Writing: National Novel Writer's Month in Nov

This year, I'm doing it.

For several years now, I've read about the National Novel Writers' Month and the NaNoWriMo novel writing contest. For those of you who don't know, the rules are pretty simple: write a 50,000-word novel by midnight November 30th. You can do all the research, outlining, and "pre-writing" you want, but not a word of the novel can be written until 12:01 a.m. November 1. If you manage to hammer out 50,000 words, of whatever quality, you can turn it in for fabulous prizes: i.e., a certificate and a little icon for your website. Even if you don't meet that goal, you're still a winner: your prize is the X-many words of your novel.

I was a little disappointed to have heard about the "no words until Nov 1" rule, because I'd originally thought to use the opportunity to add 50,000 words to my Dragon Eye PI novel that's been on the back burner or work on Book 3 of the Miscria trilogy with some real dedication, but yesterday, I got some encouraging news from a friend that's turned my mind toward a Rescue Sisters novel. Last night, Rob and I started brainstorming a plot: alien encounters and interplanetary rescues, a sister in a crisis of faith, the temptation of an old flame, the interdiction of the saints... All the stuff of classic SF and Catholicity. I can already guess, though, that there will be several scenes that say "TECH HERE!" But again, you don't need a finished product--just 50,000 words.

Over the next couple of months--and probably in Nov, when I bring me head out of space--I'll be posting about the nuts and bolts of pressurized production, from preparation to keeping the house sane. If you have any suggestions or questions, please let me know!

ATTN: Mystery Writers!

If you like to write mysteries and would like to write one with a Catholic background, here's a place to submit it!

The Catholic mystery anthology with the working title "Luminous Mysteries" is seeking Catholic Church-centered short stories that show the Church in a positive/heroic vein. Length of the stories should peak at no more than 15K words, though if story is good we are flexible on that. If faith plays a positive (but non-preachy) role, it's a plus. Cross genre work acceptable. Pay scale will be determined once the publisher gives a thumbs up. Please send submissions to annlewis (at) joesystems (dot) com, subject line "Luminous Mysteries".
Double-spaced Word files are preferred. Deadline: November 1, though it may extended.

I already have a Vern mystery, "Greater Treasures" in, and there are two Sherlock Homes mysteries, but naturally, Ann is looking for more.

BTW--"Christmas Spirits" got rejected yesterday. WAAH! I kind of expected it: The had closed submissions early and there was just too much about the Faerie/Mundane universe to explain in 3500 words as well as the issue of eminent domain, the spirit of Christmas, Dickens' Christmas Carol and the mystery. I'll beef it up and send it elsewhere. Any ideas?

Queen of the Editorial Cut!

I can get blood from a turnip!

One of the things you read about from authors who've "made it" is the art of learning to cut your stuff. Spider Robinson wrote about how editor John Campbell would send his stuff back again and again with the instructions to "cut it by a third" or "almost there--take out 500 words." it was a painful process, but remarkably, each draft came out better than the first. Stephen King said in his book On Writing that after he's finished a draft, he goes back with the express goal of cutting 10 percent.

I'm a wordy person, as most folks can tell from my e-mails and blogs, so cutting is a way of life for me. My first real experience was when a friend and I wrote a Star Trek spoof that was 14 pages long. We had cut it to 8 for a contest. It took hours, and finally cheated by using 1.5 line spacing instead of double. I haven't had such a challenge as that since.

Until this week.

I was writing a Vern mystery for a Christmas anthology to benefit Toys for Tots. In it, Vern and Sister Grace must protect the nasty entrepreneur, Daniel Flint, who's being haunted by the Christmas Carol ghosts. Flint is trying to pressure the city to condemn Vern's neighborhood and sell him the land so he can build a mall. (It happens. Check out "Eminent Domain Being Abused?") Plus, it's Grace's first Christmas, and she's having culture shock. So, I have a lot of issues: eminent domain, materialism, the meaning of Christmas, Dickens' Christmas Carol, plus a homesick young woman, a heartsick old woman, a haunted theater, and let's not forget the mystery... I was feeling pretty good to write a first draft of 4100 words. Except that the max word count is 3500.

