ONLINE TROLLING

 

If we change the word in the title of this post from “trolling” to “commenting,” most of us would recognize ourselves.

 

Sadly, some of us, who are loath to think of ourselves as Trolls, are in fact trolling.

 

An internet troll is someone who intentionally posts or comments online to upset others. Trolls may use offensive language, personal attacks, or other disruptive content.

 

“But,” say you, “I’m just expressing an opinion. I’m confronting disinformation. I’m saying what needs to be said on a public forum.” Then, you add, “And it’s a free country with a constitutional guarantee to free speech.”

 

Yes, and no. Personally, I’d say to the trollers, N-O. No. Minimal self-examination would save you from disgracing yourself and polluting the air.

 

Just ask yourself these three questions before posting:

Does it need to be said?

Does it need to be said by me?

Does it need to be said by me, now?

 

For those who are capable of honest self-reflection, twitching-to-type fingers would come to a standstill. It becomes clear the need for attention at all costs is what caused the twitch.

Breathe. All better now.

 

You’ll have less to regret later, and the digital environment would be a wee bit cleaner, too.

MAKING MEANING out of EVENTS

 

Many writers and literary analysts have said that the power of stories lie not in the events, but the meaning we make of the events.

 

Historians can spew facts and dates, or “factoids” and statistics, but what sticks with us is the meaning they make of these chains, and how they, in fact, make them into chains rather than disparate thingamajigs.

 

In fiction, the meaning comes from how the characters react emotionally to the events, and what changes their reactions bring to them.

 

One book coach defined it as “because of that.” This happened and then that happened (events, plot) and, because of that (emotions and mental reactions), a meaningful change took place.

 

When revising, we need to pay attention not so much to the sequence of events or how logical and perfectly strung together they are, but to the emotions they evoke in us.

WARNING: GRUMPY RANT AHEAD

 

You’ve been warned. Right now, I’m Ms. Grump because of my yesterday. I hope to climb out from under today with the help of letting it out here. 😠

 

If you’ve used health services for routine matters, you know the drill. You called to make an appointment, navigated through the automatic phone tree (“For providers press one, for appointments press two,” etc.) and landed an actual person who makes the appointment.

Okay. Pat on the back. Done.

 

Not so, dear heart. ❤️

 

Two weeks before the scheduled appointment, the real thrilling drill begins. You get a text/email instructing you to fill out a questionnaire regarding your health status and more. This is a pre-registration promising to save you time on the actual day. The link is to your online portal. You fill it out. It only takes ten minutes.

Okay. Pat on the back. Done.

 

Not really. It just begun. 😮

 

The beginning of the week of the scheduled appointment (routine screening, mind you) you get a text asking to confirm your appointment. It says to reply with Y2 if confirmed, or N2 if not. You reply with a Y2.

Okay, this time we’re done. Right?

 

An immediate reply follows saying you failed to reply properly and to call a certain number.

Only the number is missing two digits. But it’s what they tell you to do. You look carefully and, yes, you replied with a Y2. Never mind, call this non-number anyway.

Your phone tells you this is not a number. 🫢

 

You login through the portal and chat with a supposed real person (Hi, Sam K.) who tells you to call a different number. At least this number has all its digits.

You call the number Sam K. says to call and find yourself climbing another automated phone tree and press option #3, for appointments. You wait eighteen minutes to get a real person (Hi Trish) and are told she can’t help with confirmations of already scheduled appointments. But Trish is nice and will now transfer you to the number where they can do the deed.

But if you think we’re done here, you are too trusting.

 

The number Trish transferred to is, mercifully, not a phone tree. The man who answers (Hi Jim) says he can’t help, but he will give you the number that will.

That number puts you in a queue that lasts only seven minutes, where Marla will now help you. Marla apologizes not for the madness of the system, but for the sorrow you are experiencing, which, all things considered, Marla understands and sympathizes. Bless Marla, she confirms your appointment for the end of this week.

 

And now you’re done. You sure hope so. You’ll know for sure at the end of the week if all goes smoothly when you arrive.

 

I hope you didn’t go through this. It sounds like a fictional story. But I did, only yesterday. 😥

 

Here’s a simple suggestion: what if, while making the appointment for this non-urgent routine screening test, the nice person who schedules it (sorry, I didn’t write her name down) also fills the registration? And what if a simple email to confirm is sent a week before where you speak English to reply with a YES, I WILL BE THERE. How about them apples?       🍎🍏🍎

 

But that might be too simple, efficient and easy. Why make it easy when it can be hard?

