Category Archives: Reflections

Plot Twists from Animal Encounters, Part 5 — Wisconsin

Posted on by under Animal Encounters, Nature, Plot Twists, Reflections, Snakes, writing

In the continuing examples of thinking of plot twists pulled from personal experiences, here is another story of a character (me) trying to reach a goal (a river) with a twist and conflict thrown in.

I’m an early bird, rising with the sun and watching the world awake, while my husband’s a night owl, thinking best in the evening or night when there are fewer distractions. We’ve learned to work around our personal clocks.

The spring of the first year we were married (1979), we took a week’s trip to state parks around Wisconsin. We camped one night at Merrick State Park along the Mississippi River. That next morning, I heard a bird call I’d never heard before. It sounded like a cat stuck in the tree above us. I got dressed, left my sleeping husband, and grabbed the binoculars and bird book. Only one other person was awake in the campground, and he was several sites away. I sat at our picnic table and located the bird crying so pitifully and uniquely from its nest and then looked it up in the book. It was a cat bird. Well named!

I looked through the binoculars back at the tree to confirm the markings, following the trunk up towards the nest and noticed movement. A snake was climbing the tree. Who knew? I’d always thought they were ground creatures. Then I recalled that snakes ate eggs. No wonder the cat bird cried so. I could have thrown a rock to knock the snake off the tree, but it would then be on the ground, near me. Besides, there was always the next morning for the snake to make another egg-snatching attempt when I wasn’t there to be guardian of the eggs. I decided not to watch that horror unfold and took a walk alone down to the Mississippi River.

A narrow trail went out through waist-high grass and over mushy, swampy ground to the point extending out into the river. It wasn’t a long trail, about one hundred yards. I imagined that fishermen took this trail to get to the river. I watched the beautiful sunrise-lit bluff on the western side, and stretched up occasionally on tip-toes to try to catch a glimpse of the river. I let my feet be my ground eyes, feeling and judging when the soggy ground would become too wet to support me. I was nearing the end goal and my hiking boots were suddenly sinking in deeper, a couple inches, three inches, uncertain ground. I stopped. I didn’t want to sink up to my knees and be unable to get out with no one knowing where I was so early in the morning. I sadly acknowledged that I wouldn’t reach the very edge of the river, that it was flowing under the tentative ground upon which I stood. I remained still in the soft earth for a quiet moment, reflecting on God’s glory of the early morning, of the quiet, of water all around me, being both a part of water and land. Then, for the first time of the soggy morning hike, I looked down. I needed to turn around and get my bearings of the trail direction through this swamp grass.

To my horror, there at my feet and stretched across and all along as far as I could make out through the curved grass trail were brown snakes with thick diameters of two inches…and long. Hundreds of them, and those were only the ones I could see crisscrossing the narrow trail. What about in the grassy sides to my left and right?

I didn’t pause to measure exactly how long the snakes were. I didn’t even pause a heartbeat to tell God what glory there was in his variety of creation. I did a high-step, sploshy run back to the campsite, only occasionally looking down to try to not step on one—a nearly impossible task. I bolted up the dry hill to our campsite and sat cross-legged on the picnic table until Jeff finally woke up.

Finding out that snakes climbed trees had been difficult enough to swallow. Discovering from a park ranger later that day that these are harmless bullsnakes didn’t calm my heart much. Imprinted in my mind for a thousand years to come was the image of hundreds of large slithering brown snakes, blocking my way to non-snake safety.

Plot Twists from Animal Encounters, Part 4 – Iowa

Posted on by under Animal Encounters, Nature, Plot Twists, Reflections, writing

In the continuing saga of memories of Carlson animal encounters, and how these are never sought after, but add an interesting twist to our average, ordinary, normal lives, which is exactly how we writers need to think about plot twists in our stories…here is another Carlson true animal encounter story.

When I was five months pregnant, in August, with my first child we had moved to a church in Fort Dodge, Iowa. We moved into the church-owned manse (parsonage, rectory) because we didn’t have the money to afford a down payment on a house of our own, and weren’t familiar enough with the town to know apartment areas. They’d been trying to sell the house for over two years with hardly a nibble or even low bid.

One of our first nights in the manse, while Jeff was off to a night meeting at his new job, I attempted to get the house all ready for the new baby. I’d been working for two or more hours and realized I was exhausted. I sat down on the couch in the library area, and rested my head back. And a bat flapped to within inches of my head, darting off into the living room.

