House Rules

Posted on January 6, 2012 by Betsy

We all have house rules, although we may not think of them that way. House rules are the ways we do things at OUR house. Our house means our rules. We don’t care how you do things at your house. If you are visiting our house, you need to play by our rules. After all, we abide by your rules when we visit your house. This is an implied social contract between adults.

This should work between all responsible adults, if it weren’t for one thing–the parent-child relationship. When mama comes to visit, she wants to use HER house rules in our house, because she is the parent. And when sonny visits mama, he wants to use HIS rules in her house to show he is grown up now.

It’s not like the competing house rules are major differences, they are mainly irritations. Are potholders left out on the counter so they can be grabbed quickly, or stashed in drawers so that the counters are bare and neat? Are dirty glasses left on the counter next to the sink where they look messy, or set down in the sink where they will get knocked over and broken? Are towels washed after every use, or kept out because you just had a shower and you were drying a clean body? Do you put floor pillows next to bookcases so you can sit to look through the bottom shelf, or do you think only people who can’t afford chairs would put pillows on the floor?

We don’t have conflicts over rules like these when we are visiting friends, even if they are from a different generation. It’s only when it’s a parent or child that it becomes a problem. Can we get past the family baggage and treat each other like adults? To be successful, both sides would have to agree. This is not something that can be fixed by only one party changing their behavior.

Posted in Philosophy of Life, Self-help | Leave a comment

The Best Present Ever

Posted on December 30, 2011 by Betsy

This memoir took second place in the Aspiring Writiers December Competition.

Once upon a time, toys were few, and mostly handmade. Imagination was what made them fun. In “Little House in the Big Woods”, set in the 1800s, Laura Ingalls has a doll that is just a corncob wrapped in a handkerchief. She is envious of her sister Mary’s homemade rag doll. For lower income families, that type of toy persisted into the 1950′s.  Surveying ladies in their fifties to seventies, I heard a lot of stories about homemade dolls. Often the dolls were made from perishable, seasonal materials.

A twig with properly spaced branches became a doll with arms, to be dressed in leaves or flowers. Hollyhocks or daylilies made lovely skirts for these dolls. Some girls used old style clothespins instead of twigs as the base for their dolls. A handkerchief could be wrapped over a marble or cotton ball and a rubber band or wrapping of thread used to create a neck. Then the corners were knotted to make the hands and feet of a simple doll. Old socks were also made into dolls, like the infamous sock monkey.

In girls scouts, I learned how to make tiny dolls out of pipe cleaners. They were formed like a stick figure, then the head finished by filling the loop with a cotton ball covered by a scrap of hosiery. Embroidery thread was used for the dolls’ hair. I built houses for them out of shoe boxes. Empty spools were turned into chairs, matchboxes were stacked to be chests of drawers. I learned to cut and fold pieces of pasteboard to make other furniture.

When my chore was washing dishes, I used to pretend the flatware pieces were characters in a fairy tale. The spoons were females, the knives and forks were males. The tablespoons were the queen and married ladies of the court, the teaspoons were the princesses. The potato peeler was the hostage princess from another country, with the long and narrow face. I’d make up stories about which ones were friends and which were fighting, and place them in different slots of the dish drainer based on the story of the night.

If I had access to paper, then I made paper dolls. I was given a cardboard Barbie cutout for a birthday present. That launched a flurry of fashion design. My friends and I would trace the cardboard cutout to draw complete wardrobes, that we colored with crayons. We never bothered to cut out the clothing to put on the doll, we just had pages that represented the closet of the doll. We’d make sets of outfits, complete with accessories for imaginary trips.

When we didn’t have any blank paper, I’d page through the Sears catalog and make up stories about the models. Each page became a new chapter in their adventures.

Today, my brothers and I all agree that the best present ever was a big roll of paper Daddy brought home. The three foot wide roll was carbon-backed, with a second layer of plain paper. We did lots of tracings of comic book characters, reordering the images to make new stories. My brothers would cut out their tracings and have battles using the paper characters.

Only imagination could turn a simple roll of carbon paper into the best present ever.

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Curiosity Kills

Posted on December 30, 2011 by Betsy

This is the winning entry from the November Aspiring Writers Competition. The constraints were, genre:Murder Mystery, theme: Thanksgiving, focus: Body in a Closet, limit: 715 words. The year’s winners will be published in an anthology by Lebrary.