 

Rant over. Peace. 🤞🏻

SPEAKING of AUGUST…

 

August is a good word.

It means “respected and impressive,” according to one dictionary.

It has a noble origin, according to another:

“August comes from the Latin word augustus, meaning 'consecrated' or 'venerable,' which in turn is related to the Latin augur, meaning 'consecrated by augury' or 'auspicious'.”

 

It’s also the month just begun.

 

In childhood, I associated it with the great summer vacation. That part was good. It was also the hottest month in a place that was too hot already. At least for little me, that was not so good.

 

How did the eighth month of the Gregorian calendar get this venerable name? According to yet another reference book, the name was changed from "Sextilis” = “the Sixth month” (in the old Roman calendar) to “August,” to honor the great Cesar. 

 

Years ago, I saw the BBC series I, Claudius, and proceeded to read part of Robert Graves’s book on which it was based. I didn’t read the whole thing, for it’s lo-o-ong. I chose to read about Caesar Augustus, the model of a good Caesar and the ideal for a good king.

 

At least by Robert Graves’s telling, Augustus was as positive a ruler as could humanly be. His time on earth is thus known as the golden age of Rome.

 

All this to say, I wish you a good august month of August.

THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER…

 

JULY 29^th, 1981

Twenty-four years ago today, a prince married his bride, and she became Diana, Princess of Wales.

The prince still lives. His princess was discarded and later died. The prince became a king with his Queen Consort being the lady he discarded his fairy princess for, and the kingdom replaced their affection for the royal family with the next generation of princes and their wives.

 

If you’re old enough to have lived through the hullabaloo that was the royal wedding of Charles and Diana, you might remember that, to all but the most cynical, it evoked the fairytales we were raised on.

 

We still read these tales to young people. We cling inwardly to their endings whenever we attend weddings. We who write stories, still write endings with “ever after” allusions.

 

Looking back on that day in history, we know how that fairytale ended. I wonder if we are preparing young people for real life if we keep telling stories that never acknowledge that a wedding day is but the opening chapter. It opens the real story of hard work and struggles yielding one’s single state to thinking and being a couple.

 

It was a grand wedding. The dress, the parade, the carriage, the waves from the balcony. But it was the first chapter, not the last.

IDENTIFY the NEGATING VOICE

 

Years ago, when I first began writing in earnest, DH gave me the gift of Nancy Lamb’s book, The Writer's Guide to Crafting Stories for Children. It turned out to be the best beginners guide, not least because of a chapter that suggested talking back to the negative inner voice  relentlessly repeating that you are audacious and delusional to think you can create anything of quality.

 

I recognized that voice and knew who it belonged to. Nancy Lamb gave me permission to talk back to it, something I barely managed in real life.

 

A few months back, Anne Carley’s post on Jane Friedman’s blog echoed the same sentiment, only there, the suggestion was to interview this voice. It goes beyond identifying the parent, relative, teacher, or frenemy— whose voice it is. Ms. Carley suggests engaging with and speaking to this voice in order to unpack the baggage.

 

Both are great suggestions. If you find yourself admonishing inwardly the effort to do, create and strive, know this isn’t you. *YOU* wouldn’t be doing this to *YOU*, because this goes against nature. This voice came from someone else. That was then.  If it continues to come, ask it questions and then tell it it’s done its job and now it’s time to go away.

 

Then go do what you know you can do, because you can.

DEADLINES SET BY OTHERS

 

One of the pitfalls of staying in school for many years is the dependence on deadlines set by others.

 

What, you might be saying, is wrong with that? It’s a preparation for work life in general and makes John and Jill good boys and girls. Right?

 

But here’s my take. It also creates a dependence on others to get things done.

I know writers who sign up for writing challenges and join groups that insist on certain timed output. I know musicians who need competitions to get them going on learning new repertoire and practice . I know painters who need a set exhibit date to complete a set number of new works, etc.

 

Without this external pacing, many people just fall apart and lose the map. The trail becomes blurry and a sense of being lost takes over only to deepen unless they latch on to yet another organizer who gives them deadlines once again.

 

I have come to see it differently. It took reaching my late twenties before I got that monkey off my back. I learned what pace works for me and why only this way of working sets me free.

 

Sure, I meet deadlines all the time. But I don’t need them to create.

 

You won’t find me anywhere near NaNoWriMo or the 12 by12 challenge and their ilk. Maybe because I didn’t stay in school as long as many I know, I don’t need this sort of assigned homework. Life tells me when I’m needed, and I tell my days what I need from them in return.