I was concerned about rabies and being pregnant. I was so new to town that I didn’t have any new churches phone numbers, and since this was pre-cell phone era, I couldn’t call or text my hubby. I bolted next-door to my new neighbors to wait for Jeff to come home. Her husband was also gone for the evening. Neither of us felt brave enough to investigate. Besides, she had a sleeping five year old she didn’t want to leave. So we waited until I saw Jeff’s headlights head down the alley and go into the garage.

I explained to Jeff what I’d experienced and we made a quick search of the house. I did not want rabies! During our search, I’d put a sleeping bag over my head and had a badminton racket in my hand to swat the invader away. My husband carried a fishing net at his side. We then did a thorough search of the house closing rooms off that we had checked. We finally thoroughly checked our own bedroom and shut the door to the hallway. We’d found nothing. Being the informed reader that he was, he had read about the nervous conditions and hysteria of pregnant ladies. He was going along with me on this bat search, but he wasn’t exactly believing me without the evidence.

It was a warm night. Our bedroom windows were open, screens in tact. We slept with just a sheet over us. About 5:30 in the morning I heard a sound of wings flap over our heads. I threw the sheet over both of our heads and screamed to Jeff, “We locked it in here with us!”

Now Jeff has never been a morning person and it took him a while to figure out why is she was over his head and why his hysterical pregnant wife was yelling at him. We carefully peeked over the sheet. There was no bat. Again, poor new husband was worried about his wife emotional state, but groggily agreed to search the room…again. This time we found it. I wasn’t hysterically crazy after all. The night creature clung inside the folds of the curtain between the curtain and the window screen.  Jeff tried to shake it loose, but it was clinging pretty tightly. We finally decided to take the screen off the window pulled the curtain over the open window where Jeff then whacked it out of the house with the badminton racket. The only place we figured it could’ve come in was down the chimney.

For good or bad, we didn’t stay in that house for much more than a month after that when we were forced to move, and after all my moving boxes had been tossed and things all ready for the baby. The church had finally, with us moving into it for that “lived-in look”, sold the house.

I often wonder if the next owners also had some bat encounters, and if they figured out how the sneaky night creatures could enter human habitation.

Plot Twists from Animal Encounters, Part 3 – SD Black Hills

Posted on by under Animal Encounters, Danger/ Stalker, Nature, Plot Twists, Reflections, Story Ideas, Writing Challenge

Plot twist are the unexpected. They are what keep the story interesting. A plot twist happens when a character is heading toward his goal when suddenly something or someone unexpectedly appears and changes that course.

Opportunities for plot twists can be observed in real life. This is a story which happened to my husband when we lived in the Black Hills of South Dakota.

He had a day off when I did not, so he decided to do some mountain biking in the Hills. (Consider this a character goal.) He drove about 45 minutes from our house, got on his bike, and started on a remote mountain trail. He had  the only car in the two-car parking spot along the side of road near the trailhead, and to his knowledge, the only human on the trail that day. Peaceful. At one point the rocky trail became quite steep, so he got off his bike and walked it upward.

A bit of background: When he was a young teen he had hunted with his father and brothers. He was used to being left alone in the forest and listening to the minutest of wilderness sounds. The slightest scratch on tree bark, the sound of moving stones or the soft crunch on pine needles would make him aware that he was not alone.

Back to grown-up Jeff, alone, walking his mountain bike up the trail…

He heard a quiet sound and stopped. He expected to discover a tree which was creaking or spot a squirrel or chipmunk. Those rodents often stop for a first moment of freeze, and then return to their tree climbing or nut searching. But nothing sounded nor caught his eye Since the scurrying had stopped he continued up the trail. He heard a noise again and turned in that direction, but still saw nothing. He was getting a little disturbed when it sounded a third time. He stopped and determined he would not move again until he could identify what made the noise. It certainly wasn’t from a single tree. Then he saw it. About fifteen feet from him. Cougar eyes peeking from behind a boulder.

Jeff’s first thought was how beautiful the animal was, and so close to him that he could see the individual whiskers. His second thought was that even though his mountain bike was between them, that he, walking alone in the hills was in the process of getting stalked by a wild, maybe hungry, certainly overpowering beast.

With this second realization came action. Jeff spun his bike around, leapt upon it, and raced down the trail towards the car. Rocks and pebbles spun out behind him as he swirled around larger boulders. Riding speedily over the rough terrain made for an awfully lot of ruckus in the normally quiet hills. He only looked back after he’d reached the vehicle and strapped the bike on the carrier in a few seconds record-time before climbing into the safety of the car. But there were no more cougar sighting. He figured the noise and the flying pebbles might have discouraged the feline.

