Ad Nauseam – adv. Meaning to an extreme of annoying distraction. Anything in one’s story or novel that becomes an annoying distraction is a liability and will keep a manuscript from being read.

Adverbial-ly speaking, adverbial spillage becomes particularly bad when every line of dialogue is tagged or ascribed via an LY delivery as in she said sweetly, hotly, lilthly,
longingly, helplessly, pitiably, ad nauseamly. Actually all adverbs and adjectives qualify the statement along with pure qualifiers like very, seemed, many, often, some, and all of these words work to destroy and not heighten the effect of a strong sentence, especially if overdone. It is the equivalent of cooking with way too many spices at hand until the dish becomes the spice and the meat and potato is lost in the gravy.

As my favorite author of all time, Mark Twain, said, "When in doubt, strike it out" he was referring to such words and phrases as "The excruciatingly dark cemetery lay quietly still, nothing truly moving until the very thick veil seemed to be finally lifting, perhaps maybe, but who could possibly really tell about fog that unknowingly responds to the fickle whims of the strongly moving tides and the hungry, hungry winds that move like the caterpillar of time?”

Such proliferation of adjectives and adverbs and qualifiers kills any possibility of a forward moving dynamo of storyline for sure. Should have read: The dark cemetery remained still, nothing moving, not even the fog that'd settled atop it like a veil.


I am glad we can all agree on Mark Twain, who was a genius when it came to moving people via the power of his words; a genius when it came to language, and who could alter his voice to suit his purpose so splendidLY well. The thing of it is in a novel when characters speak, within the friendly confines of the quotation marks, anything goes. Anything that can be spoken, grammatical or not, is fair game, so yeah, who and whom become pointless, and everyone speaks volumes in Passive Voice while "in voice" but typically, unless your narrator is set up as a folksy Huckleberry, your narrative voice has to be a great deal more concerned with NOT being an “LY” freak, be it adverb or adding to the subjective or the objective (ad-jective), and heaven help the narrator who falls into pages upon pages of textbook-sounding passive constructions that rely on two words— There was. Or He was. Or She Was, and then unloading an information dump about character or place. In dramatic writing you don't want to stop the action just to describe a person, place, or thing— to unload on the reader. However, if you have a blowhard character given to unloading like the mailman in the TV series Cheers, go for it, but do so within the quotation marks.

Twain, who identified what, 24 dialects in Missouri alone, was, you might say is an early linguist, and a man who's cautions and suggestions I think I'm going to respect. Another who eschewed flowery adverbs and adjectives almost too much was Papa Hemmingway in my estimation. A smattering of a few more LY words might have helped in that regard, perhaps, maybe, just my opinion.

Bottom line, one just has to be aware of every nuance of every word. Often people use the word EVEN for instance thinking it somehow elevates or helps a sentence, but like VERY it fails again and again. “He even thought it was a good idea” – when “He thought it was a good idea” does the trick. And for heaven’s sake, take out all the Upsy and Downsy in your sentences as absolutely unnecessary. He sat down? He sat. He stood up. He stood. The worst offender: He backed up into the garage. Okay, the worst worst offender is: He blinked his eyes. Or He shrugged his shoulders. Or His eyes winked at her.

Until next time Happy Writing, and by the by, next Friday our guests here on ACME will be the Men of Mysery – Marcus Sakey on the 13th, and J.A. Konrath on the 15th. We’re honored to have these outstanding authors of mystery and intrigue with us at ACME.

Rob Walker
aka The Knife,
Book Autopsies Done Here
www.robertwalkerbooks.com

The June issue of Writer's Digest (yes, I'm that far behind in my reading) has a great article on websites for writers. Brian A. Klems, has done a great deal of research for us. His article, "101 Best Websites for Writers" is a keeper. He's catergorized the websites into easy to find headings: General Resources, Creativity, Publishing Resources, to Jobs and Writing Groups.

But he doesn't stop there. He's provided a few sites for different genres: Children's writing, mystery, erotica, ethnic, general fiction, freelancing, horror, poetry and religious, and the list goes on including romance, scriptwriting and sites for the young writer.

Mr. Klems includes agent blogs. The list isn't long, but it is perhaps a place to start if one is looking for an agent. I hope to click over to a few of those sites in the near future. Their diversity is as wide-spread as their coverage from coast to coast. Looking for the right agent reminds me of fishing. I hook the worm correctly, I throw my line in where the fish ought to be. I pray they are hungry. But I usually get bored, fall asleep or end up sun-burned and have to come in before I've gotten much more than a nibble. And just like a fisherman, I say, "Better luck tomorrow." But tomorrow never ends up being today! And thus goes the search for a good agent.

