Write Those Family Stories Soon!

 

As most of my readers know, I am a great proponent of writing your family stories. They are a major part of who you are and where you came from. The older one gets, the more meaningful those stories become. 

Today, I've been thinking of three people in my family. On May 31st eighty-four years ago, my parents were married. They eloped, telling no one, married by a Justice of the Peace. That wasn't such an unusual thing in 1938, the Depression still going on. But the fact that they kept the wedding a secret for six weeks is more unusual. I've written a story about that wedding, which many of you have read here. It's still a beloved story in my family.

The third person brought to mind today is my Aunt Vivienne. She was my father's older sister, and today is her birthday. I don't know what year she was born, but I'm guessing it was around 1910. She passed away many years ago, but I think of her on May 31st every year. She and I celebrated birthdays just two days apart. My aunt was a tiny dynamo. I doubt if she ever reached 5 feet, more like 4'10" She wore a size 4 shoe. Long ago, the sample shoes salesmen brought to stores were in that small size. Aunt Vivienne was able to buy those samples at a greatly reduced price. Thus, she had an extensive shoe wardrobe. She was a storyteller, amusing her daughter and I time and again, especially with stories about a naughty boy named Junior--my father. 

Many of us think of family members on certain days because of some special time such as an anniversary or birthday or even when that person passed away. Think about them, tell the stories, but please do write those memories, too. Write them for your family now and family to come. 

Telling stories is wonderful, but unless they are also written, they will be lost as generations go on. Some people might have the attitude of 'Who cares?' Most, however, would like to look back at family history and stories. The very young don't pay a lot of attention to such matters, but as people get older, they have more interest.

Recently, one of my husband's cousins sent us an enlarged photo of their extended family taken in 1937 at a summer gathering of several families. My husband was 2 years old, but he was able to find himself in the picture with no problem. The cousin asked Ken if he could identify some of the people she could not name. He spent a long time studying the photo and figuring out who each person was. I think he thought about the stories of many of those relatives, as well. Ken is not one who would write those stories, but he had an aunt who did, and now, I believe this particular cousin is doing the writing. I have written one of his family stories as a fiction based on fact story for middle grade kids. It has been published and a copy in my Family Stories Book.

Our poster today tells us that 'Family is a gift that lasts forever.' Make it last by writing your family stories. 

Memories of American Military Cemeteries in Europe

Mural in Cemetery at  Draguignan, France

We're celebrating Memorial Day in our country today. Many cities and small towns have a service of some kind to  honor the fallen military members. American military men and women are also buried in several cemeteries in Europe as well as a few other war zone areas in other parts of the world. My husband and I were fortunate to visit three of those WWII cemeteries, two in France and one in Luxembourg. 

They were solemn visits made on trips with other senior citizens. Many had relatives who had served and died in the European theater. In the Luxembourg American Cemetery, a man in our group wanted to search for a relative's grave. The guide told him he'd help him when our tour was over. We moved from one area of the cemetery to another, listening to the guide. I heard a gasp behind me, and a man's voice, speaking softly. "He's here. Right here." The man was standing in front of the grave he hoped to look for. He was overcome with emotion, and so were many of us, as well. 

In Normandy, the cemetery where the fallen of the D-Day battle were buried, I found myself crying during a short ceremony at a special sculpture, with an American flag whipping in the light rain and breeze, and Taps was played over a loud speaker. 

In Draguignan, France, the smaller American Rhone Cemetery left a deep impression on me. I wrote about it when we returned home, and the piece was published in a newspaper for Seniors in the Kansas City area. I have posted it here more than once, but Memorial Day always seems the right time to repeat it. Some of you have probably read it before, but others have not. You can read it below.

We watched the National Memorial Day Concert in Washington, D.C. last evening. I noted that the audience was filled with middle-aged to older people. I saw no one in the younger generation attending. I realize that most of the wars that we've fought happened before their time, but I would hope they have learned about them and can honor those who died to keep the rest of us free. We should not forget.

If you ever have the opportunity to visit one of our American cemeteries in Europe, don't pass it up. 

 Soldiers and Angels

On a two week visit to France, I didn’t expect to be moved to tears and left with a memory etched on my heart forever. 

 After a day and a half exploring Nice, our group of forty-two Americans boarded a motor coach to travel to a river cruiser for the next leg of the trip. Our program director announced that we’d be making a stop at the WWII Rhone American Cemetery in Draguignan where 861 U.S. soldiers are buried. These soldiers were ones who died in this part of France during the August 1944 invasions.

The southern invasion of France is not so well-known as the D-Day invasion along the beaches of Normandy in northern France. The invasion from the Mediterranean Sea began in August of 1944 and holds its own important place in the history of the war and with the French people. 

We were informed there would be a wreath-laying ceremony for our group of seniors, many of whom remembered those war years as either veterans or children of vets. I was a small child during those years, but I still remember many little things about our life at the time, and I have read a great deal about this period in history because it feels personal to me.

We filed silently through impressive iron gates. The brilliant blue sky was dotted with fluffy white clouds, and the sun warmed us. The rustle of leaves in the many stately trees that surrounded the cemetery proved to be the only sound as we gazed at the rows of white crosses and Stars of David. No one spoke as we moved between the graves on the pristine grounds, reading names until the cemetery director arrived. 

He told us the soldiers’ families all had the option to have their loved one’s body repatriated or to have them buried near the place they had died in battle. How difficult, I thought, such a decision would be. Sometimes, there were no parents left at home, or a young wife had already moved on with her life and needed no reminders of an earlier marriage, and so the fallen soldier never went home, staying in France where he died.

Everyone strolled slowly along the path that led to a large stone memorial depicting an angel. It served as one outside wall of an open air chapel. 

Inside the chapel, a stone altar was dwarfed by the huge mosaic picture that towered above it. The mural-like picture, done predominantly in shades of blue, featured an angel in the center. My eye was drawn to her first, and though I studied the other, smaller figures, my gaze kept returning to her. The angel was seated. She cradled the body of an American soldier. The artist managed to capture a pure love in this figure. He succeeded in drawing visitors’ eyes to this central theme. Gazing at the two figures, I felt a lump in my throat and my eyes brimmed with unshed tears. Yet, I could not stop looking. 

I thought about my uncle who flew missions over Germany but came home. I thought about my friend’s uncle who spent half of the war in a prison camp. I thought about my dad’s cousin who died in a plane that exploded on a runway. I thought about the memorial plaque at my grade school that listed the names of graduates who had not come home. The angel and soldier in the mural spoke for all of them.

Our program director held a large bouquet of fresh flowers. She asked if there were veterans of any war present who could participate in the wreath laying. The red, white and blue ribbon tails on the floral piece fluttered in the soft breeze that swept into the chapel from the two open sides.

Three men stepped forward. I learned later that two were veterans of WWII, having been very young men in the final days when they were called up. The third appeared to be a bit younger, although all had gray hair. He had been a pilot in the Korean War. Their shoulders were a bit rounded, and wrinkles creased their faces. As they neared the altar, they stood side by side, the rest of us gathered behind. The trio marched forward and laid the floral tribute between the Christian cross and the Star of David.  The three men snapped to attention, standing taller than they had in years and saluted the soldier lying in the angel’s arms. For one magic moment, they were young soldiers again. Even these many years later, they shared a common bond.

