I love to run early in the morning.  I beat the heat, but added bonus, I don’t run into the brigade.  The brigade consists of all the dog walkers with too-long leashes and not enough concern, large families with strollers and kiddie bikes that clog the road, other faster runner who make me feel like I’m not a real runner.  Also the time alone, in nature, settles me, organizes my brain, and keeps me centered.

I am introverted but not antisocial. I will give a wave and good morning to those I pass. I will defer the right of way to those in large groups or anyone on a mission to burn up the road.  I’ll cross to the other side so people’s dogs don’t get too excited by my speeding by like some crazy, prey animal.

I try to be nice. I try to see it from other’s points of view.

Then someone figured out my game, or had the same idea, and he brought his daughter with him.  So a combo of two things that disturbed my peace, a group and runners that were faster than me.

I bucked up, gave way, shot them a wave and breathless good morning.

It was a though I didn’t exist.  I chalked it up to his focusing real hard.

A few days later, the gruesome twosome (I really can’t say that. They looked like a cover of Running World) zipped right toward me. I didn’t notice them right away and had to swerve to escape a collision.  “Sorry.” I said. “Mornin’!”

No response. Nothing but the metronome of their shoes, running away.  Over the next few weeks this continued. They never acknowledged my existence and would literally run me down if I didn’t move out of their path. It was unnerving Stepford Wife behavior.

I tensed up before my runs and changed my route to avoid them.  I even mumbled under my breath when I saw them. “Road hogs. Jerks.” (I’m a bit passive aggressive, so sue me.)

I finally had to come to some logically reason why they would act like total and complete tools.  I remembered a book I read in high school by Piers Anthony called Bearing an Hourglass.  In the book the main character has to reach the destination of a castle by walking and driving, (I could be wrong. It’s been awhile.)  But when the man was walking a car almost blew him from the road.  He cursed the driver.  Later, he found a car and made for the castle, speeding to make up time and almost hit a pedestrian, thinking wow, that guy should not be walking on the road.  It’s a fantasy novel about Father Time, so a bit of time travel was involved. The lesson was he was the jerk in each case.  He was both the driver and the walker.  He didn’t give himself empathy in either situation.

The memory made me realize that maybe this gruesome twosome are totally focused and don’t realize that they are being butt holes? Maybe like me they are introverts or even antisocial and they get up just to avoid others on the road, just like I do.  Maybe he’s trying to teach his daughter about stranger danger. I don’t know, but I’m going to give them a pass and let these anxious feeling go.

Running is an anxious free zone, and no matter their reasons, I’m not going to allow them to ruin it for me.  Like another pothole on the road, I will avoid them and try to use my empathy skills.

And perhaps get up just a little bit earlier.

What about you?  Do you have neighbors that tick you off by shooting fireworks at 1am? Co-workers that hum incessantly? Things that annoy you? Leave a comment and vent. It will make you feel better. I promise.

I’m doing Camp Nanowrimo right now. For those of you who don’t know what that is, Camp Nanowrimo is a writing challenge, a contest of sorts, with a fun theme of going to camp.

For me, it’s motivational. In the pre-published world, no one gives you deadlines. You can meander with a book for a year or two and never make progress. Or even drop it completely and start something new. There isn’t any accountability or motivation, except your own internal drive (which to be honest does flag upon occasion.)

Camp Nano helps me become laser focused and completion driven. To sweeten the word-count pot, because of the public commitment to finish X amount of words per day, there’s a social pressure to finish.

The program works for me because I was wired by public school to get assignments in by due dates. I was never late with homework. The loss of points terrified my A-grade-obsessed self.

That part of me is alive and well and thrives on assignment completion. Camp Nano allows you to set your own goals (unlike its autumn cousin Nanowrimo in November where it’s set for you at 1, 667 per day.) I find that setting a challenging but not overwhelming goal keeps move me forward on my I-don’t-wanna-do-this days, my this-sucks days, or my I-don’t-even-know-why-I write days. Can’t throw it away. Can’t stop. Can’t question myself or my ability. The words must be written. Assignment due!!

One tool I’ve found helpful in keeping pace is a book by Martha Alderson, “The Plot Whisperer Book of Writing Prompts.” It’s designed to be uses with Nano or during a period of first drafting.  The daily prompts encourage you to dig into character, visceral senses, and gently guides you in getting the story down without killing the flurry of words.

In fact, when I read a few prompts before writing, I am brimming with ideas on how to deepen the story. I believe this guidance will assist when I go back to edit, as well. The structure and character development will be solid before I even start.

I may not finish my first draft this month, but thanks to Camp Nano and my Prompts book I will have an excellent start. And August is looking good as a ‘finishing’ kind of month.

Is anyone out there doing Camp Nano or has done Nano in the past? Any tools you recommend to meet your daily word count? And in general, how to you force yourself to get things done, even when it’s hard? Are you carrot person? A stick person? Other?  Please let me know in the comments.

Netflix is a strange, beautiful and addictive medium. I pish-poshed it when it first came out with its mail order DVDs. Why did I need mail order DVDs when I could just go to the video store?

The Earth rotated around the sun a few times and slowly I jumped onto the Netflix, super-bullet train. I have not regretted it since. Beyond the instant streaming of almost any entertainment I want to see, it provides a window to the world.

I would never have found all the strange BBC shows I’m latched onto. Doctor Who and Sherlock are two of the best new television shows I’ve seen in a decade, with a very different sensibility than American shows, faster paced, with a more subtle, drier sense of humor. And the writing! I could gush, but I digress (fodder for a future blog post perhaps?)

I also stumbled across two other series that caught my attention. The first was an Australian teen drama called Dance Academy. I had a rare free moment to vegetate in front of the idiot box and with my daughter and found this Australian teen drama and thought: Young people? Dancing? Maybe it will be like Fame. I could waste a few hours on this.

