Category Archives: Humor
The Usual Chaos
Last winter, as a blizzard approached, we planned to stay inside, all nice and cozy, and write. (See How to Write a Book During a Blizzard for details of that fiasco.) Now, as Hurricane Irene nears, we have once again resolved to spend our time writing. This time, we had plenty of warning. We have already gone shopping, the lawn furniture is safely inside, batteries have been purchased, cell phones and laptops charged. Nothing left to do but plot, edit and write. Right?
Well, first we have to check our email because we won’t be able to do that once we lose power. And we’d better take a look at our Facebook page, too. Oh, look a new friend! And a few people have liked our new book trailer. Wait! That’s not the new one. Yes, it is. No, it’s not! Hmm. Maybe you’re right. We’d better upload the new one. (Upload, upload, upload, why is it taking so long?!)
Now Twitter. A bunch of new followers. Better follow back. Some mentions. (TY, TY, TY). A retweet! (TY!). Need to tweet about the new trailer. Hey, that’s a good one! Retweet! And some hurricane info. Retweet that, too. Start scrolling. Interesting… Yada, yada, yada, Hey, that one’s cool! Hmmm, let’s click on that link… Look, some new tweets have come in! Oops! Have we really been on for an hour?
Enough! We’re supposed to be writing. But wait! We haven’t written a blog this week! Can’t we just skip one week? Just once? No! (Horrified look.) Think of something. (Silence.) Well? (More silence.) Well… Umm… (Extended silence.) Are you sure we couldn’t just skip… NO!!
So here we sit writing a blog about how hard it is to find time to write. (Or how easy it is to be distracted from writing. Take your pick.) And now that we’ve finished, we are going to work on our next book.
Right after we take a nap.
When Inanimate Objects Achieve Consciousness
We’ve noticed an interesting trend in our house. Over the years the inanimate things around us have slowly taken on a life of their own. They develop personalities and even have individual quirks.
Take the older vacuum. It has been around for decades. We inherited it from Joe’s grandmother. It resides in the basement where it works sucking up cat litter, dryer lint, and the occasional spider. It is held together with duct tape and has a loud, rumbling roar. We have named this beast Attila.
Attila is the perfect name for this vacuum. He is an old warrior, scarred, loud, but still battling. He may be a little grumpy (he definitely growls when his dust bag is too full) but he gets the job done. His worst habit is that he blows dust out his, well, rear.
Now our upstairs vacuum is completely different. New, sleek, efficient, she glides through the day effortlessly. She has sensors that tell us when her dust bag is full (a bag, by the way, that doesn’t leak dust), she has a HEPA filter and several settings for rugs, bare floors, and upholstery. She is shiny, upright and beautiful. And the name of this vacuuming goddess? Athena.
The air filter in our daughter’s bedroom is known as Wheezer for the sounds he makes. We think he has worse allergies than she does. Wheezer is temperamental and grouchy. He growls at everyone except our daughter, who he seems to like. He particularly loathes the cats, and they take delight in tormenting Wheezer until his warning lights flash into the red zone and he shrieks his indignation at having to filter cat fur.
And the list goes on. We have a pickaxe named Bertha and a computer named Jafrey, after a wise-ass character in our book, Time’s Edge. Jafrey’s personality and the computer’s personality are so similar its downright eerie. And don’t get us started about the toilet in the main bath. It sighs, it groans, sometimes it even hisses. It effectively combines rudeness with martyrdom, and its editorial comments can be, shall we say, annoyingly timely. We suspect it’s suffering from job burn-out and needs to retire. We haven’t named it. We don’t want to encourage it.
