365 days 1 novel

2011-05-11T10:02:00.000-05:00

Serial Commas

There are several arguments for consistent use of the serial comma:

1) The use of a serial comma better matches the spoken cadence of sentences.
2) Using the serial comma can resolve ambiguity within a list of ideas.
3) Its use is consistent with other style means of separating items in a list.

On the flip side there is one strong argument against consistent use of the serial comma:
It is redundant in a simple list, because the and or the or is often meant to serve (by itself) to mark the logical separation between the final two items, unless, of course, the final two items are not truly separate items but are two parts of a compound single item.

2011-05-03T10:52:00.002-05:00

Life has filled up the time that I should be writing. My long break from the pages of my novel and father's memoir is hopefully ending, and I will get back to playing with words.

2011-03-31T09:14:00.000-05:00

Write about an ironic use of bad manners.

Her pointer finger pressed against her lips thankfully muffled her abrasive shhh to a classroom of twenty adults.

2011-03-18T09:32:00.000-05:00

Well these are not an assignments but something to ponder and get your pen moving or the delete button active.

“The great enemy of clear language is insincerity. When there is a gap between one's real and one's declared aims, one turns instinctively to long words and exhausted idioms, like a cuttlefish squirting out ink.”

– George Orwell (1903-1950)

“You don't write because you want to say something, you write because you have something to say.”

– F. Scott Fitzgerald (1896-1940)

2011-03-16T11:00:00.000-05:00

What is in front of you? Or out your back window?

There is a speckled starling that believes he is a brown sparrow. He travels with a flock of sparrows and eats at the feeder with his surrogate family, even though his beak and feet are three times the size of his companions.

2011-03-15T10:21:00.003-05:00

"If we personify the novel, make it into a being named Marissa Novella, for example, I believe that we can see the complex interworkings of story and plot."

Name your novel, not give it a title, but make the project a living thing so that you know you have to breathe life into it everyday.

My pile of papers and doc files are now referred to as Millie Yarn.

Walter Mosley, This Year You Write Your Novel

2011-03-14T09:21:00.001-05:00

how the city-girl changed into a country-girl...

Some man stepped on my foot and some woman smacked the back of my head while I was quietly sitting on the L train, if this abuse happened in the country on my farm I could hit them back with my spade shovel.

2011-03-11T10:14:00.001-06:00

The exclamation points: How do you use this punctuation correctly?
I have found four online sources about the usage of exclamation points, plus check the Chicago Manual of Style 16th Edition for more information. Review and edit your manuscript accordingly.

http://www.ehow.com/how_5952_exclamation-point.html

http://www.nationalpunctuationday.com/exclamationpoint.html

http://www.grammarbook.com/punctuation/exclaim.asp

http://www.cliffsnotes.com/study_guide/Problems-with-Exclamation-Points.topicArticleId-29011,articleId-28984.html

2011-03-10T10:16:00.001-06:00

Write something that includes one-way dialogue with the main character. Make the reader visualize what he or she is doing instead of talking.

Alan pulled up outside the plastic hospital. I heard the gurgling diesel engine, but still did not move. Without speaking, Alan grabbed my elbow and pulled me to my feet. The receiver resting in my lap hit the floor, but Alan just disregarded it.
Once outside Alan said, “What is going on, there are messages for you all over this country? Let’s get you out of here. No bitching about how much you hate the open truck on these dusty roads, there is no time to close it up. Get in.” I only mustered up the energy to slowly move, I could not speak or raise my eyes from the dirt my shuffle was kicking up.

Alan swung the passenger door open scooting me along as I silently and mechanically entered the truck. Alan slammed my door shut, ran to the other side, rolling the truck in gear before he closed his door.

2011-03-09T15:37:00.000-06:00

I have been away from the pages for so long; it is tempting to start another novel instead of finishing this one. The story has lost its appeal after so many years of rewriting; how do I know the story is solid for the reader?

How is your plot laid out? My main character goes through a series of loses but does she really transform?

2011-03-08T08:57:00.001-06:00

Diving back into 200 pages of material, I am taking baby steps.
Short introductory phrases no longer need a comma according to the Chicago Manual of Style 16th Edition.

In 2002, I was living in Denver. The comma can be omitted. Check your manuscript for such phrases.

2011-03-07T09:31:00.000-06:00

Falling off the writing wagon.

I did not have writer's block; I had a time management problem. Like the hiding winter sun, my writing life was tucked under the clouds for the past month. I could say that a break is good, but I would be only justifying my absence, staying focused with daily writing keeps you in tune with your characters and subject matter. I will renew my commitment to daily novel writing and hope that my followers will forgive my absence.

2011-01-27T14:17:00.001-06:00

how the city-girl changed into a country-girl...

This morning I stood so close to someone on the train, I can tell you that he did not brush his teeth, and he had Italian food for dinner the previous night. On the rest of my commute above ground, I visualized what these city blocks looked like as a swamp.

2011-01-26T13:44:00.001-06:00

What is right in front of you?

There is a cross-eyed man reading his blackberry six-inches from his face.

2011-01-25T13:33:00.001-06:00

What crossed your path today that bothered you?

There was a homeless woman sitting on Michigan Ave wrapped in layers of clothing, well prepared for the elements with a sign that said, "Wallet taken on the Amtrak..." The sign was inkjet printed and mounted to cardboard, this most have cost money and planning. I am not sure I believe her story.

2011-01-24T13:19:00.011-06:00

Where is your character going? Why? How will he or she get there? With whom? And who will he or she have become when the journey is over?

Reference

"8 Ways to Write a 5-Star Chapter One"
By Elizabeth Sims
January 2011 Writer’s Digest

2011-01-23T09:55:00.000-06:00

"#8 Be Bold"
I bodly tell you details you thought were not important.

Reference

"8 Ways to Write a 5-Star Chapter One"
By Elizabeth Sims
January 2011 Writer’s Digest

2011-01-21T13:57:00.003-06:00

"#7 Give It a Mini Plot"

Make something happen. Can too much happen in one week? My main character is linked to a car accident, murder, bus accident and a war.

Reference
"8 Ways to Write a 5-Star Chapter One"
By Elizabeth Sims
January 2011 Writer’s Digest

2011-01-20T13:44:00.001-06:00

"#6 Use Carefully Chosen Detail to Create Intimacy."

I firmly believe visual simplicity portrays intimacy, such as in the movie "Lost in Translation." How do you write clear details to create what a photographer can do with good light?

