Wre-vise, Wre-write, Wednesday: perspective

Write your story to an inanimate object. I wrote this story on Monday, but while thinking about editing, I decided this approach would be best:

I’m sorry little monkey. You see, I’m not very good at video games, but we enjoy playing together as a family so much, that THIS is what I wanted to do for mother’s day—to play a MARATHON game with our family. I’m sorry that the anvil keeps hitting you on the head. I’m really just trying to get enough points to win the round. I’m sorry that your brain keeps getting fried in the wrecked airplane—I’m not very fast at pushing the red button. I’m sorry that the lion bites your head, and that the drumming monkey throws cocoanuts at you when I miss the beat. I’m sorry you fall out of the sky or into the water when I can’t aim, but you are the fastest at selecting the differently dressed hippo. And no one is quicker on the draw than you. I’ll keep trying and maybe someday you’ll be at the top of the tree.

Not all stories work with this method, but it is an option to consider.
What's your story?

Wre-vise, Wre-write, Wednesday: Use a conversation for your story

Conversations--either exactly word for word, or something very close to what may have been said, make great stories. Or just story starters: Here's a couple examples:

He’s going to get me on my birthday. What? Mr. Ashcroft—he’s going to get me for my birthday. He draws a mustache on every kid on their birthday... with permanent marker. Emily certainly talked as if she was dreading the face doodling, but the grin on her face when she got home, was proof otherwise.Emily’s birthday stretched over the weekend. On Friday she her friends came for a sleepover. On Sunday she opened her gifts. But the crowning event of the birthday? Her mustache and unibrow courtesy of Mr. Ashcroft.

Another example:
Dave and I stood next to the house craning our necks, gazing 34 feet in the air at the newly closed-in roof.
He broke the silence, “It’s too steep—and it’s way up there.”
“But roofing is on the list of things we agreed to do to save money.”
“I’m worth more per hour working, than I’m saving by roofing.”
“I thought you were going to do your parts early in the mornings and late at nights and still work.”
“If I fall off the roof, we can’t afford the house.”
Earl interrupted our argument, “I have a nephew who does roofing. He’s in college, but maybe he’d be interested. I can check and see what he’d charge.”The argument abated, and Earl’s nephew Joe agreed to a very reasonable price. In fact the roof came in at budget--$5000--because the shingles were less expensive through Lowe’s.

Now lets try a rewrite of Monday's spark using conversation--this time I think I"ll have to have one with myself-- a conversation of what was going on in my head:

On the first Tuesday in January I planned to finish entering the transactions for both businesses for the last two months of the year.
Clicking on Quickbooks, “What? Can’t find xyz.qbp? Nonsense.”
I shut down Quickbooks and opened it again. “Oh, maybe my external hard drive is off. That’s it.” I shut it off, turned it on and began again.
“Still no file found. Well I can find it then.” I quickly started looking in all the obvious places.
“That’s funny—I wonder where it should be.” “I’ll just search the J drive” Nothing. “Wrong file name?” Nothing—about this time a mild panic begins to set in.
“It’s got to be here somewhere. I got the new computer in August and I KNOW I’ve entered transactions since then. Now why won’t it find it? I couldn’t have erased it.”
“The only time I messed with anything was when I..cleaned…out…the…hard….drive…to make room for scrapping stuff!!!!” Now the major panic is setting in as I repeatedly, but fruitlessly explore EVERY file on the external drive. “I couldn’t have. Well, I could have, but I WOULDN’T have.”
“Nothing. There is nothing anywhere. I actually erased 10 months of transactions in SEVEN accounts. This is going to take forever to recreate. I should’ve kept my bank statements neater. I hope I HAVE all my bank statements. I think I have a headache. I need some chocolate and a nap.”

Not all stories can use a conversation, but sometimes it's a great way to tell the story. Try it!

Wre-vise, Wre-write, Wednesday: What are you trying to say?