Criticism, Lampposts and Dogs
“Asking a working writer what he thinks about critics is like asking a lamppost what it feels about dogs.” (John Osborne, British Playwright)
We saw this quote recently and it made us wonder; how do others handle the flood of comments and critiques that our social-networked world now makes possible? So we went hunting for answers. Turns out everyone from the Ancient Greeks to Shania Twain has an opinion about criticism:
1. Criticism comes easier than craftsmanship. ~ Zeuxis (400 BC), from Pliny the Elder, Natural History
2. Criticism is something we can avoid easily by saying nothing, doing nothing, and being nothing ~ Aristotle (384BC -322BC)
3. Any fool can criticize, condemn and complain and most fools do. ~ Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790)
4. Court not the critic’s smile nor dread his frown ~ Sir Walter Scott (1771-1832)
5. It is easier to be critical than correct. ~ Benjamin Disraeli (1804-1881)
6. After all, one knows one’s weak points so well, that it’s rather bewildering to have the critics overlook them and invent others. ~ Edith Wharton (1862 -1937)
7. Pay no attention to what the critics say. A statue has never been erected in honor of a critic. Jean Sibelius (1865-1957)
8. People ask for criticism, but they only want praise. ~ W. Somerset Maugham (1874 – 1965)
9. Criticism, like rain, should be gentle enough to nourish a man’s growth without destroying his roots. ~ Frank Howard Clark (1888-1962)
10. We are not trying to entertain the critics. I’ll take my chances with the public. ~ Walt Disney (1901-1966)
11. Honest criticism is hard to take, particularly from a relative, a friend, an acquaintance, or a stranger. ~ Franklin P. Jones (1908-1980)
12. Any reviewer who expresses rage and loathing for a novel is preposterous. He or she is like a person who has put on full armor and attacked a hot fudge sundae. ~ Kurt Vonnegut (1922 – 2007)
13. If you have no critics you’ll likely have no success. ~ Malcolm X (1925-1965)
14. Don’t criticize what you can’t understand. ~ Bob Dylan (1941-)
15. I find that the very things that I get criticized for, which is usually being different and just doing my own thing and just being original, is the very thing that’s making me successful. ~ Shania Twain (1965-)
Don’t Panic! And Other Great Quotes from The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
We often get asked who our favorite authors are. And we can name many, many wonderful writers whose books we love. However, we are both are huge fans of author Douglas Adams of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy fame. So, although towel day has passed, we have decided to pay our own tribute to Adams and The Guide. Here are our ten favorite quotes from The Hitchhiker’s series.
1. I’d rather be happy than right any day.
2. I refuse to answer that question on the grounds that I don’t know the answer.
3. I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be.
4. Right planet, wrong universe.
5. Distance is incomprehensible and therefore meaningless.
6. The Guide is definitive. Reality is frequently inaccurate.
7. “My doctor says I have a malformed public duty gland and a natural deficiency in moral fibre,” Ford muttered to himself, “and that I am therefore excused from saving Universes.”
8. She was mostly immensely relieved to think that virtually everything that anybody had told ever told her was wrong.
9. A common mistake people make when trying to design something completely foolproof is to underestimate the ingenuity of complete fools.
10. It is known that there is an infinite number of worlds, simply because there is an infinite amount of space for them to be in. However, not every one of them is inhabited. Therefore, there must be a finite number of inhabited worlds. Any finite number divided by infinity is as near to nothing as makes no odds, so the average population of all the planets in the universe can be said to be zero. From this it follows that the population of the universe is also zero, and that any people you may meet from time to time are merely the product of a deranged imagination.
Any other Hitchhiker fans out there? What are your favorites quotes from the Guide?
Never Moon an Editor
If you ever want a good laugh get a bunch of authors together to talk about rejection letters. Over the past few weeks we have encountered other authors at various functions and heard rejection stories so silly, we just have to share them.
One author related that an editor told her that the genre her book fell into was saturated. We giggled when we heard this. Did it mean the genre needed no more books? Was it simply too full? Did he honestly believe that no one anywhere, ever would buy another book in this genre? For that matter, we wondered just how full does a genre have to be before it is considered saturated? How many titles? And just who decides that a genre can hold no more?
And then there was the author who spoke on the phone to an editor who ripped the author’s book to pieces. It was too long, it was badly written, the plot was weak, it was simply the worst mystery story ever written. The author was puzzled. He had submitted a fantasy story.
Another author, who happened to be attending a book conference, was told during the course of the day by various editors that his book was too long, too short, too edgy, not edgy enough, too dark, too light, too slow, too fast-paced, not original enough, and (you guessed it), so different that it defied genres and would, in consequence, be too hard to sell. Apparently, that plain old genre known as “fiction” wasn’t good enough.
We, too, have had our share of silly rejections, but the best was the editor who read three pages of our book and encountered a description of a planet that had two moons. He immediately ceased reading and wrote us a letter stating that he NEVER published books with planets that had two moons. As soon as he saw the two moons, he knew he would dislike the rest of the story. To this day, we fondly relate this tale as the time an editor rejected us because we mooned him.
The Seven Stages of Writing
1. Inspiration. You have a great idea for a book. You love it. You know everyone else will love it, too. You can’t wait to start writing. You begin to make notes. On your brown lunch bag. On napkins. On little sticky notes.
2. Frenzy. You start writing. Every spare moment, you’re at the computer. The words are flowing so freely, you can’t type fast enough. You write anywhere, any time you can. On your brown lunch bag. On napkins. On little sticky notes.
