Let 'em Say What They Want to Say

So, I'm having a chat with my lovely Mom, Dora May.

Her old mp3 played died and she bought a new one - she wants me to load it up with her favorites; the Four Tops, the Four Lads, Tom Jones, and some dude known simply as... Mantovani.

I know - makes me a bit itchy just saying it.

Anyway...Mom bought the cheap sort of MP3 player and the ear buds look like a medieval torture device.

"Oh, I won't use those things," she tells me, "I've got Skull Candy."

We talked about quite a few things yesterday, but the thing I remember most is Mom saying..."Skull Candy". It's not a phrase you expect from the lips of a very proper, impossibly elegant 78 year old.

It reminded me of the old hamburger ad campaign where the elderly woman lifts the top half of the bun, peers inside and yells "Where's the beef?". The audience loved it.

I personally make of point of saying whatever crosses my mind these days. OK, I censor some things - that's why I still have all my teeth, but mostly I let fly the fullness of my quirky genius.

But what about the characters I create?

I wonder if I've been so busy making them "consistent" that I've denied them an opportunity to surprise.

So, today I'm going through my manuscript today to check it for "Skull Candy" and "where's the beef". I'm gonna make sure that every character gets to say a little something that surprises me.

I'll report back...

Skipping along to a tune called "Breezin' Along with the Breeze"...

Kari

Roadshow

Just got back from a week long road trip that started here in Cowtown and wandered down to Montana, Wyoming, South Dakota, North Dakota, Saskatchewan and back to wild rose country.

Took my notebook and favourite pens just in case I felt inspired to write a few poems or stories along the way, and in the process, turn my writer's block into a case of writer's cramp.

Saw some very interesting (and big) attractions like Yellowstone Park, The Devil's Tower, Little Bighorn Battlefield, The Black Hills and Mount Rushmore. Took pictures, bought souvenirs, ate too much, slept too little, enjoyed the prairie heat and air conditioned motel rooms.

Didn't write a whole lot at the time, but jotted down some things that might come in handy, sooner or later. Sooner would be better.

Old Faithful geyser is just that ... erupts right on schedule like it's a paid performer. And it's sooo pretty.

Park wildlife, especially bison herds, are a bit camera shy, so my husband and I take close-up photos of buffalo chips instead (a damn poor substitute.)

According to Sioux legend, The Devil's Tower was formed by a big old bear clawing its way up a big old tree, as good an explanation as any.

Hundreds of army soldiers, scouts and native warriors killed each other at the Little Bighorn, so it's gotta be haunted ... must be a spooky place after dark.

The nice folks in Deadwood stage the shooting of Wild Bill Hickock day after day after day for fun and tourist dollars. And they'll put you in a bus and drive you up to the cemetery where Bill's buried, right beside his lady friend, Calamity Jane. For no extra charge, they'll tell you some mighty corny graveyard jokes.

Bikers rule Sturgis (and the Black Hills) for the annual August rally ... take note: Hell's Angels are kinda camera shy, too.

The U.S. presidents' faces carved onto Mount Rushmore are, well, monumental, but just wait until the much, much bigger Crazy Horse monument eventually, finally, at long last get finished ... it'll make Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt and Lincoln look, well, not so monumental.

Crossing the border back into Canada at the port of Estevan on a late summer afternoon is almost a surreal experience ... the sweet little customs agent glances casually at our passports, asks us a few friendly questions and wishes us a safe trip home. By the way, is there no end to Saskatchewan? And what's up with the horizon everywhere? Just curious.

Love those biscuits and gravy for breakfast down south. Mmmm.

Love those half tacky half charming fridge magnets and key chains.

Love my cool t-shirt that says Life Is Short Spend It In Yellowstone.

Life is short.

Spend it everywhere you can.

Write lots of stuff down.

Cause writer's cramp hurts so good.

Mmmm.

Joanne Morcom

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Website: http://www.joannemorcom.com/
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Sex. Oh yeah. Right Here at the Writer's Corner

I just finished writing a sex scene.

I've no one to blame but myself. I was the one that threw down the challenge to the novel class.

Three pages. That's what we agreed on.

Three pages.

Really?

No one can write great sex in three pages.

Great sex is not a sprint - it should be a great 10K with a happy ending. OK - most of us will settle for a well executed 5K that ends with a genuine smile and a polite thank-you.

Today my character, Chuck, had sex. I wrote about it for three hours. The poor boy was horribly inept. Still, it worked out well for him - sort of. He was scarred by the experience, but also intrigued by the possibilities.

When I write painful scenes, I often cry. When I write scenes of triumph I cry as well, and sometimes I pump my fist in the air. Sometimes when my characters are funny, I laugh. When they cook, I get hungry.

So yeah...it's getting definitely late.

Yes honey, I'll be right there.

Ummm. Gotta go.

Blush.

Kari

Half Empty, Half Full

If I’m hungry, I pretend I’m not.

If I’m thirsty, I drink water or green tea with ginger, sports drinks, and technical smoothies with protein powder and glucosamine...stuff that tastes bad, but is good for me.

I hope that my purposful drinks will make me forget that I’m hungry.

If I need to write, I go for a run.

When I run, I count miles or steps until I am tired of counting.

When I write, it is because I am hungry and thirsty and tired of running, and I have exhausted my patience for counting.

I think of this as a kind of discipline.

,

But when I write:

Everyone is thirsty - and I let each of them drink what they want - even if they drink too much. Scotch, wine, beer...I don’t care. I let the them live.

When they are hungry, I allow them fries, truck-stop liver and onions with a side of dark gravy that arrives with a congealed skin on top, Big Macs and Slurpies, bubble gum and bubble tea, Vietnamese subs and Spolumbo’s sausages...Bernard Callebaut.

I allow them sex I would never have.

I forgive them their cowardice, lassitude, incompetence and incontinence.

I support them in their time of need and offer them a sympathetic narrator when their spirits fail.

I let them reach over my head, swim past me, go further, or deeper, darker, faster than I am capable of.

I am kinder to my characters than I am to myself.

...and when I am done writing, I feel full.

Get ‘em while they last.

Kari