I Drew a Bunch of Pictures Last Night

I have this concept. I'm not ready to talk about it yet. But here are some concept drawings. We'll see where it goes...

Really? Only a Week?

So it’s, like, National Grammar Week, or something. Actually, I think it's just a day (March 4) but some of us want to squeeze as much blood from this stone as possible by letting loose our inner snarky grammar Nazis, guilt-free, for seven days.

This means I may admonish the improperness of all manner of commonly overlooked (even accepted) lingual misfires, while simultaneously retaining the lexical superiority (like moral superiority, but nerdier) and keen sense of ironicalness that affords me the right to use the interjection “like” and unnecessary dependent clause “or something” purposely without shame or regret. I can write overly purple sentences that are 54 words long and perfect in their grammar and punctuation, and look haughty while doing it, even though that sort of thing would make me an asshole during any other week.

Oh English, how I love thee. Let me count the ways in which I am annoyed by hearing you come out of others’ mouths.

For the purposes of this writing, I will stick only to my pet peeves with hard and fast rules—which consist mostly of word confusion. I have my thoughts on the Oxford comma, whether the period goes inside or outside of quotation marks, and just how many commas is too many; but, since those issues can be argued either way with equal validity, I’ll just tell you what you have been doing categorically wrong. Clean up your act, folks. Use words correctly and gain the benefit of looking down your nose at most everyone around you!

The following pairs of words do not mean the same thing and may not be used interchangeably.

1. Further and farther. Further describes an increase in the degree of something, usually intangible. Farther describes actual or abstract distance. Remember it as farther is “more far.”
   
   a. In order to give further thought to this issue, let me go farther down the hall to Mike’s office.
   
   
2. I.e. and e.g. “I.e.” is the Latin abbreviation for id est. It means “that is.” The noun phrase that precedes “i.e.” is an example of the noun phrase that comes after it. “E.g.” is Latin for exempli gratia. It means “for example.” The noun phrase that follows “e.g.” is an example of the noun phrase that precedes it. Remember it is “in essence” and “example given.”
   
   a. I love unicorns, phoenixes, and griffins, i.e., mythical creatures.
   b. None of my favorite animals actually exists, e.g., unicorns.
   
   
3. Less and fewer. This can be confusing because both words have the same antonym: more. Less should be used when describing the amount of a concept that typically is not broken into smaller parts, such as “money” or “time” or “intelligence.” Fewer should be used when describing the quantity of something that can be broken down into discrete parts or increments, such as “dollars” or “minutes” or “remarks.” Remember this by thinking "fewer has fewer s's in it, so use it with words that end in s."
   
   a. I bought the new Joanna Newsom album today, so I have less money than I had yesterday.
   b. I have 25 fewer dollars in my bank account.
   c. My best friend’s new boyfriend has less intelligence than her last one, and he certainly doesn’t make any fewer misogynistic remarks.
   
   
4. That or who. This may not be immediately evident as a pair of commonly confused words, but you probably do it unwittingly all the time. “I’m the girl that you want to have proofread your English papers,” is wrong in two ways. First, it is grammatically incorrect; second, she’s not someone you want proofreading your papers if she makes mistakes like that.
   
   The correct sentence is, “I’m the girl who you want….” Stylistically, however, it flows better just to take out the word altogether: “I’m the girl you want….” Remember that people are people, not objects. They are “whos” not “thats.” Here's a better example:
   
   a. What’s the name of the person who wrote this blog? Elly Zee, and don't you forget it.
   
   
5. In the same vein, who or whom. They really are different, dearies. People who say “whom” are not just trying to be pretentious. One is a subject; one is an object. Remember by using “whom” whenever you would use “them” or “him” or "me." The m’s are there to remind you.
   
   a. If you were starving on a desert island, whom would you eat first? I wouldn’t eat them because they are too skinny, but I would definitely try a taste of him. I sure hope they don't eat me.
   

This is just a sampling of what I wanted to get off my chest. If I think of more (which I will), I’ll probably just roll my eyes when you aren’t looking rather than correct you to your face (or in a blog). In the meantime, though, check out these two great grammar websites:

http://andromeda.rutgers.edu/~jlynch/Writing/index.html - Jack Lynch elegantly lays the hammer down in a way that will make your writing stronger and better. I don't even know him, but I have a total brain-crush on him.

http://www.wsu.edu/~brians/errors/nonerrors.html - This site will confuse everything you think you know about correct grammar, and thus keep you humble.

