Favorite sentences

I was just thinking about some of my favorite sentences ever. You know, those sentences that you read and you stop and think. Wow. That. Is. A. Great. Sentence. Then maybe, being a writer, your next thought is "I wish I had written that!"

(Every once in awhile I'm really proud of a sentence I have written too, but I am thinking today of sentences that I have read.)

Here are two of mine.

I love this one:

"I fear your argument is beguiled by ostentatious erudition."

Anyone know where that is from? I heard it, loved it, memorized it. It is Abigail Adams, to John Adams, telling him that his speech is too flowery, in the A&E movie John Adams. I don't know if that is a quote directly of hers or written by screenwriter Kirk Ellis. Darn, I should have asked him last year at the writers' conference where we met him....

A favorite first sentence for a novel. "Delirium brings comfort to the dying." The passage goes on to describe someone drowning in freezing water. It is written in first person by that drowning person which I have just now realized is not apparent in this sentence. I wonder if that was on purpose? (Dick Francis, by the way, guilty pleasure.)

I know I am not the only one who collects favorite sentences. They dont have to be FIRST sentences of novels, although they often are. That is the nature of first sentences I guess. We work especially carefully on those.

Any favorites come to mind?

Help with Words

Hi All,

I need some words and so far the thesaurus has only given me the obvious. I need positive words to describe a 13 year old girl, words that could be used to describe a pretty photograph of her. Nothing too old for a 13 year old like stunning, sexy, etc.

So far I have words like appealing, refreshing and engaging. Bright, sparkling, even beguiling.

Come on all, whatcha got?

Thanks!

Alison

Good Advice

Every once in a while, I run over to Edittorrent, a great blog about all things writing. I started reading when they had a great series of posts on log lines and pitches.

Today, they had link to RU (something for you romance writers, Amy!). The post had some great advice about incorporating action into even the slow, introspective parts of your story. Nothing terribly new, just terribly well put.

Enjoy!

What do your favorite books look like?

I've been cleaning my apartment lately, sorting through those piles that grow like dust bunnies on steroids.

All that to say, I've been going through lots of books. You can tell the ones that I've spent a lot of time with.

My 20 year old paperback Anne of Green Gables books are missing covers. The pages are yellowed and brittle. There are chocolate stains on more than a few pages.

My green, cloth covered, A Christmas Carol has hot chocolate stains on it's cover and pages.

Fran Slayton's When the Whistle Blows has spaghetti stains on a few pages.

I could go on, but you get the picture. (It probably involves me eating something, which seems to be what I do when I settle down with a good read.)

So what do your favorite books look like? Are they pristine? Food stained? Tear stained? I'd love to know.

Have you ever done this?

So, I was having a bad day a few weeks ago. There I was jogging down a trail, trying to figure out whether to be angry, or cry, or do both at the same time. Then I realized I had an audience.

Myself.

One part of me was smack in the middle of that awful day. The other part took notes. It tried to figure out how to write a scene where my current MC felt what I was feeling. What would she do? Say? How would I describe her expression?

The awful thing is that I've done it when having conversations with other folks. I try to stop as soon as I realize I'm doing it. I want to devote all of me to listening about what's going on with them. But not before squirreling away a few notes to myself for future writing.

So, please tell me that I'm not the only one that does something like this.

This made me laugh

My dad cut this out of the paper for me years ago, and I found it this morning while cleaning out my closet.

What can I say? Writing for children can give you a lopsided sense of humor.

Oh good grief. After viewing the post I realized you can't see it and I can't get it to fit. But you can click on it to see the whole thing!

The exciting life of a writer

I noticed this week that ABC is playing reruns of the first season of Castle, a show about a best-selling mystery writer who helps cops from the NYPD solve murders. I started watching it because I'm a fan of Firefly. If Captain Mal wanted to play a mystery writer, I'd go along for the ride. And then I really started enjoying the show...

But I digress.

As I washed the dishes last night, I thought about how little writing Richard Castle does on the show. Once every show, we see him in front of his computer for a few seconds. Once we saw his outline- very similar to the way cops organize their evidence. He'll discuss his aspects of the plot he's wrestling with. But for a show that claims to be about a best-selling writer, there's precious little writing.

I mean, come on! The man's a writer, let's see him write.

Then that (very tiny) light bulb in my head went off, and reminded me of what you've probably already realized.

A show about a writer writing would be the. most. boring. show.

Ever.

Seriously. Watching grass grow would be more fascinating.

Let's say you're watching me write. I sit down in the Barnes and Noble Café, get my laptop up and running, and...

I write. (3 min)

Fiddle with my iTunes playlist.

I write. (5 min)

Wonder if anyone's commented on my most recent blog post. Check blog post.

I write. (3 min)

Make faces as I try to figure out just what to do with a character.

I write. (7 min)

Mumble dialog under my breath.

I write (30 sec.)

Re-check blog post.

I write. (9 min)

Watch people walk by.

I write. (5 min)

Think about blog post.

I write. (1 min)

Re-recheck blog post. Mentally slap self on wrist. Close internet browser.

I write....

Riveting, huh? The most interesting parts where the bits when I wasn't writing.

No wonder they have Castle help the cops.

Pondering the plot lines of Castle reminded me that writing really is hard work. It's not interesting to watch. It's not interesting to read about. Sometimes, it's not even interesting to do.

It's worth it. I'd be the first to admit it. But I understand why there won't ever be any form of entertainment that focuses on the act of writing.

Truth is, non-writing activities are far more interesting. Like writing blog posts. (Slaps self on wrist. Prepares to turn off internet browser after posting.)

So what about you? What distracts you from your not-always-entertaining-but-oh-so-worth-it writing?