The "Protecting Yourself" section answers many of the general questions we all have faced time and again. What contests are legitimate and which ones are scams, or the confusion of copyright laws, these sites provide some insight to educating us on how to proceed with caution. A big thank you, Mr. Klems, on including these valuable sites.

If you know of a great website for writers you can nominate your find for next year's Top 101 Websites Article. The deadline is January 1, 2009. You can send your comments or website address to: writersdig@fwpubs.com

In the meantime, good luck in your trolling or fishing! Or is that phishing, now?

Til next time ~

DL Larson

PS: In the weeks to come: an Interview with Julie Durango, Children's Author.

MARK YOUR CALENDARS FOR THE MEN OF MYSTERY NEXT WEEK. WEDNESDAY - MARCUS SAKEY - FRIDAY - JOE KONRATH.

RASCAL ON VACATION

As I walked Rascal around the block yesterday evening, I not only exercised my heart, lungs and legs, but also my ears. I really listened and was amazed at all the sounds I heard. Here’s my list:

Cicadas screeched loudly, almost enough to drown out the other sounds, but not quite.

A squirrel chattered.

A bird chirped. I’m not sure what kind.

A horn bellowed from the tracks five blocks away.

A car’s engine accelerated.

A dog barked from a nearby yard.

A child laughed from the playground.

A whistle blew from the practice field by the middle school.

A truck rattled past, empty for the moment, but it will probably hold scrap later since tomorrow is garbage day.

Rascal’s chain jingled.

A jogger’s shoes plopped as she ran down the street.

The gate to my yard clanked as I opened and closed the handle.

A cricket chirped from the grass by the walkway.

A plane roared as I neared the stoop.

The doorknob squeaked as I opened the back door.

Inside, I heard my husband speaking on the phone.

My exercise is over, but yours is beginning. Pick a short period of time and really listen. See what noises you come up. You’ll probably be as surprised as I was at how many you can notice when you try.

Write or type down your list. Do this more than once and save it. Then, when you feel like adding extra layers to your writing, you’ve got a great cheat sheet ready to use.

Now go out and exercise. You don't need a dog to do it.

Morgan Mandel
www.morganmandel.com
http://blogsthatrule.blogspot.com
http://bookplace.ning.com
www.myspace.com/morganmandel

I'm taking a mini-vacation to get away from my regular life and guess what I want to do on my vacation more than anything else? Write!

I guess writers can't escape themselves.

Just about everything I do is within the context of my writing. Experiences are tucked away in my mind as possible scenes in a book that I'm working on or developing. I also hold onto the emotional feelings because I want to be able to relate that in words to my readers.

I've just finished the final rewrite of my first novel - a romantic suspense. Yeah!!!!!!

I will be reading it through once more for all those little details that a writer - especially a new writer - frets about before sending it off to a publisher or agent in hopes of a yes. I am prepared for the rejection letter however - just hoping that I will receive a positive respone instead.

So, on vacation I'm working, but then as a writer I am always working because every experience relates to who I am as a writer and the voice I am in the process of developing. This will be the way it is for me for the rest of my life.

Ah, the life of a writer!

I was part of a multi-author booksigning at Borders Books in Matteson over the weekend, and despite a paucity of crowd, had a good time with fellow authors Michael Black, Luisa Beuhler, Sherry Scarpaci, Helen Osterman and two guys I didn’t know, and, um, still don’t know.

One of the reasons I don’t know them is because I never, ever sit at my table during a signing. I’m moving through the store, shoving my books into people’s hands and sharing hygiene. So I’m not sure what was going on back at the author tables since I wasn’t there.

I stayed two hours after the other authors left, until I sold all of my books! Woo-hoo!

I do want to say something about Michael Black. He’s an author, a good author - and a cop, a good cop. Read his stuff, you won’t regret it.

But I want to tell you about another cop who isn’t good. He’s definitely bad. Is he on the take? Heck if I know. Does he do drugs in his free time? No clue.

I can tell you what he does, though. He lies under oath.

This is a bit of a long story, and I’ll try to keep it brief. And it pains me, because I’ve always had the greatest respect for cops and other public servants who put their lives on the line to keep everyone safe. But there are exceptions.

Soon after my first daughter got her driver’s license, she was coming home down a rural highway where no speed limit was posted. In Illinois, this means you can go fifty-five. But the cornfields are endangered and two new subdivisions had recently broken ground. There was no increase in traffic, construction or new neighbors, but it was obvious that in the near future we’d have a bit more urban growth to deal with.

For now, though, think cornfields.

So my daughter turns onto this road from another highway. Usually, when as soon as you turn onto a street, there is a sign with the posted speed limit. If she had turned east rather than west, she would have immediately seen a sign posted for forty-five miles an hour. But going west, there was nothing.

