Words are a writer's mortar that holds the concepts together. Sometimes you'll read a phrase and wish you'd written it. In Burning Bright by Tracy Chevalier, she describes a character's hair like this- "tightly curled hair, like the pelt of a terrier" (pg. 6). Can't you feel the texture of his curly locks under your fingernails from those nine words?

It's easy to get lazy as a writer and not to think about the flavor and emotion the words evoke for the reader. I combat that several ways.

I listen to people talk. I watch children play with words. I talk about writing and ....

I collect word lists. I have a growing list of action words that I add to when I find a new one in something I'm reading. I use the thesaurus and I get the word of the day to build and strengthen my vocabulary and I scour my writing to make sure I used the "right" word and didn't overuse any one word. I found a book from the 30's called The Word Bank" at a thrift store recently. It groups words by association and by concept. So Part 1 is titled The Good Life. Under that category are seven sections and under each section is a more refined grouping. So in Section 1- On the Positive Side, there is Merry and Bright which has: happy, gay, light (not burdened), and funny. Under happy, it lists ideas such as:

favorable to an outcome- Auspicious

imparting great happiness- beatific

supremely happy- blissful

uplifted by happiness- buoyant

etc...

fun, isn't it?

Found my middle yesterday in ABQ just like I expected, but I found it in a surprising place.

A friend invited me to join her camera club on shooting expedition of a working brick factory, so I loaded up batts for my little point and shoot camera and went to play with the big boys with their huge lens and professional equipment. Shooting someone else's work site is an interesting experience and I wondered if they felt a little like zoo animals as the mob of cameras swooped in on them. And there in the middle of the chaos, I found the middle I needed for the new screenplay. I'll have a few hours of work time this morning to see how it develops and then it's off for another day of adventure.

When I think about the writing process, I remind myself that the "taking in" process is a critical part. Too often it's easy to excuse yourself from that part of writing. Writing takes place at your keyboard, by yourself, in the quiet, with your music cranked. But actually... writing is both. In order for there to be something to "let out", you have to "take in" the world around you. I find it easier when I can do the taking in one day and then the letting out the next. The mental processing takes place in the middle.

And now... for some fuzzy, nonprofessional photos from a morning in the ABQ sun at the perfect place for a music video... the BRICK Factory... On Prosperity Street.....

the middle

Correspondence backed up while I was in NJ. Here's a peek at my responses...

Dear Ex- Company,

I think I'm sorrier than you are that you don't have a position for me any more.

Dear Company A,

Are you hiring bc I'm looking.

Dear Counselor-type Guy,

I'll be there but I just want to say that I'd rather be dumped upside down in a hive of angry bees- it'll hurt less in the long run.

Dear Editor,

Thank you. Your news was a bit of sparkle in a rough day. BTW- I had problems with the exact same things.

Dear Gas Station Guy at Hess in NJ,

Not only did you pump my gas for me, but the chat that accompanied it with your Jerseyized accent made me finally feel at home- thanks!

Dear NJ Friends,

Thanks for loving me in spite of my foibles and weirdness at times. You are family.

Dear Ohio,

Why have 3 lanes if you can only pass in the far lane? Do that many ppl need to pass? I suggest that we just label it "the lane for ppl who want to speed and get a ticket".

Dear God,

The PA turnpike has had enough rain for a while. Much more and my Subaru would have needed to become an ark. Just saying....

Dear Me First and The Gimme-Gimmes,

Your punk version of show tunes made driving in the thunderous rain cake. I need more by you. Keep making music!

Dear Love of My Life,

Glad you got a lot done while I was gone, but it would have been more fun to have you with me.

Dear Pony Canyon,

Putting all but one song on a CD and then making a CD that includes it is cheating.

Sincerely, jerjonji

The new screenplay has a beginning and an end, but no middle... which feels very odd. I know how it starts, the whole backstory, and how it ends, but I don't have a clue what takes them from the opening to the final scene.

But another story that has sat mentally on the back burner roared to life yesterday and I quickly sketched out the first major story plot, the culture and civilization, the main characters and a few minor ones. A fantasy tale that is Naruto meets James Bond and a female Captain Hook. Full of bad guys, good guys, and secrets- it is a lot of fun. It doesn't have a real name yet either... any suggestions?

I'm working on some marketing things as the new website is being developed... things will change around here in the future!