I’ve mentioned before that my writing is most successful when I decide ahead of time what I want to convey. Today I want to elaborate. For example: This is my daughter’s last 100 point parade.
The school is usually calm.
This is a wild and crazy and noisy event that the whole school participates in.
The last one is most important. I decided the best way to convey this was to create a scene: to describe the event as if you were watching it happen, rather than just give a summary after. I needed to start with the calm, go to the craziness, and back to the calm. I think it worked for this story:
The halls are quiet. The few students not in class are walking quietly with their hands at their sides. At precisely 2:45 Mrs. Bott reaches for the intercom microphone and announces the beginning of the 100 point AR parade. All the classrooms are emptied as excited students pour out into the hallways. They line up, some with noisemakers as they prepare for the parade. Emily and the other 100 point-ers move quickly to the office in their brightly colored Lewiston Leopard Reader shirts and line up behind the principal. When everyone is ready, he turns the siren on and heads down the first hall. Teachers bang on noisemakers and ring cow-bells, students shout and cheer as the paraders run by. The only time it is OK to run in the halls is when you are following the principal in the 100 point parade. Four hundred and fifty high-fives as they run by each of the kids. They exit the building and return in the next hall. Out the back door, and into the next building. Past the 5th graders, some who are tall enough to make tunnels with their arms, the runners dash and dart. Three short minutes later it’s all over-except for the lunch room, where parents and students line up for their “picture with the principal for the wall-of-fame.” The calmness returns to the halls.
Mr. Thomas started the 100 point parade when Emily was in 1st grade, and when he left, Mr. Baker continued the much loved tradition. Most years Emily read enough AR books to earn a spot in the parade. This year as her last at Lewiston, was also her last 100 point parade. She chose the bright pink shirt-the most popular this year-even with the boys. We are so proud of her!
Here’s my finished LO:

A few LO's from this week...

Got a few LO's done this week. I LOVE how the story on the first one turned out. I'm learning that thinking about what I want to convey before I start writing helps me get it right.
you can find the details and the story here: http://www.scrapmatters.com/gallery3/showphoto.php/photo/19787/ppuser/588

details and the story can be found here: http://www.scrapmatters.com/gallery3/showphoto.php/photo/20035/ppuser/588