In this real life story, our hero didn’t reach his goal of mountain hiking to the top of the hill on little-used trail. But the reason for him not reaching it makes for a great story and was an adventurous twist. A plot twist. He waited for another time to do that particular trail, and to take with him a traveling companion. The cougar’s goal was foiled once. With more human company along and support, the cougar’s goal would mostly likely fail again. Long live wise heroes!

Now as a writing challenge, go think up some plot twists you can toss in the way of your character.

Getting to Know your Character — Items of Importance

Posted on by under Characterization, Reflections, writing, Writing Challenge

The minimalist attitude (lack of accumulated material goods) is a hot topic of late.

This week, I got out my guitar for the first time in months, played it a little, then let it sit outside its case in the livingroom. Each time I passed by, I thought to play it some more. Sometimes I did. Often I didn’t. I used to play it every day, for hours. Priorities change.

IMG_4983

While I paced the house and procrastinated writing, seeing my old guitar setting there got me thinking about past days. There was a time in my twenty’s that I figured I could travel anywhere with just seven items: my toothbrush, toothpaste, a hairbrush, a clean pair of underwear, a book, a sleeping bag, and my guitar, with it all packed into my guitar case (except for the sleeping bag, of course). In fact, I’d often travel like that on weekends.

Later, during my seven and a half week camping honeymoon four decades ago, inside the little Pinto car, besides our clothes in two suitcases, we packed: two tents (one canvas and a nylon one for backpacking); two backpacks; two sleeping bags; mattress pads and pillows; a blow-up raft with life jackets and two collapsible oars; a cooler; a two-burner stove with pots and plates and silverware and a can of white gas; a backpacking stove; two folding stools; two cameras with multiple lenses and heavy tripod; my guitar; and a bunch of dried food, including fourteen jars of peanuts. We used it all–except for some of the peanuts, which are a topic for another post.

1978 Honeymoon

Fast forward to the present. I wondered if I were going away for a weekend, what seven essential items would I take this time? If I were packing for seven weeks away from home today, what items would I make sure we had?

Your turn. A getting to know your character writing challenge:

If your character could only take seven items for an overnight, besides the clothes on his back, what items of importance would they be? If your character traveled for a week (business or vacation), besides the clothes she wore, what would be vital that she pack?

Have fun writing.

Throwing Away Your Loved Ones

Posted on by under Reflections, Revisions, Rewriting

Last fall I got poison ivy…again. I was put on steroids…again. Today I looked over my 2014 writing goals and started thinking about my 2015 ones. (Can these two thoughts possibly have anything in common, or have anything at all to do with throwing away your loved ones? Yes, indeed.)

Steroids gives me a perk. This past fall I started digging through some boxes buried in an unused room. One box had notes and papers from writers conferences I’d attended, some nearly twenty years old. I loved attending each and every one. The faces of dear old writer friends popped into my head. The laughter from those times rang faintly in my ear. There was the excellent food and simply a break from the day-to-day life reality. I loved those times and those people–many of whom I am still in contact with. I was glad for the remembering, but I didn’t need a box of outdated files. That large box of past conferences narrowed down to one small file on writing craft gleaned from all those conferences. The rest of those loved ones, which I’d clung to for decades, I threw away.

I do the same with my writing, but never while on steroids! I appreciate the umph the medicine gives me to do things I know I should but don’t necessarily want to do. But when I revise or even rewrite, deciding if an entire chapter or even a character must be thrown away is not a decision I trust while on meds.

Even though I accomplished most of my 2014 writing goals, they were rather chatty. Thing is, even when writing a simple thing like a list of goals, I find myself stockpiling and hording words. Who am I to think that my words are that important that anyone wants to read so many of them, even me? So for 2015, I decided to throw away extra words. Even though it’s not 2015 yet, I’ll stop here.

 

American Thanksgiving Day – Meaning and Purpose

Posted on by under Reflections

Today is the American National Day of Thanksgiving, a.k.a. Thanksgiving, a.k.a. Turkey Day. It is interesting to note that this is not a religious holiday, as one recognized in Christianity, Judaism, or any other religion.

It took Sara Hale several U.S. presidents before she at last found one (Lincoln) willing to set aside a day in the fall as a day of thanks to God for the harvest (food). Later another president (Roosevelt) moved the day for economic reasons – to extend the days of buying before Christmas, for Christmas is the season supporting many American capitalistic merchants throughout the rest of the year.

