You know how Madonna now talks with a British accent? And everyone kind of mocks her? It is annoying to have someone you know grew up in Michigan try and sound all posh, but at the same time… I would be the same way. I once realized that I had been watching twenty minutes of a cooking show with an Australian host and I had no idea what was being made. I’d spent the entire time watching her mouth trying to figure out how she was murdering pronouncing her vowels that way. I sounded like a monkey on the couch as I clenched and unclenched my teeth trying “ehhh-oooh-uh” my vowels. I was two seconds away from throwing a shrimp on the barbie when my husband came home and gave me the look that implied that while our marriage was a joy and a blessing, it was also occasionally weird.
The unfortunate thing is that, just as I’m addicted to copying other people’s accents, I find that I’m also prone to picking up the language of whomever I’m reading. I’m sure my writing/reading group can tell when I’ve been reading Regency Romances. One cannot help but be addicted to the opulent turn of phrase. And if I could work some sort of line about puce satin and a cravat into the paragraph all the better. What if I’m reading fluffy chick lit? Pretty sure that my character needs to mention her thighs and a cupcake in the next sentence. Taut thrillers? Sentences get shorter. Characters become brutal. And adverbs? Kill ‘em. Kill ‘em all.
The brutal snuffing out of “suddenly” aside, this habit does real damage to my narratives. Characters don’t sound like themselves (why does that Texan sound English?) and plots can veer wildly off course as I spend a page (or three) describing clothing. So when I’m writing I have to take a bit of a hiatus from reading unless I can find that wondrous book that matches the tone that I’m writing. I think it’s incredibly unfair that my reading has suffered as a result of my writing, but currently it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. Of course, if I could just figure out how to retire with a million dollars so that I could segregate my year into reading quarters and writing quarters life would be awesome.
https://bethanymaines.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/road-to-hell-2.jpg461720Bethany Maineshttps://bethanymaines.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/08/Aug2016-Logo-op3-300x69.pngBethany Maines2016-01-23 00:30:232016-01-20 20:14:45The Accent Mark Goes… Here
I was recently sitting with a group of friends discussing a book we’d all read recently (Perfect Likeness by J.M. Phillippe – group consensus: two thumbs up, funny and touching!). But then the conversation turned to whether or not the author had left room for a sequel. Some thought there was definitely going to be a sequel, while others read the slightly open-ended conclusion as the perfect metaphor for the books message about depression. Since we happen to know the author, it was a simple matter of waiting until she returned from the bar with her cocktail, so that we could ask her. But the entire argument reminded me of the very first public reading I did of my own writing.
I was 19 and I’d just won third place in a contest for Just Between You and Me, a short-story of a high-school girl who sells her English teacher a sense of humor. There was an awards ceremony and the top three all read their stories. I was incredibly nervous. I’d practiced, but still read too fast and killed one of the jokes. But by the time I was done, I felt triumphant. I’d read, and people had clapped. And not just people in my family. Actual people.
And then the audience was allowed to ask questions.
Whoever invented audience participation was a sadist. Who wants the audience to participate? Don’t you know that when they participate they ask questions? Questions that I had never considered in the entire breadth of my imagination that anyone would ever actually ask. A few years later, I discovered that I might be a masochist, because audience particpation suddenly seemed fun. But this was my Day 1 as an AUTHOR and I was totally unprepared for THE QUESTION. It was delivered by forty-something guy who seemed to have really enjoyed the story, but asked this doozy: “Did she really sell a sense of humor?”
But… but… that questions the very foundation of my story. If you didn’t buy into the premise how could you like it? I left ambiguity on purpose. Did you not enjoy the ambiguity? Does this mean the story was bad? How do I answer that? What does this meannnnnn???!!! <- insert author confidence down spiral here.
A few years later, with more writing and more experience, I would have replied, “Yes, she did. How did you enjoy your first visit to the Fantasy section of the bookstore? There are many more books like this out there – don’t be afraid to experiment.” Instead, I sort of fish flapped my mouth for a second or two and said something vague like, “That’s something you’ll have to decide for yourself.” Which, again, with more years and writing experience later, I’ve recognized as sub-conscious code for, “I wasn’t able to decide either, but I’m not telling you that, you impertinent person.”
I did eventually decide. Ariana, the young person in question, really did sell a sense of humor. You can read Just Between You and Me and more about Ariana’s adventures in my collection of Tales from the City of Destiny. And as for the sequel status of Perfect Likeness? Well, you will either have to read and decide for yourself, or follow the authors suggested solution – bribery. Preferably with cocktails and cake.
https://bethanymaines.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/08/Aug2016-Logo-op3-300x69.png00Bethany Maineshttps://bethanymaines.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/08/Aug2016-Logo-op3-300x69.pngBethany Maines2015-12-11 01:24:272015-12-08 16:26:32Author Diaries: Day 1
It’s almost time to change the art in my office. I’ve had the same art since I moved in five years ago and it’s now covered in layers of other art. It’s time to relocate, re-shuffle and change up. Maybe you are not one of the people who feels that deep need to redecorate periodically, but I happen to have it in my genes. Returning home to find my mother peeling wallpaper was cause for eyerolling, but not surprise. It works both ways though. On more than one occasion in my teen years I decided to re-arrange my bedroom after midnight. My mother never once questioned these decisions. Because she fully understands that sometimes life would just be better if the furniture were NOT where it is right now.