Reference
"8 Ways to Write a 5-Star Chapter One"
By Elizabeth Sims
January 2011 Writer’s Digest

2011-01-19T12:35:00.002-06:00

“#5 Be Sparing of Setting”

“Another way to introduce a setting is to show how a character feels about it. In Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, Raskolnikov seethes with resentment at the opulence around him in St. Petersburg, and this immediately puts us on alert about him. The setting serves the character; it does not stand on its own.”

I love the red color in the soil; it reminds me of my favorite crayon color. I used burnt sienna in almost all of my childhood drawings. I begged for new boxes of standard Crayola crayon colors, my mother pointed out that the crayon’s looks brand new. I pleaded; I needed a new burnt sienna.

Reference
"8 Ways to Write a 5-Star Chapter One"
By Elizabeth Sims
January 2011 Writer’s Digest

2011-01-18T13:31:00.001-06:00

“#4 Present a Strong Character Right Away.”

What does strong mean to you? I slightly disagree, a little mystery and the reader desires to learn more dragging the reader into the next chapter. I relate this to first impressions, make a good one and someone will listen. No need to tell a stranger all your secrets but a firm handshake says a lot.

Reference
"8 Ways to Write a 5-Star Chapter One"
By Elizabeth Sims
January 2011 Writer’s Digest

2011-01-17T14:57:00.001-06:00

“#3 Choose a Natural Starting Point."

The present seemed like a natural place to start then the character remembers each detail of the previous week in past tense.

Reference
"8 Ways to Write a 5-Star Chapter One"
By Elizabeth Sims
January 2011 Writer’s Digest

2011-01-16T14:41:00.002-06:00

“#2 Decide on Tense”
First person past tense is what I prefer. How do the characters form in your mind? I reworked my novel in third person when I was feeling too close to the subject matter, but now with a clear separation form the material, “I” flows much smoother with the storyline. It is to read as a glimpse of a week, only the self-centered would remember each detail of one week of their life.

Reference
"8 Ways to Write a 5-Star Chapter One"
By Elizabeth Sims
January 2011 Writer’s Digest

2011-01-15T17:30:00.004-06:00

"#1 Resist Terror"

I have put down countless books because they bore me. I am not sure I am in terror over my chapter one but I have rewritten that chapter the most; I fear the rest of the novel will let the reader down. I’ve hooked the reader in with a heart-wrenching death, but will the main character transform?

Reference
"8 Ways to Write A 5-Star Chapter One"
By Elizabeth Sims
January 2011 Writer’s Digest

2011-01-14T16:28:00.001-06:00

Sit in a public place and write about the people around you. Don’t censor yourself, just write what you see.

While I had that nasty flu, I watched too many episodes of Criminal Minds. Now, I am convinced the short Asian man with a juvenile goatee that is punching his thigh with a closed fist is going to go postal and kill the half of dozen strangers in the room. His inability to sit still without pacing every five minutes is beginning to make me restless. He overshadows the man with the shoulder-raising twitch and repetitive cough that persists with each bite of his stir-fry.

2011-01-01T11:26:00.001-06:00

Happy New Year!
I hope the new year brings with it a habit of writing everyday.

2010-12-27T08:39:00.003-06:00

Oh the winter post-Christmas blues have hit hard, write about summer. Oh glorious heat that makes you sweat and hide in the air-conditioning.

It was uncomfortably hot like most Augusts in Chicago; we bought fresh lemonade from the overpriced vendor outside the museum, and we both commented on how concentrate wasn’t really fresh, and how this tourist spot's lemonade was a fraud. It was sugar water masked with a squeeze of juice.

2010-12-25T10:23:00.005-06:00

Merry Christmas.
I hope a little bit of joy drifted into your life today, and if it did not find it's way to you, you got one god damn good story out of it.

2010-12-24T08:30:00.002-06:00

It's Christmas Eve, and I am thinking about hyphens. Oh my... The spellcheck on yesterday's post wanted to separate oversized. According to the Chicago Manual of Style, over is a compound that is closed with no hyphen. Refer to the chart on page 383, 7.85, of the 16th edition.

2010-12-23T08:30:00.012-06:00

A constant winter gray has descended on Chicago, write about sunshine.

The sun bursted into Kevin's oversized eastern windows, I was startled to find myself waking up from such a deep sleep in a puddle of sunshine. I had been desperate for sleep; searching for it like an addict needing to find their next fix. I looked around, I have been traveling for months, each morning I had to get my bearings to remember why I was not in my own bed.

2010-12-22T15:26:00.002-06:00

Write about plastic glassware. When was the last time you drank cheap wine out of a plastic cup?

I ordered another drink and imagined that my new life will be drunken out of plastic glassware like the one in my hand. The stranger settled down, read his book and only had an occasional twitch. I fell asleep with an empty drink in my hand. I woke up to the flight attendant prying the plastic glassware from my hand.

2010-12-21T08:55:00.001-06:00

My spell check is confused by midwestern, cap, or no cap.

8.46 Regions of the world and national regions.

midwestern and midwesterner are lowercase, and the West is capitalized.

The Chicago Manual of Style 16th Edition

2010-12-20T09:57:00.000-06:00

I have changed tense again, and I am taking a machete to weedy words. It has come alive for me again, edit, edit, edit!

I imagined trying to fall in love with this gridded cement city, how I would have to surrender to its massive buildings and leave the mountains and ocean behind me. This is a hard task to fathom knowing that ice will build on the cement sidewalks in December and not melt until March. The West may be wild but survival skills take on a completely new meaning during a midwestern winter.

2010-12-16T12:41:00.000-06:00

"Tell me a memory associated with a bicycle."
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

There is a nonprofit bike shop in Chicago, Working Bikes, which is only open to the public two days a week. Frequently in the spring, there is a line out the door for the best find, a rehabbed metal-fendered Schwinn for less than thirty dollars. I wasn’t fast enough to grab the green one, I settled on the 1970s brown cruiser.

2010-12-14T08:52:00.001-06:00

What was your first childhood home like? Did you stay there until you left home for good?

I was born in a house too big for me, my sister was born in a trailer. I feel our destinies have been switched. I crave small places, cozy warm rooms, and she thinks of grand dining rooms with extra long formal tables.

2010-12-13T13:34:00.000-06:00

Watering the plants suddenly feels urgently important, instead of getting to work on my novel. Digging up the past so that I can write from the heart has created a fierce case of writer's block. I am frozen in my tracks, with all of this great material at my fingertips. It's time to move forward, write a sentence about the main character.

