Provision 4

What's cooking? Spaghetti. (This is one word I ALWAYS spell wrong. Thanks, Michelle, for pointing out my typo!) Nobody complains about dinner when I make spaghetti. I like that.

Today I want to thank God for Olivia.

And for all the ways He has provided for Olivia.

When Olivia was sixteen months old, even though she wasn't a U.S. citizen yet, we were allowed to bring her back to here (which in itself was a miracle!) to go to Shriners Hospital for Children in Portland, Oregon to have her cleft lip and palate repaired, completely free of charge.

It was a provision that she was even admitted into the program at Shriners because they usually don't accept children from other countries. But they made an exception for our baby girl.

That was seven years ago last Christmas.

Since then she's had one other major surgery -- a procedure to attach her palate to the back of her throat. This was primarily to help her speech, since she had a short palate and constantly had air escaping through her nose when she tried to talk. That surgery was also done at Shriners Hospital, also free of charge.

This Thursday, Olivia will have her first orthodontist appointment. Soon she'll have to start a spacing procedure to get her ready for a bone graft surgery. Shriners will do this surgery when she's ten or eleven.

Not only does this particular orthodontist have a lot of experience with cleft kids, but I also found out that his office accepts Medicaid for cleft lip and palate patients. Our kids happen to be on Medicaid, so ... perfect!

Next month, on April 16, Olivia is scheduled at Shriners for a lip and nose revision surgery. The surgeon will try to even out her lips and nostrils a little more. This isn't a "necessary" surgery. The last time we were there the doctor asked Olivia how she felt about her face and she said, "I sometimes wonder why one nostril is up and one is down." So, the surgeon said they would schedule this surgery. They want to do everything they can to make sure Olivia's not only functioning normally, but feeling good about herself, too.

Isn't that great?

So, on this beautiful, spring-is-in-the-air Sunday, I want to lay out my remembrance stones one by one. I don't want to forget how faithful God has been in providing for our little girl.

Write Like a Man

What's cooking? Nothing because we're heading up to Yakima again for the Girls' Basketball 2A State Finals. Go Mustangs! So, it's fast food tonight.

I bet that title got your attention.

I don't want to generalize. There are obviously thousands of female authors who write very, very well. And there are men out there who write very, very badly. Some of the purplest prose I've ever read in my life came out of a guy.


But I got to thinking about this the other day while I was reading Gary Paulsen's The Beet Fields. It was one of those books I read in a state of awe.

Don't get me wrong. I hated the ending. I thought it was incredibly cliche and not anything I'd ever want my son reading when he's a teenager. The YUCK factor was too strong for me personally.

BUT, Gary Paulsen is an amazing writer. I was in awe of his writing. How he could show so much in a few words. He didn't have to lead us through his protagonist's emotions. We knew exactly how the mc was feeling without Paulsen ever having to give a word of explanation. Because of that, the man's a genius as far as I'm concerned.

I felt the same way when I was reading Matt de la Pena's Mexican WhiteBoy. Paulsen's writing made me think of de la Pena's, even though they write in markedly different styles. It was their brevity that awed me.

And I guess because they are both male authors, I began to wonder, is it a guy thing?

I'm reading Cythia Voigt's Homecoming right now. I like it. It's good writing, but I'm not in awe.

So, I keep wondering. Is truly succinct writing (think Hemingway) something that mostly men achieve?

Can you think of female writers you've read who have been known for their few, but powerful, words?

Do women tend to use more words than men? And why is that? What's your experience?

Crumbling Foot & Other Randomness

What's cooking? Probably pizza. The frozen variety.

Thanks for all the great comments on Wednesday's post. I appreciate you sharing your wisdom with me.

The nice thing about *not* being published is that the only pressure I feel about my writing is the pressure I put on myself. One thing's for sure, I think I'm trying to focus on too many projects at once. So, for the next couple weeks, I'm just going to work on finishing my WiP (55,000 words at the moment!).

After that first draft is done, while I'm letting it sit, maybe I'll come back to my list of changes for V-Day. If I feel like it, that is. Yes, the unpublished life is a pampered one.

And while we're on the subject, Elana Johnson had a great post the other day about Dream Agents. It goes right along with what I was blogging about on Wednesday.

In other Sonnichsen news ... Here's a transcript of a conversation I had with eight-year-old Olivia last night:

At bedtime. Of course. Because that's the only time great conversations begin when you're eight. It's a tried and true sleep-avoidance technique.

Olivia: Mom, what is a crumbling foot?

Me: Uh, can you tell me the context?

Olivia: Well, when I was watching the documentary about King Tut with Daddy the other day, they said he had a crumbling foot.

