COOKING and COUNTING CLICKS

 

i.e. “LIKES”

Ever since Blogger figured how to not count bots or any mechanical un-peopled viewers, the viewing counting on my posts went from over a thousand (most of the traffic back then was from Russia and I know no one there) to less than a hundred on most posts. Some posts are fewer than fifty. If you’re reading this, you’re in an exclusive rarified club.

 

 I noticed a curious pattern to the posts that get almost double the clicks. They either contain cat pictures (oh, my 💓) or a recipe. I rarely do the latter, so it’s time, don’t you think? Not that I am motivated by clicks, but I feel like letting the summer leave with a bang.

 

And so I will share my favorite comfort food, which is good warm, (in winter) fabulous cold, (on a day like today) and for the most part is pretty good for you. It requires only one ingredient you’ll have to go hunting for, and trust me—you’ll be happy to have it on hand going forward. The rest are likely already in your refrigerator & pantry.

 

ROSE WATER PUDDING

2 cups whole milk

2 tablespoons cornstarch

1/3 cup sugar

¼ cup Rose water (or Orange-blossom water) *

Chopped pistachio meat or Almonds for topping

 

*The Rose water is found in middle eastern food stores, and if you must, Amazon also sells it. It’s wonderful in fruit salad and in rice pudding, and for the cocktail crowd there’s no end to where it adds wistful cheer.

 

On low heat, bring the milk with cornstarch and sugar whisked in to a soft simmer, using a whisk the whole time. The moment it begins to boil, it will also thicken. Take it off the stove and whisk in the rosewater. Fantastic for cold evenings right away. It’s very nice chilled in small bowls and eaten with a spoon, nut meats sprinkled on top.

 

Can’t be simpler, can’t be better. You’re welcome.

CLOTTING THE PLOT--

 

For a Whale of a tale

August is beginning to look at its end. For me, this is the time to wind up the initial charting/plotting of the bones to my next middle grade novel.

All over this land, some dive in during November National Novel Writing Month, a.k.a. NaNoWriMo. By November, I will be looking back on a rough first draft I hope to have finished, and take my between drafts break as the multitude are sweating it out. Early December, I will be on draft number two.

This has worked for me for the last ten (gulp) years. The point is to know yourself and do what works for you.

It began with gearing up to the quiet writing-time my kids’ school year afforded. It stayed even after their schooling continues away from home. I thought about the parents who were robbed of this time during the pandemic school closures, and was appreciative I no longer had little ones. It would certainly have broken a cycle that worked so well.

Here’s to hoping I can do it again. Here’s wishing us all a writing year without interruptions, where the surprises are on the page, not on the streets.

LOOKING TO THE BRIGHT SIDE OF SOCIAL MEDIA

 

Or

TRYING TO

 

It’s easy to note the negatives of this thing we group under “Social Media,” (SM for short 😈) because it’s plain to see: take-downs, foul language aimed at strangers from others who can hide under made-up identities, and so much more.

 

I decided to articulate here how my reluctance and negative impressions turned into positive aspects for the sites I have some presence on. I came to the Internet with trepidation, being told it was necessary if I considered approaching publishing professionals. That was some years ago. I stayed and even thrived on a couple of the SS.

So I am articulating my personal journey from trembling to sunbathing for the ones I have experienced. I know all SS harvest my data; they’re welcome to it for the service they provide. I am aware at all times that nothing on SS is truly private no matter how many “privacy protections” they claim.

This is my own journey in SM-land. It’s different for each person.

In the order of (my) preference:

 

PERSONAL WEBSITE: The very thought of it hurt my insides, and then I got used to it the way one gets used to a nose ring or a wristwatch. They become a part of self that is barely felt. Today I kind of like it, because I control what’s on it. It’s the virtual calling card of the 19^th century and the business card of the 20^th century. In the 21^st century we deal with this and occasionally fiddle with the aesthetic to make ourselves feel better about it.

BLOGGER: Came to it with a heavy heart feeling that 1. It’s a burden to have to write posts regularly; 2. Who cares what I think; and 3. My publisher’s urging made it something I had to try. Turns out I like the discipline of posting and I like having a place to publish thoughts, mostly about publishing. Hey, if you’re reading this--we’re both here. My blogger is not for selling; it’s a small hangout that I actually wound up liking.

 

FACEBOOK: I joined because DD was on it and parenting advice said parents should know what their kids are up to. That part turned out to be moot, because kids are not sharing what they don’t want grownups to see and they have left this SS when parents joined. But it is the place to find long-lost friends and acquaintances, find fantastic groups of interest, and Messenger is a marvel for free chats both video and text with no upfront charge. It is where I have more “friends” (i.e., Facebook friends) and more virtual socializing than any other.