I cut it to 3750, then sent it around to friends. Those who aren't familiar with the Faerie/Mundane universe were confused, however. (Guess what I'd cut first?) So back in went an abbreviated explanation. 3950. I thought it was tight.

It needed to be tighter.

So back again, going backward, then forward. Can I exchange this three-word phrase with a single word? Is this emotional detail necessary or is it understood? This 50-word segue is great but doesn't advance the plot--cut it. This clue gets totally dropped later--drop it now. The manuscript bled black ink by the time I was done--but it was 3500 words. Even more, it's a sharper, cleaner story than the first, second, or fifth revision. And it was fun!

I accept my crown as queen of the editorial cut.

Communication: The Importance of Approach

Earlier this week, I was outside tossing the junk mail directly into the trash when one of those door-to-door magazine salesmen approached. Now, it's been a hot, sweaty, no-shower, clean-the-house, icky day, so perhaps it was the expression on my face; but from 10 yards away, he raises his hands and says, "Don't shoot me!"
Coming nearer, he sort-of croons, "Is your father or mother at home?"
I know I looked all of my 39 years and then some. "Funny," I said and went back to my mail.
"There must be a fountain of youth in this neighborhood, because everyone seems so young. I was talking to your neighbor Jason--"
So Jason's looking good to him? I decided to spare us both further embarrassment and didn't let him get past the "Sales training program to get kids like me off the streets"(he looked early 20s) and told him I wasn't interested.

What I really wanted to do was take him inside, offer him a cup of coffee and dissect his approach.
"Don't shoot me?" He was a young Black guy--I'm an old white woman. Was this racial humor of the poorest taste? OR did he decide I was giving him dirty looks? Sorry, my face froze that way as a child.
"Is your mother or father at home?" Twenty years ago, that would have been a good assumption. Ten years ago, looking my best, a half-hearted compliment. Now, especially in my grungy clothes and my dirty hair sticking out of its bun like a bruha's, it was stupidly false. Plastic used-car-salesman/closing-time pick-up line false.
I made it clear the line didn't fly, but instead of abandoning it and getting to business while he had a chance, he pushed it. (Incidentally, all the neighbors home at that time are about a decade younger (and 15 pounds lighter) than I. Of course they look younger.)

I assume that he was taught that such "compliments" will make a person feel good about herself and him; all it did for me was want to go in, get a shower and count my gray hairs. I have a hard time believing he got any sales except out of pity. Jason told me he bought a subscription because he felt sorry for him tramping around in the heat. Was it the heat or the training that made his approach so slimy?

I know I'm not a great communicator verbally--I think a lot of writers turn to the written word because spoken ones fail them. I'll never be a salesman. Still, I'm smart enough to know what doesn't work. Salesmen, especially the door-to-door kind, need to develop an immediate rapport and a sense of trust. Insincere, canned, pick-up lines like these destroy trust--at least for people who aren't gullible.

If this is the kind of training the "up-and-coming sales force of tomorrow" gets, I think they'd be better off getting training at McDonald's.

Humor: Pirate Style!

Last Saturday, Steven's best friend had a "Pirates of the Carribbean" birthday party. Everyone dressed as a pirate (except for Alex, who made the best parrot costume!)
My costume featured an oriental sword, varous medals from my JROTC days and a small penguin wearing a bandana who sat on my shoulder. Naturally, since I can never do these things halfway, I not only had the costume but a routine:

Arr! I be Karina of the Waves, and I've seen ye eyeballing my wee Penguinito. There's a story behind him, so sit ye down and listen well.
Twas the summer of '63--and if you don't know what century, you've had too much grog. It may have been mild and balmy where you were, but on the straights of Magellan, there was a fierce windter storm, the worst I'd ever seen in my life. Me dear parrot Polly flew overboard--and not the good kind of flying, let me tell you. His last words were "AWK! Polly Don't Wanna!" I never found out what poor Polly didn't wanna do, but I'd guess it was drowning. And there wasn't much I could do to help him because me timbers were shivering, if ye know what I mean.
The next morning, I found this wee little penguin on the deck of me ship and I thought,
"Hey, why not go formal?"