Her first memory of the people appearing in the attic is just after the Christmas Santa kidnapped her Sue-Sue doll.

2010-12-12T12:15:00.001-06:00

Monkey Mind
"One basic thing the mind does is generate thoughts. The problem is: it's hard to settle it down. The mind has a tendency to wander and drift off or barrage us. Even before we get a first thought—the ones that carry vitality, that are connected to the body—we are lost in critical second and third thoughts: "I can't do this writing. There's a sale on tuna. My kids need attention. I have nothing to say. I'm boring." These divisive, churning thoughts are telling you a lot, but not what they are actually saying. It's an indication of nervousness and energy. It tells you you want to writing bad, but at the same time are terrified to write."

Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

2010-12-08T16:34:00.002-06:00

I Remember
Two minutes on each of these topics:
  A memory of cabbage
  Some instance of a war
  A cup you loved
  A peace march you didn't attend
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

I remember my mother and I were the only ones in the family that like cabbage smothered in butter and pepper. It was a meal that was our communion, the others would not even sit with us.

I remember hearing the start of the first Gulf War on the radio on my way to traffic school. A right turn on red in a no-turn on red zone seemed so silly at that moment when I was convinced my boyfriend would be sent off to war.

I have a tea cup with a lid that I cherish so much I am afraid to use it.

I marched as a teenager in many anti-war rallies, later I took to photographing them but not really feeling a part of the movement, soon I just stop attending all together.

2010-12-03T10:55:00.000-06:00

The subconscious is a powerful thing. I have been avoiding revisiting a section of writing in my father's memoir, woke up in a panic, as this particular event had become a scene in an episode of Criminal Minds. Write something you have been avoiding to write.

There is a long stretch of country road in between Lansing and Flint, Michigan. We have driven it too frequently during the months my mother was sick. As we approached the intersection, where an acquaintance had just gotten in a bad accident and lost her children and husband, my wife said, "I don't know why she can't just move on, she can start over, start a whole new life." My wife was depressed at the time, she was suffering from postpartum depression, was sad about my mother having cancer, and overall just miserable. I knew she didn't mean what she was saying, she really didn't wanted us all dead so she could start over, but just as I my career was making me unaffected by random stranger's murders, my wife was developing my same detachment for random violence.

2010-12-02T23:39:00.001-06:00

"What bold restless extremes do you carry inside? Write."
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

I want chickens and goats. I live in a three flat on the second floor with rats in the backyard, which I am convinced they will gnaw off the feet of all my chickens. I am in love with a country boy who hates the country. I am a city girl who hates the city. We have cheese in common but he doesn't like goat cheese.

2010-12-01T13:33:00.001-06:00

Interviews
You will be surprised what people tell you when they are being interviewed for a book. Watch out, the Pandora's box may pop open. Be fearless, interview someone, and rewrite his or her words to fit your book. Below is a line from my interview with my father.

I don't know if we cared or not, I hate to say that we didn't care but that was not part of the process to care who it was or why it happen, other than to find out who done it and how it happen.

2010-11-29T14:00:00.000-06:00

"Write about a time you itched. It could be physical or metaphorical."
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

It was the day before Christmas; I was five and had chicken pox. My sister had it the week before; it was the first Christmas present she ever gave me. I remember standing in the bathroom for hours while my mother scolded me for scratching as she put pink stuff all over each bump.

2010-11-26T13:19:00.001-06:00

No. 62
On Persistence

If it seems as if a thousand people begin their first novels today, remember that a good ten thousand probably quit working on their first novels today. Remember that writing is neither a spectator sport nor a competition with other writers. Every writer who was meant to write, and who continues to write over a long period of time, will succeed.

George Singleton, Pep Talks, Warnings & Screeds

2010-11-25T10:55:00.002-06:00

Happy Thanksgiving.

I am thankful for the laughter circling the dinner table while we discuss the mass amounts of cream we have all just ingested.

2010-11-24T16:16:00.002-06:00

What do you see right in front of you, right now.

My eye glasses have small dirty dots as if it rained in between me and my frames.

2010-11-21T11:12:00.000-06:00

Part Three:
You vs. Page One
Having started, starting

You can stop right there. Sure, the blank page is challenging, but that's all. Heart surgery is terrifying; a blank page is just wood pulp. And besides, it's never really blank. Take comfort in the fact that you've never starting from zero. You're writing a memoir; you're already way ahead of aspiring novelists. You already know what happens; you know the characters, the plot, th outcome.
So in a sense, you've already started. Now all you have to do is keep going.

The Autobiographer's Handbook edited by Jennifer Traig

2010-11-20T11:06:00.003-06:00

Part Two:
You vs. Page One
Having started, starting

Eventually, however, if you want to be a writer, you'll have to write something. Yes, it's true: there's little as daunting as the blank page. There's the fear that everything you write will suck, and the dread that even if you manage one good page you'll still break under the weight of the 199 blank pages that will have to be filled after that one to make a book. And even if you do finish it, there's the dread of finding an agent and a publisher, and then the dread of bad reviews, and then the dread of follow-up, and what if the movie adaptation sucks, too?

The Autobiographer's Handbook edited by Jennifer Traig

2010-11-19T10:57:00.004-06:00

Part One:
You vs. Page One
Having started, starting

There may be no literary form that lends itself to procrastination as much as the memoir. When you're writing about your life, the temptation is just go live it is overwhelming. Somehow, spending half a day watching talk shows becomes research; going for a beer at 3 p.m. is gathering material. It's an awful nice day, who knows what could happen—what say you take the rest of the afternoon off?

The Autobiographer's Handbook edited by Jennifer Traig

2010-11-18T12:05:00.009-06:00

I do dare you to free-write for twenty minutes while listening to Yo-Yo's version of Bach. Do not tell me the details of the personal tragedy this journey with Yo-Yo may uncover, just give me one unforgettable fictional line this writing exercise produces.

I stare at the midget-sized door in the room where I hear my father spell-out why he has done what he did with his life. I imagine small clowns opening the door, and telling me "come along, this room is too quiet, down through here you will find joy."

2010-11-17T12:03:00.000-06:00

"Tell me everything you remember about kindergarten. Don't remember much? You know what to do. Begin from there."
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

I had a rug made out of different colored cloth woven together that I used for nap time. It rolled perfectly into my cubbyhole. There was a sandbox on stilts inside out classroom. My teacher's name was Ms. Brown, her house was toilet papered routinely on devil's night each year. I remember a reading test that I was very nervous about because Ms. Brown told our parents the results. I remember holding hands in line whenever we went anywhere in the building, and I had a hard time choosing to hold Tommy or Steve's hand.

