An Editing Exercise

Bench for All Seasons

On a cloudless Midwest spring day, a dawn visitor sits to squint into the golden splendor of a dazzling, radiant sun. Atop the crest of a small bluff, four sturdy A-frame metal poles with concrete feet shoulder the visitor’s bulk with the help of a horizontal bar sporting eyehooks from which hangs a park bench with arms. The bench’s seat no more than an average knee height above grass and compacted dirt. This one bluff within the environs of Raspberry Island rises above constructed asphalt walking paths that sprawl like a clump of worms wiggling for freedom. On the bench, resting one’s body or catching a breath, there’s a visage to behold, replete with nature’s full arsenal of aromas, sounds, and creatures, seen and unseen.

In spring the five-foot length resting perch becomes a lookout to spy, from overhead, on sparrows, finches, and robins building nests of twigs, dried grass, and/or the discarded snagged-kite-string remnant. Black and brown squirrels frolic, jump, and sprint across bending and springing-back tree branches.

Summer with its rising temperatures and storm breezes brings to the bench the fragrance of nearby blooming wildflowers and the whispers of three-foot-high grass. With a westerly wind, the bench swings to and fro to cast off a newly arriving grasshopper. A person’s gentle foot push aids the breeze to enhance the swinging sensation. Looking through the trees and downward, there’s a floating dock on the far shore of a stagnant water pond. Only this day the water splashes as unleashed dogs romp back onto land with clinging droplets to spray their owners. On the bench’s side of the pond, an earthen path juts left and right to a six-foot sandy beach where kids scour the shore for flat rocks to skip into a watery grave.

When the yellow, brown, and red fall leaves swirl and flutter in a tug-of-war between wind and gravity, spring’s green unfurled canopy no longer hides the approaching winter view. A mulch carpet of leaves often rustles as practicing cross-country runners approach and pass behind the bench.
Often unnoticed is the rectangular memorial plaque mounted on a concrete base. The gracious tribute to an eco-friendly soul who once, or more likely often, would stand on the bench's exact spot and wish to linger longer, to enjoy the quiet, and to be nurtured by nature's pulse.

How would one edit the above? Are there metaphors not organic? For more by Author Donan Berg visit http://www.abodytobones.com/

Recipe: Irish Soda Bread

When the green-green grass of home appears in March, it's time to check that collection of time-tested family recipes fit for the season. That means soda bread. There are, it seems, as many as spirits in Ireland. (On purpose, the definition of spirits is up to you.)

Heat up your oven to 375 degrees. Here goes:

Irish Soda Bread (Two loaves)

6 cups all-purpose flour (3 white and 3 wheat here. Or 6 white if you prefer.)
2 teaspoons baking soda
2 teaspoons baking powder
3 tablespoons cornstarch
2 teaspoons sugar
1 teaspoon salt
2 1/2 cups buttermilk

(For those who want an option, add a handful of raisins. They're not in the recipe proper for some 19th Century folks used the term "raisins" in a less-than-complimentary way.)

Add all dry ingredients in a large bowl and mix well. If your mother said: "toss, buttermilk on the side" that works, too. Grab a wooden spoon, if not already in hand, pour all buttermilk into the large bowl, and stir. In no time you'll have a soft dough. Let it be rough at the edges. Tumble dough onto smooth surface, like a counter. Knead, counting thousand one, etc, until you reach sixty to one hundred. This kneading designed to make you feel like a baker, using flour-covered hands, and to evenly moisten dry ingredients with buttermilk.

Divide dough in half, round each portion, and, with hand, flatten top slightly.

Place each loaf on ungreased baking sheet and sprinkle flour on top. Not too much. And, oh my goodness, don't use this step as means to dust-off your hands. Pinch a wee dab of flour from the bag.

By the handle only, grab a sharp knife and make the sign of the Cross with slashes on the top of each loaf.

Allow the loaves to rest for ten minutes. This is the juncture in the recipe where the baker can take a wee nip for the hard part is over, if there's a timer at hand.

