Writing Conference: Friday Night

Dear Diary,

Today was AWESOME! Morning critique group was, as usual, very helpful. Then, I got to go to lunch with Janette Rallison! How, do you ask? She is from Arizona, but her very beautiful daughter is a single BYU student. My friend and conference attending buddy Erin's cousin is a very good looking and sweet single BYU student. The lunch was a setup for the two. So much fun!

Then, I got to attend James Dashner's presentation. I feel like we are old friends.

Love,

Fired Up on Friday

Writing Conference: Thursday Night

Dear Diary,

Today was so much fun. Everyone was so much more relaxed and easy going and chatty. I chatted with an agent (a San Diego native who's lived in NY almost all of her adult life) about her--- get this--- shopping trip to both local D.I. stores the night before! I chatted with James Dashner, who not only remembered that we've met (several times, actually), but remembered where he knew me from. And later he gave me an arm squeeze.

The best part? I almost single-handedly talked Tracy and Laura Hickman into singing a duet of the freeze ray song from Doctor Horrible's Sing Along Blog. How cool would that be? They didn't today, but I can tell that they wanted to. I have full confidence that they will perform for us tomorrow.

Love,

Tickled on Thursday

Writing Conference: Wednesday Night

Dear Diary,

My brain is crammed so full it hurts. It might even burst open before long. For the past three days (really? That's all it's been?), I've spent from 8:30 am to 12:30 pm critiquing 10 pages of 8 different people's manuscripts and hearing instructions and advice from my author/mentor. Then I spend the next 4 1/2 hours listening and asking questions to authors/editors/agents about how to increase my chances of getting published. By the time 5:00 rolls around, I'm very much in need of a soft, dark, quiet place. So, I come home and be a mom and wife for five hours, then read 6 more manuscripts, then edit and print my own 10 page section, and then go to bed at a time of the night morning that my body certainly doesn't agree with.

I think it might be slowly killing me.

Love,

Worn out on Wednesday

Writing Conference: Tuesday Night

Dear Diary,

I met two editors who were the cat's meow today. Very non-intimidating. They both eased my trepidation towards editors in a big way. And, I can send one a partial, and the other my complete manuscript! So very beyond cool.

My workshop group read my prologue and first chapter today, and they loved it! Wahoo! Totally made my day. I knew very well that there was a problem with my first chapter, I just couldn't for the life of me figure out how to fix it. The incomparable author-mentor Claudia Mills told me just what I should do. She's a genius! I'm beyond grateful and will definitely have to hug her.

Today was a good day.

Love,

Terrific on Tuesday

Writing Conference: Monday Night

Dear Diary,

The conference wasn't nearly as scary as I thought it would be. Apparently, I get a bye on the whole pitch thing! What does that mean, exactly?

Well, there are basically three steps to getting published. First, you send a query letter. If that sounds interesting to them, they ask for a partial, or the first three chapters of your book. If they like that, they ask for the whole manuscript. Getting past the query letter part is hard. By going to this conference, a very nice editor is letting us skip the query letter part, and go straight to the partial! No pitch needed. Whew! Of course, she also mentioned that her publisher gets 10,000 partials a year, and 35 get published. We aren't going to dwell on those kind of odds, though.

Oh, and remember how last time, I had a hard time not giving authors a hug that were so good at sharing their expertise? Well, this time, a giant in his field, Tracy Hickman gave ME a hug! Pretty darn cool.

Love,

More Relaxed on Monday

Writing Conference: Sunday Night

Dear Diary,

I wrote a query letter today. A query letter is a one page cover-letterish document in which you have two small paragraphs to tell enough about your book, that an editor or agent just can't stand to not ask to see more. Fairly daunting, if you ask me.

For months I have been dreading writing it. I have put it off until it can't be put off any longer. I told myself that if I'd just sit down and do it, it wouldn't be as hard as I imagined it would be.

It was harder.

There's no way I can show this thing to them.

So I moved on to the pitch.

I told my kids that I needed to pitch my book to them, first to Cory and Alecia, and then to Kyle. I said the word "um" no less than 17 times during each pitch, and "oh, wait!" followed by some part I forgot several more times. How am I going to do it in front of major New York based professionals when I can't do it in front of an audience who thinks that pretty much anything I pitch is golden?

Love,

Stressed out on Sunday

Embrace the Conflict!

It's in my very nature to avoid conflict. I frequently do it at almost any cost. I greatly appreciate a fairly conflict free life. I don't need drama-- that's not what I thrive on.

So, even though I understand the incredible importance of conflict in writing, I admit that my books don't contain nearly enough of it. I've often wondered how to get over it. Especially, like in the book I am currently writing, when the characters are created before all the conflict is. You get to know them and love them and care about what happens to them, and then it's hard to do mean things to them!

I get a daily email kick-in-the-pants from Dave Farland (aka David Wolverton), and his most recent email was about conflict. This sentence really hit me:

"The reader is hiring you to thrust her into conflicts that she might well run from in real life. "

That she might well run from in real life. Isn't that why we read? To experience something that we aren't likely to, or are too afraid to experience in real life? And to wonder about how we would react in the same situation? I need to provide that. Like Dave Farland suggests, I need to pull out all the stops. I need to find a way to make more conflict even if it's really hard for my characters. And me.

And in the next book I write, I'm coming up with all the conflict first! Long before any characters are born, and I end up getting way too attached to them.

I worried I had lost it forever

I used to have such a drive to write.

Then last semester came along, and I had no time at all to write anything I wanted to write. I patiently waited for the semester to get over, knowing that I'd get back that compelled-to-write feeling that I had before.

It didn't come back.

I was frightening me a bit. I really wanted it, yet for the month of January, I have had troubles eeking out 2000 words a week. I've written stories in the past where I have averaged 2500 words A DAY. My slowest had been somewhere around 4000 words a week.

Then, Sunday night, I GOT IT BACK!!

Yay! I was talking with my kids about it at lunch on Monday. Like the amazing kids they are, they helped me to figure out a few things that I know will help me many times over, and I don't want to forget what I learned.

First, Alecia.