When I found out that my husband Steve was to interview billionaire Paul Bannister AND that we were invited for Thanksgiving dinner, I was in heaven! Sylvia Bannister’s wardrobe was legendary, and now I could sneak an up close peek at it.  Steve always warned me that my habit of “closet snooping” would get me in trouble some day. This was the day. When I opened the double closet doors, I saw . . . Sylvia. Her dress was lovely, a daring print that set off her blond hair, but it didn’t do a thing for the darkening blue bruises around her neck.

Steve was covering the series of murders attributed to the “society strangler”.  The police were baffled. The killings always took place at private events. None of the servants or catering staff were present at all the events. And although there was considerable overlap in the guest lists, all the guests had alibis for at least one of the murders. The surviving spouses, normally prime suspects,  had rock solid alibis.  Steve’s editor wanted a piece on how the elite kept their spirits up in the holiday season, knowing that they, or rather their wives (for the strangling victims were all female) were being stalked by a killer. Not that the men were safe, for in a few cases male guests had been stabbed. Police suspected those victims had interrupted  the killer.

“Ah, here she is,” Steve said as I tried to sidle back into the room unnoticed, ” so, did you sneak into Sylvia’s closet, or finally ASK for a tour?” He laughed. I flushed with embarrassment as everyone turned to stare at me. Great, he was going to get me killed with his big mouth.

“Uh, no, I , uh, couldn’t find her,” I stammered, “I got all turned around and gave up. Is she here?” I looked around the scattered crowd of guests as if I expected to see her. The men were all drinking and laughing. The few women looked grim. None of the guests looked like they were hiding a secret yen to strangle women. Although, taking another look, I realized that the group of men included the husbands of all the women who had been killed.  And if I was not mistaken, the widows of the stabbed men were also all present. What a creepy gathering.

I pulled Steve aside. “Sylvia is dead,” I whispered, “I found her in the closet, strangled — what should we do?”

“Just keep quiet,” he whispered back, “I’ll handle it.” I felt as grim as the other women looked. I was relieved when our host announced dinner was ready.  The guests slowly filed into the dining room, finding seats designated by engraved place cards. To my dismay, I was between two of the widowers, with Steve at the other end of the long table.

There was one empty seat — Sylvia’s. As the guests began to murmur, Steve stood up. “Ladies and gentlemen, our late hostess will not be joining us. My wife went snooping in Sylvia’s closet and found her body. Sylvia has been strangled, and her murderer must be one of the people at this table.” The murmuring stopped as  Steve walked slowly around the table, to rest his hands on the shoulders of our host. “Paul here has an alibi,” he said, “he was in plain sight of the entire group all evening.”  He walked on to stand opposite me. “In fact, the only ones who left the group — besides Sylvia, that is — were my nosy wife, and Charles.” He pointed to the man seated on my right.

I scrambled to get up, and away from Charles, who I assumed was Sylvia’s murderer. But the man seated on my left grabbed me by the arms. Paul had also gotten to his feet and was donning surgical gloves. “We’d all like to thank Steve for organizing our little collaboration. It took detailed planning to be sure that we all had alibis when our spouses were killed. After all, what reason would Charles here, have to kill my wife Sylvia, if not as payback for Steve killing his wife? And now for Steve’s reward.”

 I could hear the guests applauding softly as Paul closed his hands around my throat.

 

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Are Stories Metal or Wood?

Posted on December 17, 2011 by Betsy

Jeffrey Forker posed this question on LinkedIn, after hearing two friends argue about the mechanics of writing. Apparently one referred to “tightening down the screws” on a story, and the other retorted “bolts”. That really got me thinking about how I write and edit, and whether my own stories are metal or wood.

The Case for Wood: Some stories grow organically. They spring into your mind fully formed and you just have to write fast enough to capture them. Others just sprout and you have to nurture their growth and see where they go. Then there are the stories that come from seasoned timbers. You spot the thread of the story in the grain and carefully follow it. You may chisel out a rough shape at first, but the longer you work on the wood, the more detailed you get. You carve out subplots and lovingly sand and oil them. These stories start long and broad and get whittled down to their essence. You go back to them time and again, adding another incised flourish, or smoothing a rough spot. You revel in how they warm with age, developing that soft glow that says they will be classics.

The Case for Metal: Sometimes you try to create a story by pouring the words into a mold that someone else has created. The hot flow chills and hardens and you can see it is not your design. So you hammer it into a different shape and weld on new pieces. You battle with the story, trying to force it into the shape you want. Plots will be straightforward, but with unexpected angles and occasional sharp points. Whatever you do, it will be strong. How it ages depends on whether you preserve it, like a fly in amber — as a curiosity to be viewed in detachment from the world — or let it rust naturally and enjoy the new designs that flaws create in the patina.

