My Writing Partner

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, writing is not as solitary as the “outside” world believes. Aside from my agent and editors all of my clamoring fans that I converse with everyday via Facebook, Twitter and other social media, I have a writing partner. Actually 2.

Meet Cheng. My oldest baby. Full name Kitty Kitty Ch’ing Cheng. Half Siamese/half Maine Coon, he’s the sweetest cat you’ll ever meet. In his prime he topped out at 23 pounds. Yes, twenty-three. But now he’s over 18 years old. And our time with him is precious.

And then there’s the newest addition to our family. This is Jack. I know, I know, but I didn’t give him that name. He came with it. His real name is Cap’n Jack, though mostly we call him Kitty Jack or Jackie Cat. Jack is just a little over a year old. So he’ll get to be my writing buddy for many years to come. Now all I  have to do is teach him how to run Google. LOL

Our pets get to be as much a part of the family as well, the other members of our family. Do you have a very special pet, writing partner, reading buddy, TV confidant? Leave me a comment and tell me about them.

My Amish Doll

Ethridge, Tennessee part 2

There is definitely something charming about the Amish. It’s undeniable that these people who work so diligently to conform, intrigue us so. To the point that we want to take a little piece of them home with us, be it a jar of homemade jelly, a basket, or a bag of peanut brittle. When we traveled to Ethridge this summer, all I wanted was a doll.

In case you don’t know, Amish dolls do not have faces. This practice goes back to the Ten Commandments and no graven images. It also accounts for the fact that the Amish refuse to have their picture taken. To them, the measure is one of pride and all prideful-ness should be avoided. But back to my doll… I found one in the gift shop where we rented a horse-drawn wagon to take us down the back roads to the Amish farms that welcomed English (non-Amish) visitors. But I 

There were a great many items for sale, though most farms had the same types of goods: peanut brittle and homemade treats, small wooden games, beads, and jelly. One farm sold furniture–small stools and swings, high chairs and cribs–and another incredible hand-woven baskets. But no dolls.

Needless to say, I was crushed. We stopped at ten farms, got out talked to the people who lived there, bought various goods and enjoyed a quiet, lazy afternoon. But not one of these farm’s offered dolls for sale.

On the way back to the gift shop I asked the guy who was driving our wagon about the dolls and he told me that there was one in the gift shop. (Well, I knew that!)  but settled myself into getting the doll from the store. Actually there were two dolls in the store–one boy and one girl. Buy only the girl doll had a tag that said Amish made. I snatched her up and took her to the counter to purchase. I told the lady that I was disappointed that none of the farms offered dolls for sale. As she rang up my purchase she asked me if I remembered the first farm that we had stopped at on the wagon tour. “Of course,” I said. Then she proceeded to tell me that the doll I was purchasing was made by the woman who lived there, Amanda Swartzentruber. Furthermore, Amanda used to make several dolls to sell  in the store, but their bishop decided that  it shouldn’t be allowed. I bought the last doll that Amanda had made for them.

Why the bishop was against Amanda making dolls for the store to sell is beyond me. Though I’m sure he had the best interests of his church members in mind. Maybe it was a pride issue, like Amanda would think her dolls better than the other women’s because the English sold hers in their store. Or maybe he wanted to cut that tie between the two  worlds.

What do you think? I’d love to hear any thoughts from my readers. Have you run into a similar situation when traveling among the Plain folk nearest you?

Ethridge, Tennessee–part 1

One of the first things I wanted to do when I went home to Alabama for our annual visit this summer was to travel to Tennessee to the Amish settlement in Ethridge. And I am so glad I did. For once the members of my family got to see first hand about the Amish and I got to visit a settlement that was ‘new’ to me.

I also planned to blog about this great experience, but realized when I sat down to tell you about it, that it was going to take more than one post. So I’m taking this in stages. First up, our wagon tour…

What a treat that we got to travel through part of the settlement in a horse drawn wagon! The young man who drove us down those dusty back roads was very knowledgeable about the Amish. There were certain houses he took us to who were friendly to the English, or non-Amish people.  We got to walk around one man’s wood shop where he made everything entirely out of cedar. I so wanted to bring one of the big wooden porch swings home with me. Ah, well, maybe next year.

We also got to see two very small girls take the family’s lunch scraps out to feed the goats. The girls couldn’t have been more than three and four, but they lugged the big five gallon bucket to the fence and called for the goats in their Pennsylvania Dutch. We were just driving away when the goats came running into the pen to be fed.

The Amish of Ethridge are very conservative, not even allowing their children to have a rumspringa or ‘run around’ time. They also would not let us take pictures of anything. And I mean anything. But how crazy must they think we are that we want to take pictures of their laundry. Or their wood-burning water heater. Or their endless rows of short popcorn stalks.

But being so conservative also means no phone shanties or phones in the barn in case of an emergency, no caution triangles on the back  of their buggies, and very little interaction with the outside community.

Still, the ones that we did get to visit with were very friendly, welcoming us into their world if only for a very brief time.

For more about the Amish settlement in Ethridge, TN, go to http://amishamerica.com/the-amish-of-ethridge-tennessee/

Why writers hate edits so much

Once upon a time, columnist Red Smith was asked if writing a daily column was a difficult task for a writer. Red’s answer? A deadpanned “Why, no. You simply sit down at the typewriter, open your veins, and bleed.” *

And that is why writers hate edits so much. The End.

But seriously, I start off edits in a great frame of mind. I’ve got my editor’s fresh eyes looking over my work making sure all of the commas are in place and the pronouns are all correct. But some time during the editing process, the nice girl in me sort of…snaps and out pops this somewhat crazed, self-important ogre who can’t believe that there’s anyone alive that can’t see how brilliant that word choice really is. I mean, isnt it obvious? (Deep breath).

Ahem…What I mean to say is, writers are an insecure breed.  It’s hard to write a piece, even the less personal fiction, and put it out there for the world to see. Even harder when the ”world’ has a red felt-tipped pen. (Or Track Changes.)

But ‘putting it out there’ is a necessary part of the writing process. Most writers dream of being published. And being published means editors, which means edits, which means that ogre is going to show up now and again.

So when you see that post on Facebook or Twitter about your favorite author going through edits, be sure to hit the” like” button. Show them a little support and help them keep the ogre at bay.

BTW–I’m in edits right now, so I’d appreciate it if you would “like” this post. Please and thank you! :)

* taken from http://quoteinvestigator.com/2011/09/14/writing-bleed/