Retired and Bored

Retired and Bored
After I retired, my wife insisted that I accompany her on her trips to Target.  Unfortunately, like most men, I found shopping boring and preferred to get in and get out. Equally unfortunate, my wife is like most women - she loves to browse. Yesterday my dear wife received the following letter from the local Target:

Dear Mrs. Kell,
Over the past six months, your husband Larry has caused quite a commotion in our Mesa store. We can no longer tolerate his outrageous behavior and in accordance with company policy have been forced to ban both of you from the Mesa store. Our complaints against your husband, Mr. Kell, are numerous and listed below, If you have any doubts, we have them documented by our security people, on our in store video surveillance cameras.

1. June 15: He took 24 boxes of condoms and randomly put them in other people's carts when they weren't looking.

2. July 2: Set all the alarm clocks in Housewares to go off at 5-minute intervals.

3. July 7: He made a trail of tomato juice on the floor leading to the women's restroom.

4. July 19: Walked up to an employee and told her in an official voice, 'Code 3 in Housewares. Get on it right away'. This caused the employee to leave her assigned station and receive a reprimand from her Supervisor that in turn resulted with a union grievance, causing management to lose time and costing the company money. We don't have a Code 3.

5. August 4: Went to the Service Desk and tried to put a bag of M&Ms on layaway.

6. August 14: Moved a, 'CAUTION - WET FLOOR' sign to a carpeted area.

7. August 15: Set up a tent in the camping department and told the children of shoppers he'd invite them in if they would bring pillows and blankets from the bedding department to which twenty children obliged.

8. August 23: When a clerk asked if they could help him he began crying and screamed, 'Why can't you people just leave me alone?' EMTs were called.

9. September 4: Looked right into the security camera and used it as a mirror while he picked his nose.

10. September 10: While handling guns in the hunting department, he asked the clerk where the antidepressants were.

11. October 3: Darted around the store suspiciously while, loudly humming the, 'Mission Impossible' theme.
 12. October 6: In the auto department he practiced his, 'Madonna Look' using different sizes of funnels.

13. October 18: Hid in a clothing rack and when people browsed through, yelled 'PICK ME! PICK ME!'

14. October 22: When an announcement came over the loud speaker, he assumed a fetal position and screamed; 'OH NO! IT'S THOSE VOICES AGAIN!'

15. Took a box of condoms to the checkout clerk and asked where is the fitting room?
And last, but not least:

16. October 23: Went into a fitting room, shut the door, waited awhile; then yelled very loudly, “Hey! There's no toilet paper in here.” One of the clerks passed out.


Needless to say, I have been freed from the tedious shopping trips and we have stopped shopping at Target. Her new favorite place to browse is Walmart.

Deep POV and How It’s used.

Richard Draude
It and Graphics Administrator
Mystic Publishers Inc



Deep POV and How It’s used.

Deep POV is the third-person subjective taken a step beyond the normal third-person subjective. Deep POV shows your story through the eyes of one or more characters—one at a time please, avoid any head-hopping. Deep POV goes into the head and heart of a character, taking your readers beyond the action on the page. Thus allowing you the writer to help your readers understand your character’s throughs, his or her experiences, history, and feelings.

What first-person POV executes with the I narration, Deep POV accomplishes with third-person he or she narration.

Using Deep POV puts your readers inside your viewpoint character. They feel story events as your hero or heroine does. What your protagonist or antagonist sees, the reader sees. What they feel or think, the reader knows. The reader understands automatically what is being reported are the thoughts, feelings, and intentions of your viewpoint character.

Deep POV allows writers to do away with what he thought, he felt, he wondered, he saw, all those phrases that intrude into the fiction, that unnecessarily encumbers the story.

Once upon a time, such phrases were considered necessary, a way to let your readers know we were in the character’s head or seeing through his or her eyes. With Deep POV, readers are in the character’s head –almost– all the time, and no other intrusions are necessary.

A few examples of simple sentences to show the contrast—

Third-person—
He was lost, Michael thought. Lost and certain someone followed him into the woods.
I’m lost, Michael thought. Lost and certain someone followed him into the woods.

