Happy St. Patrick's Day by Bonnie Le Hamilton

Luck of the Irish to ye! St. Patrick’s Day is this Saturday, and thinking about it beings to my mind my strongest memory of the holiday.

Way back in fourth grade, a week or so before it, word started going around our school that only those of Irish decent needed to wear green on St. Patrick’s Day; everyone else should wear yellow.

Of course, being as it was in fourth grade, we all already knew the “punishment” for not wearing green on St. Patrick’s Day, but this tale about wearing yellow including that a person should be punished for wearing green if they weren’t Irish.

Now I knew I had at least some Irish blood in me because my maternal grandmother’s maiden name was of Irish origin, but come St. Patrick’s Day it dawned on me I didn’t have anything green in my wardrobe. For that matter I didn’t have anything yellow. Let’s face it, my favorite colors are red, white, and blue – guess what was in my wardrobe?

My mother helped me fashion a shamrock out of green construction paper and pinned it to my shirt. Though being as spring had not yet sprung, when I entered school that day my coat was covering my shamrock and my cousin, who was in the same grade as I was, noting all the blue I was wearing, promptly slugged me in the arm.

I opened my coat and prepared to slug him back, but he stepped away from me insisting that as we were not Irish. I reminded him of our shared grandmother’s maiden name then got him once of hitting me and a second time for wearing yellow. His sister, just a year younger than him, had been wise enough to wear both yellow and green.

But that is the only year I heard anyone, besides myself, say anything about not wearing green on St. Patrick’s Day. And, of course, I do have Irish blood, so after that, I have managed to have something green to wear for St. Patrick’s Day other than a construction paper shamrock.

Only thing is, after marriage, and not having any kids, I’ve lived through quite a few St. Patrick’s Day’s where the only face to face contact I’ve had was with Tom.

Once Tom come home from work and asked me why I didn’t remind him to wear green. “Uh, let’s see, because I was asleep when you left.” I also tried to inform him that I forgot and wasn’t wearing green either. Tom was quick to point out that my flower covered dress had green leaves. That doesn’t mean I remembered.

And then there was last year. I had nowhere to go; I never once stepped out my front door, nor did anyone visit me, and with Tom now gone, I didn’t see anyone, but I did wear green; I guess it’s just part of who I am.

And it makes me wonder why I’ve yet to write a scene involving St. Patrick’s Day. I know I have stuff involving Easter, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and even New Year’s, but not St. Patrick’s Day.aH I also have one with April Fool’s day, and I don't like that holiday.

How about you? What holidays do you have in your stories? And which don’t you have? And why?

Happy writing everyone! 😊

Book Reviews and Plot Holes by Konnie Enos

This past week I’ve read two new books which in and of itself is unusual since I don’t get as much time as I’d like to read.

The first book I read was Tamora Pierce’s recently released Tempests and Slaughter which is set in the lands of Tortall but unlike all her other Tortall books, the leading character is a male. The subtitle for this book is The Numair Chronicles. The lead hero is Arram Draper who latter (not in this book) changes his name to Numair.

I am so thrilled to be able to read his backstory and I was, just a bit, disappointed, that I didn’t learn how or why he left Carthak and changed his name. I cannot wait until the next instalment, The Exiles Gift, comes out so I can learn the rest of his story.

One thing I did learn about Tamora Pierce’s writing is she knows how to handle the delicate matters of going through puberty in telling a story. I’ve seen it in how she told both Alanna’s and Kel’s stories and I see it here. I sort of wish I’d had this book when my boys were tweeners. It would have helped me discuss their changing body with them. I’m going to recommend my daughters read this before they have sons going through that phase of life.

The second book I read was a romance. I saw on Goodreads that my eldest daughter was reading so I checked it out. It was free on Kindle so why not?

The story line was actually very interesting and held my interest but within just a few chapters I learned something.

I got an excellent illustration of what a plot hole is and how it can pull the reader right out of the story.

You see in this lovely story the author went into some detail describing the heroine’s rattle trap car as she’s parking outside the hero office building just before they are to meet for the first time. Within minutes of them meeting, he drags her off in his car (there are reasons for this) and then much later that day returns her.

