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But, Serially, Folks...

1/28/2014

Hey, it worked for Charles Dickens. The Pickwick Papers was first published as a serial in 1836. Uncle Tom's Cabin originally appeared in the National Era in 1851. And around the turn of the last century (early 1900s), many newspapers carried serial stories to boost circulation. In the 60s and 70s, I subscribed to Good Housekeeping mainly for the serialized novels published at the back. Tom Wolfe published The Bonfire of the Vanities in 27 parts in Rolling Stone starting in 1984. Now serials are becoming more common on the Internet.

So, to keep up with the times, and hopefully get my books in front of more RVers and campers, starting yesterday, Florida Outdoors RV site is publishing a chapter a week of my new mystery spoof, Camping Can be Murder. Punk and PJ (Patty Jo) Norton are recent retirees who decide to buy an used travel trailer and, for the first time in their lives, try camping. PJ is entranced by the ads for Rving on TV, but their purchase and experience doesn't turn out quite so idyllic. And when someone pushes the shady RV dealer off a cliff, the Halloween camping weekend turns spookier.

This was a fun but challenging writing experience. Each chapter is about 700-1000 words, much shorter than the typical book--about 10 minutes for the average reader. And each chapter needed to end with a cliffhanger or at least a teaser. If you read any of it, let me know what you think.

If you are interested in reading serials of any genre online, there are all kinds of options. Goodreads has a whole group devoted to web serial fiction:
https://www.goodreads.com/group/show/22783-web-serial-fiction

A site devoted wholly to web fiction is http://webfictionguide.com/. Check it out!

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Guest Post: Sophie Nortman

1/11/2014

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Today I am repeating a post (unedited) that our wonderful 12-year-old granddaughter Sophie put on Facebook this morning, along with a link to a music video that spoke to her. Such an important topic! And as you can see from the photo, we look alike.

I hate bullying. It seriously doesn't even make any sense. I don't understand why telling people they're "sluts" and "whores" makes someone feel better about themself. It really does hurt. Wouldn't knowing that someone slits their wrists because of you make you feel bad at least a little? I've been bullied and so have so many other people. A lot of people are NEVER socially accepted or don't let themselves be because they were bullied when they were younger. It really needs to stop. I'm not going to fight you if you're bullying someone, but I sure hope the people you're bullying stand up to you. A lot of people just don't say anything because, "Hey, at least they're not getting beat up, right?" No, I promise you most people who are bullied verbally would rather just get beat up. My heart goes out to the kids who are getting bullied and have been bullied. Please just stop.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aHAecNIwEIY

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The Party's Over

1/5/2014

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As a child, I remember begging my parents to leave the Christmas tree up until my birthday, January 3. Of course in those days, it was always a fresh tree, and my three younger brothers had a tendency to tip it over--so many times one year that they actually had to put up a second one. But the tree always went out the door within a day or two after Christmas.

As an adult, it was the same thing. By December 27 or 28, needles were exploding from the tree every time someone walked by and branches drooped to the floor so out it went. But when we moved to this house, it was necessary to purchase an artificial tree, so for the last 10 years, I have left it up until after my birthday. Yesterday, I stripped it and packed everything up; Butch dismantled it and returned it to its cardboard home in the basement. It was especially bittersweet because this 9 1/2 foot tree that touches the ceiling here will not fit in our next house. Hopefully the next owners of this house will take it under their wings.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, everything on this tree has special meaning, bringing back a flood of memories with every item I wrap. When I was teaching, I had a long Christmas vacation and my mother, who managed a clothing store, had only a day and a half off. At my urging, she realized it was much easier to drive three hours to our large house than entertain us, my five siblings, and various hangers-on at her two bedroom apartment. I was glad to do it. So a number of the ornaments remind me of those years of unbridled bedlam. Mother would always say, "Kids, can we just have a few minutes of quiet?" but it never worked.

There were always extras--friends of my brothers and sisters who had no where to go on a particular Christmas. One year when brother Bill was in law school, he brought a friend from Maryland who for some reason was unable to go home. The young man was an only child with no cousins. He sat in a catatonic trance as we argued over the Christmas puzzle, sister Libby performed 'Little Rabbit Fru-Fru' (she was in her twenties at the time), and some bad attempts at carols on the piano crashed through the house. I have always wondered if he ever recovered from that holiday.

This year it was the same but not the same. Mother has been gone almost 30 years, and two brothers are no longer with us. The others have their own families and celebrations. But my immediate family has expanded to include a fiance and a couple of girlfriends, around 15-18, depending on the year. It is still bedlam. No one won more than $1 from the lottery tickets in the stockings but grandson Jack built a box out of Legos to wrap his cousin Elliot's present in. I cooked my first prime rib, which turned out okay, and Kate brought her wonderful custard pies. We completed one puzzle and the border on a second. It was necessary to keep a sharp eye out for the remote-control helicopter that Jack and Elliot kept airborne most of the day. Christmas Eve we all trooped to church, taking up a whole row, and no one dropped their candle. (That was another year.)

The next day, we headed to a small ski resort in Illinois for a day of skiing, snowboarding, and tubing. There were a couple of rope burns and bruises but no broken bones. All in all, a successful and memorable holiday.

They all left the Friday after Christmas, the washer ran continuously for a couple of days, we trekked to Lincoln, NE for a family wedding, and we sorted out the borrowed winter gear. A quiet New Year's followed by a lovely birthday wrapped up the holiday. Decorations are down--except for the ones you spot right after you sit down and think "Whoops." Time to move on. Happy New Year.

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Diary of a Non-Fan on New Year's Day

1/2/2014

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AM- Cleaned up a little in the kitchen. Pitched some questionable apples, nasty looking cranberry bread and a few cookies.

Noon- Ensconced in recliner, did some writing, read a chunk of Sycamore Row, checked Facebook and Goodreads, napped. Significant Other made several loud pleas to the Deity for help on the field.

Got out the last of the party mix and called it lunch. Watched it snow.

Found a recipe on line for jambalaya using up the chicken and summer sausage.

Napped.

Colors on the field changed. New game. Read some more. Looked up houses on the realtor site. Wrote some more. Browsed campsites for next summer. Checked Pinterest.

Made a list of to-dos for the next couple of days. Cooked supper. Napped.

New colors again. No pleas from SO. Must not be important.

Evening-Suppernappedreadwrotenapped.

A good day.

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But, Serially, Folks...

Guest Post: Sophie Nortman

The Party's Over

Diary of a Non-Fan on New Year's Day

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