WE ALL NEED A HORSE SOMETIMES

 

I had a friend who was prone to bouts of depression. She was one of the most talented and brave people I have ever known. Still, waves of self-doubt and despair would sweep over her now and then. Modern medicine’s pharmaceutical solutions only made these waves deeper and fiercer.

 

In the depth of one of these episodes, she had a vivid dream. In it, she rode a horse and her spirit soared. She woke up and remembered that as a child she not only rode horses regularly, but had lessons in dressage, and it always centered her spiritually. Those were happy times, and she had somehow forgotten all about them.

 

My friend bought a horse. Her horse was housed in a saddlery nearby. He was an older horse who had been neglected.  Dressage was no longer on her horse’s menu. But my friend went on to ride him and even knitted him a special blanket. Caring for him, brushing him, and going on country trails together healed them both.

 

I’m no horse woman, but my friend’s healing informed me also. There are times when what is needed is remembrance of simpler happier times, and revival of what made them so. For me it’s a good cup of coffee with a loved one. My father used to take me to European style cafes that proliferated in West Jerusalem, and we’d sit and talk. We could do this at home, but it was not the same.

This ritual is my horse.

There’s the tale of the knight who comes to the rescue on a white horse. Some say the Messiah will be riding a white horse to the gates of Jerusalem. We all need a horse now and then.

DECENCY is about SHOWING UP

 

I’ve heard the saying, “Love shows up.”

I’m going to lower the bar here and not address love, but just elemental decency between people.

 

Some time ago, our hot water heater broke. In the dead of winter, we only had cold water until this could be remedied, which took a few days. I, in need of a shower, asked the next-door neighbor if it would be possible to shower at their house. Neighbor said, “Sure.”

A few hours later, I called to ask if it was convenient right then. Next-door neighbor got the message (message apps tell you this) and read it (message apps tell you that, also) and then, to be sure it wasn’t a single miscommunication I sent a text on another app we had communicated on as well when neighbor needed something from us.

 

And…

 

I was ghosted. Not a “not right now,” or “I’m not home,” (neighbor was home, as they are next door, so we can see them) or even “my shower is in bad shape,” though next-door neighbor has at least two full bathrooms.

 

I thought about the countless times this neighbor has asked us for help, assistance, tools to borrow, jobs neighbor had difficulty with and more. A hundred times would be an underestimate. We always helped promptly. It’s not that we are exceptionally good people, we just practice being decent. Until then, we had never asked Neighbor for anything.

 

I was ghosted by a neighbor whom I can plainly see from my window. To this day, not a mention of this, and I’m not bringing it up. Neighbor has shown what sort of neighbor and human they are.

 

I thought about another friend from long ago who opted to ghost, then showed up years later as if nothing had happened.

 

I think basic decency itself should propel anyone not to do this. Any reply, even one that says “I need space” or “I’m sorry but I’m in a funk” or “this isn’t working for me”--- ANYTHING, while not a happy response and requires a version of showing up, is more decent.

 

Time passed, and I remained polite with Neighbor. When next neighbor asked for something, I said, “Yes,” and did it. But my smile is gone.

 

Show up, people. Show up. Don’t leave anybody in your life high and dry.

WRITING as a WORK of LOVE

 

Some years back, one of the members of my critique group quit. She not only quit our group; she quit writing.

 

Her parting words to us were unambiguous. “Never have I spent so many hours for so little monetary compensation. Time to do something where I reap the righteous rewards for my labor.”

 

On the one hand, there’s no denying that even at minimum wage, almost all writers would reap better monetary rewards spending work hours doing something else.

 

On the other hand, SAY WHAT???

 

Mind you, this member was an energetic and insightful feedback giver, and her writing was also lively and polished. I thought highly of her as a group member and felt that if she persisted, she was more likely to be published than most of us.

But she looked at it differently. She looked at writing and writing related (like being in a critique group) as hours spent at a job. In her fortunate case, financial hardship was not in the mix.

 

She had had better paying jobs before, so she was moving on.

 

Of course, this was our loss. She was a valued colleague. But I felt it was primarily her loss because she had missed the whole sailboat that is the creative life.

 

Living in creativity is not about financial compensation. If it were, humanity’s art makers would instantly shrink to one thousandth the current participants.

