Friday Inspiration – Making It Work

For as long as I can remember, I never felt like I completely fit in. I was never a total outcast, mind you. I even had popular friends. On occasion, I got invited to the “cool kid” parties. I had friends who were jocks, cheerleaders, academics, drama geeks, and honestly, even teachers.

But I rarely felt like I belonged.

When I was younger I wanted everyone to like me. EVERYONE. My parents, teachers, peers, complete strangers; it is entirely possible that I appeared to have multiple personalities at the time. You like hockey? Federov is the man! You find pop music detestable? Let me burn my Boyz II Men CD*.

It was an exhausting existence.

Not that it was all bad. I learned that I did in fact enjoy hockey. I exposed myself to new things I wouldn’t have otherwise and came to love them. Some things faded, like using lots of hair product and makeup, but others became parts of who I am.

Now, as an adult, there are very few people with whom I am truly at ease and completely myself. I say “as an adult”, as if adulthood changes things, but honestly people still behave very much like they did in high school. There are still cliques. There are still the people who think they are the “cool kids”. There are still people that make me feel like an outsider, no matter how much of an effort I make to be a friend.

The difference is I don’t try nearly as hard to be a person they want to accept.

Don’t get me wrong. I still try new things and try to be accommodating to others tastes and preferences as I get to know them. I’m a people pleaser and was raised to think of the needs of others. But I now know that street shouldn’t be one way. If I am the only one making an effort, than it may be best to move on.

Since I started writing (well, since I started writing publicly, not just in my own little cave) I’ve been able to enjoy meeting others who enjoy the things that I do, who “get” me. I’ve even met those who may be very different than me, but supportive and caring nonetheless. But I’ve also met the same cliquey folks who may as well still be in high school.

The good thing is that I don’t feel like I have to please the high school folk anymore.

This lesson is one that I try to apply specifically to my writing as I put more of myself out there. For a long time, I didn’t do anything more than write stories for myself (or the occasional email exchange with a coworker composed entirely of haiku). I’ve done a solid job of amusing myself, friends, and even a colleague or two (or more).

Every time I hit the publish button, every time I send another page of my novel to my writing partners, I get a knot in my stomach. Will they like it? Will I be accepted? Will I be one of the cool kids?

In the end, no matter how much my stomach knots, acceptance doesn’t matter. In the writing world there are still cliques. There are still people that befriend you that have no real interest in being your friend. There are people that will give their opinion who don’t actually care about you or your work. Somebody is going to roll their eyes and ignore my work.

But someone else will like it. And someone else will even love my work.

And that work is me. It’s not me trying to fit some image of what someone else thinks my writing should be.

Don’t get me wrong. Critique is fine. That’s why I have writing partners. They tell me when something absolutely doesn’t work. They tell me when something raises an eyebrow (not in a good way), and occasionally they tell me when I’ve made a choice they wouldn’t have made. But then they let it lie in my hands. I take everything they say to heart, but I make the decision in the end, not to please them, but to make the work better.

And to make the work who I am.

Amidst the endless (really, have you seen all the links on Twitter? Endless) advice on what you must and never do when you write, it can be easy to change our writing to fit what we think is expected of us. It is easy to force ourselves to fit in.

Some changes can benefit us. (Seriously, hockey is pretty awesome.) But if we change everything, our writing ceases to be our art. It just becomes a copy of everything else out there.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t want every book I read to be from the same author, even the ones I adore.

In the end, you have to learn to make it work. For your writing. For you.