Ah, but he's been a good companion--a silent partner of sorts. We've had many a fine adventure. You can tell by these medals. No, I didn't earn them--I stole them of the bonny Brits I've defeated. Well, these two were from bonny Brits--this one... Nah, he wasn't so fine. Fat and ill tempered he was. Had a lovely ship, though. Had.

And my sword? I got this off a Chinaman. He'd decided to give up the sea and turn to an honest life. I figured that was just as well, since I'd taken his sword, I'd taken his ship, and I'd taken his catfor.

What's a catfor, ye ask? The cats for gettig rid of the rats on me ship, ye lilly-livered landlubber! That's what a catsfor!

(And they walked right into it, too!)

Here's a not-so-old "sea" chanty. It's a space pirate theme, but you can adapt it. (I'd rate it PG-13 at least.) "New Sins for Old" by Leslie Fish.

WRITING: Update on my works

I got an e-mail from a publisher wanting to see the manuscript for Leaps of Faith, the Christian SF Anthology Rob and I put together. (Check out the summary in my BOOKS page). I won't say any more until I hear back, but please pray that this will be the year Leaps gets accepted by a publisher!

I'm also hosting a workshop called "Faith in Fiction" for a free conference in October. Check out the conference at http://museonlineconference.tripod.com.

Magic, Mensa, and Mayhem had its second installment in The Prairie Dawg, the magazine of the North Dakota Mensa Club. It's another Dragon Eye, PI story, and I'm having a lot of fun putting a lot of "real" Faerie folk in Disneyworld. Next episode, Vern is mistaken for a carnival ride. In Episode 4, Coyote (of Native American legend) makes his appearance. (He cheated on the Mensa test, but just to see if he could, and he's at the convention to talk about "thinking outside the box.")

My article on the Catholic Faith in Science Fiction is out in Hereditas.

I'm still looking for an agent that handles fantasy/SF. Any recommendations? :-)

WRITING: Coming Up With Ideas

Like a lot of other writers, I get asked, "Where do you get your ideas?" I wonder though, how many other writers get asked this by people with such befuddled looks on their faces.

For my nonfiction, I usually let my interests guide my ideas. Thus, I've done a lot of pregnancy and parenting articles, particularly about homebirth, breastfeeding, or dealing with the care and education of little ones. (Along those same lines, I've done a lot of articles about simplifying your life.) As my children get older, I've started to branch out into new things, like science and technology. Here, Rob and science magazines are my usual sources for ideas. Sometimes, editors give me ideas. I'd have never thought to learn about sex during pregnancy until Fit Pregnancy asked me to do an article. I started writing clergy interviews at the request of my editor at Montana Catholic. Recently, I wrote about Catholicism in Science Fiction for Hereditas. Overall, my idea generation is pretty straightforward.

For my fiction, things get a little weirder, but the same principles apply. I just tend to mix them up more. I was working on a series of religious orders when Rob was very involved in Artemis Society; we came up with an order of spacefaring nuns, the Order of St. Gillian of L5. Some friends and I were talking about how to confront someone who was hitting their child in a store and what that parent might be experiencing; I wrote "Lovely Hands." I wanted to give my psychic character some psychological problems (being psychic is not easy!) and had read about Neuro Linguistic Programming, so my novel takes place in an asylum. I saw an anthology requesting "dragon stories," and was racking my brains for something that hasn't been done to death. We were watching a lot of "Whose Line is It, Anyway?" and they were doing a lot of film noir shticks, so my dragon became a film noir-style fantasy/mystery/parody.