The gentle breeze of only moments earlier turned stronger, and the now-frantic rustling of the leaves surrounded us on both sides of the open-air chapel as we were invited to sing our national anthem. One or two people began slowly, and soon others joined in.

I tried to sing, but the emotion of the moment rose up and blocked my throat so thoroughly, I could not have sung had my life depended on it. Instead, I listened to the strong words of the song that is the pride of our nation. 

As we retraced our steps through the cemetery, passing row upon row of graves, I pondered on what so many Americans had sacrificed during the war fought on foreign shores during my childhood years. Lives were lost and families grieved, but others lived freely because of it. 

I thought of a well-known quote that seemed to fit this small cemetery. All gave some, some gave all. 

 

 

Chicken Soup for the Soul Needs More Stories

 A long holiday weekend is upon us. Some of you will have every day filled with activities and being with friends/family. But others may have the days at leisure with time to write. Oh wow! Time to write. Something most of us crave more of.

I checked the Chicken Soup for the Soul page that has a call out for stories for books in the works. The list below includes deadlines.  A couple of them are only days away, while others are as far down the line as the end of August. With this anthology series, stories are accepted through the deadlines, but the earlier you submit, the better your chances are. So, don't procrastinate. It will be to your advantage to stay well ahead of the deadline date. The odds of getting a story accepted are pretty small, but it's not impossible either. If you've sent stories in the past that didn't make it, don't give up. I've been published in 24 of these books, but I've also had plenty of the stories I submitted to them rejected. 

Stories and poems needed for these Chicken Soup for the Soul books 

Cats     May 30

Crazy, eccentric, wacky, lovable, fun families   May 30

Dogs       May 30

Funny Stories  June 30

How Stepping Outside My Comfort Zone Changed Me    July 31

Impact of a Chicken Soup for the Soul story on me   August 30

The Advice that Changed My Life    July 31

The Power of Positive Thinking    July 31

If you want more information on each of these books and suggestions for the story topics, go to www.chickensoup.com Scroll down to the bottom of the page and click on Submit Your Story. Then Click on the Possible Book Topics on the menu at the left of that page. It is well worth it to go through all the information these editors have left for you. They want to give you some help in what story you decide to write and submit. 

Once again, I will advise you to read the Story Guidelines page with care. Read it and study it. It's there to help you submit the kind of story the editors seek. You will find it on the menu on the Possible Book Topics page.

The editors are asking for your stories and poems. You will see the following in the Guidelines regarding submitting poetry:

Guidelines for a Chicken Soup for the Soul poem

A.  We love poems that tell a story. A Chicken Soup for the Soul poem does the same job as a story. The reader goes away having learned your story, just through poetry instead of prose.

B.  We do not publish poems that do not tell a story.

C.  We also do not publish poems that seem overly focused on rhyming and read more like greeting cards.

What they are looking for here is a narrative poem, one that tells a story, but it must be your story, not that of someone else. 

I see very few poems in the Chicken Soup for the Soul books, so I think that they would be very happy to find some that fit the theme of the book and tell a story. 

Even if you don't have time this weekend to work on stories to submit to Chicken Soup, keep this list handy so you can get started later. Remember to look in your files for unpublished stories that might fit as is or with a bit of revising. 

Book Review--Under the Golden Sun

 

I haven't posted a book review for quite some time. I read a book that I thoroughly enjoyed recently so will share my thoughts on it with you. Jenny Ashcroft is the author of Under The Golden Sun, a historical novel set in 1941 in both England and Australia. Ms. Ashcroft has a degree in history from Oxford University in the UK, and she has traveled and lived in both Australia and Asia, places where she sets her historical fiction novels. I picked up this newest novel while browsing the New Books shelves at my library. I recognized her name as being the author of a book I had read earlier and enjoyed. That book, Meet Me in Bombay, is set in India.

Under The Golden Sun tells the story of Rose Hamilton. London is under siege by Germany in 1941. Rose had been a member of the Women's Auxiliary Air Force but was unfairly discharged following a dreadful personal loss. She moves to Devon, works as a secretary, and keeps up with an on again, off again relationship with her American journalist fiance. 

Rose is at loose ends, hoping to contribute to the war effort in some way, when she answers a newspaper advertisement asking for someone to act as a companion to an orphaned child to Australia. 

Rose is immediately attracted to four-year-old Walter Lucknow, who is shy, creative, and also kind. He has been living in seclusion with a great aunt, who insists the boy must be returned to his mother's family in Austalia.

Against all pleas of her family and fiance, Rose leaves for Australia on a ship which must brave traveling through wartime waters of the Atlantic. Once in the Pacific, they are out of danger but still have a long way to go. Woman and child bond during that time.

Arriving in Brisbane, Rose and Walter, who has become very precious to her after four months together on the ship, are met by a taxi driver who says he is to take her to the Lucknow family. The trip is two hours in a driving rain, but when they arrive, there is no welcome. No one answers the door, even though Rose knows someone is inside. Forced to take cover for the night in a barn, Rose fears the worst for Walter. 

The rest of the story involves the Lucknow family--matriarch Lauren, Esme, and Max, her children. Esme is a disgruntled, abandoned wife to an absent husband. Max is a wounded pilot who bears scars inside and outside his body. The little boy, Walter, is the son of Max and Esme's brother's wife who had an affair with an Aborigne worker on the huge Lucknow ranch. Walter is not related to any of them by blood, but Max and Esme feel an obligation to care for him as they loved his mother, who was their brother's widow.

Lauren is the one who holds out longest to Walter's charms, but even she comes to love the child. The Great-Aunt who Walter lived with in London is the older sister of Lauren, and it comes to be known that she has made Walter the heir to the thousands of acres the Lucknows live and work on. 

Rose learns to love the land and loses her heart to Max, becomes close friends with Esme and even Lauren, eventually. Letters take months to get from England to Austalia, so Rose communicates with family and fiance via telegram wires. She tries to break her engagement to Xander, but he never receives her letter. 

The story covers a year's time, during which Rose grows closer and closer to Walter, and pines for Max, afraid to tell him how she feels. This is a family saga that dips and sways as events occur, the war draws ever closer, and Rose feels she's finally found a home. Still, she is torn between returning to England and staying with Walter in Austalia. 

There is much more to Rose's story, but I don't want to spoil it for anyone who reads the book. 

The book kept me reading at times when I should have been doing something else. Beautifully written, it held my attention from start to finish. 

Blurbs on the back cover were glowing. A few follow:

"A story of love in its various forms, with the powerful pull of promises made, trust broken, and well-kept secrets." Glynnis Peters, author

""An unforgettable book. I loved every page!" Kaaren White, author

"A seeping love story with a huge heart. Gorgeously written and utterly absorbing." Emma Rous, author

"An epic story of hope and heartbreak, exquisitely written." Iona Grey, author

Find the book on Amazon or in your favorite bookstore or library.

Writers and Attitude

 

Many of you know I am a big Kansas State University football and basketball fan and supporter. After this last basketball season, our coach resigned. Always sad, as there are good and bad things about every coach's era. Jerome Tang, assistant head coach at Baylor University was hired. The portal transfer system went into high gear, and suddenly, Coach Tang had only two players left from our K-State team. 

