Rebecca is swamped today, so we’re featuring one of her more popular posts from our archives.
The day I stood in the choir loft surrounded by my fourth grade peers I had no idea that I was about to learn a lesson in suspense, terror, fear, retribution and resolution that would lead me to a career as a thriller author.
The day was hot, air-conditioning was unheard of, and we wore our itchy, ugly, brown wool Catholic school uniforms year ‘round to save our parents money. I was a very good girl. I never drew attention to myself, folded my hands with fingers pointing heavenward when I prayed, picked up trash on the playground and helped pass out papers in class. But that day, I made a blunder that put me in Sister Carmelita’s crosshairs. As she raised her arms and positioned her baton in anticipation of another rousing chorus of a hymn I have long forgotten, I rolled my eyes. Yep, I rolled them to the back of my little ten-year-old head in frustration and exhaustion.
Sister Carmelita cut her own my way. I realize now that she had mastered the art of eye cutting because she couldn’t move her head given her the box-like wimple. Everyone stopped breathing. No one knew what I had done, only that I had done something very, very bad.
“Miss Forster.” Sister Carmelita’s voice was modulated appropriately for God’s house. “Wait after choir.”
My stomach lurched. I felt light headed. I was doomed.
Sister Carmelita is long gone. During her time on earth she faced changes in her church and her life, but I doubt she ever knew how that day changed me. So, if you’re listening, Sister, I want you to know that, 30 years later, that moment sealed my fate. I spend my days writing thrillers, trying to recapture the exquisite sense of suspense I experienced that day. Here is what you taught me:
1) Less is More: Your understated notice of me, the glitter in your eye, the sound of your voice was more intriguing, more compelling, more enthralling than screaming, railing or ranting.
2) Timing is Everything: All 29 of my classmates knew I was in trouble. I knew I was in trouble. I even knew why I was in trouble (disrespecting you, God, choir practice, country, family and all living creatures with a roll of my eyes), yet you didn’t nip things in the bud with a mere instantaneous admonition. My comeuppance was exquisitely timed. You threw in an extra hymn to extend practice, studiously ignored me, meticulously folded your sheet music as my classmates silently went down the stairs. You waited until the door of the church closed, clicked and locked us together in that big, shadowy church before you turned.
3) The Devil’s in the Details: You were taller than me (back then almost everyone was taller than me), but that wasn’t why I was afraid. It was your whole package, the details of your awesome being that were so formidable. Covered head to toe in black, your face framed by your wimple (which, by the way, looked like the vice used during the Spanish Inquisition), your hands buried beneath the scapular that fell in a perfect column to the tips of your shoes, made for quite a package. But there was more: The scent of nun-perfume (I think it was soap, but it smelled like nun-perfume to me), the clack of those huge rosary beads attached to your wide belt, the squish of your rubber soled shoes. I saw all this, I heard all this, I smelled all this and each sense was heightened because of the hush surrounding us.
I remember your methodical advance into my personal space. I remember you lowering your eyes as I raised mine. The suspense was heart-stopping, the anticipation of my penance almost unbearable. Quite frankly, you were terrifying.
But here’s the funny thing: I don’t remember how it ended. Did you scold me, sister? Did you show mercy and forgiveness? I only remember being terrified. Like the brain of the seven year old Stephen King swears gives him inspiration for his horror books, you, Sister Carmelita, inspire every sentence I write in every thriller novel I pen. For that, I can’t thank you enough.
I also want you to know, I have never rolled my eyes at anything since that day in the choir loft.
From our archives, a post by Sally Paradysz: Burls
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On the outskirts of the area where I split wood stands a cherry tree. It isn’t huge, but it has at least two burls on it that I can see. I find burls extremely interesting, and at times I can’t stop staring at them. It is a living thing, and something that resembles sap drips from all over it and down onto the forest floor. I have one that I split open years ago, and it is gorgeous on the inside.
Actually, burls are a valuable wood product for artists, furniture makers, and wood sculptors. Some of the most exotic salad bowls and serving bowls I have ever seen are made from burls just like these.
From my book-lined cabin in the woods beside my home, I can see many of these burls standing out proudly from the trees on my land. The sap seems to draw the sunlight to them, and their glow is intriguing. It is yet another example of what can be hidden inside a shell or a human being. Something exquisite emerges once it is opened to be examined. This author of imperfect words wishes that once we open ourselves up to the world, we can walk away with hope and new life passions that will change our life forever……
Sally Paradysz wrote from a book-lined cabin in the woods beside the home she built from scratch. She was an ordained minister of the Assembly of the Word, founded in 1975. For two decades, she provided spiritual counseling and ministerial assistance. Sally completed undergraduate and graduate courses in business and journalism. She took courses at NOVA, and served as a hotline, hospital, and police interview volunteer in Bucks County, PA. She was definitely owned by her two Maine Coon cats, Kiva and Kodi.
Her book is available here:
So do your characters think about their birthdays at all?
Given that this month is my birthday month and it’s a big one for me, I thought I would go with a birthday theme for my post. I actually woke up on my birthday with a million thoughts racing through my head and one of them was my to do list and the need to find a topic for this post. And then the next thought that came into my mind, was what do the characters we write about feel about their birthday each year?
I’ll admit, it certainly hadn’t been something I’ve thought much about.
Questions such as:
I read a lot of books and I cannot recall any of recent talking about birthdays or their age that much. Not that that topic alone would be a fasinating read.
But as I had my fiftieth birthday dangled in front of me most of this year, the way it affected me was an interesting struggle. One I wasn’t expecting or knew how to deal with. I would think those parts might be interesting to incorporate some how in our character’s backstory.