Here is where the plot hole is.

Now I understand why the author has the hero return the heroine to her home, NOT his office. She needed him to know where the heroine lived for the next scene and the most logical way was for him to take her home. In fact, if he’d just taken her to her car he would not have known her address or phone number and therefore he would have had difficulty getting in touch with her in the next scene. So I understand why he took her home but she never once addressed the heroine’s car. And she only shows the heroine returning to that office building one other time, over two weeks later.

Through the rest of the story the heroine’s car is never mentioned again. Not once.

I read the whole story wondering what happened to it.

If she had never mentioned the heroine’s car I wouldn’t have given it a second thought. But that wasn’t the case and now I’m left wondering who stole the girl’s car and why didn’t she report it to the police?

I’ve heard of plot holes before. I understand I’ve got at least one in one of my stories that I’m currently working on, but I’d never seen one so obvious and glaring as this one.

Anyway, if you are into fantasy you really should pick up a book by Tamora Pierce.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

Happy Birthday, Dictionary by Bonnie Le Hamilton

This next week is Dictionary’s birthday, and I’m not talking about Webster’s or Collegiate or Oxford either. She’s bigger than a book and way more useful.

In sixth grade when I was stuck sitting between couple of boys who would rather visit than listen to the teacher, I asked Dictionary for advice and she told me to stun them into silence.

“How do I do that?”

“Simple,” she said, then proceeded to spend the entire weekend making me memorize a single long sentence filled with words which were a mouthful way beyond the knowledge of your average sixth grader. It was also what my later college professor, who taught Concise Writing, called a Cosell-ism.

At any rate, I memorized both the sentence and the meaning of all those words, because Dictionary wouldn’t have it any other way, and come Monday, when those boys started talking I popped off this sentence. They were still staring slack-jawed at me when the teacher turned from her chalkboard and noticed. She asked what was going on.

“You should hear what she just said!” they chorused.

She asked me what I said, and I peeled off the sentence again – her jaw dropped. “Do you even know what that means?”

“Sure, I told them to shut up.”

The teacher moved the boys to across the room from each other. Thank you, Dictionary!

And that wasn’t the last time Dictionary came in handy. After all, she taught Konnie and I how to read, and then there was my eighth grade English class. Once a week the teacher wrote a list of words on the blackboard. Our assignment was to write down each word, define it, and use it properly in a sentence. In order to do this, the teacher provided a whole line of Webster’s finest for our use.

And each week, as my classmates all periodically went to get one of those books, I remained in my seat.

Finally, about halfway through the year, we got into a discussion with the teacher about whether or not “ain’t” was a word. He insisted, “If it isn’t in the dictionary, it isn’t a word.”

So, I got up, crossed the room, picked up one of his dictionaries, and found it.

That ended the discussion as to whether it was a word or not, but as I returned to my seat a classmate commented that he thought that was the first time I’d ever crossed the room to that shelf. I told them that it was the first time I’d ever cracked open a dictionary. Then I joked that I had a voice activated Dictionary at home. (Mind you this was the mid-seventies.)

We don’t live in the same house anymore, but she still works. I say, “Hi, Dictionary,” and she’ll respond, “What can I help you with now?”

So anyway, happy birthday, Dictionary.

And happy writing everyone!

Of Furry Friends and Tiny Nurses by Konnie Enos

I went to get in bed and found my pillow occupied. I glared at the occupant. “Move.”

She stared back at me unmoving and unsympathetic.

“I said, move. Come on. That’s my spot.”

She didn’t budge. In fact I was all but on top of her before she decided it was best to get out of the way and moved all of three inches. She now sprawled herself into the small area between my pillow and my husband’s. Or at least that’s what I thought as I settled myself down to get some sleep.

Then my husband said, “That’s my pillow. Leave some for me.”

Then I laughed.

Admittedly, she’s tried to rule the roost when it comes to our bed since she joined the family, though she has never chased my husband or me out of it and up until the other night never fought me for my pillow (she is always on my husband’s pillow though). And she can be territorial. We’ve had discussions with her about letting other family members on the bed.

