Rationalizing has always come fairly easily to me. If things go wrong in my world, I can usually come up with twisted enough logic to make it all okay in my head. Some may call this a coping mechanism. I call it...oh, hell. I call it a coping mechanism, too. Whatever floats your boat, right?
I even kid with my friends about my imaginary online site, "Rationalizations-R-Us." They know they can come to me for help when they need to justify some behavior they may be feeling a teensy bit guilty about.
For instance:
Feeling lazy? Falling behind with your word count goals, but would really rather watch TV?
Here's a freebie for you: You're not being lazy. You're "recharging your creative batteries." If you don't watch TV right now, your writing will deteriorate to sub-cretinous levels. Seriously, you MUST watch [fill in your favorite show] if you ever hope to finish that draft.
Or:
Want apple pie a la mode for breakfast instead of that healthy wholegrain cereal? Well, apple pie supplies not only a serving of fruit--which everyone knows is essential to nutrition--but ice cream is rich in calcium! It's so good for you, in fact, you should probably have two pieces.
You get the idea.
Anyway, since I've kidded about Rationalizations-R-Us for so long, I thought I'd open it up for requests. So, what are you currently trying to justify? Tell me in the comments, and I'll get back to you with a personalized rationalization. Big or little, makes no difference to me.
(But no murder, please. That one you'll have to justify on your own!)
Disclaimer: Employ rationalizations at your own risk. No warranties, expressed or implied.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
The Virtual Ecdysiast, or Fanning the Reader's Interest
I just had a huge breakthrough in the shower!
(Does that sound kind of dirty, or is that just me?)
Anyway, what I had was a major plot breakthrough for my current WIP. I know whodunnit! Hooray!
At first I didn't see how this character could possibly have "dunnit," since they (the gender-neutral "they," not the plural "they") are already, you know, dead. (That can sometimes be an impediment to "doing it.")
BUT, it turns out they (gender, not plural) were only mostly dead, to borrow (=shamelessly steal) a phrase from The Princess Bride. Or, if you're a Monty Python fan, perhaps they're pining for the fjords.
Once I figured that out, several large pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Whew! I can almost see how the whole picture will look once I'm done. Though plenty of details are admittedly still fuzzy. Which is good. Really. Because if it were all clear at this point, I'd get bored with it and want to move on to solving the next mystery.
It's kinda like watching a stripper. Way more interesting as long as something remains covered up. Looking at complete nakedness, all laid out there, is just too clinical. Ho-hum.
Side note: I'm *cough* using my imagination with this analogy. Couldn't tell you *cough, cough* from first-hand experience, never having actually seen a stripper. (What's that you say? My nose? No, of course it's not growing. That's, um, just a trick of the light.)
To carry this TOTALLY VICARIOUS analogy further, if me watching the story unfold in my mind is like watching a stripper, then I suppose me revealing the story to the reader is like being the stripper.
Or, if you prefer a more professional term, the ecdysiast. Personally, I kinda like that. I'm thinking about having business cards made up:
Linda G., Virtual Ecdysiast
But back to the point. When you're writing a story, especially a mystery, you have to be careful not to reveal too much too soon. You have to show enough "skin" to keep your audience riveted, but not so much that they have their mental itches scratched before you want them too. We can't have them rolling over and lighting a cigarette before they reach chapter three, can we?
The trick is to always (until the end) cover something up as you reveal something else. Sally Rand, fan dancer, was an expert at this:
Like Sally, you have to give your audience something, a flash here and there, just to keep them hooked. But you also have to maintain the overall mystery until the end. Keep 'em guessing, or you lose 'em. You have to promise there'll be a payoff--tease them with it as mercilessly as you like--but make them wait for it.
And then you better follow through. Or else your reader might just throw your book against the wall.
(Does that sound kind of dirty, or is that just me?)
Anyway, what I had was a major plot breakthrough for my current WIP. I know whodunnit! Hooray!
At first I didn't see how this character could possibly have "dunnit," since they (the gender-neutral "they," not the plural "they") are already, you know, dead. (That can sometimes be an impediment to "doing it.")
BUT, it turns out they (gender, not plural) were only mostly dead, to borrow (=shamelessly steal) a phrase from The Princess Bride. Or, if you're a Monty Python fan, perhaps they're pining for the fjords.
Once I figured that out, several large pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Whew! I can almost see how the whole picture will look once I'm done. Though plenty of details are admittedly still fuzzy. Which is good. Really. Because if it were all clear at this point, I'd get bored with it and want to move on to solving the next mystery.
It's kinda like watching a stripper. Way more interesting as long as something remains covered up. Looking at complete nakedness, all laid out there, is just too clinical. Ho-hum.
Side note: I'm *cough* using my imagination with this analogy. Couldn't tell you *cough, cough* from first-hand experience, never having actually seen a stripper. (What's that you say? My nose? No, of course it's not growing. That's, um, just a trick of the light.)
To carry this TOTALLY VICARIOUS analogy further, if me watching the story unfold in my mind is like watching a stripper, then I suppose me revealing the story to the reader is like being the stripper.
Or, if you prefer a more professional term, the ecdysiast. Personally, I kinda like that. I'm thinking about having business cards made up:
Linda G., Virtual Ecdysiast
But back to the point. When you're writing a story, especially a mystery, you have to be careful not to reveal too much too soon. You have to show enough "skin" to keep your audience riveted, but not so much that they have their mental itches scratched before you want them too. We can't have them rolling over and lighting a cigarette before they reach chapter three, can we?
The trick is to always (until the end) cover something up as you reveal something else. Sally Rand, fan dancer, was an expert at this:
Like Sally, you have to give your audience something, a flash here and there, just to keep them hooked. But you also have to maintain the overall mystery until the end. Keep 'em guessing, or you lose 'em. You have to promise there'll be a payoff--tease them with it as mercilessly as you like--but make them wait for it.