I mentioned how much harder it is to write when I have a writing group. They are much more critical than my usual audience, and it does cause some writers block. I am constantly wondering / worrying what they will think of what I write. As good and as helpful and as all around amazing as it is to have people that will be completely honest, no feelings spared about my work, I know that has taken some of the fun out of it.

Alecia said, "You need to not worry about what they think. You can't let the pressure of writing for your writing group change the way you write. You need to put that pressure out of your mind and just write because you like to write. Don't worry about what they think while you are writing."

Yes, a six year old used that phrasing.

I said, "Wow, Alecia. That's some pretty good advice."

She said, "Yeah, I've been reading a book on how to give good advice."

Hehe.

Then, Kyle.

I also mentioned that when I wrote 9,000-word Pivotal, it took me 5 days. And 23,000-word The Secret Mission took me 9 days. And 24,000-word Pivotal II took me 13 days. And 45,000-word The Treasure Quest, my slowest writing (yet most involved), took me just over 2 months. Why can't I write that much now?

Kyle pointed out that all those stories are about people that I already know and love.

And that, my friends, is Kyle hitting the nail on the head. Sunday is my turning point on the unnamed story that I am writing. Why? Because I spent a good portion of the day REALLY getting to know my characters. Not just getting to know them well enough to tell the story, but getting to know them well. I answered a huge list of character questions, and figured out how they handled things. I figured out what they are thinking now and what they were thinking six months ago and how they have changed during that time and why. I learned their likes and dislikes, their triumphs and their struggles, their hopes and their dreams. I still have a lot to learn about them, but now they are real. They are real people that I really care about, and I really want them to experience what I have in store for them. I want to see how they will react when I put them in the situations I have planned for them. I care about what happens to them.

And that is where the desire to write comes from. Really knowing and caring about your characters.

Note to self: Remember that.

That’s the WHAT of it, here’s the WHY

I’ve found out that there are a lot of people I know who also like to write and/or want to write. So, I thought I’d post some mistakes that I make, so hopefully you won’t have to make the same ones.

Last night in my writing class, my teacher talked about two different types of writers. On one end of a continuum is "discovery writers," and at the other end is "planners." Discovery writers like to sit down to write, not having thought too much about plot, and see what happens. They like to discover as they go. Planners like to work through characters, plot, setting, figure out the beginning and the end and everything in between, and then start writing. There’s not a right or a wrong way overall, just a right or wrong way for each individual writer.

Stephen King is a discovery writer. He comes up with some good characters, then plops them down in a situation to see what they will do. He enjoys finding out what happens in the story as he writes it. He likes to be surprised as he goes. This obviously works well for him.

Orson Scott Card is a planner. He may work for eight months on a story, then spend one month writing it. Tolkien was also a planner. He spent 15 years writing The Lord of the Rings. This method obviously works well for both of them.

Brandon Sanderson works somewhere in between. He meticulously plans out setting, world building, and plot, but doesn’t plan so much with his characters. He starts without knowing them very well, and likes to see how they grow when they are placed in the situations he has planned out. This obviously works well for him.

If you would have asked me, even many years ago "If you wrote stories, which kind of writer do you think you would be?" I would have answered without hesitation, "A planner." Now that I’ve been writing for a year, I would tell you that one of the big reasons why I’m a planner is that plot is always difficult for me. It takes a lot of thought and consideration to get it just right. I could never do it on the fly.

My teacher, though, told us that to find what works well for us, he recommends we try out both ends of the continuum. I’ve used the planning method tons. It’s always worked for me. I tried thinking if I’ve ever used the discovery method. That’s when I realized that yes, I have ONCE.

Wanna guess which story I used it on? Yep, Ancient Chinese Secret. I knew WHAT went wrong there (see my last post). I think that WHY it went wrong is because I wasn’t using my writing style. I focused too much on plot and not enough on characters because I knew plot was a weak spot for me; I had to put my focus on it.

So, I guess the lesson learned is to figure out where you are in the continuum, and then respect it. Plan if you need to plan. Discover if you need to discover. And maybe try both on for size if you aren’t sure which will work best for you.

One word of caution from my teacher, though. Stay away from the far ends of the continuum, even if you have to work hard to do so. If you are too far on the discovery end, you’ll find yourself starting out a story, then you’ll get a little stuck or start feel like you aren’t loving your story any more. So, you scrap it and start with a new story. Before long, you have a dozen started stories, and nothing ever gets finished. If you are too far on the planning end, you may write and rewrite and rework until you find you’ve spent most of your life working on the same story, never really feeling like it’s good enough for others to read. Both are bad. Be good and stay away from the ends, but stay true to your writing nature.

That’s all for now, folks. I’m sure I’ll make other mistakes before long.

I think I understand

I have been reading The 39 Clues: The Maze of Bones to my kids. I’ve been excited to get to this book, because I am a fan of Rick Riordan; I think he did a great job on The Lightning Thief. Plus, he used to be a junior high history teacher, and I love that he combines history with a great story. All of the ten 39 Clues books will focus on an event or person in history; this one (The Maze of Bones) focuses on Benjamin Franklin, whom I think is beyond cool.

But, I’ve had a very hard time getting into the book. So have my kids.

Why? At first, all I could think of was that it lacked heart. I’ve been trying hard to put my finger on what exactly makes it feel like it is lacking heart. Character Development? I wondered. No, he tells us lots about the characters. (The fact that I thought “tells us” instead of “shows us” should have been my first clue, but I didn’t see it.)

It wasn’t until I realized that The Maze of Bones has the same problem as Ancient Chinese Secret that I figured it out.

Usually when I read back through a story I wrote, I relive a little of the high I got writing it. It makes my soul do a little dance, sing a little song. It makes me happy. I had a hard time re-reading through Ancient Chinese Secret to make sure it didn’t have any grammatical errors before posting it. It just didn’t interest me enough to read it again. (And yes, warning signals should have gone off here, but they didn’t.) I couldn’t really put my finger on why exactly I didn’t like it.

So, when I had the two stories to compare, it was easy to see the similarity. We didn’t inhabit our characters. Sure, we knew lots about our characters. We both shared lots about them. But, I know that at least in my story, I never tried to BE Karen. I never really got into her head. I didn’t know what it was like to walk in her shoes. I didn’t see the world through her eyes.