Me: Um ... was it Tut's mummy? Maybe they didn't preserve his foot well enough and it crumbled?

Olivia: No, when he was alive he had a crumbling foot. They said he might have died because of his crumbling foot -- when he was hunting or when he was fighting in a battle, his crumbling foot made him die.

Me: Do you think they said he had a crippled foot?

Olivia: No, it was a crumbling foot.

Me: Okay, well, let me talk to Baba about it and see if he remembers anything about a crumbling foot.

*several minutes later*

Me: Olivia, Baba says King Tut had a club foot. Do you think you heard 'club foot' instead of 'crumbling foot?'

Olivia: No, it was a crumbling foot. (Then, in a perfect Egyptian accent, a direct quote from the documentary, and she did not forget to roll her r's:) King Tut lived all his life with a crrumbling foot.

Come on, say it out loud. I dare you. I think you'll see why my poor daughter was insistent about the state of King Tut's foot.

Have a lovely day, everyone!

WIP Wednesday:To Quit Or Not to Quit....

What's cooking? Tonight we're going to Yakima to watch the Lady Mustangs in the Basketball State Championships. We're going to Miner's for dinner. Yes, GIANT CHEESEBURGER, here I come!

I am one of those people.

I need a deadline.

I know exactly what I need to do to V-Day. But what have I accomplished this week? Well, I rewrote the first chapter, but that's the smallest (and easiest) thing on my list of overhauls.

Yes, I made a list. Still, V-Day sits there pretty much untouched. Because there's nothing driving me towards finishing it. No deadline, no active queries out, no thrill about submitting it to my favorite agent who I'm sure will love it....

In fact, here's my thought process about it, including some good old-fashioned numbers:

1. I've sent out 55 queries. Received six requests for more (either partials or fulls), which were later rejected. The rest were either form rejections or silence.
2. Those 55 include all the agents I know most about, including several agents that I would give my right big toe to work with. (No, maybe not, 'cuz then I couldn't do ballet anymore. Darn.)
3. I have picked out about 15 other agents that I would like to query after V-Day is revised. I will also be using a brand new query letter.
4. Still,I don't know much about these 15 agents. Not that they're bad agents, I just don't know them like I know the other ones. Maybe they don't blog, maybe they don't have a website, maybe they're kind of new, that sort of thing....
5. So, there's my quandry. Why am I revising? I know, I know, people say: Keep at it and don't give up!! But I figure I've already queried most of the agents I'm interested in and they've turned my project down. It's a big no-no to requery unless the story is HUGELY changed. My story is changed, but not drastically. I could still use the same query letter for it if I wanted to.

I'll tell you what I'm afraid of. Here's a story to explain:

I was watching a Garfield episode the other day with the kids. Garfield and the gang were going to be in a talent show. I guess it was one they competed in every year. And every single year all the contestants performed the exact same act they'd performed the year before. One rabbit had a hat. His trick was that when he tapped the hat with his magic wand, a rabbit puppet popped out. Garfield said, "I think you need to find a new trick." The rabbit looked thoughtful and said, "Hmm. Maybe a chipmunk puppet popping out of the hat?"

See, the rabbit was open to "revisions," but he still didn't get it. It wasn't the fact that what he pulled out of the hat was a rabbit. Pulling a chipmunk out instead wouldn't make it better. It was the whole trick! It just needed to go.

But that's not the end of the story. As Garfield walked away, the rabbit stood there, still thinking. Suddenly, a man pops out of the rabbit's hat. A full-sized human man. He's the puppeteer with the rabbit puppet on his hand.

You get it, right? The greatest trick in the world was right in front of their faces the whole time. But they couldn't see it.

There are two ways this analogy could work for me:

1. Stop revising V-Day. It's basically the same story. Just accept that no one's interested.
2. You might be close to the greatest novel of all time (okay, I'm exaggerating to make a point). Get those hiccups out of there so that those fifteen agents can see it.

I'll take YOUR advice now. I'm stumped.

A Story A Week: Arabella Twirls

There is a story this week, but it's in a Word document and not here. I'm not quite ready to post it yet because I like it and I think I might ... maybe ... when it's ready ... try to get it published as a picture book. (NOTE: Aggh, that sentence was confusing. (Thanks, Myrna!) What I meant to say was, I'll only post this story in the future if I decide *not* to submit it to agents or publishers. I don't recommend posting stories you are considering submitting for publication on your blog, or anywhere else on the internet for that matter. Publishers don't like it if they're trying to sell something that you've offered up for free elsewhere.)