So how do I come up with these ideas? I try to take the things around me and twist them into something new.

One more thing: I don't write only what I know. How limiting and dull. I write what I can imagine and what I can learn about.

How do you come up with your ideas?

Tip: Keeping up with Godchildren

As a child, I didn't know my godparents well. My Madrina Che (Mom's sister) lived in Puerto Rico and I’ve only seen her a handful of times in my life. (I was lucky enough to spend a few days with her this past month.) My Padrino Dave (Dad's brother) I saw more often on holiday visits, but never knew well until I worked for him a few summers in college. I also never felt any spiritual companioning from them, which is supposed to be part of godparenthood.

Now I am Godmother to several children and I want to be more present in their lives, which is hard since we move often and they are scattered across the country. So I write them postcards. I buy them cheap at yard sales or thrift shops, and address and stamp a dozen or so at a time. Then I put them in my bills holder and each payday when I'm writing checks, I take the next postcard and write a quick note. Some are newsy, some just say that I'm thinking and praying for them. If I'm in the mood, I'll write to more than one--post cards only take 5 minutes, especially since I've prepared them already. Thus each godchild gets something from Godmother at least once a quarter.

They love it, even the toddler Marie. Her mom puts the postcard on her dinner plate the day it arrives, and she just glows from getting a special treat from Godmother. ne Godchild has even started writing me back. I hope that by sharing snippets of my life with them, they will one day share their lives with me, and that we might become companions on the Path of Faith.

Parenting: Attitude Makes Setback an Adventure

Last month we flew to Puerto Rico for my parents' 40th wedding anniversary. It was Alex's and Liam's first time in an airplane, and Amber's and Steven's first since they were babies, so naturally, they were very excited. So were we, and despite the bad traffic that resulted in our getting to Reagan National with only half an hour for check-in, we were feeling great.
...Until we realized we'd misread the tickets and were supposed to be at Dulles, over an hour away with traffic.
This is one of those situations where I usually fly off the handle, and I was tempted to yell at Rob for taking us to the wrong airport, berate myself for checking the flight number and time but not the airport, blame Expedia for not putting "DULLES" in huge glowing letters so oblivious people like me could read it... You, know, the works. This time, though, something held me back. Four somethings: my kids, who were so excited about their first airplane trip, first visit to a Tropical Island, and first chance to see all of Grandma's family. I was not going to let a silly mistake ruin it for them.
We sat down at the floor and I reassured them we'd get to Puerto Rico, while Rob got on the phone to find out our options. Ten minutes and $1800 later, he had us on a flight to San Juan via Chicago. We had a four-hour wait until our flight left Dulles and we'd be arriving late that night instead of early that afternoon, but we'd be there.
Again came the temptation to stress out, this time about the money and the loss of a day on the beach. Again, I stopped myself. Travel is adventure. Adventures mean challenges. If I wanted our kids to be able to handle those challenges (even the stupid, expensive ones) in a positive way, I had to do so myself.
"We have the money," Rob reassured me. He's far more relaxed about money than I am, which combined with my natural spendthrift instincts served us well this vacation. We'd set aside a lot of money to enjoy the summer. If we had to cut back elsewhere, it nonetheless wouldn't cripple us financially. He, I was sure, was more stressed about making such a simple error and about the prospect of keeping our four disappointed and antsy kids under control during a long wait, two long flights, and unknown accommodations at the end.
"And we have a couple of hours in DC. Where shall we go?" I asked.
We decided on the Smithsonian annex near Dulles. We stopped at a play place for lunch, which brightened up the kids, and had a terrific time at the museum, which has flying machines from the earliest gliders to the Space Shuttle Enterprise. (Liam, of course, got bored, so I took him outside, where he promptly became fascinated with the wheelchairs lined up on the other side of the window.) At every opportunity, I made the kids run: to that light post and back, around that stairwell: walk if you won't run, but get rid of some of that energy!) On the flight to Chicago, Rob was able to sit with Steven and Alex, but I ended up in the middle aisle while Amber and Liam took the outer aisle by the window. Amber, fortunately, reveled in her duty to care for her littlest brother during the flight. We got into San Juan late, but my parents and uncle met us that the car rental and led us to his house. The kids by this time were happy but exhausted and more than willing to plop into bed.
The vacation was a blast, and the stuff of future blogs, but I'm especially thankful for how Rob and I were able to put aside our feelings and turn what could have been a lousy start into an unexpected treat.

