Reasons That Need Exploring

I used to watch a TV show called Due South and, yes, I admit I started watching the show because I thought the main character was cute and because I've always had a thing for Mounties. After an episode or two, I kept watching because I really enjoyed it. (And the main character was still good looking . . .)

Anyway, Benton Fraser (the Mountie) often said this when he met people:

"I first came to Chicago on the trail of the killers of my father, and for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture I've remained, attached as liaison with the Canadian Consulate."

For some reason this line has been on my mind lately, mostly for the "for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture" bit. And, of course, when I think, I'm often thinking about writing.

One common complaint about novel beginnings is info dumps. You know, where the character monologues about their entire life up to this point. I think this quote is a good rule of thumb for information to include in a novel beginning. What reasons DO need exploring at that juncture? What things does the reader need to know at that point?

Last night I met with a new critique group for the first time. Two of the four of them questioned my first section, and one of them even asked if I needed it. I put it in for a reason, but now I'm questioning it. Much as I love the section and what it reveals, is it necessary at that juncture?

I guess it's time to get out the knife and go after those darlings, isn't it?

Things I've Learned This Summer

1. Novels sometimes benefit from you taking time away. Gardens . . . not so much.

Well, not unless you are growing weeds or something. And, let me tell you, I got some spectacular weeds (in addition to the sunflower/bean and voracious pumpkin plant) during that month where I didn't weed it at all.

2. Never leave a three year old alone in the kitchen with a running mixer. Not even for a few seconds.

I was making bread and while it was kneading, I washed the stove and the sink. (See! I do housework sometimes.) I decided it was time to wash the rag and was about to take it down to the washing machine when I hesitated. My 3 year old had been "helping" to make the bread and had been standing on a chair to watch it knead for several minutes. But then I decided he'd been so good and I'd only be gone for a few seconds. So I ran downstairs to the laundry room.

Screams issued from the kitchen. In the few seconds I'd been gone, he decided to make a tower of vitamin bottles and dropped one of them in the bread dough. And the mixer was trying to beat it in. Vitamin enriched bread, anyone?

I had to rescue the bottle and wash it off before he'd believe me that everything was okay.

3. Boys and girls are different.

Yeah, I knew this, but it kept cropping up this summer. Over and over. Things like my daughter coming home from her first swim lesson disappointed that no one told her how cute her new swim suit was. Her teacher was a boy, along with everyone else in the class. As if any of them would say anything!

And another conversation between my son and daughter when we drove past a sky full of paragliders.

Daughter: That looks like fun.
Son: Yeah! If only they had guns too, it would be awesome!

Yeah. Awesome. Paragliders with guns. I shudder at the thought.

4. How to get teenage girls to sleep so you can sleep while sharing a cabin.

Earlier this summer, I spent a week up in the mountains sharing a cabin with 11 teenage girls and 3 other leaders. And the girls Did. Not. Sleep. They giggled and giggled and giggled and then tried to take naps the next day.

(And, yes, I did chase one of them around the cabin to keep her from taking a nap the next afternoon. She proceeded to draw a portrait of me with horns and fiery eyes. And then fell asleep in someone else's bed so I couldn't find her. Argh.)

Anyway, a leader in another cabin is a storyteller by profession. She said she turned out all the lights and then told them stories. She suggested turning out all the lights but my flashlight and reading them stories (I brought several picture books with me). We tried it and it worked so well! They were all asleep immediately.

In case you're ever in a similar situation, trust me, you will want ideas on how to get them to sleep!

5. I should never agree to do anything. I have some weird idea that I am awesome and can do way more than I think I can do. And then I fall short and feel terrible. Sorry to anyone I've promised something to and then not followed through on.

6. Find a hairstylist you like and then trust her (or his) judgment.

And that's probably enough said about that. Except, being me, I always have a story and just can't stop talking. So I'll say that the lady who cuts my hair is married to my high school biology teacher. She teaches at a local beauty school, but also has a salon in her house and I still feel silly going to "my teacher's" house.

But at the same time, it's amusing to remember when they got married and his style went from completely mismatched to pretty stylish. We all (meaning the girls--because boys and girls are different) got a good laugh about that in high school.

7. Construction is inevitable.

The main topic in our neck of the woods is how much we hate the construction. It's bad. I took the kids to back to school night last night and discovered that, to take them to school on Monday, our path is going to look a lot like those Family Circus cartoons--the ones where the kid could have taken a direct path, but didn't. Except in our case, we can't take a direct path. Because they've torn up all the roads. Everywhere.

I so wish I was exaggerating about that, but one of my kids asked recently, "Mom, what are we going to do if they destroy the entire world?"

I was preparing for a zombie apocalypse, but it turns out that I should have worried about a construction workers apocalypse. So I ask: are you prepared? Are you ready for the construction workers to come to YOUR neighborhood?

Adventures in Gardening

I planted a garden this summer. It's the first year we've had a garden since we were married. We tried last year, but the plants didn't survive the late snowfall. This year we actually have plants!

We do have one surprise, though. I planted green beans, but only one plant in that row grew, much to my disappointment. And it didn't look quite right. I let it grow anyway, just to see. It's been a long time since I grew beans, so maybe I just didn't remember what they looked like . . .

Yeah, it's a sunflower, not a bean. Seriously. One of those huge "I am going to devour you because my flower is bigger than your head" sunflowers. Am I the only person who plants beans and gets sunflowers? Whatever happened to that whole "reaping what you sow" business?

I also bought a little pumpkin plant for the garden, naively thinking we'd get a little pumpkin or two for the kids from our darling little pumpkin plant. I've never grown pumpkins before and for some reason thought they grew to, oh, three feet in diameter. No, no, pumpkin plants are enormous. The thing stretches from one end of the garden to the other and drapes over the sides (we live on a hill and our garden is terraced above the yard). I think the plant has also eaten some of the other plants, like the Swiss chard, because I can't see some of them anymore when I look out the window. It's time to wage war against it, but I have to confess, I'm rather afraid of it. It grows inches every day and, well, would my neighbors think I was crazy if I gardened with a sword?

Why I Decided to Write

I didn't always want to be a writer. Oh, sure, those writing assignments in high school were always my favorite. Even now, all these years later, I can still remember in freshman English, Mr. Williams had a numbered list for setting, the character's occupation and a personality trait. We chose three numbers and then based our stories on what he told us. I ended up writing about a meticulous homeless person in an aerobics class. Oh, what fun I had writing that!

But I didn't want to be a writer. I was going to be a doctor and I did everything I possibly could do that related to science. And then it came time to register for classes as a freshman in college and I felt like it was the wrong path for me.

And so I floundered around a bit, changed majors far too many times, and eventually graduated. And then I had to find a job. I ended up getting hired to do dental research because I knew how to use a scanning electron microscope. (Hooray for the extra-curricular activities in high school!) One of my coworkers was also a voracious reader and I loaned her my copy of Die For Love by Elizabeth Peters.

In this novel, the main character (after solving a crime at a romance writers convention) decides she needs to write bodice rippers. My friend and I were discussing this as we washed dishes in her microbiology department (because being a scientist is almost as glamorous as being a stay-at-home mother) and somehow she came to the conclusion that my calling in life was to write bodice rippers. So to bug her, I started writing a romance novel where the main character had her name, which she found suitably appalling. Anyway, the joke was on me because I started writing and got hooked. I loved it and I didn't want to stop.

(And for the record, it was a very tame romance novel and nothing at all like a bodice ripper. The characters kissed. Three times, I think. Scandalous, I know.)

What about you? What led you to where you are in your life? What made you decide to become a writer?