*Burn, like with fire, not make a copy. Also, I did not destroy the sweet harmonies of Boyz II Men. To the end of the road, indeed.

~~~~

Here are a couple links I loved this week. Go. Read ‘em. Then Sunday, get your butt out of the house and watch the solar eclipse.

From Yuri Baranovsky, my hands down favorite post this week, 9 Problems of Being an Artist. If you only click one link in this post, make that the one. (And if you haven’t checked out Leap Year yet, go get familiar with Yuri’s work. Talent, he has it.)

Serial fiction has become a recent interest, one in which I delved with no actual research, so I found this post really interesting, and oddly encouraging: Why Your Serial Fiction Is Likely To Fail And What You Can Do About It

On the whole TIME magazine, breastfeeding/parenting debate/debacle hullabaloo, an amusing male perspective on breastfeeding: From Breasts to Boobs and Back Again

Summertime is “up ons” us. Here is my plan for looking good when it gets here. An oldie, but a goodie.

For your general amusement, have any of you been watching The Daly Show? (That is not a typo.) Check out this one, guest starring Nathan Fillion. And if you were a Wings fan, you must view this and this.

Annnnd…if you are going to heed my advice on checking out the eclipse, check out this article to find out where and when to see it. Sadly, being in Stinktown, USA (a.k.a. Florida) means I won’t get to see it, so I expect pictures, people.

Tell Me a Story – Part One

Thank you all for submitting your settings! The setting chosen to begin the story was submitted by Dawn:

Inside a cedar closet — you are hiding there on purpose; the smell and the closeness is soothing. There are blankets and pillows in there; it’s like a safe little nest. The door is slatted metal — you can see out, if you try, but nothing can see in because of the angle of the slats. There is a pink ribbon affixed to the inside of the closet door so you can pull it shut, even tie it shut if you need to. You have three cookies and a mouse (real or fake, up to you).

If I didn’t choose your setting this go around, be aware that I plan on weaving several of your settings into the story as it progresses. Be on the watch for yours!

And so it begins…

~~~~~~~

“Kate!”

I ignored Meera as I continued to click away on apartment listings.

Too expensive. Too small. Too ghetto.

“Kate!”

She was getting closer. It was just a matter of time before she would reach my room, but I continued to hope my silence would fool her into thinking I wasn’t home.

“Seriously, Kate, I know you’re in there.”

I held my breath, slowly closing my laptop to ensure that the glow of the screen didn’t creep through the metal slats of the closet door.

“There are three cookies missing from the counter. Unless there is a really large rodent in this house with a penchant for gluten-free carob chip cookies, you are in here.”

I let out an intentional squeak.

Meera let out a sigh as she flopped on my mattress, the springs matching her with their own aged sighs. Recognizing she wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon, I nudged the door open with my foot. Meera was lying on the bed, her head hanging upside down over the edge, staring in my direction. I threw a cookie at her head and watched it crumble as it smashed into the bed frame.

“What’s the deal with these anyway? It’s a cruel trick. Carob chips? Gluten-free? Next thing you’ll be telling me there’s no butter.”

Meera shook her head. “There isn’t. David’s on a special diet. He’s coming over later, remember?”

I threw myself back into the pile of dirty clothes that overflowed from my laundry basket. “Ugh. What man doesn’t eat a decent cookie? I’ll tell you what; any man I marry will never deny a proper baked good. Can’t trust a man who doesn’t eat butter.”

“So says the girl with her head in a pile of dirty underwear.”

I shrugged as if I didn’t care, but slowly sat up while Meera continued. “Looking at apartments?”

“Yeah. My big mean roommate is getting married and kicking me to the curb. Oh wait, you knew that.”

Meera rolled her eyes, then smiled. “Glad to see you handling it so well. Not hiding in the closet or anything.”

I smiled back. “You know it’s my thinking place. It doesn’t mean I’m hiding.”

“Unless you disappear with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s…”

“…or a bottle of wine.”

Meera hopped down from the bed and sat next to me on the floor of the closet, sliding some shoes out of the way. She took a deep breath, inhaling what remained of the scent of cedar, then ran her hand along the one wall that wasn’t covered in shelves or obscured by hanging fabric. It was covered in our handwriting with poems, favorite quotes, and other doodles; reminders of the time we spent sharing the townhouse and building a friendship over the last seven years.

“Still haven’t painted over it, huh?”

I grimaced. “It’s the absolute last thing I will do before I move out. Can’t I just cut that piece of drywall out and take it with me?”

“Somehow I think that might hurt the resale value.”

“Meh, value, shmalue.”