I've been working on a major project that has made me grow as a writer- writing Book 2 of a series that's already published. I had to maintain characters, develop a story plot that was in continuity with Book 1 and finish all the loose ends neatly, all while keeping the tone and feeling of the previous one. It was one of those tasks that make you take writing seriously as you analzye the first tale and try to capture the pace and progression of the first book while still telling the story.

The first draft is off to the editor and the creator for their critique. I know there will be tons of changes to make and I also know that the Creator will determine if this version matches the one he wanted to tell in the first place.

Working on a project that isn't yours and making it yours is a difficult task. You aren't free to wander new places, and in the tight constraints, you write. I had serious writer's block at one point, and was beginning to feel like I was a fraud, wasting everyone's time. Finally shaking it free while watching Show Luo's Cruel Stage Concert DVD non-stop for about 8 hours a day, I wrote until my back hurt, my wrist is rubbed raw, and my brain hurt.

I finished it tonight and sent it off... now I wait...

Who knew writing was such tough work! But... if they like it... I'll tell you when to go searching for it at the book store closest to you. If they don't- it's back to the keyboards for draft 2~!!!!!

I've been carefully sifting through all the poorly written crap that is out there for kids to find the best used books for the new grandbaby. You need to start reading aloud to her in the third trimester because research shows that they retain some of what they hear. So I don't want him to hear junky literature before he's born ... thus the great book hunt.

It's amazing how many of my favorite books are board books now- so durable and lasting, even for the kid who learns to read by eating the words. I have most of the classics in good shape and am starting a second set- one for her house and one for ours!

In the meantime, someone asked me what to buy a 2 year old.

This is my list of my early childhood favorites- the ones every kid should have memorized!

1. Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown

2. The Very Hungry Caterpiller by Eric Carle

3. Guess How Much I Love You by Sam McBratney

4. Love You Forever by Robert Munsch

5. Brown Bear, Brown Bear by Eric Carle (ok- all the Eric Carle books)

6. 10 Black Dots by Donald Crew

7. School Bus by Donald Crew

8. Truck by Donald Crew (See above note about Eric Carle- it applies here too)

9. Harold and the Purple Crayon by Crockett Johnson

10. No David! by David Shannon

11. Everyone Poops by Taro Gomi

12. 1 Fish, 2 Fish by Dr. Seuss

13. Go, Dog, Go by P.D. Eastman

14. Chicka Chicka Boom Boom! (Best ABC book ever!)

15. Good Night Gorilla by Peggy Rathman

16. Stellaluna by Janell Cannon

17. Curious George by H. A. Rey (any of them!)

18. If You Give A Mouse A Cookie by Laura Joffies Numeroff (you'll want the sequels next!)

19. Sheep In a Jeep by Nancy Shaw

20. On the Night You Were Born by Nancy Tillman

And our favorite book when the kid was growing up... we went through several copies as we fought over turning the next page, giggling hysterically every time as if we didn't know the ending...

21. The Monster at the End of The Book by Jon Stone

Would you add anything to this list?

Edit: Add the following books to this list to make it nearly complete! Can't believe I left off the Jimmy Liao- those books are on my Amazon list waiting for payday... they should be the new kiddy lit classics!

22.  Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak

23. Caps For Sale by Esphyr Slobodkina

24. When the Moon Forgot by Jimmy Liao

25. The Sound of Color by Jimmy Liao

26. A Whistle for Willie by Ezra Jack Keats (any Ezra Jack Keats are perfect!)

One of the eternal questions in Room #108 at the end of the school day was the question of why the kids felt the need to strip the babies naked when they played with them. I'm sure psychologists have explanations for that specific behavior, but it annoyed whichever adult was stuck cleaning up the domestic play area that day.

Our classroom was full of things to explore, to taste, to scribble on- anything that would elicit speech and encourage fine motor skills for the twelve severely involved young students- most with mental disabilities, and some with severe emotional damage that kept them from communicating or connecting with others. In one corner was the blocks. Across from it were shelves of books. Next to the books were puzzles, clothes pins, colored links, and writing supplies. In the middle were the swimming pools- we had two for a long time (until we realized that we were feeding the school mice in the tactile pool and that grossed us all out). One was the cutting pool- a small plastic pool full of cutting materials of various textures with scissors on yarn tied to the edge. Three students at a time could sit in the pool and work on their cutting skills without us having to worry about cleaning up all the scraps when they were finished. Other than the occasional cut hair or clothing, it was ingenious- since learning to cut was on as everyone's IEP. We learned quickly not to let Dalton sit in the cutting pool since he wasn't toilet trained and had a taste for paper. Emptying out a pool of soggy, nasty paper got old fast, and Dalton wasn't going to learn to cut no matter how much I worked with him with special scissors. I was happy when Dalton started patting himself to tell us potty after three years. Cutting wasn't big on his needs list.

