Green Witch, written by Alice Hoffman and edited by David Levithan, came out in 2010. I just discovered this slender volume that breaks many rules.

Green is a young woman when tragedy changes her world. The Horde causes terrible destruction and the loss of many lives, including all of Green's family. The boy Green loves has disappeared. She sets forth to visit each of a group of women who have been labeled witches because of their mysterious powers. Convinced that the world needs to preserve stories, she makes paper specially for each story, straps her typewriter on her back and sets off to visit the witches.She visits the Stone Witch, the Sky Witch, the Rose Witch, and the River Witch, hoping that one of them can grant her heart's true desire.

The book is told in the first person voice of Green. The voice is at once distant and intimate. It uses telling much more than it uses showing. There is little dialogue. Often, Green tells the reader what someone said without quoting it. "She confided that on the burning day, she'd stood unprotected in the firestorm and let the cinders rain down on her."

The blend of the matter of fact telling, the poetic language, and the haunting voice make this a book to be treasured.

Only a true artist and a fantastic editor could have pulled this off.  And in Green Witch, Hoffman and Levithan have created a gem.

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I write a lot in my day job. I'm an attorney. Everyone has different talents and skills. Some can stand before a jury and tell a story better than anyone. Some can ask all the right questions, in the right way, at the right time. While I wouldn't be willing to say that writing is my only skill, I am willing to say that my writing is one of my strongest skills.

My fiction writing and my legal writing have informed one another.

My legal writing has benefited from the knowledge I have gained about structure and grammar from attending conferences and reading books on writing. My education in the 1960's and 1970's did not focus much on grammar. Fortunately for me, I read constantly. I learned the sound and rhythms of good writing by reading good writing. However, there is an advantage to understanding why a sentence sounds right. When something "feels" wrong, I can think about why and that may lead me to a solution. Also, legal writing is all about persuasion. The best way to persuade is to tell a story. Learning the mechanics and techniques of telling a story makes my legal writing better.

My fiction writing has benefited from my legal writing, too. I recently received a critique from an agent which noted that my writing was clear and easy to follow. The agent said that this may not sound like much of a compliment, but that it is, because a lot of what she sees is difficult to follow. In legal writing, my philosophy has always been that my job is to make it easy for the judge to rule for my client. That means the writing has to be clear and straightforward. I see legal writing from time to time that seems more interested in making the writer look smart than in making the writing easy to understand. A novice reading both types of writing might be more impressed with the "smart" writing. Judges have told me that they appreciate the clear writing. I'm convinced that there are times when the clear writing is successful when clever or "smart" writing would not have succeeded. This has benefited my fiction writing because I don't want to confuse my readers, unless it is needed for the story. In a mystery, misdirection may be needed, but the misdirection should always be intentional, not accidental.

I'm grateful l that my fiction writing and my legal writing have improved. My job is to continue that improvement.

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Three days of inspiration, helpful information, and great camaraderie.  Late night talks. Nerves before my turn to pitch to the agent. Emotional reaction when we ended the last conference to be arranged and managed by Anna Myers, who has been our Regional Advisor for fourteen years.  More emotional reaction when Helen Newton presented Anna with a quilt with the covers of all twenty of Anna's books, including Tumbleweed Baby, which comes out this month.

Three days to decompress, in those nooks and crevices of time available in busy work days.

On Friday, we had choices.  I attended The Real Difference Between First and Third Perosn, presented by Anna Myers, Proportion Control - What's Too Little / Too Much?, presented by Pati Hailey, Kidlit Romance and Friendship: Keeping it Real, presented by Sonia Gensler, and Building Memorable Worlds, by Pati Hailey, and Conquering Procrastination & Self-Sabotage, presented by Romney Nesbitt.

That evening, we heard from Minju Chang of Bookstop Literary and Tracey Daniels of Media Masters.  Brett Duquette of Sterling was delayed due to that pesky fire at O'Hare Airport.

My pitch slot was the last one on Friday evening.  Minju was so gracious and easy to talk to and I'm thrilled that I got to get some good input on my project.  (Notice how coyly I avoided telling you what project and what input).

Brett Duquette spoke for three hours on voice on Saturday.  I'm not permitted to give you too much information about his presentation.  But that's okay - because there is too much wonderful information to put in a blog post.  Here is one word to think aobut -- consistency.

Tracey Daniels gave us tons of information about what a publicist does.  We had an activity in which she split us into groups and gave us an assignment to come up with a campaign for a book.  The ideas flew and we had a great time and learned a lot about what we can do even without hiring a publicist.  I have two words to think about -- big mouth.