I wrote a book for my kids, with them as the main characters along with a girl named Claire. Claire is a sweet girl. I like her. She had a few sad parts, though. Sad parts that really made me feel bad. I bawled when I wrote the parts where she cried. I wanted to give her a hug and tell her everything would be okay. She seemed real enough that I almost believed I could. There was another character in the story, Daniel, who was long dead (decades earlier) when the story takes place, but still integral to the plot. My kids found his journal in the new house we moved into, and learned a lot about him and how he was a part of the map they found— stuff I had outlined before I even wrote the first word of the story. When I wrote the part in the story when Daniel was 15 years old and his dad died, it was really, really hard for me. I felt sick that I had been the one that killed off this wonderful man. I did it. My writing killed him. It was awful.

But with Karen.... I didn’t even feel bad when I made her break her ankle.

So, I am writing this in hopes that the lesson I learned will have a better chance of sticking with me. It’s not a mistake I hope to make again.

And, the night after my epiphany, as if to put the lesson in capitals, I read something that explained it all in one sentence. I was reading Sometimes the Magic Works by Terry Brooks, and came across an epigraph that reads:

“If you do not hear music in your words,
you have put too much thought into your writing
and not enough heart.”

Ancient Chinese Secret: Part 7 (The Ending)

Note: Make sure you have read parts 1-6 (below) first.

Monday

Judy waited in the lobby, excited to share the good news with Karen. She had been waiting a while. She figured that Karen had a greater chance of getting to work on time with Peter driving her– he seemed to be a very punctual person. And yet here she still was, at 9:15, waiting. Maybe the crutches were slowing her down, she thought.

When Karen finally entered the building, Judy ran to her, giving her a hug and taking Karen’s purse so she wouldn’t have to juggle it with her crutches.

“Guess what?” Judy asked excitedly. “I met with Rosenberg this morning, and told him you broke your ankle. He said that he didn’t think you could really work in the daycare in that condition, so he is letting you come back to marketing early!”

“Oh. Thank you, Judy.” Karen’s voice sounded more relieved than it had been in days.

Judy carefully kept the subject away from fortune cookies and curses and Chinese food as they went up the elevator to the fifth floor, and walked the corridors. As they rounded the corner to their desks, they both froze. Sitting on Karen’s desk was a fortune cookie.

Judy gasped. “Where did that come from? It wasn’t here when I went downstairs to get you!”

Resigned, Karen placed her crutches against the wall, sat down, and picked up the cookie. “It’s okay. It’s not like I really thought I could get away with not getting a fortune cookie yesterday. I knew it would show up somewhere.”

“So it just appeared?” Judy asked. “And without any Chinese food to go with it? How unfair is that?”

“It’s okay. I think I may have gotten over my addiction.” She let out a mirthless laugh and turned the cookie around and around in her hands. “You know, I’m okay with not getting a fortune cookie that says I will get fame or riches. In fact, you know those cookies that don’t really have a fortune, they just have advice— I would be just fine with one of those.”

“Why don’t you just not open it,” Judy suggested.

“It won’t change anything. And it’s probably better to know what’s coming.” She took a deep breath, then pulled off the plastic wrapper. She cracked the cookie, pulled out the paper, and then read aloud, “All things must come to an end.”

A feeling of dread washed over her as she realized that she didn’t know if the fortune meant the end of her curse, or the end of her.

The End

Ancient Chinese Secret: Part 6

Note: Make sure you read parts 1-6 first (below).

Sunday

Karen didn’t want to ever see another fortune cookie. She didn’t even want to see Chinese food. Or smell it. Or taste it. Or touch it. She didn’t even want to think about Chinese food.

Nor did she want to think about the fact that the police never caught the men who were chasing her and Peter. She was worried that the bad guys didn’t know that she had given the statue to the police and that they might come looking for it. She didn't know a lot about thieves with weapons and their resources, but she was convinced that they could find her address from Peter’s license plates. The police assured her that she was probably safe, but after the week she’d had, she was pretty sure she wasn’t.

She figured the ostrich got it right. She was ready to bury her head in the sand and pretend her troubles all went away.

Ancient Chinese Secret: Part 5

Note: Make sure to read parts 1-4 first (below).

Saturday

Karen spent most of the previous night in the emergency room, Peter by her side. All day today, she sat on her couch, her foot in its huge cast propped up on her coffee table. Her ankle hurt. And it itched and it wanted to wiggle. She wasn’t sure if it really itched and wanted to wiggle, but the fact that she couldn’t do either made the feelings even stronger. She felt trapped. Her foot was confined in a cast that wouldn’t let her move, and the inability to move much on her own meant she was confined to her apartment. She felt itchy all over. Itchy and restless.

And the more she thought about it, she was mad. Mad at that infuriating little Chinese man who put this stupid curse on her. She forced back thoughts of wanting to strangle him. Obviously, sitting on her couch with nothing to do but think was not helping her disposition. She needed to get out. She picked up the phone and started dialing Judy’s phone number, then changed her mind and dialed Peter’s. He eagerly said he would be right over to help with whatever she needed.

“So, where do you want to go?” Peter asked after repeated attempts to convince Karen to stay home and rest.

“Anywhere but here. I don’t even care if we just drive around,” Karen answered as she clumsily worked her way down the outside stairs with a broken ankle and crutches.

After driving around for more than an hour, Karen decided to stop venting her anger about the Chinaman when she saw how it was affecting Peter. Now that she had gotten physically hurt, she had spent a lot of time worrying that the curse could bring very bad things to her. She had mentioned how worried she was to Peter, and it evoked some pretty strong protective instincts in him. He suggested that they confront the old man and get him to remove the curse before anything worse could happen to her, then turned the car around and headed toward Chinatown.

Someone once told Karen that finding a parking spot in Chinatown was like “winning the world championship of musical chairs,” and she found that to be a fairly accurate description. They parked in one of their usual spots just outside of Chinatown, she grabbed her purse, and they walked toward the arch of the Friendship Gate, ornamented with a fire-breathing dragon. They moved down the streets, trying not to bump into anyone, one of them walking and supporting, the other hobbling.