A really long story

When Mark got sick right before Christmas last year, he ended up too sick for ear surgery on Dec 26th. I didn’t realize that was the least of the trouble we’d have with his ear surgery. We were scheduled for surgery February 4th. On Thursday, January 30th, I got a call from the hospital about pre-registering. One thing led to another and by evening we were in trouble. The OR claimed they can’t proceed with the surgery without a release from a cardiologist. The pediatric cardiologists are booked out three months-and that’s if you have an “urgent” problem. I problem solved all night, finally deciding my best chance of success was to get Dr. Odell (primary care) or Dr. Blotter (ent-surgeon) to talk an anesthesiologist into ignoring protocol. By mid afternoon on Friday, Dr. Odell’s office had confirmed that Dr. Palfreyman would do the anesthesia IF Dr. Odell saw Mark to give him clearance before the 6 am Monday morning surgery. That meant I had two hours to get Mark out of school and to the Doctor’s office. When Dave & I left for our date, I turned Mark over to the nurse with instructions NOT to let him get a fever. If we could make it until Monday morning, Mark could have the surgery.
Our first stop on our date was the hospital. Earlier that afternoon my sister had her baby. We stopped by the new Women’s Center, just to take a peek at him. They hide the babies in the new center, but they let us into her room where we got to hold little Kasey. What a fun reason to visit the hospital.
Monday morning came early, but once we arrived at the hospital, we had to wait forever! A young child had inhaled peanuts, so Dr. Blotter was in emergency surgery for a couple of hours. Finally after Mark’s surgery, we took him home with a “dressing on his head.” He was alert, but drifted in and out of sleep the rest of the day. By the next morning he just wanted that “dressing” off his head and he wouldn’t quit scratching at his face. We put his knee immobilizers on his arms so he could not get at his ear or face. He still rubbed his head against the soft fabric of the immobilizer for so long he rubbed a spot on his face above his eyebrow completely raw—then kept rubbing as it bled. Apparently as the Loritab wears off, it makes you itch. Over the next couple of days I spent a lot of time holding and rocking him.
Wednesday morning we went to see the urologist. A consultation recommended by Dr. Odell. I decided mid-morning when Marky was home anyway would work great. At a follow up appointment on Monday, the 11th, Dr. Blotter released him to return to school on Thursday. By Wednesday night, his incision was getting red. Thursday morning, the 14th, the nurse said his incision appeared to be coming apart. I took him back to see Dr. Bennion. (Dr. Blotter was out of town). While Mark sat upright in my lap, Dr. Bennion removed the bandaid/dressing and peeled Mark’s ear right off his head. Sure enough, the dissolving stitches had dissolved before his body had healed.*** It was as gross as it sounds. I turned away and Dr. Blotter’s daughter who was “job shadowing” Dr. Bennion joined Natalie waiting out in the hall. Dr. Bennion put in some sutures, but was concerned about infection. He put him on a couple of fairly serious antibiotics and sent us home with instructions to come back if it looked worse. It did. We went back to the doctors’ office again on Friday (15th) for him to “pack” the wound. Back again on Saturday (16th) to re-“pack.” When we showed up on Sunday (17th) morning, he sent us over to the hospital. Mark’s fevers were too high and the antibiotics didn’t seem to be fixing the problem. When Mark gets a fever, his stomach stops working, which means he is throwing up and getting dehydrated.
Once we were settled on the pediatrics floor, Dr. Armstrong, the pediatrician on call, ran the usual tests and started serious IV antibiotics. Monday (18th) was Presidents’ Day. With the antibiotics, Mark’s fever was down and his fluid levels were back up. Dr. Blotter stopped by to change the packing. By Tuesday morning he was tolerating small slow feedings. With all the RSV in the hospital, Dr. Odell wanted him to go home before he got sick, but he needed at least a week more of the IV antibiotics. I’ve learned to do a lot of things, but taking care of/starting IVs is NOT one of them. Because of the destructive nature of the antibiotics and the extended length of time he would be getting them, a picc line would be best—and I could be trained to take care of it at home. So we headed to the Emergency Room for the picc line to be put in.
A picc line is an IV that goes in near your elbow, threaded through your veins up and ending right above your heart. I’m not fond of watching Mark get poked, so I went to the cafeteria. They still weren’t done when I returned. To determine if they are in the right place, they draw back blood and run a test—the amount of oxygen tells them if they are in an OK place, but they kept getting funny results. After an hour, they decided a CT scan would be necessary to determine if it was in the right place. Mark had been lying still on his back sedated during this procedure and he continued to sleep through the move. I sat back in the little technician’s booth while they did the CT scan, watching and listening. The picc nurses still couldn’t find the tip of the line. They had to call in Dr. Bitwinski, the radiologist. He was furious. Not noticing me in the background, he banged his finger on the screen as he shouted, “You can’t find it because you’ve got it clear down here in the (bottom chamber of the heart)!” So they pulled it back “a ways” and sewed it in place. We got loaded up and went home on Tuesday (19th).
*****
Unfortunately two hours on his back not moving-no coughing, no suctioning-was too much for Marky’s lungs. By noon the next afternoon we were back in the doctor’s office. This time Dr. Clarke—Dr. Odell had the day off. He order an X-ray by Dr. Anderson, then sent us to the Emergency Room. Instead of the picc line going down to just above his heart, it was up into his head. In the Emergency room, Dr. Armstrong ordered another X-ray—this time of his whole chest. Dr. Job confirmed that Marky had pneumonia—in addition to whatever the antibiotics were fighting. We checked back into the hospital after being home for less than 24 hours.
Around this time (Wednesday the 20th) we learned that in addition to the pneumonia, Marky had MRSA. (Not really an infection, but rather a class of bacteria resistant to many antibiotics—meaning we needed the picc line and the “big guns” antibiotics. Unfortunately, Marky’s kidneys were not handling the stress very well. He was swelling up like a balloon. After some albumin and lasix, on Friday the 22nd we took Mark home again. This time on oxygen for the pneumonia and a couple of IV antibiotics. Funny thing: The nurses who take care of him at night are LPN’s. They are not “qualified” to administer IV drugs. However, me, the mom with NO nursing training, AM qualified. That meant that I had to give Marky’s meds at least once overnight—start it, sleep for an hour, and take it off. It’s not something you can do half asleep and I was really getting tired of Marky being sick.
By Wednesday the 27th Marky returned to school. He could’ve gone on the 25th, but while he was out, the school fired his nurse and hired a new one, who wasn’t available until the 27th. He was still on oxygen and the IV meds, but happy to be getting back to normal. All told he attended school four days in February.
He kind of plateaued for the next week. Not making much improvement, but not getting worse either. Some mornings he would wake up with a puffy face. His kidneys were worrying Dave and I, so we took our puffy little boy to Primary Children’s Emergency Room on March 6th. Not an emergency, but the only way to get a kidney consult is to go to the kidney doctors resident hospital. Dr. Wood was mildly concerned about the puffiness-worried that the picc line was causing a problem, she ordered a sonogram of his arm to look for blood clots. Dr. Prince found nothing remarkable. Marky solved the problem by filling THREE diapers while we were in the office. By the time we left he wasn’t puffy at all. But the visit resulted in an appointment with the nephrology department head two weeks later.
By the next day (Friday Feb 6th), I told Dr. Blotter’s office staff that I was pulling the IV. In theory he still needed three more days of antibiotics, but his little body had had enough. His arm was warm above the IV and the puffiness was back. We pulled it that night. By Monday he was back to schoo-no oxygen-back to normal.
***Eventually we learned a few things about Marky’s kidneys. We already knew they spill protein and according to his last kidney doctor nothing could be done about it. Now we know what that means—(1) proteins are how the body heals and grows. Marky’s ear did not heal before the stitches dissolved because of the low protein in his blood. At his “other ear” surgery, his doctors used slower-dissolving stitches to solve this problem; (2) the body stores immunity information in proteins—because he “pees it off” his body doesn’t remember it had this cold already—which is why he gets sick over and over and over; (3)Precautions need to be taken when Mark is dehydrated. Too much of the wrong kind of fluid sends him off balance the other way. We now have a protocol of what to do—and it’s worked the handful of times we’ve had to use it; (4)it is fixable. Dr. Nelson put Mark on a couple of drugs that over the last year have almost stopped the protein spillage. He’s happier, healthier, and growing well.
Marky’s second ear surgery in August didn’t go as well. Due to vein anomalies they couldn’t do the canal wall down part of the surgery. It still took him several weeks to get better. And although it wasn’t as scary-we did go to the ER 4 times for a new IV. The MRSA flared up again, but I refused to have a picc line put in, so near the end of his round of IV meds, we had to get a replacement IV every other day.

