Chloe

I have a ton of quotes about writing, written on little index cards. Every week, I choose a different one to tack above my writing space. Some of the quotes are actually about writing, and some aren't, but they apply to writing. Here are a few of my favourites, and then I want to hear yours!

"I found the phrase to every thought

I ever had, but one;

And that defies me,--as the hand

Did try to chalk the sun."

--Emily Dickinson

"Good books are wine. My books are water. But everybody drinks water."

--Mark Twain

"You'll never plow a field by turning it over in your mind."

--Irish Proverb

"The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and lightning bug"

--Mark Twain

"Story did not begin when the boy ran into the village and cried 'Wolf!' and the wolf was chasing at his heels. Story began when the boy ran into the village and cried "Wolf!"...and there was no wolf."

--Anonymous

"I never write exercises, but sometimes I write poems which fail and then I call them exercises."

--Robert Frost

"...telling the truth in an interesting way turns out to be as easy and pleasurable as bathing a cat."

--Anne Lamott

"We are all apprentices in a craft where no one ever becomes a master."

--Ernest Hemingway

"I dwell in possibility

A fairer house than prose."

--Emily Dickinson

So now I want to hear some of your favourites! Sorry that mine got a little lengthy there! What quotes have inspired YOU?

This idea actually popped into my head while I was on a scheduled drive for driver's education. I wrote it in my head while I was driving, and wrote it on paper as soon as I could. Not sure yet where it will lead, but I'm not asking for help on that. I just want some constructive criticism on the writing itself, and whether this is a good opener for a short story. I think I would call it, "The Other Side of the Street."

There are only two houses on Tuttle Street. It is a short street, and the houses sit on opposite sides. On one side of the street is a big, light blue house with a wide porch, frosting-like trim, and a big yard that a dog runs in. They drive a white minivan, which is usually coming or going, kids piling in or out. Sometimes the little boy is wearing a sports uniform. Sometimes they are all dressed up, and the little girl is carrying an instrument case. Sometimes they just have normal clothes on. But they are always smiling, and their laughter is loud.

I live on the other side of the street.

Most people have no idea anyone lives there. My neighbours don't know I exist. There had been a "for sale" sign forever, but I think the person selling it must have died or something, because some teenagers stole the sign months ago, and no one replaced it. As I say, I don't know who owns it or even whether they are still alive. I just moved in.

When you've got no place to go, flaking layers of paint--green, then pink, then yellow, then white on top, all showing in different places--doesn't matter. When you've got no place to go, it doesn't matter if the house sags, I mean literally droops as though it will wilt and shrivel and die at any moment. When you've got no place to go, it doesn't matter if it is cold and empty and leaky and creaky inside. When you've got no place to go, it doesn't matter that the vehicle in your driveway is an ancient, rusty truck with the back wheels missing.

When you've got no place to go, you live on the other side of the street.

First off, I am a firm believer that you should write what is important to you, even if others don't see it. That said, I have an idea for a novel. (First I'm going to have to finish my current novel, and then the one after that.) In view of what I said before, think of this as a survey of sorts, to see if anyone is even going to want to read this book.

So, ever since I heard of the Triangle Fire, it grabbed me. It is one of those stories that latches onto you and has a lot of emotional power behind it. It became one of my "history obsessions" and I did a lot of research on it. The more I learned, the more I wanted to write about it.

Since then, I read two very good young adult novels on the fire, Uprising, by Margaret Peterson Haddix, and Ashes of Roses, by Mary Jane Auch. After reading these novels, I wondered if I should write about the fire, when these two authors had already told the story so beautifully.

But I realized that the story I wanted to tell was different from either of these books. The story I wanted to tell took place AFTER the tragedy. It was about a girl learning to carry on after such a horrible thing happened before her eyes.

So here is my idea. The story will be told in past tense, third person limited point of view. It will be after the fire, about the city as a whole and this one girl piecing things back together, going on with life. She kind of blocks what happened from her mind, living in a kind of denial. Friends and family ask her about the fire, and she can't remember the details to tell them. Interspersed through the story will be details of the fire, in chronological order, set as flashbacks. These will be in present tense to give them a dreamlike quality. What do you think? Would you read a book like this? I'm aware that I am not very good at describing the vision I have for this book, and perhaps what I just said sounds awful. But I already have a couple scenes written (I'm not writing the book yet, but I had to get these scenes down before I forgot) and they are really beautiful. I think it will be a lovely book, even though my idea, written here, sounds a bit ho-hum. Honest opinions please?