He didn't hang his head and feel sorry for himself. Instead, he spoke in positives wherever he went, with whomever he tried to recruit, and as he hired his staff. I read an article about him this morning as he went on a Catbakcer tour across our state to meet and greet the fans. Long article filled with his great attitude. He's already recruited 5 new players, all with fine credentials, and there are more to come. He speaks to the fans with the attitude that we are going to be winners, and that outlook is transferring to those who back the Wildcats. Coach Tang's perspective is one we can all learn from.

How does the above link to writers? Attitude is a real biggie in the life of one who writes. Our poster today tells us that, if we think positive, positive things will happen. I'm a firm believer in that thought. 

Coach Tang has a gleam in his eye and a smile on his face, along with the goals he seeks. Writers should strive for the same. Moping around feeling sorry for yourself because of multiple rejections isn't going to move you very far on your writing journey. If you've set goals for your writing life, you'll reach them much faster with a positive attitude.

If you are a writer who does Morning Pages or keeps a daily journal, make it a habit to write at least one good thing about your writing world each day. More is better, but try to find one, only one, even if it is something miniscule in size or strength. If you've got plenty of negatives to write about in your journal, go ahead. It helps to vent sometimes, But don't forget to pen one positive.

The poet, Maya Angelou, has given us many fine quotes, but one I especially like is:

             If you don't like something, change it. If you can't change it, change your attitude.

If you go to a search engine and look for quotes on attitude, you'll find an abundance of well-known people whose advice we should consider carefully. These words are from successful humans. If it worked for them, their thoughts could work for us if we begin to practice having a positive attitude. 

When I run into a snag in my writing life, I'm resolving to look at it with Coach Tang's positive attitude. Can't hurt, and it's very likely to help. How about you? Are you willing to give it a try? 

Cutting Words When You Write

 

I wrote a Flash Fiction piece to enter in my state organizations's annual writing contest. The maximum number of words is 500. That's not much to tell a whole story, one with a beginning, middle, and end. 

My story idea came from a freewrite on a Random Word exercise. When I'd finished the 10 minute writing exercise, it occurred to me that I could expand on what I'd written to make a full story. 

I finished the first draft, let it sit a while, changed a few things, then subbed it to my online writing group for critique. Suggestions and comments from a few of them came next. Each person wanted certain things added to the story to make it more clear. Hmmm... That sounded fine until I realized my word count would go over the specified amount. 

Right now, I am in the process of both expanding and cutting. Put this in! Take this out! Is this part absolutely necessary? 

The best part about cutting words is that it is not as difficult as you might think. Unnecessary words can be tossed, making no difference to the story.. The preceding sentence is a rewrite. I originally wrote:  There are many unnecessary words that can be tossed, making no difference to the story itself. The same information is given, but in fewer words.

These are a few ways you can cut words:

Unnecessary Words:  How many times have you added words like really, very, usually and others that have no real importance in the sentence? We use them for emphasis, but it's not a must-do. The word 'that' can be eliminated in many cases. It's an extra we throw in without thinking. 

Active Verbs:  Many times, we use passive verbs that require two words, like 'were working' or 'were collected' when you can write 'worked' or 'collected' We should strive to use active verbs whenever we write, not only when we hope to cut words.

Eliminate Conjunctions:  Instead of writing a compound sentence, using and, but, or, & nor as a connection, cut your long sentence into two, getting rid of those conjunctions. Yes, it is only one word, but do it often enough throughout a whole story, and it will make a difference. Use the compound sentence occasionally, but not on a regular basis. (NOTE:  I could have deleted all the words after the comma in the preceding sentence. Nothing is lost, and the sentence is 6 words shorter.)

Adverbs and Adjectives:  Use adjectives and adverbs sparingly. If you have no word count restrictions, go ahead and use adjectives, but keep them to one, never more than two per noun. Eliminate adverbs whenever possible. They are telling rather than showing. 

Needless Transitions:  Sometimes we feel the need to use a transition from one paragraph to the next. The reader will do just fine without one. Things like 'Indeed' or 'Needless to say' are not necessary. 

Repeating Words:  It's easy to be guilty of repeating words close together. We do so without even realizing it. If you wrote: 'The Polar Bears are native to our far northern climates where the Polar Bears live.' You can easily eliminate the second 'Polar Bears' by ending the sentence after 'climates'

The examples above are only a few ways you can cut words. Find others through your favorite search engine. Keep them in mind when you do a proofreading and edit of your first draft. Better yet, think about them as you write the early draft.

Today's quote, from Stephen King, is a popular one, used many times, many places. We probably should heed it.

Writers and Effort

 

Today's quote seems made for writers. When you get stuck in one of your writing projects, don't give up. If one way doesn't work, try another and keep the effort going until you find the right solution and can finish feeling some satisfaction.

If anyone ever told you that a writer only needs to sit down, tap away at the keyboard, and turn out a delightful story, article, or essay, they have led you astray. To come up with a good piece of writing, you need to make a lot of effort. Not once, but perhaps several times.

Writing is hard work. It's also satisfying and inspiring. You are the one who must decide how hard you're willing to labor. You're the one who has to choose one door, two, or several before you are happy with what you've written. 

When you've written your first draft, proofread, and edited, let it sit a few days. Then read it and ask yourself one very important question: Am I happy with what I've written? If you are, that's great. If you have the slightest hesitation, then you'd better give it another try. 

You can go through several doors while writing, not only an entire piece, but even one small portion. I often see the writers in my online critique group subbing a piece for the group with something like this before it: "I don't think this flows well." OR "Something is wrong int the middle section (or opening, or conclusion)." They know the spots that need work, but they're seeking help from those with objective eyes. The good part here is that they are trying to find another way to write what didn't satisfy them. 

How many doors are you willing to try before you either feel satisfied or give up? I hope you won't give up on a problem piece entirely. If you've worked on it several times, and it still doesn't make you happy, put it in a file and don't look at it for a week or two or even much longer. When you pull up the file and read it again, you'll often see what the problem is and be able to find a solution. Work at it too long without a break, and we're often blind to what needs to be done.

Write About Birthdays

 

Today's photo shows a gorgeous cake to celebrate a birthday. It's almost too pretty to cut into, but whoever gets to enjoy this cake for his/her birthday surely will want to taste it. 

Your birthday is your own special day of the year. Your family and friends send greetings and wish you many more such days. Patents have stories to tell about the day you entered this world. Some are humorous, some just sweet, and others horrific. 

Stories about the days your children were born should be included in your Family Stories book. After all, they were there, but not aware, and they should learn something about that special time. There are some amazing stories about 'birth' days--babies born on the way to the hospital, on an airplane, at home unexpectedly, or in a hospital with a full delivery staff on hand. 

Some births were anticipated with great joy, some with fear, others with bitterness. For every good story about birth, there is another that feels rather sad and dark for one reason or another. They're all important.

What might you include in a piece about the birth of each child? Was the pregnancy planned or a surprise? What time of year did the birth occur? Was labor long and intense or relatively easy? Was the baby full-term or a preemie? 100% healthy or had some problems in those initial days? Physical characteristics of the newborn. Color of hair, eyes, complexion. Weight. Height. How did Dad handle the birth? Were there other family members waiting at the hospital? Was the baby the oldest, middle, or youngest child in your family? 