3. Doubt. The plot isn’t turning out exactly the way you thought it would. (Where is that sticky note with the great plot twist…?) The characters are, perhaps, not quite right. Maybe the pacing is too slow? Perhaps the ending is a bit predictable? Perhaps… maybe…
4. Anger. Oh, crap. This plot problem is insurmountable. You can’t figure out how to end the chapter you are working on. You’re over your word count. Your characters just aren’t behaving. Your sticky notes are wadded into a giant sticky note ball. Banging your head on the desk doesn’t help.
5. Exhaustion. You feel this damn book will never be finished. You type grimly with fingers made of lead. Each word is drawn slowly and painfully from your beleaguered brain. You know you will never have another creative idea as long as you live. The sticky note ball is in the trash.
6. Acceptance. It’s done. You sigh with the relief of a mother who has just given birth. You even retrieve the sticky note ball from the trash and untangle the pages. After all, you never know. You drift off peacefully to sleep. And dream…
7. Déjà vu. See stage one.
Laundry and Illiteracy
We were sorting the wash the other day and came across some new clothing that we thought might require hand washing or perhaps should not go into the dryer. So we did what we have done for years and looked for the washing instructions on the label.
And got a big surprise.
There were not any written instructions on any of the garments. Instead, obscure little symbols were printed on the minuscule tags. Being possessed of curiosity, we fetched a magnifying glass and peered at the strange markings.
We began guessing what the symbols might mean. The circle with the X, we understood to mean we should not do something. However, what the something was eluded us. Should the item not go into the washer? The dryer? Did it mean no bleach? Just what does a circle stand for in laundry-speak?
The triangle had two diagonal lines slanting through it. Interesting. The square had a circle and a dot in it. Fascinating. The trapezoid-like picture had a line drawn beneath. Incredible. But not very helpful.
Taking to our computer (an interesting new tool for doing the laundry), we looked up the mysterious markings. And got another surprise. On the textileaffairs.com website there were thirty-five separate symbols for laundry instructions.
Feeling like we were on a treasure hunt, we began to match the online symbols to the ones on our clothing tags. At last, we deciphered the instructions. Machine wash cold, permanent press. Non-chlorine bleach. Tumble dry low heat. Success! We could continue with the laundry!
We printed out a copy of the symbols and taped it to the washer, feeling a little like tourists in a foreign country with a tiny phrase book to help us learn the language. We wondered why written instructions have vanished. Were the symbols deemed quicker and easier to read? (Using the term “read” in the loosest sense, of course.) Did the creators of these new laundry pictograms believe the symbols were self-explanatory? Do they take up less space? Are they supposed to be easily understood by anyone, anywhere, at any time?
Back to the computer for enlightenment. One site claimed “Symbols and visual cues are widely used today to present information in a simple, straightforward manner. They are more effective than words because they are more quickly interpreted and can overcome language barriers.” Simple, maybe, but straightforward? More quickly interpreted? Yes, if you have a computer handy. Overcome language barriers? We’d like to take our laundry symbols on a world tour and see how many people understand them.
Another site suggested that symbols convey basic information more rapidly than words. We suppose this might be true if the population was well-schooled in pictograms. However, we doubt this is so and do not even know if there is a standard for pictograms world-wide. A world tour definitely seems necessary to discover the truth. Can you picture us traveling with nothing more than pictograms? (Oh, this man with us? No, he’s not an interpreter. He’s a cartoonist and draws the fastest pictograms in the world.)
Whatever the reasons, we miss written words. Words convey instruction, ideas and a clarity that pictograms do not. In fact, if memory serves, the ancient Egyptians used pictograms, a form of writing they abandoned as soon as something less cumbersome made its appearance. It seems we’ve come full circle, but going in circles is not the same as moving forward.
More and more, our society seems to be using symbols to communicate, perhaps because 14% of Americans are functionally illiterate (as reported by the National Center for Educational Statistics). Doors, trash bins, elevators, bathrooms and many other things are now all marked with pictures instead of words. Whether this is seen as a necessity because of the high illiteracy rates plaguing our country or an attempt to make communication easier, we don’t know, but using pictures rather than teaching people to read seems more like a bandage than a cure.
Oh, the circle with the X through it? Do not dry clean. And we wonder, if the functionally illiterate can’t understand the symbol, just how are they going to look it up?