Bake in the 375 degree oven for forty (40) minutes. Best to use center rack position. Since ovens vary, the loaves are done when golden brown.

Cool on racks. Enjoy. Happy St. Patrick's Day.

Novel, A Body To Bones by Author Donan Berg

Multiple Five Stars for The Bones Dance Foxtrot

The author interrupts stock market whimsy to present breaking news from Writer's Digest where a judge has awarded multiple five-star ratings to The Bones Dance Foxtrot, Second Skeleton Series Mystery. The February 2012 announced results are as follows:

On a scale of 1 (poor) to 5 (excellent) the following scores were given to The Bones Dance Foxtrot.

Plot:  5

Grammar:  5

Character Development:  5

Production quality and cover design:  5

Judge's Commentary:

Engagingly titled, this mystery will keep readers absorbed until the satisfactorily detailed end. The main character is arrested after his arrival in a small town and accused of a murder he didn't commit. As the multi-faceted plot develops, mysterious signs, drug traffic, loot from a bank robbery, a kidnapping, and other murders all come into play.  Befriended by some locals, the protagonist takes root in the community. While his case is dismissed other accusations occur. Romance, involving participation in an acting group and dance sessions, also develops while the police try to piece together different crime strands. The characters are believable, the situations credible, and the dialogue is crisp.

The Bones Dance Foxtrot followed Donan Berg's debut mystery, A Body To Bones, First Skeleton Series Mystery. The third mystery, Baby Bones, is available in #E-book and Mp3 formats.  Another murder mystery published by Donan Berg available in E-book is Abbey Burning Love. See all at DOTDON Books

To go back to the stock market whimsy, click on the earlier February 7, 2012 blog post at this site.

Profit in the Whimsy Market

With all the New Year attention focused on the rising stock market, perhaps now is a good time to evaluate stocks that should be on the Big Board. To be specifically clear, what follows is not investing advice. No brokers were hurt or are expected to be hurt in the creation of the following whimsy related to the United States Stock Market. If a chord is struck, i.e., you wagered on the New York Giants at 100-1 before they became the Super Bowl Champs, definitely don't rely on the material herein. You have your own ground game to destiny.

Here's the past and present stock movements worth considering:

Recreational boats dipped after new wave surge.

Prunes declined after the grape market dried up.

Escalators climbed steadily up.

Pencils lost a few points.

Snow shovels scrapped bottom.

Writing paper last month was stationary; toilet paper touched bottom.

Cola slipped into a bear market.

Helium soared; balloon prices remained inflated.

Rubberbands stretched to reach new limits, then snapped.

Light switches were off.

Axes cut into tree futures.

Sun stocks entered day low, then peaked at midday.

Arrows pierced expected target.

Weights in heavy trading were up; feathers down.

Mining equipment hit rock bottom; diapers remained unchanged..


Author Donan Berg has four published novels: A Body To Bones, First Skeleton Series Mystery; The Bones Dance Foxtrot, Second Skeleton Series Mystery; Baby Bones, Third Skeleton Series Mystery, and Abbey Burning Love. Visit him here or at http://www.abodytobones.com/ . May your personal fortunes be increasing, not only in terms of money, but in love, family, and cherished values. Check out previous Author Donan Berg blog posts that include quotes, book reviews, and writing advice. Southwest Georgia Regional Library System (Bainbridge, Colquitt, Donalsonville, GA) became the latest known library to shelve Donan Berg's debut mystery novel A Body To Bones.





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Survival or Getting Through First Paragraphs

Review excerpt from Survival by A.M. Hargrove (Editor Sarajoy Porter) available on Smashwords.com.

Maddie slowly cracked opened (sic) her eyes to see the brilliance of the morning peeking through her tent. Squinting, she poked her nose out of her sleeping bag to test the temperature, and just as she imagined, the frost in the air nipped at her. She knew she would have to get up soon to use the facilities, if you could call the outhouse that, and also to make breakfast as well as break down (sic) her campsite.

