Author: darin

Over the next eight weeks I am participating in a writing class offered through the Literary Kitchen and one of my writing mentors, Ariel Gore. Among our assignments each week is a weekly ‘Quick Write’ practice, which is to be completed in ten minutes or less, in response to a prompt. For this first QW, the prompt was ‘Tell the story of running into someone who you didn’t really want to run into.’ Here’s my reply to QW#1:

It was a Monday like every other. I dragged myself out of bed and stumbled past the family at the breakfast table, tanking up for a day at school. Routine–I rounded the table as I passed them, greeting each with a good morning kiss on the top of the head.

Practically sleepwalking, I was into the bathroom, disrobed and in the shower without thinking about it. Like a million times before, I grabbed the shower curtain to pull it closed. A thud at my feet and sudden movement jarred me from any remaining slumber. An eastern rattlesnake had dropped between my feet. The wake-up efficiency was espresso, squared.

If only a video existed. I somehow went up and out, taking the shower curtain, rod and a pound or so of wall plaster with me as I exited the tub. I screamed something. I don’t remember what, though my wife recalled that it included “Jesus!” and a string of expletives we should expect to hear repeated by the kids.

The serpent and I engaged in a brief stare down. He won.

Naked! I have to tell you, the first thought that crossed my mind was that I was buck-naked and should this snake bite me, paramedics would arrive, and … Underwear! I reached for the briefs. What a relief! Amazing how the thought of dying in your underwear as opposed to out of them makes a difference. Now, what to do?

The serpent was turning circles, rattling his tail, and cussing little snake words no doubt, because he couldn’t scale the sides of the antique tub. My wife kept it scoured–slick, slick, slick. Never again would I complain about how slippery that old tub could get. He had probably worked for an hour to get up in the curtain, moments from escape, when my morning ritual foiled his plan.

All I had at my disposal was a wastebasket and a long handled back scrubbing brush. And my underwear. What more does a man need to protect his family? ‘It’s you and me, serpent! Let’s dance!’

So there you have it. Hope you enjoyed. Have you ever written a short/quick to a prompt like this before? Good practice? Or aggravating? 

My writer friends and I often talk about the tools we’ve discovered to actually help us put words on a page. Those tools range everything from hardware to software, pens to moleskine journals, settings to environments, snacks to libations. I’ve decided to sing the praises of a few of my writing tools here in a series of posts.

Last time out I sang the praises of my Macbook Air, the hardware of choice for me and my writing life. This time I’ll share with you a few of the operating features, software gems and apps I appreciate most.

First, the Mac OS offers a multiple desktop feature. I’m guessing Windows must have something comparable for PC users. Briefly, I love this feature because I’ve created a special ‘writing environment’ desktop for myself, with all the apps and docs I need handy and open, while all the ones that would tend to distract me (Facebook, etc) are hidden. Not to mention the desktop picture was chosen to soothe… it’s like I’m writing in one of my favorite settings, as opposed to my the look of my normal work environment. I know, I need help. Next.

I do have the writing program Scrivener on my machine. I am using it for a couple of projects. But truth be told, I still use Microsoft Word for most of my writing. I know, right? For me it’s simply about familiarity. We’ve all been using Word for so long, I can use it with my eyes closed (and writing in the middle of the night, I often do). Now Scrivener does have a lot of wonderful, writer specific features that ease transition to many different formats and things. So I do bounce between the two with projects. Still, an admission: more often than not, the blank page before me is likely a word doc.

For compiling research, ideas, character development, outlines, notes and you name it (all, by the way, features within the aforementioned Scrivener) I actually use the mighty Evernote program. The reasons I use Evernote could fill a dozen of these posts. Because my writing endeavors fit in and around many other responsibilities in my life, the fact that Evernote is also an iOS app and is therefore on my phone, makes this an invaluable ‘everywhere’ tool for me. I highly recommend it.

A couple more apps to share, and of my favorite variety: they’re free! Because writers write, and for me that means a lot of journaling, I use a free version of Per Se. I used to use real notebooks, pens and paper, but I’ve got stacks of them. And what to do with them, right? Now the digi-journal is my friend. Because I write when I can, it often means budgeting an hour here, or thirty minutes there, amidst my week. To do that and make sure I get the most out of those time slots, I use a free version of the app Howler Timer. It’s literally just a desktop timer that you set, and it howls at you when your time is up. So if I plan to give one hour to a manuscript, I can tune out the rest of the world until the wolves howl. Of course, I’m a Springsteen fanatic, so I prefer to think that “The dogs on Main Street howl, ’cause they understand; if I could take one moment into my hands…”

Finally for this entry, I’ll commend to you the Mac tool I use, but more importantly the practice of regularly backing up your writing. Macs have a build it feature called Time Machine. I’m guessing PC folks have something similar. USE IT! Perhaps you’ve experienced the sheer devastation of realizing you lost EVERYTHING you poured your heart into. Time Machine allows me to schedule back ups so I don’t even need to think about doing them. And I can’t tell you the amount of times I’ve slipped a finger on a key, here or there, or been thankful I could go back and grab an earlier version of something.

