Five writerly tips from lovely Laura Eno

If Laura Eno lived next door to me, we'd have coffee all the time and talk about writing and be BFFs. Of course that would never happen unless Laura completely lost her mind and forgot about her abhorrence for the great outdoors and snowbanks.

So it's me in Ontario and Laura in Florida and never the twain shall meet. But I will always think fondly of this prolific and talented writer. Ever since I caught wind of her through Friday Flash I have admired her generous support of other writers, not to mention her own ability to write about anything: literary slice of life, horror, humour, romance – doesn't matter. She handles it all with imaginative and tenacious aplomb.

My respect for her is enormous.

I haven't had much reading time lately but I did manage to spend some happy hours with my nose buried in my Kindle during summer vacation. You couldn't ask for better summer reading material than Laura's The Carriena Oracles, Raven and Wraith. On one sunshiney July afternoon I whipped through Raven while I floated around in our cheapo Canadian Tire swimming pool guzzling Diet Cokes and accumulating melanoma. It was glorious.

Then, during an impromptu fishing trip to Brent, a remote part of Algonquin Park, I dove into and polished off the recently released Wraith in a couple of happy hours. It amuses me to think I read many of Laura's books on camping trips, knowing she can't stand the very idea of camping. It's like I'm dragging her along and she's having a great time, in spite of herself.

Both books were a ton of fun. Love romance? Love sci/fi? Love strong female leads, adventure, brave new worlds and human-like robots? They're all here in a happy mish-mash of genres that put character and story above all else. You can find them, along with a long list of Laura's other novels, on Amazon and Smashwords. At 99 cents each, they're a true bargain.

In the meantime, I forced Laura to answer a bunch of inane questions. The first question, though, was completely serious – I wanted five tips for writers. Laura is an experienced, savvy writer and self-publisher and if you want advice on anything writerly, she's the lady to ask. Without further adieu, Mizz Eno:

Hi, Cathy! Thank you so much for inviting me to put a handprint on your blog. I hope you don't mind if it's a bit sticky… 

That was with honey, for all you blokes with your minds in the gutter.

You asked me for five tips of interest to writers. *snort* There are so many tips out there the internet needs a plumber to unclog it but here goes.

Tip #1. Chew each tip slowly. If it tastes good, swallow it. If it doesn't, spit it out. Seriously. You can only write with what resonates for you. Leave the rest behind.

Tip #2. Don't be afraid. Fear will leave your manuscript half-finished, kicked under the bed.

Tip #3. Learn how to take constructive criticism. That does not mean change your story to suit someone else's idea of how it should go. There's a difference between tightening your story and writing someone else's version. Let them write their own.

Tip #4. Edit. Edit. Edit. But then let it go. See Tip #2.

Tip #5. Remember that not everyone will like what you've written. We all want to stand up on stage like Sally Fields (minus the hairy armpits) and yell, "You really like me!" but it's impossible. If you love your story and it's well edited, it's all good.

You asked why I write romance in particular, when I write in so many different genres. Actually, for me, it's all the same. The angle I write from is the human condition. In my head, it all ties together – love, hate, happiness, pain – they are the commonalities that bond us as a people.

I hope that made sense. If not, throw a bucket over your head and repeat the words until you agree with me.

You asked what I do all day. Mostly, I let the voices in my head erode the gray matter and bleed words onto paper. That, and play door monitor for two dogs. Up until three years ago I was a Tai Chi instructor, but a series of mental and physical mishaps have me staying at home now, muttering to myself.

And yes to your last question. There will be a third installment of the Carriena Oracles to add to Raven and Wraith. I didn't get to it immediately because I have a few Djinn as houseguests in my head. As soon as they move on, I will write it.

Thank you for having me here, Cathy, and I hope I didn't scare too many of your readers away!

P.S. Jezebel sends you a big, sloppy kiss.

(Right back atcha, Jez.)

Bizarre questions for Tim VanSant: #3

I just read Tim VanSant's Friday Flash (it was lovely, by the way) and it occurred to me that I hadn't yet posted his answer to my third question. So I searched through my e-mails and found his answer – in a message dated last JUNE.

How embarrassing.

He probably thinks I didn't like it, or abandoned him, or something but in complete fact I just forgot – for no other reason than I forget everything these days. Please bring licorice allsorts when you visit me in the home. Oh, and those butterscotch candies. And some Twizzlers. If it's not too much trouble. Wiping the drool spigot off my lip would be nice as well, and I could use a fresh diaper to crap in. Thanks.