Because there can never be too many books for little girls about ballerinas, right? I know I've been shelling out money lately for books about ballerinas because I have two ballerinas in my house. And they like to read books about other little ballerinas. And there don't seem to be enough of these books in the entire world to satiate their craving.

So, I wrote Arabella Twirls, about Arabella, who can't twirl without falling over. The recital is coming up and Arabella's nervous. Will she learn the secret to the perfect pirouette in time?

I sent the text to a writing friend I found on Verla Kay's Blueboards. She critiqued my gecko story and I've critiqued a couple of hers too. I sent her Arabella to see what she thought.

She had great advice for me, but one of her comments struck like a bolt of lightning: "Maybe try and make Arabella more proactive about overcoming her obstacle."

Hmm. Yes. Yes. Hmm.

See, this critique partner is GOOD. No, no, that was an understatement. She's AWESOME. She not only found the root of my problem in this short story, but the root of my problem in EVERY SINGLE STORY I WRITE, including novels!

I don't know how to make my characters proactive. This is a handicap, people!!

I think it is because I have a problem being proactive myself. So my characters invariably limp around trying to find other people to help them.

What can I do to overcome this? Will this doom my writing career? I think it could. And I'm serious. Lack of proactivity is a like a disease. It spreads through the plot and ruins EVERYTHING.

I need to get proactive and overcome this obstacle. I need to figure out how to write outside myself, to let my characters do things I would never dream of doing. My characters need to be smarter, more creative, more ingenious than I.

How in the world can I make that happen? Maybe identifying the problem is the first step towards a solution.

All I know is, if I ever figure out a way to overcome this, it will be by the grace of God. I'll keep you posted....

Montana

What's cooking? It's fajitas tonight!

This morning I took the little girls with me to the post office to mail a package.

ANNA: Why do we need to go to the post office?

ME: Because I need to send my friend in Montana a present for her new baby.

ANNA: (incredulous) What? People in Montana (pronounced "Ontana") don't have babies! They're just kids!

ME: What are you talking about? Of course people in Montana can have babies. They're people just like all of us. There are mommies just like Mommy and babas just like Baba....

ANNA: But they're just kids! I saw it on a show on TV!

ME: Do you mean Hannah Montana?

ANNA: Yeah, Hannah Montana.

Note: Technically watching Hannah Montana is a no-no in our house, since I don't generally buy into shows with themes such as "kids always know better than their parents because parents are idiots." But I have a feeling there's some subversive Hannah Montana watching going on in our house. I have now become vigilant.

Thank you for thinking that Hannah Montana is a show about Montana, Anna. You have done well, my small spy.

It's Fake

What's cooking? Well, nothing at the moment, seeing that it's past midnight! (Yes, I'm on my way to bed.)

We had a family night out tonight. Grabbed some Arby's, went to a Lady Mustang's basketball game, and stopped at Dairy Queen on the way home.

My kids tried fake cheese for the first time.

GABE: Why is there mustard all over my sandwich?

AARON: It's cheese.

Later....

OLIVIA: I'm getting a stomachache. I think it's from the cheese because sometimes dairy products make me sick.

AARON: That stuff won't make you sick. It's fake.

GABE: Fake cheese?!?

AARON: Yep. Come on, you kids need to like this stuff! I'll tell you what, this summer, we're eating nothing but convenience store nachos and Velveeta Mac until you guys get used to it.

The kids look at him -- stunned, horrified.

OLIVIA: (starting to cry) I don't want to eat fake cheese all summer!

ME: (hugging her) It's okay, honey, Baba's just kidding.

Yeah, is it obvious my kids aren't real Americans.

They also had another first tonight: Dairy Queen Blizzards. They didn't complain about those. Except Gabe, who had opted for an ice cream cone. When he saw the Blizzards he said, "I didn't know we could get those!"

He'll know next time.

Yum Yum

Literary Agent Kristin Nelson begins every one of her posts answering the question: "What's playing on the iPod right now?"

I think it's marvelous. I want to copy her. Problem is, I don't own an iPod. In fact, since we've moved, my only music listening device is our clock radio in the bedroom. Pathetic, I know.

So, I'm going to steal her idea, but give it my own little stay-at-home-mom twist. From now on you'll notice all my blog entries will begin with me answering the question: "What's cooking?" Then I will tell you what I'm making for dinner that night. Because it's soooo interesting and I'm sure you're all dying to know, right? Of course, right!

So here I go.

What's cooking? Sweet and sour chicken and broccoli beef with Thai Jasmine rice. (It won't taste like Tianjin's or Hong Kong's heavenly cuisine, but at least it will be something sort of like Chinese food, which my entire family perpetually craves. We are reduced to Kikkoman seasoning packets that say "Quick and Easy" across the top! *sniffle*)

What are you having for dinner?