(Three line paragraph excised. Think Christmas Day.)

She quickly unzipped her toasty sleeping bag, slipped her boots on, threw on a jacket, and unzipped the door to her tent. When she got her first glimpse of the morning, her jaw hit the ground, and she sucked in her breath. She was standing in a winter wonderland, complete with a three inch blanket of snow.

(Later....)

Cat was full of life. There was just no other way to describe her. From the first moment I met her. I knew we'd be BFF's-and I mean forever.  She was my soul sister. AND we were so much alike it was uncanny. Like me, she was constantly in a rush, and she always looked like she had just survived a hurricane. When Catherine made up her mind about something, well, that was it. She was as hardheaded as a cinder block, again, like me, in that regard - and funny! OMG, that girl could make me laugh until my sides were killing me.

She was born and raised in Asheville, North Carolina, so it was easy to find one thing we both loved. That was, no surprise, hiking. She had spent over the summer hiking the Appalachian Trail and was hooked.

Moments later, two adults appeared, which I correctly assumed were her parents. We quickly introduced ourselves and then the question I had so been dreading was popped.

"So Maddie, are your parents here?"

I felt my head swin a bit as I was thrust into another disturbing flashback. (End of quote.)

No star rating expressed since this reader stumbled with the distractions presented by the entrance into the novel's world. It's billed as a young adult paranormal, although the line of teendom and older becomes blurred by the main characters being in college. A male character, named "Henry," could be because the credits list a spouse as a Henry or it's a veiled reference to the character Henry in The Time Traveler's Wife.

Let me put forth my reaction to the excerpts presented, in no way highlighted as representative of the entire novel, just that the words arrived on early pages.

1. The words "cracked opened" in the first line must be a typo. The two words "break down" caused a reading hiccup. Perhaps the term should be "breaking down" or "strike," but, since these words apply primarily to the tent alone, the greater action may be to "pack up" the campsite.
2. Then there is the participle "Squinting." Participles are words ending in "ing" or "ed." They are to describe the subject of the conventional sentence. Does "squinting" describe the nose? Of course not.
3. Maddie supposedly sees the brilliance of the morning peeking through her tent. A paragraph later says, "When she got her first glimpse of the morning..." How can that be? If she had seen the peeking sun brilliance, she couldn't be first glimpse awe-struck when stepping outside her tent minutes later.
4. As one reads, one cannot help but be bombarded by the constant use of "to be" verbs. These inert verbs require the action to be exhumed and enlivened by vigorous verbs. Count the number of times the "to be" past tense verb "was" presents itself in the latter portion of the excerpt.  The inert verbs highlight the "telling" of a story, not its "showing." Review clauses such as "full of life," "were so much alike," and "like she had just survived a hurricane". What specifics are told? Are they cliches, overused and/or meaningless?
5. Metaphors can be confusing. Consider the use of the words "cinder block" connected to "hardheaded." A normal construction cinder block has a hollow core. Does the author wish to convery the character is an "airhead" or merely "stubborn." The traits could be polar opposites.
6. In the latter part of the excerpt, would  the two words "Moments later" be enough to avoid a mind-jarring interruption or merely slight confusion with the time shift from the past to the present?
7. Is all believable? Would a teenage female meeting her parents introduce herself? That's what the language says when it refers to "We quickly introduced outselves."
8. This final comment brings forth the question: Where's the present inciting action that sets forth the central conflict? The introduction travels through backstory with a minimal reader grounding. Yes, this is young adult literature, but how many teenagers spend today trudging through the past. If a teenager lost a parent, do they, at seventeen, lament their seventh birthday party when Mom lit the cake candles or do they suffer losing a job interview or being late for a longed for date when the car won't run and Dad's not there to fix it? And then, there's the placement of the two incidents on the conflict scale.

Author's Note:
Author Donan Berg writes murder mysteries with strong romantic elements and his latest E-book novels are Abbey Burning Love and Baby Bones, neither of which are young adult novels. They may be purchased at http://www.dotdonbooks.com/ and through major E-book retailers. Previews of all four Donan Berg novels are presented at http://www.amazon.com/ .