A few WEEKS later we had blown through all three seasons and began to rewatch them. Crying and laughing and raging along with the characters. They start as emotionally-awkward, searching teens to learn about themselves and others, to figure out what love means, how friendships matter, and how grief can affect us all. They grow up before you, and it’s breathtaking, unflinching writing that brings it all to life. (And the dancing is phenomenal.)

After the emotional catharsis, we hunted to find something that may fill the ballerina-shaped void in our lives. Dance Moms popped into our queue. It’s a reality TV show about how young girls and their mothers deal with studio politics, the teacher, and each other, set in the competition dance world. We watched it. The dancing was beautiful; the mothers ornery, argumentative, and somewhat entertaining, but it didn’t satisfy as Dance Academy had. The stories left an unfulfilled empty sensation like eating a vat of cotton candy, when expecting a steak dinner.

There was crying and intense moments, we were curious to find out what happened next, but not emotionally invested. I don’t think I could even recall the names of the students (except for the one girl Maddie Ziegler who went on to star in those Sia videos), but I think she stuck because she was so incredibly talented, and has found media attention through other avenues.

I was perplexed as to why a real life drama didn’t move me emotionally, while a teen dance show had me sobbing uncontrollably. Then I put it in terms of drama vs melodrama.

Dance Mom’s had a sort of drama. Someone cheated and got extra lesson from the teacher, one girl is picked as favorite, the studio creates a hated-cross-town rival. Tears were shed, tempers flared, dancers danced, but there was no substance. No real moments that drew the audience in, and made you realize they were just like you. It was all forced empathy. A little girl crying, instantly evokes a measure of sadness. Someone is cut from the team, anger at the unfairness. A mom ignores her daughter, pity for the poor girl. But these emotions are one note, simple, melodramatic. Pushing hot buttons to illicit emotion.

In contrast, the excellent writers of Dance Academy understood the concept of the unsaid, the power of the slow burn, the intense satisfaction of a deliberate reveal. As with books like Game of Thrones, the stories showed us that not everyone lives in black or white, not everyone fits into a category of goofy, love-struck, or mean girl, but are multilayered individuals with good and bad sides. Those are the stories that resonate and pluck that deep chord of our soul. That make us say: yes, that’s the way it is.

I had fun watching both shows, and if you like dance I would recommend either. But if you want to be truly emotionally engaged with a story that will stay with you long after you shut off the television, then go with Dance Academy.

Thanks for stopping by! Please leave a comment. Do you have a guilty pleasure show worthy of binge watching? Any characters that resonate? Storylines that ripped out your heart ,or made you laugh? Please share!

SPECIAL: Congratulation to Stephen Sottong winner of a crit.  

2 randomly selected commenters will win a 5-page critique from either Pam or Tina. Please mention in your comment if you would like to be included in the contest. Must comment by midnight 6/19/2015 and must submit pages by 7/15/15. Please allow a four week turnaround time. Now read below and comments away!

A couple of weeks ago, I had an epic clear-the-house-out-the-kids-are-grown garage sale.

We (I should say I) have been a bit of a hoarder and had allowed my clutter, from baby toys to a giant entertainment center, accumulate over the last ten years.

I am not a garage sale person, so I had no idea how to display, price, or advertise my wares. The internet provided me with some basic guidelines. I got my signs posted, my itemed stickered and placed on tables. I felt prepared.

But I wasn’t .

I had envisioned my Star Wars themed toys, girl’s dresser, Fisher Price toy box in mint condition, a Bassett headboard would be hot items.  I priced these high, expecting them be sold within the first day of the sale.

But I was wrong.

Every group of people from men, to women, to couples, to children were attracted to vastly different things.

The men wanted tools, yard supplies, building materials, fishing stuff. I had few of these items, but what I did have sold quickly. Even my non-working weed wacker was sold to a gentlemen who had a handy gleam in his eye and ‘new project’ on the brain.

A woman came and sorted through piles of stuffed animals, some for her collection, some for her dogs, some for selling on EBAY.

An older couple who must still have their VCR intact, grabbed a box of my VHS tapes.

Some of the objects I thought for sure would fly from the shelves, lingered on the last day, and only sold after deep discounting.

I had a lot left overs, but it was worth the effort. If nothing else, the sale taught me a lesson. Every human is different with different taste, wants, and needs. This thought is both daunting and encouraging to a writer.

In a recent contest I entered, I got some crazy feedback . Most loved the story and gave me scores in  the high nineties out of a hundred. Then there was that one judge. She may have been having an off day, or just hated YA, or perhaps it was just her honest opinion, but she absolutely hated every little thing about my story. From the protagonist, to the grammar, to the storyline, (she did like the setting though-yeah!) she scored me fifty-three. Really. Half of what I’d earned from the other judges.

I got upset, until I remembered the garage sale.

Some people just love stuffed animals and don’t need a Star Wars collectible. Some customers adore Twilight and others would not wipe their bum with the pages. Interest, tastes, needs, differ.

Sometimes you just hit people at the wrong time.

And I also will apply this way of thinking to writing in general. Even if your writer’s group thinks a mermaid/vampire romance is a horrible idea, but there may be a market for it. If you enjoy the concept, why not someone else? Don’t allow a few naysayers suck your passion. You may just need to put up more garage sale signs to cast a wider net.

I will take her critique with a boulder of salt and see if I can salvage advice that would improve my story. I won’t let it bother me. Because the saying is true. One reader’s trash is another reader’s treasure.

Comment below. Have you had a weird garage sale experience? Got an extremely harsh critique? Share below. Or just stop in to say ‘hi’.