Memes: Writing Advice (Two)

During the Saga Professional Writer’s Conference (http://sagaconference.com/), I got inspired to make writing advice memes and did so immediately when I got home. I then proceeded to release them during the A-to-Z blogging challenge in April (http://www.a-to-zchallenge.com/). But it is time to collect them all in one place.

My previous Meme packages:
Write Something (6/30/2016)
Write Something (Two) (10/2/2017)
Write Something (Three) (10/4/2019)
Write Something (Four) (11/10/2021)
Writing Advice (3/29/2022)
Political Memes (1/31/2023)
Writing Advice (Two) (8/29/2023)

     

Y is for Yield

The heavy backpack landed with a thud on the gravel path and Malcolm collapsed beside it, all arms and legs attached at angles only a seventeen-year-old could manage.

“Tough day at school?” Abby asked from where she sat on the circle bench surrounding the pole center of the sundial herb garden.

“The worst.” He bit into the apple he snagged while trudging through the kitchen, his left arm hooked around the gargoyle puppy statue (not alive, mom had checked) that served as an armrest for the sundial bench and marked the noon position. Six was marked by a small cat, three a baby lizard with wings – more wyvern than dragon, and nine by a gargoyle bird, something between a stork and an owl. Abby said they were original to the house and she would know.

A riot of late fall colors, the feral herb garden was located in the back of the house, a low crumbling stone wall delineating the edge of the garden from the rolling hills and swamps of the old plantation. Heavy iron-bound oak doors opened into the garden from the wings of the manor and the house proper, giving quick access to all the manor rooms which might have needed greens at a moment’s notice: greenhouse, which was missing all its glass at the moment, the kitchen, and what used to be the formal dining room.

A red light beside the northern door, a new addition to the manor, indicated one or both of the adults were working and could not be interrupted. Mom and Jonathan had converted the morning room, drawing room, and formal dining room over to their Sparkle Network business, with half of the footage devoted to the blade servers. One of the reasons they picked this old manor was all the undeveloped land that came with it. From where he sat, he could see the construction equipment clearing space for the solar farm. He winced seeing them fell trees, but none were really old. The saplings were too far away for him to hear them scream. It didn’t make it better, but it did make it tolerable.

Until about ten years ago, the previous owners rented the land to a couple local farmers. Only once they retired did the land start cycling to its natural forest habitat. Still, the wood witch in him hated giving an inch back to civilization which had taken so much from the wild, but the Priestess was energy and she needed a lot of it to run her sparkle web.

“What happened?” Abby’s cool hand stroked his brown hair.

He glanced up at her, surprised she manifested enough energy for him to feel her touch. A quick inhale sucked past his teeth, sending him coughing as a bit of apple went down the wrong pipe.

Today Abigail wore her blue outfit, little birds embroidered across the bodice and sleeves, with her bright blue kerchief containing a rich cascade of auburn curls flowing down her back nearly to her waist. Her Irish green eyes sparkled in the late afternoon sunlight as she watched his siblings. She had lived to be only a little older than him and looked amazing, from the smudge of dirt on one cheek to her bare feet.

Her eyes crinkled between concern and laughter at his coughing fit. Finally he managed to squeak out, “Coach Mullin.”

“Again?” she shook her head and sighed.

“Yeah, again.” Malcolm looked away from her to study the herb garden. Mom had given him control of it, and he hoped to start working on it this weekend, except… “I gave up.”

“Gave up?” Abby’s soprano voice always carried a roughness of concern, like she had spent all day cooking in the smoke and talking to children.

“Ugh. Yeah. Up, in, yielded like a yellow belly sapsucker.” Malcolm grunted as he leaned his head back to study the infinite blue sky and Abby’s red-tinted curls. “For a guy who teaches sex ed, you think he would understand the word ‘no’. But no. Today, he hit me with Haskel, the football captain. The one who all the brains in my advance-bio course warned to steer clear of because he bullies, yeah, that one. I mean, I got it better than most smart kids being big and all, but I don’t want to be that guy.”

Abby pushed back one of his hairs the wind had blown on his face. “The one that fights back and wins.”