 

TWITTER: It feels like walking into a party where everyone knows everyone and you’re ignored, because they are the cool crowd. After so many years of nominal participation, it still feels like that. But I’m beginning to not dislike it when an occasional link is illuminating or an image elicits a faint smile. There’s hope.

 

INSTAGRAM: I set it up as a way to albumize photos of a beloved cat who upped and disappeared one day. I haven’t changed it since. It’s a story of one lost cat. When I’m ready to let go and make other uses, I will. Not quite there yet.

 

Then there’s Tumblr (I follow about five blogs on it now and then) and LinkedIn (on it, but no idea why) and jacketflap (Who remembers why I ever set that one?) and TikTok (where young’uns hang out, but oldies like me don’t).

 

And before this one posts, there will be many (MANY) more.

 

All useful, but proceed with awareness. It’s part of the world we inhabit.

Cliques and Clucks

 

or—

 

“Mean Girls” are often insecure

Ever walk into a room where others huddle together and, while not doing anything overtly hostile, do nothing to welcome you in? Then, when you awkwardly try to contribute, they change the subject and physically scoot away?

 

I haven’t had this experience for many years. It’s so very middle school. In fact, it is at the center of my WIP, a novel for middle grades. I suspect that when I was that age, I was sometimes the snooty offender, not the shy newcomer wishing someone would step forward and take them in. Perhaps this novel is my way of making amends.

 

I had an interesting experience a few months ago. I decided to give an online hangout a try, and RSVPed a virtual meeting of women who write. I’m a woman who writes, so it could be a fit.

 

Turned out this group all knew each other (virtually) from previous such Zooms. I was the lone newbie, and let me tell you, it brought back memories of the less than happy kind.

 

This time, while the official leader was welcoming (that’s why she’s the leader) no one else did. I stayed quiet, listening and learning, and was left with a big question mark pulsating inside me.

 

I had stepped into a clique. The women were nice (to each other) and interesting, (for the most part. Hey, writers, as a general rule, are articulate and interesting people.)— But there was this cluck-cluck of a hen-house hyperactivity that spoke of wanting to be noticed.

 

 I realized I was caught in their vibe while also pushed outside the circle, a juxtaposition that echoed the experience of the main character in the story I’m revising. It’s an unpleasant place to be, all the more because it exposes how our own vanity and pride are no virtue.

 

It also reminded me what cliques are about. Those who exclude are the insecure ones.

 

I did get one thing out of my attempt at this new connection; I revised the story to better express this situation for the main character. The universe had to send me back to middle school so I could better do my work.

OPENINGS

 

There's a lot in Writers Land about opening lines and opening paragraphs.

{For example, see this.}

Conventional wisdom states opening paragraphs must hook the reader at the start and bind them, so they have no choice but to go on reading. First readers may be agents reading queries, then editors reading submissions from agents, and ultimately readers browsing at book stores or “looking inside” virtually, a feature on Amazon.

Most writers know this can cheapen the story somewhat, because a great story builds up and leisurely luscious beginnings are the mark of many great novels of yore. The thing is, no one has that luxury of time anymore. What the Dickens are you thinking if you don’t realize there won’t be a soul looking at your second paragraph if the first doesn’t grab ‘em by the collar?

And speaking of Dickens, he was a master of first lines. His craft shows awareness of collar-grabbing mastery.

There are posts online where readers chime in with their favorite first lines.

{For example, see this.}

 

A first line or paragraph is the narrative voice in a nutshell. It makes one want to sit close by and continue to hang out and listen as long as the narrator cares to talk. Openings mustn’t be different from the rest of the story, or it’s a broken promise. Few things are as disappointing as broken promises.

To this day, one of my favorites is in Richard Peck’s The Teacher’s Funeral. The voice, so expressive, continues and delivers the promise of this opening in spades.

“If your teacher has to die, August isn't a bad time of year for it. You know August. The corn is earring. The tomatoes are ripening on the vine. The clover's in full bloom. There's a little less evening now, and that's a warning. You want to live every day twice over because you'll be back in the jailhouse of school before the end of the month.”

I gave this book to many of my kids’ teachers, making sure they knew it was an ode to teachers and teaching, all the more effective because it was never teachy-preachy. This opening gives that ironic feel. No matter how many times I re-read it, I’m newly awed. 

Oh, and it’s August, folks.