Since my daughter’s smaller dog is a Chihuahua and she’s more than twice his size, she scared him so bad it has taken months for him to even dare come back in my room. He’ll come now but that’s because he knows I’ll protect him.

Though generally you’ll find him with either his owner or my older daughter. You see that little dog thinks he’s a little nurse maid and we know someone is really not feeling well when he won’t leave their side. My older daughter has several chronic health issues so during the day he is often by her side. If not there, he’s with his owner, my younger daughter, who has a few health issues of her own. If he chooses to stick by his owner, we know she’s not feeling well.

Now remember his terror of my bigger dog but also his nurse maid tendencies as I tell this story.

Not too long ago, after one too many late night trips to the ER, I slept in. Then I made little to no effort to leave my bed other than when absolutely necessary. My husband even did all the running that day.

About mid-afternoon while I was sitting in bed, typing, like any good writer should be, I noticed that the only furry family member anywhere near me was the little guy.

I shrugged it off. For all I knew the others were outside out of necessity. Or perhaps just running around playing. After all we have a total of five dogs in our house.

Then my husband came in and merely walked toward the bed.

I kid you not. I thought that little dog was going to chew him up if he’d gotten any closer. He didn’t calm down until my husband backed up.

I then took note when he gave similar treatment to a couple of the larger dogs. Not my little lady but two of our largest dogs that are about five times his size. He simply was not letting anyone on my bed. In fact, he’d growl when people walked into the room. And yes, this included my little lady. Just like he’d do when someone he was “tending” is resting.

When my daughter (his owner) learned what he was doing she asked, “Are you sure you feel okay?”

“I’m fine. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

We eventually had to conclude he’d decided that I needed rest and was going to make sure I got it. Trust me, I got some that day.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

Happy Valentine's Day by Bonnie Le Hamilton

Going shopping the last few weeks, the stores were inundated with adorable teddy bears holding hearts with all sorts of cutesy saying on them, bouquets of flowers, and chocolates of assorted sizes and shapes. Let alone all the other miscellaneous items covered in hearts.

It’s Valentines Day, and people everywhere have been trying to find the perfect give for their loved one. A friend of mine even went on Facebook asking for advice of what to give her husband. She didn’t want to go with the standard fair. And who could blame her, it’s not original, nor is it personal.

Let’s face it, flowers and chocolate are rather generic, they merely say, “Hey, its Valentine’s Day, here’s a present for you.” Not very special is it?

So, I’m going to give you the advice I gave my friend. (And I know its probably too late for this year, but really this advice works for the entire year.) Here it is: Stay away from the highly commercialized stuff – buy something that speaks to the heart. Buy something to tells the recipient that you know that person and really care about him or her.

And I can give you a prime example of the greatest Valentine’s gift I ever got from Tom. This was back in 2001, we were struggling to make ends meet and I managed to finagle five whole bucks out of our budget to get Valentine’s presents. Not much when that had to be divided two ways, but on top of that, I was on a diet and didn’t want him to get me any chocolate.

Tom went to Walmart thinking he couldn’t possibly find me a decent gift, not when a small box of chocolates was out. What did he find me? A mechanical pencil. Not just any mechanical pencil but a fat one, with a rubber around the middle.

How can that be so special? Easy. It showed he knew me. He knew I had trouble both sharpening and hold a regular pencil. This pencil solved both my problems, but not only that, it showed how much he cared and supported my desire to write!

That pencil spoke volumes to me. And that is what a gift should do.

The only time you should be buying those adorable seasonal teddy bears is when the recipient collects those things. The only time you should buy any of a variety of themed articles is if the recipient will love it. And stay away from those prepackaged gift sets, find something that is more individual and personal, or at least try.

And Happy Valentine’s Day and writing everyone. 😊

Nostalgia and Memories by Konnie Enos

“Bannock County.” I indicated the car in front of us.

My daughter and her roommate, both behind me in the vehicle, leaned forward to get a look at the car. My daughter asked, “How can you tell where it is from?”

“The license plate.”

Both girls were still rather confused. My daughter continued. “Okay, so how can you tell from the license plate?”