2010-11-16T15:49:00.002-06:00

"What is your novel about?"
Louise Doughty, A Novel in a Year

My novel is about two weeks of muddled happenstance that leads to tragedy and an unexpected recovery.

2010-11-15T10:06:00.002-06:00

"Tell me about your "romance" with chocolate. An incident with vanilla. Give me a "journal page" of your experience with tapioca—or rice pudding. Bread pudding more like it?"
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

As a young girl, once I learned how to negotiate our electric stove, I had an infatuation with making the perfect no-bake cookie. My grandmother's recipe flopped every other time, so I made batch after batch, using up heresy's coco tins one after another, each day after school until I figured out why a batch failed. My family ate dozens of cookies, some too moist, some too dry, and some just the perfect texture, although no batch being the same. I blamed my bad batches on the level of humidity or too much boiling, but like my grandmother, my no-bake cookies are never perfect every time.

2010-11-14T10:46:00.001-06:00

"What do you think your passions are? Don't think. Make a list. Now write for ten minutes, keep the hand going, what are your obsessions? Go."
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

Really good food made from scratch, writing random things, nature (especially trees), coffee, photography, art, birds, dogs, words, train rides, the fiddle, Beth Orton's voice, Andrew Bird's silly words.

I have an obsessive habit of picking at my fingernails; anything jagged must be smoothed out. I have inherited the need to be on time, which has lead to an undesired result of always being early. I hate clutter; I have tossed out all of my belongings at least a half of a dozen times. Oh, and there is healthy food; I read labels for unwanted dyes and unnatural ingredients.

2010-11-13T10:45:00.001-06:00

Read.

I just finished Lucky, a book can alter your way of thinking, and Alice Sebold has done this twice for me.

2010-11-12T10:43:00.000-06:00

"What is the third thing? There is you and there is writing. But you can't write about writing. It's ingrown. You and writing must gaze out at a third thing.
What is your third thing?"
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

Strangers, it has always been strangers. Ironically, I spend most of my days alone now, but I write about strangers. The ones that crossed my path at that need moment when I was lonely or just looking for a character to write about. The nice guy I shared a cab with because it was freezing rain and no cabs were in sight. And there was the time when I was fourteen and an acquaintance picked my up will I was walking alone at too late of an our in my hometown. Maybe he was the why I started trusting the power of strangers.

2010-11-11T10:09:00.001-06:00

Noise: Write about something noisy.

My nighttime ritual has recently changed to creating a silent environment in the city. I put in orange squishy earplugs, I turn on a small fan, make sure the noise and light insulated curtain is fully closed, and the final armor is a pillow over my head. I am ready to battle the snores, trains, sirens, and garbage trucks, all of the things I have slept through for the last twenty years, it is my dreams that are noisy: I am being chased, I'm driving cars that are streaming downhill too fast, I am struggling from murders and rapists.

2010-11-10T10:46:00.001-06:00

"Tell me about a funny or odd thing that has happened in or around your car."
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

As a child, Brian's blanket was sucked out the car window on the interstate. His father refused to stop and retrieve the blanket that his brother recklessly used for a sunshade.

2010-11-09T10:57:00.001-06:00

Skip the church and/or therapy, find your salvation through writing your memoir, or for that matter your fathers.

I asked my father these tough questions at our last memoir meeting. Ask your character to answer them.

1. How did I get my name? How did you get yours?
2. What do you remember most about your mother?
Your father?
3. If you had a time machine, what decision would go back to undo?
4. What are you most proud of?
5. What is the thing you always hid from your parents?
6. How did my coming into your life change your life?
7. Who’s had the biggest impact on your life?
8. What’s your earliest memory?
9. What event made you feel like you were suddenly an adult?
10. What do you know now that you didn’t then?
11. What didn’t I know then that you want to admit to me now?
12. What was your favorite age?
13. When [big life event] was going on, what did you tell your friends about it?
14. What has been your greatest worry?
15. What used to thrill you? What thrills you now?

Question from: Jennifer Traig, Part II The Autobiographer's Handbook

2010-11-08T10:54:00.001-06:00

First or Third?
What point of view is your novel written from and why?

My novel started out in first person, then I changed it to third, felt I was too close to the character and she need to be developed further. After my five draft, I am switching back to first, truly writing an autobiographical novel. Memoir style just works in my head, now I have firm grasp of my main character, and her differences from my actual accounts of this time in my life, but I feel the reader will relate if I am speaking directly to them about these truly absurd two weeks.

2010-11-07T13:33:00.005-06:00

"Tell me about a storage unit or someplace you stored things."
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

My grandfather converted his apartment basement storage unit into a woodworking shop. In the dimly lit hallway leading to his caged unit, you could see his workbenches; they had spotlights including metal reflectors. The ball jars filled with nails and screws sparkled on the floodlights. I always found it strange that he worked amongst other's unwanted belongings. It felt cold and lonely in the basement, where the laundry machines and my grandfather's whistling under his breath were the only noises.

2010-11-06T11:02:00.001-05:00

Write about one of the things listed on your list from yesterday.

My cheese grater is from a bag of things my stepmother was going to toss in the trash. It is one of the flat metal graters with a looped handle. It is stainless steal and does not have a dot of rust on it, even though I frequently use it to drain my pasta.
This little piece of metal grates my favorite food into a meltable delight. Before my college friend, Tina, taught me to grate in one direction, I used to fiercely go up and down along its surface. The grater seems much happier now that it is only required to go one direction, and it is packed in with many other less loved kitchen utensils.

2010-11-05T11:00:00.001-05:00

I love lists.

I am grateful in this moment for these seven places:
Ocean Beach in San Francisco
Chicago's lakefront
The green grass in Humboldt Park
The reading loft in my office
My cozy pillow-top bed
A booth in any diner
The open road along Highway 1

I am grateful in this moment for these seven things:
My cheese grater
My book collection
The stacks at Harold Washington Library
My plants
My new winter boots
My pizza stone
My computer

2010-11-04T11:59:00.003-05:00

"Tell me some details about an uncle or grandfather."
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

My grandfather Jimmie was strict; he liked rules and enforcing them. I am not sure if his profession as a principal of an all-boys school made him this way or if he chose his profession, so he could spend his days cracking a ruler on the wrongdoers. I did not fear my grandfather as much as my brother did, or maybe I had less to fear because my brother was taking all the beatings. Either way, I had it easier.