Saturday night, there was an organized critique session.  The people in my group were thoughtful and helpful to one another.

I made new friends, I learned, I got great feedback, and I was inspired.

And that pretty much makes for a perfect retreat.  I can't wait for the next one.

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Jay Asher is starting his 50 States Against Bullying Tour.

Bullying causes harm.  Sometimes, the harm is direct. We can see it when a teen commits suicide and we can track the cause back to bullying.

Sometimes, the harm is not so easy to detect. When I moved to another state and town just before the sixth grade, I did not expect the experience to be horrible. Maybe I didn't think it would be tons of fun, but I didn't expect it to be terrible.

I moved into a very small school, with less than twenty students in the entire grade.  There were four girls in the class before I showed up.  They had known each other for years. They did not welcome an outsider. If I spoke up and tried to participate in the social setting of the school, they laughed at everything I said. If I tried to be nice, I was stupid. If I didn't talk, I was stuck up or stupid. Frequently, when I spoke, laughter ensued and I didn't know what I had said that could possibly be funny, although there was often an implication that I had inadvertantly said something "dirty." When a girl offered me her mother's homemade tomato juice, I drank it, because I thought it would be rude to refuse. Straight tabasco sauce does not go down easily.  When I said that the frosted cake offered to me tasted good, it was hilarious.  Only an idiot would say that white bread with frosting was good cake. Oh, or someone who was told it was cake and was trying to be polite.

I was given a slot on the basketball team.  Note, I didn't say that I was offered a slot on the basketball team, that I knew how to play basketball, or that I wanted to play basketball.  I wasn't any good. I knew that, and just in case I forgot, reminders were frequent. Even the coach joined in. I remember being told that my contribution to the team would be to sweep the other end of the gym, while the rest of the team practiced.

I didn't know how to sew.  That was a great frustration to the teacher who taught sewing. She did not teach me to sew. She separated me from the other girls and gave me a piece of cloth. My assignment was to use a pin to pick a thread and then pull it. Repeated often enough on every side, this created a frayed edge, which could generously be called fringe.  The piece of cloth thus became a scarf. I did this for the entire school year.

I spent one year at this school. At the end of the year, the alpha girl came to me and apologized. She knew that they had been cruel to me --- every day for a year -- and she now regretted this and was sorry.  She had just learned that she would be moving to a new school district the next year. I think she was terrified that she would face someone like her.

Why tell you this sad story? Because the next time someone says, "It's just the way kids are," or, "They don't realize how hurtful it is," or  "The teachers wouldn't let something like that happen," don't believe it.

Kids don't have to be that way. They know it hurts.  Teachers won't always help.

I didn't commit suicide. I grew up and have had a reasonably successful life. But that doesn't mean that the year of bullying didn't cause me harm. When I went to the next school, I didn't trust that people could like me. I assumed that if someone treated me well, or teased me to get my attention, that the person was making fun of me. I believed that no one liked or respected me.

As I've grown, I've figured out that actually a lot of people liked me. The bullying caused me to see the world through a filter that skewed all my perceptions.  It took me several years to make friends and feel that I deserved to have friends.

So, kudos to Jay Asher. I hope that his efforts are fruitful and save many from the consequences of bullying, both the direct and obvious and the perhaps less severe but long-lasting.

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I haven't written anything here for a long time, since shortly after my father died.  I've decided it's time to try to enter the world again.  I can't think of a better way of entering the world than telling you about a book that features a man deciding whether he can live in the world, or must find a place in isolation.

I finished reading Jupiter and Gligamesh, by Scott Archer Jones today. What a satisfiying book! I loved the quirkiness of the main character, Jupiter, who struggles with trying to find a way to lead a meaningful life. He has attained professional and financial success, but is suffering personally from a myriad of problems, including an inability to be in a room with more than one or two people, and his attempts to deal with a tragic accident in his past. He's writing... planning and researching to write... a book about the ancient Sumerian hero, Gilgamesh, when his character starts talking to him. REALLY talking to him. I felt I knew Jupiter, and I was pulling for him all along. A book with strong characters, a strong sense of setting, which reflects and anchors the plot and inner conflict, a strong emotional story arc and a strong exterior conflict. I highly recommend it. The book is available in soft cover and on kindle from Amazon and from the publisher, Southern Yellow Pine Publishing,http://www.syppublishing.com/

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6.     My mother is blind, so sometimes I think about how I would write for her.  Think about someone who can only see, hear, smell, taste, and feel through your words.

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Dad fought until he didn't.  Given a choice of returning to the hospital or moving to hospice status, he chose hospice.  Exhaustion etched his face.