These are also good occasions for spring cleaning and decluttering. Someone once said that clutter items are just decisions you didn’t make. If you had decided where that item needed to go, it wouldn’t be lingering there on the desk or kitchen table. Although, I suspect that the person who originated that idea never had children. Because the garbage can is not lingering on top my desk; it’s hiding from my toddler.
The problem with decluttering art, is that I’m either removing my own work or the work of an artist I admire. It’s unfortunate, but apparently, I cannot have ALL the art, ALL the time. I’m not a Getty. I don’t get to have my own museum. This makes me infinitely sad. My perfect house would probably look like a library mated with the Guggenheim and married the Orsay. Unfortunately my current house looks more like the product of a library and a 1910 bungalow who married a carpenter in the 1950’s. Which means we have books in piles and art in piles and we had to remove the weird scalloped molding over the sink when we moved in.
So some art will have to go back in the closet and some new pieces will have to get matted for display. And then, maybe, I can get back to writing.
It’s that time of year again. The holidays. Starbucks is apparently hating Jesus because they continued their paired back design aesthetic and put out simple red cups. (Yes, because from Hell’s heart they stab at Christians with a red cup filled with the artfully foamed blood of the saints – muwahhahahahah!!) Black Friday ads are starting to pop up everywhere (stampede!!) and relatives are booking flights and scrambling to arrange schedules so that everyone can see everyone and be annoyed by everyone all in a very short amount of time.
As yet, I have made no moves on the great holiday game board. I’m still trying to determine strategy. Do I try and ride the “I have a baby” thing for another year and do practically nothing? Or do I pull out all the stops and try to get the best gifts EVER for everyone? Should I shoot for every holiday party I’m invited to, or do I try and find out everyone’s dates in advance and RSVP according to the level of food awesomeness at each? Generally, I try and do a really fun Christmas card, but that takes energy, forethought, and great idea for some artwork. Maybe I’ll just skip that one and move straight to the Christmas letter stage where I make friends and relatives barf with the saccharine sweetness and absolute perfection of my life. BECAUSE YOUR ENVY FEEDS MY SOUL. That’s definitely what the holidays are all about, right?
Below are the following factors I’m using for determining my holiday event strategy:
Pie.
Is there pie? If the answer is yes, move to the top of the list.
Is it home made? If the answer is no, then I don’t go.
Sleep.
Will it cause my baby to be awake far longer than a tiny human should be? If the answer is yes, your event will not be considered. Unless there is enormous amounts of pie.
Husband.
On a scale of 1 to 10, how badly is he going to complain about this event? If the answer is ballet, then he will not be attending.
Can I bribe him with pie?
What are your strategies for coping with the oncoming storm? Hunker down or go fly a kite? What is your favorite way to do the holidays?
It’s election season. And you know what that means. Lot’s of people talking smack about candidates, and trying to persuade me to vote, give money, participate, belong, think about the future, just doooooooo something. And it’s true. I should do one or all of those things. After all, isn’t the entry fee to any society the participation in their events?
As I was pondering this deep, philosophical point, I got distracted by an idea on how to create a light saber for my daughters Halloween costume (she’s going to be Yoda) and then I pondered lunch, then work, then I wondered who was in charge of Princess Leia’s hair on set. Was there a hair wrangler? By the time I made it back to democracy, I had clearly demonstrated how easy it is to NOT perform my civic duty – simply get distracted by life. Which led me to wonder, is connecting with the writing community difficult for the same reasons? Do writers miss out on connecting in person, on being a literary citizen, because… Star Wars?
Probably not. My reasons for occasionally not participating in the greater writer community, aren’t generally because I’m building a death star. (Although, really, death star’s take a lot of time, so jeez, get off my back Emperor.) My reasons for not participating usually looks more like this comic from The Oatmeal.
The original entry fee to the writing community, the one I paid when I was quite small, was to read, quietly in the privacy of my own home and then write something, usually a bad something. I have paid that fee about 16million times over. But progressing in one’s writing career means paying a different kind of fee. You must talk to people – actual people – as opposed to the fictional people I usually talk to.