The Simple Thing - A Happy Reader

It's preached ad infinitum: the simple thing, do it, live it, praise it. For a writer it's often left unsaid what the "it" is. Let's take a crack.

It's simple to write about the tried and true, chase the hot fad. However, it's usualy counterproductive. Ask the author with the wastebasket of rejection slips attached to vampire pages.

How does one not follow a trend. First, stop. Second, think. Third, experiment. An author's desk surely has large paper clips scattered about or horded in a drawer. What use can be made of them other than clipping printed draft pages together until that chapter is finalized. And, by finalize, the smart author knows a rubber band for loose pages is the better method for publisher submission than paper clips. The leftover paper clips can be bent into holiday ornament hangers, while a stray one or two can manage unruly hairstyles.

Other everyday writing aids, pre-computer definitely, can have uses not stated by the manufacturer. Liquid correction fluid becomes a common solution to scuffed shoes when that personal publishing house interview is obtained. Binder clips might be the granddaddy for multiple uses. They can be seen holding bags closed, i.e., those chips munched on at two in the morning, clipping a reminder note to the vehicle visor, keeping tubes of paste rolled up, and, of course, maintaining tidy coiffures.

So when writing and the heroine/hero needs to keep a hair strand out of those gorgeous, sexy eyes for an extended period, amaze or comfort the reader with a paper or binder clip. If the reader hasn't come across this particular usage, haven't you created a moment where the reader thinks you're a creative genius. And, if a mystery, that clip foreshadows a later more critical use, e.g., the villain who thinks it hilarious and tosses it aside leaves a damning fingerprint fragment or a DNA sample.

Other than crime clues, everyday objects can become a symbol of a character quirk, fetish, red herring or point for humor. What does sucking a paper clip say that sucking a toothpick doesn't? Was the infant death by ingested paper clips accidental, negligent or murderously intentional by a distraught parent or caregiver.

When done thinking of 101 uses for a paper clip in your romance, adventure, western, saga, and/or paranormal, experiment. Do it until you begin to read dozens of stories with fantastic paper clip uses. Then stop. It's a fad. Remember, we don't follow fads. Now take out a piece of scrap paper and, for an exercise, scribble frantically how you can use the rubber band in your writing. Don't get too attached to the actual rubber band before you for it'll be mailed off to that editor adoring your story.

  

Oh, that Christmas Jolly or was it Jelly

Twas the fifteenth of January in O' twelve, no willpower be.

No Ides would I fret, nor feet somewhere down yonder could I see.

The arm's once easy keyboard stretch now had fingertips barely touch;

The stomach plumped by Christmas berry pies, raisin pudding and such.

In upstairs closets and attic trunks I'd searched for a shirt and pants.

The only pants that circled the waist came from verbal "why, why" rants.

I'd eaten and eaten, no stop to my glorious holiday food intake folly.

Hams and potatoes, yams and jams, all entirely delicious, by golly.

A toast for the merry; glorious eggnogs, all whiskey or bourbon laced.

There was no thought to the dusty scale with the pound record I faced.

Another day I'd fast; for the next eleven months promised plenty of days.

Without holiday friends, no way could I exist, couldn't be me, no ways.

So today I cry, grunt and strain to tap keys to write this celebration lament.

Thank the bountiful cheer of Christmas, I do, good friends, family, and Lent.


May all enjoy a very Merry Christmas and the blessings of a New Year. Here's a thanks to the inspiration of Mr. Moore for this humble jumble of words. Enjoy novel A Body To Bones click here in 2012. And, The Bones Dance Foxtrot, Abbey Burning Love, Baby Bones. A preview of all are at http://www.amazon.com/ .

And, to all a good night. Oh, guess you heard that before. May the road rise to meet you. Oh, that's an upcoming celebration. Let's go back. And, to all a good night. Happy Hanukkah, Kwanza, too.