I don't like to ask this, it feels embarrassing, like I can't come up with my own ideas. But I am literally stuck here. I'm planning a novel, and one of the characters was originally named Liam. Due to plot developments, this name is no longer going to work. William will not work either because in my first novel, the love interest was named William. So, I need some help.

He is a young man, early twenties. He is a sodbuster in the 1870s-ish. (not that far along in the plotting yet, so don't know exact time period). His mother is still back east, and she is very over-bearing and class-conscious, but he is so devoted to her that he doesn't notice. He has brown hair, brown eyes, tall and kind of skinny. Over-grown kid look to him. He has a thirst for adventure, but is ill-suited to it. He is hapless and somewhat irresponsible. He is a people-person, but his only friend in his new home is one of the other viewpoint characters, Caddie Carney, a factory-girl turned homesteader. He writes letters to his mother exaggerating how great things are, but things are really pretty bad for him, because he is really clueless about homesteading.

So, any first and last name ideas would be wonderful.

Thanks!!!

I feel like my opening paragraphs are too much exposition, which I try to avoid. Of course, when a book has a lot of exposition but it is interesting, I don't mind reading it. Since I cannot objectively judge my own book, I need to know if this is okay or if it is boring and I should cut some of it. Opinions and help appreciated.

If you were to ask just about anyone in my family when the whole thing started, they would say that it started in January of 1893, when my parents saw the article in the magazine. Except me. I don't think so. They talked about it some, and Mama saved the clipping, but that is all that would have come of it, one of those “someday” sorts of things. So instead, I say it all began a little over a year later, in 1894, because that was when Mrs. Mitehill came with her news and set everything in motion.

I was just a little girl at the time, just twelve. When I say little girl, I mean it—it took awhile for me to start growing, so I was small yet, and rather insignificant to look at. Just medium everything. In the photogaphs, I have thick hair that falls behind my shoulders. You can only tell that it is a dark colour. Well, I will tell you that it is brown, brown in the brownest sense of the word, with no adjectives like light or dark or nut or golden or reddish or honey that you can tack onto its front. It always looks unruly in the pictures, because that is how it was in real life—is, I should say. Not curly, not straight, not wavy, but a mixture of all three of these and everything in between. On top of it, an enormous bow—always those enormous, floppy bows that mothers were so fond of, and the bigger the better. These bows looked even more ridiculous on my head than on most little girls, because they made the top of my head look even wider and my tiny, delicate little chin even pointier and smaller by comparrison. (My head was an upside down triangle—or a heart, as Mama called it. It has only slightly improved as I have grown into it.) Nevertheless, Mama always made me wear them. My small, dark eyes, glittering in real life, but in those photographs, diamonds were made to look dull. Crisp print dress, neat white pinafore, shiny black boots with uncertain toes pointed inward. Mama was fascinated by photographs, so there are many pictures of me as a child. Always like this.

I suppose I ought to explain that I am called Sadie, but my actual name is Rosaline Sarah Clester, which I don't like. I probably wouldn't mind it, only no one seems to be able to manage Rosaline. It isn't “Rose-a-leen,” and it isn't “Roz-uh-lin.” It has a long “i” sound, as in the word “line.” I'm sure some Rosalines pronounce their name other ways, but that isn't how mine was supposed to be pronounced. Anyhow, when Rosaline was altogehter too much name for a little baby like I was, and after Mama had tried short names for Rosaline, like Rosie and Rose, which hadn't quite fit, and not wanting to offend her mother by outright calling me by my middle name, which was the name of Papa's mother, she settled on Sadie, a short form for Sarah. Apparently, that was the one that she thought fit me best. And that is what I've always been called.

I must apologize for telling you all this, when you might not have wanted to know at all. But I thought perhaps it would help you to understand better, to better be able to stand in those inward-turning boots, if you knew first about the girl who stood in them, before learning her story.

I don't get grossed out by anything that I see. I love dissecting things, road-kill doesn't faze me, you can show me the most grotesque wound and it won't bother me, except the thought that it probably really hurts. I plan to be a CNA when I grow up. But ever since I was very little, HEARING about blood, wounds, bad health conditions, pain etc. has made me get these awful pains in my legs like my legs are getting pulled off, I sweat and get light-headed and sometimes I can't get a breath (I have asthma). Why is it that seeing things doesn't bother me, but hearing about them does? Is it because in your imagination things are always WAY worse than anything in the real world? Anyone have something similar?