Third-person Deep POV—
He was lost. Lost and certain someone followed him into the woods.
I’m lost. Lost and certain someone followed him into the woods.

➢➣➢➣➤➢➣➢➣

Third-person—

Sherry trailed her quarry down Broadway, careful to look busy with store windows shopping on the opposite side of the street. She giggled when she watched him slip into the Big and Tall Shop and saw him hide behind a mannequin.

Third-person Deep POV

Sherry trailed her quarry—better known as her ex-husband—down Broadway, careful to look busy windows shopping on the opposite side of the street.  She had to laugh when he slipped into the Big and Tall Shop and hide behind a mannequin.

➢➣➣➢➣➢➣

Third-person—

Allen shook his head. It was moronic, he said to himself, the way Zen fawned over his wife’s parents.
Zen threw open his mouth, faking a long laugh.
A moron, Allen thought again, turning away.

Third-person Deep POV
Allen shook his head. It was moronic the way Zen fawned over his wife’s parents.
The loser threw open his mouth, faking a long laugh.
Moron.
Allen turned away.

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A first-person narrator never needs to identify his or her own feelings and thoughts as being their own. So, the third-person viewpoint character doesn’t have to tell his readers over and over what he or she is thinking or hoping or seeing or feeling. Readers understand the thoughts and hopes and visions and feelings belong to the viewpoint character.

The writer who uses Deep POV for his viewpoint character doesn’t have to use markers to tell readers what a character feels—

Melissa reluctantly stuck her hand into the pouch. She thought there was no way she could back out of the dare gracefully. She wiggled her fingers around. She felt slime ooze between them.

Melissa reluctantly stuck her hand into the pouch. There was no way she could back gracefully out of the dare. She wiggled her fingers around, wincing when slime oozed between them.

Using Deep POV rather than the traditional third-person subjective can cut your word count while keeping the intensity high. It can also keep readers deep in the fiction of the moment rather than reminding them that they are reading a story.

Markers used to remind readers a character is reporting that he’s doing something—felt, saw, watched, thought and so on—become a barrier between readers and the events and emotions of the story. They keep readers one step removed from story events and a character’s feelings.

Removing those reminders pulls your readers deeper into story’s events and deeper into the character’s mind and heart. When you remove the visual physical barrier, the psychological barrier is also separated. Then the reader dives even deeper into the fictional world.

Of course, being in a character’s thoughts and emotions for the length of a story can make readers antsy or induce a sense claustrophobia. It’s quite okay to draw back at times, to step away from that Deep POV.

When Deep POV is too much
At the opening of a new chapter, help the reader get a broad view of the scene. Allow scenes to gain perspective and provide relief from Deep POV. Go from the big-picture shot, shifting focus until your viewpoint character is again in the frame, then you can let him or her resume the storytelling.

Switching viewpoint characters lets your readers get the view from inside a different head. This gives them a break from the intensity of a single character’s point of view.

Remember, however, to switch viewpoint characters only with scene changes. And be choosy about the heads and hearts you dump your readers into. Not every character deserves to tell your story. Not every character is the right character to tell your story.

Common Writing Mistakes (4)

LISTS
“She was entranced by the roses, hyacinths, impatiens, mums, carnations, pansies, irises, peonies, hollyhocks, daylilies, morning glories, larkspur…” Well, she may be entranced, but our eyes are glazing over. If you’re going to describe a number of items, jack up the visuals. Lay out the scene as the eye sees it, with emphasis and emotion in unlikely places. When you list the items as though we’re checking them off with a clipboard, the internal eye will shut. It doesn’t matter what you list – nouns, adjectives, verbs – the result is always static. “He drove, he sighed, he swallowed, he yawned in impatience.” So do we. Dunk the whole thing. Rethink and rewrite. If you’ve got many ingredients and we aren’t transported, you’ve got a list.