 

People who create, whether stories, music, paintings or recipes— are wedded to being more fully alive. That’s the real deal, or the “compensation.” Being paid is nice and, for the few who get to buy mansions from creative work, it’s very nice. But, for most who create, it's about getting to live in our mansions of vivid and rich imaginations.

 

This is a work of love, and if it isn’t, indeed one is better finding out what else is there that could be.

WHAT MAKES A STORY?

 

Most people know how to give an account of happenings. “This happened, and then that, and after that then this.”

 

These are accounts, not stories.

 

Unfortunately, some writing advice completely misses the point. I’ve heard some variations of asking and answering “…and then, and then…” offered as process to constructing stories from writing coaches and blog posts about writing. It’s understandable, because this is the way young children tell stories. It’s basic to telling imaginative narratives.

 

But, as any listener or reader knows, these aren’t stories. They are accounts.

 

I like pithy definitions. I love Jonathan Blum’s description.

A story: mapping the process of meaningful change.

 

Every word in this six-word definition is relevant and essential.

Without mapping, it’s a meditation, not a story.

Without process, it’s a static photograph, not a story.

Without meaningful, it’s an empty collection of words.

Without change, it is just the same as nothing worth telling happened.

 

We are accustomed to happy or positive changes, because kidlit is wedded to such. But many stories for adults map meaningful demises. (Anna Karenina, anyone?) Either way, change is a must for a story not to be merely an account.

©Chris Brecheen

When Seeking Agent Representation* for Picture Book Writers

 

*Disclosure: I never sought representation for my picture book texts because very few agents are open to such. Both my previous agents did represent my picture books but took me as a client for my Middle Grade novels.

 

The conventional wisdom on agent-seeking is that if you approach such for picture books, it is better to have at least three manuscripts polished and ready to go.

 

Why?

 

In one way, this is counter intuitive. Every manuscript is its own animal, and a great highly marketable one is just that. Writers who seek agent representation with longer works are not expected to have more than that one ready for presentation.

 

In another way, picture book texts require less time (though no less creative spark and skill) to pen, revise, re-revise, and polish, and agents are not interested in investing energy in a relationship with a one-shot wonder.

 

Put another way, Agent might be saying to Writer, “If we’re to become working partners, you better show me that you can do this again and again (and again) because, unlike novels, it’s possible to write twelve picture book texts in one year. I don’t deal with slouches.”

Or something to that effect.

 

Just another of the publishing world’s peculiarities.

The Matter of WORD COUNT

 

Beginning and naïve writers pay little attention to word counts. My first efforts had one 4,000-word story which I thought was a picture book text.

 

Near beginners wake up to the bean counting that exists among publishing and marketing professionals. Word counts become a near obsession, despite most publishing professionals stating that these numbers are not hard and fast rules and a story need be what it need be. Once writers discover the word count parameters, these become a religion. I confess to the same.

 

But if you are going to treat word counts as guides, you must know that in writing for younger readers, the ordinary counts of the publishing world don’t count. Kidlit has its own.

Example:

• Novella: A fictional work that's between 17,500 and 40,000 words long.

In kidlit, these counts would overlap chapter books and novels for middle grade readers.

• Novelette: A fictional work that's between 7,500 and 17,500 words long 

In kidlit, these counts are squarely in the chapter book category.

• Short story: A fictional work that's usually less than 10,000 words long, but can be over 1,000 words 

In kidlit, these counts overlap easy readers to chapter books.

• Flash fiction: A short story that's 500 words or less

In kidlit, these are picture book texts. *

 

*I love thinking of picture book texts as flash fiction. It’s a remarkable storytelling category either way.

 

After many years of writing, I find word counts to be an accounting of sorts for a day’s work. My output is around a thousand words a day, give or take. This says little about the stories and what they “should be” word count-wise. It’s an account between me and myself regarding the fulfillment of my writing abilities. It tells me I’m doing my job, even if no one else cares.

 

And since I mentioned novellas* in this post, where have they gone? Publishing’s stepchild is overdue for TLC and attention, in my unhumble opinion.

A post about this can be read here.

 

Back to counting the total words of manuscripts, I’m less fussy now. At my age and many years of writing, I see fussing for what it is. It’s a replacement for taking care of the real deal: a great story, which can’t be quantified.

AI HERE, THERE, and EVERYWHERE

 

If you use text-to-voice to proofread your writing, you’re listening to a creature of AI. I’m on record that I use this feature when going over my stories in WORD. (I should use it for emails, although, to my detriment, I usually fire them off quickly without doing so.) It’s a fine way to catch some typos, akin to the advice to read aloud your own chapters and catch repeat words, typos and echoes.