Here she was, walking down a street in Chinatown, on an ankle that was arguably broken because of her addiction to Chinese food, and all she could think about was ducking into one of the restaurants they were passing to get a little fix. The smells of the delicious dishes wafted out into the streets, pulling her nose forward with each new scent. She’d had a long day. So long, in fact, that it made her feel like it had been ages since she’d had some Moo Goo Gai Pan or Sweet and Sour Chicken. If Peter hadn’t been there, intent on getting her to the Chinaman, she wouldn’t have been able to keep going without making a quick pit stop at one of the restaurants.

When they reached Mei Hsian Lou, Peter led Karen to a padded bench in the lobby, while he left to speak with the hostess, then with a waiter, then with a manager. She waited, trying to focus on the tv program playing in the lobby as a means to distract herself from her strong cravings, and from the growing fear that the Chinaman would never be found. She was starting to wonder if he was a figment of her imagination. Or maybe even someone who was invisible to everyone else. Realizing how insane that line of thought sounded even in her current state, she forced herself to focus on the special news bulletin that popped up on the tv screen.

“...has been stolen from the Royal Artifacts exhibit at an art gallery in Chinatown. Police are scouring the streets for the suspects, who are to be considered armed and dangerous. Citizens are advised to use extreme caution...”

The newscast must have sufficiently distracted her, because she didn’t even notice Peter return with the manager until he offered his hand to help her up. The manager then escorted Peter and Karen to a small room just off the kitchens where the Chinaman waited.

“I thought I might see you again,” the old man said to Karen as he glanced down at her cast, his chin beard shaking with each word.

“Why? Why did you put a curse on me?” It had taken more energy than she had expected to walk to the restaurant. Her voice quavered with mental and physical exhaustion and she was feeling overcome with sadness and anger and fear. Her ankle hurt, and she was on the brink of crying to this man she didn’t even know.

The Chinaman’s voice became kind, sorrowful, understanding as he placed a hand like a dried up leaf on her shoulder. “Child, I did not place a curse on you; I merely told what I saw. This curse is much more ancient than even me. Many centuries ago, in a duel between the last two remaining Fang-Shih, the curse was released. The secrets to controlling it were lost with them. No man controls it now, nor is it known how the curse chooses a host. I’m sorry. There is nothing you can do but hope for the best. ”

He gave both of them a long look. “Wait here. Let me get you soup to take home. You should be resting.”

They watched the old man leave the room, and Karen laid her forehead down on the edge of the table. The consoling arm that Peter placed around her shoulders helped to hold her fragile emotions together. When the Chinaman returned, he handed Peter a sack, then pressed a fortune cookie into Karen’s hand.

“No! I really don’t want this,” Karen said as she tried to hand the cookie back to the man.

He gently pressed her fingers, wrapping them around the cookie. “They will come whether you accept them or not, child.”

As they walked out of the room, Karen turned to Peter. With a weary voice, she said, “Please take it, before I open it.”


As they walked down the crowded sidewalks of Arch Street, Karen got up the courage to ask what her fortune would have been if she hadn’t given the cookie to Peter before opening it. He stopped, making sure she was balanced, then opened the cookie. She held her breath as he opened it, making her realize exactly how large of a part of her was still hoping for a life changing good fortune. She was surprised that there was any hope left in her.

“It says, ‘A king’s treasure will soon fall into your possession.’”

“Figures I would finally get my gold mine after I already gave it away,” she mumbled.

As they neared Friendship Gate, a man ran out of a side alley, bumping forcefully into Karen. If Peter hadn’t been supporting her so well, she probably would have fallen down. The running man didn’t stop to apologize, he just kept on running.

“Careful! She’s injured!” Peter called angrily after the man. He helped Karen the rest of the way to the car, and got her and her cast situated in the front seat before placing her crutches in the back seat. As he walked around to his side of the car, he noticed a man running towards the car. Peter got in his side, and quickly shut and locked the doors.

Moments later, the man pounded on Karen’s window and tried pulling open the door. She could hear his muffled words through the glass– “Open the door! Open the door!”

“That’s the man that ran into me on the sidewalk,” Karen exclaimed.

Peter put the car in drive and pulled away faster than he normally would have driven in a parking lot. Karen turned to see the man climb into the passenger’s side of a car driven by another man. After a minute of watching, she turned back to Peter. “I think they are following us!” She pulled her purse onto her lap, and as she reached in to grab her cell phone to call the police, she noticed a shiny object. She wrapped her fingers around the cool surface, and pulled it out. It was a seven inch high statue of Chinese warrior in full armor.

By the looks of it and by it’s weight, she guessed that it was made of solid gold.

“The king’s treasure,” she whispered in awe. “I actually did get my good fortune cookie!”

Peter glanced at the treasure for a moment, then went back to staying focused on the road and the car chasing them. “How did it get in your purse?”

Karen was running her fingers all across the surfaces of the sculpture. “I don’t know. It’s like it fell out of the sky or just magically appeared in my.... Crap! That man who ran into me– it wasn’t an accident. He planted this in my purse!” Her mind raced back to the news flash in the lobby of the restaurant. She quickly filled Peter in on the story. “Men stole this from the Royal Artifacts exhibit in Chinatown. Do you think that’s them following us? The news said they are armed and dangerous.”

As if in response to her comment, a bullet shattered their back window. Karen screamed and ducked, pulling out her cell phone to dial 911. Peter slunk as low as he could in his seat, and turned down as many side streets as possible, trying to lose his assailants. He turned into a narrow alleyway, the chasing vehicle only a few car lengths behind them. Two more bullets entered the car, one exiting a side window, shattering it. Karen tried to relay as much information as possible to the police between her screams. The dispatcher directed them a few miles away, toward a warehouse that was sparsely populated on the weekends, where several cops were congregating to head off the criminals.

Peter and Karen kept swerving through streets, hoping the men in the car behind them wouldn’t notice that they were trying to lead them somewhere. Plus, Peter had suggested that if they take the quickest route, there would have been to many straight roads, giving the men a better chance to shoot at them.

Karen had never been so scared in her life. The exhausted sadness that she had felt earlier gave way to the adrenaline that was now flowing through her veins. Now the only thing that mattered was that she and Peter made it to the warehouse parking lot alive.