Computer: Forward Pleas

I remember getting a chain letter when I was little. It had some heartwarming story, promising great things if I sent it on to 10 of my friends and predicting dire consequences if I didn't. I'd have had to painstakingly re-write it by hand 10 times. It was a relief when Mom tossed it in the trash.

Now, I get the same stupid letters on a regular basis. There's a story, or some kind of commentary, or a challenge. Sometimes, they're heartwarming. Sometimes, they're heartwarming in a dysfunctional relationship kind of way.

..."Do you think I'm pretty?" she asked. (The third of such insequre questions.)
"No," he said. (The third of such rude, clueless answers.)
As her eyes filled with tears, he said, "I don't think you're pretty. I think you're beautiful...."
.....Yeah, keep backpedaling, boy!

Sometimes, they're interesting, and I may even want to pass them on. Then I get to the kicker:
--Pass this on to 15 of your friends to show them you love them.
--If we can pass this message to 10,000 people in a month, everyone on the list get $100 from Microsoft! (Does anyone believe this?)
--My "favorite:" Pass it on if you think it has merit. If not then just discard it... no one will know you did. But, if you discard this thought process, don't sit back and complain about what bad shape the world is in.

Am I the only one who hates these things? I have enough guilt in my life. I don't need to be told I'm neglecting my friends, wrecking some "grand goal," losing an opportunity at easy money, or am less of a citizen or Christian if I don't inundate all my addressees with the same old stories and diatribes that have been around and around for ages.

I show my friends I love them by writing them personal letters. I resist sending on rumors (even computer virus alerts) until I've thoroughly checked their veracity. (www.snopes.com is a good site for tracking down misinformation and rumors). If I come across something that I believe some of my friends will be interested in, I'll pass it on just to them with an extra note about why I'm sending it. And I ask the same courtesy of my friends and acquaintances.

E-mail is a great communication tool, but it should be used for just that--communication. Not for passing on every piece of junk mail with a Forward Plea.


I'm going to Puerto Rico for the next couple of weeks, so no more blogs until July. Send this on to 15 of your friends if you love them, love Jesus, care about the environment, want to avoid stubbing your toes this week or want a chance to win a free vactaion with Bill Gates. If you don't... no one will know. But don't sit around wondering what the world is coming to. :-)

Writing: Mangled Metaphors

This had me laughing like an unwary elderly lady audience member picked by Drew Carey to participate in a skit with Ryan and Colin. (Read the message, then this will make sense. Check the addendum that sits on the bottom of this blog like that "bogie" someone left on your chair.)

Every year, English teachers from across the country can submit their collections of actual analogies and metaphors found in high school essays.

These excerpts are published each year to the amusement of teachers across the country. Here are last year's winners.....

1. Her face was a perfect oval, like a circle that had its two sides gently compressed by a Thigh Master.

2. His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free.

3. He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.

4. She grew on him like she was a colony of E. Coli, and he was room-temperature Canadian beef.

5. She had a deep, throaty, genuine laugh, like that sound a dog makes just before it throws up.

6. Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.

7. He was as tall as a six-foot, three-inch tree.

8. The revelation that his marriage of 30 years had disintegrated because of his wife's infidelity came as a rude shock, like a surcharge at a formerly surcharge-free ATM machine.

9. The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.

10. McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.

11. From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and Jeopardy comes on at 7:00 p.m. instead of 7:30.

12. Her hair glistened in the rain like a nose hair after a sneeze.

13. The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.

14. Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m.
at a speed of 35 mph.