The mechanical voice is far better at this function because unlike the author or even the author’s human friends, it won’t read aloud what it thinks is likely there, per human logic.  Instead, the machine will sound what is, in fact, there on the screen.

Oops.

 

Then there are the internet searches. The largest search engine (rhymes with poodle) now brings AI results to the top of the first page. DH admonished me to not look at the AI findings and scroll past them. I refuse to ignore the tool because it is usually sound. Usually is the operative word. There are glitches here and there, so looking further should be good practice.

 

AI tools are also fun, as in fun and games. They play with us, creating images and editing photos, not to mention drive digital games.

 

Here is what they don’t do, nor replace. The human touch is unique in finding the road not taken, and AI never seems to. Whatever you do, don’t let it write your stories because you will never get anything surprising or genuinely out of the box.

 

AI is all about formulas, algorithms, and what was done before. Not just the tried and true, but the tried-and-true numerous times. Its best surprise is, like the old Holiday Inn commercials, no surprise.

 

As good (and improving) as AI tools are, perfection still eludes them. Case in point: the AI “natural voice” reader keeps reading every “oh” in my manuscripts as “OH!” (a la “wow!”), even when it’s the sighing kind. “Oh, this is sad,” comes off as either alarming or a cry of joy. The lovely female voice I use is as dumb as a doorbell which, come to think of doorbells, always sound like they mean to be punctuated by an exclamation.

 

Oh, well.

ARGUABLY THE GREATEST PRESIDENT

 

We know Abraham Lincoln saved the union of states, but at a great cost to his mental health and eventual physical demise. Lincoln suffered from clinical depression aggravated by the enormous cost of the war between the states. He was murdered shortly after victory, and never got to know how grateful most of us are to this day for keeping us “one nation, indivisible.”

 

We know about Lincoln’s childhood in a log cabin, and about the tragic loss of his beloved son Willie to typhoid fever while living in the White House. (The Lincolns lost another son twelve years earlier to tuberculosis.) These losses took their toll on Mary Todd Lincoln, and all in all made for very hard presidential years for Abe.

 

Here’s what I didn’t know until just before I blogged about it six years ago here. Abraham Lincoln was a bonified inventor. Almost on this date, May 22^nd in the year 1849, future U.S. president Abraham Lincoln was granted a patent for a boat-lifting device; he was the only U.S. president to have a patent. 

 

We’ve heard that a rising tide lifts all boats.  Now we know Lincoln did, both figuratively and in practice.

The Matter of the AUTHOR NOTE

 

I’m fond of reading Author Notes at the end of novels, but I may be in a minority.

 

To be clear, I understand the reluctance many feel about this matter. I want to be succinct and say that, for me, an Author Note is satisfying to read only if it’s short and personal. Like a cherry on the slice of cake I just managed to finish.

An added zing, a finishing touch. An Author Note needs to work like a decorative bow tied to a well wrapped gift.

 

A good post on this can be found here.

 

For fiction, it’s important not to slip into lecture mode. I’m afraid the tendency to explain, self-analyze, and even apologize— is what many authors pass for their final note. I plead guilty myself.

 

A good Author Note does one simple thing: it ties the fictional story to the author’s life experience in a way that enriches the story for the reader. Too many authors write these notes to make up for what they perceive will be criticism or in response to Beta readers’ feedback. An Author Note shouldn’t be a defense of one’s work, nor added material that should have been woven into the story itself.  Again, I plead guilty to these faux pas.

 

While Author Notes can enrich a novel, I find them a burden when tacked to picture book texts. Writers who have polished their skills writing for the educational market are prone to add Author Notes to trade picture books, sometimes longer than the story texts. Thus, a fictional tale becomes a mini textbook. Publishers seem to love this, because it makes these picture books marketable in both the trade and the educational markets.

 

I’m not a publisher. As a reader, I never liked fiction laden with footnotes, and these Author Notes (as well as “Side Bars”) sink fun fiction faster than I can say PLEASE DON’T.

For the third time, I plead guilty to this, also.

 

So, my take on Author Notes is keep it interesting and above all—

keep it short.

SELF-DOUBT and GUILT

 

Self-doubt is not only an important part of an artist’s toolkit; it’s an essential aspect of being a good person, striving to do better. I think guilt serves a similar function.

 

Where both get a bad rap is when they exceed the boundaries of righting function and become wrecking balls. Being wrecked with self-doubt or wrecked by guilt deserves the boot.