They reached the district with the warehouses, and the dispatcher relayed instructions on which directions to go. She eventually led them down a narrow street, with the backs of warehouses forming walls on both sides of the road. They could see an opening to a parking lot ahead on their left, and they hoped that it was the correct one; otherwise, they were being led down a dead end street, and would be trapped themselves. Peter barely slowed the car enough to turn into the parking lot, and as they turned, they were able to see the police cars. They stopped the car just past the cops, making sure not to block their exit. The car chasing them turned the corner to follow, then saw the police cars as well. They skidded to a stop, back end of the car spinning around, leaving them facing the opposite direction. The men raced off as police officers turned on their lights and sirens and accelerated quickly after the men in the car.

Ancient Chinese Secret: Part 4

Note: Make sure you have read parts 1-3 first (below).

Friday

The heavy, fast moving footfalls that definitely weren’t coming from a man is what first distracted Judy from her project. She looked up to see Karen enter their cubicle, throw her purse into her drawer and slam it shut.

“Hi,” Karen mouthed.

“Karen! Is everything okay? Do you have... laryngitis?”

Karen wordlessly slapped her hand down on Judy’s desk, then pulled it back, leaving behind a small slip of paper. Judy quickly snatched up the fortune and read it out loud.

“Don't ask, don't say. Everything lies in silence.” An appreciative laugh burst free from Judy. “Seriously? You can’t talk at all?”

Karen smiled faintly, finally able to see the absurdity of the situation just a little bit after hearing Judy’s laugh. She grabbed a pad of post-it notes and scribbled Since I opened my fortune cookie last night, I can’t talk.

“So, does that mean you won’t be going out for Chinese tonight, then?”

Karen pulled off the used post-it note and wrote a new message. No, it means that when Peter takes me out tonight, we’ll be going to the Lucky Dragon. I could be sitting on a gold mine! I just need to go to a place that has a better chance of giving me a good fortune.


During their dinner, Peter talked and talked about his day and his plans to play basketball with friends Saturday afternoon. Karen nodded and gestured, but mostly just listened. She felt a pang of guilt when she realized that he was relishing the opportunity to dominate their conversation for probably the first time ever. She had finished her Chicken Lo Mein and had pushed it off to the side when her waiter returned. He placed the bill and two fortune cookies on the table, then started putting the leftovers into boxes. Karen grabbed one of the fortune cookies and ripped off the plastic wrapper.

“I hope it’s something good!” she gushed. “Oh, hey! I got my voice back!”

She cracked open the cookie, pulled out the fortune, and silently read it. “Is this some kind of sick joke?” She yelled as she waved the fortune in the direction of the waiter.

“Why? What does it say?” Peter was alarmed at the tone of Karen’s voice.

“It says, When you leave, you’ll slip on a noodle and break your ankle. What kind of crappy fortunes are you giving out here? This is the LUCKY Dragon!”

The waiter, taken aback, apologetically explained. “The fortunes are supposed to be ironic. It is funny to get a misfortune at a place with ‘Lucky’ in the name.” After seeing the fiery look Karen was giving him, the waiter tried to back up what he said with a lamely delivered, “His has a misfortune, too.”

Peter opened his cookie and read the fortune out loud, “You will have stomach ache from eating too much Chinese food.”

Karen folded her arms, sitting back in her chair, seething while the waiter finished up.

“Hey, lets just trade fortunes,” Peter offered. “A stomach ache from over-eating is much better than breaking your ankle.” He switched the slips of paper, then added, “And just to be on the safe side, I won’t let you fall when we leave.”

She gave him a small smile. When they left the restaurant, he held on to her so tightly, she knew nothing bad would happen. A week ago, Peter holding her like that would have bothered her, but she was starting to not mind it so much. A part of her actually enjoyed it.

When they got back to her apartment, he suggested that they watch a movie together so that he could be there “if she needed anything for her impending stomach ache.” It was a weak excuse for him to stay, especially since her stomach felt just fine, but she found herself wanting him to stay for a little longer. She took her leftovers into the kitchen, not noticing when a noodle fell out of her box. She placed hers and Peter’s boxes into the fridge, then shut the door. As she turned to walk back into the living room, she slipped on the fallen noodle.

Peter heard the thud, then the scream. He jumped up and ran into the kitchen, falling to his knees as he reached Karen. “What happened? Where are you hurt?”

“My ankle. I think I broke my ankle.”

Ancient Chinese Secret: Part 3

Note: Make sure you have read parts 1 & 2 first (below).

Thursday

Karen stepped onto the fifth floor with a sense of wonder, all thoughts of the daycare far from her. She walked to her desk, deposited her purse, and floated down into her chair. She answered Judy’s questioning look with “I just got a call on my way here from Megan Wright. She was my best friend in junior high-- we were inseparable until her family decided to move to Ohio. Get this. She just called to say that she is in town and wants to meet for dinner tonight.”

Judy was so excited she actually clapped. “The gift of the Chinaman! Read me last night’s fortune again.”

Karen pulled the paper from her purse and read “Friends long absent are coming back to you.” She smiled and tacked the fortune to her board along with the others.

“So, I’m guessing you and Megan will be dining on Chinese food tonight?” Judy was alive with excitement.

“Yep. And maybe this time I’ll get riches!” She glanced down at her watch and the smile faded. “Oh. I better get down to the daycare. Wish me luck.”

**

Karen stared at the floor indicator at the top of the elevator, willing it not to stop on the second floor. She didn’t know how she was going to endure this. It’s not like she had any practice being around kids. None of her friends were even married yet. She only had one brother, and he was way too focused on making money on Wall Street to think about having kids, so there were no little nieces or nephews around.

The elevator doors opened, and she stepped out and walked over to the daycare. She decided to watch from the window in the door for a while first, to prepare herself for the kind of day she was about to have.

She watched little kids playing with toys, and noticed that the adults sitting amongst them appearing to be enjoying themselves. Seeing them so happy around kids made her think of her mother. Her mother thought that the entire reason to have children was to raise them up to be financially successful, and to have someone with whom to pass on the family legacy. They weren’t there to have fun with. Everything was about show for her mother, including the children. They were like trophies; something to show friends how successful you are as a parent. She often wondered if her mother would have stopped having children after her brother was born if it hadn’t been for her dad.