15. They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth.

16. John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.

17. He fell for her like his heart was a mob informant, and she was the East River.

18. Even in his last years, Granddad had a mind like a steel trap, only one that had been left out so long, it had rusted shut.

19. Shots rang out, as shots are wont to do.

20. The plan was simple, like my brother-in-law Phil. But unlike Phil, this plan just might work.

21. The young fighter had a hungry look, the kind you get from not eating for a while.

22. He was as lame as a duck. Not the metaphorical lame duck, either, but a real duck that was actually lame, maybe from stepping on a land mine or something.

23. The ballerina rose gracefully en Pointe and extended one slender leg behind her, like a dog at a fire hydrant.

24. It was an American tradition, like fathers chasing kids around with power tools.

25. He was deeply in love. When she spoke, he thought he heard bells, as if she were a garbage truck backing up.

What really amuses me is that, given the right tone, some of these could work. I can hear Vern saying a few.

So, can you write stinkers like these? Give it your best shot, and share them with me in the comments section!

Parenting: Bedtime Stories

I still remember when I was five, I mentioned to a fellow Kindergartener that my dad had read us a bedtime story the night before. She looked at me with distain and announced, "I'm too old for that now." I felt sorry for her and surprised that one could outgrow bedtime stories.

My oldest is 12 and we still read bedtime stories to him. At bedtime (often after 9--we're night owls), everyone is called to brush teeth, don pajamas and run to our bedroom where we cuddle up for stories. Liam, of course, picks the traditional kids' books on trucks, Curious George, Richard Scary, and the like. Alex is more science-minded. For awhile, Alex insisted we read Time Life's Dangerous Sea Creatures probably not the best choice right before our vacation to the beaches of Puerto Rico. This week, however, I've been reading my latest Dragon Eye story and a tour guide of Puerto Rico. As you can guess, it is after 10 before we're ready to tuck everyone in.

We love bedtime stories. It's a chance to come together as a family when we may have been apart with lessons, computers and television. It's also a chance to share literature the kids may not otherwise get into. Steven resisted hearing the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe when we first suggested it; now he's asking us to read the series for the third time. I'd never read Anne of Green Gables and loved sharing it with my daughter (and sons!). How many pre-teens would willingly tackle a tome like Don Quixote? Yet we are all enjoying the story. Some nights, the kids want to make up stories; though usually we're so riled up and giggling afterwards no one wants to sleep. Sometimes, too, one of the children will read; Alex, 7, has been reading to us out of his "Eyewitness: Big Cats" book.

When the kids head to college, they probably will never tell their dormmates that they had bedtime story routine well into their teens. Or maybe they will, and in the telling of it, make their friends jealous. My hope is they remember these nights of tales and togetherness and continue them on in their own families.

Computer: 4 stages of grief

Rob's Alienware computer has passed on from our world to the great VR in the sky. Rob has undergone the stages of grief:

Denial: "NOOOOOO!!!!!"
Anger: "Why, oh, why did I think I knew how to modify the RAID array! And where the $#^%! Are the files in this so-called recovery disk?!"
Acceptance: "It's dead, Jim. I am the proud owner of a $2500 paperweight."
Hope: "Ooooo! Hey, Kitten, look at this cool Digital Storm System I can order! I wonder if I can upgrade to...."

There's one more stage of grief, not often discussed in the brochures--Aqusition. That's when I start going through the first four stages.

Postscript: Rob loves his new Digital Storm and was able to cannibalize his Alienware for its RAM and hard drives (for use as external memory storage systems). Now the keyboard on my two-year-old Dell is going kooky. Please don't make me go through this again!