Not helpful, get outta here, you’re only doing damage.

 

This post on the usefulness of self-doubt got me thinking. I was amid second drafting a novel and experiencing something I hadn’t before at that stage. I was liking my first draft.

It read well. How can this be? First drafts are not supposed to read this well. Have I lost my whatever it is that makes writers able to improve on what is, let’s face it, only the first draft?

 

 I was having self-doubts about not having self-doubts.

 

No worries. About a third way in, my first draft showed itself to be a mess in need of urgent triage and surgical repair. I was back to normal self-doubting me, and both breathing and heart rate stabilized.

 

Self-examination, acknowledging wrongs, attempting repairs and trying to do better are great tools. Just don’t let them go amok, because then they think they are the boss and will, if you let them, kill you.

 

Everything in moderation, Maimonides said. This eight-hundred- and fifty-year-old advice has aged well.

HOW TO BECOME KNOWN AS THE DORMOUSE

 

Some years ago, our family were on our way home after a beautiful winter hike. We had climbed mountains to view the ocean and passed countless cows grazing on our way down. The cold air outside had chilled us to the bone, and now the heater in the family car warmed us.

 

The drive was long, and night had fallen. My husband was driving, and I was in the passenger seat, while our two children sat in the back. The conversation was lively, but at a certain point our daughter dozed off in her car seat. It was more than her then-three-year-old body could manage to remain awake. Her older brother and her parents continued to speak, noting her soft sleeping breaths.

 

At some point, even we had rested our conversation, when out of her slumber our daughter’s sleepy voice interrupted the silence.

“Would you pet a cat that had no tail?” she said.

It was a non sequitur to beat all non sequiturs.

“The Dormouse has spoken,” my husband said.

 

 The Dormouse is a character in "A Mad Tea-Party", Chapter VII [1] from the 1865 novel Alice's Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll. The Dormouse sat between the March Hare and the Mad Hatter. They were using him as a cushion while he slept when Alice arrives at the start of the chapter. The Dormouse is always falling asleep during the scene, waking up every so often, to insert some unrelated comment and doze off again.

 

After that day, our daughter began to call herself Dormouse, and she and her brother developed this alternate identity further, making up stories that bore little resemblance to Alice’s tea party associate or to nature’s dormice. Our resident dormouse kept this alter ego for some years before it, too, dissipated into the family lore of yore.  

 

But so many years later, I woke up thinking about the question posted long ago in the dark car.

 
“Would you pet a cat that had no tail?” never got an answer back when.

Today, it seems to me the question deserved a reply. The way I understand it, it has a deep meaning. It’s another way of asking, “could you love and care for someone who isn’t perfect?”

 

Dear Dormouse, it was a perfect question perfectly asked. We got sidetracked but your question deserved an answer.

My belated answer is YES, ten times yes. I’d pet a cat that had no tail. Would you?

THE STORY of SOKOLOV’s FAREWELL

 

It’s been almost a month since Sokolov died.

 

I want to say “left us” or “crossed the rainbow bridge” or some such, because the word “die” doesn’t seem to suit him. He’d been sick for three years and there were many times when I thought he would not last long. But, like the phoenix, he rose up and bounced back to life. We began to think—hope— he would live forever. Maybe our inclination to deny death was doing a job on us.

 

But— no, he didn’t.

 

In late February, he began his final descent and this time he did not relent and turn back. He stopped eating despite medication that had worked before to stimulate his appetite. He stopped drinking. He became as light as a feather. The vet said he was in complete liver failure.

 

We made the decision to let him go at home, in peace, on his own schedule. This cat, who came to us as a feral rescue, who feared any person that was not us (with the vet being one of his greatest fears) was going to live to the last surrounded by people and cats he loved and in the home he felt safe.

 

His final descent lasted four weeks. He was stoic, affectionate, and maintained himself in a position where he could always see us and his favorite feline friends. Sokolov, who ran into hiding at the slightest suggestion of an approaching stranger, didn’t hide at all at the end. He chose to be close and look at us as his body was evaporating.

I won’t deny that letting him die at home was hard on us. I wouldn’t necessarily make that choice for our other cats. But I knew that for this shy cat who loved us more fiercely than others, this is how it had to be.

 

The last looks we exchanged were on the morning of March 28^th. I was typing and turned to say something to him. He was a foot away, sitting on my bed. He looked serene and blinked slowly. I kept typing. When next I turned to exchange looks, he was lying sprawled on his side. I kept staring to see if he was breathing. He did, one more time.