“Hello yes.” Malcolm groaned again, closing his eyes. “I never should have shown off on the first day. Mom always says don’t show off around the mundanes, around anyone. Let them guess. Hint if you must, but never give away the show. But it was only touch football and I wanted to make friends so bad. It’s my last year before everything hits and, I guess, I wanted a bit of normal.” He opened his gray-green eyes and looked into hers. “Is that too much to ask?”

“I would love to say no, it’s not,” the ancient servant smiled sadly, “but that is not the case, young Master.”

“I’m not a master,” he growled.

“Then you won’t be a High Priest, nor the Speaker for the Trees to the druid council on behalf of the wood witches.” Abby broke eye contact to swing her eyes around the courtyard.

“No one asked me if I wanted to be a High Priest or a Speaker.” Malcolm joined her in monitoring his younger siblings. Ada and Jonny were digging up a triangle of the sundial which had gone to complete weed in the herb garden he had marked off as okay to play in. On the stone path marking out the area had two aster flower crowns laying abandoned; Jonny likely made them, the one from rich red blooms had to be Ada’s, and his was the mix of pink and blue. Barbara toddled around every which way, following the pollinators as they collected the last food of the season.

Abby glanced down. “Do you want to be a High Priest? Or a Speaker at the council?”

Malcolm’s eyes narrowed like his mom’s did, ignoring the blush tinging her cheeks as best he could, then looked away.

“Well, do you?”

Malcolm stood up and threw his apple core at the stone work around the old greenhouse to ricochet it into the start of the compost pile.

“Don’t make me ask you a third time.” A chuckle laced Abby’s statement. She didn’t have the power of the Blood like him and his mom.

His fists clenched and unclenched. His eyes swept the herb garden and the woods and the hills fading into the reddening haze of sunset. “Yes,” escaped as he admitted to himself that the path decided for him since birth was one he actually wanted to walk.

“So, how are you going to do that and play football?” Abby stood up beside him, barely coming up to mid-chest.

Malcolm waved his hand in a negative. “I managed to dodge the football because their big argument for that sport was scholarships and it’s not like I need them. If I go to college after the walkaround, it won’t be one that any football scholarship will matter. But the Coach did also, has been a lot, arguing about school spirit, so I agreed to track, which means I got a lot of running to do.”

“Which you do anyway.”

“Yep, a bit, but not like this.” Malcolm nodded, “I’m going to have to go in early every day, and then there are meets on weekends, plus staying late some days. Mom isn’t going to like it, especially once she pops, but it will make it easier when I go to Dad’s for the holi…”

Abby streaked sideways midword.

He kept forgetting she wasn’t real.

Malcolm looked around to find her at a break in the old stone wall. Holding her dark blue skirts wide to fill the hole, she stood in front of Barbara who fell back on her diaper-fattened butt in protest, a whine rising from the two-year old.

“No, Miss Barby. No.” Abigail said in a firm voice. Looking up, she mouthed “Sorry,” to Malcolm before saying verbally to him, “Would you mind a-coming and picking up Barbara? It’s nearly time to go in anyways.”

He laughed as he strode on the woolly thyme-invaded pathway to where his sister pouted. “You do know she could have gone right through you.”

“I know that, and you know that.” Abby flashed a smile as bright as the sun and Malcolm’s heart flipped for a second, “But as far as she is concerned, people are solid. Let’s not let her in on that particular secret yet. Besides, if it does come to that, I can be very uncomfortable to walk through.”

“aw-BEE please.” Barbara reached her hands up to the ghost, but Malcolm grabbed them and swung her up onto his hip.

“And what would happen if she stumbled past the wall?” Malcolm bounced the girl as they walked toward the house. “Isn’t that your limit?”

“I think,” Abby shrugged, “but with the littles, the house is alive again. I might be able to get a bit further.” She stopped beside the two dirt-covered hooligans determined to dig to China. “Mister Jonathan, could you let Ada know its time to come in to shower before dinner.”

“She still not hearing you?” Malcolm sighed. The five-year-old took after her father, a pure normal.

“Not unless I push it.” Abby smiled as Ada and Jonny brushed each other down. “And I got a translator right here.” She rubbed the seven-year-olds head. “But if I need to, I can make anyone hear me even during daylight hours.”

“Hence why we had electricians all the first week climbing through the house, ripping out the half-completed wiring.”