2010-11-03T10:58:00.001-05:00

Why isn't your novel done? List five excuses, then take action, and eliminate one of your answers.

1. Time management, not spending free-time writing
2. Fear of showing others my work
3. The ending is not written
4. Fear of rejection, slowly writing/editing prolongs this
5. Not writing every day

2010-11-02T10:55:00.001-05:00

"I want you to write a paragraph from the point of view of an inanimate object."
Louise Doughty, A Novel in a Year

As I pull the knife from the victim's chest, I can hear the knife saying,
"How did I get here, this isn't what I wanted to do with my life in this kitchen. Now I am being stuffed in a plastic bag, and I will travel through the chain of evidence and finally end up in trial to convict some guy of murder. I just wanted a lazy life of cutting fresh bread or slicing my owners morning bagel. These groves on my blade were not meant to cut flesh, I am a bread knife for god's sake."

2010-11-01T11:47:00.003-05:00

"Tell me how you felt about math. Don't just say, "I hated it." Write about an experience around it: counting out change, a math course, a situation in school, using division or multiplication, keeping an expense account—or maybe you are one of the rare ones that keeps a math journal."
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

I was not a big fan of math in high school. What I remember most is there was a rumor that my geometry teacher was sleeping with one of my classmates, I blame my bad grade on that distraction. It was not until I started dating a math major in college that endlessly tutored me for my calculus class that I remember having the joy of getting a 100% on a math test. My math skills have continued to decline since our breakup.

2010-10-31T11:44:00.002-05:00

Oh, give me something scary; juice it up with gore.

It was reported that when Mary arrived at her north side home at 3:00 a.m., one cold January morning, she found her teenage babysitter dead on the living room floor. I was called to the scene at 3:30 a.m. I saw a teenage girl, brutally raped and stabbed to death. The crime scene was littered with Linda’s torn blue panties, her plaid skirt, a knife, and two forks. She was clad only in a white sweater and white socks; her torn brassiere was inside her sweater and a knife protruded from her throat. Fluids seeped from all of her orifices. As latent print specialists dusted for fingerprints, I surveyed the scene and began collecting trace evidence. No fingerprints were developed on bloody knives and forks used as murder weapons and no unidentified fingerprints were available for searching with AFIS. One foreign head hair was recovered from her left sock. As I photographed the autopsy, later the same day, my film recorded bruises on the sides of her face, and more knife and puncture wounds in her chest.

2010-10-30T12:27:00.001-05:00

That vs. Which

"Expendable--Which

If you leave off the clause that says which is bad news, it doesn't change the meaning of the rest of the sentence. A quick and dirty tip (with apologies to Wiccans and Hermione Granger) is to remember that you can throw out the “whiches” and no harm will be done. You use which in nonrestrictive clauses, and if you eliminate a nonrestrictive clause, the meaning of the remaining part of the sentence will be the same as it was before.... On the other hand, if it would change the meaning to throw out the clause, you need a that."
Mignon Fogarty is the host of Grammar Girl.

2010-10-29T11:43:00.001-05:00

"Tell me how you first learned to read."
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

I cannot remember how I first learned to read, but I do remember when I started to like reading.
I was fourteen and sent away for the summer to my godparents who lived on a small lake in Michigan. I am not sure if this retreat was my request to get away from my family or if I my parents sent me away because I was a pain in the ass teenager. Either way, I stowed away in their basement with a pullout bed surrounded by a pool table and a player piano. I had my own bathroom, a luxury I never had again until my first apartment in college. I am sure I spent endless hours in the mirror of that bathroom, perfecting my blue eye shadow that I put on nearly every day even though I did not see anyone other than my godparents for most of the summer.
I had brought a few books with me because my godmother was an English teacher and I figured she would be appalled if I planned only to daydream the whole summer and not do any reading. So after a few weeks of paddling out to the middle of the lake by myself and getting over my fear of jumping off the dock, I pick up my copy of a trashy novel with a teenage love story that I have forgotten the name of. There were gangs and the hint of sex, and I just could not put it down. After that book, I invaded my godparent's collection, and I have not stopped repeatedly escaping into a good novel.

2010-10-28T11:26:00.003-05:00

"What do you remember most about your mother? Your father?"
Jennifer Traig, Part II The Autobiographer's Handbook

My mother was a classic 1950's housewife. My mother did all of the laundry, including ironing anything that could wrinkle. She did all of the cleaning. which involved compulsively vacuuming and regularly steam cleaning the carpet. She did all of the cooking and hosting for the holidays. She also hosted tea parties and dinner parties for friends and members of the church; she planned and prepared all of our family picnics. She cook classic German food, she cooked what her mother taught her to cook. The only chore I do not remember her doing alone was shopping; she did not drive or have a checking account, so my father went with her to Hamady Bros. My mother dedicated her life to being a mom, she mothered everyone she met, and there is not a person I know that has anything bad to say about my mother.

What I remember about my father was that he was strict. He lived by a set of rules, ones he learned from his father that he enforced on my brother and me. I am not sure if this set of rules was any harsher than other children's experiences in the 1950s and 1960s but in our house, there was little toleration for error.

2010-10-27T12:33:00.003-05:00

"Teach me something. It doesn't have to be the traditional subjects. How about how to tie a shoe...? Something that is deep in your bones—driving in rush hour on I-94 to work each day."
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

"I am the daughter of a man that calls a tow truck for a flat tire. Alan made me change the tire on his Land Rover my first trip to the Congo. He said something to the affect that people will not always come running to help a pretty white woman.
"I was a weak little girl back then (Miller laughs, she is still a size four with very little muscle mass). So, Alan teaches me how to change a tire that came up to my waist. It was quite the scene with Alan trying to give instructions in Swahili and half in English, lunging to help as I am rolling in the dirt beneath the wheel shaft hoping the truck will not fall on me.
"In return, I teach Alan how to process film in the middle of the bush with a limited supply of water surround by film's number one enemy, dust and dirt. I toss scissors, a roll of film and a plastic film reel and canister in a changing bag and tell him to remove the film from the canister and put it on the reel, and seal it in the can. No problem he says with confidence. He tucked his hand in the armholes and pried open the film with the edge of the scissors. I had showed him in the light how to load the film on the reel but his fumbling large hands in the black changing bag could not get the flimsy roll of film on the plastic reel. I roared with laughter as he got more and more frustrated, he could fix anything but could not get the film to roll smoothly in the groves of the reel. And he new I wanted what was on that roll so he couldn't give up and pull his hands out of the sleeves without messing up the film. I had neglected to tell him that he could just put the film loose in the can to save the film from the light and I could finish it. It took him over thirty minutes and I was tackled to the ground after I told him about the canister trick."