SHOW, DON’T TELL
If you say, “she was stunning and powerful,” you’re *telling* us. But if you say, “I was stunned by her elegant carriage as she strode past the jury – shoulders erect, elbows back, her eyes wide and watchful,” you’re *showing* us. The moment we can visualize the picture you’re trying to paint, you’re showing us, not telling us what we *should* see..Handsome, attractive, momentous, embarrassing, fabulous, powerful, hilarious, stupid, fascinating are all words that “tell” us in an arbitrary way what to think. They don’t reveal, don’t open up, don’t describe in specifics what is unique to the person or event described. Often they begin with cliches.Here is Gail Sheehy’s depiction of a former “surfer girl” from the New Jersey shore in Middletown, America:

“This was a tall blond tomboy who grew up with all guy friends. A natural beauty who still had age on her side, being thirty; she didn’t give a thought to taming her flyaway hair or painting makeup on her smooth Swedish skin.”
Here I *think* I know what Sheehy means, but I’m not sure. Don’t let the reader make such assumptions. You’re the author; it’s your charge to show us what you mean with authentic detail. Don’t pretend the job is accomplished by cliches such as “smooth Swedish skin,” “flyaway hair,” “tall blond tomboy,” “the surfer girl” – how smooth? how tall? how blond?

Or try this from Faye Kellerman in Street Dreams:

“[Louise’s] features were regular, and once she had been pretty. Now she was handsome in her black skirt, suit, and crisp, white blouse.”
Well, that’s it for Louise, poor thing. Can you see the character in front of you? A previous sentence tells us that Louise has “blunt-cut hair” framing an “oval face,” which helps, but not much – millions of women have a face like that. What makes Louise distinctive? Again, we may think we know what Kellerman means by “pretty” and “handsome” (good luck), but the inexcusable word here is “regular,” as in “her features were regular.” What *are* “regular” features?

The difference between telling and showing usually boils down to the physical senses. Visual, aural aromatic words take us out of our skin and place us in the scene you’ve created. In conventional narrative, it’s fine to use a “to be” word to talk us into the distinctive word, such as “wandered” in this brief, easily imagined sentence by John Steinbeck in East of Eden. “His eyes were very blue, and when he was tired, one of them wandered outward a little.” We don’t care if he is “handsome” or “regular.”

Granted, context is everything, as writing experts say, and certainly that’s true of the sweltering West African heat in Graham Greene’s The Heart of the Matter: “Her face had the ivory tinge of atabrine; her hair which had once been the color of bottled honey was dark and stringy with sweat.” Except for “atabrine” (a medicine for malaria), the words aren’t all that distinctive, but they quietly do the job – they don’t tell us; they show us.

Commercial novels sometimes abound with the most revealing examples of this problem. The boss in Linda Lael Miller’s Don’t Look Now is “drop-dead gorgeous”; a former boyfriend is “seriously fine to look at: 35, half Irish and half Hispanic, his hair almost black, his eyes brown.” A friend, Betsy, is “a gorgeous, leggy blonde, thin as a model.” Careful of that word “gorgeous” – used too many times, it might lose its meaning.


The point to the List above is that even the best writers make these mistakes, but you can’t afford to. The way manuscripts are thrown into the Rejection Pile on the basis of early mistakes is a crime. Don’t be a victim.

Common Writing Mistakes (3)

FLAT WRITING

“He wanted to know but couldn’t understand what she had to say, so he waited until she was ready to tell him before asking what she meant.”Something is conveyed in this sentence, but who cares? The writing is so flat, it just dies on the page. You can’t fix it with a few replacement words – you have to give it depth, texture, character. Here’s another:”Bob looked at the clock and wondered if he would have time to stop for gas before driving to school to pick up his son after band practice.” True, this could be important – his wife might have hired a private investigator to document Bob’s inability to pick up his son on time – and it could be that making the sentence bland invests it with more tension. (This is the editorial consultant giving you the benefit of the doubt.) Most of the time, though, a sentence like this acts as filler. It gets us from A to B, all right, but not if we go to the kitchen to make a sandwich and find something else to read when we sit down.Flat writing is a sign that you’ve lost interest or are intimidated by your own narrative. It shows that you’re veering toward mediocrity, that your brain is fatigued, that you’ve lost your inspiration. So use it as a lesson. When you see flat writing on the page, it’s time to rethink, refuel and rewrite.