For nearly four hundred years, Americans considered the First Thanksgiving, the three-day harvest feast the survivors of the Mayflower held when they invited the people whose land they now lived on, held in November of 1621. There were fifty-three people from the ship who attended, and ninety dark-skinned men, who probably wore more clothing in cold November than the paintings give them credit. Only the four women who survived from the Mayflower ordeal did the cooking, along with a few small female daughters and some male servants. Naturally, the host men had shot several turkeys for the feast, but they hadn’t expected so many guests. So, naturally again, the Indians went out and hunted five deer to supplement the feast. Which makes me wonder why we don’t have venison on our Thanksgiving Day plates next to the turkey.

Days of thanksgivings were common in the summer and in the fall, not just in the New World, but through the centuries among any people who believed in a deity in whom to give thanks. Some Indians gave thanks to the animals they killed for giving their lives for their survival. But whether in the summer harvest or fall, the people always gave thanks to God.

I find it interesting how we Americans have changed the meaning of words in the past couple of years, or even past few decades. For example, bald used to mean white headed (e.g., the American bald eagle); gay used to mean happy; marriage used to be the relationship between a male and female to procreate; Thanksgiving used to be a time set aside to thank God. I realize I’m sounding all politically incorrect here, but I’m actually aiming towards historic word accuracy. Words we use today have changed in meaning. That’s a fact.

So my question is: what do you think of when you think Thanksgiving? Chance for a four-day weekend? A day off of work? (At least for schools and federal agencies, for it is a national holiday, after all.) Is Thanksgiving a time to put up with relatives? A time society makes you feel lonely because you have no family to be with, or no money to spend on a forced feast? A time to feel guilty that you don’t eat meat or fowl? A time to read your Bible and reflect on who God is and how he has helped you?

Again: Thanksgiving. What do you think of when you hear that national holiday word?

Character Motivation — Analyzing your Characters

Posted on by under Characterization, Reflections, Writing Challenge

I popped into the grocery store for a few items. I almost didn’t need a cart. As I started to unload at the checkout, a large woman in a baggy coat charged at me and practically yelled, “Can I go in front of you!” It wasn’t a question.

Usually when I’m in line at a store and someone behind me has only a few items, I always ask if they want to go ahead of me. So why did this woman irritate me so? It wasn’t like I was in a rush for an appointment, or that I may have left starving, wailing children and husband at home. As she counted out her pennies from her coin purse to give the exact change (when my swipe of a credit card is so much faster), I had to stop to breathe deeply and analyze why I was so upset.

Could it be because I didn’t have the opportunity to be gracious and kind and offer the woman the spot in front of me like I normally do? (i.e., my gift-giving was snatched away)

Could it be that I had six items in a cart and she carried her two items by hand? (i.e., not much of a difference in ringing up the items, so why did she need to be ahead?)

Could it be that I felt forced to say, “Why, yes, of course” instead of being given a choice? (i.e., I’m all about options)

Could it be that this woman didn’t even take the time to say thank you? (i.e., how uncouth)

Could it be that I knew she could beat me up with or without her cookies? (i.e., terror motivates many an action)

The reason I got upset may have been some of all those. I’d hoped to get out into the parking lot and pull out before she did just to let her see how fast I was. But once outside I didn’t see her. I recalled a quote: “Whatever you do to the least of these, you do to me.” Was the baggy lady with her two bags of cookies really an angel in disguise? If so, I certainly failed any spiritual or good character test. Even though I had done the polite action. My attitude did not parallel my action.

This bitty incident in the grocery store made me think of my book characters. How well do I really know them? How well do I really express in my language their true motivations?

So, here’s your writing challenge: Take this situation, but put your own characters in it. How would X respond-reply-act to this woman? How would Y respond-reply-act to this woman? And continue plugging in your various characters into the same situation.

Happy writing. (And now back to NaNoWriMo.)

British Signs and Street Crossings

Posted on by under Reflections, Travel Writing

Before we headed to England for our first time this summer, Friend Mary who frequently travels there, told us when crossing the street in the UK, do the opposite. American rule: Look left, then right, then left again. British rule, she said: look right, then left, then right again. As we would depend on foot or public transportation for the entire stay, I felt it an experienced and helpful suggestion. Or so I thought. It only took me that first day walking in crowded-busy London to realise her rule needed some modification. Sandy’s 4-part rule for crossing London streets: Always use the crosswalk; look all four ways before stepping out onto the roadway; keep on looking as you cross; and watch out for that occasional driver in his mega-expensive car to run the red light or spin around the corner. And for a self-reminder, every time I crossed a road, I actually pointed my arm out at a 45 degree angle to the right. Easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy. Using my method, we only nearly got run over about forty-five times — not bad for a 10-day stay. There were also the safety islands in the middle of busy streets, and the squiggly lines painted on the roads. Look 4 ways and point to right (except when you’re on one of those safety isles, when you’d point left).