And the final draft...

It's as if those last seven days never happened...

Here's the final draft after submitting my writing to my editor (It does help to have someone read your work--someone who can tell you the parts that don't make sense or don't flow--even gramatical errors--AND especially if they can make suggestions to fix things. Find a writing buddy to help with this part--thankfully I have my sister--who obviously did not proof this paragraph :) )

I hopped out of bed and flew through the morning routine, singing my way around the kitchen. Finally. TODAY, I could start putting the rock on the house. Before I knew it, I was on the porch roof doing the prep work. Sweating, I wrestled with the long sheets of black tar paper and unruly chicken wire. I was as determined to finish prepping quickly as the chicken-wire was determined to stay in a curled up roll. It took most of the morning to prep for the upper level rock…frustration. But now it was FINALLY time to put the rock on! With slightly renewed vigor, I loaded the tractor bucket with an assortment of rock sizes and colors and maneuvered it into place. I mixed my first batch of cement to attach the rocks and crawled out onto the porch to begin—just as it began to rain. Determined, I started anyway. It wasn’t raining THAT hard. I was working on the south side of the upper level portion, right under the valley of the front roof. Before I’d finished even three rocks, the run-off from most of the south side of the roof was pouring down on me. Dejectedly I gathered my tools and the cement and crawled back inside to wait out the rain.
After a couple of hours the sun came out. To learn the “trade”, I’d helped the Welkers with their rock work—square rocks only. I thought arranging my round rocks would be simple—compared to the Welker’s but it soon proved difficult to find rocks to fit. Nevertheless, I was excited as I quickly finished the south side—about 5 square feet. It looked so awesome! Now for the mortar. Even with Dave’s special tools, I just couldn’t get the sticky cement to stay in place! I worked near the top—but it didn’t look any better. I worked near the bottom—still no improvement. The fast-drying cement seemed to be sucking all the happiness out of me! I wanted so badly for my mortar to be smooth and beautiful, but I just couldn’t make it look right. The 1100 more square feet of rock that was all going to be a mess seemed to squash any determination I had left. The more I messed with it, the worse it looked—there were gaps around the rocks and the cement was far from smooth. I crumpled in my still damp clothes and cried. I called Dave (my husband) who called Dave (my contractor) who didn’t have time to do it, nor did we have the money to pay him. But he did offer to teach me AGAIN. I had dried my tears and slowly begun attaching rocks to the front of the house when he found the time to come teach me. It made a lot more sense as we worked on it together and I quickly caught on to how to seal the concrete to the edges of each rock and then smooth everything out. My spirits soared as I watched it come together right before my eyes. After school, Dad came to help. I was working up high, with room on the ladder for only 2 or 3 rocks. That meant I was traversing the ladder every couple of minutes to haul more rocks. Having him hand me rocks in the right color and shape sped up the process drastically. Every so often we switched places.Then next morning I didn’t hop out of bed. I was still excited about the rock, but my arms felt as if they might fall off. Too much lifting 50 lb bags of mortar mix, and 35 lb buckets of cement, but mostly too much lifting 5 lb rocks above my head. Three days later at 10 pm, we finished the upper floor portion so the porch could be roofed. But the rock work had just barely begun…