See how humble I am?

Work in Progress: Crock and Allie!

I'm hoping to get these darlings finished and in the store before I leave for Ireland in a week. A week!!

Needlefelting 101

My first video! The first of many, I hope. I had a superfun time making this.

This is an introduction to needlefelting--how and why it works, what you can do with it, and a brief demonstration of how to do it. Enjoy!

The Beautiful Truth

I haven’t written in a long time.

I mean, yeah, I’ve written. I write every day. I’m a professional writer; I write proposals and manage communications for a small government contractor in Maryland. I even blog most days anymore.

But I mean wriiiiite. Fiction. It has always been, and always will be, my passion.

I lost my passion for writing briefly this past fall, when I was pulled into a three-month-long work project in Houston (which I’m sure I’ll get around to explaining one of these days) that zapped the living energy out of me, and left me with a wicked psychological hangover. I didn't do anything creative for quite a while after the project ended. (Mostly, I drank.)

But I was recently inspired. I had some way or another missed the previous two Three-Minute Fiction contests, but thanks to being a fan of NPR on Facebook, I got an early heads up this time around.

Stories for this round are supposed to be inspired by the rather uninspiring photograph they have on their website. It’s basically an open newspaper on a table inside a café, with the reflection in the café window of a man walking. So I looked at the photo for a while and thought about what it meant to me. I came up with a concept and let it roll around in my head for a while.

When I got off work, I started to write. I figured I’d get a few sentences down and see if they worked. That’s all you can really do when you’re starting.

I wrote four terrible sentences about a completely trite situation of a down-on-his-luck man in a coffee shop having a heart-to-heart with a bedraggled but kindhearted waitress. It may or may not have included wordplay surrounding the terms “sole custody” and “soul custody.” Ick.

So I left the file on my screen and got in the shower. That’s where the magic happens—and I don’t just mean getting clean. I’ve had nearly all my clearest and most powerful moments of inspiration when I’m either asleep or showering. It’s unsurprising; I know of many writers who have cited shower inspiration. You’re relaxed in the hot water, alone (ostensibly), naked (hopefully), and the shower is one of the few places in the world where you usually can’t be distracted by technology or media. (You’re not taking a magazine in there with you, and even crackberry addicts leave their devices outside the falling water.) These are perfect conditions for the freewheeling thought that leads to lightning bolts of inspiration.

It worked. I had a beginning, middle, and end; a moody setting; and two clear characters, as well as a third off-screen character who would be neatly summed up in one line of dialogue. I retained the central conflict from the original man-waitress failure.

I wrapped myself in a towel, sat down at my computer, and wrote the entire story from beginning to end before I even dried off.

For 3-minute fiction, you only have 600 words to work with (about a single-spaced page), so you have to be absolutely tight with every word. My first draft ran exactly 600 words. I did an immediate revision, making several changes, and still ended up at exactly 600 words. This was it. This story came out of me almost fully formed. Every word meant something more than just describing what was happening. The dialogue informed, entertained, and revealed character. The bare setting told a year’s worth of history without exposition. I even played around with some internal rhyme, alliteration, and rhythm, because I just dig that stylistic stuff.

If I sound like I am bragging, I am—it’s myself telling myself, “Nice job, sport.” I'm a writer for crying out loud. I need that confidence boost once in a while.

I got a second confidence boost when I sent the story to my uber-critical partner, (to whom I don’t show ANYTHING), and he said, “I like it.” (And he doesn’t like anything.) He made a few suggestions about punctuation (we’re both total punctuation nerds; I’m currently reading Dash of Style), but that’s it.

I had a total writer’s high.

Careful, however, not to ride that high to my own detriment, I put the story away until the next day. I pulled it out and read it again. It sang, just like before. I submitted it immediately before I had a chance to second-guess what I'd done and rework it into a hollow shell of its former self.
We’ll see what happens. I’m not confident in my chances of actually winning. The evaluation criteria for the contest include equal weighting for each “originality, creativity, humor, and quality of writing.” (I could write pages about my feelings on THAT bit of B.S…) Suffice it to say that my story is not funny, and it’s probably not all that original or creative. It’s just beautifully written. And it’s the truth. To me, that’s all successful fiction is: the beautiful truth.

So am I back in the saddle? I don’t know. I’m still in “art and craft mode” and I have quite a few unfinished projects that need tending before I start something new. My new “thing” is to finish projects I start. It’s going okay, and it’s narrowing my focus.