She watched the kids playing a few minutes longer, then decided that she had stalled long enough. She took a deep breath and opened the door, hoping that she would make it through the day in one piece.

Karen was exhausted by the time six o’clock finally arrived. She glanced to the window in the door and saw Judy standing there, holding her purse. She waved, then turned to the manager of the daycare. The manager told Karen she could leave, even though all the parents hadn’t come to pick up their children yet. Karen gratefully left, restraining herself from running out of the room.

“How was the daycare?” Judy asked as she handed Karen her purse.

“I’ve never felt more incompetent in my life. So many kids kept coming up to me for help with things. I know they came to me because they knew I didn’t know what I was doing. I swear, Judy, they were doing it just to torture me. They hate me!”

“They don’t hate you.”

“Yes, they do. This one kid, Jeremy, kept throwing things at me.”

“What kind of things?”

“Balls mostly.”

Judy smiled. “And how old was he?”

“I don’t know... two? Three maybe?”

“Karen, that’s just the kind of thing a kid that age does. It doesn’t mean he hates you.”

“Well, maybe,” Karen said. “But he wasn’t the only one. This little baby, Maggie, crawled over to me and then put her arms up for me to pick her up. So I did, and she spit up all over my jacket! And then this little boy Jared burped right in my face!”

“Really, Karen, all that is just normal kid stuff. Didn’t you ever babysit as a kid?”

“No. My mom said it wasn’t a good use of my time. It would take time away from my violin lessons or my art lessons or my french lessons.”

“Was there any part of it that wasn’t terrible for you?”

“No,” Karen said resolutely, then wavered a bit. “Actually, there was one little baby who was only about two months old, and she curled up in my arms, and I just looked at her and thought about how this little child didn’t have an ill will in the world. But that didn’t make up for Jeremy or Jared or Maggie.”

“Tomorrow will be better. Just tell Jared not to burp in your face, and ask Jeremy to tell you when he wants to play catch before he throws the ball.”

“Yeah. I just need to lay down the law with these kids.”

“You’ll do fine, really. Just go and have fun at your dinner tonight, and don’t even think about the daycare until tomorrow.”

Ancient Chinese Secret: Part 2

Note: Make sure you read part one (below) before reading this.

Wednesday

Karen took her eyes off the floor indicator above the elevator doors just long enough to look down at her watch. Crap– 9:18! Rosenberg is not going to be happy. When the doors finally opened on the fifth floor, her high heels clicked in quick succession against the tile floor as she rushed to her desk through the corridors created by the backs of cubicles. She rounded a corner and saw the dark bob of hair belonging to her best friend and cubicle mate, Judy, as she leaned her chair out into the aisle.

“You’re late,” she said as Karen set her purse on her desk and took off her jacket.

Karen shot a worried glance down the hallway, then sat at her desk. “I know. Has Rosenberg noticed?”

“Nope. He’s been in manager meetings since I got here. Get in a little late after your dinner with Peter last night?”

“Yeah. We had to wait forever to be seated at the restaurant. I kind of overslept.” She turned on her computer, hoping it would boot up before anyone could notice her lateness.

“Did you have Chinese?” Judy asked.

“Am I really that predictable?”

Judy giggled. “No. Well, yes, but actually I smelled it through your skin. Get a good fortune in your cookie?”

“It was okay, I guess.” Karen opened her purse and pulled out the little slip of paper. “It says, ‘Your nurturing instincts will soon benefit a younger crowd.’ Not very applicable, but okay.” She opened her desk drawer, grabbed a push pin, then stuck the fortune on her bulletin board amongst dozens of others.

“Nurturing instincts,” a deep voice behind her questioned. “I wasn’t aware that you had any of those.”

Both girls turned toward the voice, and watched as a tall man, his wavy blond hair shining in the fluorescent lighting, sat down on the edge of Judy’s desk.

“Eavesdropping again?” Karen asked.

“Oh, hi Dave,” Judy said with a shy smile as she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “And Karen does have nurturing instincts. They’re just um, buried a bit.”

“Hey,” Karen said defensively. “I’m sure when I get a kid of my own, my nurturing instincts will be fine. It’s just that other people’s kids... well, they kind of annoy me.”

“Rosenberg’s coming,” Dave warned, trying not to move his lips much. They all three sat up a bit straighter.

Rosenberg paused in the opening of their cubicles only long enough to deliver his message. “Team meeting in the conference room in ten minutes,” he said before moving on to the next set of desks. His tone of voice had a seriousness to it that was somehow stronger than the stern tone his voice normally carried.

Dave cleared his throat. “I guess that means I better get back to work.”

Karen took the opportunity to tell Judy about the great restaurant she and Peter went to the night before. “The food was so good, but Peter didn’t eat his food hardly at all. So, I started thinking back to other restaurants we’ve gone to, and I’m not sure he ever eats very much when we go out. Do you think that maybe he doesn’t like Chinese food?”

“Yep. I really think he doesn’t. At least that’s the impression I got when I’ve joined you two.”

“Then why would he want to go with me for Chinese so much?”

“Karen, I think Peter would do pretty much anything to go out with you. You’ve got to know that he has been vying for boyfriend status for quite some time.”

“I guess,” Karen said thoughtfully. ‘That’s pretty sweet of him, actually. If I could handle going more than a day or two without Chinese food, I might even be willing to go somewhere else with him.”

“Yeah, but we both know that’s never going to happen.”

“I’m hopeless, aren’t I? Sometimes I think that maybe I can do without Chinese food. Then I think about the smell of oil on a wok that fills the streets of Chinatown, or about the ornate buildings and the dragons statues everywhere, and about the Chinese people working at all the restaurants, and I suddenly think that I can’t even make it through the night without some kind of Chinese food. Oh! Speaking of Chinese people, I forgot to tell you about the cutest little old Chinaman we saw last night. He came right over to our table, and then said something about them all coming true.”

Judy gasped. “All what coming true?”

“I have no idea.”

“What did you do?”

“Well, we mostly just sat there in stunned silence while the little man shuffled back to the kitchens. It’s not like he explained himself.”