The County Fair

With the booth completed, it was finally time to enjoy the County Fair (and the end of Tom’s visit). We decided to go to the rodeo on Thursday night. The ENTIRE family. We had just got there, found seats, and got food for everyone when the rain started. Now this is Utah, it can’t rain very much or for very long, right? WRONG! We sat in the off and on drizzle for maybe forty five minutes. Then the downpour hit, and we took off. We found shelter outside the gate under the front of a horse trailer. Everyone went home—everyone except Emily who was determined to stay. She crawled under the bleachers and sqatted to watch for a half an hour, then once the mutton-bustin’ was over, much of the stands cleared and we could find a spot under the roof. Dave and I sat cold and wet while she watched the rest of the rodeo oblivious to the rain.
Friday we enjoyed the midway. All day passes meant the kids could ride forever. Marky loved the rides even more than last year. This year his favorites were some jets that went up and down as they went around the circle. He grinned and grinned. On the few rides he couldn’t go alone, the girls took turns helping him. He even got to ride on the ferris wheel with Natalie. Yummy corn on the cob, dutch oven chicken and taters, and funnel cakes finish out the evening. I LOVE this tradition!

Life without B--a story from my sister

Sorry about the letters, just protecting privacy. R is twelve, C is seven, and D is five--E is 9 months and not part of the story. This was in my inbox this morning:

How is your morning going? If you need a good laugh, I thought I'd tell you about mine.

I've decided to title this story "Life without B". You'll see why at the end. It all started innocently with me getting R out of bed and sitting on her bed talking to her as she got dressed. Fast forward 45 minutes to both of us jumping up and realizing we fell back asleep and missed her bus. The car is really cold at 6:45. That time shouldn't even be on the clock. Anyway, I came home to C and D playing on the computer. C was actually ready for school by himself and did very well. I know, I'm rambling but I'm getting to the funny part. By the way do you have a garbage can or barf bucket by your desk? Nevermind. Anyway, in the middle of D creating his own Bakugan figure online, he sneezed the biggest, hugest 5 year old sneeze. It rocked the windows like an earthquake. I briefly considered trying to lay back on R's bed and hope the morning was all a bad dream, but I couldn't sleep because C was yelling, "Oh gross, and wow D, that was COOOOL". I ventured, "D, please tell me you sneezed on your pants." (I wish) No, it was all over my keyboard. We as Grandma G's children always use the phrase "snot up a hill backwards in january", and now I see where this came from. I now know the speed velocity of snot running into my keyboard with my boys yelling, "hurry mom, it's going to get to the B line! Oh no! what if it gets to the spacebar??? We'll never be able to use the space again!" (maybe they should try the one between their ears) Do you know how long it takes to get snot out from inbetween keys with a kitchen knife and a paper towel? About 30 minutes if you really ever want to use b,h,j, and m again. On the upside, it will be a good diet day since my appetite is long gone and goes a bit further every time I touch B and my finger gets wet. I love my kids. It just occurs to me that I'm writing a huge story about snot. HELP the boyness is getting into my blood! Next thing you know I'll be farting with the best of them. I do love my kids. I had to write that again for my own benefit. C left the house figuring out what words he could write without touching B.