She goes about half a mile past another road that ends at this road … again, there is no sign near this intersection, and then she drives by the entrance to one of the new subdivisions. She sees the police car there and notices that it immediately begins to pull out into the road.

Then she goes nears a bridge and there’s a sign that says, “reduced speed ahead.” On the other side of the bridge you can just make out a speed limit sign with a posted limit of thirty five miles an hour.

Suddenly, blue and red police lights go on behind her.

Her heart thumping, she turns at a road right after the bridge, but still before the new speed limit sign. The squad car pulls up behind her.

I wasn’t there, so this is all heresay, but apparently the officer was brusque and soon my daughter was in tears. I heard it all later as she and a friend that was in the car all relayed it to me through sobbing, hiccupping and frustrated tears.

Fine, you don’t have to be nice, and maybe scaring a new driver early on will help keep them in line forever.

But he gave her a ticket for going forty-five in a thirty-five.

I had been driving that very same road twice a day for over fifteen years, and I couldn’t remember it being thirty five where she was pulled over. So I went out the next day, and confirmed what I had thought. So I’m thinking to myself, “self, it was a mistake. Just call the station, explain, and maybe get the ticket rescinded.”

So I tried. I called the police station, and was rudely … this time it wasn’t heresay … told that it would have to be resolved in court.

(Sigh.)

I took all kinds of pictures, from the intersection showing no limit, from the cop’s vantage point showing she was nowhere near the reduced speed sign yet, and from several other points. I blew them up to eight by ten and waited for the day in court.

Here’s where it gets good. A week later, three brand new signs mysteriously went up … with a spanking new thirty five mile per hour limit. I took pictures of these, too. All were time-stamped.

Court was held in a bar. Yep, you heard me … a bar. They had cleared the bar, put in chairs and a ‘Judge’ sat at a table near the wall, a cashier to his left with a huge metal cash box.

As people lined up for their bit of justice, I noticed that everyone was judged guilty, and then they had to pay, with cash … no checks, no credit cards … and the money went into the cash box. The Judge was loud, impressed with himself, and even took some mean-spirited pokes at a Spanish defendant for his poor English.

Just before my daughter went up, the prosecutor called my daughter and we had a moment to talk with him and explain our position. Ah, a friend. Someone who would learn the truth and dismiss this and let us go on our way. Little did I realize what they really intended.

The cop was there, scowling. Not happy to be here. He spoke first. He said that my daughter went by him and was doing forty-five miles per hour as she passed the thirty-five mile per hour sign. I respectfully said that it wasn’t possible, and showed him pictures showing there were no signs.

He said that the signs must have been knocked down, and that she passed the one by the bridge. I showed him the picture of that intersection and proved that he was wrong again. He just grunted.

I ignored him and showed the pictures to the prosecutor, pictures that absolutely proved our case. He looked at them carefully, and said, “okay, we’ll go to trial.”

I was shocked. Fine, we’ll just prove it to the judge.

A few minutes later, we were in front of the judge, and we got another surprise. The Judge said that I would not be able to help my sixteen year old daughter take on an experienced, bar-passing professional in this matter.

But she’s sharp. Nervous. Scared. But she’s smart. Maybe she can pull it off.

The cop was the first to testify. And here’s where it gets surreal. He totally changed his storyso that it would fit the evidence we had shown him. I just about burst trying to keep from shouting, “liar”! But I kept control, thinking that the evidence was still clear and unmitigated.

But I wasn’t ready for their next trick.

The prosecutor pulls out a big, blue notebook, and he said, “Here’s the ordinance showing that the speed limit on the entire stretch of road is thirty five miles per hour.”

I couldn’t control myself, “There’s no sign! How’s anybody supposed to know that?!”

The Judge smirked … really … and said, “If it’s in the ordinance.”

He banged his gavel and said, “Guilty. One hundred dollar fine.”

Then he leaned his ruddy, sweaty face toward my daughter and said, “And I hope you learned a lesson here, young lady.”

The kangaroos behind him were laughing and applauding.

We were directed to move down the conveyor line to the cashier, and left the lying cop and sarcastic judge behind us. I admit we angrily threw the money at the cashier, and we departed the den of county income. For that’s all it was.

I need my daughter to meet more good cops, because this was a heavy lesson for a sixteen year old to learn - that not all people in positions of authority deserve their position or the respect that the position would normally earn.

Anyway, ‘nuff said. There are some great cops out there, and I know quite a few of them. Michael Black’s a good one, and I’m proud to know him.

Norm

www.normcowie.com

The Adventures of Guy … written by a guy (probably)

The Next Adventures of Guy … more wackiness

Fang Face (Young adult / humor vampire coming Aug. 09)

The Heat of the Moment

Missing (anthology coming Oct. 08)