All of this, hardware, software, environments and apps, helps me get B.I.C. and W.O.P. (Butt-in-chair and words-on-page.) What about you? Any hardware, software or app suggestions you can share that help your writing life?

Every time I hear it on the radio, I cringe: Eric Clapton crooning, ‘Lay down Sally!’ My heart longs to hear someone interrupt the song and say, “Look! Up in the sky! It’s a bird! It’s a plane! No! It’s … GRAMMAR MAN!”

The Case of Eric Clapton’s 1977 hit, ‘Lay [sic] Down Sally’

In today’s episode, the villainous Mr. Slowhand has launched a sinister plot to besmirch the English language–he’s created a musical hook and riddled the title with verb confusion. Is there any hope for mankind? This looks like a job for Grammar Man!

Lay vs. Lie. What’s a writer (or public speaker) to choose?

The key to knowing when to use lay and when to use lie is to recognize the difference between a transitive verb and an intransitive verb. Note the prefix trans. Think transfer. A verb is action. A transitive verb transfers its action to an object. You with me so far? Note the pre-prefix in in the word intransitive. (I know that’s not a technical term, pre-prefix, I just made it up. I can do that. I’m Grammar Man, dammit!) The prefix in most often means not, as in indestructible, for instance. So, in other words, intransitive is a verb not transferring its action to a specific object. Still with me?

Take the verb drive. My teenager Becca wants to drive the car. Transitive! Bec wants to drive what? The car. What if a boy called, and asked if he and Becca could go for a drive? In this example, drive is intransitive. If you ask the question ‘drive what?’ you don’t get an answer. Quiz time: If a boy called suggesting he and Becca go for a drive, Dad might shoot the boy. Shoot, in that sentence–transitive or intransitive? See how easy this is? Fun, too.

Mr. Clapton should have considered a grammatically correct title. Perhaps, “Lie Down Sally” or “Lay in My Arms, Sally.” Wait a minute. Does Sally’s father own a gun?

Methinks the next time you find yourself at a Karaoke Bar and you’ve had a few beers, you should consider doing humanity a great justice. Grab a microphone. Tell the DJ to dial up the Clapton hit, and educate the people!

In our next episode, boys and girls, Grammar Man will explain what [sic] means.

What common grammar errors drive you crazy? Are there words, phrases or punctuation marks commonly misused that cause you to cringe? Can Grammar Man help?

I’d asked her. She’d said yes. Just like that, we were going out.

We didn’t actually go anywhere, mind you. When you’re twelve, there aren’t too many places you can go without grown-up assistance. But if there would have been any going to do, I’m sure we’d have done it together. We did ride the same school bus. We sat together and everything. It was a proud feeling, I remember. Her name was Doreen, but that didn’t really matter. She was a girl, and not just any girl—she was my girl. At lunchtime other kids would say to me, “Are you the guy who’s going out with Doreen?” Yep. That’s me. Share a seat with her on the bus, I do.

Our relationship lasted about three weeks. That’s like a silver anniversary in middle school years. Alas, it ended when Doreen developed a crush on the new kid.

The new kid moved in down the end of the street. He came to our bus stop but he didn’t speak to anyone. He stood around like a mute. We didn’t even know his name. The girls called him Ewee. Yep, pronounced just like it looks, Ew—ee.

Where did he get a name like that? Were his parents high when they named him? Had they stepped in something?

Doreen vacated the seat next to me to sit next to … Ewee.

I played it cool. On the bus I sat with my back to the window. I stretched my legs out on the seat—no room for any girls, least of all a certain girl who chose to sit next to a pile of … Ewee.

Truth is, it was an anxious season for me. The harsh reality: I was the kid dumped by a girl for a kid named … you know.

Another girl named Leslie rode our bus. One day she sat next to me. You bet I moved my feet and made room for her—she was the only girl on the bus that hadn’t succumbed to the spell of Ewee.

“It comes from a song,” she told me. “Ewee. It’s part of the Pointer Sisters’ song ‘He’s So Shy.’” I must have looked like I needed further explanation, as indeed I did. She began to quietly sing the lyric, “’He’s so shy! So good looking! He’s so shy! He’s really got me going! That sweet little boy who caught my eye; Ew-ee, ew-ee, baby!’”

Ewee, ewee, baby? Is it any wonder I didn’t listen to the Pointer Sisters? Like she was reading my mind, Leslie snarked, “I know. Stupid, isn’t it?”

It was at that very moment I noticed how incredibly attractive Leslie was. I went with the impulse, “Do you want to go out with me?”

I think she replied, “Ew.”

An excerpt from Story of Me, a memoir in short stories.