Twas the Night We Were Blogging
‘Twas the night we were blogging, when all through the house
Not an idea was stirring that would inspire a mouse;
Our manuscripts were flung by the chimney without care,
In hopes that inspiration soon would be there;
We wished we were nestled all snug in our beds,
While visions of blog stats danced in our heads;
And my wife in frustration and I in despair,
Were beginning to think we had nothing to share.
When out of the blue I got a great notion,
I sprang from my chair in a whirl of commotion.
Away to the computer I flew like a flash,
And opened the program but the thing promptly crashed.
I pounded the keyboard, right-clicked the mouse
Then uttered a yell that was heard through the house.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a Microsoft message that wasn’t too clear.
It’s an outdated driver, so slow and so sick,
I knew in a moment this wouldn’t be quick.
More rapid than eagles our curses they came,
We stamped, and we shouted, and called it some names;
“Now, Damn it! now, Darn it! now, How do we fix this!
Oh, Blast it! How stupid! oh, How do we nix this?
This is taking too long! We’re climbing the wall!
Just go away! go away! go away all!”
As frustration did grow and our tempers did fly,
We met with the obstacle, and said “Do or die!”
So back to the keyboard my fingers they flew,
With determination, and disk repair, too.
And then, in a twinkling, I saw on the screen
Another message from the hateful machine.
As I threw up my hands and was starting to frown
Error messages appeared with a bound.
They made no sense to me and no sense to my wife,
And had but one purpose; to cause us much strife;
A bundle of codes, which took us aback,
And made us believe we were on the wrong track.
Our eyes — how they twitched! our faces weren’t merry!
Our cheeks were like roses, our noses like cherries!
My wife’s little mouth was drawn tight as a bow,
And the look on her face as cold as the snow;
I turned to the screen and gritted my teeth,
The steam from my ears circled my head like a wreath;
I felt a sharp pain deep in my belly,
And was beginning to shake like a bowl full of jelly.
I grabbed a manual from off of the shelf,
And mumbled and murmured and read to myself;
My wife caught my eye and then shook her head,
Which let me know I had plenty to dread;
I spoke not a word, but went straight to my work,
And fixed all the problems; then turned with a jerk,
And giving the finger to the stupid machine,
I started it up and it worked like a dream!
My wife sprang to the keyboard and began typing away,
Creating a blog to post the next day.
But I heard her exclaim, as we finished that night,
“Blogging can be quite fun, but sometimes it bites.”
(With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore)
Not All Those Who Wander Are Lost. Some Are Just Looking for Their Glasses.
Sitting down to write a book isn’t as easy as, well, sitting down to write a book.
The process of getting two writers to sit down and write at the same time can be arduous. First of all, as most married folks know, getting a husband and wife to agree on what they want to do at any given moment is a feat all by itself. He suggests doing some writing before dinner. She points out that although she is a multi-tasker extraodinaire, cooking and writing simultaneously always results in a burned dinner. She suggests writing after dinner. He has a meeting, which is why he suggested writing before dinner. So they sit down to write and the dinner burns.
As any writer knows, writing is a daily activity. If writers waited for the perfect mood, they’d never write anything. Finding that idyllic place, the yeah-this-stuff-is-rolling-out-of-my-brain-just-as-fast-as-I-can-type moment, is rare. Having two people hit that high at the same time is even rarer. It’s much more common for one to be ready to write and the other not interested at all. Sort of a “not tonight, I have a headache” type of thing. This is where scheduling writing time comes in handy. It’s like making a date. You look forward to it, you prepare for it and (hopefully) you score.
And let us not forget our writing tools. Is it a plotting session? Then lined yellow pads and pencils are needed. Editing? Red pens are a must! Plus a lot of tea. And maybe something stronger if editing gets really brutal. Actual writing? Here we differ. Mary writes on a computer, Joe, the old fashioned way, long-hand on a legal pad. That makes combining scenes LOADS of fun. Deciphering Joe’s handwriting is not for the faint of heart. Not to mention having to print a half written scene from the computer, adding long-hand notations, and then transcribing the whole thing into a workable (and readable) draft. Yikes!
A place to write is important, too, and also depends on what we happen to be doing. We edit at the kitchen table because editing needs a lot of room, not only for spreading out various drafts and scenes but for ducking if someone throws something. Plotting needs atmosphere. The gazebo in summer, by the fireplace in winter. Sounds lovely, doesn’t it? It can be and plotting a storyline can be a lot of fun. (When you’re not banging your head on a table because you can’t figure out just how the heck you’re going to get out of the corner you’ve written yourself into, this is.) And the actual writing? We need separate spaces for this part of the job. In fact, this is so important we have another blog coming devoted just to this topic!