Judy lived for the excitement of an unsolved mystery. When people wondered who made the break room smell like fish and cooked cauliflower, they asked Judy. When someone found a crumpled page of scribbled notes in the conference room wastebasket after a manager meeting, they took it to Judy. She was tenacious, and usually sooner rather than later, they got their answer.

“What do you think he meant?” Judy’s voice was alive with excitement.

“Maybe it meant that he’s crazy.” She glanced down at her watch. “We better get to the meeting.”

**

They sat in the conference room, listening as their boss explained that they lost the Monarda contract– the marketing contract that more than half their team had been working on. The company had another large contract lined up, but it wouldn’t be starting for another four months. He had been in meetings with upper management and several other middle managers for the past few days, trying to find a way to keep from having to lay-off half of his team.

“You are all important to this company,” he said, trying to console his team, “but we can’t afford to have half of you sitting for four months. The managers from all departments have met, and we have come up with a solution. We are going to lend several of you to other departments that are currently in need of bodies on an interim basis.”

He looked down at the papers in front of him, then nodded at a man seated across the table. “Jones, you’ll be working in accounting for a bit. Richards, you will be spending some time down on the fourth floor in advertising. Wheeler, we are going to put you with the database guys, and Edwards,” he said, nodding toward Karen, “starting tomorrow, you will be reporting to the second floor, to work in the employee daycare.”

“What?” she exclaimed.

All eyes turned toward her.

“You are putting me in the daycare?” Karen’s voice was incredulous. She couldn’t think of a department in her company that she would be more uncomfortable in. A glance at the faces of her co-workers told her that they were just as unsure of her ability to take care of kids as she was herself. “Me?” The word came out as a defeated squeak.

**

Karen slumped into the chair at her desk, her mind completely immersed in the unfairness of the situation. She was glad Judy shared a cubicle with her; she needed someone to vent to. “I didn’t go to school for six years to work in the daycare.”

“I know. This is really unfortunate; I’m sorry,” Judy consoled. “But it will all be fine. You’ll do great! And the four months will be over before you know it.”

Karen knew that Judy’s words should be consoling, but she could hear the dubious undertone of Judy’s voice and guessed that it really wouldn’t be fine.

“What if my mom found out that I’m working in the daycare?” Karen’s voice was panicked. “If she found out, she’d probably say that I’m squandering the education she so graciously paid for. And she’d probably use words like disappointed and hopeless and maybe even disowned.”

“So, just think about your dad instead,” Judy suggested. “You know he’s got to be thinking that your brother is too high-strung to ever handle having kids. You’re his only real chance to get a grandchild. He’d probably be happy to know you were spending time with kids.”

“Maybe. But it’s not like I know what to do around kids! And I don’t even like kids. Why didn’t they send me to advertising? They could have sent Richards to the daycare– he has a kid.”

“Wow. It’s the curse.” Judy’s voice was a whisper.

“I never really considered being a woman a curse before they decided that it somehow qualifies me to work in the daycare!”

Judy pushed off her desk, rolling in her chair over to Karen’s desk. She pointed at the fortune from the previous night hanging on Karen’s bulletin board. “No. The curse of the Chinaman. He told you they’d all come true.”

Karen’s hand flew to her mouth as she gasped.

“No, no,” Judy mused, “not curse. I mean, how many times have you wished your fortune would come true? Maybe we should call it the Gift of the Chinaman.”

Karen looked to the fortunes and started breathing again. “Yeah, a gift. Like this one. A thrilling time is in your immediate future. Or Happy news is on its way to you. Oo! Oo! Fame, riches and romance are yours for the asking. I wouldn’t mind one of those coming true.”

“So, are you up for some Chinese tonight?”

A smile spread on Karen’s face. “After a day like today, I’m really going to be needing Chinese food.” She wasn't sure she believed that she had been given a gift– or a curse, really. But she had just been given the gift of someone willing to go out for Chinese with her.

Ancient Chinese Secret: Part 1

Ancient Chinese Secret

Tuesday

Karen thought hers was an innocent addiction. Certainly not something that would put her life in danger. Even as she sat there, taking a bite of Unagi Kabayaki, she didn’t even really believe that it was an addiction. Sure, she explained her desire to eat Chinese food almost every night as an addiction to Peter and Judy, but she hoped that they took it as a joke– like she did.

She rationalized to herself it was more of a goal than an addiction. She had decided that she was going to eat at every restaurant in Philadelphia’s Chinatown before the year’s end. The one she sat in now– Mei Hsian Lou– she’d had her eyes on for months. It was built in 1870; the first restaurant in what was now Chinatown. She and Peter had stopped here several times before, peeking into the dining area where a massive three dimensional gold dragon undulated across the ceiling and back toward the kitchens where a row of upside-down cooked ducks hung along the glass that separated the diners from the chefs. But with a wait-to-be-seated time that measured in hours instead of minutes, they usually slumped their shoulders and left for another restaurant on their checklist.

Karen savored her bite of broiled eel before swallowing. “I can’t believe how good this is! It was so worth the wait.” She noticed Peter’s plate for the first time. “Why aren’t you eating yours?”

Peter poked at the food on his plate, looking sheepish. “I think it’s just a little too Asian for me.” He studied Karen’s face, taking in her sharp features, her wavy auburn hair, and her wide eyes that were constantly filled with curiosity, and couldn’t imagine anyone looking less Chinese. “Are you sure you don’t have even a little Chinese in your blood?”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t even have an ancestor that has stepped a foot on the entire continent of Asia,” she said as she speared another bite of eel with her chopstick. Peter had been her friend since her second year of college. She sometimes could tell that he wanted to be more than friends, but she never saw him as anything more than that. Her eyes shifted focus from Peter to the end of the room behind him. “Oh, my gosh! An adorable Chinese man just came out of the kitchens! He’s not looking this way. Hurry. You have to turn around and see him.”

Peter turned in his seat to look at the man. He was so stooped with age that he barely topped four feet tall, his thin white chin beard falling almost to his waist. He shuffled along slowly, using a cane as he walked. Suddenly stopping, the old man turned and looked across the crowded restaurant straight at Peter and Karen. Peter quickly turned around while Karen dropped her eyes back to her plate, embarrassed that they had been caught staring. She stayed focused on the eel until she felt someone walk to her table, stopping beside her. Looking up, she saw the old man.