 

He is buried among the weeds in the backyard, very close to where this photo was taken a few years ago.

THE EYE of AI

 

If you ever purchased from the giants of the Internet retailers, you have run into an AI summary of the reviews the product has accumulated. For the most part, I have found these mechanical summaries to reflect the gist of the individual reviews by verified purchasers.

 

It’s an odd thing for a writer whose books are also sold there to see artificial intelligence’s summation. But I’m not complaining because AI is programmed to give priority to the positive. After all, these are selling sites. I don’t know how many reviews are required to trigger Ms. AI, but it must be more than twenty. I asked, and AI gave a vague answer that didn’t include a number.

 

But did you know there are AI tools that review/give feedback to private images and works of art (not for sale) you are curious about? 

I didn’t, until my post of an embroidery (one I designed and made some years ago) on a chat board for crafts-- elicited one of the people on the board to use this tool and let me know what AI had to say about my one-of-a-kind work.

 

I had mentioned the center is the Hebrew word that begins the Bible, aptly saying “In the beginning.” (BERESHEET / בּראשׁית in Hebrew.)

This is what my colleague on the board posted right after:

“I know little about embroidery but Microsoft's AI Copilot could read it easily.

 It also said "The embroidery surrounding the text is beautifully intricate, featuring colorful geometric patterns that might resemble trees or plants. A meaningful and artistic piece!"

 It always feels weird getting compliments from a machine though, doesn't it? :D

 I think it looks great too!”

 

I haven’t used this tool yet for any of my other works, but I think I might on a day when I’m feeling blue. Even an AI pick-me-up is better than nothing.

JUMPSTARTING TODAY’S WRITING SECTION

 

When writing anything other than a blog post or a short picture book text, as the saying goes— it’s a marathon, not a sprint.

 

Beginnings are easier for me, because they come in as a sort of voice with sentences formed that have wind beneath their wings. Watching a helicopter lift off would be a good analogy to the experience.

 

Endings have their own energy. Everything that came before is adding up, and the reflection of the opening hovers over-- projecting the outline of the runway to landing.

 

It’s the long middle that looms over like a gray cloud every time. The feeling that I have no idea where to go and my mind feels empty. How will I get through today's section? I have nothing.

 

A few years ago, when I knew I’d be writing middle grade novels not as a one-off fluke (my first) but every year after that, I devised a technique that works for me during those seemingly endless middle of the story writing sessions.

 

I end each writing session with an evocative sentence. One that charms me. One that hopefully intrigues a reader. One that does the job the very next morning when I sit down feeling I have nothing to say.

 

The same words writers conjure to draw the reader in serve to pull this writer into the next chapter, and off we go.

 

I resolved never to end a day’s session in a static place, and this helped me get to the finish line one section at a time.

 

If your artwork seems to move in starts and stops, perhaps try this way. It takes self-discipline to halt the vehicle just as it moves into a higher gear. But then, it takes self-discipline to write a long story, paint an oil painting, or compose a symphony.

 

It’s all good. Happy navigating the middles to you.

FOOLED YOU!

 

*You’d think that if you opened the link to this post, you’d find yet another high falutin speech on writing, cats, or living life. Fooled you 😏

 

*You’d think you can trust this blog to at least have the presentation of sanity and balance in matters public and private. Fooled you 😜

 

*You would’ve thought that your kindness in at least checking in to see “what she’s up to now” would be treated with the respect and gratitude you deserve. Fooled you 😦

 

Because this is silly day, and not only you, but yours truly get NO RESPECT on the day the fools rule

Now go get some toilet paper to wrap your home, school, or the next-door fool

Don’t be best, be cool 😎

PLOT, Stick to the PLOT

 

There is a ubiquitous how-to writing suggestion to cut any of the text which isn’t serving the plot. This includes description of landscape, weather, and general sideshows.

 

Writers of yore had no such compunctions, and leisurely took us to places where we stopped and smelled the roses before resuming the characters’ journeys to their resolutions. Poor Tolstoy would have been eviscerated by contemporary editors for the almost novella-length chapters that veered off the plot. I know, I read War and Peace, the whole thing.

 

Today, we are told we don’t have the time. Readers don’t have the patience. No one can stand still and wait for the narration when it takes the slightest rest.

 

I had an editor tell me that a half-page section of dialogue, while hilarious, didn’t advance the action. When I suggested it served both as more character revelation and also for comic relief, the editor’s response was that readers, especially young ones, don’t have the time for that. Cut, cut, CUT.

