PRODUCT REVIEW: Werther’s Original CaraMelts: soft creamy caramels that melt in your mouth! Result: blech.

I’ve made a shocking self-discovery: I’m NOT a pantser. This means I don’t write by the seat of my pants.

I’m not a plotter, either. Filling out charts or blank spaces on character interviews do absolutely nothing for me.

I’ve decided I’m a third category of writer, a combination of the two. A pantsotter. Or, perhaps, a plotanter? Whatever. I need to figure out who my characters are, what my book’s about and how it progresses. I don’t need to carve out every nuance of the plot, but I do need to know how it starts, how it ends and—especially—what conflicts are going to drive the plot from one point to the next.

One method I’ve discovered to help me plan but not plan can be found on Holly Lisle’s website. (www.hollylisle.com) Look for her links to plotting under pressure and using notecards. It’s a great method if you think you’re a plotanter (or a pantsotter), too.

So...what do you think? What kind of writer are you?

It's the end of the world (as we know it...)

First of all, I’d like to have a blog moment of prayer for the people in California whose homes are—at this moment—burning, and especially for those who have lost their lives in the fires. Pray for the firefighters and the rescue workers. And pray that we as a nation display more compassion, concern and care. We failed miserably with Katrina. Let’s get it right this time.



Okay…moment over. It’s time for today’s blog:


The World is Going to End!

Nostradamus predicted this. It’s in prediction 207, Century XII: the gold headed Eagle will rank no. 2, the green giants will rule in the paint, the black and gold bears will bring favor to the ice. When the flying Elvis goes undefeated and the red footwear of the city of baked beans flies the pennant during the time of the full moon; the end time is near.

Loosely translated (as one should do with all Nostradomus’ predictions) : New England sports are kicking some serious tail.

The Boston College Eagles are ranked #2 in the nation for the first time since 1942.

The Celtics have a team that’s nearly comparable to the Bird-Parrish-McHale years.

The Bruins are actually enjoyable to watch and undefeated for the first time in ten years.

The Patriots are undefeated and despite early accusations of cheating, they are showing that they don’t have to steal other teams’ signals to win big.

And the Red Sox…ah, the Red Sox. They’re heading to the World Series for the second time in four years . The last time that happened, there was a lunar eclipse, and a blue moon. This time—the moon is full.

Like our expectations, here in New England. Our teams, it seems, can do no wrong. Which is why—the world is about to end.

Does that mean I should stop plotting the book I plan to write during November during the NaNo writing challenge. How about YOU?
Can you write 55,000 words in a month? I suppose it beats waiting for the end--

This just in!

My friend and critique partner, Jennifer Shirk, Me, My Muse and I, received THE CALL today!!!

From not one, but TWO different publishers…for the same manuscript.

That just goes to show you how great her book is. Go, Jennifer! Congratulations!

Gee…does this mean the world really is going to end? LOL.

No! It means—Jennifer will be published, the Sox will win the Series, the Patriots will win the SuperBowl, the Bruins will win the Stanley Cup, the Celtics will win…a big basketball trophy and the Eagles…will also win a big trophy. Yeh!

I love good news.

Shoe musing

There are some women who are sleek. Tall, streamlined, with long, straight hair that shimmers. They smell nice. They look nice. They wear makeup and beautiful clothes that fit their slender frames perfectly. When they go to the ladies' room, they stop in front of the mirror to fluff and preen--and they should. They look good.

I, on the other hand, wash my hands and leave the room.

Waah.

If women were shoes, the sleek ones would be red high heeled spikes with a strap across the instep.

I'd be an orthopedic slip-on.

I could get depressed about this. (All right, I have gotten depressed about this.) Who wants to be an orthopedic shoe?

But then again...if you had a choice, what would you want to wear all day? A red spiked heel (that might pinch your toes, make your calves ache, give you corns and bunions and maybe Plantars Fascitis) or comfortable shoes that cushion your soles and give you plenty of support?

Yeah, one looks nice, but the other feels nice.

So I guess--all things considered--I'd rather be the orthopedic, feel good type. One that is supportive. Because eventually, all shoes get scuffed. Which ones do you feel worse about throwing away? The ones that pinched? Or the ones that made you feel good?

I think this is a premise that I explore in my books. My heroines are never spikes. They are more like all weather moccasins (which also have great support, by the way) who yearn to be spiky but just don't have what it takes. They are too comfortable, too kind, too...just too. Normal. Easy to be around. Not pretty, exactly, but more functional. And better, in the long run, for my hero. (Oh! That's a pun, of sorts. Not intentional, but...heh. Oddly enough, I'm trying to stop myself from comparing my heros with feet. Or...heels. Ar, ar, ar...)

Sometimes my heroines are those shoes you see by the side of the road. The fallen. Alone. Sort of squashed. But ready to rally, to find the other half of the pair and carry on.

Sometimes, they're running shoes. Athletic. Useful. And friendly. (Perhaps even inflatable. Or with little springs under them.)

Yes, you're right. This is a silly post. But it could be worse. I could be comparing women to horses.

Nay.