What memorable birthday celebrations did your children have? I have the Baby Book my mother kept for me, and there is a page in it that gives details of my first birthday--who was there, what gifts were received, my reaction, and a wonderful thought that my mother put down at the end of the page. I don't know if mothers today keep baby books, but if not, writing the stories of the birth and birthday celebrations would certainly be appreciated much later by their children. 

Write about memorable birthdays of your own to add to your Family Stories book. One of mine that stands out was the year I turned 16. My Mother had a baby boy two weeks before my birthday, and she stayed in the hospital longer than usual. I was helping at home with cooking and laundry and watching my two other younger brothers. My friend, Kay, had asked me to come spend the night at her house on a Friday. I told my Dad I'd stay home, that I could go to Kay's some other time, as we did sleepovers fairly often. Dad insisted I go. "It will do you good," he said. "You've been going to school and running the house. You deserve a break." I finally agreed, and Dad drove me to Kay's house. When I arrived, she said, "Come downstairs, I want to show you what my Dad bought." We started down the stairs, and suddenly there were shouts and laughing and "Happy Birthday, Nancy" from a big group of my friends who had the Surprise Sweet Sixteen party for me. Definitely a memorable birthday.

Give some thought to writing about the days your children were born, the times when a special birthday stood out for you, or a birthday that was the saddest one you ever had. When we write our family stories, include the good and the sad. It's part of who we are. I am not speaking here only to people who write to be published but to all who have had children. 

Determination and a Tough Hide For Writers

 Mr. Turtle in today's photo has some determination, something all writers should own, as well. They should also master developing a tough hide like his. Two good qualifications among others that would benefit writers. Let's look at each one.

Wishy-washy writer or one that is determined? Which one do you think will be more successful? Which one are you? Or are you a writer who bounces back and forth between the two? A lot of writers fall into this latter category.

If you try a new writing project and give up when it doesn't mesh together nicely, you're not going to move very far on your writing journey. You'll start myriad new writing projects and probably finish very few of them. 

I thought about my daughter when she was a toddler learning to dress herself. I'd let her try for just so long and then try to help. She'd immediately say "No!" Then, she'd try again (and again) until she was successful. Determination was an inborn trait with her. She ended up using that trait all through her growing up years and into her career. 

Not everyone is fortunate enough to be born with the trait of determination. Some have to work at it and develop the trait over many years. It's worth working to achieve that status if you want to be a successful writer. Giving up is easy. Pushing on and continuing isn't. A lot depends on how much you want your writing world to be fruitful. 

If your newest writing projects are filled with bumps and potholes, it's discouraging. We can all admit that. The important part is how you handle it. Do you dump the whole project with the first couple of bumps, or do you put it away for a short while, give it some thought, and then work on it again? I hope it is the latter choice for you. 

I've used an example many times about the story of The Little Engine That Could. We all know the story of that train engine who kept repeating "I think I can! I think I can!" until he was able to pull the big engine. I think I can might be a good mantra to use when things aren't going well. 

Like the turtle, writers also need to have a tough hide. They need to learn to let the rejections bounce off that hide, rather than pierce straight through to the heart. Learning to accept both criticism from other writers or readers or editors, along with full rejections from publishers, is not easy. The first thing we should do is to remember that the criticism is not a personal attack against YOU. Sadly, many writers take it that way. The criticism, or rejection, is about what you have written. Let's face it. Not every story, article, poem, or essay is going to be a masterpiece. Especially not with the first, or even second draft. There will be some fine parts and other areas that need work. 

When someone gives you the exact spots that bothered them, feel happy that you know where you have to do some revision. It's so much better than an overall criticism where you don't even know where to begin to revise. If you put your writing up for critique in a group, you'll benefit a great deal. When more than one person picks out the same area that needs work, believe it. Then do something about it. A simple rejection from an editor will not always be sent with a reason. I appreciate the ones that do give me an inkling of why the piece didn't work for them. 

Work on not taking criticism personally. Think of it as something to help you improve on your craft and become better at it. 

Make an attempt to develop Mr. Turtle's Try and Stop Me attitude. You'll accelerate your writing journey that way.

Why You Should Join Writing Organizations

 

Writing Group

I've been pondering on writers who do or not join writing organizations. We have a lot of choices at the national, state, and local level. 

I prefer the state and local so that I can participate more easily. I can join a national, or even international, group, but mostly what I will benefit from is going to be through online possibilities in the form of emails and possible zoom meetings. 

At my state level, I can attend the annual convention, which is within the state and reasonable driving distance. I can also take advantage of zoom meetings and attend the smaller district meetings, either in person or on zoom. I have to say that one good thing the pandemic brought us was being able to meet via zoom, even have full writing conventions done this way. 

What will joining a national, state, or local group cost you? One thing is money. They all have to charge dues to be able to operate. The higher the level, the higher the amount of money they will ask for. In Kansas, I pay the dues to the state, but nothing further for the lower district levels. The other cost to you will be time. Becoming involved will definitely take away some writing time. But that can be a tradeoff for what you can gain. Those who are willing to donate their time in the capacity of officers or chairmen are going to sacrifice more time. 

Along with these two costs, you have the joy of some benefits gained. You'll meet other writers, develop friendships with many, and have a source to discuss writing in man ways. One on one, small groups, or small zoom meetings. The interaction with people who understand what you do is worth a great deal. 

Another benefit is learning more about writing through the workshops offered at conventions. The opportunity to meet publishers at state and national meetings is also worth a lot. Face to face always beats the printed word on a letter to an editor. 

You can meet other writers who can give you some help in trouble spots you have when writing a book. If you have no outlet other than yourself as a writer, you can stay stuck. Having others who you feel comfortable with to consult is priceless. 

Many state and national meetings offer Book Rooms where writers can sell their books, something every author seeks.

I know of many writers who join these organizations, pay their dues annually, but they don't participate. They can add their membership on a resume, but that's about all. It's a choice, but I feel that those who pay but do not reap any of the benefits are missing out on a lot. 

Many years ago, when I first started attending Kansas Authors Club state conventions, I was very much alone, knew no one, but each time I attended, I met more members and found ones I wanted to know better. I joined the local group and grew to know those people quite well. I was asked to lead a workshop at a convention and it benefited me as much as those who came to hear what I had to say. Besides, they kept asking me to present at other conventions. I loved teaching the groups and hearing the questions and discussions. 

I have served as an officer at the local level and been asked to do so at the state level. For reasons of health and distance, I declined the latter. 

I took advantage of attending meetings via zoom during the pandemic and continue to do so. I am saddened that more do not attend those meetings. The only one they hurt by not showing up is themselves. 

Join a writing organization, but do more than pay your dues. Participate to get the full benefit. It can only help your writing life if you do. The time spent will bring something to your writing journey.

When You Write, the Little Things Count

 

 

Our photo quote today tells us to enjoy the little things. My last two posts have highlighted  two parts of the mechanics of writing. One was the length of sentences, and the other featured repetition of words. 

Both are small in comparison to the meat of your story, article, or essay. Even so, those two miniscule items along with other mechanics can create a far better read when they are used correctly. 