The last thirty-six hours lasted forever, and yet moved too quickly.  Mom, my two brothers, my husband, my two sisters-in-law, my nephew, my niece and her husband, and her boy, the only great-grandchild, surrounded my father.  My daughters visited shortly before the end, but my mother did not want them to watch the final time.  We took turns sitting by his bedside, holding his hand, giving him spoons of crushed ice.  At times, he reached for one or another of us, urging us to lean toward him for a kiss.  He turned toward my mother, nestling in the crook of her arm, allowing her to hold him one last time.

Little Peyton sat on the floor, coloring harvest time pictures.  Dad harvested the love he had sewn throughout his life.

As the hours passed, some drowsed in the recliner which had been brought into the room.  My oldest brother urged me to go get some sleep.  I left at 1:30 a.m., and returned at 4:45.  Still, we waited.  It did not feel ghoulish.  We waited to honor him.  We waited to honor our mother.  We waited to honor each other.

In the afternoon, my brother held his hand.  I lay across the bed, stroking Daddy's back.  The nurse, Jackie, pulled on gloves to apply ointment to his lips.  Something about the way the gloves stuck made my brother mention a time that he and his wife had been camping and had to pull on damp jeans quickly because a bear was nearby. I laughed and said that reminded me of the time Dad camped out on his acreage and rigged up a shower.  That worked out fine, until Bob and Delores's pick up came up over the hill, causing Dad to scramble for cover.  We laughed, Scott and I still staring at Dad all the time.

I asked, "Is he breathing?"

"I don't think so," Scott replied.

His struggle was over.  Daddy was no longer in that body.  I kissed the forehead of what had been his container.  I smoothed the hair off his forehead.  The text messages started.  Glad I did not have to speak, I notified some of those closest to me, "He's gone."

Where did he go?  I hope and pray that he went to heaven, that he is with his mother, whom he loved dearly and lost too soon.  I know my mother plans to reunite with him.

I hope, wish and pray for peace for us all.

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I am so blessed to live in Oklahoma, where we have a very active chapter of the Society of Children's Book Writers and Illustrators.

At the fall conference, I was inspired by the writing journey presentations of Hannah Harrison and Gwendolyn Hooks.  Hannah has three picture books under contract, and Gwen is the author of 19 published books for children.  Her next book, Vivian Thomas, The Man Who Saved Blue Babies, tells the story of the man who devised the surgery and tools needed to repair the multiple cardiac problems suffered by babies known as "blue babies" because they don't get enough oxygen.

The best part of both of their stories was the acknowledgment and celebration of their hard work.  They are not overnight successes.  They studied, learned, worked incredibly hard and obtained success through these efforts.  They experienced rejection and didn't give up.  They made mistakes, but they learned from them.

Those who hope for quick success might be discouraged.  Those who are willing to work hard and keep after it are inspired by the realization that they too still have a shot at success -- if they invest time and effort and persistence.  I left the conference energized and encouraged.

We also heard from three fabulous agents --  Natalie Lakosil, Emily Mitchell and Danielle Smith. They reviewed query letters and gave critiques.  A major take-away was to keep it short and easy to follow.  Trying to pack too much plot into the query letter can bog it down, make it hard to follow, and cause an agent to set it aside.  Also, avoid telling the agent what wonderful lesson you are trying to teach in your book.  If it's a picture book, don't present an idea that doesn't seem to lend itself to illustration.  And, finally, don't clutter up the letter with a lot of personal information about you, the author, which is not relevant to the book or the publishing industry.

SCBWI Oklahoma has become an extended family for me.  Some are very close friends, others are more like cousins I only see once or twice a year.  I felt the compassion and friendship of many over the weekend.  It fed my soul.

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So many people write as a way of dealing with their world and their experiences.  On the first night of writing class, we hear only snippets.  Enough to know that there is much pain, some laughter, and some joy in the room.

"Something happened about four years ago that caused me to start writing poetry."

"There's a family story that needs to be told, and no one else will tell it."

"I'd like to write about all the humorous things that happened during my career as an anesthesiologist."

I'm writing a true detective story.  I investigated and found enough evidence to prove I wasn't crazy."

"I define success as writing my book and self-publishing it.  I give my books away for free.  I have some in my trunk if you want one."

In this particular class, there are not a lot of people who are writing fiction, and I am the only one so far writing for young people.  My self-introduction turned into an explanation of picture books, chapter books, middle grade and young adult. I don't think the guy who is writing essays on philosophy and poetry and who said he's not at all insecure about his writing was impressed.

I did learn in my first session.  I learned that most people who write do so because they want to feel that they matter, that they are important, that someone will care what they have to say.