“I promise we’ll save you a whole wall to scrawl on in the new place .”

“With all the room you’ll have, I expect at least that.”

She blushed slightly. “Of course.”

Meera was moving to a huge estate, one of David’s two properties in California . They had been discussing whether they should make the house on the vineyard their permanent home or the one overlooking the rocky coast, a conversation that debated the virtues of waking up to the smell of rosemary or salty ocean air, being close to the family’s winery or their yacht moorage.

“You know,” Meera spoke slowly, “if you need help getting started in a new place, I’m happy to…you know, whatever you need.”

“I know. It’s ok, though. I’ll be fine.” Knowing the financial disparity that was only growing between us with her engagement to David was an awkward topic, I quickly changed the subject. “What are you making for dinner?”

“Lasagna.”

“Lasagna?”

“Yes. With zucchini noodles and soy cheese. It’s really good.”

“Sure it is. It’s just not lasagna. Are you sure David isn’t a terrorist?”

Meera choked on a laugh, “Because of his diet?”

“Yes. I’m pretty sure that diet is the beginning of some sort of subtle attack on America.”

She tossed a shoe at me and continued to laugh as she pushed herself off the floor. “I’m going downstairs to make the ‘not-lasagna’.”

“I’ll be up here looking for ‘not-living’ spaces, then.”

I watched her shake her head, smiling as she left the closet and then my room. I opened the laptop again, my smile quickly fading as I stared at the hopeless listings. Reaching out for the pink ribbon attached to the closet door, I pulled it shut and buried my face in a pillow, contemplating whether I wanted to wake up to the smell of pungent curry or day old egg foo young.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alright, folks, here’s your next assignment. Remember, the story is still in the early stages, so it could be any kind of story! (Well, not ANY. Don’t expect glittery vampires to show up anytime soon.)

Kate needs a place to live. How does she find it? What is the new place like? Feel free to answer one or both questions in the comments!

Part II
Part III 

Let It Flow

Being a parent involves a lot of research.

At least, for me it does. From the moment I became pregnant, my life was a flurry of books, websites, magazines, and online forums. I read voraciously, wanting to be sure that I did everything just so.

Trouble is, there isn’t exactly one way to get the job done. You have all sorts of theories on just about everything you do. What to eat and how to exercise when you’re pregnant, how to labor and give birth, how the kid sleeps, eats, learns, poops; the information is endless.

Long before the little man was old enough for me to be concerned about it, I read up on potty training. I purchased a potty chair when he was just over a year and started to introduce the idea to him. At first, he seemed to think it was a cool new addition, all bright and shiny and red.

Then, he lost interest. As we got closer to an age where I thought potty training could begin, he wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. Trying to get him to even be in the same room with the potty resulted in blood-curdling screams. If the house next to me wasn’t empty, it’s likely someone would have called the authorities.

So, I gave up. If he wanted to spend his future in adult diapers, so be it.

Then, just a few days ago, he came up to me.

“Mama. I want the train on your butt.”

First off, my kid needs to work on his pronouns. But the important thing here is that he was requesting underwear. I grabbed the Thomas the Train undies and explained to him that he shouldn’t pee on Thomas. The first day, he would do his little dance, I’d lead him to the potty, and while he was reluctant to follow, once he was there, he did what had to be done.

Today is day three. We haven’t had a single accident since he put that train on his butt. Or changed over to the Star Wars on his butt.

Which made me think…potty training and writing aren’t all that different.

There’s a lot of advice out there. You don’t need to take it all. A lot of advice givers present their words as an absolute way to do things. With potty training, I was beginning to think I was missing something because some of the advice I tried wasn’t working. The reality is that different methods work for different kids. When it came down to it, I had to take the information given and trust my instincts on what was best for us.

There is a lot of information out there for writers, from the craft to social media and blogging. While some can be helpful, it starts to become noise after a while. ”Write what you know. Don’t write what you know. Blog, tweet, bleat! Shut off your computer! Give away your books. Don’t give away your books.” It can be pretty overwhelming. The reality is, no one person can give you the advice that is perfect for you. Take it in. Then learn to trust your instincts rather than look to one source as the authority.