Besides the sentence length and repetition of words, a writer needs to pay close attention to punctuation. Commas have a purpose. We use them after an introductory phrase, with a series of three or more words, before a conjunction. Quotation marks are necessary when dialogue is used or when quoting a person. Using them correctly is not always easy. Question marks at the end of a sentence allow us to know that we have just read a question, not a statement. The way to use punctuation correctly is to learn the rules. Memorize if that works best for you. Use a search engine to find the rules.

Spelling? Yes, it is of importance in your overall finished piece. You wouldn't want to submit a story to an editor with numerous spelling errors. Today, there is little reason for that to happen, as most programs like Word and others offer a Spell Check feature. You must take the time to use it. 

How about capitalization? Writers should check when to capitalize names and places. We all learned this in school, but the years go by, and we forget. If you're not sure when to cap a word, take the time to look up the correct way. 

All of the above are rules you should follow to become a better writer. Writing a story, article, essay, memoir, poem and more is not only about content. The way you write is also important. Some writers will try to wing it; they don't want to be bothered or take the time to check the proper way to write. Sometimes, it works, but it can also get you a rejection in a flash. An editor doesn't have time to correct all your mechanical errors, even if he/she likes the piece you have sent. 

Repeating Words is a No-No

 

Last Friday, my post addressed the length of sentences used when you're writing a story. Today, let's look at a small problem many writers have. Repetition of words. We do it without thinking. Our mind is intent on the story or essay, and we repeat words too close together. Small things like this can annoy the reader, and we certainly don't want to do that, do we? Below, you will find a revised former post on repetition of words.

This photo has nothing to do with today's topic. I used it because I liked it and I could not find one that was appropriate for today's post. So enjoy the image above and read on. 

Many of you know that I belong to an online writing group. We submit our writing and critique the writing of other members. When reading another writer's work, the little errors jump out. If we are editing our own writing, we tend to skip right over small mechanical things. 

One of the problems I note in so many of the pieces I critique is the repetition of words. A big deal? No. It's a small matter, but fixing the problem will make the piece read more smoothly and will subconsciously please the reader. If a writer repeats words too often, the reader can become annoyed. Sounds ridiculous, but I find myself irritated by reading the same words over again, especially if they are in the same sentence or same paragraph. My mind clicks into You already used that word,; find another. 

Writers don't set out to see how often they can use a word in a 1200 word essay. Most aren't even aware they've done it until a critiquer points it out. Yes, we who critique are probably more conscious of it. I'd like to see all writers make themselves aware and search for repetition of words in their own writing. 

Look at these examples of Bad and Better ways to eliminate repeated words:

BAD:  Jerry liked some fruits, but not all of them. He liked some vegetables. He liked some meat but not every one. 

BETTER:  Jerry liked some fruits, but not all of them. He enjoyed a few vegetables. He savored several meats,but not every one.

BAD:  I had a new blouse on the day I went for the interview. I wore the new blouse hoping to look smart and elegant. The new blouse helped me get the job. 

BETTER: I had a new blouse on the day I went for the interview. I wore it, hoping to look smart and elegant. That pretty piece of clothing helped me get the job.

BAD:   I was going too fast when the cop stopped me. I was hurrying because I was late for my doctor appointment.  

BETTER:  The cop stopped me for speeding. Late for my doctor appointment, I hurried a little too much. 

BAD:  Susie punched the time clock and sprinted down the narrow hallway to her workspace. Her workspace was a jumbled mess, but it was hers to do with whatever she wanted. At least, she told herself that whenever guilt threatened to creep in. She could scatter papers all over this workspace as long as she could sort things out enough to get her work done.

Better:  Susie punched the time clock and sprinted down the narrow hallway to her workspace. The small area was a jumbled mess, but it was hers to do with whatever she wanted. At least, she told herself that whenver guilt threatened to creep in. She could scatter papers all over the desk as long as she could sort things out enough to complete her assignments.

One of the reasons we write using repetitive words is laziness. We need to think a little harder to come up with alternatives. We also consider words like the previous samples not important to the point we are trying to make, so we gloss over them. 

What can you do to find and correct this type of mechanical error? 

A.  Read your work out loud.  Some writers think this is rather stupid. Trust me, it is not. If you read your work out loud on a regular basis, the mistakes that pop out will surprise you. 

B.  Train yourself to look for repeated words. The more you look for the problem, the easier it will be to note when it occurs. Because I've critiqued other writers' work for a long time, seeing this error comes more easily to me now than it did years ago.

C.  Let your work sit before you edit. If you try to read and find errors soon after you finish the story or essay, you slide right by many little problems. Let your work simmer a few days at least, then read it. Most writers will be surprised by what they find then.

D.  When using a name, alternate with pronouns. When writing about a person, say Mr. Ames, you don't want to constantly repeat his name. Use it once, then use he or his. A paragraph or two later, use his name again merely as a reminder to the reader who this is that you're talking about. 

E.  Make use of your thesaurus: If it's difficult to come up with an alternative for an over-used word, pull out your trusty friend, the thesaurus.

F.  Be careful when using very long sentences. When we write lengthy sentences, we tend to repeat words. There is another reason not to use extremely long sentences. They easily become rife with mechanical errors.

The benefits of ridding your first draft, or the final one, of repetition, is that you will have a stronger piece of writing and will also please your readers. You can't eliminate 100% of repeating words, but you can definitely remedy a lot. 

Sentence Length is Important

 

You might think today's photo is a bit strange. Two pencils, one long and one short. But, there is a point in my selecting this photo as today's topic is about the length of sentences when you write. 

Are you frowning? Thinking I've gone over the edge? Laughing? Wondering? 

In the mechanics end of our writing life, the length of sentences is important. I was once in a writing group online with a group of men and women. One man wrote the longest sentences I have ever seen. Each one stretched on and on, using clauses and phrases, and conjunctions until the reader's head was swimming. At the end of each of those sentences (which followed in succession), I wanted to say "Whoa! Slow down." The rest of the group gave him a hard time about those long sentences, but he had a hard time breaking himself of the habit.

One way to test your sentence length is to read your work aloud. If you find yourself having to stop to take a breath in the middle of a sentence, it is probably too long. 

When a sentence stretches way out, the original thought can sometimes be lost. In a short sentence, the idea can't be missed. It's right there in front of you. Add a whole lot of other words, and your original intent can be covered up. 

Am I saying you should write only short sentences? No. A whole story or essay with nothing but very short sentences would also end up being boring. You'd have few to no adjectives which enhance a sentence and deliver an image to the reader. 

What you should strive for is a balance of long, but not exceedingly long, and short sentences. Intersperse them. Follow a long sentence with a short one. Not in a total pattern, but as a general overall rule. Sure, you can have two longer sentences back to back, but then pop in a shorter one. Look for a balance. 

Using both long and short sentences will allow you to engage your reader in a better manner. Using a plethora of overly long sentences can end up irritating the reader, and we all know we don't want to do that, certainly not on a regular basis, nor do we want to drag things out and lose our original thought. The preceding sentence was more than 40 words long. Read it out loud. How did it sound to you? The standard recommendation is to keep sentences to 30 words or less. No, I am not suggesting you count the words in your sentence. You'll know when it looks overly long.