And, for that matter, also cut the view of the countryside as seen by the main character from the moving train window. Never mind that the train is moving fast. The plot is what must move here, so unless there’s a killer on the train who’s looking for our hero, we don’t need to see or hear our hero’s thoughts on the train. Move, move, MOVE.

 

I humbly suggest we should strike a middle ground here. Resting places in novels are precious spaces, and I intend to keep them, because as a reader I need them just as much as the fictional characters do.

THE PITFALLS of BEING PLUGGED IN

 

Where I live, the neighbors and the local news are rife with daily reports of break-ins, car “smash-and-grabs," phone and laptop thefts.

WATCH OUT! 😦

 

Speaking of phones and laptops, the local news and video sharing sites are full of warnings about how hackers have gotten into them, stolen our data, and are running wild with our accounts.

WATCH OUT! 😧

 

And while we have hackers taking space on our frontal lobes, apparently our government is not immune to them. Our electric grids, defense apparatus and voting rolls, not to speak of the social security numbers of all of us, have been infiltrated by hostile entities.

WATCH OUT! 😨

 

As if this isn’t enough and you may be thinking that you can always leave your country for a better protected one, from all directions the media is blasting that our whole planet is close to dying because we will toast on account of Global Warming, something we are told is happening ever faster than anyone predicted.

WATCH OUT! 😱

 

Wait a minute--- I have a better suggestion. Stop watching. At least pull the plug on media that is dependent on us staying plugged in and is counting on the fear factor to keep us there.

 

This isn’t a call to put one’s head in the sand. I sure don’t. But I suggest that taking breaks from being plugged in is a cure that most are long overdue.

 

I take regular internet/computer/phone breaks. Not long ones, just enough to look around, appreciate my reality and good fortune of being alive, and restore healthy breathing.

 

I come up for air now and then. It makes a better and even more alert me, more able to cope with all the above.

MARCH 11TH IN HISTORY

 

1861 Confederate states adopt new constitution

In Montgomery, Alabama, delegates from South Carolina, Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, and Texas adopt the Permanent Constitution of the Confederate States of America.

 

When grumblings about “we need Civil war” enter your sphere, please re-consider. We came too close to duplicate the fractious abyss that is Europe, and because the Union prevailed, we remained a large continent where citizens move freely between territories and states. It seems normal to Americans, but it is not the norm as far as the rest of the world is concerned.

 

The reference link concludes with—

Although Britain and France both briefly considered entering the Civil War on the side of the South, the Confederate States of America, which survived until April 1865, never won foreign recognition as an independent government.

Phew, that was close. Too close. A hundred and sixty-four years of endless “hot” wars between states were averted, but not before a tenth of Americans paid with their lives.

 

Especially because if this, if you’re tempted to go yell at or slap someone for advocating war, consider baking them a pie or inviting them over for tea and cookies. Resolve not to allow conflict into the conversation.

^ Me, wearing a Peace Corps T-shirt, inviting you for coffee^

 

Blessed are the peacemakers.

INTUITION is not a FEELING

 

A few months ago, I read an excellent post about intuition and its place in the writing process. See it here.

 

It wasn’t news to me that good writing is intuitive even as it uses the cloak of logical and systematic exposition.

 

The most precious nugget the post gave me is the articulation that intuition shouldn’t be confused with a feeling or an emotion.

 

Instead, think of intuition as the mind processing information so fast and connecting the dots before we have the words, or articulation, to explain it rationally.  

 

Intuition is an awareness of a high order. Creating without it yields something akin to assembly manuals of the sort that come with various gizmos. That’s “technical writing,” and writers of poetry or prose aren’t doing that.

 

Good writing connects the dots before we have the words to name them.

More CAT INDULGENCES

 

Once every few months, I just feel compelled to share snippets of the joy that are my cats.

 

No, I’m not a “childless cat lady,” but a child-full one. 😸 

 

No, I’m not a “crazy cat woman,” but a sane one. 😹

 

What I am is an unapologetic feline fancier. 😻

 

These marvels of nature are graceful beauties who do us a favor by allowing us near them.

 

Lucky plucky me, I have three such wonders close by.

 

Here, have some:

{{{TO MY FABOULOUS FANCY FELINE FRIENDS 🍻}}}

🙏Please think good thoughts for Sokolov, 🙏

🙏our black cat, who is very ill 🙏

P.S. Edited to add: Our Sokolov, the furry black cat, passed away March 28th, 2025 😿