For me, the division of stories into wood or metal has much more to do with the writing than with the reading. It is the author who determines the type. Ironically, one of my most “metal” stories has a plot that centers around woodworking. Another story that is science fiction and has nothing but metal, glass, and plastic in its setting, is very much “wood” in my estimation.

I have places for both metal and wood stories in my writings, what about you? 

Posted in Nuts and Bolts | Leave a comment

Let’s Celebrate Creativity

Posted on December 3, 2011 by Betsy

This is a good time of year to celebrate creativity. First came Halloween, where people strive to be creative in their costumes, yard decorations, and treats. My favorites are the “scavenger hunt” costumes, where people decide at the last minute to create a costume from whatever is available around their home or office. Those costumes save money and are usually quite clever.

The flurry of assuming disguises and alter egos is a worthy lead in to November, which is National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). It is a challenge to write 50,000 words in 30 days. There are write-ins and word wars and odd challenges to include in your novel. All those minds, worldwide, creating at once — you have to feel the energy! Then Thanksgiving, where a lot of creativity goes into making that one ultimate meal.

Which brings us to December, a month dedicated to celebrating creation and birth. But there are also lots of secular opportunities for creativity in December. From decorating the yard, to decorating the house, people make creative choices. Even cookies are decorated in December. And many people are right now racking their brains to come up with creative ideas for gifts.

These tough economic times are the perfect opportunity to go retro and come up with handmade gifts — gifts from the heart. Consider donations to charity in the name of your family members.  Record bedtime stories to be played to nieces and nephews. Use simple sewing techniques to make a festive apron or potholder. Gather pinecones and melt candle wax over them to make fire starters. Give children thick pads of drawing paper and the BIG box of crayons. Make mood-setting mix tapes (CD’s or files for iPods) for: relaxation, energizing, party time, exercise, and romance. Collect favorite family recipes and record them on neat new cards to send to the college students and newlyweds. There are hundreds of other things you can do to show your love without spending a lot of money.

Go forth and be creative!

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Strange Weather

Posted on October 30, 2011 by Betsy

This has been an unusual year for weather (I include natural phenomena under the “weather” umbrella). We’ve had an earthquake and a hurricane in the same week. We’ve had the appearance of a rare red display of the Aurora Borealis far below the Mason-Dixon line. Now we have snow in October, with the leaves still on the trees.

My yard has red and yellow maples coated with snow, next to a still green leafed cherry tree, which is BLOOMING.  Earlier in the week, we were still in the 70′s and I was wearing sleeveless tops to work. Now the sun is shining and the snow is now melting as well as sublimating, and I still have bulbs to plant for spring. 

So, what does all this mean? My MIL thinks these are all signs we are in “end times”, and she hasn’t even seen all the stories about the Mayan Calendar. But why does it have to mean anything? Times change, and weather changes also. Our world is changing — warming, shivering, stretching. Our oceans are changing, and many of those changes are due to bad decisions we humans have made. 

There is that island of plastic that has gathered in the Pacific from trash carelessly discarded. Of course, it’s really not fair to call it an island. Sitting on a boat in the midst of it, you might not even notice the material. But there is a bigger, denser, true island of debris washed to sea by the tsunamis in Japan. Yes, the debris is man-made, but it being in the ocean is due to Nature. Will the two masses merge? Or will the debris island wash up on California shores in years to come?

Whatever happens, we will weather the changes. That’s what we do as humans, that is our strength. We adapt. But that shouldn’t mean that we just accept the changes. We’ve shown that we can alter our world; why don’t we try making it better. It’s almost Halloween. How about for Trick or Treat, we Treat the Earth — do just one thing to make it better. Recycle our plastic, pick up litter, plant some bulbs. Would that be so strange?

Posted in Philosophy of Life | 1 Comment

Tips for Newbies: Making Your Characters Believable

Posted on October 10, 2011 by Betsy

What do you do to make your characters three-dimensional, so they seem real to the reader?  One key is to think about the characters’ lives BEFORE they enter your plotline.  Sure,  every author comes up with names and physical descriptions, but you need to go beyond that.

