Good morning, and welcome to all my WordNerdy friends and family!
Quick question to get the fun ball rolling:
Can you add to this list?
(Credit for this meme goes to Chip MacGregor–saw it on his FB page, and almost snorted coffee!)
I did an internet search on “WordNerd”, and boy howdy, did I get some fun stuff to read.
Your turn…and, go!
Okay, Killzoners, let’s be up front with each other…and have some fun while we’re at it.
Be it paper delivery, fast food shenanigans, kiddo-sitting, or shoveling out your neighbor’s chicken coop . . . what was your first paying billet (or J.O.B.)?
I like to think of my first job as the First Draft of My Life.
Remember these?
I was the advanced age of fourteen when I was hired in my mother’s office. I worked after school three days a week, filing real estate cards—way before the digital age—and answering the black dial phone. Not exciting, but I could start buying my own clothes!
We won’t talk about the other job I had . . . intermittently dog-sitting for our neighbor’s twin St. Bernards . . . actually, I don’t know to this day who was sitting who. (Whom?)
Two of them!
Your turn—what was your first experience with a paycheck (and, dare I say, taxes?)
And, second question: How has that first paying job influenced your writing–such as plot, character development, etc.?
As we approach the summer cookout season . . .
How many chefs do we have amongst this august group? Do you like to cook for your family or guests?
As I threw a casserole together on the fly (so to speak…) the other day, it occurred to me that cheffing styles are somewhat akin to writing styles. What in the wide world am I talking about?
Just this.
I am a Pantser Chef. Most of the time, I have no recipe, no plan, just the glimmer of an idea. Like my casserole.
This is me…sigh…
As I wondered what to fix for dinner that night, I thought of the boneless chicken thighs I had packaged in the freezer. I got them out, put them on the counter to thaw, then went about my day.
As dinner time approached, I looked at those thighs and wondered what to do with them. I decided to brown them. When they were done, I thought, “Now what?”. I opened the refrigerator and spied some carrots. Ah! Diced carrots!
Before you get bored with my culinary adventure, I’ll just say that when the casserole was released from the oven, it was a divine combination of pasta, chicken, Alfredo sauce, carrots, and Parmesan. As there are only two of us, it fed us for about 3-4 days…the perfect food creation in my book.
So, TKZers, the question for you today is:
Are you a Pantser Chef like me? Or are you a Plotter Chef—do you always start with a detailed recipe and plan your whole day around that recipe?
Or, you might be a Plantser Chef—you have a recipe, but as you go, you substitute this for that and that for this until it’s your recipe, not someone else’s.
What say you?
Bonus Question: Does your cheffing style match your writing style, as mine does?
In honor of Good Friday, please share a hobby/activity you enjoy.
The only rule is this: it must have nothing to do with publishing or writing. Not to say your hobby/activity doesn’t feed your storytelling brain cells, but if you have one unrelated to writing, this is the day and the space to share it.
And . . . go!
Oh! Me first? You got it!
Target shooting’s my game–if it fires a bullet, I’ll try it.
Okay–your turn, TKZers. What do you do when you’re not writing/reading/editing/marketing?
Let’s talk about buckets. Or, more specifically, bucket lists.
From Wikipedia: “The term “bucket list” refers to a list of things a person wants to accomplish before they die, derived from the phrase “kick the bucket,” which is a euphemism for dying.
“Nuff said there, I think.
Next, what does your bucket look like?
The one above? Or this…? If you’ve got a lot left you want to do, this might be the one you need.
To the point, what’s in YOUR bucket that you want to accomplish before you move on to the next sphere?
Me: I hate flying, but when I was about 12, my friend’s dad was a pilot and owned a small plane. He took us up one day and flew around our small valley here in central Washington. At one point, he handed over the controls to me. And I’ve always wanted to do that again.
TKZers, it’s your turn. What’s inside that bucket you’ve been carrying around?
And, just because I couldn’t resist . . . isn’t she cute?
Entertaining question to kick around today.
If you could rewind your life to any age or year and relive it, what would it be?
I’ll go first. (Mine might have something to do with rewinding back to public civility and party lines…)
But, I digress.
When I was 10, I got to do two things I’ll never forget. If I could go back, I would in a heartbeat.
I got my first real bike. My dad gave it to me by riding it out of one of the bays at the service station he owned at the time.
Picture big guy riding small blue girl’s bike. Priceless memory.
The second thing we did was visit the Space Needle for the first time. My parents had a birthday tradition back in the day. They didn’t have a lot of money, but on your day, the birthday boy or girl got to pick the place for dinner.
Yours truly picked the Space Needle. (The Space Needle was only ~two years old in 1964.)
You should’ve seen their faces when I announced that’s where I wanted to go. But, it was tradition, so we all piled in the car on my birthday and drove the 150 miles to Seattle. We rode to the top, and had steak dinners—all five of us, plus one on the way.
Another precious memory I’d like to relive, more so now since there’s only two of us left.
Okay, Killzoners, your turn. What does your Life Rewound look like?
***
How would you live today if you knew you had no tomorrows left?
Follow Annie Lee as she navigates what she believes is her last day on earth.
Walk in her shoes . . . and ask yourself the same question. Will your answer be the same one Annie discovers?
I know, I know, it’s Friday the Thirteenth.
But this isn’t about that. Or is it? Read on…
As authors, we sometimes interview folks, or we are interviewed ourselves . . . or, we interview our characters. Let’s flip that on its head for a moment.
If you could, by some magical wave of your Yoda hand, choose one animal or insect to interview, what would it be?
He just looks like he’s got something on his mind, right?
I can guess which one some of you might choose, like our own Sue Coletta. Crow anyone?
For me, it’d have to be this fellow. What interesting tales he might tell!
How about the rest of you? Any of these tickle your fancy? Do tell…
(This post was born on my own website, and I thought it would strike a chord with the TKZ folks also.)
What’s the most recognizable part of the human body? The thing that defines who we are to each other? Other than fingerprints and DNA.
Our bodies have similarities. People are designed with two arms ending in hands, two legs ending in feet, twenty digits, a head, neck, and torso. Requisite musculature and frame to make everything work, surrounding and protecting our inner organs.
Aside from those born with health issues and anomalies, the human race looks and moves pretty much alike.
Except for the face. The human face. Infinite variety.
We could say the same about all species. But we, more often than not, cannot tell others of a different species apart by looking at the creature’s face. Perhaps individuals in that other species can recognize a face within their species, but evidence points to other indicators. Like the zebra baby who knows its mother by her stripes.
I had a disturbing dream last night. In the dream, I moved through groups of people—people who talked to each other. In an office, a hospital, a grocery store, on the streets and sidewalks. Everywhere I looked, people were talking to each other. Some argued, some spoke words of love, some asked those mundane questions we ask of each other upon meeting. Just everyday conversation.
But something was very wrong, as often happens in dreams. No one faced each other. Each group of two, three, or more faced away from each other, standing back to back as they spoke. I began to cry when I saw two of my friends speaking to each other, but not looking at each other. I thought, how sad. Is this where we’re headed?
Let’s bring back the face. Lest we forget what we look like to each other.
Your comments are most welcome!
“I tell would-be writers that there are three things to forget about. First, talent. I used to worry that I had no talent, and it compelled me to work harder. Second, inspiration. Habit will serve you a lot better. And third, imagination. Don’t worry, you have it.” — Octavia Butler
What are your thoughts on the mix of talent, work, and imagination?