Don’t push* it. When I tried to make the little guy use the potty, he only resisted more. He knew he wasn’t ready. Trying to make him go anyway just upset him more.

While goals are great when you are writing, as is a schedule, sometimes we push too hard. Writing 500 words every day is great, but if you aren’t feeling inspired, is beating yourself up to get that 500 really productive? I participated in NaNoWriMo this past year for the first time. I reallly enjoyed it for the first 30k words. I was on track and inspired and the story was moving. Then I hit a point where the next scene wasn’t really working. For a couple of days, I tried to write just for the sake of the word count. I hated it. Sure, I may have produced the skeleton of something good during those days, but it made me want to walk away from the story entirely. Don’t force your writing.

Pay attention. The little man asking to wear underwear was my first sign that he might be ready to make the transition, but I knew he wasn’t going to suddenly walk up to me and ask to use the potty. I had to watch him like a hawk that first day. I had to wait for “the dance”. Every time I saw the dance, I took him to the potty.

Have a dream that you can’t stop thinking about? Overhear a conversation you can’t shake? That dream might be your next novel. A conversation in a coffee shop could be that scene you’ve been having a hard time with. A mysterious character in line at the gas station might fill the physical description of your next character. If you are too busy hanging out in your head, worrying about word counts, you might miss great opportunities for your writing.

Celebrate and reward. While I was disappointed when little man wouldn’t have anything to do with the potty, or when he’d pee all over the place in our earlier attempts to train him, I never berated him. Now, when the little guy pees, he gets to hear what a great job he did. Sometimes, we go play with his letters after. A few times, he got to have a piece of cookie. Even when he doesn’t pee, I cheer him on for trying.

I hear a lot of writers beating themselves up. They didn’t socialize enough on Twitter that week. They only wrote one blog post. They didn’t meet their word count. They haven’t heard back after sending out a query. How about remembering what you did do? Maybe you didn’t crank out 1000 words, but you wrote something. Maybe you didn’t write at all that day, but you worked out a scene in your head. Sure, we don’t want to excuse ourselves from the work of writing, but if we are always down on ourselves for what we didn’t accomplish, we risk turning our love into a drudgery.

It will happen when it will happen. I’ve been in disbelief the past few days. I went from a kid who seemed genuinely afraid of the idea of a potty, to a kid who hasn’t had a single accident. My mom simply says, “He decided he was ready.”

When your story feels like it just won’t come together, just remember, it may not be ready. You may even have to walk away from it for a little while. Give it time. It will happen. At a certain point, your story will be asking for “the train on your butt”.

When it does, I’m sure you’ll do the same little victory dance and cheer the little man does after he pees.

“Yay! I did it! I did it!”

*I’m 12. Saying push in the context of potty training makes me giggle.

Friday Inspiration – It’s Okay to Stink

I have a great many interests. Writing, obviously, is one of them.

But there are others. I love music. I love art; drawing, painting, sculpting. I like to do crafty things with beautiful skeins of yarn and thread and fabric. When I have time, I read voraciously, across many genres.

Something I’ve realized about myself over the years is that I hold back from doing things I enjoy. It’s not as if I deprive myself of these things for some greater cause. The reason, if I’m being honest, is more tied to my ego than anything else.

I hold back from doing things in which I may not excel. I am afraid not of failure, but of stinking.

Maybe it’s a product of a society that teaches us to be the best at everything we do. A society that holds out being rich and famous as the ultimate goal.

Or maybe it’s just my own faulty ego, beating me into submission whenever I get the urge to do something that doesn’t flow from my fingertips with ease.

Whatever the reason behind it, I’ve decided to stop letting feelings of inadequacy prevent me from exploring creatively. I’m going to finish writing projects and do something with them, instead of stalling out whenever I read something so amazing I feel like I can’t possibly compare.

I’m going to draw in my sketchbook with Napolean Dynamite-like confidence, even though my skills haven’t really progressed past my last art class in the fifth grade.