“Would you rather have had the flippers rip out the foyer’s medallion?” Abby snapped back with a smile.

Malcolm shook his head as he opened the kitchen door for the family. “You’re kidding. That spiral-sun design is amazing. They were going to get rid of it?”

“Replace it with modern marble-like tiles.” She said as she herded the kids past where his mom was putting dinner in the oven. “Something ‘neutral’ they said.”

“Neutral is overrated.” His mom stood, rubbing her large belly on the right side where Emma like the kick the most. Raising her voice, she said, “My love, can you see if you can find our children under all that dirt?”

Malcolm’s stepdad popped his head through the butler’s pantry to see Ada and Jonny covered in more dirt than clothes. “Hey Malcolm,” he nodded at the teenager, before softening his voice and taking the two-year-old from him, “Hey Barby.” The man who stood eye-to-eye with the still growing teenager, asked, “School okay today?”

“Yeah Jon, it was. Oh, oops, my homework is still out there. Be right back.”

By the time he got back, everyone except his mother was gone to their pre-dinner tasks. Malcolm stared at the blocked off staircase to the third-floor servant area, repairs on that dry-rotted nightmare far down on the fix-it list since no one living needed them. Abagail would be resting.

“Abby said you had something to tell me?” Lizzo leaned against a slate counter, one hand on her stomach.

Malcolm rolled his eyes. Abby was okay at keeping secrets, but in the end, she was on the adults’ side in the house. And she wasn’t wrong, he did need to talk to his mom. “Yeah, so Coach Mullin cornered me again today.”

(words 1,935, first published 4/28/2023)

Series: Under Contract
1. N is for Noise (4/16/2023)
2. Q is for Quicken (4/19/2023)
3. Y is for Yield (4/28/2023)
4. Z is for Zzzz (4/30/2023)

Other Cool Blogs: Escape (Liana Brooks) (X is for X-scape)

Photo by Eriks Cistovs on Unsplash

Do you have a Bug-Out Bag for when disaster strikes? Or a “stay-in-place” for three days – the things in the backpack are the same either way usually.

My area is hurricane season (June to November with the focus August to October). Further North could be a snow or ice event. Out West fires. Recently for Hawaii, volcanoes. Also on the list are man-made issues with nuclear plants and riots. Recently in North Carolina, some eejit decided to disable the electric grid for Moore County by shooting it up right before a cold snap in early December, leaving forty-five thousand people without power for nearly a week in border-line freezing temperatures. Christmas shopping was shelved for survival spending – the entire county businesses had a devastating hit right before their biggest money making of the year, and all those people expecting overtime instead scrambled to find a shelter not filled to capacity.

Anyway, Liana Brooks put together a basic checklist for a 72-Hour Kit (basically the three days it takes relief organizations to mobilize). Whether shelter-in-place or getting the heck-out-of-Dodge, X-scape is the key (okay, not the perfect X for A-to-Z, but still important).

72-Hour Checklist” by Liana Brooks (9/11/2018) – (spelled out URL: http://www.lianabrooks.com/72-hour-checklist/?fbclid=IwAR3aoCd6fjz3n29BWrJwv65oTBEQRluS3Wpvs3BOkgRiZhEk5VQrH6zkhL4) – Last viewed 12/13/2022 – note that the site is HTTP, not HTTPS (secure).)

Other helpful sites and lists:

https://www.bugoutbagbuilder.com/learning-tutorials/bug-out-bag (Bug Out Bag Builder . com)

WRITING EXERCISE: Okay, not really writing this time, but still essential. Make your WUSH kit (Wake Up, Stuff’s Happening) for by your bed. As a writer, I really like the suggestion by the Bug Out Bag Builder to keep your USB backup drive there. Yes, I will still be freaked out about losing my computer to a fire, but I won’t have lost everything.

This is the minimal kit – just grab and go to escape a fire or other house disaster. Store it by your night stand or under the bed, so you can wake and get outside in seconds. This go-bag is small; it should sling over the shoulder like a purse to keep the arms free to grab the children and pets.

May you never need it and may you have it if you do need it.

A) Wallet and Cell Phone – either store them in the bag at night or set things up so they are easily sweep into the bag in an emergency. Store an extra phone charger for your phone in the bag.