What do your characters do for a living? Think how your plot might affect their job, their normal schedule. Are they night owls or early risers? Think about how they spend their leisure time — whether they have hobbies, or belong to any clubs or civic organizations. Think about their health, and whether they have an exercise program or sports activities. Do they take any medications? vitamins? Think about where they shop, what sorts of foods they like to eat, whether they cook for themselves or not, what pet peeves they have, whether they take a daily newspaper. Filling in a lot of little details about their lives helps make the characters real for YOU, so you can make them real for your reader.

Think about your characters’ personal style, in clothing, in decorating their living space, or their work space, if applicable. Are they neat freaks or clutter bugs? Do they have pets? houseplants? Do they recycle?  Give them a vehicle that helps reflect their personality traits.  Think about how they use technology, whether they are Mac people or PC people or total Luddites.     

If your characters enjoy listening to music, describe what type of music. Think about whether they pick vinyl, CDs, or ipods, or just go with whatever is on the radio. Is there a type of music they don’t like? Think about how they’d react to telemarketing calls, and whether they are good tippers. What are their favorite TV shows — sitcoms, documentaries, cooking shows? Do they read? If so, who are their favorite authors? Think about giving your villain a soft spot, and giving your hero an annoying trait. Don’t make your characters perfect, make them REAL.

if this has helped you, show your support

Posted in Nuts and Bolts | 1 Comment

Colin’s Crossing

Posted on September 30, 2011 by Betsy

This piece won 2nd place in the September Flash Fiction contest in LinkedIn’s Aspiring Writers group, with the paramenters: Historical Fiction, theme: Coming to America, Focus: Uncle Ed’s Store, word limit: 715.

Colin huddled into the smallest ball possible and snuffled back tears as he watched the sailors dump his cousin Brian overboard. Colin didn’t risk a peek over the railing; he didn’t want to see if sharks were still following the ship. A coffin ship, Uncle called it.

The first omen came one week out of Liverpool, when passengers did not get the promised weekly seven pounds  of food. Next the daily water ration was cut from three quarts to one. Uncle Eamonn had pulled out his strange haversack, which was a wooden cabinet with doors and drawers and bunches of sacks hooked to the sides.  He said that Eamonn was his Irish name, but in America he would be called Edward, Ed for short. The haversack, he dubbed “Uncle Ed’s store”.  Opening a small drawer, he pulled out smooth pebbles for the two boys to hold in their mouths against thirst. “I soaked these fine pebbles in the clearest, purest river in all Ireland,” he declared, “feel the coolness and let it soak into your mouths.” Somehow that  did make them less thirsty, between the pints that were doled out four times a day.

Hordes of Irish were emigrating, fleeing the Great Hunger. Colin remembered the bridge of tears where he bid farewell to his mum.  Gram had gone into one of her spells and had grabbed Colin’s arm and crooned:

“From Kerry ye come, but Cork ye must be
to voyage with Eamonn across the blue sea
in gets ye out, and out gets ye in
if ye but stay down for a full count of ten”

Colin did come from County Kerry, but the rest made no sense to him. Uncle shook his head, warning Colin not to question the prophecy, so Colin put it out of his mind.

Colin’s own sister Eilis had emigrated first, her passage paid by an indentured contract as a domestic. She had saved up to send Colin’s fare.  But crossing conditions had worsened in spite of the 1842 Passenger Act. Colin shared his berth (a wooden box six feet long and a scant eighteen inches wide) with Uncle and Brian, each taking eight hours to rest. At least they had an upper berth, so they didn’t have to suffer noxious drippings from above.

Uncle Ed had encouraged the boys to sneak up on deck as much as possible, for the fresh air. Whenever allowed, he sluiced them down with buckets of cold seawater, especially after other passengers started dying of the fever. When the boys were groaning from hunger, Ed dug in the “store” and found  stringy pieces of leather that he bade them chew. He must have earlier soaked the leather in some kind of broth, because a pleasant flavor was released, and chewing it calmed their stomachs.

But there was nothing in Uncle Ed’s store to help when Brian got the fever.  Colin was ordered away, and found a hidden spot on deck where he huddled and cried.  He was still hidden when the cook and carpenter came up to get some fresh air.

“We’re sure to be quarantined,” the cook said, “just like the last run.”

“Aye,” agreed the carpenter, ” we’ll probably get loose after a few days, but those poor buggers below decks will be penned up for weeks.”

“Good thing we’re paid in advance, not on delivery!” the cook said, “won’t many of this bunch make it, especially the women and  children.”

Colin waited till they were gone, then scurried to tell Uncle.  The grim look on Ed’s face almost scared Colin. “Can ye swim boy?” he asked.