And then you better follow through. Or else your reader might just throw your book against the wall.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Quantum weirdness and basket-weaving...
It seems my humble little corner of reality has won an award:
Thank you, Karla Nellenbach, for including me on the list of blogs you enjoy reading! Calling me "the funniest" and "the snarkiest" proves you get what I'm all about, and you are welcome to visit my reality any time you like. :)
As a recipient of this award, I am supposed share seven things about myself.
*tries to think of seven things I haven't already shared*
Hmm...
*blink*
Well, here goes...
1. I am fascinated by quantum physics. Not that I understand it, mind you. But I find the weird-ass concepts really compelling to read about, and I have this fantasy that when I die I'll suddenly understand everything I've ever been curious about. (Like: what's up with marsupials? And why aren't Pandas marsupials, anyway? If anyone could benefit from some quality pouch-time, it's a naked little panda cub.) My idea of heaven: knowing ALL the answers.
2. When doing research for one of my books, I found out I'm a pretty good shot. My first time on the range with a .38 revolver I hit the silhouette's heart dead center. One-handed. And then I nailed the head. The little head, if you get my drift. (That one made TG wince.) I wanted to hang the target on our front door, but TG thought that might make the neighbors nervous.
3. When push comes to shove, I am good with a sewing machine. I've produced a hundred yards of china silk drapes for the theater in one afternoon. Also, back in leaner years, when we couldn't afford a new sofa, I made a slipcover for the one we had. The cheapest sturdy-enough fabric available was a semi-cute, quilty-looking...oh, hell. It was plaid. A complex plaid that had to be matched six ways from Sunday. Which I did. While entertaining our two-year-old. I never, ever want to do this again.
4. I once took a basket weaving class to save my sanity, when my DD was a toddler & I had to do something--anything--to get out of the house for a few hours. (Come to think of it, this was shortly after the slipcover.) Here are the remnants of my time with my fellow sanity-seeking moms (not bad, especially when you consider how much wine we consumed while weaving):
5. I have extremely fast reflexes, which is good because I have extremely poor night vision. On our first cross-country trip together, TG woke to find me heading toward the guardrail. (What? It looked like the exit ramp to me.) Coincidentally, TG has never let me drive at night on a long trip since then.
6. Some kinds of hot peppers make me choke. As in, almost die. I've told TG if I ever start to lose it mentally when I get old, just to feed me a jalapeno and say adios. (Unless I look like I've gone to a "happy place" in my head. Then he can leave me alone and just deal with it.)
7. After the basket-weaving class ended, I kept myself occupied with counted cross-stitch for a while:
If you can't make out the words, it says: "Of all the things I've lost I miss my mind the most." I had a young child and I was pregnant when I made this. It seemed fitting at the time.
I've since figured out that writing suits me a lot better than basket weaving or cross-stitch. I still read about quantum weirdness in my spare time, though. Someday I'm gonna figure that shit out.
Thank you, Karla Nellenbach, for including me on the list of blogs you enjoy reading! Calling me "the funniest" and "the snarkiest" proves you get what I'm all about, and you are welcome to visit my reality any time you like. :)
As a recipient of this award, I am supposed share seven things about myself.
*tries to think of seven things I haven't already shared*
Hmm...
*blink*
Well, here goes...
1. I am fascinated by quantum physics. Not that I understand it, mind you. But I find the weird-ass concepts really compelling to read about, and I have this fantasy that when I die I'll suddenly understand everything I've ever been curious about. (Like: what's up with marsupials? And why aren't Pandas marsupials, anyway? If anyone could benefit from some quality pouch-time, it's a naked little panda cub.) My idea of heaven: knowing ALL the answers.
2. When doing research for one of my books, I found out I'm a pretty good shot. My first time on the range with a .38 revolver I hit the silhouette's heart dead center. One-handed. And then I nailed the head. The little head, if you get my drift. (That one made TG wince.) I wanted to hang the target on our front door, but TG thought that might make the neighbors nervous.
3. When push comes to shove, I am good with a sewing machine. I've produced a hundred yards of china silk drapes for the theater in one afternoon. Also, back in leaner years, when we couldn't afford a new sofa, I made a slipcover for the one we had. The cheapest sturdy-enough fabric available was a semi-cute, quilty-looking...oh, hell. It was plaid. A complex plaid that had to be matched six ways from Sunday. Which I did. While entertaining our two-year-old. I never, ever want to do this again.
4. I once took a basket weaving class to save my sanity, when my DD was a toddler & I had to do something--anything--to get out of the house for a few hours. (Come to think of it, this was shortly after the slipcover.) Here are the remnants of my time with my fellow sanity-seeking moms (not bad, especially when you consider how much wine we consumed while weaving):
5. I have extremely fast reflexes, which is good because I have extremely poor night vision. On our first cross-country trip together, TG woke to find me heading toward the guardrail. (What? It looked like the exit ramp to me.) Coincidentally, TG has never let me drive at night on a long trip since then.
6. Some kinds of hot peppers make me choke. As in, almost die. I've told TG if I ever start to lose it mentally when I get old, just to feed me a jalapeno and say adios. (Unless I look like I've gone to a "happy place" in my head. Then he can leave me alone and just deal with it.)
7. After the basket-weaving class ended, I kept myself occupied with counted cross-stitch for a while:
If you can't make out the words, it says: "Of all the things I've lost I miss my mind the most." I had a young child and I was pregnant when I made this. It seemed fitting at the time.
I've since figured out that writing suits me a lot better than basket weaving or cross-stitch. I still read about quantum weirdness in my spare time, though. Someday I'm gonna figure that shit out.
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