But whether or not I write anything more in the near future, it’s nice to know I still got it.

Call Me Hurley

I don't believe in luck. But I'm starting to believe in bad luck.

1. Sunday, arrive at MoMA to discover Tim Burton exhibit--the reason for the trip--is sold out.
2. Sunday evening, realize we are short $2 for our cash-only tab at Katz's.
3. Their ATM is broken.
4. The line for the credit card check-out is enormous. Lady in front of Chris is apparently buying Sunday dinner for a family of 45. Slowly.
5. Miss bus home by 2 minutes. Watch it pull away.
6. Blessedly catch next bus. Can't sit with Chris. Overhead light is broken, so I have to sit in the dark for 4 hours with no one to talk to.
7. Arrive in Baltimore and realize we have to walk home because I forgot my parking garage ticket.
8. Monday, 8am, go to move my car from garage by 9am deadline and the battery is dead.
9. Monday night, Chris comes to jump my car; cables are too short. Luckily (!) a stranger arrives on the scene just in time.
10. Tuesday morning, battery has died again. Chris has already left for work. Stuck working from home for the sixth time in a row.
11. Wednesday morning, Chris comes to jump my car. He connects his battery to mine, and my doors lock automatically--with my keys inside.
12. Go back to Chris' for the spare key. Go to leave, but a car is stalled at the end of his alley, blocking our exit.
13. Finally make it back to my car, get it started. Realize I have almost no gas left.
14. Chris follows me to the gas station in case I need another jump. Rush hour: it takes 10 minutes to go the 2 blocks. We are both now officially late for work.
15. I phone in for my 9am conference call. Phone dies 20 minutes into the conversation.

That brings us to about now. Boy I hope it's over.

Mixed Blessing at MoMA

After I heard about the Tim Burton exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art a few weeks back, I planned a trip with Chris to go to NYC this past weekend. I had earned a free hotel night from Choice Hotels after spending so much time in Houston this fall, and I found a hotel in SoHo, Manhattan where I could use my points. Chris suggested we take the Bolt Bus, which turns out to be less expensive than driving when you factor in gas and tolls. We never drive in NYC, so the bus really was the perfect option. And I would get to do a lot of sewing on the way up! The fact that it was Valentine's Day weekend was only incidental (we don't celebrate the commercialization of our relationship), but I completely forgot that it was also President's Day weekend. It didn't occur to me just how crowded the city--and MoMA--would be.

It turned out that Tim Burton was sold out for the weekend. Even after doing light research on the MoMA website, it was not obvious to me that we would need separate tickets to get in. There was no additional charge, so I thought we could just show up and go. Not so much.

I admit to crying for roughly 18 seconds when I saw the sign outside the museum that said, "Tim Burton exhibit is sold out for the day."

We decided to visit the museum anyway, since I had never been, and this turned out to be a mixed blessing. I was sad at missing the work of one of my major influences, but I do not regret getting to spend the time with some of the greatest pieces of modern art the world has to offer.

The greatest moments were seeing the major Rothko and Pollock works. They are simply astounding and breathtaking, especially if you stand close enough to them so that you can't see anything else in your field of vision. Seeing just two of these paintings was worth more than any number of pieces by anyone else--including the whole of the Burton exhibit.

However, the MoMA experience was a harrowing one; the museum is beyond crowded. Moreover, it is crowded with people who would rather have someone take a picture of them with a painting than actually look at it. It is crowded with people who think it is a good idea to snap a photo of Starry Night with their iPhone. It is crowded with people who are updating their Facebook status instead of capturing a sculpture on a sketch pad. The crowd at large made me feel sad for the state of humanity. Seriously, haven't these people heard of the internet? What were they trying to prove? It really is the epitome of narcissism if you think the only thing that can improve a photograph of a great work of art is you.

I admit to purposely walking in front of several people trying to take photographs. I also admit to purposely bumping several people, including the guy who stuck his blackberry in front of my face as I was trying to view The Persistence of Memory.

MoMA may have some of the greatest works available for viewing in the U.S., but I don't think the works on display are the singular experience a museum has to offer. I won't be going back anytime soon. I'll stick to the cavernous, relaxed, beautiful quiet of my neighborhood Walters Art Museum (which, incidentally, is free). I may have seen everything in it multiple times over, but I can walk to it and it is my favorite place in the city to just be.