Recently, my friend told me that she got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. As she was leaving the bathroom, she looked at herself in the mirror and saw that her face was really pale. She felt funny and dizzy, and a few minutes later she woke up with a throbbing head which had hit the tile floor when she fell-ouch! but she still doesn't know why. It was the first time she ever fainted, and nothing has been wrong since. I'm just curious, does anyone know what caused this?

I have an idea for my next novel, of course, I'll have to finish my current novel first, so there is no major hurry. Anyway, I've always wanted to write a multiple POV novel, because I like them very much. I wanted my next novel to be about pioneers, and as I was reading about them, I fell in love with the variety of people who went West for so many different reasons. Let me cut to the point: I want to write about many different pioneers, right now it will be a young man who is a sod-buster, a young woman who is a mail-order bride, and a family going West on the Oregon trail. However, the way I have the story planned now, I see no plausible way for any of these characters to ever have anything to do with each other.

I know that in most multiple POV novels, they all wind up connected, and that is part of the point. But would it be all right to do it this way? I'm starting to think no, but I need some more opinions. Thanks!

I'm writing a novel about Kennewick, a city in Washington, which was heavily advertised in the 19th Century. In a reference work I read on the subject, it mentioned that it was advertised in 1893 in Northwest Magazine. I can't find anything about this particular magazine or who might read it and see such an advertisement. Does anyone have any information? It would be much appreciated.

I'm writing a novel set in the 1890s and my protagonist is thirteen at this point in the story. A lot of the scenes take place in the schoolhouse. This is a new-ish town, with a one-room schoolhouse. For some authentic detail, I was wondering what specifically a thirteen year old girl would be learning about. Any help would be appreciated, but if not, I can get off my lazy bottom and look for a book at the library.

I find it extremely saddening that appreciation for classic books is declining, especially among young people. I grew up reading classics, starting with Little Women in second grade, and they are still my favourite books. I love the beautiful language and descriptions, the character development, and the feel of their hefty weight in my hands. I have a lot of favourites in this category, but my current favourite is probably Les Miserables, as it excels in all of those aspects.

Do you enjoy classics? What makes them worth reading to you? Which is your favourite one?

I love to visit thrift stores to find tea-cups, because I collect them. I also buy books there. The other day, I was drawn to a five-volume set on the history of England. This combined three loves, old books, history, and england, so of course I looked at them. The entire set was five dollars, so of course I bought them. But I like to know the age of the things in my collections, not out of thought of selling them, just so that I can tell people who remark upon them that they are from such and such year and place, and a bit about the history of them. The trouble is, I can't find anything about this particular set.

The books are The History of England, by Thomas Babington Macaulay. They are brown and cloth-bound. There is nothing on the front or back cover, but on the spine of each, in gilt letters, are the words "The History of England," a line, then "Macaulay" and the volume number in roman numerals. These words are horizontal across the spine, at the top, not running down the side. inside there are two blank pages, and then a page on the left side of which is an engraving of Macaulay with his signature (printed, not actually signed by him, of course) beneath it. This is covered by one of those sheer pages, and then there is the title page, on which is the title, author, volume number, then a symbol and the words, "Philadelphia, Porter and Coates." There is no date.

I cannot find any information on this particular edition, although I feel quite sure that they date at least from the late 1800s. If anyone has any information, it would be much appreciated. I have been all over the internet. On google images, there was only one picture that looked like my book, but it was the wrong publisher. Of course, I don't "need" to know how old they are, but I can't stand to have them staring at me on my shelf and not know. Any information is most welcome. Thank you!

I signed up using a fake name, and now I really wish I hadn't because it's a little silly. Is there any way, short of terminating my account and starting fresh, of changing my username?

I've always wrote novels for the public, poetry for myself. However, I was just curious if I'm any good at poetry. Like I said, I write it for myself, so I understand if it's no good. Here is one of my poems, called "Same Path":

There's a chasm runs between him and me.

Wider and much deeper than any canyon.

It's always been there.

Only he doesn't know

Enough about the way

I feel about him to notice it.

Or think anything of it, if he does.

We walk on opposite sides.

Sometimes I think I wish I could slide myself down

Down the sides and work my way through.

But I'm too scared and I

Don't know how and so I get

Knots in my stomach and don't

Even try to try.

Sometimes in a wonderful moment of understanding--

A flash in the eye, a smile,

An almost accidental touch of his hand to my waist,

I can see that the chasm

Has grown so tiny small

That I know I could step right across.

But I get nervous and time

WILL move on and we keep

Walking along and so I find

I've missed my chance.

Sometimes I've thought I might try

And build myself a bridge that I

Could walk straight across.