There is such a deep need to be heard.  People who feel that they are not heard in their day to day lives may feel an even stronger urge to write and reach some audience.  They want that validation.

The anesthesiologist?  I bet he helped a lot of people.  What he did during his career was certainly important.  But to patients, he was the magician behind the mask who administered the potion that made it possible to get through a frightening situation unaware of all the risks, the pain, the gore. The anonymous angel of sleep.  His colleagues may have heard him.  His family may have heard him.  Those he affected most directly as a professional did not.

The woman who became a detective?  She couldn't tell her story for a long time, because she was humiliated by what she found, frightened that someone else's conduct would reflect poorly on her.

The woman who writes, self-publishes, and gives her books away clearly wants her viewpoint or story to be heard.

Writers sometimes scream into the night, wondering if anyone will hear them.  Perhaps, for some, it is enough to yell into the darkness.  For me, I still hope that my writing will find a home for publication, and that it will bring comfort, joy, understanding or laughter to some young people who need those things.

On the technical end, I figured out that my work in progress needs more complications.  I need to make things more difficult for my characters and make them work harder to reach their goal.  Oh yeah -- I'm going to make them suffer.

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As writers, we are constantly trying to find the best way to describe sensations, sensory details, and emotions.

That's why I found a recent segment on Radiolab fascinating.  Here's a link.  http://www.radiolab.org/2013/aug/29/plotting-pain-scale/

Some scientists decided to try to create an objective pain scale.  So they had women in childbirth put one hand under a heat lamp.  They were to leave their hand under the heat until the pain in their hand matched the pain of childbirth.  Some of the women were really determined.  They experienced second degree burns.

We cannot really understand the pain that someone else feels.  As writers, if we're really lucky or really good, maybe, just maybe, we can communicate some feeling of pain to our readers.  It may not be identical to the pain we actually feel, and one reader will likely not understand the pain in the same way that another reader understands it.  Each reader will bring to the work that reader's experience with pain.  The best we can possibly hope to do is to connect readers with the pain, physical or emotional, that the readers understand.

I have thought much in recent weeks about pain and distress.  As I watch my father struggle, and I think of the possibilities that face him and face our family, it occurs to me that most people face such times and such issues.  At first, I wondered if that meant that I wasn't entitled to feel great distress.  After all, everyone goes through it.  My experience isn't special.  My pain isn't special.

What I have decided is that even if we all go through such difficult times, that doesn't diminish my distress or make my distress any less authentic.  It doesn't make my pain any more important than anyone else's, but it doesn't make it any less important either.

We all live through whatever life serves up to us.  I think that I will understand others' pain more now.  And maybe I'll be able to communicate that to a reader, when the time comes.

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I loved HATTIE BIG SKY by Kirby Larson.  A story of a young woman trying to homestead on her own in Big Sky Country, fighting the elements, seeking to survive and finding some dear friends along the way.  How could I fail to be inspired by this spunky girl?

In HATTIE EVER AFTER, we follow Hattie's adventures after the year of homesteading.  When we first see her, she is working as a girl of all work in a rooming house.  A troupe of entertainers comes to stay, and when the wardrobe mistress elopes with one of the lesser actors, the troupe has need of a new wardrobe mistress.  Taking that job means that Hattie will get to San Francisco and a step closer to her dreams of working as a reporter at a big city newspaper, and finding out more about her mysterious Uncle Chester and Ruby, the woman he may have loved.

Hattie is willing to do what it takes, even if that means taking a job as a charwoman until she can get a break into writing.  She hones her investigative reporting and writing skills, while dealing with her feelings for Charlie.  As in HATTIE BIG SKY, we see much of the relationship between Charlie and Hattie through the letters they exchange.

I highly recommend this book.  The setting of early 1900s San Francisco is fascinating.  Hattie is a fully drawn character, complete with conflicting feelings and desires.  The reader is right with Hattie in her quest for a dream, an identity, and a life.  The mystery is compelling.  The romance element is handled with great finesse, and we are able to see that a young woman has many dreams and must sort out how to pursue the ones most important to her in a way that creates a good life for her.

Hope you enjoy this as much as I did.

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He's done it again.  And I'm sharing again.  I know some of you will see yourself in there somewhere.

http://praguerevue.com/ViewArticle?articleId=1359

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Eleanor is poor, chubby, red-headed.  Park is the only half Asian in a neighborhood where there are no other families with Asians.  When Eleanor boards the school bus and Park is the only one with enough grudging compassion to let her sit down by him, their lives change.

Park believes that he has a hard life.  He's small, Asian, into punk music, and annoying to his father who loves taikwondo, Park's larger and more aggressive younger brother, and Park's mother (with an embarrassing tendency to physically display that affection in front of his sons).