2010-10-26T13:50:00.002-05:00

"I want you to write another paragraph but this time from the point of view of a character living in the past."
Louise Doughty, A Novel in a Year

As a young boy watching Checkmate, it was not the pretty ladies or the dashing young detective that grab my attention; it was the frumpy bearded overweight man talking with a slight English accent. A British criminologist, and one-time Oxford professor, Dr. Carl Hyatt is the brain behind the criminal cases Checkmate were hired to solve. He takes the smallest bit of evidence and solves the case. As a young boy, I was in awe over his three-piece tweed suit with chain across his potbelly accented with polka-dotted bow tie. In addition, I admired his top hat and cane; his cane seemed more for show than providing support, I thought someday I could get away with such a prop.
In my twenties, I tired wearing tweed it just did not fit my personality and left fibers all over the evidence. I wondered if I could grow a beard like his but I recall the State Police had a clean-shaven rule. The only facial hair that I wore in my early days as a forensic scientist was a mustache. They were big in the 70s and my large upper lip was the perfect platform for a dark straight caterpillar mustache. My daughter Jenny was never fond of mustaches; she used to tell my father that he had to kiss her goodbye with “just one lip.” My father would puff out his bottom lip as far as he could and kiss her. She would squish up her nose, retract her lips, and say his mustache still tickled. The only similarities I ended up sharing with Dr. Hyatt was his home lab resembled my basement collection: walls lines with file cabinets, endless about of reference books, and old microscopes dotting each surface.

2010-10-25T12:39:00.001-05:00

Go back to the beginning, there are so many places to start. Work on your opening paragraph.

The phone rings, it is after midnight, I reach for the rotary phone on the nightstand next to my bed, my wife rolls over and moans. By now my children have been conditioned that when the phone rings in the middle of the night, someone is likely dead in the Saginaw County. But this is not where I want my story to begin; it started long before the Bridgeport Crime Lab called me away in the middle of the night to process a crime scene.

2010-10-24T10:39:00.021-05:00

"You sit down, I say. You try to sit down at approximately the same time every day. This is how you train your unconscious to kick in for you creatively. So sit down at, say, nine every morning, or ten every night. You put a piece of paper in the typewriter, or you turn on your computer and bring up the right file, and then you stare at it for an hour or so. You begin rocking, just a little at first, and then like a huge autistic child. You look at the ceiling, and over at the clock, yawn, and stare at the paper again. Then, with your fingers poised on the keyboard, you squint at an image that is forming in your mind—a scene, a locale, a character, whatever—and you try to quiet your mind so you can hear what landscape or character has to say above the other voices in your mind. The other voices are banshees and drunken monkeys. They are the voices of anxiety, judgement, doom, guilt. Also, sever hypochondria. There may be a Nurse Ratched—like listing of things that must be done right this moment: foods that must come out of the freezer, appointments that must be canceled or made, hairs that must be tweezed. But you hold an imaginary gun to your head and make yourself stay at the desk. There is a vague pain at the base of your neck. It crosses your mind that you have meningitis. Then the phone rings and you look up at the ceiling with fury, summon ever ounce of noblesse oblige, and answer the call politely, with maybe just the merest hint of irritation. The caller asks if you're working, and you say yeah, because you are."

Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird

2010-10-23T11:34:00.013-05:00

"Mood. Verbs have 1 to 3 moods: (1) the indicative (the most common; used for ordinary objective statements), (2) the impermative (used for responding or comanding), and (3) the subjunctive.
Subjunctive verbs cause the most difficulty; they are used to primarily for expressing a wish. ... The subjunctive is sometimes used uncorrectly, eg, where matters of fact—not supposition—are discussed."

AMA Manual of Style: 10th Edition

2010-10-22T13:00:00.003-05:00

"Tell me about how a relationship ended."
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

I have worked at my career more than any personal relationship, it does not surprise me how feed up my wife is with the long hours, midnight interruptions, and canceled family vacations because I am due in court. It is not the death that I have witnessed, it is the day-to-day obsession with finding the facts and answers to these cases that has caused turmoil in my relationships. I am told that my escape into my books has ended my marriage.

2010-10-21T16:11:00.001-05:00

"What about a time you slept outside?"
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

I was a bit younger and less afraid of strange bugs crawling on me during the night. It was harvest season in California wine country, I had spent the day picking grapes, and drinking home-brewed wine while overeating grilled delights. I slept in the third row of grapes on a slanted hill, propped up in line with the spotlight moon. The late night sambuca had left me fearless, and when the deer approached my toes, I did not screech. He ate the remainder of grapes in the row that I thought I had picked clean.

2010-10-20T15:34:00.002-05:00

How might your main character die? Give me two possible outcomes.

A gunman armed with an AK-47 sprayed bullets through Miller's bedroom door, hitting her in the leg and back. She was found dead as result of bleeding profusely from her gunshot wounds. There is no report of how long she was lying in bedroom. It was a reported by the Congolese government to have been a robbery but there was very little missing from Miller's home.

Early in the morning, Miller was driving up a curvy road alongside the Cheyenne River in South Dakota. She had been up too late the night before. She must have fallen asleep. Her car flipped, and she landed in a streambed, she drowned.

2010-10-19T11:11:00.007-05:00

"Let’s start by doing the writer’s version of Mapquest.
– First, write a few sentences about your town, big strokes.
– Next, write about your neighborhood, with more detail.
– Now, describe your house, your block, fleshed-out."
Jennifer Traig, Part II The Autobiographer's Handbook

DeWitt, Michigan was named after DeWitt Clinton, it is a Midwestern farming town with a downtown just a block long. In 1930, a great fire swept though the downtown business district, destroying eight historic and business buildings.

Our neighborhood was along the main drag that led to Bath Road, which was a short cut between Flint and DeWitt. Two-story Sears' homes with large front porches lined our street.

Our Sears' house factory exterior was pale blue stucco with white trimmed windows and the protruding oversized front porch offset its square shape. We had a large yard bordered by a gravel driveway to the east, a sidewalk to the south, and a line of trees along the back. Our yard to the west bled right into our neighbors. Our neighbor's yard is where my youngest liked to play; she loved the wheelbarrow rides from our retired neighbor, Roger.