He pointed a crooked, trembling finger toward her. His voice sounded ancient and cracked. “For one week, they all come true. They all come true.”

Ancient Chinese Secret: Origin

January 21, 2008. That's the exact day I decided I wanted to be a writer. Since then, I haven't written tons, but what I think is a fairly decent amount-- about 119,000 words of finished fiction stories. If word count doesn't mean diddly squat to you, that's somewhere around 500 pages.

After that amount of writing, it still seems weird to me that this story, Ancient Chinese Secret, is the first story I have ever written that didn't contain at least one person I know! I know that I need to work on character development skills, so I decided that I better make up all the characters. And just in case you were wondering, it wasn't nearly as fun. And it's not so much my normal writing subject matter, either. (Translation: my main person didn't have any special abilities or save the world as we know it.) But, it was still dang fun to write! It was an assignment in my creative writing class-- we had to write a fiction story based on the writing prompt "When would a gift be considered a threat?"

This is a story about a girl that is addicted to Chinese food, which is all a happy and good (albeit not necessarily a very exciting) thing. That is, until her fortunes start coming true.

And yes. When you have a friend who is addicted to Chinese food (love you, Judy!), it was hard to not make her be the main character. Or to put her SOMEWHERE in the story. But, I stuck to my guns and did all made-up characters. But it didn't stop me from naming a character Judy! She wasn't based off Judy, but it still made me happy to name her that.

Anyway, I promised a few of you I would post this when I finished it. It is a short story, but still 24 pages long, so I am going to post it in parts-- one part a day.

The Princess

One day, I got a hankerin to write a fairy tale. ‘Cuz gosh– could anything be more enjoyable than that? In about the same mental breath, I decided that a fairy tale as a baby gift for Erin would be the perfect way to do it, so I went to work on a plot.

Now, I have to say, plotting is not the easiest thing. (Well, ever, for me. But especially in this case.) Thinking back to traditional fairy tales.... you’ve got Cinderella whose mom dies and what does she get as her consolation prize? An evil family. Or Snow White who almost gets killed, then has to go into witness protection with short guys. Rapunzel whose mom is so mean she locks her up in a tower until she gets so desperate for company that she resorts to letting just anyone who happens by pull her hair with their entire body weight. Sleeping Beauty, who goes comatose for so long her muscles would surely have atrophied, leaving her a crippled invalid (they forgot to mention that part in the story).

And it goes on and on.... My point is, none of those things are the type of thing you can put in a fairy tale about a little girl still cuddled unborn in her mother’s stomach, and then give to her mother. I mean, who wants to hear that their baby grows up to be kidnaped or her family destroyed? No one I know. So, the conflict in the story couldn’t be life / limb / family threatening. It had to be something that, while unpleasant to watch your child have to deal with, isn’t terrifying.

I kinda liked Erin’s story being realistic. A plot that was not only possible, but probable, just put to fairy tale language. Which, I have to say, is dang fun to do! You just can’t get that flowery with normal stuff. (And as I wrote this, I suddenly had a vision that I could be writing the most un-fairy-tale-like story ever written, and Tammy and Kellie would probably still appreciate flowery descriptive prose. Thanks for that, btw.) But, fun as fairy tale language was to write, it was so much more difficult! Word choice makes an amazingly huge difference. Just because a word, by definition, fits exactly in the spot it's needed, doesn't mean it sounds right in that particular sentence. The whole story was 4,000 words, and probably took as long to write as something four times that size.

So, about the plot-- here’s how that went down. I got help. A lot of help. Erin, you so conveniently wrote a post on your blog (if memory serves, it was titled "The Ocho") listing your eight favorite qualities of Mark. He so conveniently followed that up with a list of his favorite qualities in you. I just took those lists, paired them up with a quality from each of you, and let that drive the plot. I could have come up with my own list of Erin qualities I love plenty easily enough, but something just isn’t quite right about coming up with qualities I appreciate about a guy when that guy isn’t closely related to me. So, thanks for doing it for me, Erin.

The wicked witchling just happened to fit so well as the antagonist. It was a conflict that could use all of the qualities Ruby will probably inherit from her parents to solve, and it didn’t tread on the risking life / limb / family thing. And it’s more than easy to imagine that the female offspring of Mark and Erin would be beautiful, smart, hard working, focused, patient, thoughtful, helpful, fun, have a love of exercise, betters herself, shows faith in others, and is a good leader.

Well, there you have it. The origins of The Princess. Erin, I hope you liked it well enough to someday read it to your daughter when she gets the urge to dance around in her nightgown while wearing a princess crown.

Chapter 12 1/2: By Request

And it really should have been there all along.

A few months ago when I was occasionally thinking about where I wanted Pivotal 2 to go when I finally got around to writing it, I did want more Angel, and him mentioning something redemptiony. But I only made a mental note of it, and then I misplaced the note! As it came right down to it and I was running out of time, I guess I just focused on what needed to be there for the plot, and didn't pay so much attention to... what would you call that? Character development? Anyway, lesson learned. Thanks for helping me to find what was lost, Kellie! It was fun. You fighting with him... I hope it was a thing of beauty in your mind, 'cuz it was in mine!

Oh, and the day I wrote your part, Kellie, I made Zucchini Garden Chowder! Mmmmm. I happen to be the only one in my family that likes it, so I got to eat it for lunch every day for like a week. Makes my tummy happy just thinking about it. The only thing that would have been better would have been to have foccacia bread on the side. And maybe orange rolls for dessert. So, an extra thanks for some great recipes!

And, the Spike being poetical part. That was just too good of an idea to let pass by, Tammy! Of course he would write a poem about Hope! I wish I would have thought of that. It was a lot harder than I thought it would be to make a poem sound like it had been written by a British vampire with attitude and a tender heart masquerading as a tough guy. Really hard. So, in the end I just gave up and went with what I had. I guess you'll just have to try harder to hear Spike's voice on that part. :-)

Anyway, thanks again for being such good sports about letting me write you. You guys are a blast to write! So sad I probably won't be able to do anything like this for a while.