I'm Not Shy; I'm a Writer

Normally, I don’t like the silence. You most likely will find me talking with my hands, maintaining eye contact and being what most would call a very animated conversationalist.

Then there are the other times.

When my children were young, I sat on the bleachers at ball games isolated. I rooted at the proper times, and bragged on them at the proper times. Otherwise, I sat alone looking somewhat down during the rest of the game. Some people tried to start a conversation with me. Some probably thought I was rude.

There are times when I look for characters and times when I develop the characters. Attending a ball game and sitting alone watching people, I look for characters. What brings the young professional with the well-manicured fingers, a golden tan and not a clue on how to play the game to the ball field? What does he and the older gentleman with the mismatched socks and the 70’s style shorts find so hilarious in their conversation? Of course, I will never know. But it’s at those times that I develop the conversation in my imagination. What could the commonality be?

I like sitting at the chairs in the mall and observing people. I like sitting at airports and watching people. I like watching people in the grocery store. And yes, I like seeing what’s in the shopping cart and writing a story around it in my mind.

Friends and acquaintances shake their head and wonder what is bothering me. My family and close friends have come to expect it.

So if you see me out somewhere, don’t be shocked or insulted if I look like I am in another dimension. In fact, I will go ahead and answer your questions now:

No, I feel fine.
No, tell me your name anyway just in case I have forgotten it (I probably have).
Yes, the aisles aren’t big enough for two carts. It’s okay to pass.
Yes, I have plenty of shopping to do. I just sat down a minute to rest.
Yes, I see you. My hearing is fine. But wave your hands in front of me and call my name.
Yes, I saw it. I agree. The ump needs glasses.

And finally…
No, I’m not shy. I am a writer.

Creating Enthusiastic Characters

“It’s just clothes,” he mutters and throws the box on the floor. The child wanted a toy, a video game, a gift card—anything but clothes. When someone asks him what he received for his birthday, he rolls his eyes and shakes his head only to repeat it again, “Just clothes.”

We can tell if he really wanted it. The eyes sparkle, the hands move, and sometimes he has to be told to slow down talking so we can understand.

There is no doubt about the enthusiasm he has.

Much like a child’s enthusiasm to a present, we can be enthusiastic about the characters in our stories.

Do I dread writing about the character in the story? Whether the character is full of charm or the “bad” guy, I need to be excited to confront him on paper. I don’t need to find an excuse to keep away. Frequent breaks from writing may indicate a need to be away from the character. If I dread writing about him, readers will not want to read about him.

Do I find myself putting my character in “what if” situations? When I am sitting in the waiting room of the doctor’s office, what would my character be doing if he came with me?

The character needs to be real with strengths and weaknesses. I can like him or dislike him. This doesn’t mean that I need to write a story on a character in the doctor’s office. But I need to know my characters well enough to know what they would do if they were there.

It is hard to be enthusiastic about a character if I am forming the traits as I go along. I like to make a personality profile of the character and keep it handy. As I put my character in a situation, I refer back to the character profile to make sure he is doing everything in “character.”
The more situations I am in that I can do this “what if” exercise, the more enthusiastic I am about the character. It becomes a game and it exercises my imagination.

Am I ashamed of the character? I may not want to talk about my character at the writer’s group meeting or I may apologize for the character. I have even caught myself not even wanting to give the name of the character. Sometimes I say that I am still working on character development. That serves as a red flag for me. If I don’t want to talk about him, I have to ask myself why. Maybe the character is so bad that I cannot find any redeeming qualities in him. Other characters in the story don’t want to be around him either. Children want redeeming qualities in others. It gives them hope. I try to give even the most hopeless character hope.

What kind of reaction does the character bring out in me? Am I laughing or smiling when I think about the character? It is very similar to opening the present. I am very animated when I speak (my husband points that out frequently). I talk with my hands, very fast, and seemingly forever on the characters I love. I even do it with characters that just fascinate me or make me curious. One of the best exercises I have found is to look in the mirror and talk about my character(s). I watch how I talk about them.

I can be enthusiastic about gifts. I am one who rips the paper anxious to see what is on the inside. But I also need to be enthusiastic about my characters. If I am, then it becomes a gift I give to the readers. It helps to mold my book into something that others find can’t wait to open.

Print or Cursive?