Nicola Morgan would kill me

Nicola Morgan had a great post today about getting one's bum in gear when it comes to writing. She argues- and I agree- that being published is more about hard work and dedication than luck.

It was exactly what I needed to read. I've been far too distracted by job searches lately.

But...

if you would like a bit of luck, take a walk outside tonight or tomorrow night. The Perseid meteor shower is ... showering. Should be lots of shooting stars to wish on.

The equivalent of a three hour slideshow...

So I'm going to hijack this writing blog for a moment. I was tempted to sit you down and subject you to all 405 photos and 40 mini-movies of my time in Bosnia. I decided to keep it far, far shorter.

Mainly because I don't know how to load it all on Blogger.

Just to fill in the blanks, my dear friend Enesa is from a village in central Bosnia. This year, I went home with her and met her family.

I have so many memories and impressions:

The incredible generosity of the people. No one (except Enesa) ever laughed when I messed up in their language. Even when I told them I was eating with my butt (and not a fork).

Swimming in the river Krivaja behind Enesa's house. I'd never been swimming in a river before, and I'm still inordinately proud of the stone I plucked from the bottom (I'm guessing 10 feet down) when the guys dared me. Seriously. I brought it home with me.

Trying to dance one of the folk dances.

My amazement that strangers didn't try to kill me when they saw how poorly I danced.

The bus driver who tried to set me up with his son- only after asking Enesa if I had a university education. (This man with the kind face was the only matchmaking parent who asked about my education.)

Enesa's mom trying to feed me 1) whenever I looked hungry, 2) whenever I came into the kitchen, 3) whenever I had gone more than an hour without food, or 4) just whenever.

Enesa's father, without fail, changing the TV to an English-speaking channel whenever I sat down near the TV.

Enesa's sisters (Elvira and Azra) and cousins (Adnan, Selma and Dino) taking time to speak to me English.

The presents that neighbors brought me when they heard it was my birthday.

Of course, the war was there as well. I remember asking Enesa about warning signs I spotted along a remote road. They looked like the signs we put over gas or oil pipelines. They were for landmines.

I saw deserted, partially destroyed houses. Enesa said that probably the entire family that lived in the house had died. People whose houses were destroyed either rebuilt them or tore them down to remove reminders of the war. If a house hadn't been touched since the war, there probably wasn't a surviving family member left to touch it.

One day, we visited Mount Vlašić, the highest in the region, that had been held by Serb forces. It was so high you could see for tens of miles- great for recognizance and for shelling the lowlands. It was some of the most beautiful country I'd ever seen. Enesa told me about the fighting there, pointed out the scar where the artillery had been dug into the mountainside.

And then we realized we were standing in old trenches.

The picture is of me, standing near one of the trenches.* Vlašić is the bit of mountain to the left of the bush. That picture reminds me so much of my visit there: a breathtaking land, as lovely as the people I met, peppered with reminders of grief and loss.

I'm sure if I were less jet-lagged, (or less worn out by rants about the use of 'raging') I could tie my trip to some aspect of writing. Truth is, I traveled through so many stories there, I'm not sure I would know where to begin.

* No, I'm not saluting or anything- just trying to keep my hair out of my face.

It makes me want to rage...

So I was just skimming a light, summer read sort of book and read something about raging flames. It was the umpteenth time I'd read about some force of nature 'raging'.

Really? Really?!?

Apparently flames, storms, winds, and water can't do anything but rage. Not even on the news.

"Tonight at six: Forest fires continue to rage just ten miles southwest of...."

"Hurricane-force winds raged through this small town last night..."

You get the idea. I can't remember the last time I've read or heard about fires or floodwaters that didn't rage.

And it's ticking me off. I mean, what if the river's just misunderstood? What if it's only mildly irritated?

So please, please help me. Have you heard nature described in any way other than 'raging'? What words were used? Or are there other cliches that make you overreact?

'Cause, yeah, I know I'm overreacting.

Famous Author, Food Lion and Quality of Life

Ever wonder where the elite authors do their grocery shopping? To my great surprise, I found myself in line behind our resident bestselling author, Mr. Legal Thriller at the neighborhood Food Lion. I knew right away who he was. I have seen his picture A LOT in the local paper. What was he wearing? What was he buying? What did he say to the cashier? And most importantly, why was he shopping in Food Lion? On this last question, I can only speculate.

This good-looking man wearing faded blue jeans and a crisp white dress shirt, had his sleeves rolled up his forearms and his top button undone. His chiseled face just made you melt with lust. (Oh, excuse me; I forgot this is a family-friendly blog.) He appeared to be in a hurry and got in the express lane with, literally, a cartload of beer and a splash of bottled water. Well, if you’re counting CASES of beer, he technically did not exceed the 15-item limit. Undoubtedly, he was about to throw a party--or would be the life of the party when he arrived with his trunkload of libations.

His choice of beers was pretty humdrum. Molson was the most exotic. But how exotic are you going to get in a Food Lion? It’s not like they’re known as a boutique grocery store. Our local non-chain international grocer has items from far-flung places on our planet and is more likely his usual shopping scene. Surely, Mr. Legal Thriller has tasted pale lagers, brown ales and stouts from the best brewing capitals of the world. Perhaps his taste buds grew accustomed to lesser brews before his first book hit the New York Times bestseller list. Though he did discuss with the cashier the merits of each of the different brewskies he purchased.

But why shop at Food Lion? Convenience? Low prices? No, I think compared to a place like Foods of All Nations he would not be recognized. I can’t say I blame him. It must diminish one’s quality of life to be so famous you can’t travel wherever you want. Restricted movement in our world, to my way of thinking, would be a form of imprisonment. For that I feel for him.