When the class was all 5 year olds we had colored tables and chairs. When they reached second grade, we moved to desks- just like "real students". But the play areas never changed much. They were a critical part of our learning day and since many of them required one on one or one on two, the rest would wander the room until they found an activity that engaged them while Joan and I taught our small groups.

At first, it was Ricksi who stripped the dolls and wrote her name in black crayon on their bellies. As thrilled as we were that she could finally write her name, Elvis took issue with Ricksi claiming all the dolls- especially the small Latino male doll who was kind of atomically correct. That particular doll was his baby and when Elvis discovered that his doll had a wee-wee like him, he claimed him as his personal property. Many afternoons we had to remove the naked boy doll from Elvis' backpack or jacket. Joan spent all day scrubbing Ricksi's name off of Elvis' doll so that the boy would quit trying to pull Ricksi' long black hair out by the roots. After that, Elvis stripped the dolls so he could sort them by sex and show his handiwork to whatever visitor was in the room to observe the magic.

When Victoria came to us, we were warned about her background and told to watch her for any inappropriate sexual behavior. The problem with Victoria was that she learned how to make men happy when she was barely three and she was homeless on the street with her druggie mother. She didn't learn her colors or how to count, but she could flirt like a pro and make someone smile. We had a notebook to send to her shrink about her "progress" and usually our notes read- today Victoria came on the boys in a sexual manner, rubbing against them. Today Victoria stripped the dolls in the dramatic play area and made them have sex with each other. Today Victoria talked for the first time, but her speech was unappropriate and filled with sexual terminology which the rest of class is copying. Today Victoria cried when Elvis called her a ugly. Today Victoria grabbed Elvis by the privates and threatened to cut them off while sitting in the cutting pool." The shrink never wrote back except to say, "Please keep sending your notes. They are helpful". The boys in the class loved pretty little Victoria with her black eyes and foul mouth. They loved the way she'd show them her underwear and dance. They loved the way she said bad words and they'd giggle when she said them. When Victoria had a meltdown and sobbed, they'd defend her and yell at me for making Victoria cry. I think the class learned more from Victoria that year than they did from me.

The hardest thing about the collection of multicultural dolls was that it wasn't easy to put their clothes back on. Their shoes never fit right and their hands didn't want to go through the sleeves. It wasn't a problem when the "real kindergartners" came to play with us, but for my physically involved kids, dressing the dolls was impossible and frustrated them. That explains why they stayed naked, but it still doesn't tell you why they had to strip them in the first place!

ok.... the truth is .... i'm freaking stuck... i haven't been in this place in a long time.... i'm blaming it on the lack of caffeine. it might be the lack of music, or even that i'm fighting it emotionally... all i can say for sure is that i'm stuck... big time.... stuck worse than pooh in rabbit's front door and having to go without diet coke is like pooh without honey.... not a happy sight..... i've cranked the new vanness today... and have it on repeat and all it's doing it showing me that i can recognize tye lee's fingers/sound instantly. it made me smile, but it didn't make me feeling like writing. i stare at the big post-its on the wall outlining what to write and when i open the document, all i see are the flaws.... stuck... f***ing stuck....

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When I taught in Room #108, Milton was 5 and half and spoke very little- not his native Spanish and certainly no English. He understood me when I spoke simply and his big, round, black eyes either shined with joy or with tears depending on what I said to him. Milton's daddy, Poppie, wasn't worried about Milton not talking. He said that Milton would talk when he had something to say, and while I wasn't sure about Poppie's assessment, it made Speech Therapy time interesting.

Milton's chubby Down's Syndrome fingers loved poking things. He poked his classmates, the class pets, the newest art projects, and he'd giggle when his fingers got sticky. One day I called the class to line up for lunch. Everyone but Milton lined up. The usually obedient- when he wasn't stripping and running down the school halls for freedom- child didn't move.

"Milton," I said firmly. "Line up! Lunch!"