I am going to knit more scarves, and someday venture out into blanket territory. I am going to sew the most crooked misshapen quilt you’ve ever laid eyes upon.

I am going to teach myself four basic chords on the guitar, and play popular hits with wild abandon. And yes, I will sing along, no matter how out of tune I may be. (I’ll just be sure not to butt-dial anyone when doing it.)

There is probably something that you would enjoy doing, if you allowed yourself to be medicore, or even bad at it. I say, stink it up, my friends!

Don’t let you get in the way of you.

 

 

Dear Fox News: Don’t Be a Jerk

This weekend I was doing a little online reading when, somehow, this article appeared. For those of you disinclined to click a link while reading a post, I’ll sum it up for you. The “article” is a series of photos of celebs who have “lost their mojo”. The slide show runs through about 50 people, once considered hot stars who look less than that now.

I couldn’t help but wonder what sort of person felt good about themselves upon writing this. I feel weird even calling it “writing”. Let’s just call it typing.

“Umm, this guy was like hot when I was 12. Look at him in this photo. He totally looks like he ate a burger. Oh, and he has, like, wrinkles and stuff. I’m totally writing about this. This article is going to rock your socks. Also, I’m awesome.”

Of course, this writer/pretend journalist likely has the attention span of a flea* so instead of writing an actual article on one actor, they scoured the interwebs for unflattering photos of anyone over 30 and simply wrote 15-25 word blurbs about each photo.

If you take the time to scroll through the photos, which, sadly, I did, you’ll notice a few things. For any of you who plan to be famous some day, take notes.

I hope I look this good at his age. Except, less like a man.

1. Do not get old**. It’s clearly not allowed. Actors like Alec Baldwin, Matthew Perry, and Corbin Bernsen were included in this gallery. Now, I don’t know about you, but I still think all three of these guys are still handsome men. Catherine Bach, Linda Hamilton, and Kathleen Turner made the list as well, again, for the sole offense that they’ve aged. Wrinkles. Totally ew.

2. Do not gain weight. If you have children, you better get that butt to the gym immediately. If you aren’t Glamour magazine ready in six weeks or less, well, you’ve obviously given up.

3. While you can’t get old, you also should not get plastic surgery. At least not any kind that  anyone will ever notice. I know, I said wrinkles are “ew” but if people can tell that you had something tucked or inflated, then clearly, you’re trying too hard.

4. Don’t ever be in a photo that isn’t professionally taken, photoshopped, and approved by you. Every “after” shot of you will be some picture of you leaving your house after being struck down with swine flu for a month. Or slurping spaghetti at a diner in between takes. These photos will be used as evidence of how ugly you’ve become. Also, these photos will be taken from angles that give you five chins.

Now, as adorable as I am with bedhead, I am one of the least photogenic people I know. And, having somewhat recently passed the “old” threshold, I’m happy to say that I have no grand plans of becoming a star of stage or screen. (Sorry, Hollywood.)

Despite the fact that I will never be the subject of a spread like this, I still find the article disturbing. The celebs in these photos probably don’t even look at these things, and if they did, they’d likely just wipe away their almost-tears with a hundred dollar bill and call it a day. So, while I feel for them, there is a much bigger issue here.

Body image has been a hot topic for a long time. Setting unrealistic goals for young girls and guys (and let’s face it, the not so young) resulting in all sorts of self-esteem and eating issues is dangerous. Articles like this just solidify that unhealthy view and put the focus on the external. Welcome to why we have shows like Jersey Shore clogging up our TVs.

Lately, bullying has become the hotter topic. Accepting people for who they are. Apparently this does not apply if you gain weight, wrinkles, or simply look bad in an unfortunately timed photo. The same news outlets that report on the tragedy of a young person taking their own life, or the lives of others, because in part they were bullied, posts articles that are essentially written by bullies.

Bullies are cowards. They pick on others to make themselves feel bigger and better. They feel deficient, so they mock what they deem deficient in others, hoping no one will look too closely at them.

And every once in awhile, they are just jerks.