Wre-vise, Wre-write, Wednesday: Actions Speak Louder than Words

Actions DO speak louder than words.
Show, don’t tell. Too many stories seem flat and monotonous because their authors do too much telling. When you summarize and generalize, you suck the life out of your stories.
Telling: My dog had a way of cheering me up.
Showing: I arrived home tired and deflated. I walked to the door, and as I pushed the key into the lock, I could see through the window that Emma was crouching in anticipation on the other side. I threw open the door and she leaped out and danced on her hind legs trying desperately to jump into my arms. I bent and picked her up. A fluffy mound of excitement, she immediately began licking my face. I smiled despite myself, and suddenly things didn’t seem so bad.
Besides making your story more interesting, Showing makes it more believable. By showing you support your case that your brother was a brat. Readers like to form their own opinions based on the evidence you present.
Here’s my revision of Monday based on this editing tip:
“Get an orange for me,” Theresa called out as headed down the hall toward the fruit room. “OK, but you have to peel mine, then.” She could peel an orange in a few seconds—with the peel almost coming off in one piece. I took the sections from her and sat down with my math book at the kitchen table. Five algebra problems later, I put my school work away and plopped down in a bean bag chair. Gilligan was already in trouble with the Skipper, but since I’d seen this episode before, I knew what had happened. I was sure it was only 10 minutes later when not only had Gilligan’s Island ended, but also an entire episode of Bewitched. That was our cue to head down to the barn to get started on the chores…
Today’s editing tip is from “Breathe Life into Your Life Story” by Dawn and Morris Thurston. There is some great advice and excellent examples in this book. It is geared to writing your life history, but since scrapbooking is little snippets of a life history, I have found the information to be very useful. Four stars!
Let's hear how it worked for you:

Sample Story: from our recent vacation

Working feverishly on my vacation book to take advantage of CherishBound's Black Friday Sale! Here's a story from that book:


It looked scary. After the protected waters of Hanauma, the open ocean--even with some protection in Sharks’ Cove--was intimidating. On the shore of Hanauma you barely notice the waves roll in. In Sharks’ Cove the waves crash onto the rocky shoreline. I was afraid we’d either get caught in an undertow and carried out to sea OR the waves would throw us into the rocks where we would be smashed. But there were a few other people out in the bay, so with great apprehension we approached the water. On our way in, a gentleman assured us there were lots of fish and we didn’t have to go far to see them so we decided to try it. I buddied with Natalie because I figured since she was bigger there was less of a chance I’d have to rescue her and I wasn’t sure I could even rescue myself. We started out for the middle of the cove, but we were regularly knocked into the rocks by the force of the waves rolling in. Not smashed into the rocks, more like stuck hugging a rock. To add to our anxiety, I was shocked at how difficult it was to readjust to breathing though the snorkel. I thought after a few hours the day before, we would just snap back into it. Instead, I would hold my breath until I was ready to panic—and then remember I was wearing a snorkel, and I could just breathe. As we swam near the shore, there were fish, but both Natalie and I were unnerved by the force of the waves and trying to remember to breathe. Shortly we headed over to the safety of the calm waters in the tide pools.

A picture may be worth a thousand words, but I don't have a picture that captures the fear in my heart (unneccessary fear--but very real) as we began snorkeling in the open ocean. I don't even have a good picture of the waves crashing on the rocks. My photo looks like it was a big bathtub! Now I also have the story!

What's your story?

Sample Story: Describe Your Bedtime Routine -- Now

Barefoot I stepped out onto the cold hard concrete porch. A thin fog permeated the bathrobe fastened snuggly around me. I inhaled the musty, dusty odor of freshly plowed earth from the fields around me as I removed the cover and slipped quietly down into 104 (degrees) of relaxation. As the jets pulsated the tenseness out of my back and aching feet, I gazed up at the moonless, star-filled sky. I pondered the bounteous blessings I’ve received from a loving Father in Heaven. Fifteen minutes & twenty yawns later I dried off in front of a flickering fire before falling asleep counting my blessings.