Eleanor's life is so unrelentingly difficult that she avoids sharing it with anyone.  Her stepfather abuses her mother, as the children huddle together.  The kids from her mom's first marriage fear stepfather Richie, but also look to him with hope for some sort of fathering.  Eleanor knows that she isn't allowed to speak to any boys, much less have a boyfriend.

As Park and Eleanor learn about one another and fall in love, the reader experiences the thrill, the anxiety, the hope in such a visceral way.  The writing is powerful.  The characters are fully rounded and complex.  The supporting characters feel real.  The conflict resonates and the stakes are high.

If you haven't read Eleanor & Park, you have missed a wonderful experience.  Remedy that now.

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I think I mentioned a couple of weeks ago that my father has been quite ill.  It has been a very difficult time, as he has become weak due to an inability to swallow.  The good news is that he got up this morning having made a decision to fight.  He made lists of what he needs to do, starting  with "gain mobility to walk, diet, strength."

Kinda makes my desire to get a book contract seem a little less like an "end of the world" issue, doesn't it?

But it also inspires me.  Set a goal. Make a plan. Take a step.  My dad's a pretty smart guy.

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A friend of mine got a rejection this week.  This rejection hurt more than most because the editor had requested the manuscript and had indicated that she was very interested in it.  And this wasn't just any editor -- it was one of those top tier, to die for editors.  I've read my friend's manuscript. It is fantastic -- beautifully written and full of emotion.  I hurt for her and I hurt for those who won't be reading her book -- yet.  I say "yet" because I believe that her book will find a publisher and will find an audience.

When something like this happens, it's easy to think that if a fantastic story like this can be rejected, anything can be.  I know all the metaphors about the querying process being like dating.  You have to be persistent enough to keep putting yourself out there until you find the person who loves you as much as you love him.  You have to keep putting your writing out there until you find the person who loves it as much as you do and who believes in you and your writing.

It has happened for a number of my friends, and it will happen for more.  But dating is hard.  Let's face it, if someone hadn't set me up with my husband, I'd never have ended up in this wonderful marriage of 20+ years.

I will encourage my friend.  I will tell her how much I believe in her and in her story.  And as I do this, I will feel encouraged myself.  My story is important too.  People should read it.  And someday, people will.

We won't stop believing.  We'll hold on to that special feeling -- hope.

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Jim Calloway, with the Oklahoma Bar Association, posted this excellent article about coping with chronic stress.  A few of the items are special to lawyers, but most apply to everyone.  It's worth reading. 

http://www.okbar.org/news/Recent/2013/ChronicStress.aspx

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My life has been a little stressful lately.  My father has been ill.   My concern about him and what I can do to help has been pretty much all-consuming.  He seems to be doing better.  We have to take it a day at a time.

When I finished a book, I thought seriously about what to read next.  I just wasn't up for anything difficult or dark or depressing.  I have found the perfect fit for what I need right now. A plain old fun book.

I am reading Ally Carter's Perfect Scoundrels, one of the series about Kat, a teen who has been raised in a family of art thieves.  Yes, they are art thieves, but more importantly, they are family.  And there's a Robin Hood vibe to the way Kat steals paintings stolen during World War II and returns them to their rightful owners.  It is a little silly, a lot fun and just what the doctor ordered.

If you're in need of a fun read, check out Perfect Scoundrels.  Or really, any of Ally Carter's books.

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I know what you're thinking.  Do we really need one more person to weigh in on this issue?  But after contemplating recent events, I do have some thoughts.

The Trayvon Martin/George Zimmerman case has scratched at wounds that have not yet healed, and has no doubt caused a large number of Americans to think about race relations and race history.  People of color feel threatened, because there is such a history of racism in our country.  We can try to deny that it is true, but there are still some of us who remember when George Wallace ran for president, and had a lot of support.

Caucasians, whites, people of no color - what are we called these days? -- feel threatened because the jury's verdict has been met with protests and in some cases, violence.  White people also feel put upon because many have tried to live a life that was not racist, yet no matter how hard an individual may try, these situations come back up and then just as some people portray all black people as a threat to whites, some activists use such strident language that it seems that they are saying that all white people are a threat to blacks.

The problem is that some black people pose a threat, and some white people pose a threat.  I recall being in an unfamiliar city, taking public transportation.  I found myself moving over to stand closer to some black professionals.  They looked like me, in their business suits or khakis and blazers or dresses, while the group of marauding white kids looked like a threat.  There have been times when I felt threatened by young black men.  There have been times when young black men seemed to intentionally seek to intimidate me.  There have been times when young white men seemed to intentionally seek to intimidate me.