How can you shorten those extra long sentences? If you have used conjunctions like and, but, or, nor, divide the long sentence into two. Easily done. Where you have a comma and a word like 'and,' put a period. Then drop the 'and' and capitalize the next word to begin a new sentence. Cut phrases or clauses that don't add to your main idea in the sentence. Sometimes, they're merely fluff. 

What about short sentences that are actually fragments, not a complete sentence? Such as: Sure, why not? No way! They are alright to use now and then. Especially in dialogue as we often speak that way. Use them, but don't overdo it. 

As already stated, the key to sentences in writing is balance. Short and long, but not overly long--that will give a better overall picture of what you are trying to tell your reader. You need not make a pattern of short, then long, then short, then... You can have two long sentences, then a short one, three long sentences, then a short one. There is no absolute right or wrong as to how many or where they are placed. Some of each will be a big help to your reader. 

Potholes in Your Writing Journey

 

After winter is over, we deal with numerous potholes in our roads. We swerve around them or avoid the streets that boast the most. 

Not that I said 'swerve around them' and 'avoid...' which is exactly what we should do when we hit potholes in our writing journey. Be assured that you are going to run across them. Our writing pothole appear when we hit a snag of some sort in our writing life. It happens to all of us. Some of those indentations are deeper and bigger than others. We can deal with the little ones, but when one of the biggies comes along, our journey might come to a screeching halt, at least for a while.

Potholes come our way in the form of rejections from a publisher, a story that seemed great in your mind but turns out rather lame when you write it, or a problem in a story that you can't seem to resolve. Maybe you have written a story or essay that satisfies you a lot, but you cannot find the right market for it. Perhaps your story idea is great, but the mechanics when it is written are in need of help. So many parts of our writing life can result in a pothole. 

The important thing is to keep moving; don't let each pothole slow your journey, or stop it altogether. If your confidence in your writing is on the low side, it's pretty easy to let these problems stop you for some time or forever. 

What should you do when you hit one of these potholes? As our poster says, 'stop worrying.' There is nothing that cannot be fixed or dumped and restarted. 

Writers are not alone in having to fix a problem. Quilters pull out stitches and redo their work when it doesn't measure up. Painters paint over problem areas or start a new canvas. Landscapers redo sections that don't measure up to their standards. Why should writers be any different? We cut, revise, and edit over and over until we are satisfied. 

When you hit a portion of the writing road that has potholes, swerve if they aren't big ones. When you come across a large problem, stop and work on it until you're satisfied and can move on. 

Do We Work on Our Writing Goals or Forget Them?

 

I ran across this photo that has a simple message, simple but also strong. It served as a good reminder to me about the goals I set for my writing journey in early January. Maybe it's a good thing to review the goals you made at the beginning of 2022. 

I recommended that you keep them few in number. Set too many goals, and you can become overwhelmed and ditch every one of them. It's easier to fulfill two or three rather than eight or ten. 

Setting writing goals for the year can so easily go the way of the resolutions you make about your personal life. Gong to lose weight. Exercise more. Invite someone over for dinner once a month. Clean all your kitchen cabinets. We work at those resolutions but slowly let them slide into nowhereland. 

Did you keep a list of your writing goals for 2022? If not, can you remember what you set out to accomplish this year? Can you rate yourself on the progress you've made? 

If you've met one or two of the goals you set, pat yourself on the back. You've probably done better than the majority. If you haven't worked on any of them, heave a big sigh and resolve to work on them now. We aren't even at the halfway mark of the year. You have time to meet them before the end of the year.

What will it take? A desire to reach your goals, some determination, and a bit of patience. You can't do it in one fell swoop. Like a sculptor chips away at a piece of stone until he creates a piece of art, we must work bit by bit to achieve those goals we set. 

Can't even remember what goals you set last January? No problem. Pick two new ones now. You've got 7+ months to work on them. 

The Birthing of a Story--Just Plain Sarah Jane

 

My grandmother's dish

Yesterday's post dealt with what I've learned when writing for children. Today, I'd like to show you how a story is birthed--or comes about. This one was written for middle grade kids.

The words 'just plain Sarah Jane' had been going through my mind for days. Why, I'll never know. I was soon to put them to use.

I have a pretty little dish that had been my grandmother's. I brought it out one day and put it on the table where I write. I thought about the story of Grandma's dish. She had married a coal miner in a very small mining town in Iowa, no fuss kind of wedding. Soon after, she went to the General Store, and the man who owned the store said to her, "Elizabeth, I heard you got married." She told him it was true. He picked up a small painted dish, handed it to her, and said, "Then, I expect you need to have a little wedding present from me." That dish went with my grandmother everywhere she lived, then went to my mother, and eventually to me. 

As I pondered the story once again, I heard 'just plain Sarah Jane' in my mind. The dish, a girl named Sarah Jane, and a general store in a small town of long ago. I started writing and kept on all that afternoon. It was the birthing of "Just Plain Sarah Jane." 

I submitted the story to Knowonder! magazine. It was published by them, spoken of in an interview the editor gave, and part of it was used as an example in their Writer Guidelines. 

A few years after the story was published, we were traveling in the Hill Country of Texas. We stopped at a garden store where I found several items to purchase. I took them to the register where an older woman waited. She greeted me with a big smile which lit up her face. We began to chat, and I then noticed that her name tag said 'Sarah Jane.' I couldn't decide if I should say anything about my story or not, but I did tell her about the girl in my story with the same name as hers. She asked me if I'd send her a copy. I agreed, and she added her address to the bag of the goodies I'd bought. I did send her the story when I got home and received a very nice letter from her in response. 

Every story begins in a different way. I shared here how "Just Plain Sarah Jane" came to be--or was 'birthed.' I'll add the story at the end of this post. I've used it as an example in another post a while ago, so it may seem familiar to you.  I started writing about the china dish, not knowing where the story was going, and after that, it seemed to write itself. 

The point here is that the simplest things can be the basis for a story, whether for children or adults. Take one of your family treasures and see if it holds a story or will help you write a story.

Just Plain Sarah Jane

by Nancy Julien Kopp

Sarah Jane gasped when she spied a dainty white china dish in the display window of Owensby’s General Store. How many times had she heard Ma wish for something beautiful for their cabin?

The dish was only big enough to hold a few morsels of Christmas candy, or perhaps Ma’s special pickles. Shaped like a leaf, the scalloped edges were painted blue with fine gold lines curving and swirling through the color. Three ruby red and pink roses with soft green vines graced the center. Ma had nothing this pretty.

Sarah Jane slipped her hand into her pinafore pocket and fingered the smooth metal and tiny ridges of the pennies lying there. She pressed her nose against the window to see the price tag propped beside the dish. In bold black print, it said “19 cents.” She rubbed the pennies once more and marched into the store.

“What do you want, Sarah Jane?” Mr Owensby said.

He was tall and thin with a mouth that turned down and eyes that watched the merchandise in his shop like a hawk guarding its prey.

“Ma needs some white thread, Mr. Owensby. She said to put it on the bill.”

“I’ll bet she did,” the storekeeper mumbled. His mouth turned down even farther.

Sarah Jane ignored the comment. She stepped closer to the display window.

“You want something there?” Mr. Owensby asked.

“No, just looking. That little dish is the prettiest thing I ever did see.”

“Huh! May be pretty, but it isn’t practical. Folks ‘round here need practical more than pretty. Don’t know why I let that city salesman talk me into it.”