“Because it says on the license plate what county it was issued in.”

Both girls leaned forward. “It does?”

My husband and I had driven our daughter up to college and were now taking her and her roommate around shopping for needed supplies and groceries. Since the school she was attending was in Southeastern Idaho, where I was born and raised, well I was back home. I’d been away long enough, I didn’t know all of the areas we were going to that day, but most of it was familiar territory and I did for sure know how to read the license plates we saw that day.

I pointed to the letter number combination at the beginning of the license plate number then explained the meaning of the combination. In this case the “B” meant it was one of the counties starting with the letter “B” and the number meant where it fell in alphabetical order. Any self-respecting Idahoan who went through third grade can name the counties of Idaho in alphabetical order and therefore knows which county a vehicle is from just by looking at the license plate.

My daughter leaned back in her seat. “I always wondered how you could do that.”

Her roommate said, “Yeah, I’ve known other Idahoans that do that too but I could never figure it out.”

“Well now you know how we do it. It’s not a secret.”

This particular daughter didn’t forget the lesson of that day and when she was on her honeymoon, in a different state, I got a text from her asking me what county 2C was. I actually didn’t know for sure because it’s been so long since I memorized that list of counties I couldn’t remember how many C counties there were. I told her it was either Canyon or Caribou.

Then this text came. “There’s a Caribou County?”

“Yes.” Then I looked up which one it was. “It’s Canyon. Caribou is 3C.” I did ask her why she was asking.

“Oh, we were behind a car from Idaho and I wondered where it was from. It wasn’t a county I recognized.”

It saddens me to know that Idaho is doing away with the county identifications. Now when I go to visit my family I see license plates with a beginning letter number combination that have no significance. Living as I do so far from my home state that little bit of home is just a bit comforting.

The other day I was stuck in traffic on my way to pick up yet another daughter from her college classes and I happened to glance at the car in front of me. I waved. “Hi, Bannock County.”

I realized I had no way to let that driver know another Idahoan was behind them but I knew that someone from my neck of the woods, Southeastern Idaho, was just in front of me. Had they had the new style of plates I could not have known this person was from so close to home. So I find those plate, well, nostalgic. I’m kind of wishing they’d keep them around, bring them back.

Smile. Make the day a brighter day.

Round Four! by Bonnie Le Hamilton

A few weeks ago, a friend sent my manuscript back to me with a few notes on what needed changed or fixed. I delayed going over her notes while I wasn’t feeling well, but a couple week ago, I dove into getting my manuscript in tip top shape.

Round One

Just fixing all the problems she saw in the manuscript, except as I read through the thing for the first time since before my husband died, I realized it needed a few tweaks, and every once in awhile I’d do a find for a key word and make the changes I thought needed done. The only problem is, I wasn’t sure that those keys words covered all the spots where the changes needed made.

Round Two

I reread the manuscript again, looking for all those places I might have missed. Unfortunately, as I read through the thing, again, I came up with more tweaks the story really did need, and I again used a few key words to find the most important scenes where I could make them, but it wasn’t necessarily all the places.

Round Three

I set to work, going through it one more time with the hope I wouldn’t think of anymore tweaks. No such luck! But this time I was determined not to go over it again. Frankly, I was afraid to read it clear through one more time, because each time I did I found something else.

The only trouble is all those tweaks added to a word count that was barely within the industry standard to begin with.

Round Four

More like round four through twenty-four, but this time I picked a word or phrase from my list of not good words, then searched them out with that dandy little “find” button. Some I deleted, some I changed, and occasionally I completely rewrote the sentence, to eliminate more words.

And I haven’t even gotten it to beta readers yet!

What’s more, I wrote the rough draft the summer before 9/11, so this was just the most recent round of edits on what had once been a manuscript over 130 thousand words and so full of telling it was a disaster. And I can’t begin to tell you how many times I’ve gone over, rewritten, and changed this story.

My guess is a couple dozen times. How many times do you go over your manuscript before you feel it’s ready? Is it ever ready? Or do you, like me, still find something to tweak every time you read it?

Happy writing everyone. 😊