Inspiration Thursday

"Mommy, I'm going to be a writer when I grow up!"

Note: The "laptop" on which Anna is typing is of the McDonald's Happy Meal variety -- basically a plastic mini-binder that opens and shuts. Olivia started calling it "her computer" long ago and the identity stuck.

WIP Wednesday: Spring and Other Stories

Look what popped up in our front yard yesterday.

I think it means Spring has come to Central Washington State. And to celebrate, Sophie learned how to say "flower."

In other news, my official word count on my most recent WIP, Back, is 49, 172, which means I'm getting closer. But of course, when writing a novel, one is always getting closer. Word count on a first draft gives no real indication of how close to finished one actually is, because one might have to rewrite the entire novel if one realizes at some point that it's diarrhea on paper. Still, one is closer. Is that encouraging, or not?

I'm still tinkering with V-Day. I'm being very patient. I have the urge to query (similar to the urge to push when delivering a baby), but I'm holding back because I know I'm not yet ready to enter those dark waters again. I have a new critique partner who is drilling into the thing chapter by chapter and there's no way I'm querying again until either she quits or she finishes the entire manuscript. She's very thorough and I'm very appreciative! There have been so many times when I've been ready to throw in the towel with this particular manuscript. I keep thinking there's too much to fix. The fixing will never end. That's when I remind myself that writing a book is work. I used to be the first one to giggle and coo and say how much I loved revisions and editing. That was my first book. I was obviously very naive and didn't know the real meaning behind the word "revising." I'm wiser now. Definitely less giggly.

If you're a fellow writer, how are those WIPs going?

A Story A Week: Ditch and Sky

In this week's story I wanted to focus on voice. It's experimental.

I guess I saw him settling down a few different times before it registered he was there every day. I’d come round the east side of the barn pretty early and see him walkin' through the neighbor’s field with the shovel on his shoulder, strike the dirt with the sharp end so it stood up straight. Then he’d lay down in the grass where I couldn’t see him no more.

After a few times spotting him I started wondering what he was doing there.

So, one day I up and walked over the field to talk to him. Caught him staring at the sky with his hands tucked behind his head.

He scrambled up when he saw me standing there. “This your land?” His voice sounded scared.

“Nope. Belongs to the neighbors,” I says. “I doubt they’ll give you any trouble. You ain’t hurtin’ nothin’. Guess you’re welcome to stay if you can stand the bugs.”

“Aw, only a few grasshoppers. I don’t mind their hoppin’.” He stood there staring at me with his big hands limp at his sides.

“I seen you come out here a few days now,” I says. “Got a good, sturdy shovel there. You lookin’ for work?”

The man shrugged. He was older than me, white hair growing out of his ears. “No sir. Just left a good job shovelin’ a new road.”

“You need a meal?”

“Nope.” The old man wagged his head. “I don’t need nothin’. Just a place to lie.”

“You got a home?”

“Yessir.”

“A missus?”

“Yessir.”

“Does she know you taking time lying around another man’s field?”

“She don’t know nothin’ about it,” he says. “I tell her every night I go home I’m still out workin’.”

“You lyin’ to your missus?”

“Don’t want her worryin’ about me, see?” The old man blinked pale blue eyes.

I snapped off a blade of tall grass and put it between my teeth. This conversation was getting particular strange. “Well, that don’t make no sense. An able bodied man like you.”

“Not what I seem.” He sat back down in the dry grass with a huff. The sun got higher. A sheen of sweat showed up on his wrinkled up forehead. “The doc told me I’m dyin’. Could go any time.”

“Any time?” I kept on chewing that grass blade, watching him. “That’s a shame. Your missus know that?”

“Nope,” the old man says. “And I’m not gonna tell her.”

“Don’t you want to keep workin’ hard, so she’s can have some money to live on when you’re gone? Instead of lyin’ around in a field wasting your last days?”

“Nope, she has folks. Besides, she’s younger than me, still a pretty little thing. She’ll find another man to take care of her, no question.” He settled back in the long grass again. “I figure I spent enough of my life lookin’ down into ditches. Not enough time lookin’ up at the sky.”

After that I let him be.

In the days after, I knew the old man was there when I saw the shovel stickin' out of the ground. But after a few days, I didn’t see him no more. Checked the paper for the obits, wondering if there’d be a picture. Lots of obits, almost any one of them could’ve been him, except the females of course.

When he never showed up again, I figured he was done diggin’ ditches forever. Someone else had gone and dug one for him.