So, to the person who wrote this, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you feel dumb, or fat, or ugly. I’m sorry that you feel the only way to express your own inadequacies is to point and laugh at others from the comfort and anonymity of your desk chair. I’m sorry that whoever chose to publish this feels that you need Perez Hilton-like idiocy to get people to visit your news site.

Also, be aware that someone, somewhere has or will have very unflattering pictures of you. Better hope they like themselves enough not to share them.

Or that they’re not a jerk.

***

*Fleas, I apologize. That was unfair of me.
**By “old”, I mean over thirty. ***It should be noted that I will make jokes about people I love. But there is a line.

Permission to Fail, Captain

Make it so, not-so-number one.

NaNoWriMo is officially over.

::insert cheers and sounds of people collapsing on their keyboards::

The big question everyone is asking: Did you win?

The short answer is “No”.

And yet, I am pleased. I’m not feeling like a failure. When I set out to do NaNoWriMo, I did it with the idea that as long as something came of the exercise – the practice of daily writing, turning a random idea into at least a few good scenes – I would be happy with my choice.

I started out really great. I had some solid writing days, with word counts that breezed by the daily requirement. I even wrote some on the weekend, which I never intended to do. What’s more, I was really enjoying my story.

Then, a good ways in, I pulled something in my shoulder. Searing pain radiated from there down my right arm and upwards into my ear and head. This pain made typing or even writing by hand really difficult. Some days it was impossible.

As the shoulder started to feel good enough that I could imagine sitting at my computer again, I realized that I had a good 20,000 words to go with very little time left. And I wasn’t sure of where the story needed to go at that point.

So, I had a new choice to make. I could sit down and furiously bang out 20,000 words that might make me stab myself in the eye upon reading them, or I could give myself permission to stop.

I wrote some more, bringing my total word count to around 40,000. With three days left to November, I stopped.

I know. Some of you hardcore NaNo’ers are screaming “nooooo!” That many words in three days is totally doable. And you are right. When it comes to numbers, I can crank out words with the best of them.

But here is what I learned about myself when it comes to writing over the course of NaNoWriMo.

• Routine, daily writing is good for me. But when it comes to working on a novel, daily writing on the novel with a forced word count leaves me drained and uninspired some days.
• I am unable to write something and leave it on the page if I know in that instant that it is crap. I can live with the occasional spelling error, grammar mistake, or less than perfect word. But if the idea seems bad, or the dialogue isn’t flowing, I really can’t give myself permission to be awful.
• There is a great deal I can accomplish if I make the decision to do so. Making the decision is the hardest part.
• I missed blogging. True story.
• If I play ABC songs from Youtube on a constant loop, it will keep the kid busy while I write, but it doesn’t do much for inspiring a scene.
• In line with that bullet point, I am seriously considering writing a book about being a parent.

There is a little part of me that wanted to “win”. I wanted to conquer the word count goal of 50,000. But, learning something from this whole exercise is the great prize for me, so for now, I am satisfied.

And, it means I am back. I missed you all.

Fellow NaNoWriMo writers, how did you do? What lessons, if any, did you learn about yourself and your writing? 

Monday Madness – A Roman Holiday

I have much to catch up today. My NaNoWriMo pace was going nicely last week, along with all my other obligations (well, maybe not all…the house needs cleaning).

But, I took a break this weekend to shoot some photos for friends. It was a great working break to take. Here are a few shots from the shoot.

Checkin' out her man.

Roman Holiday inspired.

 

Taken at the very end of the day. We want to go back here when we have light.

Why It’s Worth a Watch Wednesday – Body of Proof

This week Tiffany and I flip over to ABC, where she examines the long standing hit Desperate Housewives and I discuss the newer (but not brand new) Body of Proof.

First off, I’d like to say that the DVR ate my homework. I didn’t watch Body of Proof before today, but began recording it so I could prepare for this week.

As I settled in on the couch this afternoon to finally prep for my post, I found that my DVR had removed everything we recorded before Monday evening. Everything.