I recently participated in my local Lit Night, put on by Creative Colloquy. Each literary night, allows time for a roster of readers, and then some open mic time. The Colloquy group is incredibly supportive of writers and encourages an atmosphere of positive support. Participating reminded me that actual people aren’t that bad, and that listening to others works gives perspective on my own. My political party of choice, might Introverts Unite!, but being with other writer’s does give me the warm glow of community that is hard to achieve from my couch. So, if you have the urge to be a literary citizen, I recommend paying the fee – go, interact, don’t build a death star. You’ll have a good time, I promise.
https://bethanymaines.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/introverts_unite_poster-rb99a70332d16458b92c244460c059bfe_w2q_8byvr_324.jpg324324Bethany Maineshttps://bethanymaines.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/08/Aug2016-Logo-op3-300x69.pngBethany Maines2015-10-30 01:51:542015-10-28 22:55:22Entry Fee Collected at the Door
The Accent Mark Goes… Here
/in General Writing, Girlfriends Book Club, LifeYou know how Madonna now talks with a British accent? And everyone kind of mocks her? It is annoying to have someone you know grew up in Michigan try and sound all posh, but at the same time… I would be the same way. I once realized that I had been watching twenty minutes of a cooking show with an Australian host and I had no idea what was being made. I’d spent the entire time watching her mouth trying to figure out how she was murdering pronouncing her vowels that way. I sounded like a monkey on the couch as I clenched and unclenched my teeth trying “ehhh-oooh-uh” my vowels. I was two seconds away from throwing a shrimp on the barbie when my husband came home and gave me the look that implied that while our marriage was a joy and a blessing, it was also occasionally weird.
The unfortunate thing is that, just as I’m addicted to copying other people’s accents, I find that I’m also prone to picking up the language of whomever I’m reading. I’m sure my writing/reading group can tell when I’ve been reading Regency Romances. One cannot help but be addicted to the opulent turn of phrase. And if I could work some sort of line about puce satin and a cravat into the paragraph all the better. What if I’m reading fluffy chick lit? Pretty sure that my character needs to mention her thighs and a cupcake in the next sentence. Taut thrillers? Sentences get shorter. Characters become brutal. And adverbs? Kill ‘em. Kill ‘em all.
The brutal snuffing out of “suddenly” aside, this habit does real damage to my narratives. Characters don’t sound like themselves (why does that Texan sound English?) and plots can veer wildly off course as I spend a page (or three) describing clothing. So when I’m writing I have to take a bit of a hiatus from reading unless I can find that wondrous book that matches the tone that I’m writing. I think it’s incredibly unfair that my reading has suffered as a result of my writing, but currently it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make. Of course, if I could just figure out how to retire with a million dollars so that I could segregate my year into reading quarters and writing quarters life would be awesome.
Author Diaries: Day 1
/in City of Destiny, General Writing, Girlfriends Book Club, LifeI was recently sitting with a group of friends discussing a book we’d all read recently (Perfect Likeness by J.M. Phillippe – group consensus: two thumbs up, funny and touching!). But then the conversation turned to whether or not the author had left room for a sequel. Some thought there was definitely going to be a sequel, while others read the slightly open-ended conclusion as the perfect metaphor for the books message about depression. Since we happen to know the author, it was a simple matter of waiting until she returned from the bar with her cocktail, so that we could ask her. But the entire argument reminded me of the very first public reading I did of my own writing.
I was 19 and I’d just won third place in a contest for Just Between You and Me, a short-story of a high-school girl who sells her English teacher a sense of humor. There was an awards ceremony and the top three all read their stories. I was incredibly nervous. I’d practiced, but still read too fast and killed one of the jokes. But by the time I was done, I felt triumphant. I’d read, and people had clapped. And not just people in my family. Actual people.
And then the audience was allowed to ask questions.
Whoever invented audience participation was a sadist. Who wants the audience to participate? Don’t you know that when they participate they ask questions? Questions that I had never considered in the entire breadth of my imagination that anyone would ever actually ask. A few years later, I discovered that I might be a masochist, because audience particpation suddenly seemed fun. But this was my Day 1 as an AUTHOR and I was totally unprepa
red for THE QUESTION. It was delivered by forty-something guy who seemed to have really enjoyed the story, but asked this doozy: “Did she really sell a sense of humor?”
But… but… that questions the very foundation of my story. If you didn’t buy into the premise how could you like it? I left ambiguity on purpose. Did you not enjoy the ambiguity? Does this mean the story was bad? How do I answer that? What does this meannnnnn???!!! <- insert author confidence down spiral here.
A few years later, with more writing and more experience, I would have replied, “Yes, she did. How did you enjoy your first visit to the Fantasy section of the bookstore? There are many more books like this out there – don’t be afraid to experiment.” Instead, I sort of fish flapped my mouth for a second or two and said something vague like, “That’s something you’ll have to decide for yourself.” Which, again, with more years and writing experience later, I’ve recognized as sub-conscious code for, “I wasn’t able to decide either, but I’m not telling you that, you impertinent person.”