We cannot universally claim that it is unreasonable to feel threatened in a particular set of circumstances.  I don't know about George Zimmerman's circumstances, and I'm not saying whether he acted reasonably or not.  That's not my role.  The jury had to hear the evidence, listen to the judge instruct them on the law and make a decision.  I respect the jurors for serving in this very difficult situation.  As a lawyer, I know that every time there is a trial, one side thinks the jury got it wrong.  That's the nature of the process.

What I can do is try to judge each person as an individual.  If I feel afraid, I must examine whether there are some clues that rightfully give rise to that emotion.  It would be foolish to go through life naively thinking that no one will do me harm.  I must take care to evaluate whether I feel threatened because of the color of someone's skin, and acknowledge that if I do, that is not a proper factor to consider.  I am a product of the society I live in, so I have to work at avoiding judgments based upon stereotypes.  But if someone is acting like a punk, white or black, I'd be well-advised to stay away.

The other thing I can do is to try to help others to evaluate the factors they consider in making a judgment.  One of the best ways to do this is by interacting with people of all backgrounds with respect.  When others see that I respect them, they tend to respect me.  And maybe my healthy respectful interaction with a person who is not like me will cause an observer to rethink his view of one or both of us, and others like us.

First impressions matter.  As a white kid, I went to a school with no black kids and one Hispanic  girl.  The only reason that I specifically remember her was that I met her father in the hallway one day when I was in third grade.  He couldn't speak English, so I took him to the little girl.  It was the only way I knew to help.  My parents had not raised me to be afraid of Hispanics, so I didn't know any better.

The first time I met any black people was at a football game.  I think I was in second or third grade.  My brother, who was four years older, was supposed to keep an eye on me.  You can guess how that turned out.  I sat in the stands at the game alone, nearly in tears.  Some black teen girls saw me.  They asked if I was there alone.  When I quietly said I was, they asked me if it would be okay if they sat with me.  They shared their popcorn, bought me a coke, and made sure I was safe.  My first impression was that black people are helpful and kind.  By their example, those young women taught me not to fear.

What kind of first impression will you make?  And who might be watching you?

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This is a pet peeve of mine.  Some people are sloppy in their (not there) writing.  It's (not its) a shame that they're (not there or their) not more careful.  Your (not you're) writing will benefit if you're (not your) paying attention to these word usages.  A piece of writing makes its (not it's) point when the reader is not distracted by errors like these.  There's (not theirs) no excuse for making these mistakes if you consider yourself a real writer.

Here's a simple checklist

It's            It is
Its             Possessive (belongs to it)
You          Pronoun
You're      You are
Your         Possessive (belongs to you)
They         Pronoun
They're     They are
Their        Possessive (belongs to them)
There       In or at that place (she is there, not here)

I know there are more of these.  Can you tell me some?

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Each of us faces a path which begins with birth and ends in death.  What we make of it in the middle is what determines who we are and what impact we have on others.

I am convinced that each person I see has a story -- a story filled with joy and pain, struggle and triumph.  When I am annoyed at the person who cuts me off in traffic, I don't think about that person's story, but there is one.  Perhaps that teenager is angry because he fought with his dad about which friends are welcome in their home.  Perhaps that man is worried that he'll be late to a job interview, and he needs that job to feed his family.  Perhaps that woman didn't even see me because she is thinking about an ill loved one.  Perhaps that man is unaware because he hasn't slept well in weeks, as anxiety about his relationship with his wife consumes him.  Or maybe that person is so excited about something good that she can't really see what is around her -- a new romance, a new job, a test result, a book contract.

Thinking about these stories makes me more tolerant of poor behavior.  There are still times when I want to shout, "Why are you being such a jerk?"  And there are people who are consistently jerks, and it's hard to be around them or deal with them, even if you know that there may be reasons for their conduct.

I'm not saying that people don't have responsibility for their actions.  Even if a person is facing a very difficult situation, that person has a choice has to how to deal with it.  He may react with anger or frustration, but he decides whether he will act in a way that seriously hurt someone else, act in a way that is frustrating or annoying, or choose some more helpful way of coping.

If we're lucky, those who love us learn that when we act out, it does not mean that we love them less.  Someone told me this week that his wife said, "You're not sleeping well, are you."  He replied, "How did you know?"  Her reply, "Because you're being really shitty to me."  Because they have a good relationship, because she is understanding and because he loves her, this gave him an opportunity to apologize, to realize that this wasn't the best way of coping, and to try another way.