Milton looked down and hid his face. I checked but his shoes were still on his feet- the first sign of a planned streaking event. The rest of the class got restless and slightly irritated, I crossed the room and picked up the reluctant kid. Except when I started to pick him up, the whole table came with him. Shocked, I set the child back in his chair and knelt on the floor to get a better look at the problem. "Call Tom," I told my paraprofessional. "Tell him to bring tools!"

Tom, the gentle janitor, laid on the floor and investigated the situation. "It's stuck," Tom said. "Very stuck."

Big, round, silent tears rolled down Milton's face. I hugged him and held him tight as Tom tried to slide Milton's fat finger from the hole in the table leg that it had poked earlier that morning. Gradually, Tom loosened a bolt and the finger escaped.

"Milton, you need to tell me 'STUCK' next time," I scolded softly as I carried the sobbing child to the nurse for an ice pack and a lucky Snoopy bandage.

Milton held out his still slightly swollen finger with a dirty snoopy bandaid covering it to Poppie as soon as the man entered the classroom. "Stuck, Poppie!" Milton proclaimed proudly. The word was a gateway to the world of speech for the child. He'd finally found a reason to talk and jabbered non-stop in an odd mixture of Spanish and English to anyone who would listen. His favorite word remained Stuck and he said it frequently. If you licked the paper wrappers on crayons and shoved them together, they were STUCK. If you pulled a comb through the naked baby's hair in the family play center, it got stuck. The whole world was stuck as far as Milton was concerned.

After all this time, I'm reflecting on the power of being stuck and labeling it. Stuck... Stuck, Poppie!

"We've already got used to deal with those frustrations and defeats, thus we escaped. Go escaping, dancing, shagging, drinking, drugging, go chasing larger success, go searching woman loves me, and imagine the wonderful world with her company. Eventually, even the women really appears, we don’t know how to love her. Because we don’t know how to treat ourselves nicely, we are incapable of loving ourselves. Since we can’t get along with ourselves, then we can’t get along with the world."

 ~Niu Cheng-Ze

http://hmko.blogspot.com/2008/04/messiah-for-taiwan-movie-industry.html

The problem begins with the intellectual conception in your brain based on prior experiences and information. How you form ideas about a concept develop from your personal experiences, your personal research, and your connection with others who have experienced or researched the same topic. And that is the problem with "CHURCH". Many of us grew up "going to church". We went with family members or friends and we formed our opinions about how to "DO" church based on those experiences. We have our own preferences and talk about doctrine statements, church growth principals, and educational theories, but rarely do we look at the presuppositions buried beneath the complex words.

If you look at the greek word for Church- EKKLASIA- you have to take it apart. "Ek" means origin- or the point where action begins from. Kaleo is the other root which means to call forth and is closely related to the word meaning- urge on, to incite by word. (This is all from Strong's btw- if you care).  So the meaning is the place where action begins as people are called forth and urged on, incited verbally.

Jesus uses this word when he tells Peter "on this rock, I'll build my church" but none of his followers had a clue what he was saying. Peter, the one who failed him, the one who denied him completely, was the rock. The man least qualified became the foundation of the church because he knew what failure tasted like. Peter, not a saint but a man who turned away from Jesus, could identify with those needing forgiveness, and it was on this beginning place of action that the church began.

Somewhere along the line we got confused and began to think of Peter as St. Peter and about the church as a haven for "good people". It's neither a haven or a place for good people. In fact, if only good people go there then it's not the place Jesus intended to create when he talked to the undesirables of his time. Jesus had little tolerance for "good people" and even less tolerance for places of worship that pious people attended. He wanted the broken ones, the ones lost in sin, the ones who have no hope or love, the ones who screw up more than they breathe, the ones that people cross the street to avoid coming in contact with, the sick, the crazy ones... that's who he wanted to be with him, to follow him. His message of love and forgiveness was meant for them.

So if you go to a church today where everyone is good and no one is real about the sin in their lives, where no one leaves incited to action, where there is no room for the ugly, then incite them to open their eyes and see the truth... they might as well become another private organization that occasionally does good deeds because they have lost their light and their flavor. The church is a place for radical living, for change inside and out, for healing, for redemption, for forgiveness... it is for sinners only. The good people need to go elsewhere. Happy Sunday to you, believer! May your faith change the world you live in. May you bring light into the darkness and flavor into the empty life. Happy Sunday to you, the non-believer! May every Christian you meet be honest, genuine, and very real about their own life. May you see light in their hearts and soul.