Tim VanSant is one of my Friday Flash writing compadres and for some reason his dry wit interests the heck outta me. So for no other reason than I find him compelling I asked him a few dumb questions.  For some equally inane reason he decided to answer.

And then I forgot about it. (Ooooh, is that a castle?)

What the hell do you do all day anyway? 

You have no idea how badly I wanted to give you a one-word answer to this question:

Breathe

Because that's the only thing I can think of that I do "all day" and because taking things to literal extremes is apparently a genetic trait that usually passes for humor in my family. But I suspect you wouldn't let me get away with a one-word answer.

I knew a woman who always answered the question, "What do you do?" with this:

"When?"

I think that's brilliant. It puts a unique spin on otherwise banal cocktail party small talk. I suck at small talk. But you had to go and ask what I do all day. So I can't steal that answer. Damn. I love stealing good material.

I tried writing my answer poetically since I am a self-described rogue poet. I came up with gems such as:

Really, I'm not keeping track

Maybe I should make a list

Enquiring minds want to know

Important details aren't missed

Note to self, poetry is NOT the answer to everything....

So, how can I answer this and balance honesty, privacy, and humor? Okay, obviously honesty is expendible. It's not likely that anyone is going to check up on me. You're not going to check up on me, right? So I could tell you pretty much ANTHING and you'd have to take me at my word. But I promise [cough] to mostly tell the truth.

For nearly all of my adult life I would tell people that what I do is contribute to the delinquency of minors. Or mess with kids' heads. Or practice being a bad example. [Or practice being invisible.] Or put groups of people to sleep with just a few words. That's right. I was a teacher. Mostly in public high schools and mostly in techie subjects like Drafting and Electronics. But I don't do that any more. So now I'm looking for my next career. 

In the meantime, I write a little. And edit a bit. [Will work for food... or cash. Reasonable rates. Inquire within.] I often help family members with computer stuff. [My oldest sister just convinced our parents -- who are in their 80s -- to get broadband instead of dial-up. Yay, sis!] I help maintain the FridayFlash.org website and play around on my own site. And there's all the double-naught super secret spy stuff. [You know the drill; I could tell you, but I'd have to kill you.] And there's the nunnaya. [Nunnaya bizness ;-)] Oh, also I've been weaving a meditation rug from yarn made out of lint I collected while contemplating my navel. So there's that....

Really, my life right now is pretty boring. I've heard it said though that boredom can be irresistible sometimes. Or maybe it's cookies that are iresistible. And pie. And cake. Ooooh, and cheesecake! Now I'm hungry. What was the question?

Oh yeah. Are you bored yet?

~Tim

Sam-I-Am turns twelve

Such a little guy, you were. Generously blessed with adorableness. Huggable. Squeezable. Completely loveable. Nothing has changed in that regard; you're still my baby, always will be, and even when you're a grown-up man I'll always think of you in those railroad pants on the baby quilt Aunt Mary sewed, your sweet little toes, your outie belly button and that adorable chubby-wubby Mona Lisa smile on your beautiful face.

Happy 12th birthday, Sam-I-Am.

"Really North of Wiarton and There's No Checkerboard in Sight"

So there's this blog called Just North of Wiarton and East of the Checkerboard and it's run by this lovely lady whose name I don't know because she hasn't posted it, so I'll just call her Checkerboard. Every day Checkerboard records the events of her life with gazillions of photos which is great because, unlike me, Checkerboard has an interesting life. She also has SO much energy that I swear she has a closet full of Red Bull, sneaks in there, guzzles it by the case and burps gaseous globules of meth-like and enthusiastic zip. Not that I'm making fun of Checkerboard. Well, not on purpose anyway. I do love her blog and visit it every chance I get. Still, I can't help but envy the cool stuff she does every single day. I thought, man, if I recorded the details of my day, it would bore everyone to death. To prove the mundane-ness of my existence, yesterday I took my camera everywhere I went and recorded the day for posterity. Yes, yes, yes, it's BORING. If you want real action, go visit Checkerboard. (LOVE YOU CHECKERBOARD!) Meanwhile, in pic number one, that's my Travelocity garden gnome saying farewell as I head to the Jeep to begin the work day. I actually went to take his picture and realized the camera battery was still in the charger, so back into the house I went, car keys floundering in the lock, hissing under my breath about my complete lack of foresight and thinking there was no way Checkerboard would do something like that. Meantime, Travelocity Gnome sat there, trying to be patient, while Karsh here fumbled around with the camera. No wonder the little man in the red hat travels. Can only stand our incompetence for so long at a time.