2010-10-18T10:54:00.014-05:00

It’s time for you to create your memoir-writing battle plan. Once that’s done, all you have to do is follow your own instructions. You’ll probably end up changing them once things are underway; be prepared for some experimentation and false starts. That’s part of the process, too.

By now you should have a pretty good idea of what the book is -going to look like. So let’s plot out the actual writing time, pen to paper, -fingers to keyboard. We’ve got two tracks for you here: one is --time-driven, the other a little more free-floating. Pick the one that suits you best and fill it in.

Time-Driven. Start by giving yourself a year. Some people take three months, some a decade, but a year is reasonable. Get your -calendar, and mark each month with a big (but achievable) goal, like “Write outline,” “Write first chapter,” etc. Then, on each Sunday, write down the weekly tasks that will get you to that goal: -“Interview Mom.” “Write four pages.” etc. On the last day of the month, write in the reward you earn when you meet your goal.

Jennifer Traig, Part II The Autobiographer's Handbook

2010-10-17T10:40:00.007-05:00

"What event made you suddenly fell like an adult?"
Jennifer Traig, Part II The Autobiographer's Handbook

I had been married for over two years, but it was not until my first crime scene that I felt like an adult. I was in Joliet, Illinois working as an intern, and my first crime scene was the murder of a two-year-old boy.

2010-10-16T10:28:00.013-05:00

"Ellipse defined. An ellipsis is the omission of a word, phrase, line, paragraph, or more from a quoted passage. Such omissions are made of material that is considered irrelevant to the discussion at hand (or, occasionally, to adjust the grammar of the surrounding text). Chicago style is to indicate such omissions by the use of three spaced periods rather than by another device such as asterisks. These points (or dots) are called ellipsis points when they indicate an ellipsis and suspension points when they indicate suspended or interrupted thought. They must always appear together on the same line (through the use of nonbreaking spaces, available in most software applications), along with any following punctuation (including a period) will appear at the end of the line above."

Chicago Manual of Style: Sixteenth Edition

2010-10-15T09:51:00.006-05:00

Where is home for you?
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

My first home was a prefabricated trailer in Lansing, Michigan. I was working for the Health Department, in a sterile environment all day; I came home to cookie–cutter construction decorated with wedding presents and hand–me–down family furnishings. I walked through the door every evening to a pregnant wife learning how to cook the meals my mother used to make me.

2010-10-14T09:47:00.007-05:00

"Tell me what you thought was ugly."
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

There was one predictable factor of going to a crime scene on the poor side of Saginaw; the house was going to be a "shithole." The buildup of trash in some of these homes was remarkable. At one scene, there was a dead body spread out on the kitchen floor, and it was the only patch of movable area; empty bottles, trash bags, and fast–food wrappers clutter the remainder of the linoleum. I don't even have a sense of smell, but the debris was grotesque. Each time I returned home to a clean bed and house was a great relief.

2010-10-13T15:35:00.003-05:00

"Tell me about a breakfast you were once privileged to have. Eggs over easy? Grapefruit? One thin slice of toast? Not even that, you ate a pickle—and it never tasted so good. You vowed to eat pickles for breakfast for the rest of your life. Then what happened? Tell me. Be specific."
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

I had a regular routine of getting up early enough so that I could go to Tony's before work. I was addicted to there $2.25 special. The special was two eggs anyway you liked them, one pound of bacon and two pieces of toast that were dipped in melted butter. I usually put back a couple cups of black coffee but that was extra. I was the only state police employee in a mob-run joint but the waitress was just as nice to me as the mobsters at the next table were. It seemed the pound of bacon gave me the energy to face working with the dead. After a few years of this routine meal, extra hours on the job, and too many murders, my blood pressure went the roof. My wife insisted on making me each light cottage cheese and fruit for months, until I started leaving early again for my $2.25 special.

2010-10-12T16:04:00.001-05:00

List ten things you remember about the month of October and being surrounded by farmland and a national forest.

Tall looming trees across the open field
The smell of rotting leaves
The boisterous crunch of drying grass under my feet
A cool approaching winter breeze picking up speed across the open landscape
Roadside pumpkin stands
The cafe's sign advertising hot cider
A river not in my sight but a faint hiss of moving water
The smell of a distant fireplace burning fresh-cut wood
The wide-open crimson sky at dusk
Silence on a dirt road, interrupted by nervous conversation

2010-10-11T16:26:00.003-05:00

"When was the first time you were afraid?"
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

It must have been getting lost or separated from my mother in a public place. I was a shy little girl that didn't really like strangers. I remember being scared when staying over at my grandparents apartment, the walls made so many strange noises. I remember when Santa Claus took my doll. My mother thought if she slipped into my room on Christmas Eve and took my doll that all would be fine because Santa had put a new one under the tree. I was terrified at the thought of Santa in my room. A few years later, my mother did the same horrifying maneuver with my stuffed dog.

2010-10-10T10:01:00.001-05:00

"Beginning a sentence with a conjunction. There is a widespread belief—one with no historical or grammatical foundation—that it is an error to begin a sentence with a conjunction such as and, but, or so. In fact, a substantial percentage (often as many as 10 percent) of the sentences in first-rate writing begin with conjunctions. It has been so for centuries, and even the most conservative grammarians have followed this practice."
Chicago Manual of Style 16th Edition

2010-10-09T10:27:00.002-05:00

When you don't know whether to use who or whom, try substituting he or him.

2010-10-08T15:50:00.002-05:00

"Tell me about a time you washed the dishes."
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

I take great pleasure in walking a dog on hot summer nights, baking fresh bread on Sunday mornings, cooking with fresh vegetables and herbs from the garden, cleaning out attics full of family possessions, ripping up old shag carpet to find manicured hardwood floors and don't tell a soul that I like mowing the lawn. But when is comes to doing dishes, taking out the trash, dusting, mopping, vacuuming, making my bed and picking up dirty clothes off the floor, I am like a spoiled rotten fourteen-year-old. I am not sure I ever saw my father do dishes. My mother always did the dishes and on rare occasions, I was asked to help load the dishwasher. I still seem to avoid soapy sinks and crusted plates.