I did eventually decide. Ariana, the young person in question, really did sell a sense of humor. You can read Just Between You and Me and more about Ariana’s adventures in my collection of Tales from the City of Destiny. And as for the sequel status of Perfect Likeness? Well, you will either have to read and decide for yourself, or follow the authors suggested solution – bribery. Preferably with cocktails and cake.
Everybody Rotate
/in General Writing, Life, The Stiletto GangIt’s almost time to change the art in my office. I’ve had the same art since I moved in five years ago and it’s now covered in layers of other art. It’s time to relocate, re-shuffle and change up. Maybe you are not one of the people who feels that deep need to redecorate periodically, but I happen to have it in my genes. Returning home to find my mother peeling wallpaper was cause for eyerolling, but not surprise. It works both ways though. On more than one occasion in my teen years I decided to re-arrange my bedroom after midnight. My mother never once questioned these decisions. Because she fully understands that sometimes life would just be better if the furniture were NOT where it is right now.
These are also good occasions for spring cleaning and decluttering. Someone once said that clutter items are just decisions you didn’t make. If you had decided where that item needed to go, it wouldn’t be lingering there on the desk or kitchen table. Although, I suspect that the person who originated that idea never had children. Because the garbage can is not lingering on top my desk; it’s hiding from my toddler.
The problem with decluttering art, is that I’m either removing my own work or the work of an artist I admire. It’s unfortunate, but apparently, I cannot have ALL the art, ALL the time. I’m not a Getty. I don’t get to have my own museum. This makes me infinitely sad. My perfect house would probably look like a library mated with the Guggenheim and married the Orsay. Unfortunately my current house looks more like the product of a library and a 1910 bungalow who married a carpenter in the 1950’s. Which means we have books in piles and art in piles and we had to remove the weird scalloped molding over the sink when we moved in.
So some art will have to go back in the closet and some new pieces will have to get matted for display. And then, maybe, I can get back to writing.
Holiday Strategy
/in General Writing, Life, The Stiletto GangIt’s that time of year again. The holidays. Starbucks is apparently hating Jesus because they continued their paired back design aesthetic and put out simple red cups. (Yes, because from Hell’s heart they stab at Christians with a red cup filled with the artfully foamed blood of the saints – muwahhahahahah!!) Black Friday ads are starting to pop up everywhere (stampede!!) and relatives are booking flights and scrambling to arrange schedules so that everyone can see everyone and be annoyed by everyone all in a very short amount of time.
As yet, I have made no moves on the great holiday game board. I’m still trying to determine strategy. Do I try and ride the “I have a baby” thing for another year and do practically nothing? Or do I pull out all the stops and try to get the best gifts EVER for everyone? Should I shoot for every holiday party I’m invited to, or do I try and find out everyone’s dates in advance and RSVP according to the level of food awesomeness at each? Generally, I try and do a really fun Christmas card, but that takes energy, forethought, and great idea for some artwork. Maybe I’ll just skip that one and move straight to the Christmas letter stage where I make friends and relatives barf with the saccharine sweetness and absolute perfection of my life. BECAUSE YOUR ENVY FEEDS MY SOUL. That’s definitely what the holidays are all about, right?
Below are the following factors I’m using for determining my holiday event strategy:
What are your strategies for coping with the oncoming storm? Hunker down or go fly a kite? What is your favorite way to do the holidays?
Entry Fee Collected at the Door
/in General Writing, Girlfriends Book ClubIt’s election season. And you know what that means. Lot’s of people talking smack about candidates, and trying to persuade me to vote, give money, participate, belong, think about the future, just doooooooo something. And it’s true. I should do one or all of those things. After all, isn’t the entry fee to any society the participation in their events?
Probably not. My reasons for occasionally not participating in the greater writer community, aren’t generally because I’m building a death star. (Although, really, death star’s take a lot of time, so jeez, get off my back Emperor.) My reasons for not participating usually looks more like this comic from The Oatmeal.
The original entry fee to the writing community, the one I paid when I was quite small, was to read, quietly in the privacy of my own home and then write something, usually a bad something. I have paid that fee about 16million times over. But progressing in one’s writing career means paying a different kind of fee. You must talk to people – actual people – as opposed to the fictional people I usually talk to.
I recently participated in my local Lit Night, put on by Creative Colloquy. Each literary night, allows time for a roster of readers, and then some open mic time. The Colloquy group is incredibly supportive of writers and encourages an atmosphere of positive support. Participating reminded me that actual people aren’t that bad, and that listening to others works gives perspective on my own. My political party of choice, might Introverts Unite!, but being with other writer’s does give me the warm glow of community that is hard to achieve from my couch. So, if you have the urge to be a literary citizen, I recommend paying the fee – go, interact, don’t build a death star. You’ll have a good time, I promise.