B) Keys – one for the house and one for the car. These are the extra keys and should live in the bag. Don’t waste time looking for keys – these should be there.

C) USB backup drive – As a writer/creative, you should be backing up your computer at least monthly. Store the backup in the WUSH bag. Digital copies of the following should be in a fire: Driver’s License, Passport, Marriage License and Birth Certificates, Social Security Cards, Deed for House and Car, Insurance Polices for House and Car, Health insurance info, Credit cards (front and back – so you can call the issuer if they get destroyed).

Bonus storage for family photos, phone numbers (in case the phone is lost), and other things you don’t want to live without.

(Set a calendar alert on your phone or computer to remind you to backup the computer once a month.)

Store the backup drive in a ziplock bag in case of wet.

D) Physical copies of: Passport (if you don’t carry it daily), Marriage License and Birth Certificates, Social Security Cards, Deed for House and Car, Insurance Polices for House and Car, Health Insurance info, Physical print off of copies of both sides credit cards and driver’s license (so you don’t have to find a computer for the USB backup), blank checks (if you have them), printoff of phone numbers and addresses of family, friends, and neighbors emergency contacts.

Plus some extra cash. A mix of small and large bills, enough to get a single meal and pay for overnight stay in a hotel.

E) Medications and prescription glasses – Remember to rotate the prescription medications. Keep three days in the WUSH bag, the full bug-out kit should have another four days for a total of seven days between them. For the glasses, when you get a new pair, the old pair goes in the bag. They won’t be the best, but at least the old glasses are better than nothing.

F) Flashlight – because 50% of the time, disaster will strike during night hours.

G) Food – Just one or two snack bars, especially if you have kids. Not much though, so you don’t attract ants to your bedroom.

H) Small first aid kit – a couple Band-Aids, nail clippers, and some tweezers will do. One mensuration pad (doubles as a big bandage). Don’t go nuts, this is a small kit.

Now that you have the WUSH, set aside time to put together a full go-bag as well. Remember to rotate stock in both regularly – maybe set a calendar reminder like that USB backup.

W is for What’s Your Damage

Meme created by Erin Penn

Today is the last of the SAGA Professional Writer’s Conference memes. If any of them sparked interest in SAGA, you can find out more about the annual conference at: sagaconference.com. The next one is scheduled for Winston-Salem in July 2024.

The full list is:
1. Enter Late, Leave Early
2. Give Your Characters Trouble
3. Better Verbs Make Better Writing
4. Everything you want is on the other side of fear
5. What’s Your Damage?

These were supported by other memes I’ve made: Don’t walk through doors; You are my Favorite character, I’m going to hurt you the most; Write with Style; Don’t get it right, get it written; The secret to writing fiction is always tell the truth.

What’s your damage? is a question you need to ask your hero. What is the shard of glass, the dagger in their belly, that makes them make wrong, or at least less than optimal, decisions? What makes them not perfect?

The damage which makes a person depend only on themselves, so doesn’t ask for help even when they should, because as a child they couldn’t trust their parents. The damage of a trick knee, so they can’t run, but they insist on coming to fight the monster anyway.

In Honestly, my hero has injuries making him weaker than pictures himself, and my heroine is still living with her last (ex-) relationship in her head. I really should have played with their damages a bit more, but the novelette is my first completed work. I learned a lot writing it.

You might not need to ask the point-of-view character What’s Your Damage until the first draft is done. Then you go back and hone the story, sprinkling the emotional journey throughout. Do they learn something that will heal their Damage? Do they learn a workaround to bandage the Damage for now?

The Damage is important. It makes the hero not-perfect. It makes them real. The Damage is what makes a story of Dragons and Wizards, of Spaceships and Blasters, of Love-at-first-sight and Billionaire-loving-Waitresses real. Damage pulls genre into reality.

Meme created by Erin Penn

S is for Shower

When attending a convention, three things need to be done.

Survival for health:
5 Hours of Sleep
2 Meals
1 Shower

Why? A body needs sleep for functioning, especially in a chaotic environment. Meals prevent h-angry and low blood sugar. Showers are needed for the high-contact, close quarters. People are sharing your space. The showers are a kindness for them … and a health prevention benefit for you, reducing the amount of transmissions on you during your overnight sleep. (Shower before going to bed!)