AWKWARD PHRASING
“Mrs. Fletcher’s face pinkened slightly.” Whoa. This is an author trying too hard. “I sat down and ran a finger up the bottom of his foot, and he startled so dramatically …. ” Egad, “he startled”? You mean “he started”?Awkward phrasing makes the reader stop in the midst of reading and ponder the meaning of a word or phrase. This you never want as an author. A rule of thumb – always give your work a little percolatin’ time before you come back to it. Never write right up to deadline. Return to it with fresh eyes. You’ll spot those overworked tangles of prose and know exactly how to fix them.

COMMAS
Compound sentences, most modifying clauses and many phrases *require* commas. You may find it necessary to break the rules from time to time, but you can’t delete commas just because you don’t like the pause they bring to a sentence or just because you want to add tension.”Bob ran up the stairs and looking down he realized his shoelace was untied but he couldn’t stop because they were after him so he decided to get to the roof where he’d retie it.” This is what happens when an author believes that omitting commas can make the narrative sound breathless and racy. Instead it sounds the reverse – it’s heavy and garbled.The Graham Greene quote above is dying for commas, which I’ll insert here: “Her face had the ivory tinge of atabrine; her hair, which had once been the color of bottled honey, was dark and stringy with sweat.” This makes the sentence accessible to the reader, an image one needs to slow down and absorb.Entire books have been written about punctuation. Get one. “The Chicago Manual of Style” shows why punctuation is necessary in specific instances. If you don’t know what the rules are for, your writing will show it. 

Common Writing Mistakes (2)

When you're writing, are you tempted to use adverbs to punch up your pros. Don't!

EMPTY ADVERBS

Actually, totally, absolutely, completely, continually, constantly, continuously, literally, really, unfortunately, ironically, incredibly, hopefully, finally – these and others are words that promise emphasis, but too often they do the reverse. They suck the meaning out of every sentence.I defer to People Magazine for larding its articles with empty adverbs.

A recent issue refers to an “incredibly popular, groundbreakingly racy sitcom.” That’s tough to say even when your lips aren’t moving.In Still Life with Crows, Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child describe a mysterious row of corn in the middle of a field: “It was, in fact, the only row that actually opened onto the creek.” Here are two attempts at emphasis (“in fact,” “actually”), but they just junk up the sentence. Remove them both and the word “only” carries the burden of the sentence with efficiency and precision.(When in doubt, try this mantra: Precise and spare; precise and spare; precise and spare.)In dialogue, empty adverbs may sound appropriate, even authentic, but that’s because they’ve crept into American conversation in a trendy way.

If you’re not watchful, they’ll make your characters sound wordy, infantile and dated.In Julia Glass’s Three Junes, a character named Stavros is a forthright and matter-of-fact guy who talks to his lover without pretense or affectation. But when he mentions an offbeat tourist souvenir, he says, “It’s absolutely wild. I love it.” Now he sounds fey, spoiled, superficial.. (Granted, “wild” nearly does him in; but “absolutely” is the killer.)The word “actually” seems to emerge most frequently, I find. Ann Packer’s narrator recalls running in the rain with her boyfriend, “his hand clasping mine as if he could actually make me go fast.” Delete “actually” and the sentence is more powerful without it.

The same holds true when the protagonist named Miles hears some information in Empire Falls by Richard Russo. “Actually, Miles had no doubt of it,” we’re told. Well, if he had no doubt, remove “actually” – it’s cleaner, clearer that way. “Actually” mushes up sentence after sentence; it gets in the way every time. I now think it should *never* be used.

Another problem with empty adverbs: You can’t just stick them at the beginning of a sentence to introduce a general idea or wishful thinking, as in “Hopefully, the clock will run out.” Adverbs have to modify a verb or other adverb, and in this sentence, “run out” ain’t it.

Look at this hilarious clunker from The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown: “Almost inconceivably, the gun into which she was now staring was clutched in the pale hand of an enormous albino.”

Ack, “almost inconceivably” – that’s like being a little bit infertile! Hopefully, that “enormous albino” will ironically go back to actually flogging himself while incredibly saying his prayers continually.