IMG_6781

Signs in Britain are different from in America, too. When we arrived at Gatwick Airport, “Toilets” was a welcomed if somewhat blushing sign to spot, but then there was this running man on a green background with an arrow to a white rectangle.

IMG_6793

My mind ran some possibilities: fire escape route (with up-pointed arrow), hallway to bomb shelter (with down-pointed arrow), or maybe “Run for your life! There’s a tiger loose in the terminal!”

I’ve always felt the best thing to do when you can’t conveniently look things up is to ask questions of a living person.

“Way out,” came the answer. I must have blinked as I went through my mental files, because he quickly added, “What you would call the exit.”

I hadn’t even said I was an American!

A sign of a white man going down steps on a blue background and the word “Subway” did not mean to public transportation, but a way to cross the street underneath the street: stairs down, cross beneath, stairs up.

There was one sign near St. James’s Park in London which took me a day later to figure out. Of course, when you’re in a hurry to get across the street, looking all ways, and pointing, and then look up and notice this sign — the only one I’d seen like it in our then-8-day stay —  you don’t really have time to think what it means.

I wonder, if you hadn’t had this set up in the blog post, given just one second of time, can you figure it out?

 

 

 

 

DSC01990

Fashion in London

Posted on by under Reflections, Travel Writing

It was our first time to England, staying for ten days. What was the main thing I was concerned about? Fashion. Blame it on my Shaker upbringing when there were different clothing rules for every occasion. Oh, what to wear! I knew my American accent would make me stick out, and that I could control the volume of my voice, but would my clothes fit in? Would carrying a backpack make me look like I was a college student or a tourist?  People traveling to England recently told me that no one wears sneakers. Would my shoes be walkable and yet fashionable? People here in the States seem to make a big deal about shoes.

As it turned out, my worry was for naught.  Riding the Tube gave me plenty of time for fashion observation.

Many people wore backpacks — men, women, young and old, both in London and in Oxford. If women carried purses, the strap generally went over one shoulder and across the chest to the opposite hip. Men also carried “man bags” very similar to women’s purses and in the same across-the-chest way.

Women’s shoes? 80% were black flats with sometimes a bow or buckle on them; 15% were sneakers, leaving the other 5% in heels. Although once I saw a young woman in a short black skirt walking near Trafalgar Square wearing black net stockings and no shoes on her feet at all.

Shorts? About 1% of women (teens, mostly) wore short-shorts. And about 1% of men wore shorts — can you say tourist?

There were also Indians and muslims in long dresses.

We met a man from Canada who had lived in England for four weeks. Even though it was in the 70’s most of the time we were there, he complained about how he had to wear jeans and long-sleeved shirts every day in the summer there because it was so cold. Um…wait a minute. I’ve been to Canada many a time, mostly camping out. 70’s is not cold. I suppose it’s all a matter of perspective.

So, when going to London, no need to worry about fashion. Simply wear comfortable clothes (and don’t speak loudly).

Birthdays and Heroes — the Real Stuff (my own DH)

Posted on by under Characterization, Reflections

Today’s my dear husband’s birthday. It is the first time in thirty-three years that I have not baked him a pumpkin pie for his birthday. I went out this morning and purchased a — o-yuck-o — factory-made-store-bought one. Sure. It’s a name brand, but it still means it’s totally put together by other people (or machines, or both). O-yuck-o! I thought about going to an official bakery, but my pies taste better than even those. I’d probably be feeling really bad about all this if I weren’t on this I-don’t-care medicine for my thyroid. Thing is, I don’t even care that I don’t care. (How did this get back to me? It’s Jeff’s birthday, after all! Blame the meds.)

So the pie may not be “real” but my husband — he’s sure the real stuff.  My hero. I’ve never met a person who is so kind and so wise. And after being with him for more than three decades, I believe I have experience to discern the truth. Jeff is also super-knowledgeable about lots of stuff. I mean, now and then I think that I’m kinda intelligent, but then Jeff will make an off the cuff comment about what’s going on in the world, or after digging into 2,000 to 4,000 year old manuscripts, and my jaw drops to my chest in awe. It’s not at all that he puts me down, but I just feel honored to be in on his rantings and ramblings. But then,because he’s an introvert, most of the extrovert world stomps right over him. But if you’d stop and listen, perhaps you, too, can hear the real stuff.

Can I build a fictional character based on him? I haven’t yet, although I’ve picked some of his character traits to go into my heroes. Is he perfect? Ha. But his compassion and discernment is stuff real life heroes are made of.

So, do you have a real life hero you admire and from which you pick traits for your main character?

(Happy birthday, Sweetie.)