Try another way.  When I took a class in college called "The Exceptional Child," we had an entire class session on how to help children with challenges in learning when they failed in an attempt.  We were told that it ws important not to say, "You did that wrong."  This could be too discouraging to the child.  It was better to say, "Try  another way."

Whenever you become aware that your method of coping may not be helping your relationships, your career, your life, try another way.

Trying another way might make that path between birth and death more meaningful, more beneficial, more worthwhile.  I don't want to reach the end of that path and think, "I didn't look for a better way."

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Each of us faces a path which begins with birth and ends in death.  What we make of it in the middle is what determines who we are and what impact we have on others.

I am convinced that each person I see has a story -- a story filled with joy and pain, struggle and triumph.  When I am annoyed at the person who cuts me off in traffic, I don't think about that person's story, but there is one.  Perhaps that teenager is angry because he fought with his dad about which friends are welcome in their home.  Perhaps that man is worried that he'll be late to a job interview, and he needs that job to feed his family.  Perhaps that woman didn't even see me because she is thinking about an ill loved one.  Perhaps that man is unaware because he hasn't slept well in weeks, as anxiety about his relationship with his wife consumes him.  Or maybe that person is so excited about something good that she can't really see what is around her -- a new romance, a new job, a test result, a book contract.

Thinking about these stories makes me more tolerant of poor behavior.  There are still times when I want to shout, "Why are you being such a jerk?"  And there are people who are consistently jerks, and it's hard to be around them or deal with them, even if you know that there may be reasons for their conduct.

I'm not saying that people don't have responsibility for their actions.  Even if a person is facing a very difficult situation, that person has a choice has to how to deal with it.  He may react with anger or frustration, but he decides whether he will act in a way that seriously hurt someone else, act in a way that is frustrating or annoying, or choose some more helpful way of coping.

If we're lucky, those who love us learn that when we act out, it does not mean that we love them less.  Someone told me this week that his wife said, "You're not sleeping well, are you."  He replied, "How did you know?"  Her reply, "Because you're being really shitty to me."  Because they have a good relationship, because she is understanding and because he loves her, this gave him an opportunity to apologize, to realize that this wasn't the best way of coping, and to try another way.

Try another way.  When I took a class in college called "The Exceptional Child," we had an entire class session on how to help children with challenges in learning when they failed in an attempt.  We were told that it ws important not to say, "You did that wrong."  This could be too discouraging to the child.  It was better to say, "Try  another way."

Whenever you become aware that your method of coping may not be helping your relationships, your career, your life, try another way.

Trying another way might make that path between birth and death more meaningful, more beneficial, more worthwhile.  I don't want to reach the end of that path and think, "I didn't look for a better way."

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We recently had a party for my friend, Gwendolyn Hooks, whose book, VIVIAN THOMAS, THE MAN WHO SAVED BLUE BABIES, has been acquired by Lee and Low Books. She wrote an important story about an important man.  Thomas invented the technology that allows the surgery that saves blue babies.  Despite his accomplishments and contribution to health, Thomas was not allowed to come in the front door, because he was African American.

At the party, Gwen thanked her BICAWs.  I didn't know the inside joke, but she explained it:  they were her partners for Butt In Chair And Writing.

I have some good BICAW partners.  I hope you do too.  Those people who expect much of us help us to do much.  I know that if family and friends had not showed me that they believed in me, I would never have improved my writing as I have.

I'm thankful to my sister-in-law, Anita, who first told me that everyone didn't make up stories like I did.  I'm thankful to my husband who drove me a hundred miles to my first writing conference, because "it's important." (I had just had surgery and couldn't drive myself).  I'm grateful to Anna Myers, who almost bullied me into coming to more writing events.  I'm grateful to my critique partners, Valerie Lawson, Barbara Lowell, Sharon Martin, Marilyn Pauling, and Helen Newton.  They have shown me by example that a writer can learn, study, improve and find success through hard work and determination.  They have pushed me by telling me that they believed that I could do better.

Thanks for being my BICAWs.  Some of us have found for success in publishing.  Success is on the horizon for the rest of us.  And what a great horizon that will be.

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I'm a lawyer.  My area of expertise is civil litigation, primarily analysis and written argument.  My daughter asked me one day how I could write all day and then want to come home and write at night.  The answer - I don't think I can help it.

I write fiction for children.  So you would think that I wouldn't get any inspiration from my day job for stories for children.  To be truthful, I see more stuff that would make fodder for mysteries or legal thrillers.  But I don't want to write those.  Wah, wah, wah.

