Playing

Just now, I wrote a little play about healthy eating and biking.  It was relatively easy.  When I was researching places to submit the plays I wrote for my class, I noticed a company that is looking for short plays for girls about girls.  That's what gave me the idea to write this little thing-- that and thinking about the few things I know and the billions of things I don't know.  I know a bit about healthy eating and biking and I really enjoy both of them.  The play isn't done; it needs more conflict-- something I avoid too often in my writing-- but it's on its way.

Last night, I decided what I write shouldn't just be about what I know, but about what I love. It is definitely easier than writing about random, clueless stuff that I don't even like.  I also realized that writing plays instead of a book might be the way for me to go.  I like focusing on dialog instead of worrying about descriptions and details.  My inclination to write in movie-mode makes it easier to imagine what could happen on a stage.  The idea of "playing" instead of writing a novel is very appealing. 

What I Don't Know

One of the pieces of writing advice I've heard is to ask yourself three questions: "Is it your story to tell?  Is it too close and personal?  and Does it matter?"  I'm not sure who said those things or where I heard them, but they are basically another way of saying Write What You Know.  Unfortunately, I often ignore that advice. 

My ten minute play is about two old people (I'm not THAT old).  One has a cat (I'm allergic and don't prefer cats).   The other has a gun and tries to shoot the cat (My son doesn't even own a toy gun and I don't believe in animal cruelty.  I even try to save spiders' lives if they aren't in the wrong place at the wrong time.  I've never even held a gun).  The play is kinda funny.  I got an A on it, but it still needs work. 

My one act play is about two artists who knew each other in art school (I've never been to art school.  I'm not even an artist).  In a hotel room in Mexico (okay, I went to Mexico 26 years ago), one of the characters dives under the bed of the other when he gets caught in her room looking at her sketchbook (Do I even know what a sketchbook looks like?  Not really).  He happens to be the art director of a film (I don't know anything about art directing.  What is an art director?!?) and he needs another artist.  She just wants him out of there.  It's kinda funny too, but it doesn't make a lot of sense and it definitely doesn't really matter.  So, no, you don't really want to read that one either.  But if I get an A, maybe I'll let you.  It's submitted to my teacher.  That class is done.  Time to move on to the next project.

I'm sure I'd write a lot better and be more successful if  I would just write what I know.  I've thought about that over and over and often come up clueless.  What do I know?  What is my story to tell?  Those are the writing questions for today.  Then I think of all the things I'm trying to do all at once.  It's overwhelming.  It's no wonder I'm so mixed up.  I know, maybe I should write something about chaos.  I seem good at that.

Seizing the Sunshine

We've had a lot of rainy weather. Ever since my bike chain rusted out last winter, I've been very leery of riding in wet weather. Today, we've had flashes of sunshine with the promise of afternoon rain. Even though I'd already exercised on the treadmill, I couldn't resist jumping on the bike for a quick ride. It was worth it.

This afternoon, I'm probably going to turn in my final assignment for my play writing class. Instead of taking a final, we have to write, rewrite, and submit a one act play. It's a scary thing to send it in. It's a big part of my grade. Even more scary, as part of the assignment, we're supposed to write the addresses of two places where we plan to submit our plays. Even thinking about submitting is a thrilling, terrifying idea. I've done that sort of thing before with little success. It's easy to be private, to keep the beautiful and the not so beautiful parts of one's life to oneself. It's an act of bravery and love to share it. I'm trying to love.

Warm Fuzzy Jar

Yesterday, during General Conference, Elder Christofferson talked about the importance of teaching children how to serve one another and how to sacrifice for the comfort of others. I knew right away that we need to do a better job teaching those principles to our children. He said it takes "constant teaching, mostly by example." I believe that.

Tonight we are having family home evening. When my husband and I were discussing what to teach, my husband said, "They need more practice than preaching." He's right.

Inspiration came to me in the form of warm fuzzies.

Yesterday, President Monson mentioned a primary sent him a jar full of warm fuzzies. Each warm fuzzy represented an act of service or kindness that the primary children did for someone. I decided that a jar like that might help our little ones (and the rest of us) practice service and sacrifice for the people in our family.

President Monson's jar is very big. I realized it would take a very very long time for us to fill a jar like that. Not to mention the cost of the quantities of warm fuzzies we'd need. We'd probably grow weary and forget about it. I wanted something that would take about a month to fill if everyone put in one fuzzy a day. So, we're going to use a smaller jar. Once it's full, we'll take the kids out for donuts and white hot chocolate and talk about how warm and fuzzy we feel inside.

I spent a lot of time putting this project together (I had to go buy warm fuzzies), finding stories, and otherwise getting all ready for tonight. My writing time and other goals suffered. That's okay, I took a step toward my number one goal and I still managed to write a few words.

Pumpkin Pancakes

I know, I know, I said I wasn't going to blog here on weekends, but I can't help myself. These are delicious, especially with softened cream cheese and warm blueberries on top. Yummy breakfast for a rainy Conference day.

Half Wheat Pumpkin Pancakes

1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
1 1/2 cups white flour
1 1/2 tablespoons baking powder
3 tablespoons brown sugar, packed
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon ground nutmeg
2 shakes of ground ginger
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt
2 eggs
3 tablespoons oil
1/2 cup canned pumpkin
2 3/4 cup milk

Mix dry ingredients. In a separate bowl, slightly beat eggs, whisk in oil, pumpkin, and milk. Add to dry ingredients, stiring just until mixed. Makes 21 pancakes if each is 1/4 cup batter.

Fall

Last year, we had volunteer pumpkin plants. They grew all summer and produced several beautiful pumpkins. This year, I tried to force the volunteers by smashing a pumpkin into the dirt and spreading out the seeds. It didn't work. Maybe I did it too late in the season. Maybe it was lack of sunshine. I don't know.

Anyway, we have a nice pumpkin vine and a stunted little pumpkin that'll probably shrivel up after the first frost. Oh well. I think I'll buy a few pumpkins and plop them down by the vines for the fake pumpkin patch look that seems popular here.

Here's another view of our burning bush. Last year it didn't really "burn" before all the leaves fell off.

Yay fall!

Reading and Creating

I've read a lot of good books over the years. Right now, I'm reading Suzanne Collins' Gregor stories and enjoying them very much. I've discovered that when I'm reading a good book, it satisfies my need to create. Yes, the author wrote the words, but I produce the movie in my mind. I have an idea of how all the characters look and how they speak. I can see the setting. When I'm really into it, I create all the details. Not only that, but sometimes I can feel what the characters feel. I become part of the book and the book becomes part of me. It's much easier and more immediately satisyfing to create from someone else's creation.

Because I'm in the middle of creating Suzanne's movie, I really had to force myself to write my own story today. I would have much rather escaped right into reading. Fortunately, I have this place, this commitment to write every day. I managed to write some words. While I was writing, I noticed I was also mentally producing my story's movie. The images are fuzzy, the lights are dim, and sometimes I only have a flash of a picture, but everything grows more vivid when I try to describe things. I have a long, long way to go until my words are something worth watching by anyone else. I'm okay with that.