Finally, and most importantly, we both wear reading glasses. This is a problem, because, as anyone who wears reading glasses knows, there is a special law of physics that states that reading glasses are never left in the same spot twice. The joke in our house is that we need glasses to find our glasses. Writing sessions are often delayed as one or the other hunts for our glasses. No glasses, no writing. So we wander from room to room, wondering where we left them, wondering if someone else could have moved them, wondering if we have gnomes who come out at night and hide our glasses. And that brings us to the moral of our story. Not all those who wander are lost. Some are just looking for their glasses.
(J.R.R. Tolkien’s birthday is January 3rd. His book, The Fellowship of the Ring, is the source of the “not all those who wander are lost” quote. The full quote goes: “All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost; the old that is strong does not wither, deep roots are not reached by the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, a light from the shadows shall spring; renewed shall be the blade that was broken, the crownless again shall be king.”)
Tolkien, apparently, never had any trouble finding his glasses.
How to Write a Book during a Blizzard
Ah, a blizzard! The perfect excuse to stay home and write. There will be hours of uninterrupted time. Time to start a book! Finish a book! Plot another book! Here’s how to go about it.
Step one: Wake up and discover that the storm predicted to go out to sea the night before is barreling toward your location at the speed of Concorde jet. Wake up husband and then madly dash to the kitchen to make sure you have enough food. Sigh in relief when you discover you do. Before complete relaxation can take hold, realize that you have no cat food and the cat is already staring at you as if you were a hamburger and she knows where the ketchup bottle is. Husband lies in bed wondering why he is awake so early on his day off.
Step two: Ignore grumbling husband, get dressed and cleverly drive to small, local market to avoid the panic at the grocery store. Discover that the store does not open until 10:00 because it is Sunday and the day after Christmas. Start swearing and drive to the larger store. Circle the parking lot like a shark as you search for a parking place. As someone pulls out, step on the gas and pull into a space ahead of two other cars trying to do the same thing. Pretend you don’t see them saluting you.
Step three: Head to the deli because your ultra-fussy cat won’t eat regular cat food. Grab a number. Forty-one. Look up at the “Now Serving” number. Two. Swear. (Don’t worry about the people standing near you. They will be swearing, too.) Wait for forty-five minutes to get a half-pound of sliced chicken breast and a half-pound of sliced turkey. Go stand in three mile-long check-out line. Fume. Pay. Walk through parking lot with three cars following you in hopes of snagging your spot. Narrowly escape with your fenders intact. Ignore the sound of the crash as you drive away.
Step four: Return home to find your now awake husband outside frantically taking down Christmas decorations so they will not be destroyed in the storm. Regret having awakened him and then stomp inside and trip over the cat. Feed the furry little demon and stomp back outside to help. Return inside one hour later with frost-bitten fingers. Upon observing your frozen-in-more-ways-than-one expression, husband wonders why he is awake so early on his day off. Stare at the tangle of lights littering your kitchen floor and puzzle about where you are going to store them since they never fit back inside their boxes. Get trash bag, shove all decorations inside, toss into a corner of the basement and decide to worry about it next Christmas.
Step five: After thawing frozen fingers, go in search of your husband (and writing partner). Look in his office. Bedroom. Bathroom. Garage. Where the bleep is that man? Find him in the basement. He explains that since it is snowing it will be a great day to clean out the basement. Explain that you thought it would be a good day to write. He explains that he is already involved in the project. You explain that you really, really want to work on the book. He looks dubiously at the piles of magazines and boxes surrounding him. You refrain from asking why he didn’t clean the basement all the other times you asked and has to do it NOW. He wonders why you aren’t excited about him doing something you have been after him to do and once again asks himself what he is doing awake so early on his day off.
Step six: Be more convincing. Suggest lighting a fire and making tea. Mention Christmas cookies. Finally say, “I. Want. To. Work. On. The. Book.” Husband finally understands that you want to work on the book rather than clean out the basement. Both stomp back upstairs.
Step seven: Channeling the anger, irritability and general grumpiness of both parties you plot a killer battle scene for your new book. And a great argument chapter for the hero and heroine. Work up a nice episode of evilness for the villain. A planet explodes. Someone threatens the galaxy and then the universe. Then spend the remainder of the time arguing about irrational character motivations and illogical thought processes because no one in real life would ever act THAT WAY.
Step eight: Realize it is probably going to snow for another 24 hours. Decide the cat has the right idea and a nap in front of the fire is a really good idea. Ignore husband’s that’s-all-I-wanted-to-do-today-anyway look.
J.M. Dattilo 