Catching Idle Butterflies

Experimental bounces

Lately as I have been adding my blog entries, I’ve been trying to keep certain things in mind.

         1.          Show instead of tell
         2.          No preaching
         3.          Variety
         4.          Avoid clichés
         5.          Keep the prose tight

In deference to our Queen Scarlett, I stop the list at 5. The previous two entries, I kept 1 and 2 foremost in my frontal lobe (avoided a cliché there!).

I could have easily said Grandma Woods is a tough, funny, gracious lady, but that would have made a short entry, and you wouldn’t have ‘seen’ her how I and so many others see her. You would have thought, “That’s nice. I have a grandma like that, too, so what specifically makes her so special?”

As for the preaching, I used the backspace and delete keys three or four times to erase the statements telling you the importance of being honest, blah, blah, blah. Preaching like that only makes me appear as though I think you don’t have the brainpower to figure it out. Besides, that wasn’t my primary intent. I just wanted to tell a story . . .

I want to create a new cliché. Instead of “telling a story,” it should be “showing a story.” What do you think?

Sorry, about the tangent there. When sentimente commented yesterday: “An outstanding parable!” I realized I had subconsciously weaved the point into my entry. Mostly, though, I wanted you to enjoy the story.

I’ve been feeling of late my writing could use more attention. I have been telling instead of showing. I many times scramble for a subject, perusing previous entries to make certain I’m not repeating myself. Often I’ve dumped a subject because I have written about it already.

Another clue I need to pay more attention to my writing is my tendency to fall back on clichés. My goodness they’re easy to use! They pop out of my fingers without me being aware until I see them sticking their tongues out at me on the screen.

As for the writing tight, or not, well, I will leave whether or not I’ve violated that rule again, again and again to your ever-discerning and intelligent eyeballs and brain .

Voxxylady mentioned in her blog entry "the almost right word"  about how writers losing their fear that they don’t write well will no longer try as hard to improve their prose, and in the end lose readers because their writing has stagnated.

I still fear that, so perhaps I haven’t reached that point.

And yet . . .

My goal now is to use my blog to improve my writing even more. I don’t want to take for granted I’m a good writer, because at that moment I cease to be one.

So if you don’t mind, my dear reader, this will be my next experiment. I intend to bounce my thoughts, stories (true) and ideas around, and keeping the above rules in mind, stretching my abilities beyond their current capabilities. The last thing I want is to have you fishing in a still, algae-choked pond of a blog.

I know you don’t think that now, so consider this me taking preemptive measures.

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susanL ’s blog entry "Invalid Entry"  about her dear, now in automobile heaven Fredrick reminded me of inanimate objects me or my hubby owned that earned their unique names:

Emil: 1983 white Dodge Rampage. This little gem received its name simply because we bought it from a man named Emil. I know. Not all that original, but it fit! I loved this car and wish we had it back. It got, on average, 35 miles per gallon.

Ruff: 1974 white Toyota Land Cruiser. Ruff earned his name. With shot shock absorbers, short wheelbase, he was one “ruff” ride.

Stealth Bomber: 1978 midnight blue Plymoth Volarè. Perhaps because it was an uninteresting 4-door sedan, this thing disappeared in urban surroundings. I passed a cop once going 10 mph over the speed limit (45 in a 35), and the cop never turned his head. I lost it in parking lots all the time. Finally, in order to find it, I’d look for the spot that looked empty. Sure enough, there it would be.

Sport the Snow Pig An early '80s Mustang. Sporty car, but would get stuck in 1/2 inch of snow.

Brutus Cheesesteak A 1996 Toyota Corolla. Dave drove a lot through cow dropping fields, and some of the droppings adhered to and baked on the undercarriage. It carried with it a permanent odor of cow dung ever since. He and his buddies called farts cheesesteaks, so it seemed appropriate to name the car such.

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And lastly . . .

Have you noticed of late an epidemic of Merit Badge gifting? I'm apparently not immune.

Special thanks to lethomson for the 'generous' Merit Badge:



You're a sweetheart!