Nonetheless, I do recognize great writing wherever I find it.  Former Court of Appeals Judge William Brightmire (of Oklahoma) had a great way with words.  It is a delight to read opinions that he wrote.  He was famous for his colorful opinions and for his openings.  Recently, I decided to read a few to see if I could learn from them.  What I learned is that he opened many opinions with the story.  Instead of producing a dry discussion of legal concepts, he set forth a story of real people with real emotions and real hurts.  As a result, the reader immediately is interested and feels for the characters.  Here are a few of my favorites:

She was loved by two mothers - a happy little girl whose ties to her natural mother were suddenly severed by the trial judge.

It was a beautiful late summer day in Leflore County, Oklahoma.  Name would not remember it, but the fact is that about the middle of the afternoon he was at the wheel of an old yellow pickup traveling along Highway 271...

Exactly 30 years after they fell in love a well-known Miami, Oklahoma attorney and his wife were divorced.

To breed or not to breed that is the question.  Did Name breach a written contract that required him to furnish the stud services of his quarter horse, Ima Jet Deck, to his brother-in-law's mares, or were those mares merely snubbed by a stubborn stud?

On a chilly day in April 1967, a milkman was driving his Gilt Edge milk truck along the highway at about 50 m.p.h. when all of a sudden its left rear dual wheels fell off...

"He did not believe in banks."  And so when the old man was hospitalized they found his life savings hidden in a box under his bed -- 53 crisp one hundred dollar bills.

Weatherford's Watergate... that is what one might characterize the circumstances occurring in the small southwestern Oklahoma communitty giving rise to this conspiracy and slander...

The parties are two women who vied for the affections of the late Name.

Nature called plaintiff's live-in collie dog at the fourth hour past midnight.

The ultimate consequence of a traditional New Year's kiss could hardly have been foreseen by 15-year old Name and her 16-year-old boyfriend Name.  But apparently the tender press kindled the throb of nature's urgings which, unrestrained, escalated to the supreme ecstacy.  Ten months later, on October 7, 1969, the teenager gave birth to a girl baby.

In order to resolve a boundary dispute, Name tore his neighbor's fence down.

She would be one hundred years old were she still living...But she isn't.

Do you see any story starters there?  For either adult or YA fiction?  I sure do.

Look for inspiration everywhere.

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It is important to read the type of book that you want to write, but it's fun to read all kinds of books.  There is nothing wrong and everything right with sliding into a book for an afternoon, and becoming lost in the author's created world.  Books and stories serve a lot of purposes - they can educate, they can cause us to think about the world and our place in the world, they can help us to work through hurts, they can help us to decide what sort of people we will be.  All of those are worthy.  All of those are valid.  But so is a book that just helps me to escape from my worries or concerns, that entertains, that brings me comfort.

I am reading a book in the "cozy mystery" genre.  In this genre, there is a murder, but it occurs in some small town that is an idyllic setting.  The main character. usually female, frequently has a business in town - bed and breakfasts, book stores, knitting supply stores, or embroidery stores seem to be popular.  Often, the main character has a pet, and the author uses the pet as a way to allow characters to show what kind of people they are.  The reader tends to trust those who get on their knees to greet the dog, and distrust anyone the animal avoids.  The main character may also talk to the animal as a way of thinking aloud and letting the reader into the detecting process.  The writer gives us detailed descriptions of what the characters are wearing (I rushed home from the shop to change into a periwinkle sweater, grey slacks and my mother's pearls.  When John arrived, he was still dressed for work in a dark blue suit, pastel shirt and striped tie) and what they eat (I picked at my shrimp scampi, puzzling over the events of the day, while John crunched through his calamari.  Then we both ate our eggplant lasagna.  By the time the tiramisu arrived, I thought I'd burst.)  The main character is involved in what I would describe as a gentle romance, sometimes with the the main character's husband, or with a monogamous boyfriend.  While sex may occur, it generally occurs off-stage.  She melts into his arms and then the next morning she thinks about how delicious the evening was (in general terms, not specific descriptions) over coffee.  The main character could be considered a busy body, except for the fact that we know that she is only trying to help people.  Toward the end of the book, she will end up in danger and get out of it, frequently with help from the romantic partner.

I enjoy these because they have no relation to my real life and they are a pure escape.  As will happen with writers, I've also learned from reading them.  What is perfectly appropriate in a cozy mystery would just jam up the story in a middle grade fiction.  If I'm trying to appeal to boys, the wardrobe discussions need to be cut way down and have some purpose, like that they changed to black because they want to do some sneaking and detecting.  If the romantic partner helps a girl get out of trouble, she'd better be playing a real active role in her own rescue.

Next time you read something outside your genre, think about what works in the genre and what wouldn't work in yours.  It might help you focus on making your story the best it can be.

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