I wish I could build it--

I've tried.

But every time I've come close to

connecting our separate sides

There just wasn't time.

And we just kept walking and left

That partly-finished bridge far behind.

I wish he could know--

Almost I wish I could tell him--

That I want to be on the same side.

But that, if we can't, that's

Okay too because some people

Walk side by side

On different sides

Their whole life through and never

Really awfully truly understand

What it is to be the other

But that is what makes everything

So interesting. So perfect.

Walking the same path on

Different sides can be the same

As being together if only

The other person knows it too.

I wish almost that I could tell him

That seeing him walking every day

Is almost--almost--enough.

So anyway, tell me what you think and what you get from it. Honest opinions appreciated. Thanks!

This can be book, movie, or musical. Tell me your favourite character, why they are your favourite, and which part of the book/movie/musical with them in it you like best. Optional is which version of the story (book, movie, musical) you like best, if you've seen/read more than one.

I like the book best, (I've read it twice!) and my favourite character is Eponine. She's an awesome character, and I like her WAY better than Cosette, who I just don't care for much. My favourite part of the book is when she comes into Marius' room and she's snooping around and showing him how she can read and write and then she tells him what a pretty boy he is and how he doesn't know her but she knows him. Actually, I also love the part where her father and his friends try to rob the house where Cosette and Jean Valjean live and she tells them that she is the guard dog and that she's not scared of them because it doesn't make a difference if they kill her since she's cold and hungry anyway. But then, I think my favouritest part is when she dies. It's the most well-written death scene I've ever read. I love when he thinks she is dead and then she opens her eyes and says, "And do you know, Monsieur Marius, I think I was a little in love with you," and then she tries to smile at him and she dies. I cried buckets!

Sorry for my little ramble, I can talk on and on about books I love. Now it's your turn!

I've read Les Miserables twice, and watched several movie versions, including the new one. My favourite character, by far, is Eponine, and I am extremely irritated that she did not live and Marius did not marry her, especially in the book, since she was such a sweet girl in the book. However, her death scene is the most beautiful death scene I have ever read, thus I am somewhat glad that Victor Hugo chose to kill her.

Still, as a character, I like her better than Cosette. She loves Marius so much, and it is so sad that he can't tell. I love the way she calls him "Monsieur Marius," I don't know why, I just do. And I love in the book when Marius thinks she is dead and she opens her eyes and says, "And do you know, Monsieur Marius, I believe I was a little in love with you," and then she tries to smile and dies! The poor dear! But right after that, Marius opens the letter from Cosette. I wanted to STRANGLE him! After Eponine gave her life for him! It made me mad how he was annoyed with her most of the book. At least he was sweet to her during her last moments and she died happy.

However, even though everyone likes Eponine, no one seems to prefer her to Cosette. Am I the only one? Who do you like better?

Please answer two, one for each gender.

This isn't an assignment, I just thought it would be fun. Here is mine:

Feeling his hot breath upon her, enfolding her in a strongly-scented cloud and sticking it's fingers insistently into her perfectly formed nostrils like tendrils of mist, she turned a delicate shade of the palest green, gagged like a soft baby rabbit chocking on it's carrot or whatever baby rabbits ate, scrunched that dainty nose, and said, "Frank, you really need to lay off the garlic."

I'm nearing the end of my novel, and I have an idea for the last paragraph, but it's pretty cheezy. The novel is called An Ideal Place.The It's about a girl who moves to the small town of Kennewick with her family in the late 1800s. She hates it, and throughout the whole story as they are trying to survive, she is trying to make herself feel like it is home. Anyhow, here's the tentative last paragraph. Suggestions?

I never did get a chance to really say that I had made it, and I do not aim to do so until the moment I draw my last.Things have a habit of going wrong when one does. There would aways be times when I would hate Kennewick. I just had to remind myself that it was home. I no longer needed the lullaby of the advertisement, or the sight of Mama's chair, or the smell of dishwater. It was home. By the stubborn Clester blood in my veins, it was home, and home is an ideal place.

I would love to be a CNA, and I already have my highschool years planned around training for it. I love taking care of people very much--always have--and don't mind the unpleasant aspects too much.I do not plan on trying to go to nursing school later on in life. I am content with little pay and my mom has taught me the art of being thrifty and still having lovely things.

However, I am only looking for a part-time job. I would prefer to work in a long term facility or a nursing home, because I would love to be able to bond with those under my care, instead of seeing them for a bit in the hospital and then they go home. Does anyone know whether it is possible to get part-time?