymore, Toto!

I am such a nerd.

Aaron took his grandma to her hair appointment today in downtown Prosser. I decided to drive the kids down there while she was getting her hair cut because I thought Grandma Helen might want to show off her great grandkids to her stylist. (Small town. You know.)

I parked our mini-van in front of the hair salon.

We spent some time "showing off." Everyone commented on Sophie's curls and the size of her thighs. The bigger kids took turns sitting under the old fashioned hair dryers.

When they got a little too rambunctious, I decided, hey, the grocery store is just a block away. Let's walk over there and get something to drink. A bottle of cold cherry Dr. Pepper sounded just about right.

So, the four kids and I walked to the supermarket, went inside, and headed for the refrigerated drink section.

The first thing I saw was the sale on the 24-pack of Dr. Pepper.

Wow, what a deal.

Problem is, I didn't even have a cart.

So, I hauled the kids back to the front of the store, cleaned off a cart with a disinfectant wipe (love that about American grocery stores!) and went back for that precious 24 pack. That's almost a month's worth of Dr. Pepper, people!

We wandered through the rest of the store and picked up on-sale deli meat, Mother's frosted animal cookies, sugar cookies with raspberry icing, and bread. Oh, and a can of chicken soup the kids wanted for lunch with Dora the Explorer-shaped pasta in it.

Paid for our purchases and headed for the entrance.

But wait.

I walked over here, I reminded myself, as I stood at the sliding door.

My car is back at the hair salon. And I don't have a bike either.

I considered taking the cart with me all the way to the hair salon, but then decided against it. Way too dorky.

I'm tough, I thought. And yes, my eyes are bigger than my muscles, but I can carry a baby and a 24-pack of Dr. Pepper back to the hair salon. Right? As long as the bigger kids help me carry the other groceries.

I'm sure we looked like poorest-of-the-poor. Me, cutting through the parking lot of the do-it-yourself car wash, with a baby on one hip and a whole lot of cheap Dr. Pepper on the other. And my three other children straggling along behind me, lugging plastic shopping bags over their shoulders, and crying out, "It's too heavy! I can't take another step!"

We made it. We're no worse off for the experience. I didn't drop Sophie or anything.

But it's making me rethink my tendency to want to walk places. I can feel myself becoming more American. I've gone one baby step closer to becoming one of those people who drives his or her car out to the mailbox to get the mail.

We've only been back for four weeks. I'm getting lazy much too quickly.