I find it an interesting perspective to include your characters thoughts about birthdays and ages. Maybe no one ever celebrated their special day before. And all of a sudden they are thrown into a family that does. Or every year was made out to be “the one” special event of the year and now they’ve lost loved ones and it isn’t the same.
Also, milestones and how we celebrate them have changed. We grow older than people did a century ago, so there are more birthdays to celebrate. Or large families with ten children did not have a lot of extra funds, so gifts were not as plentiful as they are today. And today families live further away from each other than they did a century ago.
Do you think the emotions over turning, say, 50, has changed much? What about 18? Or 21? Young adults married at a very young age a century ago, but now most young people wait till they are done with college. So, the focus on what the number means has changed over the years.
For me, this year has been full of trepidation, reflection, and assessment. Having health issues there have been several times I’ve wondered if I’d passed into a new normal. Low energy, unable to eat certain foods, has made me wonder if I was aging out of my prime. It’s quite comical, actually. What if this was the beginning of the end? I know . . . dramatic, but hey! I have felt it a bit this year.
So as my birthday approached, and I was trying to answer my husband’s question of what I wanted to do for my birthday, a part of me didn’t want to even address it. A few friends had felt that way as well, and I laughed it off, but when it hit me that way too, well, that was an interesting perspective. I told myself it wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t want to burden anyone or put anyone out. But why? Why did I feel this?
And my husband, being the gem he is, read between the lines and very patiently walked through question after question, just to make sure he understood. Which was something I really needed. Bless him, he didn’t want to get it wrong!
Some people dread them, some want to celebrate them big, while others try to find something in the middle. Maybe we can take some of the birthday experiences around us and put them in our stories. Maybe not a specific scene, but knowing your characters perspective about their special day in the background may not be a bad way to incorporate why they are the way they are.
P.S. I googled “celebrating birthdays in a romance novel” after I wrote this post and did you know there are actually several stories that are centered around birthdays? I might just have to find a few and read them.
Christmas memories are forever…better yet if they’re on film.
Until you can’t find them.
I’m a good record keeper, my accountant loves me…my handwritten notes from trips abroad often help me shape a story, but I was devastated when I couldn’t find my old Christmas movies when I was a kid.
A mad search finally showed up a lost reel my dad shot at Christmas when I was in grade school. It was the only time we took movies at Christmas. We moved around a lot (I went to fifteen schools), and over the years the old movie camera stopped working…and well, you get the idea.
But this year I wanted to resurrect the old movies because of one short piece of film.
My mom hanging up Christmas stockings.
You see, I’ve just finished copyedits and proofreading my upcoming Boldwood Books release, Christmas Once Again and I dedicated my story to my mom.
So although her picture won’t appear in the dedication, here’s that special piece of film from my old home movies.
Thanks, Mom, for making every Christmas special.
Time travel back to Christmas 1943 on the home front
Exciting news re: my holiday Women’s Fiction novel CHRISTMAS ONCE AGAIN — release day is October 10th! It’s now up for pre-order at $2.99
On a cold December day in 1955, I got on a train to go back home for Christmas.
This is the story of what happened when I got off that train.
In 1943.
Christmas Once Again:
US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07V1QT9Z6
UK: www.amazon.co.uk/Christmas-Once-Again-Jina-Bacarr-ebook/dp/B07V1QT9Z6
More about Christmas Once Again as we get closer to pub date…
Not that I’m a brilliant writer, or have anything that anyone else doesn’t have within them, but on occasion I’ve been asked if I could teach someone to make magic with words.
One of those people was a friend with a journalism degree, who was applying to grad school, and not getting great results from his application essay. He asked me if I might be able to tweak it, I did my best, he loved it, and asked me what I’d done.
“You wrote everything I wrote, didn’t add or delete anything, and yet it’s magic. Can you teach me to do that?” I didn’t really know what I had done, so I wasn’t very helpful at the time. This happened many times over the years, and I wondered if ‘making magic’ was something inherent rather than something that could be taught.
Years later an opportunity arose to teach a class on writing for magazine publication to children in the GATE class at our sons’ elementary school. The students ranged from grades 3-5 with IQ’s that put them in the gifted range. As a child, I’d dreamed of becoming a teacher, and this opportunity both excited and terrified me…and ultimately, I’m sure that I learned more than the kids that I taught that year.
I also reminded the kids that if they happened to receive a rejection letter, it was a badge of honor, not very many people, even grown ups have actually had their work considered by a real publication. All of the students work was published in a school collection, and by the last day of class, they had promised to let me know when they heard from the publication they’d submitted to.
All summer I received excited phone calls from students who had received rejection letters. A few parents even told me that they’d framed them. And, two of my students were published in magazines.
The kids excitement to receive even a rejection reminded me how lucky I am to do what I love, and that rejection should be a learning tool, not the doorway to depression.
So there you go, just a few things that I learned teaching writing to children, and by the way my friend got into graduate school! I’m sure that with his GPA and the hard work he’d done as an undergraduate, he’d have been accepted anyway, but I’d like to think that there was a little bit of magic involved!
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He's breaking the rules for one woman, and coming dangerously close to falling in love…
More info →Christmas in Marietta, with all the trimmings, may be just the ticket.
More info →Winner of the 2010 Next Generation Indie Book Awards for Best Short Fiction and Best Anthology
More info →The beautiful wife of a senate candidate is dead; his disturbed sister is accused.
More info →A Slice of Orange is an affiliate with some of the booksellers listed on this website, including Barnes & Nobel, Books A Million, iBooks, Kobo, and Smashwords. This means A Slice of Orange may earn a small advertising fee from sales made through the links used on this website. There are reminders of these affiliate links on the pages for individual books.
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