Mr. Owensby clamped his lips together and handed Sarah Jane the thread.

“Thanks,” she called as she sailed out the door. She started down the wooden walkway but backtracked for one more peek at her treasure. One thought came to her--The roses look so real I can almost smell them. She took two quick hops and turned toward home.

She could see Pa unhitching the horses from the plow when she neared their barnyard.

Sarah Jane ran to her father. “Pa, Pa, will you give me a penny every Saturday like you promised? Will you?

Pa grabbed hold of the harness. “Said I would. One penny every Saturday if you help me hitch up and unhitch. Hope you’ll save it, Sarah Jane, not go buying candy at Owensby’s every week.”

“Oh, I’ll save it, Pa. I’ve put aside fourteen cents already, and I’ve my eye on something special.”

“Must be mighty special to make your eyes shine so and set your feet to dancing.”

Sarah Jane stopped by Owensby’s window on her way home from school every day. In only five weeks she’d have enough to buy the dish for Ma.

Finally the day arrived when Pa gave her the last penny she needed. She tied them up in an old handkerchief and ran most of the way to town. Out of breath by the time she reached the store, she stopped to take in great gulps of air. The familiar excitement bubbled up once more, but when she turned to the window, the bubbles burst. The dish was gone. Cold fingers of fear clutched at her stomach.

She ran inside. “Mr. Owensby, where is the dish, the one with the roses?”

“Ha!” Mr. Owensby said, placing both hands on the counter and leaning forward. “Finally sold it. Lowered the price this morning, and Johnny Ripple snapped it up for Annabelle Nelson’s birthday.” His mouth turned upwards a bit, then he frowned. “Why?”

Sarah Jane’s voice trembled. “It was mine. I’ve been saving my money.” She held up the cloth bundle. “See. I have the nineteen cents here.”

“Nineteen cents! Now look what you’ve done.” Mr. Owensby’s mouth turned down farther than ever before. “You should have told me you wanted it. I sold it to that boy for twelve cents.” He pounded his fist on the counter. “You made me sell that dish at a loss. Boy got himself a real bargain, and it’s your fault, Missy.”

Sarah Jane slipped out the door and headed straight for Annabelle’s house. All the boys liked Annabelle, but Sarah Jane knew none of the girls at school felt the same.

She bounded up the steps of Annabelle’s house and rapped on the door. Her thumping heart kept time with her knocking. When Annabelle answered, Sarah Jane lost no time in small talk. “Annabelle,” she said, “may I see the dish Johnny gave you?”

“How did you know about that?” Annabelle put her hands on her hips and stamped her foot. “He only gave it to me today.”

Sarah Jane eased by the other girl into the house. “Where is it? I want to buy it from you.”

She surveyed the room. “Annabelle, look at all the pretty things you have. You don’t need the dish, but I do. It’s for my ma. Please. I’ll pay you nineteen cents, exactly what Mr. Owensby wanted. ‘Course Johnny didn’t pay that much. He got a bargain, a big sale.”

While she talked, Sarah Jane moved toward Annabelle until she had the girl backed up against the flowered wall. 

When Annabelle could move no farther, she put her hands out. “Wait? You can have the dish. I don’t even like it.” She smiled and narrowed her eyes. “For twenty-five cents.”

“That’s not fair,” Sarah Jane shouted. “You can’t do that.”

“Oh, yes I can. It’s my dish.” Annabelle stuck her tongue out. “Well?”

Sarah Jane figured quickly in her head. “I can have the money for you in six more Saturdays.”

“Perhaps. I suppose I will. I’d rather have the money than the dish. Now go away and don’t bother me until you have the money.”

The weeks dragged for Sarah Jane. Annabelle tossed her curls and darted mean looks every day at school. Sarah Jane bit her lips, counted her pennies, and kept quiet.

Six Saturdays passed, and Sarah Jane presented herself at Annabelle’s door, the twenty-five pennies tied in the handkerchief in her pinafore pocket. She knocked firmly.

A smiling Annabelle answered the door. Her smile vanished. “Oh, it’s just plain Sarah Jane. Whatever do you want?”

Sarah Jane held up the clothbound pennies. “I have the twenty-five cents for the dish.”

Annabelle shrugged. “I don’t have the old dish anymore. I traded it this morning for something better. Besides, what does a plain person like you want with something so fancy?”

“But, who…what?” Sarah Jane could barely get the words out. She balled her hands into fists, her face turned red, and she shouted, “You are the meanest person I have ever met!”

She whirled around to leave, and her hand holding the pennies hit the railing so hard that the cloth tore, and the coins flew across the porch.

Annabelle laughed as Sarah Jane crawled on hands and knees picking up pennies. Annabelle slammed the door, still laughing.

Halfway home, she came across a horse, hitched to an empty wagon, standing in the road. The black horse shook its head and stomped its hooves.

“Are you alone, old boy?” She patted the horse’s nose, looked right and left but saw no sign of life among the trees, rocks, and wildflowers. Then a faint sound caught her attention. It came from beyond the stand of trees.

“Anybody there?” she hollered, walking past the wagon full of boxes and sacks.

“Help me! Help me!” The voice was weak but distinct.

“Where are you?” she called.

“Down here.”

Sarah Jane ran to the edge of a deep ravine, bent over and searched. Sitting on the ground, about halfway to the bottom, was an old man. His clothes and beard were covered with twigs and leaves.

He moaned and said, “My leg, I’ve hurt my leg. I fell down the ravine looking for firewood. I thought no one would ever come.” He put his hands over his face, and his shoulders shook.

Sarah Jane studied the injured man, then looked back at the horse and wagon still on the road. She cupped her hands around her mouth and called down to him. “I can’t pull you up, but maybe the horse can.”

She raced back to the horse and unhitched him as Pa had taught her. Sarah Jane walked around the wagon looking for something to use for a lifeline. She spotted a long piece of rope coiled on a nail.

She led the horse to the ravine and fastened the rope to the harness. Next, she threw the other end of the rope as far as she could. It landed only a short distance from the injured man.

The old man inched himself toward the rope. “That’s a smart thing to do,” he said breathing hard. He inched himself closer and grasped the rope with both hands, his leather gloves allowing him a firm hold.

Slowly, Sarah Jane led the horse away. Little by little, bump by bump, the old man moved up the ravine until he reached the top. She helped him try to walk back to the wagon. She found a fallen tree limb for him to lean on, and with her help, they made it halfway to the wagon.

“I can go no farther,” the old man said, weariness in his voice. “Let’s rest a little while.” He smiled at Sarah Jane, and his dark eyes brightened. “Who are you? A beautiful angel, perhaps?”

Warmth worked its way up to Sarah Jane’s cheeks, and she lowered her head. She studied her shoes. “No, I’m just plain Sarah Jane—not beautiful anything.”

“Ah, but to me you are very beautiful. Wait here.” The old man scooted to the wagon and pulled himself up. He searched among the many items it held until his hand grasped a burlap sack. “Ah, here it is. Something special. An old peddler like me comes across many beautiful things, but this I got only today.”

He removed his gloves and pulled something small out of the sack. “Here—here is something beautiful to help you remember your kindness to me.”