8:50 a.m. Jeep's thermometer says 15 degrees Celsius. That's 59 F in case you're not up on your Metric equivalency. (I'm not. I had someone google it for me.) Either way, it's fricking chilly for an August morning.

8:51 a.m. "Our"  bridge. My favourite part of coming or going, crossing this bridge. The guy in the car gives me a funny look. Probably thinks I'm with the FBI. Which I totally am. (Fat. Bald. Ignorant. Yup.)

8:52. I stop on the bridge, blocking all traffic, to take a photo of the river. Look! Red leaves! Fall's coming! So is a big guy in a pick-truck, ready to punch my lights out for being in his way! Gotta go!

8:52 In the kerfuffle my sunglasses are knocked to the floor, right next to my pink flip-flops and my lizard green toenails. It looked good in the bottle but the green makes me look like a corpse. I catch glimpses of it sometimes and it scares the crap outta me. Dave says it's like sleeping with The Walking Dead.

9 a.m. and not a minute later, I swear. Late? Who me? Pffft.... This is the front of my work, where the important people park. People who are "on time." (Keeners.)

9 a.m. The back entrance, for people like me. The garbage bins and pallets are nice decorative touches. As is the butt bucket under the picnic table, which you can't see from this angle. One summer we had a problem with raccoons getting stuck in the garbage. We made little raccoon ladders and put them in the bins and watched them climb in and out. It was the BEST summer ever!

9:02 a.m. OMG! DOUGNUTS! Somebody bought doughnuts from the World Famous Gravenhurst Bakery and put them on MY DESK! They're not just for me, of course, but my corner is in a central location, close to the door. My co-workers call me the Wal-Mart Greeter because everybody wanders by. It's a natural place for food placement. The plastic container has my lunch. Leftoever farfalle. Nom nom.

9:0-something a.m. Who cares what time it is! I'm focused on doughnuts! These aren't your everyday run of the mill doughnut shop chunks of lard. Oh no. These. Are. Choice. From a local bakery that makes the most phenomal stuff. I try to avoid it like the plague or I'd be the size of the Goodyear blimp. Gawd, I'd  be a happy blimp, though.

9:05 a.m. Signing in! (I should totally be a hand model.)

9:10 a.m. This is Cathy Black, who bought the doughnuts. While camera-shy, Cathy is the Greatest Woman on the Planet, second only to whoever the next person is who plies the office with food.

9:15 a.m. That is MY fat-free french vanilla coffee creamer. MINE! I don't mind if you ASK me to use it but don't just TAKE it and leave nothing left in the bottle except for VAPOURS. I put this sign on it the other day and hope the culprits will get the subtle message. One of my colleagues saw it, laughed and said he was going to write on it: "I spit in it, too." HAHAHAHAHA! (Good thing he didn't say 'shit.')

9:something. Coffee: make, drink, repeat.

As a direct result of expensive Pike Point Keurig coffee, the mid-morning pee break: OBVIOUSLY I hung this roll of toilet paper in the ladies washroom. I say "obviously" because you will notice it is hung the correct way. Unfortunately there are many deluded people in this world who have swallowed the Toilet Kool-Aid and insist the toity wipes be hung incorrectly.

Every workplace kitchen has its slobs. I am not one of them. I have done more work dishes in my time than the kitchen staff at Le Sizzler. Even these tactful signs don't seem to motivate the office slobinos. (I bet they're the ones who steal my coffee creamer.)

The inside of the Gravenhurst doughnut. Go ahead, drool. I did.  I'm sure this sweet whipped cream delight has absolutely nothing to do with the tremendous weight gain I've been experiencing lately. In fact, I'm positive carrots are to blame. I hear they're full of sugar. Nasty buggers, carrots are.

My son once said that all adults talk about, when children aren't around, is pie. He's actually right. Especially when someone like Salesman Rick brings in a homemade-ish pie from the Minett Bakery. Peach and raspberry, I think it was. I took a photo but I didn't actually get a slice. Ya gotta be quick around here. Somebody sent and e-mail around the offices yodelling the renowned Battlecry of the Refoodlic: "There's PIE in the kitchen!" One of the guys in a sister office, an hour's drive away, sent back a message saying he would like a slice e-mailed to him. That prompted Supervisor Gail to take a photo of our deliciousosities and ship the pic his way.

The guy said it tasted like plastic .... does this look like plastic to you?

By now you're probably wondering if I do any work. Well yes, occasionally. When the doughnut-eating, coffee-drinking festivities ground down to a sugar-and-carb-laced-low, I got to the business at hand which, on this day, was making real estate ads. I pretty much did this for eight hours straight. Oh, I designed the front pages of the Bracebridge and Gravenhurst Weekenders, too. But then I did more real estate ads. (This is just as exciting as it looks.)