“Aye,” Colin answered, “like a right cork.”

“A cork?” his uncle began, “now I understand your Gram’s warning.  Listen carefully.” Uncle described a bold plan and swore Colin to obey it exactly.

When they neared port, Colin was crouched in hiding, watching for the closest point of land. Ed shouted “In gets ye out”, and Colin dove over the side, swimming underwater “for a full count of ten” .

Finally dry,  after hiding two days and nights, Colin snuck  to the docks. Food was everywhere,  more than he’d ever seen. Someone tossed him an apple, “Eat, boy!”  He looked up to see Eamonn, Uncle Ed,  smiling, “Out gets ye in! Welcome to America!”

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What Would You Do?

Posted on September 20, 2011 by Betsy

When you see a tragic story on the news,  do you wonder why someone didn’t do something to prevent or stop it? Maybe you tell yourself that you would do better in the same situation, but would you? If you want to be sure that you would, you need to think about similar scenarios in advance and decide what action you should and would take, so that you are prepared to do so.

Years ago, one August I saw a baby locked in a Mercedes in a store parking lot (this was back before there were so many incidents in the news about babies dying in hot cars). I didn’t have a cell phone at that time. There were no phone booths in sight, and not another person in the parking lot, so I went inside the store, looking for a phone. I couldn’t see any clerks, other than one cashier, who was surrounded three-deep by crowds of customers. I was too timid to shout for help, and was trying to work my way through the crowd when a young woman said, “I’d better go check on my kid, there’s no sound on the baby monitor. But, hey, we spent all morning at the pool, so he’s probably just sleeping.” Just like that she was gone. I’ve always felt I should have done more, been less timid, maybe written down the license plate number. There was nothing in the news about a child dying, so I guess the baby survived his mom’s shopping trip, but I’ve always wondered if that baby grew up safely. I wouldn’t be so hesitant or timid now.

Suppose you see a baby locked in a parked car on a hot day; what would you do? First choice is to call 911 — do you have a cell phone? The advice might be to immediately break a window (one farthest away from the child). Would you be comfortable doing that? What would you even use to do that–would you have to go dig in your trunk for a tire iron? Suppose you don’t have a cell phone, or have no signal. Do you go into a store and ask to use the phone, or skip straight to breaking a window? You might yell out to passersby to help, maybe ask one of them to make the call. The key point is that you think about the options in advance, think what steps you should take, plan ahead so you don’t delay your response because you are deciding what actions are justified. Would it make a difference if it were a dog or cat instead of a baby?

These are issues of responsibility and ethics. There is no one right answer and each real life situation will be different. Think about what action feels right to you, and whether you would be comfortable taking that action. Be ready to act. Be prepared.

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Stalking the Fugitive Sock

Posted on September 5, 2011 by Betsy

I’m sure you’ve had this experience, too–you’re folding and sorting the laundry, fresh from the dryer, and you come up short a sock. If you’re one of those people who just buys all white or all black socks, all the same, it’s no big deal. You just stick the odd one on top of the dryer until another one goes missing, and then you’re back to even numbers. 

But what if you are like me and are into “kinky socks”–brightly colored, distinctive, even “two-of-a-kind” socks? You can’t pair just anything with that lonely hot pink sock with the heart-shaped polka dots, that came out of the dryer minus its mate.

So the search begins. First you check the laundry basket to see if it clung to the sides. Then you go back to the bedroom to see if it overshot the basket and landed in the closet (or even in a shoe). Then you retrace the path to the laundry to see if it dropped out along the way.

As you get more experienced in sock safaris, you learn to check inside the legs of pants and the sleeves of sweaters. Socks just love to hide inside other clothing. Especially wily are those daredevil socks that cling to the outside of your clothing, showing up only after you are at work, on the back of your skirt or blouse.

But some just seem to vanish into thin air. You KNOW you put both socks in the washer, and then into the dryer, but they are NOT there when you take everything out. You say “the dryer ate it” or consider one comedian’s theory of a black hole generator inside your dryer.

Well, listen to this–I solved the mystery and FOUND my missing socks. Turns out the dryer DID eat them. A while back, my dryer stopped working (the drive belt broke) and I had to get it repaired. When they pulled the drum, out tumbled my missing socks! They were a bit chewed up from making the tortured passage through the narrow crack between the rotating drum and the casing, but they were all there–even the hot pink number with the heart-shaped polka dots!

Posted in Strange but True | 2 Comments