Me: Why We Homeschool

I got interested in homeschooling while doing some articles for the Wyoming Catholic Monitor, but Rob wasn't comfortable with it and I didn't have strong feelings about it, so our older kids went to school in Colorado. Sierra Vista was a great little school. The kids enjoyed it and learned well. When we moved to Rhode Island, however, Rob saw one of the schools they might attend--a large brick square with an asphalt playground and a six-foot fence between them and a busy street--and said, "Now's your chance to try homeschooling." We started with Amber and Steven in 2nd grade. Now Amber and Steven are in 6th grade; Alex, 1st; and Liam, Kindergarten.

I may talk up the advantages of homeschooling or sympathize with those who have or hear about problems in thier public school, but in general, I don't have anything against public schools. We've just really enjoyed homeschooling. I have such fun learning along with the kids. I still read the older two's history aloud even though they could study the chapter alone. I love being amazed at how quickly Alex picks up math--tell him once, and it's "Yeah, Mom. Got it." And he does! Liam is my firebrand and I've had to backtrack with him on writing, but he's very enthusiastic about getting--or missing--a question. Although we are very traditional in our subject matter and teaching styles, I like the flexibility of homeschooling. I like, too, that I can slow down or speed up as best fits my child. I think our family is closer and less schedule-stressed, and the kids are learning valuable life lessons as well. I like that they don't have to put up with the "socialization" public school is supposed to give and which made my own childhood very hard. Plus, being able to sleep in is a real advantage when you have an entire family of night owls.

Of course, homeschooling is no picnic. There are times I cry, yell, and am ready to ship the lot to boarding school. But that's another entry.

Me: Why I Write

My bio and pages explain what I write, so I thought I'd share why I write.

I've always loved writing stories, imagining myself as another person, even another species. As I grew older and my characters became more sophisticated, they started taking on lives of their own, and I would stay awake for hours watching, hearing even feeling them live out their tales. In part, I starting writing them down because it seemed somehow sinful to live so many vicarious lives. Then, as I grew more "sophisticated," I started to take delight in crafting their lives--giving them complications and psychological problems, searching out the skeletons in their closets, and pitting them against the forces of supernatural evil or human nastiness. It's made their stories far more fun to tell, though sometimes I still find myself daydreaming about the simple, easy times in their lives, the Sunday afternoons curled up with a book or at the keyboard when nothing I'd want to write about happens.

I started writing non-fiction, frankly, for some spending money. I started with what I knew--religion and parenting--and have expanded to interviews and science stories. I found that I really enjoyed researching about a topic and sharing that knowledge. In college, I had toyed with the idea of becoming a professor, but was not enthusiastic about totally immersing myself in a subject the way I thought a professor should. My professors seemed to Know It All in their area. Writing, however, is perfect for me. I can learn a reasonable amount about a given topic, write about it, and move on to whatever interests me or my editors next. I'm seldom bored. I also enjoy interviewing people, finding their unique voice, and sharing their lives. Interviewing the clergy for my columns in Montana Catholic is one of my favorite jobs.

For what I write, see my bio, books page, and links page.

Welcome

Welcome to FabianEclectic. I intend to make this blog live up to its name, so you'll find a variety of things: parenting, slices of life from my family, what I'm writing, cool sites I've seen, homeschooling tips, Christianity and Catholicism, pet peeves--even answers to your questions! (Be clean and not insulting, please.) The only criterion is that it interests me. Actually, I'm lying--bad me!--because I hope to have my dear, wonderful and brilliant husband, Rob, blog here, too, and may even let my kids make entries. You'll probably see the latest in space news, Alex's impossible creatures, or Steven's opinions on Yugioh cards. Amber may make a plea to save the wolves or present her modest pre-teen fashion tips, and who knows? Maybe five-year-old Liam will have something to say. I do promise they'll be interesting, at least to us. I can't be responsible for you. :) What I can do is have a set list of headers, so you'll know at a glance what to expect:

Homeschooling
Parenting
Tips
Writing
About Me (my writing, latest publication, etc. I'll not to bore you with my personal problems.)
Religion
Computers
Space
Kidstuff
Help (I'd like your input)
Reviews (Books, music, etc. Whatever interests me at the time.)