My Betty Boop candy lip gloss was a gift from the editor of the local papers, Pamela Steel, who is also the fiercely talented author of SEVERAL bestselling cookbooks. She is one of the coolest people I know. And she gave me this. Don't you wish you had a friend like Pamela?

My iPod and the front of the Weekender. Yes, it's pink. All things should be pink.

Jason, who sits across from me, rants every once in a while about bad drivers and Apple computers. Today he was rantier than usual so I took his picture. Look at his angry little yellow head. I'd be be angry too if I had such a little yellow head.

Hey, now this is cool! That's my column laid out in the Weekender, ready to go to the printer and dazzle the world! The good news is I haven't got any angry letters to the editor lately. The bad news is they're not paying me yet.

5 p.m. and it's time to go home! There goes my pointy little modelling finger moving my magnet to the "out" side of the in/out board. Naturally the "out" position is my favourite.

Holy doodles it got hot out! That's a big temperature difference since this morning! Who cares! It's time to go home!

There's the bridge! I'm almost there!

Time to check the mail. I wonder what Rembrandt painted this beautiful mailbox?

Ooooh! A letter from Google! It must be a big fat cheque from everybody clicking on my ads! (Wot? It's junk mail? Rats.)

I open the front door and Misty the Wonderdog rushes out to greet me! She's all happy until she sees the camera in front of my face, then she thinks I'm a dog serial killer. She hasn't peed since 8:45 a.m. I could NOT hold my bladder for eight hours. Could you?

We're in a rush tonight because I have Writer's Group and Dave is fixing a guy's car, so we decide to head into town for a bite to eat. The plan is after we stuff our faces at A & W, I'll go north to Group and Dave will go back to the garage, so we take separate vehicles. That's him following me on his super cool motorcycle. He is such a stud-muffin.

Oh gawd, I'm getting bored with all these photos. I can't even imagine how bored YOU are. So I'll rush through the rest. This is Dave getting off his bike.

A & W. Love the Papaburgers. Hate the onion rings. Why do you make such sucky onion rings, A & W? Why?

Can't go to Writer's Group without a Timmy's! (How Canadian is this picture? Timmy's coffee, Canadian Tire money and a bunch of loose Canadian change?) Sorry my console is a mess... I wasn't expecting company. Besides, Dave was the one who spilled the coffee. Even though he doesn't drink coffee. Yup, that's my story and I'm sticking with it...

Meet the girls!!!! These are three of the most rockinest writers you will ever want to meet. That's Linda McLean, Dawn Huddlestone and Paula Boon. (Mizz Sasha Pringle wasn't able to make it tonight and we miss her terribly.) We meet twice a month, usually at Paula's house although we did have a FABULOUS dinner at Linda's last time (nom-nommy homemade hummus). We read each other's manuscripts, we offer helpful advice, we talk, we laugh, we talk some more and sometimes the laughing gets out of hand. Like here. (I think Dawn has lost it, frankly.... ) I LOVE THESE WOMEN. Hugs to you all.

When I got home at about 10:30 p.m. I was met by our surprise company! Carol Holden is Dave's sister and she had gallbladder surgery in Toronto in the morning and so wasn't feeling so hot. Her hubby Zane brought her to our house for a sleepover/stopover so she wouldn't have to have that awful jiggling and she could rest. Poor Carol. Get better soon!! 

Midnight. Time to go to bed while a beautiful full moon shines through the white pines. Good night moon, good night you. Good night longest blog post in the history of blog posts.... zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Sam's Photo Shoot

Sam-I-Am had a haircut today. See that picture of him – yup, the one up there. Up, look UP. Yes, that one. The one with the hair. I took that photo a month ago and up until today he still hadn't cut his hair which grows, by the way, faster than Pamela Anderson's breasts.

Yup. It was long. Longer than the line-up for free samples at a Viagra convention. (I just realized something – erectile dysfunction pills are blue. Hair rinses for elderly women are blue. Does blue hair turn old guys off, necessitating blue pills??? Huh. Must think long and hard on this one.)

So to make a long hair short, Sam got his haircut. This was such a momentous occasion that I felt the need to commemorate it with photos.

Sam, being a typical 11-year-old boy (who turns 12 on Wednesday), does not know how to merely smile for the camera. The minute he sees one, his normally casual grin is replaced with all kinds of facial theatrics. Today was no different. In the space of a few moments I took these photos and then decided to post them here for his future embarrassment.

How I love being a mother.