In his gnarled and dirty hands he held the dish, Ma’s dish. The roses looked real enough to smell. Sarah Jane’s twenty-five pennies jingled in her pocket as she reached out to accept the gift from the peddler.

(C)

Writing for Children Is Not a Snap

 

There are people who think writing stories and books for children is pretty easy. After all, the books are shorter,  simpler, and sweet. They think writers of children's books can whip out several a year. 

Nope, that's not right. Writing a book for a child might be harder because the author must say so much in so few words. Like all books, there should be a problem, the protagonist must solve the problem, and she/he meets obstacles along the way. 

You'll find a few things I've learned about writing for children below:  

Know what age group you are aiming for:

Picture books for children up to age 4 (and sometimes even beyond)

Early Reader books for 5-7 year olds

Chapter Books aimed at 6-9 year olds--story is divided into chapters and is of greater length

Middle Grade books for 9-12 year olds and longer than Chapter Books

Young Adult (YA) for teens--longer and more involved; can even appeal to adults

Do some research about vocabulary for each of these categories of books. It's alright to introduce new words to children, but keep to their vocabulary categories for the most part. 

The writer must create a main character that children can relate to and one that brings some emotion to the reader. Secondary characters allow for some expansion and interesting people. 

Of great importance is that the child must solve the problem on their own. They cannot go to an adult and have them make everything hunky-dory. 

Kids love humor and mysteries along with adventure stories. 

Stories for children do not always need to have a moral. Sometimes, kids just want to be entertained. 

Read books for children if you want to write them. Lots of them! 

I've written numerous short stories for children  which have been published. I've written one middle grade novel, not published. It's fun to write for kids. Give it a try.

A Mother's Day Essay and A Suggestion

 

My Mother, Garnet Studham Julien, in 1939

It's Mother's Day weekend, and of course, our thoughts turn to the women who raised us, who loved us, and whom we honor today, whether they are still living or not. My mother died seventeen years ago, but it seems like yesterday. I feel her with me at times, and when I skim through her recipe box know that she will always be with me in some way. Photo albums bring back memories of long ago days.

If you haven't written about your mother, this weekend is a perfect time to do so. If you have written something about her already, why not one more? Many of my Chicken Soup for the Soul stories feature my mom. One is about looking in the mirror and seeing her instead of me. Another is about a Mother's Day shortly after she'd passed and my yearning to buy a greeting card for her. Another is about her cheerful personality and the way she smiled at people wherever she went. 

Write about your mother's good qualities, but add things about the way she scolded or punished you, whether she had a temper or not, whether she had a habit that irritated you. We don't want only the sweet frosting of a person's life, but also what lay underneath. 

If your mother is still living, call her or be with her on Sunday, but make a point to call or visit more often in the coming years. Make every bit of time you have with your mother count. Yes, she may not be perfect, but she IS your mother. All mothers are not perfect, and neither are all children. Sift and sort and dwell on the good. 

I'll close today by sharing one of the personal essays I wrote about my mother. 

Finding My Mother

The year is 1943, and I am four years old. The Woolworth Five and Dime in our neighborhood has a creaky wooden floor and smells like penny candy, sickeningly sweet. I walk up one aisle and down another, heart beating fast, until a clerk leans down. “Do you need help, honey?”

My lip quivers, and I voice my fear. “Where is my mama? I can’t find her.” Like magic, my mother appears at the end of the aisle, her steps hurried, my baby brother in her arms. Relief washes over me when we are reunited. She reassures me with simple words. “Don’t worry. I’d never leave you.” But I stay close to her the rest of the day.

War rages in Europe and Asia, but I am oblivious to that situation. My world revolves around my young and pretty mother. She provides everything a four-year-old requires. She reads to me, hears my bedtime prayer, and coaxes me to eat. I develop a sense of humor because she makes laughter a part of our everyday life.

Fast forward sixty-one years, and I have lost my mother again. I can’t find her, even though I know where she lives. She is eighty-six and resides far from me in a nursing home in North Carolina, but the mother I know and love is gone.

Macular degeneration denies her the pleasure of reading. In years past, she devoured novels, fit newspapers and magazines into her daily routine. She celebrated the release of every new John Grisham book.

Physical ailments curtail her activities, and depression erases the keen sense of humor that marked her character until very recently. The weekly letters stop when she loses the ability to pick up a pen and put words on paper. For years, we chatted on the phone—passing on family news, discussing world events, politics, movies, books and more. Now, she refuses to have a phone in her room at the nursing home, effectively cutting herself off from those who love her. Is it because a phone is a sign of permanency? She tells my brother she will be home again as soon as she gains some strength. She knows, and we know, that possibility is unlikely, but no one is strong enough to voice that thought.

She no longer possesses the sharp wit she once displayed regularly or the ability to entertain us with stories about her childhood in an Iowa coal mining town. Mental confusion blurs her days, and her powers of concentration are vastly diminished.

Yes, I’ve lost my mama again. But I’m not four years old. I’m an adult who is on Medicare, a senior citizen who misses her mother. I pray for her daily. I don’t pray that she will be miraculously well and strong again, for I know the aging process would not allow it. Instead, I pray that she will have comfort and peace in these final years, months, or days that remain. Even so, I feel lost again, and there is no helpful Woolworth clerk to show concern. My mother does not make a magical appearance this time. Grief at the thought of losing her soon surrounds me as I move through my daily life. 

Health concerns of my own postpone a planned trip to visit Mother, but little by little I am finding her right here in my own home. My kitchen overflows with reminders. Her blue enamel roasting pan, a painted china plate, a favorite mixing bowl and more trigger memories of happy times. One day I pick up a rolling pin while looking for something in a cupboard, and images of my mother rolling pie pastry, sugar cookies, and cinnamon rolls moved in waves through my mind and brought a smile to my face. She learned from her mother and passed the love of baking on to me. My mother will always be with me when I bake.

Her presence is strong when I skim through my recipe box where her handwriting covers dozens of recipe cards. I linger on some to keep her close a little longer. One card has a note on the top. “Mom’s Date Muffins”, a recipe passed on to her from my grandmother. They are still a favorite of mine, and when I make them, I feel my mother and also my grandmother near. On a recipe shared by my wacky, but lovable, aunt, Mother wrote “Viv’s best cookie.” 

Family photographs decorate various rooms in my home, and photo albums help me relive the years when my mother played a vital part in my life. The camera caught her laughing, holding babies, traveling with my dad. Pictures taken with her treasured older brother capture the joy she found in his company. A surprise eightieth birthday party is re-lived in an album of its own. I can wander through my home and find her in these photos whenever I feel the need to be with her. All these things soften the sharp edges of the grief I felt when she first entered the nursing home.

In some respects, the vibrant mother I once knew slips farther and farther away, but these reminders of the past bring her close. There’s no need to ever feel like a lost child again. On that long-ago day in Woolworth’s, she told me she’d never leave me. I know now that she spoke the truth. A part of her will always be with me.

Death finally claims my beloved mother on a cold February day. Sadness holds me in a tight grip, but I had learned to handle my earlier grief as she lay dying in the nursing home by dwelling on the many reminders of her scattered through my home. I know that I can continue to do that. 

On the day of her memorial service, I give the eulogy telling those in attendance about her life and the wonderful person she had been. Love and pride push grief aside.

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