Lately, several commercials depict children as young as four completing complicated tasks on the computer quickly. Visual images of babies with pacifiers in their mouths and tiny fingers on the computer run through my mind.
Will that affect handwriting and reading for coming generations? It already has.
Many schools today no longer teach cursive writing. School officials cite several reasons for this. First of all, children jump from learning the alphabet to the computer. Why teach a different style of writing when most everything is done on the computer? There is no reason to teach cursive, they say. Print is easier to read. We all know this to be true.
I had rather my child learn to print well than to learn to print and write cursive barely legible. That makes sense to me.
But here is where I have the problem. Many personal and historical documents are in cursive. If we don’t teach our children to write or read cursive, they will not be able to read important documents such as the Declaration of Independence. They will not even be able to read a letter from Great-grandmother to grandmother. Perhaps we are just a generation or two away from cursive writing being offered as an elective in art or as a foreign language.
It’s not that crazy.
I have checked with friends from other areas, teachers and other contacts and found that cursive is not being taught. In one instance I talked with a parent whose child never learned cursive. The elementary-aged child learned two different styles of printing in two years. This totally confused the student and parents. I was confused, as well, as I didn’t understand the point in teaching two types of printing.
With each generation comes change. The changes can be good. Learning to print is important. Adapting to accommodate to the computer-literate generation is a must. But we need to make sure our children will be able to read historical documents and letters from their family members already gone. These are things that help shape their future.

My Heart Cannot Count

In these economic times the number of heartaches can be too numberous to count and the money too little to count. Here are some tips that hopefully can help with some of the stress:

• Stop and take a deep breath. Matter of fact, take about three of them.
• If you can't afford it, don't buy it. Some stress over money comes from the purchases we make that we think we can find a way to afford it.
• Do you remember the old saying to stop and count to ten before you speak when you are angry? It does work. It can prevent a slip of the tongue and regrets.
• Say something kind to someone as much as possible and be genuine about it.
• Remember who you are, where you came from and where you are going.
• And remember, whatever the situation, it WILL pass.

Several years ago, I wrote a poem that sometimes reminds me that it will indeed pass.

My heart cannot count the aches,

the breaks,

or the time it takes

to mend from broken dreams.

It can only grasp each moment

and fill it with joy

and love

for as long as possible--

because my heart cannot count.

What's In My Pocket?

Welcome to Paula's Pocket! I hope you find leaping through my blog interesting, fun and full of surprises. I write children's picture books. This is partly because I have the mind of a child and partly because I just do. I find my ideas for discovering subjects for my books mind-blogging (pun intended). What follows is just one example.

Several years ago, my husband and I found a rather adventurous frog in our bathroom. Catching it seemed like it would be no problem. However...We cornered the frog just as it leaped on the toilet seat and coaxed it in with a rolled up newspaper. Then we flushed. Did you know that a frog can attach itself to a porcelain toilet and remain long after the flusing has ended? I know that now.

Perhaps the first flush weakened him. We flushed again. He remained. I know if I had seen his face, there would have been a smirk. We stuck the cleaning brush on him and flushed. He disappeared. High fives all around.

We turned around for a final glance (more like a gloat) before turning off the lights. He sat on the rim staring at us. This meant war!I grabbed an empty garbage can to see if I could coax him in there. This determined frog jumped and attached himself to the wall, and refused to take the hint. My husband and I placed the garbage can over him sliding the unrolled newspaper from side to side as we fit it barely between the wall and the can. If we couldn't coax him, maybe we could scare him.

Either the frog was afraid or it grew tired of the game, because it worked. Once we heard the "CA-THONG" of him hitting the side, we immediately flipped the can and covered it.

Being the animal lover that I am (well, a few exceptions), I insisted my husband take the can outside and release the frog to find his family. It was dark and pouring rain. My husband stepped onto the deck and emptied the frog there.

"That was quick," I said. "Where is he?"

My husband proudly replies, "He's out on the deck."

I flipped on the light for the deck. The frog wasn't moving. I felt guilty. Did all the coaxing kill the frog? I had heard that if you touch a frog it would die? And even if it didn't die, it wasn't moving. And if it wasn't moving, it was good prey for a snake. And I DID NOT WANT A SNAKE ON MY DECK--frog or no frog!!

I voiced my concern to my husband. My husband said I was too emotional over a little frog which meant he needed to take action.He grabbed an umbrella. I watched him from the back door as he picked up a stick to prod the frog until it leaped from the deck.

My husband walked back into the house happy to be out of the rain and happy to be without a frog. I was happy, too. I even had idea for a children's book...Now you know the story behind Chasing Frogs.