2010-10-07T10:08:00.002-05:00

"Tell me everything you know about Jell-O. Go Ten minutes. Let it rip."
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

Oh, Julie will never understand why I have invested ten minutes to the subject of Jell-O when there are so many other things to discuss.
I have told you about my first encounter with Jell-O in pre-school, I did not disclose that I had it every birthday party until high school. I never really like things put in my Jell-O. I do not know why it is called Jell-O; I never thought to ask, and the answer would not matter to me. I am now one of those people that does not eat red dye #40, so it has been sometime since I have had Jell-O. Red was always my favorite and usually the only color Jell-O I would eat. What is there to know about Jell-O, this is not something I will look up on Wikipedia. It is made of horse hooves, or maybe they have come up with some more kosher method of making it harden into a delicious flimsy pancake of sugar.

2010-10-06T19:41:00.000-05:00

"Tell me what you will miss when you die."
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

I will miss: A hot summer rain where thunder cracks so loud that your insides shake, ice cream melting faster than I can lick, the touch of my lover, the sound of Tom Waits' voice singing when I feel blue, laughing so hard your eyes uncontrollably tear, green grass under my bare feet, my mother's healing hugs, the sound of the ocean hitting the shore, the city at night when it is all still besides the glittering lights, a fiddle solo, big loyal dogs, reading a good book, my nephews laugh, and climbing a mountain even though I can barely feel my legs or take another breath.

2010-10-05T19:57:00.003-05:00

"Now give me ten minutes of "I don't remember." Another approach is" I forget," but "I don't remember" is right on target."
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

I don't remember the name of the hotel in Kenya.
I forgot the name of the hotel that I stayed at in Victoria Falls.
I don't remember what food I ate while camping in the bush other than sweet potatoes and fresh passion fruit.
I don't remember what kind of tea was served.
I don't remember what the streets were like downtown Harare.
I don't remember what side of the road you drive on in Zimbabwe.
I don't remember if I ever got cold while I was there.
I don't remember how old Alan was or where he went to school.
I forgot what roads we took to get to Hwange National Park.

2010-10-04T15:37:00.003-05:00

For writers block, I recommend putting in your headphones and use your ipod as an imaginary microphone, and sing at the top of your lungs. Dancing solo with fuzzy slippers on always chases away my paralyzing dry spell.

2010-10-03T16:39:00.002-05:00

"Right now list ten smells you remember. Be specific."
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

campfire smoke
misty-musty trees
roasting meat
tobacco
grass
diesel
brewing tea
over-worn tea-shirt
damp backpack
unfamiliar spices

2010-10-02T19:00:00.006-05:00

"Tell me about how you drink coffee (tea). When? Where?"
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

Miller pleaded, “Can we take a break for a cup of tea?”
Alan smiled, “Having a cup of tea with you is my favorite part of the day.”
Alan started a fire faster than Miller could pack up her camera, the teapot was whistling within minutes. As Miller reached to take her cup of sweetened gunpowder tea from Alan, an umbrella-tree leaf landed in her hand. She was startled, and thought someone had ran his fingers across her skin. Miller’s eyes welled up with tears.
Alan adamantly said, “I remember when you use to hop and skip for a good cup of coffee or when you saw a elephant on the plains. I remember when you wanted to dance with the baboons and I had to restrain you. Where is that Miller?”
“Alan there is a war!”

2010-10-01T15:07:00.001-05:00

"Writing and talking about writing are two different acts, much like how driving nails with a framing hammer and watching home improvement shows are different. Grilling salmon and watching a chef on a television show are two separate activities. I have encountered people who meet their "writer's group" weekly. I've met people who are members of two or three different groups. They bring in their work, read it aloud, and listen to their comrades' comments. These meetings last three or four hours, and the members enjoy lots of snack foods, coffee, wine, and so on. They usually have some kind of newsletter about themselves. I would bet that they wear berets privately. When they're not meeting each other, they go to readings and writers conferences nonstop. They talk about writing. For the most part, they do not get published in real magazines or by real publishing houses. If they would stay home, they'd have some good time to actually write."
George Singleton, Pep Talks, Warnings & Screeds

2010-09-30T12:41:00.000-05:00

"Tell me about a time you remember rain. Rain might not be the main focus of a memory but write about a time when it was there with you as you said good-bye to your grandmother on cold day in November or kissed your first girlfriend on the lips before school at eight a.m."
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

While in Israel, Derek and I danced in the rain imitating Linus and Snoopy in Charlie Brown Christmas. Standing under the eves, I let the dirty water cleanse my shame of photographing the dying. In the middle of a civil war, we found our own patch of peace. It was almost shameful; a lobby full of journalist smashed up against the windows to watch us.

2010-09-29T16:46:00.001-05:00

"Tell me about a meal you loved. Where were you when you ate it? What was the weather like out the window? Who were you with? How old were you?"
Natalie Goldberg, Old Friend from Far Away

Kevin’s ping-pong table doubled for a dining room table that sat ten. He arranged it so the table sat in the middle of a wide-open loft; only candles and the glow from the handmade bulky industrial lamps lit the unusually large space. As multiple voices carried across the table, there was a hint of a ball bouncing back and forth. Miller nibbled at the catered gourmet food while listening to Derek talk and then abruptly excused herself to have a smoke and gravitated to the open gigantic six-paned window in the northeast corner overlooking church-like structure that she thought must have been a school at some point.

2010-09-28T16:36:00.000-05:00

"Write about the most frightened you've ever been."
Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones

Miller looked out the window and there was a truck making an unprotected left turn right into the side of the bus at too fast of a speed for the slow-moving refurbished Halsted bus to move out of the way. The well-read stranger instinctually grabbed her, not knowing where he was going to take her. They moved inches into the narrow isle, but possibly just far enough to remove them from the spray of glass and the impact against the window seat. A whole sheet of glass detached from the window frame, flew like a plastic bag floating in the air, and landed on the women rows ahead of where Miller was sitting. The remaining glass in the windows flopped around like jagged leaves.
The yellow metal supports every two rows crumbled like plastic under pressure. The sound was explosive as if a steam engine train just whizzed by. The child’s stroller parked in the front handicap seating was pushed to the middle of the bus. The passengers in the rear seating, were tossed around like rag dolls and thrown into the isles in piles. One woman flew from the back raised section and smacked her head on the back door pole; she blacked out.
Miller heard muffled screaming after the crash and people crying. Someone kept saying, “Can you please let me out” as he was pressed against the back door. There were no visible red emergency window handles. The mangled bus had spun in a complete circle, taking out parking meters and parked cars. The island by the front door was pushed almost in front of the door. The hand-straps above each seat seemed to be swinging even thought the bus was no longer moving.