I was able to find the show in question online, and for you, I plopped in front of my computer to watch it.

I know. I’m a giver.

Body of Proof is a show where someone who is smarter than everyone else solves crimes.

Ok, ok, I’ll give you more than that. Dr. Megan Hunt (Dana Delaney) is a former neurosurgeon who sustains injuries in a car accident (that I never got to see) that make it impossible for her to continue her life as a surgeon. She transfers her knowledge and skills over to a job as a medical examiner. Apparently, she is not only good at the medical stuff, but has a keen mind for investigation and is often a step ahead of her cop compadres in solving the crimes.

What’s this? A brilliant and observant person who appears smarter than everyone around them and uses those smarts to solve mysteries or crimes? GENIUS. Very original. Nothing at all like The Mentalist. Or House. Or Psych. Or Monk. Or…

You get the picture.

What you may also notice is that the shows I listed are ones that I enjoy. Sure, there is a basic formula they all employ, but I love the way they do it.

In the episode I watched, a random one from Season 1, I can’t say that I have the same love for Body of Proof.

The actors do a fine job in their roles. But what is it about writing female know-it-alls that has writers stumped? Is it impossible to make a smart woman likeable?

I mean, I get it. This character loses her career, the same career that caused the demise of her marriage and the disconnect between her and her daughter, so of course she is going to be a little bitter. What I’m missing here is the balance in her bitter personality, the balance that makes me either care, or at least enjoy watching her.

A jerk and a know-it-all, sure, but so funny.

Dr. House is bitter about his bum leg, but at least he is funny when he is a jerk. Patrick Jane is bitter about his murdered family, but at least he is charming. Monk is more neurotic than bitter, but he is endearing. And Shawn Spencer is funny, charming and endearing.

Why didn’t the writers of Body of Proof give me a reason to like the main character?

I’m not saying the show is a total waste. Maybe if I didn’t have so many other choices when it comes to a show with the same basic elements, I’d throw this one in the queue for a rainy day. Maybe if the other choices weren’t so much better, I could be convinced.

For that reason, I give this show a NIVTV rating. Only under the influence, too weak to pop in my Firefly DVDs, might I have the desire to tune in.

Oddly enough, the only other show to receive this rating had the exact same problem. C’mon TV writers, step it up. Watch a few episodes of The Good Wife and learn how to write a female character.

Of course, I did only see one episode, so if you are a fan, chime in! What makes you tune in to this show? Do you think I am being unfair to the writers of BoP? Or do you agree?

Now click over to Tiffany’s blog and check out her review of the ladies of Wisteria Lane, Desperate Housewives.

Come back next week when we laugh it up (or at least we hope) with a double dose of TV’s new comedies: Suburgatory, New Girl, Up All Night, and 2 Broke Girls.

Remember to stop by the #watchwed hashtag in Twitter to discuss any of today’s reviews, or to mention any television programs that you’d like to see on Why It’s Worth a Watch Wednesday in the future. We’re currently working on our November schedule and would love to chat with you!

A Recap of The WatchWed Review System:

GTV (Gourmet TV): Everything we want and more
MacTV (MacNCheese TV): Guilty pleasure. Not perfect, but is satisfies
JFTV (Junk food TV): It’s not great for us, but we’ll go back for seconds
SSTV (Still Simmering TV): It has potential, but the jury is still out
NIV (Nyquil Induced Viewing): Perfect for that late night television sleep timer
LOTV (Liver&Onions TV): Do we really have to explain? Blech

Gimme a Break

Yesterday I returned from a 4 day vacation with my family on the beach.  It was a great opportunity to relax and spend time with my parents, a few of my siblings, their spouses, and of course, my husband and kid.

The first day out, I was sitting in a shallow spot of the Gulf, enjoying the calm waters, running my hands under the sand.  Nature’s spa treatment.

While sitting in the water relaxing, I ran my fingers through the sand beneath me and felt something.  I pulled it out of the water and there it was.  My first ever sand dollar!   In all my years of going to the beach, I’ve always wanted to find a sand dollar, but I’ve never found so much as a piece of one.

I was feeling pretty excited, declaring this the “Best beach trip EVER!” repeatedly.  Shortly after, walking out into slightly deeper water, I felt something beneath my feet.  Lots and lots of somethings.  We had stumbled on to a bed (a huge bed) of LIVE sand dollars.  They were everywhere.  My dad, husband, and I stood there, picking them up with our feet* and checking them out.

Over the next few days, while simply sitting in the water I found tons of sand dollars (dead and alive), conch shells, and even disturbed a sleeping horseshoe crab**.

I forgot my camera, so iPhone photos are all I have.

Treat Yo'self.

It is really exciting to find something when you aren’t looking for it; it makes it that much more surprising.  Not only did I find pretty things to bring back from our little trip, but I came up with some new ideas for my NaNoWriMo novel while I was relaxing.  I wasn’t trying to plot or think about a scene or anything like that.  It just popped up in my mind while I was relaxing.

When prepping for something like NaNo, I hear a lot of people upping word counts and working furiously to prepare.  So, to all of you pushing yourself to the limit, don’t forget to give your mind (and body) a little breather.  Your brain may reward you with something unexpected.

*If you have never handled live sand dollars for a period of time, let it be known, they will die your skin orange.

**Upon unintentionally unearthing the horseshoe crab, I discovered my father moves just as swiftly as his younger years when something crawls across his foot.

Waste and Writing

In the past few years we’ve attempted to be more conscientious about the waste we produce in our household. We recycle glass, plastic, and any paper product our local recycling plant will accept.  We use cloth bags when we shop.  The kid runs around in cloth diapers rather than disposable. We own a large rain barrel that we use to water our plants.

There is more we could be doing, but it is a start.  The next step I would like to take is composting.  I’m a bit of a researcher, so I need to read more to decide the best way to do it.

Some months ago, while cleaning the kitchen, I came across a sweet potato and a garnet yam that were well past their prime.  Although I hadn’t started composting yet, I decided to throw them in the yard rather than toss them in the trash.  I opened the back door, aimed for the back corner, and hurled the potatoes there.

Many months later, the corner of my yard is covered in two enormous vines.

Left:

Sweet Potato Vine

Right:

Garnet Yam Vine

Also, I am guessing.  I threw them out the door, so I can’t know for sure where they landed.

 

Kinda cool, right?

The vines are pretty and hearty.  I mean, they’ve survived without any help from me. While they look cool, I figured that they were strictly ornamental.  I mean, I didn’t do anything special.  The last time I tried to grow anything edible, it took a lot more work on my part.  Warding off bugs and nematodes, making sure things get pollinated, kill more bugs, etc…

But then, crawling in the dirt, what did I see?

And then I saw these…

Like creepy fingers coming up to get me...

I managed to not only grow pretty green things, but grow something edible.  Or potentially edible (they need to get bigger).  I’m now kind of excited about cutting the vines back and reading up on them so I can give them extra care and really grow some yummy stuff.

All from tossing out something that should have been trash.

Which got me thinking.  I’m participating in NaNoWriMo this year.  I’ve never participated before and the concept sounds a little insane at first.  50,000 words in one month. Practically a novel in 30 days.  What could I possibly produce other than something I’ll just toss in a drawer or the trash when December comes?

But then I thought of the old wrinkly yam and what it produced. Sure, this is going to be a stellar crop to fill my dinner table through the fall season.  But it’s a start.  I may even get a few meals out of it.  Even if I don’t, it has me excited about the prospect of a future crop, and encouraged me to feel like I can grow something worthwhile.

NaNoWriMo will be my wrinkly yam.  I won’t produce a best seller by the end of the month, but their may be some really worthwhile scenes and characters in those 50,000 words.  I may even get an actual book out of it.  And if I don’t, I will at least be excited as I realize how much I can produce in 30 days.

So, what’s your wrinkly yam? Writers, will you be participating in NaNoWriMo this year?

In line with discussing how we can waste